Marriage Equality Act repealed

I'm trying to be brave with this entry. Any "yes on 1" supporters will not like it. Anyone who doesn't want to hear me bear my soul or read about my past- skip it. Posting this, along with my wimpy disclaimer, is as brave as I feel I can be today.

Yesterday, I awoke to the sad news that the Marriage Equality Act had been repealed by the people's veto in Maine.

Repealed. Revoked. Rejected.

I still feel like I need a good cry over it - I've been on the verge several times in the middle of appointments with prospective clients. Sometimes I feel like a real wimp for not just going with the feeling, inconvenient or not. But...losing an opportunity for work while crying in front of a stranger doesn't do much for the cause or for my company. Be reasonable, I tell myself.

I know we've come so far since Stonewall.

I know we've come even further in the last 12 years. I remember counting signatures, hoping to find duplicates or fraudulent entries on the petition to repeal the anti-discrimination law that led to a February election day in 1997. Here's an article about that effort:
http://www.qrd.org/qrd/www/usa/maine/ap-2.9.98.html

And, I remember feeling doomed and alone and disappointed on that February 11th. That winter was a strange one in my life...I had just moved out on my own, my grandmother passed away, and I broke off relations with most of my dearest, oldest friends. I had just broken up with a wonderful woman - yes, woman. I know now that it couldn't have lasted, but at the time I was looking forward to the day that gay marriage was legalized, and I couldn't see celebrating that day any other way than dancing barefoot on a beach in Maine with my bride. Silly girl, I was. But ,I have no regrets.

Today, I am married to a wonderful man, and we have a beautiful daughter. Besides driving around with a No on 1 bumper sticker, and posting comments on Facebook, I did nothing to support this campaign. Nothing. Not even a single evening of phonebanking. THAT, I regret. Denying my past with a "don't ask, don't tell" mentality, I regret.

I'll always know that I could have done more, and I am hopeful that I will find the courage to MAKE TIME to help as this fight continues.

For now, my biggest contribution is raising the next generation. I know that Vi will see same-sex marriage as nothing new, nothing odd, just...part of our belief in equality and civil rights.

I will teach her to hope, if only to remind myself that we must never give up.

Stop the madness.

Last night I had to show Vi that she had gotten her stubborn streak genetically. From me. And that I had been honing mine for 32 1/2 years.

Vi woke up at 11:30, crying and screaming for me. Dan kindly got up and went into her room, which is literally next to ours. She almost fell back asleep, but woke up in a rage when he got up to leave the room. After 20 minutes of trying, he came and got me.

I tried for the next 2 1/2 hours.

That's right. From 11:48 pm to 2:38 am...okay, that's almost 3 hours...I tried to get Vi to go to sleep.

I started with my usual "I'm too tired to change these habits tonight" technique of laying down with her and snuggling until she was out. As with Dan, when I got up she was NOT happy.

Next, I sat on her bed for a while, holding her hand while she drifted off again. When I stood up to leave, she cranked up the volume again.

I decided then to see if she would "just do it" on her own tonight. I told her, "Vi, I'm not going to sleep in your bed. I'm tired, and I want to sleep in MY bed. You sleep in YOUR bed. Good night."

She started using every trick in the book, every tool in her bag, every word she could use to get her way - sleeping with me, either in The Big Bed as she calls it, or in her Big Girl Bed. Either way, she would be a neck-poking, nose-pinching, elbow-digging bed hog, and I would wake up un-rested with a neck ache. From too much "snuggling."

Lines she tried on me:

• I need a drink of water
• I want some hot milk
• I don't want that blanket
• I need a blanket
• I need a bubba
• I want a different bubba
• I don't want a bubba, I want a Pac-i-fi-er.
• I DON'T WANT THAT BUBBA.

It was becoming clear that the "needs" she expresses every night are just tools to get us to give in and lay down with her or bring her to our bed. She was manipulating us - not in a malicious way, but basically trying to elicit a certain response from her test subjects. And we always gave in, until last night. Well, we equals me at midnight. Dan was already snoring away in The Big Bed, and I made an executive decision to stand my ground and enforce a new policy.

The talking and crying continued:

• I don't want to go to sleep
• I want to get in the big bed
• Mommy? Wanna come back in my room? Wanna lay down, with meeee? (sweet, sweet, sweetly spoken.)

I almost gave in. Her words! She was speaking so clearly, being polite, inviting, and sweet. How sweet! She just wants to snuggle. What's the harm? If I won't snuggle with her now, years from now I'll regret it, I started to tell myself. I may have been thinking out loud at this point - who knows. Unfortunately, this all happened on a Tuesday night (into Wednesday morning, for you sticklers) so Adam and Dylan were upstairs sleeping in our guest room. Dylan wasn't disturbed, but poor Adam was kept awake by the Sleep Summit of 2009.

