It almost seems like a fluke — how can a 17-month-old do this? — but Daniel is starting to learn to identify letters. He's got "O" pretty much down — that's an easy one. Today, standing at the edge of Steve's nightstand, where a copy of Alan Greenspan's new autobiography sits, he pointed to the G on the cover and said, "G." I showed him the spine of the book, which has Alan Greenspan's name printed in big letters, and touched each letter as I said its name. When I was done, he went back and touched the "R" and said, "R." I said, "Can you show me an "E"? He pointed to the double-"E"s.
I often write out his name in all caps and show him what "DANIEL" looks like. He hasn't gotten to the point of identifying those letters yet — though maybe I should keep trying. My dad tells me I was wowing strangers at state parks by reading signs out loud when I was 4, so maybe we've got an early reader on our hands. I hope so! I'd love it if my children loved to read. We read to Daniel every day, and he sees us reading plenty, so hopefully we're paving the way for him.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
a thaw is a-comin', oh yeah
My spirits are brighter already knowing that warmer air will be making its way into our part of the country tonight. I am anticipating its arrival with such hope, as if it were a beloved friend coming to visit after a long time away. Warmer means ... in the 20s! And maybe even into the 30s over the weekend, above freezing. Maybe even rain! Funny how these things are all so relative.
Today we did the Bundle Dance and drove to Woodbury to have lunch with Steve. We ended up at Wendy's. Daniel sat between us in a booster seat and ate a little bowl of mandarin oranges, with a few scoops of Steve's vanilla frosty thrown in. I ate a bacon burger, which is not as good as the ones at Burger King (as fast food goes) but still satisfied my craving, mostly. And I finished up the mandarins and ice cream, too. Now Daniel is napping, and I hope he gets a good one because a new session of ECFE starts tonight, and I don't want him to be cranky for the evening class.
Today we did the Bundle Dance and drove to Woodbury to have lunch with Steve. We ended up at Wendy's. Daniel sat between us in a booster seat and ate a little bowl of mandarin oranges, with a few scoops of Steve's vanilla frosty thrown in. I ate a bacon burger, which is not as good as the ones at Burger King (as fast food goes) but still satisfied my craving, mostly. And I finished up the mandarins and ice cream, too. Now Daniel is napping, and I hope he gets a good one because a new session of ECFE starts tonight, and I don't want him to be cranky for the evening class.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
blue january
Liz posted yesterday about a theory by a Welsh researcher that the third Monday of this month is supposed to be the "most depressing day of the year." Blue Monday. I thought, "Maybe that explains why all I want to do is sit around in my bathrobe all day and ... well, gestate."
The article cites the failing economy, broken resolutions, the weather, political fighting, etc. But it doesn't give much insight into what it's like to be nearing the end of the seventh month of pregnancy in the dead of winter. Lately, I've been having trouble dragging myself off the couch and doing much of anything, unless I have a specific plan, like play group Mondays at 10:00. It's so cold outside that going on any sort of outing involves a good 15 or 20 minutes of preparation — diaper changing; diaper-bag stocking; going out on my own to warm up the car; coats, shoes, hats, mittens; hat and mittens again when he pulls them off the first time; bringing him out to the car. Daniel can walk most of the way, but it's quicker to carry him, but then it's also easier for me to land wrong on my leg and twist my sore hip if I slip on a patch of slippery sidewalk. Which happens several times a week, whether or not I'm carrying Daniel. I feel like I have a perpetual limp, and that's throwing off my posture and everything else. And aside from the physical stuff, I always have to plan it around when he's most likely to fall asleep in the car. Do I want his one and only nap to begin before noon in his carseat? Or should I keep him at home and hope he makes it through lunch? So it's no wonder I'd rather just sit at home where it's warm and safe and I can lie on the couch while I read books to Daniel. Of course, I feel like I'm short-changing him, and he only has so much patience with me when I am not more engaged.
Oh, I just want this to be done. Winter. Pregnancy. My lack of energy. All of it. I sometimes dread the amount of work and patience that's going to be involved in having a second baby with Daniel so young, but I know that the passage of time will only make things easier as each of them grows older and more self-sufficient. Time could not feel slower right now. I am three-quarters of the way through this pregnancy now, and I feel huge and achy and uncomfortable, and it's only going to get worse. Ten weeks seems like such a long time off. It would be better, I'm sure of it, if it weren't so @#$% cold.
And yet ... every once in a while, I get this burst of energy that comes out of nowhere, and I am able to sweep Daniel up into my arms and move back and forth to his favorite songs. This morning, I trimmed the stems of some wilty flowers, cleaned off the dining room table and put in a couple of loads of laundry. I even got dressed before 11 a.m. And maybe, after his nap, we'll get bundled up and go out - somewhere. The post office. Peapods. Target. I don't know.
