(DISCLAIMER: If you are pregnant or trying to become pregnant, you might not want to read this…..)

“Mom, I wish I had a sibling…… or someone close to my age in our family….”

This.  This is the thing that keeps me up at night.  This is the thing that makes me cry in the middle of the day.  This is the thing that makes me think that I have ruined my son.

I always thought that I would have two kids.  It didn’t matter if it was a boy and a girl….. Just two.  To keep each other company.

I had a relatively easy pregnancy.  Other than a couple of episodes of bed rest, I had no morning sickness, no problems with hypertension, no real food cravings.  My son even came before my due date and my water broke on its own.  I had some complications during delivery, but other than that, everything seemed fine.  Until it was time to really become a mom.  I had no idea what I was doing.  I was afraid that everything that I did was wrong.  I know that I had postpartum depression, but did nothing about it, because I was supposed to be happy.  I was supposed to have the mom instinct.  I was supposed to have everything under control.

Then at 9 months old, I learned that my son had developmental delays.  We started with physical therapy.  A year and a half later we were going to cognitive, speech, oral and occupational therapy 3 times a week.  I was overwhelmed.  What did I do wrong to make my child like this?  Did I eat something wrong? Did I not stimulate him enough? Read to him enough? Play with him enough?  You see, as a new, self conscious, second guessing mom with no self esteem, I felt that I was the one to blame.  I blamed myself horribly for all of it.  I didn’t know who to talk to.  I thought I was supposed to be happy.

When my son was almost three, I got pregnant again.  I was both happy and scared.  “What if?” I kept thinking.  I let my fears subside and let myself be excited.  I had my first ultrasound.  I remember waiting in the waiting room for an extremely long time and I really had to pee (when you get an ultrasound, you have to drink a crap ton of water, and you can’t go to the bathroom until after the procedure is done…..).  I was feeling really uncomfortable and then I realized that they had forgotten about me.  I finally got called back to the ultrasound room and the technicians were unusually quiet.  I thought that they were just trying to be nice because of having to make me wait so long.

The time came to visit my OBGYN to hear the baby’s heartbeat.  I thought that it would be a great time to let my son know that he was going to be a big brother.  I was excited for him to hear the “woosh woosh” sound coming from mom’s tummy.

Except that’s not what happened.

I walked into the doctor’s office with my husband and son and the receptionist quickly lost her smile when she saw me.  She said to me “Didn’t they tell you? Didn’t they call you?  Your baby doesn’t have a heartbeat.”.

Again……. What did I do?  WHAT DID I DO WRONG?!!?

My doctor told me that within two weeks the baby would abort itself.  He said wait two weeks and then come in for a follow up.

Except nothing happened. (I am crying now as I type this by the way……..)

A week went by with my baby inside of me, not living.  During this time I had my son’s third birthday party.  I walked around the party in a daze, knowing my secret.  Wondering what I could have done.  Wondering what I did wrong.

After the second week, I finally had to have the procedure, to remove my dead baby from my body. I remember crying the entire time until the anastesia took effect.  When I woke up, I felt numb.

I still wonder why.  I still feel guilty for not giving my son a sibling.

So when people ask me if I’m going to have another…… I just smile and say “no”.

For those of you with kids….. remember that day when you decided that you were ready to have a baby? Remember that day when you found out that you were pregnant? Remember when you had dreams of how you would decorate the nursery and what your child would be like? When I decided that I was ready to have a baby I didn’t think about things like “will my child be lonely?” or “is my child happy?”. I didn’t think about things like “your child has developmental delays” or “your child has trichotillomania”. I dreamed of the football player that my son would be (he has no interest in playing any sports of any kind) and how he would follow in my footsteps by playing a musical instrument (in which he also has no interest).

But then I read an article on Scary Mommy’s blog and realized that my son is Ferdinand the bull. Ferdinand “would rather smell flowers than fight in bullfights”. My “bull” (who is also very headstrong and stubborn) loves to build Legos according to his own instructions. He thrives in his room when it’s an absolute disaster and has no interest in special dress up days at school (he doesn’t even care if “everyone else is doing it”).

