The RE Report

Yesterday was supposed to be my whirlwind of three doctor's appointments; in the end all but one was cancelled. It was the big one that went through, though, with the clinic I suspected I would like.

The clinic is bigger than the one we used with Co -- they sent me a folder of paperwork to read in advance of the appointment, and sent me home with two more! -- but the up side of having been through all this before (by proxy) is that I didn't find it intimidating. There were a lot of straight couples there who seemed pretty intense and stressed out (some kind of educational seminar had just ended). I can imagine it must be much worse to end up in a clinic when you thought you'd be babydancing; Co and I always knew our baby's beginning would be in a lab.

Dr. Paisan (Sophia has already named him for us) was positively lovely. He was chatty and funny and sweet, a far cry from Dr. Quick, who got the job done but whose longest speech was "Sperm is going in" (to be fair, he became much more personable once Co was pregnant). He said that from his perspective, I was young and healthy with no known fertility problems and should absolutely be able to get pregnant. When I asked about weight -- I had to ask about it! -- he shrugged and said it shouldn't be a problem in an otherwise healthy woman.

I went in convinced I should start with IVF (I exaggerate, but only slightly) but he said natural cycles (as in, not even a trigger) should be just fine, again, since I am so healthy and young. It was really a twist of the kaleidoscope to hear his optimism and think of myself as someone with so much potential.

As luck would have it, yesterday was cd2, so I went right downstairs for my bloodwork. Dr. Paisan called today with the results -- he said that everything was fine with the exception of the estradiol, which was elevated. He likes to see less than 70 on cd2, and mine was (I believe) 124. He said that it probably means I have a leftover cyst from a previous cycle. In some rare cases it can mean that ovarian reserve is compromised, but he doesn't think that's likely. My MIS results will be in Thursday and that will tell us more.

I had cd3 bloods done once before and had a scare about infertility. Ultimately that doctor ended up saying everything was normal, but she too was concerned about a high estradiol level, and called me to say I had the ovaries of a menopausal woman. (Looking back at those posts, she said that estradiol had to be below 32, which seems very wrong, though she correctly called my FSH of 5.7 normal. I don't know what my FSH was this time around...didn't ask.)

So, I'm anxious. I'm trying not to be too anxious, but the kaleidoscope has turned again. I want to have a pregnancy. I've wanted it my whole remembered life and I've had intense pregnancy dreams since I was 13 years old. But I've come to be a good non-bio mom. I know how to do it. Maybe that's my lot in life. That wouldn't be the worst thing.

Yesterday I was wondering if I could get all my testing done in time to start next cycle. Now I'm thinking I'll never get to be a bio mom. But one thing's for sure: TTC with a toddler in the house is much, much less painful.

RE

I have been working up to this post, and here it is: I have an appointment to see an RE on May 20. We are thinking about #2, and it's my turn.

Actually, I have three appointments on May 20. The midwife (who serves as my gyn), and then two different REs, who have been recommended by Sophia, Oneofhismoms, and several folks off the computer. (We had no problem with Co's RE, but the monitoring hours at that office won't work with my teaching schedule, so off I go.) I'm meeting with two because I am terrified that my weight will be an issue, so I'm hoping at least one of these guys will agree to work with me.

I have always believed I would bear a child, but now that I am so close to exploring this goal, I no longer believe it can happen. So many people have tried for so long -- why would it work for me?

Right now, as you can see, I'm more scared than excited. I am frightened by how much I want this. We already have Jo, can I really ask for more?

Allies

This year Pesach/Passover, the holiday of liberation, comes on the heels of two amazing legislative victories: same-sex marriage is now legal in Iowa (with thanks to these ladies for their pride and bravery!) and Vermont (which means wedding bells for these ladies!).

On the two different days that Iowa's and Vermont's historic decisions were made, virtually all of my queer Face.book friends made reference to the victories in status updates. Then I noticed that a few of my straight friends also mentioned the news. And I found myself feeling a special pulse of warmth for those folks. It's another thought to add to my ever-expanding definition of "ally": to be able to participate and rejoice in a fight for justice that has no personal impact. Or perhaps the wisdom to understand that there is a personal impact: that none of us are free until all of us are.

The Streak

Perhaps one of the cutest things Jo loves to do is run down the hallway naked. He only learned to walk in the last month or so, but has quickly progressed to running. So he started out by wriggling away from the bath-giving-mom, and running down the hall, giggling maniacally, to visit the mom cleaning up from dinner in the kitchen (we trade off on these two roles). He loves it so much that now we always let him do his wild run, and even if he was crying and angry before (getting one's face wiped after dinner and taking iron drops can really cramp a toddler's style), naked running always makes him laugh and smile.

