For most of the six plus years of Raphaela's life, she has very rarely asked about the identity of her biological father/sperm donor, and when she does ask, the subject passes fairly quickly. In the last two weeks, Raphaela has become almost obsessive about it, and will frequently get this terribly sad look on her face and say, "I miss my Daddy."
Despite the fact that she knows the story of her conception, that I chose to have her and that she does not have a father who will come home, it has obviously become more pressing to her. Since nothing has changed at home, I can only assume that not only is she more aware now that she is older, but that her classmates have also discussed it with her.
Toward that end, I met today with the School Counsellor/Psychologist, with the intention of gaining some insight and perhaps some tips as to how to deal with this in the best and healthiest way possible. After telling the Counsellor about my approach, she assured me that I am in fact a very good parent and that I am handling it well.
Then she expressed a desire to do more within the realm of the school, because it will undoubtedly come up again in Raphaela's six years at Evelyna. The Counsellor suggested that she first have a casual sit down with my daughter, to see where her head is at. Following that discussion, she plans on leading an activity in the classroom to talk about the legitimacy of every type of family; every family is different, and what matters most is that there is love and a sense of security. "The girls," she said, "need a common language of respect on the subject."
The Counsellor also told me that there is another girl in the class whose father died over two years ago, during the most recent war in Gaza. She assured me that both my daughter and this other child show no signs of depression or a "lack thereof" of a father, that Raphaela is warm and well-adjusted, with a deep sense and appreciation of self.
I closed the session by telling the Counsellor that I do tell Raphaela that just because there is no father in the house at the moment, does not mean that someday I will meet a wonderful man who will become both husband and father.
To which the Counsellor applied, in true beautiful and authentic Israeli style, "Tell me what you are looking for, I know people, you know!"
Showing posts with label breast feeding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breast feeding. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Sunday, June 23, 2013
One Month Before My Birthday...
Last night I dreamt that I had gone to the hospital to visit a friend who was in labor and about to give birth. While I was standing there, I went into labor myself, and gave birth to a happy red-headed infant, whom I named Jenny. [Possibly a reference to a Doctor Who episode]
This child was clearly conceived through immaculate conception, because I remember feeling quite surprised that I had apparently been pregnant and didn't realize it. Both my mother and my grandmother (Rest in Peace) came to see me, and my grandmother was informing all those who would listen that this birth represented very bad timing, because I have donated all of Raphaela's smaller clothing, including the new-baby stuff, and because I have also donated or sold all of her baby accouterments, like her crib and stroller and standing bath and infant car seat.
[In fact, as I get closer to my birthday in real life, the donation of these items will take place some time this week, once I have found a worthy and legitimate charitable organization in Jerusalem.]
As it was a Friday morning, [Raphaela was born on a Friday morning in real life] I nursed Baby Jenny and tucked her into a cradle that looked more like a cardboard box, and lit Shabbat candles; once she fell asleep, I resumed the previous dream, in which I was traveling for the summer with a group and we were trying to decide upon an amusement park. I wanted to ride on the largest and most scary roller coaster.
As this group of my peers were arguing over the itinerary, I realized that I could not abandon Jenny even if she was unplanned and most inconvenient. I smiled when I thought about Raphaela as an older sister, and laughed at the idea of raising not one but two girls. I told my friends, "I have to go back for Jenny!"
And I woke up.
This child was clearly conceived through immaculate conception, because I remember feeling quite surprised that I had apparently been pregnant and didn't realize it. Both my mother and my grandmother (Rest in Peace) came to see me, and my grandmother was informing all those who would listen that this birth represented very bad timing, because I have donated all of Raphaela's smaller clothing, including the new-baby stuff, and because I have also donated or sold all of her baby accouterments, like her crib and stroller and standing bath and infant car seat.
[In fact, as I get closer to my birthday in real life, the donation of these items will take place some time this week, once I have found a worthy and legitimate charitable organization in Jerusalem.]
As it was a Friday morning, [Raphaela was born on a Friday morning in real life] I nursed Baby Jenny and tucked her into a cradle that looked more like a cardboard box, and lit Shabbat candles; once she fell asleep, I resumed the previous dream, in which I was traveling for the summer with a group and we were trying to decide upon an amusement park. I wanted to ride on the largest and most scary roller coaster.
As this group of my peers were arguing over the itinerary, I realized that I could not abandon Jenny even if she was unplanned and most inconvenient. I smiled when I thought about Raphaela as an older sister, and laughed at the idea of raising not one but two girls. I told my friends, "I have to go back for Jenny!"
And I woke up.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Night and Day
This morning after dropping off Raphaela at Gan, another mother approached me, a parent of one of the "doctors" from yesterday's incident. She could barely look me in the eye and explained that she had had a long talk with her son, that she understood from him that the game had been done in the spirit of innocence and with consent from all the kids involved. She apologized profusely, and I told her while I was quite shocked by the appearance of Raphaela's stomach, I certainly didn't blame her or her child for any sort of uncontrolled or malicious behaviour.
We hugged, and we both agreed that we trusted the management of the nursery school to properly handle the lessons that could be gained from this experience. The manager told me that they have already conducted an extensive review of the safety of the play space outside, and the Head Teacher will be performing a play with puppets for the children, entitled, "My Private Body."
In my head, I compare my feelings to last year, when I defended my daughter from one of the boys in her previous Gan, a child who all year bullied and tortured his classmates. At the previous Montessori educational institution, not only did I get blamed and in fact get banned; not only did the manager of the Gan continually ignore my pleas and the concerns of other parents regarding the state of perpetual violence; the parents of this boy certainly did not apologize, unless you count them threatening to report me (!) to the police.
Night and day...
We hugged, and we both agreed that we trusted the management of the nursery school to properly handle the lessons that could be gained from this experience. The manager told me that they have already conducted an extensive review of the safety of the play space outside, and the Head Teacher will be performing a play with puppets for the children, entitled, "My Private Body."
In my head, I compare my feelings to last year, when I defended my daughter from one of the boys in her previous Gan, a child who all year bullied and tortured his classmates. At the previous Montessori educational institution, not only did I get blamed and in fact get banned; not only did the manager of the Gan continually ignore my pleas and the concerns of other parents regarding the state of perpetual violence; the parents of this boy certainly did not apologize, unless you count them threatening to report me (!) to the police.
Night and day...
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Testing, testing...123!
When Raphaela was all of two days old, she showed a remarkable intelligence and awareness of how to manipulate the system. I had just fed her and had dropped her off at the nursery in Hadassah Hospital, where she and the other 30 babies were meant to sleep for the night.
Fifteen minutes later, a frenzied call came over the loudspeaker: "Ms. Leeder, Ms. Leeder, come to the nursery immediately, your child is crying very loudly!" When I arrived, the nurse scolded me, saying, "The child is obviously hungry."
