48 Hours

For 48 hours, I was living a miracle. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. All my previous struggles somehow seemed insignificant. My mantra became, "It was worth the wait." And it was. It really was. For 48 hours, I was living the happy ending I had envisioned so many times. All those times I had tried to make it happen through sheer will. Closing my eyes tight and thinking that if I visualized myself holding a baby, it would soon become a reality. But my miracle was short-lived. With one phone call, it morphed into a nightmare.

Miracles had happened to me before. About 9 years ago, I suffered a stroke and went on to recover pretty much 100%. The miracle wasn't necessarily in the recovery itself, but rather in the details of what was going on at the time of the stroke: I was in a big city (Las Vegas) with top-rate hospitals, I was with friends who had the foresight to call 911, I accepted treatment with IV meds that had a 10% chance of killing me but ended up saving me, and the clot was situated in the right side of my brain (leaving my right-dominant hand unaffected, my speech intact, and my cognition as flawless as ever). Six weeks later, I was back at work as a third-grade teacher. Nine years later, you would never know I was a stroke survivor unless you saw me do side plank pose in yoga. Trust me. It really isn't pretty.

What I'm trying to say is that I've experienced the glory of success before. Unfortunately, when you're going through a tough time in your life, it's easy to forget the miracles that have long passed. Or even the miracle that is staring you right in the face. After 2 years of failed IVF attempts and lost pregnancies, I'm just beginning to realize how profoundly miraculous my child is. Daniel is happy, healthy, smart, and beautiful. When you've lived through tragedies as I have these past 2 years, you don't take those things for granted. But I'd be lying if I said that my miraculous child makes this current tragedy any less painful. Loss is loss.

Don't feel sorry for me; feel empathy for what I'm going through. Reach out and tell me you care. There's nothing you could possibly say that would upset or offend me. Saying something stupid is better than saying nothing at all. Let's acknowledge together that this really sucks for me. There's nothing else you need to say. Just tell me that you understand what it must feel like to be in my shoes. To live a 48-hour miracle and have it all snatched away in a moment. To mourn the loss of a pregnancy while you're still mourning the loss of the previous two. If this weren't my life, I wouldn't believe it was real. But I'm still here. And today I laughed. So I know that I'm going to be okay.

An Open Letter to my Higher Power

Tomorrow is a big day for me and my family. It marks the culmination of a journey that started almost 2 years ago. Two lost pregnancies and one failed IVF cycle later, and this is it. What's at stake is whether or not I'll ever give Daniel a biological sibling. I'm ready to move on with my life. Living in this state of suspended reality has taken its toll on my emotional and physical health, as well as the overall well-being of my family. I am not unaware of what these test results mean to them. They have suffered with me for 2 years, feeling my pain and heartache. My amazing son, Daniel, has seen his Mommy in various stages of grief far too many times. I've been the bearer of bad news FAR too many times. I want SO BADLY to have good news to share with my Mom and Dad, who have repeatedly rushed to my side in times of great sadness. They deserve good news. My husband deserves good news, for enduring this painful journey with me. So whether or not I deserve it, I'm praying tonight that tomorrow brings good news FOR THEM. That we can gather as a family to celebrate, rather than to hold one another up.

That being said, whatever happens I know that I will stay strong for my son, my husband, and my family. I will move on and figure things out one day at a time. I know how lucky I am to have my health, a beautiful child, a lovely home, an amazing support system. I will never take any of that for granted. I accept tomorrow's outcome, whatever it may be. I am or I'm not. Either way, the world will keep spinning. Everyone's lives will continue. There will be more good times and more bad.

Right now, I sit here and feel a sense of calmness wash over me. Peace, love, light, and gratitude. I'm going to be okay.

Hostess with the Mostest

So, I'm laying in the procedure room today, looking up at the ceiling, clutching two photographs to my chest. One picture is Daniel, smiling like the miraculous angel that he is, while the other picture represents my hope for the future. Two embryos, thawed earlier this morning, ready for implantation. In the photo, they are two grayish-brown blobs that look exactly like what you would see in a biology textbook. The embryologist tells me they are high-quality blastocysts, numbers 5 and 6, and that one has already started to hatch. It is 2:15 in the afternoon, Dr. Sobel (or "George Clooney look-alike" as I like to call him) is inserting a catheter into my unmentionable parts, my bladder is filled to the brim, harp music is being piped in through the sound system, and all I can think of is, "Haven't I been here before?"

We did this same IVF tango last October, with no success. So I vowed to do everything differently this time: Starting with announcing to the world that I was going through IVF. I've done 5 months of acupuncture, eaten my fruits and veggies, cut out all alcohol and caffeine, and spent the week leading up to the transfer trying to reduce stress to a minimum. Will it work? Who knows. I still have about a 50-50 shot at becoming pregnant. But whatever happens, at least I'll know that I did everything in my power to achieve a positive outcome. And now, it's in God's hands.

So, what now? I'm playing human incubator to two potential human beings. They have to decide if my womb is an hospitable enough environment. Whether or not they want to stick around. I won't know their final decision for 2 weeks. Until then, I wait. I rest and relax, catch up on my reading, watch some movies On Demand, and pray. For a positive phone call on December 15th. For the strength to move on with my life if that phone call is negative. For the ability to appreciate my blessings no matter what the outcome. It has been a long, difficult journey. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The Right to Complain

I've been hyper-sensitive lately to people's complaints about life's daily injustices. Especially those involving pregnancy or newborns. You see, when I hear (or read on Facebook, as the case may be) a new mom complain about yet another sleepless night, it makes me want to scream. Or when a pregnant woman complains about ill-fitting clothes or swollen ankles. My immediate reaction (in my head) is to ask, "Do you want to trade places?" Because I'd pretty much give anything right now for a sleepless night with a perfectly healthy newborn. And I'd gladly suffer the nausea and discomfort of a healthy pregnancy. So seriously, do you want to trade places?

At 33 years old, I finally can accept the fact that bitching and moaning is all relative. One person's pain is another's pleasure. I'm sure that my complaints about Daniel's disappearing naps are pissing someone off. That person must think I'm whiny and ungrateful. Who am I to complain about the phenomenally amazing child I've been blessed with? Should I, in turn, feel guilty that I complain about something so insignificant in the grand scheme of things?

I'm going to say no to the guilt, simply because I believe that I have the right to complain about whatever is affecting MY life. Just as the new mom has the right to complain about her perfectly healthy newborn keeping her up all night. It may piss me off to hear it, but I certainly can't expect everyone to be sensitive to my needs at all times. It's like the beautiful, thin girl who complains all the time about being fat. You may want to punch her in the face, but that doesn't mean her feelings are invalid.

If I am eventually blessed with another baby, either through IVF or adoption, I'm sure there will come a time when I will be at my wits end and will complain about one of the many inconveniences or hardships of parenthood. Maybe I'll be so overwhelmed with gratitude that I'll let every little annoyance slip off my shoulders. But if you know me at all, that probably is an unrealistic expectation. The more likely scenario is that I'll whine about being exhausted, moan and groan about whatever insane phase the child is going through, and generally act like any normal human being would in similar circumstances. If I happen to piss you off someday with my ungrateful complaining, I apologize. But after having to endure almost two years of hearing the constant bitching and moaning from others about how hard it is to be a new mom, I think I've earned a little selfishness. And if, in a couple years time, you are going through a rough patch in your life and you hear me complaining about potty training or naps or anything else that I should be so blessed to deal with, feel free to slap me in the face and ask, "Do you want to trade places?"

