Broken Horses

Not only did we end up with 4 copies of Broken Horses by Brandi Carlile so we could attend a handful of the virtual book tour events, but I also downloaded the audiobook because she recorded 30 songs to include in it. We listened to it during a quick getaway to Flagstaff this weekend.

I was struck, as I often am, with how powerful it is to find myself in someone else's stories; to see myself reflected in someone else's song.  It reminds me of the power of marginalization. The power of making people feel "other." The microaggressions that on the own are inconsequential, but build up to such a heavy weight over time. It happens so slowly that you don't notice until you reach the breaking point and become "that angry lesbian" making mountains out molehills.  Or, like this weekend, you are caught unprepared by seeing yourself so clearly reflected back in someone else's experience, that you are able to set down the weight and know that you are not alone, you are part of a community. They weight is lifted, the isolation is broken, if only for a moment.

Brandi Carlile has provided me with moments like this for so long. I remember in 2008, as I was trying to get the courage to propose, I came across a video they recorded during their UK tour that included a cover of "I've Just Seen a Face." Hearing a woman sing those words changed the song forever. Sorry Paul, it is now a Brandi Carlile song. 

I've just seen a face
I can't forget the time or place
Where we just met

 
She's just the girl for me
And I want all the world to see
We've met, mm-mm-mm-m'mm-mm

 

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TgBpgOZr6-Q, start at 2:25)

 

Moments like this have taught me how much representation matters.  How much we look to the outside world for acceptance and value. I fight against this, I don't owe anyone conformity. So the excitement and comfort that come with each of these moments of community are tinged with guilt and self doubt.  

Being a parent is hard. A and I often appreciate that the lack of gender roles in our marriage takes away a layer of expectations, especially around parenting. However, being a queer parent can be incredibly isolating. To be reminded we weren't alone in our struggles to carve out our little corner in such a herteronormative space was very impactful. 

 

I am eternally grateful for the wonderful community we found in our birth center. I became a member of the community advisory board and we are now friends with the amazing nurses and midwives who helped E and C come into this world.  However, we were always "other." It was challenging to set aside the protective, defensive shell and see the families and medical providers in the group as our new community when our experiences were so fundamentally different. 

 

As we've connected with other LGBTQ families, it often feels like coming home. There is an ease, an unspoken understanding. This doesn't mean I don't value all of these other relationships, because of course I do. Rather, it reminds me of the value of things like our Rainbow Families group that met monthly before the pandemic. It makes me excited for the day we feel comfortable meeting in-person with the other queer families in our foster care agency. It makes me incredibly grateful for our new family that we adopted along with J.

 I have three children. One birth certificate lists me as "mother," another as "father," and the third should arrive in the coming weeks with me listed as "parent." A isn't even on E's. I often make a joke about this, but that is just to cover up the fact that it hurts. We were quoted $2000 from our lawyer to adopt E & C during J's adoption so we would both be listed on all of them as "parent," and not have to worry about the state recognizing our rights if something happen to one of us.  If we waited it would be $4000 to do it in a separate hearing.

No.  I'm not going to spend thousands of dollars for something that we shouldn't even have to do.  To prove the legitimacy of our family. To tarnish the exciting addition of J to our family with the acknowledgment of the state's bigotry. Let's save that for another day.

The pain and guilt of this has been weighing on me lately. For a moment, while we drove down a mountain with such majestic views that you can't help but feel small, I heard another mother talk about how their family began with lawyers and awkward classes.  How she dealt with the internalized homophobia that convinces you that you don't belong in these spaces, you aren't really a mother. How she also surrounds herself with family, both biological and chosen, as a cloak of protection from these hurts, both big and small. I wiped away a tear and drove back to the real world, where these things fade into the noise of everyday and the weight finds it's well-worn spot on my shoulders.

 

To my family, my protectors: Thank you

I'm beginning to feel the years,
But I'm going to be okay,
As long as you're beside me along the way.
Gonna make it through the night,
and into morning light.

 

Wherever is your heart, I call home

Today is a Brandi Carlile kind of day. In general, I'm pretty desensitized to famous people, it comes with my job.  I need to be professional when working with artists and I do my best to make them feel comfortable at my theater.  It's probably a good thing Brandi Carlile has never performed at my theater, because I would go total fan-girl. I don't even know what I would say, so I'm sure I would make a complete fool of myself.

I have never found an album that I connect emotionally with as much as "The Firewatcher's Daughter." (buy it here, you won't be disappointed!) So, as I sit at home feeling overwhelmed with the monumental changes the next 5 weeks hold for my family, I am listening and singing along.

We (somewhat on a whim) put our house on the market a few months earlier than we had planned.  We figured there was just enough time to sell our house and buy another before the baby is born. Well, we were almost right. It's been 2 weeks since our house went on the market and we have a contract on ours and our offer was accepted yesterday for our new house.  Unfortunately, our closing dates are the week AFTER the due date, so we will not have a house for a day or two and we will either have a newborn or A will be 41 weeks pregnant. 

I have a plan. It involves diagrams, color coding, a storage unit, stagehands, grandparents, hotel rooms, and a moving truck. I think I can pull this off. As long as A doesn't go into labor while I'm packing the truck, we'll be okay. But it still wakes me up in the middle of the night.  I still feel panic that I need to be doing something, but there's so much to do that I can't find the starting point. I revise what I said: I have a plan for the week of the move, but the next 4 include only one thing: pack. Way too vague. 

So as I try to center myself and find my way, I give myself one more minute to feel overwhelmed as I stare down the next road of our lives.  And I sing along--


"There's a road that's long and winding, it hollers home, I'm calling home"

The second time around (long)

Far and wide, our friends all across the globe know our family is expecting a new addition. We've never been shy about our intentions to both carry at least one pregnancy - if anything, we have shouted it from the rooftops and always been open to talking with people about our family's differences.

Now that I really am pregnant with Little Brother, it's been an eye-opening experience in a myriad of ways. It's been touching for so many of our loved ones to excitedly ask me/us about how it is this time around with our role-reversal. Truly, it means a lot to have people ask and check in and I'm sure that sometimes our ability to swap pregnancies is fascinating. I'm glad people want to know how it's been different and how it's been the same, and that they're comfortable enough with me and my family to know it's okay to ask.

Before this pregnancy, I spent some time considering what those similarities and differences might be. I even started framing responses in my mind, mostly about how all pregnancies are different, even for one woman experiencing several subsequent pregnancies. In thinking about my answers and framing them before I knew what they were, I found another deep pocket of my own arrogance. Don't worry, they're plentiful, so even if I deplete this one, there are undoubtedly always more.

I am 30 weeks pregnant. 75% done. A little over two months to go. In the last 26 weeks (you know, the ones where I have been actually aware that I'm pregnant), I have learned some things. And here is where I admit some painful truths to you all: This pregnancy has been both harder and easier at times than I anticipated. It's been more rewarding and less rewarding than I'd hoped for. It's strained some relationships I didn't think would even be affected. It has been a mental, emotional, and physical challenge. And last... being the currently-pregnant partner to a previously-pregnant partner isn't always what I dreamed it would be.