I assured the nurse that I had just fed her, and that besides, two day old babies live off their post-birth fat so she couldn't be all that hungry. In order to not wake up the other sleeping infants, they asked me to try to nurse. I sat down in one of the comfy chairs, didn't even have the chance to pull up my shirt, and Raphaela fell asleep on my chest.
Lesson learned, crying gets Mommy, especially when the nurses want the rest of the children to sleep, and when Mommy is so new at the job.
Fast forward to last week, we scheduled a play date with one of Raphaela's friends from her previous Gan. All was going well, when the other girl's behaviour deteriorated rapidly, she started to cry and complain of the cold, she became clingy and demanded that her mother take her home.
At the time, I thought this event could be filed under Anomaly.
Yesterday, Raphaela and I had plans for lunch with one of our closest friends. The girls have grown up together literally since birth. On the walk, Raphaela chatted happily about all the thing they would do, all the games they would play and how excited she was to see them. As soon as we walked in the door, Raphaela started crying, "I want to go home Mommy! Mika is not my friend! My leg hurts and I want to go home."
At first I thought that she had been hurt somewhere in our seemingly innocuous walk through the sunny streets of Jerusalem. I asked her, "Raphaela, are you sad? Are you angry? Show me where it hurts. Tell me why you want to go home."
She puckered up her lips, much like she looked when she was first born and resting on my stomach after the first major event in her life, and cried out, "I want to go home because I want to go home!"
Could be that I misinterpreted this almost obvious manipulation and power play, but I decided that Raphaela cannot learn that our plans go to Hell in a hand basket whenever she feels like it. I told her that she was perfectly free to sit in the corner and cry all she wanted, and that I was going to attempt to enjoy the time with our friends.
And cry she did. And kick and sob, for close to an hour. My friends whose daughter is the same age understood, though it certainly dampened the atmosphere. We left after an hour and a half, and I wondered if Raphaela needs counselling for...Fear of Play Dates.
I must admit that I felt some resentment as well, I rarely enjoy grown-up time with friends, and rather than play with her mate, she chose to ruin it for all of us. At the time that she was throwing the mother of all temper tantrums, I wished someone would just step in and tell me why.
(Post script: About one minute after we left our friends' house, Raphaela said to me, "Mommy, I don't want to be cry, I want to be happy." About one and half minutes after we left our friends' house Raphaela announced that she was happy once again. When we got home, she was singing and playing as if nothing at all had happened.)
Fifteen minutes later, a frenzied call came over the loudspeaker: "Ms. Leeder, Ms. Leeder, come to the nursery immediately, your child is crying very loudly!" When I arrived, the nurse scolded me, saying, "The child is obviously hungry."
I assured the nurse that I had just fed her, and that besides, two day old babies live off their post-birth fat so she couldn't be all that hungry. In order to not wake up the other sleeping infants, they asked me to try to nurse. I sat down in one of the comfy chairs, didn't even have the chance to pull up my shirt, and Raphaela fell asleep on my chest.
Lesson learned, crying gets Mommy, especially when the nurses want the rest of the children to sleep, and when Mommy is so new at the job.
Fast forward to last week, we scheduled a play date with one of Raphaela's friends from her previous Gan. All was going well, when the other girl's behaviour deteriorated rapidly, she started to cry and complain of the cold, she became clingy and demanded that her mother take her home.
At the time, I thought this event could be filed under Anomaly.
Yesterday, Raphaela and I had plans for lunch with one of our closest friends. The girls have grown up together literally since birth. On the walk, Raphaela chatted happily about all the thing they would do, all the games they would play and how excited she was to see them. As soon as we walked in the door, Raphaela started crying, "I want to go home Mommy! Mika is not my friend! My leg hurts and I want to go home."
At first I thought that she had been hurt somewhere in our seemingly innocuous walk through the sunny streets of Jerusalem. I asked her, "Raphaela, are you sad? Are you angry? Show me where it hurts. Tell me why you want to go home."
She puckered up her lips, much like she looked when she was first born and resting on my stomach after the first major event in her life, and cried out, "I want to go home because I want to go home!"
Could be that I misinterpreted this almost obvious manipulation and power play, but I decided that Raphaela cannot learn that our plans go to Hell in a hand basket whenever she feels like it. I told her that she was perfectly free to sit in the corner and cry all she wanted, and that I was going to attempt to enjoy the time with our friends.
And cry she did. And kick and sob, for close to an hour. My friends whose daughter is the same age understood, though it certainly dampened the atmosphere. We left after an hour and a half, and I wondered if Raphaela needs counselling for...Fear of Play Dates.
I must admit that I felt some resentment as well, I rarely enjoy grown-up time with friends, and rather than play with her mate, she chose to ruin it for all of us. At the time that she was throwing the mother of all temper tantrums, I wished someone would just step in and tell me why.
(Post script: About one minute after we left our friends' house, Raphaela said to me, "Mommy, I don't want to be cry, I want to be happy." About one and half minutes after we left our friends' house Raphaela announced that she was happy once again. When we got home, she was singing and playing as if nothing at all had happened.)
Friday, October 5, 2012
Post-Birth Body
After giving birth to Raphaela and nursing for the first year and a half, I had lost a significant amount of weight. A fashion-conscious Israeli friend of mine came over before we moved last year and helped me clean out my closet from clothing that was either way too large for me, or past due to be donated. I think I gave away almost 15 bags to charity.
As the Israeli Winter approaches, I noted that I have very little to wear either during the work week in the clinic, or for more dressy occasions, and finally took the time yesterday to shop for myself, while Raphaela was at Gan. The saleswoman, a soft-spoken pregnant Russian woman, helped me choose outfits that appealed to me both in terms of color and style. At one point, I came out of the changing room to get her opinion, and she said gently, "No, that doesn't work because it showcases your small problem areas."
Yes, you may groan and/or laugh. I certainly reacted that way.
"Small problem areas," like my little leftover belly bump, like my hips which have always been a bit wide; as both an objective Chiropractor and as a woman, I know that if I embrace a proper exercise regimen, they will resolve as they had in the past, before Raphaela was born, when I was working out consistently five days a week. In fact, I had been running up until the two weeks before my daughter came into the world and co-opted all my free personal time.
I have promised myself that elusive period of "after the Chagim" and after our trip to the States, I will set aside the time to tone my body and train for the 2013 Jerusalem Marathon. I want to be able to look into the mirror and be happy and proud of my body, not to impress anyone else but for myself.
As the Israeli Winter approaches, I noted that I have very little to wear either during the work week in the clinic, or for more dressy occasions, and finally took the time yesterday to shop for myself, while Raphaela was at Gan. The saleswoman, a soft-spoken pregnant Russian woman, helped me choose outfits that appealed to me both in terms of color and style. At one point, I came out of the changing room to get her opinion, and she said gently, "No, that doesn't work because it showcases your small problem areas."
