four months

It was four months ago yesterday that our boy (finally) slipped out of my wife’s body and into my arms. It was a year and four months yesterday that Emmett left. It’s hard to remember the people we were before Bram; it’s impossible to remember the people we were before E. I’ve wanted to parent since I was still a child myself, but even with all of that anticipation, this lived reality is so much better than I could ever have imagined. Our son gets sweeter by the day. He’s a joyful, curious creature, and watching him discover the world is like seeing it anew myself. We definitely want more kids, but right now we’re in love with the dynamic of our little family of three.

I’m thinking through a few big posts (politics this election season, attachment parenting and all this new press it’s getting), but I don’t have time to write one of them today. I thought I’d celebrate this lovely third.of.a.year, though, with a few glimpses into our lives right now, both narrative and photographic.

First the narrative:

• We’ve learned that Bram loves yogic ohms, and if he’s crying and we ohm to him – or sing his name that way – he’ll calm down almost every time. Sometimes his crying will even become controlled first, so that though he looks bewildered as to why it’s happening, he’ll stop crying and start ohming with us. It is magnificent to watch his out-of-control cry become a strong, controlled sound. Lovely to think that we might be teaching him to harness his own emotions instead of letting them take over.

• We’ve had a whirlwind weekend to round out his first four months. Dinner with our wonderful midwife/now friend, her wife, and their little girl (in the country, which it turns out is delightful!), lunch in a neighboring city with dear friends, and a wedding shower for Bram’s Aunt Laura. We kept the boy out past his bedtime both nights, but that seems to have caused me more anxiety than it has him. In fact, he slept through! the! night! last night (from 10pm to 6:30am), so maybe we’ll plan more outings soon. Having woken so well rested, we all spent the morning laying about in bed, probably the most relaxed morning we’ve had as a family of three. Then we took a family walk to visit other friends (who were nice about my whining re: the heat). We deviated from our no gluten, soy, or dairy a little this weekend, though, which seems to be catching up with Bram now in the form of an upset stomach and a little bit of rash. This afternoon has been rough, but otherwise: a triumph of a weekend. I’ve thought “this is the best weekend of my life” so many times since B was born that I think I need a new scale. Weekends used to be nice. Now they’re often things of glory.

• Finally – though I’m sure that lots of you already know this – we’ve been THRILLED to learn this week of the birth of a beautiful new baby. Congratulations and strong-baby-making to the moms over at Love Invents Us! Happy new world, sweet Monkey; happy new big-brotherhood (in the literal not the Orwellian way), Yogi! It’s such a joy to imagine the four of you together. J and I await each new photo with childlike pleasure.

Now the photographic:

A photo my mama took before our Mother’s Day brunch together. How different this Mother’s Day was from last year’s. Still, I’m thinking of all the women out there who are struggling with infertility or child loss, for whom this holiday is a crushing affair (many of whom, I know, are readers). May you find every bit of the joy we found this year in a Mother’s Day to come. And may you find peace in the meantime.

I had to send the AAUW a “work-action” shot. This was tricky for me because unlike some of their fellows, I’m neither an astronaut nor an acrobat. This photo is pretty much what my work looks like these days, so this is what I sent. I don’t expect to see it showing up in their advertisements, but it brings me pleasure to think that this is what my work looks like right now.

Oh my gosh, this little girl. I’m not sure how much her mamas would want us writing on here, and I want to respect their privacy, but I had to include this photo because we L.O.V.E. this child, and it seems that we love her about as much as she loves Baby Bug Bram. [Why didn't anyone ever tell me how much little kids adore each other?!?] Anyway, this child is bold and fearless and just full of bounding sweetness (and the perfect amount of mischief for a twenty-first-century girl). She is a total life force. B is lucky to count her among his first friends.

Our serious boy. His high, curious eyebrows. His widow’s peak. His elephant Shmuel.

Possibly my favorite new photo of my two favorite people.

Aunt Kippie is a bringer of lightness and laughter.

Bram adores his Uncle Buddy.

Snugging with Aunt Laura during her wedding shower.

Baby loves to stand. Mama loves the way baby’s naked toes stretch and squish out when he does so.

Our lazy morning.

