Don't worry, I haven't fallen into a crevice or joined a cult and given up the internets. We're still here, floundering along.
I keep thinking of things to write about, but it seems that whenever I sit down to post I get distracted by work or things which must be done urgently. It doesn't really help that the dumpling has hit his 6 month growth spurt and my supply still isn't back up to normal. Our daily routine is a bit of a grind at the moment. I mean, it's never a good sign when your 2 year old says: "See you tomorrow dada" at 8:45 am every morning as you walk out the door with her. Of course, there are also very sweet moments in the morning during their brief hour half together every day. This morning she insisted upon referring to JD as buttercup all morning.
I have utterly failed to meet all self-imposed deadlines related to my degree and am currently still tossing and turning over whether I should abandon ship at this point or battle it out to some type of (maybe successful?) gory end. I am leaning towards sticking it out still, but there are days which are really hard.
Posts I would like to write soon: to push or not to push, the big preschool dilemma; how not to throttle your daycare provider (subtitled: introducing solids); parenting and loneliness (subtitled: yours truly is now known as "the Amt.rak mom"; a little more travel here and there.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
still here, still pumping
Nothing much new over here. The 2 days of lying curled up in a ball in bed followed by 2 more days of not eating from food poisoning have completely tanked my supply. These J cups are pumping 2 ounces (total) at a time nowadays. The dumpling needs at least 12 ounces of milk to go to daycare. Yeah.
What I am doing:
- Feeding him every possible minute, including leaving work to nurse. This would have been totally sufficient with the fusspot (after all we survived swine flu (while living alone abroad), the dreaded pox (mine and hers), the gas baby of 2010 and a pregnancy without any real drop in supply) but the dumpling is not a great nurser. After a minute or two he unlatches to smile at me, look around and check on his feet, the usual. Even when we're alone in a dark room. It's infuriating. The baby cannot nurse to sleep because he gets distracted by everything.
- Pumping every 2 hours when separated, after every feed when we're together
- Motherlove "magical concoction of gross green plants" as per bottle
- Drinking lots
Any other suggestions? We're going to the beach for the weekend so I'm planning plenty of time alone in the bedroom nursing, but we need this fixed. Soon.
Any suggestions welcome. In the meantime I'll be pumping.
ps - Yes, yes, yes I know that there is nothing wrong with using some formula to tide us over until solids. But, as always, every ounce of formula is a sign to your body that it doesn't need to produce all that much milk, and since I would very much like to breastfeed ... well, practically forever, I need milk. And yes, when I am all done nursing forever I am most assuredly going to get a little cosmetic surgery done and maybe land up as a totally adorable wear-a-dress-without-alterations D cup. Bliss.
What I am doing:
- Feeding him every possible minute, including leaving work to nurse. This would have been totally sufficient with the fusspot (after all we survived swine flu (while living alone abroad), the dreaded pox (mine and hers), the gas baby of 2010 and a pregnancy without any real drop in supply) but the dumpling is not a great nurser. After a minute or two he unlatches to smile at me, look around and check on his feet, the usual. Even when we're alone in a dark room. It's infuriating. The baby cannot nurse to sleep because he gets distracted by everything.
- Pumping every 2 hours when separated, after every feed when we're together
- Motherlove "magical concoction of gross green plants" as per bottle
- Drinking lots
Any other suggestions? We're going to the beach for the weekend so I'm planning plenty of time alone in the bedroom nursing, but we need this fixed. Soon.
Any suggestions welcome. In the meantime I'll be pumping.
ps - Yes, yes, yes I know that there is nothing wrong with using some formula to tide us over until solids. But, as always, every ounce of formula is a sign to your body that it doesn't need to produce all that much milk, and since I would very much like to breastfeed ... well, practically forever, I need milk. And yes, when I am all done nursing forever I am most assuredly going to get a little cosmetic surgery done and maybe land up as a totally adorable wear-a-dress-without-alterations D cup. Bliss.
