welcoming newness

I wanted a new blog theme because – though there’s been so much sadness, and there ain’t nothing new about that – this is also a time of newness and possibility.

• This is my second week at home with Bram when I’m not also writing, and the difference is profound. Even with this tiny bit of space, I can see that writing my dissertation and being home with B was overwhelmingly intense. Trying to fit all the research and drafting I could into the two or three or four hours Bram was with sitters. Revising from the bedroom over the sound of dancing or kitchen play in the living room. Sending B off for bedtime rituals with J only to settle down for more work, night after night (which feels achingly impossible after being on with a baby ALL. DAY.). Wearing him through ALL of his naps so he’d sleep longer, and precariously balancing the computer on my knees, which got harder and harder to do as he grew. [Though full disclosure: I'm still wearing him through naps. Only right now, I'm doing it for the snuggles. So it's selfish.] The hardest thing of all was the feeling I could never shake that I should be doing something else. I never worked when B was awake and I was on alone with him, but I always sensed that I needed to be working, so I always felt a low grade sort of panic. Now the days stretch out before us, and they are exhausting, but they don’t scare me the same way because for the moment, my only job is mom. [This is not strictly true. I need to read my dissertation and plan my defense opening statements and do some formatting, but I'm ignoring all of that, and with an impressive degree of success.] And though I worried about what it would be like to only have this one hat on for awhile (the summer), I am finding that I love it. I feel a new freedom to just be with him. We’ll see how it feels after my defense, when the summer really just stretches out before us, but right now: I am aware of and grateful for the privilege of this tiny moment. Because it will likely never come again, not with B or with our other children. I’ll hopefully be on the tenure track. It won’t be the same. I now know that I could be a stay-at-home-parent for the duration if things were different, but I’m also okay working. I ADORE teaching, and I ADORE being at home with my kid. And I am so deeply lucky to feel fulfilled by both of these things. I hope to find a balance once I’m working full-time, and I do think that, R-1 universities aside, the professoriate lends itself to some balance. What I most hope is that J will get to do some of this with our next child (or children): that I’ll be able to carry us for awhile to give her a little space at home. It is hard, hard, hard work (as so many of you know), and I am dog tired by the day’s end. But compared to the weight of writing WHILE giving my son everything I have, this singular focus feels blissful.

• Oh, and this: I cannot thank you all enough for your communal, resounding GET A NEW CAT message. Y’all are just absurdly kind, and you get us, and we are so lucky. So I think we’re going to get a cat! I mean, that many of you can’t be wrong! :) Our vet feels strongly that N will do better with a kitten than an older cat. And he feels even more strongly that a kitten will do better with Bram because s/he will have just always grown up with an annoying being chasing her/him around, unlike an older cat who might resent the hell out of young children. So we’re leaning in that direction, though there’s a nine-month-old boy cat we’re also drawn to… Anyway, more on this soon. We might have happy news to post in the near future.

• And HUGELY: our dear friends A & C brought their second daughter into the world this week. Little Zora joins big sister Thea, and she is sweet sweet sweet. Thea asked to be with me during/after the labor (heart-melting, by the way), but she was sleeping through the whole thing, so they called me when C was pushing, and I walked in to the darling cries of born.seconds.earlier Z. I kept thinking of that Ani song when she says, “I was there to hear your bell the first time it rang, and the beauty was the beauty of everything.” It was painful because, you know, I want to do that (give birth to a baby who cries after), but it was beautiful. I brought Thea (who is three) home with me for the day so her mamas and new sister could sleep, and when we got here at 7:30, B was still resting. (Miraculously. Likely because he couldn’t sleep for awhile after I left at 4.) Since Thea was a little sleepy, I put her in bed with him. When he woke a few minutes later and rolled over to smooch me (like he does), he found her in my place! J said it was the sweet-sweetest thing. Anyway, welcome baby Zora. You are no end loved.

So, newness!

But there’s also other stuff.

• I went to the dentist yesterday because I have stress fractures in a filling (so, pain), and the hygienist asked (when looking at my medical records) if my son inherited my clotting disorder. I told her that he didn’t because my wife carried him. When I mentioned later that I’m at home with him full time, she said, “Oh, so he’s practically yours then.” So, yeah. That happened. He’s practically mine.