More Than Just a Crib

Daniel has slept in the crib pictured above since he was about 6 months old and we moved him out of the Pack-n-Play in our bedroom. He never really outgrew it, never tried to climb out, never scaled the side of it (despite the fact that he could scale pretty much every other piece of furniture in the house). So I kept him in the crib, even as his peers were transitioning into "big-kid" beds. I didn't have any good reason to rush him into a bed. No safety issues, no sleep resistance, no baby siblings on the way. Which is why I'm having such a hard time right now finding the motivation to banish the crib, once and for all.

At one month shy of 3 and a half years old, Daniel is now showing signs that he is ready for a big-boy bed. He has climbed out twice during naptime, once coming downstairs to surprise me while I was on the treadmill and once finding himself perched in his top dresser drawer, peeling off band-aids and sticking them all over his body (see above photo). He has so many toys and stuffed animals in his crib that there is barely enough room for him to sleep. Furthermore, he is not napping as consistently as he was even 3 months ago. The bottom line is that it's time to make the transition. To either convert the crib into a bed, or to purchase a regular bed with bedrails. So why am I having such an existential crisis over this seemingly benign coming-of-age ritual?

How I longed to use that crib for a new baby. To give Daniel a "big brother" bedroom as we welcomed a new bundle of joy. But November 2009 came and went with no baby. And then July 2010 came and went with no baby. Moving Daniel into a bed became less about forcing him out of his crib and more about forcing me to move on and accept the fact that the crib was not needed -- for now. Part of me wants to convert the crib into a bed for Daniel so I don't have to look at an empty crib. The thought of that empty crib hurts more than you could possibly imagine. Just as I'm saving Daniel's baby clothes and baby toys for the future child that I pray for every day, I believe in my heart that the crib has not served its full purpose. Up until now, it has simply been easier for me to maintain the status quo. But I'm beginning to realize that it might not be in Daniel's best interest. Especially in light of this week's "drawer-sitting" incident. So as I plan to start transitioning Daniel into his big-boy bed this weekend, I say a fond farewell to his baby years, shed some tears over what I've lost, and continue to hope for a happy ending.

It's Party Time, Excellent!

Take my word for it: You haven't truly lived until you've seen the inside of your uterus on a 50-inch HD monitor. Now, to be completely honest, I've seen it before. Last IVF cycle. Same story, different year. I've even seen my vagina in a mirror as my son's head crowned in the delivery room. Very cool and very bizarre. But this was different. This was like one of those cartoons where the fish gets swallowed by the whale and disappears down the whale's throat. The camera entered my uterus. In real time. As I watched on the monitor. My uterus. Coming directly at me. My first thought was of the Wayne's World gag where Wayne and Garth scream, "Extreme close-up!" and the camera zooms in on their terrified faces. I almost laughed. What else was I supposed to do?

Today was hysteroscopy day. For those of you blessed to have never gone through such a procedure, a hysteroscopy basically entails an examination of my uterus and a biopsy of the uterine lining. The whole thing takes a total of 5 minutes. But between the cold water and the "snip-snip" of the surgical blade, it's anything but pleasant. Perhaps that has something to do with the receptionist asking me, "Do you have a living will?" as part of her pre-operative questionnaire. If this had been my first time in a surgical setting, I would've shit a brick. Nice bedside manner, lady. Bitch probably has four kids at home.

The surgical center was like Grand Central Station for reproductive endocrinology. The women were literally lined up, side by side, in the curtained stalls waiting for Dr. Barmat to sneak a peek. It was sad and oddly comforting at the same time. Solidarity. All of us women, united in the same desire: to have a baby. All of us willing to endure such invasive prodding and poking, clinging to the hope that we would have our prayers answered. That someday we would look back on October 13th as just another step in the journey to contentment.

But, of course, I was not like these other women. I defined myself not as a woman trying to have a baby, but as a mother trying to add to her family. One oblivious nurse, upon hearing that I already had a 3-year-old son, remarked, "So you're trying for a sister?" No, genius, I'm trying for a healthy child. It can be any gender it wants to be. As I told one of the nurses about Daniel, I felt self-conscious. The other patients were within earshot. How would I feel if I were childless, going through this process? My heart broke for them. I wanted to burst through the curtain and give someone a hug. I thought of Daniel's beautiful face and smiled. My delicious little boy will be waiting for me when I get home today. Guilt. But all the guilt in the world won't make my grief go away. The sadness and loss I've endured on my journey is valid, whether I have a child or not.

After the procedure, I was given a color photograph of the inside of my uterus. Two shots of the openings to my fallopian tubes, and one of the area that was biopsied. A souvenir of this day on which all of my blessings and all of my grief seemed rolled up in a neat little package. I'm going to hold onto that photo. Maybe someday it will be in a baby book.

Full Disclosure

Whomever designed the Price Medical Building at Abington Hospital is a cruel S.O.B. The offices of Abington Reproductive Medicine are on the 4th floor, and somewhere below that is an obstetrics practice. Which means that anytime I have an appointment to see the reproductive endocrinologist or the IVF nurses, I inevitably encounter at least 2 or 3 HUGELY pregnant women. This is a particular kind of torture for anyone who has ever struggled to have a baby. Which brings me back to the reason why I'm writing about this in the first place.

The last year and a half of my life has been a series of losses. Many of you know what I've been through, but some of you do not. My desire to add another child to my family has brought me to this point. I'm about to start an IVF cycle with 2 cryogenically frozen embryos that were retrieved last fall. These 2 blastocysts were put on ice following an unsuccessful IVF cycle almost exactly one year ago. A month after I received the phone call informing me that my pregnancy test was negative, I became pregnant on my own. Fast forward to March 2010. If you don't know how that pregnancy ended, remind me to tell you sometime. I don't think I want that story floating around in cyberspace.

Throughout this journey, I have openly shared my experiences with others. It has been an amazing catharsis for me. So many people came forward with their own stories of miscarriage, infertility, and loss. I began to realize that I wasn't alone (even though sadness is the most isolating emotion on the planet). Which is why I feel compelled to document this experience. Whether you are a family member who has comforted me while I cried, a friend who has supported me in my grief, or an acquaintance who simply wants to decipher all those vague Facebook status updates, I want you to know what this is like for me. Not to gain your sympathy, but your understanding. I need you to understand why it's hard for me to be around pregnant women. Why I feel a knot in the pit of my stomach every time I see a newborn. Why I may congratulate you on your good news but still feel sadness over what I've lost. I hope to convey this story with honesty and humor. I don't know how it will end. But I hope you will stick with me until the final chapter is written.

Today was my appointment for a baseline ultrasound and blood work. This basically involves me, an IVF nurse, and what I once heard described as the "dildo cam." The purpose is to measure my uterus and ovaries on day 2 of my cycle, so they can monitor everything as my cycle progresses and transfer day approaches. Take my word for it -- there's not much you want to do on day 2 of your cycle, but having a date with the dildo cam is pretty much at the VERY bottom of your list. Nevertheless, everything was normal and I was given a basic outline of how this "cryo-cycle" will unfold. On day 21, I will return to Abington for another blood test to determine whether or not I've ovulated. If so, I will start on Lupron injections and Estradiol supplements. More ultrasound monitoring will follow, and the embryo transfer is tentatively scheduled for December 2nd. Happy Hanukkah to me!

I feel cautiously optimistic, which is all I can be right now. I look into the eyes of my amazing, perfect 3-year-old, and I find comfort knowing that I made him. He is healthy. He is wonderful. And he grew inside of ME. Daniel is a shining example of the GOOD in my life. He is my constant reminder that things haven't always ended badly for me.

