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.

Saturday (1/12)

(Peanut's birth story, Part 1 of 3)

S and I woke up early on this gray January morning geared up for a long and busy day.  Over breakfast, we made a to-do list for the weekend, which mostly included things like "grocery shop to stock freezer," "buy a diaper pail" and "decorate nursery."  So much to do before baby arrives!  All of which would have to happen on Sunday.  We quickly showered and left the apartment to walk to a local church that was holding a blood drive.  It took S a little over an hour to donate.  I waited for him at the snack table and stared at the piles of animal crackers and pretzels, willing myself not to sneak anything into my pocket or my mouth.

We rushed home, scarfed down a bite to eat, then walked to our local yoga studio.  Earlier this week, I had learned they were offering a workshop about nurturing relationships using hands and touch.  I thought it might be a good exercise for S and I to attend together to help us connect and have some couple time before baby arrived, and also to prepare us to support one another in the birthing process.  I am generally pretty uncomfortable with touch and massage, so a formal workshop seemed like the perfect way to open myself up to receiving nurturing and care from S.  We spent two hours sharing a space with our neighbors, mostly young queer-identified folks, touching our partner's faces, shoulders, necks, and feet.  It was easy for me to massage S; he challenged me to receive.  At one moment, he told me he would continue touching my shoulders and chest instead of switching off and having me touch his.  My eyes filled with tears. 

"No!" I whispered sharply.  "It's my turn to massage you.  It's not fair to be so one-sided."  He pushed back gently.

"I'm happy to do it.  Really.  Let me take care of you for a few minutes longer."  My emotions caught me by surprise.  He had been rubbing his hands over my heart for several minutes, and had clearly opened up some vulnerable space inside me.  I pulled myself together, frowning, and finally agreed.

We rushed back home after the workshop, processing what we had experienced as we walked.  I was mostly focused on the fact that we only had an hour to get home, eat, and head back out to meet friends for dinner.  We had just pulled together a mini lunch when S got a phone call.  An old friend of his was in the neighborhood with her husband and young baby, and she wanted to drop off some baby clothes for us.  We welcomed her over, leaving our untouched sandwiches and soup on the kitchen table.

S's friend walked into our living room carrying their tiny brown baby in a car seat.  I felt something stir inside me.  He was so small!  At 10 weeks old, the adorable baby boy looked to me so close to how I imagined our own baby might look.  I kept staring at his little face and thinking, "ok, now I get it.  We are going to have a real, live baby, just like this one... so soon!"  The teeny tiny baby clothes she passed on to us seemed almost too small for a human baby to wear.

After S's friend left, we scarfed down our now-cold lunch and ran off to the train.  At this point, we were running late and I was pretty tired, but our friends had very generously offered to meet up with us in a neighborhood fairly close to our apartment, so we didn't have to go far.  We started with Thai food at 4pm, gabbed for hours and hours, and ended with coffee at 11pm.  We spent a good chunk of the evening talking about our hopes and dreams for life with our little one.  When we exchanged goodbye hugs in the train station, there was excitement and nervousness in the air.  We knew the next time we saw each other, our little one would be here.
 
S and I were walking home from the train station arm in arm when I suddenly began to feel pain in my lower abdomen.  "Ay, babe," I said.  "I'm having those menstrual-type cramps again.  They're really strong!"  I asked him to slow down a bit, and I clenched my teeth as we rounded the corner to our apartment building.  And just like that, the cramps disappeared.  "It's such a weird feeling," I remarked.  "I guess my body is preparing to give birth!"

We snuggled into bed together and continued to talk, still wound up from our activity-laden day.  "I feel like everything we did today was really good for us," S said.

"Yeah, it was a really good day," I agreed.  "It's going to feel good to get everything off our to-do list tomorrow, too!"

13 Weeks: Nuchal Translucency

I was a little nervous about this morning's appointment at a special imaging center in the city.  At 13 weeks, it was time for us to go through a first trimester screening called a nuchal translucency - a high definition ultrasound that can assess for chromosomal abnormalities and, most commonly, Down's Syndrome.  The actual procedure took longer than we expected - apparently, at 13 weeks our little one is pretty wriggly, and the technician spent quite a bit of time coaxing it into the right position to take the measurements.  As she scanned, measured, took pictures, and labeled, she pointed out the fetus' various body parts.

