With these seven steps. . .

We just celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary. It is sometimes hard to believe that we have been married for five years already. It feels like I was just planning all the chaos of that three-ring circus. But in those five years we have done so much together. We have traveled to India twice, the Dominican Republic twice, Canada, Mexico, Indonesia, and loads of places in the US. We have brought two amazing little boys in this world. We gutted our apartment, then sold it, and then bought a house together. We have cried, laughing, screamed, and loved each other through all of it.

The seven steps (saptapadi) that are part of the Hindu wedding ceremony are symbolic vows that every Hindu couple makes.

Here's what Vivaah.org said:

With God as our guide, let us take :

the first step to nourish each other

the second step to grow together in strength

the third step to preserve our wealth

the fourth step to share our joys and sorrows

the fifth step to care for our children

the sixth step to be together forever

the seventh step to remain lifelong friends,

the perfect halves to make a perfect whole.

I don't think we were ready to make these kinds of commitments when we first got married. These are the things that come with time - time that we have had now.

Recently, I found myself wishing that I could marry the Rohit I know now and that he could marry this version of me. We both have changed so much and almost all of it is for the better. It seems that every year of marriage has been defined by a specific set of challenges that we have to work through.

2005-2006 Obviously year one is all about learning to live with each other. Our very first argument was about where to put our laundry hamper (bedroom or closet). We learned about compromise something that neither of us were good at (and still struggle with today). Rohit learned that I need to have order in the house to reduce my anxiety; I learned that he needs 20 minutes when he comes home from work to just wander around the house before I start talking to him. Both of us learned to never get into a serious discussion in the morning because we both hate early mornings. I remember at some point during the year, we were in a deep argument and I thought to myself, "omigod. This is it. There is no breaking up. We're MARRIED for LIFE. I am never going to leave this man; he will never leave me. We can either suck it up and compromise or just make each other miserable for the rest of our lives." Divorce, a necessary option for some folks, just wasn't even on the radar for us. We decided to stick it out and compromise - which is something that we are still working on how to do well.

2006-2007 Year two was learning to live with the in-laws. I learned that RC is not the type of husband that will always come to my defense with his family. I also learned that I am okay with that because I can talk for myself. RC's family has been an incredible support to us the entire time we have been together but as with all in-laws there have been things that are different from my family to his. I started to talk to his mom and sister freely as though they were actually my blood and life became much less stressful. By the end of the second year of marriage, I took a two week trip through China with my mother-in-law and it was great! I have friends who have stronger relationships with their in-laws but most who know us are surprised how easily our families blend together.

2007-2008 The third year was when we learned how to be parents. We got pregnant and we learned that we are even more different that we originally thought. Where I am high-anxiety and list-making, he is completely laid-back and casual. I got over having to wait for him to build things; I just started to do things on my own. But then he actually started doing things ahead of time because he could see how anxious it was making me. My first pregnancy was a tough one. I was originally considered high-risk and was constantly having ultrasounds, blood tests, and various other poking and prodding. Then there was The Sick. The Constant Sick. RC totally stepped up and was the doting-dad-to-be. I don't give him enough credit for what I put him through when I am pregnant, but he does everything.

2008-2009 We really became a family with the addition of Q to our lives. He made us work together as a team to raise him. One thing that is essential to any relationship is communication. I think after years of being together, we forgot that we needed to talk to each other more. All of the sudden, it was, "Do we Ferberize or go with the Pantley-method" "Should we feed him kichidi everyday or can we do pasta now?" "Who is picking him up, putting him down, feeding him, etc?" My friend once forwarded me this email about a fake show called "Daddy Survivor" in which a dad would be dropped on island with their kids and have to take care of all the household responsibilities. When I got that email, I immediately forwarded it to RC and said, "Thanks for all that you do." Our division of labor really is pretty even in the house. This is not to say that we don't score-keep all the things that we are responsible for. That's just in the heat of the moment. I think when we really think about our household, there is so much that the other person deals with. When we got pregnant again, it further reinforced our Team. A Brand New Colony.

