As mothers we all have the same goal in mind, to raise healthy, moral people who contribute to society and don’t mooch off of us in our retirement. We all have nuances, or personal additions to this list, but at a fundamental level this is the list. Nobody plans on raising a psychopathic, drug-addicted, murderer. And yet, why as women are we so critical of each other and the individual choices we make, as if there is only ONE, SINGULAR, PERFECT WAY TO RAISE CHILDREN.

Before our little ones are even born we are bombarded with the pressures to make “the right choice”. Really? There is such a thing? Because unless all mothers and all children are the exact same I don’t know how that is possible. We are berated into questioning where we are going to give birth, how we are going to give birth, what we are going to feed our kids, what kind of music they will listen to, books they will read, toys they will play with, etc.

Motherhood is difficult and we are each doing the best we can to make the best decisions we know how for our children. Why do we need to make this so much more difficult by judging and criticizing each other?

Jane, from “What About Mom“, said this in her post today and I couldn’t agree with her more;

“If the only way to be modern and a feminist is to follow the herd of working women to the office, then count me out, Gloria Steinem. My feeling unworthy as a woman for choosing to stay home would be just as unfeminist as a woman feeling unworthy for choosing to go to work. Feminism is (or should be) all about choices — women being able to make their own without worrying whether other women will consider the choice modern or hopelessly old-fashioned, progressive or lamentably traditional.”

I AM a feminist. I AM a mother. I AM making the best choices for MY children. Please worry about your own family and stop worrying about mine.

Yesterday was a rough day for Max. Max faced a tearful separation from Lucy early in the morning. He was crushed to discover that you had to be 3 years old to attend “Nana Camp” and as a result he would not be joining his sister for the long journey to Nacogdoches. He cried at length after Lucy left and spent most of the day wandering around the house like a boat without a captain. His whole world seemed to be crumbling around him. Then later in the evening he ran into David’s office to tell him that dinner was ready when he slipped on the wood floor and went face first into David’s Aeron desk chair. The result was a black eye that any boy could be proud of. Let’s hope his week improves.

Two weeks ago David and I went for our first ultra-sound. That first ultra-sound is always kind of weird since the baby looks more like a caterpillar than a baby. It’s hard to feel romantic about something that resembles an insect. However, you can usually see the heartbeat and that is an amazing thing. We were excited to meet the third Morley. I laid back and prepared myself to be medically violated by the ultra-sound “probe”. And then something happened we weren’t expecting.

Doctor: hmmm, I don’t see anything
Me: hahaha (nervous laughter) is it hiding?
Doctor: um, no I don’t think there is a baby in there
David: What?
Doctor: Well, either we’re too early or this is a miscarriage
Me: Serious?
Doctor: Yeah, but don’t worry yet, we could just be too early, come back in a week

I was optimistic. I had felt so bad for several weeks that I confidently told David that we had nothing to worry about. I HAVE to be pregnant. Nobody feels this bad and isn’t pregnant. David, being the more practical, was less optimistic but was happy that I gleefully ignored him. We went out of town. We had a good time. We only told a couple people of the initial set back. Nothing to worry about. No reason to get the whole world worked up over something that would end up being nothing.

We went back in on Tuesday. David joked that maybe it was twins and they both were so small that is why we couldn’t see them. I told him he was crazy and he wasn’t allowed to mention twins ever, ever again. I laid down. The probe was administered. The doctor declared; “Sorry, it’s a miscarriage”. I was dumbfounded. How could this be? I had morning sickness, I gained weight, I was miserable.

At this point I’ve been told all the platitudes. You know “It was meant to be”, “God will send you another”, “it is for the best”, “it is nature’s way”, blah, blah, blah. Not that those things aren’t nice, it is just that they don’t really fix the problem that even though I feel pregnant I am not. Friday I went for my D&C and now that all tissue is removed my life is supposed to return to normal. Hmm, yeah, let you know how that works out.

The silver lining in all of this, is my husband. David is the most awesome, supportive, amazing husband in the world. (sorry ladies, I really did get the last one). When I am my most scared and upset, David is their to shelter and protect. I’m sure he’s disappointed and I’m sure he’s upset, but at every step he has made me the priority in this situation and I could never thank him enough for doing that. The beauty is that he wouldn’t want me to thank him anyways.

One of the hardest things to get used to when I moved to Texas from Michigan was the hibernation pattern. In Michigan you stay indoors starting in October when the temperatures start getting cold and you don’t emerge until Spring – sometime in May. This is normal hibernation for most animals and as a northerner you get accustomed to baking, sorting, cleaning, doing puzzles, etc. You don’t leave your house unless absolutely necessary.

