Crowning Glory

So, I had a terrible Mother's Day. I had to work and Kyle kind of opted out since he worked all day too,  and I thought that by having no expectations I would avoid being disappointed. But the damned Internet and social media and everyone else in the world publicly having an amazing day did me in. One fight with my husband later, we decided to reschedule Mother's Day for Tuesday when we could spend it together.

I swear I'm not high maintenance or anything.  We didn't do anything crazy. Just went out for lunch at our favorite local place and went to the park. Oh, and got Tycho's haircut for the first time.

Record scratch, I know. I've been fighting against everyone who has been telling me I should cut it for. I don't know, the past YEAR? Because its crazy and tangly and in his eyes and makes him look like a girl. (You know that last one wasn't a factor for me, eye roll.) I totally didn't mind the untangling, but it was always in his face, and he absolutely refuses to let me put it up, and if I do manage to wrestle it into a ponytail he will rip it out within seconds. So. Haircut. Before I changed my mind because MYYYY BAAAAABBBYYYYY!

It's awesome. Out of his face, finally, but not even close to short. Still tons of curl. He now looks even more like I did at his age. Love. 

And then we did this again. 

Perfect

You know what's so awesome? Seeing yourself in your child. Tonight Tycho pulled my old plant field guide out of the bookshelf and he sat on my lap and we turned the pages and looked at pictures of trees and shrubs and flowers and grasses. I love him so much.

The reason

Kyle and I were talking the other night about how crazy it is for us to have another baby. To draw out the diapers and the crying and the poop and the not sleeping for another several years right when we can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. But we know we want two children, so we will suffer. Or something. There may have been wine involved.

Really, I'm not a baby person. I mean, I now have all sorts of squishy mama hormones giving me squishy mama feelings and sometimes I want to kidnap a friend's newborn to huff that new baby head smell, but like, babies, not my favorite. Even my own, who was clearly the most adorable perfect baby ever, bored me to tears, adorably. I never wanted babies to have babies. I wanted to have babies so one day I could have children.

Tycho is still a baby in a lot of senses. He needs help with everything, and his communication skills are barely developed. But I see now the person he is becoming, and it is AWESOME. There are still hard moments, and often, but in general every day with Tycho is better and more like what I imagined when I would daydream about parenthood. His personality is his and his alone, and we hang out and it is fun and I love him. I mean, obviously, but you know.

Some squees.

My kid is so awesome. Tonight we were driving home after I picked him up from Ashley and from the back seat I hear him shout "A BUS!" (It's all one word, though, really.) But there was no bus. Or truck or van, which in Tycho's world would also be A BUS! I asked him if he saw a bus and he just kept shouting "A BUS!" and I started laughing and so he shouted "A BUS!" again to make me laugh. Because he is delightful.

But when we got out of the car in front of our house two real buses drove past, one in each directions! "A BUS! A BUS! A BUS! MAMA!"

I just want to squeeze the poop out of him sometimes.

Photography

I'm not an especially great photographer. I don't take the best pictures. I sure as hell don't have a fancy camera. But what I lack in quality I make up for in quantity perhaps. And that's working for me.

Sometimes I feel like my primary function as a parent (you know, besides keeping him clothed, fed, and bathed) is photographer. In a journalistic sense. My pictures aren't posed or perfect or pretty. Just day to day vignettes, often with my terrible iPhone3GS camera phone with an instagram filter slapped on. Tycho's clothes aren't always clean, and he often isn't smiling. Or he's in the middle of a tantrum. Or I take ten thousand pictures of the back of his head because he always seems to be running away from me. But I am dutiful. And I am glad.

Time slips away without me even realizing it, and all of the sudden months have gone by and we're all completely different people and thank goodness I have a record of who we were back then or else I'd have completely forgotten.

It's funny, Tycho loves that I take pictures, too. As xmas gifts for all of our family members I made photobooks (shoutout to blurb.com!) of pictures of Tycho up to his first birthday. It's one of his very favorite books to "read" these days. I think he gets it from me. I was always obsessed with photo albums, which my dad meticulously organized, back in the days of film and prints and that whole messy business. I still love those old albums. I hope Tycho will be glad I've captured these billions of imperfect moments of his childhood.

Hairs.

Oh hey, blog. I did this yesterday:

No big deal.

Sensitivity

It had now been three weeks since I last nursed Tycho. And everything is all fucked up. Well, not everything. Just poop. It's gross. It's all the time. It makes bedtime last for hours. I hate it.

