Dykes on the Ark

How things change...

2007-05-07T14:37:00.000-04:00

I know, I am a terrible blogger. terrible. I really should just hang this whole thing up and admit defeat.

But, I'm stubborn...

There have been big changes here on the Ark. Big. Like, we know longer know where the Ark is going big.

Last month, I randomly applied for a job. Last week, I accepted the offer. On Friday, Dyke Two found out she might be losing her job.

In an amazing chain of events, my new job offers domestic partner benefits. And, will offer me flextime to take my last four classes.

But, the important news: Bigfella is truly wonderful. We're planning to trial milk or eggs sometime soon. He talks (a lot). Being weirdo, nerdy parents, we have a list of his words. I'm not sharing it. After all my months of saying that parents lie about their kids in the blogosphere, Bigfella has a list of words that would immediately make others assume I am lying.

But, for those of you whose babes aren't talking much, fear not. Bigfella is still attached to the breast for hours a day. He randomly slept through the night for a couple weeks this winter, and is now back to waking up 2 times a night.

We think he is cutting his second set of molars.

Bigfella has two dadas...

2007-04-11T22:04:00.000-04:00

he loves his dadas. And they love him. When he sees them, he points and screams, "dada! dada!" and his little face lights up as he grins from ear to ear. he chortles out belly laughs when his dadas come in the house.

he loves to play outside with his dadas. He loves when he gets to crawl on top of one of them and snuggle up close. When he eats, he always shares his meal with his dadas. His favorite thing to do each evening when we get home is to run to the kitchen to get his dadas a milkbone.

They run with him, tails wagging. And then they sit patiently, waiting for him to give them their treat.

Do you ever feel?

2007-04-08T23:29:00.000-04:00

Do you ever feel like your time and attention are being pulled in so many directions that there is no way you can do anything well--let alone everything?

Do you ever feel like no matter how hard you try, you will end up disappointing someone, especially yourself?

Do you ever feel like even though you want to drop some of your obligations, you just can't bring yourself to do it?

Do you ever feel selfish for wanting to keep those obligations because the activities are things that help define you, even though you are doing a piss-poor job at them, and they are taking away from other things?

I don't even want to get into the list of things that are piling up around me, and the numerous ways I feel like I have failed at the things I set out to do. I just want to know I am not alone...

What about you?? What are the things that are weighing you down?

worst blogger ever...

2007-04-04T19:56:00.000-04:00

...i think i have been in a seasonal affective disorder fog. I spent most of the semester hiding from my advisor because i was too embarrassed to tell him I messed up some administrative paperwork. I finally owned up today, and he was fine with it.

what a fucking waste of energy.

I also went to the gynecologist today for my pap and annual. My hooha is totally hosed. I piss on my self when I run, and sometimes have such bad constipation that the shit bulges from my ass toward my vaginal wall. So, the doc referred me for physical therapy. He said I might need surgery, but won't do it (or refer me out, which is more likely since he doesn't do pelvic floor rehab) until we are done having babies. Since the next one may dwarf Bigfella--who was 10 pounds 5 ounces, the doc doesn't want to have to do the repair twice.

Which brings me to another point. When we were there, surrounded by the preggos, watching them weigh themselves, and rub their bellies, it totally made me want to do it again.

We don't know when for sure, but the doc said he hopes he sees me again before my annual next year. He was totally smitten with Bigfella, and said he can't wait for us to have another....

we'll see if I do a better job updating this. I'm not making any promises. I know myself too well.

New semester

2007-01-24T23:09:00.000-05:00

Our semester began last week. I am looking forward to my classes, though I can't tell if it is just that the magic of the new semester hasn't worn off yet. I love when a new semester starts. All those exciting readings, new shiny books, brand new office supplies, a datebook that is organized and not yet packed to capacity. Let's see what I think in 5 weeks...

I had a professional disagreement with one of my professors already. Smallcity is, appropriately, a small city. Back in my previous life, this professor and I had a run-in when we both were involved in a contentious time in the local schools. He and I were not entirely on the same page, though my big issue was that he was a bit of an ass when dealing with it.

Now, I am taking his course. The issue (which was two years ago, mind you) came up on the first day of class. He shared his opinion, which I think was wrong. So I told him. In front of the other 7 students. Yeah, we'll see what I think in 5 weeks.

Apparently, in honor of the new semester, Bigfella has decided to:

a. cure his thrush. it disappeared from my nipples too.
b. continue teething at a rate that rivals glacier formation.
c. fall and crack his forehead open on Dyke Two's metal office door.
d. sleep through the night. (ssshhhhhhhh, we don't want to jinx this one.)

Apparently, in honor of the new semester, I have decided to:

a. forget my pump horns at home on Tuesday.
b. forget my cooler icepacks at home on Wednesday.
c. finally cut all dairy out of my diet again
d. write an incredibly boring blog entry.

Seriously, why are you still reading this?

I am way too lazy...

2007-01-19T00:13:00.000-05:00

...to be poor.

Seriously. That myth about poor people being lazy. From watching the poor folks in our neighborhood, poor people are some of the hardest working people I know. Our handyman is currently homeless, living at the Salvation Army. He is always working at hard, manual labor. He digs trenches, mulched a 15 foot by 15 foot patch of our yard in 90 minutes, hauls junk all over town on his bicycle, and is always clean, neat and presentable. All while living in a homeless shelter.

I watch moms with little kids dragging their laundry five blocks uphill to the laundromat. I see people waiting to catch the bus, and then see them 2 hours later, just arriving at work. I see families waiting outside the pediatrician's office for their ride home.

Seriously, I could never be poor. Our washer broke last year. The dirty clothes sat until the repairman got there three days later. We were too lazy to even drive to the laundromat. When my car breaks down, there is no way I would get up two hours early to take the bus to school. I bitch about having to park at a remote parking lot and take the bus across campus.

I'm not sure where this myth about poor people being lazy came from. The poor folks I know work hard. Dyke Two's mother worked as a domestic her whole life. Again, we are far too lazy for work like that. We can't wait to hire a cleaning lady as soon as I am working again. Dyke Two made me promise that we'll hire a white woman...

(I'm not even going to try to explain the convoluted thought process that made this post relevant to anything. It had something to do with those embryos that were rescued from New Orleans while poor folks were still stranded and without food....)

My days are numbered...

2007-01-11T16:46:00.000-05:00

Since classes ended in December, Bigfella has remained going to daycare when he's been healthy. The healthy days have been sparse this month, but on the days he goes to daycare, I have had hours stretching luxuriously in front of me.

But don't worry--I haven't let my brain completely rot. I have spent that time doing research. Important research like watching "The View" each morning. Yesterday, (and I can't even believe I am saying this) Elisabeth Hasselbeck said something important. Yes, Elisabeth Hasselbeck the formula spokeswoman, social conservative, Bush-supporting talk show host said something important about gender roles. I tried to find the video clip to post, but I couldn't locate it on line.

Basically, she was watching her daughter Grace play at the park, and realized that she was not climbing and running as much as she did at home. So, she looked at Grace's jeans, and compared them to a pair of boys' jeans in the same size. The boys' jeans were looser, stretchier, and had a higher rise. So, and this is why I have some respect for the woman, she bought Gracie boy's jeans. As she said, she didn't want her daughter's activities constricted or dictated by her clothing.

So, while we are not currently raising a daughter, this little example of the subtle shaping of girlhood by commerce sticks with me. While we have always looked for clothing for Bigfella that is not actively encoding gender roles into him, we have only looked to avoid sports symbols, tools and construction equipment. We had always assumed that our theoretical daughter would be similarly dressed: no overload of pink, no frills, no toddler belly shirts, no rhinestones. It had never dawned on me that the cut of the clothing would be different.

It really made me stop and think about how pervasive gender coding is, and how subtle some of it actually is...

No wonder I'm tired...

2007-01-10T12:42:00.000-05:00

I can't even remember if I mentioned it before, but, thanks to 3 weeks of diarrhea and/or vomiting, Bigfella lost weight throughout the month of December. At his 9 month appointment at the end of November, he weighed 21 pounds, 7 ounces. December 4 he weighed in at 22 pounds, 1 ounce. December 28th, he weighed 21 pounds, 2 ounces. I guess all that puking and crapping took its toll. Since then, he has been nursing and eating like a bottomless pit. He will literally nurse all day if I let him. And the boy can eat: crackers, chicken, rice, broccoli, rice cakes. He shovels them down and kicks his feet in happiness. His favorite meal is a handful of Puffins cereal (the original kind, thankyouverymuch) and chunks of banana. The only way to make the meal more enjoyable is if I am seated topless next to him and he can lean over between bites and do a quick kegstand. For the last two weeks, my nipples have felt like we were back in the newborn days. The thrush probably didn't help much, and neither did the teething.

But, I digress. We were at the doctor on Monday. Bigfella's ears were clear--finally! We got a prescription for Nystatin for the thrush. And, we had an official weighin: 22 pounds 12 ounces. The boy gained 1 pound 10 ounces in 10 days.

No wonder I felt like we time warped back to the newborn stage...

All is Quiet on New Year's Day

2007-01-01T15:27:00.000-05:00

Of course, 2007 starts with us planning to get to the gym more, and restaurants less, to be more organized and have less chaos of dirty laundry, misplaced shoes and ignored budgets, but, really, we've achieved the things we truly want...

Last night, we had a little date night at home. I put Bigfella down for bed a little early while Dyke Two picked up take out from our favorite Italian place. I came downstairs to a nicely set table, candlelight, a bottle of red wine, and a delicious dessert. We watched a movie on HBO and headed up to bed about 11. We watched the ball drop on the bedroom TV, and toasted in 2007 with water in wineglasses (I drank the entirety of the bottle of red wine, so the champagne in the fridge was overkill by then). Bigfella woke up at 12:05 and came in to bed with us.

All three of us snuggled together, listening to Bigfella sigh and gulp as he nursed. As it got quieter (here in the Holler the New Year begins with gunshots and police sirens...) it began to rain. The rainfall just made our bed cozier and more inviting.

There was no place I would have rather been to usher in 2007: I was home, surrounded by love and tranquility. A full bed, a full heart...

...May all of you who are still seeking your full homes and hearts find that same peace, tranquility and love in the new year. May you usher in 2008 with all your dreams fulfilled.

2006: The Year in Pictures

2006-12-30T18:32:00.000-05:00

January: A late snowstorm made a very pregnant Dyke One stir crazy, and an anxious Dyke Two nervous about the road conditions.

February: Bigfella made his appearance 10 days late and 10 pounds, on Dyke Two's birthday.

March: Bigfella nursed like a maniac, and went for his first solo excursion with Mommy.

April: Bigfella mastered the Neglectosaucer, and briefly wore a shirt we like to think was tongue in cheek sent by his well-meaning Granny.

May: We went to a wedding and mastered sitting up.

June: We went swimming at the lake and spent too much time blogging.

July: Sitting was easier, and we refused to wear our plaid hat from aunt and uncle.

August: Bigfella stood with assistance, and Hounddog stood on guard.

September: More standing, and a nice rubdown after a bath

October: A warm day at the park, and a teething dragon for Halloween.

November: Bigfella voted at the beginning of the month, and walked at the end.

December: Ear infections, stomach bug, thrush and teething didn't stop us from celebrating Hannukah and Christmas. Party on...

Mary Cheney

2006-12-28T21:56:00.000-05:00

I was all set to talk about Mary Cheney and her uterus. How mixed my emotions are about her having a baby. How pissed I am at the right wing nut jobs for villifying her. How much I hope she and her partner decide to use their power and influence to help further second parent adoption in their home state.

But, I got new shoes today. I love new shoes. When I was a kid, I always wore them out of the store, putting my old smelly, worn out shoes into the shoebox. My new shoes would feel so good. I always thought I ran faster in my new shoes, and could jump higher. I would dance and do karate kicks through the store because my new shoes gave me super powers. New shoes give me a confidence nothing else gives me, except maybe new glasses. Unlike any other new apparel, shoes don't make you look fat. But, the same pair of jeans look so much better with my new shoes than they did with my dirty, sloppy old ones...

When I bought my new shoes today, the salesman didn't ask if I wanted to wear them out of the store. He just boxed them back up and gave me the box. I carried them out of the store and into both the health food store and CVS.

When Dyke Two and I got back in the car, I changed into my new shoes so I could wear them when we picked up Bigfella. I haven't taken them off yet.

Did I mention how much I love new shoes?

In one fell swoop...

2006-12-26T21:43:00.000-05:00

...the whole family went down. We're still dealing with the tail end of it. And I do mean tail end.

It started with Bigfella. Bigfella and a banana. And a Roundabout carseat. The banana that Bigfella ate 40 minutes earlier made an unexpected reappearance all over him and the carseat.

It continued as he puked out every drop of breastmilk he drank for the next 36 hours.

It spread to Dyke Two, who puked for 18 hours.

I got it next, and spent 20 hours on the pot.

Once we were all back in the land of the living, we returned home from Target, and found two little puddles, one from each end of the dog.

Eating Bigfella's puke must not have agreed with her.

This morning, my nephew, visiting from up North, began to puke. By dinner time, my mom had it.

Oh, and Bigfella went in for his fourth doctor's visit since Thanksgiving. Despite 12 days of antibiotics, and a week of waiting for it to spontaneously clear up, he has an ear infection. They gave him an injection of antibiotics. We go back on Thursday for another ear check and injection.

I looked in his mouth as he screamed after the shot. I think he has thrush...

However you spell it...

2006-12-16T15:12:00.000-05:00

...Chanukkah, Hanukkah, Chanuka...

Have a happy one.

I love the story of Hanukkah. A small group of people, committed to their vision, their faith, overcoming the oppressive masses. Every year, we stop and think about our vision and hope for our community, and how we can take small steps to make a difference. There are so many places that the commitment of the few is needed now to overwhelm the strength of the many. I hope we all can find ways to kindle the flame of courage and righteousness in ourselves in order to work toward justice and equality in our world. Volunteering with a political advocacy group, tutoring at a local school, serving meals at a soup kitchen, spending a morning on a Habitat for Humanity building site, writing letters to your elected officials, cleaning up litter at the park near your house, posting your unwanted clothing and household items on Freecycle, whatever your heart and vision lead you to do, just get out there and do it. Our families depend on us to make the world the place we want to live.

One a side note, a word of caution to the allergy world. If you decide to make egg-free latkes, Ener-g egg replacer is not the best choice of egg like substitute. Its main ingredient, after all, is potato starch. Adding potato starch to grated potatoes makes a wallpaper pastelike substance that then turns into a gelatinous mass when placed in hot oil. Adding some baking powder to the batter makes it edible, but still not particularly enjoyable. Bigfella turned up his allergic nose to them, so the next batch will have eggs in them. He, did, however, enjoy the applesauce.

Perfectionism...

2006-12-12T13:11:00.000-05:00

How do you avoid passing along your perfectionistic tendencies to your children? My brother and I are both high-acheiving perfectionists. We always have been, and sadly, I think probably always will be. I've reflected on the types of parenting my mom and dad gave us, and honestly, I don't think they were sending us messages that mistakes were bad or that love was conditional. I also don't think my brother and sister in law are sending my neice and nephew those messages.

Over Thanksgiving, my nephew--now in kindergarten--showed us his sight words. He had had the same list since the first day of school, and knew every single one of them. However, he was scared that he would make a mistake reading to the teacher, and had therefore refused to "take the test" to get new ones. My mom and I both encouraged my brother and sister in law to "make" him take the test, and watched them play with nephew and the words. Neither one of them was doing anything that made us think perfection was expected or that making a mistake or taking a risk was bad. Since we are both special education teachers, we know something about encouraging kids to try new things, modeling appropriate self-talk and reducing anxiety.

My dad and stepmother babysat for them on Friday and told me that nephew has new words, so obviously he did end up taking, and "passing" the test. They also told us that while babysitting, he was once again scared to read words he didn't know perfectly. He had 25 words, and read 19 of them perfectly, and refused to even say anything for the other 6. They also relayed the story that he had misplaced the key to his coin bank. He freaked out. Freaked. Out. As they told the story, I realized his reaction is exactly what I do whenever I misplace something, miss a deadline, forget to do something or in any other way show that I am not perfect and in control.

Sunday I left the Education School computer lab in tears. I had just finished my stats take home, and was convinced I had failed it. I told Dyke Two that I was OK with taking the class again in the spring. Yesterday, I ran into the professor who told me he had just graded my exam, and I got a 94.

Seriously, I am almost in tears thinking that there is something we are doing to pass this perfectionism on to Bigfella. I hate to think that he might ever put the type of pressure on himself that I put on myself. Even with our intentional efforts to keep my neice and nephew free of this plague, they are showing they have it.

How do we stop this before it gets worse? I have spent years in therapy, and taken 7 different medications to manage my anxiety and depression (and the perfectionism they stem from). Not only do I want better for myself, I want better for the children I love.

Can you see where this is going?

2006-12-09T12:16:00.000-05:00

Bigfella's been sick. Long story short: finals week. 104 temperature. Urgent care appointment with pediatrician Monday night. Double ear infection and bronchitis. Prescription Augmentin. No daycare. Extensions received in all classes. Two moms also fighting off the same crud.

So, Tuesday night, Bigfella finally went to sleep in the rocking chair and I laid him down in the crib. We went to bed, and woke up a few hours later to him crying. Bleary eyed, I staggered into his bedroom and picked him up. The arms of his pajamas were wet, but I didn't bother to turn on the light because I assumed the wet was from snot or tears as he cried.

I brought him into our room, and didn't turn on the light.

I nursed him, and didn't turn on the light.

He snuggled in and tried to sleep. I didn't turn on the light.

Dyke Two mumbled, as he burrowed next to her, "His pajamas are damp" but we didn't turn on the light.

Anyone know where this is going? Anyone? The clues are antibiotics, wet pajamas, no lights.

I woke up the next morning, and noticed that the wet spots were brownish colored. (I see the lightbulbs above your heads clicking on, dear readers).

Yep, we'd co-slept with a 9 month old who was coated with antibiotic induced diarrhea for 5 hours.

What the hell??

2006-11-29T11:14:00.000-05:00

Drum roll, please. The results are in.

The pediatrician just called with the results of Bigfella's allergy tests. For those of you who are hip to the lingo, he had a RAST, not a SPT. For those of you not hip to the allergy scene, he had the less sensitive of the two types of the testing. I don't know the actual numbers, since the doctor who is the allergy specialist is still on vacation, and our pediatrician had laryngitis, and we didn't grill him too much for the details...

...So, for those of you who are interested: a RAST food panel for the top 6 foods, and cats and dogs thrown in for good measure showed:

a mild milk allergy (no surprise there)
a mild egg allergy (kind of expecting it)
a moderate peanut allergy (this is a total shock)
no soy allergy (this is even a bigger shock)
a moderate cat allergy (not a shocker)
a high reaction for dogs (a shock, but my absolute worst fear)

We have three cats and two dogs. Orangedog is perhaps the most important living creature in my life, besides Bigfella (sorry Dyke Two). Orangedog saved my life 10 years ago when I went into a major depression. Orangedog loves Bigfella, and Bigfella loves Orangedog. We already had a plan formulated for the cats and Bigfella living together. We have a sunporch that we can move the cats to, and keep Bigfella away from them. But the dogs. I am seriously sick to my stomach at the thought of finding my dogs a new home.

The peanut allergy hasn't even sunk in. (I also have no plans to reintroduce soy into my diet, since I know we might have had a false negative on the RAST since he hasn't been exposed to soy in months...) I know that epipens are in our future, but the dogs and cats are more of an issue to me right now. I am sure the nuts will be a bigger issue in the long run, and will cause us plenty of angst, but right now, we are still in shock...

the longer you stay away, the harder it is to come back...

