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.