Wait a minute. Am I crazy to be sitting at this computer writing all this while he is taking a nap? For God's sake, woman - go take your own nap. So off I go.
The article cites the failing economy, broken resolutions, the weather, political fighting, etc. But it doesn't give much insight into what it's like to be nearing the end of the seventh month of pregnancy in the dead of winter. Lately, I've been having trouble dragging myself off the couch and doing much of anything, unless I have a specific plan, like play group Mondays at 10:00. It's so cold outside that going on any sort of outing involves a good 15 or 20 minutes of preparation — diaper changing; diaper-bag stocking; going out on my own to warm up the car; coats, shoes, hats, mittens; hat and mittens again when he pulls them off the first time; bringing him out to the car. Daniel can walk most of the way, but it's quicker to carry him, but then it's also easier for me to land wrong on my leg and twist my sore hip if I slip on a patch of slippery sidewalk. Which happens several times a week, whether or not I'm carrying Daniel. I feel like I have a perpetual limp, and that's throwing off my posture and everything else. And aside from the physical stuff, I always have to plan it around when he's most likely to fall asleep in the car. Do I want his one and only nap to begin before noon in his carseat? Or should I keep him at home and hope he makes it through lunch? So it's no wonder I'd rather just sit at home where it's warm and safe and I can lie on the couch while I read books to Daniel. Of course, I feel like I'm short-changing him, and he only has so much patience with me when I am not more engaged.
Oh, I just want this to be done. Winter. Pregnancy. My lack of energy. All of it. I sometimes dread the amount of work and patience that's going to be involved in having a second baby with Daniel so young, but I know that the passage of time will only make things easier as each of them grows older and more self-sufficient. Time could not feel slower right now. I am three-quarters of the way through this pregnancy now, and I feel huge and achy and uncomfortable, and it's only going to get worse. Ten weeks seems like such a long time off. It would be better, I'm sure of it, if it weren't so @#$% cold.
And yet ... every once in a while, I get this burst of energy that comes out of nowhere, and I am able to sweep Daniel up into my arms and move back and forth to his favorite songs. This morning, I trimmed the stems of some wilty flowers, cleaned off the dining room table and put in a couple of loads of laundry. I even got dressed before 11 a.m. And maybe, after his nap, we'll get bundled up and go out - somewhere. The post office. Peapods. Target. I don't know.
Wait a minute. Am I crazy to be sitting at this computer writing all this while he is taking a nap? For God's sake, woman - go take your own nap. So off I go.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
rooms
Steve and I got into a scintillating conversation this morning about the definition of a den. I say it's a family room, where the TV is, and Steve says it's more of a home office. Maybe it can be both. Steve swears that in The Brady Bunch, Mike Brady's home office was called the den. I couldn't remember where his home office was, and I wondered if he used a corner of the family room — the room that had the big patio door that led out to the driveway — in which case that would be the den, too. But no, wasn't his office off the living room at the other end of the house? This led us to picking up Daniel's MagnaDoodle and drawing floor plans of the Bradys' house, leading to all sorts of reminiscing: "This is where the vase was when it got broken." "This is the front door, where Davy Jones came in." "Where was Alice's bedroom? Off the kitchen and under the stairs? What was her boyfriend's name again?" "This is where Jan sat on the couch and said, "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!"
At any rate, we agreed to disagree on the den definition and went downstairs to look at our basement, which we use as a playroom, perhaps the closest thing in our house to a den (if you use my definition). It's a finished basement and works splendidly as a playroom for Daniel (and not so splendidly as a guest room for my family when they come visit). But it's not very attractive — shoddy panelling instead of drywall, pull-string lights and only two of them, only a thin layer of insulation. We wondered if we should redo it. Then we wondered if we should put in an extra bathroom downstairs. And if so, where? And how much would a basement remodel improve the resale value? And is resale value more important than our enjoyment of our home? And if we really want to enjoy our home and increase the resale cost, wouldn't it be better to tackle the bathroom or kitchen? Besides, aren't we already putting some money into landscaping this year?
Which led us to pick up the Magnadoodle again and jot down some priorities. (OK, we soon switched to paper and pen.) And we realized that the one room in the house that irritates us the most — both of us — is the bathroom. I hate the color scheme. Terracotta, peach and beige are desert colors, and they smack of the '70s. They just don't belong in a bathroom (not mine, anyway). They're not soothing or relaxing. My dream bathroom would be pale, cool colors, greens and blues, neutral whites, shabby chic colors accented with lots of pretty colored towels and maybe small touches of black. Steve hates the ubiquitous mold on the tile. I have to admit I like our bathroom a tiny bit better since we replaced the ancient, flourescent light fixture with a more modern row of sconces and changed the shower head to a handheld model that mounts over our heads and serves as an overhead shower, too. (Oh my Lord, I am in love with the handheld! And not for reasons you may think, naughty readers.)
