From cheerfully childless to mindful mommy

I'd be lying if I said that the transition from being cheerfully childless to motherhood has been a smooth one. My life is so radically different that is almost as if I woke up in an alternate universe.

I really loved the life I had before. I loved being able to pick up and go somewhere on a moment's notice. Loved the freedom to take a course or sit and write or stay up all night hanging out with friends. I had a few lovers, each unique and wonderful, each aware of each other and my love of them all. Even with death and dying in my family, such heavy subjects, I felt a lightness of being. I felt free from all the constraints I'd placed on myself over the years. I'd finally grown up and become fully me. And then my female best friend goaded me into recognizing that I'd fallen in love with M and accepting his invitation to move in with him. He supported me after my grandfather's death. We traveled. I supported him through a grueling start-up. We bought a house. And then I got pregnant out of the blue.

Yes, I miss my old life. I'm giving myself permission to miss it, and to come to terms with the changes and the challenges.

The loss of my independence has been the most difficult to adapt to. It would probably be easier if M and I had family closer by, or if I had more friends in the area, because I could call on them to spot me for things like doctor appointments or haircuts or shopping. As it is, I have to pack the Little Man up and bring him everywhere I go. It can be an ordeal even if it's just to go weed outside.  I find it damned inconvenient that I can't just climb up onto a ladder to clear the gutters or empty the dishwasher or take a shower without having to make some sort of provision for my son, especially now that he is crawling around and has figured out how to open cabinets and drawers. And really, there's nothing relaxing about showering listening to a baby howl with displeasure because he's trapped in a walker or a bouncer or otherwise restricted in movement. At best, I get to shower every other day. Any longer than that and the smell of baby puke and sour milk and my own body gets to me.

I miss being able to focus on myself. Before I got pregnant, I was determined to get down to a normal weight range and I made good progress. In having a baby at my age I made a further commitment to being healthy and fit. I'm down 100 pounds in the past 2.5 years. I really want to drop another 30 pounds but I've hit a plateau and my visits to the gym are too infrequent. I try working out at home but the Little Man either wants to participate or wander off. It's rather difficult to monitor him while tying to make sure I don't pull a muscle or otherwise injure myself due to inattentiveness. My doctor says I've done amazingly well and I should focus on maintenance more than further weight loss. He says he's concerned that my focus on dropping more weight will become sabotaging if I get too discouraged. Meanwhile, I'm fighting this near-constant "I'm hungry" feeling that the doc says to feed with warm water. I'm almost chronically under-hydrated since I started breast-feeding, and even after my milk dried up I still struggle to drink enough water -- I'm just too busy playing mommy.

The changes that pregnancy and childbirth have wrought on my body have mostly been awful. My body still doesn't feel like it belongs to me. I often find myself walking funny because there is a cramp in my pelvic area, usually the hip-flexor muscle, I think. My ass aches when I get up after sitting for a while. My lower abdominal muscles, while never particularly strong, seem to resist my efforts to tone them up--from the waist down I feel gelatinous. I'm ok with the changes to my breasts and nipples. I actually like them more, with the weightloss and the changes from pregnancy and lactation -- they are less lumpy than they used to be, and I'm fortunate that I didn't experience mastitis or thrush. The acid reflux and the intestinal spasms have been agonizing.  Since I'm not lactating anymore I switched from Tagamet to Prilosec and it's made a world of difference. Now there is occasional discomfort rather than a constant mid-level discomfort that ramped up to must-go-vomit-stomach-acid-now a few times a week, often a few times a day.

But before I sound too much like some whiny, ungrateful, unfit mother, I should say that I love my new life, too. I love the home I've made for the three of us. I'm happy here, even if I do miss my friends. I've got my patch of dirt to dig in and grow things. I am grateful that M's brilliant mind, which is what initially attracted me to him, is also attractive to so many companies here in Silicon Valley. He makes a good living and we try to live modestly on his income so we can still put money aside. Yes, I'm itching to take some courses and get myself marketable again so I can feel less dependent, but that will have to wait another year or so. I really enjoy his company and he enjoys mine. We talk to each other often, we snuggle when the baby's needs allow, and we both agree that having a baby together has made our bond deeper.

