I'm an almost 40 year old married woman who's been out of the dating scene for 15 years. I dated before the internet, before texts, before caller ID. I dated in a terrifying age of having to have face to face conversations with my mate for the evening. Even more terrifying- we had to actually break up with each other. In person. Using our voice, and emoting, and maybe even shedding a tear. The horror of it all.
My single friends are navigating new waters.
And because I love my friends and can sit on my married perch and spew advice I have a few things to say. Not to my amazing friends who are the real deal, the total package, the prize. But for the guys they date. Just a few pointers.
1. If you meet a woman and you go out on a date and had a decent time- call her and ask her out again. If you had a horrible time- call her and tell her it was nice to meet her and wish her luck in the future. Don't just disappear. Unless you are hospitalized in a coma. Or you got kidnapped and are in a ditch with Jesse Pinkman. When you just walk away and never call or text (lame) again- this is what you are: a coward. And someone who will do the same thing when you're in a relationship and things get uncomfortable or tense. Its cowardly and unattractive. The karma you put into the world when you make that uncomfortable call will come back to you many times over. I have seen it happen.
2. Ask a woman at least 3 questions about her. And listen to her answers. Or at least pretend to listen. No one but you and your mother want to hear a monologue about you.
3. If your best friend is a single woman, you will need to explain that dynamic at some point. Until then, the assumption is that you're in love with her and unavailable.
4. If you have ever been married or are still married by law- that's important information to share. On date #1. You don't need to go into detail but you need to put it out there. Not sharing that information makes it more charged and suspicious. And if you're still legally married, it makes you a shady dude. Her friends will never like you until you, ya know, stop being married.
5. Pay for the first date. I don't care how liberated and progressive you are. Or she is. Even Gloria Steinem likes someone to pay for her dinner. It's sweet. It's classy. It shows her that you were raised well. She can pay for the next dinner. If you ask to split the check, you immediately look like a cheap guy who may be living in a van by the river. If you are living in your van by the river- pay for dinner at McDonalds. Or a cup of coffee. If you don't live in your van- and you ask her to pay her way- you look like a real ass. A generous man is so much more handsome than a miser.
6. Don't shovel food in your mouth. Don't hold your fork like a first grader. Use a napkin. Chew with your mouth closed.
7. Smile. Laugh. Smile more. You look better when you do that. It will make you both less nervous.
8. If you have more than one cat- you may want to save that nugget until date # 7. Hopefully she will already be in love with you by then and be ok with it.
9. If you're super close with your mom and sisters- that's sweet and most women will find that sensitive and endearing. If you say your mother is your best friend- they will never want to date you. Because that's creepy. Your best friend should be a man close to your age. Not the woman who changed your diapers and grounded you. It also means you are looking for a mother, not a wife and that's just weird and icky.
10. Again, men- CALL HER. Don't just walk away. Use your gonads and make the call. No one likes a quitter.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
IVF Blows
A good friend of mine is losing another IVF cycle . And, really it is a friend. My lady parts are no longer in that game. I've done 5 cycles, have 3 healthy children so by all definitions- I am a total winner. Mega million jackpot winner- times infinity. I use the phrase "losing and IVF cycle" carefully. There are different levels of IVF cycle losses. Sometimes they just don't work from the get go. Initial pregnancy test negative. Disappointment, anger, sadness, more anger, jealousy fills your mindspace. You look at your credit card bill and calculate that $10,000 just went down the toilet with your uterine lining. But there's no customer service number you can call for a refund. This isn't Nordstroms. You can't get your money back or a positive pregnancy test back. It's a total wash.
