On Dating Friends

We had a nice mid-week family trip to the park the other day. Dave was off. I wasn't teaching. The weather was unseasonably warm. We ran some errands and stopped to let Aleida climb on the jungle gym.

We ran into a mom with a set of two-year-old twins. Conversation comes easy when the parents of 3 adorable kids get together. We chatted for a few minutes, long enough to get names and basic background information. I liked her immediately. She had an easy smile and a casual yet attentive parenting style. She seemed to appreciate Aleida's cuteness, even with the bias of a mom who spends much of her time with adorable squared. I admired her for parenting twins. She was good with conversation and told us she was relatively new to Greeley as well. Call it a minor girl crush, but I felt we had chemistry.

She started packing up her kids to go home. It was almost lunch time, after all. She said, "Well, nice to meet you. Maybe we'll see you at the park again sometime."

Before I knew it, I was picking her up. I invited her to our fledgling playgroup and asked for her e-mail address (the new version of getting digits). She gave it willingly, and I briefly wondered if it might be a fake. I waved goodbye and rejoined my family who had wandered to the goose pond, a little giddy at my own aggression in making a new friend.

Why does making friends at this age feel so much like dating? Can you relate to this? Is this unique to people who have moved around a lot, whose lives have been in flux and friends therefore temporary, at least from a proximity point of view? Maybe it's my job. I have colleagues, but see them rarely. Usually it's just me and the students. We don't have office parties and happy hours, just the occasional departmental meeting.

Since getting married, I've lived on both coasts, and finally feel somewhat settled in Greeley. I have enjoyed seeing different parts of the country, and the exploration has helped me define myself and where I belong. I'm happy to say that I feel like I belong in Colorado. It's good to be home.

Moving around has its disadvantages, however. The last few phases of my life have been temporary. This was especially true in New Jersey, where I knew that 4 years would be my max. No offense, New Jerseyites, but NJ was not a match for me. I did make a handful of lasting friends there and in Portland. Most fall into the facebook acquaintance category, but a couple of us stay more connected with regular phone calls and mutual hopes of visiting each other someday.

Now, back in Colorado, I am closer to some of my dearest, time-tested friends. Still, most are about an hour's drive away. We try to get together once a month or so, but on a day-to-day basis, I need a more local social group.

Having a child does make it easier to make friends. A kiddo gives you common ground and immediate conversation starters. "How old?" "What her name?" "Those are cute shoes!" However, sometimes I'll talk to a fellow mother for half an hour and never get her name, though I'll know her kid's name, age, favorite food, and the time of his last bowel movement. If all you can talk about is your kids, your friendship is going to be limited at best, tedious at worst. Also, I've learned this: a fellow mother does not a BFF make. And parenting does open up a whole new world of potential crazy and disagreement. Parenting is kind of like politics...it can be polarizing. I have certainly met mothers I hope to never meet again.

I am starting to make some good friends, mostly through my playgroup and other child-centered activities. Still, building those friendships is a slow process, especially because your first instinct is to talk about your kids. When is it okay to bring up hobbies, politics, relationships, sex, religious beliefs, life philosophies, hopes, dreams, disappointments? Will she think I'm weird if I invite her to dinner without her kid? Should I call her in the middle of the week just to day hello and see how her day is going? Do I come across as desperate if I ask for more time than the weekly established play date? What about going away for the weekend? Are we to the point where I can call her in a crisis? Can I cry/joke/fart/pee/lose my temper/gossip/complain/pick a wedgie in front of her yet? Should I hug her goodbye, shake hands, just wave?

You must have a level of attraction when making friends, just like when dating. I'm not talking physical attraction necessarily, but common hobbies, mutual respect, and relate-able lifestyles do mean something. I know that I make judgments about people, and I certainly find myself more "attracted" to some women than others. Chemistry is important in all kinds of relationships.