Monday, August 15, 2011
sick
It seems that it's always when things are going well that one little glitch reminds you that this is hard. I have food poisoning, caught eating out on Sunday afternoon. Cue 24 hours lying curled up in a ball too sick to get out of bed ... and you have a nursing disaster. Thankfully I have a long history of GI problems and wonderful docs, but it was still none too heartening when they suggested an immediate trip to the ER for IV fluids, oh, and pick up some formula on the way over. I skipped the ER (for now, definitely still in reserves depending on how I'm doing in a few hours) and have been raiding the freezer stash, but it's looking like a few long days of non-stop nursing/pumping to get everything back in order. At this point we have no idea if the fever is Salmonella related, or the result of a plugged duct. If only there were some breastfeeding-safe meds to treat the awful d this would be a lot easier. And of course, I hadn't really noticed until it became a problem that we have just reached 5.5 months - the pinnacle of milk demand for the baby and the point when I start to feel really over the whole nursing thing (Nursing a toddler who also eats solids is entirely different from nursing an exclusively breastfed baby, the former I could do happily do forever). On our calendar we have another 6-10 weeks before we start solids (I know, I know we are crazy fanatics about early food. All I can say is that it was fine before) and I am getting increasingly excited. Of course, the idea of a second high chair and the attendant mess being dropped directly into our friendly rodents' holes is a bit terrifying, but hopefully they will be long gone by then.
In summary: sick, pumping non-stop, still turning on the lights before walking into every room in the apartment, rather grumpy.
In summary: sick, pumping non-stop, still turning on the lights before walking into every room in the apartment, rather grumpy.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Dishes, mice, and playground chatter
I just wished my first dishes in 6 weeks. Six delightfully long weeks when I occasionally cooked, frequently cleared the table, and yet managed to not wash a single dish.
Which is also to admit that JD's leave has come and gone and we are slowly sinking back into our regular routine. We have instituted Sunday evening cooking for the week (this week baked pasta, bean burritos, wilted spinach and bbq chicken. Variety: yes. Nutrition: meagre), outsourced the laundry, and even had a cleaning team in twice (that would be 2 times total 8 years together) and thus far it is ... ok.
My work stress remains and will build in the coming weeks. We have had many long talks and the time has come for us to start to prepare for new careers/a new city/being homeowners someday/living someplace we will need a car/leaving our warm little cocoon of similarly-inclined parents. And while it is nice to have the time to prepare, a small part of me thinks that this may very well be just like IF: I wish no one had told me until I really had to deal with it.
But before we get to the big things, I have learned how to minimize the steps between light switches in our new apartment in the hopes that turning the lights on will inspire the rodents of an unusual size (thankfully not rats, just rather large mice) to flee prior to my arrival.
The baby continues to slide down on the growth charts (now 16th percentile!) but looks exceedingly robust and meets every physical benchmark despite his noticeable lack of interest in eating. Some day I may just bash the pediatrician's scale. For now, we smile and nod and politely decline any invasive tests (i.e. anything beyond the scale and fairly frequent checks for ear infections. Beats me why they are worried about ear infections, but I don't really mind and neither does the dumpling).
My neighbor confided at the playground today that she'd had a "scare" recently and it convinced her that they are not at all ready for #2. Let's hope the daggers of jealousy went unnoticed. Another acquaintance waddled by when I was running errands. Due next week! I smiled and chatted politely. My mother was ranting about someone's planned homebirth and I accidentally let slip that we might just consider that in the future if there is no mid-way option like a birthing center available. Long silence on her part. So yeah, even from where I stand with 2 adorable healthy children I know that we will someday dive back into this mess again. And in part I want to keep my blog going so that when we do I will still have that support network out there. The more obvious reason is that my readers are just incredible and I am lonely. But then I keep reading about privacy and awful things on the internets and I want to be careful about saying things here which I would not say to someone's face. Eventually someone from my family will find this blog and while I hope they will have the perspective to understand it, I do not want to deliberately hurt anyone. So I won't really be talking about couples therapy or worrying that my toddler is screaming at me because she's heard one too many fights at home or the immense fear that giving up my career will send me into an utter tailspin of depression. But it's all there somewhere and PPD really sucks.
