Tag Archives: parenting

Bad news

It seems like there’s a lot of bad news these days.  Destruction in Texas and the Carribean.  The increasing threat of nuclear weapons.  The government rolling back protections under Title IX and DACA — one of my handful of freshman advisees this year admitted to me that she is a DACA student, and she is scared stiff.  She’s an amazing kid who had a tumultuous childhood first growing up in Guatemala with her grandparents, and then being sent to live with her parents in the US when she was in elementary school.  She was a shining star at her US high school, and is now a freshman at a top liberal arts college who is studying to be a pediatrician.  She loves working with young kids, and used to take care of toddlers at her church growing up, and is applying to work at the campus daycare where my son goes.  THIS is the kind of truly amazing young woman our President wants to deport?!  I am so angry on her behalf, and on the behalf of all of the kids who did nothing wrong, often everything right, and find themselves rejected and under threat by the only country they have ever known.

On top of all of that, I got some personal bad news yesterday morning: my father died.  It was very sudden and unexpected; he’s had multiple sclerosis for almost 30 years but was healthy otherwise, and it seems that he just died in his sleep sometime Wednesday night.  I’ll apparently never get answers about what really happened either (i.e., was it a heart attack or stroke or what?), since in cases like this they don’t do an autopsy unless there’s suspicion of foul play.  So, I spent yesterday afternoon on the phone with everyone: the paramedics, the police, the funeral home, my father’s landlord, the county probate office, my entire family, and the few of my dad’s closest friends that I knew how to contact.  Yesterday was a total blur, and today I have a bit of a breather before traveling home this weekend to start making arrangements for his funeral and figuring out what to do with all of the financial stuff and his physical belongings.

I have really complicated feelings about this loss.  My father and I weren’t close.  He abused drugs and alcohol when I was a child, sometimes in my presence, was verbally abusive, and made me feel unsafe on a number of occasions.  I had occasionally wondered what his end of life would be like, what I would do if he wound up needing more intensive long-term care than the disability services he had used for decades.  In a way, it’s a relief that it ended this way, although I feel guilty for feeling that way.  But I also know that he would have wanted to die in his sleep rather than have a long, slow decline to death.  And, I do have some good memories of him when I was young.  I know that he was always very proud of me and my accomplishments, and that he was delighted by the birth of his grandson.  He’s my father, and while over the years I’ve already done a lot of mourning for the father I would never have in my life, I’m finding that, surprisingly, there’s still some mourning I’m going to need to do for the father I did have.

For the moment, I’m just taking it from one day to the next, with the practical side of me figuring out what needs to be done while the emotional side of me wrestles with the aftermath (particularly at 2am last night, alas).  Since my parents have been divorced for 25 years and I have no siblings, it’s clear that I’m the next of kin and it is my responsibility for making decisions and arrangements.  My mom has already offered to help however she can, of course, but legally it’s my responsibility.  I feel very unprepared, and wound up googling various iterations of “what to do when someone dies” and “checklist for when a parent dies” yesterday just to even get a sense of the scope of what happens next.  And today, with nothing concrete to accomplish, I’m sitting in my office not focusing and writing a blog post while pretending I’m going to be able to keep up with the crushing workload of the start of the semester (oh, and with a major deadline for my research next week too).

Anyway, I do take solace in the fact that this I know that this is the way my father would have wanted to die, even though he would probably have preferred that his death be later in life (he was 68).  I’m doing my best to respect his wishes and the needs of my family as I make arrangements for his funeral and what to do with his body.  I’m feeling grateful that I have so many wonderful people jumping to support me, including my husband, mom, and cousin, a couple of my wonderful colleagues at work, and friends (even though I haven’t really told any of them yet — I’ve got a couple of rock-solid awesome friends who I know will have my back once I can muster up the energy to pick up the phone again).  I’m also grateful for my snuggly, goofy toddler, who is still totally oblivious to grown-up sadness.  Playing with him last night after daycare was the best medicine by far.  I am lucky enough to have a village that will help me get through this difficult time.

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Plan G

I think I’ve written about 5 or 6 blog posts by now about our newest fertility plan developed with the help of our doctors, so I think we’re on about Plan G by now, right?

This week marked two important appointments in our family life: (1) the 3-month follow-up visit with the OBGYN after my miscarriage in May, and (2) an official evaluation of S’s speech by our state Early Intervention program.

