Welcome to the World!

Beckett Dylan surfed into the world at 2:18 p.m. on Wednesday, December 6. He weighed 7 lbs, 12 oz. (exactly the same size as his big brother) and was 20 inches long.

He's gorgeous, if I do say so myself, and amazing. He's a world of difference from his brother. He has slept a lot so far, although I haven't. I have a weird sort of insomnia where I can't relax when I should.

The labor and delivery were amazingly fast and trouble-free. I went in Wednesday morning for my weekly check and learned that I was leaking fluid and was already at 4 cm dilation. Next thing I know, it's "Go directly to the hospital, do not pass Go, do not collect $200."

I arrived at the hospital at 11:25, at 11:45 they had me hooked up to a Pitocin drip. At first the contractions were very mild, but with every incremental increase in the Pitocin, the contractions became much more intense and by 1:30 when Judith, my midwife, checked me, I was at 6 cm. She told me it would be about two hours until I was ready to deliver, one hour if were lucky.

Just then, the contractions really started to go into overdrive. I was beginning to freak out, but Judith and Scott and our nurse, Missy, just kept telling me how wonderful I was doing. Scott was sitting on the bed behind me, rubbing my shoulders and back while Judith massaged my legs. I kind of started to lose it and could tell I was entering transition when I suddenly felt like I might need to push. I told Judith and she checked me and I was 9 cm. Thirty minutes had passed since she last checked me and I was at 6 cm. They quickly broke the bed down and got me on my back and the fun began.

Roughly four pushes and Beckett came flying into the world. He immediately began grabbing everything he could get his hands on. It took forever for me to deliver the placenta and my midwife had just paged the OB when it decided to come out. So, it seemed like I couldn't hold my darling for an eternity, but it was very cool because they did all the baby exam stuff right in the room instead of taking him to the nursery.

He barely cried and still has only cried two or three times, once when he was hungry and once with a tummy ache.

I love him. Naturally, I do. But, I am just so happy about the way he came into the world and our first few days together. He's nursing like a champ and even though my milk isn't in fully, he's trying hard to help me get it in. It's so different than my first few with Brendan. I just feel far happier and more confident in my abilities.

Really, all I can say is that I'm relieved that he's finally here and happy he's such a wonderful baby two days into the journey.

Beautiful Wreck

Saturday was a great day! Scott, Brendan, and I attended two parties together, a birthday party in the morning and then the MOMS Club Christmas party around dinner time. After that, we brought Brendan home and left him with his favorite babysitter and went to a wonderful grown-up Christmas party at the Tula Galleries. The party was hosted by our friends Mark and Ginny and their friend Melanie and was a benefit for Toys for Tots.

The party was great. It was so nice to put on a pretty dress and heels and feel like a woman, instead of someone's mom. I was shocked and flattered by the number of compliments I received from total strangers. Several people told me I was beautiful and glowing. It was really, really nice. And totally unexpected.

Of course, it would be wonderful if that feeling could last. By yesterday I was back into my spiral of anxiety. I have worried about everything from money (I'm being blown off by my editor at ADL again) to how to care for a newborn to how having a newborn is going to affect my sanity and marriage to Brendan's reaction. It's non-stop. The only time I let go of my negative thinking was while Scott and I watched Prime Suspect 7 and The Wire. Within 15 minutes of starting The Wire, I fell asleep, but woke for the second half of it. But when I got in bed, my mind wouldn't stop. Finally, Scott suggested self-hypnosis and walked me through a relaxation exercise. In minutes I was fast asleep. I used the same technique again when I awoke with ligament pain at 4:00 a.m.

At the moment, I realize there's not a lot I can do about any of this. I have to take everything a day at a time. Maybe even a moment at a time. I'm hoping that all the tears I've shed the last few days can be attributed to a hormonal shift as my body gets ready to deliver this baby. I never felt like this while carrying Brendan but fell apart following his delivery, so hopefully, I'll be happier and more stable following this birth.

If nothing else, I will have to hold it together in order to help Brendan with his transition. Last night he overheard his dad talking to MeMe about the logistics of when she should get here and where she should go, etc. He started freaking out and saying that he didn't want her to come, he wanted to stay with his dad if I wasn't here. He asked me, "Mommy, who is going to protect me?"

It just killed me. All I could do was hold him and cry silently. After holding him and thinking he was okay, I stood up to go cook supper and he started wailing and sobbing, clinging at me. Again, I just held him and walked around with him. It took around 20 minutes for him to settle down. I just feel awful for doing this to him.

