toddler

Overcompensating & Escapism

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Overcompensating and escapism have been the names of the game this summer. We are tired of being cooped up, tired of isolating, and tired of being house-bound. And yet, we are also unwilling to simply pretend that COVID-19 doesn’t exist like so many other Americans appear to be doing. It’s like people simply got bored of the pandemic and decided to return to business as usual. But business is not usual. Nothing about this situation is usual.

We want to give the girls a normal life, but we want to keep them safe. To that end, we have been seeking out mini-breaks that minimize risk but that are still fun. We created a family pod with our closest friends so that Pidge could at least have one other friend to play with. We are still overwhelmed, but we have been feeling pretty good about those decisions.

A month ago, we took a trip to the Maine coast. We watched as the little piping plovers darted about the sandy dunes and immediately thought that our second daughter should not be called Peach, but rather some derivation of piping plover. Piper? Pipes? Plove? She is so busy all the time!

Pidge enjoyed the waves of the Atlantic and the river estuary. We searched for shells, made a shell necklace, and swam in the pool. We wiped down every surface we came in contact with and used hand sanitizer non-stop. Every evening, we walked along the beach. Pidge ran naked, splashing and kicking in the giant puddles left behind as the tides receded. We snuggled and ate and breastfed in the sunset. On the third evening, fog crept in. It felt dystopian and weird, exactly how our time under COVID has felt. Parenting during a pandemic is the equivalent of doing essential work with no childcare, for no pay, and if you are lucky, doing it while also working a “real” job that runs concurrently. It is simultaneously impossible and indispensable. Every day I fight exhaustion from doing way, way too much. And yet, I would take it on tenfold if it meant keeping my little ones safe, protected, and feeling loved. I don’t want them to sense my overwhelm. I don’t want them to know my fear. I hope more than anything that this will be a passing moment in history; that someday we will tell the story of masked breastfeeding in the fog to our children as they listen, wide-eyed in disbelief. I hope more than anything that this is not a glimpse into their future. In the meantime, all I can do is my best—for public health, for my babies, and for myself.

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Big breath.

And more escapism.

We went camping. It was Pidge’s fourth trip and Piper’s first. We set up our amazing tent, cooked hot dogs and s’mores (all vegan, of course), hiked, and swam in Emerald Lake. Funny, although Pidge definitely liked her first s’more, she was overwhelmed by the sugar. She ate three quarters of it and then asked for vegetables instead! The dogs came with us, and a good time was had by all. Rain had been predicted, but it hardly rained at all! When it did, it was a torrential downpour in a sudden cloudburst – exciting and fun. Pidge kept telling Mama to hurry and feed the fire, which she gladly did despite getting soaked. On the last night, we tried to start the car but it wouldn’t turn over. We used our jumper cables but didn’t have enough power to get it going. Piper was screaming, I was trying to nurse her in the tent, and my wife was running around with Pidge, asking for help. A very nice family from Connecticut came over to help us. They fidgeted with the engine and hooked up jumper cables to their powerful truck. No one wore a mask. We were so thankful, but we were also terrified. Thankfully, no one got COVID (at least not that we know), but it is just so hard to have what would be helpful interactions turn into stress and anxiety.

We went to Cape Cod with our pod family. The girls had a blast running along the shoreline looking for crabs. We enjoyed the beach house, cooking together, and taking walks through the neighborhood and on the beach. We talked about moving to Canada.

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I took another camping trip with the girls while my wife stayed home to do her grad school work. She is currently attempting to write her thesis, all while parenting full-time as I work two jobs. Generally speaking, the camping trip went well. We arrived early evening and I was so proud of myself for getting the tent up with a toddler and a baby. Pidge tried to help with the tent stakes. She’s an amazing kid. That night, we had a fire and roasted hot dogs and ate s’mores. It’s becoming a camping tradition! We went to bed late, and around 3AM, Piper started piping. Loudly piping. At this point, Pidge was up as well. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole campground was up because Piper was LOUD. I ran everyone to the car to muffle the noise. Piper refused to breastfeed, so I started pumping. Pidge found popcorn in the glove box and started munching away as we listened to Putumayo’s Latin Playground on CD. What a memory! By then it was too late to go back to sleep, so we waited until it was suitably light enough to be officially up for the day and built a fire. We went on a morning walk and later took a hike to a large waterfall. We spent two nights at the campground and came home happy.

But,

We. Are. Exhausted.

I try to look on the bright side of everything. We are making memories and loving each other. But we are just so tired. And we can’t ask for help. And our overcompensating and escapism is beginning to cause more exhaustion but we are just so tired of being stuck – at home, and in this pandemic. We are tired of not seeing family. Pipes is almost five months old and none of our family members have met her.

 

And my wife’s grandma has COVID-19.

Privilege, Protests, Riots, and Raising Anti-Racist Children

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When I was young, I conflated racism with prejudice and open hatred. I believed that only “bad people” were racist. As a result, I did not recognize my parents’ or relatives’ racial jokes and slurs as evidence of not only prejudice, but also actively perpetuating racism by overtly and covertly sending them message that white people were better than people of color. I internalized this message and I am actively working on unlearning that racism today. Additionally, because of how I was raised, it took me until college to begin to recognize and see the way systems have worked to continue to oppress people of color. My childhood experience can be summarized in the following quote by Scott Woods:

The problem is that white people see racism as conscious hate, when racism is bigger than that. Racism is a complex system of social and political levers and pulleys set up generations ago to continue working on behalf of whites at other people’s expense, whether whites know/like it or not. Racism is an insidious cultural disease. It is so insidious that it doesn’t care if you are a white person who likes Black people; it’s still going to find a way to infect how you deal with people who don’t look like you. Yes, racism looks like hate, but hate is just one manifestation. Privilege is another. Access is another. Ignorance is another. Apathy is another. And so on. So while I agree with people who say no one is born racist, it remains a powerful system that we’re immediately born into. It’s like being born into air: you take it in as soon as you breathe. It’s not a cold that you can get over. There is no anti-racist certification class. It’s a set of socioeconomic traps and cultural values that are fired up every time we interact with the world. It is a thing you have to keep scooping out of the boat of your life to keep from drowning in it. I know it’s hard work, but it’s the price you pay for owning everything.

It is becoming increasingly apparent that we cannot just teach children to be kind and inclusive. One reason is that we do not operate on a level playing field. Although our family may face some stigma due to being queer, we have also inherited safety and security due to our white privilege. We need to teach our children to be actively anti-racist, and we need to be actively anti-racist ourselves.

According to Curious Parenting, “Anti-racism recognizes that racist beliefs have permeated our culture and created systemic problems. Rather than just talking about it, anti-racism asks that we actively work against it.” This means teaching Pidge and Peach that skin color deeply affects how people view each other. It means not hedging when describing the ways that people of color have been treated and systemically disadvantaged. It means using media to point out examples of racism and stereotypes, it means expanding our library and resources, and it means giving Pidge and Peach contextual examples of their privilege.

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A little light reading for Baby Pidge

Our small town in Vermont held a protest against police brutality, specifically after the murder of George Floyd. We wore masks, practiced extreme social distancing, and attended the protest with the kids. Before we went, we talked about why we were going. We explained, in toddler terms and with sensitivity to age, what happened to George Floyd and how skin color influenced that interaction. We discussed a little bit about what racism is, and why it is wrong. At the protest, Pidge held a sign. One side of the sign read, “Black Lives Matter. Say his name: George Floyd.” The other side read, “Toddlers against racism.” Pidge was respectful and quiet during the 9 minutes of silence we observed. She listened when the speaker stated the names of several people of color who have recently been killed by police. She later asked questions about the protest and about the things that were said at the protest, and we were able to engage in meaningful dialogue about it. I am looking forward to continued dialogue as my wife and I expand our knowledge of how to engage in effective anti-racism work with children.

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June 6th was my anniversary with my wife. On June 6th, my wife and I celebrated 11 years, 2 kids, 2 dogs, 2 cats, beautiful careers, a beautiful home, and most of all, each other.

It was not lost on us that we are able to celebrate because of the sacrifices of those who came before us. Beneath the rainbows and pithy slogans that color Pride month every June, lies the blood, sweat, tears, and bodies of activists. We experience safety, security, happiness, and love because of people who rioted. They risked everything, and often lost everything, so that we can have everything.

Right now, the fight is for black lives. Of course, this has been a fight all along, but it is especially true today. Stonewall was a riot, and I have reaped the benefits. May today’s riots be a catalyst for the safety, security, access, and justice people of color have been denied for so long. May I take it upon myself to learn how to help, and then help. One way to do that is to raise anti-racist children. It is the least I can do.

Birth, again.

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March 14th, 11:30 PM.

I’m awake again. Every night for the past several weeks it has been the same—exhaustion, early bedtime, then two to three hours of sleeplessness in the middle of the night. Pregnancy is the worst, I think to myself as I attempt to heave my massive body out of bed. But before I do, a twinge hits me in the lower abdomen. A cramp of sorts. It’s in my back, too. I pause. Could this be it? I am past my due date so it might be. . . No, I tell myself. That’s just wishful thinking.

I hobble downstairs and sit on the couch. A cramp again. That’s strange, I think. Again, I dismiss it. I turn on the television. Frozen II. Let’s see what the fuss is about.

Twenty minutes go by. Ow. Another pang. I go to the bathroom.

Blood.

Oh my god, so much blood.

My heart sinks. My mind immediately flashes back to my miscarriage. The cramping, the bleeding. Just like this. Just like this. Oh my god.

I go wake my wife. “What’s wrong?” she asks, panicked as she reads my face. I tell her about the blood. She tries to calm me by telling me that it might be the “bloody show,” or the start of labor. “No,” I say. “There was too much blood for that.” We text the midwives.

Over the next several hours, I monitor the blood loss. It slows a bit, which brings me some comfort, but not enough. The cramps continue. My mind whirls.

More hours, no blood. Thank goodness. But cramping. Painful cramping. Patterned cramping. Labor! This is it!

As night transitions to dawn, my worry begins to transform into excitement. We are going to meet our baby today. March 15th—Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s birthday. I love it.

The contractions start coming every four minutes. Despite the pain, I try to do everything I’m supposed to. I eat well. I hydrate. I go for a walk with my family. I can do this, I tell myself. I’m ready.

The day continues and the contractions progress. By 5:00 PM, they’re coming every minute and they are intense—nothing like I have ever felt before. I move between the yoga ball and the tub. I am on my knees a lot.

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My wife works to keep me hydrated and as comfortable as possible. Pidge has been precious all day, and continues to be. Earlier in the day, she bathed with me, pouring water over my back while singing, “Oh my doula” to the tune of “Oh my darling, Clementine.” As I bent over the yoga ball, she rubbed my lower back and kissed me sweetly. When I began to get more audible during contractions, she grabbed her headphones. Naked, wearing only a bag to hold her music and donning large blue headphones over her ears, she gave me a little pat and explained to my wife about what was happening. “She having a birf, Mama.” Adorable.

