great title, great article

18 Jan

Screen Shot 2015-01-18 at 2.19.26 AM

I finally had a chance to read this smart, snappy, and heart-warming article on the Megabus to D.C. this week.  The piece was written by Ryan Park, the husband of a fellow Goucher post-bacc and friend.  One of the highlights of the holidays was getting our girls together–although they still kind of suck at sharing, it’s pretty sweet to watch toddler girls attempt at play together–and commiserating about the joys and challenges of balancing parenting with our careers.

In reading the comments, it’s frustrating how many people seem to miss the point.  There’s a lot of criticism regarding Park’s background and how his opportunity to stay home is rather exceptional.  But he doesn’t shy away from this fact and, of his many arguments, I don’t think he states that men should be stay-at-home dads.  Instead, he articulately defends Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s statement, “gender lines in the law are bad for everyone: bad for women, bad for men, and bad for children,” using legal history, comparisons with the legislation of other countries, and personal anecdotes.

There are so many excerpts that resonate with me, I had a hard time not copying and pasting the entire article (maybe I should have).  But to select out a few…

I could not agree more with the decision to take a year out:

My wife, without really even considering doing otherwise, had already taken almost a year off from medical school after Caitlyn was born, partly to support me during a challenging clerkship, and partly because she believed it would be good for Caitlyn’s development. But mostly it was for my wife herself. She valued motherhood and wanted to experience it fully, for as long as she could without jeopardizing her professional goals.

Yes.  Full body nod:

At the close of my 20s, it struck me that any success I had managed to achieve would not have been possible without a certain single-minded devotion to my studies and work—to the exclusion, at times, of healthy habits and relationships. A few weeks shy of my 30th birthday, when I met Caitlyn for the first time, single-mindedness dissolved as a viable life plan for my 30s. Amid the sleep-deprived excitement, frustrations, and frenetic activity of those first months as a father, my new reality sank in: For the foreseeable future, balancing my family with my career would be the defining challenge of my life.

Fascinating:

The fatherhood bonus also dissipates when men become more involved at home. Drawing from data tracking the lives and careers of more than 12,000 people over 28 years, Scott Coltrane of the University of Oregon found that both men and women pay persistent and severe financial penalties when they step back from their careers. In fact, men seem to fare slightly worse. Men who take time away from work for family reasons experience a 26.4 percent reduction in future earnings, whereas women experience a 23.2 percent reduction. And men who decrease their work hours for family reasons suffer a 15.5 percent decline, while women’s salaries decline by just 9.8 percent. In other words, having a family helps men in the workplace only if they submit to their traditional gender role.

What the data show, I think, is that “having it all”—even at different times, as the Boss suggested she was able to do—may well be impossible for most people. For every Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, who famously suffered no ill career effects from taking a five-year break from her career to raise her children, there are many more women and men who’ve found their professional trajectories forever circumscribed by similar life choices. But it’s just as true that every person who learns of his child’s first word the way I did—via text message during a late night at the office—has sacrificed immensely at the altar of professional success and financial necessity.

Encouraging:

Sweden’s cultural expectations mirror its laws. T.’s wife knows a Swedish cardiologist who returned to work after his requisite 60 days at home. Despite his joy at becoming a father, the drudgery of life with a newborn didn’t sit well with him. His wife, a doctor at the same institution, agreed to stay home for the rest of the couple’s allotted time. But on his return to work, the hospital’s leaders pulled him aside and delivered a stern lecture on the poor example he was setting. He was soon back to changing diapers and warming bottles, and the couple redistributed their leave more evenly.

Not surprisingly, a wide body of research shows that children who have engaged, supportive fathers are better socialized, have stronger cognitive and language skills, and are more emotionally balanced. A 2007 study by the Swedish National Institute of Public Health also found that taking parental leave was good for men themselves over the long run: Those who did it lived longer than those who didn’t, perhaps because it caused them to moderate traditionally masculine, self-destructive behaviors. And it has been shown that mothers’ incomes rise about 7 percent for each month that a father spends at home with the children.

