A Birth Story, told in parts (Part 2 of 2).

I can only assume most women ask their doctors one million questions about what to expect on delivery day. Not me. I figured, I'm at a good hospital, I've been in the room for 2 vaginal births and one c-section. I'm as prepared as I need to be.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

My induction was scheduled for 10am that Thursday. From what I understood (from stories from friends), they'd give me something to soften my cervix, they'd wait a bit, check me, put me on Pitocin, and then we'd wait some more. Everything would be very quiet and relatively pleasant while the Pitocin and eventual epidural worked their magic.

I took this photo as soon as we got into our hospital room. This was the only photo I took that day. 

We brought coloring books, playing cards, books, a charged iPad... these were all useless. As soon as I got there, the party started immediately as every party does: I got naked and shot up with Pitocin. An hour later, a doctor came in to check my progress for the first time. I was not prepared for how awful this would be. Apparently I have a posterior cervix? Which means that my cervix faces my... posterior? So every time I got checked, it felt like the doctor was shoving his entire forearm inside of me.

This was not hot. And this was, as they say, just the beginning.

Unimpressed with my dilation, the doctor decided to do a cervical foley, which is basically a balloon that's supposed to open up your cervix to get things going. Typically, this is just sort of uncomfortable, I guess. But for me, ti was so painful that he needed to drug me. He started with fentanyl. As he administered it, he said, "Now, this is going to feel like two martinis, really fast."

Folks, there is a reason people get addicted to this stuff. It was incredible.

It wasn't enough though, so eventually he decided he'd give me a fast-acting, temporary epidural to numb me just long enough to do this balloon thing. He expected the balloon to get me to 4cm. It got me to just under 2. The babies were not in any hurry - I think they'd heard who had been elected. They were fine to stay inside.

So we just had to wait.

The twins were rascally even then, and kept slipping out of the way of the heart monitors. This resulted in repeated lengthy ultrasounds to relocate them. This also prevented me from using the birthing ball, because those babies would not stay still and kept wiggling out of the way and falling off of the monitors. I was confined to my bed.

My mom, who birthed 2 of 3 babies without drugs, trying to offer advice...?

At my 10pm cervical check, I was 4cm. This seemed reasonable. I didn't feel like I needed the epidural, but I was exhausted and unable to sleep, so the nurses suggested I get it, just to get some rest to prepare for Game Time. So I did. An hour later, my water broke. The epidural didn't seem to be the magic I had hoped for, so when they said it was time for the catheter, I kept saying, "I'm going to feel this, I know I'm going to feel this," and they kept reassuring me, "No sweetie, you have the epidural, you won't feel it."

(I did. I did feel it. I felt it a lot.)

Finally, they upped the dosage of the epi to help me get about 60 minutes of sleep. After that, i felt every single contraction - duller, to be sure, than they would have been without any pain medicine, but certainly not pain-free or remotely comfortable.

"Are you feeling pain or pressure?" the nurse kept asking. I wanted to take her by collarless scrubs and scream in her face, "I AM FEELING ALL OF IT." Instead, I closed my eyes and said as patiently as I could, "I'm feeling painful pressure."

Enormous. Miserable.

Around 2:30 in the morning, baby A slipped off the monitor and the nurse was unable to relocate the heartbeat. This went on for about 20 minutes until she finally called the doctor in. Before I knew it, there were about six doctors and residents in my room, all taking turns trying to find this baby's heartbeat. After 35 minutes, they nailed it down and decided to put a monitor on baby A's head. Inside my body. So... forearm up the vagina again. Not exaggerating. Ask Gina, who witnessed the doctor elbow deep inside of me.

None of this is what I imagined.

A sleepless night finally gave way to morning and they came to check me. 8 cm. That's almost 10! Babies should be here in just a few hours! All the doctors were saying it! "Today is a great day to have babies!" "They might be here by lunch time!"

I was still feeling every contraction. I couldn't lie on my back at all, not even in an elevated position. I was incredibly uncomfortable, and finally my nurse said to the anesthesiologist, "We have to get her more comfortable. She's in misery." He shrugged. "If you're having back pain, there's not much I can do." He did give me a different type of epidural, which worked for about 40 minutes, and then I was back to feeling what I can only assume was a slightly duller version of what I'd be feeling if I had no drugs.

