Valen-times

Before I start this, I want to include a disclaimer: in general, I hate infertility blogs. I feel as though the women who write almost develop their identity as being an infertile woman. Not only do I find that depressing, but I also find that unfair to the readers. True, as of right now, I am an infertile woman. But I choose to see myself as so much more. And while I need to write about my feelings for therapeutic reasons, I hope to reveal more of myself than just a baby-obsessed crazy with too much free time...which is only true about myself occasionally. Plus, all of that stuff is such a drag. Maybe I'll throw a joke in at the end.

Valentines is a silly holiday (traditionally celebrated by Jacob and I buying each other the cheesiest, stupidest gifts that Walmart provides), but it's certainly not important enough for one to typically take the day off. So, I find it strange that I'm planted in front of my TV, watching the OWN network, under a pile of heated blankets. Maybe that has something to do with the surgery I had last week...
I know, I know, most of you are saying, "Why is that weird? Isn't Katie unemployed?" Yes, this is true. For all intensive purposes, I declare myself as unemployed. But that doesn't mean I'm not busy. Far from it. (Ok, if you want to hear me talk about jobs and kids, keep reading. But if you already know about all of that, you can skip to the end. This is still the expository part of the blog, so I'm going to spill my guts for the first few days. Hopefully, I'll level off after that.)
 My current "job" is as a nanny for four little kids, ages five (Morgan), two and half (Madeline), two (Abe), and nine months (Marlie Jo). I started this position last May, shortly after I was done working at the preschool for the year. At the time I met them, the girls were four and two, and the baby wasn't yet a month old. I proceeded to spend four days a week, working from 6:45 for 4:30 every day, doing all the things that a single mom would do, learning all about naps, lunches, and most importantly, babies and their many needs. I was there when Morgan turned 5 two weeks ago. I was also there when Marlie's teeth finally poked through her gums. Madeline is madly in love with my husband and talks about him to everyone she knows. Abe knows about ten words, three of them being "Katie," "Jacob," and "Linus." When I was in Annie Get Your Gun this past summer, the girls only referred to me as "Annie Oakley" for a solid two weeks. Now they address me by both my first and last name and tell me they love me every day. They refer to this holiday as "Valen-times" and helped me make cards for Jacob the other day. And for my part, I now own way more children's movies than one would expect. And they make me incredibly happy. And a little wistful.
It's odd; I've really got no marketable skills---I'm not going to act ungrateful or fish for compliments, because I'm aware that I'm talented in other ways, but my skills don't exactly suit traditional job descriptions. My ADD (which you should note is not just a blanket excuse I use for everything---it's extremely real and has an imprint on basically every decision I've made or project I've ever undertaken) really makes it difficult for me to function like other employees. I work twice as hard to seem as adequate as others, so while I excel for a time, I tend to get easily exhausted by jobs. My time management skill are obscene. I'm practically never exactly on time. But, I'm friendly! And I like talking to people! So, since living in Austin, I've worked as a teller at a credit union, from which I got fired---don't think I didn't see that coming! Then I worked as a paraprofessional in the elementary, then art room at a school which serviced the children of a residential behavioral treatment center. Honestly, it was my favorite job, but the stress of it caused my health to decline and I had to quit, and that made me sad. To keep from being unemployed, I immediately took a job as a paraprofessional at a Head Start preschool in a town 30 miles away. It went really well for the first year (although it was part-time), but by the second year, once again my health was getting in the way. The teacher (which I could say a lot about, but need to keep this blog light and happy), accused me of "partying too hard" and "making up my illness," and basically convinced me to quit before I got fired. It was hard to do; I had great relationships with the other paraprofessional and all of the children, and it nearly broke my heart. But when things get bad, you can't subject yourself to misery every day and expect to remain emotionally healthy. Or, that's how I feel.
Right after I quit the preschool, I found out about the cyst. I knew I would need surgery, and I didn't want to finally land the perfect job, then suddenly need time off to recover. Also, my grandfather was in hospice and then later passed away in January, so I just knew it wasn't a good time to beginning another chapter in my work history.  I just needed some time, you know?