And our son! Wow, what an amazing little guy. Yes, he's teething right now and I really want to run screaming from the house after his nth meltdown, but he's got this wonderful smile and even when he's crying he tries to smile for me sometimes. He's developing so fast and he's becoming his own little person and even as I struggle not to create habits in him I'll regret later, I can't help but scoop him up and love on him. He has so much joy in him and I'm loving experiencing the world from his perspective. I'm experiencing an aspect of life that I'd never thought I would (parenthood) and while it's definitely a mixed bag, I've no regrets. I'm trying to be mindful of what I feed him, trying to keep his chemical-load to a minimum. I'm thinking about what stories I read him and what television programs he sees so I'm aware of what social and cultural norms are being passed on to him. I'm trying to create a safe space for him to grow into the person he wants to be --whatever that looks like. And seeing what a fine job some of my friends have done with their own children, I've got some good role-models and sources of of moral support.

Motivationally-challenged

I'm feeling motivationally-challenged the past few weeks. The question is, Why?

I think it's because I was just starting to get into a groove with Little Man after the holidays and then he started making these developmental leaps, throwing everything back up into the air again. Once again I'm feeling exhausted trying to keep up with him and feeling inadequate because I can't seem to keep up with the kitchen and the laundry and my GERD and take care of him. And I thought I had just carved out a couple hours a week for time for me and I haven't  been getting them afterall.

I'm tired, and so I indulge in coffee, and the coffee aggravates my GERD, so I don't sleep well. And Little Man is dreaming a lot and waking intermittently so I don't sleep well. Which means I'm tired when I wake up, and want coffee. Two days out of three I don't have any. But even just one cup twice a week means acid stomach all day, and sometimes all night. I should eat better, but my diet is so limited to try to control the GERD that I'm bored with my healthy food choices and either just don't eat, or snack on treats too frequently because when my stomach isn't all acidic I'm HUNGRY.

The weather has been alternately beautiful and sucky, so its difficult to develop a routine with regards to getting out and doing things. Sure, I'll go outside on the patio with Little Man, but aside from weekend excursions when M is home, I rarely venture out.  I did today though, after a cup of coffee for fortification. I went out to buy a replacement for the saucepan that bit the dust two weeks ago. I hate shopping.

And I'm disappointed because while I was out shopping I tried on some clothes and my bottom is not slimming down the way I want it to. I need to get to the gym more, but M has been too tired to take the baby when he gets home at night (sometimes after 8pm) and my neighbor hasn't been as available in the mornings as we'd hoped. And I'm tired. I just need to drop 3 pounds a month for the rest of the year and I'll reach a goal weight I haven't seen in nearly 20 years. After all the weight I dropped this past year, it should be easy to do, but I just can't seem to get motivated.

Whine. Whine. Whine.

This, too, shall pass.

First World Problems, I know

It's been a rough few days. The three of us have caught some bug that has us all feeling pretty awful. Monday I asked M to stay home form work because I felt terrible. Every muscle in my body hurt, and I was producing a disgusting amount of mucous. By Monday evening M was feeling awful, and as of yesterday, Little Man's got the cough and the nasty mucous. Ugh. Benedryl in the bottle again -- at least it helps with the mucous.

The current politics in the US is very discouraging. Opinions and positions are so polarized that it's almost like I'm living in two societies at the same time.

On the one hand, there is a lot of really reactionary policy coming out with regards to women and control over what is done to their bodies. There's even legislation out there to outlaw divorces when people have children. And aspects of the Voting Rights Act are under review with the Supreme Court. Given the types of decisions that lot has been handing down, I'm not optimistic. I've a feeling that exercising the right to vote is going to become even more difficult than it currently is in some parts of the country.

On the other hand, States are putting forward legislation requiring labeling of GMOs as a consumer's right-to-know what their food is. We're looking actually doing something about the problem of gun violence in this country, instead of just shrugging helplessly about it. And the issue of gay marriage as a civil right that has equal protection under the law is finally making headway. Again, it's being reviewed by the Supreme Court, but while it seems pretty obvious that gay marriage is protected under the Constitution, I wouldn't put it past Scalia, et al to find a rationalization as to why it's not.