I realized, though, that I had to stick to my guns. I had been strong in the new policy for over 45 minutes. (Well, just at 45 minutes I went into the bedroom and told Dan I was going to, and this is a direct quote, "chuck her out the fucking window." When he started snoring again instead of talking, I decided to kill him in his sleep after I got a drink of water.)

So, back to me being strong and awesome. I knew that there was no turning back at this point. If I gave in after such a long fight, then the next time I tried would be even worse. She couldn't win this one, or else I would really pay for it. I could out-stubborn a mule.

I stood in her doorway, speaking softly, telling her "Good night. It's nighttime, it's time for sleeping. Lay down and go to sleep." She would reply, "No." Just that - a firm, sour "No." In between requests like:

• I wanna hug your neck
• I want to take off my jammies
• I need a new diaper (she didn't)

she would cry and scream at a ridiculous level. In these moments, I was glad to have company - I reminded her that there were people sleeping, and to use her quiet voice so she wouldn't wake up Dylan.

I stepped outside her room, and leaned on the hallway wall. More claims:

• I pooped (she hadn't)
• Ow, Ow, OW!
• Mommy? Lay down, mommy. Lay down with meeee. (again resorting to nearly irresistible sweetness.)

I stepped further down the hall, and stood in my bedroom doorway. I got a pillow and sat on the floor. She asked me "Where are you, Mommy? What you doing, Mommy?" several times. The final half hour or so was the most painful. She was crying intermittently, kneeling in her bed, occasionally folding forward to rest her head on the pillow. Then up again, crying and screaming, saying over and over again, "I wanna snuggle my Daddy in the big bed, Mommy. I wanna snuggle my Daddy." This was definitely the most heart-breaking part for me - at first. I remembered all the other "tools" she had been using, and what her goal was. Her goal wasn't to snuggle with Dan. Once in The Big Bed, she would - and I know this in every inch of my body - wrap her arms around my neck and keep me from breathing like a healthy human being. I had to keep telling myself this - I wasn't denying her something she needed, and that all three of us need to start getting regular, dependable, recuperative sleep. I told her, out loud, "I know, honey. I know you do. It's hard when we can't do everything we want to do. It's nighttime, though, and it's time for you to sleep all alone in your bed. You're a big girl, and I know you can do it. I love you." I must have said, "I know, I know," forty times. I opted for "I know" rather than "It's okay; you're fine," because that would just be a lie.

Her words got softer, and the time between cries got longer. After 20 minutes of silence, I covered her in cozy blankets and crawled into The Big Bed.

I was completely wound up, cold from sitting on the floor, stressed about a full day of work ahead on so little sleep, and Dan was snoring like a wookie. But, I knew I had taken a step in the right direction. My kid will learn some independence, some self-soothing, and some boundaries. And, hopefully...I'll get some sleep.

My sleep problems guru, Dr. Sears has suggestions for parents on his website. Actually, it's not just "him." The awesome thing about Dr. Sears is that it's him, his RN wife, and his gaggle of genious kids who are also MDs. He's, like, 5 doctors, so he's, like, 5 times as helpful.
http://www.askdrsears.com/html/7/T070100.asp

STRESS!

I'm so stressed about money! This has been such a difficult year for us, and I think we're both going to need to pick up extra hours at odd jobs to make ends meet for the rest of the year.

Any suggestions? Should I sell my eggs? Sell pies? C'mon, creative readers - any ideas for me?

180

Give more, to get more? I take that back. (For now. Just for this rant. Really.)

I have learned today that a business to whom I have been consistently referring new business has taken on a relationship with my competitor, and pulled potential business away from me and my firm.

I'm not a cut-throat business person. I believe in honesty and integrity. I believe in positive partnerships. I think I have learned a valuable lesson today, but I'm not sure how to articulate it. Basically, I was giving and giving and giving...much more than I was ever going to receive.

It's not personal, it's business. Right? Somehow, this realization still hurts in a very personal way. And, I'm going to have to mourn the loss of a relationship that I had valued more than it was ever worth.

Anyone have a business-smart karma book to suggest? :-)

Wardrobe crisis averted!

