In our family, it is a tradition to wait until the age of 12, until Bat Mitzvah, to get pierced ears. That is what I tell Raphaela when she asks to get them pierced sooner, that it must be when you are aware enough and responsible enough to take care of the post-piercing procedures, by yourself.
My grandmother took me to get my ears pierced right before my Bat Mitzvah, at a jewelry store in Providence, Rhode Island. My ten year old brother came with us and he was going through his "gun stage." He stood next to me and set the scene which left me crying, "They're using this cool gun and they are going to shoot your ear off and there is going to be blood and body parts EVERYWHERE!"
Actually, this brother never outgrew his gun stage: after years as a successful investment banker he became a beat cop, so he could legally carry guns and threaten people as an office of the law. Not counting the 12 or so hunting rifles he keeps in his house. He remembers that day because not long after we left the jewelry store, it got robbed. My brother thinks that is really cool.
After I made aliyah, I decided that I needed to do a "Tikun" [a Hebrew Kabbalah term for spiritual repair] of that original experience. So I went and got a third hole, which eventually closed up. I remember when my mother saw the third earring, she started to hyperventilate and point, barely speaking, "Why you...you...have a third ear....ring!"
"Don't freak out Mom," I told her. "This has nothing to do with my sexuality, I still like boys. It's just a fashion statement in Israel, nothing more. And I promise there are no earrings hiding on my belly button or my tongue or anywhere else. I am too afraid of pain to do something stupid like that."
Flash forward to this past September, when inexplicably, one of my earring holes closed up, in my right ear. Confident it was just a minor glitch, I tried to push an earring through to reopen it, and there was lots of blood (but thankfully not body parts) everywhere. So today I am going to get my ear re-pierced, as well as reopening the third piercing.
I am going to try to be brave. Wish me luck.
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Observing the World At Six
One of the most amazing and more subtle elements of parenting is watching your child understand the world in a deeper, wider and more abstract way.
Raphaela and I had a conversation about Oscar the Grouch, from Sesame Street. She asked me how he can walk if he is stuck in a garbage can, and where does he keep all his things. And most important, how does Oscar go to the bathroom?
I explained that Oscar the Grouch's garbage can utilizes Time Lord technology, IE that it is "bigger on the inside." Just like the Doctor has bedrooms and a swimming pool in his TARDIS, Oscar has all the room he needs in his garbage pail home. The explanation sat perfectly with Raphaela.
Later that day, we were reading the children's classic, "Go Dog Go," a work of literature that talks about Geopolitics, diversity and Dating Protocol underneath its simple exterior. Raphaela asked me why the girl dog always seems to be angry at the boy dog, after he says, "I do not like that hat...Goodbye!"
Raphaela observed, "I mean, it's just a hat. Who cares if he doesn't like it?"
I explained that when the girl dog asks the boy dog if he likes her hat, what she is really asking is, "Do you like me?" And when the boy dog says he does not like the hat, but then takes a souvenir from said hat, the girl dog gets angry because the boy dog does not have enough courage to say he likes her. And it doesn't seem to matter if these dogs meet on the street, at the ski Chalet, or at the Big Dog Party.
I also take the opportunity to point out that it is OK and in fact laudable that the girl dog takes the initiative in talking to (and asking out) the boy dog.
Of course at the end of the book, at the Big Dog Party, the girl dog is wearing the most fancy and beautiful and tempting hat the boy dog has ever seen. Then the boy dog can say with gusto, "Oh yes, I do like that hat. I like that party hat."
When Raphaela asked me why the girl dog got into the boy dog's car and they drove away together after his enthusiastic response, I told her they were having a "hmm...play date."
It's a little early for the sex talk, I think.
Raphaela and I had a conversation about Oscar the Grouch, from Sesame Street. She asked me how he can walk if he is stuck in a garbage can, and where does he keep all his things. And most important, how does Oscar go to the bathroom?
I explained that Oscar the Grouch's garbage can utilizes Time Lord technology, IE that it is "bigger on the inside." Just like the Doctor has bedrooms and a swimming pool in his TARDIS, Oscar has all the room he needs in his garbage pail home. The explanation sat perfectly with Raphaela.
Later that day, we were reading the children's classic, "Go Dog Go," a work of literature that talks about Geopolitics, diversity and Dating Protocol underneath its simple exterior. Raphaela asked me why the girl dog always seems to be angry at the boy dog, after he says, "I do not like that hat...Goodbye!"
Raphaela observed, "I mean, it's just a hat. Who cares if he doesn't like it?"
I explained that when the girl dog asks the boy dog if he likes her hat, what she is really asking is, "Do you like me?" And when the boy dog says he does not like the hat, but then takes a souvenir from said hat, the girl dog gets angry because the boy dog does not have enough courage to say he likes her. And it doesn't seem to matter if these dogs meet on the street, at the ski Chalet, or at the Big Dog Party.
I also take the opportunity to point out that it is OK and in fact laudable that the girl dog takes the initiative in talking to (and asking out) the boy dog.
Of course at the end of the book, at the Big Dog Party, the girl dog is wearing the most fancy and beautiful and tempting hat the boy dog has ever seen. Then the boy dog can say with gusto, "Oh yes, I do like that hat. I like that party hat."
When Raphaela asked me why the girl dog got into the boy dog's car and they drove away together after his enthusiastic response, I told her they were having a "hmm...play date."
It's a little early for the sex talk, I think.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Kardashian Syndrome
Internet goddess Kim Kardashian, her husband Kanye West, their two old daughter North and the 'fragile' Kardashian sister, Khloe, landed their private plane in Ben Gurion earlier this week for a brief visit, along with their support staff and their massive marketing machine. Immediately, a group was set up on Facebook to follow their every move, with abundant tweets begging Kanye to arrange a free concert. The magical duo were featured on the covers of every major Israeli newspaper, and the info-tainment industry will probably air a special program on the outfits they all wore to little North's baptism. Rabid hordes of fans began to stake out hotels and high-end restaurants in Jerusalem, with the hopes of spotting, and maybe even, yes, touching the sparkly celebrity couple. As if simply being near their assets (pun intended) would rub off on the common folk in some small way.
Who cares, really. This is a woman who comes from a family more than eager to prostitute themselves for fame and fortune. We have suffered through daily updates about Kim's gynecological issues and her frequency of love making, her sister's painful divorce, her other sister's dysfunctional non-marriage, her step-father's transgender evolution, and her brother's spiral into mental illness.
I feel dirty just reading that last sentence.
Kimberly even used the Armenian Genocide to manipulate a photo opportunity. Her husband, Kanye West, is at the very least a thug and an anti-Semite, a rapper who felt it appropriate to humiliate a disabled man at one of his concerts; one of the human beings least qualified for public admiration.
You could argue that I am reacting out of jealousy. After all, I don't have a full make-up and wardrobe team, my apartment could fit inside one of their walk-in closets, and Kimye's clothing budged rivals the GNP of our small country of Israel. Whereas I can only dream of actually being able to afford a home of my own, something modest in Jerusalem, the Kardashians flew in for two days to purchase a multi-million dollar penthouse in Tel Aviv, on a whim.
This is not about envy, I pity this family for having strayed so far from the norms of basic decency. I do not aspire to my own reality program, I have enough to deal with on a daily basis in my real life, between single parenting and living in a country surrounded by our genetic cousins who want to wipe us off the map.
This rant is about the Kardashians, the Honey Boo Boos and the Toddlers with Tiaras. The parents who find it praise-worthy to exploit their offspring and actively place their children in harm's way, in order to make a buck. It is not a far leap from the 21rst century mental illness called "Kardashian Syndrome" to the ongoing tragic news story coming out of Maryland.
