A Review for Shoeme.ca. And pretty much the most baring my soul post I've ever written.

Have you noticed it's been several weeks since I've posted a blog? There's a reason for that. I couldn't write another post until I wrote this post. And there's been a pretty huge disconnect between getting this post out of my heart and onto the screen. Because when I signed up to write this post I was feeling all brave and kick-ass. But being brave and kick-ass is sometimes fleeting. And one should learn not to sign-up for things in those moments. Or maybe one should. I guess it depends on your perspective.

Anyway. What the heck am I talking about? I'm talking about these pretty awesome  Merrell Women's Pace Glove 2s shoes from Shoeme.ca. And my body. My post-baby, post-postpartum depression, post anti-depressant, body. And as I even write those words there's a tear in my eye. Because this is just such a raw thing for me to talk about with you - my friends, family, and the internet. But here we go.

Before I got pregnant with our spectacular Mac I had a pretty "average" body. I put average in quotations because I get that there's really no such thing. But it felt average to me at the time. If you need numbers to be visual I was 5 foot 7 inches and weighed roughly 130 pounds. I went down as low as 120 during a low carb stint. And I went up as high as 140 when in a steady relationship that encouraged lots of dinners out and movie popcorn. But generally I weighed 130 pounds. Feeling feminist and woman-supporting to my core I tried my best to speak kindly about my body. And although I wasn't always successful at that I was more successful at speaking kindly about other women's bodies. I've always appreciated women's bodies in their various shapes. I always wanted to support the women in my life to love their bodies and appreciate them as they are. Always the perfect size in the moment. You could hear me say things like "if you want a bikini body, put a bikini on your body" and "riot don't diet." But, if I'm being honest, those things felt easier to say in a 130 pound frame.

With Mac's other parents in 2010 before conception.

Pregnant with Mac I gained about 40 pounds. The nurse at my doctor's office mentioned once that it was a little too much. And I felt strong enough to put her in her place. "This body is growing a person and I'm feeding it lots of healthy food and if that's how much weight it needs to fulfill this task then please don't try to make me feel bad about that." You might have read that last line as if it was said with a bunch of sass and confidence, maybe even a finger wag at that the end. In reality I probably stammered and whispered my way through it. But I definitely stood up for myself.

In the months after giving birth about half of that weight came off without any effort on sincere intention on my part. And then my world got rocked. 

I woke up one day underwater. Postpartum depression hit me like a tonne of bricks. A tonne of bricks that I didn't see coming. Suddenly everything felt terrifying. Small decisions like what we should have for breakfast felt like they would have life-altering consequences. And they paralyzed me. Sometimes Tracy would come home and find me sitting on the floor in the dark holding Mac on my lap. Because I knew that if I just held him right there in the silence, with nothing sharp or suffocate-y around, then he would be safe. The responsibility of just keeping him alive felt immense. I sometimes imagined what it would be like if I had an injury. Nothing too big - just maybe a broken leg or something. That way someone else would have had to take care of him for a little while and I could sleep. I was sure they would have done a better job. I stopped sleeping and I started eating. A lot. Chocolate chip muffins gave me small moments of pleasure. So I kept eating them. 

And then I made the choice to go on anti-depression medication. I'm not sure how to write this part of my story. Because I don't know what would have happened if I didn't. And I certainly don't want to play any part in convincing someone who needs medication not to take it. It's possible this story would have a worse ending if I had decided to forgo the medicine. But it felt like with medication things went from bad to worse. I had an expectation that this medication would make me happy. It did not. If anything it just made me less sad. It was like I was a sour margarita. I expected that adding medication would be like adding sugar. Instead it was like removing the lime juice. Not sour. Not sweet. Just bla. 

And because I didn't really understand how anti-depressants work I kept asking my doctor to increase my dosage. Until I was at the maximum dosage allowed. And they came in this giant pill bottle the size of my hand that signified this girl is really depressed. And I was. 

As the dosage increased so did the side effects. Mainly an increase of sugar cravings and a slowed metabolism. I gained nearly 70 pounds in a relatively short amount of time. Not of baby weight. Of post baby weight. And in some swirling combination of new bodily realities and mental anguish I misplaced all that feminist, kick ass, body-positivity that seemed to come so easily before. 

The more weight I gained the less I liked myself. And perhaps because of the physical weight or perhaps because of my new less-confidant self, the world seemed to like me less too. I don't say that to be pitiful or look for sympathy. But walking through the world as a size 18 as opposed to a size 8 was a very different experience. I was used to going to stores and trying on clothes and having salespeople say "that looks so great on you" instead of "that looks so slimming on you." Living in this new reality was difficult. And I didn't know how to make it easier. 

Eventually, the fog lifted. Enough time passed and my hormones got back to some semblance of "normal." I weaned myself off of the medication and tried to pick-up the pieces of my life. That period of time did a number on every part of my life from my marriage to my self worth. And I've been walking around with this (literal and metaphorical) heaviness ever since. 

A few months ago I decided to try and lose weight. And I never wanted to talk about it here or on social media because I still want to be that body-positive person I was before all this. I want to be that woman saying "Hell yes I'm rocking this dress." I want to be a better role model for my kid and for anyone reading this blog. And I know that talk about dieting and weight loss can be triggering for women who love their bodies as they are and don't want to read about people changing theirs. I get all that so I've been silent on the issue. 

