Volun-Told

Colin, being a bad ass first grader now, has joined Cub Scouts. The pack is brand new, this is the first year. We're trying to get things off the ground and Colin loves being a part of it. He looks forward to it every week and was obscenely quick at learning the Oath, handshake, laws, Pledge of Allegiance, and the other required learning. It is a neat group of kids and provides fun, adventure, companionship, blah blah blah.

It's yet another after school activity that requires me to drive the kids somewhere and sit to the side, bored out of my mind, while my kids have fun and be enriched.

It's not that I don't want them to be enriched, obviously I do. That's why I sign them up and pay for all this stuff. But I get bitter that, after all this time and hard work to be a grown up and earn enough money to afford to enrich my kids, why don't I get to be enriched too?

Not that I don't appreciate the friendships I make with the other parents, but it's hard to maintain those relationships. Everyone is busy with their own families and lives, so often it is a temporary friendship out of convenience that quickly dissolves once the activity has ended. At least that's how it is for us. Every time.

It used to be that the kids needed me to watch them for encouragement or discipline, but now they mostly take care of themselves and, often, will behave worse if I'm paying attention. So I think that there should be some Away From the Action activity for parents of these kids. Let the kids have fun and be enriched/exercised/educated/etc and let the parents grow a little too.

Which brings me back to Cub Scouts.

As I said, the pack is in its infancy and, as a result, all the parents who showed up to the first meeting were forced to volunteer (what?) in order for the group to actually form. I am never availble to go to anything, ever. Except that one day. THAT ONE DAY when everyone present had to pick a volunteer assignment. And so I am honored to tell you that I am the new Advancement Chair for Pack 72.

Turns out it is exactly what I needed. Last night we met for our first committee meeting to plan out the first few months. We met at a new start up place and planned, schemed, and laughed over beers. We talked about the kids but also about the parents. We talked about the families and how they could all be involved, not just the elementary school boys. Topics for meetings were discussed and included safety, religion, culture, exploration, adventure, and self-awareness, all for the whole family.

I know part of this is the actual structure of the Cub Scouts, something I had no idea about. But a lot of it is also the small, fun group of parents who appreciated the opportunity to get out of the house, away from the kids, act like an adult, but put forth effort to contribute to and better the activity for their children.

Turns out, I love this extra-curricular activity and can't wait for this year! The kids will love it, but, if all goes as planned, so will the families and so will I.

Re-introductions

It has been four years since you've seen my kids and you would NOT EVEN BELIEVE how big and old and grown up they are. Let me re-introduce you! Have a seat friends, the flood gate of kid stories is opening.

Colin, who was once The Turnip.

Colin is now 6, almost 7, and in the first grade. He reads and writes, loves to be outside, and makes friends easily. Already he is an impressively loyal and trustworthy kid and his friends love him. Even older kids want to be with him because he is genuinely happy, positive, creative, and fun.

The kid is one of the most sensitive people I have ever known. When he started kindergarten, he was so upset by being separated from Caroline that he asked his teacher to call the day care several times a day to check on her. It was almost debilitating, so we switched Caroline to the preschool at Colin's school. Since then, he has flourished and it's incredible to watch.

He rides a gigantic bike, he begs for bike rides daily, and can ride circles around the rest of us. It is somewhat embarrassing, actually.

If I had to predict his future, I would guess a social worker. He likes to take care of people and make sure everyone's okay. Constantly checking on people and bringing them stuff to make them comfortable. When he's not absolutely losing his marbles because of how sensitive he is, the kid is an absolute joy of a human being.

Caroline, who was once The Secret Child.

Now 4, Caroline is, by all accounts of anyone who meets her, awesome. Truly, in the same way that masses adore celebrities even when they're poorly behaved and make incredibly bad decisions. Caroline has this way of attracting a crowd, wooing them into her graces, and then terrifically abusing her power.

She is smarter than I know what to do with and more clever than is fair. Once, when she asked about where the rain came from, I told her about evaporation and precipitation, getting all science geeky about it. She took it all in, paused to consider it, and then told me, "Mommy, I don't think you know what you're talking about."

I remember worrying about how I would teach a baby girl to respect herself, to stand up for herself in this world, but it turns out I didn't need to worry about it. The girl could teach a course on self-respect and self-defense. I would pay to go. Recently she was sent home from school with a report of getting into a fight. Apparently she and a little friend (a boy) got into an argument. The boy got angry and started yelling at Caroline, getting right up in her face. According to the teacher, Caroline got a terrifying look on her face, said "You are not being respectful to me and I don't appreciate it."

If that were it, I would throw her a party. However, she then grabbed a Mason jar full of water and clocked him.