It is this same set of skewed and twisted values that allows two Jewish parents to purposely send their ten year old Rafi and his younger sister Devorah alone to the park, so they can be picked up by local police and held hostage for several hours by CPS. After, all, when the authorities in Maryland have already threatened to remove their children from the home forever, why take that seriously? And now that the parents are suing the local police, they can expose their children to even more trauma, forcing them to testify in court and relive the nightmare.
The more drama, the better the reality show...
All to make a point about Free Range Parenting and American Constitution, whatever that point may be; and more importantly, to stand in front of the camera while the mother weeps crocodile tears and the father grins with giddy excitement, soaking in the attention from the media.
Let's end the 15 minutes of fame of these parents, the Kardashians and their ilk. If we really care about our own children and their future, let's stop elevating pond scum into false gods.
Who cares, really. This is a woman who comes from a family more than eager to prostitute themselves for fame and fortune. We have suffered through daily updates about Kim's gynecological issues and her frequency of love making, her sister's painful divorce, her other sister's dysfunctional non-marriage, her step-father's transgender evolution, and her brother's spiral into mental illness.
I feel dirty just reading that last sentence.
Kimberly even used the Armenian Genocide to manipulate a photo opportunity. Her husband, Kanye West, is at the very least a thug and an anti-Semite, a rapper who felt it appropriate to humiliate a disabled man at one of his concerts; one of the human beings least qualified for public admiration.
You could argue that I am reacting out of jealousy. After all, I don't have a full make-up and wardrobe team, my apartment could fit inside one of their walk-in closets, and Kimye's clothing budged rivals the GNP of our small country of Israel. Whereas I can only dream of actually being able to afford a home of my own, something modest in Jerusalem, the Kardashians flew in for two days to purchase a multi-million dollar penthouse in Tel Aviv, on a whim.
This is not about envy, I pity this family for having strayed so far from the norms of basic decency. I do not aspire to my own reality program, I have enough to deal with on a daily basis in my real life, between single parenting and living in a country surrounded by our genetic cousins who want to wipe us off the map.
This rant is about the Kardashians, the Honey Boo Boos and the Toddlers with Tiaras. The parents who find it praise-worthy to exploit their offspring and actively place their children in harm's way, in order to make a buck. It is not a far leap from the 21rst century mental illness called "Kardashian Syndrome" to the ongoing tragic news story coming out of Maryland.
It is this same set of skewed and twisted values that allows two Jewish parents to purposely send their ten year old Rafi and his younger sister Devorah alone to the park, so they can be picked up by local police and held hostage for several hours by CPS. After, all, when the authorities in Maryland have already threatened to remove their children from the home forever, why take that seriously? And now that the parents are suing the local police, they can expose their children to even more trauma, forcing them to testify in court and relive the nightmare.
The more drama, the better the reality show...
All to make a point about Free Range Parenting and American Constitution, whatever that point may be; and more importantly, to stand in front of the camera while the mother weeps crocodile tears and the father grins with giddy excitement, soaking in the attention from the media.
Let's end the 15 minutes of fame of these parents, the Kardashians and their ilk. If we really care about our own children and their future, let's stop elevating pond scum into false gods.
Thursday, October 30, 2014
Banning Dr. Phil
With about five minutes to spare before I had to pick up Raphaela from kindergarten, I turned on the television and literally, out of approximately 400 channels, there was nothing on worth watching. And so I was stuck with Dr. Phil, whom I have boycotted since I watched one of his programs in which he made a mockery of modern Judaism, with the help of the self-promoting sex Rabbi, Shmuly Boteach.
On this particular program today, a married couple sat with the doctor, explaining that recently their two older children had begun torturing the family cat on a regular basis. The mother, with a stone face that betrayed little human emotion, admitted that she felt slightly concerned at this development, since historically speaking, animal mutilation represents the first step toward a successful career in the psycho serial killer industry.
The father shrugged his shoulders, saying that he was not particularly concerned since "Kids will be kids...and besides, at least they are not running around the house breaking things."
Because apparently in 2014 in the United States, breaking stuff would be more worrisome to parents than the mistreatment of vulnerable living beings.
The ban on Dr. Phil has just been reinstated.
On this particular program today, a married couple sat with the doctor, explaining that recently their two older children had begun torturing the family cat on a regular basis. The mother, with a stone face that betrayed little human emotion, admitted that she felt slightly concerned at this development, since historically speaking, animal mutilation represents the first step toward a successful career in the psycho serial killer industry.
The father shrugged his shoulders, saying that he was not particularly concerned since "Kids will be kids...and besides, at least they are not running around the house breaking things."
Because apparently in 2014 in the United States, breaking stuff would be more worrisome to parents than the mistreatment of vulnerable living beings.
The ban on Dr. Phil has just been reinstated.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Free Gital
Doubtless you have read or heard the story making the rounds in the New York Press and throughout the Jewish world: Gital, law student and suffering wife of the great-grandson of Rav Moshe Feinstein*, this man refuses to give his wife a Get, employing the logic of "If she doesn't want me, then no one can have her." If even half of what Gital reports about their brief marriage is true, then indeed, this Ultra-Orthodox couple got married too young and this man is a controlling bastard; unfortunately, their three year old has become collateral damage as well.
She only went to the press to plead her case with the public after it became clear that her community would not extricate her and her baby from a terrible situation.
Gital's feeling of helpless-ness saddens me the most, she states that already after their second "date" she already expressed that she did not want to marry him, and was pushed into the relationship. When she felt miserable and trapped and abused almost immediately after the wedding ceremony, she claims that she could not reach out for help, not even to her own parents, for fear of shaming her family. That this woman was not even given the option of holding off on pregnancy until the marriage had solidified (or not) speaks volumes about the unrealistic and antiquated matchmaking and family practices of the Ultra Orthodox.
I pause, allowing myself to remember the cardinal rule on Star Trek, that of non-interference. Perhaps it is not my place, or that of the press or the public to impose our own sense of morality upon another community. Then I remember that each Captain of the Enterprise eventually violated that line in the sand, stepping in when it seemed not only necessary but vital to the survival of the future.
And so I say, the time has come to officially expose the Ultra Orthodox community in their mistreatment and generalized debasement of the rights of women, and good for Gital for seeking outside help.
I close with two stories from my personal experience in my Chiropractic Clinic:
Many years ago, when I started working in Israel, an "older" IE over thirty woman became my patient. Well educated and gainfully employed, combined with her age, she was categorized as a lost cause within her community, and told that she should marry the first man who looks her way, because she "cannot be too picky." She married a man who has been since banned from my office for bad behavior: boorish, perpetually unemployed, obese and apparently covered in burn scars on half his body, this woman married so far below what she deserved for herself and her life. Several years later, three children later, she works full time as the Principal of an Ultra Orthodox school, and suffers daily. But she is not allowed to complain because she must be grateful than any man was willing to have sex with her.
Yesterday, another patient, an older Arab woman came in for her maintenance care Chiropractic adjustment. In the past year, her daughter, a young woman with two children, died suddenly and mysteriously; because of questions about her death, her burial was delayed and the whole family lived a nightmare. When this woman came in yesterday, I asked about her grandchildren, how they were coping these days with the loss of their mother. "They have a new Mama," she answered. It seems that the husband was forced to remarry rather quickly to a woman he didn't really know and doesn't love, because "someone has to be a mother to those children."
