#Microblog Mondays: A philistine's lament

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

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This city is steeped in history.  Life size memories of empire,  Ottoman siege, two world wars, 18^th century courtly life, 19^th century artistic revolution, monarchy and fascist and communist and democratic rule writ large on the landscape; all right on our doorstep.

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 properly, at a slow pace, with attention to all the right detail. The unparalleled café culture is recognized by no less than UNESCO.

(The concept of the ‘take-away’ coffee is starting to emerge here, even if people really 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 to go. Now he merely shakes his head.)  

The thing is, architecture here pretty much comes in two sizes: massive, monumental and gold-trimmed, or quaint, crooked and cobbled.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

It’s all so beautiful and interesting and full of old-world charm. But it’s also just that: old. And what it’s not is easily navigable with a kinderwagen, boisterous 10-month-old with all her paraphernalia in tow.

I’d be lying if I said I never longed for the featureless, ahistorical (accessible!) smooth asphalt landscapes of my Canadian childhood.

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Philistine:

noun Phi·lis·tine \ˈfi-lə-ˌstēn; fə-ˈlis-tən, -ˌtēn; ˈfi-lə-stən\

a person who is guided by materialism and is usually disdainful of intellectual or artistic values

Guilty as charged.

In the midst of celebrating, stopping to grieve

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.

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 events in Peshawar 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.

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 'My son was my dream. My dream has been killed', because a small part of me feels that too, and because I now know the gift of new dreams.

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.

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.

#Microblog Mondays: Relative values

 Translation: A cigarette shortens your life by eight minutes. A day of work shortens your life by eight hours.

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 eat, drink, smoke and be merry oh-alright-I'll-begrudgingly-crack-the-merest-hint-of-a-smile-but-only-under-duress approach to life. (They're not known for their merry nature either.)

Yeah, sounds about right.


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

Updates, updates everywhere but not a moment to type

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.

October 1st <<2nd? I totally started this post last night> marks the beginning of Down syndrome Awareness Month, and thus the start of the 31 for 21 Blog Challenge. 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?)

This seemed like a good thing for me to do this month because a) we're in the middle of an international move, 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, c) I need to brush up on my German, d) am recovering from surgery on my left hand that makes tasks like typing slow and arduous, e) <as a consequence of points a through d> I am seriously short of time, and f) I'm clearly insane.

But then, well, in the *cons* 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 days weeks oh ok, years.

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. her horse 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. 

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 normalising 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

Can you believe she is really here? 

That she’s ours and we’re hers? 

That we get to keep her?

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, as we'd hoped, she hasn't limited our adult lives at all, only tremendously enhanced them. She rolls with it, a tiny Buddha baby for sure. She is perfection.

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In the interest of awareness, (since many of my readers may not have much experience of Down syndrome)  I'll leave that button up, though I kinda like Meriah's challenge for us to move beyond mere awareness to embracing acceptance. Let's take up the challenge!

Source

#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.

Peace

In recent days, a city where I lived and worked for more than two years (and stretched and grew and changed as a human being), has been ever on the verge of open conflict, trying to defend itself against a scary level of fundamentalism after decades of work to move beyond its legacy of trauma. My thoughts are so often with the people there, my former students, the families who shared their homes and stories and all of what they had, so often in short supply though it was. Of the warmth and hospitality I received. I think of their generosity of spirit, their openness and interest; of conversations carried out across cultures and generations, soft voices and gentle laughter, in the dark as the generators gave out. 

May they be safe tonight. May the warmth and hospitality and openness of these people win out over the fear and intolerance and violence they now face.

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 ~ Pray for Peace ~

 

Pray to whomever you kneel down to:
Jesus nailed to his wooden or plastic cross,
his suffering face bent to kiss you,
Buddha still under the bo tree in scorching heat,
Adonai, Allah. Raise your arms to Mary
that she may lay her palm on our brows,
to Shekhina, Queen of Heaven and Earth,
to Inanna in her stripped descent.

