While I am at it, I should also declare that contrary to what I mutter every day when I get home, I do not actually hate my life.

So I had to smirk when I saw the headline on my July 12^th issue of New York: “I Love My Children. I Hate My Life.”
This article seeks to present research studies that have shown that having kids makes parents less happy.  If you define happiness as I do, by nights spent doing culinary tastings, drinking wine, and looking at art, then hell yes.  I have been significantly less happy.

One of the theories presented in the article is that older and more affluent new parents tend to be among the unhappiest because they know what they are missing.  Sign me up.  Yes we need a bar at the Children’s Museum of Manhattan.  We also need more baby and me disco, and while I’m at it, a good restaurant or two where she won’t be stared at like the Little Rock Nine on their way to school after the Brown v. Bd of Ed decision.

There are a lot of other factors explored: social welfare in other countries, mommy versus daddy perception, and divorce.  I would get into all of them, but I need to get back to parenting and being relatively ornery.

I will end this posting with an admission that I tortured my love with stories about how having a baby would make me the happiest and most stable person around (studies have shown that those who have experienced loss of child through divorce or death were the people who most believed the child could bring them endless joy).  I tortured him so regularly for so long that unless he starts seeing candy and rainbows coming out when I smile, I’ll be in trouble.

The most striking response to this is from a quote that came from a psychologist in the article: “They’re a huge source of joy, but they turn every other source of joy to shit.”

Sigh.

Six months ago I thought I would be a documentarian. A historian. The careful crafter of stories full of appreciation for my daughter, as redemption for the loss of my son. Harnessing the power of emotion from within I thought I would be able to make others laugh and cry, but I never knew the emotion of being a mother would for me be a mess of tangled wires.

I thought I would be a superwoman. Never would I have believed that I would be the person whose downstairs neighbor would knock because I forgot to shut the bathtub water off. The rigorous schedule I set for myself deteriorating into a farcical race to just “get it all done” without ever realizing that I had forgotten to eat or use the bathroom for the entire day.

When my daughter got sick, I thought I would unravel, but that burst of adrenaline that mommy gets when her child is in trouble is still inside me. Once I got the call from daycare I had a purpose, and I made it there in the record time, all the while strategizing about what I would do if the news were tragic once I arrived at the other end. In 100 degree heat, I walked two miles, visited four pharmacies, carried my daughter, my work satchel, two bottles of formula, Pedialyte, and two gourmet sodas. I told myself “I don’t know how I am going to do this” but I did it and I really didn’t believe I could without melting down.

In many ways, I thought I would be so much more. A chef of fine organic baby cuisine. An instructor of baby sign language and French. A knitter of heirloom quality baby garments. A person that could keep my apartment somewhat organized. That isn’t the mom I am yet, and probably is not the mom I will ever become. But I am a mom who has gotten a lot further than I ever thought I could. A survivor who didn’t think I could make it through that first emotional month… or the colic…or teething…or this bout of a little something viral. Maybe it has taken me a long time to get back here, but I’m here now.

Surprisingly, naming my children was easier then naming my dogs.  I know that some expectant parents pore through books, or undergo extensive debates with family members about their babies’ names.  Our names just came to us and fit with our personal aesthetic.  The decision on our daughter’s name was validated by Laura Wattenberg’s The Baby Name Wizard which placed it as a companion name to our son’s name, and highlighted the fact that it is an underused name with big potential.  I know I am one of the lucky ones.

It used to be that a Top Ten name would hold a larger share.  Although Elizabeth was #9 in the 80’s and remains #9 today, there are fewer Elizabeth’s being born since there is more variety.  There was a viral element to naming – a name might start among a select few and then reach critical mass as more and more people considered that name, and then after exhausting the name, it would be retired.

Lately I have been hearing a lot about the vampire naming trend that seems to be sweeping the nation.  Truthfully, I do not see how this is such a big deal – names like Bella and Jacob were already quite popular and I have to imagine Stephanie Meyer selected them for this very reason.  Edward and Bill, although not as trendy, are also not one bit eccentric.  I have yet to meet a baby Sookie, but I am hearing that it’s going to be an up-and-comer.

