And then he was "free"

Last Saturday Zeben celebrated his third birthday. The fact that I am only just now, nearly one week later, recording this information, is actually in keeping with the whole celebration this year. Zeb had big plans for his "bird-day party" (he remains a committed bird-lover, and had fantasized about a bird piñata full of LIVE worms, among other fabulous bird-related party activities), but between the flu (which is rampant here) and the rain (why must it always rain on Zeben's birthday?), and the general state of things around our house (hello, disconnected woodstove in the middle of the living room floor), we forgot to invite anyone to Zeb's party, let alone make the piñata.

And, while the Martha Stewart Mommy inside me is sorely disappointed that I won't get a chance to present my "turn a pinecone into a bird-feeder" activity for a table-full of preschoolers, in my heart I feel like Zeb's birthday went exactly as I wish all birthdays in our family could go. It was mellow. There were balloons (this after Zeben woke up that morning and said, "it's not my birthday today. There aren't balloons all over the place"). And the now traditional birthday carrot cake. We let Zeben pick what to have for dinner (homemade mac & cheese), and invited a few very beloved family members over to help us celebrate. We gifted Zeben with a harmonica (and one for each of his big brothers too), and it wasn't wrapped, but it came in a case, and he loves it. And we had some bird artwork made for him as well (to honor his love of cardinals and blue jays).

three birds, three candles

so absorbed in the beauty of it all

what oh what to wish for?

birthday birds, made by local artist, Linda Ruel Flynn

loving the harmonica

Zeben, like many kids his age, likes to say that he is "free" now, which always makes me smile. In so many ways three-year-olds really do take on a new level of freedom via their increased independence. And I too, am feeling a bit more free these days, with Zeben happily staying longer days at preschool, going to bed (in his own bed!) early and easily, pooping on the toilet (finally!), getting out art projects for himself, and putting on his jacket without assistance. Three years ago feels more like 10 years ago. I can hardly remember my cuddly chub of panting baby. And I can't imagine how--so quickly, really--he's grown into this self-assured little person. Lover of tiny things (when trying to get hints out of me about his birthday present, he asked, excitedly, "but is it tiny?" in the same way that Luke and Jaz would have hoped for something BIG), lover of worms, lover of music and water, devoted brother, and adoring son.

I'm so proud of who you've grown to be.
Happy Birthday, Zeben!

Zeben Sky, one week old

Zeben Sky, one year old

Zeben Sky, two years old

Zeben Sky, three years old!

A bit of a birthday video
(fun to compare with the one from a year ago)

Flashback

Unless you have recently been reading through my old posts and happened across Leo's birth story (I'm guessing I'm the only one who re-reads that one every few weeks simply for the joy of re-living that day), you likely will not recall that when Lena was in early labor, she and I posed (mostly nude! Outside in our not-so-private yard!) for a local professional photographer. The goal was to get a photo of a pregnant lesbian couple to hang on the wall at Cradle, the maternal wellness center where I am now employed.

And since we've been quite busy ever since the photo shoot (after all, Leo was born a mere 15 hours later), we only just this week finally got a chance to visit with Sarah Prall, the photographer, at her studio, and see all of the pictures from that day. I'm actually really glad that it took us this long to schedule a viewing because it was so fun to get to see Lena's pregnant belly from our current point of view (which, at five months postpartum, can't really imagine that Lena was ever pregnant).

Sarah did an amazing job, and we are quite pleased with the results (in spite of the mullet hair-don't that I am sporting in the pictures (I did finally get around to cutting my hair about a week later, though at this exact moment it is, shamefully, creeping towards mullet once again)). We never would have considered having professional photos taken of ourselves, but now that we've seen what Sarah can do, we are ready to sign up for another session (this time with our kids as the models). Anyway, here are our top six favorites from Early-Labor Day (aka Leo's due date!):

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

We are going to have 3 of them printed on canvas, but need your help to decide which 3 photos to have hanging on our walls for the rest of ever. Please leave your top choices in the comments section. PLUS, Sarah (who is herself, a reader of this blog) has very generously offered to give 3 of YOU local readers $100 gift cards so that you guys can get some professional photos taken of yourselves! All you have to do to be entered in the drawing is to leave me your top picks (and please indicate that you'd like to be included in the drawing, and make sure you've left some way for me to contact you)!