If I had to predict her future, I am going to guess either President of the United States or assassin. Not sure which yet, and not sure which is worse, but either way, we are in trouble with this one.

We are different than the last time you saw us, but I can't wait for you to get to know us again!

Awakening

It has been a long, long time since I've been here.

I read through my last few posts and it was like reading someone else's writing, glimpsing into a different family, reading a blog written by an acquaintance. When I last visited here, I was a new doctor, still learning how to work the computers and OR instruments. My kids were babies and, while I can feel the fatigue in the words written, the world was still sparkly and new.

And don't worry, the world is still wondrous and beautiful, but the sparkle has changed.

I finished residency a few months ago. Shortly following graduation I took the first part of the OB/GYN Board Exam, which gives the coveted "board certified" title. The push to the end of residency was on a road made of textbooks, study guides, and highlighters for this exam, which I took on a rainy Monday at the end of June.

And then it was all over and I had six weeks of vacation, during which time I relearned how to sleep and read books and hang out with friends and family like a normal person. While Patrick still worked quite a bit, the kids and I were inseparable, making messes and memories in a way we had never, ever done before. Weeks stretched on and we lounged in the luxury of time and love. It was not until the last few weeks that I finally felt awake again.

The last four years were incredibly difficult. There is no way to describe the level of exhaustion following residency. Profound, pervasive, endless exhaustion, which seeped into every aspect of my life. There is no denying that I gave my best at work and mostly left it there. What little was left was earmarked for the children to allay my fears of incompetence as a parent and that left nothing for myself or for Patrick. While I neglected friends and ignored my family along this journey, it was my marriage that suffered most. It is nothing short of a miracle that we are still married. It may be because we were too busy to bother separating.

As I recovered, my sisters said, "It's like we haven't seen you in years" and my kids remarked more than once "Mommy, you've never been this fun before", which is at once exhilarating to be BACK but also heartbreaking that I subjected everyone to this, including myself.

I have never once regretted my decision to go into medicine, but I often questioned my motives. Was it for equal respect as my husband and father? Am I trying to prove my competence, intelligence, worth? If so, to whom? With physicians in my family, I knew how hard this would be, and yet it was so much harder than I could have imagined.

Not to say that the last few years were miserable, not at all. I love my work and it makes me truly happy, which carries over into my mood at home. The joy I feel with my kids (despite tantrums and fights and the usual family drama) is relatively unaffected by my exhaustion and occasionally helped to refill my draining emotional reservoir. For this, I am eternally grateful. People often said, "I don't know how you do it, being a doctor and a mom!" but I don't think I could have made it without them.

Last week the kids started school. Colin is now 6 and in the first grade. Caroline is 4 and in preschool at the same school, one that we love. After getting them settled, my grown up job started this week. I am a licensed, credentialed, actual physician, my friends. I have my own office, an administrative assistant, and OR pick sheets. People are interested in my opinion and want my involvement in their projects.

Somehow, when I wasn't looking, I grew up.

After my summer vacation, I am ready to be who I really am again. I am obligated to be the best I can be, not just to myself but mostly to those who put up with me through this journey, who believed I could do it, who waited for me to come out the other side.

This blog has been a source of joy, confidence, and opportunity for me. Residency was too overwhelming to write about, but I am ready again. I promise ridiculous stories and lighthearted jabs and too many photos of my kids in the near future, but I needed to tell this story first to break the silence.

Gratitude: Fodder for Stories

Halloween is arguably the most kid-centric holiday in existence (Christmas is fun for everyone, New Years is for adults, Easter is... not really that "fun" in the classic sense.) and I tragically had to miss Trick or Treating. Owing to my current nights rotation, I left for work just as the kids were getting home from school and thinking about getting dressed up. I love Halloween and was feeling pretty sorry for myself that I had to miss it, both for myself and for the kids.

But let me back up and tell this story properly.

For months, Colin has not wavered in his desires and plans to be a Digger for Halloween, specifically, a Giant Excavator. I tried to sell him on the idea of being a construction worker but he was unswayed.

"THE DIGGER, Mommy. I'm going to be THE DIGGER."

Who am I do deny someone so determined their very dearest wish?

And so, planning commenced for an elaborate, functional Digger costume. A sure to be classic, it was constructed from several cardboard boxes which were spray painted yellow and assembled over the course of a few weeks. It did indeed have a working Digger arm, at least in theory.

"MOMMY! THE DIGGER ARM IS BENDING AND MY DIGGER IS SCOOPING THE WRONG WAY!"

