Left Out

Little Cakes adores her big sister. She idolizes Bee, and follows her everywhere, and wants to do everything that she does. At church a few weeks ago, my husband and I were working in the toddler room, and the little kids were eating snack and talking about their best friends. Cakes piped up, in her tiny little voice, "My best friend is my Sissie!"

We just melted into a puddle. It was that cute.

This week has been tough for Cakes.

Bee gets to go to swimming lessons, but Cakes does not. She has to stay with boring old Mommy and play on the swings. This doesn't make her happy.


She's tired of hearing that she's too little for this, and too little for that. Last night she wanted to play outside with Bee and some of her friends, but she was already bathed and in her PJs, and it was her bedtime. She stood at the window and cried.

This afternoon, Bee is going to play with Cole, who was her best preschool friend.


Last year he moved away, and Bee was heartbroken. He's back in town for a week, visiting his grandparents, so we arranged for them to have a play date at his grandma's house. Just the two of them. Without Cakes. As far as Cakes is concerned, this is the last straw.

In an attempt to make Cakes feel better, I told her that we could do something fun together, just the two of us. She wasn't impressed.

It breaks my heart, because I know she wants to be included, and she's feeling left out. To be honest, I've always told my husband that Cakes is the "forgotten child." When Bee was born, there were presents, and excitement, and fanfare, and tons of visits from friends and relatives. By the time Cakes was born, the baby novelty had pretty much worn off. Also, Cakes had a neck injury from the birth process, and so she was often fussy and cranky until we figured out what was wrong and had it corrected. She didn't have Bee's easygoing disposition, and so she didn't endear herself to people as quickly. Sometimes it saddens me to see how easily she's overlooked. At the July 4th parade, people were throwing candy from floats, and others were walking along, giving candy and other trinkets to local kids. A woman walked up to Bee and handed her a piece of candy and a flyer. "Here sweetie. This is for you," she said graciously. Cakes was standing right next to Bee, but the woman completely ignored her and walked off.

I find that I overcompensate now, trying to make sure that I, at least, treat my daughters equally. I also try really hard to make up for those who pass Cakes over like yesterday's news. It's a full-time job, and I wonder how I'll keep it up when I have three children, and poor Cakes is stuck in the dreaded "middle child" slot.

*sigh* It's not easy being Cakes.

IVF Parents - We're Just Like You

"You're the one who wanted this pregnancy, so what are you complaining about?"

I actually received this comment on yesterday's post about my horrible morning sickness (I didn't publish it), and I've heard countless variations of this sentiment since having my children - some from my own family. Here are just a couple of examples:

When I was going through life-threatening, ovarian hyperstimulation, a hospital nurse actually said to me, "I just can't understand why you would choose to do this to yourself."

When I was frustrated because Cakes was being a little stinker, someone said to me, "Well, you chose to have her. It's your own fault."

After learning that we were expecting again, I heard, "Well, when you find out that it's more than you can handle, don't come whining to me. This is your choice."

I can't tell you how much this kind of remark upsets me, but the attitude behind it upsets me even more. Some people seem to think that because IVF parents specifically choose, plan, spend money, and endure physical and emotional suffering in order to get pregnant, we somehow forfeit our right to be upset when something goes wrong. Huh?

So, if someone gets pregnant naturally, or even accidentally, it's OK for her to be upset when she throws up 5 times a day, and feels so nauseous and miserable that she can't even get out of bed. It's OK for her to cry and sink into depression because she hasn't had more than 4 hours of sleep in two days. It's OK for her to complain when her kid won't use the potty, or colors on the walls, or throws a tantrum in the grocery store.

But if you're an IVF parent, you'd better just keep your mouth shut and deal with it, because you're the one who "chose" parenthood.

Get ready, because there's an opinion coming, and it's a strong one.

I am an IVF parent, and I'm just like you. I love my children more than I can possibly express to you. I hurt when they hurt, and I rejoice when they triumph. I worry for their health and safety, and I have big dreams and hopes for their future. They are more important to me than anything in the world, and I wanted them so badly that I suffered, and sacrificed, and nearly died to have them.

I am also a human being, and I sometimes get upset, exhausted, and depressed. Though my children were conceived through IVF, they're no different than yours. Sometimes they're naughty and frustrating, and sometimes they're an absolute joy. Parenthood serves up the same trials, struggles and dilemmas for me as it does for you. Yes, I chose to become a parent, but so did you. Perhaps you came to that decision differently, and were able to reach your goal more easily, but the end result is still the same.

So please, the next time an IVF mom tells you that her morning sickness is making her sad, weary, and exhausted, don't tell her that it's her "fault" because she "chose" it. Instead, tell her that you understand, or that you're sorry, or ask how you can help.

And to all of you who go out of your way to offer me support, encouragement, help, and hope...you have no idea how much that means to me. I can't possibly thank you enough.

Two More Weeks...

...until the end of the first trimester. I can't wait.

I'm starting to feel slightly more normal, but it's still pretty touch and go. Most mornings I feel OK, but every night, around 5:00 P.M., I start to feel sick, and it lasts until bedtime. I was very discouraged last week, because I threw up at least once a day, and on Thursday, 4 times. I was so exhausted and weak that on Friday morning, after I threw up because of something in the garbage disposal that smelled off, I suddenly started crying. I just felt like I couldn't take it anymore, and I went to our room and collapsed on the bed in tears.

