#Microblog Mondays: La dolce vita

We recently what already seems like far too long ago 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.

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.

We hiked through olive groves and vineyards to alpine lakes of impossible turquoise waters. We sat on terraces overlooking heavenly scenery, sipping Hugos. 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 - too hard to choose! - below can show you better than I can...)

And for her part, Girl Wonder loooved Italy. The gelato and swimming in the lake, sure, but really it was the Italian people who my daughter, shameless flirt 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.

Mia cara! They would throw open their arms to her in exaggerated awe.

Bella piccolina!

Che dolce bambina!

Bellissima piccola signorina!

Mia cuore! 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 these parts.) 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 us her.
 
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 being hijacked by enamoured waiters and paraded around the terrace. Then you might find it all a bit over the top.  

 

 

A tale of two playgroups

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. 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! 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.

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.

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.

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 (fourteen!) 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.

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 brush with terminal illness in my teens, which left me with a pronounced limp, I am accustomed to answering intrusive curious questions about 'what's wrong with your leg?' 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.

Uh, except...maybe, on some occasions, this is more than a room full of terrified, pregnant fertiles 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...'born six weeks early by cesearean'...'intra-uterine-growth-restriction'...'Down syndrome'...'we're starting solids later because of her surgery at 36 hours old and feeding tube for first nine weeks'... Well, I'm sure you see where this is going...

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.

I felt isolated. Like a fake, a freak. 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 The Plastics. (And if you haven't seen Mean Girls, go check it out; I'll wait. Tina Fey and Lyndsey Lohan in a previous incarnation. Love.)

(As another aside, I'm not really sure why people think 'I can't possibly imagine what you're going through' 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 won't pretend to know what you're experiencing' is honest and direct, which I appreciate - in saying that you simply can't even imagine, 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.)

So where was I? Ah yes, back to the playgroups.

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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.

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?

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.

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 Loribeth wrote a great post recently about how people who do experience adversity in life are expected, often for the benefit of everyone but themselves, to fit a certain redemptive cultural narrative).

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 you 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...

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 - understood. 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.

I'm not saying that difficulty is something to be lauded. But maybe difference is, or should be.

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.

Leaving that 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.

And we don't even own a dryer! Source.

Twelve months, a thousand thoughts but few words

There is simply no way that mere words could adequately capture all the fear and joy and tumult and change that 2014 held for our family.

So I won't even try.

One thing's for sure though; if there were any confusion 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.

This is what I will remember of 2014.

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.

#Microblog Mondays: Amateur hour

We're unpacking boxes, some of which, given our vagabond ways of days past, have been in storage forever.

She'll soon be into that, 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.)

But she may have a point. Much as it, erm...made me feel stabby frustrated 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.

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 objets d'art. Books with thousands of fascinating, tear-able pages. A universe of off-limits delights for tiny, exploring hands and mouths...  

As first time parents, we slid in under the wire. We are old. But still, we're relative amateurs. We have so much still to learn, (a prospect that excites rather than daunts).

It's true; she'll be into everything and wreaking havoc before we know what hit us.

And that'll be the happiest loss of property I can possibly imagine.

Strictly upper shelf stuff from here on in.

Written as part of Mel's Microblog Mondays. Check it out here to participate.

#Microblog Mondays: On the road

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 six seven countries under her belt, courtesy of a west-to-east trans-continental road trip that's been part of planning our future whereabouts.

She took it all in her stride, intrepid barricade stormer that she is. (And was kept in happy company by a much beloved toy gifted to commemorate her Year of the Horse arrival. She loves that horse, but when we realized its magical, mood-changing qualities, stopping tears in their tracks, we loved it more).

Thousands of miles by car with an infant. Crazy, you say? Yeah, that's just how we roll.

Written as part of Mel's Microblog Mondays. Check it out here to participate.

Stuff nobody told me about parenting a newborn

I stumble, befuddled and bleary-eyed, from bed, unsure of the time or even, in those first semi-conscious moments, what day it is.