Co sings "The Streak" as he runs, a wacky song from one of her Dr. Dem.ento CDs. It's often my favorite moment of the day.

The Daily Cute

Here begins my attempt to blog more frequently, if less deeply. I want to try to record Jo's daily antics. I'll still be here contemplating my navel when I have time (ha ha ha).

Jo has developed a passion for bunny grahams. Last night, as Co offered them to him, she made them go "hop hop hop" on the table. Jo started not only to bounce the bunnies on the table, he echoed by saying "bop bop bop" -- his version of "hop hop hop."

Today he asked for one of his favorite books by name -- he calls it "Bobo," after the name of the monkey in the story. We were at the bank, and I had offered him a book from the diaper bag. He actually remembered a book from home and asked for it!

I'm on spring break now, so perhaps I'll even update daily. Stay tuned.

In closing, here is our snarky toddler in his rocking chair:

The Life of Jo

We are not blogging enough, and have all the usual excuses. I am stealing a few minutes while Co makes her delicious tomato sauce (I highly recommend Italian wives) and Jo plays with his highchair to update you all on his world.

*He walks. We did write here about his first steps, about three weeks after his first birthday, but it took him several more months to get serious about walking. Now he walks around everywhere and almost never resorts to crawling. There is this short little person walking around our house!

*He says about fifteen words. Most of them are animal noises. (For those keeping track, he knows that a cow says "moo," a a sheep says "ba," an owl says "hoo," a duck says "quack-quack," a dog says "woof" (usually sounds more like "oof"), and of course his favorite is the lion that says "ra-ra." Co is working on cat. Currently he will tell you that a cat says "moo."


We are animal lovers, and the number of jungle and farm animals in board books is really quite astonishing (my mother bought our urban boy a book about the subway in protest). I also remembered recently that in the "long profile" the donor mentioned having a "Dr. Dolittle" gene, which was one of the reasons we chose him. Hmmmm.

*He also uses his talking to, well, communicate! He asks to nurse ("ba-ba"), to eat ("na-na," his version of "num-num") and makes sure we know every time a dog crosses or path ("oof!).

*Yesterday at the bank, Co gave him his keys to play with, and he tried to put them in the keyhole of the door! He doesn't miss a trick.

*Jo still only has five teeth (and we think he's working on a sixth). Nonetheless he's become more and more interested in food and loves to feed himself. He loves pancakes and bread made by Mommy (our little carb fiend) and has developed a passion for Annie's honey bunny grahams. Nothing is cuter than watching him tackle a whole apple or banana.

*He has developed an obsession with balls, and often says "ball!" for no apparent reason. He has three at home, and likes to hold them all at once.

*He just gets more and more fun as he develops into a little person. I am so excited about taking him to a seder in a few weeks!

Our lives continue with the usual breathless pace of working moms. The plan is for us both to take some time off this summer, and I can't wait. Hopefully you'll hear more from us then, too.

Can't sign off without a picture, so here are a few.

Here he is taking a walk in the park, in his snazzy silver shoes:


Here's the homemade Cookie Monster costume he sported for Purim (you can sort of see the eyes on the top):


Here he is playing with our mah-jongg purse (you can also see one of his beloved balls in the corner):

Welcome Bonus Ball!

Jo has a transatlantic buddy!! Jay and Vee's Bonus Ball (a.k.a. Baby Boy) is here!!

Snow Day!

Here's our snow angel. He tolerated the white stuff far better than I thought he would. Maybe next time (which I honestly hope is next year) we'll break out the sled!

President's Day: Inauguration Flashback

I've been itching to write my post about the inauguration but been short on time. So I'm taking President's Day as an opportunity to celebrate our current President.

My school watched the Inauguration in the gym; our tech folks projected ABC's coverage onto a big screen. My 7th graders were besides themselves with excitement, as they have been since the days leading up to the election. I was pretty giddy myself and everyone in the city seemed extra-happy as well. Everyone was decked out in their Obama-wear (I wore my "Another Mama for Obama" shirt). There was pizza and black-and-white cookies for all (yes, those were ordered intentionally). Jo was downstairs with me -- he goes to daycare at my school and everyone was in the gym, including the daycare babes and their providers -- so he sat in my lap, watched Obama and ate some pizza too.

