The best laid plans...

I want to write about Jude's birth. It's important to me to set it to words in this space. It will be a reminder for me of what I went through and how much hard work it took to get that little bean into the world. Everyone worked hard - Jude, me, Matthew, my sister in law, my parents, our doula, our friends. To say that it didn't go as planned would be the mildest way of putting it.

I labored at home for 24 hours. Matthew and I counted contractions for a day and then called our doula. We headed to the hospital 12 hours later and had to wait for a couple of hours to be checked in because all the rooms were taken. Nothing like leaking amniotic fluid and having very painful contractions in a waiting room. Nothing like it.

Several hours later we got a labor and delivery room. My contractions got progressively more intense and I was still only dilated a couple of centimeters. It stayed that way for a few hours. My midwife talked to us about using some meds to get my cervix in better shape to get the baby out because nature was not cooperating - I was having transitional contractions but I still wasn't dilated more than a couple of centimeters. She knew we wanted a natural birth and she gave my body lots of time to see if we could overcome what obstacles stood in the way, but it wasn't working. Cervadil, then pitocin, then an epidural... all things that I was staunchly against going into the birth. My contractions were so hard and fast I was exhausted and they were afraid I would have nothing left when it finally came time to push the baby out.

After 48 hours of labor it turns out that I had a dysfunctional labor because of cervical swelling (I finally got up to 7 centimeters, but then became very swollen and got back down to 4 centimeters). At that point I was getting into a high risk category and a c-section became the only option. It was my worst nightmare before labor started. I did everything to avoid it. My midwife gave me a lot of time to see if my body could overcome, but there was no chance. She explained everything and we both cried about it. I was so upset. She was upset for me. Everyone knew it wasn't what I wanted, but we all knew that the only real goal was to get the baby out safely. If we waited much longer both of us would be in danger.

Matthew got ready to come with me to the operating room. Our midwife helped him put on the scrubs and mask. His cool checkered Vans slipped into the shoe covers and he was ready - more or less. He prepared himself to see his wife and the mother of his child get cut open on the table. He always said he thought he would have made a good doctor... but he said later that he could never detach enough from the patient to cut into them.

So I had a c-section. At 2:48 on 3/12 Jude came into the world and my surgeon passed him through a hole he cut in the drape so I could be the first one to kiss him. The surgeon said he wanted me to be able to kiss the baby first, that just because I didn't push the baby out didn't mean I wasn't the mommy. That meant so much to me. He told me we had a boy and I got to give little, slimy Jude his first smooch.

The surgery was frightening and I had a bad reaction to the anesthesia - I got the shakes very badly and couldn't control the upper half of my body. I was twitching and jerking and it was very scary. I knew I was in good hands and that Jude was in good hands, but that was the hardest experience of my life.

In the end, we got our son. That's all that counts. I came to grips with all the medical intervention and was actually grateful for it afterward when my midwife told me how close I was to something disastrous. She explained that when you hear about women in remote areas developing fistulas they most often result from the exact scenario that played out for me. Except, those women don't have medical care, so the option of a c-section doesn't exist. If I were one of them I would have likely died. Matthew just kept saying, "I know you don't want to hear this, but we can make another baby but I can't make another you. I can't go through this life without you, so this surgery is what needs to happen. Please." That was all I needed to hear.

And when Jude cried for the first time and I heard that tiny voice coming from across the OR I knew we did the right thing. I tried and Jude tried and we did our best. All that counts is that we made it through and our family is at home, happy and healthy. The poopy diapers and the sleepless nights, the spit up and the endless burpings, the coos and cries, the sore nipples and the achy belly - it's all worth it. It's all worth it and I'd do it again tomorrow if it meant my little family would be as happy as we are right now.

Life awaits. The future is here. The three of us will face it together. Hey, ho! Let's go! As Matthew says, Ramones fans are born, not made.

Nice 'do.

Jude. Day 4. On the nursing pillow. Hanging out. Making his mom cry and laugh and stare in amazement at the same time.

And look at that hair!! I was bald as a cue ball as a baby. I guess he gets the hair from his dad. I kept joking before he was born that if the baby was a boy he'd come out with a full beard. Almost. I still can't believe I got my boy. He's healthy and happy and that's all that matters.

I knew it would come.

