Dear Chipmunk

We send our daughter emails on a regular basis.  We'll let her know about the account and her password when she turns 18.  Today, I sent her the email below, and wanted to share it with you.

Dear Chipmunk,

I'm assuming that 15 years from now we'll be looking back on this week as a trying time for America.  It certainly is right now.  I woke up Wednesday morning feeling like the rug had been ripped form underneath me.  My liberal naive self always thought that most people were inherently good and strove to be good on the outside.  Maybe they didn't have enough education, or enough life experience to really key in to empathy, but they wanted to be good.  I don't know that I believe that today.  Donald Trump won the election.  A man who has said and done horrible things.  He has avowed misogyny, xenophobia, racism, and hate.  He has swindled small businesses from their well being simply by being a dick.  The American people condoned those behaviors on Tuesday by electing him president.  My heart is sick over it.

Here's the rub. You are biracial.  I am not.  Your dad is a minority.  I am not.  I may be a woman, but I still have privilege and it's my job to use it.  At mass this week, Father Steve told us not to be chicken little.  We all have work to do, and he's right.  My job is to set an example for you and teach you to be a good person.  I will stand up for you, your dad, and others whenever I can.  I'm not entirely sure what that looks like right now, but I hope that by the time you are reading this you can tell me I'm doing a good job.  I'm not going to lie, I'm scared.  I'm an introvert and I hate confrontation.  It makes for an interesting combo.

On Tuesday morning, election day, you and I sent out an optimistic tweet. It's gotten over a thousand likes and hundreds of retweets (which is more than my neglected little twitter account has ever seen). People were inspired by your shirt and your smile.  Remember this, my girl.  You CAN be anything you want to be.  If that glass ceiling hasn't shattered by the time you're 18, shame on us, but that means your generation has work to do too.  Something tells me there will always be work to do.

We are a family that believes in social justice, Chipmunk. We need to call out hate wherever we see it.  Complacency is not okay.  I've done too much of that, and it's wrong. I will do better and so will you.

Driveway Happies

"Heart!" she commands, dictating to me with a chunky stick of chalk clenched in her tiny fist.
"Heart," I repeat, connecting two curved lines on the gray concrete.
Scrape Scrape as she attempts to copy my drawing by making two quick straight lines on top of my curved ones.
"Heart!" she hollers again.
"Okay!  How about a blue one this time?"
Scrape Scrape. She tries again.
"Tar!" she giggles with a mischievous grin.
"Star," I giggle back.  "Here's a yellow star.  You like those."
Her delicate eyebrows bunch up into a fledgling furrow, wheels turning.
"Heart?"
We're back to the easy stuff.  She plants a kiss on my cheek and we admire our handiwork, rooted on driveway, hearts among the stars.

Little Moments

"They" say to cherish every moment.

"They" probably have no idea what it's like to raise a child that was longed for, prayed for, and struggled for.  "They" probably planned to raise multiple children.  "They" weren't constantly reminded that this was it.  That this would be the only chance to feel belly kicks, gaze into trusting infant eyes, watch a bald spot fill in, wrangle a first set of pigtails, nuzzle a clean little noggin, or dry a fresh set of tears.

Every day she needs me a little bit differently.  What was once a need for life and sustenance is now a need for security, validation, and love.  She rolled away, then crawled away, then walked, and now she runs.  She's always looking back over her shoulder.  Double checking.  Is mama still there?  She will run back for a hug.  A tight squeeze and a sloppy kiss with a big "Mwah!" at the end.

Cherishing every moment is easy.  The hard part is letting go of that hug and remembering that your arms are still open for whatever comes next.

Catchin' Up

Oh I owe you all such a huge amount of info and I'm so so sorry.

First of all, we won the video contest.  Not only did we win, we blew the other contestants out of the water.  We had over 2700 votes.  As much as I'd like to think that it was all our Facebook campaign, grandma's warriors, and half of South Korea who made that happen, I know that my blog friends were out there voting en masse and we are truly grateful.  I can tell all of you that this experience was so moving.  People came out of the woodwork to tell me about their experiences with infertility - people who I had no idea had struggles.  The most awesome thing, though, were the people who told me that they had a cousin/sister/friend who was having trouble conceiving and instead of telling that person to relax/stand on their head/adopt/have more sex they encouraged them to see a physician.  I think we all know how much a little acknowledgement can go a long way.