We watched coverage starting with the invocation* and through Obama's speech (which one of my kids summarized brilliantly in his journal later that week). The first time the camera flashed spontaneously to Obama the whole gym erupted in cheers. Then the picture was left on but the sound turned down, and as a community we sang "This Land Is Your Land."

It was truly the most patriotic day of my life. I come from a family with a healthy suspicion of the American flag (all the flag-waving after 9/11 made me very nervous) but for the first time, I actually wanted to stand for the national anthem. I jumped to my feet when asked to stand for the swearing in of Vice-President Biden.

No, I did not get through all this without crying, and neither did many of my students. I found myself tearing up all through the day and quite a few days afterward as the reality of this historical moment kept sinking in. At a staff meeting in a sixth grade teacher's room there on the wall was one of those Junior Scholastic charts of the presidents on the wall... and there was Obama, number 44. It is absolutely overwhelming.

And almost every day President Obama (!) does something else to make me proud to be an American. Truly words I have never written, nor thought, before this administration.

Here's Jo on Inauguaration Day (click on the photo to see notes):


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*I'm making this a footnote because the invocation did not ruin the proceedings for me, but oh my goodness, did it suck, and I have to comment. I've never watched an inauguration before (see previous comments about patriotism in my family) so I actually assume that nonsense is par for the course. It was just so awful: I know R.W. is a big homophobe so it was miserable to hear his remarks about inclusivity and want to shove them where the sun don't shine. But perhaps more egregious was sitting in my public school, watching a government event, and hearing the Lord's Prayer. It makes me really sad to realize that separation of church and state is a total myth. I believe in it.

Toddler Love

I owe you all the obligatory tear-streaked inauguration post and trust me it's coming but here's a quickie:

I love my toddler. Of course I love my toddler; what I mean is that I love having a toddler. I've worked with kids of many ages, including babies and preschoolers all the way through high school, but somehow skipped toddlers so I never knew much about them. Jo has his moments (many of them at 3 or 4 a.m.) but generally I find toddlerhood delightful.

He is walking carefully, slowly, occasionally, definitely still a skill to be practiced -- when he actually wants to go somewhere he crawls, and fast -- but he's catching on.

I love watching him learn words. (Here is the current list, from his baby book: rah-rah [see previous post], mama, moo, hoo [as in owl], woof, night-night, yeah, no, ba-ba [nursing/bottle], bye, baby.)

I love how affectionate he is: with us, with his daycare providers, with his daycare playmates, with his stuffed animals, with the long-suffering dachshund. He has taken to climbing into our laps just to hang out. So sweet!

For the past two evenings he has been climbing out of the bathtub into my lap, to hug and cuddle. Last night I finally clued in and just climbed in the tub with him. He loved that. He also took one look at my naked chest, widened his eyes, signed "milk," and grabbed me. Adorable.

Facts, Fun & Otherwise

*Jo figured out how to blow his nose. He wrinkles it up, sniffs loudly and (since he is currently and often congested) rivers of snot pour out. This is actually in the fun facts category because it is seriously helpful to be able to encourage him to blow (by pretending to do so yourself). We've been able to avoid aspirating, which he hates, a number of times since he gained this new skill on Thursday.

*We met X and his moms, who are our neighbors. X is delicious and his moms are lovely.

*We seem to have a picky eater. I hadn't been thinking of him this way, but Co pointed it out (she herself was a picky eater as a kid). And it's true that compared to lists of foods other kids his age, or even younger, will eat, he is just not that versatile. He enjoys feeding himself, but will not actually eat very many finger foods...except carbs. He is a carb fiend and happily gorges on Cheer.ios, pancakes, bread (especially challah and Mommy's homemade!). He also loves strawberries. Everything else we feed him is a puree. We constantly offer him food from our plates and intentionally prepare foods we think he might like. Our pediatrician is fine with his progress, however, so I'm not seriously worried.

*Jo has now been to two first birthday parties (besides his own) and at the latest one we gave him some cupcake. Refined sugar and all. He loved it (see above).

*In addition to saying "Rah-rah" (this is both the sound a lion makes -- roar -- and Jo's word for lion) he now also says versions of "moo" and "woof woof." He may also be trying to say "quack." Stay tuned.

Here is a video of Jo identifying a "Rah-rah" in one of his favorite books, Dear Zoo.

Visuals & Details

Just in case you were morbidly curious, here is a picture of Jo's eye the day of the surgery.


His godfather says Jo should say, "You should see the other baby!"

