Why Parent?

I suppose I am still a touch unsure why anyone would volunteer to become a parent. The level of detail and sincere follow through (unlike parking the little one in front of the television) is mountainous. Most parenting then starts simply by accident. I had a friend say that since he was born to older parents who were convinced they could not bear children physically that he was an “afterthought.” Tricky self-perception to live with while growing up.

But the word might seem accurate for many babies born to many hetero couples whether the pregnancy was intentional or not. Yet how about all the what ifs? What if you are not straight? What if biologically the chance to have children did not appear? What if one attempt at surrogacy failed in fraud? What if you consider adoption too uncertain? Why parent after all these misfires? And really why would anyone parent?

This is a question that the new blog ponders, ruminates, analyzes, cajoles, considers, investigates, and myriad other active verb-like new Mom activities. If you have had a good stomach for the writing here, then please join me at the new location:

http://www.whyparent.wordpress.com

This current site will remain open and active as I continue to pursue justice for the surrogacy fraud that occurred in November 2008. And as always, if you have any leads as to the activity of Elimisha Brown Fussell, please contact me immediately.

Walking by Each Other

Yesterday Darien turned 42 days old or six weeks of age. Born at 7.4 pounds, he checked in at the pediatrician’s almost two pounds heavier just one more later. I swear he must weigh nearly eleven pounds now. He almost fits the three month range of pajamas I have for him. He is quickly becoming a big boy.

Still, holding him is relatively easy and light. I will even carry him several blocks away to Ocean Avenue and back for one of our many street life travails. Just as easy to transport was the elderly man two hefty firemen scraped off the sidewalk. I was walking up 7th Street in downtown San Francisco, hurrying to reach BART on my way to teaching a graduate class of basic business writing and speaking, when I spied a man down.

Everyone simply walked by him as he huddled in a snail like curled shell position right on a pedestrian traffic sidewalk. The owner of the hip bar a few feet away made fun of the guy, asking if he needed a road map to somewhere. I shooed him away and asked the street guy if he needed an ambulance. He stared at and through me seeing little. With no teeth, he still cared how he looked because somehow or someone had died all the gray out of his hair.

At first he said no, shaking valiantly and striving to stand up. He was drunk for sure. Yet he seemed to have some dignity left somehow. The clothes on him were clean and ordinary–dark blue khakis, white shirt, with brown cardigan sweater. Shoes and socks were solidly on his feet. He just couldn’t stand up is all.

The 911 woman asked me a ton of questions but sure enough the fire engine arrived in a few minutes. The four men looked at the sidewalk creature in that dismissive way our civil servants can after several years of service. One looked at me and thanked me for even stopping and then wished me a Merry Christmas. Two stepped in close to the old guy, who had made it to his knees trying to stand up, and took one look then the beefy firemen literally grabbed the drunk grandpa by the scruff of the neck and seat of his pants to simply carry him over to a wall where he could rest against. Took a few seconds and looked identical to how I sometimes scoop Darien up to move him to the next spot.

Sounds strange to compare a beautiful healthy newborn to a degenerate alcoholic. Yet in a way they connect for how vulnerable each is. That guy passed out was once Darien’s size and potential. Now sixty five or so years later here he was again like a newborn with no teeth, probably diapered, and feather light. How arbitrary life is. Everybody practically spat on this grandpa guy on the sidewalk, so disparaging were they. Something about his plight grabbed me though. I held my hand on his back while we waited for the fire truck and he seemed to breathe slightly easier.

I had to leave, too, because my seminar began in 15 minutes. I was just a few minutes late, thankfully; on the remaining walk to BART I cried a few tears that I gently wiped off my face. The random hopeless drunk will probably always make me cry not only because I personally recognize that drunken desperate moment of his but at how jaded and calloused we are walking side by side each other on the street.

Venturing Out

Darien and I took ambition by the hand and went for a walk today–well, rather a drive. Since we returned home to San Francisco, I have been sharing him with a handful of people while I go to teach a few hours here and there. Most likely I won’t be away more than 16 hours a week for his first six months.

