I was curious. The idea of Eric and I having our own baby has been knocking a lot lately at my 38-year old ego. The whens and ifs and should and should nots continue to agitate me and I’m not sure what to do. My doctor keeps reminding me that I not only have a 38 year old ego....I have 38 year old ovaries.
I was curious so I agreed. Our ultimate frisbee friends and down the hall neighbors Martin and Tiffany were going to a wedding in Tennessee and asked us to watch their 10-week old puppy, Ladybird. A beagle/hound mix, BIRD as we called her, was to be our self-designated “toe dip” into the steps toward parenthood. Whether Eric knew that I was thinking this or not was irrelevant. I was curious. Do I have what it takes to be a good parent. You always hear people say that if you want to have a baby, start off with a puppy. I needed to know and this was my first opportunity to find out.
What I found out is that parenting BIRD for the weekend was incredibly inconvenient, extremely exhausting, somewhat agitating, a bit messy, and....
....I miss her.
Overall, I was proud that Eric and I didn’t talk “baby talk” to BIRD, and I didn’t refer to him as “Daddy” and he didn’t refer to me as “Mommy”. We did catch ourselves taking pride in if she pooped or not, and monitoring how much she drank and where she was at all times. It seemed that BIRD always had to be right next to one of us, either chewing on a rawhide or sleeping. It was loving and sweet and adorable. Till she cried. If she couldn’t see one of us she cried. If she was put into her crate at night she cried. She cried so hard the first night that Eric grabbed the pillow that he previously attempted to smother himself with and slept on the couch. That way BIRD could see him from her crate containing the large lavender doggie bed decorated with dancing cartoon monkeys. Eric slept on the couch all weekend, clothes thrown across a chair ready to be thrown on when she needed to go out. And she needed to go out. She needed to go out a lot. A puppy’s bladder can only last 2-3 hours, hours which included 12 midnight and 3:30AM.
One of the coolest things about the weekend was that no one knew that BIRD wasn’t really our dog. To the outside world, she was ours. So we went with it. We stopped when little people or big people wanted to pet her. We could tell them her name, how old she was and other general chatter. We said thank you when they complimented her cuteness as if we conceived her. We were parents talking about their kid. We seemingly belonged. Without realizing it, we were welcomed into this culture of people we never noticed before. A “Dog Brigadoon” filled with owners that roamed the sidewalks at such odd-yet-routine times of day. On Saturday alone, Eric met Kevin and his dog WALLY on a walk, then later I met his wife Megan and WALLY on another walk, then late that same night we meet them both with WALLY on yet another walk. We had never before even seen each other let alone met, yet in one day had seen and talked three times. We’ve all lived in the same building for the last 4 years.
When Tiffany came to pick up BIRD Sunday night, I was ready. I was ready and I wasn’t ready. I was ready for a good night’s sleep, I was ready to have clean clothes with no dog hair on them, and I was more than ready to do what I want whenever I wanted without a crying dog at my heals. But I miss her laying next to me in my office while I’m working and I miss watching TV while rubbing her belly. I miss talking to her. I realized that if taking care of a puppy is an indication of what kind of parent we’re going to be then Eric and I will do okay. We were pretty much good partners the whole weekend and split the burden and the rewards evenly. We enjoyed it and we hated it at the same time. Most importantly I realized that I’m not quite ready. Perhaps I’ll wait till next year when the doctor reminds me that I have 39 year old ovaries. Then we’ll get a puppy.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
I was saddened to realize that our summer is coming to a close. In honor of the beautiful Chicago summer, I'm giving to you wonderful people the numero uno recipe of our family in the summertime. You can follow this to the letter, or add a Guacamole seasoning packet. The lemon and lime juice is acidic and actually "cooks" the shrimp. Sooooo delicious. This is pretty much an orgasm on a tortilla chip. Enjoy!
LESLIE'S SHRIMP CEVICHE
INGREDIENTS
• 1-2 lbs cooked shrimp (cut into half inch pieces)
• 1 red or purple onion (chopped)
• 2 - 4 tbsp garlic salt
• 2 cups lime juice
• 2 cups lemon juice
• 2 cups cherry tomatoes (chopped)
• 1 bunch fresh cilantro (chopped)
• 1 serrano chile (chopped)
• 1 avocado (chopped)
DIRECTIONS
Combine cooked shrimp with lemon and lime juice.
Make certain that the shrimp is completely covered in juice.
