Brothers

“What strange creatures brothers are!” ~ Jane Austen


Surely, this baby must be a girl.  I had little to no trouble with my pregnancy with Jack and this one has been quite a rocky road- blood clots in my leg, unrelenting nausea.  So logic would deduce that my body makes baby boys well and isn't so great at baby girls.

Logic has no place in pregnancy.

A few years ago, I was out to lunch with a wonderful friend who is the mother of 2 boys.  They knew while pregnant with their 2nd child that they would be finished having children.  I asked her if her thought changed once she found out she was having another boy.  "You know," she said, "I definitely wanted a daughter for me, but I wanted a brother for my son even more.  I considered it a win/win."

And it was with those wise words that happy tears sprung into my eyes when the ultrasound technician told me I was having another boy.  Images started appearing in my head.  Jack and his brother reading books together, running around together at the lake, sleeping in bunk-beds, giggling all night.  And then the inevitable battles, fights, scrapes.  But then, even farther into the future, I imagined them standing next to each other at Jack's wedding.  Of course, so many of these things are possible for a brother and sister.  I have both and love them all ferociously.  But there is something magical about sisters and brothers.  I feel incredibly grateful to be able to give Jack a sibling and I feel honored to give him a brother who I hope and pray will love him and look up to him for the rest of his life.

There is a wistfulness I feel when thinking that Trevor and I may not experience the love of a daughter.  I think any parent who has single sex children can attest that many of us just assume that we'll have both and each sex carries with it some unique moments and bonds that don't form in the same way as with the other sex.  Maybe someday Trevor and I will, but maybe we won't.  But we don't wish this child to be a girl, we don't wish this child to be anything other than the miraculous being he already is.  

A funny thought hit me the other day while I was standing in the kitchen watching Jack and Trevor play together.  Jack won't have a single memory of life before his brother.  All of his earliest memories will involve the presence of this new boy.  Trevor and I will have photos and videos and blogs of life before him, although I know there will come a day when even those fade and it feels like our entire life has existed with children and not child.  Most of his identity in our family will be as someone's big brother as most of the identity I had growing up was as someone's big sister.  How funny that he'll never recall the years during which Trevor and I attempted to figure all of this out.  He'll just enjoy the years of being a family and of having a Harpo to his Groucho, a Harry to his Will, an Orville to his Wilbur, a Luigi to his Mario, and of course, if we're lucky, a Jake to his Elwood.

And it bears mentioning that in a month of so much sadness in the news, of families whose hearts are breaking and stories of our nation being at odds over practically everything, nothing in the entire world brings more hope and joy than the sight of a brand new life on an ultrasound screen.  To see the formation of his brain, his heart, his spine, his limbs breathed fresh air into my heart and mind.  Thank you, thank you God for this great gift of new life.  

Our new boy.  

Our new son. 

Jack's new brother.

Heroes

I can't look at the news today and I can't read articles about the shooting at the Connecticut elementary school without tears welling up in my eyes and a lump the size of a walnut forming in my throat.  So I do what I can.  I love my baby.  Today, instead of putting Jack in his crib for his nap, I laid down next to him on our bed, held him in the crook of my arm, planted my lips on his forehead, stroked his hair, still curly from his morning's swim lesson and we fell asleep that way.  When I woke up 30 minutes later, my lips were still pressed against his head and my new baby was wriggling around inside of me.  I reflected in that dark room how moments like these are perhaps the only times in my life when I am certain of my babies' safety.  In the still, quiet room with the sound of cars driving by outside and airplanes flying overhead, I imagine them all being filled with someone else's children and how much sheer faith in humanity it takes to ever let them out of your sight.

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." To this day, especially in times of "disaster," I remember my mother's words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world."
-Fred Rogers

I think of the teachers who huddled their children together and read them stories to keep them calm.  I think of my own husband, a school teacher himself, who enters his school every day not knowing what the day will bring but doing his best to nurture, educate, and inspire those young people.  As with Columbine, Aurora, and 9/11 before this, the stories of the heroes & helpers will continue to emerge and I will mentally file them all away in an act of self-preservation so I'm not afraid to let my son out of my sight.

Jack's room has posters of "heroes" on the wall.  Iron Man, Spider-Man, Captain America.  He also has a picture of his dad on his bookshelf, a real hero.  I say a prayer of gratitude for our nation's helpers today.  Our teachers, our first responders- police, fire and EMTs, our pastors, priests, counselors, and volunteers.  All of them are someone's baby.  All of us are.