2009-2010 This is the year that we became friends. Really good friends. I don't know what else to say but I think now more than ever, we really enjoy each other's company. This is not to say that he doesn't make me crazy and vice versa. I think many people think that we are on the verge of separation the way we fight but they don't know that that we make each other laugh a lot, that we discuss current events when we are sit down to dinner, that we share books with each other, that we glow when we look at our kids play and at the end of the almost everyday, we hold hands in bed to fall asleep.

We fight and when we fight it's a tough go. I always thought people who said it just gets better the longer you're married were sentimental and slightly crazy. But five years later, I am even happier that I married him than our wedding day.

WWGS?

What do you do when some one you thought was a friend doesn't consider you a friend?

Recently, I found out that I wasn't invited to someone's wedding. I told myself that I probably wouldn't get the invitation, but when I found out that a more distant acquaintance was invited but I wasn't, I felt (and continue to feel) hurt.

I am not an easy person to live with. I have learned this fact and I have accepted it. As I get older, the more cantankerous parts of who I am just get more irritable. When I was growing up, I was always known as the black sheep of the family. My brother and sister were lively and charming; I was brooding and dramatic.

In high school, I had two best friends and some how that sustained me and I didn't care about what other people thought of me. They were always honest about their feelings about me and didn't hestitate to tell me when I was screwing up.

In college, I raged. I pissed off everyone at some point and hurt the people that were the nicest to me. Today, I recognize that but today is too late to make amends for things I did 15 years ago. I was so manipulative, self-serving, and of course dramatic. Some how, those two friends that I had in high school still remained my friends (probably because they didn't live near me) and I managed to acquire some other friendships along the way. Why those girls forgave me, I don't know but I am grateful for their open hearts.

Then came my 20s. You would think the adolescent idiocy would have ended in college but it didn't. By my mid-20s, no one wanted to live with me and I had to move back to my parents' house. I started to notice that people would talk about events that I wasn't invited to. Was it that they forgot to invite me or is it because they didn't want to deal with the drama that comes with having me around? It made me feel bad but I tried really hard not to let it bother me. But it did. I understood why they weren't inviting me and it made me hate myself that much more.
What ended up happening is I became even more self-concious than I was before and even further socially akward. Making friends became harder and harder. This past Diwali, I was at a friends' house for a party and after making small talk with the aquaintances there, I had a full-blown panic attack because of the anxiety involved in talking to people and trying too hard to make them like me. I had to leave the party in hysterical tears because I couldn't calm myself down. Very embarrassing and guess what? It made me more anxious.

So here we are today. I am once again left out of the group because of who I am. What my personality was and is. I have tried to make amends with people that I have hurt. I try not to be so dramatic when I talk. I try to avoid controversial subjects that make people feel bad. I am trying not to be such a selfish girl. When someone tells me I am doing wrong, I do try to change it but I guess I should try harder. Despite these efforts, I am still a person that people just don't like. This kind of rejection makes the work that I do to overcome my self-loathing really difficult and the only person to blame is me. It's not them. It can't be. The world is made up a variety of people.

So. What Would Greenberg Say? Greenberg is my therapist and he has done wonders to make me feel better about everything. He would say, "So what if this one person doesn't like you? Take a look around and see the people in your life that DON'T reject you. People like RC, whom everybody loves. People like your best friends (yup, from high school) who despite your differences, still care for you. People like your family who have put up with your BS for your whole life long but will still come through for your when you say, 'help'. These are the people that you should worry about."

It's hard to ignore the opinions of the people that reject you. It's easy to look in the mirror and see no worth. Fighting against every natural instinct that I have, I am going to try to not let this get me down. I just wish I knew what I did wrong this time.

Home

First, a clarification on the previous post: while I enjoy the anonymity of writing to no one in particular, I do love getting feedback and reading comments! Thanks Nina for hanging in there with me. And if you're lurking around, please do say hi once in a while.



Today I bought a home. For the first time in my 31 years, there is a piece of paper with my name on it that says that I own this piece of property. Technically, I owned our condo too but RC bought it before he met me so I wasn't on the deed. It never bothered me so we didn't change it.



My sister moved to Dallas today. The last time we were seperated by this many miles was exactly 10 years ago when I moved to Dallas in August, 2000.



Ten years.



