The Weight and Wait of Parenthood

[Author's note: This post is a little more raw (and long) than most that I put up... I've just had a lot on my mind and I'm trying to "Shake some things out". To all our peeps out there who are going through crazy shit. We love you. The greatest gifts include friends that will not only support you, but turn to you and lean, rely, and/or involve you in their sorrow. The friends that wade around in the muck with you are treasures, but the ones that ask you to be in the muck with them are truly a gift. To all of you who are willing (and even eager) to read the multitude of words below- and read this blog on a regular basis, I hope you know that supporting my writing this way is a gift that I can't really repay except to say, "Thank you for hanging out with me in the muck that my mind creates. I really appreciate it." This post has taken me about 2 weeks to write and another week to "clean up". It's still a disaster and probably not fit for public consumption. HAHA! Enter the Blogosphere... especially after that really sweet thank you that I wrote up there, you're practically emotionally blackmailed into reading the snivel below :)!!!]
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I'm in one of those "things" right now. It's a warm, sunny 65 degrees out. The mild winter has given over to an early Spring. Our bellies are full. Our money is sufficient. Our careers are fulfilling and still full of promise. Our children are healthy and beautiful, talented and delightful. Our family and friends abundantly generous and loving. But...

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn

I'm in a tender spot. When I just carried a sleeping Milo from the car to his bed to finish his mid-day nap, I nearly broke apart into tears- tears of happiness, tears of sorrow, tears of worry, tears of heaven only knows what. Carrying him, I couldn't help note the weight of him- symbolic of so much contradiction: He's so big and so tiny at the same time. He's everything we needed to complete our little family, everything we wanted and dreamed of... he's so needy and so independent. At 2 1/2 years, he has already changed me, taught me things I didn't know I didn't know. I went to put him in his bed and stopped and held on. I cradled him close for a few more moments. I thought of our friends and family members who have lost children and pushed that terrible terror back down into my gut and summonsed the happiness and clarity of this perfect moment. His weight and beauty so tangible. This is parenthood, the weight of holding on, the weight of letting go. The joy and grief of holding on to something that you are simultaneously preparing to let go of... Like the very breath in your lungs.

"Waiting for the other shoe to drop" used to be something I did with intense vigilance. But for most of the last 10 years, I've gotten better about it. Be present, be zen, consider the lilies in the field... yada, yada.

I think I've mentioned it here before, I come from people that tend NOT to be superstitious; but sometimes one or two living ancestors will admit that within the core values subtly passed down (especially to and from the women) is embedded a belief that you can somehow ward off tragedy if you put enough effort into preventative forms of worry.

And I've been a fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around

All of these questions, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
So I like to keep my issues drawn
But it's always darkest before the dawn

The last several months, life for me personally has changed considerably- almost entirely related to changing jobs. I had to say "I'll see you around" to some very fun, lovable, trustworthy friends that I worked with every day. And then I started to spend my days as a stranger on foreign turf with people I don't know well, if at all. I left a position where a lot of decision making authority was in my hands, to take a position where there are several more layers of managers above me, weighing in on decisions that would have been mine at the other shop.

Due to the size of the institution that I currently work at, earning trust, making a good first impression, and doing lot of homework to understand history and context has become the most important aspect of my daily professional life for the past 3 1/2 months. Learning a bunch of new names, systems, and the rules of an odd new game is the kind of roller-coaster excitement my brain thrives on, but the kind of "why am I stuck to the side of this centrifuge?!?" nausea that my intestines just can't wait to be over.

Concurrently, longer work hours mean that the family dynamic has shifted slightly. The boys (who were theoretically equally reliant on both Mommy and Mama) have grown to expect more time with Mama during the work week. The job is going well, Katy has been amazing, but I have to admit all of this has left me to feel a bit vulnerable and somewhat insecure in my roles both at home and in the office.

Frankly this is an unsettling side-effect of what should be a win-win scenario. By all accounts, I am doing well in the new job- getting great feedback about my performance and feeling at least an intermittent sense of accomplishment. Additionally, our family structure is a might bit stronger now owing to the increased money and stability, that accompanies the new job.

It's confusing to just not feel "happy-happy-happy" when all indicators (seasonal, economic, social, professional) indicate that conditions are more than ripe for contentment and bliss...

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

For whatever reason, my reaction to the stress of these "life-changes" includes a heightened awareness of all that can (and does) go wrong in life. And an empathetic desire to run to people that I love who are in heavy-hearted times and wrap them in some magic blanket... Maybe as a way to deflect my own fears and insecurities.

At this very moment in time, we have friends that are sick, dying, have cancer, have children with cancer, are on the brink of divorce, trying to forgive a spouse for cheating, are losing their parents, are losing their jobs, are reeling from the suicide of a friend, are trying to recover from depression, illness, injury, addiction, are picking up their lives and moving across the country to follow their dreams... I'm not generalizing here, like, "We mostly likely know people who are going through these types of things..." I mean there are individuals that we care about very much that all of those things are happening to.

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
And given half the chance would I take any of it back
It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone
It's always darkest before the dawn

Oh whoa, oh whoa...

One of the mornings in the last several weeks, both boys were in bed with us- a surprisingly rare occurrence- and Jake, recovering from his 2nd bout of pneumonia in as many months, hacked a junky hack without waking; and Milo put his hand on my face and sighed a sleep-drenched sigh. I reached over and touched Katy with my palm, the underside of my arm resting on the two small heads in the middle. In that moment, I felt so light. Yes, our days were slightly too filled with mucus, yes we are a bit over-tired, and yes, I was awake at the unGodly 3:44 AM... but this was the exact type of moment I yearned for all those years ago when we were ready to have a child, and it wasn't working.

I had this private moment of pure contentment and gratitude and then a few days later, C texted me from CA.

"How's it going?" I inquired which has recently become shorthand for "How's life in the strange, stressful land of baby-making?" (Or Turkey-baster-ville as we're inclined to refer to it with our lesbian friends).
She texted that they had decided to take a break from "trying".
"oh..." I replied.
"It was just a little too sad."