I rummage through the pile of discarded garments on the floor, selecting the least wrinkled, the least malodorous, and contentedly throw it on. I know I'll probably be in pyjamas all day anyway.

In the kitchen I manage to rustle up a breakfast of sorts: coffee - the stronger the better - cold left-over pizza and some squares of chocolate. There will be no time for cooking today, even if I could find the inclination, which I don't.

The detritus of the previous night's activities is everywhere; heaps of unwashed dishes and a room in happy disarray, that gives me a warm, smiley feeling to behold. This is a life well-lived.

It feels full, frequently overwhelming, full of mistakes and lessons learned without a manual, trial-and-error-on-the-fly-we're-all-still-smiling-and-no-one-got-hurt. The heady rush of daily developments and discoveries. Each moment a study in newness and magnificence. Blissful, and awash with messy, limitless possibility. Every day an adventure.

If infertility is surprisingly like being a physicist, I had no inkling of how much these first steps into parenthood would - oddly - resemble my earliest university days.

The gorgeous cause of all the leftover-eating, dirty-laundry-wearing

, mess-making adventure.

A semi-retraction: not all people are bastards

As I was typing yesterday's post, the story of baby Gammy it seems was already making its way across global headlines, and an equally global campaign of support and compassion had blossomed. (I admit that with this adjusting-to-motherhood thing I'm somewhat behind with a fast developing story.)

In a few short days, funds have been raised to pay Gammy's necessary medical costs, and the international press coverage has generated what I consider a very positive discussion about a whole range of issues, from the the ethics of 'surrogacy tourism' to the lives of children with disability generally and the positive contributions they make to their parents lives. The tone of discussion has been a lot more open and well-directed than I might have anticipated.

At the same time, I'm surprised that there could really be any level of sympathy for the parents involved, as some comments here seem to have suggested. Is it sad for them, in the sense that they are clearly people who don't seem to grasp the value of every individual life, from that of their children to the woman they hired to carry them? Yes, pitifully so. But they are no more victims than the dubious agency which they apparently hired to broker a deal in which they never bothered to meet their surrogate.

As one commenter suggested, this is not normal practice for those who pursue surrogacy as a road to family building. Who goes about something as serious and life-altering as gestating and birthing their child without a lot of research, some serious contractual specifics in place and at least a certain level of comfort with the person hired to do so (which would entail meeting said individual)? If it were me, that would be the last venture in which I would be looking to cut costs.

And while I'm willing to believe that a 21 year old women from a small village in Thailand might be naive enough to overlook or not fully grasp these details, I can't understand why a couple who had undertaken fertility treatments would be. After all, experiences like IVF and surrogacy are not something you just enter into on a whim - almost by definition they normally involve a huge amount of forethought, soul-searching, weighing up options and preparedness.

And I would still argue that to normalize these people or to speak of their rights in this situation discredits those who enter into surrogacy arrangements out of a genuine desire to parent (and also smacks more than a little of the extent to which western notions of entitlement foreclose the rights of the surrogates in such a scenario). This really isn't about biological parents' right to termination, which of course should be respected. It's not a story about Down syndrome either, except insofar as some people see it as a marker of undesirability. No, we don't know all the details of what went on and who knew or understood what, but at the very least we know this couple hired a surrogate in a country where they knew there to be few if any regulations and precisely because it would be a cheap option. I'm not the only one to see parallels with The Handmaid's Tale here, and all this is said better there. (I won't even touch on the latest reports of an investigation into the biological father.)

As others have mentioned, there are so many things wrong with this story on so many levels that it's hard to know where to begin. What I can't see is any interpretation in which the couple are anything other than complicit at best, and exploitive at worst in this whole situation.

But actually, this was supposed to be a post about how some genuinely good developments have come out of a horrible situation. Not all people are bastards, if we just know where to take the discussion. My faith in people is renewed. And to end on a high note, this picture of Gammy being loved on by his surrogate brother is kind of adorable.

Source.

