Crossroads

Just completed cycle 5. 
All the vials we purchased last year are gone. 
I used up my last pregnancy test. 
It has officially been a year since we decided to try for baby #2. 
I am still not pregnant.

We are at a crossroads. 

There are so many factors playing into our decisions about what happens next. 
Money.  Time.  Health.  And emotions.  So many emotions. 

Grief.
Anger at myself and my body.  
Jealousy of every friend, coworker and acquaintance preparing to have a second or third child.
Deep, deep sadness at knowing that Peanut may never have a sibling.
Confusion about how to keep moving forward toward our dreams.
Resistance to closing up this particular dream.
An overwhelming, pulsing desire to move to a new city. 
Fear of change, of giving up what's currently known and comfortable. 
Hope that because we want to raise another child, we will figure out how to do so.

Negative

My boobs got huge this time.
I was exhausted all week.
I was peeing more than usual.
The signs were so clear that despite the fact that I was trying to be
measured, calm, present,
I became so very hopeful, optimistic, and convinced
that THIS time I was really, truly pregnant,
that I began tracking my symptoms daily.

On Friday night, 11 DPO, the night before testing,
I had a dream.  I dreamt that it was morning, and I peed on the stick.
It was positive.
As soon as I saw those two bright pink lines,
I received a photo from my best friend via text.
It was a picture of her with a pregnancy test in her mouth.
She wrote, "I'm taking the test now!"
Moments later, she wrote, "it's positive!"
I had no idea she was even trying (she's not, in real life).
But I was overwhelmed with excitement.  We were both pregnant!
We had the same due date!

And then I woke up, and it was 12 DPO, so I took the test.
S joined me in the bathroom.
And we stared, and stared, and willed the pink line to show up.
For a full five minutes we waited.  And then we looked at each other with disappointment.
I took the test, put it back in it's wrapper, and took it to the trash.   
I crawled back into bed, completely numb.

February

That's right.  It's February.  We tried to conceive back in December for a third time, and despite experiencing the cruel ghost of of early pregnancy symptoms (strong nausea) right at 12 DPO, two days before Christmas, poof, just like that, I got my period.  The nausea turned out to simply be a stomach bug.  This time I was CERTAIN that I was pregnant, so much so that even into late January when I hadn't gotten my period again, I thought... "what if?"

Peanut turned two last month.  TWO!  And again, poof!  Just like that, the "terrible twos" emerged.  She's so funny and energetic and curious, and now also willful and stubborn and did I mention curious?  She's into everything.  And it's her way or the highway.  Or actually, her way or the floor, where you'll often find her kicking her legs, wailing, screaming "NOO!"   She's also singing silly songs, playing hide and seek, making elaborate meals in her toy kitchen, and building (smashing) block towers.  It's a whirlwind of fun at our household these days.  She keeps us on our toes :) 

We're in the midst of round 4 of TTC.  Today is CD12, and an ultrasound this morning confirmed that there is one promising 15mm follicle in my left ovary.  I'll begin checking ovulation kits tonight, probably do the trigger shot on Saturday, and inshallah, IUI 4 will take place on Monday.

Peanut was conceived on IUI 4 - perhaps it's our lucky number?   

The gig is up

15 DPO... And CD1.  Yep, I got confirmation this morning that I am most certainly not pregnant, weird symptoms be dammed.  I actually just felt relief to know one way or the other.  It was a long 33 days with all the anxiety and stress of having to navigate around my travel plans, etc.

We are not going to try this month due to timing issues with our upcoming honeymoon.  But S helped me figure out that we don't, in fact, have to wait until December.  We can try in October without adversely affecting our November travels!  I don't know why the possibility hadn't occurred to me before.  But I feel relief knowing the next cycle is right around the corner.  And in the meantime, I can plan to enjoy my favorite seasonal beer this month: pumpkin ale.

Playing Tricks (Cycle 2, 12 DPO)

Yesterday, at 11 DPO, I woke up first thing in the morning and took a pregnancy test.  And it was negative.  Yes, it was early - most folks don't recommend testing until at least 12 DPO.  But it wasn't so early that I might not have seen the faintest hint of a line if I was, indeed, pregnant.  But the testing strip was woefully bare.  I crawled back into bed, numb, and slept for another two hours.

It wasn't until much later in the day that the grief started to set in.  It was when I was serving Peanut her lunch that I suddenly said to S, "I'm feeling really sad."  S confirmed that he was feeling the same way.  My eyes filled with tears and I went off to the bathroom to have a little solitary cry.  I carried the sadness with me for the rest of the day.  It wasn't until S and I really processed it all that night that I started to feel some closure.

And yet, at the same time, I've been having a series of unusual physical experiences for several days.  I have been extremely restless and haven't slept well for three nights now - a very rare occurrence for me.  I've been feeling weird in my body, nauseous and awkward since last Friday.  Food and coffee haven't been sitting right with me.  Something has been off.  While at work today, I felt sick to my stomach for most of the afternoon.  I almost considered going home early.  Nothing - not food, water, sweets or tea - made me feel any better.