We have no pix of the cyst itself, though the doctor did show it to us, and if I had a camera phone, I would not have been above snapping a shot. The resident said it was the largest dermoid cyst he'd ever seen. That's my boy!

The whole experience of surrendering our baby for surgery was, of course, terrifying. My mom told Co on the phone that she'd "never" be able to let someone whisk her kid off to be operated on. But I think you just don't know what you can do until you have to do it. We wanted to be in the room while they put him under, but the nurses said no, so what else was there to do?

Perhaps the worst part was denying him food and drink. It wasn't as bad as we'd anticipated, because the instructions for babies his age are that they can have breastmilk up to six hours before surgery, and then water or juice three hours before. So we woke him and "dreamfed" at about 1:30 so he could get some final ba-ba (that's his new word for nursing!!), and then I got up at 4:30 to give him some apple juice (his first time). He was cranky while we waited for surgery -- started at 8:30 -- but it would have been a lot worse without our planning, I think. It was really hard for both Jo and Co, though, because he REALLY wanted to nurse and she REALLY wanted to oblige.

We weren't thrilled with this hospital when Co gave birth there, but were assured by our trusty pediatrician that they have excellent pediatric opthalmological care. And indeed, we were pleased. Our boy was attended by a senior pediatric anesthesiologist (head of the department) along with two residents, and operated on by the doctor we met in his office to receive the diagnosis, along with an experienced resident. The nurses were attentive and lovely.

The surgery itself only took about an hour, just as predicted, so we really didn't have time to worry too much. The hospital didn't seem to have wireless (it really isn't the best place, ugh) so I actually got some productive work done. Before we knew it, we were being called to come hold our boy as he came out of the the anesthesia.

I'll admit now that it was a little scary to see him, face-down and wailing hoarsely, in his lemon yellow hospital gown and blue shower-cap head cover. He continued to wail and wail even as we held him. He's super-strong (other parents comment on it) and in just a few seconds he had yanked off the cardiac monitors and was working on the IV in his foot. The nurse said it had to stay, and it was seriously difficult to keep our angry little guy from tearing it out.

My hippie-crunchy-mama moment: as Jo raged on, I asked when we could feed him. The nurse replied, when he calms down. Um. It seemed pretty clear to me (and to Co) that only ba-ba was going to calm our boy down. After a few more minutes of carrying on, the nurse asked what we planned to feed him. Co said "breastmilk," and the nurse replied, "Oh, that's fine." Jo latched greedily and calmed immediately. I suspect we could and should have done that as soon as we had him in our arms. We're both too quick to listen to authority figures (but I had reached a point where I was going to tell Co to stick the boob in his mouth, against medical advice if I had to!).

Once he'd nursed, he fell asleep, and was transferred to the other recovery room, where we waited about another hour while he nursed and slept on and off and was finally cleared to go at about noon.

The whole experience, as I hope this post conveys, had some frightening moments, and some confusion and insecurity, but was for the most part as routine as the doctor assured us it would be. However, I feel like I had a brief, brief insight -- a veil was lifted ever so slightly -- into the life of a parent who must wrangle more frequently and intensely with the medical establishment. I had the thought: I can do this. I don't want to, and I hope to God I don't have to, but I could do what I had to do.

Thank God our Jo is on the mend.

Memory Lane (The Boy is Well!!)

Most importantly: we are home with Jo, and he is just fine. Even anesthesia can't keep our boy down for long. He's currently on the floor playing with his stuffed rooster.

He was operated on at the same hospital where he was born. The hospital was still decked out for Christmas, just as it was on December 13 and 14 of last year. It was strange, to say the least, to go back there in the dark and cold, bleary with lack of sleep. This year we had to arrive at 6 a.m. for an 8 a.m. surgery; last year we were released in the evening. This year we got little sleep, since Jo perhaps sensed something and managed to stay up until 11:30 the night before the big event; last year, we were awake with little respite from the morning of December 12 through the evening of December 14.

Though by the time I wrote this post he was up and playing, he spent much of his surgery recovery day regressed to his newborn state. Co and I spent hours on the couch while Jo nursed and slept, nursed and slept, nursed and slept...and we cleared out the DVR (this is a whole other post, but I am deeply in love with our new DVR). His face was scrunched up from being sleepy, and from not being able to open the affected eye, so he even looked like my newborn boy.

