Live, From New York

After roughly two months of ignoring this blog…yay, I'm back!  For now, anyway.  The past two months have been good, and the transition of moving has gotten better by the day.  I have also identified since my last post that I have roughly 3 hormonal settings:  (1) depressed/anxious, (2) ANGRY, and (3) euphoric.  When the first two show up, I just ride the wave.  It saves me a lot of the effort previously spent trying to figure out why I'm feeling this or that way.  Seriously, I have no idea and I don't even care.  It passes quickly.  And the euphoria part is fun.  All is well. 

I had a fun little observation the other day.  It turns out that in this household, we generally watch or record Saturday Night Live. A few weeks ago, we were discussing whether to save the recording. I asked who the host was, and we both agreed that, nah, we weren’t that interested in watching. There’s something I love about the fact that the identity of the week’s SNL host has become so iconic that it is a common thread that binds us—something we can discuss in shorthand because everyone in the conversation gets it. 

It took me back about 35 years to when I was a little girl picking up on conversations my mom and dad had about SNL. I knew they loved it. I knew they mimicked it. I knew it was not for kids (so, of course, I had to find out what this thing was). I heard them imitate and laugh about Roseanne-Roseannadanna, Chevy Chase’s antics, and the Coneheads. One night when I was probably about 6, I remember positioning my pillow and my door so I could just barely see the TV from my bed. I willed myself to stay awake so I could witness this most important of phenomena. All I really remember is the intro with Chevy Chase bumbling up the stairs, but I felt like I had triumphed! I had stayed awake and watched this most amazing thing that I was not supposed to see! Now I was part of the circle!  (Never mind that I really had no more understanding of SNL than I’d had the day before.)

Over the years, I came to love SNL on my own. I watched Buckwheat and the Church Lady and Will Farrell's endlessly funny characters. I laughed and mimicked my favorites. And it occurred to me the other night as we were discussing the simple subject of that week’s SNL host, that my daughter will hear us talk about SNL the same way I heard my parents. Not much about my daughter’s life will be the same as mine. She will be living in a different time. I grew up on a farm, and she’ll probably grow up in a city. My parents had me at age 22. I will have Baby J at age 42. This baby will likely grow up with more money than I did. There are not a lot of common threads.  But, across all those lines and years, she will hear us talk about SNL the same way I heard my parents talk about it. 

It's a strange commonality, and I found it a little disconcerting that, of all things, SNL came to my mind as the common thread between my upbringing and my daughter’s.  But then…it’s kind of cool. SNL fails A LOT, but it keeps going, and when it hits the mark, it’s gold. It’s had tremendous longevity. It is creative and irreverent and fearless and aware and relevant. Best of all, it makes me laugh. I think these things may turn out to be some pretty fantastic common threads after all.

Moving

Part of the plan of coparenting this baby is for me to move into Mike's house and for us to live together for the first year of Baby J's life. We made this decision primarily because didn't know how to realistically split time with a newborn, and we also wanted to establish ourselves as a family. My lease is up at the end of October so, at first, we thought we'd do the move at that time (which would have put me at 7 1/2 months pregnant). After some wonderful advice from a friend and mulling it over a little, however, we decided to tackle the move now, while I am still in my second trimester and while we have some time to adjust before the baby arrives. For anyone contemplating a similar situation, this was a REALLY good decision--a big thank you to my friend D for the advice. I am SO GLAD we did the move now, and I highly recommend taking on big changes in small steps.

First of all, I am probably feeling as good as I will feel during this pregnancy, and even though I've had a lot of help, the move still really has been too much for me. My body is completely spent, which makes me even more grouchy and irritable. I can't imagine doing this 10 or 20 pounds heavier, when we are also trying to do showers and birthing plans and classes. Secondly, although I knew this would be an adjustment, I had no idea what that really meant.