Yup. That wasn't just a text to me. Ugh. The memory of that place is not so far away. It came flushing back like a big wave. Reading that message on my iPhone, I FELT that sadness. It brought all my (current, unfocused, and practically unexplainable) sadness to a sharp point and in solidarity, I wanted to jab that point into my forearm.

Oh, that place of ache- Where you finally put out into the universe what you really WANT and it is not something small or material, but something tremendous and life altering. And you do it in humility with an understanding that you don't always get what you want; but you do it intentionally and you try to be patient in that place of uncertainty and vulnerability... And when it doesn't work, when the pee stick comes up negative month after month, at first it catches like a hangnail on your psyche, and then it starts to feel like something life-threatening. And you don't know why it hurts that much because you look around and your life is pretty damn good. It's confusing to feel such gratitude and such grief at the same time.

The very same hour I received the text from C, I heard this story on NPR. And I just couldn't believe the timing. I had a little epiphany, and got a little closer to understanding it.

I think the reason it hurts so much is because your kids are out there, and you're worried about them even if you haven't met them yet... You can feel these little spirits out there- the ones that are to be your children. You feel their breath on your neck sometimes, even before they exist. You feel it so real it cannot be mere imagination. And you want to trust what you've been told (what you generally believe) that everything happens for a reason... all in good time, etc... but still, ask any parent... being away from your kids is really quite devastating.

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me

One of my best friends from childhood, A, is in the last heat of the parenting Olympic trials. The event is a new one called: "You think you've had a bad year? You should see the shit I've been dealing with for the last 12 months!!!" If you turn on the news on any particular day you realize that she's probably not even in medal contention, because there is no limit to the amount of heartbreak in the world. But last May, her oldest son was convicted of a serious crime. After sitting through a trial during which the police involved contradicted their own testimony and perjured themselves, and the "victim" denied the original accusation on the witness stand, she started to believe that everything was going to be okay. And then had to listen to the jury return a guilty verdict that was beyond the understanding of most of the legal experts in the room. Her son has been in a maximum security state prison since he was sentenced and though it's been nearly a year, there is no word on when the appeal will be scheduled.

The physical, psychological, and societal separation from her full-grown (but-still-her-baby) son has been shocking. Yet, as she walks around, people can't even perceive the sadness she has endured. She's one of the strongest, most loving, generous, resourceful, lacking in self-pity, and rational people I've ever known. In the mean time, her 18 year old (second) son has told her she will become a grandmother in a few months. Not a tragedy by any stretch- but still- could we just possibly have dealt with one thing at a time. Speaking to her on the phone, I'm all like, "Don't buy one, single baby thing without checking with me first b/c we are about to unload everything you need from crib to boppy and I even have a whole bunch of stuff you'll probably wish you never heard of..."

I try to talk to her about what she needs, if there is anything I can do. But mostly what I want to ask her is, "How is your heart? Is there anything I can do "mother-to-mother" to help plug up any of the holes in your armor that might leave you exposed and vulnerable?" She tells me nonchalantly that this has taken it's toll on her relationship with her husband. And more pressing, he is finally working on treating his addictions. My heart sinks. Not really surprised at this news, that this has been happening in the background too. I just want to shake a fist at the furies and say, "GIVE HER A BREAK"!!!

"I don't know how you're holding it all together," I tell her.

"As if I have a choice" she says. And then she puts it out there and wraps the truth around both of us: There is nothing that matters as much as these things. This year of razor sharp heartbreak somehow brings with it validity and redemption. Sorrow to better enjoy the sweetness of life. There is no choice but to experience sorrow in life, but if there were, it might not be the best idea to opt out of it.

I do understands what she means. If you've never spent a day clawing out of a cave, or stroking a hand in a hospital room, or anxiously waiting outside of an ICU or a courtroom, it's hard not to pity your innocence. Blessedly rare are those individuals that are able to look upon and recognize actual happiness without the focusing lens of sorrow and heartbreak.

All I can say, to our friends C and L (struggling in Turkey-baster-ville) is, "I know. I'm sorry. Hang in there." I want to leave it at that because in my experience, when you are trying to get pregnant, people offer way too-fucking-much in the way of opinions and advice. But since no one has ever accused me of talking too little (why use 5 words when you can write 2500?) I'll add an encouraging, empathetic, tender-hearted:

"Get used to it".

Barely relying on metaphor, this is the start of parenthood. That negative pee stick, and all the things that will happen before and after you and your children are reunited it's like boot camp for your hearts; for the endurance marathon that follows. Stretch and pull and run, and use ice and heat intermittently to soothe your aches, and start to believe that you can do it, because you can... (but believing that you can is really half the battle).

It's already started, you don't even really have a choice in the matter.
It's both a long wait and a heavy weight.

But you can do it.

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

Groundhog Day

There are so many things that I never really thought much about until I had kids.
It's important to note, I'm one of those people that thought a lot about having kids...
I thought about how I would teach them, how I would treat them, what I would need in a co-parent to supplement my particular hangups, talents, shortcomings, and anxieties. I considered how I would handle raising different personalities and how I would balance the different needs of boys vs girls or boys AND girls. I even thought a bit about what I would do if I had a kid that had ambiguous genitalia or one that looked like a boy but felt like a girl (Thank you, Middlesex).

I thought about how I would teach them to pee standing up (having never done that myself) and how I would teach them to stand up for their beliefs without disrespecting others. I thought about how I would handle the rage inside myself the first time they were bullied or teased.

I mean, you get my point, right?

The "parenting" as a verb catches me so off guard sometimes. Watching and letting them struggle for their own good- even if right now it is only with language and putting on socks and shoes- requires attentive restraint. (Jake's particular nemesis right now: Button-fly jeans. Who at gap thought that was a good idea?!?) But sometimes, I am completely disarmed by how they flip the world around on me, they completely scramble the compass.