Some of the more negative aspects I mention are the difficult truths for me, because as some of you know, I've been the most excited person around to get to experience pregnancy for nearly as long as I've been an adult. I've waited and waited my turn, ever since T and I were married in 2008 and I was stoked about having kids since well before that. Obviously, the two things (pregnancy and having kids) are not mutually exclusive, but it was always our plan so in this circumstance, they're connected. I have felt humbled and honored and happy and heartbroken, sometimes all in the same day, during this pregnancy. When I contemplated this glorious pregnant time in my life (before I was actually doing any gestating), I thought I'd be that exhaustingly happy, glowing pregnant woman who loved every moment. Observing myself as I've progressed through each trimester has been a disappointment at times. I have been hard on myself to buck up, not complain, and be grateful, because I found that the difficult parts of pregnancy aren't always something I can power through with sheer will.

It sometimes meant days on end of vomiting and feeling generally shitty while my wonderfully creative 3 year old begged me to play with her and having to tell her no. For awhile, it meant that my wife carried a much heavier load and even while knowing she was at the end of her rope, still telling her that her thoughtful idea of home-fried chicken nuggets was making me feel incredibly sick and to please stop. It's been months of inactivity on the online certification program I'm working even harder now to complete. It's been letting go of any idyllic time or energy to direct towards art projects, holiday-themed crafting with my kid, decorating my house, or even keeping up with housework.

But it's also been unfathomably magical. There is a whole new human growing within me. His genetics are shaped by a combination of my own and the man who also shaped half of E's genetics. This new person will share features and traits with my biological family, specifically my mother, who knows so little and has so few people who share any biological ties to her. I've gotten to feel this person's very first movements, be the very first voice he ever heard, and give him the first taste of what love is. These things have no equal. There is no trade in the universe that would cause me to do things differently if I could.

Perhaps thinking that I'm also giving him a thorough insight into human nature will make me feel less guilty about the challenges. After all, I'm showing him that although my love for him is perfect, I am not and never will be.

Now, think about all the things I've just told you, and try to cram them within an "alternative" framework of a family where both parents can and have experienced a pregnancy. Often, I find the assumption (even within myself and T) is that my pregnancy can only be easier/better due to having a partner who knows what I'm going through. I understand that is only logical.

In truth, even partners with shared events still cannot know the exact minutiae of the other's experience. How silly and naive it feels in hindsight, to have anticipated that T would know exactly what I am going through. After all, shared experiences are not exact duplicates of one another, they merely have certain pieces or parts that overlap. Also, T and I have very different body chemistries, different hormone reactions, different thought processes, and very different emotional responses to stimuli.

Yet again, we have found another area where communication of expectations is key. Mostly we discovered it after weeks of little offenses, disappointments, and internalized resentment. Ahh, the triad of all good marriages, right?

When T was pregnant, I couldn't get enough of her belly. The rest of her was cute as always, but the belly was new and exciting. I studied it day after day. I likely annoyed the crap out of her by touching her all the time, asking what the Cupcake was doing, what she felt like, and touching her some more. I was fixated on the pregnancy; on our baby that I was at significant risk of feeling left out of helping grow. Of course I wanted T to feel supported, but I also selfishly needed to be intimately involved and "in the know". I see now that these are issues of my own insecurities. But when I became pregnant, I suddenly expected T to behave exactly as I had behaved during her pregnancy. When she didn't, I mistook it as lack of interest. I kept thinking, "I thought we both wanted another baby, I thought you would be into my pregnancy and being involved, but you're not. Maybe you're drawing away from us; do you not want this child? Do you care at all?" This was incredibly insensitive and self-centered of me to ever think of T. I just had no perspective, no ability to get away and see that she was behaving as she needed to behave for herself and doing the best she could to support not only me, but our daughter through a rough patch. T doesn't have the same insecurities I do. She was never the one attached to The Idea of pregnancy and birth like I was - she carried E and birthed her because that's how we decided to grow our family, and she did an amazing job. But I'd always loved and fantasized about The Idea of pregnancy and birth. It's important to me in a different way. She feels connected enough to this baby through me and through E; she isn't threatened by the fact that she isn't carrying this child within her. So although T does love on my belly and enjoys feeling our son swim around, she doesn't NEED those things deep in her soul to love Little Brother. And that's a different kind of magic.

I've yet again come to the conclusion that we're not so different from other couples, or other families. Just two different people coming together to provide complementary traits for one another. Two people combining their lives in love. Two people not above arguments and miscommunication. Two personalities, two sets of needs. Two people trying their best to support one another through this crazy, often unexpected thing we call Life.

"So A, is it easier/better going through a pregnancy with a wife who's been pregnant herself?"
I really don't know. I've never been through a pregnancy with a husband, and I've never been through a pregnancy with a wife who hasn't been through a pregnancy, so I honestly cannot say. I think the only safe thing to say is that everyone is different and there is no way for one person to experience both. And even if there was, the fact still remains that not all pregnancies are the same within the same woman.

I'm thankful for the knowledge of and experience with pregnancy that T brings to the table. Sometimes I wish she knew less or were slightly more sympathetic, but it's exactly because of those reasons paired with her innate knowledge of me that cause her to push me to be my best self. She knows when I could do better and she knows when I'm really at the end of my rope. This is her responsibility in our relationship - to know me, to love me, to ground me in truth and logic and real life. I need those things.

She still helps me daily to be my own best self, or at least the best version I can muster at that point in time. In knowing and accepting these truths, I know that this experience is meant for me. Just like she's meant for me.

Anniversaries

Summertime is always a very full time of year for the McGills. Birthdays galore, a couple of wedding anniversaries, a couple of death anniversaries. This year, for me, it's a time of contemplation.

T's and my birthdays both are during the summer months. Born in the same year, we're the same age except for those days between our birthdays in July and September. Both T's parents and a handful of friends all have birthdays during this hottest time of year. And lest we forget, our E and many of her friends have birthdays in the summer as well. It's a solid four months of splash pads and zoo trips, of sunscreen and melting frosting. The slap of little feet in flip flops across the wet concrete and echoing shouts of laughter. There's much singing of Happy Birthday to be had, and plenty of treats to go with all these lovely birthday wishes.

Then there's the wedding anniversaries. Ours is tomorrow; August 22nd. This year marks seven years married for us. The Copper Anniversary - which we love, as we are southwestern women at heart. My parents' anniversary is only a few days behind ours.

Admittedly, T and I haven't been very good at the whole anniversary thing since our first anniversary. Since then, life has gotten in the way and we haven't felt called to have parties or even do much by way of celebrating. I like to think that we celebrate each other daily, even if that's not always true. Seven years hitched and ten years together feels like a good long time. My wife is a foregone conclusion - in the very best way possible. She's my rock, my sounding board, my tether to logic and reason. Ever the sensible and responsible one, my darling lady. This year was a pretty special one though, in that our state recognized our marriage early in the year and then the Supreme Court ruled that gay marriage is legal nationally - this is our first anniversary that our home state "counts" us as a married couple. Able to file jointly on both state and federal taxes for the first time. Able to both have legal rights to our children. Able to own our home together, instead of her half and my half. We considered doing a vow renewal for our anniversary this year, to celebrate with those who we missed celebrating with seven years ago. Unfortunately we weren't able to make that happen this summer. It simply was too costly. Then I ended up pregnant and now I'm selfishly thankful that I'm not about to be photographed in my current "chubbily pregnant" state. Regardless of gifts and cards though, I've never been more grateful for my wife than this year. The pregnancy hasn't been easy on me, and I've relied upon her moreso than I would have wished. I know it's been difficult for her, and she has truly impressed me beyond measure with her ability to stay cool under the pressure of running our lives. Just to embarrass her for a moment, I want to tell you all that she's done 100% of the toddler wake-ups and drop-offs and probably 99% of her bedtimes. She's singlehandedly balanced our budget, gotten all our bills paid on time, undertaken all the meal-planning, shopping, and cooking. Oh, and did I mention, she also got a promotion at work during all this? And she's taken time away from work to attend our prenatal appointments. I know she knows I'm thankful, but it can't hurt to reiterate.

