A Year Ago Today: The Beginning of the End

Thirty Nine Weeks and Two Days, originally uploaded by Sacha Digi.

Well, really the beginning of the beginning.

I was so determined that I would hold out until the very last possible day and keep our baby in. Seems my body decided to do things differently. I was incredibly uncomfortable but had been that way for weeks and weeks. I was crying myself to sleep in pain. But still we were going to do everything we could for the well-being of our baby, and we are still doing exactly that.

My first thought when my water broke was "oh shit!" And it's amazing how much fluid can gush from one's vagina. It's not the cute, sometimes embarassing, often comical splash that happens on TV. It was a river. I waddled into the living room where M. was sleeping, thinking about how I was going to break this news to her. I have a tendency to downplay things. "Uh, honey, I kind of, well, broke my ankle..." so I decided to just say "sweetie, my water broke".

So begins the beginning. Of a labor that culminated in a birth that went exactly how we didn't want. Of parenting the most wonderful, challenging, intense little boy. Of pushing our relationship to the limits. Of learning to be parents together.

More Boy Goodness

Everyone's Favorite Bedtime Book, originally uploaded by Sacha Digi.

Birthday Present Guilt

I admit it. I love presents. I love getting them. I love giving them. With Finn's first birthday party in less than a week I'm feeling really, really guilty about the whole present thing.

Etiquette dictates that one shouldn't state "no presents" on an invitation. I realize this is done regularly so it's not some huge social faux paux, but M. and I have always been strong followers of etiquette. The reasoning is that one shouldn't dictate to their guests how they should observe any particular occasion - wedding, birthday, anniversary, etc....

Being someone who LOVES presents, I hate "no presents" because it robs me of being able to show that person a tiny bit of love. As an example, our BFF KMBKH just got married and she and her husband are having a reception and have stated "no presents". Wahhhhhhhhh...I want to show my life-long friend how much we love her and support her marriage. I want to give her a present.

At the same time gifts hit me hard in the self-esteem department. I'm not worth gifts so while I love them I often feel embarrassed by people's thoughtfulness and not worthy.

I'm so FUCKING neurotic sometimes.

I witnessed the 10 Barbie doll birthday craziness during my niece and nephew's fifth birthday. It was insane and I don't want Finn to turn into a kid who just expects presents. And while we haven't dictated "no presents" for his birthday party, it truly is the thought that counts so I bring an attitude of gratitude to any gift people bring, and hope to pass that onto our son.

I don't know how to make myself feel okay or if I'll just always feel a little anxious and unworthy about birthday party gift giving. Maybe it will feel a little better over time. One of the only ways I've found to make me feel better is we will provide favors. It's one tiny way to say "thank you".

The Cats

Our cats used to be our babies. Now we have our baby and our cats are our pets. I don't hate our cats, but they really have become, well, CATS to me. It's hard to give them the attention they used to get. Our time is spent parenting and they've lost the long evenings sitting on the couch watching television and getting lots of pets and cuddles.

M. recently told me that it takes a year for a child to adjust to a new sibling. I think that could apply to pets as well. As we approach a year with Mr. Bo Finner in our lives I have noticed a certain acceptance combined with a newfound sense of calm that has come over our girls. I guess they think the new pink kitten is okay after all. Even our Zoe Princess Kitty is starting to tolerate being around him a little bit more and Mischa has decided he might be good for getting pets from after all.

It's all part of our new normal.

There's a lot of guilt. I wish I could give the girls their old lives back and I wish they could be our babies again. And for the first time I understand why people give their animals away after having a child. Trust me, the thought has crossed my mind on more than one occasion that they might be happier in a different home.

I'm glad I stuck things out because I do still love having pets. Pets and a boy is nice.

Working

Sleeping, originally uploaded by Sacha Digi.

No time to blog but lots of thoughts about life. See you tomorrow blogosphere. In the meantime, here's my sweet, sleeping boy. I love that he'll still sleep in the sling.

