tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41812037055339169002024-03-12T21:57:44.214-07:00Invincible SpringWith enough laughter, love, tenacity of spirit, and home cooking to get through many a long, dark winterSadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.comBlogger152125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-7725105085569230812015-09-04T03:20:00.001-07:002015-09-04T03:20:34.183-07:00Eating my words and exiting stage left<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><i>'While infertility and loss will always be a part of who I am and are
crucial to my parenting journey, the version of me residing in these
posts doesn't reflect where I am with life right now'.</i></i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>'This space has become like any other mommy blog, and that's not who I am/the world doesn't really need another one of those'.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>'I always felt compelled to write from a place of sadness/grief/anger/<fill-in-the-negative-emotion>, and with things going well, I struggle to find the motivation to record meaningful thoughts'.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>'Life is so full, busy and happy, that I simply don't find the time to write, and even if I do, I worry that my posts are trite or frivolous'. </i><br />
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<i>'I'm not sure how maintaining this space can be a source of support to others still actively pursuing treatment/living children/resolution'. </i><br />
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<i>'I feel like almost everyone from my 'cohort' of ALI folks, those who supported me in the depths of my struggle, has (happily!) graduated to parenting living children'.</i></blockquote>
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In two year of lurking on ALI blogs, and nearly three (!) of keeping this space myself, I have heard variations of all the above, the inevitable soul-searching and musing on wither the ALI blog after living kids.<br />
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And here's a confession: reading any of those, in days past, used to make my stomach constrict and then lurch. I felt abandoned, betrayed even. Left behind. When I was stuck knee deep in my own misery, I wanted only the company referenced in that the old chestnut. I needed an invite to the grand pity party. I didn't want and wasn't able to hear about your full lives, your happy babies and growing children, your peace with your current selves.<br />
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But now? Now, I get it. In the cycle of things that sees us all pass through numerous seasons, I've become that blogger who used to make me cringe with pain to behold. <br />
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And so, this blog has reached (some while ago, in truth) the end of its natural existence, or perhaps it's fair to say I've grown beyond this blog. That growing was hard, it was often horrible, it was some of the most arduous emotional work of my adult life. In fact, only a fraction of that devastation even made it onto the blog.<br />
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But now, here we are. I'm ready to eat my words and bow out <strike>gracefully</strike>, happily, if belatedly.<br />
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There's another point, a small vanity that has kept me from this space in recent months: while I began writing simply to pour out the emotions that roiled within me, quite soon it allowed me to experience the catharsis that came with a well-worded description. When I found a resonant or beautiful phrase to describe my pain, when I landed on an apt analogy to articulate my emotions, it calmed and healed me. When others said that my writing gave them that catharsis, resonated, or validated what <i>they</i> were experiencing, I felt a sense of pride in my ability to abide with you. Pride and accomplishment in the person that this admittedly often shitty journey forced me to become.<br />
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Right now, I simply don't have the time or headspace to write in a way that gives me that sense of calm or pride or accomplishment. (I've written exactly <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2015/03/the-lessons-she-teaches-on-time.html#comment-form">one post</a> in all of 2015 that I feel meets these standards.) And truth be told, maybe I derive those things elsewhere right now.<br />
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So yeah, things have gotten quiet here, not only in terms of my posting, but also with visitor traffic. I can't blame you; what reason is there to visit, really? <br />
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I still have many things to say - about motherhood after loss, about what Girl Wonder is teaching me every day, about parenting, disability, and advocacy, but also, again, about things which fired my passions long before babies were a blip on my radar: politics and social justice and travel and global living. And of course, tea and Star Trek and finding my bliss. But I think all that's for another day and another space. (If you'd like to keep following my meanderings on <i>that</i> journey, or just want to keep in touch, leave a comment or drop me an email. I'd hate to lose these connections!)<br />
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After S died, I remember reading somewhere that the two most comforting words in the English language are <b><i>me too</i></b>.<br />
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Blogging showed me the truth of that sentiment. Like a beacon in the darkest of hours, you reached out to me. You were there too. You understood. And so we commiserated, simultaneously drinking in, from the tiniest, far-flung corners of the earth, our respective cups of tea/wine/tears. Our paths crossed and diverged and crossed again. <br />
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Blogging, reaching out to others and having them reciprocate, made me feel less alone. It - and <i>you</i> - helped me to laugh and cry and remember and forget. Made me brave. Made me grateful. Made me smile. Made me, in part, the woman I am right now.<br />
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To all the sentiments you've shared; all the pieces of your hearts; your deepest secrets; your inner crazy and your outer coping; your anger, your fear, your hope; your gestures of friendship and compassion; the lessons you've learned; your insecurities and affirmations; the resilience you've built and the joys you've discovered; your love.<br />
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To all these things you've shared, I say only this: <i>Thank you friends. Me too.</i></div>
Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-35067568707946738992015-08-03T05:08:00.000-07:002015-08-03T05:09:54.303-07:00#Microblog Mondays: La dolce vita<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We recently <strike>what already seems like far too long ago</strike> returned from a family holiday in Italy. I've always thought that it's pretty much impossible not to have a
wonderful time in Italy and this visit was no exception. <br />
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It was special for the very important reason that it was our first family holiday of course, but after the craziness of the last year it was also wonderful just to shut off, spend lots of time surrounded by nature and just lolling the days away.<br />
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We hiked through olive groves and vineyards to alpine lakes of impossible turquoise waters. We sat on terraces overlooking heavenly scenery, sipping <a href="http://www.hugococktail.com/en/recipe-hugo-cocktail">Hugos</a>. We bobbed along the Grand Canal with the throngs, gawping at the Venetian splendor. We meandered through markets concocting the perfect picnic of fruits and wines and salami. (Well, the abundance of pictures - <i>too hard to choose!</i> - below can show you better than I can...)<br />
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And for her part, Girl Wonder <i>loooved</i> Italy. The gelato and swimming in the lake, sure, but really it was the Italian people who my daughter, <strike>shameless flirt</strike> outgoing little soul that she is, held as the true object of her affection. And Italy loved her right back. Italian is a beautiful language to begin with, but the excess of flowery epithets they reserve for the description of beautiful babies is stunning.<br />
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<i>Mia cara!</i> They would throw open their arms to her in exaggerated awe.<br />
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<i><i>Bella piccolina!</i> </i><br />
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<i>Che dolce bambina!</i><br />
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<i>Bellissima piccola signorina!</i><br />
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<i>Mia cuore! </i>And so on...Waiters and hotel clerks and bus drivers and old ladies walking their dogs; they would descend on her with kisses and caresses and an endless list of gushing superlatives. (It made a change from the environment in <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/11/microblog-mondays-relative-values.html">these parts</a>.) And Girl Wonder lapped it right up. And yes, that last one translates as 'my heart'. I said gushing, didn't I? They rolled out the red carpet for <strike>us</strike> her.<br />
<i> </i><br />
It's a country that not only defines la dolce vita, but really includes families and children in what is often viewed as a very adult concept; and I think it's this that makes the culture seem so exuberant and happy. Seriously, if you're looking for a baby-friendly family destination...just go. Unless you're one of those people with (what I always think of as very North American) personal space issues, especially surrounding your offspring <strike>being hijacked by enamoured waiters and paraded around the terrace</strike>. Then you might find it all a bit over the top. <i> </i><br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-59787751116244534082015-06-08T10:01:00.000-07:002015-09-12T22:53:13.049-07:00#Microblog Mondays: Body image<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been blazing hot here and so this morning we decided to take Girl Wonder off for her first taste of the local outdoor swimming pool.<br />
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Sitting on the lawn surrounded by women of all ages, many with kids and grandkids, lots on their own or in groups, it struck me how at ease the women here are with their bodies. They look comfortable in their own skins. I think it has a lot to do with generally more relaxed attitudes towards nudity and sexuality in this culture, (all family-friendly pools here, including the one we frequent, have nude bathing sections), and it's wonderful and liberating to be around.<br />
