Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Go big or go home.

When it finally came time to transfer our two little frozen embryos, first frozen in 2013, I had it in my head that we would only do one at a time. My reasoning was twofold: I didn't want to use up all my chances in one go, and I did NOT want twins.

Every time we talked about trying to have another baby, we always said, "What's one more baby? Babies are easy!" And we imagined, with hearts and starts in our eyes, about what it would be like to have one toddler. A game changer! Isabella was an only child for 10 months. That's it. What would it be like to have ONE BABY/TODDLER AT A TIME? (I'll save details on this for another post, but let me interject here: TWINS ARE THE BEST. Truly. The fucking best. )

Truthfully, my biggest fear with twins was the actual pregnancy. I had been pregnant before and miscarried. I knew twins would be high risk for me, an Old Lady as far as pregnancy goes, with high but managed blood pressure and a lot of weight to lose. So in the months leading up to our transfer, it was going to be one embryo.

As we started prepping for the transfer, though, and as I started taking the medicine and buying the progesterone, the trauma of trying to make a baby came flooding back, and I started to think I just wanted to do this once and get it over with. I was finally okay if I never got pregnant. Why not just put them both in there and be done with it? Gina was okay with whatever I wanted, which is pretty much how it always goes when it comes to the stuff happening to my body.

I came across some research that embryos that are frozen, thawed, and re-frozen have a slightly less likelihood of implanting. Both of our embryos were in the same straw, so when you thaw one, you have to thaw the other one too.

When we got to the doctor's office on the day of the transfer, he asked, "How many are we putting in?"

I said, "Well, I'm a little nervous about twins..."

And he said, "Me too, considering your history."

"But you had to thaw them both, right?" He nodded. "And that means that if we re-freeze one, it will lose some of its quality...?"

I have a long history with my doctor, and he knows me well. He also is not woo-y at all and never pretends he knows the answer to the unanswerable. As with much of ART, this is not a sure thing. He shrugged. "I mean, not necessarily... it's tough to say."

I looked at Gina, and she gave me the, "Whatever you want to do" look. I said, "Let's just put them both in." Suddenly I felt very cocky for even thinking ONE would implant, let alone two.

I'm pretty sure Gina said, "Go big or go home." Or maybe I said that. I'm sure one of us did, because that's pretty much how we live our life.

My doctor didn't try to talk me out of it. "Okay, let's do it. Let's get you knocked up.*"

Kieran and Seraphina, 5 days past ovulation. 

*This is a thing he said to me after the first few tries, and after Gina kept telling him, "Come on, let's knock her up!!"

Thursday, March 08, 2018

Catching up

If you're reading this, you know me. And if you know me, you know I had twins in February of 2017. And if you like to do math, you'll figure out that means I got pregnant in June of 2016. And if you look in my archives, you'll see I stopped blogging in May of 2016.

If you're ever unlucky enough to lose a pregnancy, and then subsequently lucky enough to get pregnant again, your pregnancy is not like what you see in movies or read in books, or what you imagine when you're younger and daydreaming about having a baby. Instead of being excited, you're nervous. Instead of talking to your baby, you are most likely ignoring it, not wanting to get too attached in case something happens. And you probably don't even want to let the world know you're pregnant, and you're probably figuring out if there's a way you can hole up in a cave until it's time for the baby to be born, and then you can say, "hey! I was pregnant and now I have a baby!!"

When we finally got pregnant again, Gina asked me when we could start telling people.

"20 weeks? Never?" I suggested.

This is why this space has stayed blank. And once the babies arrived safely, we had FOUR KIDS and THAT IS A LOT OF KIDS and THERE IS NO TIME TO DO ANYTHING BUT TAKE CARE OF ALL OF THE KIDS AND THEIR CONSTANT NEEDS.

But writing is what I always come back to. It's my constant - even if never constantly. So I'm back, and over the next few weeks, I'm going to try to re-create the last two years, if for no other reason than to preserve my own memories of what they have been like, because so much stuff has happened that has changed me forever - A LOT good, and some not so good. I want to remember what I felt, because those feelings and memories are already so hard to hang on to.

