Head Tilt

For those of you who were fanatics of the TV show FRIENDS...

Do you remember the episode where Monica and Phoebe catered a party for Richard at his apartment?  And how when Monica asked Richard how he was doing, he replied something like this:

"Oh, you must have heard about my divorce, because you're doing the sympathetic 'head tilt'."

You guys remember that?  No? Just me?  

Well nevertheless, I got head tilted this week, and for no good reason, I may add...

Now that our daughter is a bit older, I have ventured into uncharted territory: mommy-and-me classes.  We sit in a circle, we sing, we smile at other babies there and pretend we think they're as cute  and smart as our own baby is, and, eventually, start to chat with other mommies:

"How old is your little sweetheart?"

"Bottle, breast, or both"?

"Anyone getting any sleep in your house?"

...and so forth, and so on...

So, at a class this past week (on a Thursday morning...hallelujah for Spring Break!), I am sitting in a circle next to moms and babies I have never seen before and proudly bouncing my daughter in my lap as we sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" thinking, 'oh my goodness...I am finally a mommy!  I can't believe I get to do this!'  I was blissed out.

The end of the class brought small talk between mommies sitting next to one another.  (See said idle chatter listed above).  The mom next to me had a three year old, a two month old strapped to her in a carrier, and one more at home, I learned.  And when it was my turn to answer her questions, this is how it went down:

Mom of Three: "Is she your first one?"

Me: "She sure is." (complete with squeeze and a kiss for baby)

MOT: "Plans to have any more down the line?'

M: "No, I think we are one and done.  We're so happy having her!"

MOT: *head tilt* "Noooooooo!!!!!! Don't say that, have at least one more.  You really need to."

Wait, what...I REALLY NEED to?  And what's with the head tilt?  Do you feel sorry for me?

Please don't.

Now, this could have been my chance to tell her about our years of (in)fertility hell, and the fact that our daughter is adopted, resulting in a 99.99% probability of her being our only child.  But, you see, we left our "I'm with my Adopted Child" tee shirt for me, and the baby's "I'm adopted" onesie at home.  I really need to better coordinate laundry day with mommy and me classes.

The logical gal within knows it was just small talk, and no harm was meant. Just one mommy talking to another, nothing more.  But the more I thought about it, the more the other side of Julie started to peek through, the one who analyzes everything over and over.  And then over and over some more.  

So, who are you again, and why do you insist I have more children?  

John and I have discussed over and over and over and over and over and over whether or not we should pursue having another child.  I will omit the details as to how we discussed going about this, but let's just say, we are not option-less.  Opportunities have presented themselves, and we chose not to move in that direction.

And at the end of the day, you wanna know what?

The person who previously longed to have a huge family is happier that she ever thought she could be with her family of three.  If I am being honest, I am actually a little surprised at how I really don't long to have another child.  I thought I would.  But, this little girl has filled my heart and life in ways I never dreamed of.  All of my expectations have been exceeded and I owe it all to one little giggling, 16 pound bundle of love.

Please don't get me wrong...for those of you who have two children, three, or more, that's awesome...for your family.  My own sister is blessed with three children and her house is always full of noise (the good kind!), siblings playing together, siblings loving one another, and siblings arguing over whatever.  I love that when one nephew is occupied, I turn around and there's another nephew right there to play with.  But three is what works for them.  And we are us.

So, please, mommy and me mom, no head tilting needed, no matter how well-intended you are.

Because, as for us...

One is good.  One is perfect.  One is all this family needs.  

Lisa

Since the unexpected passing of someone I've known, admired and loved for 14 years, my mind has been swirling with thoughts, memories and such sadness.  My friend is all I can think about.  And right now, she's all I want to write about.

I so vividly remember when I met Lisa, her husband Todd and their (then) 1 and a half year old blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy, Davis.  The details are at the forefront of my mind, and I have been playing those recordings in my head over and over for almost 48 hours.  I remember looking up to Lisa pretty much instantly.  At first sight, she was stunning, had a handsome husband, a beautiful little boy, a lovely home, and an exciting career.  Upon further insight, that all remained to be true, but I learned she was also equally as stunning on the inside, too.  

Lisa and Todd hired me to be their son's full time nanny.  The arrangement was perfect for all involved.  I was going to school in the evening to get my Master's Degree, and Lisa was home from work in time for me to get to my classes.  Todd and Lisa had important jobs in Manhattan and they needed someone who could take care of their son on a daily basis who they could trust implicitly.  They lived in Connecticut, so it was especially imperative that I made excellent decisions for their child when I was his caregiver because they couldn't drop everything and run home for a scraped knee.  I'm proud to say I don't think I ever let Todd and Lisa down.

When I turned 30, they came to my surprise party.  Davis and I were the first hospital visitors when Lisa and Todd's second child, the equally wonderful and adorable Evan was born. When I moved from New York to Florida, they came to my going away-party.  They were invited to my wedding.  They rejoiced with us when we brought our daughter home. They knew my relatives and I knew theirs.  We were family.  

Now, Lisa is gone.  

I still can't believe it.

When I think about her, I think about how much she taught me, though I had no idea at the time how valuable those lessons would be.  Lisa and I would talk like long-time friends, never like employer and employee.  Lisa would often come home with a little decoration for my apartment or a gift certificate for a manicure...just because she wanted me to know that I was appreciated.   Lesson 1: value the people in your life.  Don't just tell them.  Show them, too.

Lisa's job as a news reporter was serious more than not.  She reported on often grim circumstances around the tri-state area.  Yet, at home, she had SUCH a great, sharp, clever sense of humor.  I even found myself repeating one of the funny things she said in recent weeks.  She had a demanding job with unusual hours, a home to maintain, and family to care for.  Yet she always smiled and laughed.  She never seemed to take anything too seriously...including herself.  Lesson 2: Have a sense of humor, dammit.  Even when you may not feel like it.

