Polar Bear Fish

Whispers

I sometimes wonder who I would be if I hadn't turned into an infertile.

Gosh, that sounds melodramatic, doesn't it?

Let me dial it back a bit. Because 10 years ago I would have scoffed at these words. First of all, I took my fertility for granted. And also, 29 year old me would have never understood why it matters so much to nearly-39 year old me. Funnily enough, 29 year old me was only two years away from being told that she had a snowball's chance in hell of getting pregnant.

What happened between then and now?

Gosh, I don't really know. But whatever it was has altered me forever. My self esteem took a blow, that's for sure. At 31 years of age, I stopped feeling young and pretty at exactly the moment that the reproductive endocrinologist said that my ovaries thought that they were 40 years old.

A week after he said that someone took this picture of me.

How sad is that?  That girl felt unattractive and old.

This girl kind of wants to kick that girl's butt.

And then a year later I miraculously got pregnant and it should have all been better. Right? I should have been cured of that feeling. Of the useless feeling. The useless feeling that offends me to my feminist core. I mean, seriously. Useless?

But that's how I feel. On some basic level, I feel useless. Because of my inability to have a second child. And my difficulty getting pregnant with the first.

Now, do I feel like Michelle Duggar is super-useful because she is 6 years older than me and on her 20th child? NO! Most emphatically not. Do I think less of others who never bear a child? Hell, no!

It's illogical and silly.  But there it is.  And I'm having a really hard time moving past it.

It has affected me profoundly. The holidays have a tinge of sadness because I have a lump in my throat watching Zach and knowing that I can't provide him with a lifelong partner-in-crime. My relationship with my husband is changed in ways that I can't begin to explain but that I feel profoundly.

It manifests itself in little ways.

I used to walk around singing. I used to feel like this poem that I wrote after playing hooky from work to hook up with my husband:

[a light breeze skims my skin,
still warm from its journey.
my jeans curdle in a ball
beside the bed.

this is triumph.
this sticky love
stolen from a Friday afternoon.

the world outside is mad with life
and I am the stillness,
the dark, rich earth
that rears the waving grasses
in the field above]

These days I feel regretful. Vaguely and illogically. And I can't imagine how I would explain all of this to 29 year old me.

I guess that I've finally grown up. The world isn't my oyster anymore.

 

Top Secret

Okay. I've tested the water and now I can jump. I'm pretty sure no one is watching.

I think I chose to be infertile. On some level, I chose this.

I was fertile at 19, I know this for a fact. But I turned my back, I stepped away from it because I was terrified of family. Because having a child meant that I might be a shitty mother. Because for almost the entirety of my 20s I thought I couldn't be a good mother. 

A long time ago, I read about this study of baby rats who were taken from their mothers before mama had licked them clean and how those rats went on to become mama rats who didn't know to clean their babies after they were born. The conclusion of the study somehow involved extrapolating this behavior to humans and how we are doomed to repeat the mistakes of our parents.

And you know what? It's kind of true.

But it doesn't matter because there is also such a thing as free will and introspection. We have control over our actions. I believe it is possible to come from an enviroment where shame and guilt rule and produce an environment where joy and love rule.  Above all, I think that having a sense of humor cures a lot of ills. It's hard to feel ashamed and guilty if you are in on the joke. And my little man loves to laugh. And I think that may save him from me and T and our particular breed of insanity.

But. And still.

I wonder.

What if the 19 year old had said, "fuck it" and had the baby? She was dating a good man/boy who has gone on to be a good father of 4. Yes, they had their issues, but it is likely that the child would have survived their relationship. She could have been a good mother to that child. She's good at loving. But she didn't know that. No one ever told her that she was good at loving. That loving a child was the thing that she was born to do.

I thought family=death. And I was wrong.

I ran from having a child. I chose to delay having a child. I chose to run from committing  to a relationship for life and by the time I realized my folly the clock had run out. Damn it all, I thought 31 was plenty early to change my mind. But again, I was wrong.

Many years ago, I awoke from a hazy dream of a child. A brown-haired girl. And I knew for certain she was the one I didn't let grow.

I will never get her back. And it haunts me. As it should.

Maybe it is the Apocalypse...

because I'm totally writing in ma blaaahgg. And it's been like 50 years, so it's totally safe because nobody is reading this thing.

Anywhooo...life is good-ish. My child is enormous, a 4.5 year old, for god's sake. He's smart and funny and a total pain in the tuckus and I adore him. We got a puppy, who is also a pain in the tuckus. And a fish.