(For instance, right after the babies were born, I told anyone who would listen: WHY WOULD ANYONE DO THIS MORE THAN ONCE? YOU ALL ARE CRAZY. And now that they are 1 and their babyhood is technically behind them? Let's just say it's a good thing sperm costs money.) (More on this later.)

Tuesday, May 10, 2016


Sometimes, my kids can't stand me.

I've gotten the, "You're mean!" and "I don't like you!" and "You're drunk!" more times than I care to admit.

I'm incredibly short-tempered, and I don't like repetitive noise. I don't like screaming, whining, or tattling. I don't like anyone in the kitchen with me when I'm trying to cook dinner or make lunch. I don't like when someone knocks on the bathroom door when I'm going to the bathroom. I don't like being asked to get someone a drink when I'm balls deep in doing other things in the kitchen. I don't need help making my coffee. I don't need help with the dishwasher. I don't want little butts on the kitchen counter. I don't like having the seat in my car kicked (or even TOUCHED by little feet) while I'm in it. I don't like pounding, banging, or knocking. I don't like whistles. I don't like toys that make noise. I don't like unfinished dinners followed by "But I'm HUNGRY" at 7:58 when bedtime is 8pm. I don't need help turning the pages in the book, and I don't want to read 70 bedtime stories.

But you know what I love? I love being a mom. I forget how much I love it sometimes, because it is so difficult and relentless. But it's also the best. School and soccer and gymnastics and sweaty hair and dirty nails and swimming and headbands and nail polish and coloring and Old Maid and hula hooping and jumping rope and reading and playing house and middle-of-the-night cuddles... it's all extraordinary.

I had a thought this weekend that I should tell them how much I wanted to be a mom, and how no matter how frustrated I get with them, they made my dreams come true and there was nothing in the world I wanted more than them. I tell them I love them all the time, I kiss and hug them every day repeatedly. But I thought it would be good to really explain to them that they are the best things about my life. I figured a way to do this would be to ask them if they could think of something they really wanted, more than anything else in the world, and tell them that what I really wanted was to be a mom, and that they made that happen for me, and I love them so much and I'm so grateful.

So yesterday, Maddie and I were playing on my bed, and I said, "Hey, can you think of something you want more than anything else in the world?"

She smiled her huge Maddie smile and said, "A new family!" She saw the look on my face and said, "Just kidding!" and started laughing.

She's always going for the joke. I can't imagine where she gets that from.

Thursday, April 28, 2016

The perils of paying attention.

You know how they say if you're not angry, then you're not paying attention? Is there an end to that statement that warns you that if you start paying attention, you're likely to become so enraged that you won't be able to sleep, and you won't be able to talk without crying, and there is nothing else you think about except the glaring injustices you are now finally seeing? 

I don't remember reading that part. 

I have been quiet here. I have been too angry to write. I've been too full of despair, felt too isolated. This started back when Hillary lost Michigan. The things that people were saying about her enraged me, and in that moment I could see the presidency slipping from her, and I couldn't help but wonder what would be different if she were a man. (Please note: I'm not arguing that she lost MI because she's a woman.)

Right after that, we watched American Crime Story, and it was the Marcia Clark episode. I haven't stopped thinking about it. It wrecked me, and I don't know if I'll ever actually find the words to talk about it here.

Then, I heard a fact about how Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu has two Oscars all to himself but only one woman in the history of the Academy has ever won an Oscar for directing. Let's just say the population is split 50/50, men and women. Shouldn't the Oscars reflect that, just a little? And then I had a dream where I won an Academy Award for directing, but the Oscar itself was modified to look like a cartoonish woman, and it wasn't made of solid gold like the real Oscar - it was plastic. Winning the award was considered just as prestigious, but I was being given the Lady Oscar, not the real Oscar. And in my dream, I tried to reason with myself that I still won an Oscar and I should be happy, and this shouldn't be a big deal.

And then I was driving Maddie to school one day and a thought popped into my head that unless abortion is legal, women have no choice in parenthood but men do. Once a woman is pregnant and denied access to abortion, she is saddled with a child. A man can just bolt. I've always been pro-choice, but I'd never thought about it this way. It filled me with rage.