2006-11-28T00:33:00.000-05:00

I know it has been weeks since my last post. During that time, Red State became purple, Smallcity proved itself to be the bluest spot in the newly purple sea, and my fellow residents of Red State showed their homophobia and voted for yet another marriage amendment.

I spent a few weeks in mourning, and began to resurface and think about a post a week or so before Thanksgiving. But, each passing day increased the pressure to make that post a brilliant post. You know, a polished, insightful, funny and poignant post. I wanted to write about Bigfella walking, about our visit to my parents' house, about the anxiety attacks I have been having, about our new daycare, about Bigfella's allergy tests, about the solid foods he is finally eating, about our stupid cat who is pissing in the corner of Bigfella's room, about Bigfella's eczema, and about how much I hate the classes I am taking this semester--though my advisor likes my research proposal...

And it just wasn't in me. So, I stayed away.

But, today is my birthday, and I decided to bite the bullet and just write. Not only is today my birthday, it is also Bigfella's Womb Day (OK, I just made up that phrase). Today, is the day that marks his life outside of me being longer than his life inside of me. Our boy, born on Dyke Two's birthday, outside for longer on my birthday. I am so thankful to have him in my life. Three years ago, when I turned 29, I had no idea how wonderful my 30's would be. I have never been happier...

File Under Things Stupid People Say

2006-10-30T22:45:00.000-05:00

We were watching C-Span tonight-- trying to cancel out the episodes of Flava of Love and America's Next Top Model, I suppose. They were showing the Florida gubernatorial debate. When the topic of gay marriage came up, I nearly pissed my pants at one of the candidate's responses:

"I support traditional marriage. The kind of marriage my parents had. The kind of marriage I had before my divorce."

Seriously, election day is in seven days.

Got out there and work for good candidates, people. Candidates who will change the course this country is on...

How we spent our Saturday...

2006-10-21T23:05:00.000-04:00

So, as I posted many weeks ago, Dyke Two and I are drowning in clutter. We finally decided it was time to tackle the shed today. We opened the shed, laid stuff out on a tarp, and then dragged most of it to the curb. The plan was to post it on Freecycle that it was there, but, random people driving around the neighborhood stopped and milled around waiting for us to bring out more. As the day progressed, Bigfella transformed into a Holler baby. Our part of Smallcity is sometimes called "the Holler." It is near the stockyards, the trailer park and the sewage treatment plant. The morning started with Bigfella sitting in his Bugaboo, fully clothed, wearing a Seventh Generation diaper and eating organic babyfood. By early afternoon, he had lost his pants, his socks and shoes, was covered in dirt, and was wearing a generic diaper from K-Mart. So much for us gentrifying the neighborhood.

At one point, I burst out laughing while going through the piles of junk. I opened a box full of stuff that my old housemate left in our basement and found a small, unopened shipping box inside. I opened the shipping box and found a little toy. Thank goodness we found it before the neighbor guy we hired to help us out...

Yet more proof that we have a long way to go...

2006-10-16T12:25:00.000-04:00

My mom is the chair of the local democrats in one of the rural counties surrounding Smallcity. Their annual dinner was at the firehouse Saturday night. Being the proud Grandma that she is, she begged us to chauffeur Bigfella to dinner, and being the attentions whore mothers (and afficionados of southern cooking) that we are, we readily agreed. Dinner was fabulous: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, greens, sweet tea, biscuits and 8 kinds of pie, all homemade by the Ladies Firehouse Auxiliary. Yummm, fried chicken, sweet potato pie, coconut cream pie...

Anyway, I digress. We arrived at the firehouse, and Grandma promptly absconded with Bigfella, making the rounds to each table, thanking everyone for coming. Bigfella smiled and clapped, giving people five and giggling at them. We schlepped our stuff to a table and introduced ourselves to the lovely couple that was already sitting there.

Me: Hi! I'm [insert real name here]. My mom has our son with her.

Dyke Two was hooking the booster seat to the chair, but before I could introduce her, the woman said...

Random Woman at Dinner: [to Dyke Two] Oh, do you help her with the baby?
Me: [confused look on my face] Whhaa...
RWAD: Or are you a friend of theirs?
Me: No, [insert real name here]is my partner. She's Bigfella's mother, too.
RWAD: Oh. [awkward silence...]

We knew it would happen eventually, but we weren't expecting it that night, at the democratic dinner of all places. The woman we were talking with was not an active member of the committee. All of the committee members know that Dyke Two and I are a couple. They saw pictures of the wedding. They saw pictures of Bigfella's birth. But, this random woman didn't know. So she assumed (and with that came what always comes with assuming) that Dyke Two was the nanny. Don't we wish we had the money to hire one...

So, explain this one to me...

2006-10-11T22:24:00.000-04:00

I am TAing a class on Tuesdays. The class meets from 4 to 7 pm, so each week, we have different students bring snacks.

Two weeks ago, the snack included Double Stuff Oreos. Double Stuff Oreos are milk, egg and soy free. I tore into that double stuff goodness and ate and ate and ate. Until I realized I had to speak to 30 people afterwards. And that Oreos make your teeth look like you've been eating dirt. So, I spent the next 20 minutes trying to get the oreo crumbs out of my teeth.

This week, the snack included (non-double stuff) Oreos. Plain Oreos are milk and egg free. But, the white creme filling is soybean shortening. I sadly put the plain oreos back on the table and ate Pretzels. At least my teeth didn't look like I was eating dirt.

Overheard: A Jesus Freak Says What??

2006-10-06T13:20:00.000-04:00

Sitting in my favorite coffeeshop today, I tried to read a chapter of my Statistics text. Instead, I got distracted by this conversation between a mom and her college-aged son:

Son: So, did you hear about the congressman who was accused of sending sexual emails to young boys? He got caught, and now he's saying he's gay.

Mom: See, this is exactly why we shouldn't teach homosexuality in the schools. They just aren't honest about what all of this entails. It's just like with stem cell research. Do you know that the only way to obtain the cells for stem cell research is to do partial birth abortions and smash the skulls of the living babies to harvest their organs?

Son: I'm so glad I decided to be honest with you. I could have totally lied to dad, but there is no way I could have lied to you. Within a day, you would have known that I was spending 5 days in jail.

Mom: I just hope your time there opened your heart to the word of Jesus.

I really try to be tolerant of all viewpoints. I do. I really do. But, I think I have an inkling of why the schism between people in the US exists. Dyke Two thinks I should have called her on her inaccuracies. I decided I just wanted to finish the chapter on Fixed-Effects ANOVA. And drink my coffee in peace.

L'Shana Tovah

2006-09-23T23:02:00.000-04:00

It's Rosh Hashanah. Every year for the Jewish New Year, I spend a couple of hours walking in the woods. It's my time for quiet reflection. I think back on the previous year, and think about my goals for the upcoming one. I head to the woods because the outdoors is where I find the best evidence of G-d's greatness. This year, Bigfella came with me. He spent most of the time sleeping in his stroller, but he also sat and looked around at the flowers, trees and river.

I realized how blessed I am. Bigfella and Dyke Two make my life happier and more complete than I ever imagined life could be. I have found a peace and center that I spent years (and lots of money and time with my therapist) looking for. May all of you, the visitors to the Ark, find your center during the upcoming Days of Awe.

I have added some embedded videos to the sidebar. They are ads from 2 of the 3 states facing marriage amendment battles this November. I threw a Canadian ad in too, for good measure, since I couldn't find an ad from Idaho. However, both Virginia and Wisconsin are facing close races right now. In fact, both are considered to be statistical dead heats.

Please watch the ads, send the links to your friends and family in Virginia, Wisconsin and Idaho. Encourage your friends and family in those states to go vote on November 7. Better yet, encourage them to volunteer with the campaigns. If they don't have the time to volunteer, encourage them to write a check.

Judaism has a concept of Tikkun Olam--repairing the world--in order to move closer to G-d. There are many areas in this world in need of repair. Please take action to make sure that we don't take another step backwards with the passage of these amendments.

there's a reason I haven't updated...

2006-09-20T20:33:00.000-04:00

...we're still sick.

Seriously, I seem to have a lovely wheezy presence in my lungs. Bigfella is now on his second round of antibiotics due to the ear infection he developed after the first round of antibiotics didn't do anything to stop the green mucus and chest rattling cough.

He spent the last two night screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night, so we cancelled our first appointments of the morning and went to the doctor.

Poor kid had one infected ear and one clogged ear.

Then, the daycare provider casually mentioned something that made me absolutely frantic. Apparently, they gave Bigfella a cupcake last month. Seriously, a 6 month old was given a cupcake, made with sugar, eggs, wheat and whatever milk or soy was in the frosting and fat used in it! And this in a daycare that has a policy that kids are only fed food provided by their parents. And a policy that parents be informed of all foods that their kids eat. And a policy that the information on the medical sheets be followed. And, yet, we only found out about the cupcake a month after he played with it. It was never mentioned on his communication sheet.

Thank G-d he didn't eat it. Thank G-d his allergies are not contact allergies. Thank G-d he doesn't seem to be anaphylactic to milk or soy.

And, thank G-d that Dyke Two's job is to mediate between angry parents and the schools. She had a lovely sitdown with the director, who was on vacation when the incident occurred. She promised us it will never, ever happen again. She realized that the center is damn lucky that he didn't react and that we aren't the litigious type.

Sick, sick, sick...

2006-08-28T22:29:00.000-04:00

I am not talking about John Mark Karr today.

I am talking about the plague that seems to have settled over the Ark...

I have had a cold for the better part of two weeks now. Dyke Two had it, gave it to me, got better, and now has it again.

Bigfella has it. In the last two weeks, he has cut 4 teeth and gotten his first cold. He looks so pathetic as he sits in the steamy shower with me, two rivers of snot flowing down his face. He screams if you bring the bulb syringe thing near him.

My ears are so clogged I can barely hear. I am blowing out snot from deep in my sinus cavities. I even have pressure and sharp pains on the roof of my mouth. I assume it is from the congestion, though I suppose there is a possibility that there are small creatures poking miniature icepicks through my mouth.

But, the really sick thing: I picked Bigfella up from daycare today and looked through the window into the baby room. "Hmmm..." I thought, "Why did Dyke Two send Bigfella to daycare in his pajamas?" I dropped off our payment for the week, and went to get him. When I walked into the room, I realized that Dyke Two had put him in Halloween pajamas...

We left the daycare and I called her to tell her we were on our way home.

"Honey, why did you dress Bigfella in Halloween pajamas today?"

"Huh? I didn't know they were Halloween ones."

"Didn't you see the pumpkins and bats on them?"

"I thought they were basketballs."

Oy...

On a separate--but related--note, what do you all recommend one does to increase their pumping output? Bigfella is taking 12-15 ounces a day, and I am pumping 10-12 ounces. I would like to dump that up to 15-20 if possible...

6 months old

2006-08-19T16:44:00.000-04:00

We've had a big week.

Monday, we went to our 6 month wellbaby visit (20 pounds, 11 ounces, 28.75 inches long) and started daycare. Bigfella took 3 ounces of breastmilk, and I pumped 8.

Tuesday, he took 4 ounces of breastmilk, and I pumped 9.

Wednesday, 5 ounces, pumped 10

Thursday 6 ounces, pumped 11

Friday 8 ounces, pumped 8.

But, I have had a terrible, terrible cold, and am still using my manual pump.

My fellowship check cleared finally, so I just ordered my electric pump and a carseat for Dyke Two's car. (I also finally paid on a few outstanding bills, so hopefully, I will sleep a little better at night with the visions of bill collectors breaking down the door gone from my anxiety bundle.)

Basically, daycare seems to be a smashing success. The set up in the center is to have a room for 8 babies with two adults, and an annex off of it for 4 more babies with one adult. The annex is for babies who are working toward transitioning to the toddler room, so they all creep and crawl and some walk. They still feed and sleep on demand. Once Bigfella is taking more milk more easily, and sleeps without 20 minutes of being rocked to sleep, he will spend more time with the older babies, since he is developmentally more like them than the little babies in the infant room. The great thing about the center is that right now they are understaffed, so they only have 4 babies in the little baby room and three babies in the older baby room. Basically, we feel like we lucked into the smaller group size and calmer environment of a home day care with the oversight and regulation of a center. Also, the teacher was sick one day this week, so rather than have to worry about back up care plans, we arrived in the center and the floater teacher was happily waiting to take Bigfella.

He loves the babies in both rooms and starts to dance when he is taken out of the carseat in the parking lot.

Wednesday, Bigfella turned 6 months old. He celebrated by cutting two more teeth. That makes a total of 6 in his little mouth: two on the bottom and 4 on top...

I don't know if I can do it...

2006-08-13T21:05:00.000-04:00

...Bigfella starts daycare tomorrow.

I have felt sick to my stomach all weekend. I have been on the verge of tears all day.

I want to go back to school. I want to finish my doctorate. I have always seen myself as a work outside the home mom. I went to daycare myself as a kid. I loved daycare.

But, I have felt sick to my stomach all weekend. I have been on the verge of tears all day.

Leader of the Pack

2006-08-11T00:18:00.000-04:00

9 years ago this week, I stumbled across the path of the greatest thing that has ever happened to me*. My now-ex-girlfriend and I were visiting a friend from college in a city near our home. Ex and I had just gotten engaged, and were enjoying the end of summer. We went to lunch, and as we were leaving, a woman crossed the street with a beautiful orange puppy on a leash. We stopped to pet the pup and compliment the woman on her beautiful dog.

"You want her?" she asked. "She's looking for a home." At the time, Ex and I were NOT looking for a puppy to add to our home. We were happy with our two sweet cats, and Ex was about to move thousands of miles away to start graduate school. (The plan at the time was for me to join her a year later after I finished my master's degree.) We laughed and said no thanks, and went along our way.

About a half a block later, I stopped. "I need that puppy," I said. We waffled back and forth, and 30 minutes later, I was the slightly stunned owner of a beautiful dog.

A week later, Ex dumped my ass. Thanks to Orangedog, the depression I spiraled into was relatively short-lived. I emerged a month later, 30 pounds lighter, but with a great new circle of friends. Each morning, when I was too tired to leave my bed, Orangedog would whine until I took her for a walk. Each evening, when I dragged myself home from work, Orangedog was waiting, her puppy exuberance so overwhelming that I had no choice but to take her to the dog park instead of sitting on my couch crying. It turns out that the dogpark was full of really nice people who were friendly, and excited to talk to me each night. And, since they knew nothing about Ex, Orangedog gave me a new group of people who knew me as me, not as part of a couple. And, when we came back from the dogpark, and Orangedog was hungry, feeding her dinner was my cue to eat, my appetite was completely engulfed by the dark thoughts and clouds hanging over me.

About 6 months after I got her, I turned on the space heater in the crappy basement apartment I was living in. I went to take a shower, but Orangedog kept coming into the bathroom, barking and pulling back the shower curtain. When I got out of the shower, she nudged me toward the front door, barking. She had already gathered the cats at the front door, and was trying to lead us to safety from the glowing space heater, which smelled slightly of burning animal fur.

When Dyke Two came into my life, Orangedog begrudgingly shared her side of the bed with her. But, each night, at about 3:30, when Orangedog felt crowded, she would bark until Dyke Two got up to let her outside. At that point, Orangedog would happily jump into the spot Dyke Two had just vacated.

When Bigfella was born, we were very worried about Orangedog's reaction. We were afraid that Orangedog could decide that Bigfella was an intruder into her space, and would turn against him as she tried to protect me (and by me, I really mean, Orangedog's place as second in command. Sorry, Dyke Two, but you know you are not the alpha in our family...) But, Orangedog has definitely decided that Bigfella is her little friend, and that her friend needs her protection.

Twice in his short life, his Angelcare monitor has gone off. Both times were false alarms, but both times, Orangedog was at the crib before me, barking, nudging the crib and glaring at me for my slow reaction time. Now, whenever the monitor beeps as it is turned on, Orangedog sounds the alarm--barking, running, bumping me toward the crib. When Bigfella cries, she comes to find us and let us know. There is no way we could Ferberize in this house. Orangedog would never allow it.

But, the true test of her dedication came today. Two days ago, Bigfella rolled off our bed after a diaper change. Thank goodness it is only 10 inches to the carpeted floor. This afternoon, I laid Bigfella down on our bed for a nap. After he fell asleep, I got up and went to the living room. I went into the bedroom a few minutes later, and there was Orangedog. She was stretched out facing the spot on the bed where he rolled off. Normally, she relishes naptime as her chance to get time with me. Apparently, Bigfella has usurped me. I am no longer Head Human in Charge. Bigfella is now the leader of the pack.

He rewarded her for his new position in our family by laughing, dancing and grinning each time she came into view this afternoon. Seriously, he stopped looking at me to stare at her. I'm second fiddle to a 60 pound dog...

*My apologies to Dyke Two and Bigfella, though by the end of the story, you will realize why my dog rates as The Greatest Thing to Ever Happen to Me. If it weren't for her, I don't think I would have lived to meet Dyke Two or have Bigfella.

I don't know what to call it, but I've got it

2006-08-04T18:44:00.000-04:00

Baby blues, post-partum depression, post-partum anxiety, dysthymia, generalized anxiety disorder. Call it what you want, since it all feels the same. And, it's the reason I haven't been blogging much recently.

In my previous life, before Bigfella, I took a variety of SSRIs (Celexa, Prozac, Zoloft, Lexapro and Effexor) and a variety of anti-anxiety or sleeping meds (Ambien and a couple of drugs in the Benzodiazepine family). I went off them 3 months before trying to get pregnant, and have been drug free ever since.

But, over the past few weeks, I have come to terms with the fact that I need to go back on something. I am struggling with insomnia, I have little energy and, I have begun to imagine out the details of accidents, deaths and illnesses in myself and those around me. This morning, Dyke Two left for a breakfast meeting, saying something about how she was leaving, but would come back, since the trash cans needed to go to the curb. I thought she meant she was taking the cans to the curb. When she didn't come back in 15 minutes later, (she was after all at breakfast) I became convinced that she had died outside. Yes, died. But, rather than go outside to, you know, check on her, save her life or call the ambulance, I was too scared to leave the bedroom. So, I stayed in bed for another 30 minutes, until I realized that if she were dead in the driveway, the neighbors would have noticed and called someone. So, I got up, checked for her car, and when I saw it was gone, remembered she was having breakfast with a friend.

So, yeah, once classes start again and I can see the folks at Psych Services and have some semblance of a schedule and routine, I'm signing up for some headshrinking and some pill popping...

Two Relieved Mamas

2006-07-31T00:13:00.000-04:00

Bigfella has now had 4 of his 5 dosages of antibiotics.

Getting him the antibiotics was a bit of a struggle. The after-hours phone nurse was less than helpful, and the health department nurse scared the stuffing out of us. I finally yelled at Nurse Meany, and she got the doctor to phone in a prescription for Bigfella.

And, then my father, well-meaning man that he is, added to the anxiety by calling back 15 minutes after hearing the situation (which was appropriately phrased as "precautionary treatment with antibiotics") to make sure that the pediatrician had prescribed a medication that Bigfella was not allergic to. When I patiently explained that I wasn't too worried about an antibiotic reaction since I am not allergic to any medications, my ever-calm father announced that he is allergic to an antibiotic.

So, when I explained that there is no way to predict when a person will have an allergic reaction to a medication, he made me promise that we would use the Angelcare baby monitor and keep track of Bigfella's breathing all night. I hung up the phone and immediately cried to Dyke Two, "I have enough to worry about with the pertussis! I hadn't even thought about an allergy." While we hope that antibiotic allergies don't run in our families, it is clear that anxiety does!!

