Yesterday, May 26, was my four year wedding anniversary. It was also the day the California supreme court ruled to uphold the ban on same-sex marriage. This coincidence led me to a reflection on marriage, mine and the general concept, that I'd like to share with you.

Dave is my husband. He is also my best friend. No one in the world knows more about what goes on in my heart and mind than he does. We share values, hopes and dreams. He knows my sense of humor and I know his, even if all we can sometimes manage is a pained groan at the other's jokes. We often finish each other's sentences or give voice to the same thought at the same time. We are not the same person but we complement each other well. We make the other want to be better. I can't imagine the way my life would look without him in it.

This was true the day before our wedding. Getting married didn't make it any more true. Looking around my life before I got married, I didn't have any great role models for marriage. I knew a fair number of people who probably would have been happier out of their current state of wedlock but stuck around for various practical reasons - none of those reasons related to the fact that they had taken a vow to stay with the other person. In fact, the happiest, longest lasting, most functional couple I knew were not and still are not married. A fact that does not diminish their commitment to each other or the care they give to each other. Dave and I were an inseparable pair - the Lambsters - before we exchanged rings, and for me, at least, the wedding didn't make me any less likely to walk away when things got hard. I love him no matter what is recorded in the annals of the Keystone state.

So why get married at all? For one, it is the gateway to a host of social benefits and responsibilities. But Dave didn't marry me to assume responsibility for half of my six figure education loan debt and I wasn't trying to get my hooks into his 401K. For me, marriage is a kind of choosing. It sets a boundary around yourself and your partner that the world sees as more inviolate than simply dating. It is a public way of saying "This is my family. This is forever. What you do to one is done to the other." It is a public declaration of what is already true in our hearts. For me, marriage is about commitment and bringing two lives into one.

Maybe I'm naive, but I don't understand why anyone would want to deny a fellow person the right to that public declaration. Is the world so perfect that we would demean and belittle any offered expression of love? Why does anyone care who wants to marry who? I would certainly be protesting in the street if someone told me I couldn't marry Dave. Why does the government care who I love? The thing that really blows my mind, though, is the vocal outcry of religious groups against gay marriage. Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why? It seems to me that do unto others . . . and love thy neighbor . . . are supposed to convey acceptance and love not hatred and exclusion. (Of course, it is that evident hypocrisy that always turned me off to organized Christianity, but that is a subject for another post.) In any event, with a rising unwed teen pregnancy rate, a whole segment of the population choosing to practice serial monogamy, and the divorce rate around 50%, it doesn't seem to me that the heterosexual population is doing so well with marriage and lifelong commitment. I say that anyone who's brave enough get on the scary roller coaster of matrimony deserves a chance.

Of course, the legal system doesn't care about love and the joining of souls. Proponents of gay marriage get a foothold in the courts by arguing matters of equal rights and fairness. ie. If heterosexual couples can assume certain social rights and responsibilities, denying them to homosexual couples is discrimination. And it is. I do not see another way to answer that issue. If one pair of people have the right to throw theirs lots in together and take on the world as one, then ANY two people should have that right. Period. In America, these days, we all get to sit wherever we want on the bus, and while I know there are people who wish that wasn't the case, who fondly yearn for the days of Jim Crow, at least those views have been soundly rejected by those who make our laws. I can only hope that when Nathan is old enough to discuss such things, he will be shocked and appalled to learn that this discrimination against gays stands in our history. . . and not in his present.

Every Rose Has Its Thorn

It comes as a set this week. A rose that may draw blood if you're not careful.

I just put away the co-sleeper. This feels monumental to me, as it means our little boy will now have no choice to sleep in his "big boy" crib. It's actually a little ridiculous, because it should have been done weeks ago. He is so big now, that the newborn sized co-sleeper runs a serious risk if turning him into a cube shape, like those funky watermelons grown in boxes. (Hey, he'd stack and store easily!) We had every intention of doing this last week, and he actually spent one night in his crib, but then the day care bug struck and he had a fever and was fussy and restless and it was jsut easier to have him in our room, so back he went.

This is even more bittersweet for me because the co-sleeper was his one true hand-me-down. It traveled across the US from California, on loan from Elizabeth, a good friend who had outgrown it, to be his bed and now needs to travel back to them to provide sweet repose for little Apple.

Dave pointed out that when he came home from the hospital he looked so tiny in the co-sleeper, and now he looks so tiny in the crib. It's true. He's outgrown the co-sleeper (If the manufacturers instructions don't include a warning about not letting your baby sleep in it when he can dangle his legs over the edge while laying on his back, they should.) but he's still dwarfed by the crib. Nonetheless, this step means our boy is growing up. And that's one thorny rose.

