Fair, Not Fair

It's Theme Thursday again. The theme is "Fair" and I had to stretch pretty hard to find something that worked. We didn't visit any fairs this week, but we did suffer certain injustices. Specifically, my poor husband has diligently watered two small tomato plants every morning and night for the last few months. He had three tomatoes growing - until a few days ago, that is, when we noticed one missing. And then the next morning another. Animals - it doesn't matter what kind, but let's assume raccoon since that's what we tend to see around here - had taken the literal fruits of his labor. NOT FAIR.

BUT, there was one left. Not quite ready for picking, but close enough, and we couldn't risk losing it. He snatched it from the plant, ferried it inside, and we devoured it in three minutes flat.

Two for the scurrying nocturnal creature; one for us. FAIR ENOUGH.

More to chew on

I was talking with a pregnant friend the other day about whether or not she should have an amnio and she was saying she was leaning away from doing it and would be glad when the window of opportunity was over so she could stop thinking about it. I realized today that that's just how I feel. My window of opportunity for conceiving a second child is slowly closing - I've got time left yet, but not a lot - and I honestly believe I'll feel some relief when it's over. Regardless of what happens.

I think I've written earlier that I am completely at peace with all of our options: biological child; adoption; only child. I mull them all over and on any given day I feel great about one, good about another, and not much interested in the third. And it changes all the time. When I thought the day of the lucky sevens was going to pan out for us (it didn't, by the way) I was thrilled about being pregnant again and about having an infant in the house and about everything that went along with both of those things. The day I knew it wasn't our month I was crushed but by the next day I was back to thinking about adoption. Not international adoption this time, but adoption of a child from the foster care system.

I started research on all of that (it's what I do; I research) and am left feeling pretty good about that option. There are so many wonderful kids out there. I don't have hesitations about bringing an older child into our house, at least not when Eli's older too (this would be several years from now) and boy does this plan take a financial load off our minds. My hesitation lies more with the question of, "How do you get to know a child and then make a "decision" without potentially breaking a little heart?" I'm sure I'm not the first to ask this question and I think an info session is in order. (When Eli was first born I was a "new moms' group" junkie. I do believe I have now become an "info session" junkie.)

But then I have my days when I think having an only child is the right fit for us. Maybe. The thing is, I never fully get there. I want to. I have on-line role models who make parenting an only child seem just how I'd want it to be. The chance to get to know your kid inside and out. The time to really engage with them. Quite simply, a happy little family unit. Whether these women stay the mothers of only children or take a different path, at the moment they make life with their onlies look really, really wonderful.

And like I said, I want to get there. But I grew up with a sibling and so did David. We both always imagined we'd have two. When you don't think you will ever be the one having trouble getting knocked up it's easy to be certain about your choices, and that's what I was. Certain. The only thing in question was whether I'd have a boy first or a girl first (because I also somehow thought that was up to me). It's just so hard to imagine raising a boy with no brother or sister. I know I could do it and I know he'd be a happy person. I just never want to hear him say that he was lonely as a child. (That, and there's part of me that thinks that if I'm going to screw up as a mom, it's best spread across a couple of people. Concentrating my flaws onto just one person seems a little cruel, don't you think?)

So that brings us back to how best to grow this family. We'll keep on with the acupuncture and the TTC or the BD or whatever you want to call it. I'm shying away from international adoption (or domestic adoption, for that matter) these days because of two things: cost and time. We don't really have $30K to spend right now and don't anticipate having it in the future. I know there are tax breaks when you adopt and I also know our families would help out, so if money was the only issue, we wouldn't let that stop us. But, there's also the timing issue. Specifically, if we're going to adopt we should start the process now (or at least very soon). That means plunking down about $5K before we've completely given up on a biological child.

And that is how I have found myself looking at websites with photos of waiting children, asking myself if one of them could be mine. Like I said, if we did decide to adopt an older child it wouldn't happen for a few years so realistically, no, none of those children could be mine. But I'm trying this one on for size and it feels pretty good. More research to be done, of course, but it seems like a good option for us, for many reasons.

In the meantime, I'll just keep loving my only. Not a bad option.

love,love,drip

I love my kid - probably more than he loves water fountains, and that's saying something. This is my submission for this week's theme of "Drip."

Starts and stops, please

If there's one thing I like about blogger it's that you can start numerous posts and then stash them away like old movie stubs or your prom corsage - you know, just in case you need them later. That's what I've been doing lately. Stashing. I keep thinking I have an idea for a post but then when I sit down to write something about it, it fizzles out after a few sentences. In short: I don't have much to say.

I did want to make note of something for myself, however. Yesterday, my son became polite. That's right, he now says "please" without being begged and prodded and today I found myself in a bit of a honeymoon phase. I know where it all came from, too. We had a barbecue over the weekend and one of the desserts was a sort of "make your own sundae" deal. So, we are now up to our ears in chocolate and rainbow sprinkles. I wouldn't have wanted Eli eating any sprinkles anyway, but one of the conversations we had at the barbecue was about the fact that sprinkles, like the eyes of Peeps, don't dissolve in acid. And you thought the french fry in Super Size Me was gross. So, yeah, even with his pickiness and the fact that I am thrilled when he eats almost anything with calories, I wasn't pushing for these.