Anyhow ... hooray for lists! As a result of our brainstorming, we decided that if anything is going to be remodeled this year, it's going to be the bathroom. We've already gone on Angie's List to get an idea of how much it would cost us and how much of a facelift we can afford. I think it might be doable. The only question is when — and how — we'd survive without a bathroom while the work is done. Especially with a new baby. I guess we'll figure it out.
At any rate, we agreed to disagree on the den definition and went downstairs to look at our basement, which we use as a playroom, perhaps the closest thing in our house to a den (if you use my definition). It's a finished basement and works splendidly as a playroom for Daniel (and not so splendidly as a guest room for my family when they come visit). But it's not very attractive — shoddy panelling instead of drywall, pull-string lights and only two of them, only a thin layer of insulation. We wondered if we should redo it. Then we wondered if we should put in an extra bathroom downstairs. And if so, where? And how much would a basement remodel improve the resale value? And is resale value more important than our enjoyment of our home? And if we really want to enjoy our home and increase the resale cost, wouldn't it be better to tackle the bathroom or kitchen? Besides, aren't we already putting some money into landscaping this year?
Which led us to pick up the Magnadoodle again and jot down some priorities. (OK, we soon switched to paper and pen.) And we realized that the one room in the house that irritates us the most — both of us — is the bathroom. I hate the color scheme. Terracotta, peach and beige are desert colors, and they smack of the '70s. They just don't belong in a bathroom (not mine, anyway). They're not soothing or relaxing. My dream bathroom would be pale, cool colors, greens and blues, neutral whites, shabby chic colors accented with lots of pretty colored towels and maybe small touches of black. Steve hates the ubiquitous mold on the tile. I have to admit I like our bathroom a tiny bit better since we replaced the ancient, flourescent light fixture with a more modern row of sconces and changed the shower head to a handheld model that mounts over our heads and serves as an overhead shower, too. (Oh my Lord, I am in love with the handheld! And not for reasons you may think, naughty readers.) Anyhow ... hooray for lists! As a result of our brainstorming, we decided that if anything is going to be remodeled this year, it's going to be the bathroom. We've already gone on Angie's List to get an idea of how much it would cost us and how much of a facelift we can afford. I think it might be doable. The only question is when — and how — we'd survive without a bathroom while the work is done. Especially with a new baby. I guess we'll figure it out.
talking about cooking
Daniel has been having a word explosion lately. Today, he came up to me while I was looking something up in my Joy of Cooking cookbook and touched the red circle on the cover and said, "Joy." Which is rather appropos because he also loves being with me in the kitchen, helping ("cooking") in whatever way he can. He likes to stir the soup, whisk the eggs ("aggies," which he often requests for lunch) and move them around in the pan, and examine the contents of the refrigerator, especially around mealtimes: "Hummy" (hummous) and "Owange" are two of his favorites. Today I baked a pie ("pie"), and he made Steve hold him ("up" and "carry") while he watched every step of the process and ate some blueberries ("bo-bo"). He's napping now, but when he wakes up, we'll all have some pie. "Yummy!"
Addendum:
Addendum:
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
forty for 40
It's my birthday! I think Daniel wanted me to be conscious for every minute of it, so he made an effort to wake up several times in the middle of the night crying and not wanting to lie down. Teething, maybe; hopefully he's not sick. I got a blessed hour to myself this morning — Steve stayed home with Daniel while I went to the chiropractor and stopped off for a Starbucks on the way home. Now he's off to work, and it's just the two of us with no real plans for spending our day. Tonight, Steve and I are leaving Daniel with a babysitter and going out to dinner — I wanted to start my 40s out with a real date. Which reminds me: At some point today, I need to wash my hair and maybe even shave my legs. (!)
I wasn't really planning to do this again — make a "life list" — but when I started thinking about things I hope to do in the next year, the ideas came together more easily than I thought. Some of these are no-brainers — things I'd do anyway, already on my to-do list — and others are so out of my control that they're really just hopes more than goals. Most of them fall in between. I did pretty well on last year's list, all things considered, so we'll see how things go this year.