Thank you for reading this. Now let's get this show on the road.

The Potty-Training Experiment

It's nearly impossible to be the parent of a 3-year-old and not get caught up in the anxiety surrounding potty training. I'll admit that I've eavesdropped on groups of Moms discussing how their kids made the switch from diaper to undies, simultaneously making mental notes and breathing a sigh of relief that my child was definitely not old enough and/or physically ready to take the plunge (so to speak).

All that changed this week.

With a month of downtime between the end of camp and the start of the school year, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to suck it up and attempt to potty train Daniel. I imagined a couple of weeks of frustration, followed by a successfully potty-trained child returning to school with a brand-new pair of big-boy underpants. I was a fool.

I truly believed that Daniel was ready. Sure, he never really told me when he had to go, but he showed interest in the potty and the whole process in general. He liked sitting on the potty, but nothing ever happened while he was on the potty. He enjoyed wiping and flushing, but didn't seem to be making the connection between the act of waste elimination and the routine surrounding it. But I was willing to give it my best shot. I spent a week collecting bits of wisdom from other Moms who had recently done the dirty deed. I shopped for paraphernalia like potty seats, countless pairs of undies, sticker charts, candy rewards, and lots of toys that I was hoping to dangle in front of Daniel like a carrot to a horse.

Sequestered in the house for 2 days, we did the potty dance until we were blue in the face. I set the timer, watched him like a hawk, and lured him to the potty with jelly beans. Sometimes, he would sit for 5 minutes and grow antsy. Other times, he sat for a 45-minute stretch with nothing but my Droid Apps to keep him occupied. After the second marathon sitting, Daniel reluctantly got up (I swear, he would've sat for another half-hour) and promptly peed in his underpants. That was the last straw for me.

The final 2-day stats:

21 times on the potty, no results

8 pairs of wet underpants

2 pairs of pooped underpants

100's of jelly beans consumed

2 missed naps

1 confused and pissed-off dog

countless gray hairs added to my head

We're going to take a break for now and wait until Daniel shows more initiative (or until he graduates high school -- whichever comes first)! Let the jelly bean detox begin...

Wiggle-Mania and an Ornery Three-Year-Old

One of the craziest things about being a parent is how wide a gap can exist between your expectations and the reality of the situation. Take the Wiggles concert. I purchased the tickets months ago, and I've been eagerly anticipating Daniel's reaction ever since. In the days leading up to the concert, Daniel and I speculated about which songs they would sing. Based on other people's tips for making the most of our Wiggles experience, I went out and purchased a plastic rose for Dorothy and a bone for Wags, and made an elaborate poster. I was already imagining the fabulous photos I'd take and the indelible memories we'd carry home from the concert.

Everything started off smoothly. We had great seats in the front of the balcony, and Daniel had a clear view of the stage. The Wiggles came out and began signing and dancing. Daniel's expression was serious, but he seemed to be into it. After a couple of songs, it all fell apart. In the middle of "Yellow Bird," Daniel's face crumpled and he burst into tears. He sobbed, "I don't like this one!" I reassured him that the song was almost over and tried to calm him down. But even after the song ended, he continued to cry. "I want to go home!" he insisted. And with those 5 words, my Wiggles concert fantasy began to disintegrate before my eyes.

Peter and I took turns carrying him out of the theater. While I was outside in the lobby with him, I carried him down the stairs and tried to distract him. He continued to say, "We have to go home," and I couldn't figure out what exactly had set him off. The only thing he offered by way of an explanation was, "It's too loud!" I offered to hold his ears, to sit with him and watch the TV monitors from the lobby, and to buy him M&M's. Nothing worked. He was seriously freaked out. And all I could think was, We're going to have to leave the concert.

Almost immediately, I thought about the bitter irony of the situation. My expectations had been so high, there was no way the actual concert could've lived up to them. My disappointment was so pervasive that I felt ashamed to have expected such a flawless experience. When you're the parent of a three-year-old, there's no such thing as a flawless experience. The funny thing is, as I looked around the lobby of the Tower Theater, I noticed countless other parents toting unhappy kiddies out of the venue. Most of the adults looked defeated, like they were waving the white flag at life and giving in to the hysterical children by their sides. I realized that I was not alone. I was not the first parent in history whose expectations were unrealistically high and who was met with opposition in the form of a temperamental toddler.

I let myself off the hook. I took a deep breath and vowed to curb my disappointment, regardless of the day's outcome. While it was a bummer that Daniel was unhappy, and that we were missing most of the concert, it wasn't his fault. He wasn't doing it maliciously, he was simply being a three-year-old! If I wanted to be a good Mom, I had to take the bad with the good --even if the bad came at such an inopportune time as in the middle of our first-ever Wiggles concert. I wasn't about to feel sorry for myself, even as the tears welled up in my eyes. My job was to comfort my child and to make the best of the situation. Pull yourself together, Mommy!

I'm happy to report that we didn't leave the concert. After a couple more hand-offs between me and Peter, Daniel returned to his seat and held it together for the last couple of songs. He was rewarded with a rousing rendition of "Fruit Salad!" Although he continued to insist that we go home, he stopped crying and even seemed to enjoy what little of the show he did see! He spent the entire ride home "recreating" the concert from the back seat, mimicking the Wiggles and echoing the reassurance that Peter and I had fed him earlier.

Was it fair to expect the Wiggles concert to be such a transcendent experience? No. Was it typical parent behavior? Yes. Do I feel like I handled the situation reasonably well and made the best of it? Hell yes. I truly believe that Daniel's memories of the concert will be positive ones. And I will continue to go with the flow. Because in this life, there's no other way to do it!

Your Friends and Neighbors

I have fond memories of growing up with neighborhood kids with whom I was close in age. Those were the old days, when you ran outside after dinner and played with whomever else happened to be outside at the time. These were lasting friendships -- bonds that extended beyond blood relations. If you were fighting with your younger brother, you could escape to a friend's house (and no doubt insist to your friend how much cooler her brother was than yours).

I'm delighted that Daniel has planted the seeds of friendship with our next-door neighbors. As much as I'd love to give him a sibling someday, the future is uncertain. I am thankful that he will always have friends to keep him company, whether or not he ever has a sibling. These sticky summer nights lend themselves well to playing in the backyard with neighboring kids. Last night, I was thrilled to see Daniel playing with Stella, 5, and Caleb, 2. He was equally excited, running inside momentarily to exclaim, "Mommy, Stella and Caleb are home from their trip!" Now, I don't think they were actually away on vacation, rather I suspect that Daniel equated them not being outside on other nights with being "on a trip."

The three of them had a blast together, first splashing around on Daniel's water table and then taking turns riding his Power Wheels Jeep.

Daniel took Caleb for a ride, Stella took Daniel for a ride, and Caleb even drove the Jeep himself for a bit! Daniel was sharing beautifully. He graciously stepped out of the Jeep (without prompting) to give someone else a turn, and didn't complain when he was waiting to get back in. I was so proud. Would he have been as patient and fair with a sibling? Who knows. All that matters is that the kids played nicely together and had fun.

I know that I'm projecting my own anxieties about Daniel being an only child, but watching him interact with Stella and Caleb only strengthened my conviction that he would be an amazing big brother. I pray that he will someday get to wear that ubiquitous "Big Brother" shirt with pride. But even if that day never comes, he will have friends. Friends to play with, to share toys with, to trade lunches with. Daniel is a natural friend. Anyone would be lucky to have him.

