success

So, says JD, totally casually when he got home from work last night: "Did you fly carry-on?"

Me, equally casually: "Of course, I always go carry-on on domestic flights."

Him: "Huh."

Which I will totally take as a statement of admiration.

Sure, I was flying alone with 2 babies, a double stroller, and all of the usual accoutrements of a long weekend away including a breastpump and a big bag of clothes gifted to us by another IF blogger, but honestly I think that it was the new-to-us brio train set in the hall which impressed him the most:


We go carry-on. And it wasn't all that bad.

Of course, my apologies to the dear old man in Seat 21B (across from the mini-toilet on a small plane). I know your seat is sucky and smelly and it probably doesn't help to have a toddler sitting on the toilet across the aisle from you with the bathroom door wide open, but really, there was no way I could fit into the bathroom while carrying baby and close the door.

And while we're at it:
- Thanks to the five TSA guys down South who helped put us back together after the fusspot freaked out about having her new teddy x-rayed.
- And the lovely visitors to NC who entertained the fusspot for the better part of an hour while we waited for the bus home from the airport (huge crash at LGA yesterday and all car/bus traffic in and out of the airport was shut down for a while)
- And thanks to everyone on the bus who politely ignored the rather loud conversation between a tired mama and her toddler about "I need to pee!" which resulted in said mama opening her suitcase (on a moving bus) and diapering her reluctant toddler (on a moving bus), all while holding a baby in a sling (on a moving bus)
- And of course to the restaurant across from the bus stop when said tired mama and baby and toddler dashed in to use your bathroom without making any pretense at all of planning to eat at your restaurant
- And to our neighbor who came to meet us at the bus stop and walk us home
- And to the other neighbor who did not in fact dump our laundry even though she was obviously considering it when I saw her. Because the last thing that this tired mama wanted to do was to re-wash a load of dirty laundry necessitated by the fact that the fusspot decided to poo in her pants about 2 minutes after walking into our apartment after an accident-free 9 hours of travel (she did not even pee in the diaper on the bus when given the option)

marching along

(and yes, stroller post soon)

I finally caved and went to talk to someone about PPD. Mostly because of a single incident where I imploded at my darling husband at a rather unfortunate moment. I had finally caved, call the babysitter and a restaurant and we had plans to go out just the 2 of us for the first time in ... 7 months. Huh.

And then everything fell apart. The fusspot bit her lip at bedtime (which she'd bit the day before) resulting in a lot of crying and blood and new sheets. The baby refused to nurse, making me worried about going out without a pump. I had to put in a load of laundry (ice cream on the way home resulted in chocolate ice cream smeared into the stroller straps ...), I got an e-mail I had to respond to ... and I just couldn't handle it. I couldn't even manage to call the poor babysitter who arrived at our doorstep only to be told to go home (ok, she lives 8 feet away. It wasn't that awful).

And the appointment was ... an utter waste of time. Yeah, there's probably something hormonal going on. No, I'm not really a good candidate for meds at the moment. We could "talk" some but when 5 minutes in Dear Dr. Clueless asked whether the dumpling was "planned" I realized it wasn't going to go so well. Yeah, I'd already mentioned the IF but beyond that ... so what? What if he was an "accident"? What if this was poor timing on our part? (Not that I in any way think that's true). It's a little late to think about returning him, eh?

Yeah, my life is a bit overwhelming. I wish that I didn't single parent 6 days a week. I wish that I had more daycare (the dumpling can only go about 12-14 hours a week until mid-August because of the other family's schedule). I wish my back wasn't so painful. I wish my toddler slept through the night. I wish I had time for PT. I wish that I had a housekeeper. I wish that I didn't land up doing the dishes/laundry/cleaning/planning/cooking most of the time. I wish that I wasn't under a huge amount of pressure from work.

But none of that is really going to change, and what I need to work on is coping mechanisms.

I have a wonderful husband. I have 2 beautiful, healthy babies. I have a lovely apartment in a lovely city and a decent scattering of casual friends around. I have 2 really good close friends, even if both live abroad. I have the money to order take-out if I'm tired or ask a friend's nanny to come help out one evening a week. I am going to join a new synagogue next month when we move and hopefully met some nice people there.