I hate to be all trite and nostalgic about this big moment in my life, but it's hard not to when it's wrapped up in a pretty little package like a decade. I'll try to limit this in the future but today was a big day for me so give me this.



When I packed up my life ten years ago, I was 21 and had just graduated college. I was in a quasi-relationship that ended first real love and every thing it came into contact with after that. I decided to leave Chicago (and him) to try to get a new start on every thing. Many people thought I was moving to be closer to some one who lived in Dallas at the time, but we were barely speaking after the drama (it was always drama in those days) of the previous summer. I enrolled myself into paralegal school, transferred my waitressing gig to Maggiano's Dallas, packed up all my stuff into my Nissan Sentra and left with my dad for Dallas.



Did you catch that last part? All my stuff in a Nissan Sentra. Everything that I could lay a claim to in this world and some stuff that I really couldn't, fit in a subcompact car plus with enough room for my father. I had no money in my bank and an income that relied on how much a smiled at people. I was responsible for only myself and I barely did that right. This was only ten years ago.



When I think about that - it's difficult for me to comprehend that was me. Today, I walked into my house in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in the Chicago area, with my two sons and felt perfectly at ease at who I am. I am responsible for those two boys and some how, they have managed to make it this far. I can't even fit the two boys plus their double stroller in my Sentra. If 21 y/o me was watching this whole thing, she would be feeling one of the following things

a. happy that my life seemed so normal
b. disgusted that my life seemed so normal
c. surprised that my life seemed so normal

Normal. It's normal. Life is normal. I never thought I would get this far. I used to live by the quote ". . .live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse" but that's not what's happening here, is it? That's not where my life is going. My life, as boring as it might seem to other people, will go on and I will enjoy it.

Whoda' thunk it?

absence

No one reads this blog anymore . . .and I'm okay with that. My last post was almost one year ago. I am not apologizing. My life has been blissfully busy with my satisfying career, my husband who challenges and dotes on my all at once, and my sons. Q and QT are growing up so fast and I have just been trying to soak it all in.

But something has always been missing.

I fancy myself a writer. I like to put my thoughts down on paper, er, screen. I have kept journals since I was 10 and until recently, most of my life has been documented by some sort of reflection by me. Recently, you know, when my life got really good? So much of what I used to write about was about my fears, anxiety, and depression. I just don't feel that anymore so it came to feel like, "what do I write about now?" So I stopped.

But it feels blank. Like parts of my life are missing all because I didn't jot down my quick notes.

I have a lot to say. I am one of the most opinionated people I know. I need to say some things so that I cant stop annoying those around me with my feigned sense of authority about nonsense. So, I am reclaiming this blog as my sounding board. Maybe I won't get around to saying something again for a few more months but I am hoping to come back regularly. The fact that I think no one is actually reading makes this even more liberating.

And that's a strange feeling, right? I want this to be public but I want some anonymity too? I can't explain it.

Well, that's all I have to say for now.

Milk

If isn't already obvious, let me be very clear, Rishi makes my world go around. When I think about him, tears well up in my eyes. Some times when I hold him, I have to restrain myself from squeezing him until he can't breathe. Other times he does some thing new and I think that my heart might actually explode.

Motherhood has been very good to me.

I found a clarity in my thinking throughout my entire pregnancy with Rishi. I was able to freely admit my flaws and am trying to take ownership for my failures. I don't know what it was about having his little person inside of me but each swift kick calmed me further.

When he was born, I was convinced that I was going to have horrible post-partum depression considering my previous history with it. I even paid out of pocket $300/hr to see a psychiatrist who specializes in maternal issues (I only went once). She told me that she highly recommended that I get on meds the last few weeks of my pregnancy and stay on them. My psychiatrist felt the same way but he didn't push it as hard because he knew how much I hated taking them. I decided not to and take my chances.

I was lucky to have a fabulous husband, sister, best-friend, and most importantly, a mother-in-law who held my hand for a whole month after Rishi was born. I was convinced that once all these people left, I would be surely in for the blow that I had been dodging. But instead, I felt calm. Sure - there were moments that I thought I was losing my sh*t but overall, the feeling was calm. All the methods of self-medication I had used in the past couldn't dare compete with this high.