Day One Breakout Sessions/Swag Orgy

The morning started at 8:00, with a breakfast for "newbies." The BlogHer co-founders spoke about the conference and answered questions about breakout sessions and other logistical issues. The Expo Hall opened at 10:00, and it was like the scene from Willy Wonka when he opens the door to the chocolate room and all the kids and parents step inside, dumbfounded. I wandered around a bit, stopping to have my picture taken with everyone's favorite explorer. I saw that Shine on Yahoo! had a booth, so I inquired about taking part in an on-camera interview. There were quite a few people ahead of me, and I didn't want to miss the first breakout session, so I left the Expo Hall. That place was like a black hole: It sucks you in, and you lose all sense of time and place.

The first breakout session I chose was "Making Your Passion Work For You." The panelists spoke about finding your own passion and then providing a service that could solve an existing problem. They encouraged the audience to find mentors. Most successful people are eager to help and happy to give back. The message seemed to be: Don't be afraid to approach these people! This seems to be a hang-up for me, so I will have to work on it.

I left that session when they started to talk about business plans and how to obtain insurance coverage when you quit your job. I checked out the writing lab. It was a packed room and I didn't feel like standing in the back. I moved on to the job lab, found a seat on the floor, and listened for about 10 minutes while the panel spoke about resume writing. Another strike-out. So I headed back to the Expo Hall for more fabulous swag and shameless self-promotion. Back to the Yahoo Shine booth, where I had inquired earlier about sharing my story of transformation on camera.

First, I was escorted to hair and make-up. The make-up artist spruced me up. She worked on my eyes, cheeks, and lips, and did her best to minimize my dark circles and shiny t-zone. Hey, Rome wasn't built in a day. The techie guy hooked me up with a mic and I was up. The interview lasted no more than 10 minutes. The woman who interviewed me looked like a cross between Sophia Vergara and Penelope Cruz. I think I did a pretty good job on camera. I wasn't nervous, I spoke slowly and clearly, and...well, I'll post the final edit tomorrow so you can judge for yourself.

With my newfound smoky eyes, I continued to explore the Expo Hall. I wanted to grab the Todd Parr-designed placemats that I had seen everyone carrying around in their swag bags. I headed over to the Stouffers booth. Imagine my surprise when I saw the man himself sitting at the table! Todd Parr is a rock star in my house. I did the Wayne's World "I'm not worthy" bow and began gushing. I mean, I was really laying it on thick. I told him how much Daniel loves his books, and Todd started working on a personalized drawing for him. I continued to gush, thanking him for the work he does (I may have talked about Daniel saying "Why is he crying?" when he looks at the picture of the boy with the dropped ice cream cone -- I'm not sure because I was definitely babbling, like a tween at a Justin Bieber autograph signing). I walked away, on cloud 9, and then immediately started kicking myself for failing to have my photo taken with Todd Parr. So, like a stalker, I went back and waited patiently for another 15 minutes while he finished up with some other people. The man could not have been nicer or more gracious.

After lunch, I checked out two different breakout sessions: Giving Advice in the Blogosphere and Bringing Sexy Back to Branding. Good information from both, but the draw of swag was too great. I have become a total swag whore. Don't ask me how I'm going to get it all home. Back to the Expo Hall, this time up to the second floor. The Hillshire Farm "Sun" was there!!! Even more rad was the turkey sausage on a stick, wrapped in a pancake, that I ate while walking around. What??? The conference food was out of control.

It's the guy from the commercial...I swear!

The true highlight of the day came at 4:45, when we all gathered in the Grand Ballroom for the Voices of the Year honorees. Bloggers were honored in four categories: Life, Humor, Design, and Op/Ed. The speakers were wonderful -- funny, touching, and courageous. It may sound cliche, but I was totally inspired. Everyone's experiences were unique, but they all had something important to say. I guess that's why I blog. I feel like I have something to say (well, at least most of the time).

I'll leave you with one last image, which I was lucky enough to catch after a stroll around midtown brought me back to the Hilton. At the corner of 54th and 6th, New York let its freak flag fly. But where was Luigi?

Gonna Party Like It's 1999!

BlogHer: I'm here. I'm blogging. I feel so relevant! I'm back in NYC, on my own, for the first time since I lived here over 10 years ago. In 1999, New York was exciting, noisy, and filled with excess. Today, in 2010, things are pretty much the same. I'm a little older, a little worse for the wear, but a hell of a lot wiser. And I'm carrying a giant pill case.

The conference doesn't officially begin until tomorrow, but the throngs of female attendees descended on Manhattan a day early to settle in, schmooze, and to get their grooves back. Personally, I'm here to learn more about the business side of blogging and to be inspired by the stories of some amazing women. And, of course, to blog.

I caught a ride from King of Prussia this morning, thanks to Julie Meyers Pron. Julie and I went to high school together and she was kind enough to offer me a seat on the Collective Bias bus when she found out I was going to BlogHer. The bus pulled up to the Hilton at 12:30.

My room was ready, so I unpacked and headed out onto the streets of New York to find some food. I was in the mood for sushi, and I found a cute little place on 55th Street where I could tuck myself away with a good magazine and some crunchy spicy tuna. It felt very 1999.

My mission following lunch was to wander uptown a couple of blocks to that mecca of unreasonably large stuffed animals, FAO Schwartz. I wanted to find something cute to take home to Daniel ("airport presents," so to speak). I'm not sure if it was the massive candy section, the make-your-own-Muppet desk, or the giant piano on which Tom Hanks once performed Chopsticks, but I was like a little kid. Forget 1999. It was 1982!

I immediately found the "toy vehicles" and began to marvel at the countless trash trucks, bulldozers, and cement mixers lining the shelves. Though I was disappointed that I had to limit my purchases to items that would fit in my suitcase, I managed to snap a photo of this precious gem:

The picture above doesn't do it justice. This trash truck was ENORMOUS! Daniel could have played for days. I had to settle for a much smaller New York Sanitation Truck. Luckily, size doesn't matter. Daniel loves trash trucks, both large and small.

By the time I tore myself away from FAO Schwartz, it was 4:00 and registration was officially open. I walked back to the Hilton and took my place in line to collect my badge holder, lanyard, and giant bag of swag. (That's like the third time I've used the word 'giant' in this post...you gotta love New York!)

After sprucing myself up a bit, I hopped into a cab and headed downtown to meet Caitlin (my sister-in-law) at Tabla. This place was fantastic: The food was Indian-Fusion, and we ate ourselves silly. Rosemary naan, tomato and lentil curry, lamb loin and short rib, soft-shell crabs...you get the idea. Bonus points for the waiter, who had a cute Australian accent and was named Daniel. We had a great time! It was good, solid, sister bonding!

Don't we look pretty?

We tried in vain for a half-hour to hail a cab, but Madison Square Park wasn't too happening tonight. (Forgive me while I take off on a random tangent: The restaurant was located at 25th and Madison, just a couple of blocks from the office where I worked in 1999. Full circle! How cool is that?) I ended up on the F train, headed uptown to 57th Street. There was something about riding the subway at 11:30 at night that took me right back to the old days. Upon exiting the subway, I walked three blocks to the Hilton, cozied into my pajamas, and curled up with my giant pill case.

On the agenda for tomorrow: Lots of speakers, lots of swag, and lots of giant BlogHer goodness!

Good Morning, Sunshine!

I may have only one child, but that doesn't mean my mornings are any less hectic. Daniel has to be at camp by 9:00. Granted, his camp is 2 minutes from our house. And it's not like I'm getting ready for work -- usually just yoga, which allows me to look a lot less presentable! But if for no other reason than some comic relief (laughing at oneself is very therapeutic, don't you know?) I will give you a snapshot of what a typical summer morning is like in our house:

6:45 am -- My alarm goes off, set to B101. Nothing like getting Rob Thomas stuck in your head first thing in the morning. I hit snooze and drift off to the sound of Ollie snoring.

