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.

Little Bit of This, Little Bit of That; or, 4 Months!

I hate to write a quick bullet-point post, but life has been hectic of late and I'm afraid that's all I can squeeze in right now. So here goes!

My Sweet Smudgie is four months old now. He is incredible: full of smiles and wiggles, so alert and eager to explore the world around him (especially if the piece of said world can be jammed in his drooly little mouth).

He's a wee little peanut, only 12 lbs 1 oz and 24 inches long. Definitely going to be long and lean like his papa. He had his four month shots earlier this week and was a total champ about them-- not even 30 seconds worth of crying and then he was back to flashing his huge, flirty grin at the nurse (this kid's a hit with the ladies, let me tell you). That night he was very drowsy and had some sad moments of crying, but overall he was great.

Twice a week, Smudgie is with our nanny and another little boy (who's just under two months old [ed. no, I mean two YEARS old!]). And Twice a week I criss-cross NYC: teaching a class in one borough, auditing a class with my advisor in another, fitting in a yoga class or a therapy session or errands or doctor's appointments in between. The days are so full that I don't have time to miss Smudgie too much until I see him again at night and my heart explodes. Then we only have a half hour to spend together before he goes to sleep, and I hold him close and nurse him and read to him and feel extr-super grateful that we get to spend the whole next day together.

It took some diligent effort on my part, but Smudgie is a total hero at napping in his crib. Starting at about three months, I made sure to put him down in there for at least one of his naps every day and to do whatever it took (rocking, shushing, patting, stroking, covering his face with a burp cloth--while I stood directly next to him the entire time, of course) to get him to fall asleep. If he only slept for 20 minutes, I still counted it a success so I wouldn't get discouraged and give up in desperation. I wanted him to learn to associate day-time sleep with the crib before I went back to teaching. And now, four weeks later, it's working really well! Smudgie takes three naps a day and I try very hard to make sure the first two (which are both 1 hour+) are in his crib. That gives me time to get some reading or lesson-planning or chores--or blogging--done.

Also right around 3 months we started cloth diapering him. I had bought all the diapers on sale over the summer while I was pregnant but wanted to wait until he was close to 10 pounds before using them. And then I just felt nervous about making the transition. But it only took a few days of trial and error to get the hang of it, and now it's going great! We still use sposies at night and when he's with his nanny, but the other five days of the week we are exclusively cloth. His tush looks so chubby and adorable in them, they are easy to put on and change, they don't blow-out as much as the sposies, and they are so soft and comfy. I kind of wish my undies were that delicious feeling. I also installed a diaper sprayer to our toilet water supply all by myself (with an assist from YouTube). See, motherhood does develop new skill sets!

The first day that we transitioned him he got very upset during diaper changes. He doesn't love new sensations, so I think he was just trying to process it. But the next day (and ever since) he's been fine. Our favorite of his dipes are his bumgeniuses--they are SO absorbent and fit like a dream despite being adjustable up to 35 pounds. When we have another baby, I will definitely jump into the cloth diapering faster now that I've seen how manageable it is.

Not much else is going on. Life is full of reading and writing and teaching and playing and doing laundry and pumping breastmilk and cuddling my perfect little one. I have truly never been this busy or this happy. I hope I can hold onto this feeling of deep contentment all my life--I know things will get harder (and easier!) at various points, but I want never to forget how blessed I feel right now.

And finally, what you've all been waiting for...Smudgie pic!

Mid-Month Mish Mosh; or, Names and other Items

I haven't shared Smudgie's name in this space out of respect for his privacy (and also for my anonymity-- I've met a ton of new moms in this neighborhood in the last few months and I'm the only one who has a baby with this name), so I thought I would share a few of his nicknames.

While I do occasionally still call him Smudgie, it's rare and infrequent. Most of the time, Lawyer Guy and I call him Buddy or some variation of that (Buddy Boy, Buddy Bear, Bud, Budda). Despite being a skinny little fellow, he's got some adorable leg chub, so to encourage his further weight gain I call him Chunky Monkey, Chunka-Monk, Chunky Chicken, and just plain Chunka. When he was going through his bad reflux phase we'd call him The Spit-Up King of Chicago. When he's a happy boy in the morning he's Smiles Davis and when he's soiling a bib in an hour he's Drools Verne.

At (almost) 16 weeks Smudgie can lift himself up with his arms during tummy time and can sometimes flip himself onto his back. He smiles and chats with his guys on his activity mat and mobile and beams at the monkey clock over his dressing table. He loves when LG plays games with him, loves when I bicycle his legs, and is maybe starting to notice Bella. He holds onto rattles and toys when we place them in his hands and is quite good at ripping the pacifier out of his mouth-- and once he even got it back in!

We're working on his naps-- he takes at least one in the crib every day, even though he needs a lot of soothing and rocking to get him down. His nighttime sleeping is okay--not awful, not great. He averages an early stretch of 6-8 hours and then a 4-hour stretch between night feedings. No sleep training yet for us-- he's so little I want him to get as much nourishment throughout the day as possible. Plus, my SIDS fears are somewhat allayed by his middle-of-the-night wakings.

Next week we start transitioning him into our nanny share and the following week I go back into the classroom. He'll be with the nanny (and one other toddler boy) from 8am-6pm twice a week. When I think about having two days a week to teach and read and study or get my nails done, hit up a yoga class, go shopping, or run errands, I'm excited. When I think about being away from my baby boy for 10 hours in a row, I feel sad. I suppose that's normal, right?  I'm glad he and I will still have three days a week together by ourselves in addition to the weekends as a family.

I'm not really ready for this special time to end, but I'm also very ready to start using my mind again and feeling like an independent person. Mostly I love watching Smudgie grow and change and discover the world. He is an endlessly wonderful part of my life.