I have been getting a little frustrated and worried about Rishi's cognitive development. He wasn't showing signs of receptive language and I was thinking about maybe getting an Early Intervention Team to take a look at him by 15 months. We have been trying to teach him sign language since he was six months old. Now, I know all the books say that most babies don't start signing until they are a year but I thought that if we started him early, then he would surely catch on. He wasn't. I would make the sign for milk every time I gave him his bottle but he would just laugh and grab the bottle from me. Then, today at lunch my friend was giving her son a bottle of milk and Rishi sat in his high chair staring right at them making the signs. Absolutely amazing.

Not only has he pushed aside my decades long battle with depression, he makes me a better person by teaching me valuable life lessons like patience.

And he's not even 13 months yet.

The First Day of School

This is a post that I put on my class blog

~*~

I'll admit it - I am a school-junkie. I am a teacher after all. There is a reason that I chose this profession. My fascination with schools started in kindergarten - I loved erasing the chalkboard. My fascination with all things school has continued for the past 26 years (I still love erasing chalkboards).

I joke that I will never stop going to school. My husband thinks that this is an expensive habit.

The first day of school is always an exciting time of year for me. The first day . . .the opportunities . . .the chances for failure . . .it is all waiting on the other side. Most women love splurging on fancy shoes or clothes. Me? I get dizzy when I walk into an OfficeMax. Shopping for school supplies gets me so excited. I used to love coming home and looking at the empty pages in my notebooks and wondering about all the ideas and information that would fill up those pages in a few short months. I loved the smell of new textbooks or looking at the list of names on the inside cover of the people that had the book before me. It was a club - a small group of people that had shared in the experience of possessing Biology textbook 7877383 for one year. I would think about what I was going to wear for a week. What kind of impression did I want to make? It was the first day! You can't take back first impressions. I still remember what I wore on the first day of freshman year. I wore a cotton salwar chameez (a traditional Indian outfit) to school. That made an impression.

As a teacher, I still get excited about the first day. I spent all of last week in my classroom: putting things away, cleaning up the dust, thinking about the students that would soon fill those empty seats. I have really enjoyed the opportunity to get to know some of you through the summer assignments. But putting a face to the name - that's exciting. I still get butterflies in my stomach every time one period ends and another new group of students walk into my classroom. It's those same opportunities, the same desire to make a good impression, as I had when I was on the other side of the desk. "Will my students trust me?" "Will they think I am fair?" "Will I be judgmental with my students?" "How can I give them the respect they deserve?" "Will they do their homework?" "How will I get the respect I deserve?" "How can I make this a rich learning experience?" "What do I wear???"

In seven days, I will know all of your names and faces. The first week of school will be over and we will hit our stride and break into our routines of "school-dom". But until then, I am going to just relish these moments of anticipation, chance, and hope.

Nice to Meet You

I realized that I haven't updated in months. This little one is only pre-natally 18 weeks old and already missing out on some of the things that I did for Rishi. I am going to try. . .

Week: 18
Weight: 124
Belly:
Next appointment: August 19 (the 20-week Level II ultrasound)

Almost 1/2 way already? That went by so fast!

Let's talk about some of the things that have been going on with this pregnancy. First, many people have asked if it was planned. RC and I have always thought that we only wanted one biological child. After Rishi was born and seeing that post-partum wasn't as awful as everyone said it was going to be (quite the opposite really), we thought one more would be fun. We didn't want to wait too long because in case I couldn't get pregnant again, we wanted to start the ball rolling in the adoption process quickly. I thought we could start trying again in the summer and have another summer baby. But we've accelerated the schedule by 6 months and that's just fine with us.

Another thing that everyone has been asking is if I hope it's a boy or a girl. We have six nephews and one son. I know the aunts and grandparents really want a girl, but from the get go, I thought it would be fun to have a boy. With Rishi, I always had dreams that he was a boy. I have had many dreams that QT is a boy too - with a few girl dreams here and there. Will I be excited if it's a girl - of course! Will I be thrilled if it's a boy - certainly! The only thing that I am hoping for is a smooth pregnancy experience, 1 trip to L&D, and a healthy baby in the end. Boy or girl - this baby is a gift just like Rishi.