• In terms of wanting to give birth to a healthy baby, I’ve been letting myself fantasize about a number of things this week, and it needs to stop. When I lay down at night, or when B is napping, or when I’m washing dishes, I find myself imagining calling my dad, and hearing him answer, hearing him call me sweetheart or tell me to have a good good day. I imagine him at my graduation. I imagine seeing him proud of me, with tears in his eyes. I fantasize about being huge and pregnant and feeling the baby move inside of me. And about pushing, which is what I most wanted to do, most of all, like desperately. Desperately. I fantasize that Hades will run into the room, meowing his disgruntled old-man meow. That he’ll push his head into my mouth for kisses. I’m not sure how to stop letting these fictions in. It feels impossible to me that these things can’t happen. And I feel so peaceful and happy when I’m playing them out in my head like a movie. Maybe writing this down will help.

• Also, probably because of all the loss, I’ve been (and J has been too) obsessed lately with B’s health. Like, checking his breathing every ten minutes at night like you do with a newborn. And asking our NP to run a CBC on him. (Which she gladly obliged, and everything looks great. And by the way: Bram LOVED having his blood drawn, the weird child. He sat on my lap, and they prepped me for how to keep him steady, but he watched the whole time and never even flinched. And then he wanted to go to one of the techs after!) We’ve always been worriers on this front, but the last couple of weeks have been newly bad. So, trust. Something else to work on. And thank the gods because I was bored. ;)

• One good thing, though, is that other than the wanting to be pregnant, and to give birth to a big, breathing baby, I’m not all that sad about the fact that I probably won’t try to carry again. When I got pregnant this time,the emotions were just different than before. And I was deeply sad to be losing my NGP identity. I LOVE this role. I feel like an ambassador for NGP-hood. I think about the misunderstanding out there, about how many people believe that the only way to truly be a parent is to have a child who carries your DNA, and I think: I can help undermine that. I think that at this point, adoption would be even more profound for me than carrying to term, because then J and I would SHARE the NGP role. That sounds just mindblowingly great, doesn’t it? But of course, that requires being chosen by another birth mother. So we shall see. It could happen, right? Anyway, the peace I feel in this regard is surely nice.

• Okay, that’s all. Thanks for letting me ramble. I’m glad it’s finally spring. I’m sure I join most of you in welcoming the sunshine.

.turning over.

The snow is finally melting today, and, though it’s teased us with this prospect before, it does seem that spring is near. I am so looking forward to a new season, to new life, and to more time outside. By the end of February living in the north, I start to feel trapped by the constant deluge of snow.ice.scraping.sliding.cold.dark.days. And this winter has seen its fair share of dark days of the soul with losing Saul and then R’s dad.

I’m currently at home sitting out a rare sick day with acute mastitis (sidenote: Ouch!). I’ve never had any kind of breast problem throughout the 14 months I’ve been nursing Bram, but I awoke Thursday morning with tenderness in my right breast (which I chalked up to PMS). By 9am, though, it had grown intense, and by the time I pumped at 10am, I was really miserable. I left work early and by lunchtime was running a 102.5 degree fever while taking extra-strength motrin, so we decided to go get it checked out at urgent care. I was prescribed antibiotics and motrin and told to keep nursing, massaging, applying heat, and taking it easy. I’m supposed to go in for a recheck tomorrow. The rest of Thursday, I was out.of.it. I was delirious with the high fever, had tingling and numbness in my joints and neck, and was just beside myself with discomfort in my breast. My heart goes out to the many new mamas who experience this multiple times early on in their nursing relationship. It’s really the pits. So today I am feeling a little more like me. The fever has abated and the prescription motrin seems to be keeping a handle on my pain. Bram and I aren’t showing any reactivity to the antibiotics (a fear given his recent bout with penicillin allergies). Still, though, I can’t move any milk through the left quadrant of my right breast. It’s red, hard, and warm to the touch, which makes me think that there’s still a plugged duct(s). I really hope that I can get this worked out myself, as the idea of more aggressive treatment sounds really unpleasant (and makes me worry about keeping our nursing relationship consistent). So: Heat-Massage-Drain-Rest-Repeat.

In much happier news, how about R’s last post!?! We are so so so excited by our new Love Child. Early Days, yes, but I’m choosing cautious optimism over debilitating fear and anxiety. We just miss out on so much living because of the latter. R is at the outset of nausea and fatigue (though that could also be the byproduct of it being less than a month before she goes to committee with her dissertation). Our first appointment with our midwives’ group will be in April, and we think we’ll be able to see our beloved friend and midwife, C, before she’s out for maternity leave with her own new bundle-of-joy. We really do love our practice and are very encouraged to think that we’ll be able to birth at the low-risk hospital again! And I for one am hopeful and excited about becoming an NGP to a baby that R carries. I look forward to the many things that I missed out on because I was so locked into my own bodily experience of our pregnancy with Bram. I caught glimpses of those benefits during our time with Saul, but I am curious how those dynamics will play out for me over a lifetime of parenting.

