In a Family Way

Vice and Virtues

2009-06-30T19:38:00.000-07:00

Growing up in Catholic school, I heard a lot about virtues and vices and how the former were good and the latter bad. Catholic school is kind of like that, black and white, good and evil, smart and dumb, Catholic and other.

This is not an exaggeration, but simply how things worked, and what group you were lumped into: "good, smart, white, Catholic" or "bad, dumb, not-white, not-Catholic" pretty much sealed your fate in those hallowed halls. Thankfully, far before the plaid skirts of grade school changed to the grey skirts of high school, I realized life was a bit more complicated than this.

However, I still hold some internal judgments when I hear words such as "virtue" and "vice", which made the past few days quite interesting. Interesting indeed what with it being Pride (a biblical vice) and also time for the President's Stonewall Reception(where he counseled the queers, once again, to have patience (a biblical virtue).

Though not all aspects of Pride fill me with joy or make me proud, it does feel good to see other families like ours, and other kiddos like Baby Bear all assembled to celebrate their sameness and difference in a safe, accepting space. The realization that finding others like ourselves, and finding something in them (and therefore in ourselves) to be proud of is sometimes hard for a recovering Catholic brought up on a steady diet of guilt and, when that failed, humiliation.

But I was proud this weekend. I was in charge of the little one each morning, and got us out of the house and ready for the day each time with very little tears and a bag full of sunscreen and hats and cereal puffs and all other absolute necessities of life with a wee one.

And I was proud of the organizations and companies I have connections with, as they put their best faces forward for the world that walked by each day. But mostly, I was proud of our family, and the other families like us, pushing their strollers and loving each other just like all the other families around the world on a lovely late June weekend. There's not a thing that can tell me the pride I felt was somehow bad or shameful, because that doesn't make any sense at all, and never did, even in the days of plaid skirts and Peter Pan collars.

And what about the patience counseled by our President? I've got plenty to say about that too, but no energy to say it tonight. Tonight, I'm going to bed thinking how proud I am of my family, and every family like ours.

Tell It.

2009-05-28T17:44:00.000-07:00

This weekend my family, like many others, headed out to spend some time with the rest of our clan. We went to Denver, where Mama Bear's brother lives with the sweetest little girl in the world, our niece, who was celebrating her one year birthday. We had a great time, especially at the birthday party, where I found myself drawn to the garage with the "men folk" who were drinking beer, watching Nascar and poking fun at each other. There, I met many new people, each of whom congratulated me on the Baby Bear. I found community with them, as the non-birth parent of a kiddo, and we bonded over the things that parents have in common...which is nearly everything, no matter whether they lie down at night with a person of their same or a different gender. Not a one of them blinked at the fact that Tommy had two mommies, nor did the many kids who were there. It just was a fact of life, despite the fact that we were the only two mommy family many of them have ever met.

While this scene was playing out across our country, the governor of Minnesota vetoed the "Safe Schools for All" bill, which simply sought to protect kids like my Baby Bear, kids who are different in some way (yes, including ones just like Baby Bear who have two moms, but also ones who have a disability, or ones who are immigrants to this country, or ones who have funny ears) from bullying. While I was finding community with people who are so different and yet so amazingly similar to me, my governor was reinforcing that my family, my amazing, gorgeous, remarkable son, was not worthy of protection.

And it may seem, from the scene at the birthday party, that perhaps the Safe Schools for All bill isn't necessary, when even Nascar loving, beer-drinking guys and their kids don't blink at a two mommy family. But sadly, we all know this isn't true. One needs only to look at recent news reports of children, babies really, killing themselves because kids "thought" they were gay to realize that this bill would have really meant something.

But our governor, for his own personal biased reasons, chose to veto something that the representatives of the people of Minnesota resoundingly approved. Maybe because the word "bully" (the bill was often referred to as "anti-bullying legislation") hit a bit too close to home for someone who used a holiday weekend to hide his cowardice. Or maybe because he's never shared a beer with two mommies, or looked at their son and realized our kiddo is no different than his kids, and worthy of all the same protection. For whatever reason, our governor doesn't get that. But I'm going to make damn sure that every person I get to share a beer or a kid story with from now on does.

As we enter the month of Pride, I will dedicate myself to coming out as lesbian parent EVERY CHANCE I GET. You should do the same.

Signs and Signals

2009-03-17T19:40:00.000-07:00

Have you ever felt like someone is trying to tell you something, but you're just not sure of the message? Like it's on one of those radio stations that comes in as you're driving along the interstate: strong at one minute, fading the next, static often filling the space in between? I feel like I've been getting one of those rural radio messages this week, though I think I know where this one is coming from.