But, Bigfella seems fine. Happy and comfortable with his medication. His poop has been a little runny, but that could be the dairy I ate this weekend. Our second set of questions to Nurse Scary had centered on the wedding we were intending to attend this weekend. One of my best friends from college got married this weekend in his bride's home town an hour from Smallcity. Our entire posse of nerds from college (seriously, we played bridge and baked cookies every weekend in college--when we weren't studying at the library) were going to be in attendance, and having not had a night on the town since before Bigfella's birth, Dyke Two and I were willing to overlook the heterosexist practices of the state and toast the happy couple and spend a happy weekend with our family of choice.

When Nurse Scary heard about the wedding, she told us to go, and bring Bigfella. Apparently, pertussis has a 5 day incubation period before one becomes contagious. Since Bigfella would be at the wedding for days 3 and 4 post-exposure, and on antibiotics for 2 days when we left for the wedding, she thought it perfectly safe for him to go, even with the other babies he would be in contact with.

So, we went. And I wore a backless dress with a plunging neckline and the Victoria's Secret Very Sexy Infinity Edge convertible push up bra with gel curve shaping for extreme cleavage. And we danced. And we drank vodka cranberries and red wine. And we ate delicious food. And Bigfella smiled, and rolled around and laughed and sang and slept and nursed. In fact, he slept and nursed in the Ergo while I danced and drank.

And, we went out to the car after shutting down the party, and we strapped him in his carseat for the ride home. And he cried. And kept crying until we turned the radio on and listened to 70s Saturday Night. And then he slept again.

Apparently, Bigfella is already quite the party boy.

Two scared mamas

2006-07-27T18:52:00.000-04:00

We just got a phone call from a friend who spent a lovely evening with us and Bigfella planning our upcoming dance routine. (I haven't told you all that some friends and I have alter egos who are lounge singers. We channel our inner dragqueens and do highly choreographed performances). But, anyway, this particular friend, who is pretty anxious and high strung was crying as she told us she had just tested positive for pertussis after being exposed at work last week. (she didn't know she had been exposed when she spent the evening dancing with Bigfella).

I calmed her down, saying that it wasn't her fault, blah blah blah, but that I would call our pediatrician just in case. The phone nurse at the pediatrician's office said that we didn't need to worry unless he developed symptoms. We thanked her and hung up. About 15 minutes later, the Health Department called, and basically told us that the phone nurse was full of shit. She said that since Bigfella has only had two of the three vaccines for pertussis, we should really try and get him in for a sick visit tonight and get him checked and started on antibiotics.

So, I called the nurse back, explained the situation, and politely told her that the Health Department disagreed with everything she told us. So, she said she would talk to the doctor in the office, and call us back. That was almost an hour ago.

Bigfella woke up from a nap about 20 minutes ago, and is doing this sort of throat clearing coughy cry thing. We are getting more and more alarmed.

Even worse, now we have to face the fact that he may be about to go on antibiotics for something he doesn't have, simply because he might get it.

I hate feeling like no matter what we do, it's the wrong thing...

Clean House

2006-07-18T01:18:00.000-04:00

Some friends of ours gave us the perfect baby gift a few months ago: 12 hours with a professional organizer. (If the organizer wants more time with us, they might up the number of hours.)

Sadly, anyone who knows us knows that this gift is long overdue. We aren't at the level of needing to be condemned, though we are at the level of piles of mail, stacks of laundry, mountains of junk, and overflowing closets, basement and storage shed.

I like to think that it is simply due to the merging of two houses, but sadly, I know it is more than that. Both of us have an inability to get rid of anything. For me, it is because I am afraid that I might need it again, and I hate to think about the money wasted by purchasing something new. I am much happier getting rid of stuff now that I know about Freecycle. Dyke Two, on the other hand, refuses to get rid of things because she can't shake the scars of growing up with nothing that belonged to her. Living in poverty will do that to you. Too many times of getting evicted and losing your belongings will make anyone hold on to even the strangest of items.

Dyke Two also thinks that someday, people will want to go to the Dyke Two Museum. She is saving her report cards, her high school basketball uniform, her baby booties, and (my personal favorite) her dreads for inclusion in the museum. (She also thinks we should save the vials the sperm came in, the plastic speculum we used for the insemination, the eye droppers and oral syringes from Bigfella-making.)

By the middle of August, we want to have two functional bedrooms upstairs, a playroom and office area downstairs, and a basement and shed that have room for the basementy and sheddy items like lawnmowers, power tools, Hannukah decorations, and outgrown baby gear (for number 2, don't you know??) instead of the old dishes, two microwaves, an extra kitchen table, a moldy futon and boxes and boxes of my teaching crap that currently have taken over our storage areas.

I don't know how many of you get the Style Network, but we are hoping our organizer is more Neicy Nash than Martha Stewart.

Dyke Two's dirty little secret...

2006-07-10T22:33:00.000-04:00

So, we are the proud owners of a Bugaboo Frog stroller. I am known as "the mother with THAT stroller" among our mommy-friends. I am kind of embarrassed by our stroller: conspicuous consumption is not really my style, but it was a gift from my doting and adoring brother, a lawyer in Westchester County. So, when people approach us and ask about the stroller (which happens at least once a week, since Bugaboo sightings are unusual here in the People's Republic of Smallcity) I always preface it with, "Well, it was a gift. We would never spend this much money on a stroller..."

Sunday, a middle aged White man, his five year old son and their two purebred dogs approached us while we were leaving my favorite coffee shop. "My wife is pregnant. We're thinking of getting a Bugaboo. What do you think of it?'

I quickly jumped in with my usual disclaimer, "It was a gift. We like it, but if we were spending that much money on a stroller, we probably would have gotten a phil and ted or something that is a little more versatile since this isn't really great for grass and is kind of a pain to get in and out of the car."

We talked for a few more minutes, the man pushed it up and down the sidewalk (Bigfella was in Dyke Two's arms, so don't worry about our sanity letting some random man push our son) and thanked us for the input.

After he walked away, Dyke Two said to me, "You don't need to always tell people the stroller was a gift." I looked at her with raised eyebrows. "You can let them think we bought the stroller ourselves."

Ahhh. There's her secret motivation. I smiled at her and said, "Honey, you just want that white man to think you have more money than he has!"

Dyke Two just grinned and put the seat of the stroller into the backend of the car.

What's 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep worth to you?

2006-07-07T21:49:00.000-04:00

The surgery was a smashing success. We arrived at the surgery center, and realized that I had never filled out a health care proxy for this particular hospital. Bigfella was born at the hospital across town, which has multiple forms on file giving Dyke Two permission to make all sorts of decisions for me. But, this hospital, if it has any forms I filled out on file, has my mother listed as my health care proxy. She's a good choice and all, and I trust her to make the decisions that Dyke Two would make, but yesterday, while waiting to go under the knife seemed as good a time as any to make Dyke Two's relationship to me as official as it can get here in Red State. So, I asked the receptionist for an Advanced Medical Directive. She said, (and this is a direct quote), "an Advanced what??" So, I explained that I wanted to designate a new health care proxy, and since this was a surgery center, I assumed that they would have the forms available. She shuffled through her drawers, and referred me to her supervisor. Her supervisor, upon hearing the situation, promptly said, "an Advanced what?"

So, Dyke Two and I sat and waited. When the nurse came back to get me, I promptly asked her for a form. She, at least, knew what I was talking about, but didn't have any available. So, with each person who came in to my little curtain area, my request for an Advanced Medical Directive got a little more impassioned. By the time my surgeon arrived, the general consensus was that the main hospital had the forms, but couldn't fax one to us. (at this point, three residents, two nurses, the attending anesthiesiologist and my surgeon were all looking for the form.) It was also the general consensus that I was a stubborn one, and wouldn't go back into surgery without filling out something.

Finally, they had me write on a piece of paper that Dyke Two was authorized to make all medical decisions while I was unable to do so. Then, all of us: me, Dyke Two, the anesthesiologist, the surgeon, the nurses, the residents, maybe even the orderly all signed it. And then, we pricked our fingers and pinky swore. (Since there was no notary, that was the best we could do.) But, they all assured us that in an emergency, they would not wait for my mom to arrive from across town to make decisions, and would let Dyke Two make the decisions.

So, happy, finally that there was some semblance of my wishes recorded, I allowed myself to be led into the torture room. I got strapped onto the crucifixion table, they put the freaky pumping boots on my legs, and they covered my face with a mask. I woke up 5 hours later, and after a few minutes of the room shaking, they were able to move me to a recliner. Dyke Two joined me, and we ate ice chips, drank cranberry juice and ate raisins. (the animal crackers they offered me had soybean oil in them, so they were a no-go.) And, I took Percocet. Yummy percocet.

According to the doctor, my gallbladder was way infected and nasty. The nurse called me stubborn, and said that my self-reports of symptoms and post-operative pain proved me to have a high pain tolerance. (I believe she actually called me "a tough one.") The nurse said I was a champ with the general, but that I slept much longer than usual. I said, "I have a 4 month old at home. I haven't slept for 5 hours straight since I was 6 months pregnant."

So, eventually, they sent me home with some Colace and Percocet. We got home and Bigfella, who had consumed a total of 6 ounces of milk all day, promptly latched on and guzzled for 30 minutes. He nursed two more times in the next 4 hours. Dyke Two made me rice and chicken broth.

This morning, I woke up well-rested, but with a sore throat from the intubation. And, Bigfella had two bloody diapers. We were about to call the pediatrician's office, since I hadn't eaten anything that he's allergic to. Instead, we called Swanson (the makers of the chicken broth) because the empty can had been picked up by the recycling truck. After 20 minutes on the phone with customer service, including many minutes of grilling about his allergies, his doctors and a lot of legal rigamarole, the customer service rep told us that the Swanson's regular chicken broth that I had eaten, does have soy protein in it. So, they are sending us coupons for their soy-free versions (Natural Goodness and Organic).

We were just glad to know that we didn't need to rush to the pediatrician, given that I was still a little woozy. Anyone have any tips on how to care for a 20 pound baby when you have been restricted from lifting more than 15 pounds for the next 4 weeks?

The News from Orlando

2006-07-05T15:07:00.000-04:00

In a previous life, I was on the steering committee for the NEA-GLBT Caucus. I was also a founding member of my state education association's GLBT Caucus. I spent many hours and lots of tears in the past few years trying to move my Red State Education Association forward on GLBT issues. I also spent many hours on various committees for the state association, working for the best interest of ALL teachers and students. And, every time the right wing orchestrated an attack on the NEA based on its positions on sexual orientation, or I heard a colleague talk about the "damage" that is done by focusing on "social" issues not "education" issues, it was a stab to my heart.

Every so often, the state association does something to win me back. Today was one of those times. The NEA was considering a new resolution that would voice support for same-sex couples being able to create legal relationships. While this is hardly a news-worthy, earth-shattering action, there are folks out there who were organizing a counter-attack. Our state president was one of the ones who received thousands of emails and voicemails asking her to lead our state delegation in voting against the new resolution.

Since I am not a delegate, and am not in Orlando for Convention, I have been left trusting the universe to make sure the correct outcome occurs. And, today, I received an email from a friend of mine who is a delegate. Turns out that not only did the resolution pass, not only did our president voice support to the state, not only did the state vote in favor of the resolution, our president spoke on behalf of the new resolution on the floor of the RA, and the resolution passed overwhelmingly.

Five years ago, when three of us started our Caucus, we never, ever thought we would see something like this happen. Our state has never been among the trailblazers for gay-rights. Hell, 10 years ago, they were among the holdouts who refused to endorse a similar resolution. I can't help but feel that I am part of a legacy here. I am so proud of my state president for taking this stand (and even prouder that my work has been institutionalized to the point where I don't need to be the one advocating for change). Last year, I made an impassioned speech at our state delegation meeting about all of us needing to be recognized in our fight for civil rights, and apparently some of the members of the Black Caucus took offense. One of our African-American classroom assistants came up to me, shaking with anger, and proceeded to tell me that some of her friends weren't speaking to her. She continued to tell me that when they bitched about my speech, she told them, "If you all would open your eyes and see how homophobia and racism are intertwined, my closeted gay son might not have died of AIDS."

I am so pleased that folks like Deanna finally felt empowered to speak their hearts as well. And, even more pleased that people have changed their minds so much in the past year.

Because I missed the Victoria's Secret Nurse-In...

2006-07-05T11:56:00.000-04:00

First a quick medical update: I have my gallbladder surgery tomorrow. We have to be at the surgery center at 11 am, with a tentative OR reservation at 12:30. If all goes according to plan, I should be home by 4. I am not sure when I will be back on line to update...

But, back to the main point, I thought for a few brief minutes on Monday that I was about to have to organize a nurse in at Lowe's.

Our town, as wonderful as it is, has no Home Depot. All we have is Lowe's, which has always been smaller, dirtier, darker and more crowded than Home Depot. And, we always have to track down a sales associate to help us out. At Home Depot, back when I was pregnant, the associates were falling over themselves to help us out. One of them even walked me to the bathroom.

So, Monday, we decided to go to Lowe's to buy the supplies I need to make a tiled tabletop for an old sewing machine stand. We got the tiles, the wood, the grout. All we needed was something to use as a trim to hide the messy edge. We wandered over toward millwork, and were looking at various pieces of molding. An associate came over and asked what we were doing. He then suggested that we go talk to the folks in the flooring area and see what they could do for us.

I stood and waited, Bigfella in his sling, for a solid 15 minutes. Finally, I found a sales associate who called me "Sir" and then suggested talking to the kitchen folks when he heard the type of project I was working on. I went to the kitchen area, where I waited for another 10 minutes. Bigfella was getting hungrier and hungrier, and the associate said something that sent me into a tailspin:

Me: I'm tiling a table top and need something like the trim on this countertop to hide the messy edges from view.

Evil Kitchen Man: Well, that's a custom piece.

Me: Well, I want to buy the materials to make that type of trim.

EKM: OK, what you need to do is tell your handyman what you want. He'll know what materials to buy to make that.

Me: But, I'm doing this project myself. There is no "guy."

EKM: Oh, then I guess you need to go to millwork.

Millwork! Right where I had been 30 minutes earlier. I stormed out of the area, and found Dyke Two in the lawn and garden area. Bigfella was, at this point, starving. I wanted to just leave the cart full of stuff sitting there with a little note saying, "We're boycotting your sexist asses!"

I'd like to end this story with me storming to the manager's office, explaining all the while that they were never going to get our business again.

Instead, Bigfella and I went to the patio furniture to nurse while Dyke Two went to millwork to find the molding I needed.

I was just waiting for one of those stupid little Lowe's men to come up and tell me I couldn't nurse in the furniture area. I was ready. I was set to yell at him, and then go home and start faxing and posting.

But, the only person who said anything was a woman with her two children:

I remember when I used to do that! It seems like only yesterday...

...And We're Done.

2006-06-30T15:52:00.000-04:00

Not only is the class done, but, our days of leisurely meals, long walks with the stroller or carrier, extended periods of time for reading, and, even taking showers, doing laundry and loading and unloading the dishwasher are done. It's true: Bigfella is now mobile. No, he's not crawling at 4 months, but he is rolling. And, his rolling is with purpose and intentionality. And, more frighteningly, his rolling is actually an after effect of the true purpose and intentionality. Bigfella ends up on his back after working hard to get his knees under him to crawl. Or, when lying on his back, he swings his legs up in the air, brings them down firmly, and lifts his rear end off the ground in an attempt to sit or stand. Apparently, the boy has places to go and things to do, and, the writing on the wall is that his skills are improving each day. He won't sit in the stroller because he wants to work on his movements. The stroller, carrier, even our laps, is cramping his style and reigning him in from exploring the world and his own kinesthetic self.

But, the class is done. Now I just need to figure out how to write a paper about the experience and send it to the professor. I think that there is a real article in there, so I need to figure out how to write my reaction paper for him, and then expand it and make it more generalized and global, as well as polish it with the hopes that there might be a publishable piece in all this rambling...

Today's Menu: Classism and Heterosexism

2006-06-29T23:05:00.000-04:00

First of all, thank you, Kwynne, for adding to the conversation. I was beginning to feel like I was standing on a milkcrate, yelling my views on the subway. People were walking by, shaking their heads, and moving onto the next blog...

I wanted to clarify why I have focused so much on "white privilege" and race issues. At least in my community, which experienced a horrible, gut-wrenching racial conflagration last year, the wounds of racism are so raw and fresh that most White people quickly gloss over issues of race, and focus instead on attributing the oppression experienced by people of color as being related to class, education, sex, pretty much anything other than race. Having read so many legitimate complaints of people of color about the infiltration of the civil rights movement by white gay men and white women (both straight and gay) with no regard to the advantages they get from their skin color, I want to make sure I am not guilty of the same transgression. I do not want to gloss over the oppression of others by making this about my issues.

Today was classism and heterosexism. The classism exercise was very artificial, and somewhat hard to participate in. A few years ago, Dyke Two modified an activity she had seen done at a conference, and made it relevant and appropriate for teachers. She then shared it with her advisor (the instructor of this course) who watched her lead it once. In turn, he turned it over to his TA, who ran the activity never having participated in or observed the activity. I think it goes without saying that the activity was not the one Dyke Two created, and that many important details were lost in translation. I was unable to get inside myself for this activity, and observed it as an outsider while maintaining a guise of participation.

For the heterosexism discussion, we had a panel of gays and lesbians who answered questions for the participants. I agreed to serve on the panel since it would be harder to watch it without being a panel member. I am always surprised at how little some folks know about the lives of gays and lesbians. Things got a little touchy when Christianity entered the discussion, which I get to happily ignore. My favorite part of the panel was getting to hear the stories and experiences of my friends who served as co-panelists. Once you get out of your early twenties, you rarely hear people's coming out stories, or their internal struggles. I love having this forum each summer to hear these internal stories from my good friends. I answered lots of questions about Bigfella, and about being a gay teacher.

But I did realize that having a White man decide on the activities, create the message and set the tone of these encounters, perpetuates a very narrow and limited view. It allows people to learn enough to feel better, without causing the cognitive dissonance required for real transformation. As Kwynne pointed out, these oppressions are so interrelated, and to build on her point, by dividing them up into separate groups just splinters the efforts and creates artificial enemies. And, when the artificial enemies put each other down, as many others eloquently have pointed out, we lift up our oppressors.

I also realized that i am still not good at the emotional, messy, raw parts of this work. I still spend most of my energy on head issues, not heart issues. But, I also realized that I resent people who try to inexpertly delve into my heart issues without the training, intentionality or long term commitment that I feel is necessary. I feel it is manipulative as all get out.

But, most importantly of all, have y'all seen Star Jones this week? We are watching Larry King Live right now, and for the love of all that is holy, she looks like a space alien, leaving The View to re-board the Mother Ship.

Sexism and Revisiting White Privilege

2006-06-28T22:29:00.000-04:00

The sexism discussion didn't mean that much to me. So much of it focused on the interpersonal issues of men and women in heterosexual relationships. Honestly, the power dynamics between individual men and women are meaningless to me. I care a hell of a lot more about the systemic sexism that has the FDA approving medication for all people after drug trials on all-male test groups. I care a hell of a lot more about the insidious sexism that has little girls starving themselves to fit an unachievable standard of beauty. I care a hell of a lot more about the institutional sexism that has 3 year old "beauty queens" prancing around with pancake make up, teased hair and sexually suggestive clothing. I care about the sexism of our society that allows the president of Harvard say that women are biologically disposed to not pursuing careers in science and math. How the married couple next door makes parenting decisions or divides household chores is irrelevent to me.