Seemingly unrelated but tied together by the title:
I am always quick to post about my mom when she drives me crazy so I ought to share the nice moments, too. The night before the surgery we got two CDs in the mail from her, with a gift message that read "Happy winter": these recordings from my childhood (we had the records, of course). During our Chanukah visit to the Happy Valley, where Mom and Sister both live, I saw just those two records at my sister's house. Our agreement is that all of the childhood treasures my mother has saved -- books, toys, musical instruments, records, our old wooden high chair -- will stay at my mother's house where they can be enjoyed by both grandsons. However, an increasing number of these items have found their way to my sister's house, including those records. It makes me sad. I didn't mention my feelings to my mom, but she has always had the uncanny ability to read my mind (I used to accuse her of reading my diary because, really, how else could she *know so much*?). And this time she used her power for good.

It felt really good to dance around the house to music I remembered from childhood with my little boy, the night before his surgery.

Parent Milestones

As usual, I have much to say and little time to say it. Hopefully I'll get to some of these posts in my mind over the break.

But for now:

Tonight we gave Jo his fifth Chanukah present (we've given him a little one each night -- thus far a package of socks [hey, it's a Jewish tradition], a light-up singing dreidl, a rubber ball, and a set of teething keys). It was two maracas, one red, one purple. He recognized them from his music classes, and his whole face lit up as he grabbed them and started to shake.

I want to see that look on his face, again and again and again.*

Here he is rocking his maracas.



*That's how kids get spoiled, isn't it. Oh, dear...

Jo's First Chanukah

Yes, Jo is over a year old, but since Chanukah falls later on the "secular" calendar than it did last year, this is his first Chanukah. Co was wishing for a little Chanukah present last year, but Jo chose to make his appearance the day after the last night of Chanukah.

I really shouldn't be up this late posting, but there are so many milestones and amazing moments every day, and so little time to record them in any way. (Though we do take tons of pictures and that helps.) I still need to post about Jo's first birthday party, and put up the video of him roaring like a lion. He seems to have his first baby word "Ra-ra" for "lion" (roar roar).

Anyway, his first night of Chanukah was wonderful and I just have to share it. He's been sick and cranky, and he fell asleep suddenly and unexpectedly in my arms at 7, before we lit candles. I was disappointed, but mindful that you do not ever wake a sleeping baby. He woke on his own less than an hour later, however, and we lit the menorah (really a chanukiah). I am not sure whether he likes the candles, the blessings, or both, but he always breaks out in a huge smile when we light candles on Friday nights and tonight was no exception (he loved that there were three blessings!). I can't wait 'til there are more and more candles on the menorah, I think he will love it!!

Here he is with his very own menorah, a gift from his Gaba. [That's my mom: 2-year-old Nephew S. has dubbed her "Gaba." She loves it so much that we are all keeping that as her name to the point of correcting Nephew S. when he correctly pronounces "Grandma." Mom says it's like a combo of Grandma and the Yiddish "Bubba," which is what she, and later my sister and I, called her own grandmother (we were lucky enough to know two of our great-grandmothers).]

One Year

The tickers say it all: our little Jo is one year old.

We've been telling each other, and Jo, his birth story since last night. ("One year ago today Mommy was drinking castor oil!")

I need to do a full post about his birthday party (which was last weekend), but for now, some one year notables:

*In the past few days, Jo has started to say "buda buda buda buda" all the time. We are not sure what it means, though yesterday I heard from the bathroom," Yes, I am washing your buda buda buda."

*In the past couple of weeks, Jo has gone from standing accidentally (taking his hands off of whatever he's holding to clap, but not noticing) to standing very intentionally and grinning at his accomplishment. He has almost taken a step a few times. Stay tuned.

*In food news, we've been wanting to take the step where we just give him whatever we're eating, but been too nervous somehow to actually do it. Last night we gave him a piece of challah, however, and he chowed down. Stay tuned here, too.

*He has become more eager to repeat words he hears; his daycare providers are delighted that he repeats "light" and "night-night" and are convinced that he repeats names, too. He definitely says "bye-bye."

*He flirts with everyone on the train -- the older Asian and Russian women probably love him the most, but the sullen teenagers, the weary middle-aged men, the well-coiffed businesswomen, they all smile at Jo. Yesterday I was sitting next to a man who by all outward appearances was a drag queen. Jo reached out, grabbed his arm, smiled charmingly, and said, "Da-da!" I don't think the man heard him (i.Pod), but he was charmed by the baby.

Here's a picture of Jo with his smash cake. More to come:

Ma-ma

Jo can say "Mama," and I think he means me. It's fine if he calls us both Mama at first (Co is Mommy), because it takes longer for kids to learn to say "Mommy." But for now, he does seem to be looking at me when he says it.