On the other hand, when men don’t have the opportunity to take parental leave, women’s incomes suffer. As economists Francine Blau and Lawrence Kahn have found, the cost and disruption associated with generous maternity leave “may lead employers to engage in statistical discrimination against women for jobs leading to higher-level positions.” In other words, why invest in a woman’s career if you fear, reasonably, that she might leave for a year at 80 percent pay when a similarly qualified man doesn’t have that option? There is also some indication that unequal leave harms the family unit as a whole. Divorce and separation rates, which were rising in most parts of the world, fell in Sweden after the initial institution of a “daddy month” in 1995 (it was extended to the two months in 2002).

 

back!

8 Jan

Whoa!  The wind on the East Coast has been ridiculous!  I don’t think I’m a bad flyer, but the landings of both flights were a little anxiety-provoking.

Safe home now.  About to go get the suit cleaned for my LAST interview–the pants are a bit stained from snow and street salt.

I felt like I wanted to bring a little something back for the girls…but of course it didn’t occur to me until I was in the airport on the way home, and my days in Massachusetts were busy with interviewing and meeting babies (those of some of my favorite friends in Beantown).  I picked up a paperback copy of Make Way for Ducklings for Ari.  I felt so torn about something for Evie.  If I get something for one, I should get something for the other, but I feared John’s wrath if I spent $10 on a board book of Goodnight, Boston.

Then I remembered the 20 minutes I just spent in the family restroom at Boston Logan, and all the other times I pumped in public over the last two-and-a-half days:

IMG_7604 IMG_7608

I know my audience.

first (solo) flight

5 Jan

A little over a year ago, when Ari was one year old and a bit of a terror on airplanes, John left us for several days for a conference.  He sat in the middle seat between two morbidly obese men, one of whom smelled like tobacco.  All he could think was, This is the most relaxing flight I’ve ever been on.  I’ve been seething with jealousy since.

Well, after the recent somewhat disastrous trip, John figured he owed me.  Today I kissed my girls and John goodbye for the next two-and-a-half days (that seems like an obscenely long period of time), drank a martini in terminal E, and boarded a plane.  By myself.  I almost sprung forward when they called for passengers with infants and small children.  I fell asleep listening to Serial and woke up at Boston Logan.

I’m catching up on a few emails at a coffee shop in the airport, and a toddler is tantruming behind me, and the noise somehow seems so much quieter than anything my kids produce.  I feel a little guilty leaving John alone with the kids just shy of a week after his bilateral hernia repair…but maybe it’s comparable to when John ditched me and Ari for Alaska when I was sick at 7+ months pregnant?  And I have to get a job for next year; I have double-header interviews, so while there will be some sweet moments to relax, I’m taking the next two days seriously.

I’m still catching up on sleep from the holidays…which I think can be summarized by this picture…

10872801_10101572418038447_7640261981081151206_o

Ari: up way, way past bedtime, so ready to ring in the New Year.  I was initially wearing something cuter, but it got covered in urine.  In the middle of the night, Ari pretended she was eating my limbs, and wedged her cute, ridiculously strong little feet into my ribcage, and commanded, “Mommy play!!!”  And yet she was still able to chase me around the following day:

14322_10101573594575657_8449154140834618680_n

So many thanks (sincerely!) to these crazy kids for putting up with our antics and teaching Evie to crawl (*sigh* potted plant phase officially over; homegirl can move!!).  I would have otherwise, surely, had a very unmemorable, lonely new years:

10838093_10101573592020777_258326051501008129_o 10873584_10101572390309017_7304214467350004512_o

remembering

24 Dec

John’s working the overnight.  We are in Virginia with family, and he jetted up to Delaware for the shift tonight, then he’ll return in the morning and sleep most of the day.

I tore the kids away from a Christmas Eve dinner at my dad’s new (beautiful) home after they were starting to unravel.  Ari, who revels in choices (one zippy [a.k.a. jacket zipper] or two; shoes or hat on first), decided that she wanted her pants off first and, though she was excited about the prospect of them, finally opted against her footie pajamas, and so went off to the car in nothing more than a shirt and diaper.  We read The Polar Express and Brave Irene, sang our song, and got tucked with two blankets (always, always two).  Evie literally passed out the second the ignition turned on, though the transfer to crib was not as smooth.  I ate an apple with pecorino while watching Remember the Titans and scanning facebook.