Which is also to admit that JD's leave has come and gone and we are slowly sinking back into our regular routine. We have instituted Sunday evening cooking for the week (this week baked pasta, bean burritos, wilted spinach and bbq chicken. Variety: yes. Nutrition: meagre), outsourced the laundry, and even had a cleaning team in twice (that would be 2 times total 8 years together) and thus far it is ... ok.
My work stress remains and will build in the coming weeks. We have had many long talks and the time has come for us to start to prepare for new careers/a new city/being homeowners someday/living someplace we will need a car/leaving our warm little cocoon of similarly-inclined parents. And while it is nice to have the time to prepare, a small part of me thinks that this may very well be just like IF: I wish no one had told me until I really had to deal with it.
But before we get to the big things, I have learned how to minimize the steps between light switches in our new apartment in the hopes that turning the lights on will inspire the rodents of an unusual size (thankfully not rats, just rather large mice) to flee prior to my arrival.
The baby continues to slide down on the growth charts (now 16th percentile!) but looks exceedingly robust and meets every physical benchmark despite his noticeable lack of interest in eating. Some day I may just bash the pediatrician's scale. For now, we smile and nod and politely decline any invasive tests (i.e. anything beyond the scale and fairly frequent checks for ear infections. Beats me why they are worried about ear infections, but I don't really mind and neither does the dumpling).
My neighbor confided at the playground today that she'd had a "scare" recently and it convinced her that they are not at all ready for #2. Let's hope the daggers of jealousy went unnoticed. Another acquaintance waddled by when I was running errands. Due next week! I smiled and chatted politely. My mother was ranting about someone's planned homebirth and I accidentally let slip that we might just consider that in the future if there is no mid-way option like a birthing center available. Long silence on her part. So yeah, even from where I stand with 2 adorable healthy children I know that we will someday dive back into this mess again. And in part I want to keep my blog going so that when we do I will still have that support network out there. The more obvious reason is that my readers are just incredible and I am lonely. But then I keep reading about privacy and awful things on the internets and I want to be careful about saying things here which I would not say to someone's face. Eventually someone from my family will find this blog and while I hope they will have the perspective to understand it, I do not want to deliberately hurt anyone. So I won't really be talking about couples therapy or worrying that my toddler is screaming at me because she's heard one too many fights at home or the immense fear that giving up my career will send me into an utter tailspin of depression. But it's all there somewhere and PPD really sucks.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
bother
It seems that the summer has turned my older child feral. Instead of asking to use the restroom nowadays, the fusspot will declare loudly no matter what the setting: "I need to go pee in the grass." Speaking of toilet training, we had our worst accident ever 3 weeks ago (rivaling the peeing in the carseat at the beginning of a long drive on a very hot day such that the stench ... well ...). A very tired fusspot was sitting in a high chair at our local diner when ... I felt my feet get wet. Yay. Needless to say we exited the restaurant rather promptly, with one fusspot wrapped in my nursing tank (I had a t-shirt over it) and an entire meal left uneaten. I offered repeatedly to clean up but was shooed away by the host, who naturally earned an enormous amount of compensation for her warm smile. In summary: worst accident ever is when your 2 year old pees in a high chair in a moderately fancy restaurant before the meal is served, and where everybody knows your name. Thankfully no accidents at all since then. Moving on.
And ... the dumpling turns 5 months old today. I know that I am not one to wax eloquent about how adorable my babies are (they are) but wow. 5 months. And while he is by no means crawling, he has been fully mobile for at least the past 2 weeks. Which is to say that when you put down my 4.5 month old on the far side of the living room and wander into the kitchen ... he would eventually join you by a combination of rolling, slithering, licking, grunting. It's pretty astonishing to watch but the little guy can definitely make it across our apartment.