Around 8pm, I started feeling like I might be ready to push soon. It was dark outside and I was in agony, unable to lie back, unable to sleep, unable to stay in one position for more than a minute, and I started thinking in my head, I'm not going to be able to do this. There is no way. My back was screaming - the only sort of comfortable position was sitting up and bent over my belly. You can't really birth two babies like that.

My regular OB was not at the hospital that night. Dr. Canavan would be delivering my babies instead - I had no reservations about her because I had spoken to her on the phone a few days prior and she was so incredibly kind and patient with me, and talked me off of a pretty big ledge. I almost cried when I met her.

"Do you have kids?" I asked her fearfully.

"Not yet," she said with a smile.

I hesitated. "I really don't think I can do this."

"Of course you can," she said.

"I didn't realize my pain tolerance was so low..."

"No. This has nothing to do with pain tolerance. You're laboring with twins. This is the hardest thing you will ever do." God bless her. When she checked me, I was sure I was going to be at 9 or 10cm. I had been laboring all day! I was feeling the urge to push! I had to be close.

8cm. Still. Twelve hours of additional labor, on top of the 22 or so from the previous day. Eight. Centimeters.

WTF. This sucks.

It was around this time that they told me my blood work was coming back a little high, edging toward pre-eclampsia, and if I continued to not progress and my levels continued to raise, I'd need a c-section. I felt like just giving up and asking for the c-section, but I was too afraid to. I kept picturing pushing the first baby out and the doctor having to reach up inside of me for the second baby. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT THEY DO FOR TWINS. There was no f*cking way.

Gina, knowing how miserable I was, asked, "If she needs a c-section, how long will it take to get her into surgery?"

"An hour and a half or so."

So we waited. I breathed. I closed my eyes. I breathed some more. I had a 10pm blood draw. At 11, they came in and said, "Okay, your levels are high and you're not progressing, so we're gonna have to do a c-section, okay?"

I nodded. Gina asked, "How long? An hour and a half?"

"Twenty minutes."

And just like that, 6 nurses came in and started prepping me for surgery -cleaning, shaving, rubbing iodine all over the place - and I was wheeled down the hall to the OR. I went into surgery around 11:20pm. After about 15 minutes of two dozen doctors & nurses getting everything ready, and the anesthesiologist drugging me, Gina was allowed back in and it was show time. I had two anesthesiologists, both explaining to me everything that was happening, everything that I should be feeling, all in a very calm voice, and repeating, "You're doing great, Katie. This is all very normal." And I realized in that minute how insane it was that I was having this major surgery in this brightly lit operating room while I was fully AWAKE.

This is pretty damn intimidating.

And then, as though it happened yesterday, I remember the moment. The moment my babies came into this world, into my life, for real. The anesthesiologist held up a mirror for me. I could feel my body moving slightly as the doctors worked to tug my babies out of me.

"Get ready," he said into my ear.

They warned me the babies might not cry at first, so when a slimy, slippery-looking baby was pulled out of me and held up for me to see, I wasn't worried when I didn't hear a cry. "It's a girl!" Dr. Canavan said.

"That's a big baby!" the anesthesiologist said.

Seraphina - 7lbs, 11oz. 21 1/4 inches.

But I barely registered that. I was confused. A girl? Baby A was a boy. WAS I ABOUT TO BE THE MOTHER OF FOUR GIRLS?!

"There's a boy in there too, right?" I asked, panicked, pleading.

More tugging. Less than a minute passed. "...and a boy!"

My favorite photo - Dr. Canavan and Kieran, 7lbs, 3 oz. 20 1/2 inches.

Again, the anesthesiologist: "Those are huge babies!"

Unlike his sister, Kieran cried the second the air hit his lungs, and when I heard his wail, so distinctive even now, I started sobbing. The nine months of anticipation hit me heard in that one moment, and I finally let myself believe that I had actually been pregnant. Every feeling you have as an expectant mother, every feeling I pushed away for fear of getting too excited, too attached, every feeling I didn't feel flooded my soul and my mind and I could barely catch my breath.

