Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Considering egg donation? Keep it on the down low
Recently I had a blog comment from a lady who is just starting her journey with egg donation, and her post got me thinking back to that time. I realize it's strange for a woman who blogs on the public Web about egg donation, to tell others to keep quiet about it. But bear with me, and I'll explain why.
Using donor eggs is rarely -- never? -- a woman's first choice for how to have a family. Most of us come to egg donation after a long battle with infertility. We run a grueling course of monthly disappointment, failed cycles, and sometimes the heartbreak of miscarriage. And what do women tend to do about our problems, our struggles, our tragedies?
We talk about it. We talk about it a lot.
When I first learned at age 38 that I had diminished ovarian reserve, with a Clomid Challenge FSH of 40 (you all know what that means, right?), my doctor cut straight to the chase. He told us the odds were long on having a child with my eggs. He advised us to switch to a practice that could offer IVF with donor eggs. And he warned that if I pursued pregnancy with my eggs, I would have a high risk of miscarriage.
I was devastated. This diagnosis was truly like a death in the family. It was the death of the children I would never have, and I grieved my loss. Loudly, and to anyone who would listen.
All my friends and family knew what the doctor said and how I felt about it. Anytime my girlfriends and I got together, I talked about my infertility and asked what they all thought about egg donation. Business lunch, football party, it didn't matter -- I talked about my issues. And when I felt I needed even more self-expression, I started this blog. Talking, writing, and a lot of tears: That was how I worked through the grief of never being a genetic mother. Some people hold their pain close. I let mine run wild. For me, it was a coping mechanism. It was how I got through.
To the everlasting credit of my friends, they put up with me. (My husband and family get no credit, as they are contractually obligated to endure.) Two of my dearest friends even offered to be donors.
Fast forward to today. I have two beautiful little girls born of anonymous egg donation. Everybody in my family and group of friends treats my girls the same as all the other kids getting underfoot on holidays. But...they know. In the back of my mind, I can't forget that all of them know my girls' origins.
For me, it doesn't matter any longer what people think of my choice. My girls are perfect in my eyes. If I could wave a wand and make them my genetic children, they wouldn't be themselves. And the world without Madelyn and Lilly, exactly as they are? Not to be thought of.
The problem is, I am not sure how my girls will feel about their donor egg origins. We plan to tell them about egg donation, and it's very possible they would want that part of their history to be private to our family. But it's too late for that. I took that choice from them with all my blathering.
Also, you may decide while pregnant or after your baby is born, that you would rather not tell your child about his or her egg donation origins.
I have had a purely unscientific poll running on this blog for about three years (look at the top right part of your browser.) Of the 273 people who have voted on the question "Will You Tell Your Child About DE?", a full 25% have answered no. If you've told all and sundry that you are doing a DE cycle, you won't be able to change your mind later and keep the choice private. Not without telling some whoppers.
So my advice to you, if you are just considering donor egg: Play your cards close to the vest. Don't talk about it to everyone you know. Or if you do, speak only in general terms. There are ways to get the help and counsel you need without sacrificing your children's privacy:
1. Find a good support forum like Looking to Be a Mom Thru DE, and cut loose there. Take care to maintain anonymity when creating your online persona.
2. See if there's a counselor at your infertility clinic who would talk with you for an hour.
3. Make your partner be your confidant.
I'm not saying you shouldn't tell anyone about pursuing egg donation. Each person's needs and relationships are different, and there are plenty of future donor egg moms whose donor is a friend or family member.
Just keep in mind that once you've told, you can never "un-tell." If it makes sense for you, save that choice for your children.
posted by Bee @ 11:45 AM |
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Thursday, March 05, 2009
Left over embryos: What to do?
We have a basket in our kitchen. It's a pretty big basket. And it's usually overflowing, because it's where we throw unopened mail, receipts, magazines, preschool artwork, papers that come home from school in the kids' backpacks, even the odd library book (found it!).
We pay almost all our bills online, but there are a few that end up in the basket. So unless I've got time to empty the whole thing -- and believe me, blue moons come around more often than that -- I have to root through the pile a once a month looking for accounts that need to be paid the prehistoric way (with a check and a stamp).
One of those comes quarterly, from our infertility clinic. A fee for storage of our frozen embryos.
