On birthdays

Birthdays are strange creatures.

For many years I was perpetually disappointed by my birthday.  There was so much hype about the day, likely created in my own mind, that it could never live up to my expectations.  The presents were never quite right.  The person I wanted to call didn't.  The day got swept away by some other more pressing need.  I understood my birthday to be the one day when it was okay to embrace the conceit of wanting others to celebrate me.  Pre-social media, it was more difficult to navigate that celebration.  Walk around announcing the day?  Hope others would somehow just know?

I've had a very contemplative last month, touched off by the 5 year anniversary of the murder of my colleague's family.  I had stashed that grief away in self preservation, stuffing the suitcase full and taking off at a moment's notice.  This summer, it decided to unpack itself and land on me like a tidal wave.  It was a long time coming, but it felt like I'd been sucker punched.  There are some things in life that are beyond explanation, that challenge my scientific-leaning understanding of the world.  Trying to make sense of it is about as fruitful as a dog chasing its tail.  Normally organized into predictable and controlled parcels, I was suddenly scattered.  It was as if someone grasped the string at the end of a knot I thought was impenetrable, and suddenly there were marbles all over the floor.  It was dizzying.  Tucked in that insistent wall of tears, though, was an opportunity to gather my wits and dig back in to life.

I spent the first several hours of this birthday holding a screaming child as he seemed to have night terrors (but what turned out to be a full bladder).  It made me laugh, because somewhere in those hours 35 years ago I was causing a similar ruckus.  It seemed to solidify for me that parenthood is at least one part payback.  Tracy and I spent almost an hour on iChat last night with some of our closest friends, Kate and Adam, who are exactly 2 years behind us in the parenthood game.  Between us we have a 5 year old, two 3 year olds, and a newborn.  We spent a good deal of time acknowledging the strangeness of feeling overwhelming love and crushing frustration all in the same moment, over and over and over.  Before we had Jake, people used to try and explain to us things about parenthood: how tired we'd be, how happy he'd make us, how much we'd worry, how much small children vomit, how hard it would be once he was mobile.  You can't warn would-be parents.  There are chemicals that prevent people attempting pregnancy or who are pregnant from hearing any of it.  It doesn't register.  It blows past them like a wisp of hot air barely noticed.  It's a good thing, too, because no one would choose this kind of insanity without those blinders.  I left the conversation overwhelmingly thankful for our friends.  There is a comfort in knowing you're not the only one who can't stand their own kid some of the time.  There is also a simple elegance in being able to share in that sweet love for the heart that walks around outside of your body.  This morning, the aforementioned screaming child came down the stairs, stood on his tippy toes, gave me a two-handed kiss, and said "Happy Birthday to you, Mama".  Turns out parenthood is also at least one part sweetness.

Despite my determined efforts, there are things I cannot control or change.  Timing that cannot be reset to fit my own version of daylight savings.  Events that cannot be prevented, and a similar number that cannot be forced into existence.  I feel a physical discomfort in the severity of that understanding.  I get it, but I don't like it.  And sitting with those two realities is a constant battle.  I continue on the learning curve roller coaster, though, sometimes eyes open, sometimes hands up.

In recent years I have had a much more Zen approach to my birthday.  Turns out, when you stop plotting out every minute, every minute starts feeling like a gift rather than a disappointment.  Say what you will about Facebook, but the near constant stream of "Happy Birthday!"s feels like points of light carrying me through the day.  Messages flow in from people who I may never see in person again, and from friends who will sing to me later today, and from people I only know because I kicked their ass in Fantasy Football, and people who know me as Katy, KT, or (smile) Tierney.  At worst, someone steals my identity.  At best, on my worst day I'll be able to see that light shining a path in front of me.

Birthdays are, indeed, beautifully strange creatures.


Poem list:
cruel, cruel summer (D.A. Powell)
Difference (Mark Doty)
Sublunary (AE Stallings)

Playlist:
Exile Vilify (The National)
All This and Heaven Too (Florence and the Machine)
To Just Grow Away (The Tallest Man On Earth)
Lorraine (Lori McKenna)
Helplessness Blues (Fleet Foxes)
Sticks and Stones (The Wheels)
Kiss It Away (Kris Delmhorst)
Gentle Hands (Thieving Irons)

Tortured love song

The Crooner

Video proof of baby gorilla

... and I like to make drawrings...