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

Finn and I are bus warriors. I have it down to a science. Slim, easy to use stroller (OR our new carrier which should be here this week). Small diaper bag. Small reusable shopping bag that rolls up. Bus pass. Boy.

Ready, set, GO public transit.

Okay, it takes us a couple hours to get anything done, but we are actively saving the environment, one stinky TB infested Metro ride at a time. I mean we need a theme song and a children's cartoon to document our adventures.

Then one day you find yourself sitting at the bus stop with a group of drunk homeless men and you know them because you've been riding the bus with them. Yes, that was me and Finn a couple days ago as we waited to transfer. They didn't scare me because I deal with a lot of pretty nasty gross people in my work and have developed a pretty good sense of danger. They were very nice drunk homeless men, and I have now been affirmed by them that I am a good mother. That's almost as good as the drunk woman on the bus who told me I was lucky to have a boy because girls are nothing but trouble.

Bus wisdom. Drunk bus wisdom.

I went home and told M. about our new friends. She looked straight at me and said quite seriously.

You need to stop riding the bus.

You were meant for me and I was meant for you...

Today as I was rocking our sweet boy to sleep I was thinking about the miracle of conception and how hard we worked to become a family. I was so bitter and angry when people said that it would happen, that our baby was out there. I was on the edge of questioning my fertility, something that I had never ever expected when starting the TTC process. I didn't want our baby to be out there, I wanted our baby NOW.

Now I understand.

I cannot shake the feeling that Finn was meant for us. Every waking moment with him makes eight tries feel incredibly worth it. It makes him feel even more wonderful that we fought so hard for him to come into existence.

I have a lot of opinions about all the IVF and assisted reproduction going on. I'm not sure such a profitable industry breeds ethical behavior. Many clinics use ICSI quite casually and I'm not sure we should be creating children that may never have come into existence without the assistance of technology. Are we passing infertility onto our children and is this right? And does the industry take advantage of couples who are desperate for children, pushing them to make a decision to go to IVF earlier and earlier?

The thing I hate about this line of thinking is that the inevitable conclusion is that some people simply shouldn't have children and I really really don't believe this to be true.

In my job I see the other end. We don't create life with technology, we sustain it. We stick tubes down peoples throats and force them to breath, we pump so much fluid into their bodies that they leak out their skin. I have the same questions. Should these people be allowed to die in a more natural manner? Just because we have the technology should we be using it in this manner? Does technology breed ethical behavior or destroy it?

These are some of the reasons I am hesitant to move "up" to critical care. And I wonder how I would feel if M. and I are forced to move to more interventions when it comes to getting her pregnant. As hard as eight tries was on us, I have a sense of pride and perseverance about our decisions. We stuck to the process even when the process threatened to destroy us. We know M. will probably take more interventions, at least some pharmaceuticals and maybe more, to get pregnant. How does this fit into my ethical framework? I won't know for sure until we are facing those hard decisions.

In the meantime, I will continue to rock our hard-won boy to sleep and marvel at how incredibly perfect for us he is. Our children wait for us out there in the abyss, in the darkness, and no matter how they get to us, they ultimately complete us in ways that are unimaginable until we are holding them in our arms.

Proof We Haven't Lost Our Tight-assed Lesbian Cards

M. and I were at our fave toy store the other day and this conversation took place.

Sacha: Hey, look at this cute Playmobil set (holding up a set with a boat, fisherman and orca whale).

M.: What about it?

Sacha: It has an orca. You love orcas.

M.: Why is the orca in the boat? Is the fisherman catching the orca?

Sacha: I don't think so. We should get it. He could play with it in the bathtub.

M.: I don't want more plastic toys for the bath.

Sacha: You love orcas?

M.: I don't like anything that encourages whale watching.

Sacha: Okay.

So Finn doesn't have the cute boat with fisherman and orca.

First Birthday

M. and I have gone to our very first FIRST birthday party. It was really fun. It got me thinking about the meaning of first birthdays.

Finn doesn't know or care that he's turning one. He isn't dreaming of cake or looking forward to opening presents. His entire world is hanging out with his moms, eating and toys. So why does the first birthday feel so significant and why do people make such a big deal?

