Hum

Since moving to our new home, Grey and I have developed a weekend ritual of running the Beats. Sometime on Saturday and Sunday, we pile into the car and go to one of the many local parks with trails. During these hikes, the rule is one parent per child with He-Beat racing ahead as fast as his legs can carry him while She-Beat explores at her own pace; sometimes running, but often doing a meandering walk while looking around.

This last weekend, while out on one of our family runs, I realized that She-Beat was humming. Slowly picking her way down the trail, looking all around except for what lay ahead, she was blissfully in her own world. Listening carefully, I was able to recognize some familiar tunes, such as her singing the alphabet or "itsy-bitsy spider," but generally her humming consists of her own compositions.

Music has always been important to me, allowing me to convey emotion in ways that words often fail. As I child, I participated in local choirs as I could easily carry a tune. As I grew older, though, I became more reluctant to sing as I was terribly self-conscious. And with infertility, music became almost nonexistent. I remember Grey looking at me solemnly one evening while in the middle of treatments and confusing that he missed hearing me sing. During that period of deep mourning, my voice had been lost.

The arrival of the Beats forced me to find my voice again. Holding them in NICU, I followed Grey's lead of singing to them while we did Kangaroo care, sharing songs that brought us hope. Following bringing them home, the singing continued to soothe them back to sleep or during bath-time. But it wasn't until I started working at their daycare that I really learned the power music has over children, being a quick way to deescalate any situation and quickly get their attention. There were countless days that I sang myself hoarse, always learning quickly to disregard any feelings of self-consciousness.

Hearing She-Beat humming completely caught me off guard. Watching her dance her way along the trail as she hummed happily I realized I was witnessing something that my heart had longed for. It doesn't matter whether she has perfect pitch or is composing original scores. What matters is She-Beat is finding music within herself.

Embracing Halloween

Like many small children, Halloween use to be one of my favorite holidays. From carving Jack-o-Lanterns to carefully planning a costume. All culminating to a night where packs of kids would roam the neighborhood, excitedly showing off costumes and collecting a stash of candy to make it to the winter holidays. During college, Halloween took on a new form, still with creative costumes that were meant to be shown off, but this time to parade along the main street between campus and the capitol building, all with the end goal of a party or two. The spirit of Halloween was always to let loose and explore a side of yourself that was otherwise hidden or suppressed.

It's been several years since I've tapped this side of myself. Part of this has to do with laziness of aging (house parties really don't have much of an appeal), but the other factor is that Seattle isn't much of a Halloween town. New Years, most certainly, but Halloween tends to fall to the wayside. 

Upon arriving to Boston, Grey and I were thoroughly warned about New England Halloweens. A trip to the hair salon was spent answering directly questions about plans for celebrating and advice on where to purchase costumes. Invites to Halloween-prep parties started filling our inboxes. And lab conversations revolved around costumes and activities. In addition, our morning ritual now included watching the Beats stop to say good morning to all the pumpkins and ceramic pumpkin people that were accumulating on our landlords front porch. 

Despite this, I was still not prepared for what awaited me the Friday morning before Halloween. As I sat on the bus and observed all the costumes surrounding me, I began to remember why Halloween was so important to me as a child. As I marveled at the courtyard of pumpkins, I allowed some of that long suppressed innocence to resurface. The creative energy that has been repressed for so long.

Embracing this spirit, Grey and I took the Beats out for their first round of trick-or-treating. It didn't matter that none of our costumes were perfect or witty. Nor did it matter that we only visited a few homes or that the jack-o-lanterns we carved were simple in design. What mattered was that we gave ourselves permission to participate. To celebrate in our own way.

Hoping you all had a wonderful holiday.

#Microblog Mondays: The difficult child

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

It's 5:30 am. He-Beat has been awake for the past 30 mins and, unlike his sister, refuses to be convinced that another hour of sleep is worthwhile. After 30 mins of being kicked, head-butted and having my hair pulled, I announce that it's time for him to go back to his own bed. This announcement is greeted with tears and a tantrum. Crying inconsolably, I gather this small child into my arms and place him on his bed, feeling utterly defeated.

The past couple week has been a hard one. Both Beats are fighting colds and cutting molars, making them both incredibly sensitive and testing. Grey and I have been weathering many a meltdown, finding there are moments where the best thing to do is simply giving space to a child who is clearly overcome with emotion. He-Beat in particular has been trying. One moment all is well and he is happily playing, but with transitions or moments he is told "no" comes the meltdowns.

