Country Walks

We've taken to long walks (we being Luise, Jack, David's mother, Angela, and I), and so far Scotland is cooperating beautifully, weatherwise. There have been a few hours of sun nearly every day, and the temperature has been perfect--warm enough that you only need a sweater, cool enough to keep your cheeks rosy. It's a good thing too, because with the way we are eating the clothes I just started fitting into would be too tight if we didn't get some exercise.

The routine seems to be a pub lunch, followed by a long walk in a place where we can push Jack in the stroller. (He, by the way, is a miracle baby, and hasn't slowed us down in the least. He is content to sit and play with his hands while we eat, and content to watch the trees go by while we walk. He is well behaved even when surrounded by strangers--in fact at the wedding he fell asleep in his stroller and we stayed out until eleven! Not late by the standards of my youth, but pretty damn impressive with a baby. I'm not trying to be smug posting this; I am just blown away by how lucky we are. Which of course means that our second child will be a hellbaby, as karma dictates. But I digress.) Anyway, here are a few shots of the past couple days:













At night we laugh, talk, and eat. Oh, and drink. A lot. David's father, Kerry, is a member of the Scotch Malt Whisky Society, and the other night he took Luise and I to its headquarters in a Georgian Mansion, where you can taste drams of whisky and eat by the fireplace in various rooms of the house. I, of course, loved this, and even enjoyed the whisky, which I drank with a bit of water as is proper.



Just look how proper I am:



And artsy, too!

Finally, a few spare moments...

It's quite hard finding time to write over here. Yesterday Luise and I were out all day in town, then out all night pub-hopping. I held up remarkably well considering the hangover I woke up with yesterday. Needless to say, I had a good time at the wedding. The bride and her family, as I said before, are very close friends of David's family. In fact, David's father was the best man, and also gave the bride away, at her parents' wedding thirty years ago. The father of the bride, one Angus MacInnes, is most well-known for playing Gold Leader in Star Wars. For those of you as dorky as me, that is pretty awesome. But lets not forget that he was also the bad guy who dies in the silo in Witness, the sergeant who finds baby Hellboy in Hellboy, and a slew of other memorable characters. In their house I took a couple snaps of his office, where he keeps the scripts from the movies he's been in:





And the man himself:



And here are a few shot of the wedding (or at least the cocktail hour), including one of baby Jack belly-up to the bar. Don't worry, we didn't let him drink too much.

'Allo, mates!

It's been terribly busy the past few days, as we've shuttled Jack to and fro to show him off to everybody (to great success, obviously, as he is perfect). Today my dear friend Luise arrives from Berlin, to keep me company here as David, poor soul, has to return home tomorrow and go back to work. Luise and I haver tried to see each other once a year since we left Israel, and we've done pretty well so far. And since a flight from Berlin to Edinburgh is a whopping 70 Euro, well, we just couldn't pass up the chance for her to meet Jack (and David, for that matter!) She'll be staying with us at David's parents, who have kindly opened their doors for strays, and we'll live it up in Scotland as best we can with a baby--starting tonight, at the wedding of David's pseudo-sister Anna. My first Scottish wedding! Though I've been told there will be no kilts, as only a "tit" wears a kilt to a wedding, apparently.

Ah, Scotland

We've been having a lovely trip so far. When I left this place a year ago I was pregnant and had just gone off effexor, meaning my mental state was cloudy and miserable (to say the least). So it's wonderful to be reminded how much I like it here. In fact I'm ready to come back for a while, or at least ready to leave Cleveland. A year ago, it's the only place I wanted to be, and now my itchy feet have come back with a vengeance. So even if it lasts only two weeks, a mini Scottish adventure is just what I needed.

Besides the Big Surprise birthday party for David's father on Sunday, we've been seeing as much as we can of Edinburgh and the countryside. On Tuesday, we headed down to the borders, where David grew up, to the pretty little village of Peebles.





That's the River Tweed Behind me there:



We also stopped at Traquir, an old Scottish country house...the oldest continuously inhabited house in Scotland apparently.



But we didn't bother going in; we just walked around the gardens and grounds.



And David and I tried, unsuccessfully, to conquer the maze:

200 posts!

I planned to do something special for my 200th post--a number many blogs reach within two years but a feat that has taken me six--but it will have to wait for post number 201, as I am about to depart on a walk through the Scottish countryside.

We arrived in Edinburgh last Saturday, here to surprise David's father for his 70th birthday party. We showed up at the party with wee Jack and entered right before he gave his birthday speech, and for a second he was, er, speechless. Mission accomplished. Pictures to follow.

I have missed this place.

Some Thoughts

So there's a woman, Anita Tedaldi, who's making waves for her "heartbreaking" choice to give up her adopted son after eighteen months, because they had failed to "bond." Forgive all the quotation marks here, but outrage at her words is hard to express without them. What's even worse about the tale is that she manages to lay the blame on him, saying he (he being a tiny, tiny baby) wasn't attaching to her.

Huh.

So she returns him. Kind of like how I returned those jeans that were too tight on my ass and too loose on my waist. Yeah, I thought I liked them, but turns out they weren't a good fit.

I believe in adoption. I believe in an institution that takes someone who is alone in the world and places them into a loving family where they can forever belong. I also believe that for it to be valid at all, there must be no difference between an adopted child and a biological child. Because if there is a difference, then there is really no such thing as adoption. If there is a difference, then all we have are people agreeing to be stewards, not parents.

