|Me and Peanut|
It was not in our plans to move to Los Angeles when we were finished traveling. We both had jobs waiting in New York City. Between the two of us we had big social lives with wonderful friends, a writing group, a canoe, Sunday dinners at Mike's parents house in Jersey. We could renew our gym memberships and Park Slope Co-Op memberships and get back to the life we spent years carving out for ourselves in Brooklyn and Manhattan.
We were in Vietri, Italy for our birthdays that year, staying at a beautiful apartment we rented through Airbnb that looked out over the Amalfi Coast. When we walked in we spotted a birthday crown with the number '32' left over from someone else's festivities. Mike brought that crown to me the morning I woke up on my 32nd birthday and we marveled out how lucky we were to have found such a special place to celebrate our 32nd and 33rd birthdays. It was also the day I brought up children and Mike did not. Hours after I had put down that heavy crown and we had cruised along the cliffs edge of the rocky coast, we found ourselves in an argument. We had been together six years, married almost a year and our timelines for when to start a family were very different. We both knew deciding to travel would push back that chapter for us, but neither one of us had asked the other how far back. Had we had the fight in Brooklyn, it might have lasted much longer and ended more dramatically. But the best thing traveling gave us was the ability to drop our arguments quickly because on the road we needed each other too much to stay angry or hold a grudge. We got good at zeroing in on what we were really saying instead of staying in reaction. I felt hurt and angry that I wanted children much sooner than Mike, but wearing a crown with my age on it that morning had triggered that dreaded fear of the biological clock. Tick tock. I was scared to wait too long.
|Mike & I, Amalfi Coast, Italy 2013|
After Italy, we traveled through Andalucia Spain, all over Morocco, had a layover in Dubai, and traveled through central India for a month before heading on up towards Northern India to McLeod Ganj. We were staying at a little hotel in the middle of the mountains with no heat but a hell of a view and the though of having children came up again but this time it was Mike who had arrived at some moment. The fear of having children and what we could provide and when we could provide all seemed to dissipate while traveling through Morocco and India. The children we saw in these countries did not have much, but most of them were happy and all of them were resilient. We decided together that we wanted children soon and for the same reasons, reasons based out of love and gratitude as opposed to fear.
It was towards the end of the trip in New Zealand, when staying with two friends and their beautiful and funny children that the idea to move to LA popped in our heads. After all we had seen and experienced, going back to our same lives in Brooklyn did not feel right even though it would have been comfortable. We wanted to try something else - LA, maybe even Colorado. We came home, to my home, and a few days later celebrated my brother's engagement at a bar with my whole family. Kids were running around, babies were being passed, and we felt it was the right place to be for the next chapter. We flew back to New York and packed up half of our stuff just to see how it went. (I had some cold feet.) The night before we drove back to LA, my mother told she had breast cancer and was going to have a double mastectomy.
We raced across the country to be home for her surgery and once we arrived, the race never seemed to stop. There were bridal showers and baby showers and failed job interviews and a juggling of jobs. There was a struggle to get back on our feet that without my Dad's help, would not have even been possible. As I tried to get my footing in LA, everywhere I stepped I seemed to sink just a little bit deeper. Our money was gone, our debt was rising, and all of the freedom and confidence we experienced on the road was in short supply as we tried to carve out a new life. On a whim, we adopted a dog - the best damn dog on the planet - and it felt like that ache for children was somehow soothed for the time being because clearly we would now have to put that off for a while. A month later, we found out I was pregnant.
|Maple jumped into bed with me the morning of June 18th |
and licked my face as if to say, "You got this, girl."
I tried everything. Handstands, swimming, yoga positions, acupuncture, moxabustion, and chiropractic treatments. But the baby never budged. I was offered a version, (where they manually turn the baby from the outside) but after doing our research and paying attention to our gut instincts, we decided not to do the version, even though it meant for an increased risk of a C-section. At 38 weeks, she still hadn't turned. Hugely disappointed and now more scared than ever, I made peace with the facts and we scheduled the surgery just shy of 40 weeks. I let go of all my visualizations and anticipation for all the surprises and mysteries that labor brings to make room for a new anticipation - a definitive due date...which a couple days later was moved up to 39 weeks. We had one week to get ready.
|June 18th // 39 weeks|
That night, I stood in the shower and started to shake. The fear had finally caught up and the moment became huge. Not only was I having major surgery, we were having a baby - tomorrow. There was the tiniest bit of grief in that moment. The adventure was now really over - the adventure of Mike and me and the world. From the next day forward there would be a new adventure, one we wanted and were excited for, but one that would be different, bigger, scarier - Mike and me and Ava.
On June 18th, I woke up happy. I was ready. I was in the airport in Belgium... waiting. I was in the hospital with a hair net and an IV. I was holding Mike's hands when he whispered "I fucking love you" and then my doctor's hands as she told me to "Breathe" and I leaned over for the epidural. I was on my back, hands out and tied, open to the world and to a room full of doctors and nurses and then those words...
"Well, hello baby girl! Welcome to the world! Happy birthday!"
...And then a squawk that pierced through the haze of the drugs and the bright lights and the monitors and the voices as I felt my breath taken away and I realized that she was here. It was the single most sobering moment of my life to hear my daughter's voice cry out to the world that she had arrived. They held her up so I could see her and I was struck by how beautiful she was, even covered in the mess of it all. They took her to check her vitals and clean her up and I could see Mike holding her as my doula, the one who had coached me through countless squats and push ups and meditative intentions, held my hand. They untied my right hand and Mike brought her to me so I could hold her on my chest. We wiggled around each other's faces, trying to get a better look at each other and there she was, eyes open, the whole world in this moment in time.
|Mike becomes a dad|
Today, eight weeks later, Mike and I, together with Ava, walked through a memorial service for a friend's mother - a mother who truly lived each day as if it was her last - a mother who knew her greatest role in this world was being just that. They read a tiny note that she kept in her wallet:
"A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove...but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child." (by Forest E. Witcraft)
We still don't know how we are going to afford a new baby. And although we are no longer living with my Dad, we still don't know where we are going to live once this baby can no longer sleep in a crib next to our bed. There is still the juggling of jobs for me. Their is still the worry that my dreams will stay just that. But the world is different, bigger, scarier and more hopeful, beautiful, and inspired than I could have ever imagined. My life is important. My experiences, less. My love, the single greatest gift I can give to the world. My daughter, my everything.