6:54 am -- Alarm again. If I'm feeling daring, I hit snooze one more time.

7:00 am-ish -- I drag myself out of bed, shower, and get dressed.

8:00 am -- An hour? Seriously? You may think I am crazy for taking so long to get ready. Let me assure you, only about 60 percent of that hour is devoted to hygiene and grooming. The other 40 percent is distributed between important tasks like checking e-mail, turning on the Keurig coffee machine, and picking up all of the clothing that Peter has thrown on the floor the night before.

So, back to 8:00 am -- I enter Daniel's room to "wake" him for the day. By now, he's probably been singing to himself for 15 minutes or so. He pops up when he sees me, but complains when I turn on the light and open the shades. "Too sunny, Mommy!"

This is where it gets a little muddy. I spend the next 10 to 20 minutes coaxing Daniel out of his crib to get dressed for camp. He likes to wrap himself up in his blankets and pretend he is still sleeping. If I try to grab him, he usually screams. I wrestle him out of his pajamas while he is still in his crib, then begin my negotiations. I try to lure him out by saying things like, "If you get up now, you'll be downstairs in time for Abby's Flying Fairy School." Surprisingly, that doesn't always work. Sometimes we'll play "claw machine," where I'm the claw and he's the prize to be won. I'll put imaginary quarters in the machine, move the arms of the claw, and pick him up by the feet. After two or three "drops," I go back one last time for the win.

8:15 am -- By now, Daniel is out of his crib with a clean diaper. It's time to apply sunscreen. He used to love helping me spray the sunblock on his arms and legs. Now he says things like, "I don't want lotion today." I've even found myself chasing him around the second floor of our house, spray can in hand like a weapon. I have a whole can of SPF 50 and I'm not afraid to use it! Despite this insanity, I always win.

8:20 am -- Fully dressed and lubed up, Daniel leads me downstairs for breakfast. He enjoys a cup of milk and a cereal bar while I scramble around, getting his camp bag ready and making breakfast. Occasionally, he gets tired of watching Abby's Flying Fairy School and demands that I put on one of his favorite DVD's. No matter which one he chooses, he will change his mind at least twice before I can leave him and return to breakfast preparation.

8:30 am -- Daniel sits at the kitchen table to eat breakfast. I leave the TV on. I know, I know -- I'm breaking the number one rule of good parenting. But it's Sesame Street, and it holds his interest while he eats! Otherwise, he would probably take one bite and run off to play the drums. I sit with him and eat my cereal, trying to keep him engaged in the programming and also trying to keep the flow of food moving freely into his mouth!

8:45 am -- If Daniel has sat at the table for a full 15 minutes, then I consider the morning a success. I let him play for 10 minutes before leaving for camp. After cleaning up the breakfast dishes, I sneak some sunscreen onto his face and put his shoes on his feet. When it's time to leave, I ask him to choose a truck or two to take in the car. He protests by saying, "Five minutes," and then negotiates down to "two minutes." Thank goodness he cannot yet tell time.

8:55 am -- We pile into the car and head off to camp. For the first time all morning, I can breathe. Daniel is usually happy to arrive at camp, and he barely gives me a parting glance before disappearing into the building. Another morning in the can.

Nap on the Rocks?

The above photo captures the essence of Daniel's nap this afternoon: An hour of singing and playing (and unbeknownst to me, tossing every stuffed animal, blanket, pillow, and book out of his crib onto the floor), followed by a half-hour of him calling, "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" He finally exhausted himself and fell asleep in his empty crib. Two hours later, when I went in to get him up, this is what I found. The look on his face was a cross between, "What did I do?" and "Who, me?" I have a sinking feeling that naptime is an endangered species.

Mr. Bossy Pants

Terrible twos...the greatest hoax ever. My child was a pleasant, easy-going, flexible two-year-old. He never threw tantrums, and he never resorted to hitting when he was angry or frustrated.

Then he turned three.

My agreeable two-year-old has been replaced by Mr. Bossy Pants. He has definite opinions about the way things should be, and is unwilling to compromise. Most of the time, I feel like I am negotiating with a terrorist -- simple tasks like getting out of bed in the morning, eating his breakfast, turning off the TV, and taking a bath have become a practice in disaster prevention. I hate that I'm allowing him to dictate my actions, but I'm constantly diffusing ticking time bombs. Don't get me wrong: Daniel is still a great kid. He smiles a lot, has an awesome sense of humor, and loves to cuddle. But he drives me crazy sometimes.

I find myself saying things like, "If you get dressed now, you'll get downstairs in time to watch Abby's Flying Fairy School" and "You can have a pack of gummies if you eat three more bites of dinner!" It's completely ridiculous and lazy parenting on my part. And it doesn't always work! Daniel has me wrapped around his finger, and he knows it.

Though I may sound naive, I never thought that Daniel would become one of those kids who cries at the drop of a hat when he doesn't get what he wants. He still doesn't throw full-blown temper tantrums (which is a blessing, especially in public) but he screams with anger if you do something he doesn't like. Peter and I joke that Daniel has worse PMS than a pre-menopausal woman. I can't help but think of that old poem:

There was a little girl

Who had a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead.

And when she was good

She was very, very good

But when she was bad, she was horrid.

Substitute boy for girl, and you've hit the nail right on the head. I want my two-year-old back!

What a Difference A Year Makes

Last summer was Daniel's first "away from Mommy" experience -- he attended camp 3 mornings a week. For the first couple of weeks, he had to be pulled from my car in the morning, crying and pleading, "Mommy! Mommy!" I would watch my little peanut being carried into the building, and try to hold it together myself. Both he and I were unable to accept the separation at first. Things got better as the summer went on, but Daniel was still just a little boy who had never before been on his own. The hardest part for me was that he couldn't even tell me about his day. He used a couple of words here and there, but he wasn't exactly sharing his feelings. I had to have faith that he was happy in camp and that it was a valuable experience.

A year later, it seems crazy that I ever felt any anxiety over Daniel's adjustment to camp. After a wonderful school year during which he grew in leaps and bounds, both physically and intellectually, Daniel made a seamless transition into his second summer at camp. Mornings are a breeze -- Daniel doesn't flinch when his CIT opens the car door to retrieve him from the car. He climbs down from his car seat by himself, and struts into the building like he owns the place. Everyone knows his name. There are no more tears. Even when he comes home with a nasty-looking scratch, I ask him if he cried when he got hurt and he says, "No!" He tells me if he swam in the big or little pool, whom he sat with at lunch, and whether or not he saw Miss Allison for music. He climbs into the car at the end of the day with a smile on his face, and immediately asks if I've remembered to bring him a treat (usually gummy candy or a lollipop). He is a big boy now, and he knows what he wants. Five mornings a week, I know that he's going to have fun at camp. That's all I want.

The Best Three Years of My Life

Three years ago today, my life changed. My world was rocked. I would never be the same again. On that hazy June day back in 2007, I became a Mommy. Daniel Adam Somerman came into this world at 12:17 pm, weighing a meager 5 pounds, 15 ounces. Three years later, he could probably tackle me to the ground.

Being a mother has changed me in so many ways, I could never possibly explain it in a couple of paragraphs (which is why I have this ongoing blog, I guess). Most profoundly, it has given me a feeling of comfort and purpose. No matter what happens in my life (and most of you know that I've had my share of crap), Daniel is my rock. He is my greatest success, my biggest accomplishment, and the love of my life. His smile dries my tears, his kisses melt my heart. There is no greater joy than to hear him say, "Mommy, I love you."