Can we talk about Santa?!?
An uncomplicated concept to get behind in theory. He's jolly, he's fun, he's generous, he's magical - "Kid-less Tracy" didn't give it much thought. What was there to protest?

I just didn't anticipate how hard it would be to make up the little white lies required to make that myth work. It's not that I have a problem lying to my kids, per se... I mean our relationship is based on honesty (of course)... but a lot of the stuff I say to them is not so much TRUTHFUL as it is AGE APPROPRIATE: "Soda is an 'adult beverage'," "Everyone loves vegetables!", "Mufasa's brother, Scar, is so silly". Still, the pseudo-creepy, heavy-set man in the Santa suit in the mall?!? Not that interested in plopping my toddler on his lap.

When my kids have the uncontrollable urge and desire to run up and hug Santa, I'll stand 2 feet away and allow it. But trying to convince them to partake in the pre-kids-it-didn't-seem-so-bizarre ritual ("Stop crying, there's nothing to be afraid of... Go sit on that strange man's lap so we can take a picture")?!? Sorry, I'm not playing.

I'm okay lying about the reindeer flying and speaking of magic like it's a real thing (that's called imagination). Leaving the notes to and from the big guy and the treats and cookie crumbs... I start to have some ethical dilemmas, but I see the value.

Then I have to partake in the back-story, and I start to loose interest: Mrs. Clause sitting home doing nothing but keeping his suit clean? The army of enslaved elves making millions of toys? Landing on the roof? Breaking and entering- a man sneaks into our house on the promise to leave us some goods? Wait.. WHAT?!? So this guy just wanders around our home while we sleep? How is that congruent with everything else we are trying to teach about normal social behavior?

Why can't we just update the tale? Example: Kids and parents correspond with Santa's family by email to coordinate requests from the children and advice on good behavior from Santa. The elves have been set free except the ones that were hired (union bennies and wages) by the Clauses to help coordinate money exchanges and purchases from corporate entities (toy making and product packaging has obviously been outsourced from the north pole due to increased transportation costs and an effort to be more Green.) This is such a corporate holiday, but as a parent tied to the increasingly outmoded and ridiculous Santa myth, I can't even bring in a tame lesson on the dangers of commercialization or find easy ways to explain how much harder a lot of our neighbors have to work around the holidays, b/c Santa is the only one getting street cred for upping personal productivity...

All kidding aside, it was a creative struggle in December to find pieces of the holiday story that are not complicated by half-truths and increasingly inane postulations (a deer-drawn winter sleigh when we haven't had snow since that one storm in October???). So we tried to minimize it and focus on the story of the nativity, and teach them to notice the smell of the tree and the enjoy the beauty of Christmas lights.

And then, not all of our friends celebrate and believe in Christmas or Santa. And the ones that do? Their not-so-little white lies to their kids are slightly different than ours. Our kids are like, "that's not what so-and-so said about Christmas..."

Holidays with kids can get complicated.

Last night, Jake and I are sitting on the couch:

J: Tomorrow's Ground Hog day.
Me: (not having thought about this at all) yes.
J: what is that?
Me: (stretching my mind) Um... that is a holiday where the ground hog comes out of his hole to determine if the winter will end soon or not.
J: What?
Me: um... the ground hog comes out and if he sees his shadow, he goes back in and if he doesn't, he will stay out of his hole?
J: Why?
Me: I guess he will get scared if he sees his shadow
J: no. why does he do it?
Me: um... (remembering) it's like 6 more weeks of winter if he goes back in his hole but... (I trail off knowing this is absurd)
J: why
Me: I'm not sure, baby
J: why?
Me: (i knowing I'm beat) yeah... I don't know, really... it's a very silly holiday

Parenting (more often than I would have previously believed) involves mini existential crises, sometimes 2 and 3 times a day.

As I try to explain the world to our kids, I'm forced to decide- often in a moments notice: Am I going to pass on some bullshit that no one believes but everyone repeats over and over again? Am I going to overwhelm them with a depressing amount of realism?

But cutting even deeper, once a previously unnoticed absurdity comes to my attention, how will I handle if from there??? Inside MYSELF???

Sometimes I feel like I'm just noticing things for the first time and when Jake or Milo ask "Why?" I have to shake my head like a visitor to this country or planet and say with true helpless confusion, "I really have no idea, guys... I'm sorry. I have no idea..."

"It's totally fucked up." I want to admit to them, "And I'm sorry to report I never noticed how totally fucked up it is until right this moment..."

(Head in hands) When they are older, we can just watch the Bill Murray movie together, right?

At the womb whisperer's request...

A lot of f%&#ing batshittery has happened in the last 7 days...

We have not posted b/c we have been trying to keep our heads above water. It's nothing earth shattering or devastating- if you sprint back 30 yards and look at it from a slight distance.

I have a lot to say about some of it, but here's the bulleted quick-notes version:

Monday: just another manic monday

Tuesday: IBO has her baby, 2 days shy of 26 weeks

Wednesday: I fly to St. Louis, spend 5 hours in airports and planes and 4+ hours in a minivan on Missouri highways accompanied by a quorum of geeks and rednecks; meanwhile at home, Katy gets a call from day care that JB is projectile vomiting

Thursday: I work a 14 hour day, including a 4 hour drive on MO highways, and lose my cell phone somewhere in St. Louis... JB has stopped puking.

Friday: I take a "nonstop" flight home that has me breathing air in 4 cities, and experiencing 3 take offs and 3 landings in 5 hours... (Feeling naked without my cell and wondering the entire time if I will ever see that totally-unimpressive-to-begin-with cell phone again.) Katy is called by day care in the late morning b/c even though JB spent all of Thursday without any vomiting and seemingly healthy, he is now squirting liquid out the other end. Katy is told that she needs to pick him up before his dysentery-esque symptoms spread to any of the other rug rats and a diarrhea-thon commences. I get home at about 3pm and experience the glorious surprise of having my family home waiting for me. Katy is sweet and JB is asleep. It might have been a kinky lazy afternoon if I didn't have to do a few hours of cell phone recon. Oh well...