Anyone who has seen me recently knows that I'm wasting away to nothing. I realize that most American women would be *thrilled!* to be losing weight in this manner, but I assume that those women have a clothing budget and actually enjoy shopping. Not me. The first part goes without saying in our current situation, and the second part...well...sometimes I love shopping: a fun day out with a sister, mom or girlfriend with good taste and the ability to be brutally honest, no time restrictions, and plenty of lattes and cookies. But most of the time shopping is a nuisance: I'm spending money I don't have on clothes that won't last in stores with no customer service, and I'll probably have to shorten or lenghthen the pants due to my long legs...that's assuming I've found pants that happen to fit my hips, thighs waist and inseam. I really need to take a sewing class and just start making my own clothes.

Don't get me wrong - I don't mean to sound whiny, and if I do, you've probably already stopped reading...

It boils down to the fact that my two pairs of work slacks are baggy and dumpy, so I had nothing to wear in client-facing situations. What to do? I reached out to a friend and humbly asked if she currently had a Goodwill pile through which I could scavenge. This was all okay in the email I sent, and her reply was favorable, but when I arrived at her house to try on h er clothing, I almost started crying I was so embarassed. She was exceptionally graceful and I left with a pair of pants, two skirts, a blouse and two pairs of shoes. I am so glad I asked! She actually suggested that we gather a group of girls together for a clothing-swap party. That's today's money-saving recession-surviving tip: Repurposing items through exchanges with friends and family!

THEN, we were being treated to taco night at another friend's house, and I mentioned my "shopping" experience. This friend is an itsy-bitsy petite person...as she says, I have two feet on her. It wouldn't have crossed my mind that she and I would be the same size in any article of clothing...to illustrate: a few weeks ago she and I went to a yoga class together after a slumber party. I hadn't packed yoga clothes, so I borrowed her maternity clothes! That's the difference in our sizes. At the end of the evening, she produced two professional-looking, high-quality sweaters from her "repurposing" pile. They fit beautifully!

As humbling as it was to ask for such a favor, I feel so happy and proud and grateful that I have these girlfriends.

They are SO invited to come to the gender-segragated commune with goats.

But that's another story altogether...

First day of day care

Vi had her first day of day care last Wednesday, and she loved it. Her teacher sent us this picture:
On her daily report (the piece of paper which tells us if she ate, pooped, slept, or learned anything new each day), it said "Vi had fun Playing with Cassy (the dog)."

This isn't going to be so hard, after all. Now I know the hard part will be the separation...for ME. I am going to miss so much of her development; I'll have to find a way to deal with the incongruity between my ideals as a mother, a feminist, and someone who can't afford to not work.

Once again, a timely read

My sister sent me the following blog post waaaay back in October 2007. Remember October 2007? I had been back to work for about a month, was starting to struggle with work/home balance, trying to figure out child care, and feeling so alone and helpless.

http://www.underconsideration.com/speakup/archives/004007.html

It's funny to read this again, now. So much has changed, yet not much is different. I still struggle for balance. Child care has been an ongoing issue - emotionally, logistically, financially. I feel like a crazy person when I argue it out in my head - I want to be home with Vi, I can't afford to be home with Vi, I have to work, I love my work, I miss Vi, I can't afford quality child care unless I work, I only need quality child care if I work...and so on. Like an insane carousel of emotions and problems and hopes and fears that just doesn't stop.

We've been in a decent pattern for a couple of months now, with a great nanny, a great grammy, and Dan's off-season schedule loosening up a bit. Just this past week, we have found a day care center that I really like. The people are so friendly and qualified, the location is convenient, the price is right... I'll be able to work more...

I should be thrilled, right? I just keep telling myself that it's time. Vi is ready. She is dying for more interaction, more education, more stimulation, more consistency. (Of course I'm hoping the consistency will help the night waking!) I'm ready for more consistency, more balance. Dan is ready for a less crazy wife. (We'll see.)

I guess that sums it up. We'll see.

I'll keep you posted.

Must whine...

I had to fire my sitter today. She didn't show up. Hard to fire someone who is not present. I just keep saying, in between spritzes of cooling lavender mist, "I'm very upset about this. Very upset. I'm very upset abou this. VERY." So, if you call to console me, be prepared for a broken record. Because I'm very upset about this. Very upset. Very, very upset.

Harder than I ever imagined

I didn't know it would be this difficult.

I didn't know it would be this sudden.

I didn't know I could cry so hard.

I've stopped producing milk. Even typing those words makes my eyes well up with tears.

I'm one of those women who LOVED breastfeeding. I thought it was going to be difficult when we started weaning, that I would miss it, that she would fuss, that we would still have a before-bed or first-thing in the morning feeding that would last for several months beyond her first birthday. Knowing that Vi, like most babies, has her own unique developmental schedule, I wasn't sure if we'd start weaning around 12 months, earlier, or later.