Thank you my love, for being a supportive and endlessly understanding partner during our whole relationship - but particularly the last two months.

In September, we also take time to remember the family matriarchs whom we've lost. T and I both mourn the deaths of our maternal grandmothers in September. Both strong women, forces to be reckoned with in each of their respective clans. Both grandmothers struggled with our relationship, and I think I can speak for both of us when I say that I regret they departed this life without knowing the depth of joy and love we've found, and without having known their great-grandchildren. In many ways, this feels like a too-abrupt ending; a cliffhanger without a sequel; a novel whose writer never finished. I cannot believe that either one would have wished to miss out on our babies. I hope that in their own ways, perhaps these absent grandmothers get to witness our family growing and to know our children, even if from a great distance. You are both missed.

All these things cause me to reflect. I'm 14 weeks pregnant now, with likely the only pregnancy I'll carry. I know that come March, I'll be alone in this body once more and forever. I know and have said often to myself that I need to try and relish this time, to celebrate the life growing within me. But I frequently find myself firmly mired in each moment, thinking only of my discomfort and wishing I felt better. Then I feel guilty for not cherishing every second, even the ones spent vomiting or with a cramping stomach.

I've spent the better portion of these last two months either being sick, uncomfortable, or asleep. I've thought only of what I must force myself to do that minute, or the next. There's been little time to daydream about this baby. As you might imagine, this isn't exactly how I envisioned pregnancy going for me. Thinking about the last two months makes me feel very sad and full of regret, and yet I cannot see how to have done it differently. I've had this conversation (if you will) with a few people, and some seem to find it distressing that I'm not the happy, glowing pregnant woman they want me to be. I think this is probably just the first of many times that I'll disappoint my adoring fans with what they feel must be inappropriate feelings or reactions, but I've come to a conclusion. It's just too much pressure to try and feel joyful all the time. Sometimes, the fact is, it sucks to feel sick and that must be acceptable.

Now, all that being said - I seem to be feeling better and less volatile this week. I'm glad. So very glad. Bring on some new kind of pregnancy torture - this "morning" sickness is for the birds. I'm looking forward to our Centering classes starting in September, and I'm also excited for E's and my birthdays. We're extra fortunate this year to be able to take E to visit my great aunt and uncle for the first time in Iowa, and I am so happy. I'm waiting patiently (NOT) to feel the babe begin to move, and I am so excited for T and E to feel it, too. Our anatomy scan is scheduled in October, just after a good friend is getting married. Truly, I feel like we're on the brink of some grand adventures and I'm glad to put the first trimester behind us. I hope to find a little bit more of myself in the second.

To sum up: Happy Birthday! Happy Anniversary! Happy memories! Happy life!

Perfect Mother Magazine

We are coming to the end of my busy season at work and it could not come fast enough.  As I was finishing up a long day yesterday, missing my family and wondering if I would ever have a social life, a joke popped into my head.  It was one of those online lists: "How to balance kids, work, and marriage while still having a social life! Just follow these 73 easy steps!" Once I thought it, it was stuck. The other ridiculous standards we are held to kept popping into my head. All of the different miracle methods and divisive issues that define the Mommy Wars soon joined.  It kept me up all night (with some help from E). So here you have the product of insomnia, cynicism, and a day off.

By the end of this project, I was feeling a little guilty.  I have a great group of mom friends and we vary pretty wide on our parenting choice/styles. We are able to have conversations and accept each others' differences. We try to support each other when things get tough, and we have a safe place to say those hard truths that our culture pretends don't exist.  I didn't want anyone to feel like my satire was directed towards them. They lift me up and inspire me to be a better parent, but to also forgive myself. This cover is for them. I only wish we had a picture with all of us!

Why Marriage Matters (to me)

My good friend and co-worker was recently married. Spending time with him as he planned and prepared for his wedding really made me consider marriage and why it is so important to me. I do want to preface this by making it clear that this is really about my feelings about my marriage. I don't expect my experience to be universal, and I believe that people make the best decisions for themselves and its not my place to judge those decisions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One of the benefits of having a lesbian wedding is there were far fewer traditions and expectations. We could do whatever our little hearts desired without people batting an eye.  In 2008 we went to California with a few close friends and family.We had a courthouse ceremony to get our marriage license and then exchanged rings on the beach at sunset.  We wrote our own vows and didn't have anyone officiate that part. We came back to Arizona the next day and had a reception with our friends and family. Since we didn't have quite a normal wedding party, we asked a friend to make a speech, we skipped over all of the typical dances, and ate some cake. I think the cake was really the only traditional part of our wedding.

Flash forward to present time and same-sex marriage is in the news almost daily with all of the court battles going on. It makes me wonder what exactly we are fighting for. In this day and age, what does marriage really mean to most people? With divorce rates so high, why go through the trouble? The taboo of living together out of wedlock is all but gone. Even having children doesn't seem to have the same stigma attached.

So what is it? I think, as with everything, we all bring our own experiences and expectations to marriage. Hopefully those preconceived notions line up with those of our partner. Would our relationship be different if we weren't married (legally or otherwise)? There's a Schrodinger's marriage joke in there somewhere...

This year has been hard. There have been a lot of reasons why it has been challenging, and I'm not going to get into the nitty gritty. I am a worrier. I stay up at night worrying about work, our finances, what it will be like to have a teenage daughter (yes, I know I have over a decade to prepare...), and a myriad of other things that won't change a bit no matter how much I worry. I don't worry about my marriage. It is my rock, it is permanent. It takes work, yes, but I believe in it more than I believe in any other thing. This year has been rough, but I know that some day soon, things will get better. Some day soon, the weight will be lifted and our marriage won't be any worse for the wear, it will actually be stronger because we got though it all together.

 We have proclaimed-- to our family and friends, to our community, to the government, to complete strangers-- that we love each other and that we are a family. This year has tried us, but our marriage is a light in the darkness; a hand leading the way.

So, to my lovely wife- I love you. I love our family. No matter what life throws at us, we will come through. Together.

(now we just need more photos of all three of us...)

On the nature of selfishness and desire

A few weeks ago, we discovered this adorable little park in our neighborhood.  We didn't know it was there because it's tucked away in a part of the neighborhood that we never go, on a dead-end street. We've gone a few times.  