Drama is inherent in the creation of any good Halloween costume, and Colin is at the age where everything is spoken in CAPITAL LETTERS and WITH GREAT URGENCY, but the arm did bend a bit so I employed some resourcefulness and duct taped the hell out of that arm. Eventually I taped some chopsticks to the inner aspect of the arm, which stabilized it enough for Colin's satisfaction.

Caroline is a baby, for all intents and purposes, and so does not know what Halloween is, nor is she permitted to eat any of the candy. She does not care for costumes or any of that silliness, as she is a very serious child, prone to introspection and reading books alone. If it were up to her, she probably would have stayed home with her book pile and Beloved Purple Hippo. But it wasn't up to her, so she was dressed up as a Construction Barrel to accompany her brother.

Her costume was much simpler: dressed in all orange, including an orange tutu provided by Aunt Jenny, she was wrapped in white duct tape (This Halloween brought to you by duct tape!) and given a small toy construction barrel to hold up as an example whenever anyone asked her what she was. Her hair was styled such that she had a pony tail sticking straight out of her head. It was, truly, adorable. She was several times mistaken for Nemo, to which I replied that obviously she wasn't Nemo, since I hadn't duct taped on of her arms down to give her a lucky fin. An obvious and clear difference between a construction barrel and a cartoon fish.

We went to a Trunk or Treat on Sunday in these costumes and they went over very well. Initially Colin had some difficulty walking in his Digger costume, but then a very cute little princess with long blonde hair said, "Look at that awesome costume! He's a construction machine! Cool!" and Colin suddenly had no difficulty in walking. He stood up a little straighter and suddenly loved his costume. (I was pleased to hear this comment as well, in all honesty.) Everyone loved the Digger and sidekick Barrel/Nemo. They made a killing in candy.

Then came Wednesday, Halloween. School had a parade in which all of the kids wore their costumes and visited each other's rooms in exchange for candy. Parents were invited and since I'm working at night and only doing something useless like sleeping during the day, I was not going to miss it. I darted home after work in the morning and collected the kids and their costumes. Caroline wasn't going to be with Colin, so her costume was converted from the Barrel/Nemo to Colin's old Candy Corn.

Colin, however, could not be dissuaded from wearing the Digger to school. I tried various tactics to get him to wear some dress up clothes that would let him run around like normal (eg: train conductor, chef, santa's helper, or any of the other dozens of dress up clothes that we have on hand) but he would have none of it.

"NO, I'M A DIGGER, MOMMY. I've never wanted to be anything so much in my LIFE."

I couldn't argue with that logic, could you? 

(There is a side story here in which I discover that I am stranded at home without car seats for the kids because my neighbor, who was not at home, had them to pick the kids up after school. I ended up borrowing a friends car who has similarly aged kids to even get to school. Then I started taking pictures with my camera, only to discover that it had neither a battery nor a memory card. This day was something else, I tell you.)

I dragged that thing into school and all the teachers and other parents looked at me with odd looks. I really wanted to believe it was envy: look at that awesome costume! And she's in scrubs too, wow, how does she do it? Instead, however, I'm pretty sure it was more: pitiful woman. That costume is ridiculous and she looks like she hasn't showered or slept. It's so sad when people live vicariously through their kids. And scrubs? What a dumb costume. 

Once the parade started, Caroline would have no part of the Candy Corn or any other costume. Which is fine, whatever. Right? Not according to Colin, who kept was watching for Caroline and kept running out of his room to attack Caroline from behind.

"NO, CAROLINE! You have to wear your COSTUME! It's the only way to get CANDY!"

And he would shove it back over her head, covering her face. She would flail her arms and scream in protest, and suddenly her costume and character became Haunted Zombie Candy Corn.

Colin's turn to parade around brought a new struggle. Kids everywhere were having meltdowns in the middle of the hallway, with other kids just stepping over them. A screaming Dinosaur here, a crying Elephant there, here is a Cupcake with tears the size of cherries on top. I looked over at one point to see Spiderman lying spread eagle on the floor sobbing and the teacher standing over him. He was completely unmoved by her pleas of "Spidermans don't cry!"

The halls at school are not exactly huge, and when filled with a bunch of small children in itchy, poorly sized, uncomfortable clothes, it can be hazardous for even the most careful Digger. Every time Colin turned around, he would take out some poor one year old Monkey child with his Digger arm. He would back away from the stunned kid only to run over a little Captain America. The more flustered he got, the more dangerous he became.

About ten minutes in, he looked up at me and said, "Mommy, I am SO DONE with this costume." I reminded him that he'd just told Caroline that it was the only way to get candy and he shrugged it off, marching ahead and collecting candy anyway. I trailed behind with the sad, forsaken Digger.

 After school, he sat at the counter as I readied for work and tried to talk up Trick or Treating.