On the life front, I've been busy busy with work.  We are also contemplating moving to a small rental house we own to try to save up a down payment for what we call our "grown-up house."  Yes we are in our mid-to-late 30s and we talk about our "grown-up-house."  This move would put us much closer to my office (we're talking an hour + commute down to about 10 minutes), but it would mean uprooting the Chipmunk from her awesome daycare, pediatrician, home, etc.  It's a big decision, but something I think we need to do.  We've been strapped with 2 underwater homes for almost 5 years and it's getting OLD!

On the Chipmunk front, she's as spunky as ever.  She thinks she can run, she loves to dance, music is her happy place, hugs are her bread and butter, and she's as darling as ever.  She weaned herself about two weeks after her first birthday.  She was down to about two nursing sessions a day at that point.  I had gone out of town for a couple of nights and J was giving her expressed milk during those nursing times.  The first night I came back, she nursed no problem.  The next night she pushed me away and hasn't asked since.  My body is still freaking out.  I have redness and acne like a 13 year old boy, my hair is a curly/wavy/straight nightmare, my weight is all over the place, I'm starving all the time for some reason, the bloating... OH THE BLOATING.  I'm having a hard time with body image right now, let me tell you.  So I thought I'd go home to my mom's for Christmas.  I'm sure many of you can relate to a mom that isn't all that supportive of body love when you aren't looking your best.  Dread ensues.

Happy holidays to you all and here's to a rockin' 2015!

My favorite shot from her one year photo shoot.  She was in full on tantrum mode.

Why I Can't Make Mom Friends

Being an introvert makes it hard enough to make friends.  Be an infertile introvert makes it nearly impossible to make mom friends.  There's a part of me that doesn't want to make mom friends. The infertile in me screams, "Why should your status as a mother define the kinds of friends you make?"  She's not off the mark, but the fact of the matter is, Chipmunk needs me to have mom friends.  She needs me to make friends with moms who have kids her age.  I need to be able to talk to another woman who is going through the same stuff I am right now with her toddler.  Since it took me so damned long to have kids, most of my friends have kids in elementary school.  I need to diversify my village.

Yet, the infertile makes diversification a continued challenge.  J and I took the day off work today to have family time.  The place was full of stay at home moms in their best Lululemon, with pods of strollers that looked like a convention of high school mean girls turned 20-somethings.  J was the only dude in the place and we were the only set of parents.  We are so dang thankful for our family time and we can't get enough of it, so we do crazy things like take time off of work to take our kid to a children's museum.  Anywho, Chipmunk was having a hard time warming up what with all the kids running around trying to take things out of her hands while their moms played on their phones.  So we found this little room that was just for toddlers and settled in there for a bit.  There were two Lululemon Ladies and their kids already in there playing, but it was much quieter than in the general play area. While we were trying to field the oldest of their broods taking things from Chipmunk's hands, we overheard the following gems:

LL1:  "So do you have a birth spacing plan?"
LL2: "Well my sister and I were 2 years and 10 months apart.  So when he is 2 I will get pregnant again because I think that's an optimal spacing."
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LL1: "I just feel like no one respected my birth plan.  I had to wait 10 minutes see her and just didn't feel like we got enough bonding time at that optimal period, ya know?"
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LL2: "And my next one will be a sweet little girl that I can cuddle with."
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LL2: "It's just too much to be a mom full time.  I mean, I can't even paint anymore."

I was trying not to be judgey, really I was.  I know every woman's experience is her own, but there was no way I could have had any sort of a conversation with these women.  Everything I heard was so contrary to my experience of motherhood that I couldn't see myself commiserating with them, which was obviously what they were doing with each other.  They used the term "birth spacing plan" like it was an actual thing.  A thing that I evidently have no concept of.  Birth plan?  Hilarious.  I still can't tell Chipmunk's birth story without crying.  I hallucinated through parts of her delivery, vomited multiple times, feared for her life, and didn't hold her for a couple of hours. I wouldn't even be able to tell this woman my experience because I would be thinking about all the women I know who had babies in the NICU or didn't get to take babies home ever.  Hoping for a girl?  Don't get me started.  And I would gladly give up my hobbies to stay at home and be a mom full time.  Hell, I gave up my hobbies to work full time and be a mom.  Fuck painting!  And I STILL think my life is awesome!