Jake LOVES his art table. And he is very serious about it. He's a regular Picasso and wakes up half the mornings asking to draw. If you listen closely he is saying most of the colors he is using (new skill this week!).

The week in pictures

It was a busy weekend with JB's Grannies visiting. He was a big fan of shovels and wanted to help out with the dirt. He learned a LOT of new words including ant, worm, shovel, rice, teapot, and tofu. He also discovered playing "water" outside (a fun and simple game consisting of pouring water on yourself, anyone nearby, and getting as soaked as possible).















Thanks to the Grannies for a great weekend!

Weighing in

No pun intended, but I figured it was about time I weighed in on this whole pregnancy thing. Since I'm the one that's preggers.

It started with a few frustrating rounds of at-home intra-uterine tries (did I mention that this post won't be for the squeamish?). And by a few, I mean 3. I am fully aware that I should just shut my pie-hole about only having 3 frustrating times and 1 successful time. The problem was that I, predictably, got in my head about the whole thing. I tested before it was time. Got frustrated with the negatives. Tried to find pink lines where there clearly were none. Went so far as to make the infertility appointment.

Then came the fourth try. I woke up our good in friend in a west-coast crunchy city at around 5am her time on a sunday morning in a panic: The million dollar fancy fertility monitor you made me buy went positive today unexpectedly! How many vials of the swim team should I try? 2? Ok. But when? This conversation was to be legendary, but I'm sure LSG was just glad to get off the phone and go back to sleep. T and I had debated whether or not to go for two vials this time, weighing in the fact that our donor (of which we had 4 vials left) had none left in the bank. Ultimately, we decided that having to change donors if we happened to run out was not the end of the world, and it was worth a try.

So we packed up the existing kid, raced to the storage facility and convinced the very nice lab tech to give us two vials out of deep freeze with 2 minutes notice. I'll skip the next 24 hours since it wouldn't even be appropriate for those who aren't already squeamish.

We went to Ohio after Christmas to visit my family. I brought all the supplies: pregnancy tests, the fertility monitor, and monitor sticks. And one night I had a moment of complete clarity. I woke up around 2am and in total darkness with my wife and baby quietly sleeping in the room thought, "We don't need anymore kids! One is perfect! We can just stop trying!". I should have known.

Tracy let me sleep in the following morning and before I went upstairs to see the fam, I decided it was the day. So I pulled out a stick, peed on it, and then ran away from it. The last three times I had stood there and stared at it. I couldn't bear to watch it come up negative again. So I organized (my default activity when I'm anxious).

And there it was. 2 pink lines. Uh oh. So much for clarity.

I walked up the stairs to where T was and said sternly, "I need to speak with you. Right now." Fully convinced that she had done something terribly wrong, she followed me. I showed her the stick, we rejoiced, and then looked at each other. "Damn that LSG." Always right, that one.

Anyway, that's a long drawn out version of how this adventure started. I spent 2 weeks feeling totally normal. Then the puking started. Again, details not necessary, but I spent a good portion of each evening either praying it wouldn't happen, or just getting it over with. T was unfortunately experiencing a higher than usual stress level at work, JB was getting teeth and discovering the word "no", and I was completely useless. Suffice it to say I would not have gotten through that first part without my amazing wife, very helpful in-laws, phone support from my parents, and co-workers who made sure work was as easy as possible during that time.

Now that the second trimester is here things are much better. My appetite is back full force and it feels fantastic. I've finally started putting on some pounds after losing a few in the beginning. I have a for-sure belly bump (not the pretend one I was "making up" the last couple of weeks). My clothes don't fit. My boobs are a whole new country. And while I have loved bread and butter pickles my whole life, they taste AMAZING right now. Which also means that my olfactory nerve is working overtime and I can smell a dirty JB diaper from a mile away.

The things we know: I'm due 9/10/09. I measure big enough for ONE BABY. I have ONE extra heartbeat in my abdomen. I will have an ultrasound on tax day that will tell us the gender (yes, we're finding out) as well as whether the baby has all its parts in all the right places. I think it's a boy. Or a girl. Everyone at work and all of my parents think it's a girl. I should be able to start feeling the baby move in the next month or so. I plan to eat everything in sight in celebration.

Stay tuned for updates over the next 25 weeks!

more chai please!