We did a lot of planning and talking about what he would call us. But I was unprepared for the magic of hearing my name in his sweet little voice.

First Haircut

In my genetic family, we don't generally get much hair 'til, say, kindergarten, so the first haircut is usually something that occurs in grade school. Witness my nephew at his 2nd birthday party (he's never had a haircut, except for my sister snipping off his rat tail every so often).

And here I am at three months, bald as an egg.


Jo, on the other hand, has been a hairy little creature since birth (he's four days old in the picture below). Co has trimmed his hair several times already.

His first birthday is coming up, so we decided to go professional this weekend.

Here are the before shots, from Thanksgiving:


And the back:


Here he is all ready for his haircut, in his Fire Chief seat:


The place had every manner of kiddie distraction: toys, TV screens, balloons, you name it. Here he is being distracted by bubbles (and sporting the adorable smock):


The mid-cut mohawk:


The artist at work:


And here's the "After" shot, at home with his hard-won balloon from the salon:


We got a first-haircut certificate with a lock of his hair. The standard "Certificate of Recognition" template included a quote by John F. Kenn.edy ("One person can make a difference") and while I'm not sure the occasion warrants it, it's certainly emblematic of the era of hope and change Jo gets to grow up in. Short hair and all.

A Word Person

So I signed myself up for hd's online writing group, The Word People. I have always wanted to be a part of a writer's group. My mother is a professional writer (a journalist) and I grew up surrounded by the smart, funny, ambitious, and successful women in her writer's group. I always hoped I'd be part of one someday.

Writing has always been a part of my life, since long before I learned the physical act of writing. I imitated my mother by scrawling on message pads, and typing on the table. The hum and ding! of her electric typewriter were the soundtrack of my childhood. But more importantly, I spun stories in my head, an activity I called "pretend games." I spent hours outside bouncing a pink Spal.deen making up my stories. Eventually I learned to write them down, but even now, my brain moves so much more quickly than my hands. (And my hands move pretty quickly, as anyone who has heard me type can attest.) I still keep spiral notebooks on a shelf in our bedroom, one for each "story idea," some of those ideas with their roots as far back as the sixth grade. At this point in my life, I don't know that I will ever publish the fiction I write. Technically I am a published writer of some minor non-fiction work. But my heart is with my stories, and I will always write them.

I started keeping a diary when I was ten, as a place to offload my anxiety about my increasingly powerful, and increasingly numerous, crushes on girls. The following year my English teacher assigned journal entries, and I've been carrying around a battered composition book ever since. At different times I've also kept a dream journal,a book journal, and briefly in the 8th grade I had a special notebook just to write about all the spirits my friends and I contacted with our all-powerful Oui.ja board.

I started this blog not as writing practice, but as a way to join the TTC blog community. I was excited to engage with so many interesting and intelligent women who were on the same path Co and I were just beginning. But I can't deny that I love, love, loved the medium. I was excited about a blogging community not only because I could participate while sitting on my ass (though I can hardly say that's not a plus), but because writing is my preferred mode of communication. Given the choice, I would probably always prefer to interact with people in writing. I am much more facile at the written word than at human interaction, I think.

I'm not making a strict writing plan, because I really don't have time. I know that's a lame excuse but the working mom thing is kicking my butt and writing isn't the only thing that's taking the back burner. I want to do yoga at least a few times a week, and that isn't happening either. However, I do have these pockets of time -- on Wednesdays, when I have a number of free periods at work -- sometimes on Tuesday afternoons when I have no extracurricular activities -- sometimes over the weekend when the baby is sleeping. So my goal is to fill at least some of those pockets with writing.

More Firsts

Today's jubilation has been tempered for us queers (and fellow travelers) by the bad news from California, Arizona, and Florida. Let's hope change comes for us, too. I can't help but be a bit hopeful, because in our state, the Senate got the Democratic majority They say is necessary for discussion of marriage in the Legislature.

You've heard from both Co and myself about this election, and even seen Jo's hearty support for Obama. Maggie's been silent on that point, however...until now.

Last night President-elect Obama (oh, I just love typing that!!!) announced an important aspect of his administration that I, for one, was not previously aware of: the introduction of the White House Puppy. I learned today that the pup will be a rescue dog.

Maggie says it's high time we had a First Dachshund in this country. (You can click here to weigh in on the topic yourself.) Doxies are loyal, persistent, "Yes, we can!" sorts of doggies. And they love children. What other pet would put up with this: