Coming Out

Ever meet someone whose experiences or personality meant that you “clicked” with them in a surprising or unexpected way?

I think this has only happened to me a few times. It happened when I met my very good friend from law school. We are very different people with lots of different interests, but somehow, when we met at law school orientation, we clicked. Something in our perspectives was aligned in a way that startled both of us a bit, and our differences don’t seem to matter as much as that core of sameness.

It happened also (in a much more limited way) with the secretary at my work who, despite our very different experiences and backgrounds, understands how special nursing is to me because she had a good experience nursing her own children. Like me, she nursed her son for several years. Like my son, hers refused the bottle. When I told her about his bottle refusal, she wasn’t just interested or sympathetic – she was empathetic, because she’d been there, and the conversation about something so personal flowed easily because she understood just what I meant.

It happened most profoundly when my husband and I visited a sewer museum in Paris (yes, you read that correctly – a museum about sewers). The young man staffing the museum struck up a conversation with us. We lingered, and then he told us the museum was ready to close, but if we’d wait a few minutes, he’d change and meet us outside. We were startled by his enthusiasm, but we agreed, and the three of us spent several wonderful days in Paris together. Though it’s cliché, it really was as if we’d always known each other. Cultural barriers were nonexistent, and we talked easily late into the night each day that we spent together.

Anyway, I have a colleague at work with whom I have a great deal in common. But our experiences are very different – he is a black man who has struggled with obesity (and I add that last point because it is an important part of his identity, from his own perspective). He is also a Christian minister.

Nonetheless, we’ve had animated and wide-ranging discussions about a host of issues, from Iraq to the death penalty to pop culture, and been surprised and delighted at how often we come out in the same place. We’ve also enjoyed talking very frankly about race and gender issues, sometimes in the context of the current Democratic primary campaign.

But one issue I’ve carefully avoided is religion. He often talks about his church and his belief in a creator God, but I say nothing about my own beliefs. I just thought it might be uncomfortable for both of us.

But yesterday, he stopped by to ask what I thought of the Rev. Wright flap surrounding Senator Obama. I told him I didn’t think it was a very big deal, but that I hesitate to pass judgment since I am an outsider to the controversy twice over – I am not part of the black community, and I am not part of a religious community. So he asked what religion I practice. Wanting to sound vague and noncommittal, I told him I wasn’t raised in any religion and am non-religious. But he pressed on – so what do I “call” myself, he asked?

An atheist, I finally replied, feeling like the closet door had been flung wide open.

He was quiet for a minute, and then finally said, “No, no...you’re not REALLY an atheist...”

Yes, I insisted, I really am. A materialist. A rationalist. Whatever you want to call it. But an atheist, by definition.

“An agnostic?” he asked hopefully.

But I was firm – an atheist.

Now remember, he is not only a Christian – he is a Christian minister. I am sure he did not want to proselytize, but I don’t think he could help himself. He pulled off his watch and dangled it between us for a moment. And then he launched into the well-known “watch designer” argument. I responded, quietly, that it is a misperception that rejecting a creator means that one must believe the universe around us is the result of pure “chance.”

So then he asked me if I did not see the face of God in my own children, if their births were not miracles of divinity. I told him that while their births were among the most powerful moments of my experience, they were also the most materialist, the most real, the most earthy – not divine at all, from my perspective. (And I was thinking about how birth – with its pains and the amniotic fluid and the blood and the intensity makes me feel at once connected to my mammalian relatives and yet intensely human at the same time – but I didn’t go into that...)

In the end, he told me a few Bible stories meant to explain his own faith, and then we wrapped up the conversation. But it was clear to me that atheism is, to him, a negative. It was a shortcoming of mine, from his perspective. And it’s intriguing to me that someone with whom I have frankly discussed issues of race, gender, and class was startled and confused – and maybe a little disappointed? – in my rejection of gods.

It will be a curious thing to observe how flinging open the closet door may color our conversations. I hope that after all of the tricky and potentially divisive categorizations of humanity that we have successfully navigated, this one doesn’t trip us up.