I know he'll get over it and in the end he'll be so blessed to have a brother. But as a mother, it breaks my heart to see him so scared and upset. And I know exactly how he feels.

Scott gave me some wonderful advice. He reminded me of how his first few days at his new job were really difficult for him. He reminded me that he couldn't eat and had to throw up because he was so upset that he wouldn't have as much time to spend with Brendan. He thinks that I'm going through the same thing and reminded me that although he was right, it has worked out. He makes the most of the time he does have with Brendan and Brendan seems happier and closer to his dad than ever.

So, I guess our weekend -- like the rest of life -- was filled with joy and sadness. Ultimately, it's all good. Simply life, rich and full.

My Angel

I was told at my midwife appointment last Wednesday that if I haven't gone into labor on my own by the following Wednesday they will strip my membranes. Sounds like fun stuff. Given that warning, we've been trying to kick start labor ourselves the last few days. I've eaten more than my share of Thai curry, Mexican, and egglpant. We've walked. I've drunk raspberry leaf tea. And still nothing so far. Yet, we know that it will be relatively soon and I think Brendan knows, too, though we haven't been real specific with him.

It seems like ever since that appointment, Brendan has been on a crusade to be as cute as possible. Sadly, I can't even remember half the funny, wise, and profound things that have slipped off his tongue. But there have been several things.

Yesterday, as we were driving home from his friend Lyle's birthday party, Brendan says from the backseat, "It's wonderful to relax in the sun with a lollipop."

This morning in the kitchen he asked me if Mao, our orange tabby cat was a girl. Of course, he knows that Mao is a boy cat, but said he wished Mao were a girl because as he put it, "Mommy, you need a girl you can talk to and we're all boys." It was all I could do not to cry. I've never said anything to him about that, but it was so sensitive and perceptive of him. I have been feeling a very strong need for someone I can talk to about something specific, and obviously a baby daughter would not be what I need at all, but strange that he chose that turn of phrase.

I'm sure he's feeling some anxiety on part of me and Scott and knows something is going to happen soon. He has told us he loves us repeatedly (and happily), but has also asked us if we love him, which gives me pause. Still, he seems pretty happy and has been very well-behaved lately, aside from refusing to apologize to his dad for throwing something at him when he was angry one night. That aside, he has been behaving very well and has just been so easy the last week or so.

It has been enough to make me think it might not be so hard. I imagine I'm kidding myself. I remember how hard it was with just a single newborn. Mostly because I felt so isolated and jealous of my husband for getting to go out into the real world. I remember how much I hated my body for not doing what I wanted it to do...for not producing the milk needed to sustain my baby...for not shedding the weight I put on while pregnant. I imagine that feeling of jealousy will be exacerbated this time and my depression deeper, though I hope not. I'm afraid of not having any time to exercise or the wherewithal to prepare healthy foods for myself and family. I know what grand ambitions I had last time and they all fell through as I fell into a spiral of hopelessness. This time I have no such grand plans. I just want to survive and thrive.

I hope I can just focus on my new baby boy and his darling big brother and get through.

Home is Where the Heart Is

It occured to me today -- as it does every so often -- that I have lived in Atlanta for as long as I lived in the small Tennessee town where I grew up. It brought me to the question of where is home? I used to think of Nashville as my home, but I haven't lived there since I was 18. The longest period I lived in Tennessee since leaving for college was for one three-month semester break in 1989. When I went back there for my mother's funeral in 2001, I felt like the proverbial stranger in a strange land. All that was left for me there were memories, some good, some bad, but nothing tangible I could hold on to or ever think about going home to again.

Here, in Atlanta, I have a life that I built for myself and in conjunction with a wonderful partner. We have created our own traditions, and now that we have a child (and another to be here any time now), we continue to find ourselves creating new ones all the time.

I can't really think of any traditions my family established when I was a child. Isn't that weird? And sad?

But the things we're doing, the rituals we're claiming as our own are so special and exciting to me that they more than make up for anything I was lacking. And really, they're little things that I never even thought of as becoming traditions.... Going to the same Christmas tree lot where kids from our neighborhood work and picking out our tree each year; going to Rich's (Macy's) Lenox Mall and riding the Pink Pig before Christmas; spending every Christmas Eve with our family, going to Mass, then coming home to stay up all night putting presents together and out under the tree.

They're small things. But things that I hope will help create a foundation of love and meaning in our children's lives, and in our own.

I look forward to learning what new traditions we'll create. What our boys will come up with on their own as the years pass. Which they will embrace and which will fade out over time.

Home is where the heart is. My heart is here, in Atlanta, Georgia, with Scott, Brendan, and Beckett, where it was always meant to be.