And then I read this article about how if Bernie were a woman, he'd never have gotten this far, and if Hillary, as a woman, were as "revolutionary" as Bernie, she would've never gotten this far, and the only way she DID get this far was to play the game the way it's supposed to be played, and that Bernie has been able to play the game differently because he's a man.

And then I saw this. In case you don't feel like clicking, it's a link to a Bernie Sanders event called "Bern the Witch."

And then all of these injustices started popping up in my head. When you're a fat teenage girl, you're mocked and teased and made to feel like you're supposed to be something else, something better. When you're a fat teenage boy, you're encouraged to play football. Unless you're an effeminate fat teenage boy - and then you're mocked and teased and made to feel like you're supposed to be something else, something better. When you're a guy and you don't shave, you look rugged and manly. When you're a woman and you don't shave, you're a man-hating hippie.

When you're a woman running for president, you have to show up with makeup on and hair done. You have to pick an outfit strategically - it's not just a necktie you have to worry about. You have to be careful to not raise your voice, lest you sound "shrill." People talk about your fat thighs and your small breasts. Forget your experience - you are reduced to your parts, and to an idea of what a woman should be.

Generally speaking, I have been lucky. My mom raised me to not depend on men, ever. She raised me to not depend on anyone, so I never have (although I have eased in quite comfortably to the role of silent partner when it comes to bill-paying in our household). I was a theatre kid/band geek in high school, so my male friends were mostly gay, or super intelligent, or both. I have worked for the past 10 years for a company run by two women, full of more women than men.

Still: I have suffered on account of being a woman. I have been told to smile by men I don't know. I have been whistled at. I have received unwanted sexual comments. I have been afraid. I have felt less-than, because I don't look the way I think I'm supposed to look, the way men want me to look. In the field as a director, I've been surrounded by men, sometimes men who don't respect me because I'm a woman, men who will question my authority or knowledge, but who would never do the same to a man. I've been treated poorly by men who do not find me sexually desirable - men I've WORKED with.

I have never been raped. I am one of the lucky ones. Years ago, I had this notion that I would never be raped because men didn't want me enough. That is a seriously messed up way of thinking on so many levels, borne of decades of not feeling attractive, of seeing what is considered beautiful and noticing that I don't fit into that.

Somehow, for most of my life, I have ignored most of this, or I just haven't let it bother me. I've just accepted it as part of my life. But lately, the egregiousness of it is consuming me. I don't know if it's in such stark relief now because there is a woman running for president, and it's clear to me how differently she is judged than her male opponents, or if because there is at least one male running for president who openly despises women. Maybe it's because I now have two young girls I'm raising, who look to me to learn how to live in this world, who already have their own ideas of what is feminine and what isn't, who will only learn more as they get older how unfairly women are treated. Or maybe it's because finally, at 37 years old, I know for certain that I am worth the space I take up, that I have just as much to offer as any man does, that if the boys get to play, then I get to play too. Maybe it's because I finally understand that there is no wrong way to be a woman, so the kind of woman I am is the right kind of woman, because there is no other option. I guess it's never too late to learn.

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Checking in

Right when I finished my 30 days project, I was faced with a looming deadline on a script at work, which took up every minute of my time at work and at home. And then, I was faced with a crisis where I switched from just a feminist to an Angry Feminist (it started with the Marcia, Marica, Marcia episode of American Crime Story), and since then, I've been full of rage and asking everyone when the new planet will be ready, so that I can leave this place and take only the wonderful people with me. 

Bloggable things have happened, but I've been too angry to write about them. One would argue that I should write about the stuff that makes me angry. Well, I tried, and I couldn't get it to sound not-insane. So instead, let me give you a run down of just a few things that have happened over the past few weeks that I want to remember:

1. For a while, Maddie was saying "BINGO" instead of "jinx." We told her the word is "jinx," but she can't remember that, so now she says "JENGA!" It's the best.

2. I asked Isabella what she wanted the Easter bunny to bring her, and she said, "Candy! And a note. I want the Easter bunny to write me a note." Okay.

3. Election coverage was on, and Maddie said, "Why is there never a girl president?" That was about 2 weeks ago and I haven't stopped hugging her. 

