End of Summer

I've had a great summer full of camping trips and fun outings with the kids. But now even though we have a lot of August left, it feels like autumn is very much here already. It's funny how things putter along in a stable pattern for awhile, and then changes come rapidly, like a flock of birds landing or a row of dominoes falling. For instance:

• This week SIL, her husband, and the nieces left Sonoma and moved to West Virginia. Now our nearest family is located three time zones away. (Sigh.)
• We bought our first family pet: goldfish!
  
• Somehow, we managed to break Little A of her pacifier habit this month.
  
• Little A now wants to wear big-girl "unner pans," so potty training has finally begun.
  
• Today is Big A's last day as a student at the preschool she's attended for years.
  
• In a week Big A starts kindergarten at the nieghborhood elementary school and Little A begins preschool at the same place Big A used to attend.

Changes major and minor. But even the minor ones, like the addition of the fish and the ditching of the pacifiers, impact how we arrange our days. In a few more months we'll have a different sort of normal because of all that happened this past month. And what was a normal day in July will not come this way again.

I would have been teary-eyed saying goodbye when SIL and her kids left no matter what. The entire fifteen years I've lived in California we've managed to live nearby each other. We've gone through our twenties, thirties, earthquakes, weddings, deaths, and births together. Basically, during that time span I went from being a bad ass to just having one. And our relationship deepened a lot with the addition of the kids. So some tears were in order, no matter what.

But watching the agony of Big A as their car pulled away made me completely lose my shit. She ran down the street waving her lanky arms like a castaway left on shore by the rescue boat. When she reached the corner I had to call her back.

"I don't want them to go!" She said as we trudged up the steps into our house.

"Me either," I admitted. "But remember, we're visiting this Christmas. We'll get to explore their new town. That's going to be so much fun!" It would have been more convincing to say this while not crying myself. But it was the best I could do under the circumstances.

"But they'll miss my BIRTHDAY and Halloween and Thanksgiving!" Big A cried. "Christmas is too far away."

"I know this is hard, baby. But we'll get used to it. It's going to be okay."

"I sad, mommy," piped up a bewildered Little A. "I so sad. They. Gone. Way."

...................................

I'd like to think that deadbaby grief has made me better at saying goodbye and letting go than I used to be. At least the nuts and bolts of the process are very familiar. When Big A tells me she wants to move, I certainly understand what she is feeling. Being left behind is hard. The surface sameness of life is such a sham. Old routines are hollow. Of course Big A wants to move and try something new, if only so that the outside of life matches the inside.

"If we did move, what kind of house would you want to live in next?" I ask Big A. She describes a tall Victorian mansion -- pink, naturally. One with a nice big climbing tree in the yard.

"That sounds pretty nice," I say, meaning it more than I want to.

Fourth of July

What a difference ten degrees makes! Our annual watching of the Sonoma Fourth of July Parade with DH's sister and the nieces usually involves gallons of water, searching for shade, and triple-digit heat. But this year morning fog and afternoon breezes kept the heat down to the high eighties. As a result we lingered on the square for a long time after the parade ended. Everyone had fun, and for once, nobody seemed in danger of heat stroke. Awesome.

My childhood in Upstate NY during the 1970s and 1980s is often unrecognizable to the childhood my kids experience today in the San Francisco Bay Area: economically, socially, geographically different. But Fourth of July in Sonoma always reminds me of the very best part of when I was a kid -- summer weekends spent with aunts, uncles, and cousins. Parades, family, picnics, and fireworks ...what could be better?

Going into the event I was extra nostalgic this year, because big things are changing. SIL, her husband, and the nieces will leave California for a new job and life on the East Coast by the end of August. DH and I knew that business issues made their moving away a possibility, yet when it went from theoretical to reality, we still felt shocked and heartbroken. SIL and her kids are the only relatives living within three thousand miles of us. We spend every holiday with them, plus lots of other random, hanging-out days. The A-team and the nieces adore each other.