And I would be remiss to not offer some recent photographic evidence of our toddler (Toddler!?! How did that happen?). R has had to handle all of the big news and heavy pronouncements on the blog lately, so I’m bringing some lightness!

Storytime with Bubbie is the level-best:

Bram and I handle our co-op shopping together every weekend. He’s getting really sweet about interacting with the other customers and carrying produce for me…

Bram planking with Uncle Buddy:

B still adores being worn everyday:

Bram’s snow adventures in our backyard:

And he’s up! Bram started walking at right about 13 months. It was a shy skill at first, but he’s walking more and more each day:

This is our beautiful, sweet, goofy, earnest toddler (photo credit: Aunt Kippie at the Children’s Museum):

.on parenting my better self.

I’m interrupting R’s gorgeous daily photo challenge to publish a blog post that I’ve been writing in my head since June. This is long and rambly, but it’s a reflection (of sorts) on the ways that parenthood has shaped me so far.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the crossroads between expectation and reality. I am a person who holds myself to a high (sometimes impossibly high) standard, and, in turn, I struggle with detaching from expectations (of myself and others). I am striving for a life wherein I find peace in the present, a life where I can find strength in vulnerability and imperfection. I have been gradually moving toward this center balance in recent years, but parenthood has really accelerated the pace of this work in my life. I have high ideals of my parenting, of our son, of our future family dynamic. Still, the reality of parenting is very much rooted in the daily. My future is shaped by the small choices moment by moment. That is the only real path to the overarching vision I desire. Attachment parenting has been an excellent canvas on which to learn the subtle, balanced brushstrokes of parenting. It requires of me a dynamic presence in my own reality. What works for our family may change from moment to moment and may look radically different from another family practicing a.p. with their own children.

My young adult life was very much spent in “assume crash position.” I was desperately afraid of vulnerability, of intimacy, and of success. As such, I white knuckled my way through early recovery, failed relationships, and shaky academic and career prospects. It didn’t happen all at once, but eventually,  gradually, I came into myself. I really met myself where I was and I began to heal and grow. Through this process, the world around me opened up. I became less angry, less fearful, and I was able to experience love and trust and pleasure on a whole new plane. In losing Emmett Ever, I found my desire to control come rushing back in. My beautiful, conscientiously cultivated life was reeling with the devastation of pregnancy loss. I felt upended. My already deeply broken faith in a higher power was irrevocably shattered. This is the mindset with which I went into our pregnancy with B. I felt so much fear that he, too, would be taken from us. And I felt it my mission to keep that from happening, despite my logical understanding of my powerlessness over such an event.

Still, like a phoenix, the fear with which I went into pregnancy with has had a transformative effect over me. Like a fire that ate through my body, I have been so humbly transformed. I work to revel in my vulnerability now. It’s a new skill, awkward at first, but it’s mine to own and develop. And, as an unexpected consequence of preparing for pregnancy, birth, and parenting, I found a career path in birth work that is so well-suited to my passion and advocacy for women and families.

In birthing B, and subsequently feeding him from my body, I have had the privilege of making peace with my female-(em)bodied self for the first time in my entire life. This has been a double-edged sword, as I know my physical experience (which was difficult for me to embrace initially) is something that R wanted to experience for herself. Parenthood has been a dance of surrender within our marriage. We have had to take down so many barriers that we weren’t even aware of as we’ve learned to trust ourselves and each other with these new heights of love and responsibility.

Quickly responding to B’s needs and desires has, in a sense, given me permission to meet my own needs and desires. And while they can’t always be handled on the same swift timetable that B’s needs are met, they are important and precious in their own right. Same goes for R’s needs and for the needs of our friends, family, and community. Other aspects of a.p. like babywearing and co-sleeping have helped to reshape boundaries around autonomy, sleep, and touch. Don’t get me wrong, there are still plenty of days where Bram goes to bed for the night and I can’t even stand the weight of a cat in my lap, so desperately am I craving physical space, but, for the most part, I just want R and B close to me.