Then there's the mindfuck loss. That's when you get an initial positive pregnancy test. ELATION. Halleluya and amen, sisters! You marvel at how amazing your lady parts are and how modern medicine is so cool. You don't even care how much the progesterone shots hurt every evening because you DID IT. The universe rotates on its axis, the planets are aligned. You're pregnant. Every 2-3 days you have to get your blood drawn to make sure your beta HCG level rises exponentially. This tells you that the embryo so carefully grown in the petri dish and injected into your cervix is adhering to your uterus and dividing appropriately. You get this level about 3 or 4 times. If it's rising (usually doubling at least)- all is right in your uterus. If it only rises by a bit or plateaus- you are in full blown panic until the next level a few days later. You will enter "HCG level not rising but I'm still pregnant right?" into your google search and only read the victorious stories. You will ask anyone who has done IVF before if this is OK and could still lead to a baby. You will make them say yes with your estrogen-laced crazy eyes. They usually will. Then you go back for blood draw #3 and you ask the sweet, lovely tech who's digging for a vein if she's seen levels go down a bit but things still end up ok. She lies to you and says "sure, honey, I've seen that". You love her and tell her so with estrogen laced tears streaming down your face. Then the horrible, stupid, awful, asshole, idiot, poo-poo face nurse calls you at noon and says- "I'm so sorry, it didn't work this time, let's schedule you a visit with Dr. Denis to review things". And you just say "OK" and hang up. For some reason, there are no tears. Just anger. White hot anger. And if anyone near you is pregnant or thinking of becoming pregnant or even just talking about children, you're not responsible for your actions. You review what you could've done different to make it work. You should've taken another day off after the implantation and laid in bed. You shouldn't have been around someone with the flu. You should've given yourself more progesterone. You should've been more zen. You probably shouldn't have wanted to murder the nurse who just gave you the news. Or your very annoying neighbor. Or your co-worker. Or your spouse. All the time.
You are defeated. And then you rise up and do it again. Because women are made of fucking steel.
Then there's the late loss. That, my friends, is quite possibly the ugliest thing you can go through. You get discharged from the IVF factory at 10-12 weeks and then you are a regular pregnant woman. Normal OB visits. Normal pregnancy complaints. You're sporting the rouched maternity shirts and feeling awfully proud of yourself. You DID IT. And then at a regular, normal appointment- you find out that the little embryo/fetus/baby (depending on the time of loss) no longer is. Just stopped working. Like a clock that was 10:15 at 10:15 and never got to 10:16. Just stopped. Without warning. Without sounding any alarm. Just quit. It is astounding. It takes you days to really absorb the fact that it's still 10:15. Going in for the D&C helps bring that home. It's over. You will still need your maternity clothes though because there's nothing better than not being pregnant but still having to wear maternity pants (full disclosure- I still wear maternity pants when I'm feeling particularly awful about myself. Highly recommend them for Thanksgiving). The chapter closes. The story ends. Badly. There really isn't anything else to say. But here are some suggestions of what not to say- "There's always next time", "You're still young, you can try again and again", "Better now than later on", "There's a reason for everything". They're just untrue. So, as my dear friend Tracy taught me- "Don't just say something, stand there". It's the best you can do. Just stand there and be sad with her. Quietly. Agree with her how unfair it is. Listen to her be angry. Listen to her be negative and fatalistic. Withstand the urge to make things better. There will be time for that later.
You are defeated. And then you rise up and do it again. Because women are made of fucking steel.
Fertile vibes, sisters.
Always-
Then there's the mindfuck loss. That's when you get an initial positive pregnancy test. ELATION. Halleluya and amen, sisters! You marvel at how amazing your lady parts are and how modern medicine is so cool. You don't even care how much the progesterone shots hurt every evening because you DID IT. The universe rotates on its axis, the planets are aligned. You're pregnant. Every 2-3 days you have to get your blood drawn to make sure your beta HCG level rises exponentially. This tells you that the embryo so carefully grown in the petri dish and injected into your cervix is adhering to your uterus and dividing appropriately. You get this level about 3 or 4 times. If it's rising (usually doubling at least)- all is right in your uterus. If it only rises by a bit or plateaus- you are in full blown panic until the next level a few days later. You will enter "HCG level not rising but I'm still pregnant right?" into your google search and only read the victorious stories. You will ask anyone who has done IVF before if this is OK and could still lead to a baby. You will make them say yes with your estrogen-laced crazy eyes. They usually will. Then you go back for blood draw #3 and you ask the sweet, lovely tech who's digging for a vein if she's seen levels go down a bit but things still end up ok. She lies to you and says "sure, honey, I've seen that". You love her and tell her so with estrogen laced tears streaming down your face. Then the horrible, stupid, awful, asshole, idiot, poo-poo face nurse calls you at noon and says- "I'm so sorry, it didn't work this time, let's schedule you a visit with Dr. Denis to review things". And you just say "OK" and hang up. For some reason, there are no tears. Just anger. White hot anger. And if anyone near you is pregnant or thinking of becoming pregnant or even just talking about children, you're not responsible for your actions. You review what you could've done different to make it work. You should've taken another day off after the implantation and laid in bed. You shouldn't have been around someone with the flu. You should've given yourself more progesterone. You should've been more zen. You probably shouldn't have wanted to murder the nurse who just gave you the news. Or your very annoying neighbor. Or your co-worker. Or your spouse. All the time.