When I suggested that it might have been easier to hire a baby sitter or nanny, my patient responded, "That's how we do things."
* Ironically, Rav Moshe was one of the first Orthodox Rabbis in the 20th century to actively fight for the rights of Jewish women in cases of divorce and Agunah [Hebrew for a woman trapped in a marriage by her husband]
She only went to the press to plead her case with the public after it became clear that her community would not extricate her and her baby from a terrible situation.
Gital's feeling of helpless-ness saddens me the most, she states that already after their second "date" she already expressed that she did not want to marry him, and was pushed into the relationship. When she felt miserable and trapped and abused almost immediately after the wedding ceremony, she claims that she could not reach out for help, not even to her own parents, for fear of shaming her family. That this woman was not even given the option of holding off on pregnancy until the marriage had solidified (or not) speaks volumes about the unrealistic and antiquated matchmaking and family practices of the Ultra Orthodox.
I pause, allowing myself to remember the cardinal rule on Star Trek, that of non-interference. Perhaps it is not my place, or that of the press or the public to impose our own sense of morality upon another community. Then I remember that each Captain of the Enterprise eventually violated that line in the sand, stepping in when it seemed not only necessary but vital to the survival of the future.
And so I say, the time has come to officially expose the Ultra Orthodox community in their mistreatment and generalized debasement of the rights of women, and good for Gital for seeking outside help.
I close with two stories from my personal experience in my Chiropractic Clinic:
Many years ago, when I started working in Israel, an "older" IE over thirty woman became my patient. Well educated and gainfully employed, combined with her age, she was categorized as a lost cause within her community, and told that she should marry the first man who looks her way, because she "cannot be too picky." She married a man who has been since banned from my office for bad behavior: boorish, perpetually unemployed, obese and apparently covered in burn scars on half his body, this woman married so far below what she deserved for herself and her life. Several years later, three children later, she works full time as the Principal of an Ultra Orthodox school, and suffers daily. But she is not allowed to complain because she must be grateful than any man was willing to have sex with her.
Yesterday, another patient, an older Arab woman came in for her maintenance care Chiropractic adjustment. In the past year, her daughter, a young woman with two children, died suddenly and mysteriously; because of questions about her death, her burial was delayed and the whole family lived a nightmare. When this woman came in yesterday, I asked about her grandchildren, how they were coping these days with the loss of their mother. "They have a new Mama," she answered. It seems that the husband was forced to remarry rather quickly to a woman he didn't really know and doesn't love, because "someone has to be a mother to those children."
When I suggested that it might have been easier to hire a baby sitter or nanny, my patient responded, "That's how we do things."
* Ironically, Rav Moshe was one of the first Orthodox Rabbis in the 20th century to actively fight for the rights of Jewish women in cases of divorce and Agunah [Hebrew for a woman trapped in a marriage by her husband]
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Focal Laryngitis
Since the end of Pessach, I have been suffering from what I am calling "Focal Laryngitis." I don't have a fever or a runny nose, I simply feel like my entire throat is covered in some crap that prevents me from talking, and causes me to violently cough every time I try to speak and complete a sentence. My GP assures me it represents the combination of my seasonal allergies, a virus Raphaela must have picked up from Gan, and the freakish sand storm weather that has visited Israel in the last week.
This situation has caused major communication problems with my daughter, who hears my scratchy voice (I like to think of it more as sexy...) and thinks that I am angry at her. Over the last week and a half, I have answered this question more times than I can count:
Mommy: (Scratch scratch cough cough)
Raphaela: Are you my friend?
Mommy : (Nodding head furiously, while coughing)
Raphaela: Are you angry at me?
Mommy: (In a whisper) Raphaela, I am your friend and your Mommy. I love you, but it hurts me very much when I talk.
Raphaela: (Not believing me) Why?
Mommy: Why what?
Raphaela: Why does your throat hurt?
The morning version of this conversation goes like this:
Mommy: (cough cough cough)
Raphaela: Mommy, are you still sick? Will you be able to talk today?
Mommy: (In a whisper) I don't know, we will have to wait and see.
Raphaela: Are you my friend?
As a Chiropractor, I make a lousy patient when I am feeling ill, and the last thing I want is for Raphaela to take it personally. There were at least several days last week that Raphaela arrived at Gan pouting and withdrawn because of my inability to communicate with the spoken word.
Then, to add to the fun, one day last week when I sat in bed resting and slightly bored, I messaged the guy I thought has been my boyfriend for the last several months. The message read, "Resting in bed, thinking about you."
Silly me! (Mental picture for your head of me saying "D'oh!" and smacking myself on the forehead) Several days later, the man/boy called me to tell me that our "tryst" is starting to feel "too much like a real relationship," which he doesn't want. Unable to truly speak my mind and my heart, I croaked through the phone call and hung up, more dejected than ever.
This situation has caused major communication problems with my daughter, who hears my scratchy voice (I like to think of it more as sexy...) and thinks that I am angry at her. Over the last week and a half, I have answered this question more times than I can count:
Mommy: (Scratch scratch cough cough)
Raphaela: Are you my friend?
Mommy : (Nodding head furiously, while coughing)
Raphaela: Are you angry at me?
Mommy: (In a whisper) Raphaela, I am your friend and your Mommy. I love you, but it hurts me very much when I talk.
Raphaela: (Not believing me) Why?
Mommy: Why what?
Raphaela: Why does your throat hurt?
The morning version of this conversation goes like this:
Mommy: (cough cough cough)
Raphaela: Mommy, are you still sick? Will you be able to talk today?
Mommy: (In a whisper) I don't know, we will have to wait and see.
Raphaela: Are you my friend?
As a Chiropractor, I make a lousy patient when I am feeling ill, and the last thing I want is for Raphaela to take it personally. There were at least several days last week that Raphaela arrived at Gan pouting and withdrawn because of my inability to communicate with the spoken word.
Then, to add to the fun, one day last week when I sat in bed resting and slightly bored, I messaged the guy I thought has been my boyfriend for the last several months. The message read, "Resting in bed, thinking about you."
Silly me! (Mental picture for your head of me saying "D'oh!" and smacking myself on the forehead) Several days later, the man/boy called me to tell me that our "tryst" is starting to feel "too much like a real relationship," which he doesn't want. Unable to truly speak my mind and my heart, I croaked through the phone call and hung up, more dejected than ever.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Digital Detox
I have long bemoaned the negative effect of modern technology on the modern human, not just in terms of dating but also in terms of our general ability to communicate honestly and face-to-face. (Ironically, I am writing about what is now being called "Internet Addiction Disorder" on-line to a virtual audience.)
Haaretz recently released some more alarming statistics that only justify my stubborn Luddite stance:
44% of Americans sleep with their mobile device next to their bed, for fear of "missing something"
46% of Israeli children aged 12-14 watch online videos daily
11% of Israelis have been defined as addicted to surfing the web
75% of secular Israelis and 23% of Ultra-Orthodox Jews in Israel surf the web every day
25% of owners of mobile devices answer phone calls in the middle of sex
The article explains that it is most difficult to "kick the Internet habit...because we live in a society based on instant gratification and on fear...[we think that] maybe we can live forever, if only we create for ourselves a sufficiently rich and distinctive virtual identity."
The author then makes the most compelling argument of all in favor of an all-around Digital Detox program: "If we know that we can document everything all the time...how are we supposed to enjoy the moment?...If a tree falls in the forest and no one photographs it for Instagram, did it really fall?"
