the f*ck is my life

This is no f*ck

I went to a friend's mother blessing yesterday and it was good. It was good, because it was real. It was good because it wasn't all about showering her with gifts and well-wishes, though we gave her those too. It was good because we also shared our losses and pains and our sorrows and worries, even as we celebrated the arrival of new life and the strength of motherhood. As a friend of mine pointed out, the fact that we can so genuinely share our times of heartache makes the celebration of our times of joy all the more heartfelt.

Pain and love always coexist, another friend commented.

I take great comfort in my circle of mama friends; we are the rock mamas.

I need this kind of communal comfort these days. Feeling the ground shifting beneath me, I find comfort in coming together to share pain — and joy. Just life.

There is a section in Cheryl Strayed's bestselling collection of advice columns originally published at the Rumpus Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar that really resonated with me. It's a column she wrote in response to a reader's query that simply asked "WTF, WTF, WTF?" Cheryl responds by sharing one of her own immensely fucked-up childhood experiences of her father's father having her jack him off when she was three, four, and five.

The Womanly Heartaches of Bleeding

Infertility

As if it's not hard enough going back to work after a lovely long holiday weekend, I got my period that day too. We've been trying to conceive another child for a good year now. In reality, I feel like we've been trying much longer. Heck, I was taking pregnancy tests before Lilly turned 1 and I didn't even get my period back until she was close to 3 and stopped nursing.

I winced upon seeing the blood. Lilly looked at me. "I got my period," I explained. "Oh," she said; "that means there's no baby. It's okay, mama; we can try again tomorrow!" (tomorrow representing all future tense for her at the moment) She smiled at me and I did find some comfort in her words.

peace, love, courage: a yogi's mindful approach to birthdays

My birthday falls on the first day of spring, and spring is my favorite season, but not for that reason.

Spring has that ecstatic sentiment of new life to it—the rejuvenation of life—but also a tender, almost vulnerable, skinless feel to it.

Some spring days have me flying high, and I've been known to take my birthday celebration seriously. But this year I wanted a more mellow observation. Something sincerely true to where I'm at in my life right now. Which is a mixed bag.

Professionally, I really am flying high. I have a book coming out this fall; I got a new job; and I've been invited to give talks and readings from my book this fall in places around the world, including in Mexico, Norway, Germany, and England. I also have found more balance in my life, with more hours for me to work, and more opportunities for dates. I even got an extra special early pass at the gym, so my time working out there won't interfere with my work-work time.

i'm pregnant, but not in the typical way

I Am Not a Goner

This post is about giving birth. To a book. The two things I've been hoping the most for lately are a baby and a book. So, we've been having more sex (not a bad thing), and I've been working longer hours at night (yes; yet again). Now, listen to this: I submitted a query for my now soon-to-be-published book to the publisher (that has since offered me a contract) on the day I had penned down in my planner that I was probably ovulating. When I early one morning after that received a response telling me they were interested, and I jumped into bed to wake Leighton to tell him, his response was that it was just like when I jumped into bed years back to tell him my pregnancy test was positive.

And it felt the same way.

I really would like to be pregnant with a baby again too. I really would like another child in our little family.

But I really also want to give birth to a book. Recently, I've found myself intensely missing more of my professional self. I miss conferences and giving talks. Teaching college students. Having more patient students to teach. Engaging in more complex conversations.

expecting

A couple of my friends are expecting, which made me think of this amazing poem, also from Morning Song: Poems for New Parents:

Grave, my wife lies back, hands cross

her chest, while the doctor searches early

for your heartbeat, peach pit, unripe

plum--pulls out the world's worst

boom box, a Mr. Microphone, to broadcast

your mother's lifting belly.

The whoosh and bellows of mama's body

and beneath it: nothing. Beaneath

the slow stutter of her heart: nothing.

The doctor trying again to find you, fragile

fern, snowflake. Nothing.

After, my wife will say, in fear,

women with "wrong" bodies and attempts at healing

Lilly and I: May she never be
told her body is "wrong."

