time to transition

It was time for my annual eye doctor appointment, so this past week I found myself sitting in a dim room, chatting with a friendly nurse.  The small talk lasted a few minutes and after laughing about kids and husband stories, she glanced at my chart and turned to me…

“So you’re a high-school math teacher?”

I froze.

It’s been a while since the decision was made and I’ve had two beautiful months of summer break to ease into the idea, but I still have times of confusion and sadness when I remember I’m not going back to teaching this fall.

Back in March, I approached my principal and superintendent with a proposal to keep my part-time schedule for another year or two.  After a few weeks and a lot of drama, I was denied my request and forced to make a huge decision. 

I chose to resign.

Everyone has defining labels, some are chosen and some are given to us.  I have officially been ‘a math teacher’ for six years, but to be honest, it goes back much further.  I knew what I wanted my career to be when I was in high school and as soon as I started college classes, I identified myself as a teacher.  As life goes on, I learn more about myself and continually add new labels to my identity.  Whether we like it or not, we are categorized and labeled throughout our entire lives. 

What took me by surprise was that I would swap one of my most defining labels for a new one:

Stay-At-Home Mom

Did you know we have our own acronym? I’m now a “SAHM” instead of “high school math teacher” (or “Satan” as some former students had fondly named me).

I get a lot of mixed reactions when people hear my big news.  When other SAHMs find out, the reaction is “Oh! You must be so excited!”  Friends without kids react more along the lines of “Ummm, wow. That’ll be a change.” And my personal favorite is the random look of *you are crazy* while smiling and saying “Fuuuunn.”  The thing is, I haven’t figured out how I am reacting.  Am I excited to stay home? Am I sad about leaving the high school? Am I relieved to pack up my room? Or am I panicked to swap grading papers for play-dates and baby talk? 

D. All of the above

I am terrified to walk away from this part of my identity… even if it is temporary.  I never thought I would choose to be a SAHM, but I always knew I would be a teacher.  It’s a scary transition and I don’t know if anyone is ever completely ready to make the jump.  But I’m doing it. Bring on the play-dates and trips to the library. 

My own mother was a stay-at-home mom and I have to give her credit… she rocked it.  We had magical days at the park and countless trips to ‘Story-time’ (at multiple libraries I might add).  So when the end of August rolls around, even though I might be sad and feel a little confined by this new identity, I’m going to embrace it.  I’m excited to spend the days with Henry (and the new baby once October rolls around) so I’m going to focus on that and remember that my ‘high-school teacher’ label is just sitting in storage for a while, waiting for the year I choose to put it back on. 

"You will come to know that what appears today to be a sacrifice 

will prove instead to be the greatest investment that you will ever make."

~Gordon B. Hinkley

When #2 is really #3

I’m a numbers person.  I like to make decisions knowing the risk, even though I tend to look toward the positive chances, no matter how small.  I’m an optimist, but also a numbers person.  For an example, I look at the chances of 1 in 5… and in most situations it’s worth the risk.  I change the ratio, looking to percentages, and determine how much 20% will really alter my perspective. 

Would you play a game if you only had a 20% chance of losing?  Of course! But what if I told you that 20% chance of loss could be absolutely devastating; a soul-crushing experience that would leave you broken? Would you change your mind?

1 in 5 pregnancies will end in a miscarriage.

One of the harshest experiences of my entire life happened last November, when waves of pain wracked my body and we flew to the emergency room.  Hours later, my husband and I quietly drove home to spend the next few weeks mourning the loss of a baby we would never get to meet in this life.

When I was pregnant with Henry, miscarriage was a fear, but one that was more of a myth than a reality.  My grandmother had five pregnancies followed by five healthy babies.  My mother had the same experience with her five pregnancies.  I had no idea the miscarriage statistics when I was pregnant the first time, but 20% chance of miscarriage made my family history the abnormality.

It has taken a long time to heal.  I’ve tried to write about it time and time again, but the words would get stuck and each post would end up in the trash. 

Time passes.

The beautiful thing about time is that it can bring peace slowly and carefully; you’re oblivious to your healing, until one day you sit up and realize you are okay.  I will always have a missing piece from my heart for baby #2… but that’s something I've discovered many mothers can understand. 