There have been many moments recently I wish my kids could remember, though of course they won’t.  But I’m glad they won’t remember our absences for these holidays.  50/50 chance I’ll be working Christmas next year.  In the coming years I see us learning how to cultivate an attitude that celebrating on a given day isn’t critical.  And also hoping John and I can rack up as many Christmas/Thanksgiving/July 4th/etc. shifts sooner while their memories are still short.

Recently…

At Mount Vernon:

IMG_7490 IMG_7498 IMG_7501

Just, oh, wherever:

IMG_7218 IMG_7220 IMG_7224

The National Museum of the American Indian:IMG_7466 IMG_7474

Longwood:

IMG_7163

Merry Christmas!!

some holiday cheer on the darkest day

21 Dec

IMG_7202IMG_7374IMG_7376

I have never felt so much anticipation leading up to the winter solstice.  The days are getting longer!  Something about having small children, kind of brings out the seasonal affective disorder in everyone, no?  I broke down and bought a light lamp.

10687530_10101832785984006_9191530482160925422_o

Can’t say I’ve been as swept up into the holidays this year, but in keeping with tradition, we got our year’s ornament and a special one for our newest family member.  Everyday Graces was kind enough to make Evie a suitable stocking; we chose the fox because, despite her docile nature, she reminds me of one in the way she curls up and sinks her claws into my neck (lovingly) when I first pick her up.

IMG_7309 IMG_7332

Cookies and blow-outs (in explanation for the nearly naked babes in the bleak midwinter, or late autumn) with some of our favorites.

IMG_7351

Holiday postcard crafted by minted.

Wishing you and yours a happy Hanukkah, a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!

croup

20 Dec

Once you hear the seal-like barking cough of croup, you never forget it.  As a sub-I on the wards last February, I heard my share.  It sounds terrifying, like the entire airway is obstructed.  But then you look at the patient’s oxygen saturation, and it’s close to 100% most of the time–bizarre!

I was really surprised when, hours after Ari went to bed, John listened intently from downstairs, and concluded that she might have croup.  I had heard her cough maybe a few times during the day, but I brushed it off as par for the course given that it’s nearly winter and both kids have been massive producers of snot for the last month or so.  As I listened from the stairway, I heard a tightness as she tried to clear her throat.  Oh, we were in for it.  26 months of skating away from most childhood illnesses, we were more than due.

Things got worse the next day in that Ari’s cough picked up intensity and frequency.  She was more fussy, but I couldn’t appreciate any more concerning signs, like an inspiratory stridor (a high-pitched breath sound from turbulent air flow in the larynx) at rest, increased work of breathing, increased breath frequency…and she just didn’t look sick.  But kids tend to benefit from a single dose of corticosteroids (oral or IV) regardless of severity, so we thought we better get on it.

At our local pharmacy, the pharmacist handed me a medium-sized bottle of what looked like cough syrup and I thought to myself, Great.  What am I going to do with the left over medication since she only needs one dose?  And then I looked at the instructions: Take 80 mL once by mouth.

Seriously?  Uh, that’s nearly 3 ounces…like, about the amount of any fluid Ari might consume (when she’s really thirsty) over the course of dinner.  I looked at the pharmacist, who cringed and nodded sympathetically, then added, “I’ve been told that dexamethasone is one of the better tasting oral steroids.”  UpToDate, on the other hand, states, “The oral preparation of dexamethasone has a foul taste,” to which my eldest and I can now personally attest.

Oh, it was awful!  John and I (mostly John) gave Ari two 5 mL syringes of the syrup at a time, with five or so minutes in between for an Elmo (“Elmo Calls” iPhone app = sanity saver) or “special snack” break.  After about 30 mL, Ari was begging, “ALL DONE! ALL DONE!”  After 40, she was shoving her blankie so far into her mouth so as to try to block any possible point of entry.

Two minutes after the last cc, Ari looked like this:

IMG_7369 IMG_7370

Singing along to this video:

So hopefully no lasting trauma.  And “forts” and “boats” (they don’t have to be fancy, see below) go a long way for mood improvement.

IMG_7366

I wish I could say things were all sunshine and rainbows since then.  After a decent night’s sleep, we had a very mercurial Thursday, which included a trek 3.5 hours away with dependents sans husband for a residency interview.  My best friend generously offered to babysit the kids during my efforts to gain employment, so we stayed with him overnight with the hope being that I could just dip out while Ari and Evie were still sleeping.