My husband came in and put his arms around me, and whispered soothing things in my ear. In between bouts of sobbing, I managed to tell him that I'm just so sick and tired, I feel like I could sleep my life away. I also told him that, judging by the way it's handling this pregnancy, I think my body is just too old to be manufacturing a baby. His reply was, "Well, it's doing a good job of it."

He's been so incredibly sweet and helpful, despite the excruciating, debilitating back pain he's been suffering with for the last month. We're not sure what happened to his back, but he's been going to a chiropractor regularly, and has had little relief. Nonetheless, he's been helping with dinner, loading the dishwasher, doing laundry, and bathing the kids and putting them to bed, usually because I'm already passed out on the couch, snoring, by 7:30. I don't have any idea what I would do without him.

Bee started swimming lessons yesterday, so every morning I must get the children dressed and fed and plastered with sunscreen so we can make it to the pool on time. While Bee is at her lesson, Cakes and I go to the park, and I push her on the swings for 45 minutes until Bee is done. The heat and humidity make my nausea so much worse, and I've started carrying a small plastic bag in my pocket, just in case I have to throw up. While in public, I repeat my "I will not throw up, I will not throw up," mantra, over and over, to distract myself from the possibility that I just might, in fact, throw up.

Every night, I pray to God to please, please help me feel better the next day, to give me just an ounce of energy - anything at all - to help me get through the day. So far it's not working, and I know that I just need to wait patiently for this to pass, but, well...patience isn't really a virtue of mine.

Pumpkin Catches a Bird

.....and brings it into the house. Alive.

This was the drama at our house this afternoon.

I was in the bedroom when Bee, my tenderhearted girl, came running into the house, bawling her eyes out, yelling, "Mom! Mom! Pumpkin caught a bird! I think he killed it!"

I didn't even realize that Pumpkin had gone outside, but he's sneaky like that. I put my arm around Bee, and explained that cats do things like this, and it's all part of the food chain, the way God intended, etc, etc, but then she said, "But MOM! He brought it in the house! I saw him run in here with it in his mouth!"

Suddenly, I was no longer so calm. After a very brief search, we found Pumpkin at the foot of the basement stairs, sprawled casually on his side next to a terrified, cowering little black bird. Now, if I had been thinking rationally, I would have grabbed the camera to capture this moment, but all I could think was, "There is a live bird in my house. I must get it out of here." So I called my husband, who came out of his office and said calmly, "I thought I heard a bird chirping."

Before Pumpkin knew what hit him, my husband grabbed him and locked him in the bathroom. Then he grabbed a Staples paper box, and tried to scoop the bird into it with the box lid. But the bird, only mildly injured, flew away. After a couple more tries, my husband managed to coax the bird into the box, and put the lid on before he could escape. The bird kicked and flailed and generally freaked out until my husband took it outside and set it free.

Bee was very relieved that the bird was still alive, and I was very happy that it was out of my house. Pumpkin, on the other hand, was more than a little disappointed that we ruined his fun. When we let him out of the bathroom, he hurried over to where the bird had been, and sniffed around, but all that remained were a few feathers. Poor boy. He was so proud of himself too.

Cherry Pickin' Time

Last Thursday and Friday, my dear, sweet friend, Renee, came to our house and took the girls home with her so that I could rest. She let them run through the sprinkler, took them to the pool, and generally wore them out, so that when they came home they conked out immediately.

They were the most blissful two days. I actually got some rest, and basically lounged around and did absolutely nothing, which was exactly what I needed. Renee even brought yummy food, including cookies! It was like being on vacation.

I have no idea what I did to deserve a friend like Renee, but whatever it was, I'm very thankful.

Because I was well-rested, I felt much better over the weekend. I only threw up twice, which still sounds bad, but it's actually a major improvement. I even felt well enough to help my husband pick all of the garden produce that was ready, and I spent several hours blanching, peeling, slicing and packaging veggies for the freezer.

My husband planted our Halloween pumpkins, while I made some fresh pickled beets. On my way out to the compost barrel with the beet greens, I found my husband standing under the cherry tree, plucking and eating the juicy sour cherries. He said they were perfectly ripe, so I went down to the basement to fetch some ice cream buckets, and we spent about a half hour searching for the most perfect cherries.

Cakes actually just picked whatever was closest to her, and she felt that it was necessary to shake her bucket each time she put a cherry in, so that the juice splattered all over. When I took her bucket inside and looked through her cherries, it was almost comical. It was like she intentionally picked every brown, wormy, or unripe cherry she could find. I couldn't use a single one! Bee, on the other hand, being the perfectionist that she is, only picked the most perfectly ripe, unblemished cherries.

Between the four of us, we picked an entire gallon of cherries. The picking is the fun part - it's the pitting that everyone dreads. This most hated chore typically falls to me, but fortunately I found a cherry pitter at a garage sale a few years ago, which makes the process go much faster. I've also learned to wear vinyl gloves while pitting, to protect my hands from being stained red for days. The cherry tree is still overloaded with fruit - it produces far more than we could ever possibly use. So....for any of my local readers who are interested in some free, organic pie cherries - you know where to find us. The only stipulation is that you must pick (and pit) them yourself.

Last night, Bee was begging for me to make cherry bars - a favorite summer treat - so I pitted four cups of cherries and made some homemade cherry pie filling.

As soon as the bars came out of the oven, Bee was right there waiting to eat one. Between my husband and the girls, a fourth of the pan was gone before I even got the glaze on. By the way - cherry pie filling isn't a good idea if you have morning sickness. I ate two small bars, and was up half the night, suffering from terrible nausea and killer heartburn. Just thought I'd mention it.