Last week, E and I went to the park by ourselves for the first time.  It was a beautiful day, complete with blue skies and a light breeze.  The park was empty, so we had the run of it.  E climbed on the play structure, she slid down the slide a couple times, she wanted to swing for awhile.  We wandered through the grass and had a snack.  A dog from a house across the street got loose and came running up to our stroller and began sniffing and circling in earnest, very interested in peeing on it.  I clapped my hands and yelled at him and chased him off.  He proceeded to pee on every tree and he even topped it all off by pooping on a tree.  Nice.  I walked across the street to notify his owner that he was out.  

When I came back into the park, a dad and his toddler had shown up and were sitting by the swings.  E was very interested in the little blond boy, so she took my finger and led me over to him.  She got about five feet away and was struck with shyness, preferring to hide behind my legs and watch the boy and his dad. 

I began chatting with the dad, telling him to be aware of the peeing dog, whose owner brought him into the house and promptly left his front door open again.  The dog's next escape was inevitable.  The guy laughed and asked about E, how old she is, etc.  All the parent questions.  We talked about the kids - his son Freddy is only a few months older than E.  The kids wanted to swing, so we pushed them and talked about the park and our neighborhood.  We discovered that we live only a few streets apart.  I hadn't mentioned T at all at this point, but he asked how long I'd been married.  I assumed he saw my wedding band tattoo.  I told him we'd been married five years and in the neighborhood almost as long.  Then Freddy wanted to get down and go slide, so they wandered off.  Then E wanted down, she had to follow Freddy onto the playground. 

A short while later, Julian (the dad) and Freddy had to leave.  They came over and Julian shook my hand, said it was really great to meet us and wondered if we'd be interested in meeting up at the park again at another time.  He mentioned that he didn't have many parent friends and was always looking for other kids for Freddy to play with.  I found Julian funny and easy to talk to, and was happy to have another friend for E.  We exchanged phone numbers. 

That afternoon, Julian began texting me.  The conversation is as follows (verbatim): 

J: Really nice meeting you today :) 

A: Yeah it was!  Nice to have friends in the neighborhood.
J: For sure - so you spend a lot of time at home, you said?
A: Yeah, we do.
J: Me and Freddy are always down to hang out - I heart adult interaction.
A: I'm with you on that!
J: Is it alright if I told you you looked great when we met?
A: Well... I will always take a compliment, but you should know that I'm gay and married...
J: Ah... no problem, as long as youre cool with me thinking thats pretty hot and you dont mind a flirty personality in a friend.
A: As long as you know it'll never go anywhere.  I don't want you to feel that I've led you on.
J: ;) 

J: With that clearly established may I ask a fairly inappropriate question?
A: Um. You can ask...
J: Lol how big are they?
(several minute pause)
J: sorry hope that didnt offend - Ill leave it at that, have a good evening.  Again I apologize.
A:  It seems this really isn't the relationship you'd hoped for or intended, and I feel like it probably won't ever be able to be just a friendship for you.  You're a cool guy, and I'm sure you can find somebody to have a fun, flirty, straight relationship with.
J: Super nice of you to say that ;) 

I was really floored by this whole thing.  This man seemed genuinely nice, friendly, and funny at the park.  I never got any weirdo creep vibes off him.  I never caught him looking at my chest.  He obviously already knew I was married, and yet he initiated this conversation.  

As soon as he asked if it was okay to tell me he thought I looked great, my guts immediately looped into a knot that settled heavily.  I was already trying to find a way to back out, but I was desperately trying to do it gracefully and without being rude.  It happened so fast, that in hindsight I'm less than pleased with my own responses. I should have reacted more strongly - why was I so concerned with seeming rude?  Wasn't Julian the one objectifying me and disrespecting me and my marriage?  I should have shut him down authoritatively and immediately.  If I'd done that, I probably would never have had to realize that he was only interested in my (admittedly large and unwieldy) breasts.  I was more concerned with seeming like that "cool woman" who thinks this kind of thing is funny and not disrespectful.  When he asked how large "they" were, it took me a few seconds to consider what the heck he was talking about!  I permitted the "inappropriate question" solely because I absolutely expected that it would be a question about E's conception.  His actual question blindsided me. As the realization hit, I felt deflated.  Defeated. 

He didn't know me, or care to know me.  It was of no importance to him that I am married and by definition, am not interested in him THAT way.  All he was interested in was knowing my bra size, and I do not wish to know what he was going to do with that information.  He didn't give a shit that I'm hilarious and kind and generous.  He was more interested in using me than he was in having a friend for his young son to socialize with.  He thought it was acceptable, in our very first text interaction, to show me how disposable I was to him.  

And then he thought he could undo it all by throwing out an empty apology.  Because that's what we do to appease women, right?

For many, many years, I've considered myself a feminist.  An independent, liberated woman, above needing the desire of others to make me feel good about myself. 

But when it came down to it, my first thought about this was: "I was just wearing a black tshirt, jeans, and sneakers.  My hair was in a greasy ponytail.  He can't really have thought I looked attractive.  I know I'm not." 

My first thought was to disbelieve him, when he told me he thought I looked good.  This brings me an immense amount of shame.  

This experience has taught me a lot about me, I guess.  It's been a lot of years since I've felt truly objectified like this.  This wasn't a joke between friends, or a come-on from a date.  It injured me more than a catcall from a passing truck.  

I'm just me - my body is my body, it's normal to me.  I don't think about it other than to be annoyed when I can't buy bras in most department stores, or when I try to find button-up shirts that fit (there aren't any, I swear). 

And to think, Julian has likely just moved on to objectifying someone else without giving his conversation with me a second thought.  It was no big deal.  He apologized, didn't he?!  

But for me... I'll carry this with me for a long time.  The more I've ruminated on it, the deeper the cuts feel.  To me, to women, to the human race.  All of us, sliced open.  

At the end of the day, it haunts me that Julian's son Freddy is going to grow up with my darling daughter.  This boy whose father is a major creep is going to be one of those teenagers who think that women don't need to give consent, who feels he's above the rules, who thinks my E is there for his pleasure and nothing else matters.  

I really hope I'm wrong about Freddy.  And I hope that E is stronger than me, that she's got it in her to stop people in their tracks before they make her feel like a lesser person because she has a desirable body. 

Dear Nova

Dear Nova,

Today's the first day that you're gone.  Today is hard.  We miss you.

When you came to live with my parents, you were just twelve days old.  When we saw your pictures, T and I both felt something strong.  I fell in love with you then.  We wanted to bring you home, to have you in our family.  We waited and hoped and finally, just before you turned six weeks old, it became official that you'd become a McGill.  The day before you turned eight weeks old, you had your spay and your scar adhesion removal surgeries, and we brought you home to Tucson.  That was a special day.  December 2nd.

Over the next weeks, you grew and you ate and you loved and you chased and you dug holes in the yard.  You ran and played and snuggled and grew some more.  We started leash training and went on daily walks.  We began working on basic commands - you loved to learn new things!  By the time Christmas arrived, you knew come, sit, up, down, crawl, and we were working hard on stay.  You were so quick, so intelligent, so curious.

You loved your little girl, E.  You were so gentle with her.  I really appreciate you being careful with our toddler, even when she tried to sit on your head or hug you too tightly.  She loved taking you outside and praising your potty training efforts.  "Good girl!" quickly became her phrase of choice. She loved you from the start.  You two were supposed to grow up together; we'd hoped you would sleep in her room and be her champion.