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The women (and men) here seem unencumbered by the tiresome body image issues that characterize women's attitudes to their appearance where I come from; the perception of body parts as too fat, too thin, too round, too pointy, too fair, too dark, too freckly, too hairy, too wrinkly. It's something I admire, and it's a good environment in which to raise a daughter.<br />
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Speaking of said daughter, here are some gratuitous Girl Wonder shots from today, just because.<br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-76562163797205624082015-05-11T02:44:00.000-07:002015-05-11T04:10:18.237-07:00#Microblog Mondays: Many worlds<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm no physicist (despite occasional <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2013/04/the-easter-bump-hunt-of-2013.html">appearances to the contrary</a>), and so I can't speak to its plausibility, but I've always found the <a href="http://phys.org/news/2014-10-interacting-worlds-theory-scientists-interaction.html">Many Worlds theory</a> compelling stuff. In addition to seeking an explanation for the wonkiness of quantum mechanics, it suggests that with the existence of these alternate worlds that branch off from ours as time expands at different rates in different places, '<a href="http://www.livescience.com/15530-multiverse-universe-eternal-inflation-test.html">all possibilities are realized</a>'.<br />
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Think about that for a second: do you realize what it means? It means (my social scientist brain is extrapolating here; allow me the poetic licence) that anything you've imagined as possible <i>has actually occurred</i>.<br />
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It means that someplace I'm still tramping through the island jungles of Oceania. Someplace I'm a CEO of something or other, wearing tailored suits and doing whatever it is CEOs do all day. Someplace I'm living out my fascination with carpentry, slowly turning wooden spindles to soft, delicate curves. Someplace I never set out to see the world at all. Someplace I'm a 40 year old woman who owns Hello Kitty soap she considers too adorable to actually use (<i>Oh wait, that actually happened here.</i>..) <br />
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It also means someplace my 4.5 year old son is playing amiably with my one year old daughter. Someplace S is alive and growing and laughing in something other than the breeze that sways the trees.<br />
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Someplace, when people ask '<i><a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/09/microblog-mondays-family-of-four.html">Is this your first?</a></i>', I don't stutter, or meekly voice a '<i>yes</i>' while silently thinking '<i>the fourth I've carried in my womb, the second I've birthed, but only the first I've held pink and screaming and alive</i>'.<br />
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And then today, on a beautiful summer's day walking through the park, delighting in my daughter's discovery of bugs and bare feet in grass and the exploratory eating of said grass, I also realize that if this Many Worlds theory is true, there is someplace I never had life lessons that taught me not only how precious and fleeting these delights are, but that they, or the sight of a swollen belly, might pierce the heart of a passing stranger, someone less lucky than I. Someone <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2013/05/when-sun-came-out-so-did-they-along.html">who I was</a> not so long ago. It's hard to know that in my very joy lies someone else's pain; for I too have felt that heartache.<br />
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And wearily, I wonder why it seems to be the inevitable way of the world that only with the painful, <i>been-there-done-that</i> knowledge of direct experience can we truly achieve such compassion and sensitivity for others. But then, maybe there's another world where that's different too.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmRAoxRLXDlRnEeFJZkUD37RONdpqgSt73Bmy2vAnklv4VHPmG65McrD_Qza3pm3Qp70jdRzAsVSPtZFACdCriDAKAieHu9DOgaTlL_6ZyFZiW1qKwJ_lE9m_LFnSHu-arjhe3eBrEgtE/s1600/DSC00339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmRAoxRLXDlRnEeFJZkUD37RONdpqgSt73Bmy2vAnklv4VHPmG65McrD_Qza3pm3Qp70jdRzAsVSPtZFACdCriDAKAieHu9DOgaTlL_6ZyFZiW1qKwJ_lE9m_LFnSHu-arjhe3eBrEgtE/s320/DSC00339.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Full of possibility</td></tr>
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<i>Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i><br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-30643751394897781342015-05-10T09:56:00.002-07:002015-05-10T09:56:41.631-07:00On Mother's Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Wherever you are in your parenting journey, whether in the depths of new grief, mourning losses long ago, missing the children you will never have, parenting after infertility, actively trying with or without assistance, pursuing adoption, ambivalent or resolved or a combination of the above, today I honour you.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFnyNMQwYhanXPWsGcJCB-XlTGBoMRtIojHFYi5jXno19ukVW0md5pf_tA59HqGZU6lL_S5E1GQa5Hl4R1Prew_XcZw9BXppWCiIoBJ-_hV1xPC4pOmsnMHCaui_Rq1e1EIBSawnWPcjM/s1600/mother's+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFnyNMQwYhanXPWsGcJCB-XlTGBoMRtIojHFYi5jXno19ukVW0md5pf_tA59HqGZU6lL_S5E1GQa5Hl4R1Prew_XcZw9BXppWCiIoBJ-_hV1xPC4pOmsnMHCaui_Rq1e1EIBSawnWPcjM/s1600/mother's%2Bday.jpg" /></a></div>
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-62091123770894593492015-04-27T03:22:00.000-07:002015-09-12T22:53:37.928-07:00#Microblog Mondays: One!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Girl Wonder turned one this past weekend. Happy happy! Joy joy! (And still so surreal. In a good way.)<br />
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The party hat is actually a leftover from her costume for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carnival_in_Germany,_Switzerland_and_Austria">Fasching</a> (or what they call Carnival in Latin America and the Caribbean, but also a big deal in this super-Catholic European country). It had a Day of the Dead theme and she wore it with a little skeleton onesie back in February.<br />
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H and I had a protracted negotiation over the type of birthday cake Girl Wonder would get. He wanted one of these sophisticated sponge cakes with a fancy fruit arrangement and layer of gelee. That's apparently traditional in Austria. To my mind though, a little kid's birthday cake isn't worth the paper plate it's served on if it's not 1) slathered in sickly sweet icing that can be liberally smeared and 2) covered in enough fluorescent food colouring-infused sprinkles that you'll probably have to peel your kid off the ceiling later. Funny how the cross-cultural fault-lines in a marriage will emerge in the unlikeliest of places, huh? In the end, since strictly speaking Girl Wonder hasn't been introduced to gluten-based foods yet, the fancy-schmancy Viennese cake won out because that meant she could just eat the gelee with fresh fruit (which I grudgingly admit is the <i>healthier</i> option <<i>cue sullen shrug</i>>). But I'll get my smeary, food colouring fest next year; just you wait.<br />
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We wrapped a few of the hand-made (and some hand-me-down) toys that her cousins sent all the way from Canada, but otherwise didn't overdo it with presents, since I kind of hate that consumerism often trumps celebration at these things. Girl Wonder's delight is really generated from tearing the paper at this age, rather than playing with the actually contents. She happily did that for over an hour!<br />
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The grown-ups drank prosecco and toasted this amazing little being in our midst. A good day.<br />
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<i>Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i><br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-87407557335936074862015-04-13T06:21:00.002-07:002015-04-13T13:56:11.109-07:00#Microblog Mondays: Seasons<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So, April.<br />
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I've been kind of hanging suspended in this kind of slow-mo, hazy bliss the last few weeks. You know, those moments where the rays of sun slant in at an opaque angle and you can almost <i>hear</i> the perfection of the world in all its idiosyncrasies, thrumming around you?<br />
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That's where I am. Noticing the details. Awe-inspired by seemingly everything; the lazy buzz of a fat bumblebee; the taste of that strawberry basil gelato the cafe 'round the corner is peddling; the smell of rain as it hits the warm pavement; the fact that I am mother to a vibrant daughter. A daughter who is <i>nearly one</i>.<br />
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We seem to have skipped spring altogether this year. It snowed on the first day of Pesach and on Easter Sunday.<br />
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Last year during the Easter long weekend I was hospitalized in the Labour and Delivery ward with worrying symptoms of a suspected <a href="http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/726318">pulmonary embolism</a>, told I could lose both my own life and that of my then-unborn daughter. I was discharged with a confirmed diagnosis of pre-eclampsia, after spending a scary, sleepless night alone. (I <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/04/shes-coming.html">told you</a> it was a crazy time, I just never found the wherewithal to explain exactly how.) I had sent H home to bank his sleep before the new parent onslaught began; that night before he left he leaned in to my belly and whispered, asking our little seedling to watch over her mama that night, our roles reversed after long months of me caring for her. She duly obliged, kicking and rolling all night inside me, keeping me company through those long, dark hours. I was struggling hard to breath, panicked, feeling like a huge weight was pressed to my chest; it was this together with elevated proteins and white blood cell count that made them suspect pulmonary embolism. Looking back, I wonder how much of the trouble breathing could have been trauma-induced: a final, terrifying chapter in a pregnancy after loss beset with worries.<br />
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With Girl Wonder somersaulting her way through the night, reminding me I wasn't alone, I finally felt settled on her name. I had been sitting on the fence about our shortlist, but H was lobbying hard already for the name we eventually chose, a very traditional one that means <i>hope</i> in Hebrew. <i>'She owns that name'</i>, he said; a kid with her back story was hope personified, he said. Through that night as she brought hope and strength to calm my fears, I couldn't help but agree. I told her so and felt a tiny thump. It was final then.<br />