He remains the easiest baby ever. Perhaps a tad too easy for his own good. When I have to jump up from nursing to rescue the fusspot from her own cleverness, I tend to just set him down. Unlike the fusspot (at his age or now), he will gnaw contentedly on his hands until I return.
And when the little guy wakes up at 11 pm or 1 am (we are after all super-late night folks) it is often just easier to release him to the living room floor rather than rock him back to sleep. And he will happily roll around and chew on things until we're ready to put him back to bed. The guy also has a serious affection for licking furniture. It's not all that unusual to find him lovingly trying to consume a kitchen chair leg or the couch.
But the best part is still waking up next to this little guy every morning and having him roll over and smile at me:
And ... the dumpling turns 5 months old today. I know that I am not one to wax eloquent about how adorable my babies are (they are) but wow. 5 months. And while he is by no means crawling, he has been fully mobile for at least the past 2 weeks. Which is to say that when you put down my 4.5 month old on the far side of the living room and wander into the kitchen ... he would eventually join you by a combination of rolling, slithering, licking, grunting. It's pretty astonishing to watch but the little guy can definitely make it across our apartment.
He remains the easiest baby ever. Perhaps a tad too easy for his own good. When I have to jump up from nursing to rescue the fusspot from her own cleverness, I tend to just set him down. Unlike the fusspot (at his age or now), he will gnaw contentedly on his hands until I return.
And when the little guy wakes up at 11 pm or 1 am (we are after all super-late night folks) it is often just easier to release him to the living room floor rather than rock him back to sleep. And he will happily roll around and chew on things until we're ready to put him back to bed. The guy also has a serious affection for licking furniture. It's not all that unusual to find him lovingly trying to consume a kitchen chair leg or the couch.
But the best part is still waking up next to this little guy every morning and having him roll over and smile at me:
Friday, July 29, 2011
My blond babies
I have so many real topics that I want to write about, but the arrival of August is sending me into full-on panic mode about finishing school, finding a job, etc. The pressure is on, and some days I wilt, but I guess that is to be expected.
Thank you for your lengthy comments on my last post. I guess that I was not thinking so much about the logistics as the changes that children bring. It is weird to think that despite the fact that we just celebrated our third wedding anniversary, I only notified one of my three bridesmaids about pregnancy #2 (at that one happened to be my sister, although quite by luck a second bridesmaid did show up at the bris). I guess that it's just the speed of the changes. When we moved (last month) I got rid of so many items from my closet, but I am obviously not going to have time/money/need to replace them. And in some ways friendships are much the same. I have plenty of lovely acquaintances who I spend time with, but whenever I read a blog where someone mentions calling their friend every day to check in, or flying across the country to meet up with a lifelong friend, well ... sigh. Oh yeah, and it doesn't help that JD categorically refuses to socialize with other families, except for 2 or 3 couples (some of whom happen to be blog readers). I can drag him to a toddler birthday party, but ain't no way that man is going to make small talk.
And speaking of lovely acquaintances, one of the things which I am most deeply grateful for is the diversity of our acquaintances. I am always interested in how other women parent biracial or adopted children, but I feel like in many ways we have been able to postpone those conversations. Maybe our child is particularly clueless, maybe I am particularly tolerant of potentially inappropriate comments, but mostly I think that we just happen to live in a delightfully diverse neighborhood/circle of friends.
I love that every Chinese grandmother within a 2 mile radius recognizes my children and asks enthusiastically after them (usually not in English, so the conversations are brief).
I love that the fusspot has a dear friend with a physical disability, which she seems to have never noticed.
I love that the owner of our local dry cleaner comes out from behind the counter to tell my daughter funny stories in Chinese. And yes, I am happy to let a 50 year old man whose name I don't know hold my baby when he asks because it is so very apparent that he is watching out for our family (we live above the dry cleaner and our bus stop is in front of it, so we spend a lot of time waving to him from the window).