Christmas morning arrived, and you happily pulled your new quacky duck toy from your stocking and ran around stealing wrapping paper and ribbon.  You got your very own tag for your collar - it had just arrived two days earlier in the mail.  We took Christmas photos and hugged your silvery body and kissed your wet black nose.  You went to bed a happy pup.

But the morning after Christmas, you weren't feeling well.  You scarfed down your breakfast as usual, but then you threw it back up.  You wanted to go lay down.  That was already the beginning of the end, but nobody knew how seriously sick you were.  I'm so sorry, Nova.  I'm so sorry I didn't know.  I wish I'd taken you sooner to the vet, maybe that would have made a difference.  But you were so damn strong, you were acting just like your normal self until you could not do it any longer.

You laid on your little dog bed, your blanket tucked around you, all morning.  All morning we watched and worried.  I tried to get you to drink water, but you didn't want any.  I syringed water into your mouth and you swallowed it.  I listened to your lungs, they sounded clear.  Your heart rate was getting higher and higher and you started working hard at breathing.  We grew more concerned.  We called the vet and were referred to the local emergency hospital.  My dad started his car and drove us.  You sat curled up in my lap, shivering and breathing hard.

The vet did some x-rays.  You had pretty bad pneumonia in both lungs.  Even when the vet listened to your lungs he'd said they sounded clear, so everyone was surprised.  He also found that your belly was full of gas from you swallowing air while trying to breathe more oxygen in.  Your intestines were inflamed, he said from a "dietary indescretion".  We'll never know what had your intestines so upset, but our guess was that you had too many different new kinds of treats and maybe you'd eaten some plants in the yard.

Dad and I left you in the vet hospital's ICU, in the oxygen box to help you breathe.  They hooked you up with IV fluids, antibiotics, anti-vomiting meds, antacids, and some pain control.  Your oxygen saturation was at 97 percent.  We had to open a Care Credit account to pay for your hospitalization, but I was just focused on getting you home healthy.

After dinner a few hours later, my phone rang.  I recognized the emergency hospital's phone number and my heart began to deflate.  It was your doctor.  He said that despite all the treatment and being in an oxygen saturated environment, you were looking worse and your oxygen saturation was down to only 91 percent.  He suggested that we come back to see you and make a decision about your continued care.

We packed up the family and drove to the hospital.  You lay in the oxygen box on your side, belly clenched tight, head up on a folded brown towel.  You had an IV in your leg, a temp probe and an oxygen sensor attached to your lip, and you were shaking with the effort to breathe.  Your eyes were open, but not focused.  I put my hand in through the small opening in the plexiglas door and touched your velvet nose, rubbed that soft little hollow between your eyes, and then I held your paw while the vet talked.  He left T and I with you to make a decision.  I took my hand out after we'd talked, and went to go get the doctor.  T said to wait, that you were upset I was leaving.  She said you tried to get up, you lifted your head and looked for me.  I came right back, but my hand through the opening and held your sweet face.  You looked into my eyes.  At that moment, I thought you were asking me to not to give up on you.  I think that's what I wanted to believe.  We decided to give you a few more hours to fight.

We let my parents come in to visit you while we played in the lobby with E.  A few minutes later, the next shift vet came running out to get us - you'd begun trembling violently and barking out.  We rushed back in and I again placed my hand on your head.  You stopped barking, but I could feel the vibrations through your skull of you groaning and growling as your eyes rolled halfway under your silver lids.  I knew that you were done.  I knew I couldn't bear to watch you suffer a moment longer.

Gently, the vet asked me if this changed my decision.  Tears spilling down my cheeks, I nodded and croaked, "I can't ask her to fight like this anymore." He touched my shoulder before going and getting the meds he would need to help you go to sleep. A tech gently lifted you out of the oxygen box and placed you on a table, leaned up against my body.  Your little girl came in and she wrapped her arms around your neck and hugged you one last time.  She touched her forehead to your head, and then she waved at you and said, "Bye!" so brightly that it cut me down deep.  T carried her back out to my parents while you and I waited for the end.

I curled my arms around you, I kissed your soft head and I whispered how much I loved you and how wonderful you were into your ears.  T came back and held us both as the vet injected an overdose of anesthesia into your little body, and I felt all your weight slump into my arms.  He listened to your chest with his stethoscope and said quietly that your heart had stopped.  It felt like mine had, too.  Tears upon tears slid down my cheeks as I hugged you again and kissed you and stroked your wonderful face one last time.  I laid you gently on the table and left as quickly as I could after shaking the vet's hand.

The feeling of your warm body in my arms is all too real.  The scent of your puppy breath, of fresh dirt in your fur, they are stuck in my nostrils.  The memory of you doesn't even feel like a memory yet; 'It can't be true! She can't be gone!' my arms cry out.  I cried off and on the whole drive home from Phoenix.  I cried myself to sleep.  I woke several times during the night, convinced I heard your little voice again.  I cried myself awake.

Your toys were still strewn about the house this morning.  Your pen is still set up by the table.  E is still carrying around your dog bowl and pointing at the backyard, asking me, "Good girl?"  And I have to say, "No baby, Nova isn't here anymore."  And I cry.

I've gathered up your things.  They're in a pile.  I think I'll donate your blankets and puppy pads to a rescue group, and your puppy toys if the rescue will take them.  I don't know if I could bear to see them around the house for Manni to play with.  Your collar with your brand new tag sits on top of the pile.  Those I'll keep, though I don't know where.  You looked so beautiful with your periwinkle collar and your copper tag with stars stamped into it.  You only got to wear your tag for two days.  It should have been a lifetime.

I miss you so much it hurts.  But I thought you should know how very much you were loved.  I wanted so badly to do right by you, and I hope upon hope that I made the right choice.  And I hope that one day, I'll find you again, my Little Grey Dog.  You were a wonderful piece of our lives; you touched hearts and you will be remembered.

Goodbye, SuperNova.

Love always,
A

December 18th

A young woman, belly swollen tight with a full-term baby, feels the beginning of her labor begin.  It hurts her body; it hurts her heart.  She fights against the contractions, willing her body to hold tight onto that infant for just a bit more.  Not yet.  Don't take her yet. 

December 18th is the day of your birth.

Heralded into this world a week before Christmas, enveloped in sorrow and love and regret, you were born and became your own person.  You were given a name that nobody alive knows (or will admit they know).  You were cradled in the arms of a young woman who loved you desperately, though she couldn't keep you for her own daughter.  

Placed into the arms of another mother, you were left with a new family to grow up and discover yourself.  

Still, after all these years, you aren't much for celebrating your own birthday.  I cannot imagine how this day makes you feel.  When I was younger, I wondered how you managed to shrink away from a day that is, by definition, a celebration of YOU.  Now I realize that you don't see it as a celebration of you - not the whole day, at least.  In part, it's the day that changed the path of your life.  It's the day that you were given up by the person who is supposed to love you unconditionally.  It's a reminder of how many questions there still are, a memo that there's a whole other family out there who share genetics with you - a family that we have yet to find.  How could you celebrate yourself on such a day? 

But if you can't celebrate this day, know that I can and I do.  

I'm grateful for my biological grandmother.  I'm grateful for all the love and sadness she had in her heart for you.  I think that even as you grew inside her, you were already becoming part light and part darkness.  