I decided to wait a few more weeks before telling the kids about the move. It's a delicate balance. Tell them too soon, and Big A will spend months dwelling and probably not enjoy the time we have left with the nieces. But if I wait too long to tell the girls, then Big A might feel like she didn't have proper time to get used to the idea before it happens.

Sigh. All I can say is THANK GOD for skype. That should at least soften the transition.

But even with the aura of change that settled over the holiday, in the end all the adults involved managed to set aside the looming sense of finality and just have a great time. As an in-your-head sort of person, I am not exactly a party animal. But there was a nice mix of people at the party this year, plus a lot of good wine, so even I managed to be in the moment.

Walking back from the fireworks this year I struggled under the weight of my "baby" Little A. It made me realize how memory plays tricks. Here I'd been thinking that all those July 4ths in Sonoma were the same, and that this was an abrupt and startling end of it. Yet each year spent up there was a whole different world -- both for us, and for SIL and her husband. There were pregnancies, some of which resulted in live babies, and some of which did not. And there were so many job changes and transitions for all the adults. The parade might have seemed the same, but other than that, each July 4th up there was totally different, in terms of the world we were all grappling with at those moments in time.

And so by the end of the weekend I'd managed to stamp out the sour sort of nostalgia I'd started with, and I just felt satisfied and glad. We really squeezed every last bit of juicy fun out of that tradition of going up to Sonoma. Everyone involved is always going to remember those years as special. And now we get to try to dream up a new tradition for next year. That's luck. That's really good luck.

I Am the One ( In 1 out of 5 ...)

The other day I had a project transition meeting with an editor whom I'd filled in for while she was on maternity leave. At the very end of our meeting I said, "Congratulations on your new little one. I hope everyone is well."

To which the woman happily chirped, "Oh thanks! I had some health problems but I'm better now. And we were also worried throughout the pregnancy because my daughter had a 1 in 5 chance of d0w.n syndr0me, and scans kept showing fluid around her heart. But she turned out just fine too!"

Clutching my lukewarm cup of tea, I fought the urge to blurt "What a coincidence! One of my babies also had 1 in 5 odds for a trisomy, plus anomalies on scans. Except my daughter was NOT fine!"

I realize this woman didn't do anything wrong. Yet the exchange unexpectedly rubbed me entirely wrong.

Part of my bitterness owes to the keen loneliness on being the isolated "one" in the 1-in-five risk stats we both received. Her kid ended up in the 4 out of 5 who are OK, while mine did not. And therefore her pregnancy experience is now fit for corporate meeting banter, while mine will never be. It's one of the smaller injustices that comes with this sort of loss, but nonetheless it still hurts to not be able to discuss what happened openly, in almost any normal circumstance.

But it's more than that. Ever since the Tiller murder I am extra sensitive to the formulaic story that showcases a pregnant woman who is scared to death by possible problems brought up by a screening test, only to go on to have a perfect baby in the end. This story raises my hackles for several reasons.

First, the story always leaves out that it was a screening test, rather than a diagnostic test such as amnio or CVS, that caused the scare. The general public has the impression that all pregnancy testing is very inaccurate precisely because nobody clarifies what test they are talking about.

Though I hasten to add that "inaccurate" is also misunderstood when it comes to the tests. Most people don't understand how pregnancy screenings work. A screen won't diagnose a specific baby's problems. It only states the risk of a baby having a problem based on the outcome of other babies who had similar fetal measurements, maternal serum levels, etc. By design, a screening test casts a wide net for potential problems. You actually want to have some women in there who end up with healthy babies when you design the parameters. Why? Because a terrible screening test is NOT one that warns women carrying healthy babies that there might be a problem. No, a crappy screen is one that miscasts unhealthy pregnancies as fine. Our current screens have an extremely low rate of missing sick babies. So for what info they are designed to give, screens function very well. Yet all we ever hear from people is how inaccurate they are!

Another beef I have with stories of pregnancy testing scares is the tone in which they are relayed. There is usually a lot of resentment and hostility for being made to worry when all was actually fine.

My issue with the hostility is that these women actually chose to take the path of long-term worry, if they didn't bother to get a CVS or amnio to further clarify their screening test results. CVS and amnio, unlike screening tests, diagnose problems. And they have a 99.4-100 percent accuracy rate. So when it comes to a trisomy, there won't be any wondering either way once you get those results.