We text the midwives. I worry that we’re texting them too early. I worry that we’re texting them too late. I have no sense of time and no sense of how much progress I have made during labor. All I know is that after this many hours of labor, my wife had already had Pidge.

The first midwife arrives and begins arranging the supplies. She checks baby’s heartbeat—all good. She checks my blood pressure—all good. Good, I think. Things are good.

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Labor continues. And continues and continues. A second midwife arrives. A third arrives.

March 15th, 11:30 PM.

24 hours of labor have passed and it’s not looking like we’re having this baby tonight.

The contractions intensify. Pidge is asleep now, and honestly I have no idea how she is managing it as I am completely unable to control my volume. I start throwing up. A little at first, but then I realize that it’s happening with every contraction. We start keeping bowls next to me.

March 16th, 4:00 AM.

How much longer will this continue? My body is sore, I am exhausted. My throat is hurting from persistent vomiting. One of the midwives tells me that they rarely do cervical exams during home births, but that she can perform one if I want to know where I am. Do I? If I’m far along, that will really help me. But if I’ve hardly made any progress. . . I decide I want to know. I lay back on the couch and the midwife reaches in. She feels around. Then she smiles. 9 cm.

Nine. NINE. I’m so close!

I continue to labor. I feel my body start to push. I remember when this happened with my wife. She gave birth two hours later! Maybe I only had two hours left. . .

Two hours roll by. Three.

The midwife does another exam. I’m told that she can feel her head, right up against the cervical opening. However, the bag of waters has not yet broken. “It is possible,” the midwife says, “that the bag is preventing her from moving down. Without the bag, her head might be small enough to make it through the opening. We never recommend this, but if we break the bag, there’s a chance she could be born very quickly.” I weigh my options. I don’t really want to start interventions, but the idea of labor being over soon is too appealing to dismiss. I agree to have the midwife break the bag.

SPLOOSH! Amniotic fluid gushed out of my body. Not just a little—a lot. And when I would think it was over, more poured out. I could not believe how much water was inside me! Then the vomiting came. Not just a little—a lot.

The contractions intensify. The pushing becomes unbearable. The vomiting continues. I begin experiencing extreme soreness. Why hasn’t she come yet?

More hours go by. I ask the midwife to check again. I watch her face drop. “This isn’t what you want to hear,” she said. Baby’s head did not slide through the cervix. Instead, her head dropped at a slightly incorrect angle and had begun ramming against my cervix. In response, my cervix hardened and started swelling. I was now at 7 cm.

No, I cried. No. I had to stop pushing in order to relax and re-dilate my cervix. But how can I stop something that’s involuntary? I get back in the pool, hoping the warm water could soothe me. With every contraction, pain sears through my body. 34 hours of labor. I cry. I vomit. I try to breathe through the contractions. I collapse with exhaustion. Our friends come over and pick up Pidge.

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At hour 36, the midwife checks my cervix again. 10 centimeters, and the head is close. Oh my god, thank you. I gather my strength and prepare to push.

With each contraction, I push with everything I have in me. I moan and growl and yell and turn red in the face and burst capillaries in my cheeks and push and push and push. After each contraction, I vomit.

My wife offers encouragement. “You’re so close,” she says. “I can see the head!” She shows me a photo she took on her phone. But as I look at the photo, all I see is the teeniest bit of the baby’s hair. I want to be encouraged, but I can’t believe that was all I had pushed out so far! With all the pressure, all the pain, I really thought I had made more progress. Ugh!

I keep pushing. I change positions and push again. You can do this, I tell myself. You are so close. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and repeat the chant I had been thinking but not saying throughout the whole labor: I’m breathing her down. Down through my pelvis, and into my arms.

After three hours of pushing, she finally emerges. She comes out with her hand up by her face, resulting in three separate lacerations that tear through skin and muscle. But I don’t even notice. I am so happy she is born that I burst into tears.

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The midwife places the baby, who I will refer to as Peach, on my chest. Her tiny, hazy eyes gaze up at me. She latches immediately and begins to suckle. My baby. Our baby. My wife is crying, too.

We did it.

 

 

39w3d

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We’re almost there, inching ever closer to our second baby’s birth day. I know it’s coming, but I almost can’t fathom it. Are we really going to have another baby in the house?

I vacillate back and forth between surprise that I haven’t given birth already and thinking that the baby will never come. Pregnancy is getting increasingly uncomfortable. I’m not sleeping and it feels like everything I do is a struggle.

Our home birth supplies are set up neatly against the wall in our sunroom. We’re ready. Are we? We seem to be. . .

Truth is, we’re tired. And while having a newborn will bring its own set of challenges, living in limbo is challenging, too. We feel caught between two worlds and we’re juggling a lot. My wife is working a full-time job, prepping for her absence, taking care of a toddler, attending grad school full-time, and trying to manage household duties. Until two days ago, I had been commuting three hours every day to work as an attorney and professor at the law school. By the time I got home, it was all I could do to help a little with Pidge and with the house before I collapsed into bed. As we wait for labor to begin, I am still working, but I am working from home, which is much, much better. I can finally get that in-case-I-give-birth-on-the-interstate bag out of my car and breathe a bit. Only a bit, though, because now we’ve got Coronavirus to contend with. Good grief.

Pidge is getting antsy. We have been talking about this baby for the majority of the last year. She knows the baby is coming, but I think she gets tired of us talking about it. She wants it to happen already (me too, kid).