Perhaps the biggest paradigm shift that I have gained from practicing a.p. is the impact of positive discipline and work-life balance on my own head space. My unrelenting desire for control manifested in a number of unhealthy coping mechanisms: compulsive over-scheduling, isolation, rage. And with hard work, I’ve been making in-roads to ridding myself of these influences in my life. Through B (and through our shared care of B) I can see the futility of this wasted time, this misused energy. And I value my time and my happiness too much for these behaviors to continue unchecked. My hope is that our children grow up without ever worrying for my contentment in the world. A big ask, maybe, but I believe it’s possible.

I’m not sure how to close, other than to say that parenting my child has allowed me to grow closer to the sense of self that I enjoy carrying with me into the world. I hope that with each of our children, this better self thrives…

rolling, laughing, running along

Life is moving along pretty sweetly.

We just passed our anniversary of making Bram (May 2nd), so this little being has been with us for over a year now.

I submitted grades last week, so I’m teaching-free for the next year, which is just: wow. My first writing deadline is June 1st, though, so there’s no time to revel in this blessed freedom. I’m working on my sex chapter now, which is a particularly intimidating one. Wish me luck.

And in even more exciting news, J ran a 5k yesterday! She’d never run a mile in her life before she carried and gave birth to this Rabbit, so this fact is especially amazing. SHE is especially amazing. She liked it so much that she’s already planning a 10k, and she’s moved her runs to 5am so as to make sure there’s time for them. My exercise-resistant, sleep-loving, already-sleep-deprived wife is preparing for a 10k, and she’s willing to get even less sleep to do it. I did not see this coming, but man am I impressed. Also, this just in: running-J is sexy.

And in even MORE exciting news, our boy rolled from back to front! And then he did it again! And then he did it again! And THEN (the next day) he laughed for about a minute straight! I’m not even sure what was so funny, but it was like he discovered he could do it, and it felt too good to stop. It was a total life-high for both J and me. I’m absolutely certain there’s no sweeter sound.

Let’s see, what else. I walked the 5k wearing B in my new woven wrap (a Storchenwiege Leo Black and White). J and B got it for me for Mother’s Day, and I love, love, love it, love the support it offers. I adored our stretch wraps until these last couple of pounds, but a fifteen-pound baby calls for woven cotton. There’s not much in the material world that makes me wish I were rich, but woven wraps seem to be a weakness. I’m sure it serves as a replacement in my mind (heart?) for breastfeeding (which I still long to do), but regardless: this boy loves to be worn, and I love to accommodate him.

Oh, and our (probable) new sitter is coming for a visit this morning. I think we’ll just sit down over tea and talk through her expectations and ours to be sure it’s a good fit. She’ll be with B on Monday and Wednesday mornings from 7:45 to 12:15, and J and I are both having a hard time with this. He’s only ever been away from us (both) for two hours one time. And though I went back to work pretty quickly after he was born, I never really went back to work. I did nearly all of my reading, prep, and grading while wearing B, or while he was with J, or while he slept at night. My visits to the coffee shop (and even my one visit to the library) have all been with-baby. So though my work just got more flexible, it’s actually going to be a lot more demanding. I can do some reading with Bram asleep on my chest, but I really can’t write that way. Writing takes a lot of focus for me. And I’m beginning to understand what Erica told me in a comment a few months back: that I need to go away to write so that I can be truly here when I’m here. I can’t do both things well at the same time, and what I’m finding is that I’ll sacrifice my work every time if it means getting to be a present mama.

So here’s the plan: I’ll ride in with J on Monday and Wednesday mornings, and I’ll work in the reading room of her college’s library (which is stunning) all morning: 4 hours each day. On Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, I’ll head to the coffee shop after dinner, giving J and B alone.together time and me 2-3 hours each night to write. I’ll do the same thing Sunday mornings from 8-10:30. And I’ll commit to reading (for work and not just blogs) for at least one hour of B’s (on.my.chest) afternoon nap each day (5 hours a week in total). This adds up to about 20 hours a week, which may not be enough, but my hope is that 20 hours of intense focus will go as far as 40 hours of pre-baby, dawdle-filled work. If what I can get done around the house in 20 baby-free minutes is any indication, I’ll make these 20 hours count. Still, I’m pretty unsettled about leaving Bram with S – though I think she’ll be amazing with him – for nine whole hours every week. Anyone have any advice for letting go of fears and trusting someone else with your little one?

Oh, and a couple of photos:

My true, true, true loves. Who knew the heart could feel this huge?

