What I probably shouldn't admit to

I have a secret. I have considered coming clean and posting something about it on numerous occasions, but it's a very taboo subject. In fact, I'm likely to lose many readers (or I would if I had many readers) by admitting this, but I have decided I'm finally going to come clean.

Ok. Here goes. I have a happy marriage.

I'm guessing those of you reading this will fall into one of two camps: The You-Just-Wait Camp or the You-Lying-Liar Camp. Oh wait, there's probably the Honeymooners Camp and maybe, just maybe, there's The Believers Camp. The Believers Camp is shrouded in mystery, composed of those of you who know what I mean because you, too, find yourself mumbling guilt-ridden condolences when friends call bitching about their spouses or sobbing as they go through a divorce. Guilty because you just can't relate.*

*Note: I've had previous crappy relationships, so I can relate, except for the obvious and crucial part - I never married those guys.

Those of you in the Honeymooners Camp - Congrats! Enjoy! But you will be transitioning into another camp, as the Honeymooners Camp is, by definition, temporary. I hope your marriage continues to be fulfilling. I wish I could welcome you to my camp when and if you arrive, but as I implied, members' identities are kept secret for safety reasons.

You see, in our culture it is very much NOT okay to admit to having a happy marriage. But before I get into that, let me provide my marriage stats. I have been with my husband for 14 years (wow, that's crazy to see in writing!), living together for 13, married for nearly 12. We left the Honeymooners Camp long ago. So, those of you in the You-Just-Wait Camp, don't bother ordering me a t-shirt.

Now for the part that members of the You-Lying-Liar Camp are going to jump all over. We were married for 7ish years, maybe 8, before we ever had a fight. It involved one person raising their voice, exactly one cuss word (kind of irrelevant in our house, since we mentor sailors in this fine art), and an apology. I can count on one hand the number of times we have fought. It was almost always over something ridiculous. That first fight was about artichoke dip.

Not once have we waved the Your Family flag in each other's face...and man, one of us has an endless supply of fodder. Our fights have never included the throwing of objects.** There has never been any revenge taken, passive-aggressive or otherwise, after these fights. They all ended in sincere apologies, and that one time when I was pregnant, a lot of crying. And no, fighting is not the sole indicator of a happy marriage. Some people like fighting; R and I do not. We are much more likely to have a heart-to-heart conversation about how we feel. I know, it's so sappy.

**Full disclosure, I believe I once threw a sock on the floor in a very passionate display of exasperation.

I'm not trying to paint a dishonest picture of our relationship. We don't agree on everything, but disagreements are kept friendly. There are times of frustration - especially in heavy traffic in unfamiliar areas - where one of us believes the other is making a mistake. There are even times where we bring up a past failure or disagreement, but most of the time this is done jovially. We poke fun at one another a lot. But it is fun, not the caustic, bitter, teasing that so many people believe is universal in relationships.

I have never once questioned my choice to marry my husband. Not a single time. We are perfect together, though neither of us is perfect - especially me.

Here's my disclaimer: Our relationship does not diminish yours. Honestly, your relationship is unique and so is mine. There is just no way, it seems, of telling people that you are in a happy marriage without it sounding like bragging. There is no way to let people know that it is possible to be with someone in a monogamous, long-term commitment without seeming smug, as if you are looking down on the failed relationships of others. And that's not what I am doing nor why I'm bothering to write this.

I am writing this because my relationship is never represented in the public forum. Instead, there are pieces like this one. That piece is funny and, I am sure, on spot for many. But not me. Instead, it, and so many pieces like it, suggests that there is something wrong with me, or my relationship, or that we are Lying Liars. The truth is simpler than that: our marriage is easy.

OK, I realize I might have crossed a line by saying that, but it's true. Our marriage is easy. It requires some maintenance, sure, mostly since Mr. Man came along with all his needs. A child has created a lot more work, and at times that means that one of us feels like they are doing more than is fair. Yet overall, we remain companions, happy in one another's company. I will go so far as to make some of you roll your eyes by admitting that my husband and I are best friends. Each of us would rather spend time with the other than with anyone else. It's corny, I know, but so are we.