Which is all to say that not much has changed, but I am firmly resolved to get through it. Oh, and finish up this silly degree too. And get a real job. Who knows, my blog may actually transition from whiny to inspirational in the next 12 months.

And now I'm off to the airport with my 2 babies in tow to visit my parents. Do wish my luck on that friend. Biting my tongue is one of those fundamental skills I should probably work on.

I really am trying to break out of this rut

because I seem to have fallen into a rather sad rut. I snapped at my toddler today, and I never do that (this is not to boast. We all have different parenting strengths and one of mine is never, ever snapping or yelling).

Yesterday I was so frustrated with the-baby-who-is-only-happy-while-being-held (but delightfully happy as long as he is upright or snuggled next to a warm body. So content that my darling dumpling slept 12.5 hours last night with only one snack in the midst) and the toddler who kept waking the baby-who-is-only-happy-when-being-held ("I don't want to be quiet!" suggests both that she understood the issue at hand, and, well, had her own agenda) that I placed my semi-nude toddler (i.e. undies only, shul-appropriate dress, cardigan and shoes dangling off the stroller) and cranky baby in the stroller and vowed to walk until they both calmed down (for the record, it took under a mile and we still made it to shul on time although the fusspot got stuck with non-matching shoes due to our hurried departure).

I think that I have just lost my coping mechanisms. Little things which really don't matter in the big scheme are affecting me.

To the former friend who has a passworded blog, bad idea to forget who you gave the password to. Because you see, posting that you were in NYC last week and it was incredible!!! to see all of your favorite people in one short week, complete with photos of all the friends you saw, well, in all honesty it stings a little bit.

And to one of my closest friends (thankfully there's still an "s" there but we're getting awfully close to the singular), I really do understand that you are busy. But see, since you're moving abroad again for an indefinite period and all, it would have been nice if you'd talked to me about your plan to visit pre-departure so that I could have told you I would be out of town that week.

And to all of my colleagues without kids, I do understand that it would be a complete and utter waste to leave my program at this particular junction. The type of waste that even my children might ask in 10 years what exactly I did with my mid to late-20s ... but there is such a thing as a sunk cost. And while I can work non-stop and give it my all, that also means that I will wake up in September with a dirty house, a husband I haven't spoken to in weeks, and a 6 month old. And at some point it may or may not be worth it.

But for the moment it's only 10 pm on Saturday night and I am back to work for at least another 4-5 hours.

just a little filler

(stroller post coming up soon - hopefully tonight) but in the meantime ...

As part of Project Compartmentalize My Life I have been working really hard to drop everything and just focus on the fusspot and the dumpling when we are together, which is every afternoon from 4 to 8 pm (sometimes cut short by work events which start in the evening, but I try not to head out until 7). So 2 nights ago the dumpling took a real nap and I fed the fusspot dinner and then she suggested going out for ice cream, and even though it was late and close to bedtime for her (and work time for me) I agreed.

Which is how we came to be sitting outside Pinkberry at about 7:30 pm when some type of brawl spilled out of the bar next door. Had I not been nursing the dumpling, we would have definitely relocated. The source of the fight seemed to be some sexual allegations between a highly articulate young lady and a mostly mute guy who looked more than slightly baffled. Needless to say, the details of their prior involvement were being shouted across the street complete with a significant amount of 4-letter word padding.

I tried to distact the fusspot with the ABCs to no avail as she sat wide-eyed watching the shouting match, the friends restraining both parties, the cops idling nearby and trying not to notice ... and after a few minutes she turned to me and side "She wants her mommy?" And all I could do was smile and say "Yes, she needs her mommy" because it is simply too delightful that my toddler still lives in the world where that would make everything ok.

And then this morning when she found herself in a most awful pickle, having managed to get her head thoroughly stuck in a shirt by not noticing the buttons on the back she stood in the middle of her room and called out: "Mama! Dada! Baby!" Because at just over 2 months baby is every bit as much a part of her taken-for-granted world as we are.

