If I was smart, I'd've bought stock in the company

*edited to fix the preg test day count

This is going to be a rambling post. I have a hard time being succinct about reproductive issues. I have so much to say and it is not a topic that I can filter easily. Bear with me.

I've spent hundreds of dollars on pregnancy tests. No joke. When you're infertile and you never get your period, Preg Testing happens... frequently. Very frequently.

In the beginning, it totally makes sense. You've been off the pill for a month. You don't get your period. So you test. Negative.

Negative, negative, negative.

Then you go one step further and buy the ovulation kits. Now if there's anything more expensive than preg testing, it's ovulation testing, because the levels of hormone they are designed to detect vary considerably through the day, and your chance of catching the peak can be slim. So you end up testing quite a bit.

In my case, you test several times, the ovulation predictor kit (OPK) says WINNER, you wait two weeks, don't get your period, get all excited, preg test, see that it's negative, then do another ovulation kit and vaula -- look, you're ovulating again! Amazing. Repeat ad nauseum. You decide you must be ovulating every 7-10 days. You must be super fertile! Tee hee hee.

And then you go to the doctor (many, many times), finally have the right blood tests ordered, notice that your LH to FSH ratio is a whopping 7 to 1 with a few other hormones through the roof, google yourself into a coma, and months later get the doctor on the phone to finally, officially, answer in the affirmative when you ask: "Do I have PCOS?". Duh. And then have her suggest you go on the pill to regulate your cycle.

(Glad she remembered it was an infertility consult.)

Anyway.

I've taken a lot of tests, pee-stick variety and otherwise. Our house was always littered with sticks. And my veins are getting slightly mangled. I had to have blood drawn the other day, and the phlebotogmist took one look at my left arm, frowned at the scar tissue, and asked if she could see the other one. I tried to add it all up and realized that in the 9 months that I was treated by the Big Guns Infertility Doc, I had something in the range of 50 needles inserted into the crook of my elbow, maybe more. Ouch.

Anyway.

There are many things I still feel resentful about, when it comes to my infertility. Much of my bitterness has faded, and we were so fortunate to become pregnant relatively quickly. Once we got to the Big Guns Doc, we had wonderful medical care. We gave birth to a healthy, happy baby... I'm not a religious person, but God, it's a miracle, it's such a miracle. The technology, the care, everything... it's just incredible that Jack is here. I am grateful for all of these things, yet I still know that the pain of my experiences will never fully recede. I am a member of the infertile world, and here we have a generalizable truth: infertiles are denied so much potential happiness.

One of the things I feel most bitter about being denied is the ability to be surprised by a pregnancy test. I never pictured what my wedding would look like, but I did picture what a positive pregnancy test would look like... I pictured a monumental moment, a shock, a realization, a permanent and sudden change.

Pregnancy tests ought to be cut and dry -- you either are you aren't -- but we lost the chance for things to be cut and dry a long time ago.

When you are undergoing fertility treatment, they often give you a shot of human HcG to trigger you to ovulate. HcG is the hormone that preg tests detect, so if you test in the 10 days window after the trigger shot, you might get a false positive, until the artificial HcG fades away and the embryonic HcG takes over. One cycle, I decided to test until the line went away. I was so sure that I would be pregnant. I figured I'd watch the line go away, and then it would be glorious to see that line get darker and darker as my pregnancy grew.

Well I didn't get pregnant that cycle and watching that little line go away was one of the most fucking depressing moments of my life. I don't recommend it.

Still, I learned that by day 5 or 6 post trigger, I'd be in the clear for preg testing.

Unfortunately it's not just about the trigger, though. There are ectopic pregnancies and chemical pregnancies and missed miscarriages and vanishing twins... There are beta values to be drawn, progesterone shots, injections and injections and ultrasounds and measurements and... worry, fear, pain.

During our IVF cycle -- the cycle that resulted in Jack, I waited 5 days after embryo transfer (10 days post trigger, 3 days post potential embryo implantation). I couldn't sleep that night. I think I woke up every hour. Finally, at 6am, I gave myself permission to preg test. There was a faint line.

I crawled back into bed.

"Well?" Said Greg.

"There's a line" Said I.

And we both knew what that meant: hope, and possibility of crushing disappointment.

It would be a while before I felt sure of my pregnancy. There would be many more preg tests, much posting to my online IVF support group, much worry and bleary eyed comparison of increasingly dark lines, values being reported back from the lab, more googling and calculation of doubling times, ultrasound results and tears and then happy news. Eventually I would feel fully and completely pregnant, but it would take months.