Women are constantly bombarded with imageries that tell them there's somehow something wrong with their bodies; that they don't measure up. But this post is not about those kind of "wrong" bodies. This post is about when Western medicine tells women their bodies don't function right; that they're "wrong."

I got this message from an early age. Feeling unsafe at home, I suffered from insomnia from an early age. I had headaches, frequent colds, and in general a poor constitution. There were concerns I would go deaf when I grew up because my hearing was "poor" (I think it was selective). And they wanted to test me for diabetes since I was "too thirsty" all the time (see, I've always been a swiller.)

The real problems started when I "failed" to get my period. I maybe had a little spotting at some point late in middle school, but it never developed into anything. When I was 18, this was cause for alarm. There were frequent hormone tests and attempts at jumpstarting my period with strong birth control pills; pills that were later taken off the market because of near fatal side effects.

the miracle of life

Because we're trying to conceive a child, and because Lilly is in a constant awe of babies that are in the womb and then come out of it, we checked out The Miracle of Life with timeless photos by Swedish photographer Lennart Nilsson. Then we all sat down to watch it last Sunday afternoon. We expected the video to feature pictures of a growing fetus, but as it turns out, the video is more about what happens before anything turns into even an embryo.

Amazing internal photographs capture living, functioning reproductive systems as the camera follows an egg from its follicular development in an ovary, through the delicate, flowery fallopian tube for fertilization, and on to the uterus for development and eventual birth. Likewise, we follow the shorter journey of millions of sperm as they develop and strive desperately to reach the egg.

We explained as best as we could what the images were featuring. It helps that Lilly already knows all the correct words for the external genitals (both in English and Norwegian, though she's inclined to use the colloquial terms "tiss" and "tissemann"); now we moved on to the internal ones. And we kept waiting for the appearance of a fetus; something more recognizable to a three-year-old.

more business of being born

More Business of Being Born premiered this week in Los Angeles. I loved Ricki Lake and Abby Epstein's first documentary The Business of Being Born with its empowering messages for women to claim their power to birth on their terms, and this promises to be a solid follow-up.



About the film: Executive Producer Ricki Lake and Filmmaker Abby Epstein follow their landmark documentary, The Business of Being Born, with an all-new, four part DVD series that continues their provocative and entertaining exploration of the modern maternity care system. More Business of Being Born, available on November 8th, 2011, offers a practical look at birthing options as well as poignant celebrity birth stories from stars including Alanis Morissette, Gisele Bundchen, Christy Turlington-Burns, Cindy Crawford, Molly Ringwald, Kimberly Williams-Paisley and Melissa Joan Hart.

when my three-year-old daughter got her period

Bathroom moment

"I have bled a lot," she told me (in Norwegian) the other day we were in the bathroom; "so I need to change my pad." It had been a while since I had my period (and I was crossing fingers), so her words came completely out of the blue to me.

There's something very odd and amusing at the same time to hear your three-year-old tell you she got her period (mensen). Especially at a time when I would rather not get mine. I've in fact been turning hopeful I would not be getting it for my wished for reasons. I've been feeling all the right signs: an overwhelming sense of fatigue, nausea, headaches.

Yesterday, I finally took a pregnancy test. I was four days overdue and I've been regular as a clock since I got my period back this past spring after a nearly four-year hiatus.

sex & conception: the heartaches of calculated pregnancies

Me and Lilly, June 2008

We've been trying to have another baby. We've been trying for more than two years. Granted, I did only get my period back this past spring, a couple of months before she turned three and she told me there was no more left.

I was overjoyed when my period returned in April. I have hated it whenever it's since paid its monthly visit.

It always bothered me I never knew when we actually conceived Lilly. Back then, we were newly married and could act like rabbits. Sex wasn't something we planned or decided to do; it just happened. Often. It was sweet.