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And after snowfall and temperatures that have kept us hibernating for long into this spring, it's suddenly strappy sundress weather. Summer bypassed us last year; it was a grey, English washout of a summer, not that we would have been able to enjoy it had the sun shone. We spent most of the season in sterile hospital rooms breathing stale air. I remember looking out at the leaden sky from Girl Wonder's isolation room on the 10th floor PICU. I remember poring over journal articles trying to come to grips with the <a href="http://kidshealth.org/parent/infections/bacterial_viral/cytomegalovirus.html">CMV</a> diagnosis that had wracked her tiny body, feeling as though we were about to become the punchline of some cruel cosmic joke, getting through that whole pregnancy only to have our longed-for child taken from us by a random infection. I remember subsisting on little sleep and bad coffee, donuts and hash browns from the hospital canteen.<br />
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This year, we are looking forward to summer holidays in Italy; to trips in Hungary and the Alps; picnics in the city's parks. <i>With our one year old daughter</i>.<br />
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During all those long years of loss, infertility and loneliness, I often comforted myself with the thought that life can change profoundly and unexpectedly in a single season, in the blink of an eye. '<i>Everything could look completely different this time next year</i>', I told myself, hoping it might be for the better.<br />
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But even now, living in the laughter-soaked truth of that adage, I can hardly believe my luck most days. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyW52iW34TA1Xv-FuP9IzkgUu_cvbnHOL3hzi7ny_gjdkoiV3DQdFtM3JX5NC7ubUmNUdDFSgGag8gA_DMWhg7exFF4sDzrYFBl-KpFCwKUTXZz2LJVS1V3TeplWJT5I9KGnSd5TtYx8/s1600/Microblog_Mondays.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyW52iW34TA1Xv-FuP9IzkgUu_cvbnHOL3hzi7ny_gjdkoiV3DQdFtM3JX5NC7ubUmNUdDFSgGag8gA_DMWhg7exFF4sDzrYFBl-KpFCwKUTXZz2LJVS1V3TeplWJT5I9KGnSd5TtYx8/s1600/Microblog_Mondays.png" /></a></div>
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<i>Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i><br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-51556414723132388462015-03-21T01:22:00.000-07:002015-09-12T22:54:23.173-07:00The lessons she teaches: on time #WDSD15<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDkWblvJIHcqTIM5jp2Tleu9N4ROwE8WGp-e4kXRvvlGGADJVEPSD_tl5l52meuTePO3hK9npqW_39faHfVpSVwvQxNP0S6y7PQepuooma_PVhb_EdGV0v1jqNIgD6aUriOknPK4zc3pI/s1600/wdsd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDkWblvJIHcqTIM5jp2Tleu9N4ROwE8WGp-e4kXRvvlGGADJVEPSD_tl5l52meuTePO3hK9npqW_39faHfVpSVwvQxNP0S6y7PQepuooma_PVhb_EdGV0v1jqNIgD6aUriOknPK4zc3pI/s1600/wdsd.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ndsccenter.org/how-will-you-celebrate-world-down-syndrome-day-2015/">Source</a></td></tr>
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I'm writing this post in honour of <a href="https://www.worlddownsyndromeday.org/wdsd-2015">World Down Syndrome Day</a>. Last year, when I wrote <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/03/321.html">this</a> I hadn't even met my daughter yet, but I was full of excitement and anticipation for what was to come, all the challenges and achievements alike.<br />
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Almost one year in, I feel a bit more able to speak to those challenges and achievements, a bit more grounded in our reality, which for the most part is happily mundane. In truth, I don't really remember <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2013/12/not-worst-news.html">what made us cry</a>, exactly <i>what it was</i> we feared when we first leaned of Girl Wonder's extra chromosome, what feels like a lifetime ago now.<br />
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I knew to expect that she would reach some or most milestones later than typical children, which has been true to an extent; she rolled over well before her typical peers, for example, but at nearly eleven months, is still working on sitting unassisted. She doesn't just reach finite milestones later, but also spends longer in each developmental stage. In the mainstream paradigm of human development that asks us to check off achievements as mere waystations en route to some ill-defined destination of having achieved <<i>what, exactly? maturity? adult status? full personhood?</i>> my daughter is a sojourner who takes her time breathing in the scenery. I have an abiding respect for this way of being; as a frequent traveller without a map, getting lost and chancing upon happy discoveries, I've relished exploring many a cul-de-sac in my own time.<br />
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Still, sometimes it's hard not to compare her to the seemingly arbitrary, standardized developmental guidelines or to other children, even other children with Down syndrome, though this is mostly as a guage by which we measure our own parenting abilities: as I imagine all parents do, we sometimes wonder if we are doing right by her, if we are doing <i>enough</i>. Girl Wonder is ahead of the curve with some abilities, typically achieving with others, and well behind with some too. Are we missing some stimulation, some therapeutic intervention that could give her that competitive edge?<br />
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And then I look at her.<br />
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Yes, her achievements often come to her slowly, and we can only watch. But really, this isn't about us, our wishes or choices; this is <i>her</i> journey. Whether it's thanks to an extra chromosome or simply to the mysteries of her own personality, she takes her time. With gusto and exuberance, but slowly. Like a delicate flower gently blossoming to reveal the stunning beauty that lies within its hidden petals. Like a treasured secret shyly told, making the confidant feel special for the chance to bear witness. Like a marvellous story, the telling of which makes you long to slow time so you can savour, for just a bit more, being lost in its pages, before finally reaching the exciting and satisfying denouement. <br />
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Time takes on altogether unfamiliar qualities when you become a parent to any child (or so I assume it's the same for everyone). Precious months seem fleeting, while the recent, pre-baby past seems an unfathomable eternity ago. Truly, given the <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/11/of-mindfulness-and-mourning.html">twinges I feel at its passing</a>, I am grateful for time to slow down so that we can linger, even just for a while.<br />
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Looking back, our journey to parenthood was not the magical, irreverent, joy-filled one I might have hoped for. Everything was <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2013/05/duped-by-my-own-progesterone-levels.html">counted out</a> in often soul-crushing increments: how many months of ttc, progesterone levels and follicle counts and days-post-ovulation. Then a pregnancy marked, <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/03/what-happened-in-between.html">week by week</a>, by measurements and numbers not quite this side of 'normal'. Even once she arrived, during those early months in hospital, we couldn't escape our existence, our love, our tragedy being parsed out in numerical values: her incremental weight gain; how much milk she would tolerate through her feed tube; how much aspirate we removed with each feed; how much breastmilk I managed to express; the weight of her diapers dry and after she peed; then when she switched to the actual breast, for how long she fed each time, according to a strictly measured three hourly schedule. It feels so good, so peaceful, so <i>right</i> not to be fixating on the numbers for once. She is a daily reminder of how meaningless they are.<br />
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If Girl Wonder experiences many things at a delay, her capacity for human connection is not one of them. She reaches out to people, graciously, gaining admirers wherever she goes. She seems to make it a mission to target the most miserable in the crowd. While waiting in line at the supermarket, or on the tram, I'll see her beaming at a point in the middle distance, and glancing over my shoulder to look for what it is she's so taken with, I'll find her making eyes at the grumpiest of old men, at the sullen, awkward teenager, the tear-streaked child, the desolate homeless person. She sees them all. She reaches them. I have yet to find any who can steel themselves against her charms. <br />
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At less than a year of age, my daughter is wonderfully, authentically true to who she is. Girl Wonder is impervious to what <a href="http://georgeestreich.com/George_Estreich/Home.html">George Estreich</a>, writing about his own experiences raising a daughter with Down syndrome, calls society's 'incessant, nagging whisper to advance, advance'.<br />
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At times I envy her that ability. But always, I am so grateful to be her mother, getting these opportunities to learn the lessons she teaches.<br />
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<i>The US National Down Syndrome Congress is calling on all of us to celebrate World Down Syndrome Day by <a href="http://www.ndsccenter.org/how-will-you-celebrate-world-down-syndrome-day-2015/">practicing random acts of kindness</a> in honour of those we know and love who carry an extra 21st chromosome. If you'd care to participate and share your random act of kindness here, Girl Wonder will be happy to pay it forward. Happy WDSD, Happy first-day-of-spring!</i><br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-51723404735172181152015-03-09T06:17:00.004-07:002015-03-09T07:26:59.424-07:00#Microblog Mondays: A philistine's lament<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<![endif]--><i>Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">************************</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This city is steeped in history. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life size memories of empire, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ottoman siege, two world wars, 18<sup>th</sup>
century courtly life, 19<sup>th</sup> century artistic revolution, monarchy and
fascist and communist and democratic rule writ large on the landscape; all
right on our doorstep.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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It makes for a rich cultural and intellectual life. Our days
may be spent on hours of leisurely meandering, surprising discoveries and
little gems at every twisted turn. Things here are done <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">properly</i>, at a slow pace, with attention to all the right detail.
