Monthly Archives: August 2008

In Defense of the Cake Man

My mom said I made Cakie sound really bad.

That was not my intent. He is, and will always be, a really good guy.

His behavior on vacation was just waaaay out of the norm for him. He didn’t even throw any tantrums. We did not need to call Nanny Jo. His head was not spinning around and he did not speak Latin backwards.

not cakie!

Not cakie!

He did, however, test us pretty much every time we opened our mouths. This is very unCakelike indeed.

Now that I’ve had some time to reflect on it, I think a huge number of circumstances all combined to make him testy. I’ve had both boys home with me this week since daycare is closed (I’ve been sending Cakie to daycare while I’ve been home to give Trucker one-on-one attention.) I thought it would be difficult but Cake has been very well-behaved.

I realized at some point that while we were on vacation, Cakie’s sugar intake had increased dramatically. He had a lot more people around him than usual. He was in a strange house in a strange town. And, er, we didn’t really have much sleep so I’m sure we looked to him like our heads were spinning around and we were speaking Latin backwards.

My mom gave me a few discipline pointers and my honey and I started a tough-love no-second chance regime. He’s almost back to normal. (Me, too!)

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Gory Vacation Details

Actually, the vacation wasn’t all that bad. Here are some things that went wrong, and a few that went right.

Wrong:

  • Cakie turned into a limit-testing maniac. Other people were there to watch as we tried to learn how to deal with our new son (not the newborn one, the shape-shifting three-year-old throwing things across the room and talking back like a teenager.)
  • The town where mom’s vacation club dropped us was a Hassidic vacationland. My big old gay, bi-racial family felt a little like fish out of water. It would sort of be like if a Hassidic family’s vacation club set them up with a week in P-Town during the white party or a drag event.
  • The lovely house had a creek running through the backyard. The bank of the creek had a sheer eight-foot drop to the rocks below. So, even though we were in a house with a yard, our son could not run around alone exploring nature. We may as well have been in an apartment.
  • We didn’t get much sleep.
  • I had thought it would be great having my mom and brother around to deflect the kid/baby work, but I ended up feeling guilty for handing the baby/kid over so often. I’m sure grandma and uncle enjoyed every minute (or most of the minutes) of it, but I still felt bad.
  • Cakie had a bunk bed. My poor mom had to sleep on the top bunk all week. The bed kept breaking, with the slats falling out and making a loud noise, but nobody crashing to the floor or on top of anyone else.
  • There appeared to only be four towels for six people.
  • Very limited internet access. 😦
  • Aside from the public pool, all of the fun places to go were a car ride away. It took me several hours each morning before I could get my whole family into the car, by the time we were in the car, Cakie was ready for a nap.

Right:

  • The house really was lovely, though it could have used a thorough cleaning.
  • The house had a very nice porch upon which we spent many hours watching the trees and people on the street.
  • I grilled on a barbeque for the first time myself. Now I know why it is a favorite past-time of butch dykes ’round the world. The flames licking one’s wrists make it feel very adventurous. I made some very tasty corn on the cob and some over-done burgers.
  • The one day I tried to go on a hike, we ended up driving half-way up the mountain. The views were lovely, as if we actually had hiked somewhere. We ate our picnic lunch and drove home in time for Cake’s nap.
  • They had a cute lake nearby with a “beach” on it. It was no ocean, but we enjoyed it.
  • The whole family went out to eat at a great restaurant that was both fancy AND family-friendly in a way that I have yet to encounter within the city limits of New York.
  • I got to read more than three pages of my book.
  • We had a washer-dryer!
  • I ate lots of bacon.
  • No mosquitoes. And it wasn’t very hot there.
  • I do love being with my family, even when we are a little stressed-out.
  • Trucker and I figured out the breastfeeding thing! I mean, we really got it down. We deserve a diploma or something. (The girls still hurt a little, but they are so uppity at their recent success, that they don’t even feel it.)

When we packed up to leave, I felt a little sad. But when we walked back into our house I was elated.

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Dear Trucker,

I’m copying ohchicken. I’m going to write letters to my baby. Though I can’t promise I’ll do it every month. And I’ll have to post it over at momtourage because I’ve been neglectful of my fellow blog mamas over there. Lame. Absent. Can’t keep not blogging over there. So click on the link to read the letter. Thanky.