Thanks for the Pepperoni

I had aspirations of putting into words everything I am grateful for in my life on Thanksgiving morning. Somehow, between everyone in our house having terrible colds and getting ready to go to our friends' house for dinner and having out of town guests, I never got around to it. But, I think any time is the right time to count your blessings. Especially when you feel like crap and need a pick me up.

First and foremost, I am grateful to be alive. To have a wonderful family and good friends. I am thankful that friends we have known only a short time cared enough about us to invite us into their home for Thanksgiving when we couldn't travel. I am thankful that I have a smart, sweet, beautiful little boy who tries hard to be good while also trying my patience and helping me grow every day. I am thankful and excited that I can give my son a brother and that soon I will have a second darling little boy to nurture and love.

I am grateful that Scott has a new job he loves and feels passionate and inspired about life again. I am grateful he's making some amazing music and making music a priority. I am grateful that I am married to such a loving, thoughtful, interesting man who is also a fun, tender, loving dad to our kid(s).

I am thankful that Brendan is recovering from his cough and cold despite fighting me every single time I try to give him his inhaler. I am thankful that he has friends and is learning and growing every day.

I am very grateful that we found Cooper, our dog, after he ran away yesterday. I am grateful he is still healthy and relatively happy at 10 years old. And I am grateful our little orange cat has decided he loves Brendan and sleeps with him at night.

And I am thankful, of course, for the hundreds of things we take for granted every day. Food on the table. A roof over our heads. Clothes on our back. Warmth. Safety. Healthcare. Health. A chance to serve others in some way. Freedom....to live, to be, to be a woman who has choices in life, to read what I want, be what I want, to associate with whomever I choose, when I choose.

Life is good. Even when your head feels like it might explode and all you want to do is go back to sleep.

9 Crimes

The new Damien Rice single, 9 Crimes, slays me.

I want to fall into the floor, a puddle of sobs and heartbreak.

It really hits home right now for a long list of reasons I can't explain or don't want to. It's ninety-nine percent irrational of me to feel this way. But I can't stop myself.

I've heard this song at least 10 times since I first heard it on Conan last week, but every time, I still find myself in tears.

Don't Be an Idiot: Get Your Kids Immunized

Okay. I will be the first to admit that I don't trust pharmaceutical companies or the government to have the best interests of mankind at heart. That said, there are reasons that most of us don't spend our summers indoors hiding from one another anymore and why our infant mortality rate has declined and why killer diseases like smallpox have all but been eradicated. One of those reasons is vaccines.

I'm not a fan of all the combined vaccines or giving 2-month old babies four shots at the same time in the same leg or of giving a newborn baby a vaccine for a sexually contracted disease. However, I think there are better ways to look after your child's well-being than not having your child immunized at all. I did ask our pediatrician to delay the Hep-B vaccine and to only give my child one or two vaccinations at a time. I even looked into having him break-up the MMR into three separate shots. I understand looking at the system and routine practices with caution.

I do not understand putting your child's life and THE LIVES OF OTHERS at risk by not immunizing your children. It's utterly irresponsible and a way of saying to society at large, fuck you!

I am pissed right now because there's a 3-month old little girl lying in a hospital bed in Montgomery, Alabama right now, struggling for every breath because some idiot probably didn't have their child immunized. against pertussis. Or because some adult who has been around her, like 99% of the rest of us, has not had an adult booster for whooping cough because no one ever thought we'd need one. Why? Because the disease should have been eradicated by now.

I am also pissed because my mother-in-law, who is supposed to come help us look after Brendan when I have the new baby sometime between now and the next three weeks or so, held that little girl just five days ago. Right before she was diagnosed with whooping cough. Her parents thought she had a cold. She wouldn't stop crying and my kind mother-in-law who has mad baby whispering powers held her to help the poor mother out. Well, now if I go into labor, my mother-in-law can't come over here.

The incubation period for pertussis is anywhere from 7-21 days. We can go almost all the way up to my due date before we know for sure if our MeMe contracted it. My hope is that her doctor can and will start her on a prophylactic course of antibiotics when she goes to see him today. Still, it will be in the back of my mind when she comes here. All because of the story I read about a year ago of a woman who was exposed to whooping cough while pregnant and gave it to her newborn when he was born. He lived less than three weeks as a result.

Damn it, People! It's not like these diseases don't exist anymore just because we have the relative fortune of low rates of them in the U.S. Have you failed to notice the number of immigrants and illegals coming into our country every day? Do you think Guatemala has a really awesome healthcare system for migrant workers and is immunizing all its residents against every communicable disease?