Yes, amnios and CVS are invasive and carry risks of their own. The average loss rate for amnio in the U.S. was recalculated by a recent UCSF study to be something like 1 in 1200. But if you have a 1 in 5 shot at a baby with a trisomy, the chance of a real problem is vastly greater than your chance of hurting the baby -- healthy or otherwise-- with the invasive test.

Bottom line: If you are going to wait and wonder after receiving poor screening results, don't hold a grudge against the screening test for this predicament. Your "needless worry" is the direct result of your choice to get a screen but not follow up with a diagnostic.

Thankfully most people are not the "one" in the 1-out-of-whatever risk assessment they receive, so even if they don't fathom what their particular stats mean, it still works out OK for them in the end. But misunderstandings about screening tests are so pervasive that I think they do a great disservice to people like me, who researched and soul-searched and ultimately ended up on the lonely side of the 1 in 5 statistic despite everything I did.

When most folks think that all pregnancy tests are equal and equally faulty, it is only a short leap to treat women who go through medical termination with disdain. Because if you believe the tests are wrong, it is easy to decide women who end pregnancies for medical reasons must be lazy, selfish, or just unwilling to take a leap of faith that would probably be rewarded with a healthy baby in the end. It is easy to scorn, and scorn at its root is just a few steps away from hate.

A long ways down that hateful, ignorant road, are the bloody steps of Dr. Tiller's church -- a long ways down, but still, the very same road.

Random Pondering of the Day

1) Why is the Ford Escape the mall security vehicle of choice where I live? Are they just trying to egg on shoplifters?

2) My local utility district imposed water rationing during last year's drought. This year the drought abated, rationing lifted ... and rates went up by 15 percent. Why? Because revenues went down during water rationing.

3) Finally, why oh why must children learning to yo-yo practice standing over a toilet?

When Babies Attack

There is an interesting bunch of comments over at Niobe's regarding whether it is proper for a woman to bring live offspring to a walk of remembrance in honor of lost babies. The range of opinions is large, but can be very generally characterized as follows:

1) Babies? Oh, you mean those diaper-covered daggers with grenade handles. Remembrance marches should be adult-only events to protect the newly bereaved and anyone else who doesn't have a living child.

2) Babies do sort of suck. But ones born to parents who had a previous loss get grandfathered into my good graces. So ... bring your kid to the walk, if you really want to.

3) Babies represent hope. And kids who lost a sibling -- what are they, chopped liver? Let everyone whom the loss impacts walk together.

I am in the minority on this issue -- firmly ensconced in Group 3. I loooove babies. Babies were a much better soother for me than liquor or drugs or religion in my darkest days of loss. They were the best thing for me.

I should back up and say that in the first few weeks after my loss, seeing a baby was tantamount to a punch in the throat. I understand why some people recoil from kids in the wake of loss. I remember that stage well. But the lucky event that propelled me out of that place was the birth of my niece Scamp.

At first I couldn't believe how annoying, rude, and insulting the timing of that birth was. Scamp entered the world only six days after I said goodbye to my own daughter. I seethed at the unfairness of having to bind my stupid breasts to stop my milk while SIL geared up for a happy life at home with baby. I ground my teeth down to nubs listening to SIL complain about how hard it was to get up to feed the baby after a C section. I'd just gone through surgery and I was tired, too. But the reason I couldn't sleep was because of panic attacks due to complications from the loss. I yearned to tell SIL to suck it.

So when torrential rains flooded the roads between Oakland and Sonoma, I rejoiced at not having to go to the hospital to visit SIL and Scamp. Then once they went home, I perhaps exaggerated a wee bit about the whole family being deathly ill. "So sorry, we can't visit yet. Wouldn't want to give the new baby a cold, right?"

SIL, for her part, was lovely. She'd had a previous loss herself and understood. "Whenever you come is fine," she told me right after my termin.ation. "I realize it's hard. I won't be offended if you stay away for awhile."