I took solace in the moment when Chipmunk gave them one of her world famous, soul searching stares.  She has this way of looking right into the center of your being.  It's a little unsettling and I love it.  She was staring them down, pulled her pacifier out and held it in her little hand for effect, and they told me how "wise" she looked.  I'd like to think she was trying to wise them up telepathically.

I didn't say anything to J in the moment, but I knew I wasn't off the mark when we walked out of the room and J muttered to me, "I don't think we'll ever be able to be friends with normal people."  I said, "Let's not say 'normal people.'  How about 'Fertiles?'"

We settled on Birthers. Liberal backhanding at its finest.

Pride

At just shy of her first birthday, I have had my first true moment of pride for my little girl.  It wasn't her first steps or her first word.  It was a show of actual kindness from our wee little one.

Since she was tiny, we felt there was something special about her.  We thought there was a particular kindness about her and we thought that seeing that in a baby made us a little nuts. But then we started getting comments from her teachers in the infant room.  She would try to rock the smaller babies when they were crying.   In the toddler room, there have been some kids who are specifically set down to play with her when they are having a rough drop off, because their parents know she will help them calm down.  Today, our suspicions were confirmed.  This girl has a gentle, kind, compassionate soul, and we are not nuts.

A former infant classmate just moved up to her classroom.  He's having a rough go of it.  He was crying and crying and crying when Chipmunk came up and sat in front of him.  Her teachers told us that she stared at him intently as he continued to cry.  Then she grabbed his little face and smacked one of her big, fat, completely unhygienic open mouthed kisses on his cheek.  That quieted him down.  Then she just sat with him, forehead to forehead for a bit.  Apparently when she felt her deed was done, she got up and walked away, off to do something else.

I can't get enough of this sweet girl.  I just can't.

And on another note, I still don't have a date for the contest voting and it's making me NUTS!

Okay, Okay I'll Spill!

I wouldn't want Mel endlessly hitting refresh for days on end.

J and I entered the Heart to Heart video essay contest.  We thought our video was pretty neat, but some of last year's finalist videos looked pretty professionally done.  So we thought it would be great if it panned out, but if not - we still had a good time putting it together.  Over the weekend we received word that WE ARE PART OF THE TOP FIVE FINALISTS!!!!

We are so psyched.  I don't have all of the details yet, but the winner (and by winner I mean, your kid gets a $10,000 529 plan) is chosen by online votes.  You can vote once a day and I will need all y'all's help!!!!  The voting period will start some time in mid October and will run for two weeks.

I think things are about to get pretty un-anonymous around here.

#MicroblogMondays Toddlerdom

I was watching our wee one feed her snack to our dog.  She was holding a little piece of apple between her tiny fingers and saying, "More?"  in her tiny little voice while Scout cautiously nibbled.  "You are such a toddler now, little bits," I marveled.  "Is that a code for being a little bit of a jerk?" J asked?

Not really, but I get what he means.  Poor guy doesn't know how to speak flailing toddler.

Do Re Mi

We all have our hangups on the biological child quest.  For me, it was music.  I'm a vocalist and so is my mother.  My sister plays flute.  Most of my cousins, aunts, and uncles on my mom's side are musicians.  I even have a cousin on Broadway.  So when we were facing our last IVF cycle with very little hope, the biggest sentence that could stick in my throat was, "What if I never have a child to share music with?"

One of the biggest joys of parenting the Chipmunk has been the very clear realization that she LOVES music.  She throws her fingers up in the air and "sparkles" them when she wants to sing "Twinkle Twinkle."  If you bust into "Itsy Bitsy Spider" or "If You're Happy and You Know It" she knows the difference and does the appropriate choreography.  When I practice at home, she "sings" along.  I don't care if she has perfect pitch or sings like... well... her father.  It's clear that Chipmunk and I will be able to share a love of music.

This past weekend that became even more clear.  I was singing at a benefit for my office.  It was an outdoor thing with a band and food trucks and we brought her along.  She was a little fearful of the band at first.  She hadn't really seen a live band before. Instruments at church usually consist of a piano and maybe a guitar.  This was new.  When I went on stage, J brought her near the front, crouched down, and helped her to stand up in front of him.  When I started singing, neither me nor most of the band could keep our eyes off of her.  She was LEAPING up and down while J held on to her.  She was laughing and hollering and singing along.  There was so much joy in that little girl in that moment.  I felt so much peace and happiness.  It was amazing.