Mama, Bram, Springtime, and the Storch.

Our sweet B-Rabbit. Attentive. Curious. Beautiful.

Hope May has been sweet to all of you so far!

N.B. I just realized that I published this under J’s log-on. R fail. You all know, though, that her posts all have periods to either side of the title and mine don’t, right? Also, she’s not arrogant enough to describe her running self as “sexy.” :)

.you can call me pomo.

I’ve written on here before about the fact that TTC, pregnancy, and childbirth were strange bedfellows with my usual gender representation. I am a very masculine female. As such, there have been many aspects of pregnancy (and now breastfeeding) that were uncomfortable. My clothes had to adapt to my changing body (and male maternity clothes are pretty much out of the question, though if I had more time and energy, I think I could come up with a kick-ass line of androgynous maternity clothes!). Nearly all of the pregnancy and childbirth books that I read were geared toward a feminine heterosexual readership. The mere fact of my being pregnant made my social interactions with strangers very different from my usual way of walking through the world. And while I loved being pregnant with Bram, I am happy to get back into my usual mode of being. I’m back into almost all of my pre-pregnancy clothes (albeit, a bit more “snuggly”), and, with the exception of breastfeeding, I think that I am back to relating to the world in my particular way.

The world of parenting, though, has brought with it a slew of new gendered expectations to dismantle. Everyone assumes that because I gave birth to Bram, because I’m breastfeeding him, I must be his “mother.” And while, obviously, I am one of his mothers, I see R as his “mothering” figure. What I hate about this whole conversation, though, is how always already sexed it is. There is no existing way for me to talk about parenting Bram based on my particular strengths, weaknesses, and preferences as an individual without having that language tied to my sex and/or gender representation. For R, the parenting “shoe” fits better. She’s a feminine woman. She is every bit the traditional “maternal” figure. She is nurturing, empathetic, consummately patient, and highly attuned to Bram’s desires. She offers him routines and stability throughout each day (and I don’t think this is just because she’s home with him full-time). As he grows, I expect that she will be the parent more likely to offer reassurances for bumps and bruises, gentle discipline, and consistent boundaries.

The gendered binary that society has constructed around parenting roles would then thrust me into a father’s role, a “paternal” figure. But that’s not sufficient to describe what kind of parent I am to Bram (and our future children). It’s true that, right now, I’m the breadwinner, but that likely won’t be true even two years from now. It’s also true that I tend to be silly and fun, I like spontaneity with the baby, and I tend to get frustrated more quickly when I’m not able to “fix” the situation. I handle our finances, our car, and fixing things around the house. I will likely be the person to teach our kids how to handle these areas of their own lives. I love all of the aspects of parenting: stories, songs, snuggles, baby wearing, feeding, bathing, massage, yoga, etc., but I’m less likely than R to initiate and maintain rituals and routines over time. All of these components put me into the stereotypically “paternal” camp. But concomitant to all of this, I love to breastfeed this baby, and I will likely induce lactation in order to breastfeed future adopted babies. I love intimacy and vulnerability with my family. I want Bram to sleep in our bed once it’s safe (we don’t have an appropriate family bed right now). I offer him sweetness and kisses and soft voices. In these ways, I can be seen to also “mother” him. Bram doesn’t need a traditional mother and father. He needs two committed adults who love each other and brought him into the fold of our family because of that love. He needs to know that he’s safe, that he’s valued, and that he will always have a supportive place to turn throughout his life.

Before he was born, R and I assumed that we would go by “mama” and “mommy,” respectively. These are the terms that we each call our own mothers, so they felt the most natural to us. But now that he’s here and we’re doing this daily work, I feel drawn to a different term. I like the moniker “pomo” for myself. It feels like a hybridization of “papa” and “mom.” It’s also a nickname for postmodernism, whose relativism appeals to me in this regard. It’s a sweet little nickname. And since it’s only mine, it doesn’t come saddled with linguistic baggage that builds constraints and/or expectations into its usage.