I'm guessing a dairy sensitivity. He has, of course, had cow's milk (and yogurt and cheese) in abundance since he turned a year, but I think that my breastmilk kept his digestive system in check, and now without it everything's going haywire. Bummer.

So, it's elimination diet time. Right now we're giving him half cow's milk and half coconut milk to get him used to it, and once he'll take coconut we'll try a week without dairy and see what happens. Hopefully it helps, because I am so tired of being up to my ears in poop. If all seems good we'll try adding cheese and yogurt back in. I hope he can have them, because he loves the shit out of yogurt and I love cheese and don't want to have to hide it from him, because you know that baby's favorite foods are whatever is on mama's plate.

I guess it's not the worst thing that could happen.

Cycle Two

I finally got my period after a 45 day cycle. Which doesn't correlate at all with any fertility signs I had. Maybe this was an anovulatory cycle. I don't know. I don't like not knowing. I know I said I wasn't going to temp this go 'round, and let things happen "naturally," whatever that means, but I hate not knowing where I am and what's going on. So maybe I'm going to start again? I don't know. I just want to get pregnant and be done with it.

Weaning Mama.

(Yes, another post about weaning. I know.)

Tycho nursed for the last time eleven days ago. I think that means it's official. I've still got a little milk, but I don't think I will breastfeed Tycho again. Sigh.

He's doing great. I was so worried that it would be hard and there would be lots of tears and I might give in and decide now is not the right time, but I guess it was. He certainly hasn't looked back. We're still adjusting a little with how much he needs to eat, but really it's been a non issue.

I'm doing.. less awesome? I have a cold. Of course. And my period is about a million years late. I'm not really charting right now, but I'm roughly keeping track of fertility signs and what have you and while the timing wasn't perfect... maybe? But I didn't feel pregnant. So I gave my body an ultimatum: a period by Sunday or I would take a test.

I thought by throwing that out into the universe my period was sure to show up immediately. But instead I got every pregnancy symptom in the book: Mystery cramping, sensitivity to smells, food aversions and cravings, nausea, fatigue, the whole nine yards. The only thing I didn't experience was breast tenderness, but I think my boobs have been through enough, don't you?

I started to get hopeful and excited about my little maybe baby. Silly me. But I had a negative test on Sunday evening, and another negative the next morning, too. And had I actually been pregnant, it would have definitely been late enough to test. So I wasn't. I'm not. I'm sad. But I went to my mama class on Monday, and a couple friends confirmed that they too thought they were pregnant for the week right after they weaned.

All of those symptoms have faded away now. My period is still MIA, so I'm thinking I probably never actually ovulated at all, that it was delayed for some reason. I'm also finally coming down off this oxytocin withdrawal from weaning and no longer feel (so much) like crawling into bed for eternity, but I'm sad about the baby that I thought was having that never really existed and I still and congested and have a terrible cough, and am just generally feeling kind of meh. Strangely enough, weaning has absolutely been the hardest thing about breastfeeding.

And it's funny, I was so worried about how Tycho was going to take weaning that I didn't even think it about how it would affect me.

Weaned?

We decided to take the plunge. Tycho had been down to nursing once a day in the mornings for a few weeks, sometimes skipping a day entirely because I left for work before he woke up. And that last nursing session was becoming less and less fun for me. I couldn't get him to focus anymore. He'd suck for a minute and then get distracted, but don't you dare put that boob away, mama. Or he would stay latched while doing what I can only describe as baby yoga in my lap. I just felt so. Very. Done.

So we did it. I had to work overnight all week long this week, so it seemed to me like the perfect opportunity. On Sunday morning, while we nursed for the last time (very pleasantly, actually, I might add), I explained that he was a big boy now and after this he wasn't going to nurse anymore and he could have milk in a cup or water or a snack instead. No idea how much actually sunk in, but I feel better doing it. and I'm glad it was a planned thing so I could savor those last moments of our nursing relationship. And then, because I was out so late with work Kyle got up with the baby and let me sleep in. We've let him watch a movie every morning, because that keeps him distracted for a little while, and then once he's been up for a few hours he's fine.

It's been four days. It's been... really easy. Too easy? He has barely even asked and not protested at all when I've said no and my feelings are a little hurt even though this is what I wanted. I've been in a horrible funk and feeling anxious and depressed about nothing, and I'm taking it very personally, and it dawned on my when I was driving home from work this morning at 3 am that I am going through oxytocin withdrawal and OF COURSE I feel like ass. At least I know now that hopefully this dark cloud will pass and I'm not in need of antidepressants again or something. I hope.