And then there is the environment, and how cavalierly we Americans are abusing it. Some revile the EPA as a job-killing regulatory agency, but I wonder how many of them take the time to remember the acid rains that deforested entire mountains and the horrible smog of the 70s and 80s? Or the toxic waste dumps that polluted entire towns and water tables, many of them to become superfund sites. Yes, those regulations make it more difficult to pollute and more costly to minimize pollution, but if you want to know what the alternatives are, look to China and India and how the environmental degradation there has affected public health.

I worry about the kind of world my son will inherit from us.

Meanwhile, I'm getting quotes for replacing the roof on the house and then we'll add solar panels made in the US and high-albedo roofing tiles. We've got the electric car. We live in a semi-urban area and walk everywhere we can. We recycle and compost, and have a small garden. We exchange produce, tools, and skills with our neighbors. We're trying to reduce our impact on the planet even as we want to keep our high standard of living. Does that make us hypocrites? I don't know.

Little Man isn't even a year old and I'm already thinking about schooling. I'm thinking about the fact that the 5 elementary schools within 1.5 miles of my house are magnet schools that we have to enter a lottery to get him into. I'm worrying that he might be extremely gifted like his father, and if that is the case, I know he's not going to get his needs met in today's public schools, even ones with GATE programs. I'm thinking that private schools are horribly expensive, and even they have issues with bullying and conformity. I worry that I might feel the need to home-school him and I don't know if I'm up to that, especially when I feel like I'm in such desperate need of me-time.

I live in a democracy. I've got the rights women all over the world wish they had. I've got a lifestyle that is the envy of most. I've had a child after years of infertility when so many are still childless. I'm lucky, I know, and I feel like an ass complaining, but it's not enough. I don't want to take it all for granted. And I don't want to squander it away. It's such a beautiful world. Will it still be beautiful when Little Man's generation comes of age, and what more can I do to see that it is? That is the problem that occupies me. Yeah, yeah. First World problems, I know.

Eudaimonia -- Well-being and The Good Life

I am the first to admit that I have a good life. A beautiful home, a generous and loving partner who is an excellent breadwinner, and a healthy, adorable baby boy. I'm lucky and I know it. Some days, as I'm doing the mundane household chores or consoling a teething baby, I am visited with a sense of the surreal.  Never, in a thousand imaginings of how I wanted my life to be, would I have imagined myself being Susie Homemaker balancing a baby on my hip as I see my man off to work.

Sure, I enjoyed the kept-woman period and did my best to enjoy being freed from a 9-to-5 job even as part of me resented being dependent and without enough income to support myself. My partner assisted me in growing my internet storefront business as best he could during the economic crash, and he was incredibly supportive as my family went through one health crisis after another. But finding out I was pregnant, well, that was a huge life-changer. And now, as the Little Man reaches the 8 month mark, as my body still recovers from the effects of pregnancy and childbirth, the reality of my life as an unintentional mother is both incredibly real, and incredibly surreal.

Little Man's milestone last month was cutting two teeth. This month, it seems to be locomotion. He started off with the military-style forearms and toes crawl at the beginning of the month and this week he's crawling on his hands and knees. And really getting around. I went to brush my teeth and freaked out when he wasn't anywhere near where I left him. He's also figured out how to pull himself up to a standing position. The first two days he fell over whenever I wasn't watching him like a hawk, but today he's stable on those sturdy little legs. He's falling on his face when his arms give out, but the thunks on the hardwood floor aren't quite as alarmingly loud. I'm kissing and rubbing boo-boos, mostly on his head. It's time to take the next step of child-proofing the plugs and adding baby-gates.

The benefit to all his physical exertion is he's finally napping for about an hour twice a day. The drawback is he's gotten very clingy -- perhaps from the pain / discomfort and the scariness of falling. He often cries when I put him down, so I basically wear the baby carrier 16 hours a day and carry him around in it until he pushes at me to let me know he wants out. If I put him down and move too far away, he starts to cry. Finding time for bio-breaks has become a challenge.

