Not There Yet; or, Ten Months

The summer's racing by. They always do, even when life was sad and slow. Now, with a baby in the house, they go even faster. An army crawler turns to a speed-demon maniac racing about the apartment and teaching himself how to open and close all the doors (and lift the toilet seat. Need to take care of that). A week at the beach passes easy, sweet day by easy sweet day (even if very few of them are spent beachside. Less sand consumption and better naps that way). The birthday party that is soooo far in the future with plenty of time to prepare for is...gulp...six weeks from now. And we just wrote out the guest list yesterday.

He's going to be one year old soon. I am so happy for him: he tackles the world with enthusiasm and a big smile for everyone he meets. He thrives on new experiences and situations, new places and faces. He gives slobbery kisses with a wide open mouth and big, big hugs when he wakes up from his nap (always with a grin). I know his next year will be filled with wonderful discoveries and adventures-- walking! talking! learning! playing! But I am going to try to slow time down a little to soak up every bit of baby goodness until the end of September.

As wonderful as the idea of Smudgie's next year is, it's of course tinged with bittersweet emotion. I won't get into that now--plenty of time on October 4th for remembering and reminiscing. But with all the excitement and nostalgia, there's also a lot of fear.

I've seen so many blog friends cross this bridge in the last few months: from not thinking about trying, to thinking about not trying, to thinking about trying, to...

I don't want to be there yet. I don't want to go back to my life circa 2009/2010. Especially not now that I have the most incredible little boy to spend my days with. I don't want to waste a day of my time with him obsessing over positive opks or temperatures or cervical mucus.

And honestly, if I didn't worry that there's another 2 year road--or even more this time--ahead of us, I'd probably hold off on trying for another until Smudgie is two and I've finished more of my dissertation. (My proposal has been accepted and I'm just getting started on my first chapter. The end is in sight, but still a long way off).

But it's not like we have a firm TTC date set. First of all, I haven't even broached the subject with Lawyer Guy, other than that we both acknowledge we're not using any protection. He still needs more time to recover from the frustration of those two years and doesn't even want to consider getting back into sex on schedule.

Second, my cycles haven't started up again yet. I'm still nursing Smudgie regularly (five or six times a day), though we're finally going to night wean him beginning this week on the recommendation of his pediatrician. I'm hoping to continue to nurse past his birthday, though I plan to stop pumping on the days I'm away from him once I can substitute cow's milk (I love nursing but I LOATHE pumping. I am so ready to be unhooked from that thing). Will my cycles return if I'm only nursing morning and evening? If they don't, do I wean him sooner rather than later? I'd like the weaning process to happen on Smudgie's timetable, not mine, but that may not be possible.

Ideally, we'd start "trying" again after my first/next period--but a trying without timing things or planning or tracking, none of which I have the strength to handle again. We'd just give it six months (or maybe a year, depending on when we began and how our emotions are handling things) of low-planning conception efforts and at some point before Smudgie's second birthday, if nothing's working again, we'll go back to the RE for round two.

I write it out like that and it seems so reasonable and sane. I know it won't feel that way once I'm living it. The fear will return, the impatience, the stress. The jealousy.

But also, I hope, the gratitude and wonder that we got a miracle once and he's still ours to keep.

He's ten-and-a-half months old. Isn't he the cutest?

Baby on the Go; or, Mama on the Move

When were struggling with IF, I often felt like I was walking on a treadmill while the world flew past me-- every one racing along and me stuck in one place. And now that I measure the months by Smudgie's smiles (and laughter and shrieks and dirty diapers), it feels the opposite. Time is flying so quickly I can hardly catch my breath.

Smudgie is eight months old now-- he'll be nine months in about 10 days. And he is a bundle of wild, adventurous, wiggly, sweet boyish energy. He crawls like he's doing a variation of the worm-- arms out and straight, belly and butt up, lean forward, flop down and repeat the process. But my little inchworm manages to cover some ground! If he spots certain enticing treasures (Bella's disgusting rubber ball or the cordless phone, primarily) he books it like he's doing the butterfly across a pool. He's also been spending some time in actual pools and he just loves them! He is so happy when he gets a chance to kick and splash in the water, whether he's in his little bathtub or a wading pool or being held by Daddy in a big pool. I think we've got a future swimmer on our hands.