For some reason, I felt pregnant last week. Maybe it's my PCOS flaring up again, but I had some symptoms and I just... I just needed to test. In the minute or two before I had the results, I had a silly little dream enter my head. I imagined the test was positive. I imagined putting the test in a box, wrapping it up as a Christmas gift, and I imaged the happy news greeting Greg on Saturday morning. I imagined what his face would look like when he saw it. I imagined what my face would look like when I knew my body did something amazing. I imagined what it would feel like to not be an evolutionary dead end. I imagine something incredible: sex begetting baby. I imagined surprise and mystery.

Of course yesterday's test was negative. And I'm fine with that -- I have no wish to be pregnant right now, and I won't be upset to go through another or several other IVFs if I have to. Going through IVF was far easier than not being pregnant. But I know if I do it again, there will be apprehension and worry and the possibility of crushing disappointment and as I imagine this process... the feeling of trauma returns to me and I scurry into the tiny, protected corner of my brain, the part that knows with certainty it will not work, the part that cannot be hurt by continued failure.

So, while I feel the edge of (past? impending?) trauma, I also can't help picturing the other possibility. The other Rachael. The non-bitter, non-cynical one. The one who doesn't hate her reproductive self, hate her screwy hormone and lacking femininity. I can't help picture a pregnancy that I could feel confident in. I can't help picturing the awe and beauty of conception occurring in my own body.

I know that Rachael can't exist anymore. But the preg test yesterday made me imagine her for just a moment.

The Parental Police

Parental Truism #2781: No matter how confident you are in your motherly (or fatherly) prowess, you will still be made to feel completely inadequate over really random shit.

Truism #2781 certainly holds for the obvious issues - take a crying baby, for instance. Sometimes babies cry, and sometimes, no matter what you do, they just won't stop. You can know this fact -- that babies cry -- and you can still spend an hour berrating yourself for your inability to console your crying child. That's my issue. Other women might get upset if they can't get dinner on the table, or have their kids dressed nicely. Whatever it is, there are plenty of obvious, everyday happenings that can make you feel like less of person.

Truism #2781 also holds for more insidious topics, events that swing at your self esteem out of left field. Take, for instance... our Christmas card. We had a professional photographer take pictures of Jack when he was born. Greg and I picked out the photo we wanted: a cute shot of the five us...Tori, Me, Jack, Greg, and Zane. A family photo.

We decided to use this photo for the Christmas card, tried a few card layouts, and soon realized that the family photo, although lovely, only shows Jack as a bundled lump in our laps. We wanted to show him in action. So we picked out a few more recent photos and put it all together on one card.

Since printing our own cards, we've received quite a few Christmas cards from friends and family. And then I noticed something... all of the Christmas cards featured just kids, no parents.

And then I proceeded to freak out for the next hour and a half.

Is there some unspoken rule that Christmas cards should not have adults on them?

...

Do I direct enough attention away from myself and towards my baby?

...

Will the other parents be judging me?

...

Am I a selfish mother?

...

Again, you think I'm joking.

(Warning: this is what happens when you wake up every 2 hours for 5 months straight.)

The photographer in me also happens to be reeeaaaaaallly bothered by the fact that I only took one out of the four photos and, as a group, the color balance is totally, completely, visually irritatingly, off.

Sigh. I've done it again. Somehow, through some small mechanism, I've totally ruined Jack's chance at a happy future. All the families will judge me for my Christmas card and not let their babies play with mine. *

*(Can I be dramatic for the sake of humor? :) )

So, time for a reality check.

Who really cares? Who, other than myself, is going to inspect our Christmas card so closely? DUH. Nobody. There are no parental police for things like Christmas cards.

Still, it's nearly impossible to avoid Parental Truism #2781, and so I will suffer through inadequacy for a little while longer.

But then there's Parental Truism #2782 to consider: no matter what, the choices you are make are always, smugly, 100%-ly... right... all of the time. Even when it involves improperly conjugated adverbs.

Wow.

Oh my god, it gets worse. The rankings I gave you from before were for elementary school. New Haven High Schools? Less than 20% of students meet state minimum requirements.

I knew it was bad. We were always planning on private school or a nice CT suburb* for high school. Still, I'm horrified to realize that it's this bad.

There's just no excuse

I am an employee of the Yale School of Medicine and I am funded by a grant from the National Institutes of Health. Neither my employing institution nor my funding agency provide me with healthcare. If my boss hadn't scrounged up some $$ for me, we'd be paying $1200/mo out of pocket for Jack and I. As it is, I pay full taxes on my healthcare, to the tune of nearly $400 a month. Do you know anyone who is gainfully employed that is taxed on their own healthcare?