Today, I got a new cell phone... oh, it's an iphone... And IBO's baby is hanging tough, impressing his medical team and so far, beating all odds!

I don't know what he ate but...

Worst diaper change to date... ever.
Gross and gross.

I'm afraid I'm going to have nightmares about it.

I shit you not...

I forgot to mention it earlier...

This afternoon, JB gave us the sign for diaper and we changed him - all wet- good call, son!
Then, a few minutes later, he gave us the sign again.
Katy and I looked at one another and shrugged. Then we did a little undressing in fast-forward speed, got his clothes off and sat him on the toilet.

The kid has some very obvious cues. At home when we see him straining, we ask him "Are you going potty?" We try to take that opportunity to use the word "potty" and the word and sign for "diaper". Then we're all like, "good job". Or if the expression on his face indicates excessive "straining" we might say, "It's okay, bug, you're doing great... you're going potty... hang in there, dude... good work." etc.

Look, don't judge us... this is an important part of parenting!

So, while he was on the pot, we were trying to get him to see the connection: "potty," "great job," "no diaper" etc.

There are moments in your life where you want to stop time, look at the camera and go, "Is this really happening?" I think that mostly happens when the stuff gets a little too real: at a birth, at a death, during an accident, if your spouse faints at the alter, etc. It's maybe a splash of denial when you are reconciling competing emotions like fear wrapped in eager excitement or angry stress accompanied by gratitude.

This sort of happened to me today.

He shit in the toilet.
I mean it was a completely gross moment and I was at the same time really proud and excited...

The recognition of the nastiness of the event and the silliness of our frenzied preparations as we ran him naked to the pot did not surprise me. The "excitement" and "pride" however, did catch me off guard.

There was a split second, between the excited shouting when we were trying to provide an appropriate level of positive reinforcement, when I turned toward an imaginary camera crew (a la Jim from the office) to register my moppy haired grimace and vaguely furrowed brow: "Really? Seriously? This is happening?"

Parenthood: Oh, it's getting real.

Constipated

JB has been constipated.

Because (apparently) he takes after me, "constipated" translates to "only going 1 tiny marble-turd every day or so." Unfortunately for him, he can't drink coffee or enjoy a meal of take out Chinese before "perusing" a book-store.

Today at various times, he pushed and pushed to the point of watering, red eyes, and turning purple-ish in the face. It is very cute but a little sad to hear him grunting, and then that one time- a brief onset of tears. I read this on dooce about men in their public domain, and now I giggle every time he makes too much noise. On the one hand, it's not fair: the rest of us get a private space to do our business and not with a team of guardians and grandparents watching, giggling, and clapping in the living room. On the other hand, I'm in the opposite situation of the gent that guest-posted for dooce: when my kid is just behaving (apparently) like the rest of his gender I'm going to be all like, "uuuuuggghhhhha, you are being disgusting, please keep it down..."

Poor little dude. I hope he feels a little better soon.

In honor of Patrick's birthday...

I'm still working on the baby's newsletter. It was mostly done but I couldn't get it completed to post it on the 28th (though, thanks to the time stamp, history will show me to be more prompt than I am...)

I had a rough week last week... the honeymoon phase of "back to work" is fading fast and I'm experiencing a lot of emotions, tears, and anxiety. I've felt a little like I'm falling apart, even though the last week was particularly full of amazing times with family and friends and conversations that show how vast my support network is at work, home, and across the nation...

Examples:
1) KK's award ceremony for being a big sister a week ago Thursday. I was so hormonal proud, inspired, and in love with her, that I cried like a baby.
2) Jake's church dedication and the brunch with loved ones that followed
3) Phone call from L in the middle of the week:

L: I've been reading the blog. You don't seem so good.
Me: I haven't said anything on the blog
L: I can read between the radio silence... you're tired, you're sickie, you're trying not to fall apart...
Me: hmm. It's good to have intuitive friends, even if they do move across the country.
L: you should call the Indian- she'll talk you down from your noose.
Me: I'm not gonna do that.
L: I'll make her call you.

4) Phone calls from LAC and the Indian to support "whatever you decide about breast feeding."
5) Katy and JB just being such awesome beings to come home to...

Anyway, in the last 3 days, I've done 2 things I've never done before in my life:
ONE: called out of work to take a yoga class.
I was seriously on edge, and while I believe wholeheartedly in "mental health days," I can barely get past the guilt to actually take one myself. When I had a split second vision of needing to take a vacation in the loony bin during one of the "wake up" calls after midnight on Friday am, I decided it might be beneficial for everyone to just take a sick day. The yoga was a very practical solution. I needed to stretch and breathe.

Then today... number TWO: I went rock climbing!!! I've been wanting to do this for about 5 years. Thanks be to God that L.Marg (hard G) and C-lo have jumped into this sport because not only has this long anticipated event finally occurred for me (because of their invitation today) but also, I'm not sure I could have handled the harness humor without their back up jokes on my first outing.

It is altogether fitting that it is Pat's birthday... I think I kicked a little ass today, brother!
I impressed myself at least which (since I have spent the better part of two work weeks beating the shit out of my psychological self) is pretty fantastic!

Thanks peeps! Happy birthday, Mr. White.

Aunt Flo

Well, my "monthly package" arrived... almost a year to the day that I conceived.

I know this might be a sporadic (not monthly occurrence) but I was practically guaranteed by Le Leche League (in the manner that a door-to-door Mormon promises salvation) that I wouldn't bleed again until I stopped breastfeeding... Most empty promises will not be discovered until you put all your faith in the wrong lobbying power.

My period came without the usual warning signals and with vague, minor (no need for OTC analgesia) cramping, when I was used to 3 Motr.n every 4 hours type pain; but it is dark and bloody and a REAL period, not some weak-assed, maybe-it-is-maybe-it-isn't type show.