With the OBGYN, basically it was just a discussion of whether or not my periods have resumed normally since the miscarriage (answer: yes, although it took a while so I’ve only had one), and discussing a plan for moving forward.  Since I got pregnant so quickly last time around, my husband and I are a little more relaxed about trying on our own for a while.  But, also since I got pregnant so quickly the last time around, we didn’t have time to do the tests the RE had suggested to check my hormone levels to help figure out a course of action.  Since I’ve still got at least two conditions potentially affecting my fertility (irregular periods, which I’ve had for a while and have now gotten pregnant with three times so they don’t seem to be that much of a problem, and my scarred fallopian tubes, at least one of which is clearly still functional), it’s a little hard to know how to balance trying on our own with upping the ante on the infertility side of things.  Our fertility history is neither the greatest nor the worst, so it seems likely that I’ll eventually be able to carry another pregnancy to term… but I’m also approaching 35, so we don’t want to mess around too much.  The OBGYN said she’d just run the Day 3 labs herself, and I thought that sounded good because assuming they’re normal I’ll feel a little bit more relaxed about ovarian reserve and might be more comfortable trying on our own even as I cross the magical age 35 line into Advanced Maternal Age (gasp!).   Since we’re traveling to visit our in-laws this week and I’m expecting my period sometime in the next couple of days I might have to wait until next month to do the labs, but no biggie there.  So, at least for now, the plan is for us to try on our own for 6 months assuming the Day 3 labs are normal, and then if nothing happens head back to the RE for a new plan.  We’ll see how it goes.

The Early Intervention evaluation also went well.  The two evaluators who showed up at our house Tuesday afternoon were lovely — clearly experienced, comfortable with each other and with kids, and very thorough.  They ran S through a whole battery of tests checking every area of his development.  Other than a brief intervention from me when S decided it would be a good time to chug-chug-chug his train into the dog who was minding her own business sleeping on the living room floor, he behaved very well and wasn’t too shy with the evaluator even though he’s usually shy with new people.  The upshot is that he has a mild speech delay, something to keep an eye on but not bad enough to qualify for state services.  The tests confirmed what I’d thought, which was that there’s an enormous gap right now between his comprehension and his production.  He scored 95th percentile in receptive language, but only 9th percentile in expressive language.  The evaluator told us that there’s some evidence that having good receptive language skills is one positive predictor of a kid who will just outgrow a speech delay with time, although of course it’s not guaranteed.  They are sending us some materials in the mail about how to help encourage his speech development, but she said we’re already doing a lot of the big things like encouraging communication with sign language, reading to him, and exposing him to the rich environment of daycare where he’s around other kids who are talking more.  They also recommended that we talk to our pediatrician about having his hearing tested — the evaluator said that even though his receptive language suggests that he’s hearing just fine, she’s seen other kids that “fooled” them in the sense that even though they understood a lot, just a little tweak in their ability to hear got them to distinguish much better between different speech sounds and really set them off on a language spurt.  So, we’ll work on getting that set up when we visit the pediatrician next week.

Otherwise, we are having a lovely visit this week with my in-laws in the Midwest.  Traveling with S this year is just infinitely easier than traveling with him as a 6-month-old last summer — seriously, after our visit last summer I wasn’t sure we’d ever come back, but now that he’s a curious toddler who just wants to soak up every bit of attention from his doting grandparents and play with all the toys that Grandma has been scrounging off of Craigslist and enjoy zoos and parks and other such outings… he’s having a blast, which means I’m much more relaxed too.  I still find it really hard to let Grandpa and Grandma take charge, especially where safety is concerned.  They wanted to take him for a ride on the train this afternoon, and I just couldn’t stand seeing Grandma holding him up quite *that* close to the tracks while the train was pulling into the station, and then when we were walking through a really crowded place later I just didn’t want to be more than arms reach away from him because I was afraid he would get lost in the crowd, and I couldn’t help but grab his hand anytime he wandered more than a couple of steps away from them.  I know Grandpa and Grandma are very careful with him, but somehow I just can’t keep myself from worrying all the time.  I mean, I worry about leaving him at daycare, but (a) I do it every day so I’m kind of used to it, and (b) usually I don’t have to watch other people take care of him while I hang back.  I also know Grandpa and Grandma aren’t as quick or steady on their feet as my husband and I are, and they don’t know all the ways that a toddler can be quick and wriggly, so I hover.  They freak out about all the wrong things (like when he’s walking in a goofy way down the sidewalk and Grandma thinks he’s going to fall over when he’s clearly not), and don’t know to worry about the actually dangerous things (like the fact that he has zero sense of self-preservation and is liable to fling himself out of their arms when they hold him out to see the train, or dash into an impenetrable crowd of strangers with no warning).  I try to control myself, but I can’t help it.  That’s been the hardest part of this visit, honestly.  But it’s still a major improvement over last summer when nobody was sleeping and S cried the whole time and then Grandma cried because she was so sad that he was so sad while visiting her.  Looking back, I’m pretty sure he was getting like four teeth at once and going through a sleep regression on top of the travel stuff, but at the time I was afraid we’d broken our baby and that this cranky miserable sadness was going to be his personality forever.  Ha ha, first time parent kookiness. 🙂 This year he’s back to being my sweet little boy, and I love seeing him so happy with his grandparents.