In one of my favorite movies "The Night of the Hunter", the strong female protagonist, a grandmotherly type who takes in orphans proclaims:

"It's a hard world for little things.  You know, when you're little, you have more endurance than God is ever to grant you again. Children are man at his strongest. They abide."

To those babies who were plucked from this earth at their strongest and to the babies, teachers, and staff members of that once joyful elementary school who must now endure the trauma that unfolded around them, I pray for those words to be true.  It is a hard world for little things, but they will endure and abide. 

My Cub

An excerpt from an article originally published in the Daily Mail UK, online, 9/26/11

Clinging on for dear life to the side of a vertical cliff, the tiny lion cub cries out pitifully for help.  His mother arrives at the edge of the precipice with three other lionesses and a male. The females start to clamber down together but turn back daunted by the sheer drop.

Eventually one single factor determines which of them will risk her life to save the youngster – motherly love.

Slowly, agonizingly  the big cat edges her way down towards her terrified son, using her powerful claws to grip the crumbling cliff side. One slip from her and both animals could end up dead at the bottom of the ravine.

Just as the exhausted cub seems about to fall, his mother circles beneath him and he is snatched up in her jaws. She then begins the equally perilous journey back to the top. 

Minutes later, they arrive and she gives the frightened creature a consoling lick on the head. 

Go on, grab a Kleenex.  Nature is such a powerful teacher.  If I'm being very honest, sometimes I'm afraid that I'm messing this whole motherhood thing up.  Should I be spending more time with him?  Should I be scolding him in different ways?  He's not even 2 yet so he can't always find the words to communicate with me and I sometimes imagine this silent scream (which is not often silent) coming from within him out of frustration that I just don't get it.

Mama said there'd be days like this

Last night Jack woke up in a fit of screaming.  He's getting his 2 year molars in and I can only imagine the agony.  In a reverse of the mother lion I ascended the cliff, otherwise known as our stairs and found my cub.  I brought him back downstairs to sleep with us in our bed.  Eventually, this amounts to his feet digging into Trevor's back and his skull nestled in between my shoulder blades.  From an aerial point of view, we make a big letter H.

Happy haphazard harbor

Trevor and I have oft repeated the parental mantra, "he won't be this little forever" and we wearily tell this to each other as we lay there preparing for what will be a long night.  Before Jack begins his bedtime break dance routine I feel his little warm body nestled against mine.

"Is he spooning me?" I ask.

"Ha. Yeah." says Trevor.

"Good." I reply.

I can't always be with my cub.  That's what separates us from the mother lions I suppose. Because I'd descend any cliff to rescue him, that's for sure.  So I think about the ways I am there for him and the times I do make sacrifices for him and that brings me some comfort even when I lose sleep.  I know that someday Jack will be making me lose sleep when he's not under my roof, when he's far, far away at school or work or with his own family.  I'll lose sleep in a warm bed with lots of room to roll around because he's no longer here.  So I will allow myself to lose sleep knowing that his little body is next time mine breathing and dreaming.  

And every new day is a fresh start as a mom.  I'll mess things up, I'll make things right.  I'll feel alternately racked with guilt and bursting with pride at the choices I make and the wonder that is my son.

And I know that he won't be this little forever, but he will always be my cub.

Incidentally, I can also tell you another thing that separates us from the lions.  Here's one last photo from that article.  Notice the three lionesses and the one clearly enlightened male lion attempting to climb down the cliff?  Notice the other male Lion relaxing off to the side?  Most likely thinking of his next hunt or the upcoming presidential election between Simba and Timon.  Well that ain't our daddy lion.  Before I ascended those stairs last night, Trevor had already gone up and I found him holding our cub whispering in Jack's ear as tears streamed down those tiny cheeks that everything would be alright.

With a pride like that, there's no way we'll mess this up.

"Looks like they have a good handle on the situation."

I love you. The end.

Jack is a lover.  He's scrappy too, but he is a lover in his heart.  He kisses and hugs the little boys and girls at his daycare freely and without hesitation.  I treasure this age.  I marvel at his instinctive displays of affection and tenderness because it won't always be this way.  Eventually he will learn boundaries and that not everyone appreciates it when you walk up and kiss them, especially on their bellies.  He's a belly kisser.

Last January, I wrote a poem for Jack's 1st birthday which you can read here.  Go ahead and read it if you haven't, it will make the rest of this make more sense.  It's ok, I can wait...