The first time I picked up the signal was this past week, when I watched my dear Mama Bear win a much-deserved award for the work she does. Her speech was amazing and inspiring, and the award hard-earned, the product of equal parts amazing work ethic, crazy determination and the strongest sense of justice I've ever witnessed. Though I didn't realize it then, I think that moment was the first time I came across this phantom station. Faint, full of static, but definitely noticeable.

The second and third times both happened today. Once when a colleauge told me about his relative, a young man in high school who, in an embodiment of bravery, came out to all of his friends and family at a party. At a time of year when things generally weigh heavy on my heart (my father's death, my estranged mother's birthday and my birthday all fall this month) this story brought so much joy to my day. The fact that my co-worker felt the same, and realized it would have this effect for me made it even sweeter. I often feel like such an outsider in the land of wedding pictures and marital privilege, that feeling completely connected to someone there was amazing.

The third event arrived even more unexpectedly, like when you lose a station and for some reason forget to tune to something else, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, the sound begins again a few miles down the road. Yeah, this was one of those kind of shocks. It happened as I was checking Facebook (because who knows how many important things happened between work and this evening) and it was, quite simply, one of the top three emails I've ever read. No amount of paraphrasing or explanation could do it justice, so I'm just pasting it below, with any identifying information omitted:

You may or may not remember me from...softball or the eight days that I spent at your college...but, you, I will never forget!

Years ago, my cousin told me that you came out to her. I was outwardly shocked, but inwardly relieved. At that point I knew that I would have to do the same sometime in the future, but I had never known another person that was gay and had no idea how to go about it. Thanks for making the world seem a little less scary.

How amazing is that? I mean really, just out of the blue, the nicest email I've ever read. Someone reaching out to say "thanks for making the word seem a little less scary." Because isn't that what we're all trying to do, especially once we become parents? Just make this place a little less scary for those coming after us?

Taken individually, each of these things would be nice, touching, maybe even worthy of a blog post on their own. But taken together? All three of these lined up in a row during this, the hardest week of every year? These are more than a coincidence or luck. These events were a signal, just as real as the station carrying bad country through the static in Missouri, Nebraska or Ohio. And I'm starting to get the message.

You see, when I came out those many years ago, when the news was spreading from cousin to cousin, and through the web of information in my hometown, that estranged mother of mine didn't take it very well. And my father, though he didn't take it so well at first, eventually came around, and had only one concern. "I just always hoped your life would be a little easier than mine" he once said "and knowing this, I just think it might not be." Years later, after he was gone, that estranged mother (for one of the reasons she's estranged) tried to tell me, in a letter of all places, that my father never was okay with me being gay, that he never truly accepted me or my life.

And if I didn't know then that she was wrong, I sure do now. That message arrived bit by bit since Saturday, and came in loud and clear today, and I know it came from my father. I know that the message I received from that long lost friend was really my dad's way of letting me know that he's aware, wherever he is, that things are okay, my life is a bit easier than his, and that, at least for some folks that have followed in my path, life is a little less scary.

Dear Mr. President

2009-03-04T17:22:00.001-08:00

I've been doing a lot of thinking about the economy lately. We all have, thanks in no small part to the media. I don't blame them, I mean if I could get up everyday and write the same thing over and over, I'd likely do it too. So, we are bombarded with news of how bad the economy is, how low the Dow has fallen, and how yet another bank has taken our hard-earned bailout money and used it to throw a party on the moon.

But all this noise that passes for news has me thinking about a time many years ago, when I wasn't much older than Baby Bear, and my father lost his job. It was the last time that bad news dominated our airwaves, though I don't remember hearing about it quite so much, except in certain places, like family events at my father's union hall, and in hushed tones in my childhood kitchen. But it happened, just as it happened to lots of other families, particularly families like ours, solidly blue collar and lower middle class, living in Southwestern Pennsylvania.

At the time I had a Fisher Price record player, and a number of 45s that looking back seemed a bit mature for my young ears. But one tiny record in particular has come to mind a lot lately, and try as I might to find more information about it on the vast expanse of the internet, I'm afraid I'm the only person who remembers it. The song was called, I believe, "Dear Mr. President" and was written from the point of view of a man, not unlike my father, who had lost his job. To this day I remember many of the words, and can even recall the tune, which I find interesting when so many other things from even more recently are lost in my memory.

"I've got payments on my house, payments on my car, and the unemployment checks now they don't seem to go that far. Every thing I worked for, well it seemed to slip away, I don't think I'll get my benefits, my compensation pay. I got a wife and three children, depending on this man. I got a government in Washington that does not give a damn. So please Mr. President, won't you Mr. President, open up the steel mills for me."