If you don't immunize your kids, you are putting my child's life in danger. Or my life. Or my elderly grandmother's life. You don't have that right. I don't care how many piles of paper printed off the fucking Internet you have that show some correlation between the MMR vaccine, thimerosol (which, by the way is not used anymore except in a very few instances), and the rise of autism. I can print an equal number of pieces of paper showing that researches think there is a genetic connection. Signs of autism are apparent as early as three months if you know what to look for and that's long before your child has received most of his or her vaccinations.

I understand your desire to protect your child. But you can't just pick and choose what you're protecting them from, a brain disorder (that really you have very little control over) or a communicable disease that you can do something about.

Just, please, don't be an idiot. Sure, think about. Ask your doc to space the shots and not give more than one or two at the same time so you can figure out what may have caused a specific reaction. But don't just let your children run loose without being immunized. Then, you're putting all of our lives in danger.

My Evil Twin

Okay. So, I'm just going to chalk my last insanity-laden post up to pregnancy hormones and the fact that I was coming down with a cold. And lack of sleep.

I don't want anyone thinking I would actually leave my husband and child. God knows I love them more than anything and life without them would truly be meaningless for me. This is what I've always wanted.

I just feel overwhelmed. And confused because I need to integrate the mommy-me with the other parts of me. And I"m not always very good at that. Other times, it feels seamless.

Brendan had been sleeping like a champ, but with a cold of his own and a couple of naps thrown in, his great sleeping pattern went to hell in a handbasket last week. There were at least two nights toward the end of last week where I only garnered four or five hours of sleep in between getting up with him, trying to sleep in his bed, and getting up to pee every couple of hours.

Getting a sitter Saturday night and going out to dinner with friends and not talking about our kids did help. A lot. So did sleeping until 9:00 a.m. on Saturday morning. Brendan actually woke us up at 7:00 as usual, but was happy to let me put PBS kids on the tv in our room and watch that and play in his room until I was ready to get up. Yesterday, I felt horrible, though, and ended up taking a two-hour nap while Brendan napped and Scott walked Cooper and watched the Falcons game.

Actually realizng that I was sick, running a fever, and then having Scott take such wonderful care of me and Brendan yesterday, made a huge difference. Just knowing that there's a reason why I've felt so blah lets me know that this too shall pass.

So, though I still physically feel like crap, mentally, things are a little better. I've made a list of all I need to do before Deuce arrives, i.e. in the next 4-7 weeks. I've checked one off the list already today. I enjoyed an evening with my husband and friends and have hired a sitter for next weekend so we can enjoy dinner and a movie. I spoke with the client who owes me money and found out she has mailed my check. I'm working with Scott on some logo designs. And then, I read this, which really gives me hope. Hope that one day Scott and I will have the freedom to travel together, alone, with our kids, or with other friends and their families. In fact, I forgot that we've already talked with one of our best friends about renting a house with him and his family for a week next summer, either at the beach or in the mountains.

I really think I've been anticipating the sense of isolation I felt after Brendan was born and forgetting that it doesn't have to be that way this time. Babyhood is brief and as Scott and I discovered going to the beach with Brendan this summer, even travel with the kids is better than going nowhere. Plus, it's an opportunity to see the world through their unusual point of view.

What a difference a little sleep and someone else's perspective can make.

Endless Numbered Days

Midlife crisis? Identity crisis? Pregnancy? Just being me?

I feel like I'm being tossed about in a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts, desires, and choices. Though in reality, the choices really are limited by my own fear and inertia and compulsion to do the right thing. Or at least what I think is the right thing.

I really thought that being a wife and stay-at-home mom was my destiny, at least for some period of my life. But it really isn't turning out to be my forte. I mean, I thought I'd love this and be very good at it. However, in all honesty, I just can't quite get it together.

I really don't enjoy playing. When I do sit down to play with my son, I have trouble being in the moment. I'm thinking about the twenty other things I need to do.

I hate what pregnancy and childbirth did to my body.

I hate having such limited time for myself and my husband.

I hate that my husband and I will never get to go on a trip alone again.

I am very jealous of my friends who have parents who keep their children for them so they can get away once in a while.

I am angry that my mother-in-law keeps my brother-in-law's kids for a whole week twice a year while they go on vacation, but has never once kept our son overnight even when we have asked her to.

I hate that my brain feels like mush much of the time and even when I do get to be around other adults, they're usually women who want to talk about their kids.

I hate that I have no male friends with whom I get to interact on a regular basis.

I want to run away. And I feel terribly guilty for feeling that way.