But that is the utter idealistic side of me. The realistic side recognizes that there will always be a difference; it simply cannot be denied. But the key is that the difference--an emotional and evolutionary difference that cannot be helped--has to take a backseat to what should be the same (and what can be helped): commitment. You cannot guarantee that you will love the child you adopt as much as you love the child you gave birth to. Would that it were so, but you cannot. What you can guarantee is that you will give the child as much love as you give the child you gave birth to. Because the love we give and the love we feel aren't always the same thing. I'm sure there are plenty of parents (I'm sure I will be one of them) who don't always feel love towards their children, not when they're being spoiled brats, not when they get caught shoplifting, not when they act snarky and mean and terrible, as most of them will at some point. But there is a commitment built on blood that can never be denied. The adoption commitment may not be built on blood. Instead it is a commitment built on sweat and tears, based on a shared vow instead of a shared genetic makeup. It's a more difficult commitment--and one that I already know I am not prepared to make--but it is just as strong.

That being said, it is important to note that, for all I've just written and all of my sarcasm, I don't judge Ms. Tedaldi for giving back her child. I can't judge her without being a hypocrite. People make mistakes. Things get overwhelming. Vows are broken. These things happen every day. Maybe it was too much for her. Maybe a biological child of the same nature would have been too much for her (though I doubt it). I understand that, sometimes, we just can't do it.

My anger lies in the semantics of the story. I am angry that she is explaining herself to the world. That she feels the need to hold up her hand and say "I'm a failure" (because she does admit that) while at the same time quietly justifying her actions. She admits to failure, but at the same time she refuses to admit that she has done anything wrong. Failure is not the same thing as contrition. She may be a practical failure, her essay screams between the lines, but she is certainly not a moral failure!

Ultimately what she wants is for people to think that what she did was not so terrible--that in fact it worked out for the best for everybody. He got himself a better family, she learned how to be less judgmental. It was a learning experience. My problem is that it was terrible. It was human, but it was still terrible. And to me there is quite a difference.

It goes by so fast.

My baby is five months old today. When he was born, the city was just flirting with spring. Now the leaves are turning colors and falling from the trees outside. Another season, another time of firsts for Jack--first autumn, first Halloween, first Thanksgiving. It's like getting to relive my own firsts, only better.

Days of Awe

Yesterday was Yom Kippur. I only attended the final service, as I still have an aversion to long religious services, but it was lovely. I've been going to a conservative shul here, something different for me, and it's like having to relearn everything. I am accustomed to the orthodox service, the orthodox chazan, the orthodox prayer book. I was completely lost for most of the service, until a nice woman handed me her machzor (prayer book) and told me where we were.

I broke the fast at one of the member's homes, a place where I've been a few times for Shabbat and the Holidays. It was very nice, good food and good people, but I still feel like I haven't found my place in the Jewish life here in Cleveland. Where are the misfits? The weirdos? The ultra-creative? The ones with the dark sense of humor? David would say that these people wouldn't be in a synagogue, and he's probably right.

I suppose I'm alone among the people I most identify with in my love of religion. And I use "religion" for lack of a better word. I hate "religion" actually. I don't trust an iconoclast, I fear the mob mentality, and most organized anything tends to struggle with corruption. But I also love "religion"--the rites, the rituals, the community, the yearning to be a part of something larger than yourself, the fumbling search for truth, the chasing after meaning, a semblance of order in the chaos. When I read Life of Pi, I loved and identified with the main character, who was secretly a part of three different religions because he found them all so beautiful. I secretly harbor a love for many religions myself.

It's the fact that each one claims to KNOW the truth that I can't stand. For me the meaning is in the search, and anyone who claims knowledge smells of hubris to me. Here I am, an ex-evangelical missionary, a converted orthodox jew, the last one you'd expect to be critical, but that's where I stand.

Anyway, this is a much longer post for a much more thoughtful time. The High Holidays are a time for reflection, but that's one thing that is lacking greatly from my life at the moment. All I'm worried about now is just getting through it. And finding a place here, somewhere.

Things I have learned this week:

1. If I don't blog in the morning, it's not going to happen.

2. Even though I remind myself constantly to pick up my groceries at the parcel pickup when I leave the store, if a single thing distracts me (the cell phone, a cute puppy) I will drive home without them. And have to go all the way back.

3. The song "Tutti Frutti" is vigorously copyrighted and cannot serve as the background to my home video on youtube or facebook.

4. Jack + Solids = Sleeping through the night. Seriously, four out of five nights this week he's slept from 7 (ish) to 7 (ish). A miracle!

5. Having a car, even for a week, is like becoming a god. I feel that powerful. You know, when I can go, like, wherever I want.

6. Jack is developing a flat head. Attempts to get him to sleep on his side and/or stomach have failed. Have resorted to massive amounts of tummy time, and the child barely leaves his bumbo. Pictures of child trying to release himself from Bumbo Death Grip to follow. As soon as I catch one.

I think he likes it...

The sweet sound of silence.

My baby is asleep. He has been asleep for nearly two hours, and this morning he slept for an hour and a half. This has been going on for a few days now. After weeks and weeks of trying desperately to get him to fall asleep for naps--and stay asleep for longer than 40 minutes--I think we may have done it. I don't want to hold my breath, but it looks like we may have a real Nap Time going on here.

I never wanted to be the type who ran home when it was Nap Time. I never wanted to be the crazy woman who adhered vigorously to a regimented schedule and ran her home like a military base. I scoffed at this woman. I was better than this woman.

Oh, the hubris!

For if this is indeed true--if we have finally achieved this glorious thing--then I shall become That Mother. I shall be rigid--nay, religious!--about Nap Time. It shall be a sacred space, guarded with a passion bordering on fundamentalist zeal. It shall be a place of peace for Mommy, and cursed be he who endeavors to disturb it. Cursed, I say! For to my son, it is merely Nap Time, but to me, it is Nirvana.

And ye who have no children can button thine lips.

Love Woes

We fought last night. Not a big one, barely a blip on the blowup radar actually, but a fight nonetheless.