This program is in fact based upon the Jewish model of the Sabbath, in which all humans disconnect from the net for one day per week; it also recommends withdrawal during the rest of the week, including banning phones from meals and personal encounters. Apparently, a solid hug replaces the hormone rush that Internet addicts experience from tech abuse.
I spent much of my New York pre-Israel life engaged in planning and anticipating, that I could not live IN THE NOW. And while I am certainly guilty of a certain level of over-documenting mine and my child's life, I have vastly improved my ability to shed that need to control and enjoy the smaller moments of the adventure.
Haaretz recently released some more alarming statistics that only justify my stubborn Luddite stance:
44% of Americans sleep with their mobile device next to their bed, for fear of "missing something"
46% of Israeli children aged 12-14 watch online videos daily
11% of Israelis have been defined as addicted to surfing the web
75% of secular Israelis and 23% of Ultra-Orthodox Jews in Israel surf the web every day
25% of owners of mobile devices answer phone calls in the middle of sex
The article explains that it is most difficult to "kick the Internet habit...because we live in a society based on instant gratification and on fear...[we think that] maybe we can live forever, if only we create for ourselves a sufficiently rich and distinctive virtual identity."
The author then makes the most compelling argument of all in favor of an all-around Digital Detox program: "If we know that we can document everything all the time...how are we supposed to enjoy the moment?...If a tree falls in the forest and no one photographs it for Instagram, did it really fall?"
This program is in fact based upon the Jewish model of the Sabbath, in which all humans disconnect from the net for one day per week; it also recommends withdrawal during the rest of the week, including banning phones from meals and personal encounters. Apparently, a solid hug replaces the hormone rush that Internet addicts experience from tech abuse.
I spent much of my New York pre-Israel life engaged in planning and anticipating, that I could not live IN THE NOW. And while I am certainly guilty of a certain level of over-documenting mine and my child's life, I have vastly improved my ability to shed that need to control and enjoy the smaller moments of the adventure.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Fertility in the News
Israel has long been hailed as a country on the cutting edge of fertility technology, and two recent articles throw some of that reputation into question.
The first piece that appeared this week stated that Israeli hospital institutions were in fact going beyond the fertility protocol in terms of frequency of treatment, as a result there has been a recent drop in the success rate.
The second article (in today's Haartez) reported that professional committees will be set up in all hospitals to asses the fitness of a potential parent, and states that doctors will now have the right to refuse the procedure, "only if it is clear that the child's quality of life will be so poor that it's possible to say it would be better had never been born." Of course this new ethical inquiry would affect only those women who are attempting a so-called unnatural birth, a standard couple having sex will not be scrutinized even if they would make lousy parents.
The criteria include physically disabled applicants, those with a clear history of psychological disorders, and patients with a background of drug or alcohol abuse, sex offenses or child abuse.
The fertility panel estimates that out of the 20-30,000 women who receive fertility treatments, only 50 to 100 will be referred onward to the committee.
I certainly don't see myself as a risk to my child or society, though I wonder if I would have passed their standards as a single mother by choice. That's a lot of power to give to one group of people, literally the power of life.
The first piece that appeared this week stated that Israeli hospital institutions were in fact going beyond the fertility protocol in terms of frequency of treatment, as a result there has been a recent drop in the success rate.
The second article (in today's Haartez) reported that professional committees will be set up in all hospitals to asses the fitness of a potential parent, and states that doctors will now have the right to refuse the procedure, "only if it is clear that the child's quality of life will be so poor that it's possible to say it would be better had never been born." Of course this new ethical inquiry would affect only those women who are attempting a so-called unnatural birth, a standard couple having sex will not be scrutinized even if they would make lousy parents.
The criteria include physically disabled applicants, those with a clear history of psychological disorders, and patients with a background of drug or alcohol abuse, sex offenses or child abuse.
The fertility panel estimates that out of the 20-30,000 women who receive fertility treatments, only 50 to 100 will be referred onward to the committee.
I certainly don't see myself as a risk to my child or society, though I wonder if I would have passed their standards as a single mother by choice. That's a lot of power to give to one group of people, literally the power of life.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Red Hot Chili Peppers
Despite all sorts of international pressure to boycott Israel, the Red Hot Chili Peppers came to our little country, visited the Western Wall before their concert, and then performed last night in Tel Aviv.
I did not go to the concert, because it would have meant figuring out a place for Raphaela for the approximately 12 hours she would have needed care; it would have meant arranging for someone to pick her up from Gan and take her home until this morning, in order to arrive in time for the concert by 6:30 pm. While we have many good friends, at this point Raphaela will not stay with them alone for more than several hours.
The pre-Mommy adult went to movies and concerts, and listened to the RHCP; that person I was before I had a child had the freedom to take the weekend and travel, or just sit on the beach and read a good book; the woman I was before I had Raphaela could get involved in either frivolous relationships, or try out a more serious connection and experiment without worrying too much about the consequences. The Me that I was before Raphaela could sleep past five in the morning, and could get in a nap on Shabbat without having an interruption every five minutes, "Are you sleeping Mommy?"
I know that today is September 11, and I should be saying something deep about the import of the day. I know that Rosh HaShanah fast approaches, and I will state for the record that I am eternally grateful that both I and my daughter are healthy, and that I have the privilege of watching her grow into an amazing human being every day.
So, G-d, Universe and Everything, thank you, and please keep us safe and well this next year and beyond.
But I am also a woman who has no instant family as baby sitters, no secret account or trust fund that allows me to work part-time or take even the brief Sabbatical I need after almost 17 years of working in the field of Chiropractic. I run and react and serve others from the moment I wake up until the moment I collapse in bed at night, worrying if I have done enough to take care of us as a family, and to make a difference on the planet. I am also the woman who has not been intimate with a man for way too long, has not taken a vacation for close to five years; I miss the days when I would choose a random European country and wander around, meeting the citizens, observing natural wonders and learning a new language. I am the adult who has had way too many conversations with a three year old about bodily functions and Dora the Explorer and Bob the Builder.
Our planned trip to the States in November for Thanksgiving, it is my gift to Raphaela so she can get to know her cousins and extended family. I am paying for the entire trip myself, and I am under no illusions that this family affair will qualify as my vacation.
I wanted to go to that concert last night, I really really did, for me this day and the person who used to inhabit this body. I am burning out, and this morning I am feeling tired and resentful, instead of appreciating the blessings I have in my life.
I did not go to the concert, because it would have meant figuring out a place for Raphaela for the approximately 12 hours she would have needed care; it would have meant arranging for someone to pick her up from Gan and take her home until this morning, in order to arrive in time for the concert by 6:30 pm. While we have many good friends, at this point Raphaela will not stay with them alone for more than several hours.
The pre-Mommy adult went to movies and concerts, and listened to the RHCP; that person I was before I had a child had the freedom to take the weekend and travel, or just sit on the beach and read a good book; the woman I was before I had Raphaela could get involved in either frivolous relationships, or try out a more serious connection and experiment without worrying too much about the consequences. The Me that I was before Raphaela could sleep past five in the morning, and could get in a nap on Shabbat without having an interruption every five minutes, "Are you sleeping Mommy?"
I know that today is September 11, and I should be saying something deep about the import of the day. I know that Rosh HaShanah fast approaches, and I will state for the record that I am eternally grateful that both I and my daughter are healthy, and that I have the privilege of watching her grow into an amazing human being every day.
So, G-d, Universe and Everything, thank you, and please keep us safe and well this next year and beyond.