I feel horrible and selfish for feeling the way I do because I know how incredibly lucky I am.

I love my husband and son(s) more than life itself. It feels like a betrayal of them to have these feelings.

I feel like I don't really know who I am, what I want from life, or how to figure it all out.

I worry that it's too late. A lot.

I want to take control of my life and change, but I can't quite figure out how.

If anyone knows the answers, I welcome your input.

Like School on Saturday

I finally talked to Scott's stepmother. It's only been five months since she threw Brendan and me out of her house.

She called to say that she really cares about us and feels bad that she let things go so long without us talking. She never apologized for her behavior. She never apologized for criticizing my child or my parenting. It was awkward. But, I bit my tongue.

Scott and his dad have actually talked a few times in the last month and his dad has been very gracious and supportive about Scott's music. I see that their relationship is moving forward and I am willing to bite my tongue and do what I need to do to have a relationship with the stepmother so that Scott can have a relationship with his dad.

Of course, I'm worried about my children. I would love for them to have a wonderful and loving relationship with their grandparents, especially since I have no parents to bring to the table, as it were. I simply don't know if that will ever be possible with Scott's stepmother. Until this summer, I thought it was. But my trust with her has been corrupted.

And it doesn't help matters that she has zero tact. She has repeatedly made comments about my mother's alcoholism. My mother was practically a tea-totaller. I think I saw her drink twice in my life. She had many problems, but alcoholism was not one of them.

Her other favorite topic is my weight. I'm not really that big, though I am considerably larger than my stepmother-in-law. She literally weighs about 98 lbs. and is probably 5'5" or so. Skeletal comes to mind as the perfect description of her.

Naturally, she asked me during our conversation yesterday if I was as big as you got with Brendan. Wow! What composure it took not to hang up. I did choke on shocked laughter before I could answer her. Who asks a question like that?

I don't know what to do. I don't want to have to deal with this woman, but really, what choice do I have? I don't want to be the bitch who comes between a man and his dad. But, I don't know how long I can keep my feelings inside.

Maybe it's hormones, but today has been hellish and I feel like talking to Julie just opened up an emotional floodgate that I didn't need right now. But, hey! Here I am. I'll just have to wake up and hope tomorrow is a better day.

Only the Lonely

As an only child, I continue grappling with the idea of being the parent to siblings...to the point that I fear my own biases will get in the way of my love for and treatment of these two boys.

My love for Brendan is so deep and beyond comprehension or description, that I can't get my mind around loving yet another human as much. Everyone I talk to and everything I read uses the same cliched verse, saying, your heart just expands to make room or the capacity to love is infinite.

And I'm sure it is. But that doesn't change the fact that Brendan will never again get the same level of attention and affection and doting on that he gets now. And our new little guy will never know the kind of one-on-one attention and devotion that Brendan has received. He'll always get the short-end of the stick...from a lack of intense one-on-one love and attention to hand-me-down clothes and toys to always having to share everything and never having anything that is just his. It just doesn't seem fair.

I know there has to be an upside. I know that when my mom died I craved having someone to share it with who was deeply and intrinsically part of me to go through it with. In a situation like that, I feel like friends and other relatives can only understand so much. So, in that case it would have been nice to have a sibling to share with. And I know that, in theory, they can be great friends with a common history that will bind them forever.

But that said, I know so many siblings who don't get along. There's jealousy and competitiveness and grudges over little things that happened when they were kids. As married adults, there are in-laws that don't get along with the siblings and vice versa resulting in bitter disputes between the siblings. And it all just seems horrible to me.

Why exactly did I want to put my son(s) through this? How is it that I can avoid these things? How can I teach them to love, respect, and value one another? Will the four-year (almost) age gap be an advantage or disadvantage in lessening sibling rivalry and fostering a close relationship? Will Brendan forgive me? Will our new baby even know the difference?

I suppose we'll find out soon enough.

Daylight

The last few weeks have flown by and life has left me little time to slow down and write. I can't remember when I last wrote here, but I know that in the time since I did, I have written four stories for Atlanta Dog Life, hosted a dinner party, painted the baby's room and set up the furniture in there, washed a ton of baby clothes, been sick at least twice, cared for a sick litle boy twice, and a sick husband once, had my mother-in-law visit, and thought I was going into preterm labor at least twice.

I've been a busy girl.

But here I am. Tired, oh so tired. Ginormous, though I have only gained around 25 lbs. so far (yay me!), and nervous.