When Lisa was very pregnant with Evan, Todd and I conspired together to give them a weekend at home alone as a little "stay-cation baby moon".  We planned it for Valentine's Day weekend and I took Davis to my parent's house so they could be alone and so my parents could spend time with Davis, who they loved.  I remember Lisa telling me how surprised and grateful she was to sleep in, dine out, and just be able to have uninterrupted time with Todd on no schedule.  Though technically I learned this lesson from Todd, I will never forget how much that weekend meant to Lisa, and I am so glad I was able to be a small part of that.  Lesson 3: Take care of your partner.  Surprise them and spoil them, even if it's just with an unexpected, uninterrupted weekend in your own home.  

Now that I am a mom, this next one is the most important, and I feel safe in saying that it was Lisa's priority, too.  Lesson 4:  Raise your children well.  Be there for them.  Support their passions in life.  Show them that with hard work, you can really have it all, as Lisa herself did.  I have no one single anecdote to share here because I could write forever about the first-hand experiences I had watching Lisa as a mom.  She was spectacular.  And I know I am a better mom to my daughter, and a better person, for that matter, just for having known her.

So, Lisa, this is my tribute to you from my little corner of the world.  

Thank you for your humor, your wit, your kindness, opening your heart to me, entrusting me with your children and embracing me as a family member.  

They say no one is really gone until the last time someone says their name.  That being said, Lisa, you will live on forever in the hearts, minds, and words of all who loved you, including me.

Love.

Sometimes I felt like infertility was a scarlet letter.  It's there all the time, and I felt labeled and marked.  I thought that because strangers didn't see me with sippy cups or a supply of crayons coming out of my handbag, that they just know I couldn't make a baby.  Anyone who looked at me saw that I was of proper baby making age (and getting older my the minute!), wore wedding-ish jewelry on the appropriate finger, and yet no sign of a small child in my daily life.  I wondered sometimes if others silently pitied me.  I thought these things because I pitied myself.  Yep- I felt t it regularly and typed it here in black and white for all to see.  It's not pretty, but it's the truth.  And...if one more person asked me "So, when are you guys going to have a baby?" I was going to lose. my. mind. 

I also felt sorry for John.

John.  One of the reasons I fell in love with him is because I knew he'd be the BEST dad.  During our courtship, my sister's boys were aged preschool and baby.   He got down on the floor and played cars and trucks with the big one. He would hold the little one and make funny faces and silly noises for him.  True story from our wedding weekend: various obligations took every adult out of my house and left the following combination of people behind: John, and our nephews, then aged 6 years and 18 months.  During my bridal pedicure, I got a text from John that read : Uncle John 0, red velvet cupcake diaper, 1. Our little nephew had enjoyed a red velvet cupcake the day before and now poor John was getting to experience that on the flip side of things.  But, he didn't complain, and jumped into full uncle mode, taking care of business.  (Side note: we still joke about this experience years later- apparently it was quite unpleasant for all involved). When I returned home with my mom and sister, the three musketeers were on the back patio and the little one had no shirt on.  One may assume that uncle John couldn't be bothered to re-dress the child who gave him such a messy chore an hour before.  But the reason the little one was shirtless is because he was "drinking" a bottle of water.  And by "drinking", I mean that the little one decided he'd enjoy his beverage more if his new Uncle dispensed the water to him- one capful at a time. John had removed the lad's shirt in seeing that toddlers don't have the most finesse in drinking from water bottle caps.  But the fact that he was wiling to cater to this child and patiently dole out capfuls of water to his new little nephew...well, it was just one of 1,000 moments that confirmed to me that John would be such a great dad.  Fast forward to present day, and John is now the uncle to three small nephews.  He is so great with each of them, fully ingrained in their lives with stories about life in school,  an understanding about the importance of "Toy Story" characters, and more funny faces and silly noises for the new little one.  As proud as I was that I picked such an amazing uncle for my nephews, I couldn't help but focus on and often go back to how I knew that I picked such an amazing daddy for our future kids.  I use the word "daddy" here because anyone can be a father, but not everyone is a "daddy".  My sister and I grew up with a daddy, and I marred a future one--- now all we needed was little being to give John the opportunity to be the amazing daddy I know he would be. 

So, yeah, I did feel bad for us.  We were parents without a child. 

All of that changed with one phone call last summer to tell us that we had been chosen by birthparents to adopt our baby girl.  In an instant, we were about to become parents in a little over three months.  Naturally, it was amazing, and we were on Cloud 9.  But as happy as I was, I found that I couldn't let myself just be happy.  I couldn't let go and just feel it.  I cautiously selected baby furniture and chose outfits and did all of the wonderful and exciting things a mommy-to-be does to prepare for her baby.  I was elated and felt incredibly blessed, but I was also completely terrified.  Impending motherhood had not been kind to me before, and I was terrified of being crushed again.

Fast forward to our daughter's birthday.  The joy I felt upon laying eyes on her for the first time was unmatched by anything else I had ever experienced.  And from that day on, a little more of the sadness from our previous losses has subsided and is now fading into non-existence.  I am a mom.  More importantly, I am HER mom.  And she was worth everything it took to get us to be a family.  This family.

And, as I sit here typing this, the most delicious baby ever born sits to my right.  She is kicking me on my arm, playing with her hands, and making cooing noises that I pray sink into my brain so I always remember what they sound like when she's older.  

They say time heals wounds, and yes it does.  But for me, it was love.