The unparalleled café culture is <a href="http://immaterielleskulturerbe.unesco.at/cgi-bin/unesco/element.pl?eid=71&lang=en">recognized by no less than UNESCO</a>. </div>
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<br /></div>
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(The concept of the ‘take-away’ coffee is starting to emerge
here, even if people <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> think a
good brew is to be slowly sipped in civilized surroundings, preferably
accompanied by a slice of some delicate confection and some reading. My dear husband,
proof if ever there was that however long you take the boy out of the city, you’ll
never take the city out of the boy, used to look aghast when I’d get a coffee <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to go</i>. Now he merely shakes his head.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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The thing is, architecture here pretty much comes in two
sizes: massive, monumental and gold-trimmed, or quaint, crooked and cobbled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpp_yv4F1d0yU33EMFH2ZyNcPjG7RxhNPylUmgHYTni7jrs-vDjoT3onjuW1VMnzC2VN3J5asjD7WKunyR5gjGzqa6RyxD3MTllh7arQTwPP6RAjLK08YPkEqpr9vuiyaFNzt4B0PTwkA/s1600/monumental.jpg" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit A</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4iN1clwRi9rippEM2DuXkC8z0d5b8y80Wyu5wCFzmvFRw5oV54JV1CHMD5neIArzeI5OglphVYEECy7xErUseSV8c6vwNMWCg_K21cRt3RyB1mCsmL6snzFe8B6A8QkpPkbE7uQb2xo/s1600/quaint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4iN1clwRi9rippEM2DuXkC8z0d5b8y80Wyu5wCFzmvFRw5oV54JV1CHMD5neIArzeI5OglphVYEECy7xErUseSV8c6vwNMWCg_K21cRt3RyB1mCsmL6snzFe8B6A8QkpPkbE7uQb2xo/s1600/quaint.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit B</td></tr>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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It’s all so beautiful and interesting and full of old-world
charm. But it’s also just that: old. And what it’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> is easily navigable with a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kinderwagen</i>,
boisterous 10-month-old with all her paraphernalia in tow.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I’d be lying if I said I never longed for the featureless, ahistorical (accessible!) smooth
asphalt landscapes of my Canadian childhood. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">************************</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span> </div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Philistine:</b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">noun</span></i> <span class="hw-syllables">Phi</span><span class="middot">·</span><span class="hw-syllables">lis</span><span class="middot">·</span><span class="hw-syllables">tine</span> <span class="pr">\</span><span class="unicode"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ˈ</span></span><span class="pr">fi-l</span><span class="pr"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ə</span>-</span><span class="unicode"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ˌ</span></span><span class="pr">stēn; f</span><span class="pr"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ə</span>-</span><span class="unicode"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ˈ</span></span><span class="pr">lis-t</span><span class="pr"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ə</span>n,
-</span><span class="unicode"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ˌ</span></span><span class="pr">tēn; </span><span class="unicode"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ˈ</span></span><span class="pr">fi-l</span><span class="pr"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ə</span>-st</span><span class="pr"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">ə</span>n\</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">a person
who is guided by materialism and is usually disdainful of intellectual or
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<br /></div>
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<i>Guilty as charged. </i></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br /></div>
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-21040992229875533122015-02-23T14:07:00.004-08:002015-03-27T05:22:31.451-07:00#Microblog Mondays: risk versus possibility<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
1) <i>Prenatal screening can detect the <b>risk</b> of delivering a baby with Down syndrome.</i><br />
<br />
2) <i>Prenatal screening can detect the <b>possibility</b> of delivering a baby with Down syndrome.</i></blockquote>
<br />
They mean basically the same thing, but not. We <i>welcome</i> possibility, while we <i>shy away from</i> risk.<br />
<br />
As an agnostic feminist, I have been a lifelong supporter of women's right to choose. I have also been a lifelong advocate for - celebrator of! - the plurality of human experience. We like to think of ourselves as moving into a world of ever more respect for rights (of women, of minorities, of various 'others') and respect for diversity. <br />
<br />
And so, <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2014/feb/21/big-picture-one-in-eight-hundred-mario-wezel">like others before me</a>, I struggle with the contradiction inherent in the fact that as our societies become more embracing of diversity, we are also, thanks in part to more accurate prenatal screening (which is not accompanied by accurate education), adopting ever more normative standards of what that diversity should look like.<br />
<br />
By some estimates, upwards of 90% of pregnancies where a risk/possibility of Down syndrome is detected are terminated. There is a real chance that for people like my daughter, a day will come - and soon- when they <a href="http://www.thestar.com/life/2012/02/03/the_maternit21_ltd_test_could_make_people_with_down_syndrome_a_rarity.html">will wake up to find themselves the last of their kind</a>. <br />
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While I suspect that most people will find it hard to understand how I can say
I have come to love that extra chromosome in all its unique,
confounding, divisive glory, it seems a little sad to me that we're denying ourselves opportunities to live with this diversity: diversity of experience, genetic diversity, <i>human</i> diversity.<br />
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I can't help but think it's a shame that in our avoidance of risk (what life worth living doesn't involve some level of risk?) we are closing ourselves off from all kinds of possibilities.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyW52iW34TA1Xv-FuP9IzkgUu_cvbnHOL3hzi7ny_gjdkoiV3DQdFtM3JX5NC7ubUmNUdDFSgGag8gA_DMWhg7exFF4sDzrYFBl-KpFCwKUTXZz2LJVS1V3TeplWJT5I9KGnSd5TtYx8/s1600/Microblog_Mondays.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyW52iW34TA1Xv-FuP9IzkgUu_cvbnHOL3hzi7ny_gjdkoiV3DQdFtM3JX5NC7ubUmNUdDFSgGag8gA_DMWhg7exFF4sDzrYFBl-KpFCwKUTXZz2LJVS1V3TeplWJT5I9KGnSd5TtYx8/s1600/Microblog_Mondays.png" /></a></div>
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<i>Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i><br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-32257855483422347432015-01-12T03:36:00.001-08:002015-01-12T05:36:29.537-08:00#Microblog Mondays: Little scraps of life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Girl Wonder is a tiny little thing, weighing in at just under 5 kg (she was 8 months on Christmas day). To my mind, this has numerous benefits. I love her compact nature, which allows me to <strike>lie to myself about the passage of time</strike> still cuddle and cradle her like an infant even as she's fast approaching the end to this stage of development. (<i>I can't imagine how my back would be faring if I were carrying one of the larger babies I see everywhere around us!</i>) And while it made locating baby clothes for her tiny 2 kg frame a challenge in those first few months, she has spent longer in some of our favourite little garments - she's now typically in a three month size, depending on the brand - which has allowed us to retain her wardrobe accordingly.<br />
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But much as I might wish to stall the ceaseless march of time, she is growing, as babies eventually do, and with this new year we're having a clear out too. That means finding a place, or purpose, for all those beloved items she no longer fits. Initially I thought of repurposing some of the sweet fabrics for a <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/202873158188173022/">home-made sensory book</a> for Girl Wonder. However I quickly realized that this sentimental mama can't bring herself to cut through those tiny memories (<i>'she wore this when she first smiled'...'this is what she had on when she first met her uncle from Canada'..</i>.), while the practical side of me is loathe to discard still very-much-usable baby items.<br />
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Their lack of utility for us is not merely a reminder of how quickly Girl Wonder is growing up, but also of the fact that, however much I might will it otherwise, this is it for us; the end of my child-bearing years.<br />
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But we're in a small city centre flat, which leaves me with a dilemma. <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/11/of-mindfulness-and-mourning.html">Staying in the moment</a> might present its own challenges, but right now it's the letting go - even of those things which are mere symbols of what was and what will never be - which is wrenching my heart.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5AZ79DYdnBjUmBiZTrrNRK_v8yDC57j7EA-k_6p6QhqLuodCqPhjMogVp1SoCX6n0Q1yJipQ6xVCZV7ltFtlTNMYl8xMAFy0GxCV4KJCs4G45U-WpirMohLVQcCG1ftaptMXHUao18W0/s1600/P1090212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5AZ79DYdnBjUmBiZTrrNRK_v8yDC57j7EA-k_6p6QhqLuodCqPhjMogVp1SoCX6n0Q1yJipQ6xVCZV7ltFtlTNMYl8xMAFy0GxCV4KJCs4G45U-WpirMohLVQcCG1ftaptMXHUao18W0/s1600/P1090212.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Momentoes</td></tr>
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<i>Bloggy friends, am I the only one sappy enough to feel a twinge as I discard too-small baby items? What have you done/will you do with the items your children no longer use?</i></div>
Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-64516212932998929162015-01-09T04:17:00.001-08:002015-01-09T04:17:21.000-08:00A tale of two playgroups<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm the kind of person who really likes my own company and can be a bit of a loner by nature, but I think when you're trying to integrate into a new cultural space, it's do or die. I've moved to enough new and strange cities in my time to have a keenly developed survival instinct telling me to get out there and vigorously mix, integrate, interact. <i>Volunteer opportunity at the local homeless shelter? Sign me up! H's second cousin wants to meet for coffee and practice her English? Yes please!</i> Plus, there is the small detail of my small daughter now spurning me on; she has a couple cousins here but both are school age and if I don't want Girl Wonder to become a little hermit baby I'd better mom up and make an effort.<br />
<br />
So we've been checking out playgroups. However - leaving aside the strangeness that is my new social role as a mom - my German is still wobbly enough that I'm not confident just waltzing into a local group to make my own way in a language which still feels foreign to me. So we went for 'special interest' groups as a first step.<br />