I still have so much to do. I've just had my nose down focused on all the things I've been doing lately. The highlight of these activities was the tapas party Scott and I hosted for our neighborhood dinner club last week. It was so much fun. I really think everyone had a wonderful time, and I loved getting ready for it. We had such wonderful food. I made Duck Maduros, Mini-hamburgers with caramelized onions and smoked gouda, and had a Spanish cheese tray with three kinds of Spanish cheese and quince jelly, with Spanish olives. Our friends brought Greek meatballs and potatoes, a wonderful salad, oyster casserole, chicken satay and a delicious bruschetta, and Nigella Lawson's delicious chocolate pots.

The food was divine and we ended up having a great time with our friends. The next day, however, I was miserable. I could barely walk, I was having ligament pain and contractions. Not so good. By Sunday, I was much better.

But now that we've completed that obligation, and had a nice visit with my mother-in-law, I have to get serious about finishing the baby's room, packing my bag, and thinking about having this baby.

And I'm not sure I'm quite ready for that.

Riding on the Sunset Road

I love meeting cool people. I love meeting people who inspire me. And I love dog people. Today, I met someone who seems to be all three. Okay...well, I didn't actually meet him. I interviewed him over the phone for ADL today. His dog Brandy is a mold detection dog and I interviewed them for my working dogs column.

Anyway, Bob, the guy I interviewed, is a huge supporter of music and musicians. His brother is an organizer of the High Sierra Music Festival in California and he has worked the festival for several years. The High Sierra group formed a foundation to help fund local arts organizations and local groups that provide aid, not only to musicians, but to a diverse range of those in need. They're doing great work and now they're raising funds to help musicians and their families who were displaced by Katrina.

Bob and Brandy, his chocolate lab, are going to undertake a cross-country ride, from Georgia to San Francisco, in order to raise money for the High Sierra Foundation. They need 50,000 to donate $5 each in order to raise the $250,000 Bob has set as his goal.

If you want to read more about Bob, Brandy, or the ride, you can visit his web site here.

I just think it's a cool thing to do and thought I'd share.

Ode to Joy

After feeling really blue all day Monday and Tuesday -- whether from pregnancy hormones, 9/11, or what, I don't know -- I awoke Wednesday feeling...happy! A total and welcomed surprise. Brendan, too, awoke in a fabulous mood, full of good humour.

Before he awoke, however, I spent some time browsing on-line for writing jobs. I'm still doing my gig with Atlanta Dog Life, but I need more work. I did write October's cover story on Uga, the University of Georgia mascot as well as two brief articles on agility dog training and Frisbee dog training. But I need more! More writing, more money, a greater sense of self-worth.

So...anyway...I found an ad on craigslist for a writing job with this group. The concept of the organization blew me away. And when I read the web site, which I did in depth, I felt a little overwhelmed by a renewed sense of purpose and joy. I can't really explain it, except to say that when I read about what they do, I really thought this is where I belong.

Crazy. I know. But I sent my resume and some writing samples along with the requested sample paragraph describing what their organization does. I thought that it would be like most of the other ads I've responded to in the last year where it takes several weeks before anyone gets back to you. Within a few hours, however, I had heard back from the founder of the organization, who by the way, sounds like a really cool woman.

Her e-maibeganin with the word namaste, which means (in case you've never heard it before) the god in me salutes the god in you. It's a lovely greeting that I have never been able to bring myself to use because I feel a little pretentious saying it. But I love it when others use it.

Anyway, she sent me a delightful e-mail asking me to tell her about my spirit, about what makes my heart sing. She asked me what I would do if I could do anything in the world. It's exactly the kind of interview process I've been dreaming of my whole life. I'm not sure I answered with the answers she would have wanted to hear, but I think I answered very honestly.

For some reason, I feel that the sense of joy with which I awoke that day had a part in my finding that ad. I don't know why, but I feel very confident about this. Oddly so. It may not work out at all. I'm sure a thousand other writers have applied for this same job. But I'm okay even if I don't get it because I had a brief, but meaningful encounter with another human being. One who, by all accounts, is a genuinely loving and wonderful person.

I'm having difficulty articulating it, because it seems strange to me, but something has changed within me, and relates directly to discovering this organization and seeing the good they want to do in the world, and feeling like I have the power within me to do good in the world, even if it's just in making life better for the people I touch every day. That may be enough. It's the kind of thing that if everyone did it, the world would automatically become a better, more connected place.

100 Years

I remember being a kid and hearing my grandmother and mom and other friends and relatives telling stories about where they were when they heard President Kennedy had been shot. I remember my grandmother saying that moments before the news came over the radio, she heard a loud cracking sound and looked out the kitchen window to see a very large branch fall from a tree near the house. She always saw it as an omen.