I love that the waiters at our favorite mediocre local sushi place come over to show me photos of their toddlers and to sing my daughter nursery rhymes in Chinese. Oh, and the free miso soup. Makes cheap sushi even better.
I love that my daughter is often the whitest child in her dance class. Definitely not the closest class, but worth the commute.
I love that we live equidistant from 2 gorgeous NYC playgrounds. At the ritzy one, the diversity can be heard in the nannies' accents. At the sun-drenched barbecue-smoke-filled one we get quite a few stares from the adults (who are far far fewer in ratio to kids than at the other playground), but nothing but affection from the children.
I love that when my friend was complaining that her daughters' first word was dada despite the utter absence of such a figure in her life, the fusspot could ask: "No dada?" to which I replied: "No, but she has 2 mamas" (and a known donor) and the fusspot muttered "Lucky" and wandered off.
I love that when waiting in line for the museum the fusspot asked me rather innocently if the security guard happened to be "my dada." It was exceedingly adorable since the 300 or so pound guy looked younger than me. Oh yeah, and he was black. But it made excellent toddler sense given that she is always lining up "Mama pasta, baby pasta; Mama shoes, baby shoes; Mama poo; baby poo." If size determines family relationship, she had a good chance of being correct.
I love that our local childrens' bookstore has a huge display celebrating gay marriage, and that the fusspot has books in at least 6 languages on her bookshelf (not that we anticipate her understanding those languages, but it is nice to know that people who love her have gifted us books close to their hearts from such different places).
And it is in part the delightful bubble of innocence surrounding race which in part seems to keep me from engaging properly with the very community that I grew up in, the religious one which defines my moral standards and provided so much support throughout my life. Although we are still under a mile from our old synagogue, our new apartment is exactly one block from a very popular synagogue (as in, you open our front door, walk to the end of the block, and up the ramp to the synagogue) and I keep considering going. And then don't. I know that this too will change. As I read more waldorf books about education and think about the "rhythm" of our home it's hard not to translate that for us into the jam-packed fall holiday schedule, and I certainly have no intention of "skipping" any of that. I guess that I hope my children will someday be able to "pass" (not necessarily with all of the negative connotations as that is often used), to be comfortable in both communities, to at least be able to choose how to identify. But here it is, shabbos eve, and I am yet again out at my in-laws preparing for a (kosher) barbecue and quick swim before sunset, rather than bathing the kids and dressing them in neatly ironed (who are we kidding - just not stained will do) outfits. I do not think that feeling comfortable in one community neccessarily means giving up the other, and I am sure that this waxing and waning will shift over time, but for now I am in part choosing to keep my children in a (large, amorphous) bubble. Just not the one I thought we'd be in.
Thank you for your lengthy comments on my last post. I guess that I was not thinking so much about the logistics as the changes that children bring. It is weird to think that despite the fact that we just celebrated our third wedding anniversary, I only notified one of my three bridesmaids about pregnancy #2 (at that one happened to be my sister, although quite by luck a second bridesmaid did show up at the bris). I guess that it's just the speed of the changes. When we moved (last month) I got rid of so many items from my closet, but I am obviously not going to have time/money/need to replace them. And in some ways friendships are much the same. I have plenty of lovely acquaintances who I spend time with, but whenever I read a blog where someone mentions calling their friend every day to check in, or flying across the country to meet up with a lifelong friend, well ... sigh. Oh yeah, and it doesn't help that JD categorically refuses to socialize with other families, except for 2 or 3 couples (some of whom happen to be blog readers). I can drag him to a toddler birthday party, but ain't no way that man is going to make small talk.
And speaking of lovely acquaintances, one of the things which I am most deeply grateful for is the diversity of our acquaintances. I am always interested in how other women parent biracial or adopted children, but I feel like in many ways we have been able to postpone those conversations. Maybe our child is particularly clueless, maybe I am particularly tolerant of potentially inappropriate comments, but mostly I think that we just happen to live in a delightfully diverse neighborhood/circle of friends.