Marinate for 4 hours
Drain away the juice - add cherry tomatoes, onion, cilantro, avocado,
garlic salt & cayenne pepper. Sprinkle a little bit lime juice for flavor
Serve with chips or tortillas
YUM!
LESLIE'S SHRIMP CEVICHE
INGREDIENTS
• 1-2 lbs cooked shrimp (cut into half inch pieces)
• 1 red or purple onion (chopped)
• 2 - 4 tbsp garlic salt
• 2 cups lime juice
• 2 cups lemon juice
• 2 cups cherry tomatoes (chopped)
• 1 bunch fresh cilantro (chopped)
• 1 serrano chile (chopped)
• 1 avocado (chopped)
DIRECTIONS
Combine cooked shrimp with lemon and lime juice.
Make certain that the shrimp is completely covered in juice.
Marinate for 4 hours
Drain away the juice - add cherry tomatoes, onion, cilantro, avocado,
garlic salt & cayenne pepper. Sprinkle a little bit lime juice for flavor
Serve with chips or tortillas
YUM!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Earlier this June we were pregnant.
For one day.
All I knew was that I was tired. Not the rainy days/Mondays tired but the last few days I would opt my lunch hour for a nap. I never do that. The hypochondriac in me started to worry. I always want to fix things immediately at the first sight of trouble or possibly even sooner. More than once my husband Eric has accused me of trying to wash his plate before he was even done eating. I wanted to fix this swapping-lunch-for-nap thing, but at the same time I didn’t want anything to be wrong. I was scared. The first couple days I made somewhat rational excuses that in all honesty could easily have been true; running past street construction and thus inhaling dust, eating too much sugar, not getting enough sleep, etc., etc. When the third day of feeling crappy and making excuses coincided with the third day of my-period-should-be-here by now – I peed on a stick.
I left it neatly placed in the bathroom and nervously collapsed into our living room sofa. I felt this overwhelming heaviness, like I was a six year old in serious trouble. Eric sensed the unordinary quiet and popped his head up from his laptop. “What’s up?” He asked. “I just peed on a stick, it’s in the bathroom.” “What does it say?” his response was upbeat, somewhat teasing, playing along as if I were playing some sort of practical joke on him and he had no intention of falling for it. “I don’t know, but I want us to look at it together.” “Let’s go.” We held hands as we walked back into the bathroom. As we approached the counter top I could see our images in the mirror looking back at us. I looked down. The stick said YES.
Holy shit. It actually says YES. I wasn’t immediately happy, I wasn’t immediately sad. I was.....holy shit. I never imagined that it could even say that, but there it was, Y. E. S. I did run past street construction dust, and I haven’t gotten much sleep lately....and I’m pregnant. We were not trying. Not in the slightest. This was not in the plan. I looked into the mirror and there was Eric, standing behind me, his arms wrapped around me....squeezing tight....smiling. “Aren’t you freaked out?” I asked. “Nothing we can do about it now.” he gleamed. Still shocked I tried to rationalize. “I took a lot of vitamins this morning and my pee was really yellow so that could’ve....” Eric kept holding onto me. “I don’t think it works that way” he said.
Eventually I calmed down, and we talked. Gradually, an overall sense of “frightened happiness” filled our apartment. We planned. Eric will finish his MBA, we’ll move the second bedroom dresser next to the first and put the crib right there....we’d make it work. I threw out every “what if” I could think of and my husband seemed to have a solid answer for each one. He was sensible and teasing and goofy. I was so grateful for him, and I feel deeper in love with this dark haired man. He agreed with me that we should make it “two out of three” and we walked down the street to Walgreens to get a 2-pack of pee sticks. As we walked through the store we clung tightly to each other, me calling him my “Baby Daddy,” and him giving me the random extra squeeze and kiss on the forehead.
About nine hours later I felt strong cramps. Painful ones. Before I went to bed that night pee stick #2 registered a NO. The next morning, #3 gave the same response. My period showed up later that afternoon. The following week I saw my gynecologist and I learned a few things. I was probably pregnant for 2 weeks and didn’t know it. The good news was that both Eric and I are physically healthy and it should be easy to get pregnant again. “50% of all women have miscarriages.” he said. He said it....miscarriage. That word never crossed my mind. If I never peed on that stick it would have just been that my period took an extra few days to show up....nothing more. I was just extra tired for a few days....nothing more. I didn’t know I was pregnant, we were not trying to get pregnant, but somehow that word made me instantly feel like I lost something very important that I didn’t know I even had. I was a 24 year old girl who blinked and is now a 37 year old woman wrapped in a cotton sheet in her gynecologist’s office discussing her miscarriage.