Today is the day Barack Hussein Obama became our president. He is everyone's president, not just those of us who voted for him. He represents us all. Hopefully he will continue his record of representing his constituency with dignity and respect.

So that was the good part.

Today is also the day Matthew lost his job. His crazy coked out boss lost it this morning and now Matthew is unemployed. His phone has been ringing off the hook ever since whether it's people from the company calling or clients or vendors. Everyone is concerned and everyone's first question is something along the lines of "What the hell did that asshole do to you?" In my estimation that pretty much sums up the situation.

So right now now he's updating his resume and networking his booty off. We are not defeated. We are not without hope. Today, President Obama took office. How could we be hopeless on a day like today? We'll get through it like the millions of other Americans who have lost their jobs in this craptastic economy. We will find the silver lining in this cloud and we will come through it with smiles on our faces, hand in hand, with a tiny tot in tow in less than 2 months. It's how we roll.

Quitting... and starting anew

At the beginning of the year when I started Blog 365, I was excited to challenge myself with the task of blogging every day of the year (except Leap Day) for all of 2008. It seemed like a daunting task, but one that I was eager to accept and tackle. I jumped right in and I blogged diligently. Most often the posts were traditional, sometimes they were audio clips, and others were mobile photo posts. I scribbled notes while Matthew and I were travelling through Europe on our honeymoon so I could post them as soon as I got to an internet cafe or when we got back home. I wanted to complete this 365 consecutive post challenge.

And then... Saturday, July 12 happened. The day I peed on a stick and our lives changed.

Finding out you're pregnant is not any kind of news you're prepared for. Even if you've been hoping and planning, you still can't be prepared for the rush of emotion that floods through you when you look down and you see that plus sign. Everything changes. One minute it's you, just you. The next minute there are 3 of you where only 2 of you had been.

In the 8 days we've known we're expecting a baby we've bought 4 books (one of which has freaked me out so badly that I threw it across the room last night), surfed countless message boards, researched diaper services and midwives, talked about the need for a doula, the list goes on. We've talked about our dreams and fears, what elates us and what scares the daylights out of us. We've hugged, kissed, cried, fumbled through some naked adult time while trying not to be preoccupied with the teensy weensy embryo growing in my belly. It's been the most amazing 8 days.

And in those 8 days I've blogged only a handful of times. I can see what the future holds for me. It holds sleepless nights filled with awe and worry, exhausting days of work, celebratory dinners with friends and family, and little time for blogging.

So, Blog 365 is done for me. I'm quitting. I'm starting something far bigger that will need a lot of energy in the coming months. I'm not going away, not by a long shot. I just won't be here every day. I've got a baby to build.

Next time won't you sing with me?

Amazed. Bewildered. Captivated. Delighted. Excited. Frenzied. Gaga. Hopeful. Intimidated. Jubilant. K. L. Marvelous. Neurotic. Overwhelmed. Piqued. Questioning. Rapturous. Shocked. Terrified. Unbelieving. Victorious. Wondering. X. Y. Z.

My ABCs of pregnancy. Anyone have any suggestions for K, L, X, Y, or Z?

It's about time!

As of yesterday, California began performing and recognizing same-sex marriages. The first couple to wed in San Fransisco was a couple that has been together for more than 50 years. Del Martin, 87, and Phyllis Lyon, 84 got married. They actually married back in '04 during the brief window when CA said same-sex marriages were legal... only to later have that union invalidated.

These two women are an example of perserverence. They are an example that love can triumph and that committment can last. For more than 50 years they've shared their lives and been partners. That's all I can hope for my husband and I - that we reach the 50 year mark with as much tenacity and love as those women.

A Melissa by any other name would smell as sweet

Tomorrow is a big day. A day that will live in infamy. One that will go down in the annals of history as a day of changing tides and monumental shifts.

Tomorrow I will go to the Social Security Administration office to process my name change.

I've always said I'm not very attached to my last name. I'm a *Melissa's Last Name* in name only, I'm much more like my mom's side of the family anyway. I'm spunky like them, sarcastic like them, loyal like them. If I could have chosen my last name at birth I'd have chosen my mom's maiden name.

I digress...