The rest of the time we simply stay in the house, listen to music, take naps, drink formula (only his favorite, of course), launch off for walks, and enjoy leisure time. Yet today I had an agenda and along went Darien with me. First, we went to Rainbow for more formula. But also for some items that his Mom needed, too. I haven’t been in public with him like this. The prospect felt a touch overwhelming, yet I wished to try.

Tucked easily in the Moby wrap, he slept comfortably while I shopped for twenty minutes in the grocery store. Once back outside, he rumbled awake some, so I flipped him to look out rather than sleep in towards my chest. Now we had walked a few blocks to Best Buy where we had two items to return. The line wasn’t too bad a wait and I could do business with him gazing around. Back at the car, I opened the station wagon back door, so I could sit comfortably to feed him. Then a distinct smell wafted into the air, making me take the time to clean him well and, finally, off we went to our first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

Greeted by a handful of familiar faces, Darien enjoyed being held by several different folks. He is smoothly social and rocks back into anyone’s arms pretty quickly. Through a Big Book study and an official meeting, he navigated smoothly. Back at home, he ate another hefty portion of formula and fidgeted some until I rocked him to sleep. Now he is out cold. When both arms are flung up around his head, the tell-tale sign of deep sleep is on.

Darien turned one month old today.

Eight Steps to Happiness

Today just flew by even while I am adjusting to the no consistent sleep thing. I mean my 23 day old son and I slumber yet I’m nudged by a slurping noise to rouse every two hours and return with something tasty to drink. Darien’s internal clock is consistent.

By 8 a.m. we had hit the street in the jogging stroller that a small group of friends gave me at the baby shower last week. What an amazing flight of baby travel that three-bicycle-wheeled transpo machine is. I even started to actually jog at one point. Mostly though I strolled the intriguing streets of San Francisco in the Ingleside neighborhood on another gorgeous sunshine day.

And I will say that despite an emotional sense of a missing partner, I truly enjoy this cocooning time with my son. The last time I raised a family I had a few others around. This time I have more friends who are quite happy, capable, and willing to help, yet not that special woman. Frustrating, painful, and sad in a way. Yet life simply flows the way she does and acceptance is the key.

Apologies if I sound too zen, but I walked from my home with Darien in the stroller to the Borders books in Stonestown to listen in as Tess spoke to some of the tenets in Eight Steps to Happiness. She did not write the book but practices Buddhism with the author at a local sangha here in San Francisco’s Mission district. Calmly, of course, she spoke to us on how to cherish others and remove ourselves as if we were the center of the universe. All sound Buddhist tips. I always love listening to a wise Buddhist person because somewhere along the way he or she always says with total convinction, “And at heart Buddhist practices are so utterly simple, so simple.” Simplicity is what I strive for now.

During the reading, Darien slept in my arms, roused for a minute to ask for food, which I fed him, and then returned to deep beauty rest. This guy is good at that. He probably works in 20 or so hours a day, making allowances for feedings and stirrings to the world. Yet such focus is admirable. I am lucky when I can sneak in a one hour nap annually. How we change over the course of our body’s lifetime.

Right next door to Border’s is a Trader Joe’s and so I sneaked in with the gift cards I requested for the baby shower to buy something scrumptious because my good friends Carlos Hermosillo–a fantastic graphic designer–and his partner Manny were to stop by for dinner. I indulged my cravings for fatty salty goodies and bought their frozen mac-n-cheese. A bag of string beans, small packet of the apple smoked bacon, two packs of chicken drumsticks, bag of panko bread crumbs, and we were ready to bomb. Buying some other goodies like an amazing chocolate cake and exquisite phyllo pastry filled with feta and carmelized onions, I was curious how much could fit beneath the stroller. Guess what? We had plenty extra room after storing an equivalent of a full grocery bag.

The entire time I have been writing Darien has been trying to fall asleep beside me here on the cozy bed. Yet no luck completely. Mind you he is sound asleep yet wakes for another bottle, makes baby dream noises, and generally needs holding often. We seem to bound well so far. Sounds funny but my smell these days is too pungent for him. Sometimes stress and caffeine elevate my aromatic glands; so, I’ll need to meditate more and switch more often to Green Tea. Newborns thrive on your smell. Like a fingerprint, this identifies you clearly to soothe him.