In addition to the physical difficulties, this move has taken me to my limits emotionally.  There are days when I feel like I've lost everything that is mine. Most of my stuff is in storage. I'm living in someone else's house, with someone else's stuff, and someone else's way of doing things. Someone else has taken over my body, including my physical abilities, my ability to focus, and even my moods. And, as things seem to go, life has not made it any easier. For example, the day I moved my cats over to the new house, one of them was so traumatized that she bit me (hard), sending me to urgent care.  I was trying to keep the cats happy, keep Mike from worrying, and worry about myself and Baby J, and I just lost it--over and over again.  I also lost a good portion of my hard drive while moving my computer--I'm still not sure what happened there. To make matters worse, the first night sleeping in a new house was horrid--I was exhausted, but didn't sleep at all and sat up and cried several times.  I kept thinking that my life is never going back to normal, and it's always going to feel this awful. I'm never to going to get the sleep I used to get, or have the privacy I used to have, or be in control of how the household runs. And, the final cherry on top--of course I couldn't stop worrying that all this stress and worry (yes, I get the insanity here) would harm the baby. Sigh.

It's a lot of change at once, and I didn't really want to talk to Mike about it, because I think he is having to adjust just as much as I am and there's not really anything to be done. It's just a really tough adjustment period. One bright spot is that I've never once questioned or regretted my decision to have a child or to do it by coparenting this way. In the midst of feeling this awful stress, depression, and anxiety, there is a certain peace in knowing that nothing needs to be fixed. Things are just hard right now. I tend to have a good day and then a bad day, so if I can just hang on, I can make it to the next day. Some days I count the hours till I can just go to bed. Other days I'm productive--today I'm even writing a blog post!

For anyone who's ever suffered from depression and/or anxiety, you know that awful, sinking, helpless feeling it brings. I have battled it for years, and I AM winning the battle. It's so much better than it used to be; however, it still flares up and it is flaring up now. Lately, on days when I have that feeling that I can describe as nothing other than depression and despair, I just hang on. The weird part in all of this--that has not occurred for me before--is that I am happy.  I know I am on the right path. I know it is going to be okay. I know I have what I want. I am happy with my life and I am depressed. It's the strangest feeling and I have learned not to overanalyze it. I just hang on. Hang on, hang on, hang on.

I wouldn't necessarily recommend this strategy for everyone. Often we wait way too long to seek help for depression and anxiety, so if you need help, please get it. For me, however, I feel like I have continued to seek professional help and continued to apply what I've learned for years. I have (and continue to, as needed) utilized antidepressants, gone to therapy, faced my demons, and used the tools I've been given to manage my life. It has worked. The bad days are MUCH less frequent and last for MUCH less time. For whatever reason, though, I am predisposed to depression and anxiety, and they still hit me when things get hard. Maybe they always will. I have found that there's very little I can do in the midst of it to feel better. So I let myself off the hook. I write the day (or week or month) off as a bad one. I don't blame myself anymore. I don't try to fix it. I do what I can and I let it run its course the same way I would let the flu run its course. When I stop resisting it, it seems to show up less and less.

I wouldn't trade this experience for anything, and the only way to fully experience is to walk through all of it--including all the ugly parts--by putting one foot in front of the other. Happy days are ahead. ♥

Twelve-Year Rewind

It seems that everyone is really interested in how I ended up where I am--happily pregnant in a well-planned co-parenting situation. When I ask someone if they want to know, they almost always say something like, "Oh yes, but I didn't want to be nosy!" On that subject I am pretty much an open book, and I want this blog to include helpful information for anyone else going through any piece of what I've gone through. Therefore, I am going to periodically include posts with concrete information--my backstory and any facts that I think might be helpful to people out there. Before I get to the more recent nitty-gritty, however, let's go back about 12 years...