But I am also a woman who has no instant family as baby sitters, no secret account or trust fund that allows me to work part-time or take even the brief Sabbatical I need after almost 17 years of working in the field of Chiropractic. I run and react and serve others from the moment I wake up until the moment I collapse in bed at night, worrying if I have done enough to take care of us as a family, and to make a difference on the planet. I am also the woman who has not been intimate with a man for way too long, has not taken a vacation for close to five years; I miss the days when I would choose a random European country and wander around, meeting the citizens, observing natural wonders and learning a new language. I am the adult who has had way too many conversations with a three year old about bodily functions and Dora the Explorer and Bob the Builder.
Our planned trip to the States in November for Thanksgiving, it is my gift to Raphaela so she can get to know her cousins and extended family. I am paying for the entire trip myself, and I am under no illusions that this family affair will qualify as my vacation.
I wanted to go to that concert last night, I really really did, for me this day and the person who used to inhabit this body. I am burning out, and this morning I am feeling tired and resentful, instead of appreciating the blessings I have in my life.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Halachic Infertility
The Jewish laws of Ritual Purity state that a woman after her "unclean period" must wait a full week, dip properly in a ritual bath (mikvah) and then has two weeks of free and clear Rabbinically sanctified sex.
That would be nice if all women had a 28-30 day cycle; with girls getting their periods earlier than in the past, at the average age of ten instead of 12 or 13, and with the extension of fertility well into the 40's, that is no longer the case. In fact, I have a very short cycle (23-25 days), and it took many attempts in terms of the timing in order to become pregnant, and stay pregnant with Raphaela.
An article in The Forward today addressed this issue, women who ovulate while still in that week long period of "niddah "(post period impurity) and community Rabbis who would not dare to amend the status quo, even on a case-to-case basis. The article quotes my very excellent and capable GYN here in Jerusalem, Dr. Daniel Rosenak; an Orthodox man himself, he suggests that the standard revert to pre-Talmudic guidelines, thus allowing a woman to go the mikvah before one week, in sync with her individual cycle. Another suggestion involves a woman receiving IUI (presumably with her husband's sperm) at the peak of ovulation and before the mikvah, because it doesn't count as actual sex; though some Orthodox Rabbis worry for the spiritual harm to the potential child's soul, and the halachic issue of "spilling seed." (Because men don't masturbate, ever, right?!)
I commend the Orthodox community for dealing with the issues of fertility in a more direct and public manner, because there is no reason for a woman to suffer quietly or feel shame about her body for no reason.
That would be nice if all women had a 28-30 day cycle; with girls getting their periods earlier than in the past, at the average age of ten instead of 12 or 13, and with the extension of fertility well into the 40's, that is no longer the case. In fact, I have a very short cycle (23-25 days), and it took many attempts in terms of the timing in order to become pregnant, and stay pregnant with Raphaela.
An article in The Forward today addressed this issue, women who ovulate while still in that week long period of "niddah "(post period impurity) and community Rabbis who would not dare to amend the status quo, even on a case-to-case basis. The article quotes my very excellent and capable GYN here in Jerusalem, Dr. Daniel Rosenak; an Orthodox man himself, he suggests that the standard revert to pre-Talmudic guidelines, thus allowing a woman to go the mikvah before one week, in sync with her individual cycle. Another suggestion involves a woman receiving IUI (presumably with her husband's sperm) at the peak of ovulation and before the mikvah, because it doesn't count as actual sex; though some Orthodox Rabbis worry for the spiritual harm to the potential child's soul, and the halachic issue of "spilling seed." (Because men don't masturbate, ever, right?!)
I commend the Orthodox community for dealing with the issues of fertility in a more direct and public manner, because there is no reason for a woman to suffer quietly or feel shame about her body for no reason.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
The Feud Continues
Shout out to my Alma Mater, Barnard College, for snagging President Barack Hussein Obama as a speaker.
Columbia University, brother o' mine, get over yourself. As a result of our affiliation, your male students can take Women's Studies classes at Barnard and pick up girls/womyn; your male students can live in our dormitories as we have the option of living "across the street"; and both institutions get the benefit of stellar academic staff and facilities.
It ain't an exclusive boy's club anymore, and thank G-d for that.
Columbia University, brother o' mine, get over yourself. As a result of our affiliation, your male students can take Women's Studies classes at Barnard and pick up girls/womyn; your male students can live in our dormitories as we have the option of living "across the street"; and both institutions get the benefit of stellar academic staff and facilities.
It ain't an exclusive boy's club anymore, and thank G-d for that.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Valentines Day, Bah Humbug
This year, Israel has fully embraced Valentines Day, the malls are festooned with red heart shaped paraphernalia and I have turned into the Grinch.
Let me state unequivocally that my objections are not based upon my status as a single person, currently uninvolved with a partner.
Valentines Day is a holiday created and sponsored by Hallmark, candy makers and flower sellers. Valentines Day mocks any unattached male or female, and says "Ha ha, NO ONE will be sending you a mushy card, NO ONE will be buying you flowers or planning a romantic dinner. You are not getting special Valentines Day Sex tonight, ha ha."
I do not enjoy feeling excluded. We all, all of us human beings on the planet, deserve to feel loved, every day of the year.
Bah Humbug...
Let me state unequivocally that my objections are not based upon my status as a single person, currently uninvolved with a partner.
Valentines Day is a holiday created and sponsored by Hallmark, candy makers and flower sellers. Valentines Day mocks any unattached male or female, and says "Ha ha, NO ONE will be sending you a mushy card, NO ONE will be buying you flowers or planning a romantic dinner. You are not getting special Valentines Day Sex tonight, ha ha."
I do not enjoy feeling excluded. We all, all of us human beings on the planet, deserve to feel loved, every day of the year.
Bah Humbug...
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.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Cultural Language Issues
So the 51 year old divorced man called me last night, to try to set up a date; he is in town for three days before his next business trip.
A friend of mine told me that I would be lucky to fall in love with a man who travels so often and is barely home, because it would allow me to have that experience of couplehood while maintaining my independence as a woman and as Raphaela's mother. That feels counter-intuitive to me, though perhaps at the age of 42 I am still naive about healthy relationships. Isn't the point of a partner for life the idea that you share your time, and that together it all becomes deeper, richer and more fulfilling?
But what do I know...
As I may have mentioned previously, I have had less than optimal success in the Israeli dating field. This person made two comments during our phone conversation that raised red flags for me, and it took all my strength not to over-react or pre-judge.
I have not met him yet, and he deserves a fighting chance, as do we all.
In my experience, even when a person says something as a "joke," there is an element of truth to the words, that it comes from a place of programmed upbringing and cultural background. I have no expectations of changing my partner, I will love him and accept him for all that he represents, as long as the compromise on both sides does not negate my basic belief system.
FIRST AWKWARD MOMENT
Potential Date: When can you get together this week? I leave again this coming Saturday night for two weeks.
Me: I need to confirm a night with my baby sitter, and I will let you know for sure.
PD: I am sure that you want to find a husband just to have a person to take your daughter off your hands. (Not followed by nervous laughter...)
Me: (Stunned silence) Ummmm
PD: Just kidding! (Followed by nervous laughter)
[What I was thinking in my head but did not say: I don't need a man to validate my existence or provide free baby sitting. I am looking for my best friend, my lover and the father to my child, possibly more children. I am looking for the person who completes and balances my life, as I do for them, I am looking for my equal.]
SECOND AWKWARD MOMENT
PD: So what kind of Chiropractor are you? Are you the type who does...massage as well?
[NB In Israel, among some men, the word "massage" is code for, "If I pay you extra,will you have sex with me and not say anything to my wife?"]