Yes, you may groan and/or laugh. I certainly reacted that way.
"Small problem areas," like my little leftover belly bump, like my hips which have always been a bit wide; as both an objective Chiropractor and as a woman, I know that if I embrace a proper exercise regimen, they will resolve as they had in the past, before Raphaela was born, when I was working out consistently five days a week. In fact, I had been running up until the two weeks before my daughter came into the world and co-opted all my free personal time.
I have promised myself that elusive period of "after the Chagim" and after our trip to the States, I will set aside the time to tone my body and train for the 2013 Jerusalem Marathon. I want to be able to look into the mirror and be happy and proud of my body, not to impress anyone else but for myself.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Towards the New Year
Twice a year, before Rosh HaShanah and before Pessach, I clean out mine and Raphaela's closet and donate the clothing to a worthy organization here in Jerusalem. Until now, I have held onto certain items of baby clothing, because they have sentimental value and because the option of another child in the future lurks at the back of my brain. The bags of saved outfits have taken over my entire storage area.
I have given myself until the age of 45 to become pregnant, for both health and personal reasons. I have also accepted with love the blessing of one thank G-d healthy and vibrant daughter, and could feel most satisfied with that lot for the rest of my days. There is no shame in finding a partner in the future and enjoying each other's company while building a blended family; giving time and attention to me as a woman and as an adult to enjoy a relationship, without reintroducing the complications of fatigue from pregnancy, 24-hour nursing and several more years of sleep deprivation. The man who comes into our lives might also not want to expand the family anymore at our stage in life, and assuming I love him, I would accept that situation.
This morning, apropos of nothing in particular, I thought about donating all those bags of clothing this year, thus creating physical and emotional space as we head toward the new Jewish year. I thought to myself, "Worse case scenario, LOL, I fall madly in love within the next year and enter into another pregnancy with a healthy baby, and we have to buy new clothing..."
I have given myself until the age of 45 to become pregnant, for both health and personal reasons. I have also accepted with love the blessing of one thank G-d healthy and vibrant daughter, and could feel most satisfied with that lot for the rest of my days. There is no shame in finding a partner in the future and enjoying each other's company while building a blended family; giving time and attention to me as a woman and as an adult to enjoy a relationship, without reintroducing the complications of fatigue from pregnancy, 24-hour nursing and several more years of sleep deprivation. The man who comes into our lives might also not want to expand the family anymore at our stage in life, and assuming I love him, I would accept that situation.
This morning, apropos of nothing in particular, I thought about donating all those bags of clothing this year, thus creating physical and emotional space as we head toward the new Jewish year. I thought to myself, "Worse case scenario, LOL, I fall madly in love within the next year and enter into another pregnancy with a healthy baby, and we have to buy new clothing..."
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
The Slow Death of Progressive Judaism
Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. June Cleaver. I suppose you thought those limiting roles for women were passe, both in the general Gaea population and within Judaism. Guess again.
Rabbi Tzvi Tau, considered in Israel to be a leader within the Ultra-Orthodox/National Zionist community, recently wrote a vile internal pamphlet, whose contents have leaked their way to the Israeli public. Despite the fact that Rabbi Tau bucks the Ultra-Orthodox trend and opposes refusal to follow orders in the Israeli army, he is unfortunately less kind and quite backward when it comes to the role of the woman in modern Jewish society.
According to his treatise (translated by Haaretz), "women are not meant to occupy themselves with the depths of science and morals, but rather with carrying, giving birth to, feeding and raising children." Tau continues, claiming that "the worldwide trend of allowing women equal education, and striving for equality, can only guarantee short term profits. In the long run this trend will harm the quality of life of the nation and society."
I bet you didn't know that "children born to couples including women who devote themselves to their career will be weak and flaccid...Home is the natural habitat for women, without the bustle [of social activity]. At home is where a woman can fully live her life."
(I don't even want to imagine what Rabbi Tau would say about the children of a single mother by choice who works, the horrors!)
Alrightythen, I am packing up my modern life and going back to the caves. Good thing I have long hair, so I can be dragged around by the menfolk...
Rabbi Tzvi Tau, considered in Israel to be a leader within the Ultra-Orthodox/National Zionist community, recently wrote a vile internal pamphlet, whose contents have leaked their way to the Israeli public. Despite the fact that Rabbi Tau bucks the Ultra-Orthodox trend and opposes refusal to follow orders in the Israeli army, he is unfortunately less kind and quite backward when it comes to the role of the woman in modern Jewish society.
According to his treatise (translated by Haaretz), "women are not meant to occupy themselves with the depths of science and morals, but rather with carrying, giving birth to, feeding and raising children." Tau continues, claiming that "the worldwide trend of allowing women equal education, and striving for equality, can only guarantee short term profits. In the long run this trend will harm the quality of life of the nation and society."
I bet you didn't know that "children born to couples including women who devote themselves to their career will be weak and flaccid...Home is the natural habitat for women, without the bustle [of social activity]. At home is where a woman can fully live her life."
(I don't even want to imagine what Rabbi Tau would say about the children of a single mother by choice who works, the horrors!)
Alrightythen, I am packing up my modern life and going back to the caves. Good thing I have long hair, so I can be dragged around by the menfolk...
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Birthday Spa Day
[I am not normally prone to mentioning by name any specific product or business, and this post is not an official endorsement, but I do say that if you find yourself in Jerusalem and need to completely de-stress, the David's Citadel Hotel is the place to go.]
The Day: English Birthday, number 44
The Place: David's Citadel Hotel, across from the Mamilla Mall in Jerusalem. An oasis with amazing feng shui, fluffy robes, high cotton count towels, gentle relaxing music (even in the sauna and the shower) and healthy snacks.
The People: lovely and absolutely obsequious staff (in that positive service way), other friendly spa attendees with varied family and personal backgrounds, but all with fascinating stories. I would be friends with most of them if we traveled in the same circles in the "real world."
The Breakfast (with one of my favorite cousins): pancakes, apple crumble, natural mozzarella and tomato salad, egg white omelet with all the fixins, espresso and hot chocolate fudge cake for dessert.
The Pedicure: little jet bubbles, foot massage and wonderfully joyous red nail polish.
The Massage: good looking and intelligent Russian therapist with amazing hands, 45 minutes was far too short.
The Dry Sauna: before and after the pool.
The Pool: did laps and reclined on the deck chairs. The cherry on the icing on the cake was the Israeli guy with the dragon tattoo who hit on me, telling me what a great body I had; I haven't received that kind of attention and flirting in years, and even if half of what he said wasn't totally accurate, it is nice on a birthday to feel like you've still got it, that men find you and your post-nursing breasts attractive.