My friends arrived and we enjoyed a delicious fattening dinner plus several hours of simply hanging out and talking about everything under the son. We have a great deal in common and those talks are fun. Now the time is 15 minutes after 1 a.m. and I am stunned that I am still awake and coherent enough to write. The energy of these days is a natural high, yet I need to take care of my own health, too. For example, I could sleep once in a while. To that end I depart.

Emotional Day

Today was simply a difficult emotional day. And I welcome that change. My pace in bringing Darien safely home has been intense if I can use understatement. Details and story telling to follow in future posts. Enough to say for now that he is thriving on delicious Earth’s Best Organic Infant Formula spiked with Udo’s Infant Probiotics. Yet Mom is a touch overwhelmed by all the dramatic emotional shifts in the last three weeks.

I am just now surfacing from my nose to the grindstone Northern European work ethic. I had a baby to bring home–my son–and nothing plus nobody would interfere. Yet this stoic poise always costs me a great deal on the feeling scale. So, I am beginning to soften, allowing myself rays of more vulnerable honesty–that warm light that you know is the truth. Raising Darien will change me greatly as any parenting does. To do a real good job, my own emotional health needs tending these next days. And in that direction I turn.

Something Is in the Coffee

All I can say as a new Mom is thank the almighty one above for coffee. We buy our goods from Caffe D’ Melanio in San Francisco on Ocean Avenue. Watcha gonna do when the 21 day old baby decides that hourly stirrings are what works best for his beauty rest? Don’t forget the-like-clockwork feedings every two hours. Do the math and you can quickly see that I did not sleep last night. Hence artisan roasted coffee beans are like nectar to the day’s success.

We did well today, too. When I saw the sun come up, I figured I would stop pretending that sleep would ever happen. We were on our first cup by 6:30 a.m. Thursday mornings for the next few weeks I watch my roomie’s 6-month-old for a few hours while she attends her English class at San Francisco City College, walking distance from my home. Caffeine helped as each infant decided to express himself in different ways at exactly opposite times, so feeding, sleeping, talking, and crying were all happening in 10-minute jags. Don’t ask too many questions please and simply go with the coffee induced flow.

Finally we had the afternoon to ourselves and so we got down to basics, taking that first long nap of the day. I didn’t tell you? I do naps now. Remember the part about not asking too many questions. Life is now reduced to admiring poop frequency and consistency. I volunteered for this? Anyway, having logged in a good nap, I wrapped Darien in the Moby and off we went to the streets.

San Francisco Indian Summer is doing right by her citizens these last days. We enjoyed bright sunshine all day today and so walking with a newborn was easy. Strolling down Ocean Avenue we ventured into several local stores. So, Darien just woke up at 11 p.m. yet he has been sleeping soundly so far this night. I bet we actually get some shut eye. Stay tuned and I will share more newborn tattle tales tomorrow. After I drink a cup of locally roasted coffee that is.

Darien Befuddled by Mom

Darien Garrett Is Home

Words cannot truly describe the change a newborn brings into a life, your life, my life–all the lives circling the new life. My son Darien Garrett arrived at 3:36 p.m. on 21 October 2010, a Thursday with nearly a full moon hanging high in the sky later that evening. I have so many, many stories to share with you, yet can only write a few words now. Tears already start to fall. They just do. I don’t question why any more. Feelings are something I can do these days, so I simply go with them.

Writing has eluded me these last few months as the absent postings show since 1 July. Not that I didn’t have many sparks to write. Simply the 18-hour day became a consistent momentum for several months running. Also, I was to create a new Web site for a new baby, yet the mechanics are still underway, so I will write where I can.

Darien is happy and healthy, arriving into this world at 7.4 pounds and 19 inches long. Today he is two weeks old and poops, eats, and sleeps like a champ. Truly. I’m indulging myself for another two weeks that he is the most amazing baby every born, and then return to ordinary acceptance that he is simply another child to raise. I vow to provide him utter safety and unconditional love–as I have since I saw him and for the rest of his life. A mother’s promise that I will need to follow through on–even for a commitment phobe like me. I am ready.