And maybe silence was the right choice. Maybe it was a kinder, more feminist, choice. In this moment, before hitting publish, I'm not entirely sure. If this post is making you uncomfortable maybe hop on over to somewhere like HAES (Healthy At Ever Size) for a while. 

For those of you still reading, I started to count calories. And I started to lose weight. I was feeling pretty good when Shoeme.ca sent me a message asking if I'd like to test out a pair of shoes from their website. I assume their intention was to pick out a pretty pair of heels but I had my eyes on some new running shoes. I thought maybe I could start running too. And thought maybe I'd be brave enough to blog about all this. 

So I said yes and I ordered these lovely Merrell Women's Pace Glove 2s. And I started a couch-to-5K. I lost 50 pounds. 

That was weeks ago but that moment of braveness I had when I agreed to this post has long since left. And I know that when I agreed to write this post I also agreed to post pictures. Of myself. And as I much as I want that to be easy and empowering it mostly feels really scary. And it feels awful to admit that. 

The problem with writing a narrative that is authentic is that it's not as neat and tidy as something fabricated. As time passes this isn't just a story about me getting postpartum depression and gaining a bunch of weight and losing a bunch of weight and loving myself. After losing fifty pounds I've since gained some back and am now struggling with that. It's a story about getting postpartum depression and gaining a bunch of weight and losing a bunch of weight and gaining some back and losing more - all the while trying to love myself and sometimes succeeding. It's messy. But it's real. And now it's down on paper. Errr- the internet. And it's out there. 

Like me, this story is a work in progress. And I don't mean that my physical body is a work in progress - I mean that the person I want to be is.  But at least I'm doing it in some fabulous shoes. 

Shoeme.ca asked me to pair these shoes with a styled outfit. So, in case you are wondering, both the capri yoga pants and the blue running shirt came from Smart Set. 

Things you should know about Shoeme.ca:

- They carry a large selection of popular brands (180 and increasing!)

- They offer FREE express shipping anywhere in Canada

- They offer FREE returns and easy exchanges

- You can follow them on Facebook , Twitter, Pinterest, and Instagram

Things you should know about Merrell Women's Pace Glove 2s:

- They are really comfortable

- They are REALLY light weight (I was actually going to capitalize really in the last point but then I changed my mind because I thought it would detract from the seriousness of this point. They shoes weigh practically nothing. It's weird. But awesome).

- They are really breathable and that keeps your feet nice and cool 

- They are VEGAN

Want to check out Shoeme.ca for yourself? Use the code JustForYou25 to receive $25 off orders of $100 or more. 

Telling Andy's Story: Andy Inkster Versus Baystate Reproductive Medicine

The story of transgender folks butting heads with health care professionals is not a new one. The power struggle over access to both trans-specific and general health care has a long and varried history that would probably shock you if you haven't lived it. I have a friend who tells a cringe-worthy story about the time he needed a prescription for yeast infection medicine (in the days before Monistat was available at every corner). Having candida susceptible reproductive organs but presenting as male made the prospect of a doctor's visit less than appealing and he waited longer than anyone ever should to deal with that uncomfortable problem.  When he could take it no more he visited the doctor and tried to whisper the reason for his visit to the receptionist. However, she was unable to wrap her head around the situation and yelled at him for being a pervert and wasting the doctor's time.

So it was not shocking when Andy Inkster had his back-up as he approached a fertility clinic in Toronto in 2008 in search of help conceiving a child. He had all the requisite baby growing parts and was not taking hormones that could interfere with the process. But still. He expected some push back. To his surprise, he was met with support and encouragement.

Several rounds of inseminations with the fertility drug clomid were unsuccessful in Toronto and it was time for him to move on to something stronger. During this time he moved from Toronto Ontario to Springfield Massachusetts to pursue a doctorate. The closest fertility clinic was Baystate Reproductive Medicine at Baystate Health Centre. Baystate was known to be (and advertised to be) a leader in trans health care. So Andy set-up his first consultation with the belief that he would be able to access the care he needed without a lot of difficulty.

His first appointment was a bit rocky as he was asked questions like "where's your wife?" and "aren't you overly masculinized to have a baby?" He was put off by their lack of tact and respect but he certainly didn't imagine that he was about to be refused care because of the trans identity. They suggested another round of clomid and although he was fairly certain that clomid was not going to work for him he decided not to push back too much and let them follow their own trajectory of escalated care. He left his first meeting with a copies of the protocols that would follow and instructions to call on day one of his next cycle.

On day one he called and left a message but it wasn't returned. On day three he went to the lab with his requisitions and had blood work done. Later that day a nurse from Baystate left him a voicemail message telling him that they would need him to visit with their "psychological counsellor" first and that until then they couldn't give him any of his test results or let him meet with a doctor.

Annoyed, Andy agreed to meet with the counsellor (Susan Lynn, MSW). And that's when things got bad. She asked for a letter from his current therapist regarding his emotional competence to undergo fertility treatments and pregnancy. But Andy's therapist refused. She said that ethically she could not participate in a process that she thought was discriminatory. When pressed, Baystate claimed that they did not have a specific policy in place requiring such a letter but that it was standard practice. However, Andy's current therapist, who specialized in queer families and infertility, had never been asked for such a letter prior to the request on Andy's behalf. Andy felt disrespected during his interactions with Ms. Lynn. She asked questions such as "what was your old name?" and "aren't you confused about your sexuality?" She told Andy that she had no prior experience treating trans people and put the onus on him to educate her. When Andy argued that her lines of questioning were not relevant to the matter at hand he was dismissed.