They were here. These babies I had waited for my entire life here here, and they were healthy. I had managed to keep them inside of me for 37 weeks and 6 days, and they were here, and holy shit, this is the most amazing thing in the entire universe. They came 2 days before the six year anniversary of me losing my first baby in a hospital bed.

Suddenly, my life was full of magic and wonder in a way I welcomed but was not expecting, and in a way I didn't even realize I needed. My life finally felt unquestionably whole.

Me and my littlest cubs. 

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!!"

Emergency

EMERGENCY

A play in one act

By Katie Papa

THE SCENE: A small house in a very cute neighborhood with good schools, but not too far from the city, and not too far from cool stuff to do... a very SCENIC place that is quiet and has nice sunsets... Okay. It's the suburbs. A small house in the suburbs.

THE CHARACTERS:

GINA: Energetic, playful, optimist. Mom.

KATIE: Annoyed, impatient, pessimist. Mom. 

MADDIE: 5, prone to fits of rage.

ISABELLA: 4, prone to weeping and clumsiness.

NOODLE: A dog.

LIGHTS UP on the PLAYROOM, a room scattered with toys, an old Ikea couch, and a flatscreen TV. Kid art covers the walls. It is 7:10pm. Bedtime is at 8, which means getting-ready-for-bed starts at 7:30. 

GINA: Hey girls! Who wants to play "In Case of Emergency"?

MADDIE & ISABELLA (in unision): Me!!

GINA: Okay, so what we do if there is an emergency?

Isabella, dutiful, runs to Gina and reaches her arms up to be picked up. Gina slings Isabella around to her back.

GINA: Okay, Izzy, hold on to my neck. Maddie, come on over!

MADDIE: (arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed) No. *I* want to be in back.

GINA: You can't be in back. You are heavier, you have to be in the front.

MADDIE: (screams her patented Bloody Rage Scream) I WANT TO BE IN BACK. (melts into hysterics)

GINA: Come on, Maddie, we practice this. Just come here and let me pick you up.

MADDIE: (Bloody Rage Scream)

GINA: You know what? Fine. Let's not do this. (she sets Isabella down.) 

ISABELLA: (starts jumping up and down) Mommy! I want to do the Emergency! I want to do it! Please!

GINA: No! I tried to do it and Maddie freaked out.

ISABELLA: (freaks out, cries, screams) Mommy, please! I want to do it! Please! (Gina walks away.) MOMMMYYYY! PLEASE!!!!! (carries on thusly for several minutes.)

Finally, Gina goes back into the playroom.

GINA: Okay, do we want to try this again? (the girls voice their approval.) Okay, Isabella, get on my back. Maddie, come here.

MADDIE: I. WANT. TO. BE. IN. BAAAAAACKKKKKK.

GINA: Oh my God. Forget it.

ISABELLA: MOMMY! I WANT TO DO IT!! PLEASE!! (wail, sob)

MADDIE: MOMMY! I WANT TO BE IN BACK! I HATE YOU, IZZY!

GINA: THAT IS ENOUGH. We're not doing it.

BOTH: PLEASE MOMMY! WE WILL LISTEN!

Minutes pass.

GINA: Okay, can we try this?

MADDIE & ISABELLA: Yes!

GINA: Okay, Isabella, get on my back. Maddie, come here. 

MADDIE: Wait! What about our stuff?

GINA: What do you mean?

MADDIE: OUR TOYS!

GINA: We leave the toys here in case of an emergency.

MADDIE: (wails) I WANT OUR STUFF! ALL OF OUR STUFF!

GINA: We can get more stuff. We can't get more US. So let's just go and practice this!

MADDIE: I WANT MY TOYSSSSSS!!!!!

GINA: Oh. My. GOD. FORGET IT.

ISABELLA: No no no no, Mommy, PLEASE! I WANT TO DO EMERGENCY!!

Both girls continue to cry. Minutes pass.

GINA: Okay, can we try this for real?

MADDIE and ISABELLA: Yes!

GINA: Okay, Isabella, get on my back. Maddie, come here. 

Okay, Mommy Katie, pretend there is an emergency!

KATIE: Quick, there is an emergency! I'll get Noodle!

Gina, with Isabella on her back and Maddie in her arms, runs to the front door, followed by Katie, with Noodle in her arms. Gina opens the door and rushes out. Halfway out the door, Maddie's hair gets caught in part of the door. Not realizing it, Gina is still moving quickly ahead, while Maddie's hair is stubbornly caught in the door frame. Maddie's head jerks. 

KATIE: Oh God. That was bad. Oh, honey, are you okay?

MADDIE, who has JUST MOMENTS AGO STOPPED CRYING ABOUT BEING IN FRONT AND NOT IN BACK: (Crying. Hysterically. Rubbing her head.)

Cuddles and ice pack on the couch. Apologies. Minutes pass.

GINA: Are ready to try it again? Okay, Isabella, get on my back. Maddie, come here. Okay, Mommy Katie, pretend there is an emergency!

KATIE: Quick, there is an emergency! I'll get Noodle!

The family rushes out the door. It's now 7:45. 

LIGHTS.

Misogyny and St. Valentine

I waited too long to make a reservation for dinner last night, so we wound up having our Valentine's Day dinner at Taylor's Steakhouse in La Canada Flintridge. I've driven past it many times and was excited to try it, but yelp wasn't selling me on it. We kept our expectations low.

The restaurant was fine, the food was actually delicious - service a little slow, decor quite outdated. But overall, a good choice. We were expecting to be the youngest in the restaurant (we weren't), but what we weren't expecting was a side of misogyny with our dinner.

We were seated at a booth near a couple in their late 40's. He was a boring-looking ruddy-faced middle class sort of guy. I couldn't see her, but I can tell you this much: she was not sober. We had been sitting down for less than five minutes when this conversation happened:

Man: Did you see Hillary on the debate the other night?

Woman: No.

Man: She was wearing this awful shirt...

Woman: Ugh! She needs to wear a dress!

Man: Are you kidding? She's a lesbian!

Because lesbians don't wear dresses. Duh.

Listen, I'm fine if you don't like Hillary. But I don't have to explain to you that this stuff ENRAGES me in every direction imaginable, right? You guys get that, right? Let me know if you don't, I'm happy to enlighten you on why this makes me so angry. When was the last time someone complained about the way a male candidate was dressed? I. Can't. EVEN.

The conversation continued. The man presented the woman with what seemed to be a doomsday scenario.

Man: What happens if it's Trump and Clinton? Who are you going to vote for?

Woman: Oh, god. I don't know. I guess Hillary. I guess I'd have to vote for Hillary. Oh my god. 

Keep in mind, it's not that they would prefer Sanders over Hillary. It's that the idea of a democrat in office for four more years is only MARGINALLY better than a Trump presidency. Marginally.

There was a bunch of other political chat, but the wine was flowing at our table and I can't remember much more of it. I do remember my jaw hitting the table several times, listening to what they were saying.

The best part of the conversation came when the man was recounting to the woman a news report he had seen where several women were interviewed about an event.

Man: And they purposely picked women to interview because they are so EMOTIONAL. There were no men interviewed.

Woman: Are you saying they're emotional because they're WOMEN? Is that what you're really saying to me right now?

Man: Well... are you saying women are not more emotional than men?

This did not go well for him. The silver lining was that she was indeed sticking up for herself.

When it came time for dessert, we found out Mr. Charming still had some tricks up his sleeve.

Man: If I get the creme brulee, I am NOT sharing it with you. You have to promise me you're not going to ask for even a bite. 

Woman: I don't want it. 

Man: So you're going to watch me eat it? And really not ask for any? Because if you take even ONE BITE, YOU have to pick up the check. One. Bite.

Love really was in the air. What a blessing.

Mother's Day: Year 2

It doesn't seem like a year ago that I posted this about my first Mother's Day as a real mom. At the same time, it somehow seems like a lifetime ago, because my life has changed so dramatically since then, and nowhere moreso than in the Motherhood Department. I remember then being overwhelmed and frustrated, but joyful and thankful and most importantly: in control.

