The two-week wait

So, we decided to give IVF another shot, and luckily this time we made it all the way to embryo transfer! This in and out itself is something to celebrate, as we didn't have any fertilized eggs during the first round. We ended up with one perfect little 9-10 cell three-day transfer, and now the dreaded two-week wait is almost at an end. 

For many, this is the most challenging part of the IVF process, ironically, because there is so little to actually do. Up until this point, there are numerous shots, pills, ultrasounds, and procedures, and it all seems to move fairly quickly. Every other day you are getting an update about how big your follicles are or how well your embryos developed since yesterday. The doctors and nurses have so much control over the first half of the process, and they are able to give you so much specific information about what is happening both inside and outside of your body, that it feels pretty exhilarating.

And then, you have your embryo transfer. And suddenly, the constant barrage of information comes to a screeching halt. Despite the incredible advances in infertility procedures, once that little embryo goes back in, there isn't much they can do to make sure it sticks. I have been taking estrogen and progesterone to create a cozy little habitat for my growing ball of cells, but we are completely in the dark about what's going on in there.

For the scores of infertile women who've become obsessed with monitoring their follicle number and size, comparing the thickness of their uterine linings, and agonizing over the  grade given to their embryos, this two-week dark period of information is truly unbearable. These women have become pseudo experts in the science of baby making, and understanding the live birth rate of a three-day versus a five-day transfer gives them the illusion of something that's been stripped from them: control.

Because that's really what this is all about. In our minds, having a baby is supposed to be something you are in control of. If you want to have a baby, you get pregnant. End of story. But for the infertile woman, this major life decision is completely out of her hands. Making the decision to do fertility treatments gives her some of that control back, but when that two-week wait rolls around, and there is nothing to do but wait, she feels that control slipping away once more. She becomes obsessed with IVF message boards where women talk about eating pineapple core and warm foods to help implantation. They encourage you to wear socks for two weeks, and not to do any exercise but walking. They convince you that if you follow these specific steps, you will be able to control whether or not your embryo will stick, and when it doesn't, you convince yourself that it was because you lifted that heavy box, because you drank that cup of coffee, because you couldn't stomach eating pineapple core, when the truth is that there is really nothing you can do. Either the embryo will turn into a baby or it won't. And despite all the things that women suffering from infertility have learned, they haven't learned to let go.

Believe me, I am right there with them. This process makes you obsessive. The other day, Mike said, "I think I've given you offer 100 shots." How could you not be obsessed with something that is taking up so much of your physical and emotional time?

But I'm trying to focus on other things, as well. The parts of the process that often go overlooked, like how much other people in my life care about me. The day before my transfer, my best friend took the train in from New York just to watch Ella for one day. A girlfriend who lives in London sent me a message to tell me she's keeping me in her prayers, and a friend's sister who I hadn't seen in at least fifteen years hugged me and shared her own infertility struggles so I wouldn't feel so alone. 

It's easy to focus on the negative with IVF- the needles, the doctor's appointments, the cost, the emotional roller coaster- but for those of us willing to share that burden with others, we find that there are friends who are happy to lighten the load. There is so much out of my control, out of everyone's control, but the relationships we hold dear are something we can foster and nurture and influence.

I don't know how this two week wait will turn out. There will be a lot of joy or a lot of sadness. It's out of my hands. So I'm focusing on the things I can actually reach out and touch, and thankfully, those things are reaching right back. 

Either Way

So, I'm back again to hijack my own blog for a few weeks. Though, let's be honest, can you really hijack an abandoned building? Anyway, a blog called "You and Me and Ella B" might not be the right place for the posts that will follow over the next couple of weeks, but would you want to read a blog titled "Me and My Super Annoying Uterus"? No, I didn't think so, though that would be the perfect title because my super annoying, totally lame uterus is the subject of this new series of posts..... still there? Great. Then let's gets started.

As many of you know, Mike and I have been trying to conceive our second child for almost two years now. We tried on our own for a year and then completed three failed IUI's (Inseminations) last summer. Since then, we've continued trying on our own, hoping for the best, but knowing that IVF (In-vitro fertilization) was the eventual end route.

