Where to start ...

when my long-time reader and fellow traveler, the other Rachel, writes to inquire how I am doing I figure I should start posting again.  Still here, still stressed as can be about this stupid degree (and working against a clock of less than a month to prove I can do it.  Fun times ...), still single parenting, still battling a mice infestation, still worrying about the dumpling who is currently on a food strike ...

So let's jump into the 2 dilemmas of the evening which happen to be on my mind.

Maternal guilt, aka the great school district-quality of life debate.  Even though it is practically impossible to do, we are moving from the heart of NYC to an equally expensive neighborhood in a new city.  And we plan to use public schools.  JD has now visited at least a half dozen public schools, charter schools, magnet schools, and by all accounts there is one that is far and away our top choice.  It happens to be Reggio Emilia inspired, which has always been my favorite educational philosophy for all that I find it quite hard to implement cohesively at home.  But there are also other options: charter schools, schools on the up and coming, the full gammit.  And tomorrow JD will most likely sign a lease on a lovely apartment literally on the wrong side of the street from the school district we want (odd numbers - lovely small charter school, even numbers - problematic public school).  In part, I just want to be done.  I want an address, a place to plan for (and oh the pre-move nesting is in full mode.  4 new prints have arrived for our as-yet-unadorned new apartment), I want to finalize daycare plans for the dumpling .... but there is also the maternal guilt factor.  We could wait another month or two and probably find something in our ideal school district.  Something smaller, something more expensive, but then the fusspot would be able to attend an art-inspired tiny public school.  And while we are not even close to considering the suburbs, a little more space would be really nice.  Since I have a friend staying in the kids' room, we are basically living in a 500 square foot apartment with 2 kids, 1 double stroller, 1 bugaboo, several mice, and a lot of books.  So part of me thinks we should go for the big apartment (1500 square feet!  Back yard!  Eat-in kitchen and formal dining room which will become our art space/playroom), but then a part of me wonders about the guilt of choosing a large apartment over an incredible educational opportunity for the fusspot.

And I really don't want to make too much of it because the child is freakin' 3 years old, but she is not currently excelling in school.  Sure, she loves it and they love her, and she's toddling along at the very end of their age-appropriate range (not surprising since she's the youngest kid in the class by 2 full months), but at our recent parent-teacher conference the poor teacher (who I quite like) spent a good 5 minutes talking her way around the fact that, well, if the fusspot were her kid, well, she probably wouldn't waste the 2 hours to get G & T testing done ... yeah.  Am I worried?  Not at all.  She's 3, she has very specific interests, and I think in a better classroom she would be more challenged to explore other things ... but still, makes you think.

And while we are in move angst, JD accidentally signed us up for a local HMO (local as in local to where he resides, not NYC) so healthcare for the kids has been rather a soul-squelching process of calling the HMO, coordinating with our local urgent care clinic, calling upon the kindness of our old pediatrician ... and all because?  Well, the local HMO has the best fertility coverage.  But now JD wants to switch plans during open enrollment because they are such a hassle to deal with and I don't think he realized how few options we would be offered for handling the dumpling's food aversions ... but if we switch then we are back to zero fertility coverage.  Which of course is what we had for both the dumpling and the fusspot and it was fine (thank you Amex).  And I could easily see us spending a good year paying out of pocket and switching back next December to the local HMO if we were really only considering IVF.  But then again, any coverage would be nice now that we have childcare for two ...

SO: anyone ever used Kaiser for fertility treatments?  Know a friend of a friend of a friend who did?  Any wisdom on whether they are good, amenable to varying protocols (flashback: I have a highly unusual diagnosis combined with severe PCOs), responsive?  If you don't want to post your response, you can always e-mail: longdistanceinfertility (at) gmail.

Ok, back to work.  Hopefully something more to say soon.  But in short, still here, still stressed, still enjoying my adorable children.

What a week here in our little neighborhood

Sitting snug and cozy on the couch listening to the wind and the sirens go by.  For now we have internet and power, and as renters pretty high up in a building and away from the water our only fear is losing either of those for a couple of days.  Of course, it's not like we even have a working flashlight in the apartment as I discovered last night at midnight while exploring another mouse nest in the hall closet, but we are well stocked with tea lights, candles and sugar cookies.

Just like Irene, the start of this storm was even odder.  Public transport shut down last night but we stayed out at a toddler birthday party and caught a late bus home.  And then this morning I took my kids in to daycare for a few hours through clear skies and back well before the wind picked up.  We even stopped for fresh bagels, bakery bread, and more toppings for sugar cookies.  When it started really raining this afternoon we headed literally across the street for a playdate.

NYC is a city of neighborhoods and it is astounding what storms can do to make you painfully aware of distances.  The fusspot's best friend lives exactly a mile from us, but we weren't really up for walking that far.  Another friend lives at the half mile mark, but that seemed too far.  However, across the street was entirely reasonable and safe despite all of the glowers we received as my two rainboat and bright raincoat clad children -finally- seized the opportunity to go puddle jumping.

And speaking of our neighborhood, well, it was an incredibly emotional week for many mothers here.  I did not know the victims, but it's a small community, and sure enough I received a call from a friend on Friday who said she couldn't bear to take her kids to pre-K while the grief counselors were there so they'd taken the day off.  Tragedies happen, and some capture our hearts either because they are so close, so familiar, or so picture perfect.  The same day that 2 little white children were stabbed to death in a situation which could not have been predicted or prevented, a newborn related to our public pre-K died in a fire which could have been both predicted and prevented.  Except she wasn't "all American" (read: wealthy.  white) and so the coverage was practically nil.  That is not to minimize in any way the tragedy on W. 75th, but I do think that a large part of the media coverage stems from a wave of cultural anxiety about working parents (not that the mother worked, but it was assumed she did because she had a nanny.  And to all of the awful commenters across the U.S. deriding a SAHM for having a nanny, I dare you to drag 3 children on the bus and subway every time one of them has a late school pick-up or birthday party or activity.  It is simply fundamentally different than driving a crowd of children around and urban transport with small children is endlessly exhausting.  If I could afford a babysitter so that I didn't have to bring the dumpling along to the fusspot's incredibly inaccessible dance class I would do so instantly).  The reality is that women work, and childcare is outsourced to all sorts of people, but as a country so many people seem to still fantasize about an idealized 1950s dynamic.  Nobody asked why the father was working, nobody even wondered whether he had thought to background check the nanny.  It was all about the mother.  And of course because the crime was so random there is so little that the mothers on the street can do to distance themselves and make their own homes feel safe again.

And in a week when the weather was topsy turvy and the playground talk was full of fear, someone smashed our car windows (the car was on loan from my in-laws).  It is 100% covered by insurance and even happened at a time I wasn't in a rush to get anywhere, but there is a still a feeling of violation.  And more so because the bags the thieves were going after were actually the fusspot's summer clothes which I had finally packed up and put on the floor of the backseat so they could go into my in-laws basement.  Which is to say that someone took a razor and sliced open plastic bags of clothes my children wore, ruffled through them, and stashed 2 bags under the wheels of another car.  It had to be kids clothes.  I know it is trifle compared to the violence of both the storm and the murders, but it still sticks with you.

Obviously I haven't slept much.  This is undoubtedly incoherent.  Signing off now.  There is a small carved pumpkin, roses, and a pile of tea lights on the table ready for tomorrow.  And chances are the kids and I have a full day of painting, gak, and decorating sugar cookies ahead of us.  More thoughts on (weekday) single parenting some other night.

Just a very quick post

to say things are going much better.  Not the least of which is having our apartment newly hermetically sealed this week and thus far ... no mice!  I hadn't quite realized what a hassle mice would be when living alone with 2 kids, but it just felt like every 5 minutes I was stopping to sweep up crumbs or do dishes, etc., and it certainly made getting out the door in the morning that much harder.  The thing is that we live in an old building with a lot of old folks, above a pizza place and Dunkin Donuts, and there are going to be mice in the building, and the only thing I can do is to keep them out of my apartment by limiting the food.  Just to give you a sense of how bad it was, the mice had actually scaled a bookshelf and eaten a cookie the fusspot left in a bag she has ... 4 feet off the ground.  And of course, I am just too paranoid of neurotoxins to use pesticides in the apartment when both my children routinely put toys in their mouth.

Anyway, this post wasn't meant to be about mice.  Just a note to say work is going better, got a small vote of confidence when it mattered, had a thorough talking to by a woman I admire about rising above, and gave my husband a clear ultimatum which he handled much better than expected (nothing serious, just that I must have hours to work every weekend when he is in town, and it is entirely absurd that I get less done the weekends he comes to visit).   So we're off to visit him in DC for a long weekend, and to see a very close friend who lives abroad and will be in town.

And yes, Ms. J, as ever I appreciate your wisdom.  I am rarely very articulate here, but my point was that I realize that there are choices involved, that something has to give eventually, and I want to write down quite how hard this is so that next year when I look back and wonder exactly what happened, I will be able to remember the absurdity of it all.  And it helps so much to hear that this is not all me, that other people also struggle, Luxzia. 

Even though it was late and dark before we even set out, I accepted an invitation to a friend's house for dinner last night.  And even though the fusspot had to be at school at 8 am this morning, I put my feet up and sat on my friend's plush couch and sipped a (miniscule) glass of wine while our kids played long past bedtime (only possible because her husband was out of town on a business trip).  And it was good.  And hopefully there will be more of the same this weekend.  Especially if I can manage to get a few hours work done in the morning, instead of late late night after watching the kids all day.

Eh, back to doom and gloom for a bit

a very clever friend pointed out that a large part of my stress is from being in a transitional moment, and that I will certainly feel at least a bit better once I figure out exactly what the imminent future holds for me.  But for now, another doom and gloom post.  Because I do want to remember this.  I want to remember how it felt, what happened, how I came to the choices I made.  Because so often I look back and cannot remember how I came to decisions.