One thing that helps is that he is finally saying “mama” (which is basically his only recognizable word other than “uh-oh,” “up,” and “yeah”) and it’s the sweetest sound in the whole world.  I mean, I know that seasoned moms can get annoyed by constant cries for “mama, mama, mama!” but for me, it’s still very new and incredible.  When he reaches for me and says “Mama!!!” it just totally melts my heart.  He knows who his mama is, and he makes it clear that I’m his rock (with Dada as an acceptable substitute most of the time).  Being his mama has been the most special relationship of my life, opening a completely new dimension into my understanding of love, and to hear him call for me and know that he feels towards me at least a little of what I feel towards him is just pure magic.  This is such a special time of life with our little boy.  Even as I navigate spending time with in-laws and plodding down the long and winding road to completing our family, every so often I step back and just marvel in amazement at the wonder of this little human we created.  He’s incredible.  He’s just a normal toddler, but to me, he’s the biggest miracle of creation.  Parenting seems to be an exercise in turning the most mundane things — diaper changes, snack time, waking up at 4:30am with a jetlagged ball of energy — into the most miraculous parts of being alive.  I know some moms are bugged by the old ladies who tell you to “enjoy every minute of it,” but when a checkout lady at Home Depot gave me that line last week, I was able to reply honestly, “Oh, I do… almost every minute!”  I really do.

Talking about Family Planning with Students

Last week the senior faculty member in my department hosted his annual 4th of July barbecue for our department — all the faculty, their families, and all the students who are here doing research for the summer were invited.  It was quite a crew (for a liberal arts college), with 30 or more people hanging out in his backyard, munching hot dogs and (veggie) burgers, and splashing in the pool.  It was a beautiful day with some really great people, and I love that my department is such a welcoming and family-friendly place (this is one of several regular events throughout the year at which partners and children are explicitly encouraged to attend).

I was sitting on the grass with my son on my lap.  He was contemplatively munching on a veggie burger.  We were surrounded by students.  They were commenting on how much he’s grown since the last time they saw him, how long his hair is (it’s in these amazing platinum-blond ringlets right now since we haven’t cut it yet), asking what new things he can do, etc.  Then, one student busted out with “Are you going to have more kids?”

I gave my stock response: “We’ll see!”

Another (perceptive) student said: “It sounds like maybe you say that a lot.”

I laughed and said, “You’re right!  A lot of people are curious.  Almost as much now as when my husband and I first got married and we got lots of questions about when we were going to have kids.”

Another student said, “It’s kind of a personal question, isn’t it?”

I said, “Yes, it’s personal.”

The student who asked in the first place apologized.  I told her I didn’t mind, that I was also very curious about things like that when I was her age.

It was a brief twinge of discomfort in an otherwise lovely day.  I kept turning it over in my head.  I almost wanted to tell them why it was personal — to tell them about the daughter we lost before our son was born, or the fact that I’ve been pregnant three times with only my son to show for it, but I didn’t want to spoil the festive mood.  On the other hand, I feel that we generally do our young people a disservice by being so closed-mouthed about the realities of pregnancy loss and infertility.  I teach my students lots of things, and sometimes they learn from me whether I want them to or not — I know that the students have been keenly interested in my life since I revealed that I was pregnant with S (the students were also keenly interested when I was pregnant with his big sister, although that generation has all graduated by now).  I also know that for all the young women, I am the sole example they have of a female professor in our field, which can feel like a heavy responsibility.  I want them to be encouraged by my example, not daunted.  But I also want to prepare them for challenges they are likely to face.  There were about 8 students sitting with me on the grass during this conversation — odds are that several of them will experience miscarriage sometime in their lives, and probably one of them will experience infertility.  Is it better to prepare them, or to let them find out for themselves?  I made a choice in the moment, a choice that felt right to me at the time, but I could imagine having handled it a different way.