We live in New Haven, the site of Yale University -- one of the top ranked ivy league universities in the country. And on a list of 137 school districts in Connecticut, New Haven ranks the 6th worst, with only one third of students meeting state testing goals. Folks who live in the family-centric neighborhoods of New Haven generally pay more than $1000 per month in property taxes, and the privilege of supporting such an affluent community is to enroll our children in the 6th worst school district in the state. Private school runs upward of 20k per year -- 30k for high school. Would you send your child to a New Haven public school?

I try to avoid voicing sour grapes on this blog, but I also try to be honest about what's on my mind.

These are the issues that are on my mind: cost of living, childcare, healthcare, education. We are trying to live in the city we work in. We are trying to walk to work and avoid using our car. We are trying to be good community members. We are trying many things, but I feel like we're fighting a losing battle.

There's just no excuse!

Deer in headlights

Greg and I are very different people. He likes to collect piles of paper on the dining room table and leave them there for eternity. I prefer to throw things out. He wants french fries and pizza and eggplant parmesan. I want lattes and ice cream and cookies. He's funny. I try.

We fight -- all the time, actually, like any healthy cohabitors do -- but it's always about dumb stuff. Who left flour on the refridgerator handle (me), who didn't put their jeans in the laundry pile (him), who's going to let the dogs out when it's -10 with windchill (neither of us), or whether the forks should point up or down when you put them in the dishwasher (don't even get me started).

Yet, despite our superficial differences, my husband an I have and incredibly solid relationship that is based on our common values. When it comes to money, religion, career, politics, family, geography, food...really, truly, we are in synch. We just don't disagree about that stuff. And one nice personality trait that ties together our mutual core values? We both love to plan, oh how we love to talk about the future. Greg's obsessed with stability. I'm about as goal-oriented as you can get. We both have our eyes on the carrot -- the same carrot.

The problem with this shared trait is that we're both such obsessive planners that we never actually decide on a plan to follow. Imagine detailed scenarios (about 20 of them), all of which are very specific and very complicated, and none of which can actually be predicted with any certainty. We just talk. I want him to make the decision. He wants me to make the decision. Neither of us would like to be held responsible for the result of a decision. When we got engaged, it was sort of like, "should we?" "maybe" "what do you think?" "I guess it could be good" "so we're going to get married?" "yeah, I suppose we are" "huh, is this the part where we're supposed to kiss?". The baby conversation was particularly entertaining, given my subsequent infertility (we had no idea exactly how out of our ability to plan having a baby would be). Those early conversations looked something like, "Well if we had the baby in March and I was doing XYZ and you were doing ABC that would be great because then we could take a trip to Cape Cod in September and it'd be the perfect weather for stroller walks"*. Etc. Sorry, I'm boring myself.

*The scenario may be fictional, but the level of detail is not.

Today, Greg and I went to see a house. The house itself is perfect for us. It is very nearly our dream house. It sits on waterfront. Greg could dock his boat in our backyard. The rooms are nicely situated. It is light and beautiful inside, and thoroughly updated. We can afford it. The neighborhood, the school system? Not so much a dream. They're a nightmare, actually... something that would work in the short term, but not in the long term.

(Hence ensues 8 hours of mind-numbing conversation about the various possibilities for a nanny or private school system, and whether I'll be an academic or working for some big pharma company and if this will destroy all chances of moving to spot X on the map, and if and when there will be another baby, and whether I'll have health insurance or not, and etc, etc, and etc.)

This conversation is exhausting.

The house is really great. We could never afford anything like it in a better location. Its personality and size fits us well. But we also would not be improving on what is frustrating us now -- the crime, the lack of neighbors, the absurdly high taxes, and the daycare dilemma. It isn't really a long-term house. It's a short term house.

We're so close to making a change in our lives. My job runs out -- permanently -- in November. I'm working on a grant that I won't know about until June. If the grant falls through, I'll be on the job hunt. A big change is coming. There are the stable options and the exciting options. There are the money makers and the family prioritizers. There are so, so many paths we could follow, and the choices are making us dizzy. Greg and I are not good at sitting and waiting during this uncertainty. We want to plan. We want this stressful time of not knowing to be over with.

There's Jack to consider. It's all about Jack, now, it's all about our family core. And it's such a new thing. How can we base all of our future decisions on something we don't even know much about yet?

I have no answers.

Happy 5-month day

Dear Jack,

I used to tell the world about your progress... but you are older now, and I think I should be telling you directly.

You are 5 months old, today. You have grown so much, it is hard to believe. You are too big for most of your baby cloths. I've gotten very sad, putting away your tiny onesies. There was this outfit that I bought for you before you were born. It was so cute. When pregnancy was tough, I would go in your nursery and hold onto that onesie. It was hard to imagine what it would be like to hold you in my arms, but this sweet little outfit helped me to dream. Now you are too big for it.