Solid foods are hit and miss. There are days when he won't eat cereal or pureed foods at all. Since my milk dried up he's been on formula, so his poops are really stinky, but less frequent. I worry that he's not getting enough calories, but whenever I pick him up he feels very solid. He's not a chubby baby by any stretch of the imagination, but neither is he a skinny one.

It seems like I'm never alone anymore. I am a person who enjoys my solitude. I think that has been the most difficult adjustment. I'm starting back to the gym, though, and my neighbor is coming over twice a week in the morning to give me a chance to workout, so Little Man is going to learn to adjust to not having me around all the time. I hope.

The acid reflux still gets away from me about once a week. I'm managing it with eating a boring diet and medication. I've also had a half-dozen spastic colon episodes. Very painful. Like labor pains. I'm trying to reduce the amount of time Little Man spends on my chest and belly, since his 20-plus pounds pressing into my body seems to aggravate things. I've had the x-rays and CT scan, the upper GI imaging, and over 30 different blood tests and aside from exceptionally large ovaries (courtesy of PCOS) there is nothing unusual. I'm in excellent health, though borderline anemic. I had eliminated all supplements when I noticed that pills weren't resting well on my acidic stomach, but now that it seems to be (mostly) under control, I'm taking them a few times a week. It's not perfect, but it's better than nothing.

At present I'm 75# lighter than I was the day I delivered Little Man. I'd like to drop another 30 this year. We'll see. I think I can manage 3 pounds a month. I'm wearing large women's tops and extra-large bottoms. Right now my excess weight is all below the belly button, courtesy of 10 years of sitting at a desk. I'm looking forward to focusing on my abdomen and thighs at the gym and getting my upper and lower body in better proportion to each other. Given that my mother and sister both were mermaid-shaped, I'm thinking I'm probably going to be bigger on the bottom no matter what I do, but my doc thinks the softness of the muscles in my lower abdomen has something to do with the spastic colon problem, so it's important to get that area of my body back in tone.

Through it all, M has been wonderfully supportive. He knows this isn't the life I'd imagined for myself, and he checks in with me a couple of times a month to make sure I'm doing ok. Believe it or not, the life I was building toward was living in a small house on the coast or in the mountains, alone, with lots of books and paper and time to meditate and garden. I'd imagined my various friends and partners visiting me, but never staying for long. For all my capacity to be a social person, I'm a hermit at heart. He's such an introvert that he considers me an extrovert. Heh.

It's all good though. I'm happy and pretty much healthy. The baby is happy and healthy. So is M. There are things I want to do, and they'll wait. Right now, it's important to be there for the Little Man.

End surreality check :)

Nearly 8 months old!

Wow, where did January go?

We got back from Canada and the Little Man had a cold for a couple more weeks. I was just getting ready to tell the doc he had been sick for 7 weeks when he suddenly stopped coughing and sneezing. No more suctioning and irrigating sinuses, no more need for benedryl in his bottle.

Middle of the month he decided to cut two bottom teeth at the same time, and after a week of dealing with a crankety baby, I was ready to run away from home. Or perhaps it was the disarray of the house after a week of being too tired to clean up that had me ready to run screaming from the building. Either way, M took a work-at-home day when I reached the end of my rope and I got to sleep. Sleep. It's amazing how much the lack of it impacts. Like, oh, everything.

I've started meeting with a mother's group here in town. I feel like less of a shut-in now, and it is good to hear other women's experiences with infants. Being able to speak candidly about breastfeeding and milk dying up, lack of sleep, and the ordeal of teething making me want to run away from home is nice. They don't squirm like M does when I get too... graphic... for him.

Little Man is doing the military-style crawl around and over things these days. He's only taken one tumble off the bed (once was enough) so far. He's still a sweet, smiling little guy. And boy does he love his daddy. He just lights up and his whole body trembles with joy when he sees his father first thing in the morning, or when he comes home at night. He's starting to 'talk' more, and I can hear him trying to sing along to the melody of the music I play for him. It's hard to believe he'll reach the 8 month mark soon.