"Two legs," she said.  After a long pause, "kidneys."  Another pause, "spine."  She wiggled and jiggled the wand over my belly.  "Brain."

We spent a good 20 minutes just watching the cute little fetus dancing around on the screen.    The results of the test ultimately turned out to be pretty reassuring - everything looks right on track.  And we even got to see a fancy 3-D image where the fetus appeared to be sucking its thumb.  It made the experience feel all the more real.  We're going to have a baby!

There was some paperwork, and a blood test, and then S and I made a pit stop in the restroom.  When I walked in, there was a woman there, crying.  I felt my chest seize up a bit.  To be crying in this particular doctor's office could not be good.  I exited as quickly as I could to try to give her some space.  She followed me out the door and proceeded to make a phone call in the hallway where I was waiting for S.  "The baby is not okay," she sobbed into the phone.  "The baby is not okay."  My heart sank for her.  She hung up the phone and walked out of the building.

The experience has stayed with me throughout the day, and at the very least, has served as a reminder about both how unpredictable life can be, and the gratitude I feel for the many blessings I have in my life right now.  As we end the first trimester and begin the second, I am so, so grateful that our little fetus seems to be healthy and well.  I am grateful to have a job with generous benefits, health insurance, and the flexibility to go to these appointments during work hours.  I am grateful to have a wonderful partner who accompanies me to each appointment, holds my hand, gives me hugs, and reminds me how lucky we are to be on this magic journey together.

What Excites Me About Being a Parent

Tonight, S and I went to a trans parenting workshop at an organization that was created in the '70's to provide psychotherapy services to LGBTQ folks.  The workshop participants were mostly trans-masculine folks, with the exception of myself, and facilitator was a trans man who is the father of three adopted children.  S and I were the only couple there, and only one other person was a prospective parent.  We had an interesting discussion, touching on topics such as when to come out to your kids, how to come out , how to navigate things that are "secret" versus things that are "private," the lack of control over your own relationship to privacy, shifting identities as parents, building chosen families and queer communities, etc.  It was an affirming discussion to have with other trans/queer folks, and helped me feel less isolated in the process of becoming parents.  And yet the question that most intrigued and challenged me during the whole evening was, "what excites you about being a parent?"

I was totally stumped.  The things that excite me about being a parent feel utterly selfish and full of ego, and I was too ashamed to say any of them out loud.  So I stayed quiet.  But what I thought was that I'm excited to be a parent because I want to have a relationship with another person that is close, loving, nurturing, and special.  I'm excited to be a parent because a child will enrich and enliven my life, bring purpose and meaning to it.  I'm excited to have the opportunity to raise a child who thinks critically about the world, is a part of a progressive movement for social justice, and is taught to value others and make the world a more beautiful place.

As I reflected on the question again at home, I realized that one of the primary reasons I'm excited is because I think S will be an incredible co-parent.  He is the most gentle, loving, emotional, brilliant, caring, humble and hilarious person I know.  He is a wonderful teacher with so much wisdom and experience and so many stories to share.  He will be a true partner to me in the experience, and he will teach our child about the magic and mystery and gorgeousness that is life.  Having a child will give him the opportunity to be his best self, to bring more of his heart and goodness into the world.  It will give me the opportunity to continue to learn from him and for us to together discover new things about ourselves and each other.  Having a child together will impact our relationship profoundly, help us grow, and learn how to love in new ways.  I feel blessed to be taking this journey with him, and for our child to have the benefit of such an incredible person as a parent.