"What is going on with me?"  I thought.  And suddenly, there it was - the little inch of hope, creeping into my chest.  "What if... the test was wrong?  Or too early?  What if I AM pregnant?  That would explain all the weird symptoms I've been experiencing, right?"  The whispers grew more insistent, and questions of possibility tugged and tugged at my mind.  "I mean, I haven't felt cramping like I'm getting my period.  Last cycle, I got my period at 12 DPO, but I haven't gotten it yet this cycle.  My breasts are tender, right?  Maybe... I should remain hopeful?  Maybe I should take the approach of pregnant until proven otherwise?"

One of the most challenging parts of the TTC process has always been the inability to trust anything I'm feeling in my body.   This vessel I typically know so well is all of a sudden a mysterious physical entity, planting seeds of doubt and hope throughout my heart in equal measure for weeks at a time.  My body is playing tricks on me, and at the moment, I don't like it very much.

Reflections on Cycle One in the Midst of Cycle Two

We waited until July to start our first cycle.  S and I are scheduled to take a belated honeymoon/extended trip without Peanut in November, so we wanted to time the process to line up with the second trimester of pregnancy during our trip (not the third), in case I should happen to get pregnant on our first try.  I'm nothing if not an obsessive planner at heart.

So I enjoyed the month of June with an occasional beer, some yoga classes, and all the summer breeziness I could muster, trying not to let me excitement/anticipation of the beginning of a new pregnancy get the better of me.  I didn't succeed.  I actually spent too much time staring at the calendar and counting the weeks (end of first trimester, telling people, vacation, end of second trimester, maybe one more trip to S's homeland, Peanut turning two, baby's birth, my parental leave).  I fantasized about reducing my work hours to spend more time with both kiddos.  I read pregnancy forums on the Internet.  And on and on. 

I went into Cycle One having built it up so much that I was holding back tears on the actual day of the insemination (July 31 / CD 20).  My body was overrun by too many hopes, plans, dreams, wishes, fears all wrapped into It Has to Work This Time.  Anxiety coursed through my body from the day S gave me the "trigger shot" to induce ovulation until the moment the insemination happened. And ultimately I didn't get pregnant.

I didn't think about what would happen in this scenario.  At all.  In June, I foolishly booked a flight to go visit a dear friend over Labor Day, not even considering I might be TTC at that point.  I now realize we can realistically only try one more cycle - right now - in order to be in the second trimester during our honeymoon.  Which means I need to cancel my Labor Day trip.  If it doesn't work this time, our next attempt will have to be in December.  DECEMBER.  It feels like an eternity from now, especially with Age 35 looming over the horizon of 2015, with the straight family friends with a kiddo just 3 weeks older than Peanut having welcomed their second kid already, with wanting to get the heck out of the Big City and move to a smaller city already, with wanting to quit our jobs and open our own business, with OMG my previously good insurance denying all the claims from the clinic and my copay went up to $50 per visit (and there are a LOT of visits) so how can we afford this, etc.

It has been hard to keep my optimism up.  I've been gloomy and moody, and frustrated with myself for setting up my own ridiculous expectations and "plans."  I'm trying to remember there can be no expectations in this process.  Things will happen when they happen.  I'm trying to get out of my head and focus on gratitude.

Here We Go

S and I took the train together this morning to our old fertility clinic - two years to the month since Peanut was conceived.  It was a blue-skied, fresh Spring day, and the morning light made everything seem lovely and full of promise.  I felt butterflies in my belly as we walked the familiar block from the train to the clinic.  We met with our wonderful doctor again, who has since had her own little one.  She was so kind and supportive, and indulged us in our many stories about Peanut.

Everything about the meeting reassured us that the right time for us to move forward is NOW.  I'm excited and eager to start the process!   

Number Two?

A few weeks ago, a colleague shared some significant news with me about her life, her subsequent plans for the upcoming summer, and how it would impact my own summer workload.  I discussed it with S as we worked in the kitchen that evening.

"I think this news is embedded with a message to me," I mused.  "It has some significance for my life.  I've been thinking about it all day, and I can't quite figure out what it is."  I continued to cut up fruit for our lunches the next day.  S worked his way through a mountain of dishes.

"Maybe I'm supposed to to try to get pregnant this summer," I finally speculated.

"Maybe," S responded neutrally.  The truth is, we've been toying with the idea of having a second child for several months.  We've gone back and forth on the question, unsure about the right thing to do for our family.  On the one hand, the thought of having a second child spending ten hours per day in daycare and just a few hours per day with me and S just makes me sad.  We don't have enough time with Peanut as it is, never mind if we were to add a newborn to the family.  Plus there are significant financial questions to consider, the constraints of our limited living space, and the fact that we've been seriously exploring relocating in the next year or so.  Now that I'm not breastfeeding any more, we've settled into a nice, comfortable routine with Peanut that affords us more sleep, more quality of life, and more ease as she becomes increasingly independent and capable of communicating with us.  I'm enjoying the way things are now.

And yet, I can't stop looking at the siblings all around me.  On my commute to work, at the playground, in the historical fiction I read.  In fact, I just today finished a book that is built around the story of love and connection between a brother and sister.