What's the deal with this? I would think nothing of it except that my milk production seems to have slowed down too and I'm wondering if now-when it's time to start pumping to keep the kid alive in day care- I'm going to start to have "supply issues." I'm mostly concerned about this because I (pronoun "I" underlined twice and in CAPS) want to get to decide when we are done breastfeeding... I don't want my body to get to "tire out" or whatever. I understand that we don't always get what we want but sometimes we get what we need, but I am proceeding cautiously here because while a part of me is ready to be done with the tittie feeds, I can feel a part of me might fall apart a little if this decision is taken away from me. And frankly, I'm not that used to feeling like I need to be in total control (I leave that to many of the other women in my life.)

Kt says: "Maybe it's your body's way of telling you it's time to get pregnant again..."
Right. Appreciate that.

If this continues on a monthly basis, it is going to effect our bottom line. Our fiscal bottom line: we have been enjoying the decreases in monthly costs associated with my lack of tampon use and JB's lack of formula consumption.

And this, my friends, is why we have a "too much information" label!!!

Laundry update

Things are getting out of hand...

Today, JB shit through 3 separate outfits. This is not poor diapering, people... This is just unlucky and forceful spraying of excrement. Also, he required 4 bibs and a 4th costume change due to excessive drool and spit up.

I wore the same soiled shirt all day, but before I was even dressed this am, I had to shrug my soft, soft bathrobe off to protect it from all kinds of accidents. Half-naked this AM, I struggled to keep his shitty diaper contained, and when projectile spit up was added to the recipe, I jumped back and knocked over the bottle of liquid, infant multivitamins (not a good smell, or a good look for a nursery carpet.) Also, at several points today, my shirt was so wet it needed to be changed. Since in each case, I just didn't get to it until after it dried, I'm still wearing the above-mentioned v-neck. I guess I'll shower after we give the boy his bath tonight...

I have found that one of my favorite things is dressing JB up in his cute clothes, but I'd be lying if I said that this many changes due to the fact that he can't keep liquid inside any of his holes wasn't totally frustrating today.

Some nonsense for you to read while I'm waiting for pictures to upload

Tonight I made a marinade with curry and though i've washed my hands 1000 times since then (and changed several poopie diapers) the scent lingers.

What's surprising is how nice the odor is. I didn't grow up cooking with or smelling a lot of curry and I think my first few interactions with curry were inappropriate (curry really coming on too strong or being thrown at me in high doses.) I believed that I didn't like the spice at all. But lately, I've been adding it to things and not discarding recipes just because they contain curry and frankly, I'm better for it.

(sniff. sniff. sniff)

laaaaaa. curry.

The Second Sunday of Advent

When I was growing up, I was one of those kids (read: "dork") who loved church. I loved the sitting, kneeling, praying; the folding your hands and pondering quietly; the reciting of the mass, etc. I felt safe there and it made sense to me. I bought into it all hook, line, and sinker.

I understood what they meant when they said that "Jesus Christ was 100% human and 100% God." When I prayed to Jesus as a child and as an adolescent, I knew that he had walked the same path I was walking on earth, and I knew he had felt the sometimes insignificant (in an eternal sense) pains and dramas of trying to be a good person. The lessons of the church never felt oppressive to me. If it was an indoctrination, it was very peaceful and agreeable to me. It made perfect sense for example that God could be one, singular entity; but also equal parts of a trinity. It was not confusing to me that communion wasn't merely a symbolic representation of life-giving bread, but transubstantiation that made body and blood of bread and wine. (I was on board with all of that and with the fact that we didn't believe in Magic, and we didn't believe in cannibalism.) Furthermore, I loved the singing and the sitting together with my family for an hour a week, dedicated to some ideas that were bigger and longer-lasting than our human existence.

When I was in college, I attended the Jesuit Church on campus regularly. Going to church at home became a little harder as I started to notice how sexist some of the rituals were. I didn't like how often politics seemed to creep into mass. There was one deacon at my family's church who rarely gave a sermon about feeding the poor, nursing the sick, or volunteerism as a way to wage war on earth in God's name, but he never failed to mention abortion... outlawing abortion... and birth control was also always on his mind. At school, though, the Jesuits kept me in touch with my pal Jesus and his father, God. They focused on the message of living a good life on earth for not only heavenly rewards, but also the benefits uniquely tied to that type of simple living. My boyfriend and I would go to 10pm mass on Sunday nights and leave feeling full of gratitude, rejuvenated and ready to face another week of work and classes.

When I graduated from college things were spinning a little out of control for me. I realized that despite the love I had for my sweet, amazing boyfriend, I really was drawn and attracted to women. The trusting relationship I had developed with God lent to quite a bit of praying about what to do. The interesting thing was, my prayer revealed very different answers than the Roman Catholic Church was teaching. I knew inside myself that love was love. I had a well-developed conscience. I knew right from wrong. And after talking it over with God, it felt more wrong to lie, try to change myself, or "settle" than it did to "choose the homosexual lifestyle."

At that point in my life, I had the humility to accept that my decisions might be wrong in the eyes of God or my church or society. But if I was going to be this introspective and hard on myself, I felt the leaders of church and state must also be in touch with the limits of their "knowledge" of what God might believe. To borrow the words of Anne Lamott, "You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image, when it turns out that God hates all the same people that you do." At a certain point, I acknowledged to myself, there was no (wo)man or bishop, or human ruler that could truthfully know God's opinion and I would not tolerate a religious or secular leader that was unwilling to entertain that perspective.

Then all the stuff unfolded about hundreds of pedophile priests... and then somewhere in there, my best friend dies. At that point I'm ready to walk away from church because it is just too much. Too much compromise on my part. Too much dishonesty and hypocrisy on their part. Too much following ceremony and tradition (not because it feels right inside myself) but because it is easier to fake it, go through the motions, not question the reason, not upset the apple cart. But I feel too "catholic" (and frankly too tired) to look for another church.