Me: I am a Doctor of Chiropractic, not a massage therapist. I choose to take a holistic and professional approach to the human body.
PD: (Nervous laughter)
In my head, my Higher Voice was giving the rest of my mind and heart a lecture about keeping an open mind and giving the benefit of the doubt. I would hope that he did not mean to call me a prostitute, or imply that I am easy, simply because I touch people for a living.
A friend of mine told me that I would be lucky to fall in love with a man who travels so often and is barely home, because it would allow me to have that experience of couplehood while maintaining my independence as a woman and as Raphaela's mother. That feels counter-intuitive to me, though perhaps at the age of 42 I am still naive about healthy relationships. Isn't the point of a partner for life the idea that you share your time, and that together it all becomes deeper, richer and more fulfilling?
But what do I know...
As I may have mentioned previously, I have had less than optimal success in the Israeli dating field. This person made two comments during our phone conversation that raised red flags for me, and it took all my strength not to over-react or pre-judge.
I have not met him yet, and he deserves a fighting chance, as do we all.
In my experience, even when a person says something as a "joke," there is an element of truth to the words, that it comes from a place of programmed upbringing and cultural background. I have no expectations of changing my partner, I will love him and accept him for all that he represents, as long as the compromise on both sides does not negate my basic belief system.
FIRST AWKWARD MOMENT
Potential Date: When can you get together this week? I leave again this coming Saturday night for two weeks.
Me: I need to confirm a night with my baby sitter, and I will let you know for sure.
PD: I am sure that you want to find a husband just to have a person to take your daughter off your hands. (Not followed by nervous laughter...)
Me: (Stunned silence) Ummmm
PD: Just kidding! (Followed by nervous laughter)
[What I was thinking in my head but did not say: I don't need a man to validate my existence or provide free baby sitting. I am looking for my best friend, my lover and the father to my child, possibly more children. I am looking for the person who completes and balances my life, as I do for them, I am looking for my equal.]
SECOND AWKWARD MOMENT
PD: So what kind of Chiropractor are you? Are you the type who does...massage as well?
[NB In Israel, among some men, the word "massage" is code for, "If I pay you extra,will you have sex with me and not say anything to my wife?"]
Me: I am a Doctor of Chiropractic, not a massage therapist. I choose to take a holistic and professional approach to the human body.
PD: (Nervous laughter)
In my head, my Higher Voice was giving the rest of my mind and heart a lecture about keeping an open mind and giving the benefit of the doubt. I would hope that he did not mean to call me a prostitute, or imply that I am easy, simply because I touch people for a living.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Attempts at Socializing
A friend of mine celebrated the anniversary of his aliyah yesterday, with a kiddush in synagogue. I thought to myself, "What a great opportunity to get out of the house with Raphaela, and enjoy the event with friends with whom I have not socialized in far too long!"
I dressed up for the Shabbat, Raphaela wore an adorable flowered dress, we negotiated for ten minutes until she agreed to sit in the stroller. We arrived at the synagogue at ten am, thinking that the kiddush would take place within the hour. It was the first time that I had brought Raphaela into a sanctuary and attempted to sit there like an adult. My mother always asks me when I plan on introducing my daughter to the Greater Jewish communal life, and this seemed like a good occasion.
Unfortunately, Raphaela has not yet perfected her quiet voice, and so within minutes, she was practically shouting and fidgeting, and we had to leave to go outside. The services lasted an extra hour than usual, and the clock edged closer and closer to her nap time, and she did not have patience. I briefly saw a few of friends (shout out to Sarah and Miriam!) and then returned home, feeling dejected and quite frankly, a bit angry.
Not at Raphaela of course, but simply wondering when I get to start going out with friends again, seeing movies or perusing the museum, and maybe even dating toward a long-term relationship, with all the benefits that connection provides, physical and emotional. When do I get to do something for me, now that Raphaela walks and talks and seems to be more independent?
I dressed up for the Shabbat, Raphaela wore an adorable flowered dress, we negotiated for ten minutes until she agreed to sit in the stroller. We arrived at the synagogue at ten am, thinking that the kiddush would take place within the hour. It was the first time that I had brought Raphaela into a sanctuary and attempted to sit there like an adult. My mother always asks me when I plan on introducing my daughter to the Greater Jewish communal life, and this seemed like a good occasion.
Unfortunately, Raphaela has not yet perfected her quiet voice, and so within minutes, she was practically shouting and fidgeting, and we had to leave to go outside. The services lasted an extra hour than usual, and the clock edged closer and closer to her nap time, and she did not have patience. I briefly saw a few of friends (shout out to Sarah and Miriam!) and then returned home, feeling dejected and quite frankly, a bit angry.
Not at Raphaela of course, but simply wondering when I get to start going out with friends again, seeing movies or perusing the museum, and maybe even dating toward a long-term relationship, with all the benefits that connection provides, physical and emotional. When do I get to do something for me, now that Raphaela walks and talks and seems to be more independent?
Saturday, September 10, 2011
The Naked Truth
Some of my loyal blog readers have been critical of me in the past, claiming that I only present the "rosy" side of parenting, and of single motherhood. Well, you guys will enjoy this posting.
Here is the unvarnished reality, the overwhelming experience that is the life of the JSMBC:
I cannot pee, shower, eat, read the newspaper, wash the dishes, check email or throw out the garbage without having an active, curious and at the moment, willful and slightly destructive toddler undertoe. When Raphaela is awake, I must sacrifice all my personal needs in order to keep her happy and entertained, and to make sure that she does not get into areas of sharp objects or poisonous house cleaning products.
I am the only adult in the house saying, "The garbage pail is ichy, it is not a toy." "Harry's litter box is special sand, not the kind of sand we play with at Gan." "When we eat, we sit at the table, we don't carry and spill food all over the house." "Make nice to Mommy, in our family we don't hit and we don't throw."
I am the only adult in the house telling Raphaela how much I love her, reading her stories and playing with her, bathing her and cuddling her.
Sometimes an overenthusiastic hug is accompanied by accidental hair pulling, head bashing or stepping of toes, several times per day. I know that Raphaela does not mean to cause me physical pain, but just because I am a Mommy, "if you prick me, do I not bleed?"
I need a shot of coffee in the morning to give me a jump start, and I would enjoy a nice glass of red wine once Raphaela goes to sleep, but I cannot be sluggish the following morning, when my daughter wakes up at 5:30 am.
I have been meaning to get a haircut since Pessach. At this point I don't know when this will happen, because it must be coordinated with my work in the Chiropractic clinic, and Raphaela's time in Gan. In the mornings I pray that Raphaela acclimate to Gan quickly, so I am not stuck there for an hour when I need to do other errands before work. I have not had a vacation in the truest sense of the word since I started fertility treatments. I have not seen a movie in the theatre in over two years, and when I rent a video at home, I fall asleep in the middle out of sheer exhaustion.
In between patients, I prepare meals and fold laundry, wash dishes and straighten up the house and return phone calls. As soon as I finish work, I pick up Raphaela from Gan and the rest of the evening belongs to her. As soon as I tuck Raphaela into bed, we realize that Bunny - her most treasured and essential of transition objects- has gone missing. By the time I find Bunny, Raphaela has regained her state of alertness and will not settle into bed.
I worried about Raphaela when I was hospitalized after the emergency appendectomy, and I put everything on hold when Raphaela had her surgery.