1. Have a (healthy) baby! Done!
2. Have a successful VBAC. Done!
3. Come out cancer-free on all my CT scans. :-(
4. Still be breastfeeding on my next birthday (or for six months at least). :-(
5. Take a family trip to Oregon.
6. Replace the dining room light fixture.
7. Replace the light fixtures in all the bedrooms.
8. Get the trees in our back yard trimmed and shaped. Done!
9. Fit back into my pre-pregnancy jeans. Done!
10. Give away my maternity clothes, or consign them. Done!
11. Watch all this year's Oscar-nominated movies.
12. Get my FICO score.
13. Find a special Christmas ornament for our 2008 tree — probably a new baby one.
14. Learn to make the flourless chocolate torte that Marc makes, now that I know where to find the recipe.
15. Read to Daniel every day.
16. Take a trip (or two) to the North Shore. Done!
17. Keep flossing my teeth every day.Ha.
18. Buy a storage box for my photo CDs. Done!
19. Send out Christmas cards to everyone on our list.
20. Send out birth announcements when the baby is born. Done!
21. Spend $400 or less a month on groceries. (This is what we budget for, and we always go over. Perhaps that's a sign we should revise the budget.)
22. Send birthday cards on time.
23. Take an ECFE class with Steve and Daniel. Done!
24. Sign Daniel up for another Music Together class. Done!
25. Have professional photos taken of the new baby and Daniel. Done!
26. Order copies of our credit reports and make sure they are accurate.
27. Save up enough money to buy this lens or this lens for my camera. I don't care so much about this one now. I have two great lenses, and I would be happy just to keep using them more.
28. Keep writing my monthly column. Done!
29. Come up with five good story ideas in a new market I haven't written for, and send out five good query letters (even if I get five rejection letters back).
30. Get a babysitter and go on a date with Steve once a month (with some understandable leeway right after the baby is born).
31. Say no when asked to be on committees. Done!
32. Start doing yoga again. Probably not going to happen. How about if I change this to qi gong?
33. Send thank-you notes promptly. Maybe not promptly, but I'm working on it.
34. Do something special with Steve to celebrate our five-year anniversary. Done!
35. Make time to spend with friends.
36. Interview high school seniors in the area who are applying to Columbia. Done!
37. Master the art of taking an infant and a toddler on outings. Hmm...
38. Finish Daniel's baby book.
39. Start a college fund for the new baby. Done!
40. Don't sweat it if I don't do all the things on this list!
I wasn't really planning to do this again — make a "life list" — but when I started thinking about things I hope to do in the next year, the ideas came together more easily than I thought. Some of these are no-brainers — things I'd do anyway, already on my to-do list — and others are so out of my control that they're really just hopes more than goals. Most of them fall in between. I did pretty well on last year's list, all things considered, so we'll see how things go this year.
1. Have a (healthy) baby! Done!
2. Have a successful VBAC. Done!
3. Come out cancer-free on all my CT scans. :-(
4. Still be breastfeeding on my next birthday (or for six months at least). :-(
5. Take a family trip to Oregon.
6. Replace the dining room light fixture.
7. Replace the light fixtures in all the bedrooms.
8. Get the trees in our back yard trimmed and shaped. Done!
9. Fit back into my pre-pregnancy jeans. Done!
10. Give away my maternity clothes, or consign them. Done!
11. Watch all this year's Oscar-nominated movies.
12. Get my FICO score.
13. Find a special Christmas ornament for our 2008 tree — probably a new baby one.
14. Learn to make the flourless chocolate torte that Marc makes, now that I know where to find the recipe.
15. Read to Daniel every day.
16. Take a trip (or two) to the North Shore. Done!
17. Keep flossing my teeth every day.Ha.
18. Buy a storage box for my photo CDs. Done!
19. Send out Christmas cards to everyone on our list.
20. Send out birth announcements when the baby is born. Done!
21. Spend $400 or less a month on groceries. (This is what we budget for, and we always go over. Perhaps that's a sign we should revise the budget.)
22. Send birthday cards on time.
23. Take an ECFE class with Steve and Daniel. Done!
24. Sign Daniel up for another Music Together class. Done!
25. Have professional photos taken of the new baby and Daniel. Done!
26. Order copies of our credit reports and make sure they are accurate.
27. Save up enough money to buy this lens or this lens for my camera. I don't care so much about this one now. I have two great lenses, and I would be happy just to keep using them more.
28. Keep writing my monthly column. Done!
29. Come up with five good story ideas in a new market I haven't written for, and send out five good query letters (even if I get five rejection letters back).
30. Get a babysitter and go on a date with Steve once a month (with some understandable leeway right after the baby is born).