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I’m Baaaaaaack!

Back from the most stressful vacation I’ve probably ever had.  I recommend, if you have a newborn and an older child who just turned three and decided, suddenly, to morph from a sweet agreeable child to a limit-tester extrodinaire to NOT  I repeat NOT go on a week-long vacation in the Catskills with your extended family.

Trust me on this one.

More later.  I missed your butts.

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Mountains

Hey kids!

I’m on vacation with my kids, honey, mom and brother in the mountains.  I have limited internet access, so it may be a bit quiet here this week.  But keep checking.  You never know what’s going to pop out of this blog-obsessed head of mine.

So far I’ve had one sleepless night, one sleepful day and a whole lot of crankiness on my part that scares me because it makes me think my period is coming back.  That is not allowed.  Not yet anyway, please!

Going on vacation with a newborn and a three-year-old is weird.  There isn’t much to do.  I’d like to go on a little hike, but I’m not even sure if I should, being still in my last official post-partum week.  We’ll go to a lake that has a fake beach nearby.  There’s a playground down the street.  It is just weird.  Having kids changes your life and it really changes your vacations.  I can’t wait for them to be big enough to do more adventury stuff like hiking and rafting and biking.  I’ll do my best to be zen and enjoy throwing rocks into streams with them now.

Peace out, folks.

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The Clomid Twins Award!

If you came here to find out how you can have/avoid having twins using Clomid, please scroll down.

Everybody else… one of the things I love about the blogosphere is the mutual admiration society. I love you! Now, love these other seven people and link to their blogs. And link to my blog. Because we all love each other. And it is true. Yes, it is very chain-lettery. Yet it does not annoy the hell out of me the way a chain letter does. I think because chain letters yield nothing, while spreading-the-bloggy-love meme-type things at least give me some hits on my blog and let me know that my invisible friends have been thinking of me.

Eggdrop my hopefully-soon-to-be-knocked-up bloggy friend gave me one such a nod by nominating me for a brillante award. I never win anything. But a nomination nod sure is sweet. Thanky, mamacita.

So, I’m supposed to nod to seven other blogs. This is not — I repeat — not a chain letter. 😉 I’m going to shake it up and nominate some of my bloggy friends who are not in the TTC / gay parenting sphere. And a few who are….

First and foremost, call it nepotism, I don’t care! I nominate goldengrrrl. She’s semi-retired. She’s vivacious. She’s in love with her GPS because it doesn’t get mad at her when she makes a wrong turn. She’s also my mom. And she’s been blogging regularly since she remembered her password and figured out how to gain access to her dashboard. For that, she totally deserves an award.

Next, I bring you my good buddy lifebelowtheline. She’s a woman at the bottom of the film industry totem pole. Literally, she’s at the bottom of a pole, a boom pole. She’s pretty darn funny. Check her out.

Wanna learn about wombats? Hedgehogs? Vet tech school? Check out danator at delectatio morosa. She never fails to crack me up. What I don’t get is how my former roommate who used to be so adverse to cleaning the litter box is now training to become a vet tech and working in zoos and whatnot. Talk about animal body fluids. Sheesh.

That was only three… hmmmm…

Ok, I’m not nominating myself here. But there are three other moms who blog with me at momtourage. They are crafty, clever, design savvy and about as bamboozled by motherhood as yours truly. Plus, I don’t blog enough there to pull my weight, so the least I could do is give the other moms a little love.

On to the IVP

I heart Chicory. I heart her so much that I’m writing a book with her, even though I never met her irl before. So I nominate her.

The mother of my future daughter-in-law (should both children prefer to court the opposite sex,) oh chicken. How could I not?

And, I’m sure she’d get lots of nominations for any kind of award, but I don’t really care. By virtue of her daughter’s cheeks alone, I’d nominate her. She got me to look at lesbian co-parenthood in a whole new light. Add her flowy academic wit to the mix and I’d say she’s pretty brilliante: lesbiandad.

Here’s the rules. BTW this seems way more meme-like than award-like. I’m noticing that I have conspiracy theory tendencies, though. And I always do snopes for any alarmist email I receive. Not that I have a problem with memes. I like ’em. Anywho, the rules:

Okay, gals, now it’s your turn:

1. Put the logo on your blog.
2. Add a link to the person who awarded you.
3. Nominate at least seven other blogs.
4. Add links to those blogs on your blog.
5. Leave a message for your nominee on their blog.