"It's so fun!" I promised, "everyone's dressed up and you get to meet new people and get candy!"

He looked tired, perhaps worn out from his vast destructive Digger path at school. "Mommy, I don't want to wear my Digger. I don't like it anymore. I just want to be Normal Colin."

I should have anticipated this. I looked at the clock. 5:25pm. My shift starts at 6pm. Nothing like a deadline!

"How about a chef?" I said, waggling the dress up clothes at him. Nope.

"Fireman? Doctor? Leprechaun?"

His eyes lit up. I froze. God, what had I done? I held in my hands a green top hat with four-leaf clovers around it left over from St. Patrick's day of the days when that was a really fun night at a bar. Where had my brain come up with Leprechaun? Regardless, that's what it was going to be, by God.

"MOMMY. I have never wanted to be ANYTHING so much as a lepa... lep... what is it again?"

So, in the five remaining minutes before leaving for work, we threw together a Leprechaun outfit and he was thrilled, Best Thing Ever. Caroline went as the Candy Corn but quickly transformed into the Sleeping Orange and Yellow Rock on her daddy's shoulder. They had a blast, going out with friends. Colin made friends with two more little girls dressed as princesses, who were quite enamored with him. Caroline slept well. Patrick ate a ton of candy.

I wish I had more photographic bragging rights for this phase of Halloween than this picture of Patrick (who was costumed only in an orange fleece), but Patrick reported to me later that night as we spoke on the phone, "Sorry, we were just having too much fun to take any pictures."

And with that, I lay Halloween 2012 to rest in a dirty, dusty grave. We'll try again next year.

Moving on Up

Shortly after I wrote my last post, I started on my nights rotation, a six week block of time during which I worked 14 hour shifts five days a week overnight. It was an incredible experience; since I did this rotation last of the year, I was the most prepared, the most confident I could have been. I knew what I was doing a lot of the time, which is not a feeling an intern experiences all that often. I felt comfortable with my hands and knowledge, familiar with the patients, and I became friends with and earned the trust of the nurses. It was lovely and I felt like I rocked it. During this block alone, I performed 76 vaginal deliveries, more than doubling my total for the year.

Simultaneously, I didn't check my email for approximately six weeks, nor did I see the sun, brush my hair, or speak to my mother (sorry, mom! I'm alive!). I saw my children for minutes at a time, and only then when I was either waking from a too-short sleep during the day or just before they hurried off to school and I collapsed into bed. Also during this time frame was my seven year wedding anniversary, father's day, and Patrick's birthday. I am ashamed thinking about how little attention I paid to these, and to the man who cared for me and my children during this block.

Caroline had a birthday too, can you believe that? She turned one. ONE, fortheloveofpete. She's huge, she's almost walking (three steps at a time!), she's signing her preferences, and she love love loves her brother. She's beautiful and wonderful and while I was on nights I missed her so much it hurt.







Colin is ENORMOUS. He has these new shoes that he says make him jump better but I think he is just using that as an excuse to show off how coordinated and grown up he is. He has a new bike with training wheels that he rides up and down the street with the big kids, no problem at all keeping up.  During the time I was working overnight, Patrick took them to visit his parents and he took Colin to a car show. They participated in a pinewood derby and Colin won a (participant) trophy which he loves passionately and sleeps with every night.








Patrick started his fellowship in renal (kidneys, blech but yay for him!), I moved up in the academic world and am now a second year, and we are all feeling a little beat up. But happy, which, in the end, is the goal. It's just so hard when you get to happy by slogging through such exhaustion and guilt and pain and loneliness. It's hard work to be happy, did you know?

I hope you're happy. I've missed writing here and hearing from you. Let me know how you are.

Update from the Front

Caroline crawls now. She pulls herself along with the strength of a woman with a mission and gets herself into fabulously perplexing situations. Nothing makes her happier than getting herself stuck under the table or smashed behind the couch. Squeals and peals and laughter, which all inevitably evolve into shrieks and screams and pleas for rescue. Once rescued, she returns to her previous adventures, scouring the floor for things that might be lethal so that she may shove them in her mouth before someone stops her.

Colin is endlessly fascinated by Caroline. He wants to be as close as humanly possible at all times. Closer. He bends over her and grins right into her face, giggling and saying in a sing-song voice "Caroline-y!" She loves it, and grabs his face to pull his nose into her still toothless mouth. He protests, "Yuck, Caroline-y! That's my nose!" but he doesn't mean it. What he means is "You're the best thing ever" and she laughs and drools and shuts her eyes tight, which, of course, means "No, you are."