We’ve been trying to prepare her for the birth. We have been reading her stories like Hello, Baby and the book I made about how she was born. Although she is typically screen-free, I decided to show her the video of her birth. I thought it might be a good idea for her to experience the sights and sounds of what birth looks like. She watched, entranced. When my wife got to the hard pushing, Pidge winced and teared up and covered her ears. Birth is a lot for a 2.5-year-old. I hugged her close to me and told her that yes, Mama was in pain, but she was roaring like a lion because she is so strong. At the end of the video, I asked her if she wants to be with us when the new baby is born or if she wants to be somewhere else. She thought for a moment, tilted her head, and then said, “I want to be here, but I want to wear headphones.” What a little problem solver.

So now we wait. We work and we try to go about normal life and we wash our hands and we snuggle our toddler and we wait.

Brussels Sprouts, Breast Pumps, and Blessing Ways

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It has been awhile since I last posted. Thanksgiving has come and gone, and we are now well on our way into the Christmas season.

Pidge is working on understanding the concept of “holiday.” Her first real association with the word happened around Halloween. She has a book, Clifford’s Halloween, in which the main character, Emily Elizabeth, outlines all the holidays and proudly proclaims that Halloween is her favorite. Pidge loves that book, and we read it to her often (albeit with some modifications to better align with our values). Consequently, Pidge was adamant that she dress up as Clifford for Halloween. As we had already put together her costume, we held off, hoping she would change her mind. But she never did. She held fast to her desire to be Clifford, and a few days before Halloween I found myself scrambling to transform my 2-year-old into America’s most beloved big red dog. The venture was successful, and Pidge was the cutest puppy I have ever seen.

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When Thanksgiving rolled around, Pidge could not understand how it too was a holiday. Halloween was the holiday, right? We tried to explain how holidays are special days we set aside to engage in various traditions. Of course, there are some holidays where traditions have been modified to fit our lifestyle, and Thanksgiving is one of them. We no longer tell or celebrate the fictive account of pilgrims and “Indians” that whitewashes the horrors inflicted on indigenous peoples by colonizers. We do not center our meal around a dead turkey. Instead, we recognize the history of the land we occupy, we engage in the practice of acknowledging our blessings and giving thanks, and we spend time together as a family.

One way we spend time together on Thanksgiving is by cooking together. This year, we enjoyed a large meal consisting of a Tofurkey roast (cooked to perfection), mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade stuffing, brussels sprouts, and crescent rolls. For dessert we prepared a vegan cheesecake and we washed it all down with sparkling cider.

We make it a point to actively engage Pidge in everything we do, including food prep and cooking. Pidge was the best kitchen helper. She donned her new apron and chef’s hat and meticulously scrubbed and peeled potatoes. She practiced her knife skills by dicing and chopping, preparing the vegetables for the stuffing. Pidge helped me cut and peel the brussels sprouts. Her little brow furrowed as she concentrated on each task, working hard to do it just right. We loved spending this time with her and watching her beam with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Between prepping, Pidge and Mama danced around the kitchen, Pidge squealing with delight and shouting, “Happy Gives-Thanking!” over and over.

We sat down to dinner and fully expected Pidge to zero in on the crescent roll, forsaking all the nutrition on her plate. Much to our surprise and delight, Pidge’s favorite item on her plate was her brussels sprouts! She left portions of the roll and potatoes, but came back for seconds on brussels sprouts. Hooray for a vegan kid who loves her greens!

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Now we’re on to preparing for Christmas, and for that next big adventure. . . baby #2! We decided we want to co-nurse this baby, just like we did with Pidge. Consequently, my wife had begun the process of inducing lactation since, despite Pidge still enjoying the occasional comfort nursing session, neither she nor I are producing milk at this time. As a key part of the process, my wife has begun setting herself up to a breast pump multiple times per day. We were unsure how Pidge would react to this process, but she is fascinated. She watches my wife closely, helps adjust the flanges, and looks for milk. She will often remind my wife that it’s time to pump, running over to her while holding flanges and saying, “Mama! Breast pump!” Pidge knows that Mama is working to make milk for her little sister’s arrival and her enthusiasm around the process is beyond adorable.

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Another way we have been preparing for our next baby’s arrival is by working with the same midwives who helped us through Pidge’s birth. Initially, I had been unsure whether I wanted to use the services of home birth midwives. I was drawn to the idea, partly because of how wonderful our previous birth experience was. However, I was also nervous. My family has a history of C-sections, the nurses at the hospital have been consistently telling me I’m high risk because of my age, and my previous miscarriage made this whole pregnancy feel fragile. That said, the reality is that this entire pregnancy has been overwhelmingly normal. Aside from some of my digestive problems, everything has been progressing normally and there have not been any complications. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to take my prenatal care and birth into my own hands. I was tired of what seemed like the endless search for pathology that the hospital was engaging in, and I was ready to embrace more holistic care. So here I am, back in the care of our home birth midwives, planning my own home birth (with back-up plans, of course). I am a little hesitant, but I am also excited and I feel so incredibly supported by this medical team.

Where I don’t feel as much support is in my community. I think that part of this is because I’m somewhere between thinking and feeling, left-brained and right-brained, emotional and logical. If I could get with the whole woo-woo sacred birth concept, I would find support there. Conversely, if I was more clinical and less attuned to the emotional nature of bringing new life into the world, I could find companionship in that shared experience. But I am in the middle. I don’t want a traditional Blessing Way and we don’t need a baby shower, but I do want intention around this experience, and I want other people to acknowledge the specialness of giving birth. We’ve decided to create our own version of what I want/need. Our plan, as of now, is to invite friends over to celebrate the upcoming birth of this baby. We will put out a bowl of beads and each friend will choose a bead and write down a good intention either for me or for the baby. Then, we will string all the beads together into a bracelet, which I can wear while giving birth and later give to our daughter. We will also provide guests with tea lights, which they can light when I go into labor. I hope that isn’t self-indulgent. I think it sounds nice.