That has changed, of course. If you think parenting an 18-month-old is hard, imagine adding a 2.5 year old suddenly to the mix. It's sort of like that science experiment you did in middle school (or in my case, you saw someone do on TV) where you pour the vinegar into the volcano and it "explodes." It's that - with human beings. I think everyone's journey to motherhood is different, and everyone's experience as a mom is different, but I find that MY experience seems especially different in that there are very few - if any - people I know that became mothers in a similar way to me. And I know every mom's life is full of "shoulds" - I should feel this way, I should do this, I should think that, this should happen this way - but sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in shoulds, shoulds that I can't even say out loud, shoulds I think no one else (except Gina, of course) could possibly ever understand.

But here's what I've learned over the last year - it doesn't matter what the shoulds are, because life keeps moving forward. The girls keep growing - they keep entering and exiting developmental phases, and then sometimes entering them again. But this is how it is. This is what we have, and WE are what THEY have. I am what they have. I'm tired. I feel never-enough. I feel a million things at once and sometimes nothing at all. And the whole time, they are just here, growing and changing - emotionally, physically, mentally. They say things like, "Mommy, your nails are so beautiful," and "Come to me, mommy," and "Fuck."

Yep. I'm sure I'm doing a million things wrong, but somewhere in there, something is right.

'

Fever

Conversation with Gina yesterday in Target:

Katie (passing the baby section): I know it's only been 2 days since we've declared Isabella potty trained, but baby fever struck me the MOMENT I realized she's pretty much out of diapers. Like... it's suddenly as bad as it was when we didn't have any kids at all.

Gina: (laughing) Yeah, I get it. 

Pause.

Gina: (dead serious) But we do. Have kids. A lot. All the time.

Do the right thing

Once Maddie came to stay with us full time, parenting went from a Very Manageable, Enjoyable Job to High Stress, High Stakes Career.  Isabella had been such an easy kid - very mellow and adaptable, somewhat ornery at times, but overall, a breeze.  She had a set bedtime and she rarely woke up before 6:45 in the morning.  Gina and I thought we were getting away with murder, basically - we had this cute kid who admittedly arrived with a bit of trauma but who seemed unaffected by said trauma.

Maddie alone is a tough kid - beautiful and sweet but with a temper running in her bloodline she sometimes can't control. Alone, both kids present their own challenges...toddlers are difficult, as a rule. Together, they are maniacs. They are lunatics in adorable little-girl bodies. 

Parenting two children this young is not something I would have ever avoided on purpose; however, it is also not something I was prepared for.  Would it be different if the new child that had arrived had been a newborn?  I'll never know.  And I don't have time to think about it - my life is now full to the brim with transitioning the girls to the next part of the day: asleep to awake, morning at home to morning at daycare, daycare to car, car to home, home to dinner, dinner to bath, bath to bed, mommy to Jack Daniels, and so on.  These transitions are never consistently seamless, despite our best efforts.  Our daycare provider suggested bringing something to entice them into the car so that we could avoid the screaming fits from one or both if she couldn't open the door, or shut the door, or climb over the other's car seat to get to her own, or buckle herself in (ISABELLA HELP YOU!  ISABELLA DO IT! - News flash, you'd help me a whole lot by SITTING THE EFF DOWN and letting me BUCKLE YOU IN LOVE YOU MEAN IT OKAY?).  So one day when I had a little extra time, I ran home before going to get them and I secured some pretzel sticks for them.  They are ravenous little beasts right after school and I thought maybe a small snack would help.  It turned into Isabella having some pretzel left that Maddie wanted, and Isabella wouldn't give it to her (even though she wasn't eating it), and Maddie didn't regain control of her wits until about an hour and a half later. And then there is bedtime, which admittedly is getting better (Maddie is starting to fall asleep to songs and rocking instead of Rizzoli & Isles), but it is such a process, and there are no rules, and Gina and I end the night barely awake at 10pm, wondering what we are doing wrong, if we are doing ANYTHING right, and if we are ever again going to have a life that doesn't include trying to console a 3 year old because her 2 year old cousin flushed her poop without her written permission.