Then pray to the bus driver who takes you to work.
On the bus, pray for everyone riding that bus,
for everyone riding buses all over the world.
Drop some silver and pray.

Waiting in line for the movies, for the ATM,
for your latte and croissant, offer your plea.
Make your eating and drinking a supplication.
Make your slicing of carrots a holy act,
each translucent layer of the onion, a deeper prayer.

To Hawk or Wolf, or the Great Whale, pray.
Bow down to terriers and shepherds and Siamese cats.
Fields of artichokes and elegant strawberries.

Make the brushing of your hair
a prayer, every strand its own voice,
singing in the choir on your head.
As you wash your face, the water slipping
through your fingers, a prayer: Water,
softest thing on earth, gentleness
that wears away rock.

Making love, of course, is already prayer.
Skin, and open mouths worshipping that skin,
the fragile cases we are poured into.

If you’re hungry, pray. If you’re tired.
Pray to Gandhi and Dorothy Day.
Shakespeare. Sappho. Sojourner Truth.

When you walk to your car, to the mailbox,
to the video store, let each step
be a prayer that we all keep our legs,
that we do not blow off anyone else’s legs.
Or crush their skulls.
And if you are riding on a bicycle
or a skateboard, in a wheelchair, each revolution
of the wheels a prayer as the earth revolves:
less harm, less harm, less harm.

And as you work, typing with a new manicure,
a tiny palm tree painted on one pearlescent nail
or delivering soda or drawing good blood
into rubber-capped vials, writing on a blackboard
with yellow chalk, twirling pizzas–

With each breath in, take in the faith of those
who have believed when belief seemed foolish,
who persevered. With each breath out, cherish.

Pull weeds for peace, turn over in your sleep for peace,
feed the birds, each shiny seed
that spills onto the earth, another second of peace.
Wash your dishes, call your mother, drink wine.

Shovel leaves or snow or trash from your sidewalk.
Make a path. Fold a photo of a dead child
around your VISA card. Scoop your holy water
from the gutter. Gnaw your crust.
Mumble along like a crazy person, stumbling
your prayer through the streets.

                                       ~ Ellen Bass

Basically, people are bastards

Last week I read a story that has been doing the rounds on Down syndrome blogs and boards across the global media. An Australian couple who hired a surrogate in Thailand to carry their twins (apparently at a clinic that's not even licensed) discovered through prenatal screening that one of the babies had Down syndrome. They requested that the woman (who they never met through the entire process) terminate the pregnancy but she refused on the grounds that it was against her culture's beliefs.

When she finally gave birth, they came to Thailand and took home the little girl with a typical number of chromosomes, abandoning the little boy with Down syndrome. The woman who had carried he and his sister (and bears no biological connection to them) has since been caring for the boy as his mother. She comes from a rural part of the country and her poverty is what compelled her to enter into the surrogacy arrangement in the first place. Now the baby boy, called Gammy and loved by his adoptive family, needs cardiac surgery to survive (as about 50% of all babies with Down syndrome do), and the family cannot afford to get him the care he needs. Meanwhile, his biological parents, who went to great lengths to conceive him via IVF, are back in Australia with his sister.

This story enrages and saddens me on so many levels I don't even know what to say. The Australia media, as they are right to do, has emphasised the ethics involved in using the bodies of impoverished women in the developing world, women who very often have few choices in life, as essentially objects to sustain a reproductive industry available to a wealthy few.  

As one half of a couple who struggled with infertility for years and came very close to needing IVF to build our family, I am angered at stories like this. Stories that give a bad name to assisted reproductive technologies which, on the whole, help to bring babies into the world for parents who just long to love and care for a living child. Angered that these stories give any credence to the widely held but mistaken societal belief that IVF exists primarily to furnish rich, self-indulgent couples with designer babies. Angered on behalf of the many wonderful and loving parents I know who had no choice but to rely on such technologies to welcome their precious babies, and who may face stigma as a result of such negative coverage.