I've been seeing signs everywhere.

I decided to talk in confidence with another colleague of mine, who had two babies in quick succession during the past few years, to get some advice about being a parent of two.  She spoke directly to the fears that had been consuming my mind for months.

"I was so scared I wouldn't have enough space in my heart or my life for a second child after having the first," she said.  "My first child cracked me open in ways I never expected and my love for her was so big.  I didn't think I could love another child just as much.  I was so wonderfully surprised when my second child was born.  My heart got even bigger!  I quickly realized my for each of them individually was amazing.  AND I love them together."

My chest filled with emotion.  We talked about our relationships with our own siblings and how a positive sibling relationship - nor any relationship at all - was not a guarantee.  And yet, we agreed that to have another person with whom to navigate origin family relationships is an incredibly special thing, especially when that relationship is a good one (i.e. a person to deal with all the *stuff* S and I will inevitably put Peanut through!)  We talked about the logistics of juggling two kids and how important it is to have support.  We talked about how to handle a demanding work schedule and the different ways we can create space to spend time with our kids and still maintain a fulfilling career.  The conversation, to my surprise, ended up very quickly revealing to me that I am ready.  Really ready.  I want to try to have another baby.  Now.

S and I continued discuss our fears and excitement during the next few weeks, and (not surprisingly, given how we tend to be pretty in sync about big life decisions), decided it was a good time to move forward. We checked in with our cryobank to see if the donor we used to conceive Peanut still had vials available (YES).  During my annual appointment with my GYN, I spoke with my doctor about our plans and she, too, was incredibly supportive.

I went ahead and made an appointment with our clinic for later this month.  We are tentatively ready to board the baby-making train again!  

Ebbs and Flows

As you know, the frequency of my posts here have wound down to zero per month.  And I'm okay with that.  I've learned over the course of my ten years of on-and-off blogging, this is a pretty common pattern for me.  I keep up the writing for a while, sometimes publicly, sometimes privately.  Inevitably I go through periods of feeling very exposed/vulnerable, and I start to question how much further, deeper, more personal I will allow my writing to go.  Now that Peanut is a part of my life, I think about issues surrounding her privacy, too. 

For the past few months, I've been doing most of my writing about her, me, and our family on paper.  For now, it feels better.  Friends gave me a lovely journal during my pregnancy and it has proven to be a great space in which to begin a lifelong dialogue with her.  Perhaps I'll pick up writing here again, but for now, this blog will remain a quiet space.  Thanks for your comments and company over the years.

15oz

That is the entirety of the backup breast milk I have in my freezer.
2.5 bottles for Peanut.

During the past month, I have been forced to go through a process of
letting go.  grieving the beginning of the end of my time
breastfeeding my not-so-little baby.  for unidentified reasons, my
supply took a nosedive during the month of  November, and despite my
efforts to give it a boost (fenugreek capsules, tea, oatmeal, water)
the daily milk i am producing has not increased.  In the meantime, i
flew through my entire freezer stash of backup milk just trying to
keep up.  now just the few sacred packets remain.

For a while, I was in denial.  I pumped a measly few ounces at each
session and cheerfully dipped into the freezer stash, day after day,
as I prepared bottles for daycare.  And then one day, as i struggled
yet again to get even a few ounces from a pumping session, it hit me.
I came home from work that night, held Peanut in my arms, an sobbed
and sobbed as I rocked her to sleep, mourning the anticipated loss of
our breastfeeding relationship. I reached out to my former lactation
consultant, who assured me that a dip at 10 months was normal.  "Your
body is preparing to make another baby," she said.  "Ha," I thought.
Clearly my brain hasn't passed on the message that I am nowhere near
mentally ready to go down that road again.

The one fact for which I was grateful was that I was to make it to
Peanut's 11th month (a week ago) before having to begin supplementing.
 Crossing that milestone was important to me.  Many parents who choose
to wean their babies by their first birthday begin doing so at that
time, so I mentally felt more like it was a "choice" to introduce
cow's milk to Peanut, rather than a necessity, which it now is.  After
taking with the pediatrician, we decided to use cow's milk instead of
formula, since she is now only a few weeks away from her first
birthday (when it is generally considered acceptable for babies to
fully transition off of breastmilk or formula to cow's milk).

So this past week, I put an ounce of cow's milk into Zia's bottles.
And then a little more.  And she has taken to it well.  There is
something about the experience of opening a carton of milk from the
fridge- a full box of cold, white liquid, that had been simultaneously
odd and freeing.  It is a weird physical sensation to just be able to
pour milk into a bottle.  As much as I want is available to me, just
right there in the fridge.  After having spent nearly a year obsessing
about and measuring and counting and planning how many ounces of
breastmilk I can pour into a bottle, let me just say, it's weird to
just have access to tons of free flowing stuff.

And at the same time, I feel relief.  I see a light at the end of a
tunnel of hard work, the opportunity to get through a whole work day,
or go to bed, without having to pump.