It's about survival.

I always said I'd give everything a year. A year to adjust to being parents. A year for my body to get back to normal (ha!). A year for things to even out. I didn't know how right I was. As we approach a year I'm finally starting to feel normal. Not like before, but a new normal - one that includes toys all over our house and a blue-eyed little boy who occupies our every waking minute. Our old lives are gone but the shock of our new one doesn't feel quite as earth shattering as it did when we had a tiny dependent screaming little parasitic infant that had hijacked us.

We've made it, baby! Okay, almost made it. We have a week and a half left and there is probably some remote chance that everything will blow up between now and then.

First birthdays aren't really about the kid. They're about the parents. That's why when Finn turns one we're going to go out to breakfast and enjoy each other's company, and be a family. That's why I gave M. a necklace to mark our first year of parenting. Finn will get presents and cake and moms will get the satisfaction of knowing we have gone through hell and back and we're still standing.

THAT is something to make a big fucking deal over.

Meeting fabulous peeps is, well, FABULOUS!

M. and I have been meeting some great people lately.

First we got to hang with Y&J and their quite charming little boy. I know that all parents will tell you that their child really isn't THAT charming, but he really was. As we approach toddlerhood with Finn it made me feel that we can get through it to meet such a sweetheart. Moms were great too. Plus there was at some point an offer of Top Pot donuts that ended up not materializing, but the mere indication that Top Pot donuts have passed through their lips makes me happy. The world should be divided into donut people and non-donut people. Then there are Top Pot people who are of higher ilk.

Then yesterday I got to meet some utterly lovely women from big sky country who are here trying to make a baby and brought us organic goat cheese.

Is anyone getting the feeling the only thing you need to do to worm your way into our lives is offer us food?

Finn and I had a great day hanging with these wonderful people and wished quite sincerely they didn't live a couple states away.

It's good to meet good people.

Children of War

Protester, originally uploaded by Sacha Digi.

There's a seven year old little girl down the street named Quinn and around a year ago a hand-lettered sign appeared in the window of her house reading "Stop the War". The other day I was walking by the house and started thinking about how different it must be to have a childhood where you are so acutely aware of war. My biggest concern as a young child was saving the whales, not stopping a war.

I sometimes forget we are living with a war. When I think back to the most culturally popular war, WWII, I picture sacrifice. I picture ration coupons, collecting scrap rubber and victory gardens. I imagine a population that truly goes without to support a cause. Iraq doesn't feel this way. If we didn't have friends who are directly affected by Iraq I could probably forget about it entirely. War? What war?

On March 19th it will be five years since my country invaded Iraq. M. and I did what was within our power to voice opposition at that time. We marched. We protested. We were yelled at, cussed at, flipped off, but it felt important to not stand by as our government did something we so deeply disagreed with. Now it feels futile but I don't regret standing up even in a small way.

Five years later our Attack Iraq? No! sticker has gone to the junkyard with our crap-ass Neon. We have a child born in wartime, something I had hoped to never experience. I still feel the sting of our useless protests. Will Iraq be as acute a reality to Finn as it is to our neighbor's kid down the street? I hope not but again I feel small and unimportant, incapable of turning any tide. I can only hope that it will be over sooner than later and then our country and move forward and deal with the ramifications of our government's choices.

I won't be able to mark the fifth anniversary with protest because I'll be working. I hope some of our readers will decide to voice their opposition on that day to send yet another message to end the war.

Our Beautiful Boy

Beautiful Boy, originally uploaded by Sacha Digi.

Remember a while back when we asked babycakes readers to vote for Finn in a local photo contest? It took a lot to coordinate, but we finally got the pics done and they're back.

All I can say is WOW. This picture absolutely takes my breath away.

The day we finally did the pics Finn was just miserably crabby, the worst he's been in a long time. I'm glad the pictures turned out well.

The photographer is Sindea Horste and she has more pics on her blog.