But, this issue of white privilege has been under my skin for awhile. Considering that these trainings I have done are coming from the anti-racist movemet, I see too much racism still in the presentation of the material. This morning, as I took my shower, I experienced a moment of clarity. The term "white privilege" was knocking around in my brain. I have never liked the term, but have never quite known why. Today I realized the cause of my dislike.

Language is a subtle, complicated thing. Using the term "privilege" glosses over the reality of the situation. By calling it privilege, anti-racists give White people permission to maintain the status quo. After all, privilege implies that White people have something extra, something more than the acceptable minimum. Rather than admitting that people of color do not have enough, White people talk about the extra, nice luxuries that privilege gives folks with light skin.

In reality, White people do not have the privilege of access to medical care. People of color are denied the right of medical care. White people do not have the privilege of culturally relevant education. People of color are denied the right of education. White people do not have the privilege of safe and comfortable housing. People of color are denied housing rights.

But, by calling these things privilege, White people are glossing over the reality of the systematic denial of rights faced by people of color. If we were talking about the rights that go with Whiteness, the lack of rights of people of color would be laid out on the table. The term privilege allows White anti-racists to sugar-coat their oppression of people of color into something that is more palatable to their liberal psyches.

But, the real question comes next: if we do away with the term "white privilege," what term should we replace it with? And, as a white woman, what right do I have to coin the term?

Blood, Sweat and Tears

2006-06-27T21:45:00.000-04:00

First, the tears. So, they actually made me cry today. I thought that cynical me would find it all to be a boring, rote replay of all the sensitivity training I have done before. But, they got to me through my son. We did the White Privilege exercise with the list of Peggy McIntosh's white privileges. We circled those that applied to us, and then all stood up. We got to sit down as they counted down from 50, once they said the number we had circled. (My number was 31, by the way).

So, after I sat down, I watched all the Black women standing waiting for the countdown to get to single digits. I've done this before, and have come to terms with the fact that Dyke Two will always stand until very close to zero. I know this, and have worked through this. Obviously, I love her with everything in me. it pains me to know what she experiences. But, we have discussed this, and have created a truly mutual, equal partnership that is based in respect, love and honesty despite the fact that I will never stand with her through every single obstacle or incident.

But, today it struck me that Bigfella also will always stand longer than I will. My son, who grew inside me for nine months, who bounced on my cervix and bladder, and kicked my ribs, who shared my blood and nutrients as he grew, who I spent 23 long and arduous hours laboring to separate from my body, who I bring to my breast multiple times a day, will face a world I do not know. (I "knew" this before getting pregnant with a bi-racial child, but today I not only knew this in my head, but also in my heart).

I would gladly give up everything I have for Bigfella. For the first time in my life, there is somebody whose comfort, safety and success is more important to me than my own. (i am a very competitive person, so I have always wanted to be the one who was more successful). When he is hungry, he eats, whether I need to pee, or eat, or sleep. When he sheds tears, both my eyes and my breasts water in solidarity. If he needed one of my organs, I would give it to him without question. If there were any way to take his pain as my own, I would do it without hesitation. But, there is no way I can take this away from him, or experience it instead of him. In fact, I will be sending him out each day to face a world whose dangers and obstacles are invisible to me.

I thank G-d that my wife shares more than a birthday with my son, though I wish that this shared oppression were one that neither of them had to bear.

Next, the sweat: It is hotter than a closed up car on a summer day in the training room. Seriously, apparently the air conditioning doesn't work too well in the building. I leave each day sticky and smelly. And, the breastfeeding hormones only make it worse.

Finally, the blood: We had more blood in the diaper today. I thought I was being really careful, but apparently not. I think it was the goat cheese, even though I have read that goat's milk consumption by mama is usually OK for cow's milk sensitive breastfed babes. He also had eczema and a prickly looking diaper rash.

Tonight's assignment: What does being a girl mean to you? A woman? (for you heterozygous folks: what does being a boy mean to you? A man?) For the folks who don't fit neatly into the binary definitions of gender, well, apparently there is no assignment for you. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. I am so not looking forward to this discussion. I hope the instructor will be including transgender and intersex issues. I so don't think they should be lumped into sexual orientation. I'm not writing anything, at least not tonight. There have already been plenty of discussions on so many parenting blogs about this issue.

Testing the waters...

2006-06-26T21:54:00.000-04:00

Today was a slow ease in to the bigger issues. We did some getting to know you activities, all basically low-risk. One woman cried while sharing her name story. Tomorrow is White Privilege, with Peggy McIntosh and her invisible knapsack on the agenda.

The instructor, who is a close mentor of Dyke Two's made a comment I am struggling with. He said that one of the things that he feels is required in his classroom is that all opinions are valued, no one is told they are wrong, no one is silenced. That all seems good at the surface, but I sat there, thinking, "But there are times when I, either as a participant or a facilitator want to tell someone that their opinion is wrong." Dyke Two and I were talking about this as we drove home, and at the time the only example I could come up with was that of someone who says that homosexuality is wrong. I have heard this said in numerous situations where all other rules of PC interaction are in effect, but in the name of religious tolerance, I am required to accept this stance. This dangerous relativism was hammered home tonight as we watched a documentary on s*i*heads, which was followed by one on another three letter group that comes right before LLL in the phone book. (I don't want to attract this type of troll to the Ark, so I am going to leave it to your powers of deduction to figure out the subject of the documentaries). So, after watching these shows, I realized that they were an even better example. Obviously, you can't sit there and engage with this type of hate-spewing rhetoric in the name of tolerance, acceptance or diversity. (Or you can try, but if you aren't white, straight and Christian, they might kill you). Dyke Two has encouraged me to call the instructor on this tomorrow, and ask him if he truly means what he said today.

My big epiphany for the day came when we were discussing life here in Smallcity. A friend asked if Dyke Two and I have found a comfort zone within the Black community. I realized that we have. Once we got engaged, but even more so since Bigfella was born, people have been reaching out to us, offering support, comraderie, love and acceptance. Our two mommy family has not caused even the slightest ripple. Yet, despite my personal experiences to the contrary, I sat in that room today, assuming that the Black women in the group would be uncomfortable with my sexuality. Where does this come from?

I think we all know that there is a myth in the White gay community that Black people are homophobic. And, until today, I believed it, without one shred of personal evidence to back it up. I was a little embarrassed to realize that I took that baggage willingly and without question from various gay leaders, most of whom are middle-aged, upper middle class, White men. (Dyke Two did remind me of a particularly uncomfortable confrontation I had with one middle aged woman who happened to be black, but even I know better than to assume that she spoke for all blacks.)

Maybe this omnipresent, unilateral "Black community" (don't get me started on that idea) isn't actually homophobic. They just think the gay folks they know are assholes.

But the biggest news of the day is that Bigfella finally hefted his big self up off his quilt and rolled from stomach to back. He has kind of done it before, but only when diaperless. Today, he did it fully clothed. It is hard work to lift 19 pounds off the ground when your muscles are only 4 months old.

Someone's schooling, Lord, Kumbaya....

2006-06-24T15:47:00.000-04:00

Bigfella and I are heading back to school next week. I am signed up for a 3 credit course on Multicultural Education that meets all day for the next week. I am also signed up for Part Two the week after the week of the 4th. (I may not take that one, thanks to the gallbladder surgery). Bigfella gets to come with me, so we are armed with all sorts of things to keep him quiet during the discussions. Because the course is very participatory, I wanted to offer you all a window into my experience. Throughout the week, I am supposed to write a one page reflection paper each night, as well as complete two assignments this weekend.

In the interest of full disclosure, I am very cynical about this type of course. Too often, I have seen that the goal of these programs seems to be that everyone will hold hands and sing Kumbaya. Dyke Two has been involved in the course for many years, and has admitted that there is a Kumbaya aspect to the experience. I have told her that I can tune up the old vocal cords if the singing is a step toward the greater goal, but that I might lose my shit if all we accomplish by the end of the week is a rousing rendition of "Someone's crying, Lord, Kumbaya." I hate, hate, hate when these experiences become an opportunity for is privileged white folks to cry about our unearned privilege, express our guilt and then go about our daily life with no real resolution or plans for changing anything. I know that acknowledging our shit is the first step toward change, but I have yet to experience facilitators who push us to change. They all seem happy just getting folks to the stage of admitting. In my mind, stopping there is the easy way out.

So, this weekend, if anyone wants to play along at home, the first assignment is to:

Write a story about your name. It can be in any format you choose from poetry to essay. It should be 1 to 2 pages long. Be as creative as you like.

Assignment Number 2 is:

Write your personal definitions for the following terms: prejudice, discrimination, racism, sexism, and homophobia.

Now, look the words up in a dictionary of your choice and write those definitions. Note the publisher and the publication date for the dictionary you used.

My name story and definitions are posted below. Feel free to add your own in the comment sections or on your blogs. Check back throughout the week and read and comment on my reflections as they get posted.

Assignment 2: The Definitions

2006-06-24T15:45:00.000-04:00

My definitions are the first one listed for each word, the dictionary definitions are the enumerated definitions below mine.

Prejudice

The preconceived beliefs, both conscious and unconscious, which guide our decisions and actions
i. An adverse judgment or opinion formed beforehand or without knowledge or examination of the facts.
ii. A preconceived preference or idea.
iii. The act or state of holding unreasonable preconceived judgments or convictions.
iv. Irrational suspicion or hatred of a particular group, race, or religion.
v. Detriment or injury caused to a person by the preconceived, unfavorable conviction of another or others.

Discrimination

Actions by those in power based on prejudices
i. The act of discriminating.
ii. The ability or power to see or make fine distinctions; discernment.
iii. Treatment or consideration based on class or category rather than individual merit; partiality or prejudice: racial discrimination; discrimination against foreigners.

Racism

Actions by those in power based on racial prejudices
i. The belief that race accounts for differences in human character or ability and that a particular race is superior to others.
ii. Discrimination or prejudice based on race.

Sexism

Actions by those in power based on gender prejudices
i. Discrimination based on gender, especially discrimination against women.
ii. Attitudes, conditions, or behaviors that promote stereotyping of social roles based on gender.

Homophobia

Fear or dislike of GLBT people that motivates heterosexist actions and decisions
i. Fear of or contempt for lesbians and gay men.
ii. Behavior based on such a feeling.

Source: The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

Assignment 1: The Name Story

2006-06-24T12:55:00.000-04:00

I love baby names. I spend an inordinate amount of time on baby naming websites, reading name books, and participating in the naming polls of complete strangers. My fascination with names started during my pregnancy with our son. Even though I love the communal process of naming babies that occurs, when we named him, we didn’t ask anyone for advice or input. His name came to us pretty quickly, and with no hesitation. We wanted a name that honored family members, identified him with his ethnicity, and wouldn’t fade in the wash. He ended up named Big Fella One-Two. Big is my great grandfather. Fella is in honor of my partner’s grandmother. One is my last name, while Two is my partner’s last name. Bigfella does have a Hebrew name that we chose: Moshe or Moses. We wanted to give him a name that connected him with the man who led the Jews out of slavery in Egypt, both to instill in him our commitment to social justice and to commemorate the enslavement and subordination that is part of his experience as a Black Jew in the US.

Ironically, the names we chose have little to do with either of our ethnicities, since our families both have a long history of assimilation. My parents, however, went through a similar process when they named me. My name: Dyke Girl One has a similar reason behind it, though it also ended up “whitewashed” by the nature of the decisions of previous generations.

One is my father’s last name, but it has not been the name of his paternal relatives for very long. When they arrived at Ellis Island, they were eager to shed the weight of Eastern European anti-Semitism. In 1906, when my great-grandfather, Big, became a naturalized citizen in Chicago, his last name was still OldName. By 1945, when he used his skills as a tailor to aid in the US war effort as a parachute mechanic, he was a One. Family lore is that when my grandfather and great-uncle enlisted in the Army, they were turned down because of their “Commie” last name. According to my father, the truth is that when they applied for medical school and law school, boys named OldName were subjected to the quotas of the 1940s that were designed to limit the number of Jews in higher education. When they changed their last names to the WASPiest thing they could think of, they were granted spots the following year.

My first name, Dyke, was carefully chosen to reflect the Jewish heritage my great-grandfather tried to obfuscate. Dyke is one of the matriarchs of the Old Testament, from her lineage, the nation of Israel was created. While the name with a different spelling is common in non-Jewish families, my parents chose to spell it D-y-k-e as an immediate signifier to others that I am, as Jewish women are described, a woman of valor.

My middle name is a family name. Girl is the name of my mother’s mother and my mother’s grandmother. Both of these strong, independent women were still alive when I was named. While Jewish tradition is to name children after deceased family members to make sure everyone has their own identity and spirit, my mother’s family is Protestant, so both the name and the naming pattern reflect my Christian background. In an interesting parallel to the Jewish tradition, my grandmother, known to this day to family members as “Little Girl” did tell my parents to use Girl as my middle name, because she wanted me to have my own name, rather than be relegated to the nickname “Baby Girl.”

Seems like an epidemic going on

2006-06-23T14:10:00.000-04:00

In recent weeks, I have read many posts on various blogs about folks going to their 10th college reunions. We can add me to the 10 years out set. Bigfella and I went to my 10th reunion over Memorial Day. A great time was had by all. There were eight of us in my house senior year, and we were all together for the first time since graduation. Of course, one of the eight is my first girlfriend, who dumped me the following year for the woman she is still with. They had their second son two months before Bigfella was born. I had a lot of anger toward both of them for many years, even harboring some during our 5 year reunion. (At our fifth, I told First Girlfriend that I had forgiven her, which was a lie, but I needed to say it so that eventually I would forgive her. She responded by saying that she hadn't forgiven herself). As I moved through my years as president of the education association, travelled around the country meeting other LGBT educators, gave presentations nationally on gay issues in the schools, got appointed to the board of our state gay rights group, and started my doctorate last fall, I began to realize that professionally, my life had developed perfectly. When I met Dyke Two, got engaged, bought our house, got pregnant, got married and had Bigfella, I realized that I was happier now than I ever was with First Girlfriend.

But, back to reunion. We went out for delicious food, hung out with the babes on the college green, stayed up late talking, drank lots of coffee, went to our favorite old haunts. All in all, a very nice weekend. I thought that First Girlfriend and I had a very good time together. I even thought that her partner enjoyed our time together. The best part of the whole event, as I remarked to one of the housemates as we drove to our hotel, is that the weekend crystallized to me how happy I am with the path I ended up on. Reunions seem to be a time when you get to stop and visit with the various potential selves you could have become. When I visited with those potential selves, I had no regrets. I do love the person I have become.

Yesterday, we finally got it together to send photos to each other. I opened First Girlfriend's website and realized that, in her archives of the event, Bigfella and I did not appear once. Not once. There is no photographic evidence that we were there. We aren't in any reunion pictures. We aren't even in any of the pictures from the wedding the weekend before. There are photos of the rest of the folks at our table, but it is like the end of the table where Dyke Two, Bigfella and I were sitting didn't exist.

I can't help but think that possibly First Girlfrlend didn't experience the same peace when she visited with her potential selves.

Father's Day

2006-06-18T14:32:00.000-04:00

Friday was my dad's first day of summer vacation. As a teacher, he has always enjoyed the yearly ritual of sending off his graduating seniors, grading exams, completing report cards, and packing up his classroom for the summer. For 34 years, he has gone through the procedures of closing out the school year, only to wake up the next morning to a summer of lazy days stretching in front of him. Friday when he woke up, it wasn't just a summer that was stretching in front of him. It was the rest of his life.

My dad retired this year. One of the events Bigfella and I attended while visiting family was my dad's retirement dinner. In honor of Father's Day, I want to recreate the speech I gave. My dad is Bigfella's only grandfather, and therefore, will be the recipient of future daycare crafts, handmade cards and poems written in honor of "dad." While Bigfella is precocious, he wasn't quite able to create his own tribute this year, so I'm doing it for him.

So, without further ado:

During my years as president of our local education association, I was often asked to give speeches and soundbites to the media. When my father asked me to be his speaker tonight, I didn't think anything of it. But, it turns out this is the hardest speech I have had to write. I mean, how do you sum up the career of a teacher like my father in the three minutes allotted between drinks and salad?

As I struggled to get my thoughts and feelings crystallized, I spent some time looking for quotes that might be appropriate. I used quotes as a springboard for my students' daily writing assignments, so I have amassed quite a collection. In the end, I found two.

The first is by Lee Iacocca, who once said, "In a truly rational society, the best of us would strive to be teachers and the rest of us would have to settle for something else, because passing on civilization from one generation to the next is the highest honor and highest responsibility anyone could have."” Clearly, Mr. Iacocca has never met my father.

If he had, he would know that the best of us already are teachers. It's true. My father represents the best of humanity. He is patient, compassionate, generous, committed, professional and humble. Very, very humble. When he was appointed as state teacher of the year last year, he wrote a speech about his students, taking the opportunity of his new role to dispel myths and destroy stereotypes about urban students of color. When he was awarded an honorary doctorate this spring and gave the commencement address at a local university, he took the opportunity to talk about gay rights and the Constitution. The audience was moved to tears as he talked about my son--that same fussy little baby who was just removed from the room by my stepmother. My father is a humble man, with a strong vision of social justice. If only the rest of us had half his integrity and vision.

The second quote is from my favorite singer, Catie Curtis. She has a song that has always reminded me of my father. A couple of years ago, I saw her perform the song, "Dad's Yard" in concert, where I learned that she wrote it and first performed it at her father's retirement party, as he retired from a 30 plus year career as a teacher. "He can see the beauty beneath the dust and the grime. He can see potential where the rest of us are blind. He will polish the grey until it shines clear blue, and if you know my dad, well, he won't give up on you. So if you need something when times get hard, you can probably find it in my dad's yard. And if you need love, if you're coming apart, you can surely find it in my dad's heart."

So what did Bigfella do on his first of many Father's Days? Well, we let Dyke Two set the tone. Most of her life has been father-free, and since Bigfella's birth, her feelings toward her mostly absent father have changed from "live and let live" to lots and lots of anger and confusion. I figured Father's Day was going to be a lot harder for her than either me or Bigfella. So, Bigfella cooed at Grandpa over the phone, took a bunch of naps, and had his first trip to the swimming pool. Despite photographic evidence to the contrary, he seemed to settle in and enjoy himself.

Doctoral Studies

2006-06-16T17:25:00.000-04:00

Last week, Bigfella went to the doctor. He weighed in at 19 pounds, one ounce, 27 inches long. His head was 17 and a half inches in circumference. So, he is still off the charts in height and weight, but, in comparison, his head is a wee peahead at the 75th percentile. The doc said nothing about starting solids or giving supplements. He told us to just keep breastfeeding.

Earlier this week, I had a doctor's appointment. i am having the old gallbladder out on July 6th. The surgeon wrote a prescription for a double electric breastpump for me, though I don't know that the insurance company is going to cover it. They said they might, but that they only automatically cover them for latch issues or if baby is in the NICU and mom gets discharged.

But, after spending the better part of the day on the phone with the insurance company, the lactation consultant at the hospital told me that even with general anesthesia and narcotic painkillers, I can breastfeed as soon as I am out of the recovery room. I didn't believe her, so I called the ped's office for a second opinion. The LC there backed up the hospital LC.

But, the important thing is that the morning of my doctor's appointment, I was coordinating a Day of Action for gay rights and left the house at 6 am. So, Bigfella stayed home with Dyke Two. The two of them met me at my appointment after having breakfast with a friend. The nurse brought them into the exam room, and Bigfella was wearing a pair of socks that I haven't seen in well over a month. The heels of the socks were resting comfortably on the arches of his feet. I took him out of the stroller and looked at his outfit. He was wearing cute striped pants and his HRC baby onesie. I did a double take. His cute little pants were so small that they were actually a pair of manpris.