You are the golden light that bathes the world as the sun sinks below the mountain tops. You see the good in all people, even when it's a single grain in a sea of rice.  

You are the blackness that shrouds the earth while she sleeps.  You hold your loved ones close and safe, while you shield us from the storm.  

You feel deeply; emotion flows thickly through your veins.  Your highs are higher, and your lows sometimes lower, than most. 

On this day, this 18th of December, I want to honor the person you've become.  I will think about the forty eight other December 18ths you've already lived, and wonder about who you were on each of those days.  I will hold your birth mother close, and offer that young woman in my mind a fierce hug.  Her story grips me; the idea of giving up a child breaks my heart and knowing that baby was you crushes me.  She had to be strong.  She had to be courageous.

And she imparted those qualities to her firstborn daughter.

You are kind.  You are generous.  You are loving.  You are empathetic.  You are passionate.  You are supportive. You are questioning.  You are enthusiastic.  You are interested.  You are selfless.


I admire you, Mom.  I love you dearly, and with each passing year I learn more about the depth of your personhood - and the more I learn, the more awe and respect I have.

Happy Birthday, mother of mine.  You are very special, and very important to me.  I hope you know that although this day is full of both darkness and light, I will always think of it as the day the world changed.  And I will always celebrate you.  

Imado (what I wanna do)

When I was pregnant, everyone wanted to know if it was a girl or boy, and then the name.

After she was born everyone wanted to know if I made through it without an epidural.

Once she was a few months old everyone wanted to know if she was sleeping through the night.

Now that she's over a year old, the question is "How much longer are you going to breastfeed?"

Do you want the short answer or the long answer?  I usually start with the short answer: I don't know. After an awkward pause I start rambling the long answer. It usually includes something about pumping and my work schedule, something else about sleeping through the night and teething. Sometimes I even go into the WHO recommendations and anthropological evidence that says "extended" breastfeeding is biologically normal. 

I'm not sure if it's there or if it is my own insecurities, but every time someone asks, I feel like the implied question is "Why haven't you weaned?" I feel defensive and judged. I have to convince them that I have actual reasons to continue breastfeeding and I'm not just lazy or "soft".

Part of it is that I'm not a pull-the-band-aide-off-quickly kind of mom. I don't like drastic changes, I'd rather do things slowly. That being said, the only change that I've made since she turned the magic age of one is that I don't stress about is anymore, or rather, I try not to. Most of my stress surround pumping and supply. I have a hard time keeping up with her when I work long hours, so we're introducing cow and goat's milk since we're quickly running out of frozen milk. I have to put in a lot of effort to not worry so much, and its really helping. I'm able to focus on work more and I don't threaten to throw my pump off the building anymore.

We've had an interesting journey to get here. It's been full of ups and downs, tears and smiles. Lately the smiles have vastly out numbered the tears and we are both happy with how our nursing relationship is. And its just that: OURS.

So whether or not you are judging me for nursing my one year old at the park/restaurant/work, it really doesn't matter.  The answer to the question is "When it seems right for us" and I don't know when that will be because it hasn't happened yet.

Having a milk break during her 1-year-old photo shoot

I can't wait... or can I?

Yesterday (well, two days ago, since its taken me so long to write this) I was writing in E's journal and was struck by a seemingly innocent idiom that I almost used. I wrote to her about growing up too fast. I remember being told as a child that I was growing up too fast, and I always hated it. I was getting older at exactly the same rate as everyone else, so it really didn't make sense that I was growing up too fast. Now I get it. As a child, or even young adult, everything seemed to be a count down to the next holiday or event. 113 days until Christmas!  Until your birthday! Until the last day of school! As the days get closer, the excitement builds. Months and years just seem too big to worry about, too abstract. I'm not sure when the transition happened, but now days are just too short to count. I count in weeks, or months. Sometimes even years. In 12 years, I will be the parent of a teenager. That's a scary thought... However, nothing seems to show the passage of time like a baby growing into a toddler, into a child, into a... well you get the point. The changes in our daughter over the last 12 months have been monumental.


As I finished writing about time slipping through our fingers, I started to close the journal entry. I told her how great the last year has been and then stopped myself before writing what I have seen written so many times before (and we even wrote on the slideshow!): "I can't wait to see what the next year brings." Yes, I am looking forward to getting to know my daughter as a toddler, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to be done with her babyhood. If I feel like she's growing up "too fast," then I need to stop focusing on what's next and enjoy what is RIGHT NOW!


For E's birthday party we chose a luau theme. In Hawai'i it is customary to throw luau for a child's first birthday, as much for the parent's survival and the kids! I have a co-worker from Hawai'i who said it is the biggest birthday party you every have, and you don't even remember it. We thought this was a great idea, but decided not to embrace the HUGE party idea, it would just be too much work and too overwhelming for a one year old. We stuck to just family and that was quite enough excitement!

Sharing her cupcake!

SPLASH!

A and her mom

What luau is complete without a grass skirt!?

E with her Poppa

Sitting on her new reading chair playing with her favorite toy- the bow!

I have spent a lot of time over the last few days remembering what we were doing exactly a year ago.  It was interesting to be able to put actual times to things.  As time has gone by, my body has forgotten just how miserable I was the last few weeks of being pregnant. It has forgotten how hard labor was.  I find myself thinking about our next child in terms of ME being pregnant, even though that's not the plan.  For some reason, this weekend I had a much easier time remembering what it felt like and why I was glad it is A's turn next. 

It's interesting switching gears to being the non-gestational parent, even in this early planning stage.  There's a certain invisibility that I'm simultaneously sad and excited about.  On one hand, there was a certain level of camaraderie with other pregnant women, and it made small talk a little easier.  But there was a point where I got tired of correcting people when they asked about my husband. And awkward moments that followed. Although with further thought, people will probably be more likely to ask questions when they find out I'm on maternity leave but wasn't pregnant. I guess you never really finish coming out; it's not a singular event.

On The Day You Were Born

by Debra Frasier

"On the eve of your birth
word of your coming 
passed from animal to animal.  

The reindeer told the Arctic terns,
who told the humpback whales,
who told the Pacific salmon,

who told the monarch butterflies,
who told the green turtles,
who told the European eel,
who told the busy garden warblers,

and the marvelous news migrated worldwide. 

While you waited in darkness, 
tiny knees curled to chin,
the Earth and her creatures
with the sun and the moon
all moved in their places, 
each ready to greet you
the very first moment
of the very first day you arrived.

On the day you were born
the round planet Earth
turned toward your morning sky,
whirling past darkness,
spinning the night into light.

On the day you were born
gravity's strong pull
held you to the Earth
with a promise that you
would never float away...

...while deep in space 
the burning sun
sent up
towering flames,
lighting your sky
from dawn until dusk.

On the day you were born
the quiet moon glowed
and offered to bring
a full, bright face,
each month,
to your windowsill...

...while high above the North Pole,
Polaris, the glittering North Star,
stood still, shining silver light
into your night sky.

On the day you were born
the moon pulled
on the ocean below,
and wave by wave,
a rising tide washed
the beaches clean for your footprints...

...while far out at sea
clouds swelled with water drops,
sailed to shore on a wind,
and rained you a welcome
across the Earth's green lands.