I think this journey really started in 2001, the year of the 9/11 tragedy and the year I turned 30. That year was pivotal for me, but I didn't know it then.  I was working in a big law firm in downtown Phoenix on 9/11/01. I remember watching the second plane fly into the south tower live on NBC. I remember a few moments later when it sunk in that this was no accident. I remember as the realizations got bigger and bigger:  not only was this no accident, but this was an attack. And I remember a moment that afternoon when I was walking down the street in downtown Phoenix--at that point, we really didn't know if more attacks would follow and I can't imagine that anyone felt safe anywhere. I truly felt as if a plane could strike or a bomb could go off right where I was standing. There was no way to know and nowhere to go. When I realized that it was completely and totally out of my hands, I had a moment, right there on the sidewalk, of total peace. I was profoundly grateful and happy to have that moment, walking down the sidewalk in the sun on a beautiful September day, knowing that nothing else was guaranteed. I understood what mattered. I understood that the present moment is the ONLY thing we have. It changed me, but, again, I didn't know it at the time. I didn't know at the time that my heart and soul were about to begin a very long process of rejecting anything that didn't matter--anything that wasn't me, wasn't true, wasn't real.

Two months later I turned 30.  Truth be told, I was devastated to be turning 30, especially without a husband or children.  I think I was so devastated, that my fragile heart just couldn't go there, so I was in complete denial about it without even knowing it.  Because I didn't know what else to do, I focused on the good things about turning 30.  I focused on my successful career.  I listened to all the things people say about how THIS decade is the best one, and Mr. Right is just around the corner, and people have babies when they're 50 now! I reminded myself that I think age is just a number and it's crazy to be sad or embarrassed about your age!  I would never do that!  I am proud!  I am successful!  Everything is perfect!

All those things were true(ish), and it was also true that I had many positive things to be grateful for, and that focusing on the great things is generally a healthy thing to do. What I did not do--and could  not have known to do at the time--was face my demons. Positivity is wonderful, and gratitude is the gateway to many wonderful things, but I believe that truth trumps both of them. Positivity and gratitude were not going to help me a whole lot so long as I was avoiding the dark stuff--fear, hurt, pain, jealousy. That stuff is a part of life and burying it only gives it more power. One of my favorite quotes of all time came from the TV show "Grey's Anatomy" (it still makes me teary):  "Every[one] has a shadow. And the only way to get rid of a shadow is to turn off the light.  Stop running from the darkness. And face what you fear--head on."

Really doing this and coming to grips with it--facing my fears, admitting what I really wanted, having the courage to go after it, facing my hurts, forgiving the past, forgiving myself, getting honest about all the good and all the bad, and being not only okay with wanting to be a mom, but being blissfully excited about it--would take me the next eight years. Stay tuned.

It's a GIRL!!!!!!!

I have been telling everyone for weeks that I want this baby to be a girl, that I've wanted a girl forever, that this girl and I have been calling to each other for a very long time, and that I know this baby is a girl. I have referred to the baby as "her" and called her Baby J, a reference to several things, but mainly the first initial of her likely name. I got a lot of mixed reactions and a lot of people telling me not to get my hopes up, but I really didn't care. First of all, had the baby been a boy, the "disappointment" couldn't really go too deep. It would be nothing compared to the disappointment of a negative pregnancy test. I would've adapted quickly. First and foremost I wanted to be a mom, of course, but...I do want my girl!

When we found out the gender, after celebrating with me over the phone, one of my friends asked, "Wait. WHY did you want a girl so much?" That made me laugh, because I didn't really have answer. I thought about it though. It does seem a little silly, but I just felt it in my bones. I have felt it in my bones for years.

The only other thing I can remember feeling similarly about was going to Africa. In the 1980's I watched the movie "Out of Africa" (which remains my favorite movie of all time to this day) and from then on, I HAD to go. Africa was in my dreams and my blood and I just had to go. Again, I felt a little silly for feeling so strongly about this--did I really formulate one of my biggest dreams around a carefully controlled, romanticized version of a continent I saw in a MOVIE?!?! I thought it was a bit silly, and I was worried that if I ever got to Africa, I might be severely disappointed, but still, I knew I had to go. My dream was realized in 2006 when I finally made it to Africa. It was magical. It was everything I had hoped for and more. It was THE most connected I have ever felt to all the other life on this planet. It was a part of me.