So, here we are, two years later. It's hard to believe that I thought I'd have a one-year-old by now. It's hard to believe that I have spent two years wishing and hoping and waiting. Mostly, I can't believe how much this has consumed and affected my life for the past two years. I was shocked to not fall pregnant immediately. After all, we got pregnant right away with Ella, and pregnancy was something I completely took for granted. I felt bad for my friends and relatives who struggled to conceive, knowing that would never be me. And here I am, two years of trying, three failed IUI's, countless blood tests, ultrasounds, needles, uterus scraping, hours spent hopeful, and just as many hours spent disappointed.

Infertility is a unique kind of pain. It is not a sharp pain that slowly disappears over time. It is a pain that rises and falls to a regular beat. Each month brings hope, and each month leaves you more disappointed, feeling like that idiot girl who keeps chasing after a boy who doesn't want her. The darkest time was after our third failed IUI. Because I have conceived a child naturally, and because there are no known fertility issues with either of us, the doctor and nurses assured me that the insemination would be successful. To hear the doctor say that he was shocked it didn't work was disconcerting to say the least. Before that, I had been upset that it was taking so long for me to get pregnant, but it wasn't until that moment that I began to fear not simply "when" but "if" I would get pregnant again. The realization that this might not happen for us hit me hard. I could not help feeling that if I didn't get pregnant again that something would be missing from my life. As with many elements of motherhood, this feeling lead only to guilt and shame. What kind of mother and wife am I if I don't feel like my husband and child are enough? What right do I have to be sad when the world has given me so many blessings?

I had to learn to navigate these feelings and find a duality somehow. I had to learn that I can both feel a longing for something out of reach, and joy in what I already have. This has been a struggle, but one that I think I've come close to overcoming.

A few weeks ago Mike and I were working in the yard. Ella was playing by herself (she just learned how to swing without help- thank the lord), and we were both actually getting stuff done, something everyone who has children knows rarely happens. It was a beautiful day, and I was gardening in the sunshine, and I suddenly felt like, "This is good. This is a nice life. Things could be just like this, and it would  be okay." That was the first time in two years that I had felt that way- that I didn't need another child to complete my life. My life is complete. It will get better and worse all the time. That's the nature of life, but there is no missing puzzle piece under the couch that will make everything perfect. Another child certainly won't make my life perfect. Do you know what babies are like?! They definitely don't make life easier. Another child would be a blessing, the beginning of a new, difficult, frustrating, and satisfying puzzle. I hope I receive that puzzle as a gift one day soon, but maybe, just maybe, it's okay if I never get it.

This might, then, seem like a strange time to begin IVF, but I actually think it's the perfect time. I've been so afraid to do it because I know it's the last option. If it doesn't work, then we will probably never get pregnant, and I'm afraid of what that finality will do to me. I've finally gotten to a good place, and part of me is reluctant to enter this emotional roller coaster again. But I'm starting to look at it with fresh eyes, to understand that this journey may lead to a wonderful gift, a gift I will appreciate way more than I could have two years ago, but the worst thing that could possibly happen is that I'll have exactly what I have right now, and that's a lot. 

So, here we go. First night of injections down. Wish us luck. Check back in if you're so inclined, and thanks for listening.

"Just Ella"

As we drove to a school fundraiser the other night, the following conversation took place:

Ella:" Mom, I don't want to be Bonaldo anymore."
Me: "Okay, what do you want your last name to be?"
Ella: "No, I just want to be Ella."

This sort of conversation pretty much sums her up. As I've talked about endlessly on this blog, Ella B (excuse me, I mean "Just Ella") is a free spirit with a big personality. She knows exactly what she wants and doesn't want and isn't going to submit to any societal expectations, even when it comes to last names.