You are healthy and you are growing. There is this song that Rafi sings, about a little boy who doesn't believe he is growing, and his mom keeps telling him he is growing, growing up. The song makes me cry. I am very emotional about this whole growing thing.

You love to play. Your favorite thing to do is to lay on the mat and swing at the toys above you. You got very excited when you learned how to hold onto two toys at once. Then you figured out how to hold onto your feet, and that was endlessly entertaining. You learned how to roll from back to front when you were three months old, but you had a tough time going in reverse. You often get stuck on your belly; then your little arms get tired and you need our help to get over onto your back. When we flip you, you roll right back onto your belly. You do this over and over again. I don't mind. It's nice to feel needed.

It is really tough for me to work sometimes. I want to work but I want to be with you, too. I want to be a good mom, and I think working is a part of that for me. But it is tough to find balance. I think about you all day long. The moment when I walk into your room at daycare and you look up and see me -- that's the best moment of every day. You are very happy at daycare. They love you and hold you all day long. Every time I pick you up, you are in someone's arms: cuddling or playing. It is difficult for me to be apart from you, and I am glad they take such good care of you.

You love looking at mirrors. It always makes you smile. People make you smile. You smile so easily. Everybody who meets you talks about how smiley you are. You smile at funny sounds and funny faces. You smile at peekaboo. You love when I roll you from side to side, or when I touch your head and then touch your toes. That always makes you laugh.

I love your laugh. It is the best sound in the world. I think I would do anything to make you laugh. I love to know that you are happy. We throw you in the air and you have so much fun. I started saying "1, 2, 3...", and now when I get to three, the anticipation overcomes you and you start giggling. I think you will always have a way of being the center of attention -- you like to be entertained, and you like entertaining. You're just like your dad... you make everybody around you smile.

We got you a highchair. That was a big deal. It was the first time you could sit up and play with toys with both hands. We put you in it every morning and let you pick out toys. You like gnawing on the round ends of the wood toys. You like things that make noise. You are getting really good at reaching for things. You are very determined and forceful about what you want. If a toy rolls out of reach, you yell until one of us comes and helps you get it back. I think your world will be much easier when you are mobile enough to get what you want.

You've discovered so many different parts of your body. There are your feet and your toes and your ears and your tongue. Lately you've been sticking your tongue out into a little point for no reason at all. It is very cute. You seem very interested in my face. You like to grab my hair and put your hands in my mouth or near my nose or eyes. Your hands fascinate you. You interlace the two of them together and move your fingers around or pull your two hands apart. I'm not sure if your hands get stuck together because you don't know how to get them apart, or if you like the feeling of pulling your fingers against one another. I think you are going to be right handed, because you pick everything up with your right hand. You are just now learning how to throw things onto the floor. If we're not careful, we forget that the wood toys fall on the floor. Tori has eaten two of your wood toys. You liked them so much that I got you new ones. Every time I go somewhere or get something on Amazon, I end up getting you a new toy. It is going to be so hard not to spoil you.

You are teething and it is uncomfortable. I feel so bad for you. You try to eat everything. You put it all in your mouth and chomp down. You put your hands into your mouth. You feel your gums with your fingers. You are obsessed with textures of all kinds. We read books to you, and you seem to get frustrated: you try to grab the pictures, but they are flat, and so you keep trying and trying but can't pick them up.

You love the song Baby Beluga. We sing it to you all the time. I sing it to you a few times in a row when we drive home from daycare. I sing it to you at night when you go to sleep. I sing it to you anytime you start getting upset. It makes you so happy. You recognize it on the first line or two and start smiling. I can't sing very well, but you don't seem to mind.

You get a real kick out of having your diaper changed. It's so funny. Your changing table is oriented so that you can see your own shadow on the wall. Whenever we change your diaper, you try to grab at your shadow and that makes it super challenging to get clothes on you.

The noises you make are just so funny and so sweet. I know the sounds you make for sleepy and hungry and bored and frustrated and grumpy and happy and excited. You are a communicator. You are babbling now. I heard you say "da" the other day. Your babbling and goes up and down sometimes. That is exciting. You learned how to squeal a few weeks ago. We were a little scared that you might not ever stop squealing -- you liked it so much. But you've settled down a bit with the squealing and our ears are happy.

Your dad and I agree that something changed in you, right around 4 months. It was as if you realized that the rest of the world was separate from yourself. You suddenly noticed us and wanted us. One day when your dad changed your diaper and brought you back to bed, you reached out for me. That was a big change. You seem to understand that there are sequences to events. Instead of just responding to your world, you have started interacting with it.