Just a Day

Today felt so ordinary I don’t quite know how to describe this living each moment just because that’s the next right thing to do. Sure I worked insane hours this week having walked into eight different classroom seminars since I agreed to sub an additional two seminars for a colleague. The extra work helps me prepare financially for bringing home a baby in October.

We already have a baby in the house since a Polish woman moved in with her one month old son. An unexpected pregnancy left her a little short on planning, yet how gracefully lucky for both of us since we can support each other through those first few months. The newborn is a fragile person. He needs constant, consistent and detailed love. Tonight this newborn, call him Juan, nibbled on his first pacifier. Reviews are in and he likes it. I had a swinging crib from the previous time I prepared to bring babies home and Juan swiftly settled down in this one and stopped crying when snugly tucked in there, swinging away.

Lots of laughter in the house now. Random guests from all over the world stay here as I creatively earn extra income by renting one of the rooms. Flow. Living in the stream of life is where I am at. No worries. No anxieties. Only luxury problems. Of course the little twinge in my heart over absences, yet I can only live in what is real and that is who sits beside me right now–a loving God, my own present body, and the chance at a good night’s sleep. More than enough company for this moment. Let’s see what tomorrow brings too. Good night.

Fresh Kelp from the Sea

Sunday evening and I am all cozy in front of the fireplace wrapped warmly in my $20 Target imitation down comforter. Yes, the little bungalow that I rent has a wood burning fireplace. I’m sharing rent here with a fun platonic roomie, so the housing costs are reasonable–that is, by San Francisco standards. And, yes, economics are on my radar screen as they usually are for a university adjunct teacher cobbling together a purposeful life.

I am on a three year trajectory right now. Past behavior has been to wrap my life around a woman. For the first time I am choosing two directions that are purely my dreams not hers. Soon a little baby will arrive into my life and I will become a mama. And by circuitous route I am finding my way into the world of film. Not to say that I don’t have room in my heart and life for my favorite petite woman, but, alas, she never calls. I did receive one e-mail, which sent me into bliss for two hours or so. I just continue to dance into the days single and clear-eyed. Each one is a treat and I live a life of complete luxury that sometimes embarrasses me for how much material comfort I enjoy from day to day.

Yesterday, for example, on a beautiful Saturday I woke up early to finish writing discovery work (usually focused on just how selfish I can be) as we constantly do in sobriety. Driving a sturdy Volvo a few blocks down the road I wander into a neighborhood cafe where I meet the woman who is my sponsor. We talk for an hour or so; leaving this cafe I drive to a different one–also close by–and begin another conversation. This time I am the sponsor. After I venture to a local electronics store to bring back home a $29 bright orange radio for my roomie. Then I need a hot bath to shift the day’s energy. Plunging in I feel more grounded. My monthly cycle began today and the few days before are always a little sketchy emotionally. Just are. Welcome to being a woman.

A short commute to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and I feel lucky to listen while my sobriety sisters honestly admit how they live good sober lives. An AA friend and I grab tea after; then I race out to drive to Santa Cruz. I don’t want to be late.

This is the afternoon to go kayaking! At the last minute on a long work day, I receive an e-mail from Kim Powell, founder of Bluewater Adventures on a women’s listserv that I am on for Bay Area events. This is the short venture in the Monterey Bay for three hours from a Santa Cruz harbor. I arrive on time and find a buddy in the group of 20 women who proceed to put life jackets and long-sleeved rain jackets on. I brought my own, so I am already set.

In we go to the long kayak and for the next two hours I am in a little slice of heaven. The water is not Hawai’i warm of course, but the weather is gorgeous. A beautiful sunset is in front of us while the moon rises up and over the fog bank horizon behind us. Stunning. We paddle out to the kelp beds where otters are hanging out a few feet away. Daylight recedes completely on the way back, but I park a small hand flashlight in a plastic bag on the front of the kayak. We all do. We have a posse of 10 kayaks including a talkative guide. From our kayaks way out in the ocean we can watch and hear the action on the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk.