I saw her three-year-old personality in full force when we arrived at the restaurant for the fundraiser. She took her usual fifteen minutes to warm up to the crowd of teachers and students excitedly talking to her and telling her that they know me. She was not impressed by my apparent fame in the least. However, before I even realized it, she had shed her sweatshirt and was running around the restaurant in her super girl costume pretending to fly. She played a few rounds of hide and seek with a friend of mine, and downed an ice cream cone like it was her job. People were in awe of her: smile as wide as her face, tangled hair streaming behind her as she ran. She was captivating, mostly because she was doing whatever she wanted without worrying about what anyone thought (including the wait staff).

This display seemed incredibly appropriate given the event we were attending. As I said, it was a fundraiser for my school, but I didn't mention that it was for our PLAHD club, the gay-straight alliance that helps raise awareness and support for the LGBTQ community at our school. The club is not only for kids who are gay, but for anyone who supports the notion that we all deserve to live our lives free from discrimination, hate, and inequality based on sexual orientation, gender identity, etc.

It felt rather poignant, then, to see my daughter, entirely unaware of the fundraiser's purpose, running through a restaurant wearing a Halloween costume in March, being 100% herself just as all three-year-olds are. It got me thinking about when that all changes. At what point does it stop being okay to be ourselves? Sure, there are plenty of kids (these PLAHD club members to name a few) who refuse to let society stop them from being themselves, but we view them as kids who are making a decision to be individuals, and to some extent, making that decision may marginalize them. When will that happen to Ella? When will she have to stop and decide whether she's going to be herself or conform to some expectation of her culture or society? And what will she choose to do if being herself means being marginalized? Will she be confident enough to stay "Just Ella" if others decide they don't like what "Just Ella" stands for?

I mulled over these ideas as we enjoyed our sandwiches and fries, and some time after my friend left, Ella asked, "Where'd he go, Mommy?"  I told her he had to go home to, "have dinner with his husband." As soon as I said the words, I cringed at what her reaction would be. I assumed she would say something like, "Mommy, that's so silly! Boys don't have husbands!"

But she didn't say anything. She just kept on eating her ice cream cone as if I hadn't said anything funny at all. And I thought, wouldn't it be great if she grew up in a world where despite all the tough decisions she'll have to make about which parts of herself to let the world see, she won't have to worry about that one? Wouldn't it be great if being an openly gay teenager wasn't a brave decision?

I don't know how the world will view homosexuality in ten years. I hope that today is the beginning of something really positive, but I know there are still so many people out there who don't want a kid like Ella to be herself if being herself means offending their values. I'd like to think there is room in the world for a free spirit like Ella, but I just don't know. In the meantime, I hope "Just Ella" can find a way to keep wearing that super girl costume long after it doesn't fit. I hope she never lets it go.

Christmas Part 2

Okay, so it's mid-January and I'm still finishing my Christmas post. I know, I know, wrap it up Bonaldo. So, as I said, Christmas was pretty special this year, and not just because it was the first Christmas where Ella really understood all the magic and whatnot, but also because we had Mike's brother Tony, his wife Lisa, and their almost thirteen-year-old daughter Madelyn with us for the whole week. You may remember them from the blog post "Sweet Home from Alabama" way back in August of 2011 when we went to visit them in Alabama. Well, this time they came to us, saw our house for the first time, met most of my extended family and friends, and got to spend the craziness that was Christmas Day with us. We'd never had house guests before, so I was a little nervous about how things would go, how Ella would react, how I would get my house cleaned in time, etc., but everything ended up being pretty effortless (well, not the cleaning part, but everything else). We had a great time hanging out, eating lots of food, drinking a lot of wine, and marveling at the ridiculousness that is Ella B. They got such a kick out of her, and it was great for them to be here long enough for her to get comfortable with them. The only down side was that poor Madelyn had the flu and spent almost the whole week sleeping. We couldn't even wake her up to see the snow, and Ella kept asking, "Where's the girl from the couch?" Luckily, she was able to pull it together to head to New York and see Times Square and Rockefeller Center for the first time. That and the Taylor Swift tickets she got from her parents made her Christmas pretty awesome, anyway.