When I hear that all marriages are work, it simply doesn't resonate. And when I read blog posts that say things like "all spouses have, at times, secretly hated one another," I'm shocked. I actually asked R about this, after reading it. Was I missing something? After staring blank faced at me for a moment, he said, "Is that a joke? Why would I hate you?" "Exactly!" I shouted. Because seriously, I've never hated my husband. I've hated things he's done (Why on Earth would he dispose of a bag that was on the counter without first looking inside? Why?!). I've hated things he hasn't done (The toilets don't clean themselves, you know?!). But I've never hated him. We enjoy each other. Authentically and sincerely enjoy one another.

Is there a secret? Well, we are careful to keep our language non-accusational, for there is a big difference between "You never do X" and "Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one doing X." We try to take the other person's perspective. Mostly, I think we try not to take each other for granted. And we continue to have fun. Is that a secret? I don't think so. Certainly not a well guarded one.

I can guarantee that life will be hard sometimes. As spouses (or in any other committed relationship), there will be issues. Money will likely be tight at some point, one of you will do something stupid or expensive or both, the health of someone you love will fail, there will certainly be death. There will be uncertainty and stress in your life, this is 100% for sure. What isn't a guarantee is that the source of these problems will be your marriage.

Still this happy.

My Miscarriage

I guess I should start at the beginning, which was actually several years ago when R and I decided that the optimal number of years apart between our two hypothetical children was two years. I should also remind you that R gets summers off, so having a child at the end of May or beginning of June is optimal so he can get as much newborn time in as possible.*

*Some of you may recall that Mr. Man was SUPPOSED to arrive June 1^st, instead of the 18^th. Kids, ruining plans before they are even born. SMH.

Okay, let’s fast forward to the future. Months before the Great Conceivening (that’s a word now, just go with it) I started to freak the f out because toddler, we has one! And it’s exhausting and how can I possibly keep up with him when I’m pregnant??!? And I promptly started researching all the pros and cons of child spacing and re-rationalizing our decision. We decided that there was a brief window when we would try to get pregnant (aka the Great Conceivening), and if that didn't work we’d wait a year.

And we were smug in the limited likelihood that it would actually happen, cause come on, every couple we knew had trouble getting pregnant the second time. You see where this is going, don’t you?

Yeah, the Great Conceivening was totally successful, like immediately even though we didn't really try very hard because toddler/lack of sleep/company/life/etc.

So then I was pregnant and I was an overtired mess, insisting that we keep going over all the reasons why two years apart was great because I was suddenly like, “Mr. Man is still a baby, WAHHHH!!” Of course, I’m still nursing a couple times a day (which, by the way, OUCH pregnancy-induced nipple sensitivity!), and (surprise surprise) my ramped up hormones didn't help.

And we waited and told no one because we wanted to go to the first doctor check-up before letting anyone know. In the meantime, we rubbed my bloated belly and laughing about my cravings for Indian food and tried to make it real. Like this is really happening. In less than eight months we’ll have a second child. Our last baby.

The morning that we were going to go to the OB I started to have serious cramping and spotting. I think R and I both knew what was going to happen. We’d already been marveling at how the minimal nausea I was feeling passed so quickly. I didn’t seem very hormonal. In small ways, we’d both already voiced some misgivings to one another.

Let me just provide the key events of our visit:

• We did the normal pregnancy/doctor stuff, 
• I was careful to mention the cramping and spotting – hoping for and receiving carefully worded reassurances,
• the nurse couldn’t find a heartbeat, 
• a transvaginal ultrasound administered by a palsied and semi-retired doctor** confirmed that the egg sack was measuring weeks smaller than it should, 
• and we left knowing I was almost certainly going to miscarry.

When we left the office the secretary, who knows us, called “congratulations” across the waiting room. Every face in the room turned to look at us while we exited quickly. Many of them were smiling, surely misinterpreting why R had his arm wrapped protectively around me. I know the office assistant meant well, she didn’t know what was transpiring, but over the next several days that word came back to me. Sometimes with anger, other times with sadness, I thought about how she should know better. So many early pregnancies end the way mine did.

 So our second pregnancy ended in ten painful and messy days. They were filled with rationalizations (financially waiting another year will be really good), avoidance, and a heating pad. R and I talked about why we were disappointed and realized that sharing a second child with those we love ranked highest on the list; an especially poignant sadness as two of our very close friends are both pregnant – actually one just gave birth today. Our children would have been within 6 months of each other and that would have been special. Sadly, I know that there will always be a part of me that looks at these two little boys and wonders how our child would have fit in.