Postscript: I recently got a comment from a woman who lost three of her four babies, full term, to Factor V Leiden (the clotting disorder I have that they think kept E from developing feet). I haven’t written her back yet because, honestly, I don’t know what to say. I read an article about Toni Morrison recently wherein she (having lost an adult son) says we shouldn’t tell grieving people we’re sorry; we should just hug them and mop their floor. I think this is just about right. Only I can’t hug this woman, or wash her floor. I can’t do anything besides hold space for this knowledge. For those little beings. For her grief, and for all that love.

 

a new world

I’ve had one of the songs from our birth mix in my head these past days, the line: “say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in.” This seems right. We spent so long preparing to bring a child into this home, but none of that preparation seems useful in this massively overwhelming moment in time. So much to feel.

Bram’s Aunt Kippie just wrote to me suggesting that I take some time each day to write so that there’s some record of these early days once they’ve slipped by. I’m not sure how coherent I can be right now, but I do want to try to record bits of this. I can’t sustain the structure of the paragraph, though, so bullet points will have to do. I’ll throw in some images, too, which should do more justice than my words to all of this.

• I am hobbled by my love of this new person. It is almost too much to bear. Sometimes I just focus on one of his parts – on his ear or his skinny legs – because to look further might break me.

• I’ve thought about the women who helped us get here a thousand times. I feel connected to each of them by an invisible thread that honors the fragility and the sanctity of life. Our birth team, the many nurses and midwives who labored with us, our beloved midwife and our doula (I’ve tried to describe these women for about ten minutes; there are no words), my wife and all of her raw strength. I caught Bram, my hands clasped in our midwife’s. I wish I could convey my love for these women, for this new world they led me to. Women who uphold other women, who gather them in their arms and walk them safely through fear, pain, and darkness. Who enter that space and just hold it day after day. I am overcome.

• Watching J in pain for so long devastated me in some substantial ways. I’ll need to write about it (in my birth story), but I’m not there yet. There was darkness before the gift of this child. Moments when I wished we’d never tried. Moments when I thought all this was evidence that I’m not meant to parent, that I don’t deserve it. Moments when I thought my persistence might cost me my wife.

• I still can’t believe he came on her day. That they share that. There are 365 days in a year, and both of my children were born on January 19th.

• Emmett and Bram share that day with Paul Cezanne (my favorite painter), Julian Barnes, Edgar Allan Poe, a much-loved Charleston friend, and Buffy Summers (we’re Joss Wedon fans around these parts, so this one is significant).

• I haven’t been gracious to our parents. I wasn’t anywhere near ready to share our boy, and after such a long labor, all I wanted was to bond with my wife and new child. My mom and J’s parents did a lot to help us, though, and their love for their grandson is clear.

• Our dearest friend C took notes throughout the labor. I’ve only been able to read them in pieces, so beautiful and uncensored are they. Seeing this through her eyes is a magical thing, and the gift of her observations unlike any other I can imagine.

• Bram is on a biliblanket for jaundice. We’ll check his numbers again tomorrow; I so hope they’ve improved. Though I know how common it is, I lost it today when J’s lactation consultant mentioned a few of the risks of jaundice.

• Bram weighed 7 pounds, 13 ounces at birth, and was 20 3/4 inches long. I forgot to include that in my last post.

• His namesakes are Bram Fischer (a South African anti-apartheid activist) and our friend Adrienne, the only person other than J, my mom, and me to see Emmett. Abram Adrien, you walk in good company.

• Here’s a slideshow of a few early photos. The labor/post-labor shots were taken by our doula. Her gifts to us are seemingly infinite.

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.thirty-six weeks.

As this week’s ticker on the side of the blog reads, “Our baby is ready to launch.” It does feel like the Rabbit is attempting to launch himself outside of my body, though not through the usual channel! He’s been a strong, kicking, wiggle worm. It’s impossible to believe that he will likely be joining us within the next four weeks.

R and I, being the somewhat ambitious women that we are, have decided to lay new hardwood floors on the ground floor of our home next week. I could take the time to explain our logic, but suffice it to say we’re very pragmatic folks, so it’s all very sensical! Additionally, R also would like to actually start her semester off by meeting with her class at least once in January. Thus, we’re really hoping that Rabbit will stay put until at least January 11th (floors finished; classes begun). Since that’s only 38 weeks and 2 days, we’ve got a pretty good chance of making it to that goal. On the flip side, though, it would be VERY nice for him to come by the end of January. I can’t imagine, as so many of our friends have lately, carrying two weeks late. It sounds exhausting and anxiety-producing. Here’s hoping for a timely Rabbit delivery!