I've known since Matthew and I met that when we got married I'd take his name. To me it's a unified front sort of thing. We're in this together. We're a team. We're going to have a family and our kids will have the same last name as us. No hyphenation, no mom has one last name and dad has another. When our kids are old enough to have school friends and they come over, they'll know that I'm Mrs. So-and-so (even though I really have a problem with kids calling me by anything other than my first name) and Matthew is Mr. So-and-so. None of this, "Hmm, what is Little Johhny's mom's last name again?" It's just not for me.

So, tomorrow I'll head to the Brooklyn Social Security Card Center (yes, there are so many of us in the NYC area that need cards [replacement, new, name change, etc.] that we can't all go to the regular SSA office, we have to go to a specific card office). I'll wait in line, however long it takes, and I'll change my name. Uncle Sam will have all the current info for which to track me and unlawfully spy on me. Woot!

It was only a matter of time

I had a feeling it would happen sooner or later. It's one of those things I knew would creep up on me and get me when I was least expecting it. I've thought about it in the past, but always shied away before I committed. Lots of my friends do it, so eventually it was going to spread to me, right?

The vegetarianism, I mean.

Here's the deal - in addition to having some animal-friendly guilt I have always advocated conscious eating. Read: be aware of where your food comes from, know what you're eating, if you can't pronounce it you don't want to put it in your mouth, respect the source, etc. I think most Americans' eating habits are deplorable, so for years I've been trying to eat healthier and buy local (hence my participation in a CSA), doing whatever I can to contribute to sustainable and respectable food practices not only for myself, but for the benefit of my local community.

Our culture of blind consumption is counter intuitive to treating ourselves and our planet in a way that encourages life. Right now we throw away more than 30% of all the food we buy. That's unbelievable. That means on average, you throw away $30 of every $100 you spend at the grocery. If we did that with commodities other than food it would seem outrageous to us, but since it's food we don't really notice. Think of it this way. If you go clothes shopping and you buy a new outfit, shoes and all, then you come home and throw the pants away before you've even worn them, that's the equivalent of what we do with food as a nation. Seems insane, right?

Part of our over-consumption is wrapped up in wasteful practices that go into producing the food we eat. For example: it takes 2,000 gallons of water to produce one pound of ground beef. That's the same amount of water you can save each year by installing a low-flow shower head or smaller capacity toilet tank. 2,000 gallons! For one night's meal of taco salad! I just can't justify 2,000 gallons of water for a taco salad dinner anymore. And I loves me some taco salad, people. All that water, all that grain/corn (and the land needed to grow the grain/corn) that goes to feed the cow that lives a short and cramped life so that I can later eat him in a completely detached way has become totally unappealing to me now.

From an animal-lover's perspective, eating meat has always brought some conflicting emotions. My dad hunted when I was a kid, and it was always for food, not for sport. He taught me about guns being dangerous and only for hunting. He made sure I went with him to the butcher a few times when he took the deer in to be parceled out into the multitude of white butcher paper wrapped packages that would eventually fill our freezer. I stepped over dead deer that were being prepped for butchering and was filled with a sense of respect that those animals had been killed for us to eat. It was my first introduction to my very own food source. Rather than seeing an anonymous venison steak or burger on my plate, I knew that meat came from the deer my dad and I took to the butcher. There was something important about that experience. It showed me that meat is not only food, meat was once an animal that had a face and a mother and a life.

The humane reasons for not eating meat were never quite enough on their own to make me become vegetarian. However, the environmental impact of meat production is exactly enough to push me over the edge and change my ways. It's a personal decision. Personally, I simply can't justify my meat consumption anymore. I don't begrudge anyone their steak. I will miss cheeseburgers in a way that is best described as "demented", but that's not enough to make me ignore all the other parts of mass meat production. My eyes have been opened and I can't "unsee" what I've seen.

Check, check... 1, 2, 1, 2

This and this and this all display varying degrees of my lack of patience. As if I needed to make it just a little more obvious...

It's only 9:28AM and I started checking my cell phone obsessively every few minutes around 7:30 just to make sure I haven't missed a phone call from HR at the company I hope will be making me an offer today.

I am pathetic.

At least I am aware of my own pathetic state. That might constitute progress on some level.

The previous sentence might constitute an utterly ridiculous attempt at justification.

Maybe.