But Dyke Two was so proud of her baby-dressing skills that I just smiled and said, "Where the hell did you find those pants and socks? Didn't you notice that your son was wearing clothes that were too small???"

An Homage to Shel Silverstein...

2006-06-09T13:28:00.000-04:00

If you have to make your coffee
To save a buck or two
If you have to make your coffee
To keep blood from baby's poo
If you use your stove top maker,
And it explodes across the room,
Maybe you won't have to
Make your coffee anymore.

Seriously, folks. In an attempt to be frugal, I decided to feed the coffee monkey on my back (he found me again while I was staying with my parents--bastards make coffee multiple times a day...) by making coffee at home. After all, not only would I save money on buying the coffee at my favorite coffeeshop, I would also be able to use rice milk (better for me and Bigfella) without carting a box of the stuff with me all over the place. (I did find rice milk in 8 ounce drinkboxes, but only really want about 5 ounces in my biggie jumbo vat of coffee, which left 3 ounces of rice milk wasted or consumed separately. It also tacks a dollar onto the cost of the cup of coffee.)

So, yesterday I decided to start being virtuous. I started the coffee in the espresso maker, visions of cappuccino dancing in my head. If not cappuccino (who knows if the rice milk would steam properly) at least I could have a nice iced latte. I poured my rice krispies, sprinkled them with blueberries, added rice milk and poured a glass of OJ. I went into the living room, where Bigfella was happily hanging out in his exersaucer (don't tell the physical therapist police that you know) and Dyke Two was watching The People's Court (don't tell the Good Taste police that you know). After a few minutes, I went into the kitchen, where I was greeted with this:

and this:

and this:

After I finished laughing, Dyke Two and I ventured closer to the stove top, and discovered this:

"Honey," I said, "I love you."

"Mmmmph."

"Just think how lucky we are!"

"Mmmmmph?"

"Bigfella and I could have been in the kitchen when this happened! We were both saved from being scalded." (I was really scrambling there to come up with a silver lining to this cloud.)

"Dyke One, sweetheart, from now on, I want you to buy a cup of coffee anywhere, anytime you want one. It's just not worth the time it takes to clean up your coffee making mess."

So, this morning, Bigfella and I went to the coffeeshop and bought a cup of coffee.

And, just to indulge my Bigfella obsession, here he is, helping me create this post:

Don't laugh at a boy, just because he has to wear a bib to contain the drool. Teething is hard work.

Little girls grow up and marry their fathers...

2006-06-08T00:03:00.000-04:00

I have heard from various people that women end up marrying men who are like their fathers. I just assumed that this phenomenon didn't hold true for lesbians. Until tonight.

My father has always been convinced that the night air gives him asthma. Seriously. The night air. Asthma. In fact, while staying with my dad and stepmother for those two long weeks in May, the nightly argument between my father and stepmother was whether or not they were going to close the windows. My father is convinced that sleeping with the windows open makes him wheeze. Not allergens in the air. Just the air. Once the sun is down, it settles in his chest and the allergies just go crazy. He is a smart man. He has a doctorate in education. He has received numerous awards for his teaching. He has published multiple articles and textbooks. But, he is convinced the night air makes him sick.

So, tonight we were putting Bigfella to bed. I turned on the ceiling fan and put a small fan next to his crib. After all, it was 75 degrees outside and muggy. We haven't cleaned the filter in the central air yet, or else I would have turned the air conditioning on. It is hot here in Red State. Bigfella was whining and fussing, but finally settled into a fitful sleep.

Dyke Two came out of the bedroom about 20 minutes later and said, "I turned off the fan next to the crib."

"Why?" I asked.

"So he doesn't get sick."

I must have had a quizzical (read "What the fuck are you talking about??") look on my face because she tripped over herself to explain further.

"You know, from the moving air."

I couldn't help myself. Dyke Two is a smart woman. She has almost completed her doctorate. She is hired to do workshops at a daily rate that rivalled my former monthly salary. She holds down a high level job in central office. But, she is convinced that sleeping with air blowing on you makes you sick.

And, me? I guess even lesbians can end up marrying their fathers...

Back in the saddle again

2006-06-04T18:02:00.000-04:00

We're back from a two week trip (I hesitate to call it a vacation) in the North. We visited family, attended a wedding, went to my college reunion and I spoke at my dad's retirement dinner. Dyke Two and I drove up together for the first weekend and attended the wedding. I then put her on a train home, and Bigfella and I remained behind for another 10 days for the rest of the visit.

A good time was had by all, though I have never been so happy to return home and sit on my furry futon, play with my sweet pets and sleep in my own bed.

Bigfella's allergies seem to be under control, with only one flare up of bloody diapers, and a few flare ups of eczema.

My gallstones behaved themselves for the most part, though I did spend a night writhing in pain and puking bile in my parents' guest room, while Bigfella slept peacefully beside me.

I have tons and tons of stories to share, though the pile of dirty laundry is more pressing.

Dual, and conflicting, diagnoses

2006-05-16T20:36:00.000-04:00

Bigfella and I both went to the doctor yesterday, and we both received confirmation of what we already suspected.

For me: I have gallstones. Thankfully, the ultrasound also confirmed that my other organs are all good, and that the gallstones are not causing infection or inflammation. Doctor's orders: refrain from eating dairy and other fatty foods while on two week vacation with parents (that's a whole nother entry) and meet with surgeon upon return.

For Bigfella: After two moms, two dirty diapers and a freakishly large three month old arrived in the doctor's office, Bigfella immediately added a third dirty diaper to the collection in ziploc bags. Diaper number 2 (from 11 am yesterday morning) was swabbed for a fecal occult test. It confirmed that Bigfella was in fact, pooping blood, and not bits of strawberry pancakes or cherry tylenol as some well-meaning folks had suggested. (as an aside, how would strawberry pancakes get into Bigfella's diaper? who feeds a 3 month old strawberry pancakes? or pancakes of any sort for that matter? Whose breastmilk is strawberry flavored?--though, given the amount of Strawberry Quik, strawberry ice cream and strawberry soda I consumed in the first trimester, if anyone's could, it would be mine. but, I digress...) Diaper number 3 was cultured, and we should get the results Thursday to rule out a viral or bacterial infection. The doctor also confirmed that Bigfella had eczema, congestion, a red bumhole, and diaper rash. He agrees with us that a food allergy is the likely culprit. He agreed with me that a food journal for the next month is a good idea. He even agreed that, given the timing of when I cut out dairy and added soymilk to treat my gallstones (see above), the likely food allergy is soy.

So, therein lies the conflict. Bigfella is making his 20-year vegetarian mother decide between her own health (the soymilk and soy proteins that I am using to reduce the fat in my diet) or his health (the dairy that makes me sick, but apparently keeps him healthier than the alternative). So, as we begin a month of anal retentive recordkeeping of my food, detergents and soaps, his skin, and his diapers, we also begin a two week visit with family, a wedding and a college reunion. I have read way too much about food allergies to feel comfortable just eating freely for the next few weeks. My mom convinced me to start eating chicken for the next few weeks. I do need protein, and my favorite protein sources are dairy, eggs, tofu and peanuts. There are only so many beans/rice meals i can eat. Especially if they can't be topped with cheese and sour cream. Today has been a long and emotional day for the residents of the ark.

Oh, yeah. The ped also confirmed something else we already knew: Bigfella really is freakishly large. 17 pounds, 9 ounces at 3 months.

What makes a mother?

2006-05-15T14:37:00.000-04:00

I have been thinking a lot about this, and fully intended to blog about it before Mother's Day. But, Saturday afternoon, as it percolated in my brain while I mowed the backyard, Dyke Two called me in to the house and showed me the contents of Bigfella's diaper. There was blood and mucus in his pants. Understandably, we got a little distracted by Bigfella's wellbeing, and I quickly dropped the blog entry from the forefront of my head, and focused instead on the quality and quantity of Bigfella's poops. (Five years ago, I would have shot myself in the head if I ever thought I would be examining someone else's bowel output, let alone googling about it, staying up late thinking about it or asking random people on the street about it). But, since Bigfella has a doctor's appointment in a couple of hours, and I have learned more than I care to think about bloody baby poop, I am ready to try again...

So, what makes a mother? We know people become mothers through birth or adoption, but there is more to mothering than a legal or biological connection. I think of Dyke Two who is neither a legal nor a biological mother to our son, but is so clearly his Mama. I think about our friend Nancy, whose only child, a son, died three years ago at the age of 20 of a freak brain aneurysm. Nancy is still a mom, even if the child she mothers is no longer with us. i think about our friend Jen, who lost her daughter during the breakup with Liz, because the state did not recognize Jen as a mother. I think about my stepmother, who is clearly a mother to me, and a grandmother to Bigfella. I have been blessed to have two moms since long before my father made the brilliant decision to marry my stepmom.

So, motherhood does not require a legal or biological connection. As I mowed, I realized that I spent last Mother's Day mowing my backyard, and that I also spent last Mother's Day squirting swimmers up my hoo-ha. That realization made me wonder when exactly I became a mother. I still swear that as the sperm entered my uterus that afternoon last Mother's Day, I felt some warmth and tingling as something much larger than the tiny vial of sperm entered my life. I truly believe that I felt Bigfella's creation as the sperm and egg met. At that moment, I knew I was a mother, but in restrospect, I think I was a mother before that. As I pushed the mower through knee high weeds, I thought about all of my friends, both online and in real life, who are doggedly continuing their pursuit of motherhood, as they chart their cycles, swallow their pills, wrestle with the dildocam, screw on demand (the straight coupled ones), order sperm from their source and squirt (the not-straight coupled ones) on the best schedule they can determine from the information they have. Society does not call them mothers yet, because they don't have babies, but I think they are mothers already.

I realized that motherhood began for me when I began to swallow those prenatal vitamins, changed my diet and exercise regimen and stopped drinking--all to make my body and life more welcoming and safe for a person I had never met. Motherhood for me began when somebody else's needs became more important than my own. It is clear that Dyke Two puts Bigfella's needs over her own, even without the legal and biological connection. And if that's when motherhood begins, then all of my friends, both those whose children are no longer with them and those whose children are not yet with them, are mothers.

So, on this day after Mother's Day, I recognize and send my love to those overlooked yesterday: the childless mothers. And, I urge you all to do the same: hug your partners, call your friends, send an email to those far away, order flowers and chocolates to be delivered to their offices. And, in your honor, I share this prayer:

We enter into this stage of our lives consciously, aware of the tremendous responsibilities involved in bringing a new life into the world.

With this responsibility we also acknowledge the hopes and dreams that we share. Dreams for a bright future filled with joy and warmth of family, and hope that the world will become and remain a truly hospitable place – a world worth living in.

We pledge ourselves to continue working towards Tikkun Olam – making the world a more perfect place. With this in mind as we prepare to join together in conceiving a child – we give Tzedakah to ___________. This money is a symbol of the actual work we must do to make this world worthy of a new presence.

At this time we wish to acknowledge to one another that should we find conception impossible, we both look favorably on the prospect of adopting and welcoming a child into this family as our own.

Let us now call down the Holy sparks of divinity to join our union in Creating a new life – sparked by the Divine.

The Ark's Needs: According to Google

2006-05-12T10:09:00.000-04:00

So I got an email that made me chuckle this morning. I'm just going to paraphrase it because it wasn't particularly well-written, and G-d knows I can't have grammatical errors on my blog.

So what you're supposed to do is enter your name and the word "needs" into Google. (I suppose any search engine would work, but whatever...) Copy down the first (or funniest) web page summaries that appear.

When I did that this morning, the Spirits of the Internets clearly knew us well:

[Bigfella] needs a friend. [Bigfella] needs to create enemies and situations where his talent and deeds are called into question to properly motivate himself. [Bigfella] needs those wheels. He's a hefty fellow. Shake your booty [Bigfella]!

[Dyke One] needs a team of committed people to pray for her and her ministry. [Dyke One] needs to think about [Dyke One] right now. [Dyke One] needs to do laundry.

[Dyke Two] needs a map to find where she is. [Dyke Two] needs to publish, not travel. [Dyke Two] needs whores, too!

I just want to know: what is Bigfella capable of if given proper motivation? Where is this ministry of mine? Will Dyke Two ever finish HER dissertation? What will those whores do to our marriage?

And, how the hell do the internets know about the massive pile of laundry next to our washing machine??

A few thousand words

2006-05-11T01:09:00.000-04:00

We finally found the cord to our digital camera, so for your viewing pleasure:

Bigfella coming home from the hospital.

Bigfella at approximately 2 months, rapidly outgrowing the carseat.

Stylin' in his Roundabout.

Kisses from Mommy

The now obsolete Baby Bjorn. I haven't taken photos of him in the Ergo.

Gut reactions

2006-05-10T00:43:00.000-04:00

I had an appointment with my doctor today. He said it sounded like one of three things:

1. gallstones
2. esophogeal spasms from reflux
3. both gallstones and esophogeal spasms

So, he poked and prodded in my belly and mentioned that if I had gallstones I would feel pain radiating forward from my right shoulder blade area. As longtime readers of The Ark might recall, I have had a long quest for an appropriate babycarrier, since all carriers I had tried caused (guess what's coming here) pain in the area between my shoulders, but more on my right side. So much for thinking that my ginormous baby was the sole cause of my back pain.

But, the doctor did a blood draw to check liver function and a few other things, gave me a sample of Protonix to help with potential spasms, and ordered an ultrasound. As I left, he said, "Well, the Protonix should be OK for breastfeeding. It's a Category B drug for pregnancy, so you should be fine."

Thankfully, I told him I would clear it with my pediatrician's lactation consultant before I took it.

As it turns out, the PDR online says not to take it while breastfeeding. I guess I'm not surprised that a doctor who specializes in adult internal medicine wouldn't be up on prescription drugs and breastfeeding. However, I was disappointed that he even asked me if I was breastfeeding (the OB and ped assumed I was) and I was disappointed because he is the father of four children, all under the age of 10, and should, therefore, be more aware of the breastfeeding relationship.

So much for trusting that the doctor knows best. I have too often been disappointed with the care he provides me, particularly surrounding my GI issues. (He's great for my asthma and knee issues). I think that this seals the deal, and I will be changing doctors. I guess I'll start seeing the flamboyant queen who saved Dyke Two's life after her "episode."

About Last Night...

2006-05-05T18:12:00.000-04:00

It's been a mixed bag over here on the Ark, and last night exemplified it.

Bigfella's sleep has been slowly slipping toward the crapper. We think he is teething, which means that his evenings are spent with hand shoved in mouth, chewing on his fingers, crying as he valiantly fights falling asleep. Dyke Two is gearing up for the end of school year reports and presentation to the school board, which means later nights at work. I feel guilty putting Bigfella to bed before she even comes home from work, so she comes home to a cranky, drooling baby and a cranky, hungry wife. But, she gets home and I end up trying to put Bigfella to sleep just as dinner is ready. I know this is a mom issue, not a baby issue, but by the time Bigfella finally falls asleep, I am resenting the hell out of Dyke Two and cycling through all sorts of catastrophic thinking about what life will be like when I return to school.

Last night, she took Bigfella into the kitchen while she cooked and I watered the boxwoods and forsythia we got from freecycle and the grass seed we are trying to get sprouted on our front "lawn." Dinner was ready just as Bigfella hit nuclear meltdown mode. I inhaled dinner as he writhed in my arms and then began to try and nurse him into tranquility. We went into the bedroom and I swaddled him, turned on his CD and began the rest of the bedtime routine. At that precise moment, my abdomen began to burn and cramp with what can only be described as the Worst Fucking Pain I Have Ever Felt. (In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that this pain was, in fact tied with the pain described in an earlier entry when I writhed on the couch, trying to determine if I was having a heart attack and freaked out that Bigfella refuses the bottle since I was sure I was about to die and leave Dyke Two with an infant she was unable to feed. Once that pain subsided, I began to build up my freezer stash.) I placed Bigfella in the crib, and called to Dyke Two to come and complete the sleeping routine, as I staggered toward the bed to curl into the fetal position. She came in and picked him up and brought him into the living room. This of course pissed me off even more since in the pain-induced haze, I saw this as Dyke Two sabotaging what little sleep routine we had. Within seconds, however, I decided to overlook the anger and focus on breathing through the pain.

I couldn't do it. I breathed through 23 hours of labor and pushing out a 10 pound baby without an epidural, but this pain was worse. I wove my way toward the couch, where I squirmed in pain for 10 minutes, and then made a beeline for the bathroom where I dry heaved and spit into the toilet for 30 minutes. I then returned to the couch, and lay there for another 15 minutes as we debated a trip to the ER. Thankfully, Bigfella was happily sleeping in his bouncy chair as Dyke Two rocked him throughout the whole ordeal. Just as we were gearing up to go to the ER, the pain subsided as quickly as it started. Internet research later in the night is leading us toward gallstones. Great. I'm a woman who has never had more serious surgery than tooth extraction, and has never spent more than an hour in a hospital except for Bigfella's birth. My plan right now involves borrowing a page from ostriches, and I successfully avoided calling the doctor until the office was closed today.

After the excruciating hour, I took Bigfella back into the bedroom and successfully transferred him into the crib while Dyke Two turned off the sprinkler and brought in the mail. She handed me a letter from URS. I opened it, and skimmed it:

congratulations on your acceptance. Tuition and fees covered. Health insurance covered. Stipend awarded. Named Fellowship with large sum of money attached to it. contact office to discuss your work assignment.

Excuse me?? Back up a moment. Re-read second to last sentence.

Named Fellowship with large sum of money attached to it. (Editorial note: by large sum, we mean three times the stipend offered last year.)

I hadn't actually realized how nervous and guilty I felt about paying for childcare for the semester until this unexpected money came into our lives.

Mama's boy

2006-05-04T22:32:00.000-04:00

It's time for me to face facts. Throughout the process of thinking about getting pregnant, trying to get pregnant, being pregnant, and laboring to push Bigfella out, I had one recurring fearful thought. "What if the baby only looks like the donor?" True confessions time: Bigfella must look like the donor, because he sure as hell doesn't look like me. While pregnant, I was worried that seeing a little person who looked like neither me nor Dyke Two would be somehow distressing to me. Of course, as it turns out, this is a ridiculous fear, since Bigfella is the most precious sight I have ever laid eyes on. I mean, he's beautiful.

People on the street stop us and tell us how beautiful he is. He has creamy latte colored skin, big brown eyes, a round, symmetrical face and just a hint of the brown curls that will one day cover his head. And when he breaks out his gummy, toothless grin, and his cheeks squinch up and his eyes light up, he looks just like Dyke Two.

I kid you not. The boy looks just like his mama.

Except that's not possible. I took high school biology. I took a course in college on genetics. (It was like "genetics light" for non-science folks, but it counts).

It's not just me seeing Dyke Two's love reflected back at me in the eyes of my son. People on the street mention it. The OB, hospital nurse and lactation consultant all mentioned it. My mom has admitted it. Dyke Two's co-workers talk about it. The boy looks like his mama.

When people tell us that, I just tell them, "I think she spit in the vial."

The Results are in

2006-05-03T01:29:00.000-04:00

and, for the first time in my voting career (which may not span that many years, but i have never missed an election. never. not even for soil and water commissioner. i even voted two years ago on a completely uncontested ballot.) every vote I cast was for a winner. That has never happened before to me. Even on that uncontested ballot. In that election, I wrote someone in against our senior US Senator.

Bigfella is a future Chicago-style voter

2006-05-02T22:55:00.000-04:00

Spring in Smallcity means two things: fresh strawberries and local elections. I'll start with the elections.

We elected city council and school board today. Bigfella came with me while I voted. We got to the polling place and "met" two city council candidates. Our polling place is an elementary school, and I got to double-whammy and be extra-efficient because I picked up a print of a "Good Night Moon" illustration from a fellow freecycler who works there. So, after getting pats and kisses from the politicians (yes, they really do kiss babies) while Mommy made sure to tell them that we will be leaving RedState as soon as we can due to the horrible laws and policies, we went into the polling place. I gave them my name, and from the other table, I hear a high pitched squeal,

"Oh my God! That's the famous Bigfella."

I turn and see a particularly queeny young man sitting behind me. I must have looked a little confused and worried because he quickly reassured me, "I'm a friend of Gayboy's. He told me all about you and Dyke Two and Bigfella." Bigfella is famous. A rockstar, I tell you.

I voted: two dems for city council, one incumbent and two newbies for school board. I got my "I voted" sticker. Bigfella got a "future voter" sticker and I chickened out and told the elderly poll worker that Bigfella's "father" was 6'6". (why does this question continue to catch me off guard? and, what motivates my sometimes reluctance to "out" our family to certain random strangers but not others?)

Later today, Dyke Two called me and said that she was in front of the polling place, chatting with one of the school board candidates.

"Please bring Bigfella over here so I can take him to vote."

Back to the polling place, where Bigfella was kissed and patted by two school board candidates and the sheriff. Then, he went and voted, again. My family's communist, labor union heritage is showing: vote early and often.

We headed home, where we finally did a little research to determine what we might be able to do about Bigfella's eczema. His eczema is not bad, don't get me wrong. He has patches of dry red skin on his elbows, and dry skin on his shoulder blades. But, in trying to determine what skin care products to give him, I stumbled on something that suggested that fresh strawberries are a common culprit in breastfed babies' eczema.

Which brings us to the second thing spring brings in Smallcity. I have been eating fresh strawberries like they're going out of style. And, Bigfella has had eczema since I started eating them. The other diet changes since the start of the eczema: crystal light type drinks sweetened with Splenda and Kashi Healthy Hearts cereal.

I think it is the strawberries....

Too big for his britches...

2006-04-26T13:14:00.000-04:00

...or, at least for his carseat.

This week has seen many milestones. Bigfella experienced the wheels of democracy by attending a nominating caucus for our US Congressional seat. I am so torn, since I would love to get the stinking republicans out of office, but I struggle to cast a vote for someone who is nominated simply because he is considered electable. Electable to me means most like a republican. So, the old guard dems in our district stood up and asked us to vote for the guy who is "electable." A guy who basically said that social justice and civil rights should be limited to health care, and not gay marriage. A guy who said he knew how to get the message across to the blue-collar dems in the south of the district. Hmmm. Why is it better to elect someone who compromises my principles in order to get elected and stay in office rather than the republican who openly disagrees with my principles? The end result is the same: my principles get swept aside and ignored. But, Bigfella looked adorable in his new Ergo carrier (thanks jennimac for giving me the justification to spend the $$$) and his cute little t-shirt that said, "If I could vote, I'd vote democrat." Brainwashing begins early, eh?

We also attended the elected officials reception hosted by the local chapter of the GLBT-rights group. Again, Bigfella looked smashing in his khaki shorts and golf shirt, though he spent little time in the Ergo, since Grandma and both moms were there, along with a host of Grandma's political friends. Bigfella was passed from hand to hand, and the politicians couldn't help themselves, and had to pose for pictures with the lesbians' cute baby.

Then, this morning, we headed over to our firehouse, and got his new carseat installed Bigfella is officially out of the baby bucket, measuring in at 25.75 inches. He now rolls in a Britax Roundabout. (and, looks like a prince in his throne, I must admit). He fell asleep in the three minutes it took to drive from the firehouse back home. He woke up as soon as I lifted him out of his seat and shifted him into my arms. Our days of using the car as a baby-soothing machine to induce napping are over. However, because the Roundabout doesn't require the same clearance between the back of the carseat and the back of the car seat (see the difference? see the importance of proper spacing?) he is now properly ensconced in the center of the back seat, rather than behind the passenger seat. And, the front passenger seat can once again be used to hold a passenger, rather than being pushed up to the dashboard to make room for Bigfella's Snugride. Dyke Two and I can once again travel sitting next to each other in the front seat, rather than in the weird configuration of boobmom in back, burpmom in front. Dyke Two always said she felt like Morgan Freeman in Driving Miss Daisy when she drove the family around like that. I think Bigfella's napping is a small price to pay for not only improved side-crash safety but also racial equality and family harmony.

The carseat installation man told me to keep him rear-facing until he is at least 18 months or 30 pounds. How much you want to bet he hits 30 pounds long before August 16, 2007? I'm crossing my fingers that he doesn't hit 30 pounds before his first birthday. Forget about making it to 18 months.

Welcome to the world, baby girl...

2006-04-20T22:10:00.000-04:00

Bigfella is no longer the baby of the family. Joining him on the planet is Smallcousin, born this afternoon via c-section, weighing in at 7 pounds and change. I have my issues with why she was born via c-section, but since her mother isn't upset, I need to get off my soapbox and just be happy.

Smallcousin is the second child born to my stepsister and her husband. Their first was born via surrogate two years ago. Smallcousin is named after the surrogate who carried Drooly, her older brother. Smallcousin was a complete and total surprise since my stepsister was told she would never get pregnant, even with assistance.

The beauty of the whole experience was that when the new parents arrived in Labor and Delivery this morning, they learned that the OB on call was the doctor who originally worked with them before referring them to their RE all those years ago. He was honored to be part of Smallcousin's birth, and they were thrilled to have the same doctor who started their journey be there as their journey to parenthood ended.

How does Bigfella measure up??

2006-04-17T11:48:00.000-04:00

Well, according to his doctor, he is the size of the average 5 month old. So, now we have an explanation of why my back hurts. Between the enormous boy, and the enormous girls he frequently attaches himself to for nourishment, my back muscles are working more than usual.

The final stats:

weight: 16 pounds, 4 ounces
length: 25 and 1/2 inches
head circumference: 16 and 3/4 inches

And the boy is two months old. Two months, people. Two months. Seriously. Two. Months.

Another family member...

2006-04-17T01:14:00.000-04:00

...that Bigfella will never meet.

Last week, we had a wonderful visit with my maternal grandparents. At 87 years old, they made their annual Trip South last week. We spent two wonderful days with them: they watched me and mom play soccer, they doted on Bigfella, they helped my mom set up her woodshop, and we went for a couple of nice walks in the woods. We took pictures. Lots of pictures. And we talked of Uncle B, Grandma's older brother, who was recently moved into a nursing home. Already nearly blind and almost deaf, Uncle B had been experiencing muscle deterioration. They left Tuesday morning, with a promise from me to visit Uncle B when Bigfella and I take a week-long trip North next month.

When they returned to New England, Grandma called my mom to tell her that Uncle B was really failing. Apparently, he had begun to refuse to eat. Whether this was due to a medical issue, dementia or simply a willful act to exert some control over his life and surroundings we will never know. Uncle B died Saturday night.

He was a stubborn man, strong in his convictions, confident in his beliefs, yet gentle and willing to take a supporting role to his wife's dramatic, sometimes overbearing, presence. Uncle B had been the only father figure my grandmother knew from the time she was 6 when their father died unexpectedly. He took on the challenge gamely, and "fathered" his sister for the rest of his life, despite there only being an 18 month age difference between them.

I think he would have liked Bigfella.

Race, Class, Power, Privilege, Sticks, Balls and 2 Exotic Dancers

2006-04-13T17:31:00.000-04:00

I have the Duke lacrosse team on my mind recently. I am disgusted by the stories of their behavior at that party. As a mother, I have spent hours thinking about what I would do if Bigfella is ever involved in a situation like this. I trust that if Bigfella ever finds himself in such a mess, it would be as a bystander, not a perpetrator. But, of course, there is no guarantee. And, despite what the DNA is showing, I believe with all my heart that a crime did, in fact, occur. Frustratingly, I have heard many people lament the fact that the lacrosse team was subjected to unfair treatment since all white members were subjected to a DNA test, regardless of whether or not they were at the party.

As a woman, I believe accusers. Too many sexual assaults go unreported for me to believe that anyone would gain anything from a false accusation. Especially in this situation. If I were a single mom, stripping my way through school, why on earth would I open my life, my children's welfare and my education to the scrutiny and judgement that comes with such an accusation if it were not true?

As a mother, I want to believe that *my* son will never be capable of such things. *My* son will be a kind, sensitive, emotionally aware young man with strong feminist leanings. But, I do know that all of those lacrosse players are somebody's son. At some point, all of them had mothers who nursed them at their breasts, wiped their little bums, snuggled them close in the pre-dawn twilight, cried when they were injured, and nurtured them to become the boy-men they are today. I doubt any of those mothers thought their sons were capable of such monstrosities either.

As the white mother of a black male, my confidence is shaken. I know that my son will be viewed as a sexual predator by many misguided, hateful, ignorant racists. I fear that he may one day be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he will not have the same experience with the criminal justice system as those lacrosse boys.

In recent years, I remember seeing a story on CNN about a college town quite similar to Durham that is facing a decade of rapes, all connected by DNA. The serial rapist had been described as a "medium complexion, average build African-American male between 5'6" and 6'2"." In their quest to capture this man, the police had been stopping all African-American males who fit the description, and asking them for a DNA cheek swab. Despite the fact that approximately 95% of the black males in the town fit this description, the police were stopping college students, folks who had not been in the community at the time of the first attack, folks who were 8 or 10 years old when the first attack occurred. There are marked differences between how the lacrosse boys were treated and how the black male students at the second campus were treated.

There are so many intersecting issues here: race, class, sexuality, power, privilege. I am not sure what the final resolution of this investigation should be, or will be. I just know that the team should be glad that the only thing that has happened is the cancellation of their season and the resignation of their coach.

As this story unfolds, my heart goes out to the accuser. I hope she finds the strength she needs to continue raising her boys, going to school and healing so that she can put this entire disaster behind her as she emerges a stronger person.

5 more things I learned this weekend...

2006-04-12T15:33:00.000-04:00

1. If I cut all my hair off to avoid post-partum hair loss, it really does slow down the loss.

2. When my hair is short, I look freakishly like my older brother.

3. Even though URS medical records won't tell me if they have my shot record without a release, and even though my shot record is not in the student health computer, it is, apparently, in the computer at the registrar's office.

4. My pre-pregnancy jeans fit better now than they did pre-pregnancy.

5. Bigfella is larger than most of the 4 month old babies in our moms' group.

10 things I learned this weekend

2006-04-11T20:27:00.000-04:00

1. Playing soccer for the first time after taking off 10 months to have a baby makes you hurt. Bad.

2. The pain is not worse than what you feel recovering from pushing said 10 pound baby out.

3. It is possible to melt a breast pump if you let the water boil out while sterilizing it.

4. Medela makes really nifty bags for sterilizing breastpumps in the microwave.

5. Bigfella, if properly swaddled, will sleep for 7 straight hours in his crib without waking up.

6. After 7 hours without breastfeeding, I wake up in a puddle with leaky boulders attached to my chest.

7. Melted breastpumps can't be used to relieve engorgement.

8. Bummi Super Whisper Wraps work better on linebacker Bigfella than Proraps.

9. sunshine diapers is having a sale on Bummi Super Whisper Wraps.

10. When taking Bigfella to a black tie dinner, no one will notice what you are wearing, because they will all be focused on his cute little shoes.

Stupid, stupid bureaucracy

2006-04-03T14:17:00.000-04:00

We are still dealing with some insurance stupidity for Bigfella. It is very nerve-wracking to not have his insurance finalized, and have bills be arriving without knowing who is going to pay them or how much our co-pays are going to be. We are still waiting to hear which state-sponsored medical insurance programs for low-income families he qualifies for. Stupid state with their stupid laws against same-sex marriage, second parent adoption and domestic partner benefits. Stupid, stupid bureaucracy.

And, I decided to finally try and track down my vaccination records for student health. Stupid woman told me that the form I need isn't available yet.

Me: Really? The form on line that says that it is due by Aug 1, 2006 for fall admission is not the current form?

Stupid woman: No one told me it's on line yet, but that might be the form you need.

Stupid woman, open your stupid web browser and look. So, she said that my shot record from my last enrollment at University of Red State is not in the computer, but "off site" and asked me to call my regular doctor to see if he has it. So, I called my regular doctor, who told me I had to call URS hospital medical records.

Me: I am wondering if you have a copy of my shot record.

Stupid woman: We can't look in your file without you filling out a form.

Me: So, I need to drive across town to fill out a form so you can tell me if the information I need is available?

Stupid woman: Yes.

Me: That's really stupid.

Stupid woman: Let me give you to my supervisor.

Me: Hi, I was a student at URS before being a patient of a doctor in the system. My doctor was supposed to have requested my records when I was a new patient. Do you have a copy of my shot records?

Stupid supervisor: Did we give you the shots?

Me: No.

Stupid supervisor: Then we probably don't have them, but you could come over and fill out the form so we can look.

Yeah. A six week old and I are driving across town to a germ-filled hospital to fill out a form so that some idiot can look in my file to tell me if the information I need is in the file. I don't think so. The record clerk from student health can go "off-site" for me. Apparently, URS needs me to sign a form to release records to URS. Stupid, stupid bureaucracy.

And then our car insurance people called to ask for information about my husband.

Me: I don't have a husband.

Stupid woman: Well, your form has a second driver listed.

Me: Yes, HER name is Dyke Two, and she has a policy with you too.

(Don't even get me started that we have to have separate policies because our relationship is not legal).

Stupid woman got all confused, but thankfully, she transferred me to the agent, who laughed and said that he would just transfer her stuff to my policy and my stuff to her policy. Stupid, stupid bureaucracy.

Stupid insurance companies.

but, I do love me some pediatrician right now. Saturday I was having excruciating indigestion. Like, "is it a heart attack or indigestion?" type indigestion. I sent Dyke Two to CVS to buy me something while I lay on the couch crying. She came back with pepto bismol (but she bought the liquid, not the tablets, which pissed me off then because who wants to drink that crap when they can just chew on some tablets?) and I opened it only to then read, "If pregnant or breastfeeding, consult a health care professional." So, we looked at each other at 7:30 on a Saturday night, trying to figure out who to call. My doctor was closed. My OB was on call through the hospital. The pharmacy? The ER? Who? Then I remembered that our pediatrician is open 7 days a week, 365 days a year until 10 pm. So, I called, and thankfully, stupid woman does not moonlight at the pediatrician's office, so the triage nurse looked in her book, and didn't see anything so she called the pediatrician on call to make sure I could take my pepto. And I could. So I did.

See? No bureaucracy there. That's why I love the pediatrician.

The best gift ever

2006-03-31T15:52:00.000-05:00

Of course, Bigfella's presence in my life is the best gift ever, but today's mail brought something that is a close second. I have had a couple entries swirling in my head for a few days, but they will have to wait. Today's gift is less about the material present, and more about the sentiment behind it.

We have received many beautiful and generous gifts to welcome Bigfella to the world, but today's was the first that made me cry. When I went to the mailbox this afternoon, I was worn out. I spent the morning trying to get my financial aid paperwork finalized, and then treated myself to a celebratory lunch. While out, I ran into two of my former colleagues and read an article about how much my former school has deteriorated this year. By the time I got home, and discovered that the neighbor's cherry tree had lost a limb across our driveway, I was very drained.

But I went to the mailbox, and pulled out a card that was addressed to both me and Dyke Two. I looked more closely, and saw that it was postmarked in Tulsa. My father's family is scattered throughout the midwest, so I assumed it was from one of them. I opened it, and found a sweet card with pictures of babies of all races on the front. Inside, there was a check for $36 (Jewish tradition calls for monetary gifts in multiples of 18, which is the number that represents "chai" or life). The card was sent by my great-aunt Gete, with a note welcoming Bigfella to the family.

Aunt Gete must be close to 90, if not older. She is one of the last of Bubbeh's generation still alive. She represents the family tradition, the values and history of our bloodline. I assumed that the nonagenarian set wouldn't be so keen on all that Bigfella brings to the table. I assumed that Bigfella, Dyke Two and I would forever be uncomfortable at family reunions, facing subtle ostracism and strained conversation. I never anticipated that they would be sending presents to welcome Bigfella into the family. It was the welcome into the family, which really was a welcome for both Bigfella and Dyke Two, that is the best gift ever.

Apparently, Aunt Gete is hipper than I originally gave her credit.

Dreadlocks and patchouli

2006-03-27T22:31:00.000-05:00

Bigfella and I had a big day today. We went to the library's used book sale, where Bigfella's picture was taken browsing from the baby bjorn and I bought five or so books. Mainly fiction, but I picked up a memoir of a white adoptive mother and the lessons she learned about race after adopting a black daughter. It looks like it will be a short read, but might be useful when discussing race with some of the more clueless folks in the world. The books I bought will be a nice counterbalance from the Jonathan Kozol book I bought over the weekend. Shame of the Nation does not look like a light read, but my brain is definitely ready to move beyond poop and nursing.

But, speaking of poop, can anyone help a girl out about what exactly diarrhea looks like in a breastfed baby? I keep wondering if Bigfella has a dairy sensitivity. His post-mom-binges-on-ice-cream poops are very mucusy and watery, but not bloody. The boy is clearly gaining weight (we put him on our bathroom scale over the weekend and he weighs 15 pounds) and is not screaming in pain, but the poop continues to baffle me. You would think that an Ivy League education and a master's degree would come in handy, but I still stare at the contents of his diaper like I am trying to read tea leaves...

And, speaking of nursing, the other excursion for our big day was a field trip back to the library where the book sale was for a La Leche League meeting. We were going to ask for advice about the whole latching/choking/screaming cycle. I had been warned that LLL meetings, here in the People's Republic of Smallcity, are heavily populated by white women with dreadlocks who wear patchouli and nurse their kindergartners. Except for the nursing kindergarteners, I would have felt like I was back in high school or college. Seriously, people, I see nothing wrong with patchouli, as long as it is not used instead of showers and deodorant. In addition to, not instead of. Alas, I didn't get to experience the olfactory sensation that is armpit mixed with patchouli, because when we went back to the library for the meeting, it turns out that it was cancelled due to the book sale. So, the vicious nursing cycle continues. Maybe the morning LLL will be helpful, though it isn't for another two weeks. (and thank you all for the advice that I have received. We have tried it all, and all of it helps some of the time. but, being the OCD anxiety ridden researcher that I am, I wanted more opinions. Or, maybe, I just wanted to smell the patchouli.)

So, Bigfella and I got back in the car and drove home, where I ate the rest of the box of girl scout cookies and finished the recommendations for one of my student teachers.

Big day, people, big day.

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

2006-03-22T15:26:00.000-05:00

We went to dinner last weekend with some very good friends who drove into town to meet Bigfella. As we were driving across town, we have this conversation:

Dyke Two: Do you have any lip balm?

Me: No, but my lips are really chapped.

Dyke Two: Mine too. What's in the diaper bag?

Me: hand lotion, hand sanitizer, diaper wipes, and the butt salve.

Dyke Two: What's in the butt stuff?

Me (reading from the tin): olive oil, beeswax, chickweed, plantain, comfrey, and calendula.

Dyke Two: Can we put it on our lips?

Me: It says it can be used for dry skin. I guess we could.

Dyke Two: You can't tell anyone we did this.