I'm lucky to have several cherished friends in my life, the kind who I could call in the middle of the night without hesitation. They might not be local, but our emotional ties trump physical proximity. Still, I'm looking to build a life here; for once this is not a temporary situation. My husband and I have good jobs, a great house, nearby family and plans to build community. So, I want to build the foundation for lasting friendships. It's nerve-wracking and exciting all at once. And yes, it's a lot like dating. Am I alone in thinking this?

As for the girl in the beginning of the story: She didn't come to playgroup, but we have e-mailed back and forth, and I have hopes that we will plan a time to hang out again, with our kids. We'll talk about their sleep habits and the joys and challenges of parenting. We might delve into our hobbies and how we met our husbands. Perhaps we'll meet a few times and the relationship will just peter out. But on the other hand, perhaps one day, maybe years in the future, we'll call each other just to say hello or we'll turn to each other during a difficult time in life.

Late addition to this posting, thanks to my super-mom, time-tested friend Johanna. Hilarious! http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/7148143/

Boy or Girl?

I haven't written in over a year. I have thought about writing a lot, if that counts for anything. I have no real excuses except for a busy toddler, a move back to Colorado, setting up a home, 2 part-time jobs and many attempts to catch up with old friends and make new ones. So no real excuses but lots of reasons for my absence. Anyway, I'm back, with a new muse and a goal to write a substantial post at least once a week.

The muse is baby number 2, due June 8. Yes, this baby could also be born on June 1st. In fact, the doctor asked if I wanted to just schedule a c-section for a week before the due date. We're not going to--I'm leaving it up to chance--but it's still pretty coincidental, don't you think?

I'm almost to the halfway point (for normal term babies, not Aleida's timeline!), which means I have the exciting gender-telling ultrasound on Thursday. In 5 days I'll know what's cooking. Unlike some mothers who "just knew" or got some other sign about the sex of their spawn (what a great word...spawn...makes me think of cheesy alien movies), I am clueless. It could be an alien in there for all the instinct I have about it. The most asked question I get is, "Are you going to find out the sex?" My response is always, "Hell yes!" First of all, my aforementioned lack of instinct leaves me wondering. Secondly, while some people say they are waiting to be surprised, I figure it's a surprise no matter when you find out. And honestly, aren't there enough surprises inherent in giving birth? Thirdly, I want to bond with the idea of whatever I'm having, boy or girl.

Of course the follow-up question to the first one is, "Do you have a preference?" I think I can honesty say that I don't. If Aleida had been a boy, I think I would really want a girl. And sometimes, I get caught up on the idea of having one of each. We will probably stop at two, and I'm not one to keep trying til I produce one of each. A boy would be nice, just for the sake of having a son and knowing what he's like. Plus, there's something pleasing and symmetrical about a family with one of each. It makes for good family photos.

But then I think about how much I love having a sister. We talk about sex and menstruation and bodily functions. We go on sissy trips. We can hug and cuddle and it isn't weird. Maybe some brothers and sisters do that, but I just think there's a different level to the friendship that exists between siblings of the same gender. Plus, my daughter amazes and touches my heart. I am comfortable with her and can easily picture two little girls running around the house together. With another girl, I don't have to worry about circumcision or keeping the wiener clean or showing him how to aim into the potty or what I'll say the first time I catch him masturbating or how I'm going to feel when he starts prioritizing other women over me.

I know some women have strong preferences, and I'm thankful that I don't. My mother REALLY wanted me to be (and thought I was) a boy. I think she cried when I came out a girl. But look how totally awesome I am.

What it comes down to--and I know this will sound sappy--is that I will adore whatever child we create. Boy, girl, hermaphrodite...I will love it. I see benefits of both, and since I tend to see the good in situations, I will be easily convinced that whatever the ultrasound shows on Thursday is exactly what I wanted deep down inside.