You love to nurse. We will give you solid food soon, and that makes me sad. I would exclusively nurse you for much longer if we could. It can be inconvenient and frustrating at times (especially because you have a habit of nursing until my milk lets down and then pulling off so that the milk goes everywhere!), plus there's all the pumping at work... but it is worth all of the inconvenience. When you were a little baby you would attack me like a pirhanna! Now you are a little more patient. Sometimes you are full but you want to keep nursing. You lean back and look up at me with a happy little smile. And then you nurse again and then you lean back again, and then you growl or gurgle a bit and smile happily and I am just so happy that I can be what you need in that moment. My milk turns bad very quickly and that can make the bottle situation at daycare challening. I think it means that you were meant to nurse from me, not from a bottle. Nursing is a special time for us. My body needed help to bring you into this world, and that was tough for me to accept. I am lucky that I make so much milk for you, and I am happy that I can provide you with everything you need right now. I will be so sad to start you on solid foods.

Sleep has been tough. You wake up frequently and you're not so good at taking naps. But you are getting better. You are napping well at daycare. It is not unusual for you to sleep for an hour or more while you are there. At home, you are napping more frequently in your swing. You are learning how to fall asleep on your own, right next to me but in your own little bed. Sometimes we hold hands until you fall asleep. When you wake up at night, you want to be with us in bed. I don't blame you. Your dad and I like having you in bed with us. We all spend so much time snuggling. It is tough for us to function on so little sleep, but you are simply the best and we want to spend as much time as we can with you.

I am so proud of you. I used to have terrible nightmares, since I was a child, that there was some awful thing about to happen and I had to pick up what was most important to me and leave the house with it. Now I don't have those nightmares, because I know. You are the most important thing. As long as I have you, everything else will be OK.

Love you.

Trip Photos

Here we are. Back in Connecticut. We survived - sort of. We're all sick again, but, we're home. The redeye went OK. It was tough to hold Jack in my arms when I was literally falling asleep on my feet. We were rescued by an amazing flight attendant -- gosh I wish I'd gotten her name. She saw me struggling to stay awake and found an extra seat cushion. I propped up the seat cushion against the arm rest, behind my neck, and was able to lay down horizontally with Jack safely sleeping on my chest. I got two hours of sleep that way, and it saved me. We landed in Newark for a two hour layover.

Our trip to Arizona was challenging. Jack became grumpier with each passing day. Being home makes me appreciate a few things... like routine... baby swings... exercise mats with toys that hang down... and my husband. (Who happens to be so fantastically awesome that not only was the house *spotless*, the grocery shopping was done, there was chicken soup in the fridge, and the nursery was completely in order with all laundry done... there was also a vase of roses on the table to greet me. And I went to sleep at 8:30. My oh my am I lucky)

It's been a busy week and I'm not feeling too well, so I'm going to sum up the trip with lots of photos.

The Hartford airport (very early in the morning!):

Hanging out before our first flight:

Wandering O'Hare... Jack looked at the windows and I ate Fro-Yo:

Landing in Phoenix... where those antennas on South Mountain say "Home" to me every trip. That's where I grew up -- on the other side of that mountain, at the base:

Jack woke up to meet my brother, Michael, and his wife, Leslie, when they came in from their late flight from California. Jack was so sleepy!

Here's my grandfather:

And my mom, on the left:

And this is Leslie, Michael's wife. She teaches three year olds, and so I look to her for parenting advice. Jack was having a bit of teething pain, and she gave him this water bottle to play with. He loved it:

Jack was pretty happy to be held so much:

Jack also met my parents' dogs. They were like giant versions of Sleepy Puppy, his favorite nighttime toy:

Michael and Leslie were so good with Jack. I loved seeing them all together:

Here's my grandmother:

And my good friend, Erin:

With her beautiful daughter, Audrey:

At the end of the trip, my dad took a great photo of Jack and I:

Isn't his outfit cute? That was a gift from my parents... love the vest.

So I've looked through all of the photos from the trip, and I noticed something frustrating. I can't believe I didn't take photos of Jack with my mom and dad! I think I was so focused on them during that time that I didn't pick up the camera. Bummer. Big bummer. I'll make up for it on our next trip.

Travel. Hell.