Here's the thing with David and me. We never fight about ACTUAL problems. Practically, we get along perfectly. We don't fight about who does what, we don't fight about the baby, we don't fight about all the myriad everyday things normal couples fight about. Instead, we will have long, drawn out screamfests over THEORETICAL subjects. Such as the time we watched the movie 300 and David said he thought it was stupid to die for a country or a cause, that survival was more important than a shared belief, and I accused him of being a coward (I was pregnant, remember) and of not caring about anything enough to lay it all on the line or some such nonsense. This fight lasted for hours, people.

The crux of the problem? I am an idealist. I cannot express this enough. I see life entirely through these idealistic lenses, and it colors every choice I make. So when this idealism comes up against David's equally strong sense of realism, there is trouble. Big T trouble. Because to him, my idealism should more correctly be called naivete, and to me, his realism should more correctly be called cynicism. And I hate cynicism more than anything in the world; I see it as an enemy to happiness. But whatever, that's a rant for later.

The point is we go head to head over entirely unimportant hypothetical situations. Mainly because we feel threatened by the other's position, threatened by the idea that we could have possibly chosen a life partner who goes against everything we stand for. An understandable reaction, but for one small issue: We actually agree on most things.

How to explain this... The fact is, I am an idealist, but most, if not all, of the people I like and care for most are of the sarcastic/cynical/realist persuasion. That's because I'm an idealist, but not a simple idealist. Because when I meet simple idealists, those starry-eyed, head-in-the-clouds, self-important dreamers who insist the world shape to their standards, I get extremely irritated. I find them exceedingly pedantic, and yes, naive. I prefer the idealism that has to feel its way through the dark, that is prepared to compromise when necessary--not for selfish gain, but because the world we live in is unpredictable and doesn't follow any set of perfect laws. Idealism cannot be championed at the expense of reason.

And as for David, he may be a realist theoretically, but he is a closet idealist (as many cynics are). He is passionate about justice, about fairness and kindness, about making the world a better place. But, like me, he gets annoyed by people who can't seem to see the world as it is.

So we put each other into these categories, and hear the argument of the category instead of what's actually coming out of each other's mouths. With that stupid fight over 300, it took us hours to realize we were saying the same thing: We both of us would have died to save Jews in World War II, a cause worth dying for, but we neither of us would die for the abstract notion that is "America"--whatever that means.

I think in some way we don't trust each other. We look on everything the other says with suspicion, as it comes from someone who professes a different world view than ours. It's fascinating, really. Because even knowing this, we can't seem to get out of the pattern. So while our practical lives roll on in harmony, our mental lives are always in conflict.

Even this post is dull.

I once read that depression is a crisis of energy. Truer words were never spoken. Because no matter how much I blame my messy surroundings, my lack of sleep, my up-and-down relationship--or any of the other things that weigh heavily on me--for the fact that I just can't bring myself to do anything, the fact is there is no real reason. It just is. And like the chicken and the egg, my boredom leads to depression which leads to boredom and on and on ad infinitum. In the past, this is when I would leave (and as you can see by previous posts, I'm already planning my escape). But now it's not just me and a backpack. There are two whole other people to consider. So it's to be Cleveland for a while.

Which is not to say that I'm unhappy. That's the strangest thing. Every individual battle I've had with depression or anxiety has been a different shape. And this one, the postpartum blues, is different than any other. Because I don't feel sad or anxious. Just a shade duller. A few shades maybe. And so bored that nothing sounds like fun. My baby makes me happy. Little pockets of every day are filled with joy. But overall postpartum depression is a treadmill, a hamster wheel, a long patch of treading water. But I'm still afloat, and I can see the shore from here, and there's my little family there, waiting for me.

Recently Discovered Poetry

Picked this up, again, from Authentic Threads, she of the Healthcare post. It reminds me of things, vague, forgotten things.

Look: no one ever promised for sure
that we would sing. We have decided
to moan. In a strange dance that
we don’t understand till we do it, we
have to carry on.Just as in sleep you have to dream
the exact dream to round out your life,
so we have to live that dream into stories
and hold them close at you, close at the
edge we share, to be right.

We find it an awful thing to meet people,
serious or not, who have turned into vacant
effective people, so far lost that they
won’t believe their own feelings
enough to follow them out.

The authentic is a line from one thing
along to the next; it interests us.
Strangely, it relates to what works,
but is not quite the same. It never
swerves for revenge,

Or profit, or fame: it holds
together something more than the world,
this line. And we are your wavery
efforts at following it. Are you coming?
Good: now it is time.

-William Stafford

House Woes

I love our house. I love that we have a place that's our own, where no one can tell us what to do, where we have space to spread out and freedom to be creative. I love it.

That being said, so far I haven't been able to get out of my short-term mentality. Normally, I descend on a place, work furiously until it's exactly how I want it, and then, thus settled, feel like I can begin my Real Life. But with a house it is different. A house is an investment, a labor of love--a journey, not a destination, if you will. But I still see this place as a short-term stop, and I want it to be DONE. Now. The fact that it is not done has stopped me from "living my life," whatever that means, feeling at home or being productive or what have you. Were we here long term, it wouldn't feel that way. It would be a journey, with twists and turns and unforeseen curves along the way, and I would delight in that and take my time. But we're here for a few more months at the most, and the work to be done weighs on me like a mini-albatross.