For now, I educated them that asking questions about fertility plans is personal.  I’ll save the conversation about pregnancy loss for another time.

Update

It’s been a few weeks since I posted an update, so I figured I’d put up a brief post.  I think the two main pregnant-physicist-related news items are:

  • I’m still waiting for my period.  It’s been 6 weeks since I stopped bleeding, so I’m starting to get impatient (they say to expect your period 4-6 weeks after a miscarriage).  I’ve got a follow-up appointment with the OBGYN in August, so hopefully it’ll show up before then, but I’m still in limbo otherwise.
  • According to the pediatrician, S is officially a late talker.  He’s a 16+ months now, and we can self-refer to our state early intervention office anytime — the pediatrician recommended waiting until 18 months (even though he’s officially late already), so that’s what I’m planning to do for now.  Lots of people tell me it’s too early to really worry, that boys talk late, etc., etc… but I’ve got to say that unlike some of the other milestones, I really don’t see any signs that talking is even on the horizon.  He’s still missing things that he was supposed to be doing at 12 months — trying to mimic words that we say, babbling with a wide variety of consonants and vowels (if anything, I hear less variety now than I did at 12 months), no mama/dada, etc.  I’m not actually all that worried yet — his comprehension is great (so much so that we’ve had to start spelling certain words), he makes his needs known, including through a couple of signs, and he’s super-social.  If anything, I suspect it’s limited to a production problem rather than a comprehension problem or autism spectrum issue (I filled out the M-CHAT and he scored just fine).  But it’s one of those situations in which you’ve got to strike a tricky balance between being laid-back and letting your kid develop at his own pace while not missing out on opportunities to help out your kid if they need it.  Language seems to be one of those areas where early intervention can really help (and isn’t going to hurt), so I don’t want to wait too long, but I also suspect he’ll be just fine in the long run.

Otherwise, we’re having a nice, busy summer.  I just started parent-baby swimming classes with S at the YMCA last week, and I count it a success since he didn’t cry the whole time. 🙂 I invited a friend whose daughter is in S’s daycare group (she’s a few months younger) to join us, and I think that was a great idea — the kids clearly enjoyed seeing each other in this otherwise scary new situation.  We also took S to the beach when we visited my mom this weekend, and after some initial skepticism, he loved playing in the sand and knocking down the sand castles that we made by filling buckets with sand.  He is SUCH a happy kid these days — really goofy and giggly, still snuggly and velcroed to his mama in new situations but warming up pretty quickly, and I have to say that I am loving these early toddler months.  It is amazing how much he’s learning and doing, his sleeping schedule has settled into long nights and a chunky midday nap, and he’s still got a huge dose of baby sweetness combined with toddler curiosity, a sense of humor and emerging personality — there’s never a dull moment, and it’s so much fun (most of the time).

Well, that’s all I checked in to say… I hope I’ll have more news to post here sometime soon once the miscarriage waiting game is finally over.  Happy summer to all!

Grrrrrraduation

Please permit me to grouse for a moment.  I don’t get to do it much in real life these days since I haven’t told many people about our miscarriage.

Last weekend was our university’s commencement ceremony.  One of my research students just finished his bachelor’s degree and is staying on in my research group to write a masters thesis next year.  So, he graduated this year, but he’ll also graduate next year (assuming all goes well).  He’s a nice kid, came in as a transfer student from a big state school after his sophomore year, switched majors from English to physics at the same time, and then proceeded to complete the entire physics major in two years!  He’s had some hiccups, and his research skills need work (which is why I’m glad he’s staying for a masters), but it’s extremely impressive that he did what he did.  He’s also just a really nice kid, who works really, really hard, and so despite some of my frustrations with his lack of research progress, I very much enjoy working with him.  I was really looking forward to meeting his family this week and telling them how great it’s been to have him in my research group and how glad I am that he’s staying for another year.

But his dad.  OMG.