My first draft of the poem mentions Jack as a father in his bed on a birthday far into the future when his children come bouncing in with homemade birthday cards and his wife making pancakes in the kitchen.  After I wrote it and read it, something didn't quite work for me.  You see, I know plenty of married men and women, the majority of my friends are heterosexual couples.  But I also know Annette and Allison, Eric and Kris, Dava and Kristin, Myke and Mark, Amy and Zayda, Chris and Dan, Jennifer and Mary.  I know them all and I love them very much and I realized that if Jack is gay- and I won't know this for quite some time, but if he is gay, I don't ever want him to go back and read that very special poem and think for one second that my hopes and dreams for his life were wrapped up in him being married to a woman.  All I hope for him is that he is surrounded by more love than one heart can hold and that's what I tried to capture in that poem*.

Jack might be gay.  Those words will most likely sting some people I love very much, but they are words I need to come to terms with in the event that they're true.  Would I love him one bit less?  Absolutely, 100% no way, no how.  Would I be fearful or sad?  Sadly, yes.  I don't know how to raise this little ball of love in a world so deeply divided over something that to me seems so unbelievably simple and easy to embrace- the God of my understanding wants us to love everyone.  And if we can't love everyone, we shouldn't hurt them.  

Last summer, hundreds of people all across the country lined up to buy fast food chicken saying they were defending the 1st amendment.  But to me it sent a message that language intended to divide and judge is to be commended and celebrated and sponsored.  I can ignore the words of one man but I can't ignore the sight of people cheering and rallying to support him.  And maybe there was a time in my life when I could, but when I held that baby in my arms for the first time, I swore that I would love and defend him with all my might.  And what if they were all cheering against my own precious son?

As a mother I have to take a very clear and firm stance on this issue and be an advocate for the rights of my dear friends who only wish to be married to their partners and given all of the rights and privileges they deserve.  If not for my own children then for the thousands of children who live in fear of coming out to their families and friends; the children who are jumping off of bridges, crippled with anxiety and self-loathing.  I didn't carry my son for 38 weeks to love him "only if" or "only when".  I carried my boy into this earth to love him and protect him for as long as I can.

And Jack, I love you no matter what.  It is my heart's greatest desire that the love that overflows in your heart today never diminishes as the years go by.  I hope you find a partner to stand by you and love you for all the days of your life.  Please don't ever be afraid of who you are.  You were created by love, born by love and raised by love.  You are 1 part me and 1 part daddy, 1 part uniquely you and 100% deserving of love.

We love you Jack for all that you are and will be.  The end. 

*But Jack, I want grandchildren.  This is non-negotiable.

Lovely

When I wake up in the morning, love
And the sunlight hurts my eyes
And something without warning, love
Bears heavy on my mind

Then I look at you
And the world's alright with me
Just one look at you
And I know it's gonna be
A lovely day
Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day

Parents are famous for saying that they wish they could freeze frame a moment with their children to travel back to it again and again.  Last night was a moment like that for me and Jack.

The kid wouldn't go to sleep.  Sunday nights are always challenging since the day typically consists of no routine and no set schedule.  We had two wonderful friends come to visit us which made Jack exceptionally excited and he ran around the house accordingly.  So by the time bedtime came and went and he was having nothing to do with sleep I gave Trevor a break and went upstairs to pick up crying Jack from his crib and attempt to rock him to sleep.

With only the soft green light of a nightlight to illuminate our faces I held Jack in a rocking chair while I wiped the tears off of his cheek.  We sat there slowly rocking cheek to cheek until his soft pudgy hands made their way around my neck and he turned and kissed me.  I sang Bill Withers' "Lovely Day" and we rocked and rocked together.

It would be truly "lovely" if the story ended there.

It does not.

Jack began to squirm and squirm until I threw in the towel and took him downstairs.  I gave him some dry cereal, but quickly realized that the change in scenery was perking up his energy again.  So into our bedroom we went.  Trevor was downstairs with Aunt Bean watching TV so Jack took Trevor's side of the bed and we just laid there together.

9pm on a Sunday night is quite possible the worst time of the week.  9pm on a Sunday is when you reflect on every piece of clothing that didn't get washed, the work you didn't get to and the dishes that didn't get put away and the fact that they will be waiting for you on Monday.