Thanks!

My Leo

I have been struggling over the past several weeks to try and figure out what happened here. Why I can't seem to find the time to blog when really, truly, there is so much I want to say. I write blog posts in my head all the time. Walking to town. Biking to pick the kids up at school. Building chicken fences. Lying in bed in the early morning, surrounded by my sleeping--and sniffling--family. And of course I can easily think of a million reasons for why my words aren't making it into written form: the new house and the never-ending projects that come with it, the fact that I'm working outside the home now, or that Lena and I now have a day alone (with the baby) together every week, or that we've all been sick with this seemingly never-ending cough/cold, or that I've been letting the kids watch movies on my computer since the dvd player broke a few months ago, and thus it's less available to me. But really, I think the real reason for my absence in this space is that I've been a bit busy falling in love. And I've lost myself in it . . . in him.

Leo, 4 months

His name is Leo. He's nearly five months old. And he's mine.

I'm not sure when it happened exactly. Surely I've loved this baby since the moment he was conceived, maybe even before then. And when he first emerged, slippery and swollen and so, so beautiful, I felt his presence in my heart with a thud. Oh how I loved him. At the same time, in Leo's early weeks, I was tormented by how difficult it was for me to claim him as my own. After bringing three babies on to this planet and mothering them in a certain way, it was so hard for me to sit back and watch My Love with our fourth son, sleeping with him all day, wearing him and nursing him and continuing to be ONE with him as she had been for the previous nine months. All I could see was how different things were. I wanted so desperately to feel instantly as though he were my baby, and I didn't. I yearned for connection and attachment and the belief that even though he had not come from my body, he was every bit as much my son as Lukas, Jasper and Zeben.

I knew it would happen eventually, but I wished for a precise time line. I wanted someone wiser, someone who had been through this experience of gestational parenthood followed by non-gestational parenthood, to tell me exactly on which day I would feel like I was, indeed, Leo's Mother. The reality was much less predictable. Slowly, with each diaper change, burping session, and swaddling success, Leo and I began to know each other and to find a rhythm together. I think it wasn't until Lena went back to work and I began to have larger chunks of alone time with Leo (I officially have him 3 days a week, and sometimes bring him to work with me on my "off" days) that everything finally came together. I became more confident in knowing what Leo needed and when, and he became more comfortable with my baby-soothing methods.

I noticed small changes at first. That suddenly I was checking on him more when he was sleeping, worried that he'd stop breathing (an instinct I experienced with our first three children in the first few weeks after birth, but which was a couple months delayed in regards to Leo). I began to miss him more when I was away from him. I could feel love rushing through me when we were reunited at the end of the day. And I became less and less aware of the differences in the experience of mothering Leo, until, eventually, I never thought about them at all.

tandem nursing Leo and Zeb on the kitchen floor
(photo by Jaz)

Certainly my ability to breastfeed Leo has been a tremendous aid in our bonding process, especially for someone like me for whom mothering and breastfeeding are nearly synonymous. That said, I was surprised to realize a couple of weeks ago, when Leo went on a bit of a nursing strike with me (I think it was right when he really figured out that there was a difference between nursing with me and nursing with Lena), that it wasn't nearly as upsetting as I had anticipated it would be. I was disappointed and thought it was unfortunate to lose that parenting tool, but I didn't feel like less of Leo's mother without the ability to nurse him. I'd already learned plenty of other ways to soothe him and keep him happy, and I felt like we'd do just fine together without the option of my breasts. Thankfully, after a few days, Leo came to his senses and we resumed our nursing relationship (which is still mainly for comfort, or to tide him over in-between feedings with Lena). But it was a really good test for me. To see that I can, indeed, be a mother to a baby without nursing, and that it actually felt OK.