He had his first trips in the last few months, too-- a flight to Chicago for a family wedding over Memorial Day weekend and weekend nights at Grandparents' houses (with mom and dad. We still haven't felt comfortable enough to leave him for a full night out). Smudgie does not like going to sleep in a strange place, and both in Chicago and last weekend out in the Hamptons he completely refused his afternoon nap, only falling asleep at night when his exhausted little frame couldn't tolerate another waking moment. But once he fell asleep once in the strange crib he was able to do it again the following day with much less fanfare. We're hoping this bodes well for our upcoming family trip to the Outer Banks-- we'll be renting a place for a week which should give us time to settle into a routine and not sacrifice too many naps and nights.

While Smudgie is working had to cross a room, I've been trying to tackle (slightly) longer distances, both physical and mental. In the spring I joined a local mom's running club. We trained for a 5k, I ran it in May, and loved it! I've never enjoyed running, but the camaraderie, the chance to be outside, and the physical challenge has all been just what I needed right now. I'm going to run another 5k later this summer and hope to to a 10k in the fall (more races and further distances after that would be great, but I'm trying to take it one goal at a time and enjoy the here and now). It feels so wonderful to have a physical goal that is purely, selfishly, 100% for myself. I'm not trying to lose weight. I'm not trying to make my body a perfectly hospitable place for a baby. I'm just trying to run faster and for longer distances to see if I can do it. It's great.

I'm also working on my dissertation proposal. After a semester of reading and teaching, I'm determined to have my proposal approved by the end of the summer and to start writing my first chapter. I've already received feedback from my advisor on one draft, which she thought was approvable as is but could be made more enticing for fellowship applications (so back to the editing room I go). It's hard for me to believe, but after six years in school, an end is in sight. Very, very far away still-- quite at the line of the horizon. But I am getting there.

I'll leave you with what I know the people want: Smudgie pics! This was his 8-month shot. He's a laughing, smiling, squealing boy. He loves people and Bella and daddy and splashing and broccoli and his mama. And I love him!

Please Ignore...; or, Infertility Revisited

You know that voice that whispers to women trudging through infertility, "Maybe they're right"? The one that wonders if maybe she is too self-focused. Maybe she's obsessed with what she can't have instead of appreciating what she does. That maybe there are worse fates and worse pain and it's self-indulgent to elevate her struggle to their level. That maybe she's lost perspective and will come to regret the time "wasted" feeling sad all those years. That maybe she's just an unhappy person fixating on a baby as the solution to all her problems, and once (if) she gets that baby there will be something else to focus on as the source of future happiness-- a job, more money, a house, her body.

Was it only me who heard that voice? On the chance that one other person has felt this way and asked herself these questions, I'm here to say: ignore that voice. It's a liar.

My worst day as a mom is 100% better than my best day with infertility. Which is not to minimize the difficulty of parenting a baby. Yes, I am sometimes frustrated, often tired, always stressed, frequently harried, and occasionally bored. But underneath whatever momentary storm is shaking the emotional trees, there's a firm, steady bedrock of contentment keeping those roots firmly in place (and inspiring cheesy botanical metaphors, apparently).

I am happy. Not only happy all of the time. But ultimately and essentially happy.

I used to be sad. Not only sad all of the time. But ultimately and essentially sad.

One day your infertility journey will be over, whether through the birth of your child, through adoption, or through the decision to embrace a childfree life with your partner. There is an end in store. And you will rediscover that happy person you used to know, the one who seemed to vanish in the years of struggling. You'll sit down with her like the best of old friends, the kind who can pick up conversations after years apart without a break or pause.

You'll realize that you weren't selfish, obsessed, or broken. Infertility was all of those things. You were just holding on for the ride.

Weighed and Found Wanting?; or, 6 Months!

I haven't written much about breastfeeding for a couple reasons, primarily because it's gone pretty well, so it didn't seem like a very interesting topic for discussion. A series of posts detailing the ways breastfeeding was a success for me just didn't seem like must-read blogging. So here we are, six months into this whole mommyhood thing and this is my first real feeding post.