Jack and I flew to Arizona on Thursday. Here's how I packed for a 5-day trip:

Rolling suitcase (carry-on): 1 pair jeans, 1 skirt, 5 tops, 2 pairs comfy socks, 2 nursing bras, 2 nursing tanks, 1 jacket, 8 baby onesies (4 long sleeve, 4 short sleeve), 2 baby shirts, 2 pairs pants, 3 pairs baby socks, 1 bib, 1 waterproof flannel pad

Diaper bag (carry-on): 8 disposable diapers, travel pack wipes, pacifier on chain that clips to clothing, colorful board book, blanket (with easily identifiable front/back, for placing on airport floor), nursing cover, 4 energy bars, empty bottle for water, Jacques (the Peacock), crinkly toy, toy keys, change of clothes for Jack, change of top for me

Liquids (quart size zip-top bag): tylenol, hand sanitizer, saline, vaseline, diaper rash prescription, a few makeup items for myself

I also brought two carriers: 1), the Bjorn, for easy in/out at security and for wandering around the airport, 2), a linen ring sling, for supporting Jack's weight while on the plane. The ring sling was awesome -- I could nestle him in there while I was seated and readjust as needed.

The Baby Bjorn: easy-in, easy-out, totally hands-free and secure

The ring sling. Takes a little fiddling to get comfy, but nice because I can adjust the sling to make the pouch into whatever shape I'd like. Jack can face in or out, and it is perfect for sitting on a place -- the sling takes some of Jack's weight off of my arms, but it still enables him to move around a bit. And we can nurse in it.

My parents had toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo, conditioner, baby soap, diapers, wipes, some toys, a pack'n'play, and a stroller. My good friend Erin picked us up at the airport and loaned us her carseat

Of all of this stuff, there were only two things I could have done without... the nursing cover (because the sling works as a cover on the plane, and I'm not that modest when I'm around folks I know), and my jeans, because they took up tons of space and I can just as easily wear a skirt. I probably could have done with just the ring sling, but it was nice to have the Bjorn for the airport. I usually like to keep a hand on Jack when he's in the sling, but the Bjorn is totally hands-free.

Traveling itself was great. Security was a pain (they made me take him out of the Bjorn), but we managed. Jack loved all of the excitement and activity. He smiles so easily, and lots of people were grinning back at us as we wandered through the airport. He was the youngest baby I saw, and he was also the only one I saw not in a stroller. The people around us on each flight were excited to see such a young baby, and they were so unbelievably nice and helpful. He had a diaper blow-out the minute we got on the plane, but I had spare clothes packed for him. He didn't really want to nurse for take-off and landing, but I wiggled his ears for him and tried to get him into the pacifier.

Jack slept through the first flight, but he was wide awake for the second flight. It was challenging when he was awake -- I had to play with him almost constantly to keep him entertained, and we got up a few times to walk the aisles. We were very lucky to have a whole row of seats to ourselves, and that made everything easier. He let out a few yells when he got really antsy, but several people specifically commented to me that he was a well-behaved baby, so I think I was more worried about Jack bothering people than any of the people were actually bothered.

So, the flights themselves were tiring but OK. The tough part came when we landed.

Jack was...

1. Extremely (extremely) overstimulated and overtired
2. Teething, full force, with associated pain, fussiness, and constant gnawing
3. Sick! 101 fever, major congestion, and... our doctor back in CT thinks he had and got over an ear infection while we were in AZ.

Poor Jack couldn't breath through his nose at night. The air in Arizona is quite dry, and the house temperature is warmer than what he is used to. Getting Jack to sleep under normal circumstances is challenging, and getting him to sleep while he was so sick, so stimulated by all of the new people around him, and in such unfamiliar territory... was impossible. For the first several days, Jack simply didn't sleep for any sustained period of time.

I planned to co-sleep with him at night so I could nurse him and keep him content, but he didn't even want to do that. All night long, he would only sleep for 20-40 minutes. He spent the rest of the time thrashing around or crying. He didn't want to nurse. Nothing seemed to comfort him. The first night and the first day were kind of OK, but after that point, he just freaked out. He needed to be held and bounced and walked around for most of the day. He spent his nights trying to get comfortable. For some reason, face-planting seemed to make him happy (see photo above).

It was miserable. I think I got about 4-5 hours of "sleep" each night, and by "sleep", what I really mean is "kinda sorta napped for 20 minutes at a time".

I hoped to have a relaxing trip home. I hoped to hand off my baby to my family and enjoy all of the oohing and aahing. Instead, I was completely physically exhausted, stressed out, and very aware of how difficult my baby seemed to be to everybody around us. It was not a relaxing trip.

So parenthood goes.

Jack seemed so upset that I finally called his doctor. After describing the sleeping problems, they felt fairly certain he had a minor ear infection. Ear infections often go away on their own, but the problem is that they can cause quite a bit of pain during the elevation change on the airplane.

I got really stressed out. We had no doctor nearby and 12 hours before we were due to board a plane. What would we do?

Well, Continental solved the problem for us. They canceled my flight. And then we woke up and Jack was suddenly happy again. He slept. He smiled. He giggled. This morning, he was my normal, happy baby. This afternoon, he was only slightly challenging. It would have been a nice day if I hadn't been so exhausted.