Then I meet Katy. And 2 things happen. The first is that I find someone that I really want to create a family with. And the second is, when I take her to my family's church, it is changed to me. It is much more offensive to me. It was as if sitting there by myself, all the little ways the church "did not agree with" or "did not support" it's gay parishioners went completely unnoticed by me. I didn't mind much if they were talking about (or just ignoring) me. But when they were doing it to her - it really pissed me off - and it seemed so loud and intentional and mean spirited.

If this was the "one true church" as I had been taught to believe, then I didn't need church - I decided I wouldn't do that to my (future) family. Still, cutting church out of my life left me a feeling empty - shouldn't you go and commune with good people for an hour or so a week to recharge your spiritual self before facing the next week's toils?

Katy and I tried to reconcile this and found a church to marry in. It was important to me that God be invited to that party. But this also marked the beginning of a different kind of struggle between 2 parts of me. Should I really leave the church - my church... my family's church because of their stance on "gay issues"? vs. How do I ask my wife to give these people the time of day? What is good for a little girl (an assumed straight girl) is not good for her adult self, her wife, or her planned but unborn children.

It is still an unresolved struggle. There is a part of me that wants to meet my family at church on Sunday... wants to go to coffee with them after mass, wants to be the same religion they are, wants to teach my son about the sacraments and communion. There's a part of me that just can't quite figure out how to handle communion: Is it their communion to give to me - and therefore I should follow their rules? Or is it my communion - a sacrament and gift that God gave me? Out of respect for my loved ones and for God, should partake when "the Eucharist" is blessed and offered to me? When I go back to my family's church for weddings and funerals? Or should I refuse? If I abstain, is it because I am rejecting the RCChurch or because they are rejecting me??? Do you see what a quandary I'm in?

For the last few years, Katy and I have been attending a Unitarian Universalist Church. A church we loved instantly. We walked into this church thinking it was a congregational church we might "try out," and we've returned nearly every Sunday for three years.

This UU has much more "God language" than many UU's (which is something that is important to me). And has a wonderful female minister that brings tears to our eyes nearly every week with her humility and poignant directives to BE BETTER humans and HELP one another and FORGIVE your enemies and yourselves, and to follow a great and amazingly difficult commandment to LOVE.

Love.

Sounds simple, right? It's only simple if it's half-assed. (The minister's sentiment, my curse word added for emphasis.) Love, if it's done right is a life long endeavor... Love yourself so you can live a healthy, productive existence and so you can take care of those around you. Love others- if you dare- because shouldn't we be living in less isolation with more frequent communion?!?

This is the first church Katy has ever known - the first church she has loved. This church has already seen us through some hard times. The first time we were pregnant and then a few days later we weren't. The time we thought our relationship might be falling apart. The several weeks after our friends were attacked and killed in their home. This summer, after that brutal event (when I was 8,9, then 10 months pregnant) our minister continued leading us in the usual benediction at the end of church:

Go out into the world in peace.
Have courage.
Hold onto what is good.
Return to no person evil for evil.
Strengthen the fainthearted.
Support the weak.
Help the suffering.
Honor all beings.

It took 6 weeks before my voice stopped cracking during "hold on to what is good" and before I could say "return to no person evil for evil" without tears falling out of my eyes. And that's when I turned to Katy and said that I was finally ready to "sign the membership book." (She wanted to sign 3 years ago after about 2 Sunday services.)

The thing is, that benediction is has been guiding me though the simple questions in life... Should I really be speeding up to the assh8le who cut me off just to offer him a one fingered wave? But when you brush up against some example of real evil- how you react to it (even if only in the quiet of your heart) matters. And when you choose a spiritual leader, you'd better choose one with values you can lean on- that make sense to you. This benediction is only one part of the reason we love this church. These words cut to the meat of how I want to live my life. And if this is what it means to be a Unitarian Universalist, than I guess that is what I am. It is very much in line with what I need and what I believe.

So we joined. And when JB was born they announced it in the service and in the bulletin. And when they plan the Christmas nativity at our church, they ask the most recently born child (male or female) to play the part of baby Jesus. And if that baby happens to have been born to a couple of lesbians... everyone there seems to get kind of an excited glimmer in their eyes about it!

Fun with neon colors

If you want to see nature produce the most brilliant glow-in-the-dark green you could imagine, give your breast-feeding wife kale to eat.

Approximately 12 hours later, change your 3 week old son's diaper.

Voila!

As a side note, they warn you about boys peeing on you. And it's happened several times. Once it even happened that he peed straight back and got urine is his own ear. (Don't worry, I don't think he was traumatized too badly, by the pee or by my hysterical laughter) Last night we were fortunate to have my best friend from college (we'll call her Runs Hurdles Like the Wind) and while I was recounting this story and changing JB's diaper at the same time, he gave us a new surprise.

He blew stool from the pack n play to the couch.

I am cracking up as I type. It was absolute hilarity (and apparently still is). RHLW jumped out of the way just in time to save her beautiful purple sweater. I grabbed the nearest wipe and attempted to the stem the tide.

Too late.

Let's just say that my photographic memory will never let me forget the vision of my son's butt spraying yellow stool towards me, and when I could not be reached, the couch.

I do worry he might actually be traumatized by this incident. Not because he hit the couch. Mostly because I can't stop laughing. With him. Not at him.

Anniversary

I try not to, but I still hate October 17th.

10 years ago today, I was in New Orleans and there was an accident back home that took the life of a really amazing guy. A true BFF. He was a wise, old heart wrapped in a wildly energetic body.

When I got pregnant in January, and i first looked at the pregnancy wheel, I thought for sure our son would be born on October 17th.

I'm glad he wasn't.
He's nobody's replacement, he's got his own life to live.

Secondly, I'm not down with celebrating Ocotber 17th. I'll celebrate the boy/man that fell that day in '97 - all the things he stood for, his generous spirit, witty ways, all I learned from him... but I'm glad it ended up that we don't have to celebrate this day.

Besides, I can't imagine having had to wait this much longer to meet our little boy.