Little Boxes

Parenting has opened my eyes to this strange desire that grown ups have to fit their lives and their children's lives into tiny little boxes.  Are you an attachment parent or not?  Do you co-sleep or not?  Breast or bottle?  Soccer or ballet?  SUV or mini-van?  I find myself wanting to jump up and down on all of the little boxes and smoosh them to smithereens.  Infertility totally taught me not to sweat the small stuff and let me tell you, the mommy war crap is way small stuff.

People like to judge us on our sleep choices.  Oh sleep.  You dastardly tempting haven.  Do I think Chipmunk needs to wake up three times a night to nurse?  No.  Once or twice, yes, but I think part of it is because we don't get to spend a lot of time together and she just wants comfort.  I'm not going to deny her food or comfort at this stage of the game.  If I were 7 months old and only had an hour or two with my mom every day, I'd probably wake up for a hug too.  She's only 7 months old.  I repeat, 7 months old.  I have conversations like this every day.

Someone I haven't seen since the baby was born:  "Hey!  How's the baby!"
Me: "She's great!  Growing so fast!"
SIHSSTBWB:   "Is she a good baby?"
Me: (In my head, 'No she's kind of an asshole.  What kind of question is that?') "She's really happy and a lot of fun."
SIHSSTBWB:  "I mean does she sleep?"
Me: "She's not a great sleeper yet."
SIHSSTBWB: "Oh, you have to let her cry."

WHAT THE EVER LOVING HELL?  As soon as I tell them we'd rather not let her cry, I get the "I Know Everything And You Are A Shitty Parent" look.

Ya know what, my kid cannot self soothe while crying.  She starts pulling her hair out.  She can fall asleep on her own just fine in everyday life, but when she's upset, she needs my help or else she will just start escalating.  Crying it out is not for her and it isn't the right thing for our family.  It might be the right thing for you, and that's fine.  I'm certainly not going to make a snap judgement about a family that does let their kid cry it out .  So please don't judge me when I say I'm choosing not to do the whole "cry it out" thing.  I know my family, I know my child.  Don't presume to know for me.  It doesn't mean I molly-coddle her.  It doesn't mean I'm overly permissive.  It just means I want her to keep the little hair she has.

While this crap riles me up, I had a little heart break this weekend watching a friend wade into these waters. They are expecting their first, and this little one wasn't easy to come by.  They were grilling J and me on what baby gear they needed, what baby gear we wish we never bought, what books they need to read, and so one.  I think they were shocked and dismayed by how much time she spends in daycare and the fact that she still doesn't sleep (after all - ALL THE BOOKS and ALL THE FRIENDS say their kids sleep).  I finally just told her what I really think.  No one fits into tiny little boxes, the least of all children.  You don't have to make your kid conform to what some random Ph.D. thinks (and most of the time doesn't really back up with actual research).  Put down the books and follow your gut.  Your instincts will be quite loud.  Do what they say and you'll be just fine.

Something tells me she's still going to read the books and expect everything to fall into its respective tiny box.

Here is a gratuitous Chipmunk photo.  I'm not a fan of putting too many photos of her on here, but you guys were so instrumental in her arrival that I just have to show her to you.  While this one doesn't show her pretty smile or darling eyes, it's still one of my favorites.

She was so mad I took those beads out of her mouth.

Keeping My Head Above Water

I'm here, and I haven't drown yet, but some days I feel like I just might.

The Chipmunk is 6 months old now.  Can you believe it?  She is still super mini at a whole 12 lbs 8.5 oz and 23.75 inches.  She's on her own little growth curve, but at least she is growing!  We are still breastfeeding and she recently started solids.  I'm pureeing her food and it's working out great.  I know exactly what she's eating and it's really easy to do.  She's hitting all of her milestones right on time.  She is happy, smiley, and high maintenance.  We love her "feistyness" and hope to find a good way to help her channel it.

But I am so tired.