My daughter’s name (which I have yet to unveil to the masses) was very loosely inspired by ancient Greece.  Growing up around a large Greek population, names like Athena and Demetra were not terribly uncommon.  While Greek mythology can be a great inspiration, the suggestions in this article seem a little haphazard.

I know it is a matter of taste, but there are at least a couple of names mentioned there that would just draw blank stares. I am all for originality, and I’m not saying that inspiration can’t be found far and wide.  Modern parents know that already and   articles like this are condescending to a generation that has been exposed to so much information and diversity via the world wide web.

What we need isn’t a “data dump” of every possible name in the universe categorized by origin.  With all the technological advances of the past decade I am surprised there aren’t more people like Laura Wattenberg with customized algorithms to help parents find perfect names.  eHarmony pioneered this for online dating; Amazon and every other ecommerce site have recommendation engines for products you may like…why can’t we get serious about naming our children?  Why do we have to rely on articles and sites that offer up “Hercules” without irony?  Nymbler.com and Baby Name Wizard are a start, but the other naming sources out there really need to step it up.

Most of my preparation was verbal.  I talked to anyone willing to listen about my excitement and my anxieties.  The experienced runners warned me of “the wall” that takes place around mile 20 or mile 21, usually in the Bronx, right before the race heads back into Manhattan for the final few miles.

During the first 13 miles of the race, the crowd got me through.  I had run this distance easily before and the excitement of the day made the first 13 miles seem effortless.  Of course this means that I went out a little too fast and that there would be hell to pay later.

Upon exiting Queens and heading up for the first stretch in Manhattan, the crowds become denser and although fatigue may start to set in, pride keeps you going strong.  That is until you hit Spanish Harlem, knowing that the Bronx has only a handful of spectators and industrial scenery.

The Bronx is where I began to feel remorse for not properly training.  Stopping for a quick bathroom break, I did not feel like I would be able to straighten my legs enough to run the next 6 or 7 miles.  If it weren’t for my family patiently awaiting me with snacks and a camera I would not have gotten through it.

Then there was the final leg into Manhattan – down through Harlem on Fifth Avenue, across Central Park South, and back into the park to the finish line at Tavern on the Green.  The whole time I felt like I was running through quicksand.  A couple of women motivated me with chants of “you go girl” and those fellow women empowered me, although by that time I was visibly wounded.

Crossing the finish line was a blur.  The marathon was all about the journey, and less about the actual moment.  Not to say that crossing that line wasn’t spectacular.  Of course I shed a few tears and my heart filled with pride, but the moment was just a part of an extraordinary experience.

As we start 2010 I am now 35 weeks along in my pregnancy and I feel that this pregnancy was very much like my first marathon.  Those first 13 weeks flew by…I have done this before and I knew what to expect.   After those 13 weeks came the crowd – the time when everyone became aware of what I was going through and showered me with their support.

Second trimester came on a little like Spanish Harlem, with the thinning crowds and the realization that a long road lay ahead.  Fatigue never left me and I spent the entire trimester waiting to hit the wall.  And hit the wall I did – at 30 weeks.  The feeling that I could not go on and that the end was too far away prevailed.

Now in the final leg, 35 weeks and beyond, the crowds are back.  Words of support from friends and family are pushing me through the rest of the race even though my body is feeble.  Particularly the women in my life, many of whom are mothers, are reminding me that the finish line is not far ahead.

In four weeks or less I will cross that finish line.  That moment is not a moment detached from the rest of my experiences.  The difficulty of being a childless mother over the past two years has built my determination, and the pregnancy marathon has taught me things about my body and spirit that I never thought possible.

However as 2009 draws to a close, I have to admit that this year blessed me with inner strength, and the confidence to try again.  In a little over one month, I will become a mother again.  Luckily my daughter will be born around the New Year so it appears that I have made a New Year’s Resolution even though these are just hopes that stemmed from my past experiences.

Although the role of mother will be the most important to me, I also want to maintain my own identity and not be completely defined by my motherhood.  What better way to set an example for my daughter to pursue her own dreams than to pursue mine?