And then I started experiencing anxiety again.  There were nights when
even during nursing, I didn't have enough milk for peanut.  She would
cry out of frustration, of  experiencing an insatiable thirst.
Watching her try to extract just a few more drops was heart wrenching,
and I couldn't bring myself to just offer her cow's milk from a
bottle.  It just didn't feel right given that she hasn't hit the one
year mark yet.  So the day before Christmas, I went out and bought a
canister of formula.  I offered her a few ounces at home, and again,
she took to it readily.

Again, I felt a huge degree of relief.  A nutritious backup option is
available to me, and in an abundance I haven't known now for several
months.  If I'm not making enough on a given day, I can just go make
some.  It makes me suddenly have perspective on how much pressure I've
been holding in my body around providing enough milk for little P.

Snow Outing

Dear Peanut,

Someday, when you are grown, I will tell you stories about how I pushed your stroller five miles uphill in several feet of snow to take you to daycare.

In reality, it was only a half mile and a half inch, but boy, was it a doozy of a walk.  Still, seeing you bundled up with oversized mittens, hearing your sweet singing as we slipped and slid down Main Street, and imagining what you might be thinking about the buckets of white stuff falling from the sky, I couldn't help but feel lucky to experience an urban winter wonderland with you.

Love,
Your Mama

On Breastfeeding at 8 months

A few weekends ago, at my parents' house, I sat down at the kitchen table to pump before heading to bed.  It was late, and I was tired, but as I've learned very well by now, it's important for me to get a nightly session in to help keep up my supply.  So I do it.  Night after night, no matter how late the hour.  This time, my mom sat down at the table with me, and caught me up on all her latest stories.

One of her tales involved going on a walk with two close family friends, one of whom is the grandmother of a child who is just three weeks older than Peanut.  As they walked, they talked about how the mom of the other child was no longer able to breastfeed, since her supply had dried up.  They asked if I was still breastfeeding Peanut, and my mom affirmed that indeed, I was.

"Well, that's because ss has good-sized boobs," one friend said.  "So she can make a lot of milk."

I was taken aback.  

"I told them that your aunt, who has tiny breasts, was able to breastfeed your cousins for a year," my mom reported.  "I told them that it's because you work really hard to breastfeed, and that you're pumping at work and at night.  That's why you still have milk.  Not because of the size of your breasts."  Her tone was indignant.

Once again, I was taken aback, but this time, in a good way.  A really, really good way.  While I know my mom loves me, she doesn't say it very openly, or often.  She's typically more quick to judge or criticize than compliment or affirm me, especially when it comes to experiences in which she and I have a shared experience.  "I did things X way so you should be able to, too," is a common refrain for her.  To hear her acknowledge how much work I've put into breastfeeding Peanut for 8 months, to hear her tell me that she acknowledged the fact to other people, and defended me from the reductionist idea that my breast size determines my ability to breastfeed, especially when her own breastfeeding experience was different, was incredibly moving. 

When Peanut was born, I set a goal to breastfeed her for a year, if my body and circumstances would allow.  And I am so grateful that they have until now.  I know not everyone has the opportunity, support, resources or privilege to make the choice to breastfeed, and I make no judgement on the situations or choices of others.  It's just that I now know, intimately, how physically and emotionally challenging the experience can be.  

I have now been breastfeeding Peanut for eight months.  I am so proud of that fact, because it has taken time, energy, effort, calories, planning, dedication, commitment, prioritizing, and willpower.  Every single day.  It has required me to endlessly count ounces, pump a minimum of four times a day, deal with painful plugged ducts, commute with bottles and ice packs and pump parts on my back, pull stunts like figure out how to travel internationally with enough pumped milk on ice to sustain Peanut for 36 hours, manage constant fatigue, and so much more.  And still, every day, I have made the choice to continue doing it.

It's not often that I reflect on how much of the past eight months of my life have been shaped by the experience of being a breastfeeding parent, when in fact, my current life is entirely built around it.  For my mom to take the time to tell me, in the most direct way she could muster, that she was proud of my efforts, well - it felt good, and helped motivate me to keep on pumping along.

Finding the Body

Last week, S helped create the space in our schedule for me to go to a yoga class at our local studio.  It's a wonderful, healing space, but I haven't made the time to visit since, well, the day before little Peanut was born.  After many, many months of not doing any exercise whatsoever (since my third trimester, in fact), my body was feeling neglected, my muscles were simultaneously wound up and lethargic, and the opportunity to breathe and move with intention just sounded really, really good.  Necessary, in fact. 

So I went.  There were just three other people in the class with me (which, I have to say, because I live in a city with a few too many million people in a very small geographic space, felt like such a gift).  The teacher was kind and welcoming, and walked us through the class with exactly the kind of guided imagery that is helpful to me ("feel your feet solidly on the ground, imagine them connected to a root system, pulling you firmly into the earth.")  By the time we arrived at our last sitting poses, I was feeling more limber, relaxed, strong.  I followed the instructions to pull our legs towards us, feet together in a butterfly position.  "Inhale, and bend your body forward over your legs."