On the day you were born
a forest of tall trees
collected the sun's light
in their leaves,
where, in silent mystery,
they made oxygen
for you to breathe...

...while close to your skin
and as high as the sky,
air rushed in and blew about,
invisibly protecting you
and all living things on Earth.

On the day you were born
the Earth turned, the moon pulled,
the sun flared, and then, with a push, 
you slipped out of the dark quiet
where suddenly you could hear
a circle of people singing
with voices familiar and clear. 

"Welcome to the spinning world," the people sang,
as they washed your new, tiny hands.

"Welcome to the green Earth," the people sang,
as they wrapped your wet, slippery body.

And as they held you close
they whispered into your open, curving ear, 
"We are so glad you've come!""


Yes, darling child, we are so glad you've come.

7 months and 19 evenings ago, you arrived here safe and sound.  Your birth was the thing I've waited for the longest of anything in my whole life, and you've made me more whole than I knew I could be or should be.

Some days, kissing you and cuddling you and playing with you and telling you that I love you are sufficient ways for me to express to you how I'm feeling.

And some days, I feel that I could write you a letter that would let my pure, bleeding heart soak a whole ream of paper without really telling you of the depth of my love.

Your imperfections make you perfect.  Your need for me and Mom makes me feel vital and important.

The way you reach for me with tiny, chubby fingers and imploring eyes the color of a stormy sea make my insides melt and in that instant, I know that I love you infinitely more than I love myself.  And I love myself an awful lot.

Growing up, I remember my mother telling me that she loved me more than I could ever know.  At the time, in my childhood, I only recall feeling cherished and adored and always loved.  Now that I have a daughter of my own, I think I must finally know how much my own mother loves me.  I find myself whispering to Ever, as she's falling asleep, that I hope one day she'll know the full depth of my love for her.

Maybe I'm still learning about the depth of love that a person is capable of.

"The Talk"

Lately there has been a lot of talk about how we live in a "rape culture".  Victims of rape are being publicly shamed and blamed for being stupid enough, drunk enough, slutty enough to get raped.  As awful and wrong as I know it is, sometimes I even hear a little voice inside my head that says "Well, she really shouldn't have drank so much she passed out."  I've been trying to figure out where this voice comes from and I think it can be traced back to how our society approaches sex.

Today I was listening to the radio and they were addressing this issue.  They asked people to call in and tell how they talk to their kids about sex. Over and over I heard people say they teach their daughters that they need to set their boundaries and stick to them. They need to make sure they don't get in a situation where they don't have control. Their advice to their sons is that they need to respect those boundaries and not take advantage of women. That's all fine and good, but does that mean that it's acceptable for the males of our species have no sexual boundaries?  Why can't we focus on teaching all of our kids, or rather, society as a whole, that we should all respect ourselves and each other enough to know that rape in any form shouldn't be tolerated? Isn't teaching boys that it is okay for them to have no boundaries just making it worse?

I think it also relates back to gender roles. I have a hard time with the rules society places on gender.  I really feel like assigning qualities to be masculine or feminine doesn't do anybody any favors.  I know we've come a very long way, but let's not lose traction in progress because we're busy telling our boys to be boys and our daughters how not to get raped.

I have more to say, but I'm having a hard time organizing my thoughts today.  I promise my next blog will be on a more cheerful subject and include lots of pictures of my amazing daughter (who is crawling up a storm nowadays).

Sunday morning

It's been cold here lately.  The temperatures at night have dipped below freezing; the mountains surrounding our city are capped in snow.

When it's cold, for whatever reason, I feel more domestic.  More like keeping my home and my family cozy. More like keeping our home clean so we can cuddle up in it and not worry about how much the laundry is piling up.  For instance, this morning, before 9:00 am I: washed dishes and set the dishwasher running, wiped down kitchen counters, got E's first bottle of the day ready for warming, took out trash, set a load of baby laundry running, and played with our daughter.

Now I sit contentedly on the couch, my mind and body soothed by the gentle hum and swoosh of the dishwasher, the little grunts and sighs from a napping baby, and the snores of an aging dog - napping curled in a ball in front of the swing where the baby sleeps.  Our living room has a comfortable, amber glow to it emanating from one single lamp in the corner.

Inside these walls, life feels simple and kind.

Outside these walls, though... it's hard.  It's long hours away from home; it's the harsh reality of money being earned and spent; it's the stress of not seeing enough of my wife; it's a crying baby in the car while I sit, stuck in traffic, on my way to the grocery store.  I don't like to venture away from home on days like these.  Days where I have E to myself all day and there are no magical, milky boobs to fix things.  Days when home feels safe and outside feels far away.  But I don't always get my way.  Sometimes, you just have to go outside.

In the next few months is the busiest time for T.  She works long hours, long days, long nights.  Typically, I dread January through April every year.  I cannot even imagine how T feels about this time.  Last winter, she was newly pregnant and working these insane shifts.  I'm sure it was immeasurably hard for her, though she says it helped pass the weeks of nausea and general yuckiness that the first trimester offers.

These first few months of each new year are always a struggle for us.  Nobody gets enough attention, communication gets dropped, both of us get hurt feelings and feel driven away from each other.  It's not unusual for us to go several days without seeing one another while awake.

Now that E is here... I'm extra scared.  I worry that it's going to be worse than ever this year, but I hope that it won't be.  Every year, we tell ourselves that, THIS YEAR will be different.  We'll communicate better; it won't be so bad.  And every year, it still kicks our butts.

I fear that T is going to be really upset and feel like she's missing out on these months in E's babyhood.  I worry that E won't see enough of her mom, and that T's milk supply will dwindle and we'll have to supplement with formula.  I'm concerned that once T comes home at night, E will nurse all night long and T won't get any sleep.  I'm afraid that my inner demons and negativity will come crawling out of me and insist that I'm not good enough for my wife, and that's why she's never home.  That I am not enough of a mother to be the sole caretaker of our daughter, and that's why she cries.  That I can't make it through with my relationships intact.

Each and every year though, we have made it.  It usually involves a lot of crying and fights over stupid things because we each have stress pent-up inside that we haven't let out for fear of hurting the other.  We each try to put on a brave face, put up a wall, so it seems like we are tough enough and we aren't bothered by the long days and nights and loneliness.  But all those walls ever do is push us further apart.

Someday, maybe, we'll learn to show one another our vulnerability without worrying that we'll be judged as incapable.  You would think after eight years, we would be better at this.  But you would be wrong.



But for now, it's still Sunday morning, and life still feels simple and kind.  Except that I miss T, and I wish she were here with us.

E says hello.  

Non-Biological Perspective

I don't think there was ever a conversation between my wife and I about whether or not we'd have kids.  It was a given.  I can't remember asking T if she wanted children; though I'm sure we talked about it and realized we both wanted them at some point and it was never going to be a debate.

During the times that one of us would mention off-hand our future as a family with children, friends and family members often were curious as to how we'd accomplish that.  Inevitably, someone would laugh and say, "Oh, there's always a turkey baster!"  And that became the standing joke when the question of how we would achieve a pregnancy arose.  As a young lesbian, I didn't give it much further thought.  