So why did we buy a house, you say? If we weren't planning on settling down? Number one, it's an investment in the financial sense. Our mortgage is cheaper than rent. And with an FHA, we put less down on the house then we did on our car. So it just made more sense, especially in a city where houses are going for practically nothing. Plus I was pregnant and needed to feel the ground beneath my feet in a way I never needed before, someplace with a foundation that felt like home. Trouble is it's taken months longer for it to feel like home than usual, if only because it consists of about 800 more square feet than I'm used to. Not including the yard. Did I mention the yard? Oh my heavens the work that is a yard. We've basically just let ours go. Our "flower bed," if you can call it that, is home to weeds the likes and size of which I have never seen, weeds I am afraid to approach, weeds with long complicated names and a particularly aggressive nature. I leave them alone.

But I digress. The point of this is that I've been sticking my little toe in this blog for months, testing the water, but never taking it seriously--or anything having to do with my creative, inner life--for months, waiting until I felt At Home and Real Life could finally begin. But yesterday I finally threw up my hands. This house may never be done the way I want it to be before we leave it. But I am not going to let that stop me from writing every day, and from doing what it takes to feel like myself again. I need it. Daily maintenance, piles of laundry, wild dustbunnies--unfurnished rooms and unpainted walls and unhung pieces of art--all of it be damned.

On Health Care

I've been thinking a lot about healthcare. Just remembering how easy it was for me in Scotland when I found out I was pregnant. I was scared - I was a foreigner with no insurance. Only, in Scotland, there is no such thing as no insurance. People can say anything they want about the NHS: All I know is that I walked into a hospital, filled out a form, and was given an appointment with a doctor. I had my first ultrasound in Scotland, courtesy of the NHS. Had I stayed, I would have had the same number of prenatal visits, personal appointments with midwives, free babycare classes and birthing classes, and whatever delivery style I might have chosen at no cost: midwife, OB, water birth, natural, epidural, whatever plan I wanted.

When we came back here, no private insurance would take me as I was already pregnant. Nobody would hire me for the same reason. Luckily, after jumping through a thousand hoops and BECAUSE I HAD NO MONEY, and parents willing to give me a place to stay, I got Medicaid, which thankfully covered everything. But had David and I married? No Medicaid. Had we even lived together? No Medicaid. Had I worked anywhere other than Starbucks or Wal-Mart? No Medicaid. And thousands of dollars in debt.

We need Universal Healthcare. We NEED it. It's embarrassing that we DON'T have it. As the daughter of two doctors, I have grown up against it, filled to the brim with the myths of why it's such a bad idea. But my parents, unfortunately, will never have my perspective. Their healthcare is a given, for the rest of their lives. But I think they fail to remember that they have four daughters, none of whom are doctors, two of whom are currently uninsured. How can they be against this?

Anyway, pulled this from a blog, Authentic Threads, and thought it worth a read.

8 ways reform provides security and stability to those with or without coverage

1. Ends Discrimination for Pre-Existing Conditions: Insurance companies will be prohibited from refusing you coverage because of your medical history.

2. Ends Exorbitant Out-of-Pocket Expenses, Deductibles or Co-Pays: Insurance companies will have to abide by yearly caps on how much they can charge for out-of-pocket expenses.

3. Ends Cost-Sharing for Preventive Care: Insurance companies must fully cover, without charge, regular checkups and tests that help you prevent illness, such as mammograms or eye and foot exams for diabetics.

4. Ends Dropping of Coverage for Seriously Ill: Insurance companies will be prohibited from dropping or watering down insurance coverage for those who become seriously ill.

5. Ends Gender Discrimination: Insurance companies will be prohibited from charging you more because of your gender.

6. Ends Annual or Lifetime Caps on Coverage: Insurance companies will be prevented from placing annual or lifetime caps on the coverage you receive.

7. Extends Coverage for Young Adults: Children would continue to be eligible for family coverage through the age of 26.

8. Guarantees Insurance Renewal: Insurance companies will be required to renew any policy as long as the policyholder pays their premium in full. Insurance companies won’t be allowed to refuse renewal because someone became sick.

Learn more and get details: http://www.WhiteHouse.gov/health-insurance-consumer-protections/

8 common myths about health insurance reform

1. Reform will stop “rationing” - not increase it: It’s a myth that reform will mean a “government takeover” of health care or lead to “rationing.” To the contrary, reform will forbid many forms of rationing that are currently being used by insurance companies.

2. We can’t afford reform: It’s the status quo we can’t afford. It’s a myth that reform will bust the budget. To the contrary, the President has identified ways to pay for the vast majority of the up-front costs by cutting waste, fraud, and abuse within existing government health programs; ending big subsidies to insurance companies; and increasing efficiency with such steps as coordinating care and streamlining paperwork. In the long term, reform can help bring down costs that will otherwise lead to a fiscal crisis.

3. Reform would encourage “euthanasia”: It does not. It’s a malicious myth that reform would encourage or even require euthanasia for seniors. For seniors who want to consult with their family and physicians about end-of life decisions, reform will help to cover these voluntary, private consultations for those who want help with these personal and difficult family decisions.

4. Vets’ health care is safe and sound: It’s a myth that health insurance reform will affect veterans’ access to the care they get now. To the contrary, the President’s budget significantly expands coverage under the VA, extending care to 500,000 more veterans who were previously excluded. The VA Healthcare system will continue to be available for all eligible veterans.

5. Reform will burden small business: It’s a myth that health insurance reform will hurt small businesses. To the contrary, reform will ease the burdens on small businesses, provide tax credits to help them pay for employee coverage and help level the playing field with big firms who pay much less to cover their employees on average.

6. Your Medicare will be cut: It’s myth that Health Insurance Reform would be financed by cutting Medicare benefits. To the contrary, reform will improve the long-term financial health of Medicare, ensure better coordination, eliminate waste and unnecessary subsidies to insurance companies, and help to close the Medicare “doughnut” hole to make prescription drugs more affordable for seniors.

7. You can't keep your own insurance: It’s myth that reform will force you out of your current insurance plan or force you to change doctors. To the contrary, reform will expand your choices, not eliminate them.