Well, in Texas it is the opposite. In Texas you begin hibernation around June and you emerge around mid-October. Why? Because currently it is 93 degrees outside. When I woke up this morning it was 88. By July I’ll be starting the mornings at 90 degrees and ending my afternoons at well over 100. We will get the required news story that involves frying eggs on the sidewalk, and the cautions about air pollution, and leaving children and pets in cars with the windows rolled up. (Yes, like idiots, somebody does it every year). So, I will be entering my cave for the remainder of the summer. I will only emerge if necessary or if the activity involves a large body of water. Trust me when I tell you that I don’t care how “dry” the heat is, 100 degrees is miserable, and the difference between 90 and 100 is not enough to talk about. I probably won’t even look at another weather forecast until early October because I can tell you the forecast; sunny and hot.

special editor’s note: my tomatoes have officially died. I predicted all my plants would be dead by June and outside of my strawberries I am right on target. Ugh! I hate gardening.

Listen Internet, I know I’ve been a bit patchy with the posting lately and I have good reason. All will be revealed shortly, but in the meantime please be patient. Just know that soon I will need you all more than you know. And just to answer the most pressing question – no, I have not won the lottery or decided to leave my husband for David Beckham and move to LA. I know you were curious.

Next spring when all the wonderfully, romantic gardening commercials start to air will you please remind me how much I hate gardening. This way when June comes along I won’t be sitting here stewing about how much time and money I have invested in plants that have produced approximately a dozen strawberries.

Earlier this year I lamented on the fact that I have a black thumb but was pleasantly surprised by my sudden production of strawberries. (If you need a reminder, go here). My Cilantro plant is dead. Apparently Cilantro is NOT a tex-mex herb but is actually Asian, and as a result doesn’t like the heat and sun that I get in Texas. WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME THIS? My strawberries have struggled through two bouts of fungus gnats and although the plant is beautiful I have really only harvested about a dozen strawberries out of it. During this same period I have spent at least $15 buying strawberries at the store. My Basil plant went from green and lovely, to tall and wilted. I don’t know why. I suspect I either have over-watered it or it also does not like the heat. Any suggestions? And last but not least my tomatoes. First of all, I don’t even like to eat tomatoes so why I decided to grow them escapes me. I think I was suckered by pictures I saw in my Martha Stewart magazine. I have babied these tomatoes and nurtured these tomatoes and I have exactly 6 tomatoes on my plants. Four are green and the other two just started to turn red this past week. I figured that I would go out of town and upon my return we would have beautiful tomatoes. Alas, this was not to be. Because, upon our return I found a rabbit had eaten my only two ripe tomatoes.

I HATE gardening. Trying to garden is like having additional pets. They require daily care and feeding and in the end you are left with crap. I think from this point forward I’m just going to support my local farmer’s market. I can’t handle the stress and responsibility of growing plants.

So Max and I were hanging out waiting for David to come home and Max was all like “Mom, I could totally fit into that play kitchen sink.” And I was all like “uh-uh. I don’t think so.” And then he said “oh yeah, do you dare me?” And I said “Oh you know it.” And then he did this. I’m so proud.

One of the bittersweet things about being a parent is the real-life reflection of yourself in your children. I’ve said before that Lucy is me and she is – including my faults. Tonight as I tucked her into bed we had the following conversation:

Lucy: Will you always be with me?
Me: I will always be with you – sometimes I might have to go to the store or school but mommy always returns don’t I?
Lucy: Yes, but will you always be HERE with me?
Me: Sweetheart, you are stuck with me forever
Lucy: What does “stuck” mean?
Me: It means that we will always be together. That I will always be here for you. That you can’t ever get rid of me. That I will always be here to help you, to love you, to support you.

At this point Lucy collapsed into my arms and hugged me tight around the neck. And this is when I realized that someday I will have to force her to leave me. That someday I will have to demand that she be her own person and not the person I want her to be. Why? because that is the kind of daughter I am. I would and did sacrifice myself in order to please my parents and it was only because of them forcing me to stand up for what I wanted that I ever did. And I never truly found my own personal freedom and strength until I moved five states away. Not because they were dictating me, but because my desire to please was so overwhelming.

Lucy will always be heavily influenced by my opinions and my desires and it is because of this that I will have to be so careful with what I say. I dread the day that she leaves my house but I fear the day I will have to push her to break from me emotionally. Much like my own parents, if I don’t do it she won’t ever be able to stand on her own. Motherhood is a bitch.