Granted my father hadn't worked in a steel mill. He worked at a factory though, making, if I recall correctly, grates for industrial furnaces. but the song still rang so close to our family situation (minus two of the three kids) that I played it over and over again on that Fisher Price phonograph.

I don't think that children's record player was meant to handle such weighty tunes, just the way a child of my age wasn't meant to carry such a heavy burden. But we both did, and the economy continued its slide, and I went on to march with my father in a number of Labor day parades, chanting even more grown up phrases like "Reagan, Reagan he's no good, send him back to Hollywood" and "One, two, three, four, out the door in '84."

By '84, however, I was 8 years old. Far older and wiser, I had outgrown my childish records, and my father, due entirely to the generosity of one of my playmates' fathers, had a new job. But we still marched. We marched for my father's fellow union members, who hadn't had the same luck as him, and we marched because we believed, truly believed, that this country could be far better than the awful news cycle we had found ourselves in. And we still chanted, because we knew those chants, like the songs on my record player, gave others hope that they were not alone.

So these days, as I listen to the endless drone of bailout and foreclosure noise, I remember my father. And my records, and those early years of worry. And I thank my lucky stars, and my father (not The Father, but my father, the one who made those furnace grates) for all his hard work and sacrifice that allow me to hear the noise this time, but not absorb it.

But lest my father be reading this from wherever he is, don't worry Dad. I still remember the lessons learned from that record player, and those early days, and I'll always remember the words to those songs and chants. So no matter how nice Baby Bear and Mama Bear and I may have it, we'll always vote and fight like you taught me.

UPDATE: One of my amazing friends (who is a librarian...shout out to librarians!) helped me figure out the song title, which led me to this - a YouTube video of someone playing the 45. It was amazing for me to hear this after all these years. Hope you enjoy it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aka2CGafYsM

Adoption Day

2009-02-23T07:21:00.000-08:00

On February 12, 2009 at 10:45 AM, the State of Minnesota acknowledged what anyone who has known our family has known for months, I am Baby Bear's parent. Below are remarks I gave that afternoon, at a Freedom to Marry rally at our State Capitol.

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Hello, my name is Kathy Davis, though most people call me Davis. Thank you for allowing me to speak to you today, and thank you for coming out to support something you believe in.

This morning, I adopted my 6 month old son Tommy. It was a cause for celebration , so my family was there. We now have another special day, along with Tommy's birthday, another reason for our family to gather together more often to celebrate our family. However, this special day, this new important date in our family’s calendar, never should have had to happen. I never should have had to have my fingerprints taken or submit to a background check to see if I could legally be a parent to my child. Because I have been Tommy's parent since he was born. I have been Tommy's parent since before he was born. I was there when he was conceived, there for every prenatal appointment, there when he was born, there to cut the cord. I've been there for my son through all of this, yet until today, the State of Minnesota never recognized me as his parent, because his mother and I are not married. And we can't get married, because the State of Minnesota doesn't recognize our love as real, or the two of us as equal citizens.

Were we able to be married, my lovely partner Jennifer - my son's mother - could have simply filled out a form that the state sent along with Tommy's birth certificate application, I could have signed my name, and just like that, be recognized as his parent. Were we able to be married, we wouldn't have had to prepare countless forms before he was born, for fear something would happen to him or Jennifer, and I, a "legal stranger" would not be able to be with either of them.

Legal stranger. That is a term. Think about that. Think about the fact that in the eyes of the State of Minnesota, until this morning Tommy was, and Jennifer still is, nothing to me, and I am nothing to them. In the eyes of the State, the years we've been together, loving each other through struggles and achievements, the support we've given each other, the home that we've made and that became home to numerous wayward animals and now a son, our son, all of that is nothing. Our family, our beautiful family that even strangers notice with a smile, that family is nothing in the eyes of the law.

And there are people that would tell me, even now, "No, that's not what we're saying, we're just saying you can't get married. And we're just saying that because, well, because it's better for children to have a man and a woman as parents…or that's what the Bible says…or, that's just the way it's always been here." But you know what? That's a bunch of bull. I know that each of those reasons can be debunked through logic, and experience, and just plain common sense. I believe that many of the people making those arguments know they are invalid, and use them to play on the ignorance, the misguidance and the fear of a shrinking population of Americans who do not recognize or respect non-traditional families. It must be for some more significant reason than that the State of Minnesota just wants me, and you, and every family and person like us to know, without a doubt, that we are nothing, or far less than others, not equal to them.