When the day that lies ahead of me
Seems impossible to face
When someone else instead of me
Always seems to know the way

Then I look at you
And the world's alright with me
Just one look at you
And I know it's gonna be
A lovely day

But Jack doesn't understand the awfulness of Mondays yet.  He just looked very content to be laying there next to me and so I allowed myself to be content too and not worry about everything that didn't get done.  I turned the lights off and turned on my Nook to find Richard Scarry's "Colors" book.  Now our faces were illuminated by Lowly Worm, Huckle Cat and Bananas Gorilla.  His tiny finger pointed out the "app-ulls", "tucks", "cawrs", and "titties" (that's kitties, I promise you).  After we had gone through every color from Red to White we shut off the book and laid there in the darkness.


And this time, the story ends there.  Jack's hands found my face and just explored it for a minute until the rustling of his legs against the sheets slowed down and his breath steadied and he fell fast asleep.  At some point I must have turned my back to him because the next thing I remember was the feeling of a little body spooning me.  Trevor came up and after getting ready for bed himself, scooped him up and took him back upstairs.

There was nothing magical about last night, no earth-shattering revelations about my boy.  There was just me and Jack holding space together for a little while in ways that won't always be possible for us.   I do wish I could always remember the way his tiny hands feel and how soft his cheeks are.  Even though I'm living those things right now, they can be easy to miss when focusing on his loud screams, how hard he can throw things when he's mad and how stubborn he can be.  So I need to remember the lovely times too.

Then I look at you
And the world's alright with me
Just one look at you
And I know it's gonna be
A lovely day

 

170

For almost 12 weeks I have not known how to talk or write about this pregnancy.  Any initial excitement we had was quickly brushed aside by an emergency room visit and hospital stay and then weeks of unrelenting nausea and sickness that haven't subsided.  It's been easy to forget about the baby growing inside of me when so much feels so wrong.

So when I walked into my appointment with my midwife this morning and she said "How are you doing?" I didn't quite know how to answer that.  I am all at once grateful, sick, sad, excited, anxious, nauseous, and tired.  In a word- it's complicated.

This morning on my way out the door to take Jack to daycare, a huge wave of nausea hit me and I found myself hunched over the kitchen sink puking up everything but the kitchen sink.  Jack just stood there holding his graham cracker watching me with a worried look on his face.  In between heaves I looked over at him and said "It's ok buddy, mama's ok".  He smiled and just stood there until I was done.  I feel guilty for all the time I haven't spent with him these past few weeks and I hope he understands.

I know there are women who love being pregnant, who glow and cultivate perfect bumps, who don't puff up or feel and look like zombies.  God love those women, but unfortunately that ain't me.  


Let me be super clear- the issues I'm dealing with pale in comparison with what I know other women have suffered through to carry their babies.  If you haven't yet watched "Call the Midwife" on PBS, do it!  I offer up all of this pain to the pregnant women featured on that show.  I have incredible support at work, world class insurance and a network of family and friends to help me when I need them.  There is no woe-is-me here, but right now, in my own little corner of the world I'm feeling very frayed at the edges.

My midwife had me lay on the table so she could listen to the baby's heartbeat.  Up until now I haven't had the chance to hear it.  I lifted up my shirt to expose a belly full of bruises from the shots I have to give myself each day.  She pressed the Doppler machine firmly onto my pelvis and all of a sudden, there it was.

woosh woosh woosh woosh woosh woosh

"There it is!" she exclaimed.  "170!  Nice and strong."  The sad tears I fought back earlier in the appointment became happy tears as I listened to the sound of my baby's beating heart.  Underneath those bruises lies a teeny tiny baby.  None of this is his or her fault, but it's been incredibly hard to find my baby in the midst of this never-ending whirlwind of illness.  

I have realized that it's ok to be incredibly grateful for your ability to have a baby while simultaneously hating being pregnant.  You can loathe every minute of the puffiness and puke while relishing the thought of holding your newborn baby in your arms.  

I have to believe that all of this has not been too easy on this little baby either.  Jack came 11 days before his due date at the tail end of what was a pretty nasty bout of bronchitis for me.  It was a 7 hour labor and delivery.  I swear he pulled the emergency escape hatch and got the hell out of there because he was over all the coughing.  I might not always be the most glowing or gracious hostess for these babies, but I sure do love them ferociously once they're in my arms.  I just need to try extra hard to find this baby again.  She or he has had to compete with a myriad of distractions including an older brother who needs a lot from me right now.

But find this baby I will.  There's a little woosh woosh woosh in there.  It's a little piece of me and Trevor and Jack and with each woosh this baby is making its way into our lives.  And baby, we can't wait!