You are defeated. And then you rise up and do it again. Because women are made of fucking steel.
Then there's the late loss. That, my friends, is quite possibly the ugliest thing you can go through. You get discharged from the IVF factory at 10-12 weeks and then you are a regular pregnant woman. Normal OB visits. Normal pregnancy complaints. You're sporting the rouched maternity shirts and feeling awfully proud of yourself. You DID IT. And then at a regular, normal appointment- you find out that the little embryo/fetus/baby (depending on the time of loss) no longer is. Just stopped working. Like a clock that was 10:15 at 10:15 and never got to 10:16. Just stopped. Without warning. Without sounding any alarm. Just quit. It is astounding. It takes you days to really absorb the fact that it's still 10:15. Going in for the D&C helps bring that home. It's over. You will still need your maternity clothes though because there's nothing better than not being pregnant but still having to wear maternity pants (full disclosure- I still wear maternity pants when I'm feeling particularly awful about myself. Highly recommend them for Thanksgiving). The chapter closes. The story ends. Badly. There really isn't anything else to say. But here are some suggestions of what not to say- "There's always next time", "You're still young, you can try again and again", "Better now than later on", "There's a reason for everything". They're just untrue. So, as my dear friend Tracy taught me- "Don't just say something, stand there". It's the best you can do. Just stand there and be sad with her. Quietly. Agree with her how unfair it is. Listen to her be angry. Listen to her be negative and fatalistic. Withstand the urge to make things better. There will be time for that later.
You are defeated. And then you rise up and do it again. Because women are made of fucking steel.
Fertile vibes, sisters.
Always-
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Birds Fly Free
Being busy is a double edged sword. The good edge is that it keeps me productive and purposeful. Every hour of every day is full. I feel necessary, a part of something bigger than myself. The sharp and dangerous part of that sword is that it enables me to not be present and aware of life that is quickly passing. Aware that my kids are growing. That my hair is grey and I will never fit into those jeans again. Aware that what used to resonate with me no longer does and that things that I used to never give pause to now rings loudly. Like birds.
Lately, I am keenly aware of birds.
For the record, I don't like animals. Never have. I am deeply fearful of living creatures that don't have facial expressions. They're 4 legged sociopaths as far as I'm concerned. We rented a dog once (and by rent I mean tried to own one but after 6 months found a much better family for it since I couldn't really pet the dog without cringing a bit inside) and that underscored why we should never try to have a pet. There are animal people and then there are those of us who think animals are gross. I think its part nature part nurture. People are born with a part of their soul reserved for animals and kindness. And then there are those of us who, while we don't want to hurt animals- we don't want to touch them either. I've always been the latter.
And then the birds started singing to me.
And no- I am not drinking or high or medicated. Well, ok, I am medicated but that's not relevant.
What happened is that I've become more open to things that never used to penetrate. I love watching the cardinals and the robins and the grey cute little ones with the orange beaks flying through my tree branches and landing on the bird feeder outside my window. I love how free they are. They just pause shortly to eat, pee, poop, chirp and then when they're ready to take off- they just do. They just fly away. Perfectly. Maybe they'll return. Maybe not.
There have been times these last few months when I've watched the birds and been jealous. They can just fly free, far from the nest. I've wanted to do that as well. Fly far away from here. To where? Who knows, who cares. Just into the night. It's a feeling that is visceral and real and scary. It doesn't mean I don't know how blessed and perfect my life is. I know that I found a man who is my other half, my heart, my happy place. He is a crazy, broken, kind, brilliant, generous, hilarious, mess of a man. And great looking. I know this. I know that my 3 children are HEALTHY. They breathe every day. Dayenu- it is sufficient. They are little humans who eat, pee, poop, chirp on their own. They bring me tremendous joy. And tremendous angst. We hurt each other but try to help each other more. We are winging it every single day. They bring me joy.
Yet, there are days when I want to fly.
The good news is that there are more days where my nest is where I want to stay. As long as I can still see the birds.