September 11 has become that day that will live in my memory forever, a miscarriage my harbinger of the evil in this world.

Five years later, every moment of that day is as vivid in my mind as if it happened yesterday. Sometimes I wish it weren't. Sometimes I wish that I didn't feel the emotional pain of that day still lingering on in my heart. Other days I simply accept that like the scar on our nation, I will always carry this tender scar on my heart, on my soul.

I spent much of September 11 in the hospital, having a D & C and recovering. Before I went into surgery, Scott and I sat in the waiting room, glued to the TV, terrified of what was happening, wondering how much worse it could get. When I awoke following the surgery, I couldn't stop crying. In the days to come, I lay in bed, immobilized by sorrow. The pain and guilt I felt over losing my baby seemed trivial examined next to devastation of the World Trade Center and the greater loss of life. Still, I needed to mourn my loss, my baby girl that I would never know.

Those first few days after it happened are all a blur. I just remember lying in bed with Scott, both of us crying silently, watching CNN constantly, and reading about miscarriage, trying to figure out how I could have prevented it.

In many ways though, I wondered if it was a sign from God that we were entering a dangerous time and that it was too dangerous a world to bring any more children into. I wondered if it were somehow a blessing in disguise.

In the months that followed, we began to talk of trying again to conceive another child. I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, still afraid of this new and terrifying world. But Scott said one day that having a child is the greatest act of hope anyone can perform in this world. For me, it was a turning point. By May, on a trip to New York City, we conceived Brendan. Finally, I felt hopeful and happy again.

And today, five years after the whole world changed forever, I have another darling baby boy growing within me. As I sit here writing, feeling him shifting and stretching, I am again filled with hope. I remain in awe that the families whose lives were devastated on 9/11 found the strength and courage to go on. But when I look into the smiling face of my three-year old boy and I think about holding the new little person growing inside, I know why. Hope can be buried within our hearts beneath all the burdens this world throws at it. But ultimately, it cannot be destroyed.

Trouble Me. Or Don't. But Don't Bitch about the Advice I Give You.

Have you ever had a friend who asked for your advice? Repeatedly? Not just your advice, but even asked you for specific information that is readily available from books, TV, magazines, or the Internet? And, when you've given the person the advice he or she asked for, had them freak out and say you're overwhelming them?

I just had this experience and it really chapped my hide. I am pissed.

My friend is newly pregnant and began inundating me with questions regarding pregnancy the day she learned she was pregnant. I mean, she called me to ask what two lines on the pregnancy test meant and has asked me everything from whether it's okay for her to have sex with her husband to whether or not she should stick with her OB/GYN or find another.

What the hell? How should I know?

I am happy to help her and excited for her, but she was driving me nuts. In a series of e-mails, I told her some basics and in each case sent links to web sites and the names of books where she could go do her own research.

So after several days of this, she sends me an e-mail yesterday telling me in the bitchiest way possible that I am simply overwhelming her with information and asking her to make decisions she's not ready to make yet.

Excuse me? She's the one who asked for the information. She's the one who acts as if she's never met a pregnant person and doesn't know her ass from a hole in the ground. I offered her resources where she could do her own research at her own leisure, but she kept coming back to me asking the same questions and more. So, I thought I was giving her what she wanted.

AAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!

Lack of gratitude really frustrates me and there's no quicker way to get me to turn against you.

Lord Protect My Child

Forgive me if I'm repeating myself, but why, why is it so difficult to parent and feel confident that you're making the right decision?

I am almost 100% certain that neither my mother nor my grandmother ever weighed any decision they ever made regarding discipline. They didn't think about what they were feeding me, although I'm certain they gave a lot of thought to whether or not they would be able to put food on the table at times. They never questioned whether or not they were playing with me enough or providing me with essential experiences to make me more well-rounded or to enhance my intellectual opportunities. They didn't send me to preschool, so they never worried whether or not it was a good enough school to ensure I could go to kindergarten when I turned five. They just did what they did and that was it. I had a roof over my head, food in my belly, and clothes on my back, and books to read. And that was enough.

I'm not being critical here. They did the best they knew how under the circumstances and they did just what 90% of all parents in their generation(s) were doing.

Why have things gotten so complicated and we parents so competitive? I worry about every little thing and feel I get little of it right.