Let me just defend our actions a little bit:

1. We haven't actually had to put it on Bigfella yet, so it was a new, virgin tin of salve.

2. It really, really looks and feels like a tin of all-natural lip balm.

3. Breastfeeding has really dried me out. I mean really dried me out.

Our little boy is growing up...

2006-03-17T22:02:00.000-05:00

...seriously, we went to the pediatrician for his four week appointment, and the little booger weighs 13 pounds 10 ounces. He was 24 inches long. The ped looked at him and said, "He sure is healthy. The size of a three month old, but healthy."

Apparently, the nursing is working. He still pops off the breast crying when he gets too much milk, but sometimes he is willing to let me nurse him side lying or with a recline. At this point, I figure if Bigfella isn't interested in the milk because too much is coming out, well, he'll eat when he's hungry. Clearly, even with the disrupted nursing sessions, he's getting enough to eat.

Now we're worried about where he is going to sleep. His bassinet has a 15 pound weight limit, which should mean that by next weekend, he needs to be sleeping somewhere else. We aren't ready for him to be in the crib since that makes it seem like he is so old and grown up. We're trying to avoid full time co-sleeping, though he does spend part of the night with us. The crib is inconvenient enough that I am sure we will end up co-sleeping full time if we try to transition to the crib.

Is there any reason he can't sleep in the bassinet bed of his stroller? (My lawyer brother gave us a bugaboo frog as a baby gift, so Bigfella is definitely styling. He rides around in the most expensive non-electronic item in the house.) It has a 19 pound weight limit, but my worry is that it doesn't have the mesh sides that the bassinet has to allow for air flow. Any suggestions?

If we decide not to go with the stroller-as-bed option, we are thinking of buying a Snugglenest. Unfortunately, our piece of crap Toys R Us/Babies R Us doesn't keep it in stock, and we are the type who likes to handle things before we buy them...

Dr Crazyman Revisited

2006-03-15T12:01:00.000-05:00

I went back to Dr. Crazyman yesterday for a follow up neurology appointment. We checked my depth perception and acuity, which were both back to normal. (Acuity had never changed). Then he did his whole shebang with lights and lasers and dilated pupils. I could actually see the lights this time, while last time I had a massive blindspot. Everything was back to normal. He sent me home with a final diagnosis of "pregnancy induced paralysis of the 6th cranial nerve." I don't need to see him again, ever, unless the headaches and/or double vision return.

I am thrilled that everything checked out well, since I have been very worried that it was some sort of viral reaction, and that Bigfella might have lingering side effects, but the doctor told me that is very unlikely.

This was also the first time I left Bigfella. I was gone for about 2 and a half hours. Dyke Two had Bigfella at home. She gave him a bottle, stripped him down to his diaper and t-shirt, and spent a lot of time bouncing him and singing to him. They were fine. I, however, was a little bit neurotic. She had told me to go to a coffeeshop and read the paper and drink a latte. I finished with the doctor, and immediately raced home. I justified it as needing to pump, but in reality, I felt like I was missing a part of myself since Bigfella was so far away from me.

May her memory be a blessing

2006-03-11T20:45:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, at about the time I was posting about my bubbeh's illness, she passed away.

Bubbeh was a kind and gentle soul, who spent hours singing and playing her organ. She loved to talk to everyone and anyone. Bubbeh grew up as one of 8 children, living on an Indian reservation in South Dakota. Her parents were traveling salespeople after immigrating from eastern Europe. When they found a small town in rural South Dakota that had no general store, they opened up shop there, settling in as the only Jewish family for at least 200 miles.

Years before her dementia struck, and years before her creaky, weakened knees landed her in a nursing home, she would, without fail, run through a long list of names of family members before correctly calling you by your given name. We laughed, and chalked it up to a bubbehism. It never bothered us, since the names were always names of people she loved and held near to her heart. It was almost like a verbal reminder of the long line of strong and wonderful people who were our history, and our place within the legacy that is our family.

One of the last times we went to a restaurant with Bubbeh was when she was about 89, and had been in the nursing home for a couple of months. When the waitress came to ask if anyone wanted dessert, my aunt and uncle immediately said, "We know Bubbeh does." Somehow, in all the years I had known my grandmother, I had never made the connection that my insatiable sweet tooth was inherited from her. Seriously, neither of my parents has that sweet tooth, my brother doesn't have it, but, me and Bubbeh, connected by our mutual love of chocolate. (Unfortunately, I also inherited those creaky, weak knees that were her ticket to the nursing home). We joked that evening that a balanced diet for us is one that involves snacking from all of the dessert groups in a given week (creamy, cold, chewy, crunchy, chocolate and fruity).

My favorite Bubbeh memory comes from her 90th birthday party. My dad's cousins run the nursing home where Bubbeh lived. All was well in the home until one of the cousins returned from her missionary work in Asia and took it upon herself to convert all of the non-Christian residents of the nursing home, including her jewish aunt. The day of Bubbeh's birthday party, the cousin took it upon herself to try and enlist my Christian sister-in-law in her efforts to save the souls of the Jewish side of the family. My Bubbeh sat at the other end of the table, and loudly and emphatically announced to the rest of us that her niece had stopped trying to convert her when Bubbeh politely told her, "I've made it 90 years without Jesus in my life, and if you're trying to make the world Christian, don't bother yourself with a stubborn old woman like me. I love you, but I am not going to find Jesus at this age."

Last night, Dyke Two and I were talking about Bubbeh, and she asked if I was sad that she never met Bigfella. In reality, since Bubbeh began to deteriorate when I was in college, I never knew her as an adult. We never discussed my sexuality, she never met Dyke Two, and quite frankly, issues of race were never talked about. I told Dyke Two that I was a little sad that there would be no pictures of Bigfella and his Jewish great-grandparents, but that I had no idea what Bubbeh would have thought of a great-grandson who was bi-racial and being raised by his two moms.

Maybe it is best that my memories of Bubbeh are preserved as my kind and loving grandmother, and were never marred by the harsh reality of one generation challenging the historical legacy of previous generations.

On death and boobies...

2006-03-10T11:33:00.000-05:00

So, we think my grandmother is dying. She is almost 97, and has been in a nursing home for 8 years. Apparently, a flu outbreak hit the nursing home, and she caught it. She has been basically unresponsive for 8 months (long before the flu) and now is not eating, drinking or turning toward her caregivers. The doctors at the hospital she was transferred to said that this is either the end, or she will recover to her old unresponsive, but eating, state and might live for another 5 years.

My father and uncle are devastated, but realistic. I am sad to think that she might die, but just as sad to think that she might continue to live in this semi-alert state indefinitely. She was always such a talker, she sang throughout the day, and loved to visit with friends and family. To think that she is alive, but not herself is worse than thinking that she might die. In reality, she left us long ago....

But, this brings up the issue of traveling for her funeral. She lives outside Chicago, a two day drive for me, or a two-plane flight from me. I wouldn't leave Bigfella at home with Dyke Two, and she can't take more time off right now to travel with me, and we can't envision putting a 3-4 week old baby on a plane. When you add in the fact that Judaism requires burial in 24 hours (unless the death occurs over Shabbat) the logistics are extremely difficult.

I told my father last night that I didn't see how I could possibly travel for a funeral right now. He agreed, and said that the absolute worst thing that could happen would be if Bigfella and I came to the funeral, and Bigfella ended up sick with an upper respiratory infection from the plane travel.

Thankfully, my father and uncle are planning a small, private burial with a larger memorial service at the time of the headstone unveiling, which can be scheduled this summer. As long as the rabbi agrees with this, the burial will probably only be attended by the required 10 people to make a minyan.

I know I talk a lot about the cycle of life, and birth and death being so closely related, but it is still really hard...

...and what does this have to do with boobies?

Not all that much, in reality, except that since I am breastfeeding, that makes the leaving of Bigfella a little more complicated. Also, since I am breastfeeding, everything is about boobies...

ugh. daytime is going so well with Bigfella. Nighttime, not so much...

It isn't the lack of sleep that is bothering me. It seems like my milk is stronger and more present at night, so Bigfella and I are not jelling with the middle of the night feedings. He will go on the breast, clamp down and then splutter and cough, pop off the breast, and cry and cry and cry.

Then, he ends up way gassy and uncomfortable.

So my nipples hurt from him chomping on them to slow down the milkflow, he cries and chokes from too much milk, and I cry because of his anger.

Then, once we both stop crying, he begins to fuss because of the gas from all the air he swallows while gulping down milk. His eyes get big and his face turns a little red.

Seriously, he looks and acts like a frat boy in a beer-chugging contest.

So how do we handle the fame?

2006-03-05T20:29:00.000-05:00

For years, one of my favorite columns in the Sunday paper has been the birth announcements. I read them to find out which of my former students have become parents, which of my friends and classmates from high school have kids, and, of course, to laugh at some of the ridiculous names new parents decide to saddle their kids with.

In all the years of reading this column, and it has now been close to a 10-year obsession, I have never seen a same-sex couple listed. Many of our lesbian friends have been listed as single mothers, so we assumed it was a policy of the newspaper not to publish anything but what was on the birth certificate. When the press liaison from the hospital came into the room with the form after Bigfella was born, I idly asked her if she knew the policy.

"The newspaper prints exactly what you write on the form."

"Really? If I put Dyke Two down as the father, they'll print it?"

"Oh, honey, don't do that."

"Why not?"

"That's not fair to her. Just cross off mother and father and write in parents."

So we did.

And then today, there in the paper:

February 16th To Dyke One and Dyke Two, of smallcity, a son, Bigfella.

Dyke Two and I were so happy this afternoon. Seriously, we almost cried.

Isn't it sad how happy we were to be thrown a few crumbs? Imagine our reaction if the legislature were to pass an adoption bill...

Going on the dole...

2006-02-28T22:29:00.000-05:00

Months ago, Dyke Two and I realized that for a variety of reasons, our best option for health insurance for Bigfella is to apply for the state insurance for low-income families. My insurance is extremely expensive for dependents, and provides very little coverage. Additionally, because I am not currently a student, and therefore covered under a COBRA of sorts, there was a question about whether or not I could add Bigfella to it upon his birth. We would love to have Dyke Two add him (and me!) to her insurance, but because she is a state employee, this is not an option. Our state will not allow domestic partner benefits.

Because the state refuses to recognize our marriage, we are more than willing to allow them to treat me as an unwed single mother with no income. After all, if, G-d forbid, something were to happen to Dyke Two, Bigfella and I really would be indigent, with no ability to collect social security, or even sue for wrongful death or malpractice. The angry activist in me feels that the government deserves to pay for Bigfella's medical insurance, as well as any other public assistance we qualify for. Fuck them and their homophobic laws and policies. Serves them right to pay out for the son of lesbians.

So, then why did I cry as I filled out the application tonight?

I cried for myself. I've never taken assistance before. I was raised to believe that people from our family pulled their own weight. State assistance was for other people. People with fewer resources than we had.

I cried for my son. These supposedly "family-friendly" politicians in my state are actively taking steps that deny Bigfella the family he deserves. The family that every child deserves.

And I cried for my wife. Dyke Two is a caring, generous spirit. She takes every opportunity to provide me with as many luxuries as she can. Because of her hard work and commitment to our family, I have the luxury of going to school fulltime without working. Because of her hard work and desire to care for me and Bigfella, I have the luxury to stay home with Bigfella for the first six months of his life. But her hard work and commitment can't provide us with a basic necessity: access to affordable health care.

As I filled out the application online, Dyke Two was in the other room, singing and cuddling our son. Bigfella had been fussy most of the day, and she had eagerly gathered him into her arms when she came home from work. Worn out from his crying and nursing, I was more than willing to relinquish him to her. His cries and whimpers filled my ears, stressing me out more, making me leak breastmilk into my tshirt. As I printed out the confirmation number, I heard him gulp and coo, his cries finally soothed.

I walked into the bedroom to find Dyke Two and Bigfella nestled together in our bed. The state may deny her the right to be known as his mother, to claim him as her son, to fully provide for him legally, financially and logistically, but just looking at them together proves how lucky he is to have her as his mother.

Bigfella's first milestone...

2006-02-26T15:37:00.000-05:00

...and I missed it.

Two mornings ago, Dyke Two woke me up to feed Bigfella (at 10 am--can I tell you what a gem of a wife I have?) and said, "Guess what happened when I changed his diaper?" (again, a gem, I tell you, a gem.) She pulled his blanket down and his t-shirt up, exposing his little navel for my examination.

And what did I see? A cute little belly button, tucked into his belly. A cute little belly button, no longer obscured by his umbilical cord stump.

And I slept through it...

What weighs 10 pounds?

2006-02-22T14:54:00.000-05:00

1. A bag of flour

2. My cat

3. A medium sized bowling ball

4. The average Pekinese

5. Our son (!)

As it turns out, Garfunkle ended up being on call when we went to the hospital, and he stuck around for delivery. (I think that the three other patients in labor and the fibroid surgery had something to do with him working on his day off...) After stalling at 7 cm, the doctor began to make noises about a c-section. Since there was no operating room available, I was sent to walk the halls. When I stalled again at 8 cm, a pitocin drip was started. The doctor appeared again about 90 minutes after the pitocin was started to finish the discussion about having a c-section. Luckily, I was ready to push when he returned, so Bigfella was birthed naturally. Garfunkle eyeballed his weight at 9 pounds, and was a little sheepish when he found out his actual weight was 10 pounds, 5 ounces.

Life with Bigfella has been going well. My parents came for a visit, which brought with it the duality of stress and comfort that parental contact always brings. They left this morning to return home. Bigfella is almost back to his birth weight, which the lactation consultant was thrilled to discover today. Our cloth diaper attempt is much more successful now that the diaper service brought us small covers instead of newborn ones.

And, we of course, are absolutely in love. He's the cutest, most alert (clearly a sign of intelligence, right?) baby ever.

Welcome to the world, baby boy...

2006-02-19T12:14:00.000-05:00

41 weeks 2 days: We think the fun has begun...

2006-02-15T21:13:00.000-05:00

...hopefully, this is not a false alarm, in which case we will hang our heads in shame tomorrow, as the internet laughs at us.

The doctor stripped my membranes this afternoon at about 1:30. I had a non stress test after that, and everything seemed good. We set up appointments for Friday and Monday, with an induction on Tuesday.

However, at about 5 pm, we think my water broke. I stood up from the couch to let the dogs in, and felt a gushy feeling in my pants. I headed to the bathroom and felt a gloopy mass move out of my hoo-ha and into the toilet. It has been followed by various squirts, leaks and gushes.

Contractions began at about 7 pm and are now approximately 8-10 minutes apart. Right now, he feels like he is trying to crawl out my ass.

We called the doctor, who said to stay put until morning, or things change. I think he just wanted to eat dinner, watch Idol and the Olympics and go on vacation, thus pawning us off on his partner.

That's OK, though. The doctor we talked to is the Garfunkle of the practice. It's great to have Simon and Garfunkle nearby, but who would choose Garfunkle when they have the opportunity to see Simon??

The good news is that Dyke Two finally finished packing her stuff into the hospital bag.

41 weeks: Glad I am not the betting sort...

2006-02-13T14:01:00.000-05:00

Monday morning, and I can officially say that Red will not be born this weekend.

I am trying to remain optimistic, but it can be a struggle. We see the doctor on Wednesday, so the hope is still there that Red will be born before that appointment. Last night, we thought we were almost there: an hour and a half of contractions at 10 minutes apart. With each contraction, there was a distinct knocking on my right hip. I will have to ask the doctor if this is normal, or if it is a sign of a "bad" fit.

I am really struggling with the concept of being induced. I don't want to force him out if there is no reason to, but the two things that are beginning to weigh heavily on my mind are:

1. Is my chronic mild hypertension causing the placenta to deteriorate?

2. Are the knocks against my hip demonstrating his difficulty in getting down into my pelvis for a safe vaginal delivery?

While I am all about trusting my baby and my body to spontaneously labor when the time is right for both of them, there is a time when a kid (and a body) need some outside intervention.

So many questions for the doctor on Wednesday...

40 weeks 4 days: Will it be this weekend??

2006-02-10T17:11:00.000-05:00

I have my money on sometime Saturday or Sunday.

Here is my reasoning:

1. Full moon Saturday night
2. First winter storm of 2006 is predicted for all day tomorrow.
3. My niece's birthday is Sunday. I came the day before her father's birthday all those years ago, so it just makes sense that my child would have the same need to upstage his child.

Yesterday, I ran into a former colleague at the post office while mailing packages. She asked when I was due, and I told her I was past due. She looked at my stomach, and said, "Yeah, he's pretty low in there." We exchanged niceties, and she left after I promised an email announcement upon his birth.

As I was leaving the post office after mailing my packages, I overheard one woman in line say to her friend, "I heard her say her due date was earlier this week. Can you believe it?"

I hope it was because I look good, and not because she thought I was crazy for running errands.

PFOX doesn't quite get it, do they??

2006-02-09T17:34:00.000-05:00

I received this memo as an email from a friend. The sheer brilliance in the DC OHR's logic is beautiful to me...

RE: Discrimination Complaint Filed Against NEA By PFOX

As you may recall, a group called "PFOX" applied for exhibit space at the 2002 NEA Representative Assembly in Dallas. PFOX represents the interests of "ex-gays," and it defines an ex-gay as a "man or woman who has left homosexuality and is now a heterosexual by preference or practice." PFOX's application was denied, and it subsequently filed a discrimination complaint against NEA with the District of Columbia Office of Human Rights ("OHR"). The basis of PFOX's complaint was discrimination on the basis of "sexual orientation."

Because there were some threshold procedural issues, and because OHR is not in any event a model of efficiency, OHR did not rule until May 24, 2005. It found "no probable cause" for the complaint, and PFOX filed a request for reconsideration. OHR recently affirmed its prior determination, and closed its file on the matter.

The basis for the OHR ruling is somewhat ironic. PFOX alleged that it was being discriminated against on the basis of "sexual orientation," which is a protected category under the D.C. Human Rights Act. According to OHR, the statutorily protected categories are defined by "immutable characteristics, i.e., those characteristics that are not subject to change as race, national origin, and gender." OHR held that an ex-gay does not meet the "immutable characteristic" test in view of PFOX's assertion that an ex-gay is "a man or woman who has left homosexuality and is now heterosexual by preference or practice." Accordingly, ex-gays are not entitled to statutory protection.

PFOX has three years from May 24, 2005 to file a petition for review with the D.C. Superior Court. It is our assumption that this matter is now over, but we will let you know if anything further happens.

40 weeks 2 days: At least something is moving along...

2006-02-08T13:48:00.000-05:00

Another doctor's appointment...

Blood pressure was still high, urine came back clean. Red's heartrate was good and strong, uterus was still growing. I gained a pound since Friday, so the little guy must still be gaining weight.

Internal exam showed no more dilation--still at 2 cm-- but the doctor said I am between 70 and 80 percent effaced now.

But what is really moving along is the stuff coming out of my intestines. I am hoping that my body is preparing for labor by cleaning house. maybe a biological nesting instinct??

The doctor told me that given my blood pressure, he wants me to "take it easy" and spend as much time as possible leaning back with my feet up.

It is hard to remain patient when you are supposed to lie around the house all day...

40 weeks 0 days: What's going on in there??

2006-02-06T11:41:00.000-05:00

Sigh...

It seems we are no closer than we were two weeks ago. I thought I was having some promising contractions, but now it appears that this little stinker has run out of steam again. Apparently, he takes after Mom: a spurt of energy, fueled by a million good intentions, then a rapid running out of steam that requires a couple of days for rejuvenation. I am hoping that a walk Downtown in the sunny weather might motivate him to come on out tonight.