And as the mother of a child with Down syndrome? I. can't. even. I should clarify: I pass no judgement against people who consider termination or adoption when they get a diagnosis. While I think it's sad for everyone involved, I understand that sometimes it may be better for people who feel from the outset that they lack the capacity to parent a child with complicated needs.  

But that's not what we're talking about here. We're talking about self-absorption on an epic scale. We're talking about abandonment. We're talking about treating both the surrogate and the babies she carried - to borrow a term used by one of the experts interviewed in the press - as commodities that you can return if you don't like the fit or the colour.

I don't even know what to say about people such as these. I can't help but think that the real loser in this whole story is the baby girl; she has a twin brother growing up in another country who she may or may not learn about when she's older, and is stuck with those people for parents.

Happy New Year: Google + made me cry

I've never been big on lavish New Years celebrations. When I was young, and liked to pretend I was more seasoned than my years, I was fond of this one quote (attributed to Frank Sinatra, I think?): New Years Eve is for amateurs. I guess I took it to mean that you only got worked up about stuff like that if you were too naive to really know how to live your life the other 364 days of the year. You don't need an excuse (least of all one born of chronology) for a party.

Later on, the very idea that a flip of the calendar could be anything other than a random date change began to feel like yet another bitter joke in life's plan for us. Losing S was (and continues to be) the most difficult, painful thing I have ever experienced. I remember December 31st, 2010, after surviving our first holidays as childless parents, H and I looking at each other with determination as we stated: this year will be our year. Things have to get better. It wasn't and they didn't. But in each year that followed, we dutifully repeated the mantra while our determination became more grim and our conviction more shaky. The closing weeks of 2011 - during which we continued to mourn, and adjust to that feeling of being invisible in a world that refused to acknowledge our son or the pain that came with our childless status - brought our second pregnancy loss. 2012 brought serious illness for H, months of testing that confirmed (without explanation) our subfertile status thankyouverymuch, a surprise conception in August followed with a by-then unsurprising miscarriage a week later, and by year's end, the darkest, most all-consuming depression I have ever experienced.

Of course there were lots of happier moments in there too; laughter and adventure and flickers of hope. It's just that in the context of those years, none of that stands out in memory as starkly as the sea of crap through which we waded for so long. And then, while attempting to pull myself up for air, I sat down and wrote this. That simple act of writing not only led me to all of you - all your support and encouragement and compassion and tears and anger and humour and understanding - but helped me to see those flickers of hope for what they were, to somehow more easily embrace them when they came along.

And it occurs to me that this is what movement, healing, change, growth are all about; a series of tiny things, none of which seem particularly momentous at the time (and almost certainly accompanied by laughter and tears in equal measure), that once accumulated can lead us to the most profound realizations and discoveries. Good or bad, you never know what's around the next corner. And I for one can think of no better reason for a party, whatever form that takes. Maybe it's quiet contemplation. Maybe it's filled with angst and red wine and self-soothing. Maybe it's more conventionally recognizable as a party, time spent laughing with the kind of family we all long to have and hold.

But the strength and hope and perseverance and giving-the-middle-finger to an unfair, indifferent universe? It's all worth celebrating.

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And that brings me to Google +.

Urging me to click on the highlighted little notification button when I logged onto blogger today, Google + announced that, thanks to their annoyingly titled new feature Auto Awesome, they had a gift waiting for me.

(As an aside, I'm pretty hopeless when it comes to techy stuff. I don't really have a clue what the purpose of Google + actually is. If you've ever 'added me to your circle' on Google + and I haven't reciprocated, it's because a) I don't know how and b) even if I did, I wouldn't see the point. I'm not being rude, I swear! I want to be friends! I am just not at all social media-y. I actually kind of loathe that stuff. There is nothing you can say to convince me that it's not kind of...well, superficial and narcissistic, instead of the cure for all ills of postmodern ennui from which we suffer, as it is too often touted to be. And yes, I am fully aware of the irony of my recording that statement on a blog. I never claimed to be consistent.)