Oh yeah, and we bought a house. Good times.

Still no baby, of course.

yours with nothing much to say,

PBfish

In Which I Become an Urban Chicken Farmer

 Apparently we've lost our minds. As I type this, 4 chicks are happily pecking away at their feed and peeping contently next to me in their brooder.

It all started with our daycare provider, who has 7 chickens, 1 duck and a pigeon. Every morning she sends her girls out to the coop to collect eggs for the voracious little humans she feeds. Once we found out that we could have up to 10 chickens (no roosters) here in sunny Oakland, we began to hear the call of wild (or should that be the call of the tame?). So on Easter Sunday, and I hasten here to add that I was not aware of the ignominious Easter Chick phenomenon, we drove to a little farm in Petaluma and got 4 little tiny, fuzzy, fluffy balls of cuteness.

Sadly, two of the first batch didn't make it. Flo and Shirley both died mysteriously on separate days. They looked kind of squished, so I'm not sure if they got squished by their sisters or what.

Anyway, we went to a feed store. Yes, I said "feed store", because now we apparently frequent feed stores. We were there to pick up supplies and then we saw 2 more fluffy chicks that needed an Oakland address. So now I'm trying to keep them all alive.

And man, it's like the Lord of the Flies in there. Who knew cute little balls of fluff could be so mean to each other? Pushing each other away from the food. Stepping on each other's heads. Not so nice, fluffballs.

So there you have it, I'm an urban chicken farmer and my husband is building a coop for the ladies.

Sup, yo

The Curious Case of the Disappearing Paycheck

On Saturday morning, before setting out for her daily travels, the female occupant of the house glanced down at the paycheck that had been left on the dining room table, in order to confirm its amount. Less than an hour later, on their way out the door, the adult occupants of the house both noticed that the check was no longer on the table and assumed that the other had picked it up for deposit. Later, much later, a discussion ensued in which it was discovered that neither had picked up said paycheck.

Frustrated, the residents looked for it upon their return and were horrified to discover it missing!

Did one of them pick it up and put it in their pocket? No. Pockets were emptied, jacket pockets were checked.

Did one of them put it in his or her wallet or purse? No. Wallet and purse were checked and found wanting.

Did one of them bring it out to the car and put it in the glove compartment? Unlikely, but still, the glove compartment was checked and found wanting.

They eyed the toddler child suspiciously, but felt that the paycheck seemed an unlikely source of amusement for said child, who proclaimed his innocence. It should be noted that toddlers are not typically even aware of the monetary system and thus are unlikely to engage in check forgery.

Still, the toddler's favorite hiding places were searched. New hiding places were found. Much to the consternation of his parents, the toddler was found to have been placing small objects in the VCR slot.

But still, no paycheck.

Some panic ensued, but sober thoughts prevailed and plans were made to ask the employer to stop payment and to issue a new check. Despite this happy solution, the breach of security was troubling. Who had entered the home without their knowledge and stolen the paycheck? Had one of their friendly neighbors turned to a life of crime? Was the mailman living a double life?

The angelic-looking toddler frolicked innocently among the toy trains and toy cars in his room and his parents felt some guilt for having implicated him in such a horrible crime.

The sun set on Saturday with no resolution and the occupants of the house slept uneasily, still wondering what or whom was to blame for the curious case of the disappearing paycheck.

Sunday dawned and the crime victims continued with their normal daily activities. On Sunday afternoon, while the sweet, innocent child napped, his parents performed some minor re-decorating which involved a certain amount of furniture-moving. Much to their surprise and wonder, it was discovered that someone had placed the paycheck into a small gap in the wooden table that sits below the mail-slot.  It was almost as if someone was playing "mailbox" with the wooden table!

The detectives are regarding the toddler as a "person of interest" in this matter.

Happy New Year!

Lots of new stuff going on these days.

The quick summary is that I left my old job, started working at a new job and lasted 3 months before I couldn't take the new boss. So I'm back at the old job, but working from home.

After 5 years of stressy deadlines and 6 months of fighting East Bay traffic, I found what I thought would be a dream job. And it would have been, except unbeknownst* to me the woman I was working for has gone through many program assistants because of her controlling behavior. So there I was, stuck in the middle of a major recession, hating on my new job and dreading each day. And then I talked to some people at the old job (eating some crow there) and they offered me the opportunity to work on some projects from home. It's temporary work only until June, but I took it anyway because the situation at work was UNTENABLE.
So now I'm working from home, which is fabulous. I'm relaxed and super productive. AND I can snack on Z's cheeks at will.