In other news, the insurance company has denied the first half of my claim for the double vision extravaganza. Apparently, they won't cover the fact that I started the adventures by going to the optometrist. Had I known that the optometrist wasn't covered, we might have started at the emergency room. I shudder to think what the bill would have been from the ER, and what might have happened: MRI, which would have meant emergency c-section, which might have led to a NICU stay. But, clearly, a $189 bill from the optometrist is not medically necessary. Clearly, there were more cost effective ways to handle the whole double vision excitement.

The kicker is that they are covering the appointment after the optometrist, but they currently have it coded as having been a visit to the dialysis center. Apparently, an optometrist isn't covered, but any pregnant woman (without kidney problems--mind you) can waltz into a dialysis center and get treatment.

For the record, I did not see a nephrologist that afternoon. I saw a neurologist.

39 weeks 3 days: Note to self...

2006-02-02T12:40:00.000-05:00

Dear Self,

When 39 weeks pregnant, the best way to celebrate one's successful preliminary exams is not to start reading about disgruntled parents of donor conceived children and the medical problems they unexpectedly inherited from their donors.

Especially when one can find examples of sick children from the bank one used, complete with irate parents who feel that the bank hid information from them.

Sincerely,

Very Pregnant Self

Seriously, Dyke Two is not nearly as upset about these recent finds of mine. I am not sure why that is. Perhaps it is because she is more concerned about the pile of laundry sitting in his crib, or the dirty dishes accumulating in the sink (I really do think that our nesting instinct is broken.)

I have to admit, I have had a morbid sense of relief that the problems I have read about are occuring at more than one sperm bank, so I can't blame myself for picking a "bad" bank. I also have a sick sense of relief when I read about these donors and their physical descriptions and say to myself, "Well, our donor is a different race than that one."

Obviously, this thought process is ridiculous, since dishonesty is dishonesty, and it effects all of us, not just the users of the specific sperm. But, in that selfish, me-centered way that pregnant women get as they near the end of their pregnancies, it still makes me feel better.

39 weeks 2 days: the preliminary exam...

2006-02-01T14:40:00.000-05:00

...and I passed. Paper was fine. My interpretation of the journal article was acceptable. (I said it was crap--and the committee agreed).

We talked a lot about race and class issues in education, and that intervention and services are more important than placement.

We joked about needing to finish before the baby was born.

then, they kicked me out, and I went to pee.

then, they called me back in to tell me I passed.

One of the professors on the committee wants me to work with him this spring and summer on a needs assessment and survey of African-American parents of students with LD and the services the kids are currently receiving and the services the parents think that they should be receiving. And, he wants me to work with him next fall as a TA.

So, now, I just need to get this parasite out of me...

39 weeks 1 day: the waterworks have begun...

2006-01-31T14:00:00.000-05:00

...but I am not talking about amniotic fluid. No, unfortunately, I am talking about a level of emotionality previously unheard of by humankind.

It started with an email from the rabbi, suggesting that I convert the baby during the bris so that a mohel can do it. I freaked out for numerous reasons that have been rehashed a million times. I cried while reading the email, I cried for an hour or so after reading the email, I cried so hard after we had gone to bed that I woke Dyke Two up. I cried two more times in the middle of the night. When I woke up this morning, I cried again.

Then I picked up a birthing book, and cried while reading a birth story. I checked my email, and cried while reading an email from a friend.

I took the car and carseat to the fire department for installation. They told me that my car wasn't a great choice for a car seat because the back seat is so small. You guessed it, I cried...

Dyke Two came home for lunch and told me that her HR folks told her that if we can get the courts to award her a custody agreement, then she can put him on her health insurance. Yep, more tears...

Then Dyke Two told me that she was talking to one of the assistant principals at one of the elementary schools after their meeting this morning, and mentioned to her that I had been crying for the better part of the last 15 hours. She said, "Oh, that happened to me right before I went into labor."

When Dyke Two told me that, we both cried.

38 weeks 5 days: a brief moment of excitement

2006-01-28T23:25:00.000-05:00

We had a minute of panic/excitement a little while ago. I had been sitting on the edge of the bed watching a particularly good episode of Law and Order SVU. I got up to post the random box of office supplies we uncovered on freecycle, and Dyke Two called me back in the room with a touch of panic to her voice. "Honey, you're leaking." I looked at the bed, and, in fact, there was a small wet spot on the bed, right where I had been sitting.

We looked at each other, and I said, "But, that's impossible. My boxers are dry."

After she made me show her my dry boxers, we determined that I must have been sweating in the fold of my knee, or at my ankle, and that the wet spot was sweat.

I told you it was a particularly exciting Law and Order...

38 weeks 4 days: Another appointment...

2006-01-27T16:22:00.000-05:00

blood pressure 140/78
urine clean
heartrate 145
weight up 1.5 (10.5 pounds total)
uterus 38

The GBS test was negative. What a relief! No IV needed unless something goes wrong...

This whole pregnancy, I have said that my due date is Feb 6, and the doctor has said Feb 9. Well, today, he said, looking at his chart, that it is Feb 8, so I guess I am between 10-14 days from my due date...

He did not do another internal, but said he will do one next week. He said everything looked great, that the dilation and effacement I had is probably continuing, so I should just keep doing what I am doing. He mentioned that since my uterus has been the same height for a few weeks, yet i am clearly still gaining weight and baby is still growing, he must have moved into my pelvis at least a little bit.

And then he said, "Well, we'll see you next week. Unless we see you at the hospital before that!"

Next appointment: February 3 at 3:15. We also have an appointment with the pediatrician at 4:30 on February 3. I am not too worried about what the pediatrician says in this "pre-natal interview." I just want to give them a heads up that I had a weird neurological issue in pregnancy, so that the peds can monitor the baby for neurological functioning in the early days of his life.

38 weeks 2 days: Cover Your Ass

2006-01-25T17:09:00.000-05:00

Red finally has diapers. We met with the diaper lady yesterday, and have 70 diaper service cloth diapers and 7 eensy-weensy diaper covers sitting in the dining room.

Red also has a doctor. We have an appointment for next Friday to meet with the pediatrician. We are beyond lax about it, especially since the office has a legion of doctors, so it is just a matter of finding one we like. And, if he comes before the appointment, the office will still do his hospital exam, so we're feeling pretty good about it.

Oh, yeah, and my blood work came back normal. No signs of pre-eclampsia, liver problems, kidney problems, or sugar issues. As Dyke Two said, "I knew all along it was all in your head."

In non-baby news, my pre-lim paper has been turned in. Now I just need to read and critique the journal article and create my presentation about it and my paper.

I am actually hoping that Red stays in place until February 2nd, since the lesbian baby shower is this weekend, and my prelim meeting is Feb 1.

37 weeks 4 days: Sticks and Showers

2006-01-20T11:56:00.000-05:00

We had an appointment yesterday with the NP.

GBS test--yum.
Internal check: 50% effaced, fingertip dilated.
Uterus: 38 cm
Blood pressure: 145/86
heartrate: 150s
weight: up 3 and a half (9 pounds total)

The NP also sent me to get a blood draw to make sure that the vision stuff and headaches are not due to blood pressure/pre-eclampsia. So, I was swabbed with a q-tip in my hooter and bumhole, poked in the cervix by the NP. (I think she used three fingers) AND I was poked in the arm by a needle, drawing TWO vials of blood.

After all those invasions of my personal space, we also had a shower. Dyke Two's office hosted it. It was so sweet. Dyke Two had never been to a shower before, and she was completely overwhlemed. She cried. Twice. Maybe three times.

In her defense, this is a pretty traditional office, and the support and acceptance of her as a mom was really nice.

36 weeks 6 days: seeing double

2006-01-15T23:33:00.000-05:00

Friday morning I woke up and realized that I was seeing double. My head hurt, the room was spinning a little, and there were definitely four devoted and protective dogs lying on the floor by the bed. Last time that happened, I could definitely attribute it to an alcohol induced state. This time, the only controlled substance in my system is pregnancy tea. Dyke Two was at the doctor, but as soon as she came home, I cautiously told her that I was seeing two of everything...

I had just seen the OB the day before, so we called my optometrist, assuming that my prescription was changing in the end days of pregnancy. They told me to call my OB. We called the OB, who said, "Well, if you come in, we'll just take your blood pressure and make you pee in the cup. Since everything was clear yesterday, there is no reason to come back today."

Back to the optometrist. Dyke Two drove me across town to the optometrist, which is a good thing, since I kept flinching because I thought parked cars were driving toward us in our lane. Long story short, optometrist determined that there is nothing wrong with my prescription, no signs of swelling or damage to the back of the eye, and no eyeball related explanation for this. He sent me to a neurologist.

We spent 3 and a half hours with the neurologist, Dr. Crazyman. Seriously, the man was loud, wore a gigantic yellow bow tie with his pants pulled up to his rib cage, and spoke into his dictaphone the entire time. He was writing his chart notes as he interviewed me, but he never asked a question, since he would just trail off mid-sentence, waiting for me to answer. I did all sorts of fun tests that involved lights and buttons and pointers. Finally, we were sent home with a diagnosis of paralysis of the VI cranial nerve, which is preventing me from moving my right eye properly. Dr. Crazyman said that normally, he would have sent me for an MRI that day to rule out stroke, tumors, lesions and viral/bacterial damage, but since I was pregnant, we just need to wait it out. If the symptoms are still there when the baby is born, then he will order an MRI. In the meantime, he occluded the right lens of my glasses. Turns out that is just Dr. Crazyspeak for "put scotch tape over the lens so you can't see through it." Words can't describe the hotness factor. We have strict orders to check for changes and call immediately if any symptoms get worse or new ones develop. In that situation, the OB can take the baby out and I can get the MRI. I freaked out a little, until I realized that, in fact, the baby could be taken out, since he is full term tomorrow.

Then I really freaked out.

36 weeks 2 days: Don't call us, we'll call you

2006-01-11T12:32:00.000-05:00

I called the mohel last night, and we finally talked today. I am not optimistic right now. He said that he will have to do a conversion. Whatever. He also didn't sound too comfortable with the idea of doing OUR bris, regardless of my Jewish status. He said he was going to call me back, but I'm not holding my breath. He tried to make me feel better about the conversion by saying, "No one will know it is happening but you" but in reality, I'm the person whose feelings and thoughts matter most here. I recognize his attempts to make sure the baby is accepted as Jewish so he is spared this later, but I can be spared it right now, by using my OB and the reform rabbi.

I am disappointed, but in truth, kind of expected it. I guess we will be talking to the OB tomorrow.

36 weeks 1 day: Now I Feel Guilty

2006-01-10T13:17:00.000-05:00

After calling my advisor an ass yesterday, I got an email from him. Turns out his wife is recovering from surgery and had to go back into the hospital with complications from it. Much as I want to believe it, I guess the world doesn't revolve around me.

Can I amend yesterday's sentiments to: My advisor is difficult to work with, but apparently is human, just like me.

I have been having non-stop headaches for the last three weeks. It is beginning to make me a little irritable.

Today's to-do list:

find a hotel for my parents to stay in when they visit post-birth.

call the mohels on my list

pay some bills (and go buy the more expensive stamps...)

call the pediatricians on our list

maybe, just maybe, do a couple loads of laundry

Let's see tomorrow how much of it is actually completed. I am betting that the accomplishment list will look more like:

took a shower

watched "Bringing Home Baby"

played on the internet

36 weeks: Hibernation has set in...

2006-01-09T13:44:00.000-05:00

I have literally been sleeping for 12 hours a day. Every day. I feel like I am back in high school, but then it was only on weekends. Perhaps it is the massive amounts of sleep, but I am feeling pretty good. I have been fighting off migraines for the past three weeks, but they are at a point where they are annoying, but not debilitating. Dyke Two came back from a doctor's appointment this morning with fresh flowers and donuts for me. Her doctor gave her a good bill of health in every way but her weight. I am at a loss as to how to help her get over the hurdle of beginning to lose the weight. I suggested that she call her old therapist and get suggestions for a new therapist or coach who might be able to give her a tune up. The flowers and donuts were so thoughtful. I didn't have the heart to tell her that the flowers set off my headache, so they have to stay out of the bedroom...

I did a news interview yesterday for our local station, talking about how the anti-gay bills that have been introduced to the legislature will affect me and Dyke Two. I think the reporter was ready to cream himself when I told him that we had gotten married in July in Toronto, and that I was 36 weeks pregnant. Then I got pissed at the station, because they used footage of a drag queen throughout the story on civil unions and marriage. I politely told them in an email that drag queens are a celebrated and well-loved part of gay entertainment, but have little to do with a story on gay families and partnerships.

I have been going back and forth with my advisor about my prelim exam. He is being less than helpful, and not at all forthcoming about expectations and requirements. He won't tell me if he will approve the topic for my paper, he won't tell me his availability to schedule the actual event, and he told me to just find out everyone else's availability for the meeting, but won't give me a timeframe. I would attribute it to anger about me being pregnant, but he told me that he was like this way back when we met in August. I didn't tell him until October that I was pregnant, so I guess we can attribute it to him just being an ass.

35 weeks 4 days

2006-01-06T16:08:00.000-05:00

We finished our Childbirth class last night. I was strangely comforted by the fact that the instructor said that 20% of women experience post-partum depression, and that her experience is that while women with a previous history of depression/anxiety are at greater risk, they are also better equipped to handle it.

We talked to the instructor directly about our concerns about her language, and she admitted that she caught herself, and had wanted to be inclusive, but habit often kicked in before she realized it. We told her that we learned so much from her, and really enjoyed the experience, but that we are hoping that the hospital will provide instructors with better diversity training. Luckily, she understood and didn't take it personally. Dyke Two is such the diplomat. You'd think it was her job or something...

The hospital tour was also very exciting. We got to see the labor, delivery and recovery rooms, the nursery and get lots of reassurance that the things we want for the birth are routine: rooming in, visits from the lactation consultants, immediate breastfeeding, delayed newborn testing, having it done in the room, not the nursery, waiting to cut the cord until it stops pulsing, lots of opportunity to move during labor, perineal support, mama-led pushing, etc.

I just got an email from the executive director of the state gayrights group. I nearly lost it a few days ago when I heard that a bill is being introduced to prevent unmarried women from accessing "medical procedures" to get pregnant. No ultrasounds for ovulation, no IUIs, no donor sperm, no IVF, no fertility testing. She asked me to consider coming to Lobby Day to speak at the press conference. the only problem is that Lobby Day is scheduled when I am 38 weeks pregnant. I really want to be there, but I am not sure that Dyke Two and my OB will be as excited as I am.

I think Red is excited about Lobby Day. He has been dancing around in there since I got the email.

35 weeks 2 days

2006-01-04T12:25:00.000-05:00

We went over to a friends' house last night to watch part of the Orange Bowl. (OK, we went to socialize and eat because they promised to be serving my favorite spinach and artichoke dip). We had a surreal moment when another friend told us about her commitment to her music this year. She is getting over a rough breakup and has decided that it is finally time to focus her energy on her music, since she is going through so much transition anyway. She excitedly told us that she had played at a private Christmas party at a local bar/music venue, and the owner had approached her to be the opening act for a performance in February. This is an awesome opportunity for her, as she has played in the band for countless regional acts, but has never had her own billing. She told us to mark our calendars for February 1, and make sure we are there. Of course, we want to be there, but it felt very weird to say, "We'll plan on going, but we won't buy advanced tickets, because we don't know if we'll be available..." She understood, and is excited to meet Red, but it still felt weird.

35 weeks 0 days: I don't know how she does it...

2006-01-02T16:01:00.000-05:00

I have realized in recent weeks that I am suffering from an almost paralyzing indecisiveness. I am sure it stems from my anxiety. I have seen it manifest itself in my freaking out about the circumcision, in my inability to settle on sleeping arrangements, on my freakouts about what type of sling to order (the list could continue, but I will spare you all the details). Thank goodness for Dyke Two. She is the ultimate procrastinator, but once she makes up her mind to do something, she does it.

So, this weekend, we ordered a crib. I have been hemming and hawwing about the crib for weeks. Dyke Two looked at my list of possible cribs and picked one. Five minutes, start to finish. We chose the recommended "good" one from the Baby Bargains book, and ordered it from target.com. Then, we had to buy a mattress. I had a whole long list of possible mattresses. We drove up to Target (a trip that we often delay because it is soooooo far from our house, up through the congestion and sprawl that is the northern part of our city. We could take the backroads from our house in the south east area up to Target, but the road is so curvy that it makes me motion sick, so we must travel along the busy congestion shopping center-lined road that is the bane of our city).

So we get to Target, and I am freaking out trying to decide which mattress to buy. Dyke Two pulls the two (yes, I was freaking out deciding between two mattresses) that are in stock off the shelf, and presses on them. She announces that there is no difference in firmness. She reads the number of coils in each mattress, and picks up the cheaper of the two, which has the recommended number of coils, and puts it in the cart.

Off we go to toiletries to buy post-partum pads. I won't even go into the 30 minutes I spent in the feminine hygiene aisle. But, suffice it to say, I have worn tampons since my first menstrual experience, and pads are something I have never considered before. We bought some though, after Dyke Two returned to the area, and grabbed something and put it in the cart.

But, this morning is when she really saved the day. I have been freaking out about diapers. Freaking out. Disposables? Cloth? If cloth, do we buy our own or use a diaper service? The choices are so staggering that I have been going along in life, apparently assuming that an elimination communication diaper-free baby is in our future. Not that we were choosing this, but because Red would arrive and would end up diaper-free by default because his mother was too neurotic to buy him something to cover up his cute little ass.

So, Dyke Two called the diaper service in town, and talked to the very nice woman who runs the service. She hung up the phone, and said, "We have four weeks of service lined up."

The skies opened up with the swell of the heavenly chorus. "The perfect solution" I exclaimed in my head. "If after 4 weeks, we love it, we can keep going. If we hate it, we can switch to disposables. And, after he is out of newborn sizes, if we are totally loving the cloth, we can buy our own."

I just keep shaking my head, as I realize again that Dyke Two really comes through when I need her to. I guess I can forgive her for her computer game obsession.

34 weeks 1 day: Headaches and Swelling

2005-12-27T14:01:00.000-05:00

Two good friends of ours have just had their babies in the past week. Both have used frozen sperm too, and one baby was almost 10 pounds, and the other was over 10 pounds! (and almost 22 inches long!) Now I am afraid.

Very afraid.

I went to see the doctor today, because I have been having more swelling in my feet and hands, which I assume is normal for 34 weeks pregnant (and eating too much sodium in the past few days. Hanukkah requires Chinese food and fried potato pancakes and matzoh ball soup. Not a holiday for the health conscious.) The Chinese food is a minhag (tradition--not religious) but the latkes and soup? You have to eat that. When I realized that I have had a headache for 48 hours, and swelling, I called the doctor. We checked my blood pressure last night and it was fine, but better safe than sorry.

The results of our unscheduled OB appointment:

blood pressure: 148/84
urine: clean of proteins
heartrate: 150s
uterus: "he's really growing in there!" (no specific measurement, but I assume that means 34-36 cms)
weight: up 3 and a half (7.5 pounds total)

We saw Dr. T again, after calling this morning to ask about the headache and swelling. I have had the headache for 48 hours and it didn't respond to Tylenol and caffeine. He said that everything looks fine, and diagnosed the headache as a migraine since it is on one side of my head and has lasted so long. He prescribed codeine and caffeine, a long nap and side lying for the next couple days. No official bedrest/doctor's orders to take it easy, just common sense rest and relaxation as much as possible. We cancelled Thursday's appointment.

Next appointment: January 12 at 10:45.