Postscript: I am embarrassed to point out this week's thorniest feature - I took only two pictures of Nate this week. (Did I mention the fever and the screaming? The lack of smiles, absence of playfulness, and generalized desire to lay limp and sleepy in my arms?) Anyway, here it is. I promise to make up for it next week and in South Carolina!

Unequal Partnership

Dave and I used to have it all figured out.
He cleaned the bathroom and took out the trash. I did most of the cooking and kept the kitchen clean. We sort of shared the laundry. The maids vacuumed and mopped and dusted. We went to the market together. Dave made the coffee. I drank the coffee. It worked. It was fairly effortless. We positively reveled in the fact that we could have almost as much fun and laughter during a trip to Whole Foods as we could at a baseball game.
Then Nathan was born. Things shifted. Dave cleaned the bathroom, took out the trash, did our laundry, and struggled to keep the kitchen clean. I nursed and kept the baby (and myself) clean and did most of Nate's laundry. Family or restaurants did most of the cooking. Dave did the shopping. Trying to be frugal, we fired the maids, so no one vacuumed or mopped or dusted - unless Dave got so fed up that he did that too.
At some point, I became capable of helping with the cooking, doing some of the mopping and vacuuming, and took over more of the laundry. I even tried going to the market alone. Dave got a little more time for himself.
Then I went back to work.
Nights.
And Nathan still wakes up every 2-4 hours to eat.
So now Dave cleans the bathroom, mops, vacuums, dusts, takes out the trash, cleans the kitchen, does some of the cooking, makes the coffee, does most of the laundry, does some of the shopping, mows the lawn, does all the heavy lifting, AND stays up 2-3 nights a week with our hungry monster. A hungry monster that has been a feverish, sick, screaming, inconsolable, snotty, hungry monster for the last few nights.
Why he puts up with us, I'm not exactly sure. I mean, Nate's got a killer smile, but all my best assets seem to belong to the baby at present.
Soooooooo, I just wanted it clearly on the record. I want everyone to know that I love him, I appreciate him, and I couldn't make it without him.

Trouble With Technology - part deux

There has been a roll out of the electronic medical record at the hospital where I work. A disproportionate amount of the learning curve has been shunted onto the nurses. The vocal and powerful MD's did not want to do anymore than read the computer screen like they would have read a patient chart. Meanwhile, the nurses have had to learn how to enter orders, retrieve lab data, print charts, print labels, communicate with the lab, and do billing. They are understandably overwhelmed and cranky. Three nights ago I sat with a sick baby in the NICU and composed haiku in an attempt to keep from screaming as the computer system kept us from doing anything to make the child better.

Sorry printer froze
Can't assess your blood today
Guess you'll get no meds

Patient turning blue
Nurse scowls at computer screen
Alarm beeps ignored

Tube please now please tube
Wristband wristband where is it
Soon there'll be no need

Baby needs bolus
Computer needs compressions
Soon I'll need a wig

Culture can't be sent
Group B Strep, E. coli, more?
Now we'll never know

In the long run this e-Record will prevent medical errors, save time and money, etc. In the short term, it's frustrating, impeding care, and making us all old before our time.

Roses and Thorns

This week has just flown by in a haze of mostly thorny times but surely I can pick a rose or two.

The Thorns continue to be illness(es). Dave (just on the mend from his own sinus infection) was back with Nate at the emergency room last night after five straight hours of screaming (Nathan's, though I think Dave joined in at the end). I was trapped at work, doing nothing except being available for the problems of other people's children, hating with every part of my soul listening to the screaming over the phone, feeling powerless, and feeling like the world's worst mother. Of course he was magically cured for the three hours they spent in the ER and then picked up where he left off when they got home. I have always joked with parents that coming to the ER/ doctor's office makes children feel better, but it is less amusing when it is your own child. We saw our doctor this morning when he developed a fever and refused to eat or smile and he was diagnosed with a "viral syndrome". A fairly irritated throat is presumed to be the source of the screaming. Tylenol and naps seem to be the words for the day.

Roses: 1) Ear infection is gone, per the lovely doctor, so no more twice daily struggles to get amoxicillin into him.

2) My first Mother's Day was absolutely charming. Nathan managed to communicate to his father a desire to send me flowers, and even chose my favorite - colorful, fragrant lilies and daisies. I had a delicious Mother's Day brunch where Nathan was pronounced the best behaved child in the restaurant.