After everyone left, we cleaned up the house, threw out the leftover Christmas food, and got back to reality. It was nice to have a (somewhat) quiet house again, but I have to say that it made me realize how much I love a house full of people and laughter and food and noise. It was the first year that I was really bummed that the Christmas season was over, and I really am looking forward to many more years of that fullness.

PS- I totally want to add a bunch of pictures to this post, but for some reason, blogger is letting me. I'll try to figure it out!

Counting my Blessings

I probably shouldn't be blogging right now. I should probably wait until tomorrow when I'm less emotional, less distraught over the events of the day, when there is less of an ache in my heart, but I'm not sure I'll feel any different tomorrow or the next day. So, I might as well try to get my feelings out, and I apologize to all of you if this ends up being a rambling mess of snot and keystrokes...

Today is a day I will never forget. I have lived through 9/11, a ten-year war that my husband fought in, and countless other acts of violence both in the U.S. and abroad, but today is still a day I will never forget. Today, twenty children were murdered along with six teachers by a man with so much anger in his heart he couldn't contain it. It happened at an elementary school at 9:30 this morning, while I was teaching my own set of students just a few miles away. We were talking about All Quiet on the Western Front, and how the war forces Paul to lose his innocence before he is ready. At that moment eighteen children lost their lives, and the rest of the children in that school, the ones hearing the gunshots and the screams, they lost something else too. They lost that precious, fleeting time that allows you to believe the world is good and pure and that bad things don't happen to good people.

I've been sad about a lot of things today. I'm sad about all those families that were destroyed in an instant. I'm sad that one man has the power to end that much life. And I'm sad for all those children who will be afraid to go back to school, who won't want to go to bed tonight, who will ask what happened to their friends. And I feel sad for the parents who will have to figure out how to explain the unexplainable to a six-year-old. What do you say to your child when you can't understand it yourself?

Ever since I heard the news this morning, I've been dying to get to Ella, to hold her in my arms, and I thought about all the times she's driven me crazy in the morning and how we've argued over getting dressed or brushing her hair. I thought about all these little kids and how their parents never could have known that this was the last morning they'd ever put their children's coats on or pack their lunches, or send them off to school with an "I love you."

We all know that these moments with our children are precious, but we are human and the rigors of our daily lives can get in the way of remembering. We cannot spend every moment appreciating our lives, but then, something like this happens. A parent's worst nightmare happens to someone else, and it serves as a wake-up call to you, and you remember that precious, delicate thing in the other room, that thing that drives you crazy, but also turns the very wheels that make your heart work.

I know this is all so overly sentimental, and if a student handed this in as an essay, that's just what I'd tell her, but that doesn't matter today. Today I love my little girl in all the most cliche ways. Today I am a mother more than anything else. Today I am counting my blessings like never before. Today my words are not original, but I feel them more truly than ever.

All my thoughts and prayers are with the families suffering tonight. May you find solace in eachother's arms and know that this corner of the world is dreaming of you.

Priceless

One Kindle Fire...$199.99

Watching a two-year-old teach her grandmother how to play Angry Birds...priceless

Thankful Tree

This year we decided to create a thankful tree that everyone in the house could add a "thankful" leaf to. Some people wrote funny things like, "The Walking Dead," and others wrote more serious notes like "I am thankful for my girlfriends and the men who love them" (my favorite by far written by my girlfriend Alex after an amazing old-school friend brunch). Nathan asked Ella what she was thankful for, and it was adorable watching him try to explain the whole thing to her. How does a seven-year-old explain being thankful to a two-year-old? I guess the same way that anyone does, by telling her it means the things you are happy about. It got me thinking about how well Ella understands this idea. How thankful is she for all the things she has? I know there is so much in her life that she takes for granted, just as there is so much I take for granted in my own life.

One day a few weeks ago, she and I were leaving a store and I had her put a dollar in the Salvation Army can. She asked me why we did it and I tried to explain that other people don't have all the things we have.

"They don't have toys?" she said, incredulous.

"Nope. Some people don't have toys, or coats, or nice shoes, or anything."