8. The government will take control of your bank account: It is an absurd myth that government will be in charge of your bank accounts. Health insurance reform will simplify administration, making it easier and more convenient for you to pay bills in a method that you choose. Just like paying a phone bill or a utility bill, you can pay by traditional check, or by a direct electronic payment. And forms will be standardized so they will be easier to understand. The choice is up to you – and the same rules of privacy will apply as they do for all other electronic payments that people make.

Learn more and get details:
http://www.WhiteHouse.gov/realitycheck
http://www.WhiteHouse.gov/realitycheck/faq

8 Reasons We Need Health Insurance Reform Now

1. Coverage Denied to Millions: A recent national survey estimated that 12.6 million non-elderly adults – 36 percent of those who tried to purchase health insurance directly from an insurance company in the individual insurance market – were in fact discriminated against because of a pre-existing condition in the previous three years or dropped from coverage when they became seriously ill. Learn more: http://www.healthreform.gov/reports/denied_coverage/index.html

2. Less Care for More Costs: With each passing year, Americans are paying more for health care coverage. Employer-sponsored health insurance premiums have nearly doubled since 2000, a rate three times faster than wages. In 2008, the average premium for a family plan purchased through an employer was $12,680, nearly the annual earnings of a full-time minimum wage job. Americans pay more than ever for health insurance, but get less coverage. Learn more: http://www.healthreform.gov/reports/hiddencosts/index.html

3. Roadblocks to Care for Women: Women’s reproductive health requires more regular contact with health care providers, including yearly pap smears, mammograms, and obstetric care. Women are also more likely to report fair or poor health than men (9.5% versus 9.0%). While rates of chronic conditions such as diabetes and high blood pressure are similar to men, women are twice as likely to suffer from headaches and are more likely to experience joint, back or neck pain. These chronic conditions often require regular and frequent treatment and follow-up care. Learn more: http://www.healthreform.gov/reports/women/index.html

4. Hard Times in the Heartland: Throughout rural America, there are nearly 50 million people who face challenges in accessing health care. The past several decades have consistently shown higher rates of poverty, mortality, uninsurance, and limited access to a primary health care provider in rural areas. With the recent economic downturn, there is potential for an increase in many of the health disparities and access concerns that are already elevated in rural communities. Learn more: http://www.healthreform.gov/reports/hardtimes

5. Small Businesses Struggle to Provide Health Coverage: Nearly one-third of the uninsured – 13 million people – are employees of firms with less than 100 workers. From 2000 to 2007, the proportion of non-elderly Americans covered by employer-based health insurance fell from 66% to 61%. Much of this decline stems from small business. The percentage of small businesses offering coverage dropped from 68% to 59%, while large firms held stable at 99%. About a third of such workers in firms with fewer than 50 employees obtain insurance through a spouse. Learn more: http://www.healthreform.gov/reports/helpbottomline

6. The Tragedies are Personal: Half of all personal bankruptcies are at least partly the result of medical expenses. The typical elderly couple may have to save nearly $300,000 to pay for health costs not covered by Medicare alone. Learn more: http://www.healthreform.gov/reports/inaction

7. Diminishing Access to Care: From 2000 to 2007, the proportion of non-elderly Americans covered by employer-based health insurance fell from 66% to 61%. An estimated 87 million people - one in every three Americans under the age of 65 - were uninsured at some point in 2007 and 2008. More than 80% of the uninsured are in working families. Learn more: http://www.healthreform.gov/reports/inaction/diminishing/index.html

8. The Trends are Troubling: Without reform, health care costs will continue to skyrocket unabated, putting unbearable strain on families, businesses, and state and federal government budgets. Perhaps the most visible sign of the need for health care reform is the 46 million Americans currently without health insurance - projections suggest that this number will rise to about 72 million in 2040 in the absence of reform. Learn more: http://www.WhiteHouse.gov/assets/documents/CEA_Health_Care_Report.pdf

He laughs...

Trouble in Paradise

David and I are much, much better than we were. I am stabilizing somewhat, he is stabilizing somewhat, we are beginning to enjoy each other's company again. But still, when I think about how I felt about him in our first year together, compared to how I feel about him now, it makes me sad. I love him, of course I love him, but gone is that feeling I once had, beaten to death by the twin clubs of Pregnancy and Depression. 

It doesn't feel like I thought it would when I finally found the one I was meant to be with. I thought it would feel like freedom, like an exhale, like winning the lottery. Instead it feels like struggle, like a sigh, like walking a long distance. I don't mind walking, but where am I going? When will I get to rest?

I guess I always wanted to be with someone who I felt was out of my league. And the brilliant thing about it would be that he would think that I was out of his league at the same time. So we would both feel like we'd gotten lucky. With David I am perfectly matched - In that he is my equal in every way. In strengths, and in weaknesses. He is no better than me. But he is no worse. It's like the gods playing a joke. You think you're so great? Here, try living with yourself. Ha! In my fantasy The One was always better than me, but somehow he would see something in me, a diamond in the rough, and that would make me better.

But it's a double-edged sword, isn't it. Because what I loved most about David from the beginning was that I felt like I had known him forever, and that I felt like I could show him the most humiliating bits about myself and he would never laugh at me, and never judge me, and never think less of me. He felt like a long lost friend, and the most intimate of lovers, all at the same time. My, but it was bliss! Because the truth is, if you're with someone you think is better than you, the reality is different than the fantasy. Because the reality means you are always insecure, and when you are insecure, you can never be your true self. And with David, the one thing I am is my true self. 

