finding her roots

So has anyone seen that Henry Louis Gates show on PBS, Finding your Roots?  It's pretty engrossing (he uses a team of genealogists and DNA to track down the family histories of celebrities).

When I went on Ancestry, I hit a few understandable dead ends seeing as the holocaust decimated my family history.  My genetic roots are mostly Ashkenazi Jewish - which means that I can't pinpoint exactly what countries my family lived in because they basically lived in Jewish communities in those countries. I know we had some family living France, and many in Poland. but I can really only go back two generations.  There were some interesting curveballs in there (the Algerian/North African DNA which might explain why my dad is so dark), and some English in there too (which explains my mother's veddy English maiden name).

Viking's ancestry was also interesting.  His genetic makeup is hugely Eastern European (makes sense, his dad was a child of Hungarian immigrants), with a good dose Scandinavian thrown in for good measure. His
Mother liked to focus on their Swedish cultural traits but while he looks like he belongs in some dark movie set in Copenhagen, he's got other stuff going on in his DNA.  And lo and behold, there was a Jew in his woodpile too.

You know, there was a time when I really wrung my hands over all of this, as far as Samantha's future.  I imagined her watching this show or some future iteration of it.  Her wanting to do an Ancestry test.  Her DNA will show something completely foreign to us, right?  How will she feel about it?

Well, what if I reframe the whole scenario?  What if finding her roots when she's a teenager become a gift of many roots? So she has three family branches, two of which are genetic.  Is this grounds for handwringing or maybe can we shift our thinking as this being really interesting and maybe - just maybe - cool?

I can't run from her origin story.  Once she's of age to understand it, I won't be able to hide it.  I can't allow it to be shameful. I can't allow it to cause her hurt. So bear with me here (becsuse I'm not like a huge fan of the book), but what if I just LEANED IN to it? I know she's got English in there.  Belgian and Netherlandian too.

I'm a stickler these days for precise terminology.  I'm her biological mother, and I'll say it until I'm blue in the face. I carried her, I'm nursing her, and so much of what she is becoming is a result of what I'm giving her. My family history as a descendant of Holocaust survivors is written in my DNA but even with out the DNA that event is a huge part of my being.

What is written in her DNA remains a fundamental mystery to us. I know she will want to solve it.

The bottom line is I'm trying to turn this whole genetics thing on it's head. I'm trying to look at it as a really cool thing that shes going to be a part of, a future set of fun mysteries to solve.  But Man, don't let me kid you, it does take some serious ongoing emotional work for me to get there.

She looks nothing like you

Ahhhh, if I had a nickel for every comment on how my Valkyrie child doesn’t resemble me. I am crazy grateful for the fact that Niblet doesn’t either. She herself said it last night, “wow mom, I look a little like you but Sammi doesn’t At. All.”  Oh kid. Just you wait.

Today I went to my PCP for the first time in ages. I’m overdue for a mammogram but I can’t get one because my baby won’t wean. I mean, I’m flattered, but it caused me no small amount of anxiety. Luckily my dr felt me up and decided that my risks were low because there’s no breast cancer in my family, breast feeding lowers risks, and I should just hang tight until we’re fully done with weaning.

I’m waiting on A1C results now too. God I truly hope I’m not back to being prediabetic. I was eating like a horse when I nursed 10x a day, but now, with just two nursing sessions and one pump a day, I’ve gotta get my act together. I haven’t been exercising and it’s not a good look.

Samantha is a surreal baby in so many ways. You’ve gotta trust me when I say that she is insanely fucking cute. Like, smiles at people in the shopping cart and makes angry underpaid Wholefoods workers smile.

But The vestiges of loss appear in ways that blindside me constantly. Like, I sometimes have terrible fears that she or her sister will develop a horrible illness. Or that my husband will die. Or that I maybe have breast cancer because my slacker boob that doesn’t produce much milk which Sammy rejected entirely is actually diseased. I know this isn’t rational. But it goes to show that. It isn’t always kittens and parties in my brain, unfortunately.