So I did.  I sat on my little blue mat in the warm, dimly lit room, and I breathed.  I inhaled, exhaled, and stared at the space between my bent legs, the diamond they created on the floor.  I inhaled, exhaled, and and felt myself overcome with un/expected feelings.  There I was, seven months later, pouring energy into the space from which little Peanut came forth.  There was so. much. emotion. in that space.  My eyes filled with tears.  Many many tears.  What suddenly emerged from that little blue diamond was grief.

Before I was consumed into the impending swirl of mind/body processing, the teacher asked us to stretch out our legs and move them around.  I shook the Feelings out and brought myself back to the four green walls and pale wood floors.  I finished the class and walked home in the dark, warm night.  As I thought back to that moment, the tears came again, and held themselves at bay, right in my throat.

Grief.  Grief.  Grief.  The word echoed in my mind, over and over again.  I asked myself, "why Grief?" 

My emotional mind answered, "Grief, because what I went through in childbirth was hard.  Really hard."
The rational mind countered, "But your delivery experience wasn't extraordinary.  It was within the range of normal.  Manageable.  Everyday.  No big deal."
Emotional: "Grief, because I had an epidural, and I didn't actually feel what was going on.  Because I was a passive participant in my childbirth experience.  Because they cut me open."
Rational: "But that was okay, you did what you needed to do to get through."
Emotional: "Grief, because I haven't been able to reconnect with that part of my body since giving birth."
Rational: "Yeah, that's pretty f'ed up.  Get over your damn fear!  Find pleasure again!"
Emotional:  "Grief, because I'm really, really scared of the depth of emotion that is contained within my body.  Grief, because I went through a physical trauma.  Grief, because I didn't see the aftermath, didn't want to look at my scars.  Grief, because the act of creating a very small space between my legs feels like too much.  Grief, because I want to just cry, and cry, and cry."

And then I was home.  I neatly put the cork back in my emotional mind, pulled the keys out of my purse, and walked into my building.  And made a silent commitment to go back to class again next week. 

Letter to Peanut at 7 Months

Dearest Peanut,

Spending time with you is truly the best part of each and every day.  You are endlessly happy and playful, and with your smiles, laughter, calm energy, curiosity and overall contentment, you bring so much joy to my life.  In truth, you enrich not only to my life, but Papa's life, Nana and Nani's lives, and to the lives of nearly everyone you meet.  You have a magnetic, compelling energy about you; neighbors in our building and strangers on the street often stop to talk with you, and tell us what an amazing person you are. 

I know I say this every month, but I continue to be amazed by your growing set of skills and abilities.  Human development is like a magical thing, and watching you grow is like watching a caterpillar morph into a butterfly.  You are finding your legs, stretching your wings, and releasing your spirit, bit by bit, day by day.  Here are some milestones from this past month:

• You officially started daycare full-time, and seem to really love your time there.  The teachers adore you, as do the other kids.  You're the youngest of the group.  When Papa or I drop you off in the mornings, the kids all gather around your stroller and call your name, touch your belly and arms, and express their excitement about seeing you.  You smile or squeal and kick your legs as an excited response.
• You started eating solid foods.  Despite having shown a great deal of visual interest in the foods Papa and I were eating for many weeks prior, you approached the actual consumption with some hesitance.  We started you with organic bananas, sweet potatoes, and carrots, but you didn't eat more than a spoonful or two of the purees we prepared or the jarred food we bought for the first two weeks.  Then, suddenly began eating with gusto.  First an ounce of carrots, then sweet potatoes, peas and squash.  You tried a little watermelon at the beach, and a little mango.  Now you're eating about 2.5 - 3oz of veggies at a time, twice a day.  I'm bummed that I haven't been able to prepare more homemade food for you yet, but I hope to do so starting in the fall.  
• You started babbling with different sounds!  Right before Papa's birthday, you started saying "da da da da" (which of course, Papa LOVED; he told everyone it was your birthday gift to him).  I am sure that when recounting the history of your life, you're going to be told that your first word was "Dada," though at this moment we're pretty clear that you're simply playing with sounds.  Right before we saw Nana a few days later, you started saying "na na na na" as well.  Good timing, kid ;)
• You started sitting up, solidly.  Now we can put you on the floor sitting up, and you'll play with toys there for long periods of time.
• You developed a keen interest in the cats, and frequently watched their movements around the apartment.
•  One of the coolest skills you developed was the ability to find your pacifier, get to it, and put it in your mouth.  Many times it will be a few feet away from you (in your crib, for instance) and you'll either roll or creep over to it, stretch your arm out, grab it, and stick it in your mouth.  Then you'll realize it's the wrong way (you often stick the handle in first), take it out, look at it, turn it around using your other hand, and put it in the correct way.  I don't know how to explain how remarkable it is to see you master such a complex skill. 

We had some fun adventures together this month; we explored a hip neighborhood in the city with one of your aunties from the midwest and one of your uncles from Puerto Rico.  We celebrated Papa's birthday at the beach with a few other babies of queer parents.  We went to a barbeque with some of my old coworkers.  And of course, we spent some quality time with Nana, Nani and your uncle.

My Peanut, my love for you grows bigger every day.  I'm looking forward to sharing another month of life experiences with you.