"Why they don't have anything?"

"Because not everybody is lucky like us."

"Like us?"

"Yeah, some people don't have any nice things."

"Why don't they get them at the store?"

This went on for quite a while, and I did my best to explain the harsh realities of life to a two-year-old. I feel so lucky that having a difficult life is something I have to explain to her because she wouldn't otherwise know about hardship. I want her to appreciate the things she has, but how do you teach a child to appreciate? How can she "thank her lucky stars" unless she understands that others don't have any stars to wish on?

Of course I want her to be thankful, but I also want her to hold on to her innocence as long as possible. I want her to think that the world is full of rosebuds and lollipops for at least a few more years, and then, when she does learn the truth, I hope she'll be the kind of person who wants to do something about it. But the only way that will happen is if I show her that I'm that kind of person, in little ways everyday. Right now those tiny acts of kindness and giving might not mean anything to her, but someday, when she understands, hopefully it will have sunk in anyway. And then she'll know that being lucky is the kind of gift you are meant to give away.

Thanksgiving 2012

Hey, so about that November blog challenge, well, the thing is...November is probably the worst month (other than December) to ask someone to commit to blogging every day. I was doing really well, and then this little thing called Thanksgiving came up in which I had to cook for twenty people, and then well, I just got a little busy. So, I'm trying to decide if the challenge is officially busted, or if I should start fresh today and finish out the rest of the month. I guess you'll find out tomorrow.

Anyway, we had a lovely Thanksgiving, but I was so busy with turkey cooking and gravy making and whatnot, that I didn't have any time to take pictures. We were lucky that it was one of those beautiful November days so after dinner the kids all went outside and my Aunt Kathy took a bunch of pictures, so we'll see how those turned out. Here is just a smattering of pics from our day. It was full of food, family, and fun. I hope you all have as much to be thankful for as we do.

Happy Thanksgiving!

A picture of a picture on the front porch- Ella and the boys

My sandwich-making helpers- Nathan and Jacob

My sweet potato cupcakes with salted caramel sauce and embellishments thanks to Amy Miller

Our thankful tree that everyone left a message on

That little something special

Dear Ella,

This photograph is your most recent school picture. It will probably be that picture you put in the yearbook when you're 18, or it will be the one picture you like to show your boyfriends because it isn't embarrassing, and it shows that even at two years old, you weren't just cute, you were beautiful. I couldn't be more enamored with those sparkly eyes, that perfect smile, and those soft little cheeks, but those features are not what makes you beautiful.

There is a light in you, Ella. A light that shines so bright I am blinded, a light that sparkles and dazzles beyond what I could have ever imagined from my own child. You have this quality, the "It" factor that celebrities and politicians strive for because it makes the world fall in love with you.

I know this will sound absurd, but I feel like one of the reasons you were such a difficult baby was because you just had too much personality. You were ready to run and jump and laugh and entertain, and being a baby just didn't suit you. There has always been just too much life bursting out of you, and while this can sometimes be frustrating, I know it will serve you well in life.

I know that spark will give you the confidence to take the risks that will open up the whole world for you in a way I can only imagine. I'm so in awe of you Ella, of the fearless, confident, amazing little girl that I sometimes can't believe I created. I only hope that you never let the realities of this world take away that spark. I hope a little part of you will always remain the bright-eyed girl in this photograph, and that your light will only grow brighter.

I'll do my best to make that so.