If that's not the case, if this state and the people that make the laws here do value me, and my family, and you and your family, and the countless other families like ours, then what reason do we have left to prevent us from declaring that love? What reason do we have to force me and parents like me to have to answer the question one day from our own children, "Mommies, why aren't you married?" What reason should I tell my son? What reason could I give him that wouldn't tell him that people thought it was wrong for his moms to get married? Can you think of any reason other than "..because our State, the State that we've chosen to make our home in, doesn't value your mommies like they do some other parents?" or "Because our family is different?" or maybe because speaking of "gay marriage" in generic terms allowed some of the people we trusted to run our state to say those things without really saying them?

That's why I chose to come here today, to share my story with you. To share Tommy's story with you, to share my family's story with you. Because talking about "gay marriage" like it's something esoteric or up for debate is one thing, but looking my family in the eye, looking my son in the eye and explaining why I wasn't his mommy - really - until just this morning, is quite another.

My partner's grandmother, an amazing woman we call Granny Mary was the one who originally inspired us to have a baby. We visit Granny Mary in Missouri a few times a year, and on one of those visits, seemingly out of the blue, she asked "When are you two going to have a baby? I saw something on the tv about kids with gay parents, and they seemed just fine." About a year later, we called Granny Mary to tell her our big news. Her initial response was a question "Well is this baby going to know its daddy?" And we explained that no, we had chosen an anonymous donor. Her response, something I will never forget was "Good…that baby don't need a Daddy, it's got a Davis."

Granny Mary, at 80 years old, has seen a lot. She's seen enough to know that love is love, people are people, and a Davis is just as valuable as a Daddy. Granny Mary gets it, so why is the State of Minnesota so far behind? Why can't they realize that what's wrong with this world certainly isn't that there are too many people loving each other. Because love is all we're really talking about isn't it? Just love, and the formal declaration of it? Wouldn't this world be a better place if we all did a bit more of that, a bit more declaring of love?

Today, in a courtroom in Minneapolis, I declared my love for my son. I thank the State of Minnesota for the opportunity, but it shouldn't have had to happen. I declare my love every day, several times a day, and I did it before he was officially my son. Tommy has always been my son. To me, to our family, to the strangers we meet on the street, Tommy has always been my son. To everyone except the State of Minnesota, Tommy's always been my boy, and I've always been his mommy, his Davis. I don't need the State to tell me that, but I need the State to be willing to say it. Until then, no matter how long I've loved him and no matter how many people call him my son, I'm just a legal stranger. It's not right, and no one can convince me or Granny Mary that it is. Don't let them convince you.

Inauguration Day

2009-01-20T17:51:00.000-08:00

I suspect that today will be one of the few days in my life that I will be able to remember every thing I did. There are a few other days that are like that...September 11th, the day my Dad passed away, the day we found out we had a Baby Bear on the way....the day he got here. But today was even better, because it was the first indelible memory that involved our entire family.

Today was the day America inaugurated our first African-American President, the day that I hope we will be able to look back and say was the beginning of a new way for our country. It was a day that made me think that my son's generation, the kids who won't remember today but will have pictures and websites and videos to prove they were there, is going to be alright.

It gave me hope that maybe when our little Baby Bear grows up, that Mamas like me won't have to wait 6 months to have their names added to their children's birth certificates (and then only by court order that I won't really believe is coming until I have it in my hand). Hope that families like ours won't face the problem friends of ours recently had, realizing that although the company they work for offers medical benefits to same-sex partners, they have to pay for them after tax (just to make sure they didn't go thinking their relationship was equal or anything). And hope that some day, our little Baby Bear will be able to see his Mamas get married.

But for now, I have a real feeling of hope and positivity for this year. In a few weeks, Mama Bear's family, my in-laws and her sister-in-law, and Baby Bear's cousin, will all come to town to celebrate with us when I get that long-awaited court order and become his legal Mommy. That is going to be amazing and fabulous and so very meaningful, not because of the court decision, or even my name on his birth certificate (if any family realizes that a piece of paper does not a relationship make, it's one that has two mommies). No, it's not because of that at all, but simply because we will be living in a country that believed things should be a bit more fair, a bit more equal, a bit brighter and more hopeful, and then went out and made that happen.

And also, and more importantly, it will be because for the first time in my life, I will have a family standing behind me when something important happens, and they will all be happy for me and my loved ones simply because they love us. Nothing is better than that, and I can't wait.

The Day After

2008-11-05T14:08:00.000-08:00

It has been nearly a decade since I have felt this good on a day after a Presidential election. Four years ago I was dumbstruck, and four years before that I was still waiting for results. But this year, tired as I am after an early Tuesday morning of election protection volunteering, I feel hopeful about this country, and confident that the first president elected during my son's life will be one who deeply cares about the issues that will face my little man.