4. I'm really excited for March to be over. These primary Tuesdays are killing me. 

5. I received an honorable mention for the story I submitted to NYC Midnight. I hated the story I submitted, but it got me writing again, and out of 40 entries in my heat, 5 moved on to the next round and 3 got honorable mentions. I'm trying to remind myself I don't suck. This helps. 

Saturday, March 05, 2016

Day 30

Yesterday was day 30 of my self-imposed 30-entries-in-30-days. Here is what I learned, in no particular order:

1. Perfection is not even worth my time. I wrote 24 entries, not 30. I started to panic about it when I realized I was more than 2 days behind. But then I reminded myself that hey, I've written more in the past month than I have in the past year, so let's focus on that.

2. People like reading what I write. Some entries were more popular than others, and it wasn't always easy to predict which entires would be popular. Also, it was surprising to me to see who WASN'T reading - and by that I mean who didn't comment on Facebook, or who didn't "like" any of my entries, or who didn't even notice I was writing more again. I didn't take this as judgment - it was just very clear that more people OUTSIDE my circle were very much interested, and were supportive and excited to see I was writing. So... I don't really know what to make of that. But my takeaway is that I do have an audience, and while it's important to me to write for myself, it's nice to know people want to read.

3. None of us are baby geniuses. A friend said this to me a few weeks ago and it stuck with me. I have this underlying fear that because I can't write The World According to Garp, I shouldn't write anything at all. First of all, that is nonsense. Secondly, it is not even a unique thought. It's such a boring and common thought, so I'm trying to shut that up, and I've realized that my writing is something that will get better with practice, as opposed to writing it off as "not good enough."

4. I am a writer. This is more a reminder than a realization. All I need to do to hold on to this title is write. I don't need to get published, I don't need to be perfect, I don't need people to tell me I'm good. I just need to write.

5. I need to think like a writer. This is probably the biggest change over the past month. The more I make time for writing in my life, the more I think like a writer - I see more, I listen more, I'm more curious, I'm more empathetic and understanding. This all makes the writing come a little easier, and it starts to feel like it's easier to write than to NOT write (which is something Julia Cameron promises in The Artist's Way).

6. The "why" is important, but not always necessary. I have a constant conversation in my head about WHY we tell stories, and why we feel compelled to create. This kind of goes with number 3. The why is definitely important, but not having it should never prevent me from writing.

7. I have no idea what kind of stuff I want to write. My go-to is short fiction. But sometimes I want to write a novel. Other times, a play. Other times, a screenplay. Sometimes, a web series. It's okay to not know... but I plan on spending the next few months working on various things to try to figure out what it is I actually love.

8. Any kind of creativity fuels my writer-brain. In the past month, I have sketched at least two things, I have taken more pictures, I have colored with the kids and on my own, and I even helped Maddie write a book. This is all stuff that feels ridiculously good, and it fuels the fire in my head. So no matter what, I need to keep creating.

9. No one is making the rules but me. This is tricky - I do best under deadline and when people are counting on me. I'm terrible at holding myself accountable to ME. But I have to exercise this muscle. I can't let it become atrophied again. So... I don't know how to do this other than to just keep showing up. We'll see how that goes.

Thanks to everyone who read and encouraged me to keep writing. It's working.

Wednesday, March 02, 2016


"Should you fail to pilot your own ship, don't be surprised at what inappropriate port you find yourself docked."

-Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume

It's that time of year in Los Angeles when the whole city smells like jasmine. It can get overwhelming at times, but when it first starts happening, every year around this time, it is nothing short of delightful.

Every year when this happens, it makes me think of when I first moved here, and it fills me with nostalgia and dread. How have I been here this long? How have I let this much time pass, and I'm still not doing exactly what I want to be doing?

I think I've finally - FINALLY - reached the point in my life where I actually believe I am capable of doing what it is I want to do, and I don't have to wait for someone to give me the opportunity. I'm finally seeing that the only thing I lack is motivation and belief in myself, and if I can just get past those, I can do all of those things I think are impossible.

My life is good. My ship isn't where I thought it would be, but it's not in unfriendly waters, and my ship mates are supportive. I'm taking small steps to right the course. It might not be immediately productive, but it feels way better than just trusting the night stars.