Then, something unexpected happened. I ovulated a short time after the miscarriage and we had to make an immediate decision: should we try for a baby next summer? It was a complicated decision. We’d now rationalized why 2 years apart was optimal and why waiting another year was really for the best. Sure, the baby would be born in July rather than May, but that was still doable based on our work schedules.

Ultimately, we decided to wait. But I mention this decision because it was truly a gift (straight from my uterus). The decision was no longer definitively made for us. We had a say again, which was immensely cathartic.

I wanted to share this story. I know many women who have gone through a similar experience. In fact, both of the women I mentioned who are expecting/just had a baby miscarried in the past. Actually, almost every child-bearing woman I know has miscarried. Some feel deep pain from the experience, some worried they would never have a child, some felt that they were failures, others accepted the event and moved on quickly. There is no right way to feel, and, I suspect, that how each of us feels about the experience changes.

It is amazing that each of us are here; so many people born through an immensely complicated process of splitting cells and pieced together DNA. I’m grateful that, no matter how sad or disappointing it may be at the time, our bodies usually recognize that something is wrong early in the process. That most babies that make it to full term are healthy and complete. 

I just hope that our next attempt at adding to our family has a happy ending.

**There is comedy in every situation if you look for it. Having a doctor enter a room with what is basically an ultrasonic dildo in his continuously shaking hand definitely helps to relieve some of the tension. Though it did not do much to increase my confidence in the procedure as I lay flat on my back covered by a paper robe. 

On Eliminating Negativity

I wrote this post a while back and then thought to myself, "Self, maybe you shouldn't." And I let it sit in my draft box gathering dust along with other topics that I've deemed controversial (as in, likely to get nasty emails about and/or inadvertently make people feel bad). But then I read something that once again made the vein in my neck throb and that crease between my eyebrows sink deep down into the pit of my soul.

So, without further ado, here is a cultural pet peeve of mine.

I read a lot of inspirational quotes and motivational writing telling people to break off their relationships with negative or "toxic" people. Every time I see this suggestion, I want to punch a kitten.*

*Note: For the record, I would never punch a kitten. I wrote that for dramatic effect. No kittens were punched in the creation of this blog post.

Let me begin by pointing out that this view of self protection is very new and very American. Basically, it is the belief that you should prioritize yourself above all others. That you should be happy all the time. No, wait, that you deserve to be happy all the time. Your main focus should be on your own well-being and if others are dragging you down, drop them.

It flies in the face of 150,000 years of human relationships (and pre-human relationships before that). Humans are made to live in groups with other humans, where they do things like raise children together, feed one another, house one another, and drive each other crazy. Together.

Sure, we have developed a subtle set of social norms that reward people for being pleasant (i.e., popularity, attention, etc.) and punish people for being dicks (i.e., gossip, sarcasm, etc.). Yes, in it's most extreme form this punishment can escalate to ostracizing the offender. This is a big punishment. You know what happened to people who were cast out from society back in the day? They died. Because people, by and large, are unable to live without the care and support of other people.

I'm getting a little far afield, so let me jump back to my point. Sometimes you just can't get away from the negative people in your life, or it would be the height of irresponsibility to do so.

I'm not advocating that you get chummy with every jerk out there. But what if the toxic person is your parent or your child? What if that person has a mental illness? You could follow this new, first world rule and drop them anyway. I can certainly understand why you might want to. Toxic people become a mental and emotional weight; a burden that you carry, and it's true that you can only carry so much. BUT, not everyone can lift you up. If everyone else in your life is lifting you up, then take a step back and look closely because you've become the burden.

We need to support each other. If the burden has become too heavy, find someone else to help you carry it. We are all in this together.


Special-Don't-Sue-Me Note: If someone is actually abusive, or if you fear that they may hurt themselves or others, please seek help.

Taking a step back

I'm in a great place right now. Many of my 'someday' goals are becoming a reality. The catch (cause there always is one, isn't there?) is that I really do mean many of my goals, all at once. Opportunities, they have come at me. Falling into my lap. Calling me on the phone. Peaking from behind stacks of paper and waving ghost-like from Word docs.