But I feel hopeful for another reason, not just because of the election of Barack Obama, not just because of the amazing number of young black men I saw leaving suburban polling places yesterday and proudly affixing their "I voted" sticker to their chest, not just because of the amazing outpouring of happiness I saw all over this nation last night.

I feel hopeful also because last night, in his first speech as President-Elect, despite the hateful ballot measures passing in CA, FL, AZ and AR, our next President included "gay and straight" in his litany of the different folks who came together and demanded change. And the words rolled off his tongue more easily than I have ever heard from any politician, save maybe for a few of our local greats here in Minnesota.

I feel hopeful because he said it, and included us, and has brought so many people together that I believe he can do the same for families like mine, for people like me, and for those who fear my family. Because I know it can only be fear that makes people feel that they should have the power to prevent me from commiting myself in front of my family, my friends, and my God (in whatever form my God may take), to the mother of my child, my best friend, my partner for life and beyond. And I know it can only be fear that caused the voters of Arkansas to decide that two otherwise completely qualified hopeful parents should be prevented from adopting or fostering a child who needs a home simply because those parents happen to be of the same gender.

I am hopeful President Obama can bring about a time when my infant son does not have to worry about someone else deciding that his family, his mommies, are such a threat that discrimination against them needs to be codified as the law of the land. I am hopeful we will see that day, and that it will be in Tommy's lifetime. And I believe it will, because America is a different place now than it was 10, 20, 30 years ago, and I am hopeful it will be even more different, even better, even fairer for all families and all children, in the future.

So if you have that same hope, please vow to continue this fight for a fairer America. We're on our way, but we're not entirely there yet.

Wow....

2008-08-19T06:53:00.000-07:00

Wow. That could be this entire post little man. Wow wow wow. You are here, and have been here since August 7th, and yet everyday I sit down to write something about you, and all I come up with is wow. You are the first person, besides Mama Bear, to completely put me at a loss for words. I think that is a good sign little one.

You are beautiful and amazing, and bigger than I ever expected you to be. Your little eyes are so full of wonder and trust and excitement at the world around you that I can't wait to start exploring that world with you every chance we get. You have brought Mama Bear and I closer than I ever thought possible, and made 3 AM wake ups a fun and exciting event. We are the luckiest mommies in the world.

And yet I can't think of any way to describe the fullness in my heart now that you're here. I have two things that come to mind, but neither do this feeling justice, so when you read these someday, know that no matter how warm and fuzzy they sound, the feeling I have when I look at you is so much more than these.

So how do I feel about you? Here's one analogy - when I was a little kid, probably about 7 or 8, I got really into lizards. I don't know how it happened, maybe it was related to a trip we took to Florida, but I was really obsessed with them, and had two - a bearded dragon and a gecko. The dragon was bigger and had some neat scales and colors, and the gecko was mostly green, but turned brown sometimes, which was neat. They both had scaly skin in some places, but extremely soft paper-thin skin near their legs and bellys, and petting this skin became very soothing to me, especially when my mom would go on one of her tears.

I found those lizards and their soft skin so soothing, that I one day tried, albeit unsuccesfully, to take the dragon (the larger and heartier one I thought) in the pocket of my uniform shirt to school. I just thought that having him with me during the day would be so soothing, so relaxing, and would allow me to pet him and let him know how much I loved him during those 6-8 hours we had to be apart. It didn't work, but it was a good idea I think.

So do you remind me of this lizard because of your peeling soft skin or your knack for sticking your tongue so far out? No little man. You remind me of the lizard because if I could, I would scoop you up and put you in my pocket, because I hate the thought of even a minute going by where I can't touch you or kiss you or tell you how much I love you. That's why lizard man, not because of the peeling skin (okay, maybe just a teeny bit because of the skin).

So what's the other analogy for the way this little angel makes me feel? It's a bit sadder, though I don't think it should be, but I'll tell it for posterity too. Five years ago this past March, I lost my dad, the only person besides my grandma (who I lost a number of years before that) who kept me going as a kid and made me realize I was something special. My dad was my hero, my best friend, and my greatest fan. There were times after he was gone where the slightest song on the radio, or line in a movie or book would make my heart ache for him, and I often thought that this would just go on forever. In some ways it has, and in some ways I value that little hole in my heart, because it reminds me just how much I was loved by him.