While he waited on a decision from Baystate about whether or not they would agree to treat him he called the clinic and read their own Patient Rights Policy to them. Click over to see the entire policy if you wish but the important part comes in the very first line. They claim that patients will "access treatment or accommodations that are available or medically indicated, regardless of race, creed, sex, national origin, sexual orientation, gender identity or expression, or sources of payment for care." When confronted, the clinic responded that their reluctance to provide care was "not about gender" but instead was because he was a male seeking female services. 

Ultimately, Baystate decided that they were not prepared to move forward with his treatment. Andy was then forced to seek care in Boston which meant multiple two hour trips, being farther away from his care providers in moments of necessity, and generally disrupting his life during a time that was challenging enough on its own.
In the meantime Andy went on to seek fertility treatment in Boston and conceived and birthed a daughter whom he named Elise. Unfortunately, during his pregnancy there were complications and it was thought that he might need to be induced. Not feeling secure about his ability to receive care at Baystate he and his birthing team had to come up with creative scenarios to avoid the hospital that was closest and would make the most sense to visit. 

Andy and Elise walking the dogs (4 months old)

Andy and Elise (two and a half years old)

This month MCAD reached a decision in the case of Andy Inkster versus Baystate Reproductive Medicine. They found probable cause that Baystate had denied care to a transgender person. I asked Andy how it felt when he received that news and he said that he felt a mixture of relief and anger. He had never intended to set out on this David versus Goliath style fight. He said that the last three years had been draining but that he was glad he had continued to fight. Glad not just for his own victory but for the hope that now Baystate, and other institutions, will be forced to examine their own policies and practices and encouraged to provide trans people access to respectful healthcare. And, as he said, "transgender people shouldn’t have to go to court to go to the doctor."

Andy reached out to a number of LGBT advocacy groups but struggled to find someone willing to fight on his behalf. On his own, he filed a complaint with the Massachusetts Commission Against Discrimination (MCAD). That process has taken three years and has involved rounds of claims and rebuttals between himself and Baystate Health. 

The lingering trauma of his experience at Baystate did not end there. With a newborn to worry about it was not sufficient for him to rely on having her care providers a two hour drive away in Boston and he could not trust Baystate with his family. So he left his PhD. program and moved back to Canada, ultimately changing the trajectory of his life entirely. 

At this point the finding of probable cause means that both sides will come together to discuss retribution. Guessing on what that will entail would not be productive. But Andy says that he is most looking forward to their acknowledgement that they were wrong.

If you would like to get in touch with Andy Inkster to learn more about his story please feel free to contact him by email at AndyInkster@gmail.com or on Twitter @AndyInkster. 

He's cute but he can be pretty annoying sometimes.

Conversation with my best friend circa 2010

My hand rests on my large round belly. I push my fingers into the flesh to see if I can feel him better but I don't. My best friend is sitting on the couch next me. She's had her hand on my belly off and on for the last few hours hoping to feel a kick but he doesn't move much during the day. He's got the schedule of a rockstar, my fetus, he parties the night away and sleeps while the sun shines. 

She doesn't feel a kick that day. But being in the presence of my expanding uterus makes her nostalgic for her own pregnancy. We chat about pregnancy, and babies, and toddlers, and parenthood. Her daughter is 4 and a half and no longer a toddler. She was just at our house for a sleep-over a few weeks before and was entirely delightful the entire time.  But my friend warns me that ages 1 to 3 were hard. I don't really believe her. I haven't lived in her home with her child but in the time I've spent with her she's been as sweet as can be. I didn't yet understand that phenomenon where children behave entirely different with and without their parents. 

Cailey, Mac, and me

I told myself that I would enjoy the toddler years. After all, it had taken no small amount of effort to create this miracle child of mine. How could I ever be anything but drop-to-my-knees-grateful?

Conversation with my nephew circa 2013

Tracy and the boys burst through my door at 10 PM chatting away about everything and anything. My almost 2 year old son is asleep on my fourteen year old nephew's shoulder. His size 13 feet and giraffe-like height are a walking reminder of how fast time moves. I swear he was a tiny kid last week. Now my son looks like a doll in his man-sized arms. 

"Auntie Kris," the younger one says to me. "Auntie Tracy said you needed a break from Mac today. How come? He's so cute!"

Mac is one year and eleven months old and those terrible and terrific twos have hit hard. On the one hand, he's often sweet enough to make my teeth ache. When I walk in the door he runs to me, arms outstretched, for a big hug. He says "Hi Ma!" and "Hi Mo!" like nothing in the history of the world has ever been more amazing than our return home. In the mornings, when he's almost, but not quite, awake, he snuggles into our chests and, for a few moments, the world is made entirely of lollipops and rainbows. 

But, on the other hand... oh the other hand. A day does not go by without an epic, my life is over, meltdown. One day it occurred to him that he couldn't wear three shoes at once. Oh the injustice! On another day he completely broke down because he couldn't both colour and go for a walk simultaneously. Truthfully, as much as I try, I do not always handle these outbursts with grace. 

It was a rough morning. And at one point I was holding Mac's writhing body and trying to calm his frustration when I looked over at my wife and with a few seconds of eye contact she knew that I was done for the day. To her credit, she quickly packed him into the car and headed an hour and a half West  to Pembroke to visit her family. And, as an added bonus, she also came home with the best nephews a girl could ask for. So major wife brownie points. 