We are going to need some good intentions, because I start a new job in January. Honestly, it is a dream job. I was hired at a law school to teach family law and also to serve as a staff attorney in the legal clinic, representing children. I am very excited about it. Unfortunately, it also comes with an hour and a half commute each way and I will be starting the job about 6 weeks before my due date. I am nervous about going into labor far away from home with Vermont’s notoriously hazardous winter conditions. I am also worried about the sustainability of such a long commute, but we can move. Perhaps that’s what our future holds: Brussels sprouts, breast pumps, Blessing Ways, babies, and relocation. In other words, beautiful new beginnings.

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A day off

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My wife gave me the day off. Really, she gave me permission to take the day off. I’m thankful. Without her blessing, I tend to feel really guilty any time I take some time to myself.

Although today is Sunday, it was going to be a working day. I had planned to spend the day doing legal work to help us get over a little financial slump we’re having right now. Bills are piling up and so is the stress. This morning I wore the stress on my face like caked-on makeup; my wife couldn’t help but see it. You need a break, she said. She’s right.

To give me some time, my wife took Pidge out to a children’s museum—a nice way to spend a rainy day. How will I spend my day?

I sit down in our little gray rocking chair and take out my computer. Although my intention is not to work, the pull is there and I do a little bit. Stop it, I tell myself. I pause for a moment and listen. The rain falls from the sky in two tones – the quick and full rush of steady rainfall on our metal roof, and the drip-plop-splash of the accumulation as it slides from the awnings to the stones and concrete below. Our 13-year-old cat purrs loudly as she snuggles onto my lap, nuzzling her head against my chest and hands. The little baby growing inside of me pushes back against the pressure of the cat on my abdomen. I love that.

I love feeling the baby roll and kick and stretch. I have never felt anything like it before. She doesn’t do it constantly, but it’s frequent enough to be reassuring, frequent enough to bring a much-needed smile to my face. You feel her when you’re still, I remind myself. Be still.

In today’s world of stress and busyness and work, it is hard to be still. I think stillness also goes against my nature. When I was in college, a professor made a comment about me: “She likes to be busy.” I remember being so insulted. No I don’t, I thought. No one likes to be busy. I have to be busy. I don’t have a choice. I am starting to realize that sometimes that is true, and sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes I don’t have a choice—I need to work, and work hard, in order to make ends meet. Other times, I can choose to slow down. In fact, if I don’t choose to slow down, my body will choose it for me by making me so sick that I am forced to take a day off. If I’m going to be taking a day off anyway, it might as well be when I want it, right? I moved to Vermont for a still life—one that wasn’t packed with traffic and hustle and concrete and people. New Englanders work hard, but they also know the peace that comes from quiet, rural living. I need that peace. I need that stillness.

Stillness for me sometimes comes in the form of sitting and reading by the fire, or snuggling with pets. It can also come by engaging in passion projects, which is what I think I will do today. I like creating pretty things, and today I intend to work on figuring out how to transform Pidge’s room into a sibling room. Of course it will be some time before Pidge’s sister joins her in that room, but it might be nice for Pidge to get used to a new arrangement. It also might help my wife and I to feel like we are really expecting another child. It seems odd to say it that way, but it’s true. While we know in our heads that this baby is coming, it has been difficult to fully appreciate our upcoming addition to our lives. It seems surreal at times, and the constant days filled with toddler parenting and work leave little room to sit back and wonder about the changes heading our way.

I put my hand on my abdomen. We are busy, but you are here. We are busy, but we will never be too busy for you.

Our other cat meanders into the room. He and the cat on my lap don’t typically get along, but today is different. It’s a rainy day. It’s a cozy day. It’s a day for shelving tension, for relaxing and engaging meaningfully and quieting the stress. I take a deep breath, exhale, and feel a little bit better.

Exhaustion.

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I’m so tired. Not the kind of tired where you just need a few extra hours of sleep. Not the kind where a mini-break will fix it. Tired, tired. The sort of tired where it seeps into your bones and into your being and your muscles all ache from the weight of it.

I’m working too much. At my previous job, I was overstressed and overworked, so I opted for a career change for the betterment of my family. That may happen over time, but the immediate shift from lawyering to teaching caused a significant financial burden on my family so, as a stopgap, I got a second remote job. Then a third. These days I find myself up at 4:00 AM every morning, doing remote legal work until my toddler wakes up, getting myself ready for teaching and my toddler ready for preschool, working a full 8 hours at the elementary and middle school (mostly on my feet) with only a 20-minute break for lunch in the day, coming home, doing the toddler evening routine, possibly working more (though often I crash into bed at this time), then spending at least one full day every weekend working. All. While. Pregnant.

I feel like I could collapse at any moment.

My wife is as helpful and supportive as she can be. She is so good with Pidge. But she is also in graduate school and trying to work and her current earning potential isn’t enough, so we’re stuck.

I’m trying to remind myself that this is temporary; that we’ll get out of this rut sooner or later. But my body feels weak and my mind keeps circling around whether or not I made a bad decision trying to move from law to teaching, particularly at this time in my life. Something’s gotta give.