31. Say no when asked to be on committees. Done!
32. Start doing yoga again. Probably not going to happen. How about if I change this to qi gong?
33. Send thank-you notes promptly. Maybe not promptly, but I'm working on it.
34. Do something special with Steve to celebrate our five-year anniversary. Done!
35. Make time to spend with friends.
36. Interview high school seniors in the area who are applying to Columbia. Done!
37. Master the art of taking an infant and a toddler on outings. Hmm...
38. Finish Daniel's baby book.
39. Start a college fund for the new baby. Done!
40. Don't sweat it if I don't do all the things on this list!
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
on the cusp
I was leaving from our last day of ECFE class today, driving to meet a friend for lunch, when the thought occurred to me: This is also the last day of my 30s. This whole decade has gone by, and tomorrow I start a new one. Major cause for reflection, I can tell you. I had just turned 30 when I moved from Mississippi to Minnesota, so I can now say that I have lived here for a decade. Where did the time go? I was such a different person then. Not really different inside, I suppose, but the circumstances of my life were so far from where they are now. I had left a love behind in Mississippi — our relationship, never with much future, was essentially over, but feelings for each other still flared up at the end and made my leaving all the harder. I drove up here in my little Ford Escort (may she rest in peace, wherever she is), two yowling cats in the back seat (may they rest in peace, too), spending the first night in a small Illinois town, just past the Missouri border, and the second night with my friend Gina in small-town Wisconsin. I drove into town on I-94, took the Marian Street exit, and pulled up in front of the building where I would work for the next eight-plus years. For the first six weeks that I lived here, I stayed with a coworker while I looked for an apartment, and in April, the cats and I moved into my sweet little one-bedroom Chatsworth Street home, where we would live until I became engaged to Steve four years later.
Of course, I hadn't met my darling husband yet. It took three years for our stars to cross. We met just months before Sept. 11 — the Sept. 11 — and it seemed our destinies were swept up in tandem with that world event. Our first vacation together had been scheduled the same week that the airplanes flew into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon and the field in Pennsylvania, and the flights were cancelled, and so was our trip to Montreal. Instead, we drove up north to our beloved North Shore and discovered the Cove Point Lodge, where we have gone back time and time again. By the following spring, we had gotten engaged, and a year later, we were married. That was almost half a decade ago. So: For just over half my time in Minnesota — half of my 30s — I was single, and for the other half, I was married. And then, late into the decade, I became a mother. Who would have thought I'd be celebrating my 40th birthday while pregnant? I guess it's not too surprising. I'm a Capricorn, and we are known for being late bloomers. That's a good description for a garden in Minnesota, and it feels right for me, too. I feel like I've found my bloom here in the past few years. I can only wonder what the next 10 will hold in store.
Of course, I hadn't met my darling husband yet. It took three years for our stars to cross. We met just months before Sept. 11 — the Sept. 11 — and it seemed our destinies were swept up in tandem with that world event. Our first vacation together had been scheduled the same week that the airplanes flew into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon and the field in Pennsylvania, and the flights were cancelled, and so was our trip to Montreal. Instead, we drove up north to our beloved North Shore and discovered the Cove Point Lodge, where we have gone back time and time again. By the following spring, we had gotten engaged, and a year later, we were married. That was almost half a decade ago. So: For just over half my time in Minnesota — half of my 30s — I was single, and for the other half, I was married. And then, late into the decade, I became a mother. Who would have thought I'd be celebrating my 40th birthday while pregnant? I guess it's not too surprising. I'm a Capricorn, and we are known for being late bloomers. That's a good description for a garden in Minnesota, and it feels right for me, too. I feel like I've found my bloom here in the past few years. I can only wonder what the next 10 will hold in store.
the four of us
We didn't even know if we wanted a second baby. Until I found out I was pregnant again, I had been doing a lot of reading, thinking and talking about the pros and cons of having an only child. Would Daniel be lonely? Would he lack for playmates, grow up to be some kind of socially impaired person who couldn't relate to his peers? Would he, on the other hand, mature quickly and relate well to adults with a couple of grown-ups as his main company? Would he get his social needs met adequately through his friends and playmates? I'd read a number of articles that said that many of the stereotypes people have of only children are really unfounded, and that they end up being as well-adjusted (if not more so) than their siblinged peers.
Just as I had days when I thought, "I could easily have a few more kids," there were many days when the idea of "just the one" was appealing. With Daniel, we do leave behind a certain amount of the life we used to lead — the freedom, the spontaneity — but not all of it. Steve and I could still give each other some alone time at night while we tended to him, and vice versa. We were able to travel without too much hassle or too many limitations. We knew having another baby would remove us from this type of lifestyle fairly definitively.