Deconstructing the Nuclear Family Paradigm

A question was posed on one of the many chatty parenting lists that I'm on about dealing with people's reactions to the revelation that your child is parented by two moms. Not the bigoted asshole reaction that many of us live in fear of, but the "oh, sorry" reaction. We all know it, the moment of horror when the person talking to you realizes that their foot is firmly entrenched in their mouth and they've made a huge assumption about your family.

This is typically followed by a story about another one of their lesbian friends who have or are trying for a child, which is meant to inform you that they really are cool with you.

It's Straight Guilt.

M. and I were talking about this issue and I offered that it was okay to reassure said person that their assumption was understandable and that you took no offense. M. took offense. She said they should feel bad about their assumption of heterosexuality and if we give them an out they won't learn to stop making that assumption.

She's right.

We don't live in the era of the nuclear family anymore. We don't all have a Ford in the driveway and a mom in an apron with dinner on the stove and a cocktail in her hand, chain smoking as she waits for her husband to return from his hard day at work. Our families are diverse and complex. Our interactions in public should reflect this reality.

Many types of families are hurt by the well meaning assumption that there is a mother and a father.

Our families. The ones with two moms. Then there are the two dads. What about kids who are adopted and have to field questions about which parent they received some random biological characteristic from? There are single mothers who decide to use donor sperm. There are single dads. Don't forget grandparents raising their grandchildren.

It's time to change the paradigm of family.

It starts with those of us who are part of a non-traditional family and the way we interact with the world. Do we send a message that it's okay to make assumptions or do we allow people to have their guilt and awkwardness, allow their transgression to sink in a little bit?

We must advocate for ourselves and for our families.

Personally, I'm done telling anyone it's okay in any way to assume that my son has a father in the picture. I will no longer say that it was an understandable mistake. I will simply inform the person that they are wrong and move on. I'm done assuaging straight guilt. That is my small bit of activism.

Text Messaging and Potty Training

M. and I have decided to embark on potty training. M. read a book called Diaper Free Before Three which advocates against child-led potty training and suggests starting before one. Sounds good so we got a potty and we've started putting Finn on it every morning. The family that potties together stays together!

This morning I had Finn's dipe off when I heard what we have termed "The pony leaving the stable" aka that little pre-poop whine. So I plopped him on his potty, he sat there and proceeded to POOP and PEE! Our big boy!

I had to text message M. our success because she's working. I jumped online and typed in "Pee AND poop on the potty the AM." then sent it. I then stared at the final text message when I noticed one small discrepancy...

I put in the WRONG PHONE NUMBER!!

Some stranger now knows that our child both PEED and POOPED this morning. Maybe I should start some sort of broadcast text message system for all Finn's accomplishments. Imagine the fun and all the different bodily functions I could tell strangers about.

11 Months

Snuggles, originally uploaded by Sacha Digi.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about where we were last year at this time compared to where we are now, and the chasm the size of the Grand Canyon that the last year feels like.

Wow.

Last year I was in pain, crying myself to sleep because my sciatica was so bad. We were scared because M. lost her job and I couldn't work anymore. We were busy with NSTs and doc appointments and ultrasounds. We were working hard to keep our boy tucked inside my abdomen as long as possible.

Now we're parents. It's hard to understand the gravity of that statement unless you have been dragged through the hell fires that adding a child to your life feels like.

Parents.

The weeks go by so fast. I know it won't be long before March 31st arrives, the day I waddle from the bedroom with fluid dripping down my legs, heavy with child as well as the knowledge that Finn was at that point inevitable.

Again, wow.

How is the boy? He is so, so good.

I have to admit that at the moment life with Finn feels a little like pure bliss. I know this could end tomorrow so M. and I are enjoying it while we can. He spends his days crawling around the house and slowly deconstructing it bit by bit. He's exploring his world and actively destroying ours all at once. He laughs at everything, everyone and sometimes nothing at all. He loves his moms and it shows. He is our joy (and pain, sunshine and rain, pump it pump it up - taking a break for an old skool moment).

One month until one, and spring, and flowers, and leaves on the trees, and newness everywhere. And cake. You can never forget birthday cake.