I'm working full time in an emotionally exhausting job.  Thankfully I work with women who nursed their babes and are very supportive of my thrice a day pumping habit so there's no pressure there.  Pumping is hard work, though.  I hate having to raid my freezer stash if I don't get what I need for her for the next day and sometimes I do fall short.  My job is an hour commute one way.  The Chipmunk is in daycare near the house since my husband works from home.  It works out better that way.  She's a crummy napper, though, so there are a lot of days that I come home from work and only get 15 minutes or so with her before she nurses and goes down for bed.  It blows.  It blows a lot.  There are days where I just wonder why I'm working and then days where I remind myself that I don't have the kind of job that can be a part time gig.  I would suck at being a SAHM.  I love my daughter, but I need my work too.  I just wish it didn't feel so "this or that."

She still wakes up twice a night, but her pedi says a lot of that is because she so small that she legitimately still needs to eat at night.  Thankfully she goes right back down, but I don't know when the last time I had a full night's sleep was.

I've had to, um, lower my standards in the cleanliness arena.  If I want to see my kid on the weekends, I need to not be cleaning.  She's a catnapper, so there isn't much I can get done while she naps.  I can do some things while I wear her (she likes to vacuum with me), but getting down on the floor with her so I can actually know that my child gets on all fours and tries to crawl seems way more important than scrubbing toilets.

My friendships are suffering.  I had made some lovely new IF friends before she was born and I haven't seen them since they were so nice to stop by and meet her.  One of these ladies even had her own baby and I'm such a shit I haven't even met her yet.  Some days I have to force myself to answer some emails or call someone because I'm just. so. tired.  It's not fair to them, but it's so hard to balance it all.

I take the babe for walks on weekends and that's about the extent of the exercise.  With the babe still waking up at night, I hit the hay early so I can get my 40 winks.  Oh, and sex?  It's happened twice.  It's my anniversary and I'm blogging.  What can I say.  We're both too wiped to think about it.

Both of our families are plane rides away.  There is no respite care for us.  We do have close and trusted friends, but they all live near my office... an hour away.  I don't want to cart Chipmunk to their houses, nor do I want them to interrupt their family lives to drive way the heck to my house so I can scrub a floor, or run to Walgreens, or take a damn nap!  Truth be told, I'm not so sure I want a break.  I only get so much time with this one baby at this one stage in her life.

When she wakes up at night, my first thought is, "Sweet Jesus am I tired!"  My second is, "Yay!  Baby cuddles!"  There really is a huge sense of appreciation for every moment.  When she doesn't feel well, I'm crushed that she's uncomfortable, but I'm so full of love and absolutely recognize how close I was to never being able to comfort a child.  I feel like I've been entrusted with such a special little person.  I just hope I'm giving her enough.

So here I am, being a mediocre wife, crummy friend, okay employee, and the best mom I can muster.  I'm hoping it's all enough and that eventually it all just melds into the best me I can be.

Oh, and I'm a shitty blogger.  It's past my bedtime so I'm going to post these incoherent ramblings without proofreading.  Good night!

I've managed to find a handful of y'all on Facebook, but if you want to find me you need my real email address.  If you don't have it and would like to connect, just hit me up and hapahopes@gmail.com and I'll share it with you.

Sticking It in a Bag and Worrying About it Later

I'm having a rough time at the moment.  Motherhood is hard and wonderful, but that's not the root of the problem.  I want to just love on my girl and enjoy her, but that isn't so easy when you are infertile.  I can't be infertile anymore, and I think that's a choice I can make.

It started with my OB.  Honestly, reason number 9,973,250 why I wish your RE could be your forever OB/GYN.  At my 6 week visit she was all about talking about a VBAC for "the next baby."  I tried to stay calm and just say, "We're so blessed to have her that we're really okay with just one."  She answered with, "Not there yet, huh?"  I said, "Getting pregnant was really hard."  She just grinned.  I wondered how much she actually knew about me.  Not to be melodramatic, but 3 rounds of IVF and a 4 transfers is kind of a big deal.  I certainly know which of my patients have more ear drama than others.  You'd think a gynecologist would remember which patients had reproductive drama.  Anyway, that conversation started the end of my acceptance zen.

The next domino to fall came in the form of my maternity clothes.  I had to get my sweaters in the closet and that meant pulling out the maternity stuff.  I left them all in a pile in the middle of the closet for a week.  God love J, he didn't say a work about it.  Eventually I brought it up to him.  I didn't know what to do with them.  Do I go ahead and donate them or do I keep them, just in case?  He was very wise.  He told me to put them in a bag, stick it under the bed, and worry about it later.  So I did.