I feel the same way about having a daughter. Wanting a girl so intensely seems arbitrary and somewhat silly. I certainly don't know what raising a daughter will be like. I'm sure I have romanticized visions of it in my head. When it comes down to it, the answer to "Why do you want a girl so much?" is the same as the answer to "Why do you want to go to Africa so much?"  I don't know, but I do.  It's a part of me.

I'm (kinda not) Coming Out

I obviously haven't done a blog post in nearly a month. Why? Because I'm almost ready to make it public and it's freaking me out. 

I purposely started writing this blog before I made it public. I wanted to get a head start and have some extra posts in the queue. Plus, I wanted to write it for ME and not for a particular audience, so that it would be written in my authentic voice, and not my-authentic-voice-trying-to-impress-you. I figured sometime during the last half of June, we would make the pregnancy officially facebook public, and then I could start sharing my blog posts. Easy. Aaaaand there's where it gets weird. 

It is now July 6 and I still haven't posted about the pregnancy on facebook.  I tried to tell myself that facebook is stupid and I don't owe people any explanation or announcement. Now, that may be true, but it's not authentic. The truth is, I WANT to tell the world. I want to be able to share my blog, and ask for pregnancy advice, and repost parenting articles, and enjoy having people be happy with me. So the whole "facebook is stupid" excuse, while perhaps true, is really just a cop-out. So why don't I post it already?????

My reasons for not posting it are all ridiculously overblown and irrational fears--things like, "What if a potential employer sees it and then doesn't give me a hypothetical dream job because I'm pregnant?" "What if [insert pretty much any name here] thinks [insert any number of ways someone could think I am wrong, or stupid, or bad]?" and the big one: "What if I publicly say I'm having a baby and it jinxes the pregnancy and I have to tell everyone never-mind-it-went-away?" Ok, typing that last one made my eyes tear up, so that must be the real fear. Tears are truth. 

I'm scared. I'm afraid to step out of my comfort zone and take a minuscule little risk. I know fears like this stem from an underlying belief that I don't deserve to be this happy, that the "other shoe" is about to drop, that I don't deserve to expect TOO much of a good thing. I also know all those beliefs are crap, but...I just don't want to test them on the thing that matters most to me in the world. Still, if I don't quash those beliefs on the things that really matter...am I really ever quashing them at all?

I think there's another piece to this, too. I was born to have a child. I know it. After all my achieving and traveling and money-making and whatever, this is the most authentic thing I have ever done as an adult. It's not particularly unique or unusual, but it is 100% real. It's who I am, and there's something scary about revealing all of that. It leaves no place to hide. Even though I don't really want to hide...we're talking about overcoming a lifetime of pretty tight control over my life and how it appears. (As a side note, every parent I know tells me I can kiss control goodbye in about 5 months anyway...). So, I'm going to make my announcement, and I'm going to share this blog. I'm writing this on July 6, 2013.  I guess we will all soon see how long it takes me to really "come out" of hiding. 

Law of Attraction FAIL

I have been noticing lately that the famed law of attraction refuses to give me what I am putting out into the universe and, indeed, DEMANDING.

I have been a raging bundle of hormones, and I do mean raging. I have screamed at people on the phone, cursed every other driver on the road--sometimes just for looking at me wrong, asked a pharmacist how many FUCKING times he would like me to call in order to get accurate information, and on and on and on. I have been angry and short-tempered, expected the worst out of people, felt sorry for myself, seen the bad in most situations, and expected things to go wrong. The whole time this is going on, of course, deep down I fear that the only person I am screwing is myself, and then I just get angrier, and on it goes. All I've ever tried to do is be better and I'm just not.  I'm not ever going to be better than myself.