I love that every Chinese grandmother within a 2 mile radius recognizes my children and asks enthusiastically after them (usually not in English, so the conversations are brief).
I love that the fusspot has a dear friend with a physical disability, which she seems to have never noticed.
I love that the owner of our local dry cleaner comes out from behind the counter to tell my daughter funny stories in Chinese. And yes, I am happy to let a 50 year old man whose name I don't know hold my baby when he asks because it is so very apparent that he is watching out for our family (we live above the dry cleaner and our bus stop is in front of it, so we spend a lot of time waving to him from the window).
I love that the waiters at our favorite mediocre local sushi place come over to show me photos of their toddlers and to sing my daughter nursery rhymes in Chinese. Oh, and the free miso soup. Makes cheap sushi even better.
I love that my daughter is often the whitest child in her dance class. Definitely not the closest class, but worth the commute.
I love that we live equidistant from 2 gorgeous NYC playgrounds. At the ritzy one, the diversity can be heard in the nannies' accents. At the sun-drenched barbecue-smoke-filled one we get quite a few stares from the adults (who are far far fewer in ratio to kids than at the other playground), but nothing but affection from the children.
I love that when my friend was complaining that her daughters' first word was dada despite the utter absence of such a figure in her life, the fusspot could ask: "No dada?" to which I replied: "No, but she has 2 mamas" (and a known donor) and the fusspot muttered "Lucky" and wandered off.
I love that when waiting in line for the museum the fusspot asked me rather innocently if the security guard happened to be "my dada." It was exceedingly adorable since the 300 or so pound guy looked younger than me. Oh yeah, and he was black. But it made excellent toddler sense given that she is always lining up "Mama pasta, baby pasta; Mama shoes, baby shoes; Mama poo; baby poo." If size determines family relationship, she had a good chance of being correct.
I love that our local childrens' bookstore has a huge display celebrating gay marriage, and that the fusspot has books in at least 6 languages on her bookshelf (not that we anticipate her understanding those languages, but it is nice to know that people who love her have gifted us books close to their hearts from such different places).
And it is in part the delightful bubble of innocence surrounding race which in part seems to keep me from engaging properly with the very community that I grew up in, the religious one which defines my moral standards and provided so much support throughout my life. Although we are still under a mile from our old synagogue, our new apartment is exactly one block from a very popular synagogue (as in, you open our front door, walk to the end of the block, and up the ramp to the synagogue) and I keep considering going. And then don't. I know that this too will change. As I read more waldorf books about education and think about the "rhythm" of our home it's hard not to translate that for us into the jam-packed fall holiday schedule, and I certainly have no intention of "skipping" any of that. I guess that I hope my children will someday be able to "pass" (not necessarily with all of the negative connotations as that is often used), to be comfortable in both communities, to at least be able to choose how to identify. But here it is, shabbos eve, and I am yet again out at my in-laws preparing for a (kosher) barbecue and quick swim before sunset, rather than bathing the kids and dressing them in neatly ironed (who are we kidding - just not stained will do) outfits. I do not think that feeling comfortable in one community neccessarily means giving up the other, and I am sure that this waxing and waning will shift over time, but for now I am in part choosing to keep my children in a (large, amorphous) bubble. Just not the one I thought we'd be in.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Sadly this post is not all rainbows and butterflies
although neither is it in any way about regret. I guess I am just trying to come to terms with reality, and wondering in part if my experience is a little different than other peoples'.