Getting prepared, part I: babymoon

Alright I admit it: one of the (somewhat frivolous) things on our preparations list was a final waddle jaunt someplace relaxing and slightly luxurious, while we could still pretend it's just the two of us for a few days and get some respite from the whirlwind of appointments and practicalities looming along with little seedling's arrival. H suggested a last minute, doctor-approved, comfortable-journey-by-train to the continent while it was still a possibility; and so we spent last week exploring some lovely Belgian towns, soaking up the fin de siècle atmosphere of amazing grand cafes, drinking the justifiably famous Belgian beer (him), eating mussels (him again), pastries and chocolate (me, me) and generally being aimless and immersed in something other than our day-to-day reality. 

A babymoon is meant for those last moments of couple-y decadence before life is turned upside down by late night feeds and hastily stolen moments for personal hygiene and long conversations about the contents of baby's diapers rather than the contents of the Sunday papers over a bottle of prosecco.

At least that's the idea, right?

For us I think it was as much a respite from the hazy blur of often scary and overwhelming medical stuff that's characterized this pregnancy. And really, there was as much happy anticipation of little seedling's arrival in our conversations as there was avoidance of that inevitability.

We strolled...and window shopped in beautiful baby boutiques.

We visited late night jazz cafes...and laughed at her reactions in time to the music.

Ravenous young lovers with eyes only for each other, we were probably not. (Well, there was our two nights at a beautiful Brussels hotel with a rather racy past. Does that count?)

So I guess not a babymoon in the traditional sense (if the term 'traditional' can be aptly applied to a trend that has arisen in recent decades to respond to our growing affluence and consumerism) of decadence and pampering implied by the term. But ok, both owing to financial constraints and to the fact that I have no intention of eternally forgoing the reading of novels or long country walks just because I am about to delve into active parenthood, ours was a more subdued affair, though none the less delightful for that. Here's a visual sampling of what we encountered....

 

3/21

One of the coolest things about my tiny daughter? Like her brother before her, she has allowed me to see the the beauty and unexpected joys that lie at the margins of experience, those stories we often don't get the chance, don't slow down and listen hard enough to hear in this achievement obsessed, 'perfection' seeking, sometimes brutal world.

Being S's mother allowed me see the deep and abiding love that can dwell in the invisible, those essential things not seen by the eye. For that I am ever grateful. My beautiful S, giving the stars their sparkle.

And in her own tiny life, our little seedling is already enriching us in ways I am only beginning to understand. Teaching us how important each moment is, to breath deeply and not rush. To appreciate how little the 'facts' can tell us about love. To celebrate and champion the unique, the unorthodox, the quirky and the singular.

Both my children have and continue to take me on journeys that reveal their truths in gently unfolding, mysterious ways. Or sometimes in great rushes of knowing that are so striking their realization is almost visceral.

Because of my children, I am a braver, more compassionate - and yes, more human - being than I ever gave myself credit for in the life I had before they came along. I am fiercely proud of them both. Our kids, they're one of a kind.

Although I can understand why some parents might, I don't feel fear when I think about raising a child with Down syndrome. Truly, we are so excited to begin this special journey. To have this unique opportunity to learn and grow alongside her. To see the world anew through her eyes. To glow with pride as she discovers and accomplishes and falls and gets up again.

And surely that's just a universal, parental feeling?

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Today is World Down Syndrome Day. For the 3rd copy of the 21st chromosome; get it? (Also the spring equinox, The New Year celebrations of Newroz for a host of cultures across the Middle East and Central Asia, the day after my birthday and apparently World Happiness Day; so it's generally a week on the calendar I can get behind.) 

I'm new at all this Down syndrome stuff, but already I have learned that there is an amazing global community out there, full of love and acceptance and the readiness to challenge conventional thinking on all the things we think truly matter in life. I like that challenge. These are my people, I can feel it. I'm not religious and I've never been a fatalist, but it's almost as though everything until now was leading me to this.