3) Nathan has rolled over again and again, proving it was not a fluke.

4) Spent a lovely afternoon in the park with friends, feeling, for all the world like a mother of leisure.

Friend Cecilia looking Oh, so cute in the park

Nathan blows a razzberry!

Trouble With Technology

Before Nathan was born, Dave and I spent a lot of time talking about what we wanted for him. All parents do, of course, but a lot of our conversations centered on how to keep him active and healthy and smart and social in a society (and home) dominated by technology. I read A LOT as a child, teenager, young adult and am convinced that has a lot to do with my intelligence and success, (And no, I see no reason to be humble here. I'm doing pretty well for myself.) I also played outside and wandered the neighborhood with a pack of children, going backyard to backyard to climb trees and put on plays. TV makes you fat and stupid. Science has proven that. People who watch TV eat more and exercise less. Children who watch TV are more insensitive to violence and have smaller vocabularies. It truly is mindless entertainment. But it sure is fun.

These days Dave and I like to hike and swim and snorkel and explore, but we also have a Play Station and a Wii and like to watch baseball and a few TV shows. Before Nathan was born we thought we just wouldn't have the TV on when he was awake. This worked just fine when he was a newborn and slept all the time, but it has proved a little unrealistic now that he is older and awake so much more. We still don't get involved in any plot based entertainment when he is awake, but we like to watch some news or have a baseball game on while we putter around.

Over the last two days I have seen something that makes me a little ill. Nathan is mesmerized by the television. There I am blowing razzberries and making faces and he turns the other way to watch the confusion of color and motion that is playoff hockey. I suppose the attraction for him is conceptually no different from the music box on his playgym. It's not like he's actually rooting for the Pens. But still, it bothers me. It reminds me that balance is hard (says the girl who played DDR until she had stress fractures in her feet) and that Dave and I will have better luck setting an example than speaking a lesson. Though no normal child makes it through without a couple hours of "Bob the Builder" or "Thomas the Tank Engine", it's up to us to set limits and offer an alternative.

He's not going to build a treehouse on his own, but if we turn off the TV and go with him, magic can, and will, happen. For all of us.

Trial By Fever

Well it happened.

Three months old and we made our first trip to the Children's Emergency Department. Yesterday afternoon our sweet smiley boy became a hot to the touch, pitifully yowling, left-ear grabbing monster. His mood was significantly improved by a dose of tylenol but the horns came out again when the meds wore off. A phone call to the doctor foiled my brilliant plan to take him in for a next morning appointment because thanks to Susan G. Komen the normal Sunday office hours were canceled.

Convinced the ear grabbing was a malicious omen, I tried looking in his ears myself, but chickened out when the yowling started back in earnest and real tears were produced. Turns out Mommy can only be nonchalant about the tears of other people's children.

So, with a sigh, we packed up a bottle of water and a couple card games and headed off the the new ED.

After chatting companionably with a few people who had been waiting for three hours, and watching a stereotypical ghetto chick melt down and be escorted out by security, one of my friends snuck us in the back to be "unofficially seen". (Thanks Julia!!!)

She confirmed that yes, the left ear was infected, poor baby, wrote a prescription for the pink bubblegum elixir of life, and had us out in about an hour, proving that sometimes it really is who you know.

This morning, fortified with a second dose of amoxicillin and some sweet grape tylenol, our boy was UTTERLY charming at my Mother's Day brunch.

Roses and Thorns

I "borrowed" the title from the Obama family. I heard that every night at dinner, everyone tells one "rose" and one "thorn" from their day. One of his daughters was quoted as saying that President Obama had a very thorny job.

I thought that once a week I would share a small cutting from my life.

First, the Thorn: Nathan has a cold. Stuffy nose, yellow boogers, powerful need to be held, and a low-grade fever confirmed with the aid of a small tub of Vaseline I was hoping to never use. Not sure if we should be blaming his few days in day care or someone who touched him without washing their hands, but he stayed home with Mommy today to avoid making anyone else sick. He's such a good natured little guy that he smiles even as he is fussing and rubbing his nose, but he's still an obligate nose breather when he eats, so it's no fun for anyone. Daddy was up with him the first night since I had to be at work. He took incredibly good care of him and looked pleased with himself, if a little tired, in the morning.