Unfortunately, my true self is not always the best version of myself. And again, in my fantasy, with The One I would ALWAYS be the best version of myself, he would bring it out in me, the best of who I am. David has done that, certainly, but he has also brought out the absolute worst. And generally, when the absolute worst in me comes out, I move on. Because then I can be the best version of myself with someone else, at least for a little while, until the bad stuff comes out again.

I talk myself in circles, I know it. I need to start a new blog, one that deals with all these questions, with what True Love is for someone like me, someone who is, in the end, desperately difficult. I have a feeling that what I will discover is that True Love is simply one thing: Staying.

Still stumbling around...

Mostly I'm in a daze lately. I don't do well under the weight of maintaining everyday life. If you look back on my blog I've lived most of the last ten years out of a suitcase, so having a whole house, a dependent baby, cars and bills and all the entrapments of "normal" life often leaves me feeling paralyzed. My most productive times have always been the times when I was least stable, owned little, and only needed to concentrate on a few things. Here I am staggering. It makes me want to take off for another adventure, bringing both my boys with me, and sell off everything I've collected.

Time to get back on the saddle.

So I've basically taken two months or so of maternity leave on this blog, and it's time I started up again. It's just that, before, I could write about my travels and adventures, and now there's just, well, not so much to write about. For instance, my to do list for today:

1. Call Roy the appliance guy cos my washer mysteriously stopped draining water.

2. Do some laundry should said washer be repaired.

3. Mop. The. Damn. Floors. Already.

4. Google why my two-month-old is drooling like a faucet.

5. Doctor's appointment for aforementioned drooly boy. First shots! Eeek!

6. Pick up entire contents of closet from bedroom floor.

7. Breastfeed. Like, a lot. Luckily, have rented multiple movies to make it go faster.

Well folks, that's it. Compelling? Certainly. I wouldn't be surprised if this post alone picks up a couple hundred hungry readers.

Happy Fourth of July!

The fourth of July is not only about this:



In my family, it is also about my Dad, who turns 63 today...



And it's also about my brother-in-law, who turns a whopping 30 today...



Happy Birthday to you both!!

Two months of Jack

Our first photo as a family



 

Jack Henry, born at 7:26 PM on April 30, 2009. 8 lbs, 11 0z, 20 inches long



He came via C-section, after 19 hours of labor (thankfully I had an epidural), four hours of pushing, and a few unsuccessful attempts to vacuum his poor head out of my hoo-ha.





 

 

We took him home



 

We gave him a bris (he didn't cry at all!)



 

And he just grew and grew.













Happy two month birthday, little man.

What a Father Looks Like

 



 



 



 



 

How do Mommy Bloggers post every day?

I can barely manage to post this photo!

Happy Mother's Day

Welcome to the world, little boy!

It's official. I'm a mommy!

I went into labor Wednesday evening, and got to the hospital in the wee small hours of Thursday morning. Details of the birth story later... For now let me just say welcome to the world to my little boy, still awaiting a name, weighing in at a whopping 8 lbs, 11 oz. and 20 inches long. He is awfully cute. We might keep him.

What's real is real

"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain."                  Kahlil Gibran

Yesterday I was reading Rebecca's post "The Almost Divorce" over on Girls Gone Child. Her blog is one of the few I found during my frenzied Internet search for other unmarried women who found themselves pregnant.  I've taken a lot of comfort from her story, especially her love story. She got pregnant with a man she'd been dating for only four months, and they decided to elope to Vegas and make it work. The key word here being "work." Because apparently the first two years were so rough that they were on the brink of splitting up most of the time.

In my case, David and I were together for a year and living together for four months when we got pregnant. We were also older, and in a more stable financial position. So this should have made it easier on us I suppose. But in reality this pregnancy has been unbelievably hard on our relationship. I have never been more in love with anyone than I was with David before I got pregnant. But somewhere between going off a strong antidepressant, living with radical hormonal changes, and surviving months of uncertainty through a particularly cold and depressing winter, I lost a lot of that feeling I once had. We have had fights so frightening in intensity that they make me feel like I want out. Glaring and seemingly irreconcilable differences between us have appeared from nowhere. We disagree constantly, we bicker endlessly. In fact I've never been in a relationship that has felt this difficult.

So when I hear about Rebecca and her husband now, how they weathered a storm every bit as powerful as the one we're going through, came out the other side, and love each other all the more for it, I feel quite a bit of hope that there is something salvageable here. Because when I'm not concentrating on the negative things about David--a horrible habit I've developed--I can see the wonderful things about him and something vague makes its way into my heart, something like the memory of love that promises to return. I sound awfully melodramatic here, but then melodrama has been part of the problem since I peed on that damn stick. Anyway, the point is, some people are lucky right away. Love comes easily to them, their partnerships are relaxed and tender and easygoing, they wax poetic about how much they love their significant others on blogs much more uplifting than mine. But it's not like that for all of us. Some of us have to fight for it, circle and spit and growl and conquer each other--and ourselves--all at the same time. This is my love story. It's not perfect, but it's mine, and hopefully the fight will lead to love far greater than anything I might have had that came free of struggle.

All dilated up and nowhere to go

So now I'm four centimeters dilated and eighty percent effaced. That seems like quite a lot to me--should mean he could come anytime now, you'd think. But apparently some women walk around with their cervix wide open for weeks with no results. I fear I may be one of those women. It's gotten to the point where it is difficult to talk about anything else. Try as I may to steer any conversations away from my enormous belly and its contents, people just can't seem to stop staring and asking questions. It's like a train wreck. They can't tear their eyes away. It's just so vulgar, this belly! So blatantly ripe! So impossible to ignore! Ah, pregnancy.