It’s not all bad, though. Amidst the exhaustion and frustration, I’m growing this little person inside of me who, by all accounts, seems to be thriving. We just had the mid-pregnancy ultrasound last week. I had been especially nervous because I had not yet felt the baby move. What if the baby had died inside of me? What if there was something terribly wrong? As I stretched out on the examination table, I held my wife’s hand and my breath. Then the baby appeared on the screen—wiggling and kicking and rolling and thumb-sucking. It was incredible to watch and so very reassuring. The next day, I thought felt movement. Was the baby really moving, or was my mind playing tricks on me after having spent an hour watching the baby do somersaults in my uterus? My wife put her hand on my lower abdomen. Just as I thought I felt something, her eyes got big and a huge smile crept over her face. She felt it, too. Our baby, saying hello.

I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to go over the results of the ultrasound. I’m planning to discuss my exhaustion, and see what I can do. Since this is my first year teaching, the school gave me one 90-minute class to teach and the rest is playground duty. 4.5 hours of my time each day is dedicated to watching 20+ kids play on the monkey bars. It’s mind-numbing, or it’s an exhausting stretch of conflict resolution. There is hardly any time to sit, and I am paid so very, very little. I think about how I could be doing my second job during those hours rather than at 4:00 in the morning. Or about how I might not even need the weekend job if I could use my time better. Of course, I’m thankful that the school allowed me to teach at all before I am licensed, and I love, love, love the class I am teaching, but the recess duty has got to go. One of my nurse midwives suggested that I talk to the doctor about this as it is not very safe to have a pregnant person outside and on her feet for that many hours, particularly when there is ice to slip on and the temperatures often drop below 10 degrees Fahrenheit. We shall see what the doctor says.

In the meantime, I just need to keep on keeping on. It is temporary. It is just a season. In March we will have a new baby to love and potentially some time to recoup. I just have to make it to Spring.

Mother’s Day

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“Good morning, beautiful. Happy Mother’s Day.” My wife gave me a pained smile and hoarsely responded with her own version of the phrase. She was sick. A stomach bug.

I knew the best gift I could give her would be to let her rest, and so began a day focused solely on Pidge and me. Together we cooked breakfast, read books, played with puzzles, danced, sang, baked cupcakes, made videos for my wife (“Happys day Mamaaaa!”), hiked with the dogs and tromped bare-bummed through wet grass. It was exhausting and beautiful; hard work and magic.

It was perfect.

If you don’t have kids, maybe motherhood just comes across as emotional labor and sleepless nights and exhaustion that somehow brews magic but looks like the usual assortment of diaper changes and tantrums. With the advent of blogging and social media, we’re all given the opportunity to peer into other people’s veneers of motherhood, highlight reels depicting sunshine and laughter and toothless smiles. We caption these moments with hard work and magic, because so much of motherhood lies somewhere in between.

I look over at my daughter. She notices my observance and flashes a smile, tilts back her head, and shakes her curls. She pops up to her feet and puts her hands on her knees. She’s waiting for me. Waiting for me to pat-pat-pat my legs or spread my arms wide, both acts an invitation. She squeals with delight and charges toward me. This game repeats and repeats until she inevitably face-plants, tears immediately streaming down her surprised face. I rush to her, scoop her up, and snuggle the tears away. I ask her if she needs an ice pack and she says, “No. Mom, Mom, Mom. Kiss. Snuggle. Mom.” She just needs me.

And in these moments, as I cradle my daughter who somehow seems so big and yet so very small, I realize something. My daughter didn’t just change me into a mom; she changed the way light hits an object. Everything looks different, not just because she exists, but because my own existence is so valuable to her.

Someday she won’t need me like this. Someday I may watch as she runs wide-armed to someone else, or seeks solace or comfort in another. Next weekend we will focus on my wife and her special relationship with Pidge, and I will rejoice with her as we celebrate her Mama. But not last Sunday. Last Sunday it was Pidge and me and hard work and magic and love. Last Sunday it was my Mother’s Day.

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Cycle Day: March

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“This is the time of year that makes Vermonters strong.”

It was one of the first things said to me when my wife and I moved to Vermont in 2012. At the time, we didn’t understand. How could we? At the time, we were still star struck by our new state, in awe of the bare trees, the shadows they cast, the rock formations proudly jutting out of the landscape, and the snow. The pretty white snow blanketing any misgivings we may have had about moving 3,000 miles away from our families.

Today, we know. Even as people who love winter, the snow and the skiing, the coziness of inside, we understand the meaning of that statement uttered to us seven years ago. March is hard. Winter, despite its beauty, is long. It is dark and cold and icy. Our days are predominantly spent inside and our skin longs for the warmth of the summer sun. Unlike many places in March, Vermont is not abloom. Vermont still vacillates between arctic chill and sloshy mud. The wind howls and everything, including much of the snow, is brown. So much brown. Everything is dirty, everyone is inside.

Our first spring with a toddler, this March has been especially tough. She has no place to run or stretch or dance in our little home. She began experiencing slight delays in her gross motor development.

Adding more mud to March, Pidge is having health issues. She began experiencing a phenomenon where her hands and feet and lips would occasionally turn blue, something called cyanosis. Her pediatrician ordered some tests, and the results were frightening. Hypothyroidism. Possible autoimmune disease. Possible Type I diabetes. Blockage in the heart. We held back our tears but stress and fear welled up.

I was trying to get pregnant and my period was eight days late, but every pregnancy test was negative. What was going on? I felt trapped between waiting and pregnancy. Women who are trying to conceive monitor their cycle days. I felt like I was in cycle day March.

But here’s the thing. March is how you look at it.