What has happened, however, is the appearance of totally unexpected and seemingly undeserved grace. Again and again. I did not get the awful results I expected. The law of attraction did not send me evil, mean, nasty people to match my behavior. For whatever reason, grace appeared. Everywhere. That pharmacist? He told me he understands how difficult insurance can be and if I would come in that day, he would GIVE me enough pills to keep me from being sick until we can get the paperwork worked out. Many of those drivers let me in, even when I had cut them off. People I snapped at just got nicer and offered me more help. Mike brings me dinner and takes out my trash when I don't feel like cooking and cleaning. Even God seems to be in on it, because I was sitting on the corner of my bed sniffling about how I'm going to pay bills next week and when I went to get the mail, a good-sized settlement check arrived that I have been waiting on since JANUARY. I just sat down and said thank you about 100 times.

I am being given what I need even when I haven't earned it. I don't have to be better. I'm enough just the (sometimes awful) way I am. I think one form of grace occurs when people who are in a place to give (whether it's money or time or kindness) give what they have to people who don't have it. In my case, I don't have a shred of patience or kindness left in me--so other people who have it right now are giving it to me. It's extraordinary. My temper did not miraculously get longer and I am still pissed off a good share of the time. I just don't have much to give right now. But when I do--on the days when my joy and peace show up again--I will happily share my joy, peace, money, time, and kindness with those who need it, because we all deserve it. We're all good enough--even on our bad days.

Infertility

I have always, always wanted children, and I have been actively trying to become a parent since at least 2008. I had an international adoption fall through, I unsuccessfully attempted the domestic adoption route, I tried to do some kind of contrived superdating where I was on a quest to hurry up and find my soul mate so I could have a kid (not recommended), I tried using donor sperm, with and without a doctor’s assistance, and I looked into the foster care system.  Technically, I don’t know if I have fertility issues—the doctors never found anything “wrong” with me. I have, however, been trying to become a parent—the thing I want most in the world—for five years with no success. And now I’m suddenly happily and healthfully pregnant, which leaves me so, so, so happy, yet not knowing what I believe in anymore. 

I really thought as soon as I learned the right lesson or thought the right powerful, positive thought, or got the right coach, or ate the right food, I would miraculously understand the thing that had kept me from getting pregnant and I could share it with the world. What I learned, instead, is that I have no idea why things happened the way they happened, and I probably never will. I do know all these trials led me to a near perfect parenting situation, but that’s not a good enough explanation for me—that everything happens perfectly and for a reason—because I know there are people out there who want children as desperately as I do who won’t have them. I know there are people who have lost children, and no reason is ever perfect enough for that. I know I could lose my pregnancy tomorrow or my child in five years. I shudder to even type those words, but I need to, because typing them doesn’t do a thing. I am simply not in control of this whole thing.

Given that lack of control…advice on this issue is very rarely helpful. If you are a friend or family member, please don’t give advice on infertility. Just be there. I can’t tell you how much unhelpful advice I got. Let me say that I know the advice was almost always coming from a loving place. Let me also say that I was damn near ready to strangle the next person who told me that the only thing I needed to do was relax, because they had this friend who couldn’t get pregnant and then they decided to adopt and because they stopped forcing the whole pregnancy thing…YAY, they got pregnant!! NOT HELPFUL. At 40 years old, there was not a thing in the world that was ever going to make me relax or take a break or not want kids or stop trying. (And while we’re at it, please also refrain from saying things like, “Whoa, 40, you need to get with it!”  Um, yes, I might be vaguely aware of that). I couldn’t relax about it—it consumed everything. And I had to start my grieving process over again every. single. fucking. month.  It’s like telling a grieving person she would feel better if she’d stop being so sad. Ridiculous. Grief is uncomfortable. Let it be uncomfortable. Allow people to be sad, mad, hopeless, broken, devastated. You can’t erase it. You can’t make it better.