It's hard.  There is yelling.  Lots of yelling.  By me, by Gina, and by them.  I don't want to yell at them, I know yelling is my temper tantrum, but it usually WORKS and it makes me feel better.  I say stuff to them, try to reason with them, in a way that makes absolutely no sense.  I ask them insane questions - "Why would you do that?" Answer: I am 3 or I am almost 2 (depending on the kid), I make no sense whatsoever, haven't you figured that out yet, you fool?  And then my favorite is when they have a case of the "MINE!s", we are both known to say something like, "You know what?  NONE OF THIS IS YOURS!  It's all MINE and I let YOU play with it, so calm down!"

We both have college degrees, you guys.

They say you should be the person you want your child to be.  I'm not there yet, and I can see it when Maddie plays with her babies and gets right in their face and says, "Stop it! Nap! Quiet!" in the sternest voice a three-year-old can muster.  I can see it when Isabella looks at her milk (HER MILK) and says, "Stop it, milk!" in her quiet, authoritative voice.  And I can see it in how they talk to each other, when Isabella tries to shut the door (there is a no-shutting-the-door rule in our house (lest fingers get caught) that is broken every six seconds), and Maddie goes up and grabs her by the arms and says, "NO, Isabella, no shutting the door!"  It's in moments like this that I know I'm just screwing them up, and they will grow up talking about their mean mommy/auntie, and by then, therapy will be like $2000 an hour.

Inevitably, the tears come.  You get to a point where you are too angry and too tired to even yell, and the tears start falling if for no other reason than your body forcing you to just CLOSE YOUR EYES for a minute.  About 30 minutes after we got them home from daycare on my 35th birthday a few weeks ago (a birthday I was NOT looking forward to), I hit my wall.  They were fighting and screaming at each other over I can't even remember what, and there was still dinner to give and a kitchen to clean and baths to administer, and I had nothing. left. and I just put my head in my hands and let the lump in my throat evolve to tears, because just like yelling, tears make me feel better.  They stopped fighting and just looked at me.  Maddie came over to me and put her hand on my arm.  "Aunt Katie, so sad?"  I said, "Yes, I'm sad."  And then, as though it were scripted in a movie, she rubbed my arm, and then leaned her head on my shoulder and said, "It's okay, Katie.  I got you.  No sad.  I got you.  Ssssh.  I got you."

I guess we're doing something right.  Maybe they can get away with bi-weekly instead of weekly therapy sessions?

Postcards from Parenthood: School Supplies and the Apocalypse

Little Bee started daycare this week. Over the weekend, I thought that I should buy her a lunch box, but then the logical buzzkill in me decided that was ridiculous, she’s 10 months old, she doesn’t need a lunch box.

Turns out, she needs a lunch box. I was a little too excited to head to Target on Monday to pick one up for her. I originally imagined an old school metal square lunch box, but the daycare provider suggested more of a fabric-cooler type lunch box, so I thought for sure I wouldn’t be able to find anything cute.

BOY WAS I WRONG.

Gina also mentioned to me that I should pick her up a little backpack, and my first thought was of pure love that Gina was indulging my ridiculous love of school supplies, because why the hell would a 10 month old need a backpack? For 100% cuteness potential, that’s why! I was shopping with a friend who has a 3 year old and another one on the way, and I was telling her about how great it was that Gina was encouraging me to buy her a backpack, and I said, “You know, because she’s gonna need something to carry her stuff in back and forth from daycare!” My friend said, “Like what stuff?” … Um… Well, she has two changes of clothes that stay at daycare, along with diapers, wipes, and diaper rash cream… so … um… “Oh… um… I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t need a backpack…”

Target’s selection was laughable anyway, so I didn’t get one for her. When I got home, I was excited to tell Gina I didn’t buy a backpack, that I resisted the urge, because after all, she doesn’t need one! She’s a baby! …to which Gina said, “But she DOES need one. The daycare provider keeps an emergency backpack for each of the kids.”

Nuts.

So the next day (yesterday), I managed to find her a character-free backpack and a mini flashlight, which was one of the items on the list for the backpack.