**UPDATE**
I GOT THE OFFER. I got the call and the offer was superb, better than I'd hoped, actually. I've called my old NYC boss and told her about my resignation, but I haven't been able to get in touch with my current boss because she's been in meetings ever since she got online this morning. I'm making next Friday my last day and I'm not starting the new job until 6/2. That means I'll have a full week off between jobs. I've never done that before. I've always ended on a Friday and started the next gig on Monday. Not this time! This time I essentially gave myself a hefty raise, better benefits, and a week's vacay. I'm feeling pretty good right now.

Patience is a virtue... which I lack.

Word on the street is that I'll be getting a job offer as a result of that kickass second interview I had yesterday morning. It's not official until I have something in my inbox or a phone call, but it's coming. Lucky for me, "the street" the word is on happens to be my own since my dear friend and neighbor is the one with the insider info.

Trick is, I'm fighting with myself every second that passes not to quit my job. I don't have an offer yet, I can't quit my job without an offer. But man, oh man do I want to!

I know 2 weeks' notice is customary. I have usually given more - typically closer to a month. I like my employers to be prepared and to have ample time to get my replacement up to speed before I haul ass out of there. This time, though, I don't think I'll do even the full 2 weeks. If I get an offer tomorrow, I'll give my notice and make next Friday my last day. I can't stomach this company for longer than that. It's a courtesy and since they've shown me none to speak of I think a week & 1/2 is ample time.

We did it

(image courtesy of Beautiful Union Portraits)


We're married. I'm a wife. He's a husband. It's the best.

I was told by more guests than I can count that it was the best wedding they'd ever been to and I couldn't agree more. Every aspect of our night was perfect. I want to document many of those things here, but it will need to wait until I am a little more coherent and awake. It's been an absolute whirlwind for 36 hours and I need a nap more than anything else at this point.

What I can tell you, despite my state of partial consciousness, is that I would not have changed a single thing. It was my perfect wedding. He is my perfect husband. I'm going to do my best to be his perfect wife from here on out. I couldn't ask for more.

I will share so much more a little later. Here's a preview: Matthew told me he had a surprise for me. He refused to give me a clue further than "it has something to do with a fat guy named David". I had no idea what he was cooking up. Halfway through our reception our band gave him the mic, handed him a guitar, and he surprised me with the most beautiful rendition of "Our House" by CSN&Y with 2 of our best friends singing harmony and playing 2nd guitar. To say there wasn't a dry house in the place would be an understatement.

The big day

** I must confess that I've written this in advance to be posted today because I know I'll have so many things to do. **

Today's the day. Today I marry the most amazing person I know. Matthew, my love, my partner, my cool breeze, my sunshine.

Thank you to all of you who have visited me in this space for all these years and wished me well. I appreciate the kinds words in good times and in bad more than you probably know. Sometimes planning this wedding was so stressful and to alleviate some of the strain I'd go back and read a few of the amazing things you've said to me in the past. You've been so supportive, a real community. You've helped me though some rough spots and you've cheered me on through the triumphs.

Today is a big day. My life will never be the same. I'll have an official stamp on the partnership I've been half of for 2 years now. I'll even have a different last name! I couldn't be happier to be Matthew's wife.

I'll probably post all my honeymoon posts when we get back, so if you don't see any movement in this space don't be alarmed. I'll be back in 12 days with stories to tell and photos to share. I'll miss you!

A Good Day

Today is Matthew's birthday. He's 31. He says it feels remarkably like 30. We met 2 years ago today. We will be married in less than 3 weeks. I'm so proud of him and I'm grateful that we get to spend our lives together.

We went to the Brooklyn Museum of Art (a whopping 3 blocks from our apartment and one of the best museums in the world). They have an exhibit of Takashi Murakami's work that we were planning to see, but when the 7 of us got there we found out there was a $10 admission fee for the exhibit and half of the group are starving artists... so $10 to see some Japanese pop art wasn't in the cards. Instead, we made modest donations to the museum and visited portions of the main collection.

My favorite was the current exhibits in the Sackler Gallery for Feminist Art. Normally, I'm not a contemporary art fan. Moreover, I'm never a fan of labels other than nationality or time period. Labeling something as "feminist art" makes me crazy and I shy away from galleries that promote that kind of categorization. It seems to counter intuitive to me. Anyway, I was very pleasantly surprised to have found not only 2 contemporary artists I can stand behind 100%, but one in particular that really spoke to me in ways I didn't expect. The Judy Chicago installation of The Dinner Party is amazing, and you should see it if you can. But, it was Ghada Amer who really stopped me in my tracks today.