Now I’m going to do something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. See, every time I look at my blog stats — EVERY TIME — someone has found my blog by goo.goling “Clomid Twins.” They want to have twins. Or they want to not have twins. They just want to know how likely it will be to have twins should they pop this particular pill. I wrote a post about how my buddy Gwen and I both had to take Clomid at the same time, so I called us the “Clomid Twins.” Not unlike the Wonder Twins, but more moody. So I want to answer your question here. Once and for all!

Will Clomid give me twins?

(Disclaimer: I am not a doctor. I simply surf the web well and have done infertility treatments myself, so I have discussed this with a doctor. Please take this information with a grain of salt. Thank you.)

The answer? Maybe. But not very likely. If you are taking it under the careful direction of a doctor, the chances are about 10% that you will get pregnant with twins. They are even lower for triplets or more. That, and the ease of taking the drug compared to other fertility treatments, might be why Clomid is so very popular.

If you are one of the people (puzzling to me, but to each her own) who wants to have twins or more multiples, you might want to shoot for follicle stimulating hormone injections such as Menopur. They stimulate the follicles to produce more eggs. The doctor can’t really control how many eggs come out. They can cancel a cycle if there are too many eggs. Or they can adjust your dosage. But that is all. It ups your chances of twins to about 30%, according to my doctor before he prescribed it to me. That number stayed in my head for quite a while. I had to feel totally comfortable with the idea of twins before I took that first shot. And I’m not a multiple-birth seeker. They are very complicated pregnancies, more often than not resulting in c-section, always requiring an epidural, often ending in miscarriage. They usually result in pre-term births with very low birth weights and a stay in the NICU. Plus there is the after-they-are-born stuff to deal with: the expense, the exhaustion, the sheer number of diapers involved. In addition, I already had a son and I didn’t want him to have to compete with two newborns for attention. And I didn’t want to have to move to New Jersey, where we could afford a larger home. But I sat with it and I gave myself the shots with the knowledge that I have lame-a$$ eggs. I was pretty sure they would continue in their lame-a$$ way and only get one fertilized. One totally-not lame-a$$ egg was fertilized and one rockin’ baby resulted.

So that’s it, folks. My unabashed attempt at getting even more mis-directed hits on my blog, while providing some possibly-useful, if not officially-accurate information. I have no shame.

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What a Difference a Day Makes

Yesterday I did something that made me feel like a gold-medal breastfeeder. (Cue Olympic theme song!) I was running around, trying to get everything ready for Cakie’s Diego 3rd birthday party. (I’ll upload a shot of the Diego cake later.  I’m no Charlotte, but I can bake a theme cake!)  So I was running around while the baby napped.  Then he woke up.  I threw on the Moby Wrap —  a sort-of body macrame baby wearing device, and continued my running around with Trucker tied onto me, so I could use both of my hands. (If you watch the video link, you’ll see that you can’t really “throw” it on.  Imagine me doing it while the baby cries, and the wrap looks all sort of twisted and unkempt.) Usually, he just falls asleep in the wrap, but this time he was making little grunting noises.  When I looked down, I saw that he was attempting to nurse through my nursing tank.  My bo0b was all slobbery.  So I said, “Ok.  You want to try that, huh?”  I undid that side of my tank and actually nursed the baby in the wrap!!!!   While I continued running around getting ready for the party.  I felt like super mom.  I felt like I should have been on the cover of a magazine, or something.

I have to say that the source of my breastfeeding angst is not so much the baby, as it is my right breas.t.  It still hurts a lot.  I think it keeps getting clogged ducts or almost-clogged ducts.  But I can’t help but think that I could do something differently to avoid that, you know?  Plus a good friend of mine’s wife got breast cancer shortly after giving birth to their second child.  She’s in complete remission, thank goodness, but I can’t help but think that there is only so much battering a poor breast can take.  The rational part of my brain is pretty sure the birth of her child and the breast cancer are unrelated.  But sometimes the irrational part of my brain is a hell of a lot louder than that meek little sensible part.

I’ll just try to focus on the breastfeeding in the Moby Wrap part.  Because that rules.

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