In other news, we had a very nice Christmas yesterday with lots of indulgence. We spent the day with our dear friend, A, and her two young adult kids. We ate Chinese food and lots of dessert, watched movies, and basically did nothing else all day. It was lovely. Rabbit was performing some of his “baby tricks,” so R decided to capture it on film. You can see the video here.

Here’s hoping that all of our friends, family, and blog-folks are having relaxing, joyful holidays!

 

nearly thirty-three weeks with a gestating rabbit

My son is in there! He’ll have been there for thirty-three weeks on Monday. Whenever dance music comes on, he starts to move. I adore him.

We got this guy from my cousin L, and I’ve been calling him Sue. (I like Johnny Cash.) My mom predicted that one day soon, we’ll have to drive back some forty miles when we realize we’ve left him and Rabbit won’t stop crying.

We’ve named this fella Shmuel. He arrived yesterday care of MTB, a SUPER talented (and loving) friend of ours. I alternate snugging Shmuel and Sue. Shmuel tagged along for our maternity photo session today.

This is our clearly mistreated boy cat wearing the rabbity-eared hat that MTB sent with Shmuel. (Alternate caption: Further evidence that it’s time.)

Back in May, I told J that once it was winter again – once it had been spring, and summer, and fall – our baby would come to us. When she walked in all dusted with snow last week, I felt the nearness of his arrival.

Our SHARE Support Group’s holiday memorial service was last night. We hung this swirly purple and white glass ornament for E. (C: This sphere feels like the sea.) Seeing all those ornaments go up on two full trees was powerful/heartbreaking. J watched one man light five different candles. Five. E’s ornament came home with us; I’ll hang it in Rabbit’s room this week.

Between the blogosphere and our natural childbirth classes, we know about a trillion expecting couples. As of this evening, we’re eagerly anticipating the arrival of three overdue babies (two here in our town plus the folks over at Parenting Cricket). What a world.

Happy December, friends!

 

giving thanks

Troublesome origins aside, I adore Thanksgiving. No material gifts; just gratitude, family, and good good food. Here (in no particular order) are just a few of my reasons for giving thanks on this day.

• You people. Friends. Family. Blog friends, whom I love from afar. Your words, your care, got me through this year, and then through this past week of panic. This week in particular, some of you came and spent whole days with me when my fear got bad. Some of you introduced me to paths of less suffering. So many of you listened to my fears, my struggles, without judgment. Thank you for your generosity and your compassion. It has not gone unnoticed.

• My health. All of my labs this week came back great. That rare disease? Not in my body. It’s hard for me to perceive my body as healthy and strong, but I’ll get there again. I am devoted to getting there again. To trusting. This week revealed some wounds. Now I’m ready to heal them.

• My wife, who as I type this is working on a vegan walnut lentil loaf in the kitchen. It’s an ineffable thing, the sense that you are understood by someone. That you understand someone. I am blessed by this marriage dance.

• My mom, who’s spending her Thanksgiving here with us, helping us prepare for Rabbit. Who bought J and me Christmas Eve pajamas for the last time this year (since next year, that tradition will move on to the boy). Whose presence this year has been of tremendous comfort. Family matters. Family matters a lot.

• Emmett Ever, who was with us last Thanksgiving, and who we carry now. I’ve always loved Yeats’s idea that “nothing can be sole or whole / that has not been rent.” I just never quite understood it before our girl.

• Rabbit River. Who kept his mama and his mum up for most of the night last night. And who is nearing four pounds. And who has the sweetest energy. And who I believe I was meant to parent.

• Rabbit’s donor. I don’t think about him a lot, but he’s on my mind today. Though we may never meet him, he is our family now. And I love him for his gift to us and for his silent presence.

• Gratitude itself. And joy. And the ability (struggle though it sometimes is) to be present. And wisdom, even when it comes through painful experience. And growing pains. And surrender. And vulnerability, even when it feels like it might break you.

• The greatness that is J’s 31-week belly, and the way it peeks out from this flannel shirt.

The mobile above Rabbit’s crib. The way it dances in an apparently still room.

The stained glass full of concentric circles. Circles, which feel like life to me. Circles, which will surround our little boy in the space where he will begin his life soon.

Thank you all for reading. For being a part of our family this way. For the things you share with us. For community. Happy Thanksgiving.