The Hotel Room: hanging out with my cousin, enjoying air conditioning on this sweltering Israeli summer day, feeling removed from my every day life and loving every minute of it.
Bonus: lousy phone reception and no Internet connection for my iphone, so I could truly say that I was on vacation.
Raphaela decided this morning that if I was wearing a dress and having a birthday, then it was also her birthday. She wore a dress to Gan, and told me she was going to make me a crown, as befits all Israeli children on their special day. When I asked her old she was on her 'birthday,' she happily answered "Ten!"
The Day: English Birthday, number 44
The Place: David's Citadel Hotel, across from the Mamilla Mall in Jerusalem. An oasis with amazing feng shui, fluffy robes, high cotton count towels, gentle relaxing music (even in the sauna and the shower) and healthy snacks.
The People: lovely and absolutely obsequious staff (in that positive service way), other friendly spa attendees with varied family and personal backgrounds, but all with fascinating stories. I would be friends with most of them if we traveled in the same circles in the "real world."
The Breakfast (with one of my favorite cousins): pancakes, apple crumble, natural mozzarella and tomato salad, egg white omelet with all the fixins, espresso and hot chocolate fudge cake for dessert.
The Pedicure: little jet bubbles, foot massage and wonderfully joyous red nail polish.
The Massage: good looking and intelligent Russian therapist with amazing hands, 45 minutes was far too short.
The Dry Sauna: before and after the pool.
The Pool: did laps and reclined on the deck chairs. The cherry on the icing on the cake was the Israeli guy with the dragon tattoo who hit on me, telling me what a great body I had; I haven't received that kind of attention and flirting in years, and even if half of what he said wasn't totally accurate, it is nice on a birthday to feel like you've still got it, that men find you and your post-nursing breasts attractive.
The Hotel Room: hanging out with my cousin, enjoying air conditioning on this sweltering Israeli summer day, feeling removed from my every day life and loving every minute of it.
Bonus: lousy phone reception and no Internet connection for my iphone, so I could truly say that I was on vacation.
Raphaela decided this morning that if I was wearing a dress and having a birthday, then it was also her birthday. She wore a dress to Gan, and told me she was going to make me a crown, as befits all Israeli children on their special day. When I asked her old she was on her 'birthday,' she happily answered "Ten!"
Sunday, July 8, 2012
That Insidious Television
Normally, Raphaela goes to sleep between 7:30 and eight pm, and I devise all these plans in my head for my own enjoyment, for some adult time. More often than not, reality sets in and I collapse from exhaustion, maybe have dinner, and park myself in front of the television for about two hours. The TV provides me with the comfort of English speaking escapism at the end of a Hebrew speaking day, not to mention some off-color language and humor which I dare not speak while Raphaela is within ear-shot.
My television is ancient by today's standards, large and clunky, and every once in a while it has a nervous breakdown or looses its connections to the cable system and the DVD. That started again today, and some voice in my head spun into a panic; what would I do without my good friend to entertain me and put me to sleep at night?
The dependence I have on that random voice in the background, it scared me, though I suppose it is symptomatic of my being a single parent. In lieu of a human being, a partner who asks me about my day, I have come to rely upon the boob tube (no breast feeding pun intended) as a companion of sorts.
I shall make this one of my birthday resolutions, to bring friends who are human into my life on a more regular basis, in order to replace the vapid noise of the machines.
My television is ancient by today's standards, large and clunky, and every once in a while it has a nervous breakdown or looses its connections to the cable system and the DVD. That started again today, and some voice in my head spun into a panic; what would I do without my good friend to entertain me and put me to sleep at night?
The dependence I have on that random voice in the background, it scared me, though I suppose it is symptomatic of my being a single parent. In lieu of a human being, a partner who asks me about my day, I have come to rely upon the boob tube (no breast feeding pun intended) as a companion of sorts.
I shall make this one of my birthday resolutions, to bring friends who are human into my life on a more regular basis, in order to replace the vapid noise of the machines.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Once Upon a Swim Lesson
Tonight, more so than usual, it was impossible to find a parking space anywhere near the pool. In fact, we parked so close to the house we might as well have walked there from the beginnning. There I am, carrying a 13 kilo (28.5 pound) toddler and running to the pool because we are running late, cursing under my breath and hurting my back; when a random man came out of a random apartment building carrying an old, minorly broken but usable stroller.
He asked me if I could use a stroller right now, and at first I thought he was joking. The man insisted that he was going to throw it out in any case, and it might as well get one last ride before its retirement.
G-d can truly be found in the small events.
After our lesson, I became aware as I stood naked and shivering in the badly heated changing room, that another little girl and her mother were having a muted and yet prolonged conversation...about my butt. That's right, apparently this little girl was marveling at the adult female human body, and needed to satisfy her curiosity with this age-appropriate yet awkward conversation.
I have certainly found myself in situations where Raphaela points at random people on the street and says, "Who's that?", and other countless more sensitive yet age-appropriate scenarios. I didn't want the mother of this little girl to be embarrased; I turned around, looked at this child and said (in Hebrew), "That's right, Mommies have big tushies and little girls have little tushies." The mother smiled at me, and then her daughter started playing with her breasts, which sparked an entirely separate conversation about Mommy body parts and nursing.
We all parted as friends, and silently I thanked Raphaela for allowing me to become a woman who feels proud of her body, a human being who finally does not take herself so seriously that she cannot laugh at herself.
He asked me if I could use a stroller right now, and at first I thought he was joking. The man insisted that he was going to throw it out in any case, and it might as well get one last ride before its retirement.
G-d can truly be found in the small events.
After our lesson, I became aware as I stood naked and shivering in the badly heated changing room, that another little girl and her mother were having a muted and yet prolonged conversation...about my butt. That's right, apparently this little girl was marveling at the adult female human body, and needed to satisfy her curiosity with this age-appropriate yet awkward conversation.
I have certainly found myself in situations where Raphaela points at random people on the street and says, "Who's that?", and other countless more sensitive yet age-appropriate scenarios. I didn't want the mother of this little girl to be embarrased; I turned around, looked at this child and said (in Hebrew), "That's right, Mommies have big tushies and little girls have little tushies." The mother smiled at me, and then her daughter started playing with her breasts, which sparked an entirely separate conversation about Mommy body parts and nursing.
We all parted as friends, and silently I thanked Raphaela for allowing me to become a woman who feels proud of her body, a human being who finally does not take herself so seriously that she cannot laugh at herself.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Been There Done That?
This morning, as I waited on line to sign up Raphaela for "public" Jerusalem Gan for next year, I thought to myself, "This could be the first and last time I need to think about this."