I start back to the gym in February. It's been nearly a year since I was there last. I need to work on my abdominal muscles south of the belly button.  I've got six-pack abs above, since carrying a baby around really works my core, but my lower abdomen is still too loose after being stretched out by the baby. And I'm going to drop 27# more pounds this year. Hopefully more, but 27# is my minimum goal. I figure after dropping 70# last year, this should be achievable. I'm hoping Little Man will be good for the sitter. He's just not used to being apart from me for more than an hour. Fortunately, he knows her, and she'll be here at the house in the mornings, so if she can't console him, she can resort to waking M up -- if a fussing baby doesn't wake him already. We'll see how it goes.

Holiday travels, losing weight, and my sweet baby boy

A month has passed since my last post. It's been a busy month.

Little Man and I came back from Puerto Vallarta with colds, but by the 20th of December it looked like we'd kicked them. Then the cold virus caught a second wind and we were both feeling lousy again, just in time for the trip to Canada.

It was below zero on both the C and the F temperature scales in Winnipeg. I wore Little Man in the Baby Bjorn most of the time, with my coat pulled around us both. He stayed warm, though his poor face got chafed from rubbing against my sweaters. Most of the fabrics I wear are soft and light so they don't bother his skin, but fabrics I can wear year-round in California can only be worn there in the summertime.

The change in climate really created sinus issues for the Little Man -- saline drops weren't working to clear him up so I ended up giving him benedryl so he could drink his milk. To make things even more interesting, my breastmilk dried up shortly after we got back from Mexico, so the poor little guy was on formula. Stinky coming out, formula is.

The visit with M's family was great. Little Man is blessed with an easy disposition so he didn't seem to mind being passed around between the 20+ people at the gathering on Christmas Day. He just needed to spend a few minutes with me every hour to re-charge and he was good. His great-grandmothers were over-joyed to see him. I'm a bit of a sap and cried when they held him.

We were inundated with gifts for the Little Man. Fortunately, we had a second suitcase that was lightly packed so we could bring most of it back with us. Lots of toys and cute little outfits. We were there a week and nearly every day we were off somewhere doing something -- Boxing Day at the Mall, seeing The Hobbit, dinner with Cousins, making sure M's mother got her fair share of time with her grandchild, etc. The nice thing about all the spare adults around was that I got some baby-free time and much-needed naps. Best of all, M's father is even better with the Little Man than he is, so I felt comfortable leaving the baby with him for a couple of hours while M showed me some of his old stomping grounds and tourist sights. I told him he was very fortunate to have grown up in a population center rather than in some small town on the Plains. The capitol of Manitoba had the financial resources to fund the education of a child prodigy, and he had access to universities and college-educated people in far larger numbers than he otherwise would have.

Thankfully, the trip home was a lot less eventful than the leg to Canada was. No cancelled / redirected flights that meant hours waiting for standby and then traveling a day later -- no, just a plane that wouldn't start because it was too cold outside. We left Winnipeg an hour late and had to run to catch our connecting flight in Denver: 40 gates wearing a baby and two shoulder bags! M waited to get the baby seat and the rollaway bag. Fortunately, the airline held the flight for 15 minutes so that we and 40 other people wouldn't be stranded. Little Man was an angel on the flights. Once again he charmed everyone around us, and he fussed very little.

It was nice to get home. My old friend Dato and his partner took advantage of the house-sitting offer which got them away from the rain and cold along the Oregon coast. It was mostly sunny and dry here, so they got to spend a couple of days exploring San Francisco. The weather in SF is always better in winter than in summer. Funny how that works :)

Now that we're home, I want to start working on getting my milk production going again, but before we do that, I need to tackle the intra-abdominal pressure that is giving me both acid reflux and constipation. It really sucks that I'd never had a problem with either until Little Man was born and now the problems are big enough to affect how I sleep, how I eat, and what medications and supplements I take. I'm pretty anemic these days, but I can't take iron or even just a multi-vitamin with iron because it really binds me up and even stool softeners and milk of magnesia can take 3 days to produce a bowel movement. I saw the doctor and we're trying a week of really upping the fiber in my diet to see if that produces desired changes, otherwise, it is on to scanning or scoping. I've a feeling something is going on in my colon -- literally -- whenever I bend over I can feel something move inside me, like the kick of a baby or the snick of a ligament being pulled and then settling back into place.

