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.

Puzzled

5 pm.  We sat on a wooden bench, my head resting on his shoulder, holding hands and watching the storm clouds race up the East River.  Before us a strikingly clear view of Manhattan with helicopters and water-planes landing near the World Trade Center and joggers and cyclists occasionally zipping in front of us.  One toddler asleep in the stroller and the other contentedly two-hands into the gravel and dirt along the edge of the path, talking non-stop to himself about the dirt!  the mud!  the grass!  the glass shards!

And I jokingly said something about how anyone could not want another baby with one this cute in front of them (also hysterical that the dumpling was still supporting a huge, bright yellow sticker on his overalls which said "G-d made me perfect just the way I am" thanks to our earlier excursion by the Queens gay pride parade.  Of course, without the context the sticker was even more absurd and definitely drew some weird comments, but it kept us laughing.  Also, my dumpling definitely appreciates go-go dancers).  And JD did not respond, as I can recall.

I had lunch with dear friends who are facing another IUI this month and basically just working their way through the insurance prerequisites for IVF.  We talked about babies and nursing and childbirth and IF.  And they are 100% sure that this baby will be their last, that they were meant to be a family of 4.  And me?  I am 100% sure that our family was meant to be larger than 4.  So why is it so hard to just up and ask JD what he thinks?  Of course, the answer is totally obvious: I have absolutely no game plan if he says no way are we ever heading back to the clinic.  But then, if he said "yes!  absolutely!  in a year or two!" I think I would be so much calmer.  After all, we've got a decent plan of attack already.  And while every doctor I saw in my early 20s implored me not to add age to the littany of other problems, now that we've struck gold twice those warnings are much, much more muted.  I'm 31.  We might have time.  Or we might now.  I am really just intrigued by how other people are so patient about growing their families.  Is it really confidence that it will all work out in the end?  Or do they have a strategy to forget these fears while surrounded by growing families?

Really, tomorrow I am going to post about something other that this obsession.  Maybe parenting, or language, or the fiasco of raising a miniature baby.

An unplanned internet-less weekend

we had a lovely Memorial Day visiting my mother and some friends down South, followed by the endless delight of four canceled flights as we tried to get back to the big city.  I will say that I am endlessly thankful for all of my earlier travel experience.  Not only did I know when I was done and it was time to call in the reserves (no, you cannot get an attendant to push your stroller around the airport.  However, if you request a wheelchair for your toddler you will in fact end up with ... an attendant to push your stroller around the airport.  And if you're lucky another to take care of your bags.  I happen to know this from a rather unfortunate arrival in JFK with a sick baby when I was in fact too sick to carry her through customs.  We also had to keep everything carry-on because of the possibility of switching airlines, etc.) but I also managed to get us onto the best available combination of airlines/flights to get back to the city (and even wheezled our way onto a plane after boarding was done).

Needless to say, 14 hours in the airport, split over 2 days, with 2 toddlers was rather tiring and I am behind on work this week.

And somehow in all of that mess I haven't quite got around to shipping the four new baby packages on our shelf (hand delivered another last week).  Two of those babies I have known about for about 9 months, plus or minus a day.  Another I knew about but was so desperately avoiding that confirmation that I received the excited phone call from the hospital before I even knew the due date.  Unfortunately I happen to have taken that call while sitting at my desk at work ... and that explains 4 new e-bay packages.  If my little girl can't have a sister right now, at least she's going to have nice new dresses (not that she'll notice, she's 3 after all).  Next time I receive such a call I will be sure to disable the internet.

And then yesterday at playgroup a good friend announced (surprise!) #3.  And then 5 minutes later consulted me about her sister's IF struggle.  It was of course not only hard to bite my tongue under that situation, but also hard to respond evenly to the news that her sister is being treated only by her Ob/Gyn and of course no one has so much as run a lab on her husband.  #1 IF advice: get thee to a real IF doctor.

Of course deep down I am happy for these friends, relieved that they won't need the type of help we will, excited that we will no longer be the only ones with kids at gatherings of our pre-baby friends.  And of course I am logical enough to know that now is a terrible time to consider #3, but the problem with IF, even a variety like mine where we seem to have found a rather effective form of treatment, is the awful fear that lightning will not strike twice.  If I had a magic ball and knew that we could have another healthy pregnancy (or two) in the future, I would be entirely content with my adorable babies.  But there's always the fear that we'll never again be able to watch first steps, or the wonder of flicking a light switch on and off for the first time, or even the mess of toilet training and when you are deep in the day to day of parenting, it is hard to ignore the passing of time.