 

the (mostly) highs and (few) lows of THIRTY weeks

Thirty weeks. Thirty. Weeks. Those two little words are like magic, and somehow, I never thought we’d get to say them. This week has been full.full.full, and there’s no time to properly document everything. In lieu of something thorough, then, here’s a snapshot of these past few days.

• Our shower was yesterday. Rabbit’s amazing Aunts Adrienne and Kippie (Christine) threw us a positively delightful celebration. They baked and baked, made mulled cider, gave baskets of local apples as prizes for an adorable baby photo recognition game, and made everyone feel warm and cozy and happy. A co-worker of J’s commented that it’s obvious how supported we are and how loved Rabbit River is. I could go on for hours about all the incredible baby stuff we got, and how fabulous the whole event was, but I’m not sure I could say anything more fitting than that: it was obvious how supported we are and how loved our little boy already is. If you’re reading this, and you were a part of our day yesterday (from near or afar), I thank you. You are this little boy’s village.

• One particularly amusing moment: when we opened Christine’s gift, which was a Kleen Kanteen sippy cup (seriously. impossibly cute.), a friend shouted out: “now you’ve done it. This baby will be a republican.” Hilarious. Apparently, baby’s first Kleen Kanteen is the quintessential emblem of liberalism and is thus ripe to be rebelled against. So Rabbit: if you’re reading this in sixteen years or so, please don’t become a republican. Drink out of styrofoam if you need to. Be super athletic: neither of your moms will know what to do with that. But don’t become an advocate for big money. Our little hearts couldn’t bear it. :)

• J’s mom was in town for the whole weekend, and it was incredible to see her bonding with her grandson for the first time. We’re so lucky to have her; she will be an excellent grandmom.

• We went to see a modern dance performance on Saturday night. We saw the same company’s fall performance last year, too, when I was pregnant with E. This time, Rabbit danced along. There were two pieces he seemed especially to love, and, as I watched with my hand on J’s belly, I had the thought that maybe our son will be a dancer. He certainly already has rhythm!

• We finished our first round of legal paperwork, and I’m now in possession of a parental designation form that J has to sign every six months. I know it should feel good to have it with me – I mean, it’s my only form of legal recognition – but it’s extremely painful to have to be given six months’ worth of parental rights at a time. I don’t even have to sign the document; J’s signature is the only one that matters because she’s the boy’s only legal parent. I’m having a hard time with this.

• Our dear friend Laura defended her dissertation on Thursday, and we got to celebrate with her Thursday night. We are so proud of her. Also: thanks, Laura, for proving that it can be done! Sometimes it gets the look of the impossible. :)

• I realized when we got home with all of our gifts last night that this little boy will wreak havoc on the minimalist aesthetics that I’ve spent the last decade cultivating. I know we will develop systems; J and I love a system. We already have a whole crate thing going in the basement. And I know that we won’t always live in such a tiny house. But wow: this little being already has some stuff. Post-baby minimalism won’t look the same as pre-baby minimalism, that is for sure.

• Rabbit has the hiccups a LOT. Like: every three hours or so. Our midwife tells us this is normal, that her daughter had them this often too, but J is having a hard time with it. They make her anxious, and she read about a connection with cord compression that, though not relevant at this stage, seems to be haunting her. Any reassurances would be appreciated. We can be worriers up in this house.

• I’ll get new belly shots on here soon, but know this: my wife is huge! She carries it incredibly well, but that belly is not messing around. It is, quite simply, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

 

.starting to feel real.

We will be 30 weeks this coming Monday, and the reality of bringing our son home in a few short months is beginning to sink in. Our baby shower is this Sunday. My mom is flying in from out-of-state and R’s family (mom, dad, grandmom, aunt, and cousins) will all be attending. Our dear friends C and A have generously given of their time and energy to prepare everything for the shower, and R and I are really looking forward to it!

Our eight-weeks of natural childbirth classes also wrap up next week. I’m SO glad that we’ve taken this course. I feel like R and I are going to make an amazing team in labor and I’m much less intimated by the prospect of childbirth, as I think I have a more finely tuned sense of what to expect. We were present for the birth of our friends’ daughter in June of 2010, which was a magical experience. At the time, though, I really didn’t know enough about labor and delivery to appreciate everything that was going on. Now, I feel like I’ll be able to recognize and move through each stage of labor as its own unique (albeit painful) experience.