But that would be OK, too, we told each other. It would be nice for Daniel to have a brother or sister to play with, and imagine the fun we'd have as a foursome. Maybe even more. At a certain stage of life, there's something powerful about the urge to reproduce, to send little versions of yourself out into the world, to nurture a whole new generation of humans and feel as if you've played a role in contributing to a future that will carry on after you're gone.
I knew for sure that I wasn't ready to get back on the roller-coaster of infertility treatments, though — not yet, anyway. With Daniel just starting to wean from nursing, it was still very early, and even though my age was weighing in the back of my mind, the ticking clock, I didn't want to rush myself. And I was frequently (am, in fact) exhausted from the physical demands of caring for a baby. It's perhaps the hardest work I've ever done in my life. But part of me was starting to take notice of my newly returned periods, to mentally note when I was probably most fertile. I assumed I'd have the same difficulties with fertility that I did before, but I also wondered: Could I get pregnant naturally this time? Should we see if it works? And that would circle back to the question: Do we want to right now? And the answer was never clear: We didn't know. So we took a wait-and-see approach, our decision being to not choose any direction for the time being. "We'll just see what happens," Steve and I told each other. We won't try, but we won't try not, either.
And then one afternoon in late July, just home from a trip to Oregon with Daniel, I found myself wondering why my period was late. It was a Friday, and I was looking forward to enjoying a glass of wine that night, and I was at Target, and I thought, I'll just buy a test, just to be sure. I remember even calling Steve from the store: "What kind of deoderant did you say you need again? Oh, by the way, I'm picking up a pregnancy test. Just to make sure I can drink wine this weekend."
And I nearly fell over when I got home and saw the double pink lines. I was absolutely stunned. I drank a big glass of water and walked around the house blankly, numbly, until the water did its work and I was able to take another test to be sure. I got online and calculated a due date — March 30. (Later, the OB's calculator said April 2, so we took an average and said April Fool's Day. Indeed!) Then I took Daniel out in the stroller, walked to Mississippi Market, and bought a big jar of prenatal vitamins, all the while, thinking, "So this is our answer." (That is, when my mind wasn't shouting "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!") It felt like a decision that had come from a higher place. And in a way, I guess that's where we'd placed it all along.
I still feel overwhelmed sometimes at the thought of one more, but it feels like such the right thing now: for Daniel, for us, for our life. I'm so bonded with this child in my body that I can't imagine him not being here — even though I haven't met him in person yet. I seriously believe he had a role in saving my life — helping me find my cancer and get it treated before it became a threat to me. I don't see myself having any more children, though. After the cancer news, and the fact that it could come back, I am hesitant to commit my body to more childbearing when I know I may need to subject it to treatments that wouldn't support another life. Scary, but true. So I think this is going to be it (unless we adopt). The four of us.
Just as I had days when I thought, "I could easily have a few more kids," there were many days when the idea of "just the one" was appealing. With Daniel, we do leave behind a certain amount of the life we used to lead — the freedom, the spontaneity — but not all of it. Steve and I could still give each other some alone time at night while we tended to him, and vice versa. We were able to travel without too much hassle or too many limitations. We knew having another baby would remove us from this type of lifestyle fairly definitively.
But that would be OK, too, we told each other. It would be nice for Daniel to have a brother or sister to play with, and imagine the fun we'd have as a foursome. Maybe even more. At a certain stage of life, there's something powerful about the urge to reproduce, to send little versions of yourself out into the world, to nurture a whole new generation of humans and feel as if you've played a role in contributing to a future that will carry on after you're gone.
I knew for sure that I wasn't ready to get back on the roller-coaster of infertility treatments, though — not yet, anyway. With Daniel just starting to wean from nursing, it was still very early, and even though my age was weighing in the back of my mind, the ticking clock, I didn't want to rush myself. And I was frequently (am, in fact) exhausted from the physical demands of caring for a baby. It's perhaps the hardest work I've ever done in my life. But part of me was starting to take notice of my newly returned periods, to mentally note when I was probably most fertile. I assumed I'd have the same difficulties with fertility that I did before, but I also wondered: Could I get pregnant naturally this time? Should we see if it works? And that would circle back to the question: Do we want to right now? And the answer was never clear: We didn't know. So we took a wait-and-see approach, our decision being to not choose any direction for the time being. "We'll just see what happens," Steve and I told each other. We won't try, but we won't try not, either.
And then one afternoon in late July, just home from a trip to Oregon with Daniel, I found myself wondering why my period was late. It was a Friday, and I was looking forward to enjoying a glass of wine that night, and I was at Target, and I thought, I'll just buy a test, just to be sure. I remember even calling Steve from the store: "What kind of deoderant did you say you need again? Oh, by the way, I'm picking up a pregnancy test. Just to make sure I can drink wine this weekend."