You see, since my period returned (once I stopped nursing), I have been basically spotting all month, and at the moment, my doctors and I are investigating the possible causes for this phenomenon. My blood tests were clear, and the ultra-sound I took yesterday clean, thank G-d. The women in our family have a history of fibroid overgrowth, leading to the necessity of a hysterectomy; don't get me started on genetics vs environment...
Except that at the moment, there is no explanation for my fertility going haywire, and no one can guarantee that I will be able to have another child, should I choose to do so with a partner.
I have been critical of myself in the past as being one of those people who enjoys the chase and the challenge more than the result, both in terms of my professional life and my dating life. Once I accomplish my goal or finish a project, I get bored and need to move onto something new and different. Over the years, I have attempted to hold onto to long-term passion and committment, and then all this started with the bleeding.
I find myself thinking, that's OK, I was pregnant and loved it. I have thank G-d a healthy and happy daughter, who absorbs all of my time and energy, for better or for worse. The Mom thing? Been there, done that, and now I can devote myself to raising our little family in the best way possible. I need to be happy with what the Universe has blessed me, and enjoy every moment.
And yet there is that part of me that feels like I have taken a step backwards in my personal development, that I have given up, that my body has made a decision for me before I was ready.
You see, since my period returned (once I stopped nursing), I have been basically spotting all month, and at the moment, my doctors and I are investigating the possible causes for this phenomenon. My blood tests were clear, and the ultra-sound I took yesterday clean, thank G-d. The women in our family have a history of fibroid overgrowth, leading to the necessity of a hysterectomy; don't get me started on genetics vs environment...
Except that at the moment, there is no explanation for my fertility going haywire, and no one can guarantee that I will be able to have another child, should I choose to do so with a partner.
I have been critical of myself in the past as being one of those people who enjoys the chase and the challenge more than the result, both in terms of my professional life and my dating life. Once I accomplish my goal or finish a project, I get bored and need to move onto something new and different. Over the years, I have attempted to hold onto to long-term passion and committment, and then all this started with the bleeding.
I find myself thinking, that's OK, I was pregnant and loved it. I have thank G-d a healthy and happy daughter, who absorbs all of my time and energy, for better or for worse. The Mom thing? Been there, done that, and now I can devote myself to raising our little family in the best way possible. I need to be happy with what the Universe has blessed me, and enjoy every moment.
And yet there is that part of me that feels like I have taken a step backwards in my personal development, that I have given up, that my body has made a decision for me before I was ready.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
We Share in Sorrow
Here's the story, the nightmare of every parent: the mother (M) came home from work during her lunch hour, to nurse her three month old baby. She put her daughter into the crib, and returned to work, leaving her child in the care of her trusted sitter. When the sitter tried to wake up the baby for the next feeding, she could not. The girl was not breathing.
According to Jerusalem custom, the baby was buried immediately tonight, in the child-size plot overlooking the city. The mother wailed, the father stood stalwart, performing his duties of reciting the Kaddish for his daughter. Friends from work, family, and those of us who know them from the Gan gathered to support them, love them and cry with them. Their two year old son has played with Raphaela every day since last year, making us all extended family.
This stretches my faith to the limits of imagination, and yet, I am inspired by M's piety in the face of such horror and sadness: the sister of the sitter came over to M, and M immediately inquired about the sitter. "How is she doing?" "Make sure she knows that we do not blame her, that she will always be welcome in our home." "Thank G-d she was there, she was sent by G-d as a messenger to endure what I could not as a mother."
It shames me. This afternoon at the pediatrician I broke down in tears, explaining to the doctor (who is also a friend) that I feel poised on the edge of insanity, that I am beyond tired and how badly I neglect myself in favor of work, Raphaela and managing our lives.
Tonight, all I want to do is crawl into bed and hug Raphaela tightly, all night.
May we never know from such sorrow.
May G-d comfort the mourners, especially that two year old boy who just lost his baby sister.
According to Jerusalem custom, the baby was buried immediately tonight, in the child-size plot overlooking the city. The mother wailed, the father stood stalwart, performing his duties of reciting the Kaddish for his daughter. Friends from work, family, and those of us who know them from the Gan gathered to support them, love them and cry with them. Their two year old son has played with Raphaela every day since last year, making us all extended family.
This stretches my faith to the limits of imagination, and yet, I am inspired by M's piety in the face of such horror and sadness: the sister of the sitter came over to M, and M immediately inquired about the sitter. "How is she doing?" "Make sure she knows that we do not blame her, that she will always be welcome in our home." "Thank G-d she was there, she was sent by G-d as a messenger to endure what I could not as a mother."
It shames me. This afternoon at the pediatrician I broke down in tears, explaining to the doctor (who is also a friend) that I feel poised on the edge of insanity, that I am beyond tired and how badly I neglect myself in favor of work, Raphaela and managing our lives.
Tonight, all I want to do is crawl into bed and hug Raphaela tightly, all night.
May we never know from such sorrow.
May G-d comfort the mourners, especially that two year old boy who just lost his baby sister.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Yom HaZikaron 2011
I don't know how those with piercings in sensitive body parts function normally, these staples are distracting at the least and painful at the most. Worse, Shaarei Zedek has yet to give me a definitive time and date for their removal, and that keeps me awake at night.
The day started out nicely, Raphaela and her Gan friends dressed in blue and white to celebrate Israel's 63rd birthday one day early, as they are closed for the holiday tomorrow. After dropping her off, my mother and I attended the brit milah of my neighbor, their first grandchild. How affirming to spend a day which commemorates sacrifice and death by welcoming into the world and the Jewish people a new life!
At this point in the morning my belly and pelvic area were still doing well, and so my mother and I went to the mall. (I apologize to all Israelis on the road, my mother is indeed a Boston driving hazzard, but I have no choice...) I needed to exchange some of Raphaela's clothing for a larger size, and reward myself for the end of nursing by buying some new bras. My bra size, along with my overall weight, has reduced so dramatically since Raphaela's birth and the last year and a half of breast feeding, and so it was actually a pleasure to get fitted/groped by the Ex-KGB Female Bra saleswomen.
My mother and I have been bickering on and off since she arrived. I keep apologizing and saying thank you, even when I want to shout at her, because I need her to look after Raphaela when I am not allowed to hold her, or even change her diaper. For example, when I was selecting bras, my mother said to the saleswoman (as if I were 12), "Give her an under wire model, she needs it." I think at the age of 42, I am perfectly capable of making my clothing choices clear, and letting a sales person know which style I prefer, especially when I am paying for it out of my own pocket.
We stood in silence for the two minute siren along with the other shoppers, the life fantastic put on hold to remember those who died protecting us and the dream of a State of Israel.
The excursion was the last straw for my body. How terrifying to me that something like one store, or a few small errands have enough impact to shut me down for the rest of the day.