Love,
Your Mama

Ragged

I am utterly exhausted.  My bones are tired, my mind is spinning, and I can barely keep my eyes open.  My boss told me to consider going home to get a head start on the evening and catch up on sleep.  As someone who prides herself on Keeping It Together At All Times, that was a major blow to my front.

I'm not quite sure what I'm doing wrong, but somehow, every day feels like a marathon of to-do lists.  26.2 never-ending miles of making lunches, prepping bottles, cooking, cleaning, working, grocery shopping, running errands.  I'm not really doing much else.  S and I do a pretty good job of keeping routines; we cook large quantities of food once a week, we divide labor in the household equally, and at this point, we even have Peanut on a routine.  She goes to bed at 8pm every night (after play, dinner, bath and bedtime story) and actually falls asleep for the night.

But it's not working.

Somehow, even as someone with so much privilege - access to lots of support and resources while doing this parenting/living life thing - I feel like I'm failing.  I'm failing at doing the best I can.

I can't keep up with my own life.  There is always more to do, more to manage.  I try to let things go (mostly, cleaning the apartment) to create space for a little summer fun.  And then things pile up and I feel more overwhelmed than before the fun.

The small things keep getting in the way of the big things.  When I think about how "busy" I am, I realize I'm filling my time with things that are about maintaining my life, not embracing it or living it fully.  I worry that I've relegated caring for Peanut into just another set of tasks on my list.  Picked her clothes out?  Check.  Changed her diaper?  Check.  Spent thirty minutes connecting with her and making her laugh?  Check.

Something needs to change.

I feel like crying when I see how truly connected Peanut is to her daycare providers, and when they tell me things I wish I knew about her daily development.  I resent every minute of hustling and hauling stuff (groceries, laundry) around this challenging city.  The cats feel like a nuisance.  I have very little space or time to engage in real self-care - exercise, breathing, enjoying nature, cooking for fun, being creative, writing.  I'm barely connecting with S at this point.  We move through our days like the sun and the moon; sharing the same sky, but so very far apart from one another.

I miss Peanut.  I miss S.  I miss myself.  I have run myself ragged.  And I don't know how to stop.

The Next Big Thing

I can't believe how quickly S's twelve weeks of parental leave have flown by.  A week from today, he returns to work and Peanut will be in daycare full time - nearly 50 hours per week.  (I guess I should mention here that in early June, we stumbled upon a seemingly great residential daycare in our neighborhood - and with much relief, decided to sign Peanut up.)

Today, Peanut began her transition to daycare by visiting the facility for an hour.  S sent me a picture of her with one of the providers this morning, and when I saw it, I unexpectedly started crying.  The tears came and went all day, in fact.  In the photo she was smiling, and seemed happy.  It began to really hit me that S and I are no longer going to be her primary caretakers.  We are entering a time in our lives when other folks will be helping to raise our child in a meaningful and significant way.

When I returned to work in mid-April, the transition, for me, was relatively easy.  I enjoyed being back in my routine and felt good about the fact that S had an opportunity to spend a few months with Peanut.  I needed a break from the exhaustion of caring for a newborn on my own and not really being able to take care of myself.  I don't think I took into account how much of the fact that S was at home helped me emotionally jump right back into my work.

Now that Peanut is almost six months old, I am realizing I have more emotional work to do as I continue to show up at my office every day.  Much more.  This transition is the one that involves both of us being away from her, all day, every day, for the forseeable future.  Maybe forever.  This transition involves opening our hearts to others, trusting complete strangers, letting go of control of the world around her, and picking our battles.  How important is it for us to stand up for Peanut's right to not have petroleum jelly spread on her bum after every diaper change, or to be exposed to television, no matter how "educational" the content, all day long?  How much will we open ourselves to being taught by others?  How much will Peanut's understanding of the world around her be shaped by people with whom we don't necessarily share certain core values?

It feels really scary, hard, and sad.  I'm not quite as ready for this change as I thought I'd be. 

The Fierce Love of a Papa

This past weekend, S, Peanut and I attended the wedding of a family friend.  We anticpated that Peanut would take a nap during the evening reception, but between the bumping DJ, the energized emcee, and the excited wedding guests, the event turned out to be VERY loud.  We decided that one of us should hold little Peanut close, cover her up with a blanket, and rock her during the raucous festivities.  S did so first, and at some point left the room to help soothe our little one.

When he returned to the dinner table, S continued to hold and rock her, and talked to her softly through the blanket.  I decided to check in to ask if he needed some help, as nearly 45 minutes had passed.

Me:  "Aren't you tired of holding her?  I'm happy to take over."

S:  "No, I'm not tired.  I'm very happy holding her in my arms.  I will hold her every day until she's 18 years old.  And longer.  Maybe when she's 21, I'll say, now my arms can rest."

Maybe it was the fact that we were listening to sweet, emotional wedding toasts.  More likely, it's just that S has such a beautiful way with words.  But his comment was so unexpected, and moved me so much, that my chest swelled up and I had to hold back tears.  I simply nodded in response, and turned back to the hoopla on the dance floor.  All I could think was, how lucky is Peanut to be blessed by such a fiercely loving, expressive, and devoted Papa?