Sometimes I do love living in the city

I received my very first mother's day wishes, and almost certainly the most hearty and sincere, at about 12:05 am from a very friendly taxi driver who pulled over to offer his congratulations as I pushed our double stroller complete with sleeping toddler covered in chocolate and lipstick out of a rather loud and rowdy bar while the baby snuggled into the Bjorn and tried his best to block out the world.

We went to a lovely wedding today and because we were out and about for a good 10 hours start to finish we decided to lug along the double stroller even though it meant being that couple who has blocked an entire subway car with their stroller. And that couple who slows everyone down as they attempt to carry their stroller up 3 flights of stairs without waking the sleeping toddler (success!).

It was probably just because the wedding slideshow started with a slew of adorable baby photos, but tonight instead of thinking back to our own wedding or to the upcoming weddings, I thought about the fusspot. I thought about someday being able to send her photos for her own slideshow. And it made me so deeply thankful that despite my medical issues, we are lucky enough to be parents

But least you think that we have become the most boring double-stroller-wielding couple, I leave you with this fine exit to the evening. By the time we left I had been carrying the dumpling for a good 6 hours (he sleeps better in the Bjorn, so he spent a few short naps in the double stroller but it more gave me a clean place to put him down to change, etc.) and since JD was in the wedding party he couldn't really take responsibility for the baby and I was just tired. Which is all to say that when JD looked over at me with a puzzled look and said "Something wrong with your heels?" because I had dead stopped on a dark corner, I just turned and smiled back and said: "Nope, just taking off my underwear." It turns out that there is only so much control-top undergarment a girl can take at 8 weeks post-partum. So to the lovely, young drunk crowd who chose that exact moment to exit a nearby building, no, things were not all that scandalous, but yes, I was indeed removing my undergarments on a very public street in NYC while carrying a sleeping baby in a sling. It happens. Sometimes even on Mother's Day.

And just like that

I gave away my copy of TCOYF, the authoritative guide to getting pregnant when your cycle is messed up. I gave it away because the woman sitting in my living room was tearing up because of something inadvertently insensitive which I'd said, because I know that she has much less money than I do and it's on her mind, because we're moving next month (did I mention that?), because it feels cruel to pay an infertile woman to babysit your beautiful, healthy 8 week old baby while you desperately write in the bedroom, and because of course I can buy another copy at any point.

But it's still with a good deal of remorse. Even though charting never, ever worked for me (I after all have no cycle except under rare and miraculous circumstances which include a. the stars aligning b. breastfeeding/being postpartum/weaning c. dramatic and rapid weight loss to the tune of more than 25 lbs) it's one more talisman of the early, hopeful days of our fertility travails and of the possibility of a miracle in the future.

And yes, my hormones are still obviously doing crazy things. But I am feeling much, much better than before. Before even reading your wonderful comments, I had scheduled an 11 pm call with my mentor last night to discuss the issues (and Katie, I do hope that you understand that I mean no offense at all by suggesting that I do not want to be a SAHM. For all that I am stressed and busy and tired, I did deliberately chose a career which gives me a flexible schedule and plenty of time during the day with my children. I considered the same career as my husband but realized quite early that it just wasn't something I could do as a mother). And the sad thing is that she agrees that I am in deep trouble due to a number of things (largely) beyond my control. She is hopeful that a huge push to finish a large chunk of work by September 1st may work, but is by no means certain.

And then JD walked in the door at the unheard of early hour of 11:30 pm and eavesdropped on the end of the conversation. And then we had a long, tense conversation about our careers and our future. And he also agrees that I am a rather precariously balanced on the tipping point between success and failure, but he is willing to support my attempts to make it. He even took a good deal of pressure off by suggesting that he'd support my studies full time for another year if that was necessary. Because he wants me to have a job that I enjoy, he wants me to have an interesting job, he really does want me to succeed even if it means consigning him to the role of hard-working exclusive breadwinner for a longer period of time. So that was all nice.