I am 32 years old today

I was looking over some of my older posts, and found one from  my 27th birthday back in 2004. I was living in Israel, a poor student with a great set of friends from all over the world and most likely a nominal drinking problem. I was still a born-again Christian. I was still dating dear Jef. I was the same and I was entirely different. In the five years since, I have survived two failed relationships and entered The Relationship, left behind the religion of my childhood and converted to Judaism, lived in New York with another set of wonderful friends from all over the world and a slightly worse-than-nominal drinking problem, lost a job and fled to South America, nurtured The Relationship long distance before finally moving to Scotland, got pregnant unexpectedly, and moved back to my hometown with my love and his child inside of me. All in all I'd say it's been an eventful few years. How did my life bring me here? And where will I be in five years time?

I have always wanted to be a mother, and at 32, surprise or no surprise, I've actually had quite a late start. I wanted to live my life first, do daring and extraordinary things, take risks and make bold and irreversible choices. I wanted to have a life defined by intimacy and adventure, and void of shame and regret. And I feel like I've done a good job so far of living that way. But the problem is I am not done. I want to continue living that way. And as I turn another year older and get closer and closer to being a mother, there's always that fear, a little niggling anxiety, that I won't be able to. Because my old lifestyle, in a way, required a dogged and innate selfishness to achieve. Not in an "I'm more important than you" way, but in an "I'm not going to compromise because people think I should" way. But now it's not just me. Suddenly it's me, and it's David, and it's a little boy, and they matter more than I do, and compromise is inevitable, loving, and necessary. It's natural, and it's a whole new adventure, but it's still scary. It's my birthday and I'm just not ready to give up myself yet.

Still no sign

I don't think he has any intention of coming out early. He seems quite comfortable to stay inside me forever. Even though at my last checkup I was 1 or 2 cm dilated and 70% effaced. Even though his head has dropped low and now rests, lovingly, in my pelvis, so that it feels like I'm walking around with a grapefruit between my legs. In spite of these signs, the rest of his little body is clinging tenaciously to my ribs (I think he's wrapped his legs around them) in an effort to Stay. Exactly. Where. He. Is. To be fair, it's a lot to ask for a first baby to come early. But I just want what's left of my body back.

Not that we're actually ready for him. The changing table is in a million pieces on the nursery floor. The crib is on back order until May. The name situation remains unresolved. Margot and Shannon are pushing for Henry, David's choice, and while I admit it grows on me, I stil have my feet firmly planted in a different camp. (A SECRET camp! Sorry). A mother knows her child! I know what he wants to be named! But anyway, there's that. Plus we haven't organized the diapers (apparently this is an important task), ordered a breast pump, or finished packing the damn bag. Most importantly, we haven't found a mohel. 

Ah, the mohel. For those of you who don't know, this is the guy who snips the Jewish baby boys on the eighth day. It has to be on the eighth day, so planning is critical. But there's a little glitch in my planning. You see, I never picked up my conversion papers from my Rabbi in New York. Don't ask me why, I just was always afraid to, as if in obtaining them I would have to go through another session with the beit din, asking about my commitment to Judaism. This means I have no proof of my Jewishness to give to a Mohel, who normally simply asks for your parents' Jewish names. Which mine obviously don't have. So I called my Rabbi (I was shaking) to ask for them. He was terribly surprised that I didn't have them, but agreed to look for them without so much as an "Are you still keeping kosher?" This is good, as I didn't want to mention the fact that I am having a baby out of wedlock with a man who is only half Jewish (the wrong half).

Unfortunately, my papers appear to be lost. To remedy this I had to call the other Rabbis on my beit din, the original signers of the Declaration of Rebecca's Jewishness, and get them all to sign it again. They agreed to, but getting three Rabbis together is, oy vey, quite a struggle. It took me two months to organize my mikveh! So now I am waiting for my papers to be faxed, at which time I can go for an orthodox mohel. If I don't get them in time, I'll have to go reform. Not that I have anything against reform, but when you're a convert you want your life events to be as kosher as possible lest anyone question you (or in this case, my son). More on this "who is a Jew" stuff later. For now, suffice it to say that this is a pretty big stress on me, and pretty much the only good thing about my son staying put for now.

I am ready for this baby to come out now

So I have managed thus far to avoid stretch marks, but now, at almost 37 weeks, tiny little lines are starting to appear around my belly button. Which itself has admirably refused to pop out. However it appears to have done so with considerable effort, as the area around it is purple. Purple. The same color as my linea negra. Which, by the way, is crooked. A normal linea negra is straight as an arrow, a permanent but at least symmetrical reminder of childbearing. Mine is rebellious. Punk rock. It looks ridiculous. In fact, everything about the way I look is ridiculous. People constantly tell me, as they have told pregnant women from the beginning of time, how wonderful I look. I do not look wonderful. I fear I will never look wonderful again. Or maybe I will, but I will never be the same. This is nothing new. I am not the first to sit and moan about it. But it is new to me, and the fact that it is entirely out of my control, in spite of the gallons of tummy rub butter and truckloads of fish oil, is hard to deal with.

But of course I know it is worth it, he will be worth it. But perhaps he could be worth it in the next couple days? Before the stretch marks turn as purple as the war zone that once was my navel? Before my hips FALL OFF in the middle of the night? I swear they are hanging on by one small but very determined nerve. But the number one incentive for him making an early debut: My sisters are all in town. They came for my nephew's first birthday, and all has been chaos. So much so that I am actually not prepared at all for the baby coming early. But I'm not as against it as poor David, who turns white as a sheet at the though and starts insisting that he's not ready, that he hasn't even packed the hospital bag yet (he is FIXATED on this bag, as if it represents All That Is Fatherhood), that he hasn't read any of the books, that we don't have enough diapers. All of this is true, but I sincerely doubt it will be less true in three weeks. There is just too much to do, and he works too hard and I have too little energy or actual ability to move to get it done. I make endless lists in an effort to feel less overwhelmed, but every time I cross one thing off I add three more.