Ah yes, which brings me right back to the most obnoxious form of navel gazing.  New readers may not know that I have only ever ovulated in the month following sharp and dramatic weight loss (30 and 25 lbs respectively.  And just to clarify that ovulation was with the help of drugs.  But drugs alone were insufficient in all previous months of IF treatment).  And I could use to lose a little weight now anyway, and it would of course be nice to see if anything would happen if I followed the classic (and totally arbitrary, random, and infuriating) weight loss advice to loss 10% of my body weight (say 14.4 lbs, about).  And yet, not happening.  It has to be diet because I simply don't have time for any more exercise (I walk 2-5 miles per day, all of which while pushing a stroller, average weight 80 lbs, JD arrives home around midnight most nights and our neighborhood is not safe enough for a late night jog even though that is honestly an ideal time for me to exercise).  Ever day I resolve to eat more carefully, to limit my sugar intake and yet ... no luck.  Either I get tired and desperately need some sugar to get through the afternoon, or I get stressed at bedtime and sneak in a few chocolate chips, or I get distracted at dinnertime alone with the kids (ratio of dinners to spilled glasses of milk this week 1:1.  Distance between our table and the living room carpet: 2 inches) and overeat.  So there's the whole, wouldn't it be nice part, followed by the, how can you even consider it when you're not together enough to just reign in your sugar consumption?  (I only lose weight while limiting carbs.  Ever. Classic PCOs.  I also gain weight between organs rather than on the outside of my body.  Classic other not-to-be-named hormonal disorder).  The short term goal is just to get back to taking my vitamins, lose some weight, and see if anything whatsoever happens with my entirely cycle-less body.

In the meantime, I'm sure I'll keep myself busy wrapping up new baby presents and taking them to the post office.

Coming back to this place

I think it's time to start writing here again.  I have so many things that I want to think more about: medical issues and this crazy body of mine, parenting, living in the big city, the possibility of Project 3.0 ...

I don't really want to write too much about it, but the incredibly stressful experience of the spring was resolved.  I wish that it was just all's well that ends well, but I still feel slightly shellshocked by the whole experience.  There was legal counsel, and a few brave souls stepped up to the plate.  And just like that I'm back to work and moving on.

The fusspot and the dumpling are doing great.  The dumpling continues to not gain weight (6 ounces in 8 weeks despite every trick known to man to feed him) but he also seems just fine.  I'm sure that I will obsess much over his size, and then one day he'll eat, grow, and we'll forget about this little adventure into the negative 5th percentile.  At least that's what it looks like if you continue labeling the chart as we continue to fall.  Many, many phone calls and we did at least come up with a totally satisfactory solution for his anemia.  Our pediatrician assured me that she'd called 2 pharmacies and that there was nothing better than pining him done, sticking a wooden spoon in his mouth and pouring liquid iron down his throat while he choked and tried to spit it out again ... but a few more phone calls on my part and we found some children's chewable iron which is 100% not approved for babies or toddlers (because it's a slight choking hazard, not that he wasn't choking as we pinned him done and doped him before), but needless to say he enthusiastically eats every morning.  We really hope that as his iron improves his appetite may too.

I don't really want this to become a parenting after infertility blog, and we actually have another photo blog to document our adventures in the big city, but I also realized quite clearly in the past 2 weeks we're not there yet.  See, I've always wanted a big family and JD has always been ... well ... ambivalent.  But then again, for all of his faults, the man prioritizes my happiness above almost anything else.  And honestly I was too scared to even ask him if we were done.  But friends of his asked point blank at brunch if we were thinking of #3 (childless friends, needless to say.  Also ones who know about our IF problems.  Truly, only in America do people think that family size is an appropriate brunch conversation topic) and I gave my usual, "Yup, eventually, if JD says yes" and JD looked at me and basically said "I never said no" and just even that little nod started me off into realms of fantasy.

Oh, and then just to bring it back to reality my mother forwarded me yet another short, stupid, pointless article about PCOs (one of my two diagnosis).  The standard: metformin, cut out soda (which I haven't drunk in 4-5 years.  I have much better vices), lose 5% of your body weight, and live happily ever after article.  But the more I clicked through the links the more it brought on a feeling of overwhelming panic.  I mean, I'm not on metformin.  I'm not at all careful with sugar, my weight is fine but not perfect, I have had borderline gestational diabetes ... and I may very well be heading towards a lifetime of real diabetes and heart issues.  So I am going to be much more conscientious about my diet.  Less treats, more protein.  Oh, and back on vitamin because I had basically stopped taking them sometime in the sleep deprivation when the dumpling (worse nickname ever) was 8-9 months old.  I am not a crazy pro-vitamin person (I am actually terrified that they may all be contaminated), but I am back to taking liquid iron twice a day (floradix, shouldn't be taken with dairy), my prenatal (still nursing after all and you know ...), and fish oil (theoretically good for PCOs patients and heart issues).  Of course, I can't take any of those 4 doses together and 2 have to be taken at home so it's an annoying mess to remember.

We're obviously not there yet and the timing would be a mess (JD needs a new job, I need a job, we need to settle someplace where we can send the kids to public school) but then again I love the 26 month spacing between my kids.  I love that the fusspot has no memory of life before the dumpling, I love that they play together, I love that she has a million nicknames for him and is always watching out for him (sure, she also hits him over the head but that's normal, right?), I love that he wants to eat exactly what she is eating and play with exactly what she is playing with and the way he pops his head up in the morning and shrieks when he sees her.  So there's that.

Which is all to say that I hope to be back and posting about all the regular ol' stuff again: IF, parenting, raising biracial kids, working, etc.