We've been warned about this stage; the "terrible twos" that don't end until they are around 4 yrs old. We've been told it is a trying period and given so much advice on how best to address this. Their teachers have also been wonderful with offering insight and reminding us that there are no red-flags because of this behavior. Still, it's been scaring me on a lot of levels. During some of these meltdowns, I have flashes back to the incidents I weathered with a child I worked with at their daycare who is 3 yrs older. A child who had similar meltdowns and tantrums, flying into rages at his peers in a manner that left so many worried about the physical safety of his classmates. How despite his intelligence, how emotionally stunted this boy is and how greatly negative his life is becoming because of it. I know it's completely unreasonable to make this comparison, especially since this behavior is to be expected during toddlerhood. Still, it's hard not to see the pattern.

The other level is a personal one as I also endeared being labeled a "difficult child" and still have emotional scars from it. And I worry about He-Beat being labeled the same way, suffering from all that comes with this stereotype.

A few weeks ago, I happened upon a post from a woman who confused similar fears. A note of warning, as this person is both a non-IF blogger and one who is very vocal about attachment parenting (lots of fuel here for anyone looking to start another version of the mommy wars), so proceed with caution with reading. But what this post did touch on nicely (and bravely) is the fear that surrounds raising a child who requires more.  And though He-Beat doesn't have the same energy levels as her son, I found myself nodding along with a lot of her confession.

I goes without saying that I love both the Beats with my whole being. That all I want for both of them in this world is to grow and thrive, reaching their full potentials and following their dreams. Part of that, though, means facing all of this head on. Monitoring the tantrums and helping them both to learn how to manage these strong emotions and interacting with others. Still, I wasn't prepared for the emotions I would experience with all of this. The continual feelings of failure and guilt. The anger that would arise from my own memories of childhood and how unworthy I felt. And how desperately I want to prevent history from repeating itself.

Navigating reconnection

A pattern is becoming established. Every two weeks I send my mother a text, asking if she and my dad will be around to talk. A scheduled time to call is decided on, usually on a weekend evening, giving me time to talk as the Beats will be asleep and to plan. Then, when the time comes, I sit in my chair armed with a phone, a glass of water and a mental plan.

At this point, I've been keeping things vague but answering questions. My mom has been very intent on updating me on all that's happened on there end. Laundry lists about work, the status of my grandmothers, updates on my siblings and nephews. When conversations do come back to me, its usually about my motivations. Why now? What has changed. Though I talk about infertility, I have yet to give them all the details. But I know they can sense something has changed.

One of the hardest parts about reconnection is establishing firm boundaries while also remaining open. To make it clear that while I am attempting to empathize with them, there are also things that will not be tolerated. Grey and I have struggled so much with this, especially as these interactions bring back so many hard memories. All the tools David and Dee gave us are being stress-tested with every interaction. And more often than not I walk away feeling like I'm failing.

But one thing that has become clear too is how much of a weight has been lifted from this openness. The burden of secrecy was impacting all of us in a negative way I hadn't fully realized until now. As I reflect on this, it's hard not to draw parallels between this experience and that of those going through adoption and even the decision to share their infertility journey. To experience yet again why openness is always hard to navigate, but also the benefit for doing so.

We're due for another phone call soon. Grey and I have had many difficult discussions about when to share images of the Beats and how much information we should be sharing. More often than not, things get heated as both of us are struggling. He's still very angry with my parents for their decisions and outlooks. So we continue to work together, being cautious yet open each step of the way.

Seven

We waited until 10 pm to light the candles. Even though those participating in the Wave of Light were instructed to light candles at 7 pm, we still consider ourselves West Coasters.

Standing in the kitchen, we lit 7 small candles. 7 representing those embryos who didn't make it. And as we looked down on those 7 little lights, I watched as Grey cried in a manner I haven't seen him cry in since our losses. I watched him grief for what could have been, but was lost too soon.

There's a stigma associated with loss. Both in that you're not suppose to talk about it, but also who even is allowed to grieve. Grief is categorized based on whether you've ever been pregnant, had seen a heartbeat, whether the pregnancy was problematic from the beginning, from ectopics to those with hosts of other issues. We are pressured by others not to grieve as we are reminded that there are those who lost more. That they had it worse.