Before Lilly was born, I paid the fee four times a year without a thought. We were worried about trying again after Madelyn's spina bifida, but somewhere inside me, I knew I'd be doing a frozen embryo transfer cycle. At that time we had eight embryos remaining. Before the cycle that gave us Lilly, I remember considering, briefly, the idea of thawing all of them and transferring the two or three that looked best.
Why would I do that? Embryos are precious, requiring many thousands of dollars to create, and freighted with all our hopes and dreams of parenthood. The more logical course -- and the one we ended up following -- was to thaw four, transfer two or three, and leave four in reserve in case I did not become pregnant. But I did, and now we have our precious Lilly.
And we still have four embryos.
Lilly is a thriving one-year-old, and the embryo storage bill has appeared in the basket once again. It's time to make the decision I wanted to weasel out of by thawing all eight and letting the embryologist choose. Rather coldly, doctors call this "embryo disposition."
In a perfect world -- in which I win the lottery, quit my job, mother my girls full-time, and travel the globe in search of money-is-no-object treatments for Madelyn -- I would not have to face this choice. Or rather, its terms would be different. The decision would become the same as before Lilly: The recurrence risk for neural tube defect is 1-2 in 100 births, versus 1 in 2,000 for the general population. If we chose to roll the dice again, I could take enough folic acid to choke a cow, do another frozen cycle, and let the pee sticks fall where they may.
But in the world I have to live in, we cannot afford another child, especially if that child might have spina bifida. We are still in debt for our donor cycle, and our family's medical expenses are steep. I have no option but to work, yet if I had a third baby we couldn't afford the daycare that allows my income. And even if we could somehow solve that problem, if we had another spina bifida baby, the financial consequences would be crippling.
Some women who don't want to discard embryos would just take the chance of cycling, assuming it's unlikely they'd get pregnant anyway. After all, the success rate for frozen cycles is less than 50 percent. But if there's one thing I'm good at, in my whole sorry reproductive history, it's implanting embryos. (I have done five cycles and became pregnant four times.)
So for all these reasons, I cannot risk another cycle. Even though a deep and irrational part of me desperately wants to. And in complete honesty, I do not know where that urge comes from. It is just a mother's normal sadness when she realizes that she'll never have another baby? Or is it the embryos themselves that trouble me?
I'm not the only one facing this problem, according to a Mother Jones article titled Souls on Ice: America's Embryo Glut and the Wasted Promise of Stem Cell Research. As the article describes, people like me just keep writing the check, year after year, because we cannot decide what to do with embryos we have chosen not to transfer.
I know what you're thinking. You're wondering why I didn't consider the moral and emotional dilemma of excess embryos before I did the cycle that created them. And possibly you're wondering whether I did think about it, and just brushed it aside amid my overwhelming desire for a child.
What I can share is this: It's different now that I have Madelyn and Lilly, born of the embryos we made. Back when we were cycling, embryos were science--and the more we could make, the better our chances of becoming parents together. Now, my embryos are potential siblings to my daughters. No matter a woman's opinions on abortion, reproductive rights, and all the rest, she will think differently about embryos after she becomes a mother through IVF.
Incredibly, as reported at Science Daily and confirmed in a Los Angeles Times article on embryo legislation, some states are considering the idea of making abandoned embryos "wards of the state." Many people, it seems, consider embryos to be unborn children.
It follows that to those who hold that belief, discarding embryos is equivalent to abortion. This idea horrifies me. I have always opposed abortion, the more so since doctors offered me the chance to terminate Madelyn at 19 weeks (after seeing eyelashes on the ultrasound!).
People can and will argue "when does life begin?" until the fabled cows come home, and I won't bite on that one. But I do not believe that allowing a few-celled embryo to stop dividing is the same as detaching a growing fetus from a womb, given the fact that the fetus from very early days has a nervous system to feel the experience.
Is that just an easy answer for my situation, something they call "moral relativism?" Is it ethically indefensible? Maybe. But it's what I've arrived at after more than one sleepless night. I still wish things were different, and we could give those four embryos the chance I gave to Madelyn's and Lilly's embryos. But we can't.
So what are the options for couples with left over embryos? Miracles Waiting has a nice summary:
1. Leave frozen indefinitely
2. Thaw and discard
3. Transfer in a way that cannot produce pregnancy
4. Donate for scientific research
5. Seek embryo adoption
My husband is not comfortable with embryo adoption. And I feel it is disrespectful to thaw and discard our embryos, or donate them for research.