Ugh

Long-time readers (of which there are at least a few left, I am sure) may recall that my pregnancy with the dumpling (new nickname desperately needed) was rather unpleasant at the beginning because I was quite so anemic.  This week we had another "failure to thri.ve" follow up for the exceedingly skinny dumpling and what do you know, all labwork looks excellent except the man is anemic.  Really anemic.

Look, I know what to do about this.  Really.  I, for one, have been anemic to varying degrees going on a decade.  Except that he really doesn't eat much (no specific food preferences, no allergies, no sensory issues, he just has days when he doesn't want more than a bit or two of food and will purse his lips uncompromisingly.  I mean, he'll happily sit in his high chair and play with the food for a half hour, but try to get it near his mouth and you get a rather stern look).  The doctor prescribed iron supplements, twice a day.  Every day.  But then ... can't really mix those and the dairy which is high fat and probably good for him.  So considering committing to meatballs and OJ for breakfast for him everyday with liquid iron and a second dose late night.

I really do think that he is a healthy, normal, very skinny little guy.  He's happy, active, walking, climbing and dancing on tables ... in 6 month sized clothes (at a week shy of 14 months).

I just want to see him gain a little weight, and nurse a little more enthusiastically (my supply is rapidly diminishing just because he doesn't eat much), but in the meantime we'll be frying meatballs and slathering peanut butter on everything.  Any wisdom much appreciated.

Those little conversations that linger

Look, we can talk after class.  You'd have months to think about it, she say sweetly.  After all, we are both flat on our stomachs stretching.

Nope, not yoga.  Or pilates.  This is mommy and me ballet class and we both have toddlers in pink tutus on the floor next to us.  And mobile babies sitting in the center of the circle pulling each other's hair.

But even there, eyes on both my kids, annoyed at my out of shape body, distracted by the ten or so other moms around me, I said no.  A quick, hurried explanation that we may have to (probably will) leave the city within the next couple of years at the most.  Game over, no go, no need to discuss further.  So we move on to the endless chatter about art projects and potty training and such.

But 7 hours later I am still thinking about how I was practically offered a healthy, beautiful baby (no gender yet, still baking) baby.  To keep.  Forever.  With lots and lots of strings.

My friend is a foster mom.  They went into the system looking to foster children, to love them and care for them while they family's were in need, to reunite them with their parents.  And their very first match was a 48 hour old beautiful, healthy girl.  Removed by the state from her mother in the hospital because of issues.  And while they still are in open contact with the mother and she is in fact in full compliance with the court, the issues have not disappeared and that little girl is staying with them forever (although it will be another 2-5 years before that's all formal).  And then the little girl got a half-sibling when she was about 18 months old, and that little guy went to live with them straight from the hospital.  And now, just after his first birthday he'll be a big brother.  And since the issues have not gone away (and never will), they are looking for a home for his sibling.  And since everyone knows we can't get pregnant and really want more babies, well ...

Except, of course, the timing is wrong for us.  And more than that, the legal system for foster children is quite awful and practically a full time job for my friend to manage.  With supervised visits and all doctors appointments scheduled at other people's convenience a good hour from where she lives.  And we'd need to commit to staying in the city for a good 4-5 years in order to get through the lengthy legal process of terminating parental rights, all while maintaining court-ordered visits (the issues do not make these particularly pleasant for the children).  This is not to say that we're not interested in the future, but it's just not possible right now.

No, I don't have a conclusion to this post.  I told my friend if she decides to take this baby we will absolutely get certified as foster relief parents and help with the transition.  And that's really all I can offer.  If anyone does happen to be in NYC and interested, I am happy to explain more via e-mail and put you in contact with my friend.  The state does not allow parental rights to be limited before the baby is born, but CPS is writing a plan.

In news related to the children in this household, my mini-man gained 5 ounces in 8 weeks and I consented to all sorts of lab work for him.  Those results should be back soon.  School stress will be resolved one way or other by the end of this week.  Baby is teething and nursing every 2 hours overnight, toddler is delightful.  And we could have been planning for a new baby this fall.

epic parenting fail

Let's just say about a month ago we noticed an odd/rather unpleasant odor in our entryway. We cleaned out the hall closet twice looking for any leftover snacks, mopped, took out the kitchen and bathroom trash cans and washed them ... and then figured it would go away. A month ago. Oh, and let's recall that's quite a small apartment (maybe 600-700 square feet) with every door opening off of the entryway, so no area in the apartment is more than 15 feet from the front door where we park the stroller.

Cue lovely sunny Saturday with plans for a long walk in Central Park (valiant but failed attempt to get the fusspot who stayed up until the very end of our seder last night at midnight, give or take a few minutes, to nap). And since the weather was so nice I decided to finally pull the dumpling's stroller sleeping bag out.

It's a Phil and Ted stroller. Hard to reach under seat storage. And apparently something had rolled out of the grocery bags after our last visit to Whole Foods and got stuck under the blanket. Our last visit to Whole Foods with that stroller was about a month ago ...

Which is all to say that for the past month I have been pushing my two incredible babies and a moldy, rapidly decomposing, rotten tomato all around NYC.