I have some reservations in making this switch, though. I worry that, because I’m the more masculine parent, using a non-normative name will cause me to be perceived by others as a secondary parent to R’s “mama.” In some ways, I’m okay with this. I already have the biological connection, the breastfeeding relationship, and automatic legal rights. In this way, it makes all the sense in the world that we should find ways to promote R’s equality in the eyes of the world. I also worry that other parents, namely straight women, might perceive two mothers as being in competition with one another for primacy in the “mother” role. But it’s like comparing apples and asparagus. We are two very different people, occupying two unique and necessary roles, both in our marriage and our parenting. It’s why I hate it when people say “same-gender marriage” or ‘same-gender parenting.” My gender has nothing to do with my sex. Two people with the same genitalia are perfectly capable of possessing wildly diverse skill sets, interests, and desires. This variance is really important to the health and well-being of a child. It’s important to see different subject positions growing up. It’s also important to bear witness to how two different people work together to find balance and harmony. This is where the crux of the movement for the rights of gay parents should be focused. It’s not about two men, two women, or a man and a woman; it’s about two individual people working together as a team to foster the health and development of a child into a contented, capable adult.

I think we’re limiting the expertise of parents through the gendering of parental roles and terms. We’re making mothers and fathers feel like failures when they may offer their children the perfect manifestation of their particular talents. We carve out arbitrary lines whereby one parent can feel judgmental of (or encroached upon by) another parent. R and I are practicing attachment parenting, but I’ve been disappointed by the foundational heteronormativity of this parenting model. I was even more disappointed to learn about the overt homophobia of some of its main champions (namely, Dr. Sears and Jean Leidloff). AP makes the biological bond between mother and child so sacrosanct that the other parent is helpless to do anything but work to foster and emulate that bond. And while there are certain essential truths to most parenting relationships (heterosexuality usually begets a biological connection; breastfeeding usually happens with the gestational parent), these are the lines drawn by early parenting. Yet we see these roles manifest throughout the parent/child relationship long after weaning.

There’s a lot of work to do here. I know that I’m barely scratching the surface in this post. The work of writing about this is important, but the work of finding a way to live my life as an expression of these thoughts is more important. I want to be the very best “pomo” that I can be to Bram, to be the best spouse that I can be to R, and to be a strong, autonomous, androgynous woman to boot. I’ll keep pushing my tie out of the way of my breast pump at work. I won’t be afraid to go to Bram each time he cries. I’ll revel in nursing him in the middle of the night, knowing that this early time is fleeting. And I’ll look forward to the many adventures we’ll have together as a team, as a family. It’s a blessing (albeit often in disguise) to be this conscientious, this intentional, in building our lives. It’s an awesome journey.

two-month-happy

Bram still likes to be worn. A lot. And he is still the sweetest.

He also rocks it retro-style.

Here he is with the novel that inspired his name: Burger’s Daughter, Nadine Gordimer’s fictitious retelling of Bram Fischer’s life (or more accurately, the life of one of his daughters). This is the first novel I fell in love with in grad school and it’s a big part of my voice chapter. If Bram doesn’t grow up loving books, it won’t be for lack of access.

Bath time: a big big hit in our cottage. (Naked time in general is a hit; the water is just a bonus.)

Okay, so the boy isn’t in this photo – and I’m not even sure J knew I was taking it – but seriously, folks: my wife is gorgeous. I’m more in love now than ever. I can’t tell you how sexy it is to watch her grow into such an amazing parent to our son. She really blows me away.

We’ve finally started to adore floor time (a great triumph for my back). We also adore Mortimer the Moose.

Me (and Hades) after J’s first day back to work. Boy is two-person attachment parenting easier than one-person. Still, we are figuring it out. And we are so so happy, if tired.

B and I sending our best love and luck to mommy on her first day of doula training. We just know she’s going to be awesome at this new gig.

Though it was threatening at first, this has become one of my favorite-ever sights. I adore seeing my two loves connect so deeply.

Our boy at two months! He’s quickly gaining on Ramona. And he steals our hearts more each day.

leap day

It’s a lovely day here in our part of the Midwest: Cloudy but warm, in the 50s this afternoon. The light filtering in through the windows of our little cottage is tempting us out and into the day. It isn’t spring yet, but this air tells us spring’s coming. Things aren’t easy, but they’re getting there: J is feeling more peaceful, Bram is interacting more and more. He’s only had two long sleeps so far, but that’s a start. It’s a promise of more. He loves high contrast board books. He’ll sleep in the MamaRoo for twenty minutes or so twice a day, and it’s startling what you can do with twenty arms-free minutes. He can’t get enough of music – jazz, classical, folk – so we sing and dance our way through each day. He’ll be six weeks tomorrow, and in keeping with this “I heart rain, it makes the grass grow green” onesie, the boy is growing.