loving my baby up

There is still a difference, when I'm out and about with Leo, in comparison to my experiences with our other babies. Lena and I have decided that we'd rather she not express her breastmilk for Leo because we both believe that Lena and Leo should never be separated for more than 4 hours at the absolute longest (we try to keep their separations to 2-3 hours). And so, I have to look at the clock more when I'm with Leo than I did with the older boys. But I'm finding that it actually works out just fine. If I've gone to town for the morning, sometimes Lena will come in and meet me someplace to nurse the baby before returning to work. Or, I plan my outings in such a way that I have time to stop back home right when Leo needs to eat. Leo nurses less on the days he's with me than he does on the days he's with Lena (when he nurses at least every 2 hours, if not more frequently), but he seems to do just fine with making up for his missed feedings in the evenings. He really is just about the happiest baby ever, which I think is the best indicator that what we're doing is working. And rather than feeling frustrated at being tethered to My Love and her milkiness, I find I'm really enjoying how very cooperative this parenting arrangement is. It was never like this with our other kids, and I really regret that we weren't able to share more in the daily mothering of them when they were babies. And, as much as Leo enjoys getting a chance to reconnect with his Mama every few hours throughout her working days, I really enjoy getting to see so much of My Love as well. Everyone wins.

Leo, happy in Mama's sling

But falling in love with a baby does have its downsides. It's rather distracting. I may think that I'm going to spend the morning writing on the computer while the baby plays happily beside me on his sheepskin. But then he smiles at me. And I find him a tad irresistible. And my brain turns to mush. So I close my computer and join the baby on the sheepskin instead. Lots of lost time, but absolutely no regrets.

Despite my reduced amount of blogging time/attention as of late, I have promised myself that I will blog everyday for the rest of this month (FROM 11/18/09 through 11/30/09, so 12 MORE POSTS THIS MONTH!) in attempt to get myself back on track. Thank you so much for hanging in with me despite my prolonged absence.

Part Human . . .

. . . Part Elf.

Seriously, could this baby BE any cuter?

More on the outrageously adorable Leo,
non-gestational motherhood,
donor genes,
and cold-weather biking coming soon!
For real. I promise.

My Little "Wish"

our pumpkin family matches our real family

Zeben was all set to be a frog for Halloween this year, using the costume I bought for him last year at the consignment shop (but which he didn't wear then either, since his bird costume from the year before still fit--and being a bird is always a better choice over just about anything else), but at the last minute, after seeing me dressed in my witch costume, he decided that he wanted to be a witch too (these days, matching with mom is actually really cool). Except, for whatever reason, Zeb can't say "witch," so he told me that what he really wanted to be was a "Little Wish." Who could deny him that? One old black tank-top later, and Zeben, the little wish, was born.


We pretty much dudded out on Halloween/Samhein this year; we didn't even carve pumpkins! I had been planning to do a whole ceremony in remembrance of Gramma Kate, Lena's grandmother who passed away in September. But I think everything with the puppy and the fact that we're still not especially done unpacking distracted me. And instead Luke and Jaz wore slight variations of what they wore last year (Luke was the clown this time, and Jaz wore much of Luke's Zoro costume, although he called himself a vampire [and my mom, the queen of Halloween costumes, spent many hours altering the Zoro cape so that it would look like a vampire cape]), Zeb was the low-maintenance tank-top witch and a frog (different costumes for each of the festivities we attended), and Leo went as a really cute baby (which required very little costume).

Again, I was inspired by the fact that the kids seem to enjoy handing out candy to other children (they hand out the very same candy that they've just finished collecting) even more than they enjoy acquiring it. And they excitedly told anyone who would listen about how the Halloween Fairy would be bringing them books in exchange for their remaining candy the next morning (and the Halloween Fairy, unlike the absent-minded Tooth Fairy, actually remembered to deliver the books on time!). Luke and Jaz are both really on the cusp of learning to read right now, and I feel like we are getting a taste of the future what with all the practicing going on these days (I picture them sitting on the couch for hours on end with their noses in books). I love it.


