breaking a parenting taboo

My friend, Michael, posted a link on facebook today to one of the marvelous TED lectures. (see www.TED.com/talks) This particular one was given by a married couple whose goal was to shatter 3 taboos of parenting. They say, and I agree, that new parents would feel less discouraged if we didn't observe the following prohibitions:

(1) don't discuss how lonely new parenting can be
(2) don't talk about "the invisible loss" of miscarriage
(3) don't admit that your "average happiness" has declined

If you are a parent, I'm sure you will agree that there is a lot of false advertising about parenting, and much of it is merely the result of omission, the very kind that we ourselves perpetuate when we fail to warn our friends or patients of the bleaker aspects, because we don't want to discourage them from doing their part to propagate the species. Or, as some might say, because misery loves company.

I'm half joking with that last remark. I love being a mom and I am quite sure it is the best thing that ever happened to me. At the same time, nothing is more humbling than pregnancy, childbirth and parenting, so I hope you will trust me that I am not bragging here. If you read my blog, you must already know that I'm mainly here - on Earth, as well as on Unburied Treasure - to share for the purpose of being helpful. But I know from (1) the number of parenting questions I get from friends (2) the number of inquiries about my summer and after school programs, and (3) the repeated suggestions that I write a book of parenting advice, that many people regard me as something of a parenting role model.

Like most people, I'm always flattered to be asked for advice, and eager to give it. But sometimes, I realize, even I do not try hard enough to be completely honest. I, too, am guiltly of glossing over some of the tough stuff. Because, of course, we all like to forget it, and quite frankly, forgetting helps us to carry on. Who among us would actually volunteer to have a second child, much less a third or fourth, if we carried around 100% vividly powerful memories of the pain and fear of delivering and nurturing that first newborn baby?

Consistent with these realizations, and inspired by the above mentioned TED lecture, I'm going to share a bit about one of the darker parts of my experience as a new parent. Not trying to be maudlin, just hoping that it holds some value for some of you out there. It's probably not what most of you would expect, but maybe it will help you better understand why I am so deeply grateful for my three healthy wonderful boys. And why, on their worst days, I still consider your kids to be such freaking miracles.

I became pregnant almost exactly halfway through law school, perhaps as a subconscious attempt to escape the process of being trained for the profession. (In which case, my instinct was correct.) I was living in Manhattan, surrounded by lifelong and college friends, less than a mile from my sister, a hike through central park to my aunt, just a commuter rail away from parents and grandparents.

About a third of the way through my pregnancy, my husband announced that we would be moving to Cincinnati, his hometown. He admitted that he had already secured a job there, reminded me how much he hated living in New York City, and stated besides, that it was not negotiable. I was terrified of leaving home and relocating to a place for which I felt little to no affinity, but evidently, even more afraid of being left behind to become a single mother. It seemed I had no choice. From hundreds of miles away, we commissioned my mother-in-law to commence house hunting on our behalf.

A few weeks later, I discovered that not only was I carrying twins, but that one of them, "Twin B", was so rife with multiple fetal anomalies so as to be incompatible with life. That is, were he to be born alive, he would never leave the NICU. He would never go home with us. He would suffer - quite expensively, mind you - without there being any point to the suffering. Furthermore, we were told, the longer he continued to develop, the more risk he posed to the healthy fetal development of "Twin A". We were advised by doctors and nurses alike to consider selective termination. Ever the researcher, I began investigating the options. I visited every doctor in New York who did this procedure, listened to their advice, studied the statistics. Of course, I was still attending class, preparing briefs for moot court competition, editing articles, and reading cases endlessly, while my husband continued negotiating the purchase of a four bedroom home in Cincinnati.

Prior to this point in my life, my five greatest traumas had been:
(1) being born
(2) getting a little sister
(3) joining second grade in October at the age of five
(4) getting kicked out of Harvard college and
(5) losing my virginity to a closeted homosexual.

The experience with my pregnancy surpassed several of these, rising rapidly toward the top of the list. Lying on a table, having a long needle inserted into my uterus and waiting for a lethal injection the heart of "Twin B" was surpassed only by being informed that it was impossible to get safely past "Twin A" to access "Twin B".

Even before he was born, my son, Max demonstrated an unrivaled degree of protectiveness toward a sibling.

I returned to the hospital, alone, on a cross town bus, every few days, to allow the doctor to attempt the procedure again. I felt I owed it to my unborn son, "Twin A" (whom I already called "Max"), to do everything I could to maximized his chance for a long, healthy gestation and safe birth. I knew that the sooner we stopped "Twin B" from developing, the greater chance there was of stabilizing the uterine environment. The goal was to maximize the time "Twin A" could spend growing inside me, as opposed to an incubator in the NICU, which is where he'd go if he was born too early. Each time, as I undressed my increasingly large body, the technician, doctor or nurse would remind me that perhaps they would discover on the sonogram that "Twin B"'s heart had stopped beating on its own, but it never had. Ultimately, the twin pregnancy reached 26 weeks, the outer limit, under Roe v Wade, for the legal termination of a fetus. That day, I knew I would have to stay on the table until they were able to push "Twin A", using the side of the needle, out of the way, and then inject the heart of "Twin B".

I do not recall how long I lay there. I do remember staring at the pale green painted cinder block wall, staying as still as I could, breathing as little as possible, and praying for "Twin B" to die and let his brother live. My husband told me he would have to be in Cincinnati that day, attending the closing on our house, but in an uncharacteristically rebellious moment, I had called the bank vice president, told my story, and secured an extension so that I could have him there to help me get home from the hospital.

Finally, the procedure was done, and on the taxi ride home there were only two hearts beating inside my skin, instead of three. I lay in bed for the next two days, studying for finals and trying not to cry.

I passed my exams, won an award for best brief, and best of all, found a doctor at the University of Cincinnati willing to accept me as an obstretric patient despite my high-risk status (most docs wouldn't touch us with a ten foot malpractice policy). Miraculously, I was able to sustain the pregnancy through the move and ultimately broke all records, staying pregnant for an unprecedented 39 1/2 weeks.

Max was already a survivor when he was born, and he has continued to be, not only surviving but thriving through his parents' divorce, both his parents' remarriages, the addition of three siblings and most recently, his father's second divorce. Now, he is a tall, strong, handsome, funny, kind, smart, talented, healthy teenager getting ready to apply to college. He is still the best big brother a person could ever hope to have.

I'm going to sign off because it is time for me to make another sacrifice for the sake of my kids. As much as I'd love to sit here in dry clothes, typing, the boys really want to go sledding.