Already this pregnancy is much more smooth than #1 in many ways. The morning (all-day) sickness is not bad. Rishi is a good distraction from all the fatigue that comes with first trimester. I also know what's what when it comes to the aches, pains, and other weirdness that happens with pregnancy so I don't feel like I have to bother Didi or my OB every two seconds. Also, I have transferred my care to a different OB and she isn't as worried about the fibroids or ITP that were such a source of concern with #1.

We have opted NOT to get genetic testing done this time. With #1, I was really torn up about getting genetic testing done. It made me very uncomfortable. RC and I both decided that no matter what the tests would say, we would still love and care for this baby. We are delivering at Prentice Hospital with a great NICU staff so if something is wrong with this baby, then s/he will have the best people with great resources. I would rather just tra-la-la through this pregnancy than to sit up at night thinking about what is waiting for me at the end of the gestation.

One thing that really surprised me with this pregnancy vs. #1 was the horrible moods that I have been. Those who follow the blog know that I have had depression since I was young but I was the complete opposite of depressed at the end of my pregnancy and post-partum. Even when I was back to work and still nursing twice at night, instead of looking at it as a chore, I relished one more moment with Rishi. For the past few months, the exhaustion and hormones have made my emptiness come back in a hurry. At the end of the day, I often lay in bed at night finding no joy in anything in my life. Then, Rishi's smile fills my mind and I feel guilty for feeling that way which just ends in this horrible spiral of thoughts. I am not sure how to get over this in a healthy and productive way but I am trying. RC has been a champ through all of this. I know that I have taken my frustration out on him repeatedly but he has mananged to still keep loving me and hugging me when I am at my craziest. How he does this - I do not know. But as Che always tells me, "Fake it unti you make it." And that's what I have been trying to do.

I have felt terrbily guilty for blaming this baby for my moods and then - a shift last night. RC was out with some friends and I couldn't sleep. I was feeling in one of my more vacant moods. Black. I started to think about QT and his names. We have decided to keep names a secret this time (Side Note: if someone tells you a name that they are thinking about naming their baby, the only good response is "that's a nice name." the parent-to-be doesn't want to hear about how you knew someone named that and they broke your college roommate's heart.), but like last time, we have managed to find a girl name right away and are again stuck on boy names. I dreamily thought of what I would call this potential little-man and then for the first time, a swift kick right where my hand was laying on my stomach. I continued thinking and then a few more kicks. Was QT saying that he's a boy after all? I am not sure, but the blackness that was filling my body became bright again. I smiled genuinely for the first time in a week probably.

Can't wait to meet you little QT. We're going to have a blast.

5 months!

Amazing how big he got so fast.  Our friends brought over their 5-week old baby the other day and I was amazed at how teeny tiny she was.  Also funny is the fact that my strange fear of newborns returned.  

These days Rishi can sit up for upto 15 seconds at a time.  He still doesn't roll often but I know that we need to be giving him more tummy time.  I know you're not supposed to compare kids but my friend's nephew is rolling both ways and I got nervous/envious.  Didi (who is a mother to four and a pediatrician) says there is nothing to worry about but that's what first time moms do, right?  He is still just a happy, wonderful, and cuddly little monkey.  

Here's a new video.

Rolling rolling rolling

"Life moves pretty fast.

If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Ah, Ferris. The wisdom that you had at such a young age. I wish I could heed your advice these days but with all that life brings, I want to savor it all! Birthdays, brunches, dinners, and drinks - rLife has been full these past few weeks.

All the while, a little man has been doing a lot of growing. He's 15+ lbs now and 24 inches. Hard to believe at this time last year he was no bigger than a sesame seed. He had four more immunization shots and he was so sad. I think it was harder on me this time than the last. Probably because I had to go to work the next day and not know if he was doing alright. But he was. His Papa takes such good care of him. The next two weeks will continue to be busy but here's a video from last month. It is so amazing how he changes so quickly.

I am going to try to knit him a hat for his bald little noggin. And we're trying to get rid of the swaddle at night. I think we are in for some long nights ahead. Fortunately, I am getting used to making it on very litte sleep.