A few years back, I found myself flooded in intense pregnancy-and-baby-wanting hormones.  It was all I could think about, talk about, dream about.  My wife was not in that place, and was daunted by my need for babies now.  

One of my most trusted coping mechanisms became research.  I researched anything and everything that could possibly be related to fertility, conception, pregnancy, birth, and most particularly, how to get pregnant when you don't have a male partner to bring the sperm.  It was in this way that I discovered the wide world of sperm banks and "assisted reproduction".  Whoa - did I suddenly have a lot to consider, or what?  

I'd kept T up to date on all my findings, and we knew we wanted our children to one day have the option to contact their donor, so no problems there.  We chose a sperm bank, we chose a donor (painstakingly, might I add), we chose a prenatal provider/birthing location.  We chose to have the sperm shipped directly to our home so we could attempt to conceive our child without a doctor or meds.  We chose to inseminate T first - she had better benefits and maternity leave options! 

At first, I struggled with the idea of not getting to be pregnant after months of yearning.  Then, I struggled with knowing that she would be first, and somehow, the two things were very separate from each other.  T was going to have morning sickness, and her belly was going to swell, and she was going to feel that baby inside her.  I had a short but intense bout of serious jealousy.  

Sometimes when things don't go as I imagine, I punish myself with negativity.  I think at times I'm really trying to cause myself pain by envisioning the worst and most hurtful things I can think of about the situation.  

"T is going to get all the attention because her pregnancy will be first.  Someday when it's my turn, pregnancy will be old news because we'll also have a toddler running around and people won't be as excited about me and my baby.  T is more special than I am, this baby will be more special than any babies who follow."

In the midst of countless conversations about adding to our family, I managed only to think that my darling wife was subtracting something.  How wrong of me.  And yet, at our cores, desire and jealousy are very human emotions.  I think it only would be legitimately wrong if I still felt those hurtful and negative things were true.  Time and experience are the greatest of healers.  

Once T became pregnant, we were unfathomably elated; full of so much joy it seemed we would burst.  Finally, I was going to become a Mama.  

Months into the pregnancy, my fears and doubts had been slowly rising to the surface and percolating until I began feeling some anxiety about parenting a child who wasn't related to me nor birthed by me.  In my years of helping care for my foster brothers and sisters, babysitting countless children, and even loving our own foster children, never before had I doubted myself so much.  

I felt like I drew the short straw.  It devastated me to think that T got all the advantage when it came to this baby.  She already was going to know this child when it was born, and I would be a stranger.  She got to feel every time the baby bumped around, every hiccup and startle.  She knew where the baby was lying, if she was asleep or awake.  Once the baby was born, T was going to be able to breastfeed her and soothe her while nobody else could.  I started feeling worthless, doomed to fail before our daughter even opened her eyes or took her first breath.  

Slowly, our daughter started feeling more like T's daughter.  The longer I fixated on all the things I wasn't going to be able to do, to help with, the worse it became.  Soon, the baby T had been so carefully growing was further from me than ever before.  The chasm was simply too wide to make the leap across.  

I tentatively reached out to other queer families, other parents whom I thought would understand and be helpful.  But all anybody had to say was to stop worrying.  "You'll be fine, you'll see."  It was incredibly isolating.  I stopped telling people I was worried about being a mom; I didn't want to be perceived as weak or scared, even though I was.  

As our daughter's due date loomed, I simply accepted that I couldn't tell the future.  I didn't know what I didn't know, so I might as well just wait and see what happened after she got here.  Despite my strongly-rooted concerns, I was really excited to finally meet her.  

T went into labor right on time and our daughter was born on her due date.  During the birth, I lay next to my wife and held her leg and sponged off her arms and legs and face with a cool cloth.  I watched with mounting happiness as our daughter made her way into the world and was laid atop T.  The midwife and the nurse rubbed the baby vigorously to get her to cry, and while they cleaned her up I noticed a disconnect within myself.  That baby couldn't be mine.  T looked at her, studied her face, touched all her little features, crooned soothingly to her.  I didn't feel jealous that she was holding her.  I had waited for so long for this baby, this moment, and all I felt was a disconcerting lack of desire to hold the baby.  

T looked up at me and asked, "Do you want to hold her?"  I could only manage to nod my head yes, and she passed me the baby, bundled in a blanket.  

I cradled her up against my body, as I've held countless babies before her, and I looked down into her dark blue eyes.  She saw my face; she saw me.   I think in that tiny thread of time when her gaze captured mine, she saw everything.  I was on display to her, and she changed me.  Something inside my daughter is stronger than the demons I had flooding my better instincts.  She told me that she needed me, and that more importantly, she wanted me. 

The dam burst.  

The wall fell. 

The mask shattered.  

All the barriers I'd been unconsciously erecting between me and our baby disappeared the night she was born.  I can see now, in retrospect, that I was trying to protect myself from the perceived threat of rejection.  Distance myself so that I might recover if this baby didn't claim me as one of her mothers.  

Suddenly, I found I was caught in a torrent of hope and joy and longing and relief.  Overwhelming gratitude.  I was swept away by the strength of what my heart had been waiting for my mind to finally see - that this child doesn't know anything different than having two mothers.  She only knows that she's got two moms who adore her.  One mom grew her and birthed her, and one mom waited for her and loved her all the while.  

Our daughter is going to be 3 months old tomorrow.  In that time, all she's really done is prove to me over and over again that I can do this.  That she loves me for me.  Every time I see her after getting home from work and I get a huge gummy grin, my heart melts all over again.  Every time I pick her up when she's upset and she stops crying, I feel proud and I feel validated.  

Now, that all having been said, I would be lying if I told you that there weren't still some things that bothered me about being her non-biological parent.  

It's unfortunate, but every time someone mentions how much she is like T, or her genetic relationship with T, it stings me.  I've tried to convince myself that a celebration of the person she is related to is not automatically a slam on the person she is not related to.  The pang of regret I feel every time T's supportive and loving family claims one of E's traits as their own is lessening with time, but it's still there.  It's not their fault that it hurts me, and I hope they realize that.  I believe that as E ages, she'll start exhibiting traits that she learned from me.  A quirked eyebrow, a certain phrase or way of standing on one leg.  Those things will undoubtedly make my heart sing and help in continuing to validate me.  

I've wondered about the day that E finally does get to meet her donor.  Will I feel inadequate?  Irrelevant?  Unimportant?  Somehow, I just don't worry about that part.  I don't feel threatened by the man who lives on inside our daughter.  I feel grateful.  I feel happy that someday E will have the opportunity to know him, if she wants.  I will have been given the pleasure and privilege to raise our beautiful daughter for eighteen years, and she's going to know the depth of my love for her.  Wanting to know her biological father can't take away my love for her, or her love for me.  

I think the most important thing I've come to realize is that I am a work in progress.  As E is learning new things all the time, I am also learning new things about myself.  I cannot know what's around the next corner, but I can control how quickly or slowly I walk, and how carefully or recklessly I decide to proceed.  My biggest challenge is getting out of my own way! 

Every single day, I get to watch this little life grow and change.  She is a gift, a person and a relationship I treasure and hold close.  Despite my many fears before her birth, she is every ounce my daughter and every day she shows me that I am every bit her Mama.  I am a better and a stronger person because of our Ev.  

Me and E at Thanksgiving