**

It recently occurred to us that we are in our 14th year of togetherness. Fourteen years of tolerating each other, even seeking each other out, putting up with all the ridiculous things that people do to each other. The last few years have been more difficult to keep up with the ins and outs of a relationship, what with the careers and the kids and the, I don't know, life, so we decided to make an effort to spend more time together, away from the children. We spent a night away, bought tickets to see an opera, and stayed in a hotel. We got take out Thai food and went back to the hotel after the show instead of going out for drinks (what? they had free cookies in the lobby.). It may not have been the most adventurous weekend away, but it was well deserved, much appreciated, and so, so fun. The opera was good, too, as an added bonus.

**

Work. Work Work Work. Work times a million.

When I took my maternity leave at the beginning of this academic year, I did so knowing that it would eat up all of my vacation. That even included any time off at Christmas or New Year's. I took unpaid leave then so that I could have a short time with my family, but aside from those few days, I haven't had more than two days off in a row since July, and I won't until probably September. That is a LOOOOOOONG time, for anyone in any place in their life, but to do that your intern year? It's crazy, completely insane. It's painful and horrible and awful.

What I'm saying is: I could really use a vacation.

I'm rotating on Internal Medicine right now and realizing that I really, really made the right choice in what to do with my life. Every day I go to work and try to fix people's problems. I try to fix their blood pressure or their diabetes or their bad back or their bad heart. I try to talk them into quitting smoking or eating better or taking their medicines. I slave over the computer and write novels into people's electronic medical records, only to have the consulting services ignore my notes and sign off on complex patients, leaving me to fend for myself - and the patient - alone. The problem is that you can't fix anything! You can't deliver their baby that's making their blood pressure high - there is no baby! It's a dude, first, and second, his blood pressure is from years and years of poor diet and no exercise, not a placenta that doesn't work. You can't simply take the patient to the OR to fix their heart that doesn't work as well as it should. You can't do a quick note, you can't make rounds quickly, you can't just stop in and talk to a patient. Everything is inordinately complicated and has to involve seven different services not to mention the patient's grandmother and cousin and neighbor two doors down. NOTHING EVER HAPPENS OR GETS BETTER.

I can't wait to get back to the OR and Labor and Delivery and my relatively healthy young women.

**

I've started running. I went one day on a whim and something clicked in my brain and I haven't been able to stop running since. I've always hated running, hated it. But it was nice outside one day and the kids were out with Patrick and this idea popped into my head. It's a nice day for a run, my brain mentioned, and I thought, Hmm. Yes, it is, isn't it. And so I strapped on some old tennies and went for a run. I did run-walk intervals so I didn't die, which was clever on my part but was in no way my idea, and afterward I had lots of energy and didn't need to collapse on the grass. My brain said, Well, that was just lovely, wasn't it? So refreshing. I took a mental tour of my body and noticed that I felt great, completely fantastic. And so, after a few more runs, I thought, My goodness, I'm turning into one of those odd people who run. For fun. Then I bought new shoes and now I love it even more. I think about when I'm going to run next during the day. When I get home from a run, I think through it in my head: how was my form, where does my body hurt or feel sore, what was challenging about that run or route, what was good about it?

I miss yoga still and try to stretch and stay flexible, but at this moment in my life, I need the fresh air, the movement, the wind. It is inexplicably restorative to go move outside, alone. Just me and my shoes and sometimes some music. There is this lightness I feel when I'm about halfway through a run that I never feel elsewhere, a lightness in my chest that lifts me up out of the frustrations of the day and lets me see the miracles of my life. I see that even just a dose or two of caring is good for these medicine patients. I see the joy in my children - a joy that comes from each other and makes my stomach burn with love. I see myself growing up and falling in love with my life again every day.

Dear Colin

Dear Colin,

Your life has been completely turned upside down the last six months and while I'm not going to apologize for it, I do want to applaud you and tell you that you are a peach. You handled all the turmoil and stress of a new baby as if you were expecting this all along, just waiting for her to show up. You continue to deal with your parents both working all hours of the day and night, and you and your sister floating back and forth between various friends and family members, like you scheduled this whole thing yourself. With the exception of brushing your teeth before bed, you conduct your life with such grace and poise and exuberant joy that I find myself envious. Where did you learn to be this put together? I doubt it was from me, and I know for a fact it wasn't from your father.

The reason I'm not going to apologize for doing this to you and your sister is complicated. You and I talk a lot about how important words are, and how to choose the right ones, so I'm going to try to do that now.