<br />
First up: there is a very active, city-wide, English-language playgroup that exists for the many foreigners who call this place home. A good place to start, right? Well, sort of; we might have had language in common, and even the experience of being newcomers, but to be honest? (Of course I'm painting with broad strokes here, I only dipped my toes in, after all), that might be where the commonalities end.<br />
<br />
Because this city hosts the headquarters of a number of international
organisations, expats here tend to be of the well-travelled and
well-heeled variety. While we may be the former, we are certainly not
the latter. Our home isn't big enough that we can play host to fourteen (<i>fourteen!</i>) sets of moms and babies, as others in the group have recently done. And while we move in some pretty interesting circles, we can't tell you about our last visit to the ambassador's residence for a semi-formal buffet dinner.<br />
<br />
So there was already a certain socioeconomic divide, although that wasn't really the thing that singled me out and made everything seem awkward. Nope, our family history took care of that. Since my own <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/search?updated-max=2014-02-12T04:31:00-08:00&max-results=7">brush with terminal illness</a> in my teens, which left me with a pronounced limp, I am accustomed to answering <strike>intrusive</strike> curious questions about <strike>'what's wrong with your leg?'</strike> my complicated medical history. When I know the intentions are good, it doesn't really bother me and I'm happy to oblige. Though I'm finding that things get a bit more sticky when it's your child(ren) concerned, I'm also someone who wants to contribute to the destigmatization of topics like infertility, disability, unconventional family building, etc. and so I generally try to be open and matter-of-fact. Our stories, all too often shunted to the margins for the comfort of a complacent society, should be part of the conversation too. Also, I (naively?) like to think that if I share my experiences in a way that shows they're not a life-defining tragedy for me, it might demystify some of the fear and pity for others as well.<br />
<br />
Uh, except...maybe, on some occasions, this is more than <strike>a room full of terrified, pregnant fertiles</strike> most people can handle. So when stories were being exchanged about birth experiences and starting solids and yadda, yadda, yadda and, rather than come off like a wallflower, I honestly contributed...'<i>born </i><i>six weeks early </i><i><i>by cesearean'...'</i>intra-uterine-growth-restriction</i>'...'<i>Down syndrome</i>'...'<i>we're starting solids later because of</i> <i>her surgery at 36 hours old and feeding tube for first nine weeks</i>'... Well, I'm sure you see where this is going...<br />
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I wasn't just the lead balloon in the room; I quickly became the bogey man, the personification of everyone's darkest dreams. You guys, that was before we even got to the infertility and loss stuff. People just looked at me. And despite the fact that my life may be dreamy these days and is certainly a long way from dark, it wasn't the most comfortable experience to see myself through other eyes.<br />
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I felt isolated. Like a fake, a <i>freak</i>. And though I know it wasn't intentional, that no one had set out to ostracize me, I couldn't help but feel like the awkward new girl
at school facing <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tP2XtYbIgD0">The Plastics</a>. (And if you haven't seen <i>Mean Girls</i>, go check it out; I'll wait. Tina Fey and Lyndsey Lohan in a previous incarnation. Love.)<br />
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(As another aside, I'm not really sure why people think '<i>I can't possibly imagine what you're going through</i>' is in any way a good thing to say to someone facing life challenges. In my experience this only underscores otherness, leading to the person feeling all the more isolated and lonely. Also - while the subtly but crucially different '<i>I won't pretend to know what you're experiencing</i>' is honest and direct, which I appreciate - in saying that you simply can't even <b><i>imagine</i></b>, you're pretty much saying that you lack the compassion or humanistic imagination for any kind of empathy. Way to go. But I digress...and that is deserving of a whole post of its own, really.)<br />
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So where was I? Ah yes, back to the playgroups.<br />
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Luckily, that finely honed survival instinct of the expat prevented me from throwing in the towel after my initial difficult attempt. The following week, there was a playgroup put on by and for the local parent's network for families of kids with Down syndrome. (Again, at the risk of generalising,) I've said it before and I'll say it again: I like how people from this 'community' think and approach life.<br />
<br />
There was the kind of shorthand that groups who have found themselves
on the margins tend to share, and none of the awkward horror at all our
baggage: was she born early? Did we get a birth or prenatal diagnosis?
Did she have any medical anomalies? What is she doing with her early
intervention therapist?<br />
<br />
In a few brief conversations, I
also learned that two of the babes in the group close in age to Girl
Wonder were the product of fertility treatment. Do I think that there's a
relationship between this extra challenge in family building and
potential parents' attitudes towards chromosomal anomalies? Probably,
yes. <br />
<br />
Am I saying that if you've experienced hardship you're inevitably going to be more empathetic and have your priorities worked out? Not at all (and <a href="http://theroadlesstravelledlb.blogspot.co.at/">Loribeth</a> wrote a <a href="http://theroadlesstravelledlb.blogspot.co.at/2014/11/the-search-for-meaning.html">great post</a> recently about how people who <i>do</i> experience adversity in life are expected, often for the benefit of everyone but themselves, to fit a certain redemptive cultural narrative).<br />
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But I do think that once you've been through some of life's nastier shit storms there is at least the opportunity to gain some perspective; some gratitude. Not to get hung up on life's little 'problems'. So many of <i>you</i> have shown me that, with grace and humour and generosity of spirit. And while this ALI club is certainly not one that any of us would have voluntarily joined, I think the higher-than-average levels of compassion and determination not to sweat the small stuff are a significant silver lining that make me glad to have you all for company. But again, I digress...<br />
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The gist of my second attempt was this: I felt accepted. Embraced. And - perhaps ironically, given that shared language was not the common denominator here - <i>understood</i>. It was such a good feeling, and one that made me think I'll do fine as we move forward, even juggling as I am a new hometown and my new role as a mom and my newbie status in the world of Down syndrome.<br />
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I'm not saying that difficulty is something to be lauded. But maybe difference is, or should be.<br />
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With our unorthodox background stories, our transnational lives, our off-the-curve road to reaching a family, our high risk pregnancy, and a host of other variables, ours was never going to be the typical, 'normal' story. And as much as others may have a hard time with that, I'm ok with it; better than ok. I'm grateful for and sensitive to complicated, less-than-'perfect' realities. I'm happy. My life is full of love. <br />
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Leaving <i>that</i> playgroup, I found myself, not for the first time, feeling like we've landed on a really good side of 'normal', and oh so happy to be here.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QbAVRjXZKsp7v058cHbbJ53A23cBk2nux4hDrg0CLDPfyhelrSctU-CP_NHE5kE06YBb8t98GNT-WXoHAo1WIGwom0r5FglUr-YtVyT1oz_1fq9bdLr-UMk7GxvRR9ClmS3NHheRS9c/s1600/what-is-normal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QbAVRjXZKsp7v058cHbbJ53A23cBk2nux4hDrg0CLDPfyhelrSctU-CP_NHE5kE06YBb8t98GNT-WXoHAo1WIGwom0r5FglUr-YtVyT1oz_1fq9bdLr-UMk7GxvRR9ClmS3NHheRS9c/s1600/what-is-normal.jpg" height="194" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And we don't even own a dryer! <a href="https://mckayschooleducators.wordpress.com/2014/01/21/its-just-normal/">Source.</a></td></tr>
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-46301561566726488352014-12-31T11:14:00.002-08:002014-12-31T11:14:35.190-08:00Twelve months, a thousand thoughts but few words<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There is simply no way that mere words could adequately capture all the <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/01/after-mri.html">fear</a> and <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/05/a-long-nurtured-fragile-hope.html">joy</a> and <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/03/what-happened-in-between.html">tumult</a> and <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/11/microblog-mondays-leave-takings-and.html">change</a> that 2014 held for our family.<br />
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So I won't even try.<br />
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One thing's for sure though; if there were any <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/07/dreams-and-reality.html">confusion </a>that existed between dreams and reality, if there existed a gap between the two, for all the hoping and dreaming that sustained us in the early, scary months of 2014, for all the transformations required of us and our expectations, for all the tortuous moments when it seemed our dreams were lost...For all of that, none of the dreams could come anywhere close to the rich and beautiful reality.<br />
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This is what I will remember of 2014.<br />
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I'll share a few little images of our holiday season. And so all that remains is for me to thank you for being there with us and to wish you beautiful things in 2015. I wish for you the fulfilment of dreams, but if they cannot be fulfilled, let the reality be beautiful and the change and growth bring joy.<br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-69533850431140543022014-12-17T03:37:00.000-08:002014-12-17T03:37:02.167-08:00In the midst of celebrating, stopping to grieve <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Our home is bustling and busy as we celebrate Hanukkah and prepare for my mother's arrival tonight and for the celebration of Christmas; everything around us light and joy. I was going to come here to write a fluffy little post about our gift-giving and gratitude and excitement for the season, but never find the time.<br />
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And then, Girl Wonder at my breast and in a moment of maternal calm, I skim through the day's headlines and read about the <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/dec/16/taliban-attack-army-public-school-pakistan-peshawar">events in Peshawar</a> yesterday. 132 children left for school in the morning and didn't come home. It makes me feel sick to read on but I do, because at the very least, I feel the need to bear witness. When such events take place close to home we all stop and think and mourn, but when they take place far away (perhaps because we 'expect' them in such foreign and far away places?), we often stay silent, shake our heads sadly, but simply move on.<br />