Small thoughts on a big day

"Children born today will grow up in a world without DOMA."  -Edie Windsor, 6/26/13

It was upon hearing plaintiff Edie Windsor say these ten words, as I stood in a conference room filled with my exuberant, proud colleagues this morning, that I finally teared up.  The Defense of Marriage Act - DOMA - has been taken down.  I am feeling such a mix of emotions.  It has been a whirlwind of a week, politically - between the Supreme Court gutting the Voting Rights Act and blatantly disregarding the Indian Child Welfare Act, and the ever ongoing fight to defend reproductive rights in the state of Texas - and now the end of DOMA and Prop 8.  We are living in complicated times - simultaneously disappointing and inspiring.

People have been calling Edie a "shero" and comparing her to Rosa Parks, Harvey Milk, and Martin Luther King, Jr.  And to me, those are short-sighted (even offensive) comparisons. Edie is a privileged, white, wealthy woman with access to incredible resources who maybe just happened to be in the right place at the right time.  She was a palatable icon for the marriage equality movement and was strategically employed by a huge movement of people working toward marriage equality for many years.  Her case was based on the fact that she had to pay more than $350K in estate taxes.  She is a charming, thoughtful person, and a great activist; but she did not single-handedly take down DOMA.   

But these ten words moved me.  When I think about little Peanut, and the world in which she will now grow up, I have to say I'm incredibly grateful that she will not have to know DOMA, or have the experience in which her parents' marriage is sort-of-but-not-really recognized (well, at least on the federal level).

Today, I was so grateful for my colleagues and thousands of people who have been tirelessly working to secure equal rights and protections for queer folks who choose to get legally married.  I am feeling lucky to be alive at this moment in queer history.

Now more resources, energy and attention should be directed into the immense work for equality and justice that remains.  Radicals and leftists to whom I look up, and for whom I have a great deal of respect, have done right to remind me today that marriage is the wrong goal in movements for equality and justice, and that there is much, much work to be done on many different priorities that affect the most vulnerable among us. 

Nanny share

S and I recently began to come to terms with the fact that we will not be able to care for Peanut on our own forever.  Soon, we will both be back at work full-time, and will need to introduce another caregiver into our lives.  We've generally assumed the best scenario for our family would be a nanny share.  The idea is that two families hire a nanny to care for both kids at once.  It's good for each family, because it splits the cost (which can then end up being more affordable than daycare) and the kids have a chance to socialize with each other.  And it's good for a nanny, who ends up generally earning a higher salary than s/he would caring for one child.

We were recently excited to come across a neighborhood listserv posting from a family looking for a nanny share as well.  I reached out to them with a tentative email.  "We're looking for queer-friendly family to participate in a nanny share with us."  I held my breath and waited for a response.  Several hours later, they wrote back.  They passed the first test: feeling okay enough to have their kid around a queer couple.  Cool.  We had some back and forth about our general needs and expectations, and when it seemed we were all on the same page, we set up a time to meet.  It turned out, they lived pretty nearby and had a kid the same age as Peanut.  Cool again.

We spent a solid two hours feeling each other out at our first meeting.  On the surface, the family appeared to be very different from ours.  Us: an interracial, inter-religious-but-mostly-secular leftist vegetarian-leaning queer couple, both nonprofiteers who rent a run-down one-bedroom apartment.  Them: a white, Catholic, straight couple from the south, both reporters who own a well-maintained two-bedroom coop.  When I walked in the door to their apartment and saw that one of them was wearing an NYPD t-shirt, I had my guard up about their values and politics.  When we came out to them, it was clear from the language they used ("we're totally ok with homosexuality") they didn't have much experience with queers like us.  Ultimately, though, I was impressed and surprised with how open they were, and how much we seemed to share expectations about raising our kids.  They challenged my own assumptions and stereotypes.  I mean, let's be real, not everyone is going to be open to having their kid spend a lot of time around a transexual man and a queer Muslim woman - especially ones who are total strangers.  The fact that they were not only comfortable, but welcoming of us, to me, spoke volumes about their characters.  After the meeting, I remarked to S, "while I wouldn't have picked them off the street as friends, I think we have the potential to get along well."

From there, we moved quickly and optimistically forward.  We set up interviews with three different potential caregivers during the following week, to be conducted with both families simultaneously.  We were riding high, feeling pleasantly surprised that things seemed to be moving so smoothly and we'd have care set up for Peanut by the end of the month.  Then we had the first interview.  In short - it was not cool.  The caregiver had been recommended to the other family by a close friend, so they saw her through a lens of trust and familiarity.  To us, she was a total stranger.  While she clearly seemed to be comfortable with infants and was kind and approachable in her demeanor, we saw some big red flags.  She described herself as a Seventh Day Adventist who would sing bible songs to soothe the babies.  When we told her we were queer ("kind of like a gay couple" is how we explained it, I think) and didn't believe in gay people, but didn't think it was her place (it was God's place) to judge them.  While she said she would respect our wishes (not to sing religious songs, for example), her answers to other questions demonstrated that this would not actually be the case.  We communicated to the other family that we felt pretty strongly that this nanny was not a good fit for us. 