Now that Raphaela is walking, when she refuses to leave the elevator or starts running into the street, it is me and only me who drops whatever I am holding and protects her. When she makes a fuss about getting dressed or being fastened in the car seat, it is me and only me who must calm her down and explain rules, in the most loving and quiet voice I can muster. When she gets tired of walking, it is me and only me who picks her up and carries her, now matter how far the distance and no matter how much my back hurts.
And then the cracks in my armor break open, and I want to cry and scream and run away to a deserted island where I have no responsibilities.
You may want to argue that with minor exceptions, most of the scenario I have described applies to any mother. But women in a couple relationship have another person in the house, even if they are a shitty partner. There is another income coming into the house. Someone else can go to the supermarket if necessary. When I hit my leg on a moving box, fall on the floor and start crying, no one comes to check on me or help me stand up. When I desperately need to take a nap to make up for lost sleep, no one says, "Let me take Raphaela to the park, so you can get the rest you so deserve."
No one hugs me, or asks me, "So, how was your day?" No one says, "You look great in that outfit." No one tells me, "I love you."
I am not sure that my parents would be available baby sitters, even if we lived on the same continent. And other than a few hours of baby sitting here and there, I would not want a nanny living in my house to take care of my child; why did I have my beautiful daughter if I planned on handing her off to someone else to raise?
If you are a first time reader of this blog, know that I love my daughter and that there is not a single moment with her that I regret. Also know that if you are planning on bringing a child into the world, you need a reliable and available support system around you, otherwise you will lose yourself in the process.
Here is the unvarnished reality, the overwhelming experience that is the life of the JSMBC:
I cannot pee, shower, eat, read the newspaper, wash the dishes, check email or throw out the garbage without having an active, curious and at the moment, willful and slightly destructive toddler undertoe. When Raphaela is awake, I must sacrifice all my personal needs in order to keep her happy and entertained, and to make sure that she does not get into areas of sharp objects or poisonous house cleaning products.
I am the only adult in the house saying, "The garbage pail is ichy, it is not a toy." "Harry's litter box is special sand, not the kind of sand we play with at Gan." "When we eat, we sit at the table, we don't carry and spill food all over the house." "Make nice to Mommy, in our family we don't hit and we don't throw."
I am the only adult in the house telling Raphaela how much I love her, reading her stories and playing with her, bathing her and cuddling her.
Sometimes an overenthusiastic hug is accompanied by accidental hair pulling, head bashing or stepping of toes, several times per day. I know that Raphaela does not mean to cause me physical pain, but just because I am a Mommy, "if you prick me, do I not bleed?"
I need a shot of coffee in the morning to give me a jump start, and I would enjoy a nice glass of red wine once Raphaela goes to sleep, but I cannot be sluggish the following morning, when my daughter wakes up at 5:30 am.
I have been meaning to get a haircut since Pessach. At this point I don't know when this will happen, because it must be coordinated with my work in the Chiropractic clinic, and Raphaela's time in Gan. In the mornings I pray that Raphaela acclimate to Gan quickly, so I am not stuck there for an hour when I need to do other errands before work. I have not had a vacation in the truest sense of the word since I started fertility treatments. I have not seen a movie in the theatre in over two years, and when I rent a video at home, I fall asleep in the middle out of sheer exhaustion.
In between patients, I prepare meals and fold laundry, wash dishes and straighten up the house and return phone calls. As soon as I finish work, I pick up Raphaela from Gan and the rest of the evening belongs to her. As soon as I tuck Raphaela into bed, we realize that Bunny - her most treasured and essential of transition objects- has gone missing. By the time I find Bunny, Raphaela has regained her state of alertness and will not settle into bed.
I worried about Raphaela when I was hospitalized after the emergency appendectomy, and I put everything on hold when Raphaela had her surgery.
Now that Raphaela is walking, when she refuses to leave the elevator or starts running into the street, it is me and only me who drops whatever I am holding and protects her. When she makes a fuss about getting dressed or being fastened in the car seat, it is me and only me who must calm her down and explain rules, in the most loving and quiet voice I can muster. When she gets tired of walking, it is me and only me who picks her up and carries her, now matter how far the distance and no matter how much my back hurts.
And then the cracks in my armor break open, and I want to cry and scream and run away to a deserted island where I have no responsibilities.
You may want to argue that with minor exceptions, most of the scenario I have described applies to any mother. But women in a couple relationship have another person in the house, even if they are a shitty partner. There is another income coming into the house. Someone else can go to the supermarket if necessary. When I hit my leg on a moving box, fall on the floor and start crying, no one comes to check on me or help me stand up. When I desperately need to take a nap to make up for lost sleep, no one says, "Let me take Raphaela to the park, so you can get the rest you so deserve."
No one hugs me, or asks me, "So, how was your day?" No one says, "You look great in that outfit." No one tells me, "I love you."
I am not sure that my parents would be available baby sitters, even if we lived on the same continent. And other than a few hours of baby sitting here and there, I would not want a nanny living in my house to take care of my child; why did I have my beautiful daughter if I planned on handing her off to someone else to raise?
If you are a first time reader of this blog, know that I love my daughter and that there is not a single moment with her that I regret. Also know that if you are planning on bringing a child into the world, you need a reliable and available support system around you, otherwise you will lose yourself in the process.
Friday, August 19, 2011
The Fragile Male Ego
My land lord finally got back to my lawyer, and they are claiming that they have not actually damaged the quality of my life, either financially or emotionally, and have offered to compensate me with an amount of money that is, quite frankly, insulting.
The land lord told my lawyer that he would have been more cooperative, except that I have made a "mortal enemy" out of his contractor. I told my lawyer that the contractor (Ultra-Orthodox, married, 13 children) can't stand me because he propsitioned me, and I said "Hell, no."
Two more weeks until moving day...
The land lord told my lawyer that he would have been more cooperative, except that I have made a "mortal enemy" out of his contractor. I told my lawyer that the contractor (Ultra-Orthodox, married, 13 children) can't stand me because he propsitioned me, and I said "Hell, no."
Two more weeks until moving day...
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
It Took Close to Two Years...
and for the first time since the pregnancy, I feel stretched to the very limits of my coping capabilities as a human being, and as a single parent.
In honor of Raphaela's surgery, we were essentially home together, alone, for two weeks. I blessed the day that she was able to return to Gan.
Since the surgery, Raphaela now wakes up at random times in the middle of the night, and I am getting even less sleep than normal.
The surgery also gave Raphaela an endless supply of energy with which to express the "Terrible Twos" phenomenon even more than before; every small decision in her life has now become a struggle to the death for her independence.
I am dealing with work, the law suit against the land lord, preparations for moving and stressful family issues.
Research says that Chiropractors need to take a break or change up their routines after 15 years of practice, or else they will come to resent their calling. I have been working more than fifteen years, and unless I win the lottery this week, I must continue working in order to support myself and Raphaela.
I can't remember the last time I saw a movie, went out to eat at a nice restaurant, or took a real vacation that did not involve family obligations. It has been so long since I have been intimate with a man, physically or intellectualy. I did not celebrate my birthday because it was the first day home after Raphaela's surgery. Other than the three days of recovery after my emergency appendectomy, I have never been away from Raphaela, and I have never had someone actively come and take charge of her, not even for a short period of time. This morning, I could not take a shower without her joining me.
I adore my daughter, she gives me so much joy and pride.
That being said, for my mental health, it would be so nice to be able to hand her over, for one day. For me to take care of me, without feeing guilty or worrying about my life. I fear that if I don't get some time to myself, I will lack the patience and energy to take care of anyone else.
In honor of Raphaela's surgery, we were essentially home together, alone, for two weeks. I blessed the day that she was able to return to Gan.