Anyway. Weaned. Tycho is weaned. Probably. Weird.

Bath

Tycho can say bath now. Well, baf. Baf Baf baf all he wants is a bath. Even if he just got out of the bath.

When Tycho takes a bath, everybody takes a bath. Splash splash, I am soaked head to toe, and so is everything in the bathroom. When I start draining the tub it's "oh no! oh no!" and lots of tears when we have to get out.  Sigh.

Everytime we go upstairs, "Baf?? Baf!" and he runs into the bathroom. Sorry, babe, actually it's naptime.

Butterflies

On Friday my mom and I took Tycho to the Pacific Science Center.

Taking him to museums is hard at this age. He doesn't do well with transitions, because obviously whatever activity he is doing right now is OMG THE BEST EVER I WANT TO STAY HERE FOREVER MAMA WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO TAKE ME AWAY??? And then there is a lot of crying and rolling around on the floor. Yep. We are those people.

HOWEVER. We took him into the butterfly house and it was the best time ever. He was just completely amazed and awestruck at it all and I was completely reveling in his experience of it. So amazing. He'd been once before, about a year ago, but this was completely different. And I have a million billion pictures of the experience, because he was just so darn cute with his oohing and aahing and delighted giggles and every single other person in the exhibit thought he was the best ever because he is the best ever.

Without further ado:

On weaning.

So remember how I was like, maybe I will wean Tycho when I'm in Mexico?


Yeeaaaaah, no.

My mom brought Tycho to pick us up at the airport, and as soon as he saw me he held out his fist to sign milk. I asked if I could have a hug. No, just furious signing to nurse. So I breastfed him in the airport before we could even go home. Not so much weaning.

I'm sooooo ready to  be done, though. I thought I wanted to make it until two and the World Health Organization recommendations, blah blah blah, but right now I'm over it and I totally don't care what the WHO recommends.

We are doing great with the twice a day schedule, so now I am dropping us down to once. We often have once days as it is, if the circumstances are right, but tonight was the first time I've managed to distract him from nursing when I got home from work and I haven't seen him all day, so that's a victory. We actually didn't nurse at all today, because I was leaving just as he woke up, but I'd rather cut out my evening nursing session than the morning one, and why not start today? So I will nurse him in the morning tomorrow, and then not again until Sunday. Hopefully. I have no idea how we will be able to drop that last morning session, but I suppose we will cross that bridge when we come to it.

We got a new car seat!

MEXICO!!!

So, we took a vacation! Without the baby! It was magical!

18 months, it was definitely time. Kyle and I spent a blissful three nights at an all-inclusive resort in Puerto Vallarta, and did mostly nothing, while my parents spoiled the poop out of Tycho. It was good for everyone!

Kyle and I mostly did a whole lot of nothing. Sleeping in late, then laying by the pool, then taking naps, eating at our leisure, taking more naps, never doing dishes or laundry, spending time together, not working, holding hands like that's something we still do. (Apparently, it is!)

I did insist on going to town on one day, so at least we could say we did. Puerto Vallarta is just beautiful. We walked down the avenue by the beach until we found a quiet restaurant for lunch, stopping to buy a souvenir for Tycho, check out the wildlife, take pictures.

At the beach at the end of our walk we rented a pair of jet skis. And then mine ran out of gas and I was stranded out in the ocean, too far to see from the shore. No, I'm not kidding. Kyle had to go in and bring the rental guys back out to get me. I didn't really realize that it was kind of scary until we were safely back on land.

It was all perfectly lovely. Our last night was Valentine's Day, so we capped off our trip with a romantic dinner in the resort's "fancy" restaurant. It was so nice just being together, enjoying each other's company. It's been a long time since we've really been able to do that. Reconnecting was amazing.

I'm proud to say, also, that we didn't get weepy or emo about Tycho. Not at all, really. I only began to miss him when we were flying back home to Seattle, and I was sitting next to an adorable three year old. Her mother was apologizing profusely for the tiny feet periodically kicking me in the thigh, but tiny feet only make me happy.

I'm so glad we were able to go on this trip. It was just what we needed.

Missing Jaime.

There is no solace in death for an atheist. I don't, I can't believe that Jaime is in "a better place." Yes, I am glad she is no longer suffering, but I am so so sad that she is gone, and I'm so very angry about how deeply unfair it is. There are no platitudes. You can't tell me that at least she lived a long and full life, because although it was certainly full, it was cut tragically short.