You and Caroline are the highlight of my day, the brightest, happiest parts of my life. Your dad feels the same way. The littlest details of your lives are of the utmost interest and importance to us, and we clamor to hear them when we convene over dinner. But even though you and Caroline are the most important things to us, your daddy and I both need other things in our lives, too. We need to work, which is a concept you are starting to play with. You often tell me, "Mommy, I'm going to work now! I'm going to have a great day at work today!" and I hope you say that because that is the impression that your daddy and I give you about our work. We work to make ourselves better, to make other people better, to make each other better. And, hopefully, to make you and Caroline better too. We work so that we can buy food and clothes and toy cars, of course, but we also love our work. We love the people at work and what we do at work and we love to be at work. That is true, but I don't want you or Caroline to ever think that because we love to be at work means that we don't love to be with you. We LOVE to be with you, too, and it's okay to love both.

Most days, you are excited to go to school. Your friends are there and you know your way around the games and the books. You have a routine that makes you comfortable and a chair with your name on the back. "C O L I N," you tell me proudly and you point out the letters. You have learned so much there, and you feel like you belong. I hope you can always find a place that pushes you to grow, to learn, to become more than what you were when you got there. A place where you feel you belong. I want you to have that away from our home and family, and then to leave that place, come home and embrace your family, eager to share what you've learned and to love each other in your home.

It isn't always easy, and sometimes things fall apart a little bit. The last few weeks have been really busy for our family. While I've tried to keep things as relaxed and joyful at home as usual, I don't think it was successful, and you started having accidents at school. I took this as a personal, secret message that I needed to pay attention, to step it up, to make sure you and Caroline knew how much you are adored around here. I don't know if that is really what's going on, but thanks for the reminder anyway. It won't be that last time you'll have to set me straight in all likelihood, but know that I'll be listening when you do.

Today I dropped you off at school and reminded you to use the potty. You wrapped your not-so-little arms around my neck and said, "I will, Mommy. I'm going to make you so happy!" Having no words, I buried my face in your hair and squeezed you until you complained and wriggled away from me to build a tower out of blocks and change the world.

You make my heart sing, little man.

With love,
Mommy

New Year

Happy New Year! Guess what one of my resolutions is this year?

Residency is trucking along relentlessly and so does everything else. The kids are getting older by the second, holidays have come and gone, and I am living and breathing work. I can't believe how different I feel in just a few months, though I don't know if my confidence is premature and based only on blind hope that I am doing the right thing (likely). Tomorrow starts my first off-service rotation (emergency room medicine), which means that it's unlikely I'll see a pregnant patient again for more than a month. I am thrilled at how sad this makes me. I worried that I would tire of obstetrics, but I just find it more and more fascinating and challenging as I get deeper into it.

That being said, ER should be fun. If nothing else, there are shifts that are 7am-4pm. SEVEN TO FOUR. I've usually seen ten patients by 7am, and leaving at 4pm seems like a crime, no matter what time you start the day. It's going to be great.

I was so lucky to have a few days off for the holidays, and even more lucky that those days included Christmas. We did a good bit of local traveling, but saw family and friends that, during a busy month in residency, might as well live on the moon. We are still paying for how hard we pushed the kids - poor things, we tried to convince them to nap in the car everyday, since we were constantly running from one place to another. They made up for it in the tremendous love they encountered at every turn (not to mention loot, spoiled rotten children).

COLIN

Have I told you? HE POOPS IN THE POTTY. Thank the stars, he just up and decided to do it one day and has never looked back. Not an accident, sleeping in Big Kid Underwear, the whole deal, can you believe it? It's the best Christmas gift ever. He did it first at school, a day I happened to pick him up. Normally, when I ask how his day was, he tosses a "Fine" over his shoulder and I have to tackle him to the ground to get anything out of him. This day, however, he says, still nonchalantly, "I pooped in the potty today." In fact I thought I had misheard, that my wildest hope had manifested as hearing things. But then he sent up to me the proudest, most quietly excited look, his eyes squinty with the breadth of his smile. I made a complete scene, I'll have you know. The whole building knew what had happened that day.



Interestingly, all the bribes I offered in my desperation were not at all lost on him, and he reminded me of his promised winnings as we walked to the car that night. "I get my MaiMai back, and a giant truck, and a cupcake, and a pack of stickers..." It was a good lesson about bribery (for both of us, unfortunately).



Colin was thoroughly confused by Santa this year. He was completely into the idea of getting presents, but many of the details were lost on him. At one point, I was informed that Santa rides flying dogs to people's houses, as well as that Santa would come every day until Colin's birthday came around again. This confusion was likely not aided by Patrick, who was equally puzzled. One day, in front of our children as well as our two nephews, said, "Wait, who does the stockings? Us or Santa?" He's lucky to be alive, I think. The Baby Mama is a fierce defender of Santa. Anyway, I don't know what I'll do with the two of them.