I resolve to recognize the friends that have been there through the years as family.  I’m an only child and this little girl is going to need some aunts.

Most importantly, I resolve to live in the moment and not take one minute of it for granted.  If I am constantly waiting for hew to sprout her first tooth or take her first step, the moments in between won’t seem that important, but they all are.

Even though I am almost in my ninth month…

and even though I will probably not buy any more clothes for myself (probably ever)…

and even though I already have several dressy maternity outfits and really need something thick and warm to get me through the next several weeks…

I am so pleased that designers are not forgetting the maternal silhouette.  Shopping has been a horrorshow since Mimi Maternity was removed from our nearest mall and the stores with maternity lines usually have only a rack or two to choose from.  Hopefully more designers will take Christian Siriano’s lead, especially for some of the shops that women my age actually go to (Banana Republic or Ann Taylor please! )

http://www.moodymamas.com/cart/

Fried chicken was present for me when nobody else was in the years that I lived alone following college. Friday night’s were sometimes spent catching up on television and eating chicken that had been dipped into mashed potatoes. Sometimes (ok, usually) the chicken would be paired with a lovely dry rosé. Although fried chicken was not an everyday type of thing, it was always there when it counted.

Recently I discovered a new variety of fried chicken that has changed my life. Apparently it has been one of the hottest brands in Korea, and New York Magazine featured it all the way back in 2007. Yes, I am late to the game, but what better time to acquaint oneself with new food than when one is pregnant?

Kyochon’s motto “Rewriting the History of the ‘Taste of the World’” may be a bit hyperbolic, but I think it isn’t too far off. Speaking from my own experience, the crispy double-fried wings are small, but the flavorful crunch to meat ratio is ideal. The original garlic soy flavor is extremely garlicky but that suits me just fine, so long as my love is eating it alongside me.

The hot has also been great in the past, but I have actually found it too hot the last couple of times I visited. I generally also get the crispy rice chicken fingers since they come with the most amazing “fast food” fries I have ever had. All of this is accompanied by a bowl of radish cubes and an iceberg-tastic salad.

The thing about Kyochon is that despite the higher prices, it always seems worth it. Also, I tend to start craving it again just as soon as I leave the store. This craving may have gained momentum due to my pregnancy, but that taste for good crispy chicken has followed me throughout my life.

Five months ago today I found out I was pregnant with my second child. Five months and two days ago I was wine tasting in a nearby wine region. Wine tasting had become part of our monthly routine since it allowed us to escape our semi-urban neighborhood to explore farm life. Plus, some of the local wines are solid and we feel more environmentally responsible for drinking a wine that did not travel to our table via airplane.

During these five months I have had to find replacements for my favorite vintages. Of course I have not come close to finding anything that will accompany a meal as well as a carefully selected wine, but I have had some fun in trying. Below are five beverages that have come closest to replicating the real thing (when served with much ceremony in a celebratory glass).

1) Trader Joe’s Sparkling Blueberry Juice
The blueberry on the nose reminds me a little of an Argentine Malbec that I had once, but the bubbles make me feel like there is a party underway.

2) Kedem Sparkling Concord Grape Juice
Brings to mind a Malvasia enjoyed with a Panini down in SoHo. The juice is much sweeter of course, but after about five months of pregnancy the taste of real wine is like a distant memory.

3) First Blush Juice Chardonnay
First Blush has a line of juices made from premium varietal wine grapes. I have tried the Merlot, Cabernet, Chardonnay, and Syrah. All are completely non-alcoholic. While they can’t compare with their alcoholic brethren, they are a personal favorite because they feature grapes and grape names on the labels. They feel more wine-like than the other alternatives and I am a big fan.

4) Mango Nectar + Seltzer
This is my substitute for the brunch Bellini. Any sort of nectar seems to work well, but you need to play around with the nectar to seltzer proportion.

5) Canada Dry Cranberry Ginger Ale garnished with a strawberry
The pink color reminds me of a blush wine, but mercifully the taste does not.