The other items:

A Two-Day Supply of the Following: 

• Shirt/Pair of Pants; small hat, pair of socks, shoes 
• Lite (gah! Lite?!) sweater/emergency blanket 
• Diapers (4) and pair of gloves 
• Bottle of water 
• Emergency food (non-perishable) 
• Pacifier, transition objects 
• Bottle and formula 
• Emergency card with important contacts 

As we started putting the backpack together, all I could think of was what horrible thing might happen that would require her to need these things. Despite the fact that she doesn’t walk (which justified not putting shoes in the bag), I pictured her walking, in a pair of dirty socks, with the backpack (which is just a little smaller than a normal backpack) on her shoulders, dwarfing her, wearing stained, mismatched emergency clothes and hat, her face layered with grime, heading down a desolate Los Angeles city street with her teachers and her other little friends, in some sort of apocalyptic scene where everything is gray… and she’s looking around for us, and just barely trusting the adults she’s with, and they’re all so grateful that they have their emergency rations of pureed carrots and pears…

And then I started wondering - would anyone notice if I just made myself a little joey patch and carried her around with me everywhere I went?

Through the ice.

“Maybe I’m too young to keep good love from going wrong…”

This is a lyric from a Jeff Buckley song called “Lover You Should Have Come Over.” It doesn’t seem like that long ago that this line in this song drove through my heart like a stake. Early in my relationship with Gina, I found myself looking at other couples and wondering what their secret was, why it seemed so easy for them. Gina and I have come through a lot to get where we are, and there was a time where I think we both wondered if we could make “us” work. For me, there always seemed to be something bigger at work in our journey, something that was both the destination and the guide, something that made it okay that it wasn’t always easy. I have likened the feeling to being trapped under a very thin sheet of ice without the proper tools to break through the ice. We tried and tried to break through, with no luck, but I knew if we kept trying long enough, we’d get through the ice and be able to gulp the sweet, crisp, fresh air that was waiting on the other side. And we were both willing to keep trying.

It’s safe to say there was a time where it was pockets of brilliance amongst a lot of mediocrity. Never horrible, but rarely blissful. We both understood one thing: we could not understand each other. We talked a lot (hazard of lesbian relationships – women LOVE to talk), but we would both wind up frustrated and confused. About two years ago, we both admitted it wasn’t exactly what we had in mind when we pictured “happily ever after,” and that we both deserved better. Now, I feel like this is the part where a lot of couples would break up. But we didn’t want to break up. We were already in love, and we weren’t angry at each other. So we made a mutual decision to work towards something better.

For me, I stopped questioning everything and started listening. I listened to what she said and what she didn’t say. I listened to myself, to what I said and what I didn’t say. I tried to talk less and listen more. I tried to leave all of the crappy stuff in the past and look at her as she stood in the moment, unattached to anything before. I didn’t pay attention to who she had been or who I had been, but rather who we presently were and where we wanted to be. And none of this represented a change to my foundation – instead, it was a needed maturation. And all of it, all of the work, was a hell of a lot easier than wading through the misunderstandings of before.

It didn’t take long for us to smash through the ice. And now? Now it’s better than I ever imagined it would be. I get a ridiculous amount of joy from her and her place in my life, and my place in hers. I feel lucky every day. She has become my best friend, and every day seems to be better than the one before.

We recently registered as domestic partners, and of course in this hetero-centric culture we live in, a lot of people have asked about me taking her name. Why did you take her name? Is she Gina Papa Hall now? Why didn’t she take your name? The truth is, I took her name initially for two reasons: 1. I like it, and 2. our children will have that last name and I think it’s important to have the same last name as them. But now that it’s official, I feel like a football player wearing the same jersey as my teammate. Of course I wouldn’t wear a different jersey – how will the world know we’re part of the same team? It’s also a hard-won proclamation – she is mine and I am hers. It took a while, but we finally figured it out, we finally have become one of those couples other couples can look up to, and we think everyone should know it.

Testing limits.

After what has felt like four months of non-stop rain and chilly weather, we finally had a break here in Los Angeles over the weekend. The sun shone and the temperature hovered around 80 degrees. The air smelled great and was crystal clear after all of the rain we've had, and it was one of those weekends that reminds you why you live here. I'm sure people did tons of outdoor activities - walking, hiking, biking, roller blading... I slept.