 I ran into my therapist in the supermarket, on a day where Sammi and I were both glowing with maternal baby joy. It was a rainy Sunday and we were just happy to get out of the house together. My therapist asked how I was doing and I said really well. This wasn’t a lie. I AM doing really well. But that also comes with me waiting for the bottom to fall out from under me.

Does everyone live like this?

The personal is political

Watch.

https://nowthisnews.com/videos/politics/georgia-state-senator-gives-emotional-plea-against-severe-abortion-ban

I'm glad she asked

Last week I was checking in with my friend D, a Vice President at my organization who rocks, I love working with her.  She's smart, hella organized, works tirelessly for the nursing home workers she represents and just fucking kind.  She's also deeply, DEEPLY religious.

At the end of our meeting where we outlined some plans to save the world, she had a random question for me:

"My members have been talking about that new abortion law in NY.  It's a really hot topic and they just don't understand how the state could pass it. What am I missing? Do you know anything about it?"

"Funny you should ask that," I replied.

So I told her. I started with the miscarriages.  And then I got to Celine.  About how we were lucky to be able to see Celine's future pain on a 13 weeks scan and had a few weeks to talk to specialists. And how Samantha truly was a miracle for science and faith.  And then I explained exactly what the law was designed to cover, and shared with her these two articles:

This, Interview with a woman who had an abortion at 32 weeks,

And the follow-up to her story. (Spoiler: It has as happy an ending as anyone who suffers such trauma can claim).

I explained that this woman's advocacy (she lobbied HARD) led to the NY law's [assage.  And how sad it was that this was really HEALTHCARE legislation being dressed as morality. How no woman wants to say goodbye to their desperately loved baby, let alone have to fly to Colorado and spend tens of thousands of dollars to do it.

Well, D read both articles and thanked me for them.  She also printed them out for the workers she knew who were asking so many questions.

These past few months I have been pulling off of facebook.  This conversation was all the rage there too.

To say these past few weeks have been triggering and depressing have been an understatement.

But, they did one thing to firm my resolve: If we get to a point in this country where safe abortion services are as limited and non-existent as state houses across the country are trying to make them, well sign me up for the call to help.  I've got a spare room with a private bath (the nicest bathroom in our house).  Someone vulnerable needs a place to stay? My state has doctors who perform second trimester abortions.  I've got you covered.

To my donor, on Samantha's birthday

I've been thinking about you with some frequency lately, because Samantha turned 1 the other day.

You gave us a cell that when brought together with Viking's cell, created a baby that makes me fucking weep with joy on a pretty regular basis.

If you ever choose to allow her to contact you personally in the future - and I hope you do - I want you to know the following:

 - She has her father's face.  Except her nose, I am pretty sure that's from you.
 - Her sister - who also shares her face - and our cat make her eyes light up. They're blue, like her dad's, except they twinkle more than his.  His Dad's eyes do that too.
- She is insanely musical. The jury is of course out on what path this will look like, but she responds to music in a way that is different from how her talented dancer sister did.  It's like she feels it, you can see songs coursing through her. Now, this could come from her Dad (the kind of guy who can pick up an instrument and teach himself to play it).  But it could have also come from you - your talents and musical family were one of the things that drew me to your profile.
 - I do believe in epigenetics.  There's something in her wide smile that looks a whole lot like mine. Her smile sort of looks like she of takes large bites out of life, a pretty good description of mine as well.
 - Her origin story is completely intertwined to my loss story.  Only through so many losses did I arrive at the moment where I could continue forward without my own genetics.  Turning to a (semi)anonymous donor to have a baby was honestly the closest thing to jumping off a cliff I've even done.
- I can't begin to express the joy that she has brought me from the moment doctors put her in my arms.  She burrowed into me. And eventually, when she could open her eyes, she stared into mine, deeply.  And today, when she burrows into me, and stares into my eyes, she smiles, deeply.
 - She will learn her origin story, and eventually, as she owns it, her sister will too. It won't be sprung on her like a shameful secret, it will unroll as she gets older with more detail.  I am steeling myself for the day when she matter-of-factly tells her friends that she was the product of a donor egg pregnancy. I'm also doing everything I can as a mother to make sure her sister will never ever say some stupid shit to her in a tantrum, like, I'm not her mom.
 - I believe it's my responsibility as her mother to ensure she can have as much information as she needs about her origins.  I have a flash drive with all of the pictures you provided to the clinic, as well as all of your written questionnaires. I keep it with our passports and other important documents and have told her Dad to make sure he knows to drag it out of the house if I'm ever gone and the house is burning down.
 - I am her biological mother.  I carried her, I delivered her, and I nursed her for a year. I am hoping that I am the only woman she ever considers her mother. But I won't erase you, she wouldn't exist without you. That said, I hope - really hope - that you never EVER refer to her as one of your children.
 - I'm hoping that you are at peace with what you did.  I hope the clinic gave you the medical and emotional support you need to move forward with your own life, with happiness and health.

