When I was a boy, See that picture? That was me, Grass-stained shirtand dusty knees

Recently a friend tagged me on Facebook to notify me of a Kickstarter project. While I appreciate the need for this and I may buy this if found on a discount, here's where I lie on getting clothes (and general upbringing) for my daughter: why choose?

I don't think clothes should have to be either girly or boyish. Yes, there is a distinct lack of printed fabric with pirates or dinosaurs or zombies (except, I guess Monster High) in the girls' department, but why should this stop anyone to shop in just the CHILDREN'S department.

During her infant stage, I did encounter several Moms who would just take a glance and ask how old my baby boy was, based purely on the fact that she had short curly hair and a NY Giants onesie (or Mets, or a blue shirt), and I couldn't really hold it against people like that and their quick categorizations. That's fine. But that's not what irks me. I dressed her up (and still continue to dress her up) in things that are undeniably 'girly'. Examples:

But, there's nothing stopping me from doing this, either:

Mixing and matching from the entire department gives me options. It gives me the freedom to mix deep blue, a 'boy' color, with a pastel color, a 'girl'. But, wait -- there's more!

Why choose between girl activities and boy ones? I was in T-ball, jazz tap, baton twirling, volleyball, stage crew for the drama club, and babysat on a regular basis. There's nothing spectacular about this. And, I'll tell you, there was a long stretch of time where I thought to be a girl, I had to know makeup, and dress cute and not know about boy things. I got over that eventually.

The pushback also drives me a little batty. To put a label on yourself like 'tomboy' just because you are so emphatically trying to distance yourself from 'girly' forces girls choose on the flip side of the coin you are trying to fight against. (And, it also corners boys into feeling like they have to choose, too.)

I have Violet enrolled into ballet classes because at the time, that was the only class I could put a 3 year old girl. Do I have visions of Sugerplum fairies dancing in my head?

While she does make an adorable fairy, no - I had her in that class to learn teamwork, listening and to play with other kids her age. The VERY MOMENT she is old enough to try to throw her hips in an attitude position, pout and sashay around, I will let her finish out the recital and get her into T-ball or ANY OTHER activity that will help teach her teamwork, sportsmanship and listening skills. Mamma ain't got time for divas. (Not when she wants to get dirty like this:)

Nothing should really limit me in what I encourage. My only concern is to make my daughter a better human. Sports? Sure, go for it - in participation or knowledge, or for the pure enjoyment of watching. Fashion? Sure, go ahead and know what styles you like. But, just as Coco Chanel is a style, so is Punky Brewster. Construction? Sure, you should know how to operate simple tools without fear.

Dress down, dress up. Original Legos, Lego 'Friends'. Dinosaurs, baby dolls. DC/Marvel Comics, Disney princesses. (Disney princesses is an entire different can of worms of which I will eventually jot down ideas.)

When I Was a Boy - Dar Williams

It's 'and', not 'or'. And to play.

(ADDITIONAL NOTE: I know this is going to be slightly harder to apply for people raising boys, namely for the clothing part. But I don't have a son and only know about raising a daughter, so keep that in mind.)

Hello, How are you, Won't you tell me your name

When asked about how I was as a baby, my Mother likes to tell one story in particular over and over. She was living with my Dad and her little baby in Japan where she got to be friendly but was mostly quiet and didn't talk to many people while walking down the street. But she would notice people giving big smiles and would wave and she was confused for only a moment until she figured out the baby she was carrying was waving and smiling enthusiastically to EVERYone in her eye line. That was me: friendly, cheerful and emphatic.

That continued to be me until my preteen/teen years beat my emotional growth up. I still was able to make friends, but I let myself get too shy, too reserved. My bravery to approach people and have the notion that the good ones will become friends with me was muted. And for years, I let that shyness take over and limited my involvement and weakened my comfort level with people,

Then, I became a mother. And within the early stages of motherhood, I spent some serious time reflecting on what I can do to help the emotional growth of my daughter. I knew that I had to protect and cultivate her confidence level, for that is the best weapon against bullies and peer pressure.