And the Rose? Drumroll please . . . Or should I say Nathanroll? That's right. Our little wonder rolled over, snot and all today. He was laying on his tummy and he pushed himself up on his arms (usually I have to put his arms out in front for him- ie. in all previous pictures) and then leaned to his right and over he went. He looked momentarily confused, and that could have been because he was suddenly seeing the world from a different angle, but it could also have been because I was hollering and clapping.

Pushing chest off the floor!

Immediately after rolling over!

An Embarassment of Riches

Nathan is surrounded by all the gifts we have received in the past couple weeks.

Big thanks to Aunt Lily, Grandma Diane, Aunt Ernestine, Grandpa Lamb, Grandma Nancy, Grandma Julie, and Grandpa Howard.

He will be well dressed and entertained for months!

Gotta Have Goals

Nathan would like to learn how to blow a razzberry. He must have read the book that suggests a slightly advanced child may be able to do this by the end of the month. And, of course, he'd like to prove himself.

He needs some help, however. If anyone can provide any insight as to how to get from this position (left) to producing sound, he would greatly appreciate it.

His parents are no help whatsoever, seeing as they insist on simply making the sound over and over without offering any practical advice. In addition, he expresses appreciation for a good wet razzberry with a face splitting smile, thus breaking his concentration from the task at hand.
Still, he believes in himself and knows that practice makes perfect. And so, he spends a good bit of his awake time tongue out between lips and blowing air. Hoping, like a monkey at a typewriter to eventually settle on the winning combination.

We all know it's just a matter of time.

Musings

We didn't have the easiest road to having a child. By comparison, we didn't have the hardest either. Now, with baby drool on the couches and bags under my eyes from midnight feedings, I can say it was the perfect path because it was the way to this perfect baby.

Dave and I were very candid with people about what we were going through. Surrounded by friends who decided they wanted to have a baby and were pregnant the next month, we really had an enthralled audience full of people thinking "But for the grace of God . . ." And if anyone thought we were doing the wrong thing, if anyone was thinking about unwanted children the world over or carried a conviction that the zygotes we were playing with were actually people, no one beat us up about it. We got nothing but good wishes and for that I am grateful.

I didn't want to do IVF. I repeatedly told my husband I wouldn't, but with a failure of Clomid to do anything, we ran out of options so very quickly. And before I knew it, there I was, staggering around with ovaries the size of grapefruits, praying for a million eggs, a million zygotes, but just one baby at a time, please. And because I live a charmed life, that is more or less what I got. Nathan's name means "gift of God" and I believe that he is. And God made use of some amazing science to bring him into being.

It blows my mind to look at this picture and know that my son was once tiny enough, and frozen enough to live in one of these little straws. It also blows my mind that stored in a vat of liquid nitrogen are many more of these straws housing little clusters of Dave and I. Nathan's potential sisters and brothers, chillin' in suspended animation. All that potential is a staggering responsibility. While I feel firmly that zygotes are not people, I also feel firmly that they are of high value and not to be treated lightly. When they told me that we had made a small army of zygotes, I was excited and felt immediately oddly protective toward them. When they told me that I was pregnant I was elated. When they told me that there was one healthy baby growing in side me I was ecstatic . . . and a little sad. They had, after all, put two zygotes in, and the presence of one baby meant that another, Nathan's potential twin, had not made it. Having another baby someday means that another little zygote may be defrosted and not implant, not fulfill it's potential.

Some, I know, say that's murder, and I say that is ridiculous. First, you can't murder what is not alive. Frozen in liquid nitrogen with no consciousness and no ability for independent existence is not what any thinking person would define as alive. Second, you might as well say that any sexually active woman who menstruates is committing murder, because chances are good that an unimplanted zygote is being washed away at the end of the month.

Watching the so called "Octomom" on TV made me crazy because she is crazy, her doctor was irresponsible, and no one suffers but the babies (and perhaps the American taxpayer). But it also made me crazy because she portrayed herself as so sure everything she did was right and perfect. As if IVF was black and white. That, for me, is the proof that she is crazy or simply hasn't thought about it. IVF involves risk for mother and baby and yet in the right hands it is very safe. It uses expensive medical resources for an elective procedure and steals research dollars from other causes. It gives hurting adults the chance to be parents but may then close their home to a baby who already is in the world and already needs their love. I am glad Nathan is an only child and I wish he had a twin.

There are endless contradictions in this process, but one thing is crystal clear: I love my baby fiercely. I do not think every day of where he came from, but I do think every day of how special he is and how I would do anything for him. Much like any parent I suppose.

It's National Infertility Awareness Week. Please think twice before supporting any legislation that would make the government responsible for sorting through these shades of grey. Leave it up to the parents!