Even still, I'm taking votes (or guesses). So far, I'm about 50/50, with maybe an extra vote or two for a girl. Dave, his mom, and myself have all had boy dreams. I don't think they are premonitions as much as our brains working over time. I'm not guessing it's a boy...I just had a dream. So, post your guess in comments. And thanks for reading.

Feeling happy

So it's been awhile since I've written. I started an entry about AJ's sleep patterns several times, but I never finished it and probably never will. BTW- she sleeps 12 hours a night and has been doing that since she was about 4 months old. She's awesome.

Here's a quick update. Aleida June:
Is totally healed from surgery
Has two bottom front teeth popping through
Rolls over from front to back, but not from back to front (she hates being on her tummy, and isn't about to go there willingly)
Loves taking baths
Can sit up without support indefinitely- but I still hover nearby in case she topples over
Has eaten and enjoyed avocado, banana, brown rice cereal, yogurt, and mixtures of all of those
Will be trying sweet potatoes and pears this week
Weighs about 14 lbs or so- she's only about the 10-15%ile for weight- but about 50% for height
Was dressed as a monkey for Halloween
Has an average of 3 outfit changes a day
Stops fussing whenever we play the video for Beyonce's "Single Ladies" or Daft Punk's "Around the World" or various musical numbers from the show, Glee
Loves music, our pets, and going on walks
Turns pages in books as we read to her
Went crabbing on the Oregon Coast
Took her first airplane ride (and did very well) over Thanksgiving
Skypes with Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Juli on a regular basis
Has started playing with blocks
Enjoys going with mommy and daddy to the rock-climbing gym
Loves to practice standing up- and will probably walk before she crawls
Dances
Likes playing airplane
Drools excessively
Takes two naps a day
Gets very excited when we walk through outdoor-equipment stores- especially a place called the Next Adventure here in Portland
Has been to Greeley, Denver and Heeney, Colorado
Is an excellent grocery-shopping partner

I could go on- it has been quite a few weeks. It seems like she is developing at super speed now. Something about getting teeth or starting solid foods triggered a cascade of milestones. She's such a fun, good-natured soul. Sometimes when she's napping, I'll get impatient for her to wake up because I just want to hang out with her. She's SO MUCH FUN, in fact, that I want a dozen more.

Okay, not a dozen. But I have gone from thinking that I want two kids 3-4 years apart, to thinking I want 3 kiddos, closer to 2 years apart. Who knows how things will work out, but she has not deterred me from wanting more kids- quite the opposite.

I think back to the pre-AJ me, and have to laugh. Even as I was 8-months pregnant, I remember seeing women pushing strollers around the neighborhood and thinking, "How boring." Those thoughts used to worry me. But it is so not boring. Even taking a little walk with Aleida is pure pleasure. She gets more fun and interesting every day. I have started seeing little glimpses of the person she is going to be, and she is awesome.

Poo Emergency

Just a quick little story to illustrate that things are back to normal- or at least as "normal" as they are going to be for a new family with a 4-month-old.

We took a hike last weekend, to Punchbowl Falls in the Columbia River Gorge. It's a beautiful hike to amazing waterfalls. Dave had Aleida in the Bjorn. I carried a camelpack. We left the dogs at home, because it's a very narrow trail with very steep drop offs and lots of human/dog traffic. Don't worry, we made it up to them later with a solid session of fetch in the park.

Anyway, we hiked to the turn around point- the scenic falls. I pulled up a rock and sat down with my baby to feed her. I'd packed my nursing shield. As she was feeding, she let out one of her alarmingly loud, but not rare, poops. She was wearing a disposable diaper. We do cloth at home, but still travel with disposables. As she relieved herself with the force of a cork coming off of a champagne bottle, I thought about how I'd failed to bring an extra diaper on the trail. The diaper bag was well stocked, but alas, still in the car. She's not one to complain about a dirty diaper, so I felt a bit guilty, but figured she'd be okay for the hour it took us to hike down the trail.

That was until I felt the wetness on my leg. I looked at Dave and averted my eyes toward her bottom. "On my thigh...Is that...?"