By the next morning all is forgiven between Mac and me. And he is busily following his big boy cousins around. I think that maybe he is starting to understand the concept of gender. Or maybe he just thinks they are really cool. Because, of course, they are. 

Balancing the interests of a pre-teen, a teen, and a toddler isn't an easy task but the skate park seems to please everyone. Mac is fascinated with the big boys and for the most part is pretty agree-able. But "pretty agree-able" is a relative term in the world of toddlers.

By the end of the day everyone is tired and hungry so we are happy to oblige when youngest nephew requests sushi for dinner. We give Mac a bite of sushi but he spits it out immediately. That doesn't stop him, however, from asking for more of it during the remainder of dinner.

"Auntie Kris," the younger nephew begins. "I can see why you needed a break now. Mac's cute but he can be pretty annoying sometimes."

He is wise beyond his years this kid. 

Remembered Always

April 15th, 2012

The week of busy, of rushing, of go-go-go, is finally coming to an end. I think we just planned an entire wedding in the span of one week. My future sister-in-law has bought a dress and shoes and all of the sparkly wedding bits that will decorate her on the day she marries my brother. We've made guest lists and to-do lists and to-buy lists. I've made a master list of the lists. It's over and I finally have Mac all to myself again. In this week of wedding planning extravaganza my major contribution to the upbringing of my son has been to pull my boob from my shirt when needed. Instead of spending his days in my arms, as he usually does, he has been passed from grandmother, to aunt, to friend, to random sales lady, and back again. And when I finally get a moment to myself to wind down I realize that my arms have ached for him. So I pull his warm little body next to mine and curl myself around him as I try to quiet my mind in preparation for sleep. But for some reason I can't turn my thoughts off. I think of all the parents who have lost their children and I wonder if they feel an ache in their arms.  At first I try to chase those thoughts away. But then I force myself to give them my full attention. I can't complain about imagining that loss. So many parents are living it.


April 16th 2012 - 7:00 AM

It's Monday which means blog time. I'm exhausted from the week of wedding planning and all I really want to do is hold my baby. But that's why I called this blog Mondays with Mac. I knew that by giving myself a hard deadline each week I'd be forced not to let procrastination, that old temptress, take over. So with the baby happily tucked into the carrier against my chest I sit down at the computer to write. I'm still thinking about the strange ache I felt in my arms last week. "Mama arms"- I coin the term and realize that I have a topic for my blog. I write about the busy week and how I missed my baby. And then I write about all of the parents who have lost their children. I write about my wife's friend who lost twin sons, and my grandmother who lost two adult children, and the bloggers I follow who write about the loss of their children, and my heart breaks for them. I sit at my computer and I cry. I ache for all of the parents with aching Mama (and Papa) arms. And I finish the post by writing "You are in my thoughts today."


April 16th 2012 - 12:00 PM 

The green light flashes on my phone and I turn it on to read the single worst text I have ever received. My friend, who has just amazingly grown two perfect babies in her womb for the last eight months, has lost one of her children. Her pregnancy has been pretty normal, in the world of twin pregnancies at least, and this is a devastating shock. No heartbeat. No signs of life. Alive two days ago. Gone today. My heart drops into my stomach and then leaves me entirely. It is flying across the country, landing in a hospital room in Nova Scotia, sitting next to Katie's bed.

I sob. Hard ugly cries. Her words make her seem brave and strong. She's in shock most likely. And since her son is still living in her womb I imagine that her body is not yet letting her feel the full impact of the trauma.

Never one to be short on words I struggle to find the right ones. I'm sorry seems too miniscule. I'm sorry my grocery cart bumped into yours, I'm sorry I forgot your birthday, I'm sorry I'm late for our appointment... but I'm sorry your child has died? No that doesn't sound right. But there really aren't any words that matter. I know she doesn't give fuck about my words right now. And I can swear because I know she would. She's probably so fucking sick of hearing I'm sorry. There are no words that will help. No words that will comfort. So I write some anyway, knowing they are useless, but necessary nonetheless.


April 10th, 2013

It's a cold spring. I don't know if the groundhog saw his shadow or not. I don't much care. But I'm cold.  Which allows me to believe that it's still winter and not yet spring. Can it really be April already? Has it really been a year since Caroline died? It seems impossible. And yet I look at the photos of her brother and there he is - happy smiles and big toddler teeth. Somehow a year has indeed passed.

She doesn't feel strong, my friend, I know this much. And she's sick of people telling her that she is. It's not strength that keeps her going. She's angry and sad and a million other emotions I can't comprehend. But she's still breathing and there's strength in that. She's made it through the first year of parenthood and the smiles on her son's face are proof of how much she has rocked it. She's also muddled through the no man's land of bereaved parent and new mom. It's hard to find a place to be between the grieving parents envious of her healthy son and the rest of the new moms who exchange birth stories like baseball cards.  

As the date approaches we talk a lot about Caroline. Even though I know it's the wrong thing to do I'm always cautious to mention her name. What if in that one single moment she wasn't thinking about her terrible loss and I just reminded her? I tell her about the blog I posted last year just hours before hearing of Caroline's death. And then I backtrack. I tell her not to read it because it will just make her feel worse. And then she tells me what I already knew but somehow couldn't really accept. "It doesn't make me feel worse," she says. "There's no such thing. People always worry about reminding me, or opening up wounds. Please don't ever worry about that. My wounds are always open, not a second goes by that I don't think about her."

Her words hit me over the head like a hammer and I feel bad for all of the times I didn't say her name. All of the times that I saw a butterfly, thought of Caroline, and didn't tell her. This time I heard her. Really heard her.