Just recently, my Momma-Bear rage nearly got away from me when I witnessed a girl 2-3 years older than Violet try to openly exclude her because she decided she ONLY wanted to play with their mutual friend and not had to have the 'baby' play with them. I know that is how kids are, but her openly hostile bossiness gave me the instant fight-or-flight rush that made me want to immediately grab the brat by her shoulders and have a talk (ok, "shout" is more appropriate) with her about how to play nicely, especially with kids younger than her. But, I saw no reaction in Violet's face. Thankfully, she was blissfully unaware of what was being said, so I acted quickly, scooped Violet and her things up and whisked her downstairs to Scott so that she never knew of her "mean girl" encounter and I could continue with my meeting.

She was fine - she got to play with other girls and had a great time. But I had to spend the rest of the day getting my inner child to calm down. I know I have to get a grip and this won't be the last time, and the day Violet does get her feelings hurt, I have to prepare myself so that I can act like an adult.

Right now, Violet is so friendly and wants to be so engaged in people's lives by wanting to know if they have a family, how many kids, what are their names, where do they live on base, do they have pets ---questions, questions, hundreds of questions to get to know someone. Anyone. EVERYONE. People at the store, People on the phone. People Scott works with. People I volunteer with. Every. Single. Person. And I love it. She not only asks, but she remembers. And she files it away and she continues to broaden her friend-database.

For as long as I can, for as much as I can, I have to protect this. I cannot pass down my insecurities to her (as much as I can help that). I have to do that and somehow come to place where I don't personalize what she goes through. But, as in all things, this is a life in progress.

The one beautiful byproduct of watching my daughter's outgoing personality is that I have slowly rediscovered my own roots. I have taken her lead and have become more who I once was. Friendly, and more importantly, less afraid.

Sees babies everywhere she goes, And she wants (another) one of her own

When I was little, the only thing I knew for certain about my future was that I wanted to be a Mom. I didn't wonder what kind of husband I thought I would have or how my wedding would look or even where I would be living or what I would be doing for a living. Just that I was going to be a Mom to a small clan of offspring.

Well, 3 years ago, that wish came true with the birth of my daughter. I was everything normal for a first time mother. Nervous, scared, relieved, thankful, scared (because that feeling is worth mentioning twice), and truly blessed. Then, news came that Scott would have to spend a year away from us in Greenland and I decided that timing would work out fantastically so that we can have a little bit of time between Violet and the next baby. But, in all pure honesty, I was afraid of being pregnant with him away.

During my pregnancy, Scott was so unbelievably incredible that I was frightened at the thought of carrying our next child without him. So, I reasonably lobbied to wait and we’d start trying after he got back and in our first year of being in Japan. I thought that once my body bounced back from halting the birth control, we’d be pregnant in a few months. Tops.

Now it’s been over a year. Yes, most people have been optimistic and confident and encouraging, saying a year is not that long and we should keep trying. But sometimes people are too quick to encourage and not quick enough to listen. I say that I am 36 and they say, ‘oh, that’s not that old, you still have time!’ without really letting me say, no, my body does not feel 36. It feels 86. Joints, muscle, skeletal issues for me and a very present ankle problem for Scott. We have trouble literally chasing after Violet.

For a year, every time I find myself having a period, every time I see someone else’s news of a pregnancy, every time I am invited to a baby shower, I have the pang in my heart.  Most of the time I can get over it with a renewed sense of hope. But it's been harder and harder to get to that hopeful place with every passing month.

I count myself lucky with Violet and I do feel selfish complaining about my lack of a second child while I know ladies who have had miscarriages and still have no child. But my guilt over my selfish complaining usually is drowned out by pain.

I know we have other avenues, of course, and I’ve met one mother who went to an infertility doctor while here in Japan and another mother who has adopted both of her children, so I know I have at least two resources I can talk to in person. I’m not sure if we’re going to look into adoption (which would be more likely of a choice for me) or if we’ll decide to not pursue having a second child. I don’t know. I have doctor appointments lined up and I’m forcing myself to just wait. Pray and wait.

With the wheezes And the sneezes, And a sinus that's really a pip!

Being sick sucks. 

Being sick sucks on Valentine's Day, especially when your husband hasn't been home the last two. 

Having everyone in the house sick sucks. 

Being sick sucks when you're ovulating and the likliehood of getting pregnant is very low. 

I am mad at the whole situation and frustrated is not even close to the word that applies.

Sucks. Sucks. Sucks.

By throwing back the blanket, hanging down the withered leg(s)

Today was the first day of using the daycare on base. Since Violet is mere weeks from turning 3, they've allowed us to put her in the preschool 3-5 group and the set up looks really fun. During the orientation last week, all Violet wanted to do was rip her hand out of mine and go play. But, alas, not today.