101 Things About Me (Revised!!)

(Or, an irresistible exercise in blogging narcissism)

1. I have brown hair (if you don't count the gray!) and blue green eyes.
2. I am 5 ft. 4 inches tall.
3. I once had hair so long that it brushed the backs of my knees.
4. I cut it extremely short before I went backpacking in Europe so that it would be easy to care for.
5. I spent nearly five months on that backpacking trip with my husband.
6. We left on this date in 1998.
7. We visited Greece, Italy, the Czech Republic, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, France, Belgium, Ireland, and the U.K. (Northern Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and England).
8. I can't wait to travel again.
9. When I came back from Europe, I immediately started law school.
10. I had wanted to be an English professor, but law seemed like it offered more job opportunities.
11. I made the choice between an English graduate program and law school from a pay phone in Greece in the pouring rain, when I reluctantly turned down a fellowship to get my PhD in English.
12. Frequently, I wonder if I made the right choice.
13. I hated law school, but I met a great friend there.
14. We were delighted to discover that both of us called ourselves feminists in a time when so many women reject that word.
15. I don't tell her often enough how much her friendship means to me.
16. I've worked as a waitress, proofreader, and lawyer.
17. All of my sisters have worked or are working as waitresses, but none are proofreaders or lawyers.
18. I have 4 sisters and 2 brothers.
19. All of them except one are younger than I am.
20. Some of them read my blog, but they never comment!!
21. I always wanted to have a big family, but it didn't really fit with my other goals in life.
22. Plus, I had to talk my husband into having any children at all.
23. He's still skeptical about the wisdom of that decision, though he loves the squeaker and the pipsqueak.
24. I have two children.
25. I had wanted a girl so much that I cried when I found out I was going to have a boy. But only the first time!
26. Now I think the squeaker and the pipsqueak are the best little things ever, even though they are stinky boys.
27. My severe morning sickness pretty much guarantees that two kids is it for me.
28. While I was pregnant with the squeaker, I really hoped to give birth naturally and then breastfeed for at least a year.
29. I found natural childbirth surprisingly easy.
30. In fact, I almost ended up having the squeaker at home because I just didn't think labor was that far along.
31. And I almost had the pipsqueak on Interstate 83!
32. But breastfeeding was the hardest thing I've ever done.
33. It was even harder than the bar exam!
34. (Which I miraculously passed on the first try.)
35. Breastfeeding has gone more smoothly with the pipsqueak.
36. In fact, everything about the pipsqueak has been easier.
37. I did not have the squeaker or the pipsqueak baptized.
38. I have not been baptized either (same with my husband).
39. I am an atheist and don't understand religion.
40. My parents are also atheist/agnostic, so I wasn't raised to value religious faith.
41. My grandmother is very worried that none of us will be in heaven with her.
42. It's hard for me to understand her concern when the whole idea seems so absurd to me.
43. I can be very irreverent, and it rubs some people the wrong way.
44. I love Monty Python and Douglas Adams for their irreverence.
45. My first car was a burgundy Honda Civic hatchback.
46. Whenever my dreams involve driving anywhere, that's always the car I'm driving.
47. I am not prone to nightmares or insomnia.
48. Sometimes I think that if I were an insomniac, I'd be able to get a lot more things done.
49. But luckily, I'm not the kind of person who feels compelled to be getting things done all the time.
50. My first crush was on Luke Skywalker.
51. I wrote Luke lots of letters that my mother promised to send, but didn't (thank goodness!).
52. I married my "high school sweetheart."
53. Some people say he looks a lot like Luke Skywalker.
54. We got married at the courthouse.
55. We had to stand under an ugly plastic arbor when we exchanged our wedding vows.
56. We had a backyard party and played volleyball and bocce with our families to celebrate.
57. I couldn't stand the idea of spending a lot of money on a wedding.
58. All my life, I've lived in one of four neighboring counties, three of which are in Maryland.
59. But the county I live in now is in Pennsylvania, not Maryland.
60. I'm not sure I want to live here forever, but we have almost 9 acres of woods to ourselves.
61. I am politically liberal.
62. I have voted in every election held since I was eligible to vote.
63. I love both movies and books.
64. One of the things I miss most about my pre-parenthood days is going to see movies at the theatre.
65. I never watch TV. I don't think I've watched a TV show or news program in at least 10 years.
66. I hate commercials.
67. But we have a large DVD collection and love to watch movies at home, when parenting duties don't interfere.
68. We co-sleep.
69. I hadn't planned to co-sleep, but we found that it was the arrangement most conducive to sleep for all of us.
70. Now the squeaker generally sleeps alone (reluctantly).
71. Often, the pipsqueak does, too (willingly).
72. I am afraid of spiders.
73. I am such a private person that it is hard for me to connect with people at times.
74. But I think of myself as reserved, kind, honest, loyal, open-minded, stubborn, and ethical.
75. I'm also highly opinionated, but I don't share my opinions unless I know someone well.
76. I really enjoy the company (and writings of) people who are funny and witty, but I myself am a serious person who isn't very witty.
77. I like the ocean and love the beach!
78. I'd much rather wear sandals and summer dresses than a winter coat, hat, and boots.
79. I hate skiing.
80. (Unless it's water skiing, which I'm not very good at but have enjoyed the few times I've tried.)
81. I never wear makeup.
82. I don't even own any.
83. I was never into girlie things.
84. I collect sheepy stuff.
85. But I'm not really into knick knacks, so my sheepy things are typically practical -- sheep sheets, sheep slippers, sheep socks, sheep cookie jar.
86. My favorite color is green.
87. I wanted a green stuffed sheep so much that my mother finally dyed one of my white stuffed sheep green.
88. I love chocolate, especially brownies.
89. I don't drink much, though I like Woodpecker cider.
90. I'd much rather have a brownie than an alcoholic drink.
91. I've never tried any illegal drug, or even cigarettes.
92. I'm a very analytical, particular, practical person.
93. I miss my Shetland sheepdog, Lorna Doone.
94. I am much more of a dog person than a cat person.
95. But I don't like big, jumping, slobbery dogs, either.
96. I play the piano (10 years of lessons!), but I am not an accomplished or advanced player.
97. I like to sing, but I am truly terrible.
98. I believe that flexibility is the key to happiness.
99. I think that people who try to live their lives according to all kinds of absolutist principles (even if those principles are idealistic) seem destined for unhappiness.
100. I imagine that this probably makes me look unprincipled to some people, but I think it's a matter of pragmatism.
101. Generally, I'm pretty self-confident and don't care much about what other people think about me, as long as they are relatively nice to me and let me be.