So what does this have to do with you Baby Bear? Well, there's the fact that I had an amazing dream about my Dad during Mama Bear's labor, during one of the precious moments during those two days where we caught some sleep, but that's not the main thing. Here it is - when I saw you for the first time Baby Bear, I honestly felt that hole in my heart that my Dad left closing up a little bit. And it wasn't sad, and I don't miss him less, but I truly feel like somewhere in that little soul of yours, is a big piece of your Grandpa buddy. And that feeling is almost (but not exactly, and not quite) as good as the feeling I get when I look at you.

So yeah, as I said before, wow. Thank you for being here Baby Bear. Thank you for getting him here safe and sound Mama Bear. And thank you Dad, for watching over him and letting me know that healing that hole is okay with you. Wows all around.

Our Village

2008-07-22T10:02:00.001-07:00

I don't know who first coined the phrase "it takes a village to raise a child," though I know it was the title of a book by Hillary Clinton. I'm not sure of the source, and don't want to attract throngs of Clinton-haters to this blog (though don't worry, I don't kid myself that the throngs will ever arrive...) so I'll just say, I don't know who said it, but it is so so true.

Our Baby Bear isn't even here yet and I already realize how true that statement is. We have so many amazing friends and family members already willing to pitch in and help. Aunties T and B cleaned our house better than it's ever been this weekend, part of their gift to us for the birth (one whole YEAR of cleanings, one a month, for Baby Bear's first year). Grandma Bear arrived Sunday and has been SUCH a help so far, getting Mama Bear focused on birth stuff, making delicious dinners and just providing an extra set of hands around the house. And the list goes on and on.

Not a day goes by where one of our friends doesn't drop a note in my inbox or call on the phone and ask "is there anything we can do?" And the amazing part is, they really mean it. We have some soups already on their way to our freezer, offers to mow the lawn and walk the dog, offers for emergency babysitting...the list goes on and on.

And you know what? I think we have so much support because of who we are. I don't mean "who we are" like "Oh, Mama Bear and Butch Mama are SOOO cool and great that people fall all over themselves to help out." No, that's not what I mean at all. We have so much support because we are lesbians. I am sure of this. Here's why: I think women in general are better at offering help and knowing what needs to be done, especially around new baby arrivals. AND, I think our community in general (the greater GLBT, not just lesbians) helps each other out more - the whole idea of chosen family.

I feel blessed right now, even as we discover a few instances where folks we thought would be helpful are decidedly not (I won't name names, but boy, it's a doozy). I feel blessed to have helpful folks to compare those people with to be able to say "Nope, you don't measure up, you're out of the chosen family."

And right now, even as I read things that anti-gay marriage or family folks publish or say, I'm not as angry anymore. Now, those statements just make me feel pity for those folks, because they will never know the joy of chosen family like we do, and their kids will never grow up with this many loving caring individuals around them.

Now if only I could feel pity for those folks who remained nameless up above...the non-helpfuls. The ex-family members. I'm trying, but....nope, not there yet. Still just angry. I'll keep trying though....

Shower!

2008-07-17T11:58:00.000-07:00

The shower was last Saturday, and I can't believe I haven't written about it yet. It was fantastic...great weather, low key, everyone having fun and wonderful gifts.

We decided to have a book shower, because there is a really big bookcase in your room Baby Bear, and the bottom shelf was the only one that was full, and it held Mama Bear's 50+ books on childbirth and pregnancy. I know you are going to be a scholar, but I just can't imagine that you really want to start out life reading "Stories of Natural Childbirth" or "Essays on a Natural Birth" or some of the other titles on that shelf. So we outfitted a few more shelves with gifts last Saturday.

And you know what buddy? We have some amazing friends, because they all put SO much thought into these books. One gift even included books through the ages, so you'll be reading these gifts until your early teen years! Amazing! I was really touched by the thought folks put into their gifts, and can't wait to read them with you. I can actually wait though, so don't come before Monday....Grandma Bear won't be here until some time Sunday, and Mama Bear and I are going to see Neil Diamond Sunday, so stay put until at least then, okay?

Happy Birthday Mama Bear!

2008-07-11T13:36:00.000-07:00

It's Mama Bear's birthday! She is now only 1 year younger than me...at least until Spring when I again become 2 years older for 4 months...during which time she reminds me of that difference at least 5 times. But that's one of the many reasons we love Mama Bear, her sense of humor.

I have to tell you Baby Bear, you are one lucky kid, because that Mama of yours nearly forgot her birthday because she is so damn excited about your pending arrival. That's the kind of mom you want to have buddy, trust me. In fact, I think I will force you to read this post the first day that you say "you don't care about me" to your mother. And if you are really stubborn and won't read it yourself, I will read it to you out loud. Because you might be really stubborn. After all, you do have 1/2 of Mama Bear's DNA, and she is, what you would call, a very determined lady (read stubborn like a bull sometimes!)