Some of these goals were things I planned on doing later, as in, after babies. But I've always had a hard time saying no, and when one of your long-term goals sashays in, sits on your lap, and slips its number down your cleavage, what's a girl to do?

I had written out all the details. Suddenly finding myself being over committed when I still want need my focus to be on my baby. Dealing with a lot of stress. Being short on time and patience and knowing that I was the one responsible for all of it. Blah blah blah.

I wrote it all out, read back through it and asked myself, "Self, what, amongst what you wrote, is interesting to anyone but you?"* The answer was not a lot. Yay for the delete button.

*Note: I like to talk to myself all old-timey and sh*t. Doth I sound like a woebegone British rapper, b*tches? Pray tell.

Now that I've wrote out and erased my angst, I'm feeling much better. I think I've gained a bit of perspective. When I step back, I realize that I may be busy, but I am extremely fortunate.

At no previous point in history would I have the options I have today. The enormous strides toward gender equality that have occurred in the past few generations, the amazing leaps in technology, and the gradual awareness our society has gained around the need for flexibility and family-friendly policy have allowed me to do the previously unimaginable: I can continue my career while spending the majority of my time with my child.

I know that many of you don't have the same options/flexibility that I do. That sucks. But it's getting better all the time. And once someone gets on that whole teleporter thing, we'll all be golden.

Until then, I hope you can delete your own angst, take a step back, and see how privileged you are. After all, you're on the internet with enough time that you're squandering it reading my blog. Things can't be that bad, am I right?

Mother's Day can be hard to celebrate

I have very mixed feelings about writing this post. It's something I really want to write. I know I'm not the only one out there who has had this experience. It can be such a relief to find you are not alone, and I'd love to be able to give that to someone. I also know that the internet is never truly anonymous. My luck, this would be the post that went viral and caused hurt feelings and family feuding and I don't want that. That said, I think the scale has finally tipped. Like I said, I want to write this post. So here it is.

My mother is not like most mothers. I am in the minority. My mother is probably not like your mother. And I can't tell you how jealous that makes me at times.

My mother has a mental illness. Not the kind, like bipolar or depression, where there's medication or therapy. I'm not trying to trivialize those issues, because they are very real and can be very devastating but I'll be honest - if my mom simply had depression, I'd be over the moon. Instead, my mother has personality disorders. That's right, more than one.

To oversimplify things, a personality disorder is an ingrained behavioral response; it's part of her personality. It's like how someone is outgoing or shy or bossy. It's a major part of what makes them who they are and it is not something that changes or goes away. There are certainly times, just like any aspect of personality, where it becomes more or less obvious. But because she has several problematic personality traits, there's usually a problem. Sometimes, there's a lot of problems. Sometimes the police are involved. Sometimes I have to find a place for my mom to live. Sometimes I have to intervene with landlords, neighbors, family members. It's often emotionally and financially draining and there is no light at the end of the tunnel and rarely any gratitude.

I'm not going to get into the specifics, which are long and sordid, awkward, and painful. Most of the time, I feel very sorry for my mom. The cards are stacked against her and the world is a frustrating and difficult place to navigate when you can't follow the rules because they are built from standards you can never meet. She desperately wants the close relationships she sees other people having, but she's incapable of maintaining them and unable to understand why.

Our society places a heavy emphasis on loving your mother, of upholding the bond between mother and child. I spent a lot of years alternating between bitter resentment and guilt. I have finally gotten to a place where, most of the time, I can accept that this is not my fault. I can be honest with myself, that I do what I can, that I can't fix this.

Tell someone that your mom is not normal and that person will try to draw connections between their experiences and yours (or what they assume are your experiences). This is a common response, but emotionally it is like telling someone your house burned down, you lost everything you ever owned, and they tell you they understand because they once burned their finger on a match.

So do you try to explain the level of 'not normal' or do you just smile and play along?

I can tell you from experience that either way is painful. The first option is worse. People suggest solutions because they are unable to fathom the permanence of the situation. People shame you. "You are talking about your mother. The woman who gave birth to you. How dare you be so disrespectful." Which is actually preferable to the flat out disbelief I have encountered on the few occasions that I have been completely open about the issue.