So we have chosen the third option, commonly called "compassionate transfer," in which the embryos are thawed and placed in my body at a time and using a method that cannot produce pregnancy.
It's a strange choice when you think about it. What does it matter whether the embryos stop growing in a dish in the laboratory, or inside my body?
My obstetrician, who is also a friend, put this in context for me: "More often than women will ever know, fertilized eggs 'roll on through' and do not implant. It's the way nature works." In fact, that's exactly what happened to the embryos that we transferred with Madelyn's and Lilly's embryos, that did not grow into children. By choosing compassionate transfer, I'll be putting our remaining embryos back where they would have been if naturally conceived, but not implanted.
And the mother in me, as I think about the children who are not but might have been, simply wants to hold them for that brief time. And say goodbye.
posted by Bee @ 9:31 PM |
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Friday, August 08, 2008
Lillian Hope
Hello, friends! If anyone still has me on their RSS feed. After so long away I return to my blog to post about Madelyn's little sister Lilly, who was born January 9, 2008.
Lilly is as beautiful as the day is long, with round blue eyes and such a ready smile, unless I take her to the portrait studio, of course. This week she learned how to yell really loud, and to blow raspberries with her oatmeal.
She is Madelyn's full sister, born of the love of her parents and a frozen embryo transfer -- and she doesn't have spina bifida. We agonized over whether to try for Lilly, but in the end we decided that having another child was worth the risk, and we were blessed. (Not to mention, flat-out lucky, though the odds were in our favor.) We won't tempt fate again, but I'm peaceful with it. I feel our family is complete. Lilly sleeps through the night now, and Maddy's doing just great -- she hasn't had surgery in over a year, and she walks and dances and has all sorts of opinions about how her world should be. Just ask her.
Even though we all know that siblings don't always look alike, I was somehow expecting Lilly to be Little Maddy II, but it just ain't so. Maddy has gorgeous chocolate brown eyes and doe-brown hair, while Lilly has deep blue ones and looks to be sporting strawberry blonde when she gets more than fuzz. I look at the two of them and I'm just in awe. I never knew I could love so much.
More soon -- I've got a plan or two for this blog, something better than letting it lie fallow. After all, it celebrates the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me: Maddy and Lilly.
posted by Bee @ 10:31 PM |
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Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Power to the people
I've never been much of an activist. I tend toward the conservative in most of my views, with a few bizarre left-wing outbreaks. I do vote regularly, but otherwise my political action runs to watching the evening news and bitching about my state's illegal funding of public schools. If that counts. Recently, however, I did something that made me think about the power of the individual. Specifically, me.
A little background. Frequently -- I should rather say, daily -- I am on the Internet researching something to do with Maddy's spina bifida. It's a two-edged sword, as I wrote about in my last post: Often I find information I wasn't looking to find, that causes pain or worry. (For anyone who's wondering, I've confirmed with a geneticist that obese women are twice as likely as normal-weight women to have children with spina bifida. I'm dealing with it, in my two-steps-forward, one-step-back way.)
When I do my research, I usually start with the Google search engine. I will cop to the charge of being a compulsive googler. And I noticed that whenever I typed "spina bifida" as my search criterion, the same advertisement would display in the top right part of my screen. Something like, "Your baby's spina bifida could have been prevented by using folic acid." To add insult to injury, sometimes this ad would display on my own blog.
Once a person has learned to read, she can't help but take in something that hits her eyes. You'd think I and all other readers would become numb to the onslaught of words. But I noticed that advertisement every time I saw it. And every time, I felt a sickening twist of pain.
Nobody knows the true cause of spina bifida, and it's proven that even women who supplement with folic acid (as I did) can have spina bifida babies. To an admittedly thin-skinned new mother, it's offensive to state categorically that folic acid could have prevented what happened to Madelyn. The dark subtext is one of blame: "Attention please, Mommie Dearest. If you'd taken enough folic acid, your baby wouldn't have spina bifida. Click here now." That advertisement was salt in the festering wound of my guilt.