I love my son so much. But this summer has been so hard. He's just at an age where he wants to be his own person and challenge every thing I do or say. I feel as if we have spent our summer with horns locked, neither of us willing to back down. And instead of pushing back harder, my urge is to back away. I know my mother never thought like that and by the time I was my son's age, I knew not to argue or to sass my mom. I knew "the look" that meant I needed to stop whatever I was doing or else I was in for it. Part of me feels like giving him some freedom now will help him to become more independent and better able to make decisions for himself. (Something I have always been terrified of and horrible at.) The other, more rational and less emotional side of me feels as though I have to whip (figuratively speaking) him into shape before it's too late. I don't want my child to be a brat. And when I have pushed back this summer, we have seen some amazing breakthroughs.

We can now go into Target or ToysRUs without his asking for a toy. He is listening better most days. He is sleeping better, relatively speaking. He is sharing better with other kids and seems generally happier when he is playing with other kids.

He still doesn't eat and the things he does eat, he has suddenly decided that he no longer cares for. He still talks back. He still won't talk to adults in stores. He still has major meltdowns in the doctor's office, to the point I fear they will tell me not to bring him back. He is still bossy, though less so than a few weeks ago. He still is not potty-trained, but I hope we're getting closer.

And me? I still feel horrible for not having the perfect child. For not being able to overcome these shortcomings. For having my son tell me that he's mad because I'm mad at him all the time. For failing to believe in myself and feeling that my child is not perfect.

But you know what? He is perfect. He's perfect for me and I am the perfect mother for him. I simply have to remember that God gave him to me for a reason and me to him for a reason. We have something to teach each other, to learn from each other. All I need to do is try and remember to trust God and to ask for his guidance when I need it.

Easier said than done for a stubborn girl like me who just wants a little more control over her own life.

Gotta Serve Somebody

It never ceases to amaze me when someone says something like "But you don't seem religious; you're so intelligent."

Why is it that intellectuals -- particularly those who don't wish to have anyone else's faith pressed upon themselves -- are so quick to deny others their faith? It really boggles the mind.

We had this experience on Saturday night when we went out to dinner with some new friends. Wonderful people that we are delighted and excited to know. In so many ways, they are more like us than anyone else we've met in years. We are so excited to be getting to know these folks. But, that said, now I feel a shadow cast over my enthusiasm.

They didn't say this, but my perception is that they think that because I have faith in God, practice a religion, and believe in something bigger than myself, that I am somehow, intellectually inferior.

I didn't want to argue the point, but I was mentally making a list of people of faith and great intellect. Just off the top of my head I can think of: Albert Einstein, Thomas Merton, C.S. Lewis, Bill Clinton, Jimmy Carter, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Walker Percy, Dorothy Day, John Newman, Graham Greene. Of course, there are a lot of Catholics on that list because, well, I'm Catholic, and they're probably the ones I know the most about.

Clearly, I don't put myself in league with those people. But I'm no idiot. And I certainly don't think that my faith lessens my ability to think. I came to my faith through a great deal of thought. As is true with many Catholic converts, I thought my way into my faith and into the Church. There were a lot of obstacles to overcome, many things I disagree with. But no other faith spoke to both my heart and my mind the way Catholicism did. The belief in the unity of good works and faith drew me to Catholicism perhaps more than any other facet of the faith. And now here I am. Unwilling to accept the notion that intelligence and faith are mutually exclusive ideals.

Thankfully, everyone involved Saturday night was willing to have an open dialogue on the subject and to accept each others' beliefs.

And that alone was enough to maintain my faith in friendship.

Misunderstood

Have you ever said something, only to have your brain scream at your tongue, "You idiot, what are you saying?", as the words come tumbling out head over heels landing in front of someone you care about, where they lay dying in a painful, awkward silence?

Yeah. Me too.

Last night, in one of those fortuitous moments of pregnancy-induced insecurity and insanity, I said something really stupid to Scott. Sadly, he felt the need to throw me a few very specific comforting crumbs this morning.

I felt like an idiot. I hate it when my insecurity comes to the surface in a way that makes someone I love feel like they have to justify themselves or reassure me in some way.

I'm an idiot.

Hopefully, this, too, shall pass.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

So, last night Scott, Brendan, and I are watching The Simpsons after dinner. Homer, disgruntled about something, says, "Damn It!"

Brendan whirls around, looks at me and says, "Mommy, Homer says 'Dammit' just like you do!"

After we stopped laughing, Scott and I reiterated the point that "Dammit" is a bad word and you shouldn't say it. I also apologized for having said it in front of him, but for the life of me, I can't remember when I did say it in front of him. I have been very careful to clean up my act since I had him. From time to time, these things do pop out, I suppose, but I just really can't remember when I said that with him around.

And yes, I do realize that The Simpsons isn't the most wholesome programming for a three-year old or anyone for that matter. It's not like he watches it all the time, but when he does, he really enjoys it.