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Pidge looking out the window at March

Fifteen years ago, I was living with my brother in Northern California. I remember lounging on my back on the living room sofa reading a book, when I looked up and saw the moon perfectly framed in the highest window. It was full and clear and there was even a redwood tree right next to it, like a postcard picture. I pointed it out to my brother, who was in the kitchen.

Look. The moon.

The only trouble was, from where he was the moon was blocked by a big piece of house. There was no moon, no postcard redwood in his view.

But instead of telling me it wasn’t there, he set down the pan he was washing and walked over to me, leaning and tilting his head until he could see my moon in the window.

And I’m thinking about this because I’m thinking about March, and about what a difference a little perspective can make.

Pidge’s cyanosis led us to have her tested at Dartmouth for a whole host of health issues. We are thankful that we are able to get ahead of these issues, and to treat as necessary. And, according to her pediatric endocrinologist and pediatric cardiologist, her prognosis is actually much better than we thought.

After forty days of waiting, I started my period. I am not pregnant. Not this time. But at least the waiting is finally over. My hope is renewed, and I am excited to try again.

Last Sunday, I redecorated a room in our house. If we are going to be stuck inside, I thought, let’s create some space to move. I got rid of bulky furniture and added a big, bright, colorful rug. When Pidge saw it, her eyes instantly brightened. She ran over to her rug and danced.

Maybe March is tough and beautiful. Maybe the snow is tedious and brilliant. Maybe it is making the most of inside time with a dance on a rainbow rug. Maybe it is just a matter of walking into a new room to come see that there really is a moon in the window.

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Iceland

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My wife was having a milestone birthday, and I wanted to surprise her with something big. It had been a long-time dream of hers to see Iceland, so I secretly booked a vacation for the entire family. She was beyond excited.

On December 31st, we packed our bags and headed to Boston. Our flight was scheduled for the evening of January 1st, so we were able to spend almost an entire day exploring our closest big city. We woke early and had breakfast at Pavement Coffeehouse. I loved being able to enjoy a jalapeno bagel with spicy vegan cream cheese, something I had not had since becoming vegan a decade ago. After breakfast, we spent some time walking along Boston’s Fort Point harbor. The weather was perfect. The sky was a bright blue and the air was crisp and fresh. We spent much of the day at the Boston Children’s Museum. Pidge had a great time playing with bubbles and exploring the many exhibits the museum had to offer.

We got to the airport early—too early for a 16-month-old. She toddled about the terminal, snacking on bananas, reading books, kicking off her boots, sprawling on the ground, and waving to every person she saw. We changed her into her jammies before our overnight journey and as luck would have it, she slept for most of the flight. My wife and I did not sleep, and we were quite exhausted by the time we reached the Keflavik airport at 5:00 AM. We mustered up the energy to rent our car and drive into Reykjavík. Our apartment for the week was located on the 5th floor in the city center. We had a view of the ocean and Mount Esja across the bay. We admired the view for a while, then we crashed.

We woke up a few hours later and decided to explore the city. We walked down many beautiful streets lined with multicolored buildings. We made our way to a vegan cat café where we enjoyed a nice soya latte and a late breakfast. Pidge loved the cat café. She made sure she said hi to every cat in the restaurant, pointing to each one over and over. “Hi, kitty! Kitty cat. Neowww.” We walked up to Hallgrímskirkja, the largest church in Iceland (244 feet high) and among the tallest structures in the country. It was incredible.

The locals are who convinced us to try the city pools. They said swimming in winter is an Icelandic tradition. We went to the pool and everyone is required to shower naked before swimming. It was actually nice to see how everyone was so comfortable with each other and with their bodies. So many people were engaging in conversations with us and chatting about Pidge—all while we were stark naked! Then we got in our swimsuits. There were 6 separate outdoor pools in the facility. We spent a lot of our time in the really shallow warm pool with Pidge, and then did a few laps in the big colder pool. Pidge even went for a dip in the big pool! We swam for almost two hours at night while the lights from the big (huge) church towered over us. It was simultaneously invigorating and relaxing.

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After swimming we went to dinner at Café Vinyl, the first all-vegan restaurant in Reykjavík. Pidge fell asleep on the walk, and continued to sleep on a couch in the restaurant. It was hilarious and adorable. That night, Pidge slept for 12 hours. I guess she was exhausted from our traveling, too.

The next morning, we all slept in and then had breakfast at a creperie in downtown Reykjavík. Although it was 9:00 AM, it was still dark out. It felt like we were walking through the city at night but for the fact that everything smelled like breakfast.

After breakfast, we started our drive around the Golden Circle. Our first stop was Þingvellir, home to the oldest parliament in the world and also the continental divide between the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates. We were able to walk between the plates, which was incredible. Rock towered over us on both sides. We were surrounded by valleys and fjords and waterfalls. We saw Oxafoss waterfall in Þingvellir.

After Þingvellir, we drove to Geysir. The ground smoldered and appeared alive. Mud pots boiled and the smell of sulfur filled the air. We watched as the Strokkur Geysir erupted and shot steaming water somewhere around 50 feet into the sky.

After Geysir, we headed to Gullfoss, one of Iceland’s most massive waterfalls. Gullfoss is actually two falls and it rises like Niagara. We learned the story of Sigridur, the daughter of a local farmer who in 1907 traveled barefoot to Reykjavík for a very long trial to save the waterfall from a businessman who wanted to turn the falls into a power plant. She won, and the falls remain today. They were spectacular.

After all that sightseeing in the cold and wet air, we decided to warm up in a secret geothermal lagoon that we learned about on an insider tip. It was incredible. Pidge loved soaking in the warm water.