But, he's two, and he knows they're in the house, and we told him "no" once, and that pretty much means he's going to keep asking for them. So last night he formed one of his longest sentences yet: Some. Rainbow. Sprinkles. Now. Please. (Periods there because forming sentences is still a bit of work for him so each word comes out completely independent of the others.) This request was followed by a very hopeful and - if I do say so myself - adorable look on his face. How could we say no?

So there it was. In that brief moment our son discovered the power of "please." All day today he's been adding the word onto every request. "Go up escalator, please?" "Eat french fries, please?" "Go home now, please?" And because it's new and adorable and sweet and exactly how I want him to ask, I say "Yes" to everything. He's getting everything he asks for and I'm busting at the seams with mother-pride.

It can't last, though. One of these days he'll ask for something that I can't possibly agree to and he'll realize that the word is not magic after all. And I suppose at that point we'll regress a bit and I'll have to start dragging it out of him again. But for now I'll just enjoy it. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go hire a magician and learn how to juggle fire. (Hey, he asked!)

The HEAT is on!

It's time for this week's photo theme, courtesy of Tracey. With a theme like "heat," you'd think it would be easy to come up with a great kid photo, but somehow I've got nothin'. I had to dig into the archives and pull out this picture from almost exactly one year ago.



My family has a long history in the Adirondacks and we try to make it back, as a group, every couple of years. Last year my niece spent a lot of time escaping the heat just like this. (So did I, for that matter.)

It's all in the numbers

One: The number of children I think we might wind up with.
Even as I ruminate over all of our options (acupuncture, charting, OPKs, adoption, donor eggs, adopting Vicki the Robot, you get the picture) I still keep coming back to the fabulousness of having just Eli. I mean, think of it: I can devote scads of time to him AND still have some time left over for myself. Pre-school of our choice, regardless of cost? Done. The cool sneakers when he's in 8th grade? No problem. A car when he turns 16? Sure, let's get him a safe one with airbags everywhere. College education? Not cheap, but we can manage it. Wedding? Sure! We'll spring for half. I mean, it all just seems so manageable. It's not lost on me that most of the things I just mentioned are financial, and we happen to be operating with a rather squeezed budget at the moment. I would never want to make this kind of decision based solely on money, but finances aside, sticking to one is very tempting. I've said all along that I'm content with whatever course our family history takes. It's the uncertainty of it all that'll be the death of me. But the number one does keep creeping back in to my head, and there must be a reason for that. I'm sure there will be other posts on this at other times, but this is all there is to say about it for now.

40: My age and, apparently, the shelf life of eggs.
For years I'd heard the statistics about fertility in your 40s and I figured, "Not me." I mean, I haven't had a cavity in years. My blood pressure is awesome, if I do say so myself. And sometimes I'll be very still, in the midst of doing something, and I feel like it's very possible that I haven't even breathed in the last minute or so. Seriously, this happens to me. Given that I actually question whether my body needs oxygen to survive, why would I think those blasted statistics would ever apply to me? I mean, I might not even be mortal, for goodness sake. And yet here I am, wishing and hoping that my tired ovaries will crank out a decent egg this weekend. And while I'm pushing for that, my best friend from childhood just had her ovaries removed the other day. She tested positive for the breast cancer gene and lost her mother to ovarian cancer, so this was what she considered the logical choice (and personally - though I know it's controversial - I don't disagree). So I'm thinking there's a shelf life on these things. It's not hard and fast, but it's there, it appears to be 40(ish), and it's annoying me.

Seven: The day, the month, the year.
I know a lot of very pregnant couples are hoping for their children to be born on this date, what with the lucky symbolism of it. I'm asking the Vegas gods to spread a little luck this way, though. The way I look at it, those couples are already lucky. Those babies are coming out one of these days anyway and there are some of us that could really, really use that luck. Like me, for instance. I'll be ovulating today (is that TMI? My blog; my personal details - sorry!) and I think conceiving a kid on this, the luckiest day of the century, could be very nice. And think of the fetus nicknames! Jackpot. Jackie P. Little JP. Yes, it's the perfect day indeed. So come on, sevens. Mama needs a new pair of baby shoes.

Spectacle!

It's Theme Thursday over at Tracey's and after a several week hiatus (following a lonely, solitary week of participation), I finally have something to share! The theme this week is spectacle, and that, on the surface, was hard for me. My life is not about spectacle. My family - in particular, my boy - is not about spectacle. Trying to cajole my quiet, somewhat introverted, never-one-to-make-a-spectacle-of-himself little one into doing something spectacular is like trying to squeeze milk out of a juice box. You'll get something, but it's not what you were going for. But, scratch the surface of the word "spectacle" and you find an "s" you can tack on, and voila! Spectacles!

One of my favorite things about this shot is being able to look over his shoulder to see a fuzzy image of one of my favorite baby photos of Eli. Something about the past being off in the distance, still recognizable, but not the focus. Something about my two-and-a-half year old being right there, front and (slightly off) center. Just how it should be.