Anyway, it seems Auto Awesome was so sweet as to prepare a 'personalized' 2013 Movie! for me, based on all the albums I have (apparently? I'm not techy, remember?) created while keeping this here blog.

Obnoxious, intrusive, commercial, impersonal, marketing ploy, right?

Right. Except that it made me cry.

It started off with those beautiful shots of the snowy day I sat down to start this blog. It continued on to that whimsical memory tree I found one day while practicing laughter yoga and missing my son, then went on to some of the photos we took while marking his third birthday. It threw in several lovely slides of our glorious holiday, as well as the disappointment that followed. A beautiful hike which made me again feel close to S, an impromptu, pre-new-job trip to France, a hot, boozy, day of dancing at Notting Hill Carnival. Next was a shot of the candles lit to mark Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day and all the tiny lives that never got to live. And the slideshow concluded (as though Auto Awesome somehow knew what it was looking at?), with the most amazing sight we've seen all year for a very very long time: that little grey blob, beating, growing, living. (Not that we dared hope we'd get this far at the time.) And then, blame pregnancy hormones I teared up.

And there you have it. Happy/sad/scary/fun all mixed up messily together. A year in the life, as well as in this blog.

Thanks for being here, through it all.

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?

Tiny triumphs

1) Yesterday when I updated on the hourly daily pregnancy count, I shaved a day off without even realizing it. I cheated myself of one hard-earned day of pregnancy! 13w5d today (and not, as I reported in my last post, 4). The fact that I could casually forget the day-to-day pregnancy count that has been sustaining me through these breath-holding, nerve-wracking early weeks feels to me like concrete evidence that I'm not only coping with the crazy, I'm even dwelling in moments of natural calm. It looks like hope. <happy little victory dance>

We were sitting in bed last night, indulging in our new nightly baby-bonding ritual of reading a page from our day-to-day pregnancy guide (finally purchased last week in a leap of faith [and can I just add here that, nice as this nightly ritual is, it's disappointing to see how many pregnancy books sideline the dad almost completely. I know us ladies are the ones with the bodily experiences, but still...]), checking up on little seedling's progress, when H pointed out my mistake.

Only 184 days to go! Not that anyone's counting.


2) And speaking of said pregnancy guide, I now have it on good authority that my episodes of weird, nocturnal noise-making can indeed be blamed on pregnancy. Ha! Totally legit.


* This post has no accompanying image. Why? Because, DON'T EVER DO A GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCH FOR 'PREGNANCY COUNTDOWN', even, like me, in a facetious way. Seriously, it will make you want to gag.

One of those posts with all the bullett points

So, in between the bipolar, hope/terror/hope stream of consciousness that is pregnancy after loss, punctuated by genuine freakouts which seem to grow in frequency as we approach each u/s appointment - because I promised I'd try to give that a rest for a while (and really, it's exhausting enough to live it the first time) - other thoughts do occasionally manage to make their way into my consciousness.

Like what? Like, for example, all the of the following, as inconsequential as it is...

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It's November already, which means it's more than a year since we traded in the sun bleached cobbled streets of Lisbon to return to the leaden skies of England. Even though we had some terrible hardships while living there (we lost our second and then our third pregnancy during that time, and got our initial diagnosis of subfertility), a sliver of my heart will always belong to that city, not least because I felt so close to all my babies in the beauty of that country. How could you not be awe-struck, every single day, when this is the view from your local cafe, five minutes from home?

Here we are enjoying a weekend away in Porto. Sigh. It's so inspiring to be surrounded by that kid of beauty. I truly miss the place. At the same time, it's incredible to think of the time that has passed, and how new and fresh things are beginning to seem, again. Aside from leaving Portugal, this year has been filled with some very necessary (and long overdue) changes.