I guess that makes me the anti-advice-giver. I am here to tell anyone who is trying to get pregnant that you don’t have to get it right to earn a pregnancy. What will be will be. I did it all wrong. I did not relax. I did not discover the magic thing I needed to learn on this journey. I ate too much sugar. I tried to be positive, but was negative and very angry most of the time. I yelled at God and told him I’m never forgiving this. I came close to suicide. What I did do, in my very flawed way, was get support and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I tried to do better each day. I practiced gratitude—some days. I exercised more. I was in the game.  But let’s be clear:  those aren’t the reasons I got pregnant.  And I didn’t NOT get pregnant because I wasn’t grateful enough or I ate an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s for dessert. I didn’t get pregnant because I didn’t pregnant. And I got pregnant because I got pregnant.  And that’s it. 

The answers and wisdom I obtained are simply that I have no answers. I can’t even tell you to be gentle with yourself because I know you can’t always hear it and sometimes it just sounds like one more thing you should be doing better. I can’t tell you it will all work out for the best because I don’t know that it will. I can’t tell you the Universe works perfectly because, even though at my core I believe that it does, nothing about this experience felt perfect. The only thing I can tell you is that I stand with you. I send you so much love and compassion. You’re entitled to want what you want. Infertility is HARD. So hard. It’s a grieving process and you’re entitled to handle it however you want. You deserve children. And you don’t have to relax.  

Pregnancy is HARD.

I can't help but feel a little guilty for hating on something I wanted so much, and a little lazy for not being able to do anything but move from my bed to my couch, and a little angry that I never. feel. good., and a little disappointed that I really wanted pregnancy to be this euphoric experience that feels like skipping through a field of flowers. It is not like that. It is more like having the worst hangover of your life 70% of the time.

Fortysomething

I was so dreading turning 40, and I still rebel against aging, but you know what I love about my 40's? I feel a lot less judgment from others. Maybe that's just because I am (a little) less judgmental than I used to be. Either way, it seems to me that almost all of us that have made it this far now know that life didn't turn out the way we planned. Not even close. We know by now that there's no script and no way that it "should" be done. We know that doing things the "right" way did not end up being a recipe for happiness. I feel a lot more solidarity with others than I did in my 30's. It's as if we all know that traditional plans don't always work out, and the only thing you "should" do is whatever you have to do to be happy. You want to join a commune? Quit your six-figure job? Be a stay-at-home mom? Spend all day at your six-figure job? Or your four-figure job? Marry the proverbial milkman? Dye your hair purple? Waitress on the beach in Greece? Knock yourself out. Be happy.

Unexpected Tribe

I have been putting off doing my first post on this blog for about six months, because writing down the whole backstory feels like such a tremendous undertaking that I just procrastinate instead.  So, at the insistence of a friend, I'm just starting with today.  I'll give you a little backstory here, and fill in the rest as I go.

So today...I'm almost 9 weeks pregnant!!!  This is a joy that has been at least five years in the making and I am now happily pregnant with what I affectionately call a "turkey baster baby" conceived between me (a single, straight, 41-year-old female) and Mike, my 39-year-old single, gay, male friend. We have gone to counseling, drawn up court documents, and signed 40 pages of contracts about how we intend to co-parent this very wanted child.

We really haven't made it public yet, but it's been hard to keep it much of a secret.  So many people have been on this journey with me for so long, that when they ask how things are going, I usually can't lie or even hide the fact that...something finally worked!

Today I told one of our mutual friends that I am pregnant, and she was SO excited for us.  It gave me the same feeling that I've had after telling several other friends--the feeling of an unexpected family. My family situation has never been typical, my way of becoming a parent is certainly not typical, and most of my life has been about doing things by myself.  Somehow, though, I now find myself surrounded by what I can only call a beautiful, eclectic little tribe.  So many people have laughed with me, cried with me, said too much, said too little, and probably genuinely worried about my well-being through my attempts to become a parent, and now here they are all, each in his/her own unique way, thrilled as can be about the prospect of this new little life.  I feel so much (unexpected) genuine interest, excitement, support, love, and generosity from so many people--black, white, brown, gay, straight, old, young, related, unrelated, funny, serious, rich, poor, talkative, quiet, intellectual, artsy, and everything in between.  I love my unexpected tribe, and I love that this child is being born into an abundance of love and family that shows up in all kinds of ways.