For months I ignored the ad as it jabbed my eyes over and over, like a paparazzi flash bulb. I told myself it was really no skin off my nose because I did take my prenatals and there was nothing I could do about either the ad or Madelyn having spina bifida. But one day, without really knowing I was going to do it, I found myself clicking on the ad, the way you'll scratch a mosquito bite even though you know you're going to draw blood.
The destination was www.spinabifidalaw.com, which purports to be the Spina Bifida Advocacy Network. Sounds very philanthropic, no? But a few more clicks revealed that this was the web site of a law firm inviting spina bifida parents to sue their doctors for not telling them the benefits of folic acid ("Do I Have a Case? FIND OUT NOW!").
Yeah, I know. You see it on TV all the time: Class-action lawsuits, negligence cases, and the like. Let's all sue for something, right? But this was personal. I was outraged. They were causing pain for spina bifida parents -- at least, for one of us -- with their insensitive advertisement, even as they sought to make money off us.
Full of righteous wrath, I did three things. I emailed my sister-in-law...well, I should say I ranted at my sister-in-law...who will soon be a lawyer herself, wondering if, indeed, I had a case against these lawyers, for adding even one jot to my anguish over Madelyn. I also emailed the lawyers themselves, telling them exactly why their advertisement was false and insensitive. And I wrote to Google about the ad.
And then, having irrevocably hit "Send" on these three emails, I commenced feeling foolish. Temper tantrums will tend to turn on you, and bite you on the ass. Why had I let a little advertisement bother me so much? For the next few days I dreaded opening my email, wondering if I'd get flamed but hoping I'd be ignored. (Cindy Sheehan, I ain't.)
My sister-in-law kindly wrote back to tell me that to sue for damages you have to have damages, and not just of the intangible kind. She said I should consider writing to the bar association in the state where these lawyers practice. I was already feeling so shamefaced about my tantrum that I let that slide. Neither the lawyers nor Google ever responded.
But lo! A few days later, back to my Googling ways, I found there'd been a change to the ad in the top right corner of a "spina bifida" search:
Spina Bifida
Could Your Baby's Spina Bifida Have
Been Prevented By Using Folic Acid?
www.spinabifidalaw.com
Holy Eats, Shoots & Leaves, Batman! One little word, moved from one end of the sentence to another, plus a question mark. And it makes all the difference.
Did the law firm or Google change the advertisement because of my email? I'll never know for sure. But now, when I see that ad (and it still pops up regularly), I no longer feel pain. I feel a little glow of pride, and a tiny seed of confidence that I can take care of Madelyn and myself. Whether it's taking on a school board to get Maddy services, arguing with doctors who know loads about children with spina bifida but zip about my baby, or just firing off a few snippy emails, I'm beginning to think I really can do this special-needs parenting thing.
For today, anyway.
posted by Bee @ 8:05 PM |
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Friday, June 02, 2006
I want to be overweight!
Now, how many people can say that?
Apparently, about sixty million Americans share my goal, because we are obese. Being merely "overweight" would be an improvement in my condition.
"Obese" is such an ugly word to me. I think it's because it rhymes with grease. Have you ever seen one of those infomercials for the next best thing in weight loss, where the evangelical and oh-so-thin host holds up a jar containing a pound of chicken fat? Or then there's the fact that my total weight loss goal of 53 pounds means I need to lose an eight-year-old child off my body. Imagine that childbirth! I think I'd endure it though, in preference to a year of hovering starvation. There's a reason why the word "diet" contains the word "die."
I did not know I counted as "obese" until I tried a body mass calculator, which assigned me a BMI of 30 and gave me the dread news. Luckily, if I lose just 5 more pounds, I will drop into the "Overweight" category.
My body and I have always been at war. I became a plump child when my parents divorced: When you look at a series of school pictures, you can see the exact year when I blimped up. And because of the cruelty of children, my avoirdupois branded me an outcast in gradeschool, the classic last-pick-for-kickball. At thirteen I decided that weight loss was my ticket to social acceptability. This plan did not work out as I'd hoped, but I did acquire anorexia nervosa. I survived, but became bulimic, and that condition lasted well into my twenties. After that I became a serial Weight Watchers member, cycling through the same fifty pounds. I was thin when I got married, but infertility and its associated stress eating put me at the high end when I conceived Madelyn.
To my horror, last week while searching for some information for Maddy, I found links like this one that make me fear my obesity and gestational diabetes are the cause of Madelyn's spina bifida. I have not cried so hard since long before her birth, and I'm heartbroken that I didn't know of this link before trying my donor cycle. It is new research.