After nursing Evie down, I proceeded to rock my clinging eldest for well over an hour before she finally submitted.  Ari was just sick enough to be uncomfortable but not so sick that she actually wanted to sleep…ever.  But after she was truly, truly, asleep, tucked in on her cot with her various animals and books, with pillows surrounding her fort/cot, I really thought the worst was over.  I ate dinner.  I prepared for my interview.  I went to bed.

And then I woke up to her screaming one hour later.  This cycle continued throughout the night.  During a brief moment of peace, I got a shower in and pretended that I was already a resident, sleep deprived from a particularly grueling call schedule, then put my suit on just in time for Evie to squawk and consequently wake her sister.

Parents of my future patients, believe me when I say that I empathize…and this is only plain, generic, run-of-the-mill croup!  I can’t imagine the state I’d be in if my kids ever needed a hospital admission.

This is me pulling it together for my interview (new glasses, I can see!  Thank you, hubs!  They might look bigger in selfies…):

IMG_7387 IMG_7388

I met the other applicants in the hospital lobby.  Nice people…one hesitantly approached me, pointing to my right shoulder, “I think you might have snot or spit-up (or maybe both?) on your suit.”  Luckily, the Medela Quick Clean Breast Pump Wipes stashed in my pumping tote get out just about anything.

The day was lovely, and we reunited with John late last night.  Now we’re looking forward to settling into the holiday (oh, I almost wrote “hospital”) spirit.

 

 

 

lord help the mister…

15 Dec

I’ve been watching White Christmas a little…always found it really boring as a kid, but now I’m kind of hoping our daughters continue to develop into a Rosemary Clooney/Vera-Ellen-like duo.  They’re already thick as thieves!

IMG_7285 IMG_7292 IMG_7300

I just walked in the door after being gone for the last 36 hours on the interview trail.  Slipping into the crisp, bright sheets of my hotel bed, all to myself, was nothing short of heavenly.  But, after doing a bit of last minute interview prep (more to calm my nerves than anything else), I couldn’t help falling asleep to this video John sent me on repeat:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9HkvvLu1iE&feature=youtu.be

Just a brief, perhaps obvious, note from interviews: if there are malignant pediatric residency programs out there, I am thankful that I have not encountered them (to my knowledge).  I’m happy to be going into a field where kindness is valued.

recently…

10 Dec

IMG_7067I know I’ve only been here sporadically.  As I’m home with the girls, and additional childcare has been babysitters when I go for residency interviews and for about 10 hours weekly to work (submitting/resubmitting a paper, writing half a dozen others, facilitate a Doctoring course for first years), I’ve struggled more with this balance than others…I think mostly because there’s nothing “acute” (like the work of a clerkship) that must be completed immediately.

But there is also an underlying tension I’m trying so hard to overcome–that caused by wanting so much to move forward while simultaneously grasping at each day, begging that they stop disappearing so quickly.  I’m overwhelmingly excited for graduation and *hopefully* the start of residency (assuming I’m offered a position somewhere).  I want to get started.  But then I also feel this sinking ache of all the moments I’ll miss with my daughters.  Thank God they’re young, and their memories are short (not that those are excuses for the hours and days of their youth I’ll miss in residency).  And they are so loved, I have no concern that they will feel secure.

In college I remember being unable to not finish a book.  Now I can’t remember the last time I finished a book.  There are about 8-12 books on my nightstand with old receipts or postcards marking my place 30-70% the way through each.  I come back to books of comfort, one of which, comically, has become Home Game: An Accidental Guide to Fatherhood by Michael Lewis.  There’s a sweet scene that I keep thinking about when I start to feel my anxiety build:

Lewis takes Quinn, his three-year-old daughter, for a night camping in Fairyland.  The family is going through a not-so-easy transition after the recent birth of Dixie, and Quinn has been resentful (in the car on the way to school, for example, she glares at her father with”mad intensity” and says curtly, “My daddy is dead”).  This camping trip is meant as a night out, just daddy and daughter.  The tent is old and decrepit and not water resistant.  There are aggressive donkeys that Quinn thinks are llamas, and she barrels towards them.  The staff serves a banquet of quintessential toddler favorites, including hot dogs and cupcakes.  Multiple late-night activities and readings of Harold and the Purple Crayon.  Multiple wake-ups for emergencies like failure to properly spray the child down with bug spray, “I want your sleeping bag,” and finally “An owl is in the tent!”  And then…

4:12.  “Daddy.”  I wake up.  This time she’s awake, alarmingly alert and rested.  I am not.  “What?” I ask.  “Daddy, I just want to say how much fun I had with you today,” she says.  Actual tears well up in my eyes.  “I had fun with you, too,” I say.  “Can we go back to sleep?”  “Yes, Daddy.”  Then she snuggles right up against me for what I assume will be the long haul.