He lifted the nursing shield to get a glimpse. "Oh yeah. That's poo. Oh no." I couldn't see the damage and Aleida was still happily feeding, but I could tell, from his face, it was serious.

"I didn't bring an extra diaper," I said.

"We're going to have to do something. You'll see."

I did see. Out of the diaper, through the onsie, through AJ's pants, through MY pants and onto my leg. That was the situation. Poo emergency on the trail. An hours walk from anywhere.

We took stock of our camelback, which we fortunately did not empty after each hike. We happened to have a roll of toilet paper, and several plastic bags- including a couple of the variety made especially for picking up dog poop.

AJ's whole outfit was ruined. Surprise, I didn't have a spare outfit in the bag, either! Here's what we did, AJ's MacGruber parents.

We stripped her down and threw all the poo-covered items into a bag. We wiped her down with toilet paper, then used more toilet paper to serve as the absorptive part of the makeshift diaper. We put holes in the corners of one of the dog poop bags, and shimmied this up over AJ and the toilet paper. We then wrapped Aleida in my nursing shield, and reinstalled her in the Bjorn. She took all of this with her usual good humor, not at all perturbed to be naked at the top of a mountain trail, nor wearing a paper and plastic bag diaper and makeshift toga back down the mountain.

I figure, this girl will either grow up to be highly adaptable, or just plain resentful of her parents. Lesson learned: Never take the baby anywhere without a spare diaper.

The Rest, Part 2

Being a couple weeks out from the horrific experience that was the surgery, I'm less inclined to write about the trauma. Now that I can happily report that my child is smiling often and sleeping well, I don't really want to relive details of the badness. Just know, it sucked. And still, I see the little bruises from the many IVs (and many more IV attempts), or AJ will start crying out of hunger or tiredness and I will relive a little bit of that week, and I will feel that pit in my gut, that physical ache, almost as if I'm trying to pull my little one back into the womb, where I know she would be safe from needles and narcotics and nurses. Fortunately, that sensation is now fleeting, just a bad remnant of memory of one of the hardest weeks of my life.

Just a few more thoughts before I put the surgery topic to rest.

We were at home, the first full day after leaving the hospital. Dave, Grandma Judy, and I were breathing easier after watching our little one blossom quickly back into the smiling, attentive baby she was before surgery. One of us said, "Thank god that is behind us now."

"Yes, that's the most difficult thing I've ever been through." I don't remember who said it first, Dave or his mom, but they both agreed, it was the hardest event in their lives. This struck me, though it probably shouldn't have. As the mom, I think I took ownership of this event as my tragedy to go through with AJ. I knew others were a part of it, but it was mainly mine and AJ's. This state of mind was not clear to me until I realized how much others had suffered. This was not just my struggle, and I felt guilty that I had been locked so selfishly into my own grief, that I did not see the grief of others. I saw their support and was grateful for it. But that's selfish, too, to see my husband and his parents and my family and friends as solely support for me and AJ. They were supporting me, yes, but they were suffering, too. I didn't acknowledge that. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism; perhaps my pain would have been too much if I had acknowledged their misery. Maybe I just couldn't handle any more sadness. I remember thinking that about my father when my mother was ill. To me, he seemed very selfish in his grief, unable to recognize that my sister and I were losing somebody, too. But maybe he just couldn't. He couldn't recognize our grief, because it would cause his to multiply beyond his tolerance.

Likewise, maybe part of the reason Aleida's surgery was so difficult for my husband and in-laws was a result of watching me and the physical and emotional pain I felt as the mother. Whatever the case, I feel grateful for their support, and grateful for their struggle as well.

During the same conversation mentioned above, my mother-in-law said to me, "You've had a lot of tragedy in your short life." I know she was thinking of my mother's cancer and resulting death. I know she was thinking about Aleida's heart and the surgery. And I can see why she would say this, especially since both of these major events happened since I met Dave. I appreciate the recognition that these were hard times. Nobody should have to go through these things.