I read a blog post earlier this week written by Lauren over at Sipping Lemonade. Hers has quickly become a favourite read; she articulates so beautifully all the things I am still too busy untangling in my own brain to put into such moving words.

I hope she won't mind that I'm re-printing here some of what she has to say about today, because I feel sure these are the kinds of things we can all benefit from hearing, whether we're facing our own challenging situations or looking for something awesome to celebrate today. I hope they inspire you as they have me.

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 On World Down syndrome Day:

Since having Kate, I’ve realized that, truly, this day is for everyone and anyone — whether or not you have or love someone who has Down syndrome.

The heart of this day is for anyone who is or loves someone who is human.

It’s World We’re-All-Created-Equal Day. World We-All-Matter Day.

It’s World Don’t-Count-Me-Out Day and World I’ll-Surprise-The-Heck-Out-Of-You Day.

It’s World Different-Is-Great Day. World Be-Yourself Day.

It’s World We-All-Have-Special-Needs Day. And World Wouldn’t-It-Be-Boring-If-We-Were-All-the-Same Day.

It’s World Help-Each-Other Day. World Love-Each -Other Day. World Serve-Each-Other Day. World We’re-All-In-This-Together Day.

It’s a day where we advocate inclusion and awareness of those with Down syndrome — and of all of us.

We are all born to mothers who we hope will love and accept and celebrate us. We are all born to a world where we long to be heard and respected. We all have challenges to overcome and strengths to celebrate — and we all need others to help us along the way.

And on World Down Syndrome Day, it’s a good time to remind ourselves, our children, our friends and family and communities: do not be afraid of what’s different.

Do not underestimate those around you.

Do not count out those who do things in their own unique way in their own unique time.

Encourage. Include. Involve. Accept.

You can find the original post in its entirety here. 

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And while I'm at it, since this video is doing the rounds this week, click on the link below. I dare you to watch it and not cry sloppy, happy, uplifted tears.

Happy World We're-All-In-This-Together Day friends.

Holiday in pictures

This is just a quick hello. We've been cocooned away for a little, savouring the last days of solitude and peace this time has afforded. But here, succumbing to popular demand, I present you with a visual record of some of my favourite moments and random discoveries during the last few weeks.

Much as I do love all the syrupy sweetness of the holidays (confession: I could happily listen to Last Christmas on loop and not gag), I know that many of us who are vulnerable, hurting or feeling isolated struggle to feel the jollity of this season. All the artifice of the happy families stuff can feel forced. Like salt in the wound for those of us whose families don't look like we hoped they would, or when someone is missing. I know there have been disappointments and reasons for hope in this community in recent days (as in life), and although I haven't had the time to comment lately, you have all been on my mind.

In our own quiet holiday celebrations this year - when we miss most acutely those who we wish were here but aren't, and have tried to leave space to honour our sadness as well as joy - H and I have had some bitter (more on which later) and some sweet. Today I'm sharing the sweet, with the genuine hope that, if you are facing darkness, you too shall find some small light which brings hope and comfort. 

 

 

In the words of Freddy Mercury (and a little German too)

Deep breath.

The last few weeks have been stressful. There was the difficult news we received last week, obviously, to which we are still adjusting. Ultimately it wasn't so much the test results themselves that threw me, or even the possibility of a diagnosis that comes with that. It was the sobering reminder, intruding into my blissed-out pregnancy haze, that anything can happen at any moment, and that often, no matter how fiercely we love our babies, there is nothing we can do about it. It doesn't bear further thinking about actually, and so as I said, we have instead focused on processing the possibilities before us as we move forward.

But naturally, daily life doesn't stop for that process of adjustment; work has been especially hectic recently, with me taking on some particularly high-needs clients while also racing to perfect my Grooveshark holiday playlist meet many a proposal-writing deadline. While H precipitously careens towards the final completion of his thesis and with most days spent in the library 'til the wee hours, I feel like the only time I do see my husband lately is for those anxiously and nervously anticipated hospital visits.We also spent an over-extended Hanukkah week, travelling to events in London, socializing lots and cooking for 20+ people, and then there are my final rehearsals for the holiday performances with my singing group this weekend. It hasn't all been scary and stressful; some of it has been fun and lots of it very productive. But all of it busy, not leaving us much time for much of anything.