That, and I've dropped nearly 15# since Thanksgiving, without trying, and much of that time with reduced or no breastmilk production. Call me silly, but I think the milk drying up is a sign something is going on.

With regards to weightloss, I've been really good about watching my portion sizes. I ate my fair share of Christmas treats -- but not too many. A sweet-tooth was never my problem, nor was junk-food. No, I was a gourmand with portion-control issues and a serious hormonal imbalance.  Lovely enough, having Little Man seems to have balanced out a lot of the hormonal weirdness of PCOS, which has made losing weight the past 7 months much easier than the prior few years. So I'm down 70# from my pre-pregnancy weight. My goal is to drop another 30# in 2013. That should put me solidly in the size 12 to 14 range and my BMI in the 20s, where it belongs, and down 160# from my highest weight in 2007. After that, it's all maintenance. I've three very good reasons to keep my weight down and be healthy and fit: me, Little Man, and M. I want to be around to see Little Man grow up and help M raise him, and given that I'll be 45 in a couple of months, its important that I take my health very seriously. I'm not 30 anymore :)

Once Little Man is over his cold I'm going to get us both on a sleep-play-feeding schedule. He's dabbling with solid foods, but I'd like to get him eating more. He's not crawling yet, but he does wriggle himself around pretty well on his belly. He's getting close to cutting a bottom tooth, I think, and he's chewing on everything he can get his hands on. He's passing things from hand-to-hand now. He knows his name. He's babbling more, and he's getting good at vocalizing when he's unhappy (grumbling) as well as laughing and cooing when he's happy. He's a fun, sweet baby, and most days I feel incredibly blessed.

2012 was an amazing year for me. Lots of changes. I've got high hopes for 2013.

Test flight to Paradise

The trip to Puerto Vallarta went well. The flight there went very smoothly, and Little Man charmed the flight attendants. One of them was on our return flight and she asked to hold him :)

For years, I've followed the rule of packing less clothes than I think I'll need, because I inevitably come home with unused/unworn items, and I hate humping around heavy cases.  But this time, I was traveling with a baby, and had to keep in mind that he would spit-up on my clothes and his. I actually did a great job of packing for all three of us. Just enough left-over clothes to last us a couple more days, if needed.

Bringing breast-milk through security was a little bit of a hassle. TSA opened the bottles and held little sticks over them. They also double-inspected the carry-on bags. I was half-expecting a strip-search, but didn't get one, thankfully :) Bringing the stroller and the car seat through was a bit of work, but we weren't charged extra for stowing them when we got to the plane.

In Puerto Vallarta, we had a long wait to clear immigration. In customs, I pushed the button and apparently drew the log straw because we didn't have to have our luggage inspected. It was warm and tropical and quite lovely.  It cost 180 pesos to get from the airport to our hotel in the Marina District -- that's about USD 15.00

It soon became apparent that PV has been Americanized. Walmarts and Costcos and Gallerias. And Starbucks and Chilis. But there is still Mexican culture once you're off the tourista circuit. And great Mexican food. The days there developed a rhythm. Little Man would wake up between 7 and 8am (CST) and I would hustle him out of the room so Daddy could sleep.  I'd have a leisurely breakfast outdoors (usually tea and poached eggs) and then I'd wander the hotel grounds with Little Man, trying to keep to the shaded spots as much as possible. Then, sometime around noon, I'd head back to the room and roust M out of bed. Noon in PV is still only 10am at home, and that's not much of a vacation-sleeping-in for him. It was easier to get him up once I could offer him ice cold Mexican Coke as his wake-up beverage :)

Once M was ambulatory, we'd head out for lunch, then go back to the hotel room for a siesta. Around 4 or 5 we'd head for the pool and the beach with the baby and play for an hour or so. Then back to the hotel room to cool off. Dinner was a local place. Seafood or Italian, usually, since M isn't a big fan of burritos and enchiladas and the like. Stroll around and watch the fireworks displays around 8pm, then back to the hotel room. Baby and I would crash and M would play on his computer until... whenever he went to sleep.