Things are a little a lot more complicated now. I'm a fan of the quicky; weekend "naps" are great. When they happen, that is. As far as I can remember, Lilly has always resisted naps, and especially during the weekend when she has both parents around. By the time Lilly's in bed at night, we're all exhausted.

with financial crisis, what's a good time for a second child?

I couldn't help feeling mixed when a close friend announced last summer that she was pregnant with number two. For about a year we'd been talking about how neat it'd be to conceive our second child around the same time, to go through pregnancy, child birth, and the parenting of an infant side by side. And when she shared her happy news with me, I was still sipping my red raspberry tea on a loyal daily basis, seeing as how it promised to support my female system.

(Baby belly number 1)

Well, I'm still sipping that tea and no ovulation in sight. You might think it'd be nice not to have had a period since August 2007, but frankly I miss it. I mean, it's always been an irregular visitor; so whenever it did show up I felt proud about my body and what it was capable of. Nursing gives me that sense too, of course, and I'm not feeling ready to wean just to see if that could help boost my female system in other areas.

Now that we're delving into the entrepreneurial line of work after our countless failed job searches, the grief around the unconceived second child has waned significantly. With barely any income, a second child just does not seem opportune at all. And feeling like I've found the kind of work I really want to do, more than anything, I want to devote any free (and not so free) moment to our LOVE, SEX, AND FAMILY resource center, not to see all my time consumed by taking care of a little baby.

There's already too little time to work, now that Leighton is so busy with some extra work hours, adding development training and an internship on top of that, pushing his thesis work to the side more and more. But I am claiming some time, and our LOVE, SEX, AND FAMILY site is steadily growing. And I am (not so) secretly looking forward to Lilly beginning Montessori preschool for three hours a day Monday through Friday this fall, and feel excited about the prospect of having her in Montessori''s summer program this June for three hours a day.

So then why, after a few days of feeling particularly lusty for my hubby--despite us all being sick around here; runny noses typically sapping my libido--do I find myself wondering with some anticipation: Could I be ovulating? Might we be joined by a Christmas baby?

Biological instinct? Psychological urge? Emotional sentimentality? It sure doesn't feel like it's rational reasoning in any case.

finding my time for sanity

I'm beginning to feel a little better over here, hunkered down at home. I made a point to shower and get dressed yesterday; the last couple of weeks have seen me mainly in sweats, rarely freshly showered. I've spent every free (and not so free) moment working and am beginning to feel a little more on top of things in that department. 

My work time is my time. And my working out time is my time too. Leighton made a comment the other day about how much I've been heading over to the YMCA lately, that I'd be getting really fit here soon. The point, however, isn't just or even primarily physical fitness. Through exercise and particularly yoga, I find strength and balance. Now more than ever, I need that. 

When I was pregnant with Lilly, practicing yoga was the only exercise I could do till the end that didn't hurt or feel uncomfortable. This is me just days before labor started practicing pre-natal yoga with Shiva Rea.

After 64 hours of labor even walking hurt for months. But yoga still felt good, and so I continued with Shiva Rae's post-natal yoga.

Now I'm trying to nurture an appreciation for yoga in Lilly, practicing yoga with her along the instructions of Marsha Wenig in Yoga Kids: From Silly to Calm. I don't want to push it; that would be very un-yogi and really just kill the joy of it. But Lilly is getting more and more into it; sometimes she'll break into some of the poses spontaneously and I love that.

I originally started practicing yoga as a grad student back in the mid to late nineties. I started practicing then to find my body which I had fallen out of touch with. My life evolved around thinking and writing fueled by coffee and cigarettes. I was underweight and overworked, my back and shoulders constantly aching. 

I stopped smoking and started exercising as a college professor, still overworked, but also dealing with a difficult relationship. Becoming strong physically helped me find strength to put that relationship behind me.

I was never one to eagerly race to the gym, however. Not until I became a mom. Now more than ever I need to work out. I need to stretch my back and shoulders aching from carrying. To tread out frustration. To zone out on the elliptical machine while thinking through things, preferably to some upbeat tunes on my ipod. To feel awake again.