Ok.

So I’ve been blogging for almost 5 years now.  I started out way back in my Xanga days.  It’s something I’ve always done for me, and always felt good about.  I didn’t, until just recently, care about the blogosphere, or making friends or networking.  Blogging has always been a way for me to indulge the writer in me, as well as being able to get things off my chest in the perfect forum.  I don’t think could have ever predicted accurately the drama my blogging would cause.

Let’s look back.

I used to work in an OB/GYN office near my house.  I worked there for over a year, and loved it.  I left, not because I didn’t want to work there any more, but because I was intensely interested in furthering my career and my knowledge of obstetric ultrasound.  A position had opened up in a high risk clinic, and I applied for it.  When I got the position, I was truly sad to be leaving my friends and co-workers.  Several months after I left, I logged into my Xanga and noticed I had several THOUSAND page views that day.  The very same day, one of my ex-co-workers called me and said there was some bad Juju going on at the office.  Evidently, someone had googled either me, or the clinic that I worked in, and found my blog (which was google indexed.)  This person hadn’t been able to keep their mouth shut, and gave the blog address to everyone else in the clinic.  So, instead of working for several days, all of the employees of this clinic spent hours trolling my blog, reading my private inner thoughts, and attempting to find something wrong with what I had done.  At that time, I had written a few blog entries similar to the “Ultrasound Resonates” posts that I write now, with names changed and privacy protected just like always.  I also had written several stories about incidents that had gone on in the clinic, ALL of which showed the clinic in a great light.

My co-worker told me that someone had given my blog to the manger of the office, and that there was going to be a big uproar over it, and I was in big trouble.  Interestingly, I never heard anything about it from anyone else, so it was all a much ado about nothing.  However, some people got all high and mighty and important, and decided to stick their business in my own.  (Yes, I know you did this.  Yes, I think it was shallow, petty and rude.  Yes, I continued to write in spite of it.)

Moving on.

From my OB clinic, I moved on to bigger and better things.  I started working at a high risk obstetrics clinic, and I absolutely loved it.  I also became pregnant within two weeks of starting at the clinic, so my time enjoyed there was overshadowed by my impending child.  First, let me say that I was told on no uncertain terms that none of my co-workers were happy about my pregnancy, having suffered infertility problems themselves, and that they wouldn’t be interested in hearing about my gravidity, so I should keep my mouth shut.  Being young, pregnant and quite excited about it, that was handed over as a slap in the face.  So I attempted to keep my mouth shut, my head down, and just work.  Despite my best intentions, and against my desire to keep working there, I left the clinic when Ronan was born.  I had wanted to continue in the high risk field, but was not offered a part-time position, and couldn’t fathom putting my son in daycare from such a tender young age.  This evidently caused some ruffled feathers with my co-workers, who were insulted by the fact that I didn’t return, and believed that I had mislead them into thinking that I would be coming back.  I had thought I had created valuable, lasting friendships with the woman that I was surrounded by, but after finding out how sore they were over my leaving, I couldn’t bring myself to go back and confront them, lest they snub me to my face.

Several weeks ago, I was informed by a remaining friend at the office that the ladies there were still reading my blog (even though it has been over a year since my employ.)  I was told that my blog was passed around, read, and then degraded and insulted.  My parenting efforts were poo-pooed, and my character questioned, all without having the ability to defend myself.  As far as I know, this practice continues: grown women read my public blog and deride me in order to make them feel better about themselves.  (Yes, I know you do this.  Yes, I think it’s shallow, petty and rude.  Yes, I continue to write in spite of it.  But I think you need to grow up, and find something else to entertain you.)

Again, moving on.

I found a position in a hospital where I could work weekends, so I could be home with my son all week.  Then, my husband would be with Ronan on the weekends, and the need for childcare had been eliminated.  Not only did we not WANT to leave our son in daycare, we couldn’t afford it; this allowed me to work without the extensive costs of having my son cared for.  I have worked at this hospital for nearly a year, and was told several months ago that someone had anonymously turned in my blog, pointing out that it’s against hospital policy to state that you work there, what you do, or talk about your position in general.  This alone didn’t bother me; I didn’t know there was any such rule in place, and it took just a few minutes for me to remove all references to my place of work.  However, the fact that someone saw fit to take my personal blog and turn it in to authorities, rather than simply mention to me that I was doing something wrong, rubbed me just awful.