Over the past three years, Motherhood has presented plenty of challenges. If it wasn't sleep issues, it was feeding problems. If it wasn't skin rashes, it was bad language. And so it goes. I wouldn't trade a single day with Daniel for a chance to erase all of the heartache I've suffered in my pursuit to expand my family. He has saved me, over and over again. No amount of sadness could ever erase the overwhelming joy and pride I feel for my only child.

Daniel awes me. He is so smart, perceptive, thoughtful, creative, precocious, funny, and loving. He is the best of me and Peter, all rolled into one beautiful little package. I marvel at his perfect lips, his adorable belly, and his sparkling blue eyes. I'm already mourning the day when he loves another woman more than he loves me. The heartbreak will be significant.

Happy birthday, my love. May life continue to bring you sunshine and rainbows. I promise to protect you from pirates, loud horns, and scorpions for as long as I live. All you have to do is continue to be your perfect, wonderful, amazing self.

Fun Stuff Coming in June to the Philly Area

I just wanted to update my fellow Philly Moms on some fun activities coming to the area in the next couple of weeks.

Don't forget: Day Out with Thomas is coming to the Strasburg Railroad on June 12th, and will continue through June 22nd. You can buy tickets in advance here, or you can wait and buy them on-site. Lots of cool Thomas-themed activities await the train enthusiast in your family!

Touch-a-Truck is coming to Freedom Playground in Havertown on Saturday, June 12th from 10:00 am to 2:00 pm. The cost is $20 per family or $5 per person, and the funds raised will benefit the playground. Bounce House and Face Painting at no extra cost! There will be hand tiles, t-shirts, hot dogs, snacks and drinks for sale.

Local children's entertainer Mama Mac will be performing a Lunchtime Jam Series at Nurture in Ardmore. Starting on June 17th, Mama Mac will appear on alternating Thursdays at 11:30 am (July 1st, July 22nd, and August 5th). Pizza and drinks are included in the admission price, which is $12 per person. Children under 2 are FREE!

Stay tuned for more summer fun!!!

My Son, the Never-Nude

I don't know what it is about Tuesdays, but I think they are out to get me. Last week, you'll recall, was the great soccer debacle. Today puttered along, somewhat inoffensively, until it came time to give Daniel his bath. Then all hell broke loose.

I'm still not sure what happened. I was filling the bath and Peter was attempting to undress Daniel. When he got to the diaper, Daniel FREAKED out. Crying hysterically, refusing to get in the bathtub. I held him and tried to comfort him, but firmly explained that he would have to take a bath. He continued to cry, even when I offered to get his much-loved bubbles so he could play with them in the tub. Peter and I managed to get his diaper off, but that only made him more upset. He was clinging to my neck, crying and screaming, for no apparent reason other than not wanting to be naked in the bathtub.

I carried him into his room and explained that he would have to go right to bed if he didn't take a bath. He was okay with that. Peter removed all books and toys from Daniel's crib while I dressed him in his pajamas. I gave Daniel one last choice between going to bed (without milk, books, or cuddle time) or taking a bath. He made his choice, and I placed him in his crib. As I left his room, I heard him start to cry.

About 10 minutes later, after he had calmed down, I went into his room to see if he had changed his mind. Somehow, I convinced him to take a bath in my jacuzzi tub. I even offered to get in the tub with him. With bubbles, soap, and washcloth in hand, we made our way down the hall to Mommy's bathroom. Daniel was happy to help me start the tub, but not so happy when it came to getting in. I climbed in first and was only able to lift him into the tub if he remained fully diapered. It was bizarre -- he has NEVER exhibited this phobia before.

He stood in the tub while I soaped him up, rinsed him, and washed his hair. His diaper grew heavier and heavier with each cupful of water that I poured over his body. I continued to ask if I could remove his diaper, and he kept saying, "No, not right now." He was contentedly playing with his bubbles, allowing me to wash him, but he would not permit diaper removal. At the very end of the bath, before lifting him out and drying him off, I managed to get his diaper off. It weighed about 20 pounds. My son, the never-nude, had won this battle. But at least he was clean!

I'm completely stressed out about the situation. Will the bath time freak-outs continue? Will Daniel call a moratorium on baths and show up at school looking like Pigpen from the Peanuts comic strip? Is this yet another example of irrational, defiant, 3-year-old behavior...that is completely normal? My gray hairs are getting grayer as I type.

One of Those Days

"I should have stayed in bed today," read a friend's Facebook status update. "Like," I clicked. Boy, did I know how she felt. Today was one of those days when you just feel defeated. Like you can't do anything right, and everyone is out to get you. Especially your almost three-year-old.

It started this morning, as I prepped Daniel for soccer class. Not wanting a repeat of last week's whiny and defiant behavior, I reminded him that he didn't get to go to McDonald's after last week's class because he hadn't listened to me or the coach. I asked him if he would listen this week and he said yes.

Soccer started out okay. We did a couple of stretches and running games. Daniel was kind of into it until he tripped and fell. He started crying and insisted that I pick him up and carry him. We walked around like that for a couple of minutes, and he seemed to be calming down. Then it was time to line up for a team photo. The photographer arranged all of the kids on a bench. Some were standing and some were seated, but all of them did what they were told. Not my son. He refused to stand where the photographer directed him. I tried to persuade him, to no avail. One of the other Moms even tried to bribe him with a cookie if he would pose for the picture! Still, he refused. I walked away, furious, and left him behind. I figured that he would cooperate if I wasn't standing over him. I was wrong. He burst into tears. The coach tried to console him and encouraged him to pose for the picture with the rest of the team. He kept crying and saying no. So I picked him up and left. That was it. No photo, no more soccer class. It was halfway through the class time and I couldn't take anymore. I told Daniel that we were leaving and not coming back. We were going straight home for the second week in a row. I was furious and upset, and felt like I was ready to burst into tears at any second. I felt like a terrible mother, I was embarrassed, and I felt like my child had completely walked all over me.

Later in the afternoon, we had a play date at a friend's house. I probably should have cancelled it based on the way the day was going, but it had already been rescheduled twice and I just wanted to get it over with. Daniel refused to go into the house at first, and once he was inside, he had no interest in playing with the other child. That would've been fine, but he wasn't sharing well and wanted me to follow him wherever he went. The clingy-ness was probably a result of him knowing how angry I was with him for his earlier behavior. He warmed up a bit and seemed to be content. But we stayed for dinner, and Daniel decided that the dinner table was a perfect place to reveal his new bad word, "Dammit." He was saying it under his breath, but I could hear him perfectly. I could tell he was trying to get a reaction out of his friend and the friend's mother, and I was mortified. I kept talking over him, louder and louder, in the hopes that they wouldn't catch on to what Daniel was really saying. I'm still not sure if I was successful. Needless to say, I couldn't wait to get out of there.

It's not even 8:00 and I am exhausted. I feel like I failed at everything today. Every decision I made was wrong. All I want to do is crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. Peter is putting Daniel to bed because I am so totally done with him for today. The best part of all this?Daniel has the day off from school tomorrow AND Peter isn't coming home until late tomorrow night. Is it possible for tomorrow to be worse than today? I guess I have no choice but to wait and find out.