But I've never thought of my life as more tragic than others, even though I did live in NJ for 4 years. Don't think that I have at all minimized the significance of losing my mother or watching my baby daughter undergo open-heart surgery. I have felt both intensely. But my life has been so full of goodness. I had a happy childhood, with loving parents and a good big sister. My mother may have died too young, but I wouldn't trade the 25 years I had with her for 50 with anyone else. I was able to pursue a variety of passions and interests. I have incredible friendships in my life. I have been able to travel and see amazing things in this world. I have lived in beautiful places. I have been so lucky in love. I have an amazing little baby girl, and again, I wouldn't trade her for any other baby without a heart condition. I even love and respect my in-laws! Not many people can say all those things (especially the last one). So, I guess what I'm saying is that the hardships in my life have been more than balanced by the joys. It goes back to those peaks and valleys- you can't have one without the other, and the lows make you recognize and appreciate the highs. As I close this chapter of my life, I recognize that I was in a valley. But, I've climbed out, with the help of my family, friends and modern medicine. And now I'm just enjoying the view from higher ground.

The Rest

Because I am home now, and see that Aleida is rapidly returning to her old self, even better, I can finally write about the rest of the hospital stay. Now that I can actually see and feel things getting back to "normal," I can write about how far away normalcy seemed less than a week ago.

After surgery, the big goal was extubation- removal of the breathing tube in Aleida's nose. As mentioned in a previous entry, extubation got delayed because AJ had a delayed (but pretty normal) inflammatory response. She was puffy and distended. Even her eyelids were swollen, so she couldn't open her eyes all the way, and when she did, she did not look like my baby.

Seeing her with the tube in was heart-breaking- especially when she was puffy. I could touch her and talk to her, but I could not hold her or feed her. For the almost 3 days the tube was in, she received only IV sugar water. As her primary source of nutrition, I was totally stressed out by the lack of calories. It may be routine, but it didn't feel right. Maybe this stems from all the focus we put on weight gain in the first months of life.

The tube did finally come out, and I thought, "It will all get better from here." She was able to cry once the tube was out, a sound that actually relieved me. She was hoarse and weak, but she had a voice again.

Holding her was nice, a much needed physical connection, but ultimately unsatisfying. She still had chest tubes, IVs and wires coming out of her little body, so just picking her up and moving her 2 feet to the chair beside her hospital crib was a 3-person job. She felt extremely fragile with all those connections, not to mention the incision.

This is what I wish I'd been prepared for: extubation means no more sedation. No more sedation means more awareness. More awareness equals more pain. Getting the tube out was certainly a step in the right direction, but a stage of the process for which I was unprepared. The night after her extubation may go down as the longest and most difficult night of my life. The nurses worked hard to manage Aleida's pain, but she was still uncomfortable all night. She would sleep for maybe an hour at a time, then wake up crying. Nurses would give medication if they could. Sometimes they would have to wait to keep her levels within limits. I would wake up and come to her from my little ICU bed by the window, and the nurse would place her in my arms in the chair next to her crib. She would cry and squirm, but ultimately settle down. I held her until I became so deliriously tired that I was afraid of falling asleep and dropping her. Then, I'd call the nurse and she'd help me place her back in the crib and the whole cycle would start over again.

I'd been able to start feeding her again, but it took awhile for her digestive system to kick back on, so though probably ravenous, she was bloated and distended and had trouble latching. I was disappointed that holding her was not the solace I had planned on. I was emotionally worn down from seeing my 3-month-old daughter in pain. I was physically exhausted from sleeping in the ICU for 3 days- which really means not sleeping much at all. In other words, I was nearing a breakdown.