Now, within the last few days, I was approached by my supervisor and told that my blog has come into question again.  Someone had printed off several pages of my posts and turned them in, again anonymously, stating that the timestamps showed that I had been working on it while I was on the clock.  I was told that this was a severe offense, and that if it happened again it could lead to dismissal.

Once again, someone has seen fit to shove their big, fat nose into my business.

I WRITE a BLOG.  It’s about my kid, and my family.  It’s rated G, and sweet, touching, personal, funny, and sometimes challenging or upset.  I’m not posting pornography, I’m not an anarchist trying to bring down the government, I don’t cuss or post inappropriate pictures, and I’m not even using the hospital internet system.  I write blogs in my spare time, and I post them, once a day, when I have a free moment.  I can do this from my phone while I’m sitting at a red light.  I can do it in the pumping room when I’m making FOOD for my CHILD.  I can log into the public computers on my lunch break and access my account.

Now, if I had brought in a note pad and written a story down with pen and paper, no one would get worked up.  But because it’s the internet, and it’s a public forum, someone thinks they have the right to police my activities and turn me in for perceived wrong doing.

First, it’s none of your damn business.  Second, where do you get off printing information from my blog?  Yes, it’s public, but it is MY intellectual property.  You do not have the RIGHT to do that without my express permission.  Third, WHY DO YOU CARE?  Who am I to you?  What does it matter what I do during my down time at work, or while I’m at home, or sitting at a damn red light?  If you have that much time and energy to spend on what I’m doing, perhaps you should take a moment and re-evaluate what YOU should be doing.  Fourth, you have permanently damaged my relationships with the people that I work with.  By not having the courage to show your face or come to me in person, I have to assume ANYONE could be the person that has sunk low enough to care about what I do.  I no longer have the luxury of trusting someone just because I like them.

Yes, I know that you did this.  Yes, I think it’s shallow, petty and STUPID.  YES, I will continue to write in spite of it, and in spite of you.  Grow up, get a life, and leave me alone.  I have done NOTHING that should affect you in ANY WAY, and your obsession with me is unhealthy.

Which leads me to question:  Could it possibly be me?  What am I doing to invite this type of attention and negative energy?  Is there something I need to do differently?  Or am I actually surrounded by childish, petty people who have a flair for dramatics?

I don’t want to stop blogging.  I don’t want to make my blog private.  I don’t want to pull punches or edit myself because I’m worried about who might be reading it.  I don’t have a problem.  If you have a problem, please un-invite yourself from sharing my life.  And thank you, each of you,  for trying to ruin everything.

My first real blog post in a few days.

This will be fun.  My keyboard is broken because I spilled water on it yesterday.  Go me.

I have all of these things that I want to write about, and yet none of them seem important enough to say.

All last week, I experienced something so wonderful, so amazing it’s difficult to put into words.  Ronan had settled himself into a schedule where he would go to bed between 8:30 and 9:00 pm, then sleep until 2 am without waking, eat, and then sleep again until morning.  I can’t even begin to describe what that week was like for me.

And then we had a Birthday party.  I’m not entirely sure what screwed up the whole thing – whether it was the cake, or the excitement, or the missing of a nap – but the whole thing is screwed up.  For the 3 days since the party, he’s been a bear to put to sleep, and woken nearly every hour.  It’s like we’ve taken seven or eight steps backwards.  I’m trying not to be too upset about it; we’ve dealt with it before, and we’ll deal with it again.  It was just so frustrating to see some light at the end of the tunnel (or SLEEP, as it were) only to have it blink off.  I always figure every day is a new chance for things to go well.

I also have been considering going to my doctor to have a talk about depression.

It’s a funny thing, trying to figure out what’s going on in your head, and whether or not it’s normal.  I feel like I’m normal.  But I also feel like I’m never really happy.  I write all these posts about being lonely, and trying to get things together, and then I have a day like Saturday.  My house is filled with so many wonderful people, all of whom love me or my husband or my son (or even all of us!) and I realize there is no reason for me to be lonely.  I shouldn’t ever be sad.  I just look around and know that I shouldn’t ever feel alone.

So then… why do I?

I don’t remember ever feeling like this when I was younger.  I’ve sort of always chalked it up to being homesick and missing my family, but that doesn’t seem to hit the nail on the head either.  I think that means it’s time to talk to someone else about it, and find out what ‘normal’ really should be.

Because there is no reason for me to be unhappy.  I’m NOT unhappy.  But I always feel sad, and I’d like that to go away now.  I love my life, and I want to enjoy it too.