And yet, how can one possibly quantify pain? Step inside that person's shoes and determine that they aren't hurting as much? And what good comes from this comparison? Of telling someone that don't hurt as much or could never possibly know how painful it gets? Winning that argument never resolves grief and only isolates further.

So instead we stood in our kitchen and allowed the tears to fall. Because it is only through acknowledging our grief, facing it head on that we can heal. And though we will never be cured of this pain, the scar tissue that continues to form makes us stronger.

Good night my angels. You are forever in our hearts.

Confession of an arachnophobe

The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout
Down came the rain and washed the spider out
Up came the sun and dried up all the rain
And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.


I'm not fond of spiders. Haven't been for as long as I can remember. My parents tried to help alleviate my dislike of them when I was a child by reading E.B. White's "Charlotte's Web" and learning about food webs. All that work went out the window when I learned about Shelob at 8 yrs old and then later when I learned more about the predatory nature of spiders.

The only thing I loathe more are scorpions.

So I've been hard pressed as of late as the Beats have become fascinated with spiders. Starting with Casper Babypant's rendition of the "Itsy Bitsy Spider," to Eric Carle's "The Very Busy Spider," to an entire 2 week unit about spiders at their daycare. Honestly, it's taken a lot to suppress the primal urge to squash and run away screaming. To talk with them about their observations.

And then something unexpected happened. Upon arriving in Boston and moving into our new home, the whole family discovered a common brown spider who resides by the mailbox. The Beats greet her every morning and evening, huddling around her web and excitedly pointing out their own "itsy bitsy spider."

I want to crawl out of my skin.

For all spider-lovers out there who are intent on educating me, trust me when I say that though I intellectually understand how fascinating and important spiders are, the hatred remains. 6 years ago, I attended a talk about spider silks (there are 6 different types) and learned about how the department of defense want to use this knowledge to improve soldier's body armor. Many in my cohort were focusing their dissertations on ecological problems, so I was well versed in food webs and the importance spiders play. I get it, spiders are unique and fascinating creatures. Then there's also the symbolism that spiders embody. Creation, rebirth, femininity and protection. During the Beat's NICU stay, there was a spider who resided outside their window and the nurses reminded me daily what a good sign her presence was. In addition to all of this, there's also a simple fact that while spiders (and scorpions) give me the willies, I'm strangely okay with crabs and lobsters. Grey likes to remind me what a hypocritical wuss I am.

Which brings us back to my current dilemma. I've made a deal with the spider. I won't attempt to cut her life shorter than it needs to be due to the Beats. But come winter, it is her job to find a space out of sight and move on from this world. Problem is, despite temperatures dropping down to freezing over the past week, she willfully refuses to give up the ghost. Instead she greets the Beats in the afternoon, displaying a new version of her web for them to marvel at. All the while growing and getting fatter off what little prey she finds.

I'm a bit at the end of my rope with this situation. As stupid and trivial as all of this seems, I'm secretly worried that this spider is going to find her way inside my home and become an addition to our family. Grey reminds me that we have larger, more pressing issues to worry about (and he's absolutely right), yet still I find myself hoping for temperatures to plummet sooner than later.

Itsy bitsy spider, pretty please go away.

#Microblog Mondays - Still

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

It's hard to believe how fast time is flying. So much to do daily and yet not enough time to tackle everything. Grey and I are still settling and adjusting. Though our collection of moving boxes is slowly disappearing, the end is still not in sight. The fact that we finally acquired dishes, allowing us to finally do away with paper plates, should give you an idea of the slowness of all of this. Frustrating and yet necessary all at once.

On top of settle, there's the ongoing negotiations with my family. Following lighting the powder keg that was the news of the Beats, my parents (particularly my mother) are making efforts to navigate reconnection. All of it needs to be slow and the information we give them is deliberately vague, but it's happening. Grey is worried, though. He's worried I'll fall back into old habits and allow my mother to take over, abusing the Beats in the process. So a lot of this we still need to negotiate. All of which is draining.

At any rate, all I can offer is that though busy and navigating so much, we are more than alive. Though this transition is far from over, we are learning to find moments of joy and relish new firsts. All the while, trying not to worry that we are still not where we want to be.