My obstetrician and I had talked about the health risks of being overweight during pregnancy (I did not realize that I was "obese" even then) and I worked hard to keep my weight gain low. I had a net gain of only 12 pounds or so during pregnancy and after I delivered, I was 10 pounds below my pre-pregnancy weight. Yet I developed gestational diabetes anyway. And now I find that my gluttony and lack of discipline may have harmed my child.
There are lots of women far heavier than me delivering healthy babies. I am short; on a taller woman, my extra pounds would not qualify as obesity. I can still (barely) shop in regular stores for clothes. And yet the more I learn about the risk factors for spina bifida, the more I realize that I unwittingly brought many of them with me into my pregnancy. Besides obesity, there is drinking tea, which I did -- one cup a day, with the permission of my doctor. That one has been challenged, but there is new work going on to indicate that compounds in tea might interfere with the metabolism of folic acid. There is even the fact that I am of Irish extraction: "Our epidemiologists, in studies in Ireland where the prevalence of spina bifida is particularly high, have identified a specific gene defect that predisposes women to bear children with spina bifida, especiallly if their diets are low in folate."
And then there is the torturous fact that I can't know for sure whether I took my prenantal vitamin every day. For anyone still reading this blog who wants to do a donor cycle, I highly advise that you make a little "X" on your calendar every time you take your vitamin. That way, if spina bifida should befall your child, you will not have the folic acid question to reproach yourself with.
All of this has made me so sorrowful for Madelyn. She is the sweetest, happiest little being who has no idea as yet of what's ahead of her, and now when I look at her, sometimes my eyes fill with tears and I have only these words: "I'm so sorry, my dear one." I do not yet know how I will live my way through this intense guilt. I have made tentative inquiries of the few spina bifida moms that I know, but no one seems to be suffering as much as I am -- or, they don't want to share it. Every doctor, every friend and family member, and certainly my husband, have been telling me: "It's not your fault." But I know in my heart that I did not do my best for Madelyn. I'll never really know what caused her condition, but I suspect it is simple: Me.
Feeling this, the most attractive option available is to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me. I don't deserve to be Madelyn's mother. And yet, such as I am, I am what she's been given. I have to do my best for her now, even if I failed in pregnancy. I must lose this hated weight, once and for all. I owe it to Madelyn, both as expiation and more importantly, for her health. Obesity is a particular risk for spina bifida children because mobility and thus exercise are difficult for them, and it's well known that obese parents have obese children. How can I ask Maddy to control her weight when I'm a living example of someone who does not?
And I want to lose it quickly, or at least more quickly than the plodding one to one-and-a-half pounds a week that I used to lose on Weight Watchers. My babysitter has had much success with a low-carb diet, but I am frustrated with it. After the initial drop most people get from a new diet, I crept down 8 pounds and have stuck there. The diet is hard for me to follow because if I could, I'd eat only carbohydrates; I was ovolacto-vegetarian for years. The only thing I like better about this diet that Weight Watchers is that I'm hardly ever hungry.
This week I'm going to try to drink a lot more water and start some mild exercise, and see if that will "goose" my system into losing weight. Madelyn is a far better motivation than a new wardrobe or the compliments one gets for being thin. I want to do this for her. And for myself.
But mostly for her.
posted by Bee @ 9:43 AM |
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Friday, May 26, 2006
On being a working mother
Ah, the Mommy Wars. They rage unabated in my little patch of suburbia, let me tell you. I went to a friend's card party last year and someone asked sweetly, "And you're still working?" This, I hasten to clarify, was before Madelyn was even conceived. I instantly felt like a second-class wife because I had not quit my job the instant I spoke my vows, in order to create and manage a picture-perfect home for Ward. Er, for my husband. I wonder what they'll say when I show up at the next soiree with an infant, and still admit to the crime of full-time employment. Probably: "Child abuser!"
Not that I care. To me, the Mommy Wars are a social annoyance: I don't like putting up with condescending folk who make thinly veiled slurs at those who work or those who don't. I don't like feeling like I have to justify my life choices to anyone. But, nosy Parkers aside, the real issue is whether I believe I'm doing the best I can for my child, and what exactly "my best" means.