But when I told him that if it came to Project 3.0 vs. my career, I would chose the former without a moment's hesitation he sighed. We both want more kids, but it's hard to imagine how that's going to happen without making things endlessly more stressful unless we wait a while. And waiting makes it much more likely that we'll need a good deal more fertility help (which of course is why we have yet to come to any conclusion on the question of bcps. Of course, at a full 8 weeks postpartum I am still bleeding so that hasn't been a relevant question yet (our religion does not allow any such activities under those circumstances)).

It's just a big, red question mark lingering in the room. And I just gave away one of our talismans.

ps - a much more superficial post coming up soon about my love affair with strollers and the great dilemma of the double stroller in NYC for my fellow NYC reader who asked.

I think that there is something ironic about this, perhaps?

So one of the many posts which has been floating around the internets recently brought up the idea of "needing this space." And I do need this space right now. I need it because I can't find a way to cope with all of the stress I'm under. I'd love to exercise, but I don't have the time. I can't even find time to make it back to PT or therapy. I'd love to diet and get my body in shape but I don't have the time to go grocery shopping or cook. I'd love to sleep more, but I certainly don't have time for that. I'd love to go out on a date with my husband once a month, but I get so angry that he won't put in the time to plan it that I never do either. Ah, to have a husband who was home by even 10 pm. 10 pm would allow me to run out to the gym and the grocery store in the evenings, to drop by my office for a few extra hours. But as is JD arrives home between 11pm and midnight most nights, and it is entirely unpredictable when he'll make it home at 8 pm.

In short, I seem to be in grave danger of failing at the career path I've spent the past decade or so pursuing. And here's the great irony for my long-time readers: I'm failing because this infertile woman succeeded in having children. And let's be upfront, this has nothing (ok, very little) to do with sexism or anti-family feelings. I'm failing because the work I'm turning out is a failure. It's a failure because I don't have enough time and I'm too tired and I'm too distracted and everything keeps snowballing. So basically if I can't miraculously make up for months of work by the fall I'm done.

And I have no idea what comes next.

Sure, I can find another career. I'm honestly not that worried about that. In fact, it might be nice to take a low-stress career for a few years while the babies are little. I am perfectly well-qualified to be a high school math teacher, and I hear those are usually in demand (this is not a slight to teachers, and yes I have taught before). I've also worked in (low level) middle management before, and apparently am quite good at organizing things (so went a rather backhanded compliment I received recently in a review). I could happily work in early childhood education in some context, or even apply for one of those practically-no-pay but endless intriguing NGO/not for profits related to my current research. And it would be fine for me. (And no, "staying at home" is not an option. JD does not want the pressure of being the sole breadwinner, and I strongly believe that it is important to role model being a working mother for the fusspot and the dumpling, even if I barely break even in the short term. Plus my babies will eventually head off to school and I will need something meaningful to do with all of that free time. But all of those jobs would allow me to be home by 5 pm every day, and hopefully earlier.)

But JD not only took a high-paying, work away your soul job to pay for fertility treatments and support our family, but his plan was to take a few months and find a new job based on wherever I could find a job. And he's a bit lost himself as to what he really wants to do next. And yet again it will put all the pressure on him if I utterly fail at this career.

And I really do enjoy what I do, until last year I had a spotless CV, and I'm quite sure that I could succeed under different circumstances (ah, wouldn't it be nice to work in a career with an "on ramp"?) But in order to get enough done in the next 4 months I need to jettison everything that is not absolutely essential: as little cooking as possible, as little time cleaning as possible, no socializing unless it is in non-daycare hours when the fusspot is awake, no relaxing by sewing/planning perfect parties/taking a family vacation. I need to commit to working 4-5 hours every night after the babies are asleep and working as much as possible every day. I need to give up on any type of planned activity to lose the baby weight or a lovely summer vacation when my husband is on leave. I need to compartmentalize and drop everything from 7-9 am and 4-8 pm when I spend time with the fusspot, and only work during her nap on Friday when she's home with me. I need to wake up at 4 am if necessary to work on the weekends.

I think it's worth it. I really hope so. But I do think that I will regret it if I don't give it a try.

And a large part of what I need to do is to step back and say that whether I succeed or fail at this, I will be fine in 5 years.