Loving the Ta Tas

This morning when I nursed the pipsqueak before leaving for work, he was humming while he nursed. He also patted my hand, rubbed my cheek with his chubby little fingers, and batted my hair. It was so nice to sit there and hold him, all warm and cozy.

I am deeply committed to the idea of breastfeeding. I think it’s one of the most important things a mama can do for her baby. It’s like giving your newborn a fabulous gift. As a bonus, the emotional connection between nursing baby and mama is intense.

That being said, it takes a long time for me to get to the point of really enjoying it. The first few weeks are pretty dreadful, in my experience. Nursing hurts – a lot! -- (even though the experts say it shouldn’t), you worry that the baby isn’t nursing enough (or you’re frazzled because the baby wants to nurse nonstop), and it’s hard to get a break. I end up living in a puddle of milk – wet clothes, wet sheets – for months. Plus, I’m prone to mastitis, which I’ve now had four times.

After those initial weeks, things improve. But the pipsqueak has just passed the 5-month mark, and I have just begun to really enjoy it.

I can remember when the pipsqueak was brand new, and my sister and I would sit side by side on the couch, both of us nursing our babies. Hers was almost 5 months old when mine was born, and while I struggled to get the newborn pipsqueak’s hands out of the way so he could latch (which he’s always been a zillion times better at than his big brother), I enviously watched my sister nurse. Her baby cozied up to her while he nursed, his little hand rubbing her hand. The two of them had a kind of rhythm to their nursing. He knew how to indicate that he wanted to nurse; she could respond easily and without much thought, and then the two of them snuggled in to nurse together. It’s so different from that little unresponsive newborn desperately hanging onto the breast while mama tries to remember all the key points to making nursing work well.