Engorgement

Does anyone need any breast milk?!?

Seriously.

Is there anyone out there that could use a helping hand in the supply department???

I have all the breast milk that I need. JB can not spend this allowance. At this point, he is to breast milk what Warren Buffett's kids are to trust fund and philanthropic living.

The breast (literally) overfloweth. I would say I've got it coming out of every orifice, but I know that's not true- that's what's so amazing- it is coming out of these few little, tiny orifices and it is leaking everywhere!!!

Yesterday was harrowing. My boobies about doubled in size. Lot's of pain, I tell you! I mean, we were already living in a Double D situation.

Everyone said this was coming, but to see it is something quite informative. By the way, who are these women that get implants this large? Do they have to pass a mental health assessment before surgery? I doubt it, but I hope it is true.

So, today, the kid and i figured out how to get him to drain the girls. It usually involves me doing a little "pre-pumping" to alleviate the pressure so he can get to the nipple, but the last few times, he has been able to latch on without the pre-pump.

Yesterday (and again today) I gave the lo-tech, hospital, give-a-way, hand pump a rest, and hooked myself up to our very expensive, brand new electric breast pump. I suggest, at least once in your life, you hook yourself up BILATERALLY to an electronic breast pump. If you don't say, "Moo" out loud at least once during the process, the synapses are not firing in your brain.

It was an emergency and I had to get some of that milk out, but until time and efficiency become a factor, I doubt I will do the simultaneous "double boobie pump" again for a while. One reason is that I have so much milk, that 3 to 5 minutes on each side gives the boy and his family enough milk for a future feeding. The other reason is, well, isn't it obvious... making yourself "Moo" is not cool- especially if there are no intoxicants or hallucinogens involved.

But to be honest, I think I have a little crush on my breast pump. She's low maintenance. She's shiny and new. She's easy to use. She's been very good to me so far!

Since we've earned a "too much information" label with this post, I'll just add this: I had my first BM yesterday too. If you've ever had a baby, loved a woman that has had a baby, or experienced abdominal surgery first hand, you know that your first BM is a momentous occassion. Lots of medical providers can't wait for this to happen- they will ask every 2 to 4 hours if it has happened yet. They will also warn you, educate you, prepare you for the ways it might work out and/or the complications that may evolve if it doesn't work itself out. You can't know this (because I haven't written "The birth story" out yet) but I was NPO for most of the 6 days I was at the hospital, and didn't go number-two even one time in that entire stay.

(scene opens in our house, yesterday morning)
t: I got the deal done.
k: Good for you. How'd it go?
t: Let's just say, I'm a little uncomfortable knowing that was something I ate over a week ago.
k: At least the trains are back on schedule...

7 month OB appointment

I missed the 7 month update:

All is well.

Baby's heart rate 157 bpm
Lots of fetal movements
my BP 120/78
measuring 28 cm at 28 weeks
Total pregnancy weight gain: 6lbs

Yes, that's right. 6lbs!

Dr. KSBL: "Is there a reason that you lost a pound since your last visit?"

t: (Not spoken out loud) At my last visit, I FELT really FOS and had to take a crap bad, but it wasn't until later in the day that I evacuated my bowels... I think it is not so much that I lost a pound this time, but that I had an extra pound of digested food onboard at the last visit.

t: (Actually spoken) Well, I'm eating. I don't feel sick. I'm trying to stay active. I think my metabolism is just working with me.

Dr KSBL: Okay, we just like to make sure that you are not not eating or not feeling sick.

t: No- Lots of heartburn, but that's not stopping me from eating...

Dr KSBL: no nausea, vomiting, diarrhea?

t: no

Dr KSBL: okay. Questions???

We then had quick conversations about my ankle strain, loose ligaments, laboring at home with the help of friends who are midwives who would get me to the hospital in time for the delivery, but not so early that i would be pressured toward induction or intervention. I was impressed by Dr KSBL who's response was a non-hesitant, "the longer you stay out of the hospital, the better for you." Yes, that's what I was thinking too.

Very bad things

Yesterday we found out that katy's boss' family died in a break-in, robbery, arson attack.

We don't know much, the details of the story are still unfolding, but we do know that he was beaten very badly, and his wife and 2 daughters are all dead. This is clearly one of the most surreal and tragic things that could possibly have happened. We are grief-stricken and more than a little freaked out. We met them last summer when we were invited to attend the summer picnic for the job that katy was about to start. We immediately felt welcomed by this family and the large work-family they were the center of.

Assuming that katy would work at this job for a long time, we looked forward to many times together with their family... There was no need to rush to get to know them better. We attended a few Uconn basketball games with them; we planned on having them over for dinner after the baby was born. Without realizing I was making these plans, I envisioned everyday socializing and big events that we would share: their younger daughter maybe babysitting on occasion and probably us attending the wedding of their older daughter. I imagined his wife cooing over our little one and us soliciting parenting tips from them.

It is strange. And that is an inadequate word.

Kt's boss is still in the hospital- recovering physically will likely be the easiest part of whatever comes next for him. Please keep him and his family in your prayers.

I'd like to phone a friend

Here's a snippet of a conversation the feds overheard two days ago, if they had my cell phone wire-tap turned on:

womb whisperer: Why didn't you call me crying about the one hour glucose test?
tt: Well, we had it pretty much under control and I was trying not to make a big deal about it.
ww: I want to be kept in the loop with all the little details.
tt: okay, well here's one... Some clear stuff has started occassionally leaking out of my nipples.
ww: HOOOOOOOoooooooooooRRRRRAAAAAAAAAaaaaaayyyyyy!!!
tt: That wasn't my exact emotion, but okay... I'm glad you approve.

Invasion of the boobie snatchers

The end of last week I experienced a brief interruption of a little something I like to call, "Isn't the second trimester a fucking awesomely happy time?!?" I mean, I have been feeling GREAT:
Not too tired,
not too proud to take a nap.
Not too hungry,
not too enormous.
I've been growing
but feeling light;
Busy-
but not hassled;
and very "shmoopy" (translation: cuddly, giggly, relaxed, intimate, comfy, affectionate...) here at home with my pretty wife.