And I nearly fell over when I got home and saw the double pink lines. I was absolutely stunned. I drank a big glass of water and walked around the house blankly, numbly, until the water did its work and I was able to take another test to be sure. I got online and calculated a due date — March 30. (Later, the OB's calculator said April 2, so we took an average and said April Fool's Day. Indeed!) Then I took Daniel out in the stroller, walked to Mississippi Market, and bought a big jar of prenatal vitamins, all the while, thinking, "So this is our answer." (That is, when my mind wasn't shouting "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!") It felt like a decision that had come from a higher place. And in a way, I guess that's where we'd placed it all along.
I still feel overwhelmed sometimes at the thought of one more, but it feels like such the right thing now: for Daniel, for us, for our life. I'm so bonded with this child in my body that I can't imagine him not being here — even though I haven't met him in person yet. I seriously believe he had a role in saving my life — helping me find my cancer and get it treated before it became a threat to me. I don't see myself having any more children, though. After the cancer news, and the fact that it could come back, I am hesitant to commit my body to more childbearing when I know I may need to subject it to treatments that wouldn't support another life. Scary, but true. So I think this is going to be it (unless we adopt). The four of us.
Monday, January 14, 2008
for moms with careers on their minds
A few weeks ago, my friend Anne (who works for WomenVenture, a non-profit that helps women — and men — start businesses, discern career directions and become more financially literate) invited me to be part of a focus group to help plan a new class WomenVenture is offering — "Career and Life Planning for Moms." It sounded like such an interesting class that I decided to take it myself. I hope it'll help give me some direction about eventually re-entering the work world (work outside of mothering, I should say), whether that's via freelancing or something new and different a few years down the road. And hey — after Baby No. 2 is born, it's going to be a lot harder to leave the kids home with Steve on Saturday mornings and do something like this. I thought I'd post some information about the class here, since I know a number of you may be contemplating some of the same issues. So ... click here if you're interested. (I think there may be a discount on the registration fee.)
(Here are Anne and me on Saturday night — a few friends and I got together to celebrate my birthday. We went to Buca's, and to steal a lyric from that famous Italian-American Frank Sinatra, it was a very good time.)
Friday, January 11, 2008
like I really need this stress
Argggh! Since mid-November, I've been working on an article that has been one of my most challenging and frustrating experiences in my 15 years of doing journalism. It's supposed to be a profile on the founder and former CEO of a big company known for his ethical business practices, his philanthropy, his sense of integrity. And, apparently, his extreme privacy. He won't talk to me. The people at his company who handle his calls have consistently told me his schedule is too busy, that he gets so many media requests that he turns many of them down. (There is much more to this story, which I originally relayed here in detail, but I've cut it because I don't feel comfortable having it on this blog.) At any rate, I have to try to do this article in the best way I can, culling information from public sources, which basically means things I can find online and in previously published materials, and getting comments and anecdotes from people who know this man. What was supposed to be a straightforward little profile has morphed into something that feels overwhelming. And I don't have a lot of time to devote to it, since my main work time is at night and on weekends.
So today, in my latest phone conversation with the company's communications director, Daniel was squawking and running around and upsetting papers, and I kept having to say, "Excuse me" to her while I calmed him down. At one point she told me something that really made me bristle. (Again, I've cut the specifics.) And when I got off the phone, I called Steve, and when I got off the phone with Steve, I walked into the living room, and Daniel had scrawled several square feet's worth of lines and circles all over the wall with a blue crayon. I lost it then and there, sat down on the floor and started crying. I hate crying in front of him. He doesn't understand, and he doesn't know what to do. But I felt totally overcome by frustration, probably helped along considerably by hormones. I don't think he's scarred for life, at any rate. He seems to have gotten over it, and he enjoyed watching Steve clean the wall. And now it's Friday night, and I'm OK too, except I have a whole weekend to stew over this and try to figure out how to shape the story.
It gives me a lot to think about as I work my way into the freelancing world. At this stage, I may agree to do jobs that don't necessarily excite me; it's a good way to get a variety of clips and develop some experience and connections with different publications. Besides, I often learn something from those articles and end up being more engaged than I thought I would. But my hope is that somewhere down the line, I will hold the reins a bit more and decide what I want to write about and what types of jobs to pass on — and that I'll be able to do this work with more of a sense of direction. Plus, I'd like to learn how to better evaluate ahead of time how much time and energy a job is going to take, and to decide: How much stress am I willing to allow myself? At what point do I say, "This is enough?"