I feel very lucky--particularly after reading so many reports of how differently it could have gone--that Smudgie and I had such an easy time of it. No real pain beyond those first two weeks or so, no supply issues, a great latch right from the beginning. We had pretty much the dream breastfeeding relationship. Smudgie was exclusively breastfed up until we started solids this week. And while I choose not to talk about or write about it much (partially because I realize how lucky we are and don't want to seem smug), I feel damn proud of myself. Middle-of-the-night feedings, constant nursing, pumping when away, and wearing only easily accessible outfits for the last six months--I've done it all to sustain him in the way that feels healthiest and the most right to me.

This past week, though, Smudgie had his six week checkup and we got an (mildly) unpleasant surprise. He's always been a teeny little dude, but his weight gain curve is leveling a bit and he dropped from the 5th percentile to the 3rd for weight (he's more for length and head circumference). His doctor did not suggest that this was due to breastfeeding, that it's a sign of anything wrong, or that I need to switch to formula. She encouraged us to begin solids feedings right away (which we have) and to bring him in for a weight check in a month or so and see where we are then.

But I can't help feeling guilty. Have I doomed my son to shrimpitude thanks to my egotistical desire to solely breastfeed? Is he truly healthy? Rationally I know the answers to these questions, but it's hard not to feel like I'm failing him when I learn that he's so tiny.

Despite his small size (he can still wear some of his 3 month clothes), Smudgie is doing great in all other respects:

- Smudgie rolls eagerly in both directions. He now flips instantly to his belly as soon as I lay him in the crib, and seems to sleep better that way.

- He smiles, squeals, giggles, grins, and belly laughs at new faces, familiar friends, and all our little games.

- He naps about 4 hours a day in his crib (over two or thee naps) and wakes once in the night (over a 12 hour period) to nurse. Incidentally, I am so glad I continued with that feeding, despite reading that he didn't need it any more and I could drop it without a problem. His pedi confirmed that with his weight being so low, continuing the night time feeds makes sense. Score one for mom's intuition!

- He looooooves to stand and can hold himself up like that with no external support save his own grip on my fingers (and quite a grip he has).

- He plays attentively with favorite toys, observing them from multiple angles, dropping them, moving them around, passing them between hands, and (of course) sticking them in his mouth.

- He recognizes Bella! He smiles ear to ear when he sees her and is quite fond of grabbing her beard fur (we're working on this one).

- He's a big fan of books, following my finger on the words, examining the pictures with rapt attention, and trying to stick them in his mouth.

- He's all about his exersaucer--his little legs kick and flail crazily as he plays with the toys.

- He loves music, whether it's me singing him show tunes while I change him or the classical music station on the radio or the first sing-along I brought him to (he shrieked happily at the musicians the whole time).

- Smudgie responds to his name now and loves playing imitative sound games (repeating ba-ba-ba back and forth to each other and so on) and peekabo.

- He also loves his bath time. He starts kicking his legs emphatically before he's lowered in the water. Once he's in there, he's all about splashing, chewing on the washcloth or his bath toys, and smiling at mommy and daddy. He doesn't mind at all when he gets water in his face. He can be about ready to scream with hunger, but show him the bathtub and he's all smiles.

- He's started noticing other babies, smiling at them in church or at our playgroup. He's still a massive flirt, as well, giving coy smiles to women (while basically ignoring all men except his daddy).

Smudgie still has his challenging days here and there. But overall, he is a delight--the cutest, sweetest, silliest, most fun, most wonderful little person I can imagine. Gosh, I am so lucky to have him!

How Things Should End; or, Self-Definitions [edited]

Before Smudgie was born, I thought I knew how this story was going to end. I had that final post all planned out well into my third trimester: a picture of a baby, the title "Paradise," an offering of thanks to those who followed my story, the words "The End."

A little grandiose? Probably. But it felt fitting. This blog was the story of my journey to have a baby and I always thought it should end with that baby in my arms.

But when Smudgie was born that no longer felt right. Those who had followed me, cheering me on for years, deserved a little more of this special boy than that. And perhaps my understanding of what my story had always been changed: not the journey to this baby, which was special and complete. But the story of my experience with infertility and loss--which is most certainly not complete.

So I continue (somewhat haphazardly) to blog. While parenting. After infertility. (See where I'm going with this?)

But it's not truly "parenting after infertility." Our infertility doesn't feel over and done with but rather gloriously halted for a happy breath. And so this blog, too, as you may have noticed, is catching its breath, pausing for a space in the parenting bubble before getting back to the infertility plains, where hopes rise and crash, where expectations and dreams twist and change.