The final domino came when Chipmunk outgrew her first outfit.  Same dilemma.  Do I go ahead and donate it, or do I keep it, just in case?  I took the same advice.  I put it in a bag, stuck it under the bed, and I'll worry about it later.

Whenever Chipmunk meets a milestone, I have a pang of sadness.  I've always been the person who celebrates milestones because they mean a new beginning.  It hasn't been that way with parenthood.  I'm sad that I'll never see a first smile again, or hold a tiny sleeping baby for hours on end.  I hate that I'll never again hear a newborn cry meant just for me to answer.  I need to stop that.  I just want to enjoy my little bits.  I feel another ghost child emerging and I don't want her following me around for the next several years.  I have this beautiful life.  Amazing gifts are all around me and I'm going to enjoy them.  I'm not going to be infertile for awhile.  I'm putting it in a bag, sticking it under the bed, and worrying about it later.

Don't get me wrong, I have infertility.  I'm not denying that, but I'm not going to be infertile right now.  Infertility is not going to be a defining feature of my existence.  It can be something I have, but not something I am.  I just want to be a mom.  A happy, flourishing mom who can give everything she's got to her kid.  Infertility isn't taking that away from me.  So it's going in a bag.

That's why I haven't been posting much and I wanted to let y'all know that that probably won't be changing anytime soon.  I'll update this space on occasion, but I can't promise loads of posts.  I just need to step away for awhile.  I'm still reading your blogs and cheering for those in the trenches, but I'll admit - I haven't been commenting with the vigor I used to.  It's hard to find where I fit and I'm really okay with being the square peg.

I understand now why people suddenly act like they had no trouble conceiving and everything is hunky dory.  That doesn't feel right for me, but I understand it better.  I'm not living the infertile life right now.  It's trying to follow me around like toilet paper stuck on my shoe, but I want it off.  I want to find a different way to be a champion for this community and to find that place, I need to celebrate what this journey has brought us.  I mean, look at this face!

I love all of you in sisterly way and am so grateful that I've had you on this journey.  I don't think I've ever expressed that adequately.  I would have given up a thousand times if I hadn't had the encouragement from all of you.  It's not just words on a page.  I know that you were thinking of me when I was having procedures just like I think of you when you are in a cycle.  That's an awesome community to be a part of.  I'm so happy to have found all of you ladies.

Blissed Out

I sit here watching my husband try to lull an overtired Chipmunk to sleep.  It's after 7 PM and I'm still in my pajamas... the ones I wore to bed last night.  I have inconveniently placed milk stains on my shirt and my hair makes a rat's nest look like an HGTV worthy abode.  I have never been happier in my whole life.

I find myself in that strange place many members of our community find themselves it.  The infertility journey is different now.  I've found my "resolution."  I will always have infertility and this journey has forever changed me, but I am no longer pursuing a pregnancy.  It's not that there's nothing to talk about, but the focus is different.  No more needles and no more drugs, just us, a baby, and reflections.

When I was in the trenches I remember that there were some blogs I stopped following when they brought their children home.  I also remember why.  They were blogs that went from talking about their treatment to whining about their children, lack of sleep, and sore nipples.  Yes, parenthood is hard, but we all know that.  We've been informed of that fact by fertile people forever.  The blogs I loved following after resolution were the ones who shared their peace and joy.  So that's what I intend to do.

This little goober has taken my heart to a place I didn't know it could go.  Loving my husband comes with an element of choice.  With the Chipmunk, it's primal.  It is the most beautiful and the most terrifying thing I have ever felt.  There is nothing more I want in this world right now than to keep her healthy and put her on a promising life path.  And hug her.  No it's more than a want to hug her, I want to just envelop her and cover her in love.  I'm so grateful and when I look at her and think about what a miracle she is, that thankfulness takes my breath away.

When you are bending over for yet another PIO injection, remember that there will be an end to all of this and it is worth it.  When you are waiting in agony to be chosen by a birth mother, remember that there will be an end and you will find joy.  If you are feeling that you no longer want to pursue treatment and plan to find peace in childless living, remember that there will be an end and you will find that peace.  I've seen it happen countless times in this community.  No matter where your path leads, it will get better.