Today Zeben started a new schedule at preschool. Instead of going 4 mornings a week, he will be going 3 full days (staying for nap in the afternoon, and getting picked up at 3:00). The other schedule just wasn't working out for us with our work schedules or our attempt at car-free living (Lena wasn't getting any alone time with Leo (something we both agree is important), I was only getting one day a week with Zeb, and we felt we were spending the bulk of each day commuting by foot). And even though this schedule makes so much more sense (I'll now have 2 full days with Zeb and Leo, Lena has 2 full days with just Leo, and Zeb gets picked up at the same time as Luke and Jaz, making commuting much simpler), it's a little hard for me to swallow the idea of my baby (and by baby I mean my 35-pound, nearly 3-year-old baby) being in school for such a long stretch of the day. My BIG wish is that he just takes this transition in stride, sleeps all afternoon at school, and continues to be the fabulous small person that he is.

Sometimes We Fail

Last Thursday, the puppy who lived with us for nearly 4 weeks, left in the arms of her new, ecstatic, human family. The rollercoaster that led to this decision leaves us now feeling both hugely relieved and utterly heartbroken. We feel sure that it was the right decision to make, though loving and losing is never easy.

We now know that I am apparently allergic even to hypo-allergenic dogs. And, as I suppose was predictable, we know that our children do not enjoy any chores that must be done on someone else's--namely a puppy's--time table. We have come to realize that there is a point at which even we--lovers of excitement and constant chaos--reach our limit. Sometimes too much is too much. Sometimes our hands really are too full. Sometimes we fail.

When Luke and Jaz were newly 2, Lena and I decided to become foster parents. Our dear friends had at that point adopted 3 children (they have now adopted four) through the state foster care system, and the stories they told us about some of the homes their children had lived in before coming to them were truly horrifying. Having been a stay-at-home mom for two years, I was itching to do something that would make me feel like I was making a difference in the lives of people outside our family. Our goal in becoming foster parents was to foster newborn babies who would only be in care temporarily before being reunited with their birth families, believing that even a few months--or weeks--of attachment and love would impact them indefinitely.

The process of getting licensed was lengthy and involved Lena and I taking evening classes, social workers making many visits to our house for interviews and home inspections, and collecting letters of recommendations from people who knew us well. While we were going through it, the vast majority of our friends and family members were trying to talk us out of it. My mother was so opposed to the idea that I didn't even tell her when we actually started the training. Everyone thought our hands were full enough with our twin toddlers and couldn't possibly understand why we'd want to add foster babies to our chaos. But I had a vision. And I had to try it out.

After nearly 6 months, we were finally approved. I got the call at about 10:00 a.m., saying that our license had come in to the local office. Two hours later, our social worker called back and asked if we would consider the placement of a 3-day-old baby boy. I first met baby Isaiah two hours later, in the parking lot of Stop & Shop (I remember wondering if Luke and Jaz--who went with me to pick Isaiah up--would be permanently confused about "where babies come from"). He was a teeny tiny thing, weighing only 6 lbs., with a full head of hair, dressed in a stretch suit that was much too big for him. The social worker who delivered him to me simply handed me the baby, along with a small, half-drunk bottle, and drove off, leaving me standing in a daze. I went inside the grocery store to buy some formula, and then drove to Lena's work so that she could meet the baby.

That night--our first night with Isaiah--I bathed him and studied every part of his perfect little body. I could hardly sleep all night, every time the baby would wake to eat, I felt I needed to examine him further. It reminded me of the night after Luke and Jaz were born. I wept for Isaiah's mother and wondered where she was and what she was doing, imagining her breasts overflowing with milk for her absent baby. Over the coming week I struggled between feeling like I needed to fall in love with Isaiah, so that he would feel real parental love, and feeling like I needed to protect my own heart. Caring for him was much harder than I thought it would be, the sleep deprivation from having to feed him bottles in the night was like nothing I had experienced breastfeeding twins, and the lack of postpartum hormones or opportunity to nap with him during the day (due to Luke and Jaz) soon made me feel like a zombie. It was also hard to keep sight of our original goals, hard to justify prioritizing this baby who would not be a member of our family forever. Luke and Jaz's needs always took a back seat to the baby's needs, and while this is easy to justify when adding a baby to your family permanently (in which case the boys would be gaining a brother), it was more difficult when the reality was that they were missing out on our attention and gaining very little in the long-term.