The thing is that our "new job opportunity in a different city" is looking more and more like a trial separation.  I don't really know what JD is thinking, but we did after all do long distance for 6 years.  And during that time we wrote or spoke daily, and usually many, many times a day.  Not so much now.  And it's so much worse now that the fusspot can ask to speak to her father, and I have to explain that he's busy, that he went out rather than back to his apartment, that he's still sleeping ...

No, I don't actually think it's all that serious.  We are both entirely committed to this relationship.  But in the short term, it's pretty clear that I can't exactly rely on him for the little things.  Of course, that realization was the entire reason I encouraged him to take some time to himself.

And I've been feeling queasy and stressed all day about a meeting tomorrow.  A meeting in which I need to explain exactly why I am in such a rut, and convince someone that things are getting better.  The type of meeting where having a clear plan would help.  But not so much.  I'm basically just whittling down the hours.

I joined a writing group, and was amazed to learn that a good 90% of the other students have therapists.  And they all seem to have friends or parents who they call late at night when they get stuck.  Friends who check in for accountability, who encourage them.  And I don't.  I presume because they are just sick of hearing about all of this.  But all evening I've just wanted to talk to someone, to get some feedback, to think through what I am going to say tomorrow.  And nope.  And that is most certainly because the people I know are too busy.  This past weekend I ran into 3 formerly close friends, none of whom I had seen in the prior 6 months and one of whom I had not seen in a full year (oh, and she was 32 weeks pregnant.  surprise!).  I would like to find a different community of women, a community that stops and cares for its own, that celebrates the little things.  But then again, I would also have to feel like I have something to offer. 

I did have a friend over for dinner with her 2 kids.  It was lovely and the usual crazy.  The fusspot scratched her daughter, her daughter broke a huge glass mixing bowl, one of the babies spilled a glass of milk ... but between that we talked about the ordinary life stresses.  I can't really complain to her about work because I really do feel that this situation is a personal failing.  I should have started therapy sooner, I should have tried harder, I should have at least told everyone what was going on.  I read stories of men and women who go through repeat depressive episodes and still manage to hold onto their jobs and wonder how.  And then I read stories about this economy and panic because I really do need an income, a job.

Anyway, limbo is bad.  But I will be fine.  And in the meantime I will read plenty of stories and find a way to calmly rush my daughter out of the door on school mornings.  And I will keep in mind that even though graduate school is something people are deeply emotionally invested in, it really is no different than any other job, and most likely a far less worthy endeavor than most career paths.

Let's stick to the cheerful for a while

The dumpling turned 19 months old yesterday.  And he is delightfully toddler-ish.

He is exceedingly good-natured, although he has a very strong preference for walking and usually spends his first few minutes in the stroller yelling.  He can (and does) walk up to a mile on his own, although the pace is rather slow.  I have lots of photos of him toddling along next to the stroller while the fusspot rests her feet.

At the playground he takes off without so much as a look back.  Even on the huge playground in Central Park with a hundred other kids he does not seem to feel the need to check in with me as the fusspot did (and does).

He is very social.  He also has absolutely no idea that he is small.  When a 5 year old cut him in line for the slide last week he just walked up to him and tried to shove him out of the way.  He happily pushes his way to the front of the preschool drop-off rush through both 50+ preschoolers and their parents.

He still nurses to sleep and snuggles next to me all night long.  He also wakes up to eat at least once a night.  And he is really hungry in the middle of the night, so I have no plans to drop that nursing session.  Also, he basically doesn't nurse during the day so he is only nursing 3-4 times per 24 hours, although 2 of those are good half hour sessions.

He loves books and will sit and read to himself for a good 10 minutes.  He will read board books, but is also fine with real books.  He also plays on his own quite well.

He loves to paint and draw.  Less interest in playdoh.

At brunch over the weekend he spilled some of his water.  He looked at the spilled water, paused, and then a huge grin came over his face as he grabbed a napkin to clean up. 

Potty training has stalled because I don't have the time.  Also, he went through a phase where he rather seemed to enjoy peeing on things and that put a damper on my enthusiasim for diaper free by 18 months.  I am however hand washing diaper covers every night so I need to return to this project.  This morning he was carrying around two of the fusspot's dolls (yes, he has his own.  He prefers hers).  He carried them into the bathroom, seated them in front of the toddler potty, and then proceeded to sit on the potty for a good while.   Apparently he does better with an audience.

He loves his sister most of all, no matter what she does to him.  In the morning he wakes up nurses on one side, then clambers over to the edge of the bed to check on the fusspot, then returns to nursing.  He spends a lot of time wandering aimlessly around the apartment going "mine" "mine."

He also happily goes to our daycare provider and seems to really enjoy being there.  He is very rarely in a rush to leave.  I know she spoils him.  He seems to have about equal comprehension in English and Chin.ese.  He does an adorable rendition of ABCs with a passable tune but never gets past D and often resorts to "AB ... AB ... AB .... AB .... AB ..."  He also sings a recognizable Langzi laohu.

He has never had a haircut and we are trying to hold out until his 3rd birthday.  Thus far, thankfully, no rat tail.

He is still not on the growth chart and frequently refuses food.  He occasionally seems to be in food-related pain, but probably only once a week at most.  His favorite foods (when he will eat) are apples, berries, pasta, and hot dogs.  He does not like olives or ice cream in any form.  He also rarely eats sweets, even when offered. 

the angst continues

It is 4 am and I am sitting here trying to send a work-related e-mail explaining exactly how the utter meltdown in my personal life has affected my work.  Fun stuff, as always.

In fact, it is so trite and predictable that I am left at a loss as to how we can really be almost done with 2012 and still dealing with this stuff.  Let's see, student who also happens to be mother of two suddenly deals with husband in tailspin, single parenting, bizarre and stressful situation at work, and potentially seriously ill child (although thankfully probably not anything serious) while still battling post-partum anxiety, and you're wondering why she missed a deadline?  And really does it matter in the big scheme of things?  (Of course, the answer may well be yes and hence my fear of sending this e-mail).

A very wise friend and one I see fairly often (read: no longer working) pointed out that a large part of this stress is being in transition from a career-oriented future to ????  She reminded me that as soon as choices are made and paths are closed I will feel better, and I think she is right.  On the other hand she had a successful career until she gave birth at age 41 so she is in much, much better position to return to the workforce in 5-10 years.  For the past 2 weeks I have been asking everyone about life choices, about working and not working, about family size.  And the short answer is that here in my exceedingly privileged pocket of NYC the options suck.  I actually only know two women who genuinely work full-time and parent, and one is kind-of superwoman and the other is deeply miserable and has a very supportive husband.  That's not so suggest that there aren't other mothers who work, I just would never even meet them or have entirely fallen out of touch (superwoman and I see each other 1-2 times a year even though we live in the same neighborhood).

Example A, the kids participate in a truly idyllic shared-tutoring in Chin.ese with another little girl.  I have e-mailed with her mother at least 20 times, but we've never met.  Her nanny arrives at 7 am and leaves at 8 pm weekdays, and puts in a shorter weekend day.  Everything indicates that she's an involved parent: planning activities for her kids, nursing, co-sleeping ... but I am never going to meet this woman because she's simply too busy with work to take a day off and see what her daughter does on an average day (just like JD has yet to step foot into the fusspot's classroom and apparently the teachers were playing the game guess-that-kids-racial-identity game because they've never so much as laid eyes on him, and probably never will.  School drop-off is at 9 am and pick up is at 3 and he'll be at work during this hours every day this year).

Exhibit B, the friend who had us over for dinner on Saturday night.  She is worried about her fertility (with possibly some cause) but has decided to put off children for another 5 years to establish her career.  She doesn't want to, but feels like she has no other option.  She also has a boss who "can't afford childcare and has to leave her baby with her elderly mother" and "is putting off #2 until after a big work event next year."  Now this is all hearsay and I've certainly never met her boss, but it is exactly the type of hearsay floating around our neighborhood.  In summary, sub-par childcare, a mother crying at her desk at work, and delaying her second child until after a work deadline (for the record she's neither a political candidate nor a scientist about to cure AIDs, in fact the boss has a rather low-level job that is not exactly saving the world, and she's also pushing 40).  Working women who really want careers (as opposed to jobs, which is what happened in Lalaland.  All of the women worked but they never advanced, and many simply stopped trying to do so) are unhappy.   Or they are too busy to see their kids or their friends.  Like say my friend of 8 or so years who also lives in the neighborhood and used to have her nanny put their son down for a "third nap" at 7 pm.  He would then wake up when she got home at 10 pm and they'd have a family dinner and he'd go back to bed with his mother at midnight.  Needless to say I haven't seen her in over a year, although last I heard she was trying an 80% workweek.

I have never doubted that I'd enjoy being a stay at home mother for a few years, or even a decade or so.  I love the time I spend with my kids, I know the other SAHMs in the neighborhood, and I grew up in a very hippie environment so I have hundreds of hours of fun things I would like to do with my children while they are young.  The problem is that while we could swing it financially temporarily, we couldn't do it for all that long.  And JD really doesn't cope well with the stress of being the only breadwinner.  So sooner or later I would need to go back to work, and as someone without any type of established career my fear is that work would be so extremely limited as to be problematic.  If I really want part-time work and agree to take over all of the household stuff as part of the exchange for having JD being the only worker for a year or two, I will not be ready to jump back into a high stress full-time job in a new field (since mine has zero "on ramp."  Zero).  So then I'm left with childcare, teaching middle or high school, secretarial-style work.  Nothing that I would not regret in the long run or that would bring in enough money to help pay for the kids' college, a few big trips, etc.  And the guilt of knowing that my "choices" mean that my kids will only be able to go to college if they are willing to take on huge amounts of student loans.  Or the utter disjuncture of encouraging my daughter to work hard in school ... towards what?  A future at home?  Or stuck in a workforce that cannot accommodate women?