We're flying out on a redeye tonight. I think one more sleepless night might just destroy me. It will probably be easier for Jack, though. There are no direct flights from Phoenix to CT, and so I specifically chose both legs of the journey so that the connecting flights were approximately equal in length (2-3 hours each) with short (1 hour) layovers. For the new flight, we'll be going direct to Newark (4.5 hours!), have a 2 hour layover, then a short flight to Hartford (1 hour).

Wish us luck.

I just committed myself to an international flight for work. The three of us will be flying to Barcelona in May, when Jack is 10 months old. This may have been the worst idea ever.

Fun photos and better stories from our AZ trip to follow in the next post!

She did NOT just say that

Having a stranger watch your child -- adore your child -- is a complicated pill to swallow. On one end, you have the smooth, round satisfaction of knowing that somebody cares for your baby at some fraction of the level that you do. On the other end, you have the spiky, serrated edge of jealousy.

I hate that Jack comes home and smells of another woman's perfume.

I know it's Y.'s perfume. I just know it. She told me not to tell other women about how great Jack is -- they might get jealous. She told me that she tells her own sons all about Jack when she gets home. She's fawns over him constantly. And I love it and hate it all at the same time.

You can't have him, Y.. I'll fight you to the death if I have to!

Sometimes when I work on my laptop at Jack's daycare, I'll take a break and go in to nurse him in one of their rocking chairs. One day, we had finished nursing and were enjoying a little lunchtime snuggle. L. walked in: "Oooh I haven't held Jack yet! Let me see him". She held out her arms expectantly.

I'm here to snuggle with my son, L., why would I give him to you?

G. is constantly -- with good intentions -- harassing me about Jack's health. "What did the doctor say about his cough?". "What took so long to get that prescription for the diaper rash ointment?". "Did you take his temperature this morning? I think he feels a little warm"

You're not Jack's mother, G., and you're not a doctor, either! Hah, I'm both!*

*OK, OK, I'm not really that kind of doctor...

Trust me, they mean well, truly, they do... they love the babies in that room as if they were their own.

Except this one's mine. That makes it tough to see how much Jack loves them back. Jack really like's Y.'s face. She has dark eyebrows and is highly expressive, with an interesting accent. L. can make Jack laugh almost as hard as Greg can, and that's saying something. G. swears that Jack falls asleep easily when she puts him down. S. takes him in her arms for most of the late afternoon, when he's cranky.

Yeah, I know, I should be happy -- he loves them, they love him... that's a good thing... if only I felt sure of being loved, too.

Today, I came to pick him up, and he was pretty low key about the whole affair. Sometimes Jack will get really excited when he sees me enter the room, but it doesn't always happen. Y. kept saying, "Where's your mamma?" and he just kept staring at her. I think the teachers like watching the moms get all happy when the babies notice them, but it kind of backfired today.

I put him in his carseat. G. leaned over: "Do you see your mamma there, Jack?".

Nothing.

G. : "You know it's like when you're in the grocery store and you see someone you think you know but you're just not sure"

Nice. That's, really, just, well... perfect.

I bit my tongue and felt like shit for the whole car ride home. I am officially that Grocery Store Lady that my son doesn't quite recognize.

I'm really grumpy. You might not want to read this.

Greg and I have been sick since Wednesday.

We were too sick to drive Jack to daycare, so he stayed home with us (miraculously healthy! hurrah!). We shipped the dogs off to my in-laws on Friday night (thank you Jim and Nancy!). We survived on cereal (until the soy milk ran out), homemade chicken soup (from a friend, amazing), and orange creamsicles (oh what sweet relief).

We both have had horrendous sore throats, but it's really the fever that's done us in. It comes and goes in hourly cycles and spikes up decently beyond 103. I've never shaken so violently or sweat so much in my life. Oh, right, except for three weeks ago, when I was sick with the exact same thing the first time around! How is that even immunologically possible?

Can you tell it's been a miserable week? I'm not in the best of moods.

My in-laws very kindly offered to take Jack for us, however, that would not have worked out. I lost my freezer stash of milk several days before returning to work, and, since then, I've only been able to heat-treat and freeze about a day's worth of non-rancid milk for Jack. We're still sort of joined at the hip (uh, boob).

So what do you do when you have a very young child to take care of and can't do anything but lay in bed and fantasize about proper thermostasis? You watch an entire season of Hell's Kitchen, and then an entire season of Top Chef, then some Better Off Teds, 30 Rock, Dexter, and then an entire season of The Next Iron Chef. Then you complain that there's not enough TV. You play silent wars with your spouse, waiting to see which person will be the overly chilled sucker to admit they can hear the whining and walk the dogs. You pass Jack back and forth to whoever is emanating the least amount of heat at the moment. Occasionally you put him in his activity center until he starts shouting for attention. You let him roll around in the bedside co-sleeper while halfheartedly dangling some toys above him to swing at. You cry when he cries because you're just so tired and you desperately, desperately need someone to take care of you but instead you have to take care of someone else. You rue the day that adulthood arrived.