April 15th, 2013

It has been one year since Caroline died. One year without her precious soul on this earth. And today I will say her name on repeat. I will tell Mac about her. I will say a prayer for her. I will say a prayer for her parents and her brother. I will morn her. I will love her.  And I will remember her. Always.

The One That Wasn't (Prequel Part 8)

New here? You can catch up on previous parts of the story by clicking HERE. 


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When we were small the bigger ones told us stories about the trips we would take and the things we would see. They gave us our vitamins and helped us to grow big and strong so that we could fulfill our destinies. We knew that most of us would lead relatively normal lives. We would grow and, when we were ready, we would leave the nest on our own. The journey would be unremarkable for the majority of us. Not bad. Just ordinary. 

But they also told tales of the lucky ones.  The few of us who would find our perfect soulmates and grow together to become something entirely different, better, for loving each other. 

Legend said that it was the smartest, the biggest, the strongest of us who would be chosen. I always thought it was more likely just a right place, right time, kinda thing. But on the off chance that the bigger ones were right I always took my vitamins without complaint. 

My time was coming, I could tell. The woman had been feeding us extra vitamins and rubbing and patting our heads regularly. She was making us promises of ponies, and cars on our sixteenth birthdays, and everlasting love. Her little pep talks about destiny had us all in a tizzy. There were five us at home and the faster we grew the closer we were to one of us striking out on her own. I was the front-runner and wasn't about to loose my lead. 

On the day I was set to leave everyone was vibrating with excitement. I could detect a hint of jealousy from my housemates but mostly they were helping to get me pumped up for the trip. When the time finally came I burst through the protective sack that had held me and kept me safe while I grew. And I was on my own for the first time in my life. 

The elders had given me a map for my journey but once I was out there everything seemed a bit confusing. I was to head South but I couldn't tell up from down, left from right. I was considering turning around and heading home when I saw a street sign guiding my way. The big F was unmistakable and if I squinted I could guess that the rest of the word read allopian. 

Knowing that I was on the right path gave me a new sense of confidence. In no time I would be finding my destiny. Would it be an average comfortable life or would I meet my soul mate on this journey? I was so excited to find out. 

In theory the trip seemed very far. But before I knew it I was halfway down the road and ready for a break. I was just taking a quick rest when I heard the woman giggling and a deafening wwooooosssshhhh. I perked up instantly. My instinct was to move toward the noise but I remembered the advice of my elders. Stay put dear girl. Playing hard to get attracts the best suitors. 

So there I stood. Waiting. Feigning disinterest. And that's when I saw him. At least I think it was a him. I couldn't make out an X or Y. But it didn't matter. Love is love after all. 

He wasn't the first one to arrive. Or the seventeenth. But he moved with determination and grace.  And when I saw him the millions of his competitors just seemed to blur into the background. All those stories we were told about this moment were true. When you meet him you will just know. Those words rang in my head and I wished that I could go back home for just a moment to tell them all about it. But going back wasn't possible. 

The honeymoon portion of our courtship was nothing short of spectacular. For four days we learned everything about one another and somehow managed to morph into an entirely new being. With his love and support I became someone entirely new. There was a sadness in this process as I began to loose myself. But together we were becoming something so much more. That's how great love is supposed to work. Or so I've been lead to believe. 

The land wasn't quite perfect so we crossed the border into Uterus where there was more space and better soil. I was anxious to set down some roots. To plant into the land and build a life together. We built a glorious home. Even as the land got thicker and tougher we worked and worked until we were well established. 

The woman was so happy for us. It was hard to get any rest over her constant screaming and chattering. She must have called every person she knew yammering on about pink lines and bellies and other things I couldn't really make out. It was nice to have so much support. 

As the honeymoon period came to an end I was busy thinking and dreaming about the future. But somehow we lost our way. The quirks that I had once found endearing became irritating. And nothing I did seemed to make him happy anymore. Sometimes you can want something so bad, and everything can seem so perfect, but it just doesn't work out. It's nobody's fault, really. Although everyone likes to cast blame elsewhere while secretly internalizing it. The pain became both emotional and physical. And as much as we tried to stay together we eventually had to let go. 

I felt bad for the woman. She was so sad for us. I tried to tell her about the friends I had left behind. I was sure that one of them would make her just as happy. Happier even. I wanted to reassure her and offer her hope. But I don't think she heard me over her tears. 

Sperm That He Didn't Put There (Prequel Part 7)

OK, so this hiatus has been exceptionally long. My apologies friends. When PPD hit I basically struggled to hit the bare minimum of promised Monday posts. And the longer I let this series slide, well, the longer it slid. But our story, the one where we meet Andy and he knocks me up, is a good one so I'd like to finish it. 

Need to catch up? 

OK, here's what happened last time. Tracy and I decided to try and find a known donor and in the process I lost my damn mind obsessively doing everything I possibly could that might make my eggs more attractive to the millions of sperm I hoped they would soon be meeting. We put an ad up online and found some of the wackiest men who are sitting at their computers hoping to give their sperm away to lesbians (because giving sperm to lesbians apparently sounds super hot until they tell you that the delivery system is a needle-less syringe). Then we found an ad on co-parentmatch.com from a gay New York City man looking to father a child, fell in potential-baby-daddy-love, and embarrassed ourselves by clicking on his profile a bazillion times before paying for a membership and realizing that he got a notification every time we did.  We nervously exchanged emails and Facebook messages and let ourselves get super excited at the prospect of making a baby with such a sweet and funny man. And because the universe apparently loves us, he already had plans to be an hour away from our house which meant a “first date” was imminent. In true lesbian fashion, Tracy and I did the baby-making equivalent of u-hauling and wondered if asking for sperm on the first date would be too forward. And when I last left you we had finally met the exceedingly charming Andy and I had proved that I am awkward and weird on a first date. But somehow he saw through all that and decided that we would make suitable procreation partners. And then Andy asked us when we thought we might be ready to start trying to conceive and we told him that I was actually ovulating that coming weekend. And now you're all caught up!