He must be nearing eleven pounds. He’s too long for nearly all of his zero-to-three month clothes, and for his newborn diapers. He still loves our sling carriers, but he’s spending more and more time awake and alert, his first attempts at play, which involve grabbing at or pushing away our hands, discovering his own dangling limbs, reaching for (but not clasping) rattles, and smiling when we bestow loud, loud smooches on his finally.healing cheeks. He’s busy learning about this world, a concentration you can see in his furrowed brow line.

I love how much of his life he shares with us, but I also adore watching him in his own, private world, the one we’ll never fully grasp. It’s not a lot, but he does have some autonomy. Before he came, I wondered how I’d gauge his consent: how would I know for sure if he wanted baby massage, or yoga, or kisses? But we don’t need language to read each other in these ways. And he doesn’t have to cry for me to know he doesn’t grant consent. I watch him, and I know. We ask for his permission to do things, and then we watch to see if we have it. Respecting him – both his needs and his boundaries – is a great pleasure to me. It might be one of the greatest of this whole journey. I don’t want to shelter my child from grief, or sadness, or even pain (it hurts him to digest, but I know that’s just part of it; it’s just hard to be a new person with new little organs and new, unpracticed flesh), but I pray with all of my might that he might always know respect, that he might always respect others.

I love co-parenting with J. She is a remarkable parent, and I believe we are doing well by this child. Second only to honoring my marriage, this is the strongest calling in my life, and meeting this calling is thrilling. I don’t always feel great at parenting, but I do always feel that I’m mothering him in a way that is consistent with my values, my beliefs, my intentions for my family. I believe that J and I are a great team. I listen to The Swell Season’s “In These Arms” * and believe that I was born to hold this baby, to guide him. It is more of a privilege than I can describe. When he’s grown, someday, I hope he’ll read this and think these words have been born out. If he does, I’ll believe I’ve used this life well.

* Thank you, MJB. You and your music bring us much light.

.what could have been.

I’m sitting here with a sleeping Bram in my sling. I love feeling the soft, warm weight of him against my body, and the hands-free mobility that the sling provides is a welcome relief for my arms. I thought I’d take a few minutes to write, as I’ve been struggling through some postpartum depression in recent weeks. There’s been a lot to process alongside my hormones: breastfeeding/colic troubles, sleep deprivation, cabin fever, changes to my diet, etc. I think that having Bram with us has also cast into stark relief just what it is we lost when we lost E. To know that if the dice had been thrown differently, that she could have been with us in these ways, that R could have known full-term pregnancy/birth and a breastfeeding relationship, and that I could have known myself in an NGP role, these have shown themselves as more fully realized losses to grieve. I know that postpartum depression loses a lot of power when you talk about it openly and take proactive steps to treat it, so I’ve begun to open up about where I’m at emotionally. I’ve also started taking additional EPAs and DHAs, started light therapy again (as I think the winter compounds the problem), committed myself to a more rigorous exercise regimen, and made an appointment with my therapist to talk this stuff through. I’ve noticed a significant improvement over the last three days since putting some of these changes into action. I’m hopeful that this will result in an upswing, as I don’t want to waste any of these early days with Bram locked into sadness and irritability.

In other news, Bram’s rash seems to be getting better, as does his night-sleeping. I really attribute this to taking all of the dairy out of my diet. Also, he has let us put him down for a few long day naps in the Mamaroo swing, which has been wonderful (though R and I have a hard time pulling ourselves away from watching him in order to accomplish the work we need to do). I find myself transfixed with watching him all the time. He’s just such a miracle, you know? This recent post over at Insert Metaphor has me remembering the day we conceived him. We were only three months out from losing E. It was the day after my graduation from my Master’s program. My parents had visited and just left. We’d been taking OPKs all weekend. We had only ordered one vial of sperm that cycle (the only cycle that was ever true of). R had an instinct not to ask them to send the most potent vial available (again, something we had always done), instead she wanted to leave it to chance what vial we were sent. We planned to inseminate the night we surged, but R had an instinct to wait it out until the following day, which we did. I think that if we hadn’t trusted all of her instincts about that cycle, Bram would never have come into being. I am just so very grateful to have been able to make this particular baby with R at that particular time. I feel like we were always meant to be his mamas; we just had to wait our turn to pluck his little self out of the ether.

And on a closing note, some new cute pictures of this particular Rabbit:

                                                  Bram at home in his space-pod-esque Mamaroo!

                                                         This boy LOVES his Saturday tub bath!