All my instincts were screaming "Stay away forever!" But after about three weeks DH and I realized that like it or not, we had to go to Sonoma and see the baby. SIL and her family are the only relatives we have in the whole Pacific time zone. Staying away was weird.

Nobody asked if I wanted to hold the baby when we came. I couldn't decide if that was really kind or really mean. Finally, in an internal act of defiance, I thought, "Fuck it. Let's REALLY get this thing over with." I picked up Scamp and took a good look at her.

It was not what I expected. I didn't have the urge to drop her or start screaming at the loss of my own baby. In her nonchalant, unconscious way, she was utterly fascinating. Scamp settled into my arm and pursed her lips. They were the cutest little lips.

All I could think was, "Oh my God, she is adorable." And ... that was it. Nothing else. No spite or envy or bitterness. I was aware she wasn't my baby, but suddenly that didn't mean I had to dislike her out of loyalty to my own. In fact, I liked Scamp already. She and I were gong to get along -- I could tell it already. I patted her back gently and wished Scamp all the love and happiness on earth. Miraculously, I truly meant it.

It was the first moment since my loss where I didn't feel stunted and ruined by rage. It was also my very first moment of peace since I'd learned my baby might be sick. And all of those gifts came from a must-be-avoided-at-all costs baby. Go figure.

So that was when I decided that babies were no longer to be avoided. To this day I have a special bond with Scamp. She gave me so much, even though she is utterly unaware of all of it.

Summer Planning

I just finished my two weeks of fancy-schmancy, uber-expensive antibiotics and I would like to give them a standing O. After months of feeling crappy, suddenly I'm normal again. (Well, at least normal in that neck of the woods.) As someone whose life is a convoluted syndrome of complicated circumstances, I marvel when a simple solution works. I feel better. Drinks and leftover Easter eggs for everyone!

This is a month where most of what happens is preparation for other months. I'm doing activity research for the girls and trying to decide if/when we might go camping or otherwise travel, or just have the kids at activities, camps, preschool/daycare. Because by this summer I'll be back working more than I have been this winter, so I need dedicated blocks of time where my office is quiet. I could attempt to save money by working when they are home with me, but historically that's been dicey. Picture two girls running with scissors and wielding markers while I hide book manuscripts and page proof. Yeah, it was just like that, plus muddy fingerprints on the ctrl+alt+del buttons of my keyboard.

Thus far I've got Big A signed up for a week of art classes and another week of theater camp this summer. Big A also wants a week at horse camp, but I am leery. In theory she loves horses -- but her experience mostly involves waving at fields of them from the car, or clutching a shiny pink bejeweled neck of one on a carousel. With real animals, Big A tends towards skittish. She's fine at the zoo, where moats and barriers keep creatures away. But should a dog amble up and say hello to her on the bike path? Cue hysterics. So putting down a nonrefundable fee for horsie week is something I'm on the fence about.

Speaking of fences, today a new one gets installed at my house. It replaces a 50-year-old dilapidated trellis. While I adore the elderly couple who lives on that side of the yard, I did not love that they got to stare at my bathing-suited backside every time I took the kids in our pool last year. I'm soooo excited about the new privacy fence. We are also installing a more secure gate to keep the pool area separated from the rest of the backyard. We jerryrigged a system of homemade gates and fences that worked fine last year, but a couple weeks ago I saw the girls merrily scaling the old pool gate. Oh how they grow. So now my efforts to keep unsupervised kids out of the pool must grow as well.

Anyone else out there making summer plans now?

Helpful Hints from Wabi

Dear TG Associate,

It's great that you are now comfortable enough with your tran.sgend.er identity to begin taking concrete steps to transition from male to female in the general world. How exciting it must be to take the plunge. I'm so happy for you!

However, breaking the news to everyone the other day could have gone smoother. If you ever come out to people en masse again, I suggest ... actually coming out. You know, announcing the news. Because simply starting to send emails as some chick named Karen without ever mentioning "formerly went by Kraig" was very confusing.

Especially because you did it on April First.

Best Wishes,

Wabi, Queen of Helpful Hints