And back to today.  I was not getting anything done at work, so rather than pick the fusspot up from school at 3 and walk her to daycare, then go back to work for an hour and a half, I took the afternoon off.  And as I was walking down the street, pushing the double stroller with one hand and carrying the dumpling on my hip, I ran straight into a female professor I know quite well.  One who has not exactly been supportive, despite being a middle aged mother (of one son, now in high school and with a husband with a very flexible work schedule).  So basically one of the few women who made it through.  She looked straight at me with a look of disgust as I walked down the street at 3 pm with my two children.  And then she kept walking.  No hello, nada. 

It just feels like I am scratching my way into a fortress that I don't even want to get into anymore.  And while I am sure that I would adjust, the alternative still feels like an utter failure.  Not the more time for parenting, less stress part, but the part where I spend 26 years in school (continuously, folks, age 5 to age 31) and land up with a job I could have done at 22. 

It is the eve of the most important time for reflection in our calendar ...

I should be busy calling friends, having a serious conversation with my husband, prepping my children to behave in synagogue, preparing a break-fast and ...

instead I am sitting on the couch horror-stricken as I watch the mice run freely across the living room.  You know, the floor strewn with toys and where my children will get dressed in a few short hours.  All career angst will be postponed until the mice are under control.

The thing is that this is NYC.  We live above Dunkin Donuts (up 6 floors, but still).  And a famous pizza place.  And a bubble tea storefront.  And we are the only residents of our floor who have been here less than 40 years (nothing against old folks, but their tolerance for mice is way higher than mine).

Oh, and I am paranoid of spraying chemicals and my adorable dumpling is a toddler boy who loves to explore gadgets, so no glue traps or even kid-friendly snap traps allowed.  Instead we bleach, scrub, reseal every electrical outlet and crack ... and hope that our neighbors eventually call in the toxic chemicals.  Other suggestions welcomed (we have the plug-in sound rodent things, and don't think they work).  There have been mice before and they have always disappeared within a week.  All of our food is in glass jars or the fridge.  The bleach is out.  But I am suspicious that these are baby mice and the nest may well be near our apartment.  I am also so entirely grossed out by NYC rodents touching toddler toys that I may well spend the next week disinfecting every toy in sight (seriously, there were bite marks on two board books ... and the cardboard box where we keep the blocks ...).

Mice.  Gross.  Career angst on hold.

But in all seriousness, even if JD were living here, you'd better bet that both the mice and the fusspot's doctor's appointment would fall to me.  Speaking of which, utter success.  I priced appointments with CityMD (very reasonable), the copay at the pediatric ER (covered by insurance), got an estimate from our pediatrician ($350 and they wouldn't even commit to no higher than that) ... and then got our actual pediatrician on the phone who offered to just write off the bill entirely.  So yeah, I paid $50 cash and she wrote a note for the billing department and that was easy and done.  But 4 phone calls that I placed this morning even though theoretically any of them could have been done by JD, even from afar (this is not really a criticism of him, but more a need to acknowledge that even in 2012 household management is time consuming and annoying).

Mice.  4 feet away from me.  Not in the least scared of me.  So gross.

Let's just fess up

I had dinner last night with some of JD's friends.  You know the rather intimidating sort who you'd love to be friends with but maybe can't quite cut it.  And managed to say quite a few embarrassing things, which made me far less talkative today. 

Anyway ...

This goes against practically everything I've written here before about being a working parent (and I really and genuinely hope that it comes just from a place of pure exhaustion), but it is hard at this point in my life (age 31) to fathom exactly how my chosen career will work out with 2 kids (and dreams of more).  I realize that this is and was patently obvious to many people; that entering a highly competitive, family-unfriendly field with a very defined and limited "clock" to prove oneself and just figuring I could work harder/strategize better and make it was delusional.  But it worked for a while, and now I have to try and figure something out. 

And it really, really doesn't help that the only women I see on a daily or weekly basis are SAHMs.  The working moms I know simply don't have time to e-mail or pick up the phone or get together on the weekends.  In NYC even the working women without kids are exceedingly hard to meet up with.  One of JD's endless frustrations with the big city is living within 2 miles of at least 10 friends and seeing them once or twice a year at most, and usually at big events.  We have good friends who live 2 blocks away from us and we have not seen them except at weddings for the past 2 years.

So I spent this afternoon on the playground with 2 SAHMs and it is hard not to be envious of their lives.  One worked and has the presence of mind to acknowledge quite how delightful not working is, the other never worked and does not have the grace to realize how lucky she is that her husband can support their family in the city.  They are just relaxed (and yes, I realize that neither has any financial concerns which helps immensely).

I always said I'd love to take 5 years off and then work, but there's just no on ramp in my career, and despite having held a multitude of minimum wage jobs (waitressing, nannying, restaurant management, greeter at the Mall of Ameri.ca, retail, unloading trucks, low level secretarial work ...) my CV right now is full of things that only someone in academia could possibly value.  So if I were to step off the career track now (whether by choice or not) it is hard to imagine a good next step.  And what I conclusively don't want to do is wake up to find myself 50 and home alone with no prospects of interesting work.  So there's that.  But there's also the fact that I very rarely get to bed before 2 am, that I can't stand feeling guilty for taking 20 minutes to watch the Daily Show on my computer, the endless stress ...

Yesterday I yelled at the fusspot perhaps a dozen times.  Until this summer I had never even raised my voice at my child.  Yes, she can get into a lot more serious trouble now that she's older and sometimes the loud urgent voice is necessary to keep her out of trouble (barefoot on a playground with broken glass, for example, circa 4 pm today.  She took her shoes off behind my back and then headed straight toward the smashed bottle ...), but it's just not okay.  I try so hard every day to bracket the work stress, to separate, to slow to the pace of my toddlers.  But it is hard.  And while I can deal with the sleeplessness and the stress, I cannot handle the guilt of transferring that stress onto my kids. 

In an entirely unrelated question: any advice of finding a way to see a pediatrician inexpensively?  My silly husband signed us up for a local HMO (meaning only coverage is in an entirely different state) and the fusspot seems to have come down with a UTI.  Of course, I am also super-hesitant to give her antibiotics (I am deathly allergic) but we at least need to have the UTI closely monitored since it can turn into rather scary things quickly ... and I really don't want to pay $300 to spend 60 seconds talking to our doctor while she scribbles out a prescription.  I really doubt a target-like clinic could handle this, but any other thoughts?  And yes, of course, if necessary we'll just pay cash for the appointment.

The usual, and a few thoughts on happines

I went to bed around 1:30 am.  The fusspot woke up wet at 3 am and proceeded to wake the dumpling (we're all sleeping in one room at the moment).  I carried a very grumpy fusspot to the living room, nursed dumpling back to sleep, changed and snuggled the fusspot ... rushed out the door to school/work ... stepped on a bee in Central Park and now have a rather ouchy foot ...

Of course, I also got to spend a half hour with the fusspot in Starbucks before her Chin.ese class.  I had this fantasy that since it was just the two of us for once we would take her sketchpad to Central Park and color and read books.  But no, she was quite clear that she wanted to "go to that place with the chocolate milk with straws in the counter" and so we did.  And she had such a great time perched on the windowsill chattering about all of the people who came into the store.

Here's the thing: I have always been committed to working.  For financial reasons yes (and more importantly to reduce the stress of being the sole breadwinner on my husband especially given the uncertainty of this economy) but also because I watched my mother work part-time at a traditionally female job and have seen how her work is perpetually undervalued.  She has always wished in retrospect that she had a more useful degree.  And I have also been given every possible educational benefit: elite prep school, graduated debt-free from an elite college (ok, under $2000 in debt, and most of that was from unpaid parking tickets my ex accrued on my car while cheating on me ... always a great story when I explain exactly why I desperately needed my first post-graduate job at that ever-iconic Mall of A.me.erica), attended 7 years of graduate school with a very generous stipend.  It seems like all of that must have been toward something.

But there was a moment when I picked the fusspot up from school last week when I started to dread the future.  She's actually in a full-day free pre-K program, so her schedule is the same as the elementary and middle school kids.  And there I was lined up to collect her at 2:45 pm.  And the thought of 15 more years of mid-afternoon school pick-ups, of rushed school lunches packed in the morning, of doctors appointments squeezed into weird teacher workdays.  Absolutely nothing about the current educational schedule is set up to allow both parents to work.  And despite all wishes for an egalitarian marriage, I will be the one planning school pick-ups and calling babysitters and remembering forms and creating lovingly complex summer schedules.  For 15 years, or more if we get super-de-duper-lucky.  I'm not complaining about that at all, but just wondering what having a stressful career adds to that mix.

And right now what I am doing is fairly torturous.  And I keep reading wonderful mommy blogs about "seize the day" and "enjoy what you're doing" and such.  And I actually find that rhetoric useful in parenting.  Finding time to light a candle before dinner to make it special, packing silly notes in the fusspot's backpack, randomly agreeing to head to Starbucks because she likes their chocolate milk (even if I had planned a much "cooler" afternoon activity).  But there is nothing to suggest that my chosen career will be enjoyable for the next many years.  Of course, JD would say that such a question would never be prioritized for a guy.  He would call it decidedly self-centered to abandon my incredible privileges and revert to something easier.  It is certainly a decision I would regret later in life, as I see myself being particularly low on patience for the lack of respect given to many female-dominated careers like teaching.  But perhaps the costs are too great now?  And then what do I tell my daughter?  Study hard, plan for your college app, pull you all-nighters in school ... all so you may too marry and have children some day? (This is in no way meant to offend my SAHM readers.  For many being at home is a calling, a religious obligation, a lovingly supported position.  I just find it hard to encourage my child to push herself if that is truly the likely end outcome.  I would assuredly be as good a mother without the multiple advanced degrees.  No matter how we try to delay it, the pressure has already started.  She knows that all of her friends are in private school except for her.  And this very afternoon I was that mother dragging my 3 year old to Chin.es.e classes when she would have been just as happy at the playground running in circles.  And honestly, my two closest friends who planned to be SAHMs had much more pleasant early 20's because they held non-career jobs, focused on setting up their households, etc.  I'm not sure the friend I talked to tonight who spent 6 years getting an engineering degree and is now at home, most likely for good, really considers all of that work worth it).  Or maybe it's just giving up the idea of happiness.  Work is work and I may just need to get used to that.

We're off tomorrow afternoon to my mom's for the New Years.  Chag sameach and best wishes for a wonderful holiday for those of you who celebrate.

So back to single parenting

well, it's exhausting.  We all know that.  And it makes you doubt yourself a lot.  And at least once a day I snap at the fusspot, and that sucks and I am working very, very hard not to.

That's all background to the awful thing which happened on Friday night.  Awful.  I haven't even really been able to talk about it much.  I waited to tell JD for 2 days.  But then again, maybe it's over and done and my ambivalence is not so much a fear of exploring the "what ifs" but a genuine thought that it happened, and people are good, and everything was fine in the end.

On Friday night, while I was chatting with a friend and wrangling the dumpling into shoes at the end of services, someone opened the huge heavy wood door to our synagogue and let the fusspot walk out onto the street.  For unknown reasons my fusspot saw the open door (and it has to be held open, there is no way to prop it, and it is a heavy door) and decided to walk home.  And neither whoever opened the door nor the security guard noticed.  We live almost a mile away.  It was almost 9 pm.  Dark.  Oh, and the street happens to be a rather big one ... let's just called it Broadway. 

In summary, I lost my daughter in the big city when she decided to walk herself home at 9 pm at night on a busy, busy street.  Don't worry, it gets better.  I didn't even notice.  The fusspot had been playing with 2 other little girls and I just figured that they were playing together, or that she'd gone to sit in the stroller, or was even just standing behind me.  In short, I presumed she was fine because we were in a space we go to every week, where almost everyone knows her name and there are plenty of other children running around and very little mess she can get into, and where she is usually super happy.  A man whose name I don't even know spotted her at a street corner, picked her up, and returned her to me.  She might have only made it to the first traffic light (about 25 feet from the door), she might have only been gone 30 seconds.  It could easily have been several minutes and she could have been much farther.  I don't know because I was not paying particularly much attention to the details once I realized that she'd been out on the dark street alone.

It's hard.  She started school last week and we've been telling her she can do it, that she'll be fine on her own, that people will be nice to her.  We let her walk without holding our hands on the street because she's 3 and a half, and folks, it is hard to run all of your errands on foot with two children and not let them play/wander a bit.  And she's never once tried to cross a street alone.  She was not in the least scared and far more annoyed to have been returned when she was obviously ready to leave.  And we've talked about it every day since.

I don't know.  Part of me feels like everything that was supposed to happen happened.  A person I don't even really know saw her, asked her what was going on, and brought her back (he's a member of our shul and recognized us, I've just never spoken to him).  Presumably if she'd made it farther someone else would have grabbed her and called the police.  We live in a neighborhood full of strollers.  The traffic is dangerous, but statistically the chances of someone evil grabbing her when she was walking alone are much, much smaller than the chances she'll die in a plane crash or even the chance she'll die in a subway accident.  But of course, there's also the part of me that says I failed as a parent.  I let my not-yet-four-year-old run wild with 3 other little girls at the end of services and play and as a result she could have been hurt. 

Ah yes, and not helping my confidence at all.  Both the mother-of-two who told me "But that's why I always watch my children.  So scary" at school drop off today.  Thanks wonderwoman.  I presume that when you have a tantruming toddler who won't put on his shoes and a dear friend wants to simultaneously introduce you to his new fiance, you just pull a pair of handcuffs out of your back pocket and attach your older child to the security bar for a minute or two, right?  And of course the fact that her public pre-K seems to have no system for authorizing people to pick up children.  Most days I will either pick up the fusspot or our daycare provider will do so, but I'm sure they'll be a few days when we use a babysitter (like, say, this Thursday when she has Chinese), or next week if my father-in-law wants to pick her up.  Basically you tell the teacher, she remembers, and she releases her kid.  Except there are 18 kids in the room and what if she's out sick for the day?  And we know now that the fusspot is confident enough to try and take herself home.

Just a little venting

To start with the obvious, I know that it's not just my husband who is annoying me tonight.  There are rather a few other annoying (but none too serious triggers):

- Not knowing if I have skin cancer
- Having to break it to the fusspot that she can't do her very most favorite activity in the world
- Having broken reading glasses
- The stupid judgmental woman I had to deal with tonight

And really, these are not that big a deal.  Even the stupid skin cancer.  But for not quite fair reasons, all of them are making me pissed at my husband.  See, he's been gone a week.  A week in a new job, in a new city, but with a fully furnished apartment, plenty of friends around, and fairly normal working hours.  And in the past week (and honestly, the many weeks before), it apparently has not so much as crossed his mind to ask if I might need some help.  I know he can't change diapers or sort laundry or do dishes or supervise bedtime, but there are plenty of things he can do from 200 miles away.  And it seems to have not even crossed his mind.

Skin cancer.  Runs in my family, of the fairly serious variety.  Many years ago I had 2 moles removed and biopsies.  No problem.  I thought all was well but one of them regrew in a rather ominous shape so I saw a dermatologist about 2 weeks ago.  The good news is that when moles re-grow after being removed, they apparently always look odd.  The bad news is that it looks really odd and covers a fairly large amount of skin.  BUT, I might not need the surgery to remove it if we could get the medical records from the last biopsy (circa 2007) to find out what type of mole it was.  Cue medical records soundtrack of doom.  3 faxed release forms, 5 phone calls, and they still haven't released the biopsy (which has now been located) to me.  I'm pretty sure any competent adult could assist with nagging phone calls at this point, but nope, that'll be all me and as a result I may not know whether I have skin cancer for another full week or two.

Ballet.  The fusspot loves ballet.  She's really awful at it, and we managed to not only find a very fun, relaxed class but I loved it because it was both cheap and uber-diverse (we're on the edge of 2 quite distinct neighborhoods.  When we head South, you get the millionaires, when you head North you get the policewomen taking their sons to ballet after a long shift).  At least once a day she puts on her ballet shoes and practices and role plays being Ms. S, her beloved teacher.  Except that this year the class has been moved to 1:45 pm, when she'll still be in school.  There are options: commit to weekend classes, or find another ballet class in the neighborhood (there are at least 10 in a 10 minute walk).  This seems like an easy task for my husband and google, but nope, that'll be me e-mailing every program for their schedule and availability.  And also breaking it to the fusspot that she may not see her beloved teacher again.

Len.scrafters.  Kinda sucks.  5 visits to get new lenses in my reading glasses, and apparently this time they got the prescription right but somehow stretched out the glasses for someone with a much, much bigger head than me (they are the same frames as before).  Seems like someone could take over calling to complain since I've already been there 5 times.  I mean, it's a busy NYC store and they didn't even have to ask my name when I walked in this evening.

Which takes us to tonight.  Synagogue (and yes, I know I shouldn't be on my computer but I'm sitting here alone stewing and I figure this will at least get some of the anger out so I can be pleasant when my children wake up at 4 am again).  And very judgmental old ladies.  I spent the afternoon with some mormon friends, and like the evangelical churches where I grew up, they have a super-well-developed hot meals for new moms and childcare during services program.  Not so much my people.  There is nothing on Friday night, and if we commit to kids services on Saturday I never step foot in real services (note: missing husband, single parent).  So we go every Friday night.  And usually people are lovely, but all summer the old ladies have been giving me death glowers.  And tonight my kids were really obnoxious.  The fusspot took of her shoes and danced on the pews, the dumpling fussed non-stop unless I let him play with the door handles ... so it was a bit rough.  And nobody offered to help.  Or a kind word.  Or even just a nice to see you tonight.  All I got was judgey judgey point up their nose and turn away distastefully looks.  And it made me so pissed.  It's Friday night.  I'm exhausted.  I'm single parenting.  I need to go to services to recharge, and I am committed to raising my children in a religious community that I love.  And not a single woman there could so much as give me a smile (and this is not true of the men, mind you.  We sit separately but the men are overwhelmingly polite, friendly, and happy to help out the kids.  My guess is the men who don't like other peoples kids find it easy to steer a wide berth).

So yeah, it's just me sitting on the couch feeling pissed.  I don't get it.  I even teach this stuff: the second shift, the economics of women juggling more than men ... and yet I really can't figure out an easy way out.

Ah, preschool

We had orientation today.  Or something like that.  It was mostly an utterly useless plug for the technology classes at the school.  For fourth graders.  Did I mention that this was just pre-K orientation?  It was so useless that 2 out of 3 pre-K teachers did not attend, so I could not even introduce my daughter to her teacher.  Eh, at least it was in the library and we sat in the back and read books.

Of course, from the back I could see that a fair half of the children in tow were playing on some type of gadget during the presentation (see above: not targeted to this audience).  Yes, half of the children had an iphone or an ipad in hand.   That's pretty terrifying.  And of course, my poor kid who lives in a house without a TV and with about 10-15 minutes of screen time a week (skype with grandparents, a youtube video while we're cutting nails) was fascinated by the poorly put together video in the presentation.  A movie, she whispered in awe, while her classmates played complicated games on their parents' iphones ... which was always JD's best argument pro-TV.  Let's not raise a weirdo, eh, he'd say smiling at me (yes, I grew up without screentime in the woods down South)?

But the really absurd part was that the big draw of the orientation was receiving the school uniform polo shirt.  Light blue short sleeved polo with the logo on it.  And they had a lot of them.  It's just that ... the smallest size they ordered was a 6-8 (kids medium).  Now the fusspot was immediately intimidated walking into the room because she is the youngest kid in her class (Dec. 31 cut off and she's a mid-December baby) and she's already not so tall ... but when the head teacher said she had to wear the uniform anyway I had to actually put a size 6 polo shirt over her dress and show the woman that it covered her knees and she'd probably trip if she had to walk in it ... and no, she won't be wearing it ... and no, neither GAP nor Old Navy online stocks uniforms in size 2/3 ... if anyone knows a cheap place for plain blue polos and blue jumpers in toddler sizes that would be much appreciated (amended: ah, children's place.  Thank you).

The good news is that another mom I quite like has a daughter in the pre-K (she's a friend of a friend so I had no idea she'd even applied) and the fusspot had warmed up enough by the end of the tour to waltz out of the school holding hands with her two new friends and talking about the playground.  And I can always tell myself it's just pre-K when things are quite this disorganized.  And really, it's quite a cute school.  Apparently full of very, very tall and wide kids ...

Have to start somewhere

something tells me that I'm going to be posting here a lot more in the coming months.  A few tidbits from this week:

- One benefit of having a husband 300 miles away is that it is so much easier to co-sleep with an active toddler when it's just the two of you in bed.

- One downside of having a husband 300 miles away is the realization that living alone in NYC with 2 kids is really, really hard.  Even just taking out the trash is a production (our trash is outside, and it's really hard to corral both kids into a trip to take out the trash, but I also can't carry it while maneuvering the stroller down the front stairs so it has to be a separate trip.  Plus, there are rats so if I bring the kids with to the trash I have to be careful that they don't get too close) ... all of which has resulted in my inviting a friend to come stay for a while.  A single guy.  He has no idea what he's in for.  I am really hoping it makes things easier and not harder.

- The fusspot really has no idea what is going on with her father and his new job.  She understands that he's gone for a while, but keeps asking if he'll be back next week.  Um, no.

- My work life is a complete and utter debacle.  I'm not even holding on by a thread, I am plunging into the gorge and hoping it will all end well.

- Speaking of which, I have a conference in the UK next week and haven't even decided yet if I'm going.  Or if I'll be ready.

- The fusspot also starts school next week.  She isn't ready.

- I only overeat and shop online when I am feeling emotionally abandoned.  I need to stop doing both.  Any advice?

- I did join a group therapy.  I also realized that the first week I went I had not spoken to anyone other than my children for more than 60 seconds in the proceeding 7 days.  It's really odd to sit in a room and talk to people for an hour.

- Also, see above re: weight gain.  I was inspired by a blog and bought a scale.  154.8.  I was 160 when I finished pregnancy #2.  I was 125 when I got pregnant both times.  I could use to lose some weight.  For now I'm keeping a food diary and trying to eliminate desserts and coffee drinks.  No time to exercise so project-look-better (and maybe even ovulate) will rely on food control.

- Speaking of weight gain, not so much as a hint of cycle at the moment.  As I'd assumed, the miracolous potential ovulation and bleeding episode 2 months ago were an isolated incident.  Let's really hope some weight loss could change that.  If not, it's on to metformin and harrassing JD about finding a new clinic in the new city we may or may not be moving to.

- JD needs to sign up for a new insurance by the end of this week through his new job.  I have told him at least 10 times that I want to help make that choice since he is particularly bad at insurance things, and he has not so much as forwarded me any info.  99% chance that he signs us up for insurance with no IF coverage. 

- Getting out the door in the morning with 2 kids is the worst part of living alone.

Wishful thinking, part ?

my period is "late."  Don't worry, this won't be a tale of miraculous conception which transitions immediately into complaints about round ligament pain and angst about birth plans.  Two rather pricey pee-sticks plus a large collection of expired cheapo sticks indicate that absolutely nothing is growing in my uterus (and Io, all I got was a "good luck" at the cash register).

And I'm not even sure "late" is the right adjective.  I'm in my 30s and I have never had 2 back-to-back uninduced cycles in my life.  So how I had somehow deluded myself into hoping that I would have perfectly reliable 28-day cycles I don't know.  But I had, and it's frustrating that my cycles are currently "irregular," with a healthy chance of "missing, never to return."

The thing about infertility is that it gives you this overwhelming angst and feeling of doom.  I feel like we wasted a possible cycle (yes, I am pretty sure that my body did something at least close to ovulating) and while it certainly would have been awful timing, well, what if it never, ever happens again ...

And along those lines I'd really like to rededicate myself to restricting carbs/losing weight even if only to see if my cycle might just return.  And they'll be no worries about a "surprise" since JD is moving to another city and we have few plans to see each other (and even less for anything to possibly happen since the kids and I will be sharing a room here in the big city, and we'll be staying with friends if we visit him).  It took a few summer shots of me in a bathing suit to remind me that while I tend to think of myself as decently fit and reasonably shaped, I am not exactly pulling that off in public.

Anyone have any inspirational stories of restored "regularity" or ways to limit sugar when all you crave are cupcakes and fluffy coffee drinks (and yes, we baked cupcakes this morning and since the fusspot was in charge of icing they are 98% pure sugar by weight, the rest is a combination of eggs/flour and food coloring.  She was very proud of herself)?

At least he's got decent taste

The growth doctor spent a long time pushing for me to wean/formula feed the dumpling (mind you, he's almost 18 months).  To start with, her nutritionist had entirely incorrectly estimated how many calories the dumpling gets from nursing (22 cal per ounce on average, frequently higher in an older nursling as the quantity decreases) so her estimate that he gets "at most 100 calories from nursing a day" is rather surprising.  I had noted that he nurses at least 5 times during the day ...

Anyway, with everything else going on I finally caved and purchased some pediasure for the dumpling.  That stuff is expensive, and I need several different packs to try the flavors.  $35 poorer, I had a decent variety of flavors of super-high calorie but also rather artificial (and noxious smelling) stuff.  So that my opinion wouldn't influence the baby, I just filled a bottle with it and sent it to daycare yesterday.  And today.  And guess what?  Baby categorically refused the sippy cup all day after his first taste.

So back on half whole milk/half cream our little guy goes (not that he ever has taken more than 2 ounces from a bottle, whether pumped milk or milk and cream or even water).  And then as we were walking home today and the fusspot started fussing about wanting a snack (usual stop: the fruit stand where she gets to buy her own banana, a process which thrills her.  Luckily they are still 25 cents, so if she successfully hands a quarter to the fruit vendor, 95% of the time they'll hand her a banana, no words necessary), we stopped.  Directly in front of the incredibly awesome brand new French bakery in our neighborhood.  The owners are literally just landed in NYC after selling their store in the South of France.  I was a bit skeptical when they opened since it is only 2 blocks from a super-beloved and old bakery in the neighborhood (which we frequent weekly for bread and in the winter for delicious hot chocolate), but it has already found a following.  And what did the dumpling devor for his evening snack?  Half a croissant.  It was such a rousing success that I've promised the fusspot we can return in the morning for a mid-morning snack.

In summary: dumpling refuses formula, insists upon a diet of organic full-fat cream (farm fresh no less, in a glass bottle, purchased at our otherwise fairly barren local farmer's market) and croissants made in a French bakery.  At least he has decent taste, even if he did purse his lips and refuse even a single bite of the chocolate chip cookies we made last weekend.

food frustration

Another follow-up with the GI doc last week and it seems that our miniature man is still miniature.  To be precise, a full ounce lighter than our last appointment.  And now we find ourselves at a bit of a crossroads.

We entered this super-high-tech medical world with the goal of ruling out any crazy, rare disease which might explain his rather unusual growth chart (8 lbs at birth, 12 lbs at 4 weeks, 20 lbs 4 oz at 17 months).  JD and I are not basketball players, but neither of us is tiny.  I'd wager that we're both about average height and weight.  The fusspot has always held steady somewhere between 30th-50th percentile (after her rough first month) and in general has very normal toddler eating patterns: nothing new unless it's coated in cheese or chocolate, but very happily eats a wide range of food (Seriously, my oldest turned down maple syrup at the diner because it was "new" but loves her lassis and hundred year old eggs).

We have thus far ruled out a variety of rare diseases: celiac, allergies (no rashes, and he tests negative via blood test, although obviously he could still have something, also no family history of food allergies), juvenile diabetes, thyroid, cancer, parasites ... basically his labwork all looks good and he meets all developmental benchmarks.  He is also super active (except for one test, and doctor thinks it's a false positive.  Needless to say we'll be testing again for C.rohns at his next appointment but not scheduling the scope until he's bigger/older because of the anaesthesia).

And here's where things get dicey.  Anytime you mention toddler failure to thrive, questions are going to be raised about the family/environment.  Stress?  Abuse?  Poor food habits?  I know they need to ask these questions, and I know that they are relevant for many families, but I am truly confident that the dumpling has no sensory issues/no anxiety related to food.  He will very happily eat about 3 bites of anything and then he's done, lips pursed, not another calorie going to enter his body.  We -always- let him self-feed, two hands into the food no matter what it is.  He is allowed to run around and snack no matter how messy (something I would never allow except for above weight issues).  And I am tired of being questioned, of having dumb doctors and even nutritionists suggest "new high calorie foods for him."  No, he has never eaten an avocado even when doused in brown sugar and blended with cream.  No, he does not like peanut butter or butter or cream or whole milk.  I mean, this toddler declined warm chocolate chip cookies last weekend, even when I left a plate on the floor next to the blocks so that he could approach them on his own schedule ... resulting in chocolate smeared all over my carpet but not a single bite in his mouth.

And in order to get calories into him, my previously organic-home-made-meals baby's diet looks like something out of a toddler-version of SuperSize Me.  He has either string cheese or hot dogs for breakfast.  Cream added to his whole milk.  Peanut sauce doused on his pasta.  Goldfish for snacks instead of fruit.  Fruit roll-ups, egg yolks but no whites.  It is the type of diet that would give anyone a stomach ache.  And I'd like to stop.  To step back and say there is nothing medically wrong, and he's just small.  But now the seed has been planted: the fear that this will affect brain development if we don't ply him with high calorie processed foods.  Or that he'll land up needing growth hormones in the near future.  Let alone the fact that we are now thoroughly under medical surveillance and repeat 3-day food diaries are in high demand. 

For a condition where stress can easily be a trigger, it is scary how easily all of this can fall into blaming the mother.  I am tired of chasing my toddler around the apartment with forkfuls of high fat hot dogs while he shakes his head no and runs away.  I'd like to have the perspective to say we ruled out the really scary stuff, now it's time to get back to normal, but I'm not sure I'll be able to.  And yes, I am deeply thankful that all test results were normal.  But now that the fear has been planted, I certainly feel more concerned than I did pre-testing.

ps -and for those wondering about the next medical step, there is a new consult with a new allergist for the end of the month and I'd like to try a lactose-free diet for a week or two.  I know lactose intolerance is rare this young, but so is everything else we looked at.  It does not make sense that an otherwise healthy toddler would deliberately starve himself, so my suspicion is that he may have some discomfort from food, although who knows if we could ever isolate that?

You know when lottery winners complain about the taxes?

I am so that girl right now.  But really, I don't have any other place to think about these things.  I have had a few too many conversations with my one local mom friend who is on the should-we-or-shouldn't-we bandwagon right now.  Of course, she of most awesome fertility (conceived without help at 3 times at age 40+) is really in no rush to make a final decision ... So I am going to write here, and hope that you will be kind (or at least click away quickly and come back another day).

The topic, as you long-time readers will surely have guessed, is Project 3.0.  And the great bloodbath earlier this month means this is a topic we can no longer avoid.

I really thought that I would be ok agreeing not to try.  I need to finish my stupid degree (and a 3rd pregnancy would convince absolutely everyone in my field that I am a joke, but then again they probably already think that after #2 and the related meltdown).  But on rough days like today when I feel entirely incompetent at work and can't even make polite small talk with the one colleague I see weekly as we walk into or out of the building (I cannot describe how grim my work life is right now.  I work in a small office with a door, near no one I know.  I leave my solitary confinement 3-4 times a day, to refill my water bottle or print something or go outside to defrost my hands from the excessive AC but that is it.  No conversation, no interactions, just me and the doubts in my head), I just want to step back and acknowledge that the one thing that I really enjoy on a daily basis is parenting (it's not that JD and I are on bad terms, but I honestly don't see him every day even though we live together.  He's been working until 2 every night for a while now, and is often gone before I get up).  And the idea that we might waste one tiny sliver of my practically non-existent fertility is terrible.

And more than that, I love the spacing between Project 1.0 and Project 2.0.  I love watching them play together, knowing that the fusspot has no memory of life before the dumpling, knowing that if all goes well they will go through life together with shared childhood memories.  And if we did manage to complete our family in the next 5-6 years, we would be plenty young enough to look forward to many years of travel and exploration after the kids grow up (this is very much on my mind as I watch my much, much older local mom friends parent.  I actually have 3 friends who are 39, 42, and 41 who are all "considering" whether to have another baby.  My closest mom friend will spend this year worrying about kindergarten admissions in the big city.  When I am the same age she is now, I will be worrying about college admissions for my second child (lord willing).

Oh, and I firmly believe that nursing helps my fertility (PCOs is not my only diagnosis) and I am terrified that if the dumpling self-weans we'll need major interventions again, and then finances will be a big issue (no, I am not planning to wean him deliberately.  We're just crazy like that).  But the sad truth is that the cost of fertility treatments (even the 50-60,000 we budgeted for 2-3 rounds of IVF for Project 1.0) is trivial compared to daycare costs and preschool and afterschool.  And JD is really worried about the short-term costs of Project 3.0 should we be successful.  Then again, our chance of getting twins is so much lower without injectables (although I do tend to have a million follicles).

If I weren't nursing, I do think we'd freeze some embryos before I get any older, but that's not really an option while nursing (especially since I am prone to OHSS).

In short, my wishes are entirely irrational, despite any attempts at justification above, but then again isn't have a baby in the modern world always irrational?  They are time consuming, carreer-ending, expensive entertainment.  And yet I have no doubt that we'd never regret the decision.  And thankfully it is really looking like a question of when rather than if, JD recently seems to be entirely supportive of Project 3.0, even if he'd rather wait.  And for that at least I am truly deeply thankful, even if it won't be this year.  And yes, there is a very small part of me that looks forward to the possibility of enjoying a newborn without worrying about having no leave and getting back to work immediately and parenting without a real support network, all of which could conceivably be different if we wait a few years.

Of course, I also kind-of thought that I could chart ( a few hours reading deeper into the google informed me this was idiotic with my level of severe PCOs) and had some weird break-through bleeding yesterday and well ... yeah ... who knows.  This whole conversation may be irrelevant.  Or I may never get another cycle after my first post-partum bloodbath and there is no way JD would consider swinging by the clinic right now.  Or we may decide not to try but continue not to do anything more organized than talk about bcps. 

For now, I will just obsess and try to see the virtue in waiting.

Dr. Google is making me nervous

Just got some lab work for the dumpling, and Dr. Google is making me nervous.  His lab results were all fairly normal except for testing positive for "lactoferrin stool test," which seems to be a highly accurate test to indicate either Crohn's or Ulcerative Colitis.  Here's the thing: his only known symptom is slow weight gain.  He doesn't seem to be in pain and he's generally quite a happy guy.  Anyone have any experience with this?  Our follow-up with the specialists is not until Wednesday, although I may just give her clinic a call tomorrow to see if someone will talk to me.  I have had a long, long history of GI problems, but all stemming from a rather dramatic travel illness circa 2002 (it's rather noticeable when you lose a third of your body weight in under 2 weeks).  As a result I have had almost every GI test out there, have a specialist who follows me every 6 months, and have on and off for years had to manage GI symptoms.  But Crohn's terrifies me with its unpredictable flare ups, and seriously, any ever heard of such a thing in a baby?

Edited to add: confirming facts: sudden weight loss, anemia (despite being breastfed and not having his cord cut for at least 10 minutes), and 2-8 times more like in the children of Ashkenzai Jewish mothers (yes, this is a maternal genetic disease, fun times) and also more likely in urban babies

But, Dr. Google also notes that "lactoferrin" increases in the breastfeeding toddler during slow weaning.  

Echos of the past

In the last two days I have had two very unexpected run ins with my past and while neither was earth shattering, they are both odd reminders of situations long forgotten.  Thankfully neither involved my exs, who have the unfortunate habit of either appearing in Whole Foods at 10 pm when I am running out in my pajamas with a fussy baby (twice, folks!) or on the subway at 8 pm on a hot, summery day when I am drenched in sweat and my toddler is threatening to "peep" on the subway seat unless we hurry up and find a bathroom (ah yes, we exude confident elegance wherever we go).

The first run in started with a little disaster.  I went to put more air in a distinctly flat Phil and Ted stroller tire and the entire wheel exploded so violently that it shattered the plastic wheel rim.  And since it's hot and I do not relish carrying a child and my laptop/books/lunch on our mile hike to daycare every morning, I decided to splurge on a standing "board" for our big stroller.  All long background to say that I most unexpectedly found myself ringing the doorbell of our old neighbors' door (ah, craigslist ...) and who should answer but the baby.  The very baby featured in my second ever post on this blog (circa January 2008: http://longdistanceinfertility.blogspot.com/2008/01/what-weird-culture.html).  The baby I mistakenly thought was a little girl.  Now a large 4 year old boy who held the leash to the still-yapping big dogs.  Followed immediately by the toddler who used to fling his shoes at my door when we first started cycling (http://longdistanceinfertility.blogspot.com/2008/03/great-news-before-9-am.html), now a very large 6 year old boy.  Naturally the clueless father did not recognize me for a very long time, but just standing in the doorway of our old apartment looking at two big boys staring at me brought back all of the memories of lying alone and hungry in my bed listening to the baby cry and waking up to toddler shoes flung into my entryway. 

When I feel overwhelmed, I need to remember that it's only been 4 years.  4 years since we started this adventure.  But oh wow, how big those kids got in 4 years.

Ah yes, and how awesome that my dear reader Io was commenting back then, and now folks she's back online and cycling right now. 

The second blast from the past happened this morning on the subway.  I convinced JD to lug the children in to daycare, and so I had the immense luxury of riding the subway in to work.  And who should be sitting on my train car but my orientation leader from college?  Yes, we've been in touch frequently since then because he happens to be in JD's wider circle of friends, but I haven't talked to him much.  So much so that even though I last saw him only a few months ago he somehow had no idea that we had kids.  He's only a year older than me, happily living the single life in the big city, literally running over to the drug store to buy deoderant when we got off the train before a work meeting because he'd forgotten that morning ... and it brought back all of those memories of early college, which was definitely a rough time period for me.  Let's see: my parents divorced, I got evicted from my dorm because everyone was so distracted that no one remembered to pay the bill (and no, it was never sent to me or I would have figured out a way to take care of it), I dated a raving alcoholic (and a few other less savory characters), and in general I just felt alone.  And yeah, it's been a really rough week (I am writing this on 2 hours of sleep.  Hence the massive overuse of parenthesis), and it's good to remember that I've been through rough weeks and months before.  And even though I am pretty sure that I was a clingy, insecure, blabber mouth during orientation (which included a 4-day trip into the backwoods of NH.  Let's all play college trivia, since this college is known for its "camp ---" feel and long orientation), this guy had the kindness to give me a big hug and pick up the conversation as if none of those details mattered.

Only 4 years and be kind, that's today's take-away.  And try to get more than 2 hours of sleep per night.  But you already knew that.

Like ripping off a bandaid

I know it would happen, the big move has been hanging over of us for months.  And now it looks like it's going to happen sooner rather than later.  Probably.

Not to be too cryptic, JD has been offered a new job.  Hopefully a job with much better hours.  In DC.  And he might start later this month.

For a long list of reasons it looks like I am going to stay behind in the big city until Christmas-time.  #1 being that if this particular election results in a new president, his new job might very well disappear.  So there's that.  There's also the immense challenge of finding a new apartment, preschool, daycare, etc.  All in a big, expensive city (oh, and after a 50% paycut for JD). 

And honestly, I am really not ready to go.  I never wanted to move to NYC but now that I've been here for this long, it has so many wonderful conveniences.  We don't own a car.  We have never had to battle carseats on a daily basis.  All of our playdates and activities are within walking or bus or train distance.  I can hop on the subway with both kids and be across the city and at a new adventure in a half hour, usually.  I have found a small group of wonderful mom friends, one of whom lives across the street from me, another who lives a block away from the kids' daycare.  It is going to be really hard to replace those friendships in a new city, especially one in which many more people either work full-full time or not at all.

But we are going to do it.  And at least it is another lovely East coast city.  Not such a big change, even if it is almost certainly only for a few years.

But in the meantime we are going to try and make the most of our last few weekends in the big city together (despite big deadlines for both of us).  I have already found a potential roommate to move into our apartment when JD moves out (I'll sleep on the floor of the kids room) and he is busy searching for the cheapest place he can find in DC for a few months.  And sooner than I think, it'll be just me and the kids again, and then off to a brand new city.

Rather incompetent

I pride myself on being a particularly competent woman.  I can do my own taxes, take care of basic household repairs, talk myself out of a ticket for indecent exposure (ok, that was a long, long time ago and really just a big miscommunication.  I did not manage to talk myself out of the ill-fated night when I happened to offer an undercover cop cash to buy me beer ... on videocamera), handle canceled credit cards and missed trains, the usual.  Let's just say this weekend has been full of spectacular (and yet not serious) disasters.

Evolutionary-wise, I think it makes sense that most people get their first period at an earlier age.  Because, well, it's even more embarrassing to mess up when you are 31 years old and have 2 children in tow.  The highlights:

1. Reading to my daughter in Barnes and Noble on Friday morning.  Let's just clarify here: a crowded Barnes and Noble in the middle of NYC.  Stand up and realize that I have bled through a heavy duty pad, my skirt and tights and am currently rocking a large bright red stain on my rear end.  Delicately drape an ergo across my rear while dangling a child under each arm and desperately calling a friend who lives near the bookstore.  Thankfully she was home, I shoved my children into her door, hopped in a cab and was all clean and ready to start the day again 15 minutes later.   Let's just assume that if anyone I do know saw me running out of the bookstore while dripping gobs of blood down my rear, they were just as much trying to pretend they didn't know me as I was trying to pretend the whole thing wasn't happening.

2. 3 hours later, sans kid.  LLL meeting downtown.  Rinse and repeat, except this time it was me slinking out of the meeting to rinse my jeans in the bathroom sink and then attempt to pat them dry with a wad of paper towels (no air dryer in sight).  Thankfully it was a hot day and I'm sure I did not walk around Tribeca with a wet rear end for more than a half hour or so.

3. Bleaching white sheets at my in-laws house.  Also white mattress cover.

4. And yes, after above and a rather painful day, I did cave and call the midwives.  Imagine this call.  31 year old patient, who happens to have delivered sans drugs 2 babies.  Chit chat, chit chat, "... um, yes, I was wondering about these "cramps" that come with a period.  How bad are they supposed to be, because, um, never had them before? ..."  It had obviously crossed all of our minds that this might not exactly be just my first post-partum period, but one of those all-too-frequent "m---."  Nope, not even going to write it here.  Seriously, the odds that I actually both ovulated and we caught the first post-partum ovulation are under one in a million.  On the other hand, I have thus far a 100% record of conceiving post-ovulation.  Which is to say that I have ovulated twice in my life (at most 3 times, of this I am sure due to blood draws every 3 months for over a decade), and I have 2 children.  And there was a lot of blood.  And, um, big pieces of stuff.  And breathing through cramps for hours on end.  Luckily it was my favorite midwife and she told me that either way not to worry, that I would most assuredly know if it was a late first trimester situation, and otherwise it was even more highly unlikely that I would have complications and need to be seen.

Which is all just to say that apparently, in regards to matters of a delicate, feminine and monthly nature, I am entirely incompetent. 

All those secret looks, the code words, the angst

Do you remember the first girl in your circle to get her period?  I certainly do.  Ms. M.S. was never the most charming kid, but once she got her period she lorded it over all of us.  She was perpetually feeling "too PMS-y" or "just a little tired" or "so emotional."

Then there was my friend whose mother made a big deal of the event.  Fancy breakfast, new clothes to celebrate "growing up," mother-daughter trip to the drug store.

And then there was me.  By far the bustiest girl around (I was larger than the ever-popular Pamel.a Anderson even at 95 lbs).  Attracting non-stop attention from seniors and construction workers alike and ... nada.  Well, I mean there was my first super-traumatic period.  During a sleepover with a friend, of course, when I was 11.  And it lasted for weeks and weeks and weeks.  And instead of a mother-daughter talk and a little zippered bag in my backpack, I got a trip to a world famous RE (thanks to my sister's diagnosis and subsequent surgeries starting when she was 14, so the very year I got my period) who diagnosed me with severe PCOs and anemia and had a "little chat" about why I shouldn't really plan on having a family when I grew up.  I was 11.

Needless to say I wasn't super excited for my period to come back.  And it didn't.  From age 11 to 29 I would not have a single uninduced bleeding episode.  I was that girl.  The one who never carried any supplies.  The one who would just "skip" her withdrawal bleeding while working at a 2 month summer camp.  No inconvenienced beach trips, no embarrassing accidents.  18 years.

Then we did fertility treatments and had the fusspot.   And when she was about 18 months old I got natural period #2, and with speedy dash through our local fertility clinic for some drugs, we landed up with ... the dumpling.  Not until after I'd bleed through a white skirt on a 4 hour Amtrak trip to my little sister's college graduation, gracefully patched things together with one of the fusspot's diapers, and exited the train with a sweatshirt wrapped around my waist and a desperate plea to my mother that we need to get to a drug store now. 

The dumpling turned 16 months old this week.  And I got my period today.  I always expected that this would be a most joyous surprise should it happen.  Should I be one of those lucky few whose infertility is dramatically improved by carrying a baby to term (and also possibly nursing.  I have a second diagnosis in addition to PCOs, and it's quite possible that nursing helps.  I am for the record still pumping at 16 months and nursing on demand with a co-sleeping baby), everything would be easier.  Yes, we still used a fertility clinic for the dumpling but things are radically different when you wander in with a cycle, as opposed to when you wander in and note full and absolute amenorrhoea for over a decade (as with the fusspot).

I am relieved, thankful, excited.  Also more than a bit nervous to even mention it to my darling husband (who is still at work as the clock approaches 1 am and has a 7 am train in the morning, so I think the conversation will be deferred a bit).  As always, I am emotionally ready to try this whole roller coaster again.  As always, it would be an absolutely terrible time career-wise, extraordinarily stressful on our relationship, and I would hardly categorize myself as physically ready (i.e. still anemic, still rocking the is-she-or-isn't-she-belly look).  So I guess the joy is a bit tempered, but by gosh, sometimes it's nice to just feel normal.  Tomorrow I'll pack pads into the diaper bag, and guys, I've never had a chance to do that before.

Stuck in the same rut

Just about the same place as we last left off.  Today the dumpling got himself soaking wet at the playground and since I had promised the fusspot ice cream I rummaged through the bottom of an old diaper bag to try and find something dry ... and yup, at a few days shy of 16 months he still fit comfortably into a 3 month onesie (with cloth diaper).

I did very much like the pediatric gastroenterologist we saw this week.  She was calm, happy to take a detailed medical history, very reassuring and listened to my fears.  She told me repeatedly that she was not particularly worried and that we've done a good job of starting to rule out the extreme problems.  And then the woman with a 3 month wait for an appointment walked me up to the front desk and assured them that I needed a follow-up in 3 weeks max.  No, 4 weeks was too long.  Not worried?

In other completely random news, we had sort-of haphazardly agreed to send the fusspot out to my in-laws this weekend.  This is always a double-edged sword.  I get some time without the high demands, talkative toddler, but since there are no rules about food or sleep or manners at my in-laws it always takes at least a day and sometimes several for her to return to our routine (yes, they frequently keep her up until 11 pm or later because "she doesn't want to go to bed.")  Since JD is out of town, that would leave me a full weekend with just one (small) easy to manage toddler.  I immediately pondered lengthy brunches with friends and long shopping trips to places inaccessible with the double stroller ....  I tried to set up plans with a few friends, but I basically don't have local friends without kids now and those with kids will all be busy with their kids and not really wanting to leave their neighborhoods ... and suddenly I am facing a long heat-wave weekend with absolutely nothing to do and oodles of work to stress about.  Oh yeah, and no shopping because we are on a strict budget at the moment.  So my big weekend plans consist of ... Whole Foods, maybe Trader Joes, and certainly a Starbucks or two when the temperature hits about 100.  I have considered all the fun things which I could do with just one baby (Met, Governor's Island, Uniqlo) ... but all would involve committing to missing the opportunity to work during the dumpling's naps and anyway perhaps not the very most fun with just a toddler in tow.  I used to be more fun than this.  I used to plan wild excursions alone when I lived in Europe with just the fusspot.  When did my world constrict so very much?

So I tried to invite myself out to my in-laws, and was promptly told that they were too busy.  Huh.

And anyway, all of the recent literature on working women suggests that if I was really serious about my career this is exactly how my life should be.  Waking up at 4 am to put in a few extra hours before the kids are up (thank you NYT parenting blog) and limiting all interactions outside of work and kids.