I think what I also want to fly far away from is the God of my childhood. The system. Orthodox Judaism. And while I don't remember ever learning about God per se, or cultivating a relationship with a higher power (20 years of Orthodox jewish private education and sadly this is true- but I can recite the entire siddur/prayer book and large blocks of torah by heart, and I know every single one of the 39 prohibitions of shabbat)- God and Orthodoxy have always been intertwined for me. Until now.
I don't know if the birds have to do with this shift but it feels like they do.
It just simply doesnt resonate with me. The ritual and the liturgy are so familiar and so empty. Sometimes I even have to laugh at how absurd it is. Sometimes I do laugh. Other times, the familiarity is comfort. Like an old blanket that smells bad but feels so good. I wouldn't want any other temple or prayer or ritual. I look at it all as the same attempt at a connection with something big. Whether its Jesus, Mohammed, Hashem, Buddha, Nature. No one way is the right way. We're probably all dead wrong, actually. But who the hell knows?
What I do know is that this system that I was raised/indoctrinated in- doesn't work for me at this very moment. But it's the system that I am heavily invested in. I live in the system. I send my kids to the system. My family is the system. So I need to find a way to feel genuine and true while still keeping a toe in. Some days this is hard. So I stay very busy..... and I watch the birds.
Lately, I am keenly aware of birds.
For the record, I don't like animals. Never have. I am deeply fearful of living creatures that don't have facial expressions. They're 4 legged sociopaths as far as I'm concerned. We rented a dog once (and by rent I mean tried to own one but after 6 months found a much better family for it since I couldn't really pet the dog without cringing a bit inside) and that underscored why we should never try to have a pet. There are animal people and then there are those of us who think animals are gross. I think its part nature part nurture. People are born with a part of their soul reserved for animals and kindness. And then there are those of us who, while we don't want to hurt animals- we don't want to touch them either. I've always been the latter.
And then the birds started singing to me.
And no- I am not drinking or high or medicated. Well, ok, I am medicated but that's not relevant.
What happened is that I've become more open to things that never used to penetrate. I love watching the cardinals and the robins and the grey cute little ones with the orange beaks flying through my tree branches and landing on the bird feeder outside my window. I love how free they are. They just pause shortly to eat, pee, poop, chirp and then when they're ready to take off- they just do. They just fly away. Perfectly. Maybe they'll return. Maybe not.
There have been times these last few months when I've watched the birds and been jealous. They can just fly free, far from the nest. I've wanted to do that as well. Fly far away from here. To where? Who knows, who cares. Just into the night. It's a feeling that is visceral and real and scary. It doesn't mean I don't know how blessed and perfect my life is. I know that I found a man who is my other half, my heart, my happy place. He is a crazy, broken, kind, brilliant, generous, hilarious, mess of a man. And great looking. I know this. I know that my 3 children are HEALTHY. They breathe every day. Dayenu- it is sufficient. They are little humans who eat, pee, poop, chirp on their own. They bring me tremendous joy. And tremendous angst. We hurt each other but try to help each other more. We are winging it every single day. They bring me joy.
Yet, there are days when I want to fly.
The good news is that there are more days where my nest is where I want to stay. As long as I can still see the birds.
I think what I also want to fly far away from is the God of my childhood. The system. Orthodox Judaism. And while I don't remember ever learning about God per se, or cultivating a relationship with a higher power (20 years of Orthodox jewish private education and sadly this is true- but I can recite the entire siddur/prayer book and large blocks of torah by heart, and I know every single one of the 39 prohibitions of shabbat)- God and Orthodoxy have always been intertwined for me. Until now.
I don't know if the birds have to do with this shift but it feels like they do.
It just simply doesnt resonate with me. The ritual and the liturgy are so familiar and so empty. Sometimes I even have to laugh at how absurd it is. Sometimes I do laugh. Other times, the familiarity is comfort. Like an old blanket that smells bad but feels so good. I wouldn't want any other temple or prayer or ritual. I look at it all as the same attempt at a connection with something big. Whether its Jesus, Mohammed, Hashem, Buddha, Nature. No one way is the right way. We're probably all dead wrong, actually. But who the hell knows?
What I do know is that this system that I was raised/indoctrinated in- doesn't work for me at this very moment. But it's the system that I am heavily invested in. I live in the system. I send my kids to the system. My family is the system. So I need to find a way to feel genuine and true while still keeping a toe in. Some days this is hard. So I stay very busy..... and I watch the birds.
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