Well, I guess that's pretty much it for now.

xo

Tex Mex for the memories

The last few weeks have felt a bit blurry, like a marathon.  I took the girls to NYC to be with my parents during Christmas, while Viking stayed behind to spend some time with his Dad and brother.

As always my mom and dad were kind and general champs about having so many people in their tiny apartment, but also as always, it was really nice to get back to my comfy - albeit messy- house.  Samantha would NOT SLEEP in her pack and play and since we were sharing a room - with Niblet, and I couldn't let her cry because the neighbors wouldn't take a crying baby very gracfeully, well, it was fucking exhausting.

I spent some quality time with one of my oldest best friends. "She's [Niblet] 2.0!" said my friend R, as we strolled around Bryant Park's holiday market.  "Wait she's even more [Viking] than Niblet was, that smirk she has, those blue eyes..." he continued. Yeah, tell me about it.  It was surreal walking around NYC with a baby in a carrier attached to me.  I used to stare longingly at women in the City during wintertime, with their babies all tight and snug.

When we returned to Baltimore we were as close to saying AAAAHHHHHHH as any tired family could.  And we spent some time with Viking and did a day trip to Winterthur, the DuPont family mansion in Delaware, taking one of Nibble's friends with us.

So here's a thing I've alluded to before: My clinic was in Delaware was chosen because it was the only clinic that was easily accessible to me which offered people seeking healthy eggs semi-anonymous donors.  In other words, she could potentially be contacted by Samantha when Samantha is 18.  I don't spend a lot of time thinking about Samantha's genetics.  I think about it them often as I think of Niblet's I suppose - will Niblet need x, w, z health screenings based on her family history, for example.  I do often look at Samantha's nose with wonder because it's the only clue that she is spring from a different genetic tree.  But this kid is so obviously blended into her paternal line, it's really not something I get hung up about.

But this weekend I really wanted to eat at the Mexican restaurant Viking and I lunched at while I was cycling. I was a little emotional about it, Viking, not so much, I'm not sure it registered the same way. Have I mentioned that all I wanted to eat before and during that pregnancy was Tex-Mex?  Niblet and her friend who joined us completely balked but being the hungry grownups in the car who really wanted fucking enchiladas, we prevailed.  It was a weirdly comforting meal, eating at a place where the whole science-y shebang of Samantha's conception really began.  I know there are DE moms who struggle with their feelings about not having a genetic link to their babies, I guess I got lucky.  While I don't shout our third-party reproduction to the hilltops, I'm really at peace with it.

But the cycling itself is like a dream.  I saw an Instagram picture I posted of myself years ago, taken  at a work retreat I attended when I was self-administering injections on the sly. I was cleaning out my bedroom and found a stash of needles.  Many people know I used IVF to have this baby, I'm completely honest about THAT.  Hell, a few weeks ago a woman in the grocery store who was sharing a bit too much on the checkout line asked me if I came by my baby naturally.  Nope, I had a little help I replied.  (BTW, I told Niblet about this conversation, and my 9YO astutely commented: She probably really needed someone to talk to.  God, my child...)