I guess what I am trying to say is that there is a lot of isolation. There have been times where I longed for a mom and it seemed so grossly unfair that she was there but could never fulfill that role. I remember being SO jealous of my friend, whose mother was an alcoholic, because, in theory, her mom could stop drinking, but my mom could never stop being herself.

It's hardest around Mother's Day. I read the postings on Facebook, "Repost if you have the best mom..." or "My mom is my best friend..." I'll be honest. That's not my mom. My experiences are probably not like your experiences. And I can't tell you how jealous that makes me.

Pregnancy Scare Resolution

Hi Internet. Let me begin by admitting that I've been keeping something from you. You see, during my 12 week ultrasound something potentially bad was noted.

They saw that my placenta was circumvallate. That means that it wasn't completely connected to the uterine lining. The doctor talked to us, telling us that this could be a problem but we shouldn't worry about it until our next ultrasound because it often resolves itself. Then, he insisted we NOT Google circumvallate.

And because we went to Tacoma the very next day and visited friends, I was distracted and mostly didn't think about it. That lasted for three whole weeks (the distraction not the staying with friends part). Then my inner researcher took over and I did the unthinkable, I looked it up. It turns out that circumvallate placentas are very rare, like less than 1% of all pregnancies, and are associated with preterm labor, restricted fetal growth, and higher rates of placental abruption, which is seriously not good. I went on to look up academic journal articles, which only confirmed what I had found.

Then I stewed.

I wanted to talk to R about what I had discovered, but I didn't want him to freak out. He's prone to worry already. Also, the doctor had told us that the situation might resolve itself. Why make R worry unnecessarily? So I stayed quiet and tried to ignore what I'd found out.

We had our 20 week ultrasound yesterday and situation resolved! Everything is looking fabulous. The placenta is completely attached and fine. The baby is growing and has actually moved from the 43rd percentile in length to the 53rd (Whoa baby! Wait to grow huge until mommy has you out of there!).

I wanted to write about this because I know other women are being told the same news I was at 12 weeks. It's scary. It's hard not to freak out. There's not a lot of information out there and the chat sites are mainly limited to scared mommies who have just been told that they are circumvallate...no follow ups to ease others' minds.

So mommies, call down. This situation doesn't necessarily spell disaster. Follow your doctor's instructions and know that plenty of women with this diagnosis go on to have beautiful, perfect babies. I'm rooting for you.

With love,
Call Me Jo

Fa La La La LaAAHH!

It's that time of year again. Time to evaluate your life and be thankful for what you have. My life has been fairly easy - not born into wealth easy, mind you, but it could certainly have been worse.

My family had little money, but I did still have a family. It wasn't perfect and it wasn't always peaceful, but we had a house to live in and food to eat. We learned to ask for little and be happy with what we had. That was harder to do in my teen years, but then again what isn't harder during adolescence? Adolescence needs punched in the face, but I digress.

I made some very poor choices early on in my romantic life. I allowed myself to be treated badly and I internalized that treatment. BUT, and here's the fabulous part, I actually learned from my mistakes. I'm not bragging. It literally took years of repeat lessons before I caught on. However, I found a great guy who is kind, moral-minded, and honest. I married him and we've been living happily ever after.

I used some of my basic character flaws (specifically stubbornness and a jaw-dropping ability to get over things) to my advantage. I refused to give in and I kept going against a number of personal indignities and I got my PhD. My adviser, Dr. D., is a real piece of shit work. He does have his good points, they are just hard to find under all the conceit, narcissism, unanticipated temper tantrums, and creepy sexual soliloquies. But I soldiered on, reminding myself that I would gain the most satisfaction in succeeding despite him. It took years for me to let go of (most) resent and hostility that I feel toward that man. Yet I think I'm finally in a place where I could smile in his face rather than using my fist. Sometimes that feels better. Like that time I met my husband's ex, the one who had cheated on him and basically stomped on his heart, and rather than acting catty, I was SO nice. She was completely confused. My husband still laughs about it.*

*That's a tip kids. Confuse your enemies with kindness.