Ronan was 7 pounds 4 ounces, and 21 inches long.

Ronan was perfect.

Ronan entranced his mommy and daddy from the first moment they saw him.

Ronan smiled at 4 weeks old.

Ronan would only nap during the day when the vacuum was running.

Ronan laughed for the first time when Mommy, daddy and Nana all could hear it.

Ronan didn’t like to sleep alone, so he slept with his mum.

Ronan loved the bath from his very first.

Ronan was a pro at tummy-time.

Ronan grew up so quickly.

Ronan got his first tooth at 3 and a half months old.

Ronan army crawled when he was 5 months old.

Ronan never learned how to jump.

Ronan would smile and splash in the swimming pool.

Ronan loved to be outside at the lake.

Ronan ate avocado as his very first solid food.

Ronan keeps getting older, and just wont slow down.

Ronan is an enthusiastic walker.

Ronan loves to feed himself, and loves food in general.

Ronan never gets more excited than when his daddy gets home from work.

Ronan doesn’t like to sleep very much.

Ronan can make a thousand sounds with his mouth, and none of them are real words.

Ronan giggles at almost everything.

Ronan is a deep and contemplative fellow.

Ronan likes to figure out how to put things together, and pull them apart again.

Ronan loves to go up the stairs.

Ronan hates to fall.

Ronan enjoys his bath time with gusto, splashing and squealing the whole time.

Ronan hates to lie back flat in the water, but he’s getting better.

Ronan loves his blue teddy bear, affectionately referred to as “Blue.”

Ronan gives the worlds best hugs.

Ronan is never very happy to be in the car.

Ronan doesn’t like having his diaper changed.

Ronan will throw a big pout when told “No!”

Ronan and Flint are best buddies.

Ronan desperately wants to catch the cat some day.

Ronan isn’t tired of being breastfed yet, and we are all okay with that.

Ronan totally loves playdates with his favorite girls.

Ronan knows if Mommy and Daddy are eating something, he should be too.

Ronan can sign “More” and “All Done” but frequently signs both instead.

Ronan is afraid of loud noises.

Ronan makes the funniest sound when he wants something, sounds a little like a squeak.

Ronan hasn’t found something he wont eat yet.

Ronan loves to spend time outside.

Ronan is afraid of the vacuum cleaner.

Ronan makes everyone fall in love with him, and his beautiful blue eyes.

Ronan will make you laugh, and then laugh with you.

Ronan waves “bye-bye” to his food when he’s done.

Ronan is one year old today.

Happy Birthday my sweet son.  You have given us the best year of our lives.

I wanted to post this a few days ago, but I was over my upload limit on Vimeo.  So here it is:  Ronan chasing Flint around the living room with the exercise ball.  Enjoy!

Ronan’s first birthday party was today.  All of our very best and most wonderful friends came.  I was so so very worried about it for NOTHING at all.  It was amazing, and I think everyone had a great time.  Short of a few birthday boy melt-downs, it couldn’t have gone better.

Here are some pictures of our Ronan’s big day.

Ronan LOVES balloons!

Sweet Farah!

Walkin’ man and his birthday balloons.

Our party guests – so many amazing people.  (The other half were in the kitchen.)

Do you see anything wrong with this picture?  Let me give you a hint… helium balloon + candle = FAIL.

Balloon popped and scared him silly.  He cried until he tasted the icing.

“Hmm.  This is pretty good actually.”

“This gets it to my mouth faster.”

WIN.

Quick bath, wardrobe change, and BACK in the party!

Hooray!  Presents!

Thank you SO much to everyone who came!  Until next year…

… unless you let your son fall and smash his face open the day before his first birthday party.

I am a GREAT mom.

I came home from work and found this one on my camera.  I’ll bet you that this makes your day.  So far, it’s made mine twice already.  LOVE!

Have you ever heard the saying, “How come anyone driving faster than you is a maniac, but anyone driving slower is an idiot?”

I used to drive long distances all the time.  I got to really enjoy the ride.  But what I also noticed is I was either passing, or being passed… and I never saw someone going the same speed as me.  It didn’t take me long to figure out that the reason I never met anyone going my speed was because people going the same speed as me were staying the same relative distance away from me… we were traveling parallel to each other and never intersecting.  So even though I knew I could only see the people that would speed by me, or the people I would leave behind – I knew the other drivers were out there.  I could picture them in my head, and I was not alone at my speed.

This is my metaphor for parenting.