So having my sisters here, while it has been a huge distraction and I've basically accomplished nothing in Project house nor Project Baby since their arrival, is a good thing. Because if we don't manage to pack that bag? We can just call them and tell them to rustle things up and bring 'em to us. If we don't get that bedroom painted? We can hand them some rollers and leave them to it. If we don't have enough diapers? Why, they won't sleep until they've stocked us up. They are whirling dervishes entirely prepared to be at our beck and call IF ONLY THIS LITTLE PERSON WOULD COME OUT SO THEY COULD MEET HIM.  Before they fly home next week. So I am ready. More than ready. Nearly desperate.

Snow in April. Lovely.

After a few weeks of almost Spring, winter has of course come out with one last dying gasp. Outside there is what is hopefully the last blanket of snow I will see for a long time. I am ready for some sunshine.

I am also ready for this baby to be out. Pregnancy is a magical time, but it would be just as magical if it were, oh, one or two months shorter. More magical, I submit. Because there is so much I want to do, and I just can't. I am not, not have I ever been, comfortable with the word can't. I'm more than happy to throw the word won't around, but can't? As in, am unable? No, no, no. And right now I can't go more than a few hours without a serious rest. I can't make it through an entire night actually sleeping. I can't  fid the energy to clean my house, let alone paint and finish furnishing. I can't do everything. 

David is being wonderful, however, at picking up my slack. Over the weekend he surprised me with a trip to the spa for a manicure and pedicure, which felt so good on my swollen feet I almost fell in love with him again. He also routinely carries anything and everything that must be carried, does all the dishes, keeps the house clean, and forces me to lie down and take it easy--albeit a bit more angrily than tenderly--but I suppose I can be a bit stubborn.

Things are better between us. At least they're stable. It's a whole other post to explain the strange dynamics of this the most important and currently most infuriating relationship in my life. Best summed up right now by this little example: The other night we got in a huge fight over the baby's name. For a long time we were hovering around James Kerry for the baby, James for my grandfather and Kerry for David's dad, but even then we were just hovering and couldn't quite attach ourselves to it. Then we get the family phone-chain call that my cousin Marne had finally produced her week-late son... and his name, dear friends, was James Gary. JAMES GARY. Which pretty much cancels out our plans. At first I was pretty upset, but seeing as I was having doubts it may have just been the sign I was looking for. So after much soul searching, I thought I had landed on the perfect name. I shared it with David, who not only point-blank refused, but who laughed in my face. This made me (hormones, people) very angry, and resulted in a large screaming match that went something like this:

Me: You just hate it because I like it!

Him: No, I hate it because it's a stupid American name.

Me: You suggested it originally! You just forgot and now that it's MY idea, you think it's stupid! Because you hate everything I like!

Him: This is because you have horrible taste!

(Unintelligible screaming, declarations of "you poop on everything I love" and "we're so incompatible" and "how can we bring a child into this world", etc)

Me: I wish you weren't so terrible.

Him: I wish you weren't acting like such a cow.

Me: You're calling me a cow now?

Him: No, I said you're acting like a cow.

Suddenly I found myself struggling not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Struggling, and failing, and then we were both laughing, and he was chasing me around the house saying "come here, I love you," and I was all "(snort) no, I'm still mad (hiccup), I hate you (guffaw)" and the like. Yeah. So that's pretty much us right now.

One April Fool

It's now been nearly five months since I've written anything on this blog. For those of you who don't know, the dark days of October and November were due to the unexpected arrival of an embryo in my womb, lovingly placed there by my boyfriend the day I arrived back to Scotland. Those dark days turned into even darker days as we moved back to Cleveland--more specifically, moved in with my parents--and settled in for four months of terrible winter. We were pregnant, unemployed, living with my parents, and cold ALL THE TIME. It was very, very unpleasant and not much worth documenting. But we have made it through to Spring, and things are looking up. Coming back to this blog is, in  a way, like coming back to myself after a long and painful absence. Where have I been the past several months? What have I been doing? Surviving, I suppose. But that's just not enough to satisfy me anymore. I'm done with surviving. I'm ready to live again.

Here goes nothing.

I feel so much hope for my country.

David and I just got back from our highlands tour, and I promise to catch up with pictures and posts as soon as I can. For now though, just want to say how happy I am. We stayed up in our bed and breakfast in Inverness on Tuesday night until 5 am, watching the results and Obama's speech and history being made. It's hard to be away from home at times like these, but to be honest this election was a global phenomenon. People were celebrating in the streets here, and in countries all over the world.

It feels right to be going home now. Especially since David's dad can come visit, since he said he wouldn't step foot in the States if McCain won.

Why do I always leave the depressing ones up so long?

I feel a bit better. It's been rough, mainly because I went off the Effexor. For lots of reasons that I'm not quite ready to sure with the blogosphere just yet. But I am on my way to wellness... David is taking me back home. It's not that I don't love Scotland, because I do, or that I haven't had a great time here, because I have, it's just that I have no place here yet. I am here, on a tourist visa, for a boy. I have no other reason for existing here. I'm not doing mission work, I'm not studying, I'm not working. And that kind of purposeless existence is a recipe for mental disaster when it comes to my complicated psyche.

So we are going back home. In two weeks. I have lived in David's hometown, now he will live in mine. Yes. we are returning to Cleveland, there to stay for a year or so. After that, who knows. But at least I will be able to work in an actual job and feel somewhat useful and not like a lump of cold oatmeal. Hooray!

Will we come back to Scotland? Most likely. I want to give this place a chance, a real chance, when I have a proper visa and can really make a life here. Stay here permanently? Not so sure about that. I need the sun! But everything is up in the air for the moment, except the fact that I am going home. Home!