Karma

was not on my side yestoday.  Inspired by some time in my friend's pool and feeling decidedly sore after a morning of snorkeling last week (tough life, I know) I went swimming today.  Glorious, lovely swimming in a free local pool.  Warm water, glass walls which make it appear outdoors, even a dreamy, muscular guy in the lane over ... and somehow I managed to break my toe.  Karma, not on my side.  My lane mate was a bit of a wild card and in trying to avoid getting kicked I swerved and kicked my foot hard into the pool ladder.

And now my middle toe is blue and swollen and rather uncomfortable.  For once Dr. Google suggests that a trip to the doctor will be unnecessary and this is unlikely to progress into anything too awful.  Except ... I walk 4-6 miles a day pushing a heavy double stroller and I really doubt I can do that this week.  Or next at this rate.  I'm currently having trouble just wandering up and down the hall in my own apartment.

Updated to add: dragged myself to the doctor in hopes of speeding up recovery.  She was duly horrified about my foot and promptly ordered an air cast, tape to pin the toes together and a large does of anti-inflammatory pain meds.  We discussed at lengthy why she would recommend these even though trace amounts will assuredly enter the breastmilk (namely, they are all safe for kids the dumpling's age ...) and I was totally sold until a small, very dim light bulb finally flickered on while waiting to pick up the prescription: anti-inflammatories that enter the breastmilk ... on the very week that we are doing an endoscopy to look for inflammation ... seems like a bad idea.  So for now I am trying to spend as much time on the couch as possible, not freak out about not having finished unpacking a full month after moving, and adjust to driving absolutely everywhere for at least a week.

I guess this is why I wasn't in such a rush to get back to the gym.

Writing again

Some people move to a new city, quit their job (sort-of, but nevertheless very unpleasantly), realize that they are again newly-isolated in a strange new city and throw themselves into getting acquainted.  Or hide in their new apartments and devotedly rearrange furniture.  I ... well ... I panicked, mostly about the fact that the dumpling turns 2 this weekend ... which really explains why the kids and I hopped on a flight (many, actually) to Hawaii on 4 days notice.

Hence, sitting on the couch overlooking the pool listening to the wind blow through the house and the rain drip out of the trees.  Mostly relaxed, definitely pleased with this most recent distraction from reality, but also with moments of total panic.

It's hard to explain to your dear friend that the reason you need a break from snorkeling in one of the most beautiful places in the world (less crowded in the winter, let me add) has nothing to do with the temperature or a little surf, and everything to do with a total panic attack about what you are doing as you approach your 32nd birthday and have no career.  Or income (said friend has never worked post-college, so it's really not the best subject to discuss with her, although she is very well aware of the luxury of her unemployment).  Or the fact that the major children's hospital can't even tell you what time your son's totally minor surgery will be scheduled for next week, and thus you have no idea if you will need to find a babysitter for your older child's school pick up (see above: new to town, no local friends, husband who works all the time).  Also wondering whether you should try and communicate to the doctors that your son currently has hand, foot and mouth disease, although since it took over 3 weeks to get a response last time, probably not worth the effort.

All to say that I have a lot to write about.  Not much of it happy.  But hopefully we'll get there eventually.  And in the meantime, one last day at the beach before we pack it up and head back to the East coast.

Move is over

mostly.  I mean, all but locating the nearest grocery store and unpacking the remain hundred or so boxes ...

The thing that slowed me down was 2 full days of extensive medical testing for the dumpling.  And it's ... not good?  Good to at least finally have aggressive doctors?  But the possible diagnosis floating around are getting scary, and the real possibility that there will be no conclusive diagnosis within a month and after all appropriate testing, and then we will have to decide what to do.  The head doctor told me to start preparing for a feeding tube.  He's almost 2.  Seems like that boat has sailed, but we'll see.

The fusspot is grumpy about the move and talks about her friends non-stop, but is really doing fine.  But the dumpling is home with me ... and he seems to be fine.  He is cheerful, plays happily, seems pretty stable.  But then I wonder if I am simply missing the signs that he is missing our daycare provider.  Or maybe he just thinks this is all one big vacation and he'll see her again soon.  Because she ... well she called on Friday night just as we were about to light candles to tell me quite succinctly that she "felt dead inside."  For all that we quibbled and she did things which I absolutely and categorically forbade (the very last week she had him she put him in the backseat of a car, sitting on another kid's lap and drove around NYC ... so very, very glad that she has completely left the childcare line of work because I certainly would not be able to recommend her to anyone else, for all that she is great with kids.  2.5 years of employment and the rule was always: no cars.  Period.  Ever) Y. loved the dumpling like her own kids.  She started watching him at 2 weeks old (for an hour or two) and starting in September she had only the dumpling for the majority of every day (although he was only there 30 hours a week). 