You see, it doesn’t matter ONE BIT what choice you make in your parenting spectrum; there will be those far more radical than you, and those that think you are far too radical yourself.

I realized this the other day when Ronan was spitting yogurt out after every bite.  My instinct was to smack him on the mouth and tell him no, but I didn’t, instead I just took the yogurt away.  When I did this, I pictured myself in a public area, and thought about the reaction of other parents.  I KNOW there would be someone that would think to themselves, “I can’t believe she let her child get away with that.  If that were MY son, I would have smacked him on the mouth!”  And quite opposite of that, had I chosen to smack his mouth in punishment, there would be the parent that would be thinking, “I can’t believe she just smacked her child on the mouth.  Who would hit their child over something so trivial?  She could have just taken the yogurt away!”

And it’s this way of thinking that made me realize: it doesn’t matter what I choose to do, I will never make everyone happy.  Instead, I just have to make sure I’m doing what I know is right.  To be a mom, you don’t just have to be smart, loving, and patient; you also have to have thick skin.  The mothers out there that would do exactly what I did?  Chances are, I wont meet them easily, because they wont be the ones making waves.  They’ll be the ones just like me, keeping their heads down, being proud of their choices, and accepting others for what they choose to do as well.

I know I write a lot of posts about parenting.  It’s really on my mind all the time.  I’ll try to lighten up a bit, but I thought this was a little too cool to not share.

I totally can’t let this go.

Last week, I was visiting with some friends and having a great time.  There was me, Ronan, my two friends, and their sister with her 4 month old.  The two friends are married and pregnant, and I sometimes feel it is my duty to impart bits of wisdom that will help a new mom in ways that I was completely clueless after having my first.  You know, little things that no one remembers to tell you, and when you’re going through it yourself you wonder, “Why didn’t anyone tell me this?!”

At one point, I looked down at Ronan who was being a little pill and remarked, “No one will ever tell you how hard it is.  I mean, I had no idea how utterly and completely difficult it would be.”

My pregnant friend said, “I’m sure they TRY, but you don’t really understand what they’re talking about until you’re going through it.”

“Very true!” I agreed.

Her sister, holding her sweet 4 month old baby, said, “Yeah.  It’s so hard in the beginning.  But it’s gotten easy now.  It’s not really hard any more.”

I’m not kidding, I think I did a double-take.  Not hard any more?

I honestly can’t remember a time when it wasn’t hard.  It surely wasn’t when Ronan was 4 months old and teething.  It’s not even NOW, when he’s trying to be all independent and grown up.  It’s still hard as crap.  I still have days where I can’t believe how hard it is, and nights where I don’t want to have to deal with how hard it is.

I try to give myself the benefit of the doubt.  I still don’t get to sleep all night.  I still have to work full time hours.  My shift is horrible, and throws off my rhythm all week.  But, between you and me, I think I have a pretty good kid.  He’s even tempered, he takes good naps, he plays all alone like a pro; despite all of this, there are times when I just wish it were easier.  Today, we’ve only been up for an hour, and he’s already made me want to pull my hair out three times.

He wanted a bottle, so I gave it to him.  He took three big sucks off of the bottle, and then spit it out all over the couch.  Then he used the bottle like a pen, and drew all over the black leather in sticky milk.

I finished my bowl of cereal, but I don’t really like to drink the milk out of the bottom.  Ronan crawled over and asked for some, and I told him it was all gone.  He got mad and put his hand into the bowl and splashed it around.  I told him, “No, Ronan!  You don’t do that!”  He looked me straight in my face and started screaming.  I love a good temper tantrum early in the morning.

I picked him up and brought him into the bedroom for a nap, because it was obvious he was having a little trouble.  I laid him down, sat next to him, and started patting his back.  He laid there calmly for about 5 minutes, and then started tossing, turning, squirming and screaming.  I kept him down for about 15 more minutes before giving up.

Now, we are back out in the living room, where I put on Finding Nemo so I could have 15 minutes of quiet time.  He’s drinking out of his straw cup, where he’ll take 5 or 6 big swallows, and then he’ll spit the next two out.  Sometimes, it’s all I can do to keep my patience.

So, I don’t know if it’s her, and she’s just putting up a good front because the fun stuff is fun, or if perhaps she has the perfect baby and it ISN’T hard for her anymore… or it it’s just me, and I’m a terrible mom because I find this to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life.  And I don’t see it getting any easier any time soon.

Just a fun little video of Brock and Ronan playing ‘Catch’.