9/19/12- Baby's 1st ultrasound w/ heartbeat at the bottom

Aunt Bean & Uncle Cris

My sister Mary AKA Bean dances like no one's watching.  And if people are watching, they are probably at a concert because that's where she spends a great majority of her time feeding her love of music.  She does that arm flailing full of joy-I was born 40 years too late-Woodstockian flower-child dance and I marvel at her spirit.  Marvel and laugh at her because I'm her older sister and we do that.

Last year, at 20, Bean decided to be a grown up and work full time, attend school full time and in an act of sheer love and selflessness, watch Jack two days a week (her only days off of work) so we could ease him into day care.  They bonded over the Beatles and blankets strewn across the lawn while dappled sunlight danced in Jack's eyes through the lens of Bean's ever present iPhone.

This year, at 21, Bean decided to be a kid for the last year you can truly be a kid.  She doesn't come around as much, but when she does she greets her beloved Jack with a "PEANIEEEEE" our affectionate nickname for our little peanut.

Aunt Bean & Peanie at Indian Lake

This pregnancy has not gotten off to a blissful start.  I've been plagued by constant nausea which is worst at night plus a quick trip to the hospital with blood clots in my leg.  It's hard to not feel like I'm missing out on this precious time with Jack while I lay curled up on the bed trying to talk myself down from another wave of nausea.  Trevor has essentially become a single father in the evenings taking care of dinner and bath every night, but now he's in rehearsals for a play he's directing and help has become imperative. 

Last week, the side door burst open to the sound of "HI PEANIEEEEE!" and there was Aunt Bean wearing slipper socks, yoga pants and a hoodie sweatshirt- her standard visiting uniform.  I was in my standard position, curled up on my bed while Trevor was getting dinner ready.  Jack jumped into her arms and she gave him a huge hug.  The 3 of us sat on my bed talking about important things- the finale of Honey Boo Boo and the most recent concert she attended- Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.  

Then, the most wonderful thing happened.  We turned our cable to the music stations and she held an impromptu dance party with Jack.  "Wide Awake" by Katy Perry was playing.  The #1 song on the day Jack was born was "Firework", so Katy Perry has sort of become Jack's homegirl.  I sat on my bed feeling sick as a dog while my beloved sister danced around the room with my beloved son.  She swung him around while his little hand rested gently on her shoulder.  He laughed and giggled and smiled and I saw all of the things I wished I could do with him before my eyes, but he wasn't missing out on any of it because of Aunt Bean.

Uncle Cris is Trevor's younger (and only) brother.  He is a cheeky monkey who has shared more than 1 crazy adventure with Trevor and they have scars to prove it.   Cris can be incredibly elusive and we may go a few weeks without hearing from him.  He keeps busy with work and friends, but he is the kind of person who will drop everything to help you when you need him.

Uncle Cris & Sparky- 1/7/11

Cris found out we were expecting another baby while I was in the hospital for the blood clots earlier this month.  It was a "good news/bad news" phone call from Trevor to his brother from the hospital room.  Cris assured us he would help with anything we needed.

For two nights in a row this week and for as long as we need him to, Cris has come over at 5pm to wait for Jack (who he has called "Sparky" since the day of his birth) and I to return home so he can play with him and give him lots of attention during what is a very difficult and nauseous time of day for me.  He stays for dinner and gets to know his nephew better.  He has shown him the magic that is a cardboard box and has made promises to build complex (read- incredibly dangerous) obstacle courses and stairway slip 'n slides when Jack is older.  Yesterday, uncle and nephew, Cris and Sparky grabbed a soccer ball and went out to the backyard to play.  I could hear Jack's excited cries of "ball! ball! ball!" as Cris ushered him outside.

Trevor is adamant that Jack will call Uncle Cris "Uncle Luda".  Get it?  Luda-cris?  And while Jack hasn't mastered the word Cris, last night he did muster a Looo-a.  Trevor might just get his wish.  When we do ask him to say Cris, he puckers his lips and makes a kiss instead which I think is just about perfect.

Bean and Cris shared maid of honor/best man duties in our wedding.  Those titles weren't just captions in a wedding program, they have maintained that place of honor in our life as a couple and now as a family.  Does it take a village to raise a child?  Yes, I do believe it does.  It certainly takes a village to support two working parents.  I love our little village people Bean and Cris.  Jack loves them too.  

Someday Jack and his younger sibling will go sledding down the basement stairs on a cookie sheet while blasting The Beatles' "Helter Skelter" and I will know that the legacy of Bean and Cris lives on in my babies.