I would never consider myself to be wise, neither would anyone who knows me, but I have learned a lot. These are the important things:

• Some things cannot be changed. 
• Work hard to remember why the people you love in your life are special and treat them accordingly.
• Just because something is true does not mean it has to be said. If it is going to hurt someone, even if it feels justified, decide if you want to be responsible for that wound.
• Being the bigger person rarely feels good but it often means you can put the problem behind you.
• Find reasons to laugh. Often.
• Own up to your mistakes.
• Go outside.
• Share your good fortune with those who need it: your money, your time, your talents, etc.

There. I think I've drained all the holiday-Sunday-afternoon-TV-special right out of me. 

I SO Shouldn't Be Writing This

Okay, Internet, this is a secret. I'm seriously. Tell no one.

I took a pregnancy test this morning and it says we are having a baby! Shhhh *looks around furtively*, remember it's a secret. Jump up and down as quietly as possible.

Our plan is not to tell anyone until the end of the first trimester. That didn't seem like very long - it's already 1/3 of the way over and I just found out about it - but now that it's real I want to tell everyone. Except for that part of me that remembers consoling two different friends when they had miscarriages and how people kept asking them about the baby for months and months and they would have to disclose all that pain and disappointment again and again and AHHH! Tell no one! Swear to me that this secret stays between you, me, my husband, and the two billion people with Internet access. Swear!

For now, the plan is to take the other two pregnancy tests and then make an appointment with my doctor. Reread all the stuff about pregnancy, healthy eating, and exercise. Then keep making my husband touch my belly and giggling like crazy.

I think I can do it.

Mare-wage (said in the voice of the priest on Princess Bride)

I just read a piece on Huffpost about marriage, or more specifically, why marriage should be eliminated. Take a moment to think about how you feel about the topic before reading on, because I'm not trying to change anyone's point of view; I'd rather you decide for yourself before I get all pedantic.

In this piece, the author makes a number of sweeping generalizations, ultimately honing in on the patriarchy and government meddling that marriage represents. She also strikes out at those who get married for religious reasons and casts even more gloom over those who are NOT religious and got married anyway (because that blindly supports the government meddling and patriarchy).

Now, as I've said before, I'm not religious. Not even a tiny bit. But I am married, and happily so. Here's why: I wanted to make a pledge, before all the people who were important to me, that R and I were going forward as partners, committed to each other and the life we are making together. Sure, getting a piece of paper from the state of Wyoming (in R's hometown where we had the ceremony) has simplified our taxes, financial dealings, and medical issues; yes, that is because the government has placed a special status on 'married' that makes those factors relevant. And yes, the historical foundations of marriage has some serious patriarchal roots. BUT (and this but is big enough to satisfy Sir Mix-a-Lot), we went into our marriage as equal partners. We wrote our vows, short as they were, to reflect the meaning that our union had. There was no mention of obeying. No one paid for our wedding but us; there was no dowry.

Our marriage was a commitment we made to each other. Would our lives be different without the legal overlay? Maybe. Maybe not. We are very good for one another and very happy. We were both eager to make our union official in a formal and very legally binding sense because it reflected how we felt. We stood up in front of a judge, our family, and our friends and essentially said that we were, from here on out, a monogamous couple who would share our joy, pain, hardships, and strength together for as long as we both still lived. And we meant it.

So why does that hurt anyone? The only reason that I can see is that not everyone is allowed to get married. Since I am very vocally opposed to withholding equal rights from anyone, and I firmly believe that soon all people, regardless of gender and sexual assignment, will soon have that right, I'm going to set that issue aside. Afterall, it wasn't that long ago that R and I would have been refused a non-religious ceremony. Equality is slowly making ground, as many changing state laws demonstrate. Thus, soon everyone will have the opportunity to make this kind of commitment and be able to obtain the legal benefits it provides. I think it's quite reasonable to require this level of commitment to have access to these benefits - otherwise, my ex-boyfriend would have been able to access my accounts, destroy my credit, or make end-of-life decisions for me (shudder).

As for the patriarchal foundations of marriage, I simply offer this little tidbit: monogamy was also a patriarchal notion. Granted, certain religious philosophers twisted the meaning a bit, giving the female role in the equation considerably more weight. That doesn't change the fact that the only known matriarchal societies had much looser (and sometimes no) notions of committed relationships. If the patriarchal line isn't important, than neither is monogamy.

Finally, does the fact that so many marriages end in divorce cheapen the commitment that R and I have made? That is like asking if knowing other people lie eliminates my belief in honesty.