Bad timing has always been a forte for my body. I couldn't have caught this ass-kicking cold when it was raining inches every day for two weeks. My body had to wait until the sun was shining and spring was springing.

It started with a sore throat and turned into a "breathing optional" sort of event. I've blown my nose more in the last six days than I have probably my entire life. And still, I can't really taste anything. Soup and I have become very close over the last week.

The weekend was not a wash. I refused to let it be. We saw Rent at the Pantages on Friday, with Anthony Rapp and Adam Pascal reprising their roles as Mark and Roger respectively. Anthony Rapp is still as spry as ever - Adam Pascal has aged. Overall the show was good, not great, but very enjoyable and we had a lot of fun.

Saturday morning, I went to get a massage courtesy of my unbeatable girlfriend. I did not want to cancel the massage because of my cold because I was SO looking forward to it. But really, I should have canceled it. I do not recommend any situation where you have to lay face down when you have a runny nose. You can paint the picture yourself. After the massage, I napped, hoping to make a miraculous recovery in time for our scheduled happy hour at Fiesta Cantina in West Hollywood. No such luck. Still, I was a trooper and went to happy hour and had a great time, until the very end when I was suddenly and overwhelmingly miserable. Turns out tequila, yelling, and second-hand smoke do not make a good cold remedy. I was in bed by 10pm.

Sunday was another beautiful day that saw me inside for the entirety of it, starting in the morning with what I imagine were delicious chocolate chip pancakes courtesy of gina. I could just taste the chocolate. This was followed by more napping, and then dinner with mom and Jesse and Paul, where I not only was unable to taste my soup and salad, I wasn't even charged for it!

Today, day six, I woke up feeling marginally better, better enough that I can see the light at the end of the Common Cold tunnel. I know now that I won't feel like this for the rest of my life and I will indeed eventually get better. I haven't even needed one tissue yet today. Things are looking up!

Oh, and the rain is back. Seven days worth of rain, to be exact, perfectly coinciding with my recovery. Rad.

Enjoying baseball games with other people's children.

Gina and I went to a Dodgers game this weekend with two of Gina's friends. Gina and I loooove baseball games, and we're always looking for new traditions to start. We decided to go big this time and we got the $25 tickets instead of the cheapy seats. We had fantastic seats behind home plate - kind of up high, but they offered a great view:



We sat next to this 4 and a half year old little boy and his dad, and right around the fifth inning, this little boy decided that he really liked Gina. He had his eye on her ever since she bought a bag of peanuts in the 2nd inning. When he finally got the courage to ask for a peanut, the four of us had already finished the bag. Even though he was bummed out, he didn't hesitate to chat it up with us for the rest of the game. He even played along when we were giving bunny ears to the people in front of us as they tried to take pictures of themselves. He also helped Gina flag down the cotton candy guy, by standing on his seat and yelling, "Hey cotton candy guy!!"

A few minutes after we made our newest friend, another little boy came down to our seats with his mom and introduced himself to our little boy. The new little boy and our little boy were the same age, and they were talking about how they're going to kindergarten in the fall. As the conversation waned, the new little boy started saying, "I know lots of stuff. I know the baseball player's names, and I know all the signs and stuff..." The mom smiled and put her arm around him and said, "And the next thing we're going to teach you is humility. Enjoy the game! Nice to meet you all."

Because the Dodgers were losing so badly, Gina's friends asked if we would be willing to leave early. I said no way Jose, as I bought the tickets and growing up as a Cleveland Indians fan, I'm wired to think that the best baseball happens in the last inning. The little boy overheard our conversation and looked up at Gina: "Are you guys leaving?" We promised him we'd stay until the end and he informed us that he was staying until the end, too.

Well, the Dodgers failed to pull anything out, losing 7-2. We sat for a little while after the game, letting people file out before us. The little boy said his goodbyes to us, and his dad picked him up to carry him to the car. As they were walking away, the little boy grinned and waved and called out, "Let me know if you dream about baseball games!"