Or maybe it's not that at all. Maybe, strangely, I have simply discovered that while infertility was something I needed to process, to write about, parenting is something I simply want to live. I guess that's how I know I'm an infertility blogger-- the stories that engaged me, the posts I crafted in my head for days before typing them out, were always stories of loss, not triumph. Parenting is a rich, wonderful waterfall of mingled exhilaration and fear and discovery and tedium that certainly deserves its chroniclers. I just don't think I'm one of them.

[edited: I guess I got a little too poetic for my own good. This isn't goodbye, certainly not. Just an explanation of where I see myself in light of the recent ALI community brouhaha. And an explanation of why my blog is the way it is: quiet now, likely more talkative in the future.]

Dream Houses; or, Sublimation

*WARNING-- To my friends struggling to conceive Baby #1: Don't read this unless you're in a good place*

I've been a bit of a mess the last few days: edgy, irritable, tense, twitchy. A lot of it boils down to a very New York concern that's occupying much of the "worry space" I used to reserve for TTC. Yes, I am talking about real estate.

I stop at every realtor's office in our neighborhood and scan the listings of condos and coops for sale. I trawl through the New York Times real estate webpage. I work out hypothetical budgets on online mortgage calculators, trying to figure out how much we can afford if we sell our current apartment for X or how much we'll need to save to have a down payment of Y.

Oh, did I mention that we're not moving? We have a two bedroom. It's just the right size, just the right location, just the right monthly cost. We're really happy here. We don't want to leave.

But I've become obsessed with trying to figure out how we'll be able to afford a larger place in a few years' time. Which neighborhoods I'd be willing to live in. I start to worry that we'll miss out on IT--the perfect place to raise our family, in just the right spot at just the right price.

Meanwhile, I have no idea where I'll be working when I finish my degree. I've always known it makes no sense for us to buy another apartment until I get a job and we know where I'm commuting to. I've just fallen so in love with life in this happy place, with my happy mama-to-a-Brooklyn-baby existence, and I want to do whatever I can to prolong it. I worry about my life not taking the shape I dream it will.

I suspect I'm worrying about apartments instead of about my uterus. When I lift the covers off this real estate obsession and peek at what's underneath, I start wondering about how much time we'll have to save or enjoy life here before we "have" to move. Which means before I have another baby. And I have no way of answering that question because I have no idea when we'll have another baby or how we'll conceive said baby. I don't believe I have any control over that. (The more I look into New York City real estate prices, the less ability I seem to have over that, as well).

Oh, did I mention I took a pregnancy test the other week? I haven't had my period yet, but I was feeling off and there was a faint possibility that could be it and I had a test sitting in the bathroom, so I took it. And I sat there watching it change with my heart in my throat. Wanting to NOT be pregnant. Wanting to not have to move, not have to take time away from my precious boy, not have to worry about miscarriages again. Wanting to just be in this happy place where I've found myself.

I got my wish. False alarm. I felt guilty for the relief. I worried I will one day look back on that morning and hate myself for feeling relieved.

I want to finish my dissertation. (Heck, I want to *start* my dissertation). I want to live here in this lovely place and take my bubba to swim classes and music classes and the park and playdates with his friends. I want to soak up every drop of firstborn-baby goodness. If I could be one of those women who thinks to herself, "I'd like to get pregnant in April 2000-whatever" and have it come true, I would most likely not be thinking about conceiving again for a few years.

But I'm not one of those women. And I one day want to have another baby. I want to have another baby without trying to have another baby. I never want to look at another basel body thermometer again. Or another CBEFM test strip. I'd like to avoid more trips to that sterile, glassy, eighth-floor doctor's office, if I possibly can.

What will happen? How will our family grow? Will our family grow? How can I envision a future that feels so out of my grasp? How can I let go of my need to envision it in order to love this life I'm so lucky to have found? (And I do love it, so very much and so very much of the time).

How can I stop researching real estate?

How Are Babies Made?; or, Putting Money Where Mouths Are

Here's an amazing project that I recently learned about: a new kind of "where did I come from?" book that's inclusive of all kinds of families and all kinds of ways families come into being. I'm not affiliated with the people developing this at all, but I think it's a great project that deserves our support.

Whatever stage we're at in our family building, I'm pretty sure that gaining wider acceptance for families created through adoption, donation, and ART is a worthy goal.