As well, now that we have an assesment from the doctor vis a vis Raphaela's walking and breathing, my mother has found other medical issues upon which to harp, and I keep reminding her that if she trusts me as a parent, and trusts our family doctor, she needs to stop pushing my buttons. Then comes the speech of "I raised five children, don't tell me you think you know more than I do..."
I believe the problem lies in the patterns that get frozen in our consciousness and experience. My mother said something to me last night, her observation that I was "always so clinical," that made me realize that she has not fully understood that I am not the dutiful, quiet and quite frankly, miserable teenager I was when I lived in their house. I have gone out into the world, received an education and traveled, and expanded my acceptance and interactions with others. Yes, I will make mistakes with myself and my daughter because I am human, but a far different human than the picture of a girl in my mother's head.
For the moment, I try to disengage the tension when we fight, I say, "You know how hard it is for me to feel so unconnected from my body and so dependent on others." That's my story and I am sticking with it.
The day started out nicely, Raphaela and her Gan friends dressed in blue and white to celebrate Israel's 63rd birthday one day early, as they are closed for the holiday tomorrow. After dropping her off, my mother and I attended the brit milah of my neighbor, their first grandchild. How affirming to spend a day which commemorates sacrifice and death by welcoming into the world and the Jewish people a new life!
At this point in the morning my belly and pelvic area were still doing well, and so my mother and I went to the mall. (I apologize to all Israelis on the road, my mother is indeed a Boston driving hazzard, but I have no choice...) I needed to exchange some of Raphaela's clothing for a larger size, and reward myself for the end of nursing by buying some new bras. My bra size, along with my overall weight, has reduced so dramatically since Raphaela's birth and the last year and a half of breast feeding, and so it was actually a pleasure to get fitted/groped by the Ex-KGB Female Bra saleswomen.
My mother and I have been bickering on and off since she arrived. I keep apologizing and saying thank you, even when I want to shout at her, because I need her to look after Raphaela when I am not allowed to hold her, or even change her diaper. For example, when I was selecting bras, my mother said to the saleswoman (as if I were 12), "Give her an under wire model, she needs it." I think at the age of 42, I am perfectly capable of making my clothing choices clear, and letting a sales person know which style I prefer, especially when I am paying for it out of my own pocket.
We stood in silence for the two minute siren along with the other shoppers, the life fantastic put on hold to remember those who died protecting us and the dream of a State of Israel.
The excursion was the last straw for my body. How terrifying to me that something like one store, or a few small errands have enough impact to shut me down for the rest of the day.
As well, now that we have an assesment from the doctor vis a vis Raphaela's walking and breathing, my mother has found other medical issues upon which to harp, and I keep reminding her that if she trusts me as a parent, and trusts our family doctor, she needs to stop pushing my buttons. Then comes the speech of "I raised five children, don't tell me you think you know more than I do..."
I believe the problem lies in the patterns that get frozen in our consciousness and experience. My mother said something to me last night, her observation that I was "always so clinical," that made me realize that she has not fully understood that I am not the dutiful, quiet and quite frankly, miserable teenager I was when I lived in their house. I have gone out into the world, received an education and traveled, and expanded my acceptance and interactions with others. Yes, I will make mistakes with myself and my daughter because I am human, but a far different human than the picture of a girl in my mother's head.
For the moment, I try to disengage the tension when we fight, I say, "You know how hard it is for me to feel so unconnected from my body and so dependent on others." That's my story and I am sticking with it.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Emergency Surgery II
I was wheeled out of surgery approximately one hour later, woozy from the general anesthesia and with three large metal staples in my stomach from the laproscopic proceedure. Because of lack of bed space in the surgical ward, I was sent to Urology, where my room mates were an Arab woman who had just had a birth followed by a hysterectomy; and an Israel woman, a spokes person for the JNF, in hospital for the last week because of a kidney stone that would not pass. The Arab woman snored like a saw, and it gave me so much comfort because Raphaela makes all sorts of noises at night, and I missed her terribly.
I had no appetite, though the next day I was given persmission to eat and drink, and damnit, they wouldn't give me any more Morphine (Lovely Morphine) for the pain. Every time a new group of nurses or students would arrive for rounds, they would introduce me as, "This is Ms. Leeder, she is a Chiropractor and has undergone an emergency appendectomy." IE She has a medical background so if there is something you don't want her to know about her condition, don't presume that medical-ese will do the trick.
The constant anti-biotics make me feel nauseaus, and the anti-nausea medication does not alleviate it. I cannot even turn in bed without ringing for the nurse or one of the National Volunteer girls to help me. This recovery is already ten times worse than my natural birth with Raphaela.
Rachael continues to perform miracles, getting my mother (who is not all that spontaneous a person to begin with) to grab a last minute flight so she can help me with my life and with Raphaela, whom I am not allowed to lift for the next week. The Nursery School couple continue to perform miracles, telling me that Raphaela is happy and healthy and has barely noticed that I did not pick her up from school yesterday. They bring her to the hospital to visit me and it plays out like a soap opera: Happy Reunion, Tearful Separation. They must drag Raphaela away crying, while I sit in a wheel chair bawling myself, and while everyone watching the scene cannot stop their own tears.
Damn these robes are awful, I trade them in for trendy pink Shaarei Zedek patient pajamas. I attempt a shower but still have no appetite. I also realize that de facto, I am no longer breast feeding. Almost three days away from Raphaela and milk has dried up; even if I could, the doctors tell me I am not allowed, because my daughter must not be exposed to all the medications and inflammation running through my body.
The surgeon says that I can be release in the afternoon on Friday, assuming there are no complications. They had feared internal bleeding the first night I spent after the surgery, and that Thank G-d has passed.
After being re-routed through Cyprus because of a gasoline problem, my mother arrived from Boston at my house in Jerusalem very late Thursday night, but will be able to help me get home on Friday.
I am not 85 years old, I am 42 years old and I cannot go to the bathroom without help.
I had no appetite, though the next day I was given persmission to eat and drink, and damnit, they wouldn't give me any more Morphine (Lovely Morphine) for the pain. Every time a new group of nurses or students would arrive for rounds, they would introduce me as, "This is Ms. Leeder, she is a Chiropractor and has undergone an emergency appendectomy." IE She has a medical background so if there is something you don't want her to know about her condition, don't presume that medical-ese will do the trick.
The constant anti-biotics make me feel nauseaus, and the anti-nausea medication does not alleviate it. I cannot even turn in bed without ringing for the nurse or one of the National Volunteer girls to help me. This recovery is already ten times worse than my natural birth with Raphaela.