This attitude of separation anxiety is not new. But between today's tantrum and Friday's failed attempted for ballet class (her 2nd class; the first class went so well and she said she enjoyed it a lot), I'm really having a hard time not feeling horrible. But feeling horrible is the whole reason why we decided to endure the 8 month waiting list of getting into the daycare.

There was a scene in "Friends" when Phoebe told Ross that she didn't really believe in gravity because she felt she wasn't being pulled down to earth by an unseen force as much as she felt like she's being pushed. Why do I mention this? Because with my arthritis issues, this is the easiest way I can think of to describe how I feel. I constantly have to trudge through my days. I have good days where I can actually sit up in bed without having to grip the edge of the mattress to get up, but even on the good days I can't seem to will lifting my right leg to climb stairs. My right foot is turned inward most of the time while I walk, and the image of Kevin Spacey walking in "Usual Suspects" is how I can describe my stride. All is to say, I am using daycare not because I work, but because I can't do my job of being a Mommy.

As I wrote this, my eyes are tearing. Because I hate admitting that I can't keep up with my toddler and throughout the day I feel less and less like a lovingly patient mother and more of an angry tyrant always barking at my little girl. I don't want to be a mean mommy.

I want so much to feel ok. I had a doctor's appointment that basically just ended with blood being drawn for lab tests and a follow up that won't happen for another couple weeks. So, still no answers.

And, forgive the TMI, we've been trying to get pregnant and yesterday I was met with another indication that we have to try again next month. But even that is riddled with conflict because, as much as I want Violet to be an older sister, I don't know what my body will do with the severe pain on top of being pregnant.

With all of the physical and mental anguish aside, I do need to figure out my balance of being a Mommy and being a person. I have recently volunteered to help with the OSS welcoming committee and hopefully I will be going through training on becoming a key spouse. There are specific reasons why I've decided to do this, but that will have to be for another blog post.

For now, I think I'll start my first day of Violet's daycare with a cup of coffee, a real breakfast and chill out before getting her in about 2 hours. I sure hope she's doing ok right now.

Just to rant to get this out of my system

I hate my body.

Not in the way where I think I'm too short or fat or unattractive. In the way where I am angry I can't walk normally. My joints in my legs, back, neck, feet won't work properly. At 16, I first experienced the mind blowing pain of not being able to roll out of bed. I would have to grip the edge of something so that I could heave myself out of bed. Then my right hip wouldn't allow me to walk without a limp. Over the last 20 years, the pain would ebb and flow and move. There were a good many years where I wasn't afflicted with anything severe. Luckily, I wasn't completely debilitated during pregnancy. But now, I can't get up out of my chair at will without having to steel my brain for the forthcoming pain that is standing up. Or moving. Or even having a sudden, violent sneeze.

For a year, Scott was gone, so the understanding was to use that year as a nice buffer between children. When he got back to me, we'd start trying for number 2. We always wanted more than one child and Violet is enamored of other people's little children. Yes, I know it's different, but we wanted it. But I just can't seem to have it happen. I know it's not my timing, and there is a strong possibility that having our own again will happen. I'm considering adoption, but that's not the step yet. I just can't let the sadness of not being pregnant go yet. I've always had a 'deadline' of sorts because I know how faulty my body is. There is no way we can keep up with an infant/toddler/young child past a certain age, and sadly, my body had decided to act like an 80 year old with severe osteoporosis.

Soon, I will completely have to reconcile this possible loss. I'm on my last little bit of hope of becoming pregnant, but optimism is fading fast. So, I spend a little bit of my day to day spontaneously crying for my stupid body and how much I hate things being beyond my control.

I am not worried, I am not overly concerned

This time of year always makes me a little blue. Not just the grey skies, but the fall air has a way of making me remember and I feel compelled to listen to music that does nothing but make those memories stronger. We've all moved on and we all turned out ok. Strange byproducts of the intensity, like being able to correctly hear cries of help from others, reaffirms my belief that our paths crossed for a reason. Scars were created for a reason. But so was healing. Like all deep cuts, they may never bother us after the healing is complete, but what remains will always have us remember. I don't regret it, so I don't mind still carrying it with me. I don't mind the tears or the sadness, because we all are fine. By Thanksgiving, I'll be fine again.