So we stood there on the path at Mount Royal wondering if Andy would actually be ready. He laughed, I think wondering if we were for real, and then let us down gently. When we started to get serious in our discussions he had gotten himself STD tested and was currently in the window period where you have to wait to get the second test before getting the all clear. 

Sweet, funny, smart, kind, and responsible? How on earth did we find this guy on the internet? 

It wasn't long before Andy's tests came back negative and he was on a plane to visit us for the first insemination attempt. 

Nervous doesn't even begin to describe how I was feeling while pacing the Ottawa Airport waiting for Andy's arrival. I was excited too. Certainly. But more nervous than anything else. We were about to embark on a second date that would last an entire weekend. And it would involve sperm in an artichoke jar. Cue the awkward silences. 

But Andy arrived and had us laughing instantly. He told us about a dream he had the night before where he was in our bathroom overwhelmed by all the soaps and feminine bathroom products available. Nervously he tried to pump some hand soap but ended up spilling it all over the floor. Sometimes you don't need a dream dictionary to figure out the symbolism of your dreams. 

We had a concrete plan for how we were going to do things. One insemination per day for the four days he was in town. The ritual began with a cup of coffee to get his swimmers moving quickly. Then Tracy and I left our home so that Andy could, well, you know. When he was done he would text us "OK" and we would return. The jar of sperm would be passed off, with as much care as an olympic torch, from his warm armpit to my wife's warm sports bra. Then Andy would give us time to, well, you know. 

After it was over I cooked us all dinner. He graciously ate my cornbreaded tofu and pasta and he and Tracy passed the silent moments by taking sips of Canadian beer. On the first night we had plans to introduce Andy to a few of our friends at a Karaokee bar. At that point in the conception timeline I could have indulged in a few alcoholic beverages without hurting our unborn (un-conceived) child but it would have felt strange so I went to the bar sober. Which is never the beginning of a great story.

The night went along fine, if slightly awkward. Some of our friends had been forward enough to ask exactly how Andy's sperm had gotten inside of me. They were the less awkward ones. Others hadn't wanted to ask. They were the more awkward ones. 

For the most part I felt fine. Until the moment when everyone simultaneously left to go to the bathroom, or up to the bar, or to request a song, and it was just me and Andy left at the table. You have never experienced awkward until you are left alone at a table with a man you met online but hardly know. A man whose sperm is currently inside of you. Sperm that he did not put there. 

But more about that next time. 

Answering your FAQs (Round Two)

Two weeks ago I celebrated one year of blogging. Which feels like a really big accomplishment for me. Even though it just means that for the last year I have self-indulgently sat at my computer and told stories about how fantastic the top of my kid's head smells, finding sperm on the internet, and the intricacies of lesbian motherhood. And, miraculously, you've kept reading.

To celebrate this blogiversary I told you that you could ask me any questions you had about me, this blog, or my family. You did and I answered. But then you had more questions so I told you we would do this Q&A thing one more time.

So here we are. Now you know me a little better.

I'm really struck by your selfless offer to be a surrogate for Andy in the event that they want children. Have you also volunteered your eggs? I know that Andy is a part of your family but I'm not sure I would be strong enough to act as a surrogate only, particularly if it were my biological child. I'd also be interested to hear how you would make that work for both families. 
No, I did not volunteer my own eggs. Which is something I feel a bit guilty about. I spend a lot of time on this blog talking about how biology does not create family so it feels a bit hypocritical to selfishly hoard those tiny little eggs that are going to waste each month. It also feels presumptuous and arrogant to feel guilty about that as Andy and Raff may have absolutely no desire for these Canuck eggs that I'm holding onto. But I've given the whole thing a lot of thought and I know I could process the experience of growing someone else's child in my womb but I wouldn't be able to grow "my own" child and then give him/her to someone else to raise. I can't really explain or justify those feelings. They just are. But waking up every day to Mac's smiling face has been the most amazing experience of my life and if I had the opportunity to give that joy to someone else then I would jump at the chance.

I should also make it clear that (to my knowledge) Andy and Raff have absolutely no plans of having children at this moment. So this is really all random musing and speculations on my part.

How did you know Andy was "the one"?
When I read his online profile I had butterflies in my stomach. And from there it was love at first email. It all just seemed too perfect not to be fate.

Does Tracy's family accept Mac as their own?
Yes, absolutely. And so does his Auntie Tata's family.

Where do I find myself an Auntie Tata?
I have no idea. But you absolutely can't have Mac's.

How many times a year does Andy see Mac?
Well Mac is 15 months old and Andy has been to Ottawa about five or six times. And on top of that we have travelled to visit him three times.