More Upcoming Events in the Philly Area

Each year, the Lulu Shrine Circus delights children and adults of all ages! This year, the 69th Annual Lulu Shrine Circus is coming to Plymouth Meeting on the following dates:

-- Friday, May 28th at 11:00 am and 7:00 pm

-- Saturday, May 29th at 11:00 am, 3:00 pm, 7:00 pm

-- Sunday, May 30th at 2:00 pm and 6:00 pm

In addition to the live performances, there will be a bicycle giveaway at each show. Call for more information: 1-800-898-LULU or check out the website at Lulu Shrine Circus.

"If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" is playing at the Arden Children's Theatre, 40 N. 2nd Street, Philadelphia, from April 14th through June 13th. For more information, or to buy tickets, visit the Arden Theatre website.

Upcoming Kid-Friendly Events in Philly

A fellow Mom recently inquired about where I look to find out about all of the cool activities I do with Daniel. This blog seems as good a place as any to compile a list of upcoming events that I've heard about. With apologies to my non-Philly area readers, I will update the list whenever something new pops up. Don't worry -- I'll continue to write about the trials and tribulations of being a stay-at-home Mom! But I figured it was important information to share with my fellow Moms, so here's the first edition of "Upcoming Kids Events in Philly:"

-- Touch-a-Truck will be in East Norriton on Sunday, May 16th, from 11:00 am to 3:00 pm. It will be held in the parking lot of the Facenda-Whitaker Bowling Center. More information is available on Playgroundbuzz.com.

-- Day Out With Thomas is coming to the Strasburg Railroad next month! From June 12th through June 20th, you can take a ride on everyone's favorite blue engine and enjoy lots of fun outdoor Thomas-related activities. For more information, check out Day Out With Thomas 2010.

-- The Wiggles are coming to the Tower Theater in Upper Darby! On Saturday, August 21st, the guys will be performing two shows: The first is at 12:30; the second is at 4:00. For more information, and to buy tickets, go to Live Nation.

Enjoy!!!

The Mistaken Identity of a Toddler

Who is this child living in my house? He's three feet tall, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes, and he pushes my buttons at every opportunity. I used to smile politely and nod when someone would mention the "Terrible 2's." Not my kid, I would think to myself. My toddler was pleasant, courteous, and kind to others. I had never witnessed a tantrum. Just your typical nagging and whining. Nothing I couldn't handle. I figured I had gotten off easy, so I dared not complain. Which is why this stranger in my house leaves me feeling so perplexed.

He no longer does anything without resistance, except maybe choose a lollipop flavor or run around in the backyard. My requests are met with "No" and the occasional "No way, Jose!" Getting him out the door is a chore. Getting him upstairs for a nap is like drawing blood from a stone. Getting him to come inside from playing outdoors is like asking him to give up his favorite blanket. He seems to know exactly how to drive me crazy at any given moment. He's a pro. That's how I know this is not the same child I've been raising for the past two and a half years.

Before he could talk, Daniel was an agreeable baby. He had a pleasant demeanor and was almost always content to do whatever I wanted him to do. Don't get me wrong -- he's still extremely well-behaved (at least compared to some of his peers whom I've observed) and consistently happy. Dealing with him is pretty easy. I guess I was spoiled, though, because this shift in attitude is killing me. I'd sooner find out that my son has been abducted by aliens and replaced with a doppelganger than to admit that he has become a typical two and a half year old. I seem to be losing this fight.

One of these days, I'll ask Daniel to sit down for breakfast or clean up his toys and he'll just DO IT! I'll be shocked and overjoyed, and I'll count it as a small victory for toddler mommies everywhere. It's the little things.

Five Years and a Lifetime Ago...

This past weekend, Peter and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary. We planned a weekend in the city, complete with dinner at Barclay Prime and an overnight stay at the Sofitel. After checking in to the hotel on Saturday afternoon, we strolled around Rittenhouse Square and did some window shopping and people-watching. Peter and I enjoyed pointing out which stores and restaurants were still around almost 6 years after we moved out of the city in 2004. These "remnants" of our past lives brought back countless memories of a time before we knew each other, before we were married, and before we had a child. Neither Peter nor I could recall what that former life really felt like. It was like we had always been together, and those memories were about other people.

There was once a time when I could stroll around the city, worrying about nothing more than a grad. school assignment. I came and went as I pleased, not thinking about how my actions would affect someone else. Even years later, when I was working professionally as a teacher, I was free as a bird. I would come home from work, go to the gym, eat dinner (in or out -- often deciding at the very last minute!), and spend my evening doing whatever I wanted! As a married suburbanite, I still had a huge amount of personal freedom and flexibility to do as I pleased. Nothing really changed until I had a child.

Daniel upended every routine I had established, from showering and dressing each morning to exercising and relaxing each evening. Every decision I made affected him. If I wanted to take a walk, I had to put him in his stroller. If I wanted to go shopping, I had to drag along a huge bag of feeding and diapering supplies. If I wanted to exercise, I had to wait until my precious boy was napping. My world ultimately revolved around him. It took some getting used to, of course, but I don't even remember what that transition period felt like. All I know is here and now, in my current reality. Even after a lovely weekend free of responsibility and scheduling, I eagerly stepped back into my role as Mommy. Life may have been easier five years ago, but it certainly wasn't better. Daniel has enhanced my life in ways that free time never could.

Another Mommy Thing I Never Thought I'd Do

Rank it right up there with lollipops before dinner and skipping mittens when playing in the snow (not because I can't find them, but simply because they are a pain in the butt to get on). It's one of those things that I swore I'd never do with my children, at least on a habitual basis. And yet I've found myself back two weeks in a row, and I'm thoroughly enjoying it. The horrific "it" I'm referring to is none other than lunch at McDonald's. The best part is, I'm apparently the last mother on earth to discover this magical place as a viable option for a meal with a 2-year-old. Better late than never, right?

We've established a fun little routine on Tuesdays. After our new indoor soccer class, we follow the caravan to a nearby McDonald's for a quick, laid-back lunch. On our first visit, it took me 10 minutes to order and I was nervous about Daniel sitting alone with the other kids (see above photo). By the second visit, I had my order down pat and placed Daniel's food at the kids' table while simultaneously carrying on a conversation with the other Mommies. I always shuddered at the thought of becoming one of those moms who relies on fast food to keep her kids satiated and satisfied. I swore upside down and backwards that I would never resort to fast food on a regular basis. But then I tried it. And my practical side kicked the ass of the idealist in me.

Not only is McDonald's a great place with kids because of the speed with which you get your food, but said food isn't too bad in the taste department, either. I've stuck with the southwest salad with crispy chicken (a little indulgent, yes) and I'm actually enjoying it! Daniel seems to love the chicken nuggets (he'll eat 3 out of a 4-piece order, kindly leaving one for me to nosh on as I walk his tray to the trash can), and he ate the apple slices in week 2 with as much vigor as he ate the french fries in week 1 (don't worry, he'll learn). The piece de resistance? The Happy Meal toy, of course! For two weeks in a row, Daniel has gotten Star Wars-themed key chains -- one Darth Vader and one R2-D2. These trinkets are cool enough to keep him enthralled while he eats his lunch, even if he does forget about them once we get home.

At McDonald's, the tables and chairs are kid-friendly, in that they are bolted to the floor and cannot be knocked over. The mom-and-kid crowd basically takes over the place at lunchtime, so other patrons expect there to be children running loose. If your kids are well-behaved, then BONUS! You may actually get to chew your food and enjoy your lunch before it becomes apparent that your child is ready to leave (like when Daniel wandered over to the trash cans and started fishing around for surprises). After our week 2 lunch, I was in no rush to leave and I allowed Daniel to play outside on the "Playland" structure. As I watched him run and climb with a look of pure joy in his eyes, I thought to myself, This is great! My child is satiated, satisfied, and happy. And now he's going to burn off a little extra energy before going home to nap. What's wrong with that?