They, on the other hand, felt very comfortable with her.  We all went ahead and interviewed the two other candidates, but it was clear they had decided the first candidate was the best match for them.  The tension built between our families for a few days.  Were we now locked into an uncomfortable partnership?  Were our needs just too different to make this work?  Was this a sign of differences and disagreements to come down the road?  Should we initiate a break-up?

S and I carried the anxiety and questions in our bellies for days.  We talked and processed late into every night, barely able to sleep.  We quickly learned that not only was working with another family very (and probably almost too) challenging for us given the care of  our little one was at stake, but we weren't quite comfortable with a nanny arrangement at all.  While we certainly know and trust there are many loving, amazing and nurturing paid caregivers in the world, we realized since we don't have a recommendation or personal experience with someone who would generally share our values and respect our family, we felt incredibly vulnerable and protective of Peanut.
 
We are proud of who we are, and we want Peanut to feel proud of herself and her family, too.  We want her to know she is worthy of love and belonging, that she is a part of a family with a rich, beautiful and diverse history, that has a unique story to tell.  We want her spirit to be cared for and nurtured by a caregiver with whom she can explore her own creativity and desires, whatever they may be.  We are especially conscious that we want to find a caregiver who will respect her self-determination around gender identity and expression as she grows up.

The other family finally wrote us an email to say, very kindly and respectfully, that they didn't think the nanny share situation would work out.  We were relieved and let them know we agreed.  We were  grateful, not only that we wouldn't ultimately be pressured to work with a caregiver that didn't feel right for us, but also that we were able to retain a good relationship with the other family despite our differences.

The experience ultimately was an unexpected but incredibly powerful test for us as parents.  It helped us clarify our needs, where we will stretch, and where we will set boundaries for our family.  It brought me and S closer together, and reminded us why we click and love one another.  And taught us, very concretely, that we are going to have to be willing to fight for what we feel is right for Peanut.  We are now beginning to explore other options for Peanut's care, hopefully with more clarity and assurance that we know where we stand and what she deserves.

Letter to Peanut at 4 Months

Dear little one,

It is remarkable to me that it has only been a month since I wrote your last letter.  In that span of time, you have developed an incredible number of new skills, the most exciting of which is that you are now LAUGHING!  Heartily, excitedly, and with some regular frequency.  Sometimes Papa and I will be laughing about a joke (like this morning, when our kitty cat somehow figured out how to turn on the lamp by himself!) and I look down and realize you are laughing along with us.  Your first laugh was with me, in response to me squealing "my baaaabyyyyy" to you in an increasingly high pitched voice.  You since have loved when we blow raspberries on your belly, or when people lift you up and down with big smiles on their faces.

During the past month you:

• Learned to roll to one side (usually from right to left)
• Grasped things and held onto them for a while (it's amazing watching you hold on to your pacifier, pull it out of your mouth, and then attempt to get it back in your mouth.  You can't usually do it, but you make a good effort!)
• Put toys in your mouth (typically by moving your head toward the toy with your mouth wide open)
• Grew out of newborn sized clothing and Size 1 diapers 
• Woke up!  You suddenly became an energized, awake, observant and active infant.  You continued to be a pretty relaxed and happy baby, even though you...
• ...began to exhibit some stranger anxiety.  Now when an unfamiliar person picks you up, you stare at them, give them a huge, sad pout, and start wailing!

Your favorite toy this month was a little stuffed ladybug you wore on your wrist.  You stared at it intently and put it in your mouth.  When it was not there, you would stare at your arm for long minutes as if waiting for it to appear.  We joked that you must have thought it was a part of your body!

This month featured a big transition in our lives.  I returned to work full-time, and Papa began his parental leave and is now staying home with you until mid-July.  I definitely felt some major sadness (and sleep deprivation since for the three nights prior, you barely slept) the first day I left you, but thanks to wonderful coworkers, I was welcomed back at my office with much support.  It felt good to reconnect with the part of myself that is fulfilled by my job.  And Papa was incredibly compassionate; he sent me lots of photos of you and made me feel like I was still a part of your day.  Shockingly, when I returned home after work, I put you to bed and you slept through the night.  Fully.  From 9pm - 6am.  With no waking to be held or fed.  We couldn't believe it!  Since then, you've continued to be a pretty solid sleeper.  You'll still fuss, cry, and wake up several times between 8:30 and 11pm, but after that you sleep consistently until the morning. 

The fact that I'm not home with you every day is made easier knowing you and Papa have three months of quality time (and warmer weather) together.  I appreciate having a job I enjoy and because I do, I come home to you excited, energized, and wanting to make the most of our precious hours together.  Still, I miss you and worry about what I'll miss during the 50 hours a week I'm not by your side.  I hope someday we'll figure out a way to have more balance.

A few days ago we celebrated my first Mama's Day.  It was a beautiful opportunity for me to reflect on our four months together.  There are few ways for me to explain and describe how good it feels to play with you, cuddle you, and hold you in my arms.  You have expanded my heart.  I feel so lucky, so grateful, so blessed that after so many months and years of dreaming of you, you are finally here.

With love,
Your Mama