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We got Icelandic pizza for dinner. It was topped with pesto, mushrooms, hot red chilis, Icelandic dulse (seaweed), shaved coconut, green onions, and sesame oil. We would have never dreamed of such a combination, but it was delicious! Pidge shared a little, but she was more excited about the pistachio-lime popsicle they gave her at the end.

On Friday we got up early to explore Iceland’s beautiful South Coast. We knew it would be a long drive, and we wanted to make the most of the precious daylight hours. We left Reykjavík and headed over the mountain toward Hveragerði. The mountain pass was dark and foggy and rainy. Driving was terrifying as you couldn’t even see the taillights in front of you! The darkness remained for hours, though the driving became less treacherous, thank goodness.

As the light began to break around 10:00 AM, my wife and I were left breathless by the astounding beauty. Mountains charged upward, towering over us on our left. We could not believe how tall they were and how sharply they rose. They had dramatic peaks and rocky ledges. Birds swarmed around them. To our right were the flat, black lava fields with veins of water that ran to the sea.

About three hours in we stopped at Reynisfjara, the volcanic black sand beach rated as one of National Geographic’s top 10 beaches in the world. We walked on the shore to find a large cave lined with basalt columns. Our photos do not accurately depict how enormous they were. Off the shore were multiple sea stacks, home to thousands of nesting birds. The massive waves crashed onto the shore as they traveled unobstructed from Antarctica.

Near Reynisfjara, we passed through the picturesque town of Vík í Mýrdal.  It sits in the shadow of Mýrdalsjökull glacier, which covers the Katla volcano. As we continued our drive, the sun began to shine brighter on the cliffs, which were covered in waterfalls. At one point my wife counted 11 waterfalls within sight of our car. A particularly beautiful scene, a group of Icelandic horses grazed below two tall, thin waterfalls.

The ground began to change. Fields and cliffs gave way to large expanses of black volcanic ash. The land was flat as far as the eye could see. Then, slowly, the lava fields began to take a different form. They piled and tumbled like groups of large, porous rocks. Moss covered the rocks. We pulled over and climbed a mound to take a picture of the moss and of the road we were traveling from above.

The mountains returned but this time every gap was filled with bright blue glacier. We were near Vatnajökull, Europe’s largest glacier. The glacier ice looked like it was spilling down from the mountainside. It was massive and we were unable to capture its wonder in our photos.

One of our favorite places in Iceland, we stopped at the Jökulsárlón is a glacial lagoon, bordering Vatnajökull National Park. Its still, blue waters were dotted with icebergs from the surrounding Breiðamerkurjökull Glacier, part of larger Vatnajökull Glacier. The Glacier Lagoon flowed through a short waterway into the Atlantic Ocean, leaving chunks of ice on a black sand beach. Pidge loved this place. She wanted to eat all of the large ice chunks!

We drove to Svínafellsjökull, an outlet glacier of Vatnajökull. To get there we drove over a very treacherous gravel road filled with potholes, large rocks, and waterways. Although the drive was certainly not for the faint of heart, it was incredible to see a glacier so close.

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We rested for the evening in a small cottage in a lava field. The air was still and soundless. We cooked dinner and enjoyed a bottle of red wine as Pidge squealed and ran around the cottage in the nude. She was happy to be out of the car for the evening. After Pidge went to bed, we relaxed in our own private hot tub. It was considerably cloudy, so we did not get a Northern Lights show, but I did manage to catch a quick glimpse when the clouds parted!

We left the cottage early on Saturday and headed back toward Reykjavík. We drove through farmland dotted with sheep and sang Baa Baa Black Sheep to Pidge more times than we can count. Pidge loved the song and the second it finished we would hear her husky little voice say, “Gah?” (translation: again?)

We stopped at the Skogafoss waterfall. It was massive! Skogafoss is one of Iceland’s biggest waterfalls with an astounding width of 82 feet and a drop of 197 feet. We put Pidge into her splashy suit in case she got wet. She stood there, geared up, smiling and waving at everyone. We jokingly called her Iceland’s official greeter!

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From there we went to Seljalandsfoss, a waterfall with a 200-foot drop. This waterfall is part of the Seljalands River that has its origin in the volcano glacier Eyjafjallajökull, a volcano that erupted in 2010. We put on our rain gear and hiked over rocks behind the falls into a small cave. It was incredible to watch the water tumble down from behind the falls. Pidge was completely intrigued and didn’t seem to mind that we all got completely soaked!

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On the way back to Reykjavík, we saw some Iceland horses very near the road. We stopped by and said hello, giving a friendly white one a little pet on the nose.

We got back to the city around 3:00. The sun was shining pink through the clouds, so we scurried down to the harbor to check out the Sun Voyager sculpture. However, just as we got to it the sun disappeared and the sky turned ominously dark. We were getting hammered by ice pellets! We pulled up our hoods and headed for the protection of the main road, stopping for some chips and a beer. Pidge charmed everyone in the shop, of course.

We ended the day by soaking in the warm geothermal pool as snowflakes gathered gently around us.

The next morning was my wife’s birthday. We celebrated by heading to the Blue Lagoon, one of the 25 Wonders of the World. It is located in a sprawling, 800-year-old lava field. The minerals in the water give it a milky blue color that is simply spectacular. It was awe-inspiring. We waded in as the mist rose above the warm water. We enjoyed the calm. My wife sipped champagne as Pidge bobbed in the water peacefully. We put on silica mud masks; Pidge looked so cute with the mask smeared over her tiny face.

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All in all, it was an amazing trip and Pidge was incredible the entire time. We are so proud of our tiny traveler. Our memories will certainly last a lifetime.