Jaime's funeral was beautiful. I'm glad I was able to go. I wasn't sure it was appropriate for me, a random girl from the internet, to be there, but it turned out that it was. And that I'm not. Random, that is. Jaime's sister recognized Tycho, knew him by name. That meant the world to me.

On Saturday I felt so much lightness; Jaime picked a wonderful beautiful place for us to lay her to rest. I got to say my goodbye. Hugs and hand-holding with my friends in our grief.  But today it all feels so real and final and it is and I'm feeling crushed under the weight of this reality. She is still sitting in my chat favorites on facebook, seemingly just a click away, but not really, not anymore. I wonder how long it will take for her to disappear from there. I don't want her to, but she will, eventually, I know.

I wasn't ready for this to be so hard.

Today...

Rest in peace, friend.

Cycle Day One, I guess

Today I got my period for the first time since October 2010. It's a good sign I suppose, but I certainly didn't miss it.

I signed into Fertility Friend for the first time in forever. I don't think I'm going to do any serious charting this time around. I am definitely not interested in bothering with temping. But I will probably put in the stuff I happen to notice anyway, because why not?

For some reason I feel very weird about this.

Grief

My friend Jaime died yesterday.

Jaime was an amazing person. She knew what she wanted out of life. A husband, a house in the country, a beautiful kitchen, a baby, a garden and some chickens. She went out and got all of those things and she didn't wallow in comparisons or focus any of her energy on what anybody else had that she might be missing and she was just unapologetically HAPPY.

Jaime called me her "cheese wife." In some ways we were alternate universe versions of each other; so much in common, yet leading vastly different lives. We were pregnant together, sharing in that experience. Her daughter Katie was born just a month after Tycho. She made him a onesie once, with a rainbow unicorn and a cupcake on it. I sent Katie tiny pajamas with birds on them, because before Katie was born we knew her as "little bird." We she first got diagnosed with cancer she got a fabulous pixie cut. I admired and envied it, and she convinced me to get one too.

My friend Jaime died yesterday.

That's what I said at least. Jaime was a part of an online community of women, who I sometimes collectively call my imaginary friends; I've never actually met her in "real life," whatever that means. But she was my friend as much as anyone is my friend. I'm dropping the "imaginary" so that people better understand my grief. She is real to me.

Jaime was never supposed to be imaginary forever, anyway. We were constantly discussing opportunities to visit. When we found out she had cancer I started making more serious plans. Just a couple weeks ago, when the prognosis was six months, maybe more, we decided on the spring, probably May. And when things got worse, I vowed to go down right after we got back from Mexico, since I had already asked for a couple extra days off.

But she died yesterday, and I never got to see her beyond the screen. I never got to give her a hug. We never got to sit in the sun, eating rich foods and drinking wine. That is without a doubt what we would have done. We never got to see our babies play together. We never got to build a friendship that I won't have to justify to anyone. I never got to say goodbye.

She was just 33 years old. And only two months from her first cancer diagnosis to passing. When she found out she was sick, and that it was terminal, she was accepting, she was strong, she just wanted more time with her daughter. A year, maybe two, please, to see her little girl grow up, to make more memories. These past few weeks all I can think is that I just wish I could take a year off the end of my likely long and boring life and give it to her right now, so she could spend just a little more time raising her daughter and loving her husband.

I am just devastated. I am exhausted from crying, from mourning. My heart is breaking for her daughter, who will grow up not knowing her amazing mother, and for her husband who has lost his love, his wife, his best friend, and become a single father all in one day. And also for our community of imaginary friends. We are brought to our knees by this tragedy. We are all still so young; none of us are prepared for this loss.

My friend Jaime died yesterday.

It still hasn't completely sunk in, the permanence, that I will never talk to her again, that we won't get to meet like we both so badly wanted.

I bought a plane ticket today. I'm going to her funeral in San Francisco on Saturday. Maybe it is silly to blow so much money on this trip to see her dead, when I never was able to make it when she was living. Maybe, but sitting here in my anger and grief, doing nothing seems impossible. And something I can do is be present for her, and for her family, one more reminder of how fiercely she is loved. And I'll be making other imaginary friends real on this trip, and we can hold and support each other through this impossible time.

My friend Jaime died yesterday. I am not okay.

Volume 2, Chapter 1

"You are no longer protected against pregnancy."








Okay, let's let that sink in for a little while.