She's an Egyptian-born, French-raised, New York-living artist who uses fabric, embroidery, text, and paint to create pieces that speak to marginalization of women and themes of typical gender roles. Pretty amazing stuff. If you're near Brooklyn you should check out her work. My favorite piece was a series of 4 panels, each painted a muted shade of CMYK, arranged in a grid, with intricate embroidery of the definitions of 4 words in Arabic - including freedom and fear, I believe.

Balancing the investment:return ratio

I have made a decision. It seems that lately I have posted frequently about the grand decisions I've made and the changes I'm planning to make in my life. It's good to have ideas and to make plans, but it is better to act on them and make them a reality. The sweeping decision for today is to not take my job so damn seriously.

For real.

I've hit some speedbumps with my company in the last several months and my confidence in them as an organization has been dwindling at a pretty steady rate. After the events of last week (which are too boring and tedious to spell out in this forum) it has become glaringly apparent to me that I have given too much of myself to my job and it's time that it stopped. I will continue to do my best, to work hard, to see all my projects through. However, I will no longer be going above and beyond. I will no longer be working long hours. I will no longer be volunteering for corporate initiatives and taking on extra work. I haven't seen much return on the investment I have made in my job. What usually happens when an investment doesn't see good returns? That investment gets reallocated. Right? Simple math.

So, I am now reallocating the time and energy I would have previously earmarked for extra effort in my job to things that matter to me more - like my own interests, my own creative pursuits, my own life. I'm not going to become some work slacker, I'm just going to be smarter about the way I approach my job. It's like a relationship in the sense that if one person gives and gives and the other just takes and takes then the relationship isn't a very productive one. I'm going to make better investments with myself. Time and energy are priceless and impossible to get back once spent. They better be spent on worthy causes. Here's to a smarter personal portfolio.



By the way, David Paterson just took the oath of office and is now the governor of the state of New York. His swearing in ceremony was very moving and exciting. I was surprisingly giddy listening to it on the radio. His speech was great - he's a funny guy and he was jovial and light and inclusive. In order to read a speech he has to use incredibly large type, so he typically speaks candidly, on the fly. It was human and real. The first black governor of NY. The first legally blind governor of NY. He has grace and charm and I have high hopes for his term. I hope he is met with cooperation and respect. He deserves it. He served in the state senate representing Harlem for 21 years. The man has experience. Super cool thing: governors of NJ, CT, and MA were all present today. It's a regional love-fest.

It's official

New York has our first black governor. Our first legally blind governor. Our first governor who has had to take the reigns mid-term because the man we elected got caught patronizing prostitutes. Nice. I can't help but feel sorry for David Paterson. He didn't get into office because he was elected. He got there because the guy above him stuck his willy in women and paid for it.

Paterson has an uphill battle ahead of him. Republicans in our state are going to be watching his every move and scrutinizing him even more than they usually would due to the circumstances of his appointment. I wish him the best. He represented Harlem for 2 decades, so I'm looking forward to seeing how he'll treat NYC in Albany. One of Spitzer's last acts was a budget cut for NYC schools to help out struggling upstate communities. My teacher friends aren't too happy about that. I hope Paterson makes solid decisions and sets a tone in this state that shows it's OK to have a non-white guy at the helm. It's about time.

Lastly, Spizter has teenage duaghters. That makes his dalliances even more disturbing. Way to scar them for life, you jerk. They're teenagers, do you have any idea what this will do to them? They know their father was booted out of office because he screwed chicks and paid for it. If you're at all intelligent/compassionate/alive you will get them to a counselor immediately. No group on earth is better at taking personal blame for things that aren't their fault than teenage girls.

3 years, people

Happy 3 year blogiversary to me! 3 years ago today I started writing about my life and times as a New Yorker and a 20 something. I'm still a New Yorker, still in Brooklyn, still my kooky self, no longer in my 20s, I have a different job, a different man, same best pal, fresh outlook on life. I'd say it's been a good 3 years, even with the bad bits, other bad bits, other bad bits, and worst bits of all. There have been good times, amazing times, the best times, and downright hilarious incidents. This has been a chronicle of my insights about myself, my relationships, and life in general.