5:00.  The f—ing birds are actually chirping.  Quinn, of course, awakens with them, turns to me, and begins to sing.

Ugh!  Puddle of heart on the floor!  Trite, perhaps…it helps to read it in the context of Lewis’s biting humor.  It just screams John and Ari, and I’d imagine many of the relationships between father and first born daughter.  And it just reminds me that our daughters will be okay.

1014Jesus198

 

the amazing race

9 Dec

10805762_10101980055948914_6376120149055992413_n

Tell me if you think this is a good idea: A team of four mamas with a couple hundred other crossfitters, gathered together on a Saturday morning to celebrate the season.  Racing around the suburbs of Philadelphia (amidst determined holiday shoppers who, occasionally, consider stop signs mere suggestions) in the sleet and rain with shopping carts, kettlebells, free weights, and jump ropes.  Consuming some holiday beverage and food (such as smoked yule logs–I kid you not–the memory itself makes me nauseated) of choice, answering trivia questions, in addition to completing a benchmark WOD at each of the nine stations.

10858594_813569702033074_7382478662099428830_n

We didn’t think so either.  My soaking shoes felt like there were going to freeze onto my feet.  I continued to taste the (for lack of a better word) tangy flavor of the non-alcoholic mulled wine at station 7 in the back of my throat for hours.  And, carrying the kettlebell back to our parked cart at station 4, I truly thought I would lose the mixture of eggnog, peppermint schnapps, and wassail sloshing up to the fundus of my stomach.

Probably the best babysitting money I’ve ever spent.  (John working the overnight previously was not a deterrent.)  So worth being a part of camaraderie and revelry of team “Jesus and her disciples” (apologies for any offense; we rarely take advantage of my last name).  And it turns out there is a correlation between experience pushing a stroller and ability to maneuver a shopping cart around sidewalks in the rain.

10858356_813568055366572_7977951753142145408_n

I didn’t feel right posting pictures focusing on other individuals, but perhaps this group shot captures a glimpse of the creativity of costume and shopping cart decoration (not pictured).  I felt a little embarrassed not putting much effort into preparation, but (as you might notice) I rediscovered my beloved troll doll Santa earrings from second grade.

Loved every minute.

thanksgiving 2014

28 Nov

FullSizeRender IMG_7115 IMG_7118

Such a tender mother-daughter Thanksgiving Day moment, “cooking” side by side…mere seconds before Ari abruptly recoiled and screamed, “HOT!!!!!”  Rookie mom mistake: fake cooking too close to a very real (and in action) slow cooker.  As my punishment, Ari quickly squirmed out of my arms, sobbing “DADDYYYYYYYY!” then ran into John’s arms.

Ari recovered quickly.  Things got worse for me.  I pouted to John that she so prefers him to me.  He just shrugged and said, “Yeah, I don’t know why that is.”  Dude, come on!

It occurred to me that Anna In Med School has had some eventful Thanksgivings…

2010 in Sienna

2011, saying goodbye to my childhood home

2012 and the butterball hotline

2013 in Minnesota (coinciding with such a relief!)

It felt good to spend Thanksgiving in our home.  Our friends Jon and Jamie (and their sweet one-month-old daughter!) joined us for a low-key celebration.  I told John last week that I didn’t have it in me to make a turkey, so I made this roast chicken using the slow cooker and experimented with spaghetti squash fritters and a few other paleo-ish recipes from Well Fed and Against All Grain

Thanksgiving selfie attempts:

IMG_7124 IMG_7128 IMG_7132 IMG_7135

In the spirit of the holiday, Ari’s idea of sharing (a.k.a. Give Evie all the things!!!  Snack cup, fake food, old junk mail, etc.)…

photo (1) photo

Happy Thanksgiving to you and your loved ones!!  xo