To set the scene a little: One of my colleagues (who has three kids) traditionally brings his kids to watch commencement from a beautiful grassy hill overlooking the ceremony, right near our building, which makes a convenient meet-up point for our majors to come visit after the ceremony.  This year I decided to bring my son and join him — it allowed me to participate in commencement and congratulate our students without giving up weekend time with my son, and my son had a blast playing with my colleague’s kids on the hill during the ceremony (or mostly watching them in awe and trying to steal their baseball when they weren’t looking).

So, after the ceremony, my student wanders up with his dad.  I get to congratulate my student, beam, and lay it on thick with his family — I really love getting to talk up my students to their parents, especially students that I genuinely enjoy like this one.  It’s a win-win feel-good situation.  Then his dad stayed to chat while I was supervising my son’s shenanigans with the big kids.  The following conversation ensued:

Him: How old is your son now?

Me: 15 months

Him: So, are you going to have another one?

Me (inwardly rolling my eyes): We’ll see!

Him: No, but really, do you WANT more?  Are you planning on it?

Me (through gritted teeth): We’ll see!

He actually seemed like he was going to push the subject(!) so I excused myself and scooped up my son.

How clueless are people?  And why, WHY would you ever think it was OK to interrogate your kid’s professor about her reproductive plans?!  This one of the few times that I felt that bringing up our losses would have been not only socially awkward but… unprofessional.  I mean, there were times when I had to discuss the loss of our daughter with colleagues, since it affected a lot of my professional life as well as my personal life.  But… a student’s parent?  And a week after a miscarriage?  Seriously?  Argh.

Several people have asked me about my reproductive plans since our miscarriage (which was only TWO WEEKS AGO), but this one has just been gnawing at me.  I’m so angry about it.  Oh, I won’t hold it against the student… if people held my dad against me I’d never have gotten anywhere in life.  But I might just try to avoid one-on-one conversations with his dad next spring.  And I also want to vent on my blog.  Check that one off the list!

Anyway.  Things here have settled down a bit.  I did have one freak-out this week… I had some pelvic pressure, pain, and fever, but I also had a terrible respiratory infection of some sort from my son that might have accounted for the fever, so I didn’t know what exactly was going on but I was so afraid that I was getting another pelvic infection.  The doctor was great, saw me right away, did a repeat ultrasound, redrew my HCGs, and assured me that the fever is probably unrelated.  Turns out I have a medium-size ovarian cyst, which she said can be common during pregnancy or after a miscarriage and is most likely responsible for the pelvic pressure and pain.  I had a cyst during my first pregnancy with my daughter as well, so I think it’s just something my body does in (doomed) pregnancies, maybe?  Anyway, I am mostly reassured and only feeling a little sheepish for having another freak-out around this miserable pregnancy.  I think it’s just that with everything I’ve been through I really don’t trust my body anymore.  With my first pregnancy, I was a pretty laid-back pregnant lady, but look where it got me — not only did my daughter die, which was unavoidable but nevertheless made me question every little risk I took in that pregnancy, but when I didn’t push about getting symptoms addressed after I delivered her, I wound up with retained products, hemorrhaging, and an infection that damaged my fallopian tubes.  I am just so done with the laid-back approach and am glad that they are investigating my worries comprehensively.  Hopefully this is really the end of it now!

My Blog Title is Apt Again

Well, whaddya know.  I’m pregnant.

It has never taken us less than 8 months to conceive before.  This time, first try.  We are thrilled and a little stunned.  I’ve always been a little skeptical of the stories you read of how people who have experienced infertility/loss often get pregnant quickly after a full-term, healthy pregnancy — I mean, maybe it happens to some people, but I was sure it wouldn’t happen to me.  Well, here I am!

For now, of course.  I know as well as anyone that first trimester miscarriage is a distinct possibility, as are losses at later stages of pregnancy, as are all manner of other health problems (I’m still at elevated risk for ectopic pregnancy and placental abruption, for example).  But for now I’m pregnant, and that’s a very, very good thing.

We’re a little shocked at the timing — I mean, we were trying to get pregnant, obviously, but we just didn’t expect it to happen this quickly.  Of course our minds started jumping to the possible reality of having a new baby join our family in January.  Two under two — yikes!  It would also throw a monkey wrench into my tenure plans (I’d been on track to submit my materials a year and a half from now), but… we’ll deal with that.  Our family is more important than my tenure case, and if I wind up using both my clock extensions and spending nine years on the tenure clock, so be it.