Rachael continues to perform miracles, getting my mother (who is not all that spontaneous a person to begin with) to grab a last minute flight so she can help me with my life and with Raphaela, whom I am not allowed to lift for the next week. The Nursery School couple continue to perform miracles, telling me that Raphaela is happy and healthy and has barely noticed that I did not pick her up from school yesterday. They bring her to the hospital to visit me and it plays out like a soap opera: Happy Reunion, Tearful Separation. They must drag Raphaela away crying, while I sit in a wheel chair bawling myself, and while everyone watching the scene cannot stop their own tears.
Damn these robes are awful, I trade them in for trendy pink Shaarei Zedek patient pajamas. I attempt a shower but still have no appetite. I also realize that de facto, I am no longer breast feeding. Almost three days away from Raphaela and milk has dried up; even if I could, the doctors tell me I am not allowed, because my daughter must not be exposed to all the medications and inflammation running through my body.
The surgeon says that I can be release in the afternoon on Friday, assuming there are no complications. They had feared internal bleeding the first night I spent after the surgery, and that Thank G-d has passed.
After being re-routed through Cyprus because of a gasoline problem, my mother arrived from Boston at my house in Jerusalem very late Thursday night, but will be able to help me get home on Friday.
I am not 85 years old, I am 42 years old and I cannot go to the bathroom without help.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Self-Weaning
I think Raphaela weaned herself: in the last two days, though I had only been nursing twice a day, when I asked her if she wanted "boobies," she declined and continued playing. I somehow thought that the process would be more traumatic and emotional for both of us.
Now I can go on my new sexy bra shopping spree.
Now I can go on my new sexy bra shopping spree.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Terrible Twos, A Bit Early
A patient of mine joked with me, that kids these days are doing everything earlier than the previous generation, and indeed, that has recently been my experience with Raphaela.
The good news is that she has four more teeth coming in, and for much of the time, Raphaela shows a playfulness, clear communication, and sense of humor that is an absolute pleasure for me as a parent.
The bad news is that for the last week and a half, she has not gone to bed easily, and has not stayed asleep during the night. Which means that for the last week and a half I have not slept properly, and today I snapped. This morning, after Raphaela had taken off her pants for the fifth time in ten minutes, I sat on the bed and started throwing a temper tantrum, and said that Raphaela could go to Gan naked, for all I cared. I felt so thankful that she had nursery today, because I needed time for myself, without the responsibilities of parenthood.
In the expertise of temper tantrums, I learn from the master, my daughter. Her exhaustion, combined with the natural desire to test her own limits, have made for a potent combination; this morning (after waking up at 4:30 am) she sat on the floor, curled up like a little porcupine, and pretended to cry for over 15 minutes, until she realized that I had crawled back into bed and was pretending not to notice. She wants chocolate for breakfast, and can beg for quite a while, even though I continue to say "no" and offer her cereal or fruit instead. Raphaela has even tried throwing toys, at which point I stop playing with her.
For her teeth, I have tried almost every conceivable natural and conventional medicine remedy. For her tantrums, I accept them as a normal and healthy sign of her development as an independent human being.
But yesterday at Gymboree, Raphaela asked to nurse, and for the first time since her birth, once I opened my shirt, she looked at my breasts, climbed off my lap and went back to playing. My little girl is growing up.
The good news is that she has four more teeth coming in, and for much of the time, Raphaela shows a playfulness, clear communication, and sense of humor that is an absolute pleasure for me as a parent.
The bad news is that for the last week and a half, she has not gone to bed easily, and has not stayed asleep during the night. Which means that for the last week and a half I have not slept properly, and today I snapped. This morning, after Raphaela had taken off her pants for the fifth time in ten minutes, I sat on the bed and started throwing a temper tantrum, and said that Raphaela could go to Gan naked, for all I cared. I felt so thankful that she had nursery today, because I needed time for myself, without the responsibilities of parenthood.
In the expertise of temper tantrums, I learn from the master, my daughter. Her exhaustion, combined with the natural desire to test her own limits, have made for a potent combination; this morning (after waking up at 4:30 am) she sat on the floor, curled up like a little porcupine, and pretended to cry for over 15 minutes, until she realized that I had crawled back into bed and was pretending not to notice. She wants chocolate for breakfast, and can beg for quite a while, even though I continue to say "no" and offer her cereal or fruit instead. Raphaela has even tried throwing toys, at which point I stop playing with her.
For her teeth, I have tried almost every conceivable natural and conventional medicine remedy. For her tantrums, I accept them as a normal and healthy sign of her development as an independent human being.
But yesterday at Gymboree, Raphaela asked to nurse, and for the first time since her birth, once I opened my shirt, she looked at my breasts, climbed off my lap and went back to playing. My little girl is growing up.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Stories from the Work-Zone
A woman my age, in fact the person who is most responsible for me taking the step to become a single parent by choice, came into the office today. She told me that she had scheduled a full medical check up, including a mamogram, and asked me if I had done that particularly uncomfortable procedure yet. In fact, I recently had my breasts examined as part of my annual exam, and the surgeon only told me to return in one year; he advised me about weaning Raphaela, and said nothing about needing a mamogram at my 'advanced state.' Thank G-d there is no history of cancer in our family, but it is times like these that I feel old per se, and have to remind myself that I have a one and half year old toddler, and that age is just a number representing chronology, not the person you are inside.
=========================
A woman who had been a client over ten years ago, returned for Chiropractic care this week. As part of the re-evaluation routine, I asked her if anything of major or minor importance had happened in the last decade, vis a vis her health. All of a sudden her face fell, and she said, "I thought you knew, my daughter A. committed suicide three years ago. That's why I started running, and I am coming to you now for running injuries." I immediately started crying, as much out of shock, but also coming from a sense of extreme empathy. Very unprofessional of me, but I could not help myself.
It seems that since I gave birth, every event of the parent-child variety affects me in an intense and personal way, and at this point I cannot blame my reaction on pregnancy hormones. A commercial on television that features a father pushing his son in a carriage brings me to happy tears; I love watching the fake birth scenes in dramas and remembering my own birth experience. And when a woman tells me about the loss of her daughter, I have to stop myself from thinking about the anguish it must have caused, pain that I would not wish on anyone. It is un-natural for a parent to bury their child.
=================================
Several couples I have met through my clinic have special needs children, and amazingly, their marriage and family have withstood the pressure of the situation. True, when they tell me stories about their teenager still in diapers, or the difficulties of their son or daughter getting a proper education, I almost want to tell them to stop talking, that I can't hear their stories because it makes me sad and uncomfortable. Then I realize that I need to hear about their lives, so I can appreciate even more how blessed I am, and never take it for granted.
==================================
One of my clients works with a volunteer organization in Israel which places at-risk children in foster homes, and creates programs to help these boys and girls deal with the traumas of their young lives. She told me today that she had put out the word that they needed essential supplies, like cribs and strollers and toys, and the generoisty of the response from the community was overwhelming; she received more equipment than she could possibly use, or store. Two of the children she placed this week suffered from Shaken Baby Syndrome, and the parents of these babies had been arrested. When I asked her how she does this achingly difficult work every day, she answered, "I like to think of the Tikkun, because otherwise I could not get out of bed in the morning."