My body is doing the pregnancy thing.
My body is doing me proud.
And my brain has had the good sense (for the most part) to just stay out of it... To let go, to not freak out or try to control things that are happening on what is mostly an ancient, organic, physical, and spiritual journey. And I've been feeling well (knock on wood):
No colds or respiratory problems
Nothing more than minor body aches and pains
Limited interruptions in activity
Sleeping well through the night
No experience of anxiety and/or depression
No interruption in digestion...

Thursday into Friday of last week, though, I got all bound up. It didn't last long and by medical standards, it wasn't like I could have been diagnosed as "constipated," (trains were still pulling out of the station, if you know what I mean,) but I'm telling you the shit was stuck up in there and it didn't feel good.

Zen went out the window too. I was less focused on what was happening and I was obsessed with the more detailed, abstract picture- which I think can be best summarized as: "If this is how some minor constipation is affecting my overall mood and sense of health, the third trimester is going to suck!!!" You see how I jump way ahead of myself there? Applying freakish, and unnecessary generalizations? Planning for the worst? Ignoring all that has gone right so far and assuming that things will suddenly shift course? It's not the best way to live... and so I'm here trying to re-align the experience.

First of all, my own home remedy for a "touch of constipation":
1) Drink more water
2) Snack on a few dried prunes
3) Incorporate a McD's Big Mac into one noon-time meal
worked like a charm and all has been flowing smooth since. More importantly, that disturbing mental image of the baby fighting a dung heap for space in my abdomen has also dissipated.

There is a lot about pregnancy that is expected but totally bizarre. Expected, if you read a book or two, or even a short article in a baby magazine. You quickly learn that most things that would normally send you RUNNING to an oncologist or neurologist's office, are perfectly normal during pregnancy.

If, as previously mentioned, you have an interruption in your elimination pattern... gas, indigestion, constipation, distortion in how food tastes, new food aversions, food cravings (including but not limited to a desire to eat clay, dirt, and cigarette butts...) Any and all changes in your experience of dining, salivation, mastication, and digestion are completely normal.

That is the answer. No book feels the need to give you a more detailed explanation. (Some books will go the extra "we-don't-wanna-get-sued-for-this" mile and add a list of all the horrific and unlikely things that might be killing you and/or causing harm to your baby before adding that your fill-in-the-blank-symptom is a "completely normal" part of pregnancy.)

If your hair and fingernails start growing like a werewolf? Normal.
If your shoes don't fit and your feet jump a size? Normal.
If you are tired? Normal
If you are energetic? Standard
If your mood is calm and consistent, or swings like a vine? All are to be expected.
If you lose your balance, experience vertigo, or a change in personality? Not a problem.
If you are full of joy? You are normal.
If you are full of fear? Also normal.
If you are horny? It is the hormones.
If you are not horny? Is is also the NORMAL functioning of hormones.

As your belly grows, as the kid starts doing half-gainers inside of your womb, as the general construction of your pelvis starts to change and your ligaments slowly come undone to make room for the baby to birth out, there is an innate security system that alarms. A sensible, body-and-soul-protecting brain, detecting these physical changes might begin a conversation: "Hello, you... It's your brain. (Warning. Warning. Warning.) I detect we might have encountered a problem. (Warning. Warning. Warning.) We may be in the throws of what will ultimately overload and destroy the entire system. (Warning. Warning. Warning.)" It seems fair that anxiety in pregnancy is nothing more than a healthy consciousness warning of danger ahead.

But the brain is not just a linear machine extrapolating diagnostic information, computing risk-analysis, and mapping out strategic plans, there is an imagination center and there are chemicals in there too. The psychedelic pimp part of your brain doesn't even offer drugs, he just pumps them into the air. The defcon 4 light seems more calming blue than burning red and the backround noise "(Warning. Warning. Warning)" sounds much more Norah Jones: "(Come away with me)." The computer's passionless voice is drowned out by a sexy, sweet: "Here sister, have some endorphins... relax, enjoy the ride..."

The one change that has totally freaked me out and pushed the limits of what I am ready to accept as normal, has to do with nipple reassignment. The books have not been as descriptive as I am about to be- but they have all told me, this is a normal part of pregnancy and motherhood...

My nipples have migrated south- most likely forever. My boobs- large by any standards, have nearly doubled in mass and capacity. They are by far (and have been for months) the most "pregnant" thing about me. Most disturbing is not the change in proportion, but the change in shape and (as I have alluded) the change in nipple location. I can't lean over a table or chair without jumping up in surprise as I have scraped a nipple or two. While naked, I can't locate the things without manually raising my mounds in inspection. And then when my gaze falls upon the new nipples, I cannot recognize them as something that is attached to my body. A few months ago, Katy rolled toward me from her edge of our queen size bed and I yelped: "YOU'RE ON MY NIPPLES!!!" She jumped back with good reaction time, and shifted her weight that somehow still set down on nipple-land.
"How??? I'm not even near you?!?"
"I don't know," I replied, "I don't know where they are... But you are ON THEM!"

Seriously, I know why this is happening, I understand the evolutionary science behind it... but HOW? If I was one of these people that didn't know I was pregnant and was ignorant or in denial of my pregnancy symptoms, and didn't realize I had missed 5 menstrual cycles, my nipples would have had me seeking medical attention, and single double-handedly prevented me from "unexpectedly" birthing a baby in the toilet one day next fall... They are just absolutely foreign and changed: They literally sway and point in new directions. They have changed so much, that I'm convinced a totally innocent version of me would know that something bigger was coming. If I lived in the time of cave people and/or in a societal vacuum when all humans older than me had died before they could write books or teach me what they knew about pregnancy and lactation, I think the day that milk suddenly started spraying out of my breasts, I would have no choice but to slap my head and say, "I guess i should have seen this coming."