But forget about all that for the time being, because, dear readers.....on Sunday afternoon we set off for nearly three weeks of holidays in Austria and Germany, during which we'll have ample time to catch our breath, (re)count our blessings and just be together as a little family. <little happy dance> We prefer our holidays low-key and don't go in for any of the prevalent consumerist frenzy. There'll be some obligatory family engagements, but for much of the time it'll be just H and I, while we house-sit for his folks as they're abroad. Long hikes in what are sure to be enchanting snowy landscapes, chancing upon alpine huts offering warming food and crackling log fires, exploring ancient castle ruins. Christmas markets and gingerbread and chocolate and twinkling lights and woolly socks and sleigh rides and skiing. (And oh yes, the gluten free diet will be violated.)

Aaah. Deep breath. I can't wait.

In German there is a word for all this: Gemütlichkeit, which my German/English dictionary defines as any situation 'inducing a cheerful mood, peace of mind, a sense of belonging, coziness and unhurry'. Yep, sounds like just what the doctor ordered. 

And the Austrians excel at it, particularly at Christmas. You guys, they are the Kings of Christmas. It's like being dropped into a Santa's village/Sound of Music mashup, with really good home cooking on the side. (And to balance out the saccharine sweetness of that image, they have this badass guy as part of the traditional festivities too.) Every corner of every street festooned with markers of the holiday season, but (with apologies to those who are fans of the more-is-more-at-Christmas school of decorating), not in a tacky way. No tinsel or glitter, but rustic and homespun and charming. Every open space is transformed into a tiny wonderland of a Christmas Market; little wooden huts selling the famous gingerbread and stollen and glühwein (though this year it'll be only the kinderpunsch for me) and impromptu outdoor, mittened social gatherings that seem to burst out spontaneously as everyone stops in their busy workaday lives (not that the Viennese are well-known for that), to slow down, smile (not that the Viennese are well-known for that) and just savour. And rampant fire hazard be damned real candles on the Christmas trees. On everything. It's so warm and cozy and contagiously delightful in a simple kind of way. It makes my heart happy.

And really, that's what I'm wishing for all of us in these waning days of 2013. I hope that wherever this finds you, you may encounter moments that bring you peace of mind, a sense of belonging, coziness and unhurry. May our hearts be happy and find peace, in whatever form it comes.

In looking back on my feelings towards the year that is passing, I think Freddy and Co. really say it best.*

* Also, how can you not love the 'stache/tank top/santa hat combo?

Cute aggression: it's an actual thing

Now I have a perfectly logical explanation for my overwhelming desire to nibble on (oh, okay, bite) H, or one of my little brothers or nephews, when they've been particularly adorable.

Also, watch this video, which explains it all, and I guarantee you'll love all the people. All of them.

From now on - instead of my default whatifthebaby'snotOK?! reaction - I'm going to apply this theory whenever I get one of those scary cramps or twinges which (at nine weeks pregnant today!) keep coming: my uterus is just experiencing cute aggression when it thinks about little seedling. How could you not want to squeeze this?

Welcome ICLWers, Welcome Autumn!

Hello fellow ICLWers, and welcome. I'm looking forward to reading lots of new blogs in the coming days, during a week which we hope will be the final step in this particular part of the journey that's bringing us that much closer to our baby: we have our last pre-IVF consult in four short days, and then expect my next-cycle-but-one (in late October) to be It.

For all that came before - because I am a tenacious resistor to the tyranny of the ttc timeline (it was exhausting enough to live through, never mind summarizing for an interwebs full of new blogging friends) - you can just peruse backwards. Or for a brief synopsis, you can read my last ICLW introduction here. As I prepare emotionally as much as physically for what lies ahead, I'm attempting to develop new reserves of hope. I guess that's my big project at the moment. I'd be really interested to know what gives all of you hope too; I'd love it if you feel like answering the question at the end of my last post. 