“There may be pain in the night, but joy comes in the morning”

A baby born after a miscarriage, stillbirth or infant death is known as a ‘rainbow baby.’  Tim and I are expecting our own little rainbow baby this October and while we are beyond blessed and excited, this pregnancy has been so very different than that of Henry’s.  I have been plagued by nightmares and anxiety attacks before my OB appointments; holding my breath until my doctor finds that beautiful, hurried heartbeat.  At eleven weeks, the chances of miscarriage are drastically reduced to less than 1%, but crossing that milestone (when we lost baby #2) was necessary before we could spread the news beyond our immediate family.

I’ve reached 22 weeks, and while the morning sickness is gone and the bump is highly visible, I still wake up in the middle of the night and wait to feel a small flutter in my abdomen before I can fall back asleep.  Every kick has turned into a small celebration and even Tim has had a few chances to feel this beautiful little peanut roll around in his or her comfy home.  This baby is so loved and I pray every night that we get the chance to meet a happy, healthy baby in October. 

“God puts rainbows in the clouds so that each of us – in the dreariest and most dreaded moments – can see a possibility of hope.” 

~Maya Angelou

the wild blue yonder

One of my seniors has been contemplating joining the military after graduation.  Her boyfriend is already serving, so she has been going back and forth on her decision, weighing the pros and cons during discussions with her friends.  Eventually, her curiosity got the best of her and she turned to me and asked what my feelings were about the military.

Little did she know, that was the very question I had been wrestling with for almost two weeks now.  How do I feel about the military? Well, sometimes I love it… and sometimes I hate it.

That’s right, I love and hate the military of the United States of America.

Now before you brush me off as just another peace-loving, flower-child liberal, you need to know that I have been in a relationship with the U.S. Air Force for the last eleven years.  I’ve mailed letters every day during basic training, celebrated Christmas on a military base in Texas, cooked turkey for airmen in Mississippi, and stayed home for countless trainings and guard weekends.  In 2014, my husband spent more time with fellow airmen then he did with me.   Over the course of our marriage, he has been gone for slightly more than 54 weeks.

An entire year of my marriage has been spent alone.

I don’t sit here typing this with a ‘woe-is-me’ attitude.  I accept this life.  I love my husband and who he has become through his military experiences.  So what do I tell this young lady?  Well, I’m going to stick with the honest truth… this life is HARD.

I know, I know… just like Eric Matthews tells us:

I do have love for the Air Force.  I’m grateful for the opportunities my husband has had, the freedom I enjoy every day, blah, blah, blah…

But that is not my reality right now.

Right now, I’m overly anxious thinking about the 10-day trip right around the corner.  Thankfully, his job as a firefighter has me practiced in the art of midnight diaper changes on my own, but this will be the longest I’ve been without him since Henry was born.  10 days pre-Henry?  What a joke!  10-days post-Henry?  I’m gonna need more wine.

Once I make it through this training experience, I get a bit of a breather… but the problem is, the big D-word is popping up more and more.  (‘deployment’ for you non-military types)

I thought being a military wife was tough, but I never understood what it meant to be a military wife AND mother at the same time.  Hats off to those moms (and dads) out there doing it on their own during deployments and training.  I have this friend from high school… let’s call her Jane… and she married her military man only one year after graduation.  The year after that, this brave woman welcomed her first baby.  Now, almost 11 year later, she lives in paradise with her husband and two girls… over 4,000 miles from our small hometown.  In high school, I was unable to move past the petty drama and appreciate this woman and her unnerving strength.  Today, as a wife and mother, I am empowered by her story.  I look at the sacrifices she made and the challenges she still faces… if Jane can do it so can I. 

When I focus in on my anxiety, my love/hate relationship with the military is not really the cause.  I am secretly terrified of the changes happening in my life. As a mother, I feel fragile in this new skin and I’m frightened to upset the peace I’ve just barely settled into.  With this training coming up, followed by a long deployment, I know my world is once more about to alter. 

I pray for the strength and courage to transform.

“The secret of change is to focus all of your energy not on fighting the old, but on building the new.” - Socrates