So I guess all is well, although these days regardless of my personal situation, it's hard not to feel freaked out and sad. Ostrichlike, I've stopped listening to NPR and watching the news so much. I'm not sure I want to know how bad the economy is because I can't change it and I can't change what is happening in Gaza. So, I'm making like a good American and plugging my ears.

We had a mellow, and I mean seriously mellow-didn't-stay-up-until-midnight New Year's Eve. We drank Cava and Z drank sparkling cider. See photographic evidence:

Yes, we did give him a real champagne glass and tell him he was drinking Cava. The side effect is now the Boo demands "Cava" morning and night. I've tried to tell him that Cava drinking is only appropriate when the sun is over the yardarm, but he's unconvinced. Also, he may be addicted to olives.

 yours with her hands full,

PBfish

* Typepad doesn't think this is a word, but I'm going with it anyway.

Another Birthday

This morning my husband and Z called me at work to sing the happy birthday song. And once again I felt that dizzying feeling of life catching up to me, tapping me on the shoulder and whispering, "you're it" with an impish grin.

Does anyone else ever feel that way?

One minute I am sleepwalking through my daily activities, i.e., driving to work, drinking that first cup of coffee, checking work email or whatever mundane activity and suddenly there I am, screeching to a halt,  fully in the moment and acutely aware of being.  Suddenly I am 36 years old and the mother of a 2 year old who is singing me the Happy Birthday song, which is coming out more like, "Happy to You" punctuated with toddler giggles.

And I'm alive. And it's glorious. And I am grateful. And what will I do with this one wild and precious life?* 

I'd like to share that feeling with everyone, if I can.

So, Happy to You, okay?

*Mary Oliver, The Summer Day

Say What You Will About George Bush...

homeboy's got some good reflexes...

Birthday Boo

Oh my sweet little toddler boy, who loves trains and cars and trucks and most especially, BUSES. That last bit often shouted at the top of his little voice as the bus whizzes by on Macarthur Blvd. 

2 years old.  Wow.

Mostly he is the sweetest little man in the world, who says "thank you" all the time(much to the astonishment of strangers) and frequently demands a kiss or "hug time". Last night he told me that the really boring mashed potato, peas and chicken that I made him for dinner was "delicious". And then a few minutes later pronounced, "dinner, good". And now I believe what the women who were mothers of boys told me when I was pregnant about boys loving their Mamas, because he has a special look of love for me and gives me extra snuggles. Which is not to say that Daddy doesn't walk on water, firstly because Daddy turns him upside-down and tosses him around in ways that Mommy wouldn't dream of doing, but also because Daddy is Daddy and they have their own amazing bond. For example, Daddy probably understands why anything on wheels is so AMAZING in ways that I cannot possibly fathom. And also, Daddy rides a motorcycle to work, which makes him some kind of god, I'm sure.

Suffice it to say that being a Mama is the best. Even when I'm being head-butted by a toddler who requires me to lay down beside him to get him to go to sleep and then squirms and bitches until sheer exhaustion takes over. He is a toddler after all, so getting him into the bathtub requires convincing and frequently involves howls of rage (his, not mine) and then 15 minutes later, more howling and convincing to vacate said tub. Also he screams like he is being murdered really doesn't like having his fingernails or hair cut. And often rejects foodstuffs on principle, despite how long his Mama labored over the microwave hot stove to lovingly prepare it for him.

In addition to all things vehicular, he's obsessed with the alphabet and numbers, which he can recite with startling accuracy for such a small human. "Watzat?" is the most frequently heard question in our house, often shouted until he hears an answer that he likes. I love the fact that he is stubborn and will insist that something is what he perceives it to be, he clearly takes after his equally stubborn parents. I try to answer his queries as honestly as I can, although the other day I was sternly corrected by a construction worker when I inaccurately identified a bulldozer as a tractor.  (To which I say, "What? Do I look like John Deere, fer christ's sake?") I love that Zach is so interested in everything, that he is so completed fascinated by the world. And I hope, hope, hope that he continues to be awed and full of wonder for as long as possible. Bubblebath is a miracle still, and I am utterly and completed besotted with watching it unfold right beside him.

Behold, birthday cake debauchery:

 

And bedtime avoidance technique #1: Stern Denial

   

Happy (slightly belated) Birthday, my sweet little man. 

yours with endless snuggles,

Mama

No really, it's true

You may have doubted Sarah Palin http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I69Qh0oF0E0

But Putin DOES rear up over Alaska. Here's some rare footage T photoshopped captured of that annual event.