1. There was a Wall Stree.t Journal article last week about a woman detailing her IF struggles. In it she laments that her friends with kids did not sternly admonish her to start trying to have a baby at 26 (no idea where that magical number comes from), that she did not seize every one night stand/casual boyfriend as a possible opportunity to get pregnant, the usual lament of a single, infertile 42 year old. And reading it I was thinking about what I would say if one of my friends asked about the ideal time to have a baby (and related I'm 99% sure that the colleague I am having lunch with today is going to tell me that they are "just about ready"). And I'm really not sure that I would say 26 (by which point we'd already been trying for a little while and were certainly fully enrolled in our IF clinic). Not that I have any regrets at all, and in my case given the litany of IF problems I had I cannot imagine having anything other than eternal thanks that I both had a partner and the resources to be doing an IF work-up at 24 ...
2. Since JD is currently on leave and thus home before 11 pm, it would be quite easy for me to go out one night with friends for a drink, a movie, exploring the big city. So it came as a rather sad realization that I don't have any friends to do that with. I turns out that I do 100% of my socializing over the heads of my babies so my local friends are either working mothers who are too busy to get together or SAHMs who want to spend time with their husbands at night. My pre-baby friends? Gone. I have 2 close work colleagues but they are both guys and I'm pretty sure neither would consider going out for a drink at night with me (one because of the gf, one because of the lack of a gf). Let's put that more succintly: I live in the city that never sleeps and I don't have a single friend to go out and have a drink at 9 pm with. Or see a movie. Or go shopping. And that is because I "decided" to have kids before 30, because my college and grad school friends are still living life without schedules and naptimes.
3. Two of my close mom friends just moved to the suburbs. Since they both work full-time, they are well-aware that their lives will now consist of daycare drop-off, pick-up, bedtime routine. They are not going to meet local moms, they are not going to be able to squeeze in a 4:30 pm playtime, as we did quite happily with both of them. My best friend (who is a military wife) says she has no friends from the last 2 places she's lived that she plans to keep in touch with. I am just not sure that I can live that way.
I guess that the breaks in our routine are so few that it's just now that I am realizing the extent of the change.
1. There was a Wall Stree.t Journal article last week about a woman detailing her IF struggles. In it she laments that her friends with kids did not sternly admonish her to start trying to have a baby at 26 (no idea where that magical number comes from), that she did not seize every one night stand/casual boyfriend as a possible opportunity to get pregnant, the usual lament of a single, infertile 42 year old. And reading it I was thinking about what I would say if one of my friends asked about the ideal time to have a baby (and related I'm 99% sure that the colleague I am having lunch with today is going to tell me that they are "just about ready"). And I'm really not sure that I would say 26 (by which point we'd already been trying for a little while and were certainly fully enrolled in our IF clinic). Not that I have any regrets at all, and in my case given the litany of IF problems I had I cannot imagine having anything other than eternal thanks that I both had a partner and the resources to be doing an IF work-up at 24 ...
2. Since JD is currently on leave and thus home before 11 pm, it would be quite easy for me to go out one night with friends for a drink, a movie, exploring the big city. So it came as a rather sad realization that I don't have any friends to do that with. I turns out that I do 100% of my socializing over the heads of my babies so my local friends are either working mothers who are too busy to get together or SAHMs who want to spend time with their husbands at night. My pre-baby friends? Gone. I have 2 close work colleagues but they are both guys and I'm pretty sure neither would consider going out for a drink at night with me (one because of the gf, one because of the lack of a gf). Let's put that more succintly: I live in the city that never sleeps and I don't have a single friend to go out and have a drink at 9 pm with. Or see a movie. Or go shopping. And that is because I "decided" to have kids before 30, because my college and grad school friends are still living life without schedules and naptimes.
3. Two of my close mom friends just moved to the suburbs. Since they both work full-time, they are well-aware that their lives will now consist of daycare drop-off, pick-up, bedtime routine. They are not going to meet local moms, they are not going to be able to squeeze in a 4:30 pm playtime, as we did quite happily with both of them. My best friend (who is a military wife) says she has no friends from the last 2 places she's lived that she plans to keep in touch with. I am just not sure that I can live that way.
I guess that the breaks in our routine are so few that it's just now that I am realizing the extent of the change.
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