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And that makes it all the more important for me that we bear witness. Because as vastly different as our lives and experiences and beliefs may be, and even the dimensions of our personal tragedy, there is some universal kernel in this loss. My heart breaks when I read the sad, beautiful words of one father who says <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/dec/16/pakistan-school-siege-survivors-how-it-unfolded">'My son was my dream. My dream has been killed'</a>, because a small part of me feels that too, and because I now know the gift of <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/05/a-long-nurtured-fragile-hope.html">new dreams</a>. <br />
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I am not really a pray-er, but such as they are, I offer my prayers nonetheless, that those parents, those families, those communities know some small comfort in the days ahead. First and foremost because I wish that for them, but also because (however naive it sounds) I want to raise my daughter not in a world where we shake our heads and then move on, but which recognizes that despite differences we all love and we all grieve. We all celebrate and mourn. Some human experiences are universal. Each life, no matter where it is lived or ends, is equally valuable.<br />
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I don't really know that this post has a 'point', other than to stop and acknowledge. In the midst of our celebrating this week I will take moments to mourn for the families of those 132 children. I will seek to honour those young lives. I will light a candle against the dark. It is nothing, but it is all I have.</div>
Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-21996423871578461192014-12-01T01:12:00.000-08:002015-09-12T23:00:58.025-07:00#Microblog Mondays: Masterpieces<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We arrived here just in time for the<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Long_Night_of_Museums"> Long Night of the Museums</a>, a city-wide cultural event in which with a single ticket you can visit dozens of museums and galleries which remain open until the wee hours on that particular night. This city is world renowned for its museums, one of the perks we hope Girl Wonder will benefit from in her upbringing here, and since our forays into gallery space have proven a surprising hit with her so far, we decided to give it a go. Besides, we were still twiddling our thumbs waiting out the arrival of <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/11/microblog-mondays-amateur-hour.html">all our worldly possessions</a> in heaps of boxes, and the chaos that ensued for many days thereafter - so why not pass the time so pleasantly?<br />
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We chose to start out with a trip to the planetarium, hit the architectural <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/6a/Secession_Wien1.JPG">jewel in the crown</a> of the city's Art Nouveau, check out some surrealist and symbolist paintings in one of the galleries, and finally finish at the natural history museum's anthropological collections. The evening was a mixed bag for Girl Wonder: the planetarium was an unsurprising hit, with its sparkly, swirling projection of the universe keeping her immersed and quiet for a full 25 minutes; she kind of liked the works of Gustav Klimt - again, sparkly and shiny and larger than life - but then slept through a whole gallery of <a href="http://www.artnet.com/artists/joan-mir%C3%B3/">Miros</a> as well as the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venus_of_Willendorf">paleolithic art</a> at the Natural History Museum.<br />
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And as for me? I have to confess, as much as I enjoyed the artistic orgy, I couldn't keep my eyes off our own little Wonder and her reactions to so many new stimuli. It's a cliché containing an inherent truth that seeing things through her eyes, experiencing them with her for the first time is a whole new revelation, making this jaded traveller wide-eyed all over again. <br />
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The wonders of the cosmos, the evolution of humankind, the luminescent cannon of art history from the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venus_of_Willendorf">stone age</a> until the <a href="http://www.secession.at/beethovenfries/index_e.html">last century</a> could do nothing to distract from our own little masterpiece.<br />
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<i>Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i></div>
Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-48158133572590904942014-11-27T16:05:00.000-08:002014-11-28T15:25:18.439-08:00Of mindfulness and mourning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There was a passage in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Map-Love-A-Novel/dp/0385720114">the book I'm currently reading</a> that snagged my attention and my heart, exactly the way such sentiments do when I encounter them in real life:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Time was when I cooked for four. Time was when I chafed and grew fretful and said 'I can't bear this business of having to think of supper every night'. Time was when I dreamed of all the things I could do, all the lives I could lead if I wasn't tied down, beset, beleaguered. And time was - I'm glad to say - when the clasp of small arms around my neck and the feel of a soft face against my own stilled the restlessness and made me grateful and glad for the moment. </i></blockquote>
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Glad for the moment.<br />
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Although all too often my real life encounters omit that last thought - the only one that really matters - it's a sentiment I think many of us in the ALI community can relate to, we who have longed for the clasp of small arms and the feel of a soft face against our own. No restlessness about it.<br />
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We are fond of saying (perhaps to stay the tears?) that this is a silver lining, a blessing in
disguise of infertility and loss: that these heartbreaking experiences will make of us more mindful
parents. That when the chance comes our way, we won't whine about being tied down, about the loss of glamour or about sticky floors, having to be home every night for dinner at six, about the curtailing of dangly earrings or picking stray cheerios out of the bed sheets. And even if we cannot always keep to our own heroic parental standards of constant gratitude and mindfulness - for we are human, and there will be moments taken for granted - we remain, I believe, acutely aware. Perhaps more mindful than most of just how precious and ephemeral every beautiful
moment is, as each new day presents us with new versions of our children, exceeding all the long-held dreams our hearts would conjure. Moment on top of beautiful (or infuriating, or scary, or prosaic, or tedious) moment, as these little beings we seem to have dreamt forth change, develop, astound, evoke pride and gratitude
and wonder. <br />
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But what if this mindfulness, as much as it reminds us to savour, brings with it such awareness of the fleeting nature of everyday life that it <i>tears us away</i> from the moment, tempting us instead to mourn for that which is passing before we've had the chance to fully appreciate its perfect bounty in the right-here-right-now?
The knowledge that every first in their developmental trajectory is matched by a last.
Our babies wrenched from our grasp by the children they will become,
and the adolescents those will become, and so on, before we have time to say our goodbyes.<br />
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Because that, too (at least for me), is the legacy of loss and infertility; each moment fiercely, irrevocably, painfully precious.<br />
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I fret over the days that pass too quickly (while also being uncomfortably aware of just how unlike the parenting experience <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/09/microblog-mondays-family-of-four.html">of my firstborn</a>). <i>Five months old! Six months! Now seven!</i> I flail and try to grasp. I chide myself for not making note of each infinitesimally adorable thing. I take hundreds of pictures, and then feel awkward guilt for placing a lens between me and my daughter, capturing rather than living in the moment.<br />
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Mindfulness can and does nurture gratitude, but it can also overwhelm with, well...mindfulness. Awareness of <i>just how real</i> it all is. Just how impermanent.<br />
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I know it sounds melodramatic, but it's a question I've been ruminating on a lot lately, even before the passage from the book spelled it out for me. Girl Wonder will be my last child, the only one I get to raise. And while the knowledge of that and the arduous road we had to travel in getting her here are vital reminders to cherish each moment of joy, those same moments also encapsulate a strange kind of mourning (albeit one I know I am supremely lucky to experience).<br />
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And how do I truthfully balance that in my heart?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSl7uWaKwk6rjgMKmwLJz07dqK7dK-8QcGR5HHa5PLtmgxhBv8Q4ZjrxBPaGVfURRJBKvqdnWbREm2Ge3xEwJxxe_82tlleUU6WyrMKTYZjh1uMKLk7B30jg9QVYQzQ9jhRQGfa-XZcU/s1600/buddha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSl7uWaKwk6rjgMKmwLJz07dqK7dK-8QcGR5HHa5PLtmgxhBv8Q4ZjrxBPaGVfURRJBKvqdnWbREm2Ge3xEwJxxe_82tlleUU6WyrMKTYZjh1uMKLk7B30jg9QVYQzQ9jhRQGfa-XZcU/s1600/buddha.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-54125804177421710362014-11-17T03:33:00.002-08:002014-11-17T11:41:55.294-08:00#Microblog Mondays: Relative values<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA02lAy6k2XlB-MD_-NzsaH2wYpbYXZ4yiEu3O5QSFrTqL9-YYcbe0PBXCDVJ4qKXzWFFRE8rZCpJvlo8qg9hpvugRIEMZldGN0uAVZsTJrGsniNIegwvM1KVf6El6qB_pvH89XHz6uQ4/s1600/DSC00166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA02lAy6k2XlB-MD_-NzsaH2wYpbYXZ4yiEu3O5QSFrTqL9-YYcbe0PBXCDVJ4qKXzWFFRE8rZCpJvlo8qg9hpvugRIEMZldGN0uAVZsTJrGsniNIegwvM1KVf6El6qB_pvH89XHz6uQ4/s1600/DSC00166.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Translation: <i>A cigarette shortens your life by eight minutes. A day of work shortens your life by eight hours. </i><br />
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Unlike their industrious Germanic neighbours in that economic powerhouse to the west, the denizens of this city are not known for embracing a strong work ethic. It's probably fair to say they're more embracing of an <i>eat, drink, smoke and <strike>be merry</strike> oh-alright-I'll-begrudgingly-crack-the-merest-hint-of-a-smile-but-only-under-duress</i> approach to life. (They're not known for their merry nature either.)<br />
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Yeah, sounds about right.<br />
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<i>Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i> </div>
Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-16907715418633267662014-11-10T01:01:00.000-08:002014-11-10T01:01:25.293-08:00#Microblog Mondays: Amateur hour<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We're unpacking boxes, some of which, given our vagabond ways of days past, have been in storage <i>forever</i>. <br />
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<i>She'll soon be into that</i>, my mother - here for a week to help us settle in - says gleefully. (I suspect she's seeking karmic retribution for my hellian toddler ways.)<br />
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But she may have a point. Much as it, erm...<strike>made me feel stabby</strike> <i>frustrated</i> me when smugly pointed out by the rampantly fertile in days past, there's probably lots we don't yet appreciate about the tangible, hardcore realities of having a kid around the house. Not yet. <br />
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Before, we could casually, unthinkingly arrange our home with purely aesthetic considerations in mind; display the many treasured items from our travels and adults-only lifestyle of days past. Beautiful, breakable <i>objets d'art</i>. Books with thousands of fascinating, tear-able pages. A universe of off-limits delights for tiny, exploring hands and mouths... <br />
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As first time parents, we slid in under the wire. We are <i>old. </i>But still, we're relative amateurs. We have so much still to learn, (a prospect that excites rather than daunts).<br />
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It's true; she'll be into everything and wreaking havoc before we know what hit us.<br />
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And that'll be the happiest loss of property I can possibly imagine.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3i57DTl8JhOmrmkSzZa32Q8wBnzlEPV-qXGARqfSoOy4U0B1ThTXakdqVprEp9IzQKx6bG2_RGVNhZumSaHB8svLB28bwyPFeEyXFQA4NdXN5NVp86dgnTnfnivltyE0p8oAzdCdHUk/s1600/P1080548.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3i57DTl8JhOmrmkSzZa32Q8wBnzlEPV-qXGARqfSoOy4U0B1ThTXakdqVprEp9IzQKx6bG2_RGVNhZumSaHB8svLB28bwyPFeEyXFQA4NdXN5NVp86dgnTnfnivltyE0p8oAzdCdHUk/s1600/P1080548.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strictly upper shelf stuff from here on in.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<i>Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i> </div>
Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-90336969043454433152014-11-03T02:00:00.000-08:002014-11-03T02:00:06.563-08:00#Microblog Mondays: Leave-takings and homecomings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The new keys have been collected, the boxes arrived and the unpacking and settling in begins again.<br />
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I've <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/09/microblog-mondays-on-road.html">hinted</a> that changes were afoot, and now here they are upon us. <br />
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And so, farewell to England.<br />
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More than a decade after I first set out for these shores as an eager young graduate student, through all my sojourns elsewhere, I always returned to you; you were the closest thing I had to a home outside the country where I grew up.<br />
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Although (hardy Canadian that I am), I often<a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2013/08/keepin-it-real.html"> bemoaned your rather hysterical response</a> to 'extreme' weather conditions, and your unique, <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2013/12/disqualified.html">occasionally callous</a> brand of the welfare state, we had a good run, you and I.<br />
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You instilled in me an unshakable appreciation for an orderly qeue, and a lifelong confusion over the use of words like <i>qeue</i> vs <i>line</i>, <i>lift</i> vs <i>elevator</i>, <i>pushchair</i> vs <i>stroller</i>. You made me love chocolate. Your quirky neighbourhoods and streets taught me <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/everything-is-going-to-be-alright.html">valuable life lessons</a>, took me on many adventures, and consoled and distracted me through ill-advised romantic entanglements.<br />
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On your soils, I gained a PhD, a soulmate and life partner, and the most beautiful daughter imaginable; you answered prayers I didn't even know my heart was saying, beginning all those years ago. Here too I experienced the most profound of losses, the most harrowing days of my adult life. In all these, a part of you will rest in my being forever. I cannot look on <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2013/07/travel-essentials-and-learning-to-let-go.html">your gentle countryside</a> without imagining S lingering there in your beauty. This brings me great comfort. <br />
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I guess it's fair to say, I grew up under your watchful eye.<br />
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And now, here we are,<a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/09/microblog-mondays-family-of-four.html"> four minus one</a>, to begin anew.<br />
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In H's home town, a city famed for schnitzel, strudel and Strauss.<br />
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And the adventure continues. The growing continues.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyW52iW34TA1Xv-FuP9IzkgUu_cvbnHOL3hzi7ny_gjdkoiV3DQdFtM3JX5NC7ubUmNUdDFSgGag8gA_DMWhg7exFF4sDzrYFBl-KpFCwKUTXZz2LJVS1V3TeplWJT5I9KGnSd5TtYx8/s1600/Microblog_Mondays.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyW52iW34TA1Xv-FuP9IzkgUu_cvbnHOL3hzi7ny_gjdkoiV3DQdFtM3JX5NC7ubUmNUdDFSgGag8gA_DMWhg7exFF4sDzrYFBl-KpFCwKUTXZz2LJVS1V3TeplWJT5I9KGnSd5TtYx8/s1600/Microblog_Mondays.png" /></a></div>
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<i>Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i></div>
Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-33545427440195445622014-10-20T00:00:00.000-07:002014-10-20T00:00:09.964-07:00#Microblog Mondays: The tyranny of pink<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Okay, okay world, I get it; I have seen the error of my ways. My daughter doesn't wear nearly enough pink or frills or dresses. Because (<i>gasp!</i>) without those aids, she might not understand her prescribed social role. <<i>Aaahhh!! Gender confusion!!</i>><br />
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It's not that I oppose pink <i>per se</i>. I probably even own a few rose tinted garments myself.<br />
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But I guess, since long before Girl Wonder made her appearance, I've been a strenuous opponent of the tyranny that is the pink-and-blue-dichotomy. (And since first <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/01/this-much-i-know.html">finding out</a> she is a she, I confess I have lived in fear of facing the moment of the <a href="http://peggyorenstein.com/books/cinderella.html">Disney Princess Effect</a>.) Because, well...shouldn't we all resist this? Shouldn't I raise my daughter with an appreciation for the possible fluidity of identities and the empowerment that can arise from that? Shouldn't she have the opportunity to develop her own sense of femininity, or to discard that notion altogether if she sees fit? And just as importantly, isn't this pink-or-blue, pastel-tinged universe just a tad... <strike>creepy</strike> <i>boring</i>??<br />
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I guess it's fair to say we were always going to be subscribers to the <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2013/03/international-womens-day-edition-dont.html">Riley school of childrearing</a> as it pertains to gender ascription. Too bad not all gift givers can be like Riley though.<br />
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For now I just have to figure out what to do with all these frills, because it feels like a nursing home somewhere may be <a href="https://www.google.at/search?q=baby+photo+shoot+clothes&biw=1280&bih=699&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=CR1EVMunDNCvacORgYgD&ved=0CAYQ_AUoAQ#tbm=isch&q=baby+girl+photo+shoot+clothes">missing its lampshades</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAe85d-k67PcELSHh7ZtshOrCp897Y6OcI07PIwAKHzWoebUM4N3axGyX5bpJTPvWa3D2GS8n5CctoahiWu_DrGuutJsEqiC751UOccBZ9Nia4MBUT7CWZDsxsHs5VVsUWdww4tXuk0A/s1600/Microblog_Mondays.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAe85d-k67PcELSHh7ZtshOrCp897Y6OcI07PIwAKHzWoebUM4N3axGyX5bpJTPvWa3D2GS8n5CctoahiWu_DrGuutJsEqiC751UOccBZ9Nia4MBUT7CWZDsxsHs5VVsUWdww4tXuk0A/s1600/Microblog_Mondays.png" /></a><i> </i><br />
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<i> Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i><br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-73162373811126275242014-10-15T08:25:00.001-07:002014-10-15T08:25:39.768-07:00Remembering<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. This means that tonight at 7pm, as every years since S left us, we will light a candle in memory of he and all those babies whose lives ended far too soon, and in solidarity with all those families they left behind.<br />
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Today, as every day, we think of S and miss him. We wonder about the two little lives who left us even sooner after he went away. Three babies who will always remain a mystery to us.<br />
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<a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2013/10/best-thanksgiving-ever.html">One year ago yesterday</a>, we found out Girl Wonder's tiny heart beat fast and healthy. As I type this today, she lies cuddled in my arms; an amazing, unbelievable feeling. She has brought us so much joy, but she cannot ease the sense of loss we will always feel,
for the big brother who should be here, full of protectiveness and jealousy.<br />
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Tonight, we remember all those tiny lives, those of our three babies and of all others too. We honour them, and we thank them for the beauty they have brought to the world, even if only in their parents' imaginings.<br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-42537169749344954872014-10-02T06:40:00.002-07:002014-10-02T06:40:31.609-07:00Updates, updates everywhere but not a moment to type<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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How did it get to be October already?! ?(I know, I say that, like, every time I log on.) Definitely one of my favourite months of the year, though also the season I get most homesick for all things autumnal. Nobody rocks autumn like they do in Canada, friends.<br />
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October <strike>1st</strike> <i><<2nd? I totally started this post last night></i> marks the beginning of Down syndrome Awareness Month, and thus the start of the <a href="http://mdbeau.blogspot.co.at/2014/09/8th-annual-31-for-21-blog-challenge.html">31 for 21 Blog Challenge</a>. It aims to raise awareness of Trisomy 21 by introducing readers to the everyday lives and realities of families who experience Down syndrome. At first I thought of participating myself and, full of good intentions and best laid plans, even got so far as adding the button to the right >> (That counts, right?)<br />