After a few days locked in a confused bubble of grief-but-not-grief, I figured some things out. I need to focus on what I can see in front of me. What is real in this moment right now is that I have a wonderful husband who was just as happy with a YES as with a NO. I know that I love my life, and that I love it being just the two of us. For now. I know that one day it will be just the three of us, and that will be great too. Until that day comes, I’m going to cherish every moment of the two of us.
For one day.
All I knew was that I was tired. Not the rainy days/Mondays tired but the last few days I would opt my lunch hour for a nap. I never do that. The hypochondriac in me started to worry. I always want to fix things immediately at the first sight of trouble or possibly even sooner. More than once my husband Eric has accused me of trying to wash his plate before he was even done eating. I wanted to fix this swapping-lunch-for-nap thing, but at the same time I didn’t want anything to be wrong. I was scared. The first couple days I made somewhat rational excuses that in all honesty could easily have been true; running past street construction and thus inhaling dust, eating too much sugar, not getting enough sleep, etc., etc. When the third day of feeling crappy and making excuses coincided with the third day of my-period-should-be-here by now – I peed on a stick.
I left it neatly placed in the bathroom and nervously collapsed into our living room sofa. I felt this overwhelming heaviness, like I was a six year old in serious trouble. Eric sensed the unordinary quiet and popped his head up from his laptop. “What’s up?” He asked. “I just peed on a stick, it’s in the bathroom.” “What does it say?” his response was upbeat, somewhat teasing, playing along as if I were playing some sort of practical joke on him and he had no intention of falling for it. “I don’t know, but I want us to look at it together.” “Let’s go.” We held hands as we walked back into the bathroom. As we approached the counter top I could see our images in the mirror looking back at us. I looked down. The stick said YES.
Holy shit. It actually says YES. I wasn’t immediately happy, I wasn’t immediately sad. I was.....holy shit. I never imagined that it could even say that, but there it was, Y. E. S. I did run past street construction dust, and I haven’t gotten much sleep lately....and I’m pregnant. We were not trying. Not in the slightest. This was not in the plan. I looked into the mirror and there was Eric, standing behind me, his arms wrapped around me....squeezing tight....smiling. “Aren’t you freaked out?” I asked. “Nothing we can do about it now.” he gleamed. Still shocked I tried to rationalize. “I took a lot of vitamins this morning and my pee was really yellow so that could’ve....” Eric kept holding onto me. “I don’t think it works that way” he said.
Eventually I calmed down, and we talked. Gradually, an overall sense of “frightened happiness” filled our apartment. We planned. Eric will finish his MBA, we’ll move the second bedroom dresser next to the first and put the crib right there....we’d make it work. I threw out every “what if” I could think of and my husband seemed to have a solid answer for each one. He was sensible and teasing and goofy. I was so grateful for him, and I feel deeper in love with this dark haired man. He agreed with me that we should make it “two out of three” and we walked down the street to Walgreens to get a 2-pack of pee sticks. As we walked through the store we clung tightly to each other, me calling him my “Baby Daddy,” and him giving me the random extra squeeze and kiss on the forehead.
About nine hours later I felt strong cramps. Painful ones. Before I went to bed that night pee stick #2 registered a NO. The next morning, #3 gave the same response. My period showed up later that afternoon. The following week I saw my gynecologist and I learned a few things. I was probably pregnant for 2 weeks and didn’t know it. The good news was that both Eric and I are physically healthy and it should be easy to get pregnant again. “50% of all women have miscarriages.” he said. He said it....miscarriage. That word never crossed my mind. If I never peed on that stick it would have just been that my period took an extra few days to show up....nothing more. I was just extra tired for a few days....nothing more. I didn’t know I was pregnant, we were not trying to get pregnant, but somehow that word made me instantly feel like I lost something very important that I didn’t know I even had. I was a 24 year old girl who blinked and is now a 37 year old woman wrapped in a cotton sheet in her gynecologist’s office discussing her miscarriage.
After a few days locked in a confused bubble of grief-but-not-grief, I figured some things out. I need to focus on what I can see in front of me. What is real in this moment right now is that I have a wonderful husband who was just as happy with a YES as with a NO. I know that I love my life, and that I love it being just the two of us. For now. I know that one day it will be just the three of us, and that will be great too. Until that day comes, I’m going to cherish every moment of the two of us.
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