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In the meantime, I'm taking a while to celebrate the arrival of autumn. Yeah, today marks the autumnal equinox and thereby the start of my absolute favorite season. Rather appropriately, we managed to have what will likely be our last BBQ of the year last night, with corn on the cob bursting with juiciness and too much butter eaten in such a way that necessitated a good hosing down afterwards - just like it's meant to be! And now on to the good stuff: while my husband would give anything to stay the whole year in a sarong and flipflops, I myself am a crunching-through-the-fallen-leaves, hot-cocoa-loving, cosy-nights-in-with-a-good-book-cherishing kinda girl.

Some of my favorite reasons to celebrate the departure of those long summer days and embrace the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness:

1) Knitwear. Or more specifically, woolly socks, for which I have something of a fetish. A friend once said: I firmly believe it's impossible to make a decent fashion statement in the summer. And while that may be a hardline approach, I can see where she was going with it. All the stuff I love to bring out and wear again happens in autumn, like a warm hug. And uppermost on that list is socks. I have two new additions to my almost too big for the closet collection this year.

First, a pair sent me by the lovely Lentil when we both participated in a sock swap early in the year. We were a sock-match-made-in-heaven, both super tardy with our parcel deliveries, which I think are just now coming into their own. A sock swap? It gave me warm fuzzies people. Second, a pair picked up in a neat little atelier we visited during our trip to beautiful Tallinn this past summer. Both make me immeasurably happy.

 

 2) Guy Fawkes Night. England's answer to Hallowe'en, complete with mulled wine, torch-lit processions, burning effigies, flaming barrel races and a whole host of other pyromaniac fun to be had. For a homesick Canadian missing as I do the autumnal delights of Jack O'Lanterns, apple bobbing, trick-or-treaters  and that flourescent, gross-tasting-yet-somehow-irresistible candy corn every October 31st? Well, Bonfire Night is a cultural experience not to be missed. And let's just leave aside the slightly strange monarchist undertones for now. So. Much. Fun.

3) Homemade pumkin spice lattes. Or anything pumkin, really. Need I say more?

4) Paul Klee. Not strictly autumnal I guess, despite the apropos colour palate of one of my all-time favorite artists. However, this exhibition will be a seasonal treat, and I can't wait.

Mostly though....

5) IVF. At least for us. Finally. Autumn marks one cycle closer to our Oct/Nov IVF cycle, the one we hope might actually carry our baby to our waiting home and hearts. 

Oh please, Gods of the Autumn Equinox, hear my calls! (Maybe I should just adorn myself with creeper vines and all things cornucopia and dance naked under the moonlight?) 

Let's hope my affinity for autumn will bring us some luck, that there'll be some added reason to love this season in the coming weeks.

So -  if you haven't answered the question in my last post - what's your favorite season? And what do you love about autumn?

Love everyone even if they are weird, and other bits of Blogger wisdom

It's been quite a week and on this beautiful Sunday morning, with the house still quiet, I'm stealing a few minutes for blogging and to catch my breath before it all starts again.

I've been back and forth and back again to our clinic for yet more data collection; not only the stupidly, insensitively administered bloodwork, but also my first antral follicle count. Result (on day five): 16 follicles - 11 on the left and 5 on the lazy, underachieving right. I was told that this was 'great' <quote> for a woman my age, which is always a reassuring phrase to have appended to any health assessment. No matter; my own data collection - the nerd/control freak in me is incapable of processing any of this information without triangulating findings via an independently conducted literature review - found this count to be acceptable. ('Acceptable' versus 'great for a woman my age': you be the judge. Which of these do I cling to?) So until the next instalment we're all good.

I also started my new job this week, and am remembering both how great it feels to be a highly functioning, contributing member of society and how little time that leaves for fun stuff like obsessing about the state of my uterus, control freakery in the form of infertility-related literature reviews, and general blogging shenanigans. All these new experiences have me more than a little reflective, and aching to release the narcissist in me record it all for the interwebs.