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This seemed like a good thing for me to do this month because <b>a)</b> we're in the middle of an international move, <b>b)</b> Girl Wonder is growing and changing in leaps and bounds, has many medical appointments this month and will begin her early intervention program in a few short weeks, <b>c)</b> I need to brush up on my German, <b>d)</b> am recovering from surgery on my left hand that makes tasks like typing slow and arduous, <b>e)</b> <i><as a consequence of points <b>a</b> through <b>d</b>> </i>I am seriously short of time, and <b>f)</b> I'm clearly insane.<br />
<br />
But then, well, in the <i>*cons</i>* column for this idea, there is also all of the above. My proverbial plate is full not only with all these grand transitions
and minor causes of mayhem but with delights and simple pleasures and
rare delicacies. Yes, (lover of a mixed metaphor that I am) my cup is full but my plate runneth over! Or...something like that? So anyway, 31 straight days of blogging ain't happening any
time soon. On many of those points I shall endeavour to update you all in the coming <strike>days</strike> <strike>weeks</strike> oh ok, <i>years</i>. <br />
<br />
A brief Girl Wonder update though (because let's face it, I'll take any opportunity, however fleeting, to wax ecstatic about this kid): she is thriving. She's still super tiny (wearing size '0') but growing up way too fast for my liking. And, though I kind of loathe the terminology and the fast-track, normative, chronological-development-preoccupied mindset that it encourages, she surprised all her caregivers by rolling over at only 10 weeks old and hasn't looked back since, hitting each 'milestone' as she goes. Her head and neck control are still weak, but she is so determined to be up and looking around and that has spurred her on. She spends so much of each day 'talking', telling us long stories full of adventure and glee and sometimes moaning over all of life's little injustices (e.g. <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/09/microblog-mondays-on-road.html">her horse</a> being left behind when we make an outing). She is the master of the full body smile, the entirety of her being wriggling with paroxysms of delight when she feels the moment take her; I have never seen anyone smile like she smiles and you guys, it is truly infectious. <br />
<br />
Five months into this whole adventure and 2.5 months out of the hospital, we are reaching some level of normality, if we are nowhere near <i>normalising</i> just where
our lives are. For that I am so so grateful; a dozen times a day, H or I will
turn to each other and say<br />
<br />
<i>Can you believe she is really here? </i><br />
<br />
<i>That she’s ours and we’re
hers? </i><br />
<br />
<i>That we get to keep her?</i><br />
<br />
We've
lucked out in more simple ways too: Girl Wonder is, despite her rocky
start in life, an exceptionally laid back and happy baby, taking everything in her stride and rarely fussy. She's accompanied us to wine festivals and concerts, gallery openings and fancy schmancy restaurants, and though I am sure some think us crazy for it, <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2014/04/getting-prepared-part-i-babymoon.html">as we'd hoped</a>, she hasn't limited our adult lives at all, only tremendously enhanced them. She rolls with it, a <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.at/2013/12/first-flutters-and-baby-buddhas.html">tiny Buddha baby </a>for sure. She is perfection.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">************************</span></div>
<br />
<br />
In the interest of awareness, (since many of my readers may not have much experience of Down syndrome) I'll leave th<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">at</span></span> button up, though I kinda like <a href="http://www.meriahnichols.com/">Meriah's challenge</a> for us to move beyond mere awareness to embracing acceptance. Let's take up the challenge!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0qPDVb6-U9fjYWX11K8CcIqKkfB39elEfuLnU5WdhivhMpMScIUxmEsM42PHI1IPhFFD-8qoyeYeZgB9SfbdT4s26gnh5usjyIObt9VcNPdlQy-oQHXXiV4nX3Zqeks1h7O5wt0RRHGo/s1600/meriahnichols.comdownsyndromeacceptancemonth.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0qPDVb6-U9fjYWX11K8CcIqKkfB39elEfuLnU5WdhivhMpMScIUxmEsM42PHI1IPhFFD-8qoyeYeZgB9SfbdT4s26gnh5usjyIObt9VcNPdlQy-oQHXXiV4nX3Zqeks1h7O5wt0RRHGo/s1600/meriahnichols.comdownsyndromeacceptancemonth.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.meriahnichols.com/syndrome-acceptance-month/">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<span class="mceItemHidden" data-mce-bogus="1"></span></div>
Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-62766881236742627032014-09-22T03:00:00.000-07:002015-09-12T22:57:01.365-07:00#Microblog Mondays: On the road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
She is the daughter of this vagabond family, alright. At last count, we've called five countries in the last six years home-or-something-like-it. And in her 4.5 months of age, Girl Wonder already has <strike>six</strike> seven countries under her belt, courtesy of a west-to-east trans-continental road trip that's been part of planning our future whereabouts. <br />
<br />
She took it all in her stride, intrepid <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/this-much-i-know.html">barricade stormer</a> that she is. (And was kept in happy company by a much beloved toy gifted to commemorate her <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/01/16/year-of-the-horse-2014_n_4592105.html">Year of the Horse</a> arrival. She loves that horse, but when we realized its magical, mood-changing qualities, stopping tears in their tracks, we loved it more).<br />
<br />
Thousands of miles by car with an infant. Crazy, you say? Yeah, that's just how we roll.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<i>Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i></div>
Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-63797531453157573172014-09-15T01:00:00.000-07:002014-09-15T02:01:56.522-07:00#Microblog Mondays: Family of four<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<![endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">'How are the three of you doing</i>?' <i></i><br />
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<i>'The three of you';</i> they say it so innocuously.<br />
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Or, '<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is
this your first?</i>'. An innocent query from a passerby. I stumble, pause for a second too long. Guilt. Sadness. Pride. Uncertainty. Love. So much love. How do you reply? </div>
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I have become resigned - after so long spent loudly and furiously grieving - to the fact that people <strike>can't</strike> <strike>won't</strike> don't acknowledge or remember our first born. Though to H and I, this is a family of four.</div>
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He is there in his sister’s sparkling eyes; in her secret
dreaming smiles.</div>
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He is there in his parents’ impossible-to-realize determination
to let no moment go unnoticed, unappreciated, uncelebrated. We want to stop
and savour; to capture <i>everything</i>.<br />
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For babies grow so fast, you know. Except when they don’t.
He never will. </div>
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And yet he is here. We are a family of four, but one of us
- a son, a brother - will always be missing.</div>
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<i>Written as part of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/">Mel's</a> Microblog Mondays. Check it out <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2014/09/what-is-microblog-mondays/">here</a> to participate.</i><br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181203705533916900.post-53402478077414683002014-09-04T05:22:00.001-07:002014-09-04T05:22:34.280-07:00So right<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So yes, I am totally that cliché. My communications post-baby have faltered, and I no longer feel like I have the time to post regularly, never mind constructing lovely sentences to adequately convey our here and now. I marvel at those mamas who continue to post with regularity through early parenthood. There are posts I write in my head several times a week. Things I want to say, or record for posterity, or share. The thoughts come, sometimes even the words, but I struggle to find the time and space for such pursuits. Part of me still feels attached to this space and the outlet it has provided, while another part feels it is inextricably linked to a past from which I've been wrenched by these momentous past months. Months that were sometimes horrendous, but which have become filled with delights large and small with increasingly regularity.<br />
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And so I find myself back in this space to update on one such of the larger variety. Girl Wonder had her first long-term follow-up appointments last week, at a new hospital, to review both the situation with her ventriculomegaly and the possible consequences of the CMV. We knew this was coming but in the final delight at having her home, have tried to leave it to one side as we enjoyed family life for the first time.<br />
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In brief: everything looks wonderful. Her heart scan showed only minor anomalies (all of which are resolving as they should), and her brain scan found no signs of calcification, while her ventricals are measuring at the right size and growth rate for a baby of her size and age. We were thrilled. Prosecco was consumed at yet another chance to celebrate our amazing wonder of a daughter.<br />
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On leaving the hospital, having arrived with the first light of day for an early appointment and spent many long and anxious hours into the afternoon awaiting procedures, transferring clinics, and then waiting again for meetings with specialists who would interpret all the results for us, we were exhausted and elated. There was the briefest of moments when we looked at one another and felt a strange kind of disorientation.<br />
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H turned to me and said: <i>'Do you realize this is the first time in what feels like forever that we came to the hospital and received nothing but good news? </i><br />
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It's true. <a href="http://my-invincible-spring.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/not-worst-news.html">Almost from the start</a>, hospital visits kept throwing us for one loop after another. I think part of us both expected someone to say: '<i>I'm sorry, but we're going to have to admit her again'.</i><br />
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But they didn't. And she's doing awesome. The experience did indeed feel a bit (delightfully, intoxicatingly, ecstatically) strange.<br />
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I was reminded of that Paul Simon song. To paraphrase: getting used to something so right is going to take some getting used to.<br />
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And that's an endeavour - short as we are on time these days - that we will joyfully run towards.<br />
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Sadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14325203869605294768noreply@blogger.com14