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It's kind of baffling how much traffic has picked up on my blog since this post. I guess the cynical side of me thinks that, even in the land of ALI, most people would rather hear about a pregnant lady than a bitchy, barren one. (Who, me bitter? Yep, guess I'm still processing some emotions.)

And while we're on the topic of this here blog, why is it that this particular post, amongst all my blathering, seems to be catnip for spam commenters wanting to share for the benefit of I and all my readers the wonders of the witch doctor who cast a spell that made tangible all their deepest desires? (I deleted a good many of those comments, but in case you're perversely curious as I was, I'll wait a moment if you want to go have a look for yourself before they're gone for good.) Could it be because, given the title of the post, some poor mammalian ovaries are an ingredient in said magic spells <shudder>? Curiouser and curiouser.

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This morning I received an appointment for my 20 week anatomy scan....booked for the 15th of November, when I'll be 11 weeks pregnant. I have to say, the NHS can generally not be accused of this level of...erm, efficiency, but today they're waaay ahead of the game. However, much as there is a part of me that would love to ffwd to a point in this pregnancy closer to viability, and beyond the oh-so-scary-I'm-already-dreading-it point when I lost S, I'm not actually aware of a method for doing so (correct me if I'm wrong here ladies!). So, time to rescheduled the appointment then, for a date that corresponds to my real-world pregnancy timeline.

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Last week, I had to travel to London to attend a day of training for work. The venue for the workshop was right next door to one of London's more fascinating and touching museums, the Foundling Museum, which uses artifacts and historical archives to tell the stories of London's abandoned babies, or 'foundlings', who were looked after at the property throughout the 18th, 19th and early 20th centuries. They are currently exhibiting a collection of photographs around the twin themes of Motherhood and Loss. Though loss is understood in the broadest conceptual and emotional sense here, there were several powerful pieces that dealt specifically with pregnancy loss and stillbirth. It was moving and refreshing to see those experiences of motherhood included, given that so many of us experience the societal silencing of our stories and that there remains such a strong taboo on speaking these truths (for fear of 'upsetting' those fortunate souls who never have to contemplate unhappy outcomes of pregnancy?).

After my training workshop and the visit to the museum, H and I met for some shopping and dinner at one of my favorite little hole-in-the-wall Korean restaurants in Covent Garden, where I can indulge in lots of gluten free goodies. I think kimchee pancakes are my new culinary obsession.

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In the last week, just as the more conventional symptoms like food aversions and random cravings seem to be abating (good thing too, or my body's horror through weeks 5-8 at the very thought of anything spicy, usually a staple in my diet, would have prevented me from enjoying those kimchee pancakes), and along come a few genuine head scratchers. Because amongst the exhaustive lists of possible pregnancy symptoms that the likes of Just Mommies and other oh-so-helpful sites have compiled for those of us neurotic enough to compulsively Goo.gle deeply in touch with our bodies, my own seems to have settled on a few new quirks.

I'm having pretty regular palpitations in which it feels like my heart is going to leap from my ribcage; they start in my chest and extend up through my throat. I asked the doctor about it, and he says that although it's not terribly common, it's a perfectly normal response to increased blood flow in these early weeks. I'm supposed to rest as much as possible, which I guess is a good thing, because these episodes usually leave me feeling weak, dizzy and unable to catch my breath.

Secondly and perhaps more humorously, (though probably not for H, for whom this particular 'symptom' is more unsettling than for me), I've started talking in my sleep. Well, not talking so much as...emitting a kind of muttering/humming sound? After H pointed it out, I've caught myself doing it a few times as I drifted off, and it's odd, to say the least. I can't find a single reference to this as an actual pregnancy symptom, but I have never before been one to talk in my sleep and am normally a very placid sleeper, while this habit has only surfaced in the last month, so it must be related somehow. I recall reading somewhere once that post-menopausal woman suffering from snoring so frequently because of the huge shifts in hormone balance that softens the tissue in the ear/nose/throat area, so I'm wondering if it could be something similarly to do with changing hormone levels. (I didn't have the nerve to make a special call to Dr. B to ask about that one.) Wierd.