I managed to avoid buying souveniers from peddlars on the beach. I'm just not a wanter. And whenever I look at that stuff I just picture it stuffed away in a box somewhere, wasting space.

Leaving Puerto Vallarta was pretty simple. The airport is beautiful and modern, and the staff are very courteous. We had no hassles with customs or immigration. The flight home went very well. We actually got to San Francisco 40 minutes early. The problem was the descent. We got an early slot and the pilot was in a hurry to make it so the descent was very rapid and Little Man's ears (and mine, and M's and probably everyone else's) didn't handle the changes in air pressure very well. He cried that last 20 minutes or so, poor little guy. The bottle and pacifier didn't help. I did learn an important lesson ... don't bounce or rock a crying baby on a plane -- he might get airsick. Oops! Ah well. It's part of being a mom.

Coming back into the States was pretty easy. Showed passports and declaration. Waved through customs.

10 minute taxi ride home.
Home.
There really is no place like home.

Home after the Holidays

We traveled nearly 600 miles in 5 days. Traffic was awful for parts of it -- we spent nearly 20 hours in the car. We saw about 50 people -- family, friends, and friends of family. Through it all, Little Man was great. We got a lot of compliments on his disposition. Such a sweet, easy baby. So surprisingly fearless with strangers and pets.  He warmed hearts with his big smiles, laughed at the antics of all the pets, and rarely fussed. He just needed down-time with The Momma once in a while.

M met the rest of my family, namely my step-sisters and their children. We also spent some time with my sister, which was much less tense than it could have been given the hell she put us all through the past couple of years. It looks like, at 40, she's finally getting herself together. He also met my mother's brother, and the rest of Annette's family. Her large Portuguese family :) But then, he's got a large family, himself, and I'll get to meet all of them in a few weeks, so I guess we're even.

The Road to Truly Happy

I've known M a long time. Since 1998. He came to my attention because he's a brilliant puzzle-solver, and he was the first to solve a quest in an online game I co-created... a quest that had gone unsolved for 3 years. Technically, he's a brilliant gamer, and truth be told, in my 15+ years of watching over that particular game, I never saw anyone play it better. He was so good people assumed he cheated somehow, myself included, until I checked the logs. I could see his various attempts, the trial and error prior to success, and I recognized in him someone who understood the game on multiple-levels: as a coder, as a puzzle-solver, as a role-player. In was an enviable understanding, one that spawned enmity in some who also played the game.

In 2003, he and my partner had a falling-out in-game, and she was such a royal bitch to him that I felt sorry for him. I took an interest in this person who unwittingly brought upon himself the ire of an often irrational woman -- a woman who rarely interacted with men online long enough to get so upset with them. When I queried him as to what had happened, he impressed me by saying that gentlemen don't kiss-and-tell, so I would have to ask her. When I asked her, she became very upset and defensive. I figured she'd done something she shouldn't have and was worried I'd find out, so I let it be. Our relationship had been over for quite some time -- I was just waiting for her to realize it and break things off, since she had quite a victim complex and I didn't want to play into it by breaking things off with her myself.


Meanwhile, the more I learned about M, the more I liked him, and by mid-2004 we were good friends. He was a rather solitary sort of boy-man who seemed reasonably content with his life. He had moved to the US from Canada and put his wunderkind skills to use in Silicon Valley to great financial and professional success. He liked his online and console games, his weekly Dungeons & Dragons night, played pool regularly, and dated a bit here and there. He sometimes asked for advice with regards to women, and I was honest with him: women want to feel heard, and they want to feel like someone is on their side. If you can convince a woman that you're listening and you're on her side, you're in. I also acknowledged that women play games, that it's socialized into us at a very young age, and that while women often defy logic, we're not completely irrational. The key to understanding us is understanding that we're consistent within a particular moment, as it appears to us, rather than across time.  In other words, we're generally unpredictable (or as men prefer to say "crazy") -- our behavior cannot be modeled or systematized reliably, so don't bother.