So today, in my latest phone conversation with the company's communications director, Daniel was squawking and running around and upsetting papers, and I kept having to say, "Excuse me" to her while I calmed him down. At one point she told me something that really made me bristle. (Again, I've cut the specifics.) And when I got off the phone, I called Steve, and when I got off the phone with Steve, I walked into the living room, and Daniel had scrawled several square feet's worth of lines and circles all over the wall with a blue crayon. I lost it then and there, sat down on the floor and started crying. I hate crying in front of him. He doesn't understand, and he doesn't know what to do. But I felt totally overcome by frustration, probably helped along considerably by hormones. I don't think he's scarred for life, at any rate. He seems to have gotten over it, and he enjoyed watching Steve clean the wall. And now it's Friday night, and I'm OK too, except I have a whole weekend to stew over this and try to figure out how to shape the story.
It gives me a lot to think about as I work my way into the freelancing world. At this stage, I may agree to do jobs that don't necessarily excite me; it's a good way to get a variety of clips and develop some experience and connections with different publications. Besides, I often learn something from those articles and end up being more engaged than I thought I would. But my hope is that somewhere down the line, I will hold the reins a bit more and decide what I want to write about and what types of jobs to pass on — and that I'll be able to do this work with more of a sense of direction. Plus, I'd like to learn how to better evaluate ahead of time how much time and energy a job is going to take, and to decide: How much stress am I willing to allow myself? At what point do I say, "This is enough?"
Thursday, January 10, 2008
this and that
I told the above to Steve last night, and he said, "You mean, you aren't planning to stock up the freezer for us before you go?" And we had a good laugh. Thank God.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
books read in 2007
I don't even pretend to be able to keep up with my friend Liz's 50 Book Challenge, but I can say I managed to read 26 books last year. And that doesn't count the reference-type books, such as The Baby Name Wizard, which I feel like I read as if it were a novel. (Really — that book is addictively fascinating!) In looking back over these titles, I remember that I was in the middle of a Maeve Binchy run when I learned about my cancer at the end of August. Scarlet Feather and the few that follow were the ones I read in the hospital and during my recovery. Anyway, here's my list for 2007 — most read for the first time, but a couple of re-reads. If you have a list, too, please let me know in your comments section!
Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child by Marc Weissbluth, Md.
The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
Almost French by Sarah Turnbull
What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Children's Vaccinations by Stephanie Cave
The Millionaire Next Door: The Surprising Secrets of America's Wealthy by Thomas J. Stanley
Evidence of Harm: Mercury in Vaccines and the Autism Epidemic: A Medical Controversy by David Kirby
Vaccinations: A Thoughtful Parent's Guide: How to Make Safe, Sensible Decisions about the Risks, Benefits, and Alternatives by Aviva Jill Romm
Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik
Speaking of Faith by Krista Tippett
The No-Cry Sleep Solution: Gentle Ways to Help Your Baby Sleep Through the Night by Elizabeth Pantley
From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs Basil E.Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling
Modern Love: 50 True and Extraordinary Tales of Desire, Deceit, and Devotion ed. by Daniel Jones
Evening Class by Maeve Binchy
Scarlet Feather by Maeve Binchy
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke
Le Divorce by Diane Johnson
Quentins by Maeve Binch
Magic Time by Doug Marlette
Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott
Thin Places: Where Faith Is Affirmed And Hope Dwells by Mary Treacy O'Keefe
The Not So Big Life: Making Room for What Really Matters by Sarah Susanka
Maybe Baby: 28 Writers Tell the Truth About Skepticism, Infertility, Baby Lust, Childlessness, Ambivalence, and How They Made the Biggest Decision of Their Lives ed. by Lori Leibovich
Make a Real Living as a Freelance Writer by Jenna Glatzer
growing up
Every day, Daniel seems to say more words — and to understand more of the things we say to him, which is more than we sometimes imagine, and which is kind of scary when you consider my little swearing habit. His latest thing is to say "Hey, hey, hey," when he's standing up for himself, like when we try to take a pen out of his hand or steer him away from the tempting light sockets. He gets it from Steve and me. I didn't realize how much we say it until he started parroting us, and now I notice it all the time. Today, at the Children's Museum, another kid tried to cut in and play with the panel of buttons that make the wild animal noises, and I heard him clear as day: "Hey! Hey, hey, hey." At least he hasn't pushed anyone down yet, which is more than I can say for some of the kids that were there this morning.
Friday, January 4, 2008
late morning, living room
Just playing around here, testing different settings on my camera to see how well I can use natural light indoors without a flash (with my 28-105 f/3.5-4.5 lens). Plus, he's just so darned cute, it's hard to stop shooting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