I was also just starting to cut back on pumping at work this week, but for the moment I’m still breastfeeding/pumping four times a day, which is going to start feeling like a lot as I get more pregnant.  But… what if I wean, and then miscarry?  I’ll be mourning the loss of a baby simultaneously to mourning the loss of a wonderful breastfeeding relationship.  I suppose I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing (i.e., weaning from the pump during the day, since I would never mourn the loss of a relationship with my pump!) and see how things go over the next few weeks.  I’ve got a viability scan scheduled for a week from Monday, after which we’ll know a little more (and, if all goes well, I’ll start back on Lovenox).

What a weird and wonderful week it’s been.  Pregnant again.  Holy cow.  Here’s hoping this little bean sticks around!

The First Year

Hard to believe it, but the first year of my son’s life is past.  No longer an infant, he’s officially a toddler.  He decided to take his first four steps on his birthday, and watching him wobble from the kitchen island into my arms was an amazing moment — literally walking towards me, but figuratively taking steps away from his babyhood and into the little boy he is starting to become.

What a year.  It’s been hard, of course… but not as hard as I feared.  Mostly, it’s been amazing and surreal.  I still look at my son every so often and marvel at this little human, this creature who now exists and didn’t before.  This person who grew inside my body.  I wonder what’s going on in his mind.  I wonder what his life will be like as he grows.  I delight in watching him discover the world, discover his new capabilities, discover communication and connection.

He is his own little person, developing his own quirks and preferences.  He snuggles by rubbing his forehead against us (where “us” refers to my husband and me, our dog, his stuffed animals).  We discovered on his birthday that he has a healthy skepticism of helium balloons, which appear to defy all the laws of physics that he has come to know through experience.  All week we’ve watched him come to terms with the unnerving balloon in our living room, first glaring at it while pressed into my shoulder, then eyeing it warily while he played, then gradually moving closer, then touching it and recoiling as it drifted back towards him, then eventually grabbing it and giving it a good shake.  He’s cautious, but becoming an explorer.  Those first steps have been followed by an occasional one or two here or there, but he still prefers the speed and certainty of crawling.  He’s not saying any words yet, but he’s demonstrating that he understands a surprising amount of what we say to him.  He knows who Mama, Dada, Goldie (our dog), and Nana (my mom) are, he knows how to clap his hands (even if we just tell him without showing him), how to shake, how to dance, how to put one block on top of another, how to give us a toy (even if he doesn’t always want to), how to “come here,” how to “go get it,” how to snuggle, and how I ask if he wants to nurse.  He makes his wishes known if he wants us to read a book again, or press the button so that his stuffed elephant will sing again.  He is eating a wider variety of solids, and strongly prefers to finger-feed himself, generally refusing a spoon (unless it’s mommy’s spoon with mommy’s food on it). This week he ate blueberries, kiwis, clementines, quesadillas with beans, cheese, and avocado, polenta, toast with peanut butter, graham crackers with cream cheese, and a ton of fruit and veggie puree.  He is still skeptical of squash and green veggies that are not in pureed form.

My attempt at gentle night weaning has been a rousing success this week — after his birthday, I started nursing him for one minute less each night, and after the night when I fed him for only three minutes on each side, he just… stopped waking up.  Last night was night three of a solid 11-hour night without a feed, and without any fussing that required us to go in to comfort him.  All of a sudden my little guy is sleeping on his own, and it’s glorious.  He seems better rested and is sleeping longer too!  Now if only he’d nap longer than 30 minutes at daycare…

I love this little guy to the moon and back, and can hardly remember life without him.  Sometimes it takes my breath away how much I love him.

And… we are officially trying to have a sibling for him.  That’s probably a subject for a whole other post, but I am fully expecting it to be a long haul.  So we’re getting started now, planning to try on our own for a while before going back to the RE when he’s somewhere around 18 months.  I’m approaching this attempt much more like a marathon than like the furious, desperate sprint to get pregnant as quickly as possible after his sister died.  I just turned 34, so we don’t want to wait forever, but we can afford to take it slowly for a little while.  To be honest, I’m not exactly eager to jump into having two kids right away, even though we know it’s something we want in the longer run.  We’ve just hit our stride with one, and rewinding back to the newborn days looks daunting, to say the least.

In the meantime, we have an amazing little boy to enjoy and to care for, who fills our lives and our hearts to the brim.  We are so fortunate.  What a difference a year makes.