And then, between the predictable rise and fall of your fever, there's a moment of respite: you cuddle your little one close, make him giggle, kiss his nose, and realize that despite the fact that this baby has brought what surely must be The Black Plague home from daycare... he's the best pain relief that ever existed. Nature's truest irony.

Last time I had this, I got quite dehydrated, Jack was in daycare for a few days, and my milk supply dropped to less than half of normal output (I know from careful pumping logs). Jack got sick with a high fever several days after I did. This time, Jack nursed every two hours and my supply is doing better. He also has no signs of illness, yet (coincidence? perhaps not). We're flying to Arizona on Thursday (just Jack and I! On a plane! Two, actually...). Hopefully we'll both be healthy for our trip.

In case you're counting

Greg and I are sick. Again. In case you're counting, that's the fifth time I've been sick since Jack started daycare 6.5 weeks ago.

Ugh. Jack and I are 1 for 1 right now.

In the meantime, here are a bunch of cute photos

Excuse me while I snicker like the sleep-deprived-martyr I am

I've been googling "4 month old sleep regression" and find people complaining that their child went from sleeping from 7pm-6am to getting up at 1am for an extra nursing session.

Hah. Hahahahahahahaha.

Haha.

OK, sorry. I can't help it. The idea of an uninterrupted night of sleep is just so absurd to me.

Remember the Elaine dance, from Seinfield?

That is pretty much what Jack looks like when he's sleeping. He seems to spend a lot of time in the in between zone, fighting the urge to snooze. He jerks his hands and feet around. He stretches at odd angles. He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs them with his hands. He's teething, now, and spends at least 10 minutes out of every hour pulling on his ears. He just can't settle enough to fall asleep, and it can be very uncomfortable when Jack is doing the Elaine-Dance next to me in bed. When he finally does fall asleep, he always manages to get himself into a rather awkward position: on his side, legs curled, back arched, and head tilted backwards as far as it will physically go (about 45 degrees from centerline). The only reason I can come up with for why he likes this pose is that it is reminescent of how he curls up when we side-lie nurse. I've been trying to convince Jack that he'd feel better if he kept his neck straight, but, alas, my advice goes unheeded.

Even in utero, Jack was an very active little baby. The video clip below is fairly typical. I used to have dreams that he pushed his hand right through my belly, and then I'd wake up to find him stretching himself from end to end with a strength that always surprised me

And I wonder why I have terrible stretch marks! I'm convinced that it wasn't just Jack's growth that did the damage to my belly -- I think it was his constant kicking and punching that stretched my skin past its natural limit.

So Jack has always been an active little guy, and nighttime is no exception. When Jack came home from the hospital, he was already sleeping in 3-4 hour stretches, with a fussy period in the morning. That was awesome. Unfortunately, things quickly settled into an up-every-two-hours routine, which is pretty tough on me. He has a predictable pattern right now: asleep at 6:30, up at 11pm, 1am, 3am, 5am, 6am, 7am.

Often I just bring him into bed at 1am, but we don't really want to be doing that every single night, all night long. He'll spend hours doing the Elaine-Dance: punching me in the face, scratching up my neck, and kicking me in the belly.

Greg and I decided to spend however however much time it takes to sooth him to sleep while he's in his co-sleeper. No getting up and leaving to let him cry for short periods of time: we just put him in, pat him, talk to him, and sing to him. Sometimes we pick him up, but he goes right back down when he calms down. Sometimes it takes an hour, and sometimes we repeat this ritual as he wakes up sporadically for several hours, but eventually we know he'll fall asleep on his own.

The last few nights, things have been getting a little better. In fact, twice, I've put him down when he's totally awake. I let him squirm on his own (no crying), and he's fallen asleep after a few minutes. Once, Greg put him down for a nap -- and he fell asleep all on his own with no fussing. Last night, he nursed at 11pm, 3am, and 5am, and I am I so well rested, I can't believe it!

I'm trying my best not to expect a linear improvement in Jack's sleeping patterns. The truth is, he'll go through so many stages: learning to crawl and to pull himself up, teething, and an impatience to get up and go as his new awareness of the world increases. He's got quite a bit going on, both mentally and physically, and I know that this growing is going to interrupt all of our sleep for a while to come.

Still, I can celebrate a few hours of uninterrupted sleep when it happens. Huzzah!