Luckily, Santa did visit our house, and left all kinds of goodies for everyone. Colin cleaned up the most, but he was most helpful in opening everyone else's presents as well. Caroline especially, given that she is mostly unable to coordinate tearing the paper off the package. The natural disaster left behind Christmas  morning reminded me of so many Christmas mornings growing up, when my sisters and I raced down the steps and dove into a pile of presents. Colin barely stopped to look at his gifts, there were so many to get to. There were a few that stopped him in his tracks, though. 





After Christmas at our house, we traveled south to a cabin on a farm to celebrate with my mother, sisters, and our nephews. Food, games, snuggles, and love. Exploring in the chilly weather and back in for hot chocolate and a nap. What else could you ask for, really.







However the real scene stealer was Angry Birds. All the  kids are obsessed with it and play at every opportunity. In fact, Colin insisted on getting an Angry Birds dog toy set for the pups for Christmas, which, incidentally, look a lot like the set that we gave to our nephew. Hm.



CAROLINE

Caroline is beautiful and sweet and serious, very observant and curious. She cracks up at anything her brother does to get her attention, but anyone else has to work for a smile. She has this incredible intensity about her, still playful but with a more reserved sense than Colin ever did. I love the closeness she demands, though it does get a little claustrophobic at 3am.



Christmas for Caroline was mostly about the wrapping paper. She did flips over it, reaching and scooting and screaming for wrapping, mostly unconcerned with the actual gift. Typical 6 month old, am I right? The paper was the gift for her, which makes her a really cheap date on Christmas.









v







It was a very Merry Christmas indeed. I hope you can say the same.

Bad Mommy

We've been told by Colin's teachers that he is an exceptionally bright boy, eager to learn and quick to master new challenges. He demonstrates, we are further informed, a love of learning that "makes teaching him a joy", a quality that makes my heart sing with pride.

This eagerness and quick mastery, however, has not yet extended to potty training. The joy certainly does not.

We were pretty close before Caroline was born, but that event threw a large, awkwardly-shaped wrench into our collective potty training efforts. Not so unexpected, we sighed, he'll catch on when he's ready. And along we went, gently encouraging him, loudly praising and quietly correcting, operating under the assumption that it is unlikely that he will have to attend his high school graduation in a pull up. And it largely worked, for the peeing part anyway. He picked it up just before his birthday and has been relatively reliable since then. We still celebrate and offer treats for his good "choice" to pee in the potty, but it is completely expected behavior now.

We have never, ever, not once managed to get him to poo in the potty. Not once, in the many months we've been at this, have we even come close. The only mild success was the other day when he announced in an alarmed voice, "Mommy! I'm pooping! I'll try to hold it in!" and then proceeded to visibly suck in everything he could. He didn't quite make it and the event still necessitated a complete costume change, but it was the best attempt he's had so far. Every other day is as follows:

Colin do you need to poo? No, Mommy. Colin how about now? Any poo for the potty? No, Mommy. Colin how are you doing? Any poo? NO MOMMY!

What's that smell?

Mommy, I pooped in my pants! 

We have tried everything. We've tried incentives, you wouldn't believe the things we've promised him. Candy and cupcakes and trips to the park and new trains. We've tried the Ick Factor, forcing him to clean himself up afterwards, which has thus far only resulted in delighted squeals from the bathtub. Peer pressure, shame, sticker charts, and throwing away treasured Big Boy Underwear - nothing has even made him blink. He is impervious to my bribes and pleas and threats and promises.

Until last night, when I did the unthinkable.

I took away his MaiMai.

I immediately regretted it, truly. What was I thinking? It's his comfort source, his beloved ball of knotted yarn (formerly a blanket), that to which he clings and snuggles and seeks out when he is upset. And so we proceeded through our evening. Three straight hours of screaming for the MaiMai. If it wasn't about that it was something else ("I need a bear! I'm thirsty! MY BELLY HURTS!") but it was all really about the MaiMai because he'd lost his ability to deal with things, to take a step back and breathe while snuggling with something treasured and safe. Awful, awful, awful.

The worst part is that I have now doomed anyone taking care of him to the same fate, since I clearly told him that he can't have it back until he poos in the potty. So Patrick, poor post call Patrick, will have to deal with him tonight. Our beloved neighbors this weekend. Of course, maybe this will be enough, this will be it, this will work. Maybe. Or maybe he'll go to high school in pull ups and be in therapy forever because his mother stole away his MaiMai. Too early to tell.

I am such a mean, mean mommy.

 

Distance

About a week ago, I got home while it was still daylight and got out of my car to find the kids at my neighbor's house. Colin was running joyfully around the backyard, in a furious lightsaber battle with the older boys. Caroline was carrying on a very deep conversation with my neighbor, telling all about her day. I sat down and scooped Caroline up into my arms, breathing in her sweet baby smell. She smiled and laughed before spitting up all over me.