But also, I told you I was glowing.

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I've been nominated, like, a gazillion times for the current wave of blog awards that are making the rounds. Thanks everyone; I'm feelin' the love. I even keep meaning to reply and accordingly have a draft sitting somewhere in amongst my current posts, but I always end up too lazy and, well, bored with that much self-reflection. I promise I'll get to it after everyone else has thoroughly tired of the exercize! At least, I think I will.  

I hope everyone else is hanging in there. I'm on my way to check in with your blogs now!

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?

Still here, still pregnant

And every time I utter (or even think) that second statement, I feel a compulsion to add 'as far as we know right now'. That's terrible, isn't it?

While I had hoped that seeing that beautiful little flutter would be enough to not only calm my fears but make me feel more connected to the idea of being pregnant - and in some ways it has - and while I've managed not to descend into further bouts of mucousy crying, I'm also, it has to be said, a little...reserved? Detached? Hiding in a ball under the duvet?

After last Monday, I began to feel like it had perhaps, just maybe, all been a dream and now things were returning back to anxious pessimistic 'normal'. Minus the booze. Or the sushi.

That's not really true, of course. I have moments of real hopefulness, and when I am able to access the left brain logic buried under still- heavy piles of fear and caution, I remind myself that as of now, we have nothing but reasons to believe this pregnancy, that adorable grey blob, will indeed keep going and result in a healthy baby eight seven-and-a-half months from now. Today, I'm just shy of eight weeks pregnant. Further than we got last time. And my symptoms, which seem to wax and wane an frequently as my moments of hopeterrordetachmenthope, have run the gamut. And they are often strong. Until little seedling is able to give me more concrete, anthropic evidence that s/he is in there, growing away, it's a pretty nice reminder that things may just be going as they ought.

To wit: I'm a glowing amalgam of nausea, headaches, dizziness, aching boobs, nausea, heartburn, constipation, food aversions, food cravings, nausea, fatigue, bloating, gassiness, aaand nausea, which sometimes seems to exist in simultaneity with a desire to consume all the foods. All of them. On top of that, my weakened immune system chose this week to land me with a mammoth, sniffling, hacking head cold. I am a delight, I tell you.  

So, for the most part I'm laying low here in limbo-land (how's that for alliteration?), not drawing attention to myself or my 'condition', hoping that the malevolent variety of pregnancy gods somehow miss me altogether this time. Cast your lightening bolts elsewhere, evil fiends!

Given our history (and no matter how much I try to distance myself from that too, putting it in the ancient past), I don't know when I'll feel more confident in this pregnancy, if there'll be a magic moment when I'll really, truly believe. I'm certainly hopeful that there will, and that it will be soon; because while I can't say that my fear is stealing all the joy, it has muted it considerably. I'm hopeful that one day soon, the 'as far as we know' will become 'until s/he's born'. 

For now, I'm flexing my coping muscles. Cherishing those moments of holymolyI'mactuallypregnant! euphoria when they come, but also being gentle with myself when I can't muster the energy to embrace them, or stomach ohmigodhowexciting! sentiments of any kind when they come from others. Not that we've told a single soul beyond the thousands of my closest friends on the interwebs you, dear readers <waves to anonymous follower in the Cook Islands>. More just as a general attitude. Which is probably why I feel an occasional need to be silent in this space right now.

Which is maybe not such a bad thing for my long-suffering bloggy friends. Really, I'm repeating myself, aren't I? Lather <paranoid freak-out>, rinse <feel pukey and rejoice>, repeat. Is there a point to any of this? Not really; I guess it's more of a pop-in-and-say-hi kind of post.

I'm still here, still pregnant, and as far as we know...everything's just fine.

Same sentiment, whole new significance.

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?