The night before IUI #4

Tomorrow I'm going to the clinic for IUI #4.  But this time, it will be without S.  Due to the complications with his wisdom teeth, he had to reschedule an appointment with his cardiologist for tomorrow - before we knew it was the same day the IUI would be scheduled.  Since he only sees this doctor every 3-4 months, and it takes a while to get an appointment, we agreed it would make sense for him to go see his doctor and for me to go through the IUI alone.  It is a quick procedure, after all, and the doctors barely make eye contact with him, never mind greet him by name or involve him in the process.  So I think it will be fine.  There is a part of me that feels sad that he won't be there for emotional support.  He has been such a huge part of making each of the inseminations go well/smoothly for me.  And, psychologically, there is already so much loss in this medicalized process, that for him not to be there makes me feel he is yet another step removed from the process.  Still, I know it is okay.  I am strong, I am ready to receive our baby and to go through the process knowing that S is sending me his love, and is with me in spirit.  He'll be there to cuddle and comfort me at night when we both get home from work.

Conception Day (IUI #3)

That's what we dubbed today after a really positive IUI experience.  S gave me the Ovidrel injection two nights ago, and we showed up at the clinic this morning ready to inseminate.  I felt hopeful and happy about the process.  We worked on a crossword puzzle while we waited our turn. 

We had some time alone in the examination room before the doctor arrived.  S held my hands and said a little prayer.  I felt deeply connected to him, grounded, at peace.  Ready to trust the universe.  The doctor who performed the insemination was one of my favorites at the clinic, a woman who performed my pap smear back in December and was friendly, kind, and respectful.  I was relieved to see her, and with good reason.  The IUI ended up being the least uncomfortable of the three.  S held my hand and gave me kisses during the quick procedure.  He reminded me to breathe and relax.  The doctor said, "now that's a supportive partner!" I felt so blessed.

In the ten minutes we had to connect and be together after the insemination, S put his warm hand on my uterus and we kissed.  It was a sweet, meaningful private moment.  During which he tried to convince me we should play hooky from work and spend the sunny day in the park or at the zoo.  We decided, instead, to go out for a special breakfast before work.  We found a European-themed cafe nearby and celebrated our conception day with french toast, decaf coffee, an egg white omelet with asparagus and onions, and earl grey tea.  I had a wide grin on my face throughout our special meal, and felt lighthearted and happy throughout the entire day.  I had no cramping or discomfort.

Regardless of what happens during the next two weeks, I trust my body, I trust the process, and I am grateful to have shared such a beautiful day with S.  I felt better than I had in weeks, for a variety of reasons both tangible (large follicle, non-painful IUI, good doctor) and spiritual.  I am grateful for the opportunity to attempt to bring our first child into the world.

DD Day

Today, December 31, 2011, the last day of an already momentous, blessed year, is DD day.  Donor Decision Day.  Just moments ago, S and I purchased our donor sperm.  The sperm that will be used to help bring our first child into the world.

A year and a half ago, in June 2010, we found this donor at a cryobank and put his profile into our "favorites."  There was something about it that felt pretty good.  We knew the basic stats of the donor (height, weight, eye color, hair color).  And we read his basic medical history and personal essays.  We saw the "celebrity look-alike photos" and thought he seemed like a pretty good match for S.  And then we stopped searching for a while.  I actually forgot that we had even saved any profiles.

I logged in to our cryobank account about a month ago, when we started looking seriously at donors once again.  S and I went through many searches, and still, the donor we had selected not only had IUI vials available, but still felt like a really good option.  We ordered his full medical history and learned about the health of his family, including his siblings, parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents.  All the information checked out.  We were almost ready to make a decision.  The only significant dilemma was that he was an open (identity-release) donor; we had been very clear that we only wanted an anonymous donor.  So I called the cryobank to ask about our options.  There was nothing they or we could do to change the status.

During the past week, we sat with the information, read study after study about the benefits of open versus anonymous donors ("the internet is very biased toward open donors," said S to me in a frustrated text message).  We sat and felt and talked and cried.  We looked at other donors.  S found one other that felt pretty good to him, and it turned out he was an open donor as well.  We fought each other and wrestled with the information and the implications.  We decided we needed more information.  So we purchased a subscription for access to more information about all the donors in the bank - including childhood photos.