"Katie! You didn't tell me that Caroline could roll over already!" My neighbor looked at me expectantly, but was visibly shocked when my eyes welled up and tears spilled over.

"I didn't know, actually."

I just finished an incredibly demanding rotation. The hours were greuling and the work was constant. It was incredible learning and the people I worked with were wonderful, but I never saw my kids. I left hours before they woke up and came home only in time to put them to bed (on a good day). Patrick did 90% of the parenting for more than a month. The other night, when Colin woke up a feverish, sweaty mess, he cried for his Daddy. I put him in our bed and he and Patrick snuggled, Colin with his thumb and his MaiMai, while I laid in Colin's bed, trying to get Caroline back to sleep after all the wailing.

This morning, I happened to have a late day, and I took the kids to school. As I walked in, I realized that I had never taken Caroline to school. Ever, in her now eleven weeks of attending school. Colin has changed classrooms since the last time I was there, and I didn't even know which one was his. I didn't know where his coat hung, how to sign him in for the day. He looked at me curiously and said, "It's okay for you to go now, Mommy."

It was the first time I questioned my choices.

Why was I even in medicine? It wasn't what I started out to do, so how did I end up here? Why am I a mother to two perfect children if I'm not going to be with them? Who am I to give advice to pregnant women about being a mother when my own son calls for someone else when he's sick?

This post is not going to end with a shocker about how I'm dropping out of residency. Not even close. I love this work and look forward to coming to the hospital every day. I am unbelievably grateful for the opportunities I have been given to participate in the care of women.

But this post also isn't going to end with a happy story about how we all snuggled on the couch and giggled until we fell asleep. I didn't know Caroline was rolling over because I never put her down once I get home, instead holding her close to me and breathing in her sweetness like a drug. I quiz Colin incessantly about his day and his new classroom. Who are your friends? What color is Your Spot? Do you like the potties there? How awesome is your new, big playground?

By the time the kids are fed, washed, and asleep, I have nothing left. Patrick gets the absolute worst of me, the part that is left over after everything else has been taken during the day. If we're lucky, we  will swap stories from the day and pow-wow about the plan for the next day while we pass out in bed, but most nights I am asleep within an hour of putting the kids down.

I haven't figured this out yet. I don't want to wish away my life, live for tomorrow. My kids and my husband and my life is here now, and that deserves my attention and so much more. I give everything I have left to them and tell them a thousand times in that hour or two how much I adore them, cherish their every breath. I kiss them enough times to make their skin red and chapped, but it still feels inadequate, too distant. I expect that this pain will dull, but I can't imagine that this ever gets easier.

My Loves

Every night, usually between dinner and bath time, we have the following exchange.

COLIN

Okay! It's time for me to go to work!

KATIE!

Colin, we just finished dinner! Let's play for a bit and take a bath.

COLIN

I'm sorry, Mommy I have to work! I love you though! Can you help me find my keys?

He tools around searching for his plastic Lightning McQueen keys, puts his shoes on, and then makes the rounds, kissing everyone, spending an extra moment with Baby Caroline, and heads out the door.

"Bye, Mommy and Daddy! Bye Baby Caroline! I'm going to work!"

Friends, residency is HARD. Yesterday was Colin's third birthday and also my first day off in a while. We threw together a fun party at the last minute, with our family and neighbors (aka extended family), but no long planned shindig like we have done before. I just couldn't swing it. I can't swing much of anything these days. It's a miracle my kids even still respond to me at all.

In fact, Colin calls for his Daddy when he wakes up or when he is hurt. Caroline smiles indiscriminately, but she lights up for Patrick and is merely politely cheerful for me. The dogs greet me like a stranger, and I sometimes feel like a stranger coming home. The kids have already eaten, having had a full day and ready for bed. I'm watching from the outside, wanting desperately to be a part of their day but only catching the very last bit.

Patrick and I are nothing more than ships passing in the night, quite literally. He's been working evening and night shifts, where I have to be asleep by 9:30 to be functional and at work before 5am. He drops off and picks up the kids, I try to remember to pick out clothes for them the night before. He does all the shopping, cooking, and laundry, I try to pick up the house before passing out in bed. He asks about my day and listens and I stumble through my stories, trying to stay awake long enough to connect with him, and mostly failing.

Work itself is going well, I love my job and I feel so honored to be involved in the care of women at one of the most memorable times in their lives. I am learning so much so fast, and I am so grateful to be able to do this work. But I miss my people. I miss my own life and the lives of my kids so much that it hurts.