                              I call this his Hobbit-look. Melts my heart every time he gives me those eyes!

my favorite time of day

is the morning-time, after Bram’s last stretch of sleep, which so far ends around 9am. J lets me sleep through this feeding and diaper change, and I wake up to the light filtering in through the curtains and the sounds of my family in the next room. For a few days now, this time has come after a somewhat sleepless night, but that last stretch – from 6 or 7am to 9am – is the coziest of the whole night. Once J has changed and fed B, she brings him to me and I take my shirt and his onesie off for skin-to-skin while J goes to make breakfast. We snug together that way, or do some baby massage, or face each other in side-lying for twenty or so minutes before J returns with toast and coffee (for me) on a tray. She opens the curtains and comes back to bed, where we eat together gazing at our (usually still quietly-watchful) son.

I don’t know that there was ever any intention behind this routine, though if there was it was all J’s. Neither do I know how long it will last. What I know, though, is that it’s a sweet, and peaceful, and lovely way to start each day.

Some photographs:

How we find him in his porta-crib when we catch him before he starts to cry:

Hades and Nemesis often join us for family mornings:

This isn’t morning skin-to-skin, but it is the general (though overly-clothed) idea:

My breakfast-making hero and our dressed-again boy:

Post-morning-time alertness. How beautiful is this person?:

*Thanks for all the thoughtful advice on my last post. My plan is to respond to you all individually, but my plans fall apart these days, so if I fail at that: your encouragement means a lot.

.thoughts on waiting and preparations.

The floors are finished! Hurrah! We made it through that major project with only a few hiccups along the way (and they weren’t even Rabbit’s this time). R handled everything beautifully, as I was either working or sleeping during much of the project’s completion. She has moved every book and item of furniture on our ground floor at least twice during the last seventy-two hours. rock.star. Also, R’s family came to town today for lunch, which doubled as our Christmas celebration together. We had a very nice time, received some lovely gifts (including a really nice baby food maker), and took up a pool about Rabbit’s birth date, time, weight, and length. It’s hard to believe that we’re only five days out from the first date prediction!

I’m including some photos of the finished product (please forgive me if this is overkill; we’re very stoked):

In other preparations for Rabbit’s arrival, R has put back several weeks worth of postpartum deliciousness. It’s hard to appreciate the depth of food that she managed to get into our modest freezer:

The creepiness that is being able to see our backyard in January. We should be under a deluge of snow right now. It’s just not right:

38-weeks along and we’re still quite fond of one another ;-)

The 38-week belly. More on this below:

My body has CHANGED over the course of the last few weeks. I can barely imagine how I will continue to grow over the next two weeks if we carry to our due date. I can’t even wrap my brain around going overdue (I understand that this is a strong possibility, but I choose denial for the time being). I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to prioritize concerning my physical self postpartum. Like so many things in life, there will be decisions that need to be made concerning my body, but much of it will be left up to a concoction of circumstance, hormones, metabolism, and other elements that are just beyond my grasp of control. Preparing for parenthood feels very similar to this. I have no idea what kind of individual this baby will be. Therefore, I have no idea what kind of parents he’ll need us to be. This unknowing is compounded by having no idea who our other children will be or how they will come into our family. Will Rabbit be smart? Strong? Attractive? Will he have special needs (medical or emotional)? Will he be social or introverted? Prone to anxiety, depression, or addiction? Will he be well-adjusted? Will he have a lot of questions about his genetics? About his donor? Will that never really matter all that much to him? Will he have a stronger bond to one parent or another? And our future children; what of them? The things I don’t know fill up the floor to the sky. I could fit the things I do know into my right shoe (and even those are subject to change at a moment’s notice). There are so many decisions to be made in preparing for parenthood, but I recognize that we’ve only begun to scratch the surface. From choosing natural childbirth, breastfeeding, and cloth diapers to making choices about vaccines and diet, limiting consumer culture’s lechery, cutting back on sugar, cutting out television and video games, and figuring out how to foster a love of learning, of reading, and of art. How do we recognize and encourage innate talents, especially when they might be totally foreign to me and R (like classical music or organized sports)? How do we raise a compassionate, sensitive boy in a world that teaches men to be cutthroat and dominating? How do we instill values like feminism, equality, and generosity without giving our kids resentment against us or the morals that we support? I suppose we’ve had too much time to think about the “what-ifs” and no time yet spent in the “activity” of daily parenting.

Well Rabbit, the floors are finished, so you can make your appearance at your convenience ;-)