Speaking of which, it's almost 11 pm so I should get back to work.  I guess the brief summary is that I am not handling the stress and all the joys of being the only parent present all that well.  But then again, that's probably just too much to expect.

Really, I was going to write something more substantive

but instead today I am going to enthrall you with our pre-K dilemma.  Hopefully it will at least make you slightly appreciative of your own fine local schools.

NYC actually has a free "universal" pre-K program.  "Universal" being more a description of its ideal form than reality as it accepts about 10% of applicants.  Less in some districts, more in others.  But somehow we got a spot through the lottery.  We found out at midnight on Sunday night and had the tour today.

And here's the thing: it's fine.  Honestly, not all that different from the Catholic school which we had chosen due to budgetary constraints.  It's actually quite close to us (even though our district technically has no universal pre-K spots), free, has nice classrooms, a playground reserved just for pre-K, a teacher and an assistant per classroom plus some special extra teachers (librarian, music, computers).  And y'all know that we love the idea of a local, public school even if it has a few drawbacks.  I should also add that because NYC school cut off is the calendar year and the fusspot has a December birthday, she will most likely be the youngest in her class.  She will also only be THREE FREAKIN' YEARS OLD when she starts and all fall.  I kind-of prioritize age appropriate teaching in my wishlist.

So here's my ideal list for a pre-k:

- warm, loving, friendly
- blocks, puzzles, books, dolls.  Anything that encourages play

Here's what the school tour focused on:

- computers (it's a technology magnet school).  Not only do they have weekly computer time but also multiple computers in every classroom.  Now, I get that this is trendy, possibly nice for older kids ... but when we visited the computer lab there were 35 kids warehoused with one very relaxed teacher monitoring.  The little guy next to me had an adobe download error screen and just sat there for a good 10 minutes.  Seriously, I really doubt that our kids are going to have all that much trouble figuring out basic computer skills and I find the claims of "educational games" for 3 year olds bogus.  Totally fine to kill time, not exactly useful.
- literacy (all of the kids were writing their names).  See not above on "she's freakin' three years old" for a succinct summary of my thoughts on the matter.  Also, insignificant anecdote but I personally did not read until 4th grade and consider myself sufficiently literate today.

Other mildly concerning issues:
- The only school statistics indicate that this school has a grade of C and only 30% of kids read at grade level.  Oh, and 85% free lunch (and 60% non-native English speakers).  But those statistics are also 3rd graders and the pre-K is a fairly separate student population
- The teachers looked tired.  Which I get, it's June.  But they did not exactly exude warmth, although the head teacher for pre-K seemed great
- Um, good call by another parent on the tour noticing and asking ... one classroom had worksheets done in Spanish.  The school in general is 60% native Spanish speakers (although not the pre-K which looked closer to 30%), but this is not listed as a bilingual or immersion room.  Honestly, this is probably just me being grumpy.  See, our kid is bilingual but not in Spanish and I really don't want to expose her to another language while she's still working on being fluent in a native tongue (and yes, trilingual, "the mind is a sponge" people comment away but when my kid was trilingual she also went mute ... see archives around 17 months for many, many hearing tests ...).  I also asked the head teacher if we could just opt into another classroom and she basically blew me off but there's a 2/3rds chance we won't have to deal with this at all, and if we do get assigned to that room I can always raise a fuss
- Oh, and homework.  For 3 year olds.  All I can say is over my dead body.  She may get homework, but it's going straight into the trash can.  The school gets her 9 to 3, I get the rest of the time.  And no, there is no good evidence to suggest that worksheets or homework help with education in elementary school at all.  I totally get the theory that they help encourage parents to turn off the TV and interact with their kids ... but then again we don't even own a TV and have already committed to reading to our daughter for at least a half hour every day ...

My strong suspicion is that we'll pick this option.  It's free, public, local, looked pretty cute.  I even went so far as to get the e-mail of another parent on the school tour so we could do a late summer playdate and hopefully the fusspot would at least recognize someone in pre-K.

I'm obsessing too much right?  The only major perks of the Catholic school are being a bit more warm and welcoming.  And of course, there's the whole downside of trying to explain away Jesus  (no offense to any of my readers and all previous posts re: Catholic schools should assure you that I am deeply grateful for the option of inexpensive Catholic education.  And as I told the principal, I really do believe that any religious ideas which are appropriate for elementary age kids are universal.  But then again ... I'd rather delay the "Some people believe in this, we happen to think they are wrong" conversation until the fusspot is a bit older).  I guess that my wish for a real open-ended play-based classroom is impossible unless we decide to pay the $20-30,000 that such programs run in our neighborhood.  I really wish that the current educational trend was not more and more testing and pushing literacy earlier and earlier even if it makes no sense ... but it is and we'll probably have to deal with that anywhere.  And while I'm still tempted to just hold the fusspot out of pre-K entirely, she is SO excited to start big girl school. 

The ride may be a bit bumpy since the co-pilot is ...

distracted?  tired?  uninterested?

When we started this whole parenting project, JD and I were fully committed to being "coparents."  Honestly, we're liberal, well-educated, urbanites who both have busy careers and for an extra dose of good omens my father-in-law does about 95% of the cooking and cleaning in the house my husband grew up in.

And now?

Well, JD does a few very useful things around the house.  Let's list them:

1. He supports us financially, at a very time-consuming and unpredictable job.  However, he could work from almost anywhere and now has some control over his work schedule (i.e. other people in his office head home for dinner from 6-8 pm and then back to the office, or work from home.  His office even employs a full-time courier to shuffle things around the city as needed.  He had to put in about 15 hours this weekend but he could have woken up at 8 and got it done in time to join us mid-afternoon ...)

2. He washes the pump parts.  I don't do that.  Ever.

3. He does about half of the grocery shopping enroute home as long as I remember to e-mail him an exact shopping list.

4. He usually gets the dumpling dressed in the morning as long as I remember to set out his outfit.

5. He cooks 1-2 meals per month.  However, he really doesn't eat more than a handful of meals with us during a month.  He gets free/subsidized food whenever he is at work, so I'd say he averages about one dinner a week at home.

um ...

6. Ah yes, he files the taxes.

I will also add that I am simply over nagging him.  He is a full-grown, adult person.  I am not his mother, his secretary, or a wife who is going to set out reminders about basic tasks like emptying the trash or doing the dishes.

On the other hand, JD is an incredible, loving parent.  He baby-wears, he rocks children back to sleep at 2 am, he handles all middle-of-the-night illnesses.  He reads stories in the mornings, he plays ball at the playground.  He is loving and gentle and kind and fully committed to hands-on parenting.  You know, when he's around.

And maybe that's just the norm for our neighborhood.  I spent about 3 hours in Central Park on Saturday and chatted with at least 4 other parents.  2 moms out alone with their kids (both husbands at work), 2 dads out with their kids (one wife resting with the dreaded morning sickness, the other wife at work).  Let me just clarify: this was 3 pm on a bright, sunny summer afternoon.  I know that the 40 hour workweek is dead and gone in our part of the world, but is that also true for the 60 hour workweek?

Also, I do not begrudge him his need for a little downtime after a long workweek.  In the end we are all happier if he takes an evening or an afternoon off (or both) to relax alone over the weekend.  I simply don't do that.  I'd say that I do 98% of any socializing over the heads of my children.  I take them shopping with me, to my doctors appointments, to not-entirely-kid-friendly places all over the city.

I'm not sure I have a good conclusion to this.  JD had to run by our pediatricians this morning.  It is on his way to work, saved me a ton of time, and yes, I nagged him to do it.  And when he asked where it was?  I just told him to google it.  I mean, we have 2 children.  I've made at least 12 doctors visits per year, and probably far more in the fusspot's first year.  And he doesn't even know where our pediatrician is.

If it weren't for me, the kids would have no playdates/activities/awesome excursions to neat parks in other neighborhoods.  They would not go to the pediatrician, the dentist, to have their hair cut.  They would have no clothes, no toys, no books.  They would not have the most adorable toddler room ever.  Truly.  Ever.  They would not do art projects.  They would not have blocks and trains and a light box.  They would not have careful chosen play CDs and dance music and bedtime lullaby CDs.  I'm sure they would probably still be happy.  JD was raised without all of that, after all.

There are definitely days when he does a lot for the family.  But there are also weeks when he does absolutely nothing except wash the pump parts.  And he is well aware that I do all of the cooking/cleaning/laundry/activity planning.  His usual refrain is that he doesn't mind if the place is filthy, and of course neither would I ... if it weren't for the children playing in the grime, finding and eating yesterday's cheerios, whining about their dirty favorite dress ...

I am not all that unhappy with the situation.  I usually find housework fairly relaxing.  I have a super-efficient system for getting it done, usually between midnight and 1 am (one room per night and we only have 5 counting the bathroom, laundry one night, and then a big project for the last night of the week).  Woe to the real estate agent in the future who tries to sell us on more space.  We have between 600 and 700 square feet now and I can not imagine going to anything larger than double that for any reason.  Sure, I'd love it if my husband knew where we kept the kid's socks or the stroller raincover or if he'd taken both of them out without me more than once in the, say, 15 months since the dumpling was born.

But we have different strengths, we have different needs, and I have no doubt that he is an excellent father.  I guess I just find it no wonder that my career is floundering, that he is a good deal less enthusiastic to recommend parenting to his friends than he was even a few years ago.  And I guess I wonder if this is the trap all dual income families fall into when one person has a much higher salary/more specific work demands.  JD at some point during the debacle said jokingly it would be ok if I was a SAHM for a year or two.  But honestly?  Not much would change.  No daycare bill, but otherwise I already manage the house.

I guess my strong suspicion is that our situation is really not all that unusual, even in our bizarrely liberal little neighborhood.  It's just that far less people are willing to admit the reality, even to themselves.