Here's to another year of getting all the junk in my head out there into the ether for all to see. Hope you're up for it.

SUPER TUESDAY

As one of my wise blogging friends said recently... Tuesday is CHOOSEDAY.



Here in New York the polls open at 6AM and don't close until 9PM. Get there. It counts this time. This primary is important and your individual vote really matters. Complacency has had its day. This is our day. Time to take back the nation.

From a seed...

That's where I thought babies came from. I thought the images on the box my Cabbage Patch Kid came in told the whole story. Obviously, babies sprouted in a field of cabbages. Duh, that's what the picture on the box said. Being a smart kid I knew that if there was a baby patch, then there were other components of that scheme. It meant there was a baby farmer and she planted the seeds (Yes, even as a small child the default gender I assigned to professions or fictional people was female. It never occurred to me to assume doctors or farmers or whoever were men. Years later I realized that was a pretty cool mindset to have as a tot.).

Now this baby farmer had to be a hard worker. I knew there were lots of babies sprouting all the time because I knew about the globe and how those different colored blotches were different countries. I even thought those countries had their own version of me. My logic told me that if there was another country on the other side of the world then it must have been the opposite of the one I knew, so there would be another me but she was my opposite. Anyway, those countries all had their own babies, and since there were lots of colored blotches that's a staggering number of babies. I figured in order to make it work efficiently the baby patch was centralized. The baby farmer would give the newly sprouted ones to the storks who would deliver them. At this point I thought they used a transportation system similar to Santa's - you know, all over the place at the same time, that sort of thing. Important note: expectant mothers had big bellies so the storks would be able to see them from the air and know where to drop their deliveries. Total common sense.

The baby farmer was kind of a hero in my eyes because she had this super important job and without her none of us would be around, left to rot in the patch. I wondered a lot about why we never heard anything about her, but we heard about the Tooth Fairy and Santa and that lot all the time. Baby farmer got a raw deal.

When I found out there was no baby farmer and the idea that babies sprouted from seeds was just fantasy I was floored. It really rocked my world because I lost a hero. No baby farmer? Are you kidding me? I had worked out such an elaborate system of how it all worked that finding out it was all in my head was astounding. That's when I started to understand what imagination was. Without a personal hero I had to find someone else to look up to.

Keep in mind I was maybe 6 when all this was going on. I decided my mom would be my new hero. It's been that way ever since. Many of my friends have contentious relationships with their parents and I'm not saying it's always been smooth sailing for us (I was a teenager at some point and I still can't believe she didn't kill me), but we've worked through the junk and we're close. I love my mom. She's a really cool person and I'm lucky to have her. I learned a lot from her as a kid and I still see new things about her as we get older that open my eyes to how dynamic she is. We're going to see my family this weekend and I'm looking forward to seeing my mom the most.

She's way better than the baby farmer. No offense, Sally.

Day 1

Ah, January. Here you are. We've met before, but you look a bit different this time. A little older, a little wiser. Maybe you've added a few pounds? Mmm hmm. Sounds like someone else I know. January, you're in for a new experience this year. I've got some trips planned, a lot of hard work to get through, and lots of fun to have. I hope you're ready! You should probably buckle up, this might get bumpy.

So, New Year's Eve was great. We had 15 people here for dinner. Thanks to Martine's borrowed table we had enough room for everyone. All the cooking for a day and a half was worth it. Matthew's creme brulee was amazing. He made the custard the night before so all he had to do was caramelize some sugar when it was time for dessert. It was a big hit. Definitely something he's going to be goaded into making again just for the two of us. After dinner we headed to Grand Army Plaza just blocks away to watch the fireworks.

What did you do for New Year's Eve? Was it fun? Ready to get your feet wet in 2008? Resolutions? I'm trying to be a more peaceful person... who weighs a little less, too.

Ready? Let's jump!

2008, here I come. You better get ready for me. I'm doing things this year. Learning things. Making things happen. Changing things for the better. Shaking things up. Prepare yourself, 2008. You haven't seen anything yet.

2008 isn't the year I let things slide, put things off, forget about things that matter to me. Nope. 2008 is the time to shine, people. Jump right in. Get down to it.

I'm looking at you, 2008. Right in the eye.