When I opened the file containing the single childhood photo of our first-pick donor, my heart jumped.  I grinned at my computer screen.  I couldn't believe how much the baby picture resembled S.  And at the same time, of course I could.  The eyes, the mouth, the forehead - all the major features of this donor look stunningly like S.  Meanwhile at home, S had pulled out his own baby pictures and was staring at them in shock. 

S and I are both people who live our lives and make our decisions by listening to our hearts and our guts.  And both of our guts, time and time again, said this was the one.  S said he was trusting the universe, that there was a reason the donor about which we felt so strongly happened to be open.  He said he wanted to listen to the signs.  So we did it.  We are now the proud owners of five vials of IUI-ready, identity-release donor sperm.

Let the new year begin.

4 years and an Ovulation Kit

Earlier this month, S and I celebrated our 4 year anniversary.  His gift to me? 

A brilliant, beautiful poem.  And an ovulation kit.

The first, a profoundly moving expression of his love and committment.  A reminder of all we have been through and all we have built together. 

The second, a symbolic (and practical) gesture to let me know he is HERE and READY to begin a new journey in our relationship.  It was a reassuring and exciting sign.  Let the 5th year of our joyous partnership begin!

august 29

since i was young, i have possessed a knack for remembering random dates in my life history, from the birthday of my best friend in 3rd grade (october 24), to the day i got my first period (november 11). there's the day i graduated high school (june 4), the day i experienced my first slow dance (december 5... to chris de burgh's "lady in red") and the day my classmate's mother passed away when i was fourteen (october 4).

while i don't necessarily celebrate the anniversaries of these dates in any particular way (i don't quite feel the need to mark my 16th year of menstruation in 2007), i do recognize them as conscious memories in my body. they are reference points by which i measure the time passing in my life.

so it was surprising that this year, it was only through a funny turn of events (and by "funny," i mean "gluttonous"), that i remembered the significance of august 29. what a meaningful day it is...

2005

to mark the start of graduate school, 30 incoming students were offered the opportunity to take a bus tour of the city of detroit. i, being an orientation fanatic, eagerly joined the group.

as i boarded the bus, i observed the characters before me. an enthusiastic white girl with red corn rows. a joke-cracking black boy. a shy tall desi boy with a mustache. an animated california-blond girl. a charming latino boy with an eyebrow piercing... wearing a button-down shirt... with the sleeves rolled up... he was too cool for me. i proceeded to avoid him for the next 8 hours.

at 4:30 p.m., the charming latino boy approached me with his arms across his chest. he introduced himself, standing just a little too close for comfort. he asked me, with piercing eyes, "what's your name? where are you from?" i took a step back, stammering, "um, well, err... i'm from new york." "let's go to new york together!" he exclaimed. he stepped back, looking surprised at his own forwardness. "i mean, you know, a bunch of us could go, like a road trip... you know, after we know each other better..."

much to my relief, we were saved from the awkward moment by a group of students discussing where we should go for dinner. we eventually went to the new york pizza depot in ann arbor. while we munched on our fresh-from-the-oven slices, the latino boy smiled at me from across the table. i smiled back, excited about what the future beheld for each of our lives.

2007

it was a typical weekday. i woke up, went to work, and met up with the latino boy - now my partner - for dinner at a hip thai restaurant in town. since it was a breezy, comfortable summer evening, we decided it would be nice to take a walk together over the brooklyn bridge.
we walked for hours from manhattan to brooklyn under the bright full moon, sharing stories, the skyscrapers twinkling in the distance. at 11:00 p.m., we found ourselves standing in front of grimaldi's, a famous pizza joint under the bridge.

"let's get pizza!" s exclaimed. i hesitated; after all, we had already eaten dinner, and it was nearly bedtime. but the thrill of spontaneity won me over. we walked in, sat down, and ordered our second dinner of the evening - a large cheese pizza. s smiled at me, excitedly, from across the table. and then i felt it - the familiar "anniversary jolt."

eating pizza together... on august 29... but this time, in new york! we were unconsciously recreating the moment that had brought us together exactly two years ago. living out our destiny of sharing mozzerella cheese and tomato sauce on a deliciously thin crust in the greatest city in the world. 

now THAT was a moment worth celebrating :)