A Check-In On My Mondo Beyondo List

is a big fat nothing. I feel like I haven't progressed much as a person. I've made wonderful strides as a parent and an observant Jewish woman. I've been inching forward as a wife. As a person with dreams I'm at a stand still.

Much of it is due to the simple fact that the day is only 24 hours long. Even with an ever-decreasing amount of sleep I still don't have the time to do what I need to much less what I want to. Add in that nasty martyr syndrome many of us have and something as simple as thirty minutes just to play isn't in the cards.

As much as I enjoyed participating in Mondo Beyondo, I've taken it twice and did the Dream Lab once. I feel I can't justify another round. Yet I need something. Perhaps the answer lies in reverting back to my early mornings? I used to sleep from 10:30 pm to 5:00 am. The girls would sleep until 7:00 am and I'd have two hours to myself. They weren't necessarily the most productive hours since I had to be quiet, but it was better than nothing.

Or was it? Is there a way to find some precious time for my own personal growth among the daily chaos? What do I need to succeed and how can my family support that need? Something to think about over Shabbat.

Any ideas?

Mantras

When Aba and I started out on the road to have children I found Mothering magazine, their online forums and attachment parenting. As we wandered down the path to parenthood I pictured the way it would be. A non-invasive pregnancy, homebirth and babymoon. EC, gentle discipline, babywearing, child-led weaning and homeschooling. As we went through  tests and pills and needles and failures the picture in my mind sharpened and became a mantra I clung.

When we finally got pregnant and found out we were having three babies I began to compromise. I would need more ultrasounds and couldn't really survive without a stroller but those core beliefs remained. Then came the failures. Pre-eclampsia, leaving the hospital without my babies, not able to breastfeed, feeling overwhelmed and alone. 

In my despair and guilt over not living up to my vision, I fixated on The Next Baby. It would be perfect. It would be wonderful. All would be exactly as it was supposed to be with The Next Baby. Everyone told me I would have one soon. Within a year. Four kids under two. But it didn't happen. 

It took me a while to climb out of the hole I had dug myself into, but The Next Baby remained in my head. So it would be four under three. It would still be Perfect. But that didn't happen, either. Four under four? Nope. 

Through it all the girls grew and I began to think less of my mantra. There was an early miscarriage and a couple cycles I was certain would be successful, but the need wasn't driving within me. No longer were plans predicated on The Next Baby.

I'm not sure how or when it happened, but I found myself thinking about how we could get a smaller car soon since we don't take the stroller with us much. I worked out trips to Israel without calculating if I could fly when I was pregnant. I started getting rid of those precious things I had saved for The Next Baby. 

Then one day I was sitting in Jerusalem and it ocurred to me that I don't really care about The Next Baby anymore. I'd love to be pregnant again, but I'm done putting life on hold. I'm done wanting.

So I leave the house wearing kitty cat ears and hot pink nail polish. I watch old Batman reruns and play with My Little Pony. I teach my girls to make me coffee while I make them breakfast and then we go for a walk without brushing our hair.

The joy I get from my girls is unmatched by The Next Baby.

And my new mantra? Give them a smile and a laugh!

Miracles

Yesterday I was at a Rosh Chodesh breakfast with a group of ladies from our synagogue.  After her d'var Torah, our illustrous hostess pulled out a pan and some candles. She had a project for us. We were to light a candle and talk about a woman who was miraculous in our eyes. It could be someone we knew or heard about or read about.

You could see the look of panic in all of our eyes as we scrambled to think what to say. 

Other ladies talked about mothers and grandmothers who kept Judaism alive for their family despite hardships, sisters remaining strong through challenges, our Imaot.At first I was going to talk about Miriam whose name I chose to take so many years ago. But it didn't feel right and as I wracked my brain it occured to me that the answer was three miracles. My girls.

For so many years I struggled to have children. There were many times I was convinced I never would. That I would have to be content being an awesome aunt. I was pretty much at the end of my endurance when we started seeing our reproductive endocrinologist. I wasn't sure how many more months of mood swings, hope and heartbreak I could endure. Not to mention the feelings of complete failure as a woman that seeped into every joyful and not-so-joyful moment of my life.

When we got our protocol for that last cycle, I was determined not to fail. Not to endure. Not to survive. I was going to thrive and succeed! I found deep within me a resivoir of faith I thought had been lost. I injected myself with stimulants and asked a nodding acquaintance to give me a shot in the butt. I had blood draw after blood draw and got to know a pair of stirrups more than I wanted. There was even another person in the room when I conceived. 

Through it all I knew it would happen. I thought of how I would tell people. What midwife I would use. What supplies I'd need. 

And then we got the call.

I was pregnant!

A few weeks later we saw three heartbeats and quite a few weeks later I was snuggled at home with the three most miraculous females I've ever had the privilege of knowing.