Apple picking, one year later

Last weekend we went apple picking again, almost exactly one year later with the same awesome neighbors and the addition of my parents. I was looking at these two pictures of us from last year and this year and I started thinking about all the changes that have happened to Ella in the past year. Obviously 0-1 marks the biggest change in terms of physically going from being a crying, gelatinous blog, to learning to walk and talk, but really, the changes that happen from one to two are nothing short of miraculous. I was looking at some blog posts from a year ago, and I realized that last year at this time she was just learning to put words together to form sentences. She was saying "yesth" instead of "yes" and calling a blanket a "nanight." Now, she uses words like "actually" and "definitely" and requires me to "tell the truth." When I pick her up from daycare and ask her about her day, she says, "I don't want to talk about it." She tells Mike that he is her boyfriend, and when she finally gets in the bathtub after fighting us about it, she says, "See, that wasn't so bad." Now she has hair that streams down her back when she's in that tub, and when I look at her little body, I can already see it slimming out. She's getting those "kid legs" that come from spending days running and jumping like a real kid, not a baby, or even a toddler. She has cuts and scrapes now that I've never even kissed, and she knows what it means to pinky promise. She knows how to remember things, and when I first told her we were going apple picking, she said, "With Arlo and Violet? Like last year? Remember, Mom?" Yeah, buddy, I do remember. I'll try to always remember all of it, but when I don't, please remind me.

Who was that kid?

Back in the days when I had a fussy baby, it was easy to look at everyone else's children and only see how perfect they were and how imperfect my baby was. Other people's children didn't scream at the grocery store. Other people's children liked sitting in car seats and strollers. Other people's children were actually enjoyable to be around. Mike would try to tell me that when we saw those other babies, we were only seeing a moment of their days. We didn't know what the other 24 hours and 59 minutes looked like, and though I knew this was true, it was a hard truth to accept when it seemed like everyone's baby was happier, more content, and more relaxed than mine.

Fast forward two years to when Ella and I are sitting in Quest Diagnostics for an hour and a half on a Saturday morning. The whole idea was a recipe for disaster, and yet, somehow, it worked out. Ella woke up at 4:45 for some godforsaken reason, and by 6 a.m. we were on our way out the door. She was thrilled that she actually got to see the stars and the moon and she still likes to talk about the "crescent" she saw that morning. We stopped at Ami's Crispy Bagel in Waterbury (because they are the best bagels ever, and you are crazy if you don't go there). Then, we headed over to Quest and arrived at 7:05. I was feeling pretty confident that we were going to be in and out of there....until we walked in and saw an already full waiting room. At 7:05. On Saturday morning. But, there was no turning back, so we grabbed a number (20) and squeezed our way in between a very large man, and a very smelly older woman and began reading the one book we'd brought with us.

This is the part where I am supposed to describe the disaster that was Saturday morning at Quest. Except, well, it wasn't a disaster. For an hour and a half, that girl sat or stood quietly, read The Old Lady who Swallowed a Fly, ate gold fish, got really excited when a new number was called, and was just...well...a really good girl. I never had to tell her to be quiet. She never said anything about how large the man sitting next to us was. Hell, she never even pooped. Even when we went in to actually have my blood drawn, she just stood there and watched like it was no big deal.

I kept telling her over and over again what a good girl she was, and she just kept looking at me like, "Yeah. Mom. Duh. I'm a good girl."

At one point, I realized there was a young woman watching us, and I wondered if she was thinking, "Man, I could never take my child here. I can't believe how good that little girl is." I almost wanted to go up to her and say, "She's never like this." But, the truth is, sometimes, however few and far between those sometimes are, she is like that, and she still has the power to surprise me. Thanks Beezer.

The Whole Wide World

Major adventure number two of the summer was a girls only mini-vacation to Cape Cod. One of my girlfriends from work has a house in Dennisport, so Amy, Ella, and I headed up there last week to enjoy a few days of girls only fun. I, of course, was petrified to be on vacation with my little two going on sixteen ball of toddlerness, but I went anyway. I decided today actually that the theme for this summer is "Embrace the Disaster." There was really no chance that Cape Cod was going to go perfectly. I was with a two-year-old, without my husband, and in an unfamiliar place. Because Ella was such a difficult baby and we were forced to put her on a really strict routine about where and when she slept, she has become accustomed to that routine and doesn't do well with change. She likes her crib, her bath tub, her stuff, and her space, so there were bound to be some tantrums and tears.