He called her mama and I am pretty sure that she held him in her arms for most of his naps this past year.  And there's nothing like breaking that type of bond to make you feel guilty.  Any thoughts on helping a not-yet-two-year-old with grief?  I realized that although we have lots of photos of them together, we don't have any up at the moment and I'll fix that early this week.  But I really don't have much else to offer.  They've "talked" on the phone a few times, her computer isn't set up for skype.  You'd think I'd have ideas having lived apart from JD for 11 months with the fusspot, but she is so much more resilient of a kid (and oh how I dislike that description since that's always what my parents said about me, and overwhelmingly the fusspot's interests and behavior are almost exactly the same as mine) and I am really at a loss.  I also wish I could do something to help Y. - we've invited her down for spring break, and I'll mail her some more photos, but I don't know what else to do.

All that uncertainty

First, not everything is stress and gloom.  I took the kids out for a lovely day today.  Special storytime in the Morgan library, kosher Indian lunch, spice shopping, Christmas train exhibit at Grand Central ... and then home to a fine dinner of pasta and shredded cheese.  And I am really trying to separate, to enjoy my time with the kids, to try and squeeze in a few more NYC things.   I even have a long list taped to the back of our apartment door of things to do before we leave, including haircuits (ah, Spanish-bodega-$5-haircuits, we will miss you), museum exhibits, playdates ... but let's talk about what happens when we get to the new city.

And  I guess this is what makes this whole thing so very, very hard.  I literally have no idea.  I don't know if this whole career choice of mine is over, but JD seems to be acting distinctly as if it is.  He has made -zero- effort to find me any type of childcare (which really is not the kind of thing one can do remotely).  Zero.  I had him interview two nannies from nanny shares, but both fell apart as we waited to find an apartment.  Even if I need to take a hiatus from grad school, I would like to work.  At least part-time.  At least doing something.  For many reasons, but primarily including that I need to have the possibility to support my children before I consider having more.   And I have even already lined up some entirely flexible 20-30 hours per week work.  But to do that and stay sane I need some childcare, even 10 hours a week.  We are actually bringing our favorite babysitter with to help with the first day or two of the move (and the final throwing air mattresses and suitcases in the car and driving 4-hours since JD is not planning to come for the move itself), but after she leaves?  No idea.

I really love the idea of taking a few weeks off, of enjoying some quality time with my kids, of exploring a new neighborhood, but why there?  Why is it one am and I am still working here in NYC, but may not be there.  And does JD really expect me to work part-time without any childcare? 

And the fear.  In the past month I have spent a significant amount of time with 3 teens/early-20s girls.  One of them we are trying to help support financially because her parents are awful and it is only through her incredible generosity that she still has any relationship with them, one of them we employ to babysit but I have also been finding her legal advice/paying random medical expenses/getting financial advice, and one is the daughter of our daycare provider, a lovely confident girl whose college applications I just finished editing.  And they so much remind me of the freedom of being young and unencumbered and full of energy, but also the grim economic prospects for their generation.  Last week our babysitter showed up at our apartment with a bruised, possibly broken, hand.  She was actually there with another charge, so I immediately dispensed her to urgent care, promising to cover the bill if necessary.  When she returned I went out (I know!!! wild times!!!) and received a phone call a few minutes before 11 pm from girl #3, panicked about a last minute revision to a college essay.  This child comes from a stable, loving family with 2 very well-educated parents ... who are not native English speakers.  And apparently her NYC public high school (a truly prestigious one) has provided her with no language help on her applications.  So there I was, on my one night out, borrowing a friend's computer to add subject-verb agreement minutes before the deadline.  And of course there are the weekly check-ins with girl #1 who has bravely set off alone on an airplane for a study abroad program.  I know this is incoherent, but the point is the whole picture terrifies me.  These girls are 17, 21, and 22, and yet they desperately need financial and emotional support.  It would be nice to take some time to consider "career options" and look for a job and think about "what I really want to do," but the truth is that the best option for me right now might just be a stable, reliable paycheck.  I just don't have the confidence I once did in my skills, credentials, and the job market to sit back and relax about a regular paycheck, and I really just don't want to imagine my children at 17 or 21 or 22 left quite as stranded as all 3 of these children are.

Back with a little more doom and gloom

Instead of thinking of posts, I am just going to start writing.  And I have a lot to write about, but tonight I guess it's anger.

It's 2 am.  I am packing.  There are so many things I really should be doing instead (work, for example, cooking something other than mac and cheese, for another) but I am too tired.  The fusspot is sick and she keeps crying and waking the dumpling (yes, we're still all sleeping in one room, the other room is a wall of boxes at the moment).