Since the surgery, Raphaela now wakes up at random times in the middle of the night, and I am getting even less sleep than normal.
The surgery also gave Raphaela an endless supply of energy with which to express the "Terrible Twos" phenomenon even more than before; every small decision in her life has now become a struggle to the death for her independence.
I am dealing with work, the law suit against the land lord, preparations for moving and stressful family issues.
Research says that Chiropractors need to take a break or change up their routines after 15 years of practice, or else they will come to resent their calling. I have been working more than fifteen years, and unless I win the lottery this week, I must continue working in order to support myself and Raphaela.
I can't remember the last time I saw a movie, went out to eat at a nice restaurant, or took a real vacation that did not involve family obligations. It has been so long since I have been intimate with a man, physically or intellectualy. I did not celebrate my birthday because it was the first day home after Raphaela's surgery. Other than the three days of recovery after my emergency appendectomy, I have never been away from Raphaela, and I have never had someone actively come and take charge of her, not even for a short period of time. This morning, I could not take a shower without her joining me.
I adore my daughter, she gives me so much joy and pride.
That being said, for my mental health, it would be so nice to be able to hand her over, for one day. For me to take care of me, without feeing guilty or worrying about my life. I fear that if I don't get some time to myself, I will lack the patience and energy to take care of anyone else.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
The Bus Ride
This morning, after dropping Raphaela off for her first 'school outing' to the Botanical Gardens in Jerusalem, I hopped on a bus towards the center of town, to pick up some office supplies. It was the same bus line that I had taken in and out of a year, during my fertility treatments and early pregnancy, the route toward Hadassah Hospital.
As I sat on the bus, thinking about that year, waking up very early so I could get to the hospital early, and finish blood tests and ultra-sounds and doctor consultations (still early); and then start my official work day at 8:30 am, having experienced a whole morning already. Doing these procedures over and over, sometimes four times a week, and feeling exhausted emotionally and physically by the end of the day.
Perhaps today, for the first time, I admitted to myself that as a single parent, as much as I would like to give Raphaela a sibling, it would be logistically improbable, unless I was married. Not only do I want to conceive my next child the "fun" way, but without baby sitting and a real commitment of support from those around me, I do not have enough hours in the day, nor do I have the energy to be pregnant, work full time and take of Raphaela properly. And that is all before a second child would be brought into the world, demanding my attention and having those most basic needs.
Saying this aloud gives me a sense of relief as much as sadness, I am so thankful for what I have and plan to appreciate it, rather than yearn for what might be missing.
As I sat on the bus, thinking about that year, waking up very early so I could get to the hospital early, and finish blood tests and ultra-sounds and doctor consultations (still early); and then start my official work day at 8:30 am, having experienced a whole morning already. Doing these procedures over and over, sometimes four times a week, and feeling exhausted emotionally and physically by the end of the day.
Perhaps today, for the first time, I admitted to myself that as a single parent, as much as I would like to give Raphaela a sibling, it would be logistically improbable, unless I was married. Not only do I want to conceive my next child the "fun" way, but without baby sitting and a real commitment of support from those around me, I do not have enough hours in the day, nor do I have the energy to be pregnant, work full time and take of Raphaela properly. And that is all before a second child would be brought into the world, demanding my attention and having those most basic needs.
Saying this aloud gives me a sense of relief as much as sadness, I am so thankful for what I have and plan to appreciate it, rather than yearn for what might be missing.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Made in Heaven or Hell?
From the Friday weekend edition of Haaretz newspaper:
Matches made in heaven: Rabbi pairs religious gays, lesbians to start families
"Rabbis from the religious Zionist community have launched an initiative to marry gay men to lesbian women...So far, 11 marriages have been performed... [and the ] 12th couple has just announced their engagement. [There is] a list of another 30 gays and 20 lesbians seeking matches.
[T]he current initiative is different in that it stems not from an effort to sweep the issue under the carpet, but from a growing acknowledgment of homosexuality...Most of the couples agree not to have relationships with members of their own sex, but if there are 'lapses' once every few years, they don't see this as a betryal. Generally it's between them and their Creator."
The article brings as an example the first "experimental" couple, Roni and Etti (psuedonyms of course), who say that they are "careful to keep up normal appearances before the children and the outside world, even sleeping in the same room, though they don't sleep together." Their two children were born through artificial insemination. (The wife of the late Palestinian leader, Yassir Arafat, also opted for artificial insemination. Not that I am making any comparison, G-d Forbid, between Arafat and these couples, but why marry a person with whom you can't stand the idea of sex?)
The reason I conceived Raphaela through IUI was to leave room for the right man to come along and join us at some point. I am actively looking for that man who will be my best friend and equal partner, my lover and the father to my current child, and who knows, maybe a brother or sister for Raphaela. I am single not because of my heterosexual identity, but because I have not yet found the right person.
While I applaud the religious Zionist movement for apparently acknowledging that the gay community exists, I don't think they are doing anyone any favors by dressing up these couples as traditional and normal. I believe that children know the truth of their home and their family; I agree with those who oppose this movement who say that being open and true to one's self "leads to more happiness than living a lie."
Oh, and good to know that 'cheating' on one's fictional spouse every few years is between "them and their Creator." That's a positive family value to pass onto the children of these sacred unions.
The article closes by noting that two of the arranged couples are filing for divorce, and the Rabbis in charge worry whether the children of these "experimental marriages will end up suffering."
My point exactly. At the end of the day, all thoughts of all parents - single, married or fictional - must consider the innocent children.
Matches made in heaven: Rabbi pairs religious gays, lesbians to start families
"Rabbis from the religious Zionist community have launched an initiative to marry gay men to lesbian women...So far, 11 marriages have been performed... [and the ] 12th couple has just announced their engagement. [There is] a list of another 30 gays and 20 lesbians seeking matches.
[T]he current initiative is different in that it stems not from an effort to sweep the issue under the carpet, but from a growing acknowledgment of homosexuality...Most of the couples agree not to have relationships with members of their own sex, but if there are 'lapses' once every few years, they don't see this as a betryal. Generally it's between them and their Creator."
The article brings as an example the first "experimental" couple, Roni and Etti (psuedonyms of course), who say that they are "careful to keep up normal appearances before the children and the outside world, even sleeping in the same room, though they don't sleep together." Their two children were born through artificial insemination. (The wife of the late Palestinian leader, Yassir Arafat, also opted for artificial insemination. Not that I am making any comparison, G-d Forbid, between Arafat and these couples, but why marry a person with whom you can't stand the idea of sex?)
The reason I conceived Raphaela through IUI was to leave room for the right man to come along and join us at some point. I am actively looking for that man who will be my best friend and equal partner, my lover and the father to my current child, and who knows, maybe a brother or sister for Raphaela. I am single not because of my heterosexual identity, but because I have not yet found the right person.
While I applaud the religious Zionist movement for apparently acknowledging that the gay community exists, I don't think they are doing anyone any favors by dressing up these couples as traditional and normal. I believe that children know the truth of their home and their family; I agree with those who oppose this movement who say that being open and true to one's self "leads to more happiness than living a lie."
Oh, and good to know that 'cheating' on one's fictional spouse every few years is between "them and their Creator." That's a positive family value to pass onto the children of these sacred unions.
The article closes by noting that two of the arranged couples are filing for divorce, and the Rabbis in charge worry whether the children of these "experimental marriages will end up suffering."
My point exactly. At the end of the day, all thoughts of all parents - single, married or fictional - must consider the innocent children.
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