Somehow in the midst of getting another enormous tooth (this one made him bleed while eating) we managed to convince JB to do some of his tricks...

Crank calls

It's a wonder we have never cranked called anyone we know. Or been visited by the police because we accidentally called 911.

more video

JB had some things he wanted to say while we were visiting my family in Ohio...

Just for DIL

Jake discovers the ad that responds to you. David was similarly intrigued the last time he himself visited our illustrious airport.

Already home!

For all that have been waiting anxiously for the news... JB did wonderfully this morning. He was a trooper and waited with us patiently for 90 minutes in the pre-op area, then came through the procedure beautifully. He was appropriately pissed when he woke up but we're home and he has eaten a meal, taken a short nap, and now getting ready for his regular afternoon snooze.

Thanks for all the thoughts and prayers!

Sugar for dinner

I chose chocolate for dinner this evening.

It is well known among my family and friends that left to my own devices, nothing more complex than candy and bread would ever provide sustenance for me if it weren't for my family and friends. Tracy has long been in charge of my food. Before that there was a 4 year snafoo (college). And before that my mom was head honcho.

Tonight JB and Tracy went to Nana's to get food and try and flush out an ear (M's, not JB's). So, I came home (bags of healthy groceries in hand mind you) and proceeded to eat chocolate for dinner. I also got stuck watching adorable videos of friends' kids from the West Coast. Needless to say, I haven't quite made it to the protein part of dinner. It's 7pm.

Tracy just called from the road, and for no reason was annoying the hell out of me. She knew it and I knew it but we were tolerating each other just fine. I kept missing what she was saying because there was an overwhelming and loud voice in my head saying GO GET THOSE EXTRA CHOCOLATES.

We hung up and not 2 seconds later the phone rang again. "Honey, what did you have for dinner?"

Ummmm... lie? probably not a good idea. She's like Santa: she KNOWS.

"Chocolate."

"Right. OK. Can you please go eat something else. Perhaps something with protein in it? Or at least, PLEASE, a more complex carbohydrate?"

I was going to, I swear. But then I thought it would be more interesting to post this story. I think maybe the chocolate covered peanuts next. It's protein, right?

Baby look-a-likes

I finally got the old picture of Tracy scanned in; tell me they're not twins (though Jake does need to work on the hair...).

1974:



2008:

Evidence of walking

He is off to an amazing start - just in the last two or three days he has totally abandoned crawling and has become a walking machine! Yes, we know our lives are about to change. Forever. Again.




PS - thanks to L-Marg and C-lo for the adorable eggs he's walking around with!

Getting in the bath

I made the mistake of letting the water run while filming Jake trying to get into the bath, so it's a little noisy. But so cute!

Video of food fun

It's a little long but hilarious and messy:

Getting edgy

I hear you I hear you!

We can feel the readers of our illustrious blog getting a bit ancy for new pics - Amber, I'm talking to you. So, here are two pictures to keep you going until we can get more up. We have almost finished JB's one year newsletter... it will go up this weekend. I swear.

Hanging with Gramps:


How could you not be happy after eating an entire scoop of chocolate ice cream??

Reporting from Los Angeles County

I'm currently in LA for a "business trip". The business is learning more about insulin pumps and continuous monitoring. It's been fantastic so far with a beautiful drive up the Pacific Coast Highway and then through the Topanga Canyon. Last night a dinner at the 'Changs. And today a lovely walk through the history of implantable medical devices, specifically insulin pumps. Tonight, a dinner at Roy's (a restaurant, not someone I know). Tomorrow, the long flight home to see my boo and my baby boo.

Missing home... but trying to party like I'm in Minnesota like my wife implored me to do....

You call that a sport?

The endless hours of commentary that fill the endless hours of the Democratic National Convention might break my heart. I can't take it. So, to help the intense suffering, I say over and over to the TV and to noone in particular something like this... "GET OVER IT! SHE'S NOT THE NOMINEE! WHY DO THEY KEEP TALKING ABOUT THIS?! STOP! Oh. Please. stop." To which Tracy replies... "Honey, they're just trying to fill the hours of time between speakers that anyone wants to hear."

This conversation goes on and on. And on. The only bright light is Rachel Maddow.

Tracy makes fun of me for my sports addiction (I admit it, it is an addiction). But let me say this: she watches Rachel Maddow as if Rachel herself was a sport.