Over time he realized that I wasn't like most women -- I could program (in whatever limited capacity, especially compared to him) and think critically, I was smart enough to catch him and call him on his shit, and most importantly, I didn't flip out when he called me on mine. He was also fascinated by my lifestyle once S and I went our separate ways and I started dating and living life on my own terms again. We developed a mutual respect and admiration for each other, and supported each other through personal and professional ups and downs. I often described my life using terms like "awesome" and "incredible" and "fulfilling". He used words like "good" and "ok." He was rarely unhappy, I noticed, but he was also rarely truly happy.

Until recently. Fast forward 8 years and it's wonderful to see the changes in him. He's finally chosen where he wants to be (US rather than Canada) which means he's finally put down roots in a place that feels like 'home'. He's happy with how his career is going. But most of all, he's just thrilled to be a daddy. Now that Little Man is more independent of me and becoming more of his own person, it's amazing how the two of them have bonded. It is wonderful to see how much fun M has with him, and how much joy he takes in just being with his son. It helps that Little Man is so transparently joyful around his father.

Earlier today M purred as I massaged his shoulder with one hand and cradled a sleeping Little Man in the other. His face was smooth and a smile hovered on his mouth. I commented to him that the past couple of months he's been happier than I've ever known him. He sighed contentedly in response. It is important to me that the people I love be happy -- their happiness is integral to my own. M is truly, deeply happy, and it feels good knowing my part in it.

Living in the 1950's

Some days I feel like I'm living someone else's idea of a dream life, something out of the 1950's.

I live in a house with a white picket fence in front. Yes, really. It's a beautiful mid-century home. I can say this without prejudice because the appraiser who came by yesterday complimented us on it. It's not in the most desirable area of town (if it was, it would have cost 3x as much) but I happen to love the diversity, friendliness, and walkability of the neighborhood (91 on WalkScore.com). The weather is about as perfect as you can get (not too hot, not too cold), I can garden to my heart's content, and the backyard is completely private.

I have a beautiful little boy, a little boy who appeared like magic in my womb after 20 years of angst-free infertility. Babies were never on my bucket list, but if they had been, I would have wished for one like Little Man. He's an easy, happy baby, one who even tries to smile through his tears when he's in pain from gas that won't pass. I'm madly in love with him, and occasionally struggle with the fear that something will happen to him, probably because I've become so intimate with loss in recent years.

I have the love of a good man -- a brilliant, funny, kind man -- who is an excellent breadwinner. We had a couple of lean years during his start-up days but these days we're fortunate enough not to have any financial worries. In many ways our relationship looks very traditional: He goes to work and I stay at home, keeping house and baking gingerbread cookies, greeting him at the door with the baby in my arms and the puppy-cat at my feet. I balance him out, balance his intensity and introversion, and he seeks my opinions and usually heeds my advice. We take care of each other, and it just so happens that we're following traditional gender roles -- for now.

So, here I am, living in my 1950's home, living a 1950's life (minus the Valium). I even wear my grandmother's 1950's aprons sometimes. And I'm acutely aware that this is what my sister Tammy wanted. She wanted the house with the white picket fence and the babies and puppies. The "normal" Leave It To Beaver life we never knew as children. But she, like me, was infertile, and learning that changed her life. She gave up on her dream and pursued something wildly different, and though she succeeded beyond expectations, she was never truly happy with her life.

Me, I'm happy. Probably because I haven't given up on anything. Put some things on hold because of the baby, perhaps, but I don't feel like I'm making any unreasonable sacrifices. The thing I miss most is solitude, and upon reflection, I realize this is something I am giving up on -- for now.

This isn't the life I'd imagined for myself -- that life was a little house on the coast or in the mountains near a body of water, with lots of time to mediate and to read and write, and lots of friends visiting. A quiet life with opportunity for solitude but not lonely. I enjoy my own company too much to ever be lonely.

No, this isn't the life I'd imagined for myself -- but its the perfect life for me, because it's where I am and where I choose to be. Even if it does look a bit like the 1950's ;)

I'm blessed, and I know it.