The Alterna-Playground

Daniel had no interest in napping this afternoon. After a long day at school, you'd think he'd be pooped. Nope! After "resting" in his crib for over an hour (I'm using quotation marks because he spent most of the time singing and playing with trucks), I admitted defeat and removed him from the confines of his crib. We headed for the playground, which is just a 10-minute walk from our house. The playground was crowded with moms and kids, all enjoying the beautiful spring-like weather. Daniel seemed excited to climb on the jungle gym, which he did, and then proceeded to make his way around to all of the equipment in about 15 minutes. Then he spotted the Bobcats.

They were parked in the lot by the playground, and each still had its snow plow attached. Daniel was awestruck. There was no turning back. The playground was a distant memory -- not nearly as cool as the Bobcats. Daniel has seen them before, plowing our driveway while we sat inside and looked out the window. But here we were, up close and personal, and touching was not out of the question. He investigated every inch of those Bobcats, from the "Caution" decals to the hydraulic hoses. This went on for at least a half-hour. I finally managed to pry him away from the Bobcats. He didn't go willingly, but I DID promise him that he could watch the construction taking place in our own street (Verizon is currently digging up lawns in order to install Fios). It was a trade-off, but at least I didn't have to explain the anatomy of a Bobcat for the ten-thousandth time.

A Simple Act of Kindness

This morning, as I walked out of Daniel's preschool after drop-off, I was stopped by another Mom. Her son is in Daniel's class and we have been acquaintances for a number of years. She started by acknowledging that she felt awkward about what she had to say. She mentioned that she had heard from someone else what I had recently been through, and she wanted to share her story with me. This Mom, who has a 7-month-old in addition to her son who is Daniel's age, told me that she had been through extensive fertility treatments with her first pregnancy. She wanted to recommend her doctor to me and to let me know that she was happy to help me out in any way she could. I was not only surprised to hear that she had been through a tough pregnancy experience (she does, after all, have two healthy kids who are just 2 years apart), but I was extremely touched that she would reach out to me and offer whatever comforting words she could. That's what has been so uplifting about this whole situation: So many people have shared their personal stories of hardship with me, with the purpose of encouraging me to believe that everything will work out in the end. By sharing her story's happy ending, this Mom allowed me to keep the faith and find comfort in knowing that I am not alone. A simple act of kindness, perhaps, but an extraordinary start to my Monday.

This afternoon, I resumed my exercise routine on the treadmill. It has been about 4 months since I last worked out (with a handful of yoga classes here and there). I am feeling physically well, less than a week following surgery. I want to feel strong and healthy. I want to feel physically able. It felt amazing to get my heart-rate up and to feel my muscles working hard. My body has been so resilient over the past year. It hasn't failed me yet, but rather has performed reliably in the face of great strain and manipulation. For that, I am truly thankful.

I'm Back, Baby!

I turned 33 yesterday. Aside from the chronological milestone, I celebrated just having survived the hardest two weeks of my life. I grieved, I got angry, I accepted the reality of my situation...and, in the end, I learned something about myself. I am a resilient person -- I've endured a lot of hardship over the past 8 years, and I've survived. My most recent challenge has taught me that being a mother means having to hold it together even when you feel like you're falling apart. Daniel is 2 and a half. He doesn't understand what it means to have a bad day. He has (blessedly) remained sheltered from life's cruelties. The last thing I want is for him to grow up with memories of a childhood punctuated by his Mom feeling sad and defeated all the time. It is my responsibility to pass on my resilience to him. To teach him that he can stand up to the forces that fight to keep him down. I want him to be proud of the person I am. To admire what I've lived through. If that means putting aside my own needs and wants in order to be more present in his life, I will do it. I am a mother, and that is what we do.

Mothers survive because their children need them. Their children need to feel safe, need to know that Mom will always be there. Mothers sacrifice so much of themselves because they have chosen to put another person's well-being before their own. These past couple of weeks, I've learned that not only am I capable of making this sacrifice, but I am happy to do it. I've raised an amazing little boy. Sometimes I don't give myself enough credit. One thing I'm sure of: He needs me to continue showing him what it means to be a happy, content person. Even on days when I struggle with this myself, I need to be strong for Daniel. That is my job.

A Case of the "Clingies"

Daniel has never really had an issue with separation anxiety. While he may be initially shy with strangers, he quickly warms up to them and thoroughly enjoys the attention that comes with being 2-years-old. Until recently, Daniel hadn't ever really cried when we'd left him (the beginning of camp and then school being the exception). Which is why this latest phase of his has gotten me all worked up.

He has grown, more and more over the past couple of weeks, increasingly attached to me. What started out as an isolated incident of insisting to be carried everywhere has become a full-blown case of the "clingies." Not only does Daniel want to sit next to me wherever we may be, he wants to sit on top of me, behind me, and even draped around me. He can often be heard pleading, "Mommy, come!" while I'm sitting just across the table from him. Peter even joked that Daniel would crawl back into the womb if he could (which was really only funny because Daniel so clearly takes after his Daddy in this regard). Perhaps this behavior is commonplace for other Mommies out there. But I've made it to 32 months without anything like this from Daniel in the past. So, why now? What has changed? And, most importantly, how do I handle it?

As a teacher, I would probably have handled the situation by using good old positive reinforcement. If a student was using negative behaviors to elicit my attention, I would make a point to notice that student's positive behaviors throughout the day and make a big deal of it. The idea is that the student would eventually realize that his or her positive behavior was a more efficient means to an end, thereby eliminating the "acting out" for attention's sake. When it's your own child doing the acting out, things are different. You feel compelled to differentiate between right and wrong, while simultaneously affirming your child's self-esteem and communicating your unconditional love. Sounds like an uphill battle, right?

I am curious (just a little bit) to see how far Daniel takes this whole hyper-attachment phase. Is he acting this way because we're on vacation from our regular routine? Will he regain his independence once we return home from Florida and he goes back to school 3 days a week? Or am I forced to face this challenge head-on, with nothing but my motherly instincts to protect me from this most formidable opponent?

Hard to Explain

This past week, I found myself in a public bathroom stall with Daniel. This was not the first time, of course, but the conversation had never before unfolded like this: I sat on the commode and Daniel stood by the door, intensely staring between my legs. First I thought he might be looking at my underwear ("Mommy no wear diaper?"). So I asked him what he was looking at, and he responded (without missing a beat), "Penis?"

I'll pause for a moment here and explain that we are very open in my house. Daniel has seen both parents naked, and he regularly accompanies us to the bathroom. He is also very much aware of his own genitalia (see "A Perplexing Bathtime"). Therefore, it wasn't his use of the word that had me a bit flummoxed. It was the impact that my answer would have on his current and future perception of sexuality and gender roles. Just kidding...I thought it was pretty damn funny!

In a sympathetic voice, I responded, "No, Daniel, Mommy doesn't have a penis. Only boys and daddies have penises. Mommies don't have penises." (Though many of us DO have some seriously brass balls.) He didn't seem concerned, although he didn't necessarily stop staring as I wiped and flushed the toilet. I'm sure the issue will come up again as he continues to learn more about the world around him. I expect that he will, at some point in the distant future, learn the word "vagina" (and giggle like an idiot every time he hears it, as all adolescent boys are programmed to do). I'm proud that he knows the correct anatomical term for his "private" area. There are no wee-wees in my house.