I'm not one of those who works for self-worth or identity, nor do I feel that changing diapers and wiping spit-up is a waste of my talent. I see nothing wrong with feeling that way, and making choices along those lines, if your career is part of who you are -- but that's not me. Even though I enjoy what I do and am reasonably skilled at it, my job is something I do to fund the rest of my life. I suspect this is why I had such a desperately hard time accepting donor egg as my path to motherhood. I saw my genetic children as my legacy in this world, and never imagined making my mark professionally or artistically.
Back in the day, my husband and I had talked about me staying home for a few years while "the kids" -- ha! -- were small, since we blithely assumed we'd have no trouble adding two or even three to our family. But then, in this game of pick-up sticks that I call my life, the straws fell awry. Anybody who says, "You could afford to stay at home with Madelyn if you were willing to make sacrifices" has not experienced two years of unemployment for one spouse concurrent with infertility for the other. At the same time our expenses were skyrocketing, our income was halved.
So what did we do? It's the American Way: We borrowed. We have a huge infertility loan, not to mention a special-needs child's medical bills and other assorted obligations. When I catch a whiff of scorn -- or worse, pity -- from someone who learns I have a spina bifida baby and yet have kept my job, I want to snap, "I'm not buying lattes and having pedicures with my paycheck, sister!"
I tell myself that digging out from under this avalanche of debt is part of being Madelyn's mother; I'm helping to take care of her, and of our family, financially. But I'll admit to feeling like a fraud as I write. Madelyn doesn't know that diapers are twenty-four cents each at Wal-Mart or that it's past time to start her college fund. She only knows that she wants her Mommy. And God, I want her too; every precious minute I can get with her.
Could we survive and inch our way to solvency on one income? Maybe. Probably. About twenty years after it came time to retire, and on a shoestring, house-of-cards basis. Last week at spina bifida parents' group, I learned that the special shoes these kids need as toddlers can cost up to a thousand dollars a pair. Both kids would be on their own for college. And I have real fears about the toll it might take on our marriage. We already have stepfamily issues and special-needs parenting issues; what would it be like if we shouldered again the financial strain we just emerged from?
I think being unemployed left scars on my husband. A guy puts in ten years or so on the job and he tends to take that paycheck for granted: If I get in the car every day and drive there, they'll continue to fund my life. Then one day his company says good to know ya, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, and suddenly his family's survival is in doubt. How many of us really have six months' worth of expenses in the bank, like Suze Orman insists we must? Involuntary unemployment shakes a person (and a marriage) down to the core; it leaves you with a profound, Depression-era sense of insecurity, especially if you have children to support and a heavy load of medical bills. It was a wretched, dangerous time for us.
And right now I have the sweetest of all deals. Four days a week, my commute is twenty seconds up the stairs, because I am privileged to work from home. I have a full-time babysitter who has learned to catheterize and who does a great job with Madelyn's "play" therapy. Her memory of when it's time for Zantac is better than mine, and I can run downstairs almost anytime I want for a hug and kiss, or if there's a problem. I only go in to the office one day a week, and -- guilty little secret here -- I like it. I know Madelyn is well cared for, and I get to dress in something besides baggy sweats, make lunch dates, and talk grown-up talk, one day a week. I am deeply grateful to have this option; there are many mothers out there for whom the Mommy Wars are as far removed as the Civil War...they have to leave their kids with someone every day and go to work. Period. The choice itself, to work or not to work, is a luxury too many women overlook.
So, much as I would love to chuck my job and hire myself as Madelyn's babysitter, right at this moment my gut tells me that would be a selfish choice. My child is happy and safe, and her needs are met. I am not "missing" anything. I admit to a twist of unhappiness at yesterday's physical therapy appointment, when it seemed like my babysitter's smiles were more attractive to Madelyn than mine. But if I quit now, I'd be doing it more to serve my own needs than Madelyn's, not to mention putting a crushing load on my husband and placing our future in jeopardy.
The future may bring different choices, as Madelyn's needs change. I'm toying with the idea of going part-time so I'd have one day a week to do her various appointments without stressing the lost work time, and still bringing home most of my current salary. We'll see what happens.
Happy holiday weekend, everyone. Weight loss report: 8 lbs down, and stuck! Got to get some exercise.
posted by Bee @ 11:52 AM |
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