We started much earlier, because she started biting me. When I asked my lactation consultant what to do when she started biting - several months ago, before The Teeth arrived - she said, "A baby who is nursing properly won't bite, because the tongue is in the way." In retrospect, I should have said, "Yeah, but what about when she's nursing improperly?" or, "Great, can I talk to another consultant now, please?" Because, I knew full-well, that babies bite when nursing!

So, I read up on it. One book said to scold the baby firmly - a loud, angry "No." One book said to gently remove the baby and say "That hurst Mama." One said to smother the baby - pull her closer to the breast - so that breathing is constricted, thus letting the baby realize, "Oh, I can't bite and breathe and nurse at the same time. I'd better let go." One said to cry. I tried all of these things, but that little baby would stop nursing, bite, and look at me out of the corner of her eyes to see what sort of reaction she would get. (As I write this I realize that maybe NO reaction at all would have worked for Vi. Hmm. Damn you, retrospect.) She would often laugh or smile at whatever I did.

I started pumping and giving her a bottle instead of nursing, which was really difficult - emotionally and logistically. Pumping is really time-consuming, and, while I don't believe in parenting by convenience, doubling the time it takes to feed was just out of the question for me. We started supplementing with formula. I was only breastfeeding in the wee hours of the morning, when she was half-awake and hungry (and not looking for the joy of biting). I was only pumping once a day. I figured if she could continue to have one or two full servings of breastmilk a day until she's 12 months old, that would be great for her immune system.

I looked in the feezer yesterday, and realized there was no more breastmilk in storage.

Then last night, I sat down to pump, and nothing came out. I pumped for forty minutes - nothing.

In the wee hours of the morning, I padded into the kitchen and mixed a bottle of formula, instead of bringing my sweet baby to my breast and providing her what only I could provide.

And I cried myself back to sleep.

18 week update!

I've realized that none of my links were working properly. Instead of trying to figure it out - for which I have NO patience right now - I'm just going to paste the text from the Babycenter email into each post. Like this:


18 weeks pregnant: Head to bottom, your baby is approximately 5 1/2 inches long (about the length of a large sweet potato) and she weighs almost 7 ounces. She's busy flexing her arms and legs — movements that you'll likely start noticing more and more. Her blood vessels are visible through her thin skin, and her ears are now in position and stand out from her head. Myelin (a protective covering) is beginning to form around her nerves, a process that will continue for a year after she's born. If you're having a girl, her uterus and Fallopian tubes are formed and in place. If your baby is a boy, his genitals are noticeable, though he may hide them from you during an ultrasound.

Changes with us: I'm ravenous - constantly. Pickles and ice cream are right up there on my list of favorite foods right now; it's not just a myth. I have had my belly patted twice, and I am told that I definitely look pregnant. The emotional roller coaster seems to have cooled down, only to be replaced by physical aches and pains. Why didn't anyone tell me how much it would hurt to be growing this much?!? I am, of course, worried that I am just a wimp and this doesn't actually hurt that badly, and that I will never survive the pain of labor. The ultrasound - the big one - is scheduled for March 12th. We STILL haven't decided if we want to find out the sex of the baby.

We'll be delivering at Mercy Hospital in Portland, and we had a tour of the Birthplace there yesterday. It is very much a hospital - duh, Lindsay - but this section has nicer curtains and some hot tubs. They have one tub for water births, an option we're considering. (If any of you have a good resource on the topic, please share it with me. ) It really looks like they have made an effort to make the delivering mom comfortable, so I will be perfectly happy to bring Critter into the world at this particular place. Dads beware, though: the chairs in the delivery rooms are plain, wooden chairs, and you have to wear a swimsuit if accompanying your wife in the tub. I know - who cares about the Dad's comfort?!? I certainly won't in the heat of the moment, but I got a sore rumpus just looking at those chairs.

We're both working a lot right now - Dan's district will be doing inventory for all of the stores next week, so he'll be on the road a lot helping out his fellow managers. I'm gearing up for my new consulting responsibilities at work with online training. We started a registry with Babies R Us, but gave out in a fit of exhaustion without really finishing it...I don't think what we accomplished is truly "starting" the registry. I think we managed to get a mattress and a thermometer on there...

My friend Bonnie will be here next week, so she and I will get to play/work on the nursery and registry some more.

We're still brainstorming a baby-moon to take this Spring. The one consistent piece of advice we receive from everyone is that we should take a trip together, just the two of us, before the baby comes. We hate the idea of spending any money, but we're going to make an effort to get away for a romantic weekend sometime in April.

Any cheap vacation ideas? Anyone win a vacation that they can't take? :-)

March is almost here, we're setting our clocks ahead soon, and the songbirds are out again. Hurray for Spring! I hope you are all well, and please stay in touch!

-Lindsay