My real worry (at this moment….. because let’s face it, as parents, we always worry) is about my son’s loneliness (and mine also, for that matter). He is constantly asking me to set up play dates and asking me “who’s going to be at the beach house?”. He’s always wondering “who’s going to meet us at Disneyland?” or “who can I play with today?”.

My son and I are lonely.

When I was growing up, I didn’t know how good I had it. I have a twin sister, an instant playmate. My best friend lived a block up the street. I would walk up to her house and play there all day long. I played in the neighborhood with the other kids outside until the street lights came on. I had family to hang out with, grandparents and cousins for all holidays. And once a week in the summer I would go to Wildwood in New Concord, Ohio with my grandparents and sleep in their camper and play with the other grandkids of their friends.

My son does not have these options.

First, I tried to give my son a brother or sister. Things were not meant to be and I have so much guilt because of that.

Second, our closest family is an hour away. And it’s not my family. All of his cousins are at least 7 years older and have no interest in playing with a 7 year old. My son is dying for their attention but they are just into their own things at this time.

We don’t have any (constant) kids in the neighborhood to play with. Divorce is messy. Kids come and go.

I guess the bottom line is, I wish that my son had the kind of life that I had growing up. It wasn’t perfect, but I never felt lonely. Not like we do now.

I miss my family.

I miss my family.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything.  Partly because I don’t want to sit in front of my desktop to type anything.  And mostly because all summer long, I haven’t been running.  At.  All.  And it makes me feel like a Lost Loser. 

I can use all kinds of excuses.  It’s been too hot.  I haven’t had the time.  I need to hire a babysitter just so I can get a run in.  I can’t get up early enough to run.  A REAL runner wouldn’t use these excuses.  (Yes I’m beating myself up again).  A REAL runner makes the time.  A REAL runner runs marathons, sub 9 minute miles and finishes a 10k (my favorite race distance) in half the amount of time as me. 

Let me backtrack…… when you become a mom, you kinda loose yourself.  You have about nine months to transform yourself and get yourself ready for completely giving away your identity.  This may not be the case for everyone, but it was for me.  I lived in the world of project management and wall sections and shop drawings.  Meetings about project submittals and putting drawing sets together were second nature.  And then in an instant, I wasn’t that person anymore.  I’m not complaining, but things change and so do your priorities.  Suddenly meetings with co workers were replaced by weeks alone with a newborn.  Years away from a “real job” put me in a place of questioning myself.  “What are your hobbies?”.  “What do you do in your spare time?”.  “Who are you???”.  All of these things played on my mind after I was no longer in the working world of architecture. 

And then I found running.  It made me feel complete and fit and accomplished.  I accomplished goals that I never thought I could accomplish.  It made me feel like part of a community, a part of SOMETHING. 

And then this summer happened.  I hit a wall.  I didn’t make the time to train.  It was way too hot.  My son made it hard for me to get out for runs (yes, I’m blaming my son for my laziness….). 

Recently I ran the Disneyland Half Marathon.  I actually ran a 10k and then a half marathon.  I wasn’t prepared, due to my lack of training, and I was actually a bit scared.  Not because I knew that I couldn’t finish, but I’m really not sure why.  Anyway, I actually had a decent 10k time (for myself, and for a runDisney race, and for not training).  But my half marathon time was dismal.  Not my best.  I ran with my sister and my husband, who ran his first half marathon.   And the thing is, I felt really good for the half.  It was actually a really easy half marathon for me.  Yet my finish time made me feel like less of a runner.  Like….. not a runner at all.  The real runners make fun of this kind of half marathon time.  And it makes me feel like I can’t classify myself as a runner at all.  Even though I’ve completed [only] 9 half marathons, some of which had 10k races preceding them, and I have 3 more half marathons on my calendar right now……

Long story short, not running makes me feel lost and a lot like a loser.  Because REAL runners run ALL THE TIME, NO EXCUSES.  So I started thinking, maybe I need to redefine the definition of “runner” for myself.  I need to reprogram myself?  Yes, I love to run.  But……… l’m not fast.  I’ve never run a full.  I’ve never done a triathlon.  I can’t run a consistent 10 minute mile.  Am I really a runner?