But even as I watched my sister, I knew the pipsqueak and I would get there eventually. After all, the squeaker nursed for 3 years. I’m never sure what to say when people react as if that is strange. They don’t realize that toddlers don’t nurse the way that babies do. Mama and baby become experts in just a few months, and as time goes on, they become more and more efficient. By the time the baby is two, nursing is almost effortless, and it becomes a source of comfort and affection, rather than a primary food source.

At work, I've been talking with my supervisor's secretary about nursing because I was lamenting the pipsqueak's refusal of the bottle to her. Though she is a black woman from the South who is more than 15 years my senior, our nursing experiences are very similar. She told me about her son's bottle refusal, and how she nursed him until she was pregnant with his sister. She told me she still remembered his sweet little expression when she picked him up to nurse. It's peculiar to have someone whose life experiences are so different from mine understand and appreciate my feeling about the special bond between nursling and mama.

Though almost 75% of new mothers try breastfeeding, only 40% are still breastfeeding at 6 months. That means that most mothers never get to the point where breastfeeding becomes so easy, so cozy, so rewarding. Such a pity.

Back to Work

I’m back at work. Yesterday was my first day.

Since the weekend, I’d pumped milk and carefully stored it in little glass bottles in the fridge. The night before I was to go, I was unable to sleep. The rain was pounding on the roof, and the pipsqueak was curled up next to me, his arms stretched out towards me and his fingertips against my arm. The coziness and warmth was so complete that I just wanted time to stop.

But of course it didn’t, and at 5 a.m. I slipped out of bed and took a shower. When I returned to the bedroom, I could see the pipsqueak’s eyes shining in the darkness. He was watching me with a mixture of puzzlement and curiosity. I got dressed and scooped him up, holding him close so that I could remember his baby smell all day. We sat in the nursery and I nursed him while he tried to bat my hair around with his little plump hand. When he was finished, he looked around as if he knew it was a strange morning and he wondered what unexpected thing might happen next.

I kissed him and put him in his crib, and then I left.

It wasn’t as hard as the first day I walked out the door when I returned to work after the Squeaker’s birth. The squeaker had cried and clung to me. And then I cried all that day and part of the next.

This time, I know that the heart-wrenching pain of the initial separation fades in time, and that there are good things about nurturing the baby’s relationship with his grandma. Also, this time my job is only part time, so I know our separation won’t be as intense or as long.

But it still hurts to know that when he looks for his mama, I won’t be there, and that someone else will provide the care that ought to be mine to give.

When I got home in the afternoon, the squeaker was jumping around excitedly and the pipsqueak was crying hard. His grandma was trying to feed him rice cereal, but he was just getting madder and madder. She said he’d eaten almost nothing all day and was baffled by the bottle. However, he’d apparently been a happy and cheerful baby most of the day. I unbuckled him from the swing and held him close. Then I sat down and nursed him.

He seemed excited about eating. No, not excited – joyful. He started to nurse and then began to laugh – out loud! – in his joy and relief. Even while he laughed, he continued to nurse. It was so good to hold him in his exuberance, and it was so funny to see him laughing while he nursed that I laughed out loud, too.

It’s funny how very different my boys are. The squeaker is so understated, at least in regard to his emotions. He is a bundle of energy (my mom says he is a perpetual motion machine), and while he is cheerful enough, he is more motion than emotion, more action than expression.

The pipsqueak, on the other hand, is all emotion and expression. He laughs out loud when he watches the squeaker, when someone makes a funny face, or when he’s surprised (which is often). The laughter infuses his entire little being – his eyes twinkle, his little feet kick. I don’t ever remember the squeaker laughing out loud. The squeaker looks deeply satisfied when he is happy, and he is often happy. But his happiness is a kind of quiet contentment within him, instead of the radiant exuberance of the pipsqueak. If the squeaker becomes expressive, it is because he is extremely excited -- or distressed. But the pipsqueak expresses a kind of pure joy that is distinct from excited anticipation.

It will be fascinating to watch the two of them grow into their own little people, with shared experiences but different selves.