I feel like the beginning of the third trimester was akin to getting to the top of the first big hill of a roller coaster. Now I feel like we’re falling, moving along at lightning speed. It’s not scary or unpleasant, but it feels like a pace that you really have no choice but to surrender to. There’s the shower, then Thanksgiving, a few short weeks later is winter break, and then, come the first of the year, we’ll be considered full-term. The Rabbit could pretty much come at anytime in January and be perfectly fine. And then, beyond that, I’ve no idea. We have plenty of plans and speculation, but who knows what it will be like to be new parents together. I’m just so excited to find out. And I’m really excited to figure out who this little new person is. I carry him around with me 24/7, but I feel like he’s behind a little wall beyond which I just can’t see. I sense that he’s sweet. And I think that he’ll have a big nose. But there’s so much more to know about a person than that…

 

26 weeks

Great friends. Autumnal feast.

Rabbit and a squash.

Rabbit’s mom wears combat boots.

 

happiness isn’t a warm gun

It is, however, plenty of other things:

• It is Rabbit being twenty-five weeks today. Twenty-five! How did that happen?

• It is my wife’s twenty-ninth birthday, which was yesterday. (She shares her birthday with John Lennon. Thus the reference.)

• It is celebrating GOOD, GOOD times with the same beloved friends who got you through the not.so.good times.

• It is the set of comments at the end of my last post about skin-to-skin contact. I’ve realized before what a privilege this community is, but never quite so profoundly as I did reading those comments as they rolled in over the past handful of days. The time you took to share your birth and bringing.home stories, your thoughts about narratives and realities, your beloved memories and bearable vulnerabilities. Your reassurances. Your fierce activist reminders. The intimate language with which you broke down walls and sought to comfort. Thank you. Your openness means more than you know.

• And it is photographs of these happy, happy days:

Here’s our girl cat, Nemesis. She’s quite a looker.

Here’s her brother. He’s not too shabby either.

Afternoon sun through the nursery curtains. We nailed this, didn’t we Cheri?

J might not approve of my posting a first.thing.in.the.morning photo, but come on: This creature is CUTE. This is the morning of her birthday. I made her mini-frittatas (shout out: Christina) and decaf tea-latte. My wife is anyone’s for good food in the morning.

She wanted to make her (gay rainbow) birthday cake herself. She could not be dissuaded. Here’s the batter in process!

I found candles that flame in the color of the wax. Because what’s a gay cake without gay flames?

That’s C’s sweater. It matches the gay cake, but she has a husband.

C, A, and J: Much.Loved. Cake: Super.Delicious.

From left to right: Rabbit’s mum, his mama, his Aunt Adrienne, and his Aunt Kippie. One boy, barrels of love.*

* This is right before we made C and A watch The Business of Being Born with us. Huddled around one 13” Macbook. Because we have no television, and this is our birth team, and it’s what J wanted to do for her birthday. Do we know how to party or what?!?

 

no dragons here today!

When I was growing up, my mom had this saying: Some days the dragon wins. On bad days, she would tell me this as a way of putting pain into perspective. The place you’re in sucks, this suggests, but sometimes that’s just true. You win; you lose. It’s a roller-coaster, and it isn’t personal. Some days it’s a baby dragon, she would say. That makes for a lousy day, but the pain of it doesn’t linger. Other times, it’s a big dragon, and on those days, the pain is immense. Those days last for months.

What this implies, though, is that some days the dragon doesn’t win. It also tells you to pay attention to these kinds of days when they come, to revel in them.

That’s what she taught me. Here’s what I’ve learned in the last couple of years. If you have a community that’s wonderful enough – a community whose pains you feel deeply, and whose joys you celebrate with all of your soul – you get to revel in even more of the good days. How great is that???

Our friends have had some victories lately. Small victories. Big victories. Half marathons post-cancer. New graduate programs. Adoption placements. New shoes. And then there’s that family over at Love Invents Us, who are SUPER DUPER EXPECTING (with SUPER DUPER BETA NUMBERS). I love this life. I love that – on a day that involved nothing for me aside from quiet reading and writing – I can get a phone call or check my e-mail and learn about good news. Great news, even. I love how much joy hearing about your joys brings me.

Community: How does anyone get by without it’s dragon-slaying nature?

Hippie caveat: None of this should be taken as an indication that we think negatively of dragons. We catch house flies and take them outdoors. We have a giant spider living in our mailbox, and we’ve named her Esmeralda. We love dragons, and of course we recognize their right to win sometimes.