Alas, on my single day of relaxation this week affords, I'm off for a day of hiking on what is sure to be one of the last truly beautiful days of the dying summer. But because I don't like to report-and-run, and also because I've somehow just discovered the bizarrely fascinating world of Blogger stats and the list of keyword searches that led you good readerfolk to my tiny corner of the blogosphere, I leave you with an annotated selection of some of my favorites:

1) how to be optimistic about infertility
 I'm flattered and amazed that anyone would think to attach this notion to my frequently nasty ramblings. But I'm working on it.

2) infertility+fuming
Yes, frequently. This seems more apt.

3) spring in ovaries
As in, 'spring in my step'? This one has a nice ring to it: 'with the wind at my back and a spring in my ovaries, I set off the face the world'.

4) love everyone even if they are weird
Indeed. Improbable and delightful as a search term leading to my humble blog, with a little adaptation this one offers a kind of zen wisdom for a multitude of scenarios faced by the ranting infertile. Self love: love everyone...even if they are barren and bitter. Stranger love: love everyone...even if they are pregnant. (You're allowed to laugh too.) Familial love: love everyone...even if they're full of ignorant-but-think-they're-helpful suggestions on how to conquer infertility.
I am oddly proud to have my blog associated with this one.

And finally, my personal favorite...

5) everything is going to be alright
Oh yes, I'd certainly like to think so. One way or another, it will. I have to believe that.

Weird but beautiful.

Yearning, en Français

This past week, with H rushing to meet a deadline, and my days as a lady of leisure numbered (I start my new job in less than two weeks), I decided to make myself scarce and took a quick trip to France to meet up with an old university roommate of mine.

On the short ferry ride over, innocently minding my own business and dreaming of all the soft cheese and red wine me and my barren womb were about to consume with gusto, I had a chance encounter with a member of the opposite sex that set my heart aflutter. (These types of encounters, I must confess, have become all the more frequent since I have become a married woman.)

With his unmistakable French swagger and a stylish scarf tossed with careless élan, my admirer had that certain je ne sais quoi; I couldn't help but have a wandering eye. You wouldn't blame me if you had seen him: he had long, dark lashes that framed his gorgeous, flirtatious eyes, caramel brown skin that looked oh-so-soft, and I could tell just by looking at him that he must have smelled incredible, intoxicating even. And, as has happened before in such encounters, he awakened in me a deep-seat, primal yearning.

We glanced at each other coyly for the better part of half an hour, playing a shy game of 'who-will-look-away-first', flirting casually, slowly edging closer to one another as our shyness and inhibitions waned.

And when his Maman came to lead him off the boat at disembarkation, after our intimate little game of peek-a-boo, tiny, caramel brown Alain, my adorable new friend, sweetly waved a chubby-handed au revoir and was gone. He melted my heart a little, and renewed my will to continue with all...this...

...le sigh... 

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Other than this brief, bittersweet delight, the rest of the best of those three days...

Canalside strolling

Macarons. Just...yum.

Cathedral by day

Cathedral by night; funky light show

More canals, more strolling

Questionable cocoa advertising

Crêpes and crême de marrons and salted caramel glacé, oh my!

Kir à la pêche

Just like in a Monet

I always light a candle for S, and for all lost babies

Learning to let go, part II

Last night, after posting this, I was sorting through some things in the office, and found the following poem: an old favourite which I long ago scrawled on a scrap of paper to fortify me in moments of pointless despair and then tucked into a forgotten book. It felt like the universe, as crappy as it sometimes tends to be, was affirming - supporting even - my ongoing pursuit of letting go of the bad to make room for the amazing.

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I think over again my small adventures
My fears, those small ones that seemed so big
For all the vital things I had to get and reach
And yet there is only one great thing
The only thing
To live to see the great day that dawns
And the little light that fills the world

                       ~  Inuit poem, author unknown