Staring into the moon reminded me that I was on Hawai’i for New Year’s Eve 2010 back in January. Now for this full moon in July much has changed. The months in between were tricky ones for me. I stayed with a friend who I feel connected to but who has trouble in many ways. This weighed on me. My mind felt trapped in some recycled strange thinking that would not let go.

As always though, it was I who had to let go and stop trying to control everything. In any given day I can laugh, cry, open up, remain neutral, take charge, let go, reflect, pray, breathe, love, worry, and enjoy all on a spectrum of this is simply ordinary life–no more and no less. Celebrating this July’s full moon in this way felt great. Life is changing because I am willing to let it. Who knew? My kayak friend passed me a piece of fresh kelp from the sea because I forgot to eat and whined that I was hungry. Damn if that fresh vegetable didn’t taste super good–similar to the kind of seaweed I buy at the Korean store near where I teach. Natural surprises all around me these days, organic and all.

Lasting Light

I wake up at 6:38 a.m. these days. Three days in a row I roll over and check the cell phone alarm clock to see this exact time. Go figure and this is a true story. I will let you know when I start creating them from scratch.

Arms go up and I stretch into another day. I talk to God some, hoping my behavior is helpful to others and not selfish. I need this chant every morning. Why? Still a little sore over my closing down when in relationship fear these first two years in sobriety, but at least I can help others. Even I am not that self-absorbed. I can always help.

After a few of those prayers that plaintively request help-me God so I can help others, I go to make coffee. One of the many gratis furnishings I snagged from my Mom’s house is a stove-top coffee maker that hisses and gurgles when done. My first attempts were undrinkable. Before I would have blamed the pot since Mom gave it to me; mothers are often to blame and all that. But now I checked to see if I had the lid on accurately and after a few tries–voila, amazingly delicious coffee.

What I enjoy is the morning sun that goes with this cup of Joe. In my little over-priced bungalow rental without any equity earning potential, the sunshine is amazing. I’m a low-maintenance girl who tends to find my opposite high-maintenance chick when I fall; my requisite details to move in, should the u-haul moment occur, are does the place have good natural light and is the washer/dryer plugged in? That’s all. Her story is usually much more complicated and detailed with me running around hoping to satisfy; people pleaser is what I am especially when it comes to her.

Until then sitting in my living room today, a kaleidoscope of reflected color shines brightly onto the wood laminate floor. Where does this light originate from? Thelma and Louie’s red-necked-eared slider turtle tank, of course. I bought the giant swimming pool for $20 from the fish store a few blocks from where I now live. This is the biggest tank my turtles have enjoyed. This morning the refracted bright sunshine splayed on the wall so the tall gangly purple flowers on the living room table made a shadow in the rainbow of light–nature’s way of displaying fireworks early in the day. These moments are beautiful.

But what troubled me was the feeder fish I bought from the pet fish store a short while later. I toss them in the bathtub for Thelma and Louie to dine on. Sure, these are simply feeder fish–decent size ones at 6 for $1. But they are so feisty to prevent the inevitable. Do they know? Are they alive like you and I? Even after disassembled, their eyes and gils operate as if the rest of the body were still attached. This stuns me. Good news is that I bought a large container of the healthy pellet food for my turtles, which means I can avoid the live-fish dilemma for a while. Karma and all.

Love works that way too I suppose. Random life might pinch the body of the relationship off but your head keeps moving from the reflex of routinely loving so many days in a row. Sometimes love goes away and we don’t notice our tail falling off, so the mouth keeps wagging.

Or random sounds can remind you of love lost. This 4th of July I remember a dog named Tigger who I spent a good deal of time with and who died recently. The fireworks would scare the bejeezus out of him and he would hide under the bed shivering. Miss that dog something fierce.

Yet light lasts no matter what. Tomorrow when I wake up–perhaps even at 6:38 a.m. again and brew amazingly spoily coffee–the sunshine will whisper good morning. Yes, light can talk. She never leaves. While sitting on the sofa tomorrow morning and finishing my last cinema studies paper before the fall semester begins, the light will dance everywhere even on the ceiling in bright white water reflections. Beautiful. Present. Fearless. Lasting.