The social worker had told us that Isaiah would likely be with us for 3 to 4 months while his mom got herself back on her feet. But in actuality, Isaiah was with us for only 2 weeks, after which point the social workers had determined that reunification was no longer the goal, and Isaiah moved on to a pre-adoptive home. Heartbroken, but also relieved to get to sleep through the night and give my full attention to Luke and Jaz, we probably should have determined right then and there that fostering was not going to work out. Instead, not ready to admit failure, we welcomed a second baby into our home just a week or so later.

Bree was 10 months old at the time, and as sweet as can be. Her mom had voluntarily placed her in care while seeking medical treatment for mental health issues, and we were her second foster home in a week. In some ways caring for Bree was easier than caring for Isaiah, because she did sleep through the night, and readily drank her bottles (feeding Isaiah often took upward of 30 minutes), but it was also harder because her presence made more of an impact on Luke and Jaz (she could crawl and get into their toys, and required that anything "tiny" be put away). Luke and Jaz had thought Isaiah was adorable, but they did not like Bree. Everywhere I went with three little ones under age 3, I'd get the "wow--your hands are FULL!" comments (which, honestly, have been a constant throughout my mothering career), but at this moment, it felt really true. After a couple of weeks with Bree, I felt like it was honestly more than I could handle. We called the social worker and told her we were done, and sweet little Bree moved on once again.

As difficult as it was to admit our failure as foster parents, the calm that followed made our life seem exceptionally peaceful and easy. The tension I had been holding inside me was released and I felt myself relaxing for the first time in a month. I enjoyed my children in a way that I hadn't been able to in a long time and felt grateful for our family being just as it was. The experience of having--and then letting go of--Tula has felt remarkably similar. The fantasy both times was so wonderful, and the reality so much harder. And failing was so painful. Who gives away their kids' puppy? Who sends a baby on to yet another foster home? How can we justify these decisions? Announcing that we were wrong, that we had failed, was not easy. But ultimately, we had to realize that it is better to recognize our mistakes and rectify things than to go on living in an extremely stressful situation. Our home was not a good home for a puppy, who largely needed to be segregated from the kids lest she chew them up. And it was not a good home for a foster baby, who needed a family who could prioritize the baby's needs without guilt. Realizing that I am not capable of things that I WANT to be capable of is probably the hardest part for me. I want so badly to be able to take these kinds of challenges in stride.

So, we're back to being "just the six of us" and life feels doable and sunny again. We all miss Tula from time to time, but her absence is largely a good thing. The kids realize that she was more than they could handle, and Lena and I do as well. Jaz is saving his money for a pet lizard. Tula's new family--some friends of ours who live off the grid in a neighboring town--is so happy to have her and it seems that everything worked out as it was meant to, heartbreak and all.

The other day Lukas realized when we were half-way to school that he had forgotten to bring along his library book, which was due that day. I could sense the panic rising within him, and he and Jaz began theorizing about what his fate would be when he arrived at school empty-handed. I anticipated that he might flat out refuse to enter the building--Lukas is the definition of a perfectionist and prides himself on following every single school rule--but when we arrived, he surprised me by saying, "you know, everyone makes mistakes, mom. It will be OK."

And it was.

Where We've Been

I realize that I have a post with the exact same title from October of last year, and wonder if there's something about this month that keeps me away from the computer (indeed, we've been to some of the exact same places). Or if it's just a coincidence that things have been so super chaotic lately, and I haven't had a chance to attend to this space.

Some snap shots from the last few weeks:

I made French Toast for dinner while wearing two kids.

My family took a bath without me. And they all fit in the tub!

Leo was REALLY happy.

Because he learned to sit!
(Leo, nearly 4 months old)

Zeben looked for lots and lots of worms (and found a few).

We walked about 20 miles, to and from school.

We went apple picking at my grandparents' house.

We picked lots . . .

. . . and LOTS of apples. Seven bags full.

Jaz took a picture of Lena and me (and Leo).

And I tried to capture our whole brood looking happily at the camera.
And nearly succeeded.

I've cut back on work hours as of next week, and have reduced the chaos in our lives in other ways as well. I'm hoping to break the blog silence with a very post-heavy November. Thank you for not giving up on me and my little blog.