Our shower (which is a weird word isn't it? I guess it's because you "shower" a person with gifts? But you do that at a birthday party too, don't you?) is tomorrow, and Aunties T and B have been working away to get it ready for you. I can't wait for you to meet them Baby Bear, they are part of our family, and you are the luckiest little man in the world to have their wide range of talents and interests at your little disposal.

I am excited for the shower. I was more excited to give Mama Bear her gift though, because I was really hoping she would like it as much as I thought she might (and she did! Hooray!). I love giving gifts, (especially to Mama Bear) way more than I do getting them, but I am excited to see all our friends tomorrow.

We weren't going to have a shower, but one of our amazing midwives mentioned that it is good to have a chance to celebrate this baby's new life with your close friends and family, which I totally agree with. I guess that is the "reason behind the season" for showers, and something that can get forgotten in all the "are you registered and who bought us the dirty diaper pail?" hoopla these things can bring.

So, I will post an update of the shower soon. For now, I need to get ready to take Mama Bear out for dinner. So behave tonight Baby Bear, I want her to be able to eat without your gloriously long legs poking her gut!!

Waiting is the Hardest Part...

2008-07-08T12:22:00.000-07:00

Dear readers (all three of you):

I vow that I will not cop out on the next post and use a song title as the title of the post. I realize this is about as cheap a writing ploy as starting your paper for an English class with some very deep quote, and I apologize, but give me a break, it's hot outside and I haven't been feeling very creative.

But, back to the lecture at hand (ugh! that's a song lyric too! I can't even stop myself!)....waiting. I am growing very very tired of waiting for your arrival Baby Bear, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to happen any time soon.

Mama Bear's feet are swelling more now, but you seem to be rather high in the tummy BB, and this leads me to believe that you may become an August baby, rather than a "last day of July" baby as you are now scheduled. That doesn't stop at least 8 people per day from asking me when you're due to get here though, so I say "July 30th at least that many times per day...and then think "or later." And then get more impatient.

But don't hurry on my account buddy, you just stay in there until you're good and ready to arrive. Seriously, it's crazy out here. Hot, high gas prices, expensive milk, nutso neighbors. You just take advantage of all that free food and what I imagine is a nicely climate controlled environment while you can. Mama Bear and I will continue doing little putsy things, and avoid the not fun things (like washing all of your tiny Baby Bear clothes so you don't get the dreaded "fresh from the store" rash) and we'll be here when you're ready. But for the time being, could you lay off of the kicking Mama Bear in the ribs? That's REALLY uncomfortable for her, so try to be a little more gentle okay? There will be plenty of time for roughhousing with me when you get out of there and a little more sure on your feet. But Mama Bear? She doesn't like the roughhousing, so wait for me on that one.

If You Go Down to the Woods Today...

2008-06-30T09:37:00.000-07:00

The title of this post is from a song I loved as a child. I hope Baby Bear is going to like it too, though I seem to have lost the tape that played it (and come to think of it, we don't have any devices that play tapes in our house anyway).

The reason for the title, however, is that the Bears are coming to town today. (The song is Teddy Bear Picnic, and it's kind of scary, considering we're talking about teddy bears and not real bears in the song....Google the lyrics, they're kind of ominous.) I'm excited about their arrival, because they are, quite honestly, the best in-laws anyone could ever ask for. And I'm not saying that because I think they might read this blog, because they don't even know about it. So there. I'm saying it because it's true.

Grandpa and Grandma Bear are the hardest working folks you'll ever meet. They never stop asking what they can do, or better yet, just figuring out what needs to be done and doing it. Grandpa Bear reminds me in many ways of my father.

My father, Baby Bear's grandpa who he will never get to meet, was the exact same way. I remember vividly the day he came to visit and I asked how to fix a drawer that was off its tracks. Instead of doing it himself, he told me how I could do it. I remember feeling proud, but strangely sad about that interaction. I was proud thinking that he now viewed me as such a grown-up that he wanted me to do it myself, and sad thinking that somehow that made me less his baby.

I now know, looking at the dates of that visit, that he was beginning to lose his fight with cancer at that point. This was the reason he did not offer to fix the drawer, because the fight his body was raging against itself just left him too damn tired. That was the turning point, the beginning of the end, and from that point forward, it was only through his sheer determination that he fought it off.

He fought because I was to graduate later that year, and nothing was going to make him miss that. I was his baby, and I was accomplishing something no one in our family had. Not because of lack of drive or discipline, or intelligence, but because I had far more opportunity and privilege than any family member before me. That was his doing, so I thank whoever was responsible for letting him see the fruits of his labor that year.