I will probably be more open about using DE too, but not for some time - I am maintaining a personal rule that it is no one's business until Samantha herself understands it and comes to terms with it.

To be honest, I feel something like survivor's guilt from these experiences.  Sure, it took six years to have this baby.  Sure, I experienced grief and lows from my losses that still punch me in the gut today.  But I have a baby. A beautiful healthy girl who is starting to cruise around the living room and can say "cat" who even charms her very tempestuous tweenaged sister.

I hope beyond hope that I do right by these children that I am insanely fortunate to have.

All she left behind

We lost my mother-in-law last week to breast cancer.  She was 80 years old.

The last few weeks have been rough on my house.  We visited her each weekend the past month so she could see her grandchildren.  Viking was by her side for much of the time, she had decided against intervention, having undergone radiation and a double mastectomy ten years ago. She was fortunate to have the means to have a hospice nurse visit her daily.  Late last week my father-in-law had to go into the hospital himself - it was a prostate scare, he's fine, but his being admitted meant that she could no longer be at home.  She was transferred to a residential care unit at their retirement community and died later that night. It was peaceful and she was not in pain.

Niblet took it hard, and realized that she carries memories of her grandmother that her sister will never have. Viking is as good as could be expected, he has good days and bad.

I'm working through so many emotions.  My MIL was viewed by the world as a saint.  To some extent she was.  All of her outer life was lived for her husband and children.  I mean all of it.  She had many views that were a relic of the 50's.  My brother-in-law liked to joke that his parents stopped evolving in 1962, just before the British invasion. I was something of an alien to her: a Jewish New Yorker.  That I was a lawyer wasn't so shocking.  That I was a former dancer who continued dancing even after my professional days ended was ("Why would you pursue something that caused injuries?  You really danced every day even when you went to high school? Are you sure Niblet is safe pursuing ballet as you did?") I remember once lamenting not being able to get out of the house when Niblet was born and colicky.  I missed seeing other women.  I missed decompressing in a dance class, I missed enjoying a meal where I didn't have to try to eat while feeding another person.

"Those days are over for you right now," she said to me.  "Your needs have to be put on hold."

I recall being so resentful of this at the time. I was nursing and up every 2 hours.  I needed a shower and a massage. Was that really so selfish?

Looking back I have *so* much more sympathy for her.  She was, in fact, alone when she was raising her first son, her husband away in the Navy.  She was isolated.  I'll bet money she suffered from PPD without a support network, it was just what a young American mother was expected to do.

She had an inner life that most of us could only really scratch the surface of.  She looked like Grace Kelly (for real, she was stunningly beautiful as a young woman). She loved gardening.  Writing letters. (I've both vented and joked a ton about some of those letters on this blog, they were at times hilarious in their formality, and at times infuriating). She once told me she was interested in anthropology and would have studied it more in college if she could.  She wasn't interested at all in clothes or fashion or jewelry.  She enjoyed classical music, and could play piano, though she never did in front of us, even when we got our own piano - as it happens my FIL was a trained music major in college conservatory, and I imagine she stopped playing once he came into the picture.  Playing piano for an audience - even family members - was HIS thing. She was an awesome swimmer, once a lifeguard in her teens. She was fiercely in love with her husband and devoted to her sons. And loved her grandchildren. Both of them, despite her misgivings about my decision to have a second.  Babies made her smile.  

She was also a hoarder.  Oh man.  The boxes.  I mean BOXES.

But she gave me my Viking.  With all of his flaws (the hoarding tendencies inherited from her FO SHO).  

Her obituary was short - she was a wife of 57 years, mother to two surviving sons, grandmother to two grandchildren, sister to two surviving brothers.  That's it.  She refused to have a funeral, my BIL attributing this to her "unwavering modesty."  

In Judaism we say of the dead, "May their memory be for blessing."  Never have these words rung more true.  Her legacy is captured in our memories and it's our responsibility to ensure it lives on.