And I just don't get it.  I have spent so many hours watching other people's kids, running errands for them, helping with parties, rearranging my entire schedule for their convenience ... and yet I'm all alone and no one has so much as offered to help.  The silly favors I did (like loaning our moving boxes out) have entirely backfired. 

And my fear is simply that I am so burned out on flakey friends and people who are "too busy" to check in or offer to help that I will not even bother to make new friends in this new city.  No one wants to befriend doom and gloom, but it's hard to feel sweet! and perky! and interesting! when I keep wondering whether it's worth it.  Two friends wrote 2 weeks ago to say they "desperately" wanted to see me before I go.  I wrote back within hours asking them to tell me when and we'd do it and ... silence.  I suppose those were meant to be sweet, rhetorical words about getting together?

And I need friends.  I am not only fairly social, but I often really need help.  On Friday night we got home from dinner at 11 pm with 2 very tired but awake children.  And the battery was going in the carbon monoxide detector ... so it beeps every 60 seconds.  On the ceiling.  The 12 foot ceiling.  It was truly too late to call the super, but there was no way to sleep through that.  So I sent out a desperate e-mail to friends, and within 15 minutes a friend had dispatched her husband to come fix it (helps that he was out at 11 pm on Friday night picking up groceries ... ah, more things I'll miss in the big city).

And moreover, we all know it's easier to make friends at moments of transition - high school, college, first jobs, new babies.  And even harder to meet the type of women I get along with the best (and who keep similar schedules) - those who work part-time or with a flexible schedule but not the 80-hour-a-week-jobs many of my friends do.  Is it expecting too much to think that friends might offer to help the (locationally) single-parent-of-two with her move?  I have certainly mentioned to several people that we are (of course) packing everything ourselves (by which I mean myself, last move JD packed one box, this year he has yet to get there) and even if we weren't you'd think someone might think to invite us over for a meal the last week or have my kids over for a playdate?  Or is that just not done?

And in case anyone is considering a move anytime soon, my firm advice is to try not to find yourself in a position where you have to keep your apartment "show ready" for subletters every day while packing and living alone with 2 kids ... it's fairly tiring. 

The usual overwhelmed, but with end in sight

Ugh, new blogger features.  Sorry about the blank post.

I sat down to write an update last Thursday night and JD promptly called "just to check" if it was okay that someone wanted to see our apartment at 8 am the next morning.  And so goes life.

I am busy: writing, trying to keep our apartment mildly presentable so we can get it sublet before the end of the month, packing a full apartment, arranging all sorts of absurd moving details (car insurance, pre-K, doctors appointments, new utilities, new drivers license, blackout curtains, the usual mundane details) ... all without JD who is busy at his new job in DC.  It's a little exhausting.

And more than just the moving details (which honestly don't faze me that much), I am in the process of saying goodbye to friends and trying to squeeze in a few more city activities, and spending as much time as I can with the fusspot as she processes leaving her school and friends and dance and language classes ... and I am just not sure where I am going to get the energy to enthusiastically set about building a new social network.  We know plenty of people in DC (I did grow up down South) but they all work full-time, and given the awful geography, I just don't see us actually seeing any of them very much.  And of course, we are the only ones with "older" children.  Several have very new babies, but we have only one local friend to meet up with at the playground and such.

And in the midst of all of that, just a few days before the rest of the Western hemisphere turns to navel gazing on January 1st, I looked in the mirror on Christmas Day and realized I really, really need to diet (wish I could exercise but seeing as I have trouble finding time to take the trash out without the kids, I don't really see any time for a jog).  I weigh as much as I did at the end of pregnancy #2, and quite honestly look rather pregnant.  My JJ bras don't fit, and my metabolism surely isn't getting any better.  So I decided to take small and moderate steps towards reducing my sugar intake ... and what do you know 2 weeks later (and 21 months post-partum) I started spotting.  So there's that.  Which is to say that I am pretty sure that with enough resolve I could get my body onto some type of cycle (long-time readers may recall that both of my pregnancies were the result of IF treatments in a month following a weight loss of 30+ lbs.  Yes, 30+ lbs in under 30 days seems to be the magic math which kicks my body into recognizable cycle shape, even if I probably still don't ovulate without help.  And no, I am not overweight.  My BMI is still normal and I wear size 6 pants.  This is entirely about insulin resistance, not weight).  So here's to hoping to return here to vent about many absurd things (the joys of showing a rodent-infested apartment are one I will try not to discuss in too much detail, but oh my!) and also a little actual IF-related angst.

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.