I do miss him though, often more when the Bears are in town, thinking of how many wonderful and amazing things could be done in our house with my father and Grandpa Bear working together. We'd likely have a swimming pool, or an addition, or at least a basement that doesn't leak water in strange places. I know he's watching though, and will be through all of what is to come for Mama Bear and me in the next few weeks.

And I know he'll be watching Baby Bear throughout his entire life. When I was a kid in Catholic school (again, two mentions in two posts!) they told us we had guardian angels to watch over us. They never explained who these people were, and I found it slightly troubling that some randomly assigned angel was deciding what I should and shouldn't do. I mean, where was the line between my free will and their helpful guiding hand? How did the assigner of the guardian angels know how to match us up? Did I get a gay one? The questions went on and on (much to the chagrin of religion teachers).

Guardian angels are not high on the list of my beliefs, but I do believe that those who have truly loved us, and gone before us to wherever it is we go, keep an eye on those of us who are still back here. I will sometimes catch myself thanking my Dad when I remember something important, or narrowly miss some calamity or another, or have something really great happen. And if I know my father at all, he'll certainly be looking out for Baby Bear.

So, with the Bears here in the everyday, and my dad looking on from afar, you should be just fine Baby Bear. Just fine. Despite the fact that Mama Bear and I may not know the slightest bit about choosing a baby monitor (?!?! have you ever seen the choices available?) or actually putting those cloth diapers on a human baby. Honestly, it will be okay. But now, it's time for me to get moving, so I can be ready for the cavalcade of projects that is a visit from my in-laws.

Ready or Not, Here He Comes!

2008-06-27T11:22:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure that this blog should start yet, as the true reason for it won't be here for at least a few more weeks, but I'm still typing, so I guess it will, whether I'm sure or not. That's quite an apt way to start for this subject, since our family is about to change in much the same way. Here he comes, ready or not. I suppose I should explain all of this, lest this blog become some sort of Virgina Woolf "To the Lighthouse"-esque in media res exercise in literary devices. (Ohhh, I love it when that English major my father found questionable comes in handy for sentences like that!!) So without further ado, it begins....

I am a soon to be lesbian mama of what I suspect will be a brutally handsome baby boy. I suspect this, because my partner, who we will call Mama Bear, is, quite honestly, the must beautiful and glowing pregnant woman ever, save for possibly the Virgin Mary. (Before you get all up in arms and suspect I am some Bible-thumping homo, you should know something. I'm a recovering Catholic-14 years clean-but some old habits die hard, so when I refer to all things Catholic, know that it is not in any sort of devout way). Mama Bear resembles one particular old-time movie beauty, and has an amazing laugh and perfectly proportioned features, so I'm glad she's donating half of her DNA to this fellow, because he's bound to be a heartbreaker.

But let's get back to the point, shall we? And that point was me. Me, the most amazingly lucky dyke, who in a few weeks will get to see Mama Bear bring this little man into our home, and watch as her pregnancy glow changes into the glow of a thoroughly exhausted but, I suspect, ecstatically happy new Mama Bear.

So our family is about to change in ways I'm sure we can't even imagine. Or might not want to. Or may be unable to due to some survival instinct adaptation of the species that won't let you know what you're in for, because if you did no one would ever give birth. Who knows, but I do know it's about to change.

This weekend, however, is Pride, and Mama Bear and I have a lot to be proud of. We've both overcome a fair number of obstacles in our day, and have both worked hard to get to a place where we enjoy our jobs (most days) and are doing something we each love. We have some great pets and a great family on the Bear side, despite what that Goldilocks story may have you believe. We have a great home that we will actually own in 28 or so years (why do people say they own their homes? No you don't, the bank owns your home, you rent from the bank), and on many days, that home is filled with friends and neighbors that we love like family.

All in all, we have a lot to be proud of, but this will be the last year we are not "proud parents." It's strange and wonderful and exciting and scary and crazy-making to contemplate that, especially given that I often feel as if college was yesterday and that someone should really be paying closer attention to me, lest I hurt myself. But, someone, somewhere, saw fit to send those $300+ per vial sperm hurtling into Mama Bear's egg about 9 months ago, so we'll be the ones paying attention quite soon.

I don't know what I intend to do with this blog, but I feel like it's important to get thoughts and pictures all together some place, so that this little man can someday look and know how very much he is loved. Some of my own larger obstacles grew from a place of not knowing that, so this guy, my guy, is going to know that better than anything, and starting even now, before he confirms that handsomeness that I know is on the way. So, sit back and get ready, because things are about to change, ready or not.