But in the end it was not about me at all. It was about the innocent, ignorant little creature lying in that hospital crib, who clearly did not understand what was going on. Everyone kept telling me, "She's doing great. She looks great. Her numbers are good. She's progressing as we expected." I understand that this is what doctors and nurses have to look for. I really do. But for me, her mother, who sees the distended belly, the bruises from her IVs, and her furrowed brow, numbers mean jackshit. The furrowed brow, especially, broke my heart. She never furrowed her brow before the surgery. Now, every time she was awake, and even sometimes asleep, her little brow would be furrowed in discomfort. She felt so far away from the baby I'd brought into the hospital, that I became convinced that she had been forever changed, and that my smiley, shiny-eyed wonder was gone forever.

Post Op Day 1

I think this event has been traumatic enough that I am grieving it. Or maybe these major life events cause a process similar to the grieving process. Either way, I am in the "Anger" phase.



The nurses and doctors had been hopeful that AJ would spend minimal time on the breathing tube. Unfortunately, she had a delayed inflammatory response and a high heart rate that prevented that optimism from coming to fruition. It's day 2 now and she's still on the tube. Yesterday morning, however, I woke hopeful that I would be holding my baby before the afternoon. So, when it became clear that this would not happen, I started to get angry.



I spent much of yesterday trying to find an outlet for this anger. I'm angry at the situation, clearly. But there is no satisfaction or relief in that. There is no outlet for the tension. I tried to be angry at the docs and nurses who were delaying the removal of the breathing tube. But, I watched them go about their business and knew that they are only doing what is best. I want to hold my daughter, but I don't want to rush into something that could be a mistake and potential set-back.



I tried to be mad at Dave. We'd taken a break from the ICU to jog on the nature trails behind the hospital. After our jog, we were sitting under a shade tree, stretching and watching the fountain in a nearby courtyard. I told him that I'd been trying all morning to be angry at him. He replied, "Well, then you'd have to be mad at yourself too."



"No, I'm not angry at you for Aleida's condition. I was trying to be angry at you for taking me jogging on a trail that was mostly uphill."



He laughed. "Oh yeah. Sorry."



"I can't be mad at you though. Because I feel better."



"I knew you would."



"But I think I'm just looking for something or someone tangible to be mad at. There's no one."



"You could be mad at God."



"If I really believed in him...But even if I did, a real Christian isn't supposed to be mad at God because you are supposed to trust in his will."



"Damned if you do, damned if you don't," Dave said. "That's almost enough right there to turn an agnostic into an atheist."



So my quest to find something to be mad at failed. I couldn't blame this situation on anyone. It just was.



I caught myself standing by Aleida's bed as she went through a cycle of relative wakefulness and struggled against her tubes and made the crying face but couldn't actually cry. And I noticed that I just kept thinking, "Nobody should have to go through this. Nobody should have to go through this." I meant myself. I meant my baby. I meant my husband and his parents. Nobody should have to go through this.



What does that mean, though? I'm going to get philosophical, but the situation calls for it. If nobody should have to go through this, then nobody should have to go through anything difficult that isn't a product of their own decisions. Nobody should have to go through natural disasters, illness, injury, oppression, loss. But I wonder, without the suffering, would we even notice the joy? Would we feel it as strongly? Isn't part of our enjoyment of the weekend a product of the work week? Would great food taste as good if we had no experience with bad cafeteria fare? You cannot have peaks without valleys. And I believe, the deeper the valley, the higher the peaks seem.

So I know that once this is all over and we are back home, the everyday routine will be sweeter. Our quiet moments will be more cherished, and I will be more grateful for each little smile.

In the mean time, though, this sucks. Nobody should have to go through this. But I've been thinking about what I've heard them ("them" being psychologists and talk show hosts) say about self talk. You can improve your outlook by consciously changing your inner monologue. So, instead of saying to myself, "Nobody should have to go through this," I've been trying to actively tell myself, "We will get through this and be stronger because of it." And when it's all said and done, I'll be the mother who wakes smiling for the nighttime feeding and finds joy in a poopy diaper.