We must value and celebrate every day, all those small moments of perfect joy.
=========================
A woman who had been a client over ten years ago, returned for Chiropractic care this week. As part of the re-evaluation routine, I asked her if anything of major or minor importance had happened in the last decade, vis a vis her health. All of a sudden her face fell, and she said, "I thought you knew, my daughter A. committed suicide three years ago. That's why I started running, and I am coming to you now for running injuries." I immediately started crying, as much out of shock, but also coming from a sense of extreme empathy. Very unprofessional of me, but I could not help myself.
It seems that since I gave birth, every event of the parent-child variety affects me in an intense and personal way, and at this point I cannot blame my reaction on pregnancy hormones. A commercial on television that features a father pushing his son in a carriage brings me to happy tears; I love watching the fake birth scenes in dramas and remembering my own birth experience. And when a woman tells me about the loss of her daughter, I have to stop myself from thinking about the anguish it must have caused, pain that I would not wish on anyone. It is un-natural for a parent to bury their child.
=================================
Several couples I have met through my clinic have special needs children, and amazingly, their marriage and family have withstood the pressure of the situation. True, when they tell me stories about their teenager still in diapers, or the difficulties of their son or daughter getting a proper education, I almost want to tell them to stop talking, that I can't hear their stories because it makes me sad and uncomfortable. Then I realize that I need to hear about their lives, so I can appreciate even more how blessed I am, and never take it for granted.
==================================
One of my clients works with a volunteer organization in Israel which places at-risk children in foster homes, and creates programs to help these boys and girls deal with the traumas of their young lives. She told me today that she had put out the word that they needed essential supplies, like cribs and strollers and toys, and the generoisty of the response from the community was overwhelming; she received more equipment than she could possibly use, or store. Two of the children she placed this week suffered from Shaken Baby Syndrome, and the parents of these babies had been arrested. When I asked her how she does this achingly difficult work every day, she answered, "I like to think of the Tikkun, because otherwise I could not get out of bed in the morning."
We must value and celebrate every day, all those small moments of perfect joy.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Jerusalem Marathon
This spectacularly warm morning, while waiting at a traffic light with Raphaela in the stroller, on the way to Gan, a woman in a running outfit came up next to us. Raphaela smiled at her immediately and after a few minutes of nice feelings all around, I asked this runner if she was planning on participating in the Jerusalem Marathon next week. She is, and I wished her luck, and then found out that not only can you run the full marathon (42 K) or a half marathon (21 K), but there are all sorts of distances in between, and even a 10 K option. I didn't know that.
Until two weeks before Raphaela's birth, I was running four to five times a week, and loving every minute of it; it helped I suppose that I had gained a total of five kilo throughout the pregnancy. Since her arrival, I have not exercised that way, though I often fantasize about it. In fact, right around the time that I found out that the fertility treatments had worked, I had just started a training program toward running a full marathon.
Inspired by this woman, I now have a new long-term goal: within the year, I will be fit enough as a runner to compete in the 2012 Jerusalem Marathon. As a Chiropractor, I will consult with personal trainers and will create a program, because setting aside the time to achieve this goal is important to me. And because it may be the only way to finally get rid of that little belly flab left over from the pregnancy and nursing.
Until two weeks before Raphaela's birth, I was running four to five times a week, and loving every minute of it; it helped I suppose that I had gained a total of five kilo throughout the pregnancy. Since her arrival, I have not exercised that way, though I often fantasize about it. In fact, right around the time that I found out that the fertility treatments had worked, I had just started a training program toward running a full marathon.
Inspired by this woman, I now have a new long-term goal: within the year, I will be fit enough as a runner to compete in the 2012 Jerusalem Marathon. As a Chiropractor, I will consult with personal trainers and will create a program, because setting aside the time to achieve this goal is important to me. And because it may be the only way to finally get rid of that little belly flab left over from the pregnancy and nursing.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
SOS
Here is the list of things that need to be done NOW, all at the same time; keeping in mind that Raphaela still needs to be bathed and put to sleep, and Harry is doing everything he can to get attention from me, even if it means that I am yelling at him and telling him to give me some space:
1. Unload car from groceries
2. Bathe, nurse and tuck in Raphaela for the night
3. Finish up about a half hour's worth of patient documentation from this afternoon
4. Continue arranging the Purim Mishloach Manot for the Gan, by calling all those parents who have not yet contributed to the communal pot. (I hate micro-managing and nagging people.)
5. Eat dinner, if I am lucky
6. Peel and cut many vegetables in order to make a soup
7. Go to sleep myself before the late hour that has become the norm for this week
I feel like my multi-tasking skills have been stretched to the limit, the wheels in my brain are turing so hard I fear they will burn out. If I won the lottery right now I would hire a live-in housekeeper, and close my office for several months.
I desperately need a vacation.
1. Unload car from groceries
2. Bathe, nurse and tuck in Raphaela for the night
3. Finish up about a half hour's worth of patient documentation from this afternoon
4. Continue arranging the Purim Mishloach Manot for the Gan, by calling all those parents who have not yet contributed to the communal pot. (I hate micro-managing and nagging people.)
5. Eat dinner, if I am lucky
6. Peel and cut many vegetables in order to make a soup
7. Go to sleep myself before the late hour that has become the norm for this week
I feel like my multi-tasking skills have been stretched to the limit, the wheels in my brain are turing so hard I fear they will burn out. If I won the lottery right now I would hire a live-in housekeeper, and close my office for several months.
I desperately need a vacation.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Mom's Night Out
Last night, for the first time since Raphaela's birth, I wore a real bra. (My apologies to the male readers of the blog...) I got dressed up in a slinky red dress and heels, put on a bra that does not have easy-access flaps, and attended the celebration in honor of my friends' wedding. I drank wine and ate red meat after ten pm, and in the last 24 hours I might have gotten five hours of sleep; interrupted of course by Harry wanting to eat or go outside.
Tonight Raphaela and I are getting together with friends we have not seen for too long.
Tomorrow night I am visiting Sweden by proxy ie I will be shopping with a friend at IKEA. (IKEA and Cosco are the two places outside religious institutions that I call The Shrine.)
Thursday afternoon Raphaela and I also have plans.
I don't think I've seen this much action in over two years.
Tonight Raphaela and I are getting together with friends we have not seen for too long.
Tomorrow night I am visiting Sweden by proxy ie I will be shopping with a friend at IKEA. (IKEA and Cosco are the two places outside religious institutions that I call The Shrine.)
Thursday afternoon Raphaela and I also have plans.
I don't think I've seen this much action in over two years.
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