Are you a stay at home/work at home mom? What did you do before you had Mac? Do you plan on returning to regular employment (if you were employed in a "regular" work environment?) Do you miss it?
Pre-Mac I was struggling to make my home in academia. He changed my life, my hopes, and my dreams in ways I could have never anticipated. My staying home with Mac became (surprisingly) incredibly important to both me and my wife. To make that happen I have taken in my neighbour's son (and Mac's BFF) Jordan four days a week. He is the sweetest toddler around and watching him is totally my pleasure. I have also started Mondays with Mac Photography and am pouring my whole heart into it. Seeing it come to fruition is an absolute dream come true.

Does Mac call Andy Daddy?
At the moment he calls him dadadadada. But someday he will call him Daddy.

In the post titled The Unraveling, when you revealed that you were struggling with post partum depression you mentioned that you had been working day and night on a project - and then the project failed. Curious to know what the project was and what went wrong! ... And another question which will have the same answer... OK, am I dreaming this or were you calling your photography business something else before? Do you have a new Facebook page for MWM photography?
In August I started a photography business with a partner. But we quickly figured out that the logistics just weren't working so we parted amicably. I was very fearful about going out on my own. But I took  deep breath and jumped in (and dragged my talented wife along with me). Since the new business is just called Mondays with Mac Photography I have just maintained my current fan page. 

When we met, you were in the PhD program and your research was so interesting. Do you have any plans to return to academia? If not, how did you make the decision to leave?
I don't ever want to say never. But for now I'm loving my new business and the schedule is working for my family. I've started to make decisions based on what's best for my heart - and those decisions have been very easy to make.

Did you find out the sex of your baby before he was born? Had you been (secretly) hoping for either a girl or a boy?
Yes, we did and I was (not secretly) hoping for a girl. But now that Mac's here I have realized what a privilege it is to have a son. And if I am ever blessed with a daughter I am sure I will feel the exact same way. 

This was like a million years ago, but who won the fan appreciation contest... and what was the prize you spent Tracy's hard-earned money on?! I was so curious and I could never find the post 
that announced the winner!
Oops - I guess I forgot to blog about it. The winner was Krista from Calgary and she won a MWM mug. 

How did you and Tracy decide who's last name to take when you got married? Also, Maclean is such an original name; does it hold any special meaning/how did you come up with it?

Her maiden name was Green so I petitioned hard for Greenland which would be a combination of both of our names. Always the fun-ruiner Tracy thought that idea mocked our marriage. She thought Ireland was a cool name so she jumped ship. The name Maclean didn't hold any special significance for us. I was talking about how I liked last names as first names and my friend Sara suggested Maclean and we loved it. However, his middle name is Andy's middle name, Andy's dad's name, and Tracy's dad's middle name so it has special meaning. 

You said that you don't want to disrespect your previous relationships with men. So are you equally attracted to men and women? Is there any scenario that would see you with a man again? 

I'm attracted to masculinity - whether that manifests itself in a female or male bodied person. Although I am most attracted to butch women (which is incredibly convenient since I married one). 

I love everything you write. Do you ever do speaking engagements? 

You are too sweet. Thank-you. I haven't but I would be happy to. Do you have something in mind?

Do you have any training/education in writing? Have you ever thought of publishing a book?

No, I don't have any education in creative writing. And yes, I have thought and dreamt of publishing a book. Hopefully that's a possibility someday! 

Two firsts

It's his birthday. Three hundred and sixty five days have passed since his birth. A whole year since the first time I held my breath for some unknown amount of time and waited for him to cry. Since my white, drained of blood, hand squeezed my wife's and we sat there unable to move or talk or cry or scream. Was it really a year ago that I heard his voice, his angry and scared cry, for the very first time? Time must be playing a trick on me. Wasn't it just yesterday that I thought I would be pregnant forever?

I'm trying to pull myself together. But I'm overdue for a haircut and it's enough to cause a meltdown. My poor precious baby has to celebrate his birthday with a Mama who is practically sporting a mullet. That's the problem with short hair. You can go from normal hair one day to suddenly being weeks over-grown the next. I resolve from now on I will always book a haircut a month in advance. But I know I'm a big fat liar.

Friends are coming. Pull it together Kristin. It's been a year and this baby weight is still here. I try to soothe myself. This belly grew your boy. These giant, floppy, breasts have fed him. Women put too much pressure on themselves. Healthy is the new skinny. But, ugh, maybe I should just buy a moo-moo and be done with it.

Just keep smiling. Just keep smiling. It's almost over. Think of all the good left to come. Remember when he danced? Soon he will walk. And talk. So much good. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. 

The day ends with cake and kisses. Baby is happy. And sugar-highed. 

In the days that follow I become determined that he will take his first steps. I hold his hands and walk with him relentlessly. Come on baby. Don't you want that TV remote over there? You can have it. Just walk. My iPhone? Sure you can have that too. Just walk to it. He resists like only a baby can. I will not walk Mama. Look at how fast I can crawl!

Weeks pass and he starts to come around to two-footed travel. He squeals with delight as I hold his hands and walk with him. He's close, oh so close, to walking on his own. It hits me that we will be visiting his Dad in a matter of days. Wouldn't he love to see his first steps? 

Now I'm distracting him. No, you don't want to walk baby. Look at this truck. Vroom. Vroom. Brown Bear, Brown Bear, what do you see? 

We are visiting with Andy's cousins. Hugs and kisses all around. He's so close to walking I tell them. I think he will take his first steps this weekend. Andy smiles. His excitement is infectious. 

First birthdays are hard. But first steps are bad ass.