But I had a point to this lengthy description of my work history: notice a pattern? Aside from the weird stint in the bank, pretty much everything I've done has been working with children. I came to realize pretty quickly that the few talents I do have--- patience (ok that one had to be cultivated), creativity, singing, art, acting--- are really beneficial in the world of childcare. Regular 9-5 jobs can't hold my attention, but spending an afternoon building a fort in my living room feeds my soul. Then again, who doesn't want a fort in their living room? Forts are amazing.
I'm saying this, because.I feel as though a lot of women my age, in my social and economical situation also want children. However, it's hard to decipher whether they actually want children, or they're just getting pressured from society. I don't think it's fair to expect children from every woman; we're not all made to be mothers. I know for a solid fact that many women have children and don't deserve that right whatsoever. Some girls are so obsessed with having that ideal family that once kids are in the picture, they're completely overwhelmed at the prospect of raising them, that they wake up one day and realize they don't know the little monsters they've created. I'm in no way bashing mothers who balance a full-time career and being a parent. I think moms that are able to balance motherhood and careers are miraculous. Miraculous. I do know that everyone's different, and for me, I would certainly be unable to balance to two things (but we all know my brain doesn't easily do two things at once!) But some of us women are meant to be career people. Some of us are meant to be marine biologists. Some of us, politicians. And yes, a few of us are meant to be mothers. We thrive on it and it keeps our minds and bodies active and healthy. In that same light, some men are meant to be full time dads (because gender stereotypes aren't fun for anyone!), and that's just the way it is. It doesn't make you a bad person to not excel at parenting; it makes you a bad person if you refuse to parent or neglect the children you created (or worse, adopted).
Adding up all of these factors, I'm slowly being convinced that parenthood thing might be the best career move for me. The pieces fit: looking back on my life, I was a perennial babysitter, summer nanny, and I worked at preschool as my college job. I've noticed that me, the habitual clutter-magnet,  am actually cleaner and more organized when I watch the kids---I even clean my floors while they're napping! I just have to get over this road bump and find my baby out there. He or she could be hanging out in my battered ovary, or maybe they're in Eastern Russia. I don't know yet. True, I'm apprehensive of where this journey for Junior is going to take me, but I've got a loving partner and a great support system. I know that once our kid shows up, we'll only be ten times more grateful. I'm just terribly impatient.
I get to go back to the doctor next week and move on with the plan to get me started up on Lupron-Depo-Gobbledy-Goo for about three to six months. Basically, it'll stop my periods and help me to heal. And, it'll probably make me fat. Shit. I hate being fat. I try hard not to be fat. I finally made progress on that front, and now it's ten steps backward. I'm willing to get fat for a baby, but it'll be really hard if this doesn't work. After all of that, I might be on any number of fertility drugs, and hopefully, that'll go smoothly. There's that key word: hope. I like it. Let's log that one away.

So I was thinking: everybody who has kids gets loads of advice and things to teach them. I know about most of that stuff---ABC's, counting, hand/eye coordination, manners---but I'd like to impart something different on my future children, the thing that is a constant for both Jacob and I: the art of being simultaneously nerdy and cool. So, every time I blog, I'm going to alert all of you to a tasty little trivia treat from my own mind. Then, some day, I shall pass these morsels on to my eager young progeny.

Trivia for Feb. 14th, 2012: Did you know that in Mary Shelley's  Frankenstein, the creature is never given a name, yet unlike the way he is portrayed in pop culture, he is extremely eloquent, a creature of supreme loneliness and is painfully angry with his situation. He's still pretty ugly, though. Also, in the original 1818 text, the subtitle was The Modern Prometheus, drawing the comparison between Dr. Frankenstein's desire to overcome death with the classical story of Prometheus stealing fire from the gods and giving it to mankind. Needless to say, it didn't turn out well for either of them.

I prefer horror over mushy lovey stuff. I bet a lot of you knew that (particularly if you went to Luther College or have a vested interest in literature), but I didn't really have the energy to think of anything else. I'll probably inundate you with Beatles trivia later, so enjoy the literary theme for the time being.