There were definitely some difficulties along the way. She cried pretty hard the first night when I put her down to sleep, but it only lasted about fifteen minutes. She wouldn't nap in the pack n' play, but she did sleep for a good two hours in the car. There were some bratty moments here and there, but there was also this glorious thing called "the beach." Everyone knows that I am not a beach person (reference any picture available of my translucent skin). I have always found it to be pretty hot and sandy and boring, and I wasn't really looking forward to spending three days lounging on the shore. Of course, once you have a child, there's never really any lounging anyway, which turned out to be a good thing for us. I realized that while I don't really like being a grown-up on the beach, I do still like being a kid on one. It turns out that building sand castles, giving Ella mermaid legs, collecting shells, and running from "sharks" (a.k.a Amy) in the water is just as much fun now as it was when I was a kid, maybe even more so because now I get to see the glint of fun and excitement in her eyes as well.

One moment in particular that I will remember was when we swam out "really deep" as Ella would say and turned to look back at the shore. She held out her arm in a very grown-up sweeping motion and said, "The whole wide world." I don't know where she got that phrase, or what she meant by it, but it felt like an important moment to me. It felt like she was telling me, "Pay attention, Mom. This is a good moment. Be here with me right now and breathe it in." And I did. I let everything else go, and I relished the sun on my face, the water all around, and the little girl with her arms around my neck, and I was so glad to be seeing the "whole wide world" with her.

A special thanks also to Amy and Ali for making that trip happen, and for being so patient with my little one. She can't wait for her next "bacation."

Relaxicab- an ode to my husband

If you know me and you know my husband, then you know how different we are. He's a math guy. I'm a word girl. He is the most innately athletic guy I know; I throw like an injured turtle. He likes to listen to music in the car. I like to talk, and play games, and plan our future, and discuss dinner for the next week.

These differences can often result in conflict (we're different about how we fight, too. He's a yeller; I'm a crier) and having different personalities and different upbringings can often make co-parenting a challenge. However, it can also help create balance and harmony, especially when you are "blessed" with a difficult baby.

Before Ella, or BE if you will, I was not nervous about having a baby. The pregnancy was planned, the preparations were in place, and I was totally ready to be a mom. I'd been babysitting since I was 12, I was a nanny all through college, and I had dealt with the whole dirty diaper-vomit-tantrum-night -time-whatever that a baby had to offer. Mike, on the other hand, had never changed a diaper and gagged when he had to empty a litter box. Out of the two of us, I was definitely more confident that I was the more adept parent and assumed I'd have to spend most of my time showing him the ropes of this whole baby thing while rolling my eyes and sighing incredulously.

And then Miss Ella B showed up, all crying and not sleeping at night, and nursing non-stop, and I quickly turned into a weepy, foggy sack of potatoes who didn't know what to do with herself or her baby. I didn't want to go out because I knew she would cry the minute we put her in the car seat. I never put her down because I couldn't stand to hear her cry. I didn't want to supplement with formula because I couldn't accept that my body wasn't making enough milk.

Enter my husband who so wonderfully and so annoyingly knows how to just R...E...L...A...X. Because, you see, the biggest difference between my husband  and me is that I worry and he doesn't. He's the kind of person who will say, "Why worry about things you can't change?" as if I've made a choice to worry, as if I get up in the morning and  think, "Hmmm, what should I do today? Relax and be content with life, or stress out? Ya know what, I think I'll freak out today and feel terrible." This drives me crazy, of course, but I have to remember that he doesn't know what it's like to be an anxious person, so I can't really blame him, and as frustrating as his disposition can be, it's the main thing that got me through those first six months of motherhood.

Because as cheesy as it sounds, he is my rock. He is that solid thing that keeps me (somewhat) sane and reminds me to "Keep Calm and Carry On." He is the one who would look at my tired face and tell me to go to sleep while he rocked Ella. He was the one who made me take her places even though I was nervous she would cry the whole time. He was the one who convinced me that supplementing with formula was not the end of the world. He's the one who made me sleep train her and do all the other hard things that I never would have done on my own.

And he's the one who watched his wife fumble through the first year of motherhood without any semblance of grace and simply said, "relax," and gave me a hug. And to my surprise, that was exactly what I needed.