Please join me in welcoming College Registry from FiPath as this month's Mondays with Mac sponsor!  College Registry is a free online savings tool that helps parents rethink how they save for their children’s college education by unlocking the power of friends and family. From estimating the cost of specific colleges to establishing a plan to incorporating friends and family in your savings goals, College Registry will help make your child’s college dreams a reality.
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Postcards from Paris Blog Carnival Wrap-up: Part 2

If you are new here you may want to start with this post in which I compare parenthood to Paris for the benefit of my very-pregnant and quite nervous friend. What followed from there was a blog carnival sponsored by My ChiChi Baby in which bloggers told beautiful, funny, sweet, and authentic stories. Part 1 of the wrap-up brought us smart advice and funny anecdotes from places like Vegas and Alberta.  Now in Part 2 I will be bringing you from small town life to the slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Order an inflight drink and buckle-up. You are in for an exciting ride!


Paula over at Journey to 42 had me laughing and nodding enthusiastically at her comparison of parenthood to small town life. In small towns everyone knows your business and has an opinion to offer you (solicited or not!). Parenthood works in the same way. I think that Paula's advice on the topic is worth quoting in full:


"Being a parent feels a little like that!  Everybody knows your business and worst of all has an opinion that they will share with you at any given moment.  You may feel useless, unworthy, wrong ALL THE TIME!  But do not fear my little mama friend as that is far from the truth.  The best advice I can give is to stand tall, be polite, but follow your instincts.  It's true. Lots of people have raised little ones.  But no one has raised yours.  You are the only expert when it comes to your own child. Who cares if grandma at the end of the block spread the word that you took wee Sammy off the breast at 3 months?  You don't...that is your decision & one you don't have to justify to anyone!"

Mom's Little Helper does a beautiful job of reminding us to enjoy the precious, snuggly, moments while they last.  Of course, as parents, we can't always find bliss in every.single.moment (and trying to is probably the fastest way to set yourself up for disappointment). But we can find joy in small moments and cherish them. I absolutely agree with her on this one. 

"On days just like today when I am trying to get to work on time and he decides that despite him being more than capable of doing it himself that I have to carry him;  it’s days like this that I get annoyed and snap at him to “just walk”.  It’s at these moments that I have to stop and realize that there will come a day in the not so distant future that my carrying him will not be an option and I should embrace his snuggling tightly into me as I make our way out the door, bags in hand."

Rebecca over at Little Miss Maman offers up some gold nugget pieces of advice for new moms. She tells us that although she is gently trying to teach her littlest one to sleep on his own at the moment he falls asleep easiest when she rocks him. She writes:


"I am fairly certain he will not need to be rocked by the time he goes to university, so I do what works at the moment."


I also really needed to read her closing remarks. I have been guilty of mourning each passing milestone as it all seems to speed by so quickly. But the truth is that there are always great milestones ahead. 


"As much as I get teary-eyed thinking about how fast they are growing up, I also can’t wait to see what kind of people they will become. In the meantime, I try to enjoying my book-craft-doll-little people-park- play dough-puzzle-filled days."


At Moments of Exhiliration Sara writes from the slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro (complete with gorgeous photographs!). Sara tells us that Mt. Kilimanjaro is classified as a "walk-up" which means that almost anyone can do it and that most people believe it will be easy. She assures us that it is not. In fact, it is challenging and messy (messier than you would have ever imagined!).  And, like parenthood, mountain climbing can be isolating. But Sara reminds us to reach out for support. 

"You’re surrounded by people on the same journey, yet you often feel incredibly alone. In a very real sense, it’s just you and the mountain. But that isolation can start to eat you apart from the inside. When you reach out, you find incredible support from your fellow climbers. That support can make the difference. Don’t be afraid to ask for help."

And when you get to that top of the mountain and see the view - oh the beauty of it all! But as Sara writes, "This is beautiful, yes, but the beauty comes as much from the thing itself as from the struggle." I'm going to tuck that little piece of advice away into my own heart. It is so very, very true. 


And finally, our big winner, Amanda at Werdyab  finishes our journey with a beach vacation. She warns us that you should buckle up for the landing because it can be rough! But when you get there, although you will be overwhelmed and stumble a little, it's beautiful, more beautiful than you can imagine. Amanda touches on that one topic that seems to dominate parenting conversations - SLEEP. 

"People who say that New York is the "city that never sleeps" have obviously never traveled to Parenthood!  The natives warned me to sleep before I got here, but you can't stock up on sleep like Doomsday Preppers do with cans of Spam.  Instead, just ask for help.  A quick nap in the hammock will help you feel like running on the beach again.  And calling housecleaning to tidy up your hotel room is never a bad idea."

Brilliant advice Amanda! Now if only housecleaning would answer when I call!


And with that we are back home. This trip has taken us around the world and back and I, for one, could use a nap and a stiff drink. And with any luck my travel guide might just let that happen for a few more minutes! 


Thank-you so much to all of the bloggers and readers for coming on this trip with me! Your words have been beautiful, funny, and inspiring. You are amazing parents. And I am honoured to be on this journey with you. 


And many, many, many thanks also to My ChiChi Baby for sponsoring all of this awesomeness.  My ChiChi Baby is a designer boutique with bargain store prices. Their slogan says it all: Let your child be classy, be loved, be ChiChi! 

In part one of our wrap-up I showed you some of my favourite outfits. But I left out the best part. The shoes. OMG the shoes! 

Please take a moment to go over to MyChiChi Baby and if you are so inclined like them on Facebook and follow them on twitter. 

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