I don’t know what happened, but I turned around today and realized that I’ve gone from “adorably pregnant” to “smuggling a cannon under her shirt”. I am seriously huge. This is not necessarily a bad thing, considering that I’ve only gained about 15 pounds or so in this pregnancy, but I loathe to think how much bigger I’m going to get by the time L.B. arrives in two and a half months.

When I came home from teaching Hebrew School at Chabad this afternoon, I found Yonah in his high chair, happily slupping up his split-pea and tofu soup and sporting what looked like a huge spot of tomato sauce on his cheek. Not quite. It was actually a nasty red welt/cut. Apparently, he took a nosedive off the sofa, smacked his face on his toy bin (really a metal wastepaper basket) and ricocheted onto his back on the floor. As far as Yonah is concerned, it was old news 30 seconds later, but I practically needed smelling salts at the sight of anything remotely resembling blood anywhere near my son. Obviously, I am happy that the cut is the only result of his fall; it could have been much worse. I am also secretly a bad person because I’m happy that it happened on Shuie’s watch and not mine.

When I told my sister about my plan to become a midwife, her first response was, “Can you handle blood?”. “Sure,” I replied casually, not quite sure how truthful I was being. Since then I’ve been toying with her question. When I was at the midwives meeting on Tuesday, a student photographer was showing us pictures she’d taken of some homebirths which were actually quite cool. However, I happened to peek at them while eating my lunch and felt the teensiest twinge of queasiness. It made me a little nervous: what if I don’t have the stomach for this? So, this morning I decided to give myself a little test. I went on Youtube and checked out a video of an episiotomy (that’s when the doc cuts a little extra room into the perineum for the baby’s head to come out…sorry to get graphic), which, if you watch it before 7 a.m., is a great substitute for caffeine. I am pleased to report that the nausea factor was pretty slim, but my resolve to avoid anything like that during this birth has been kicked into super-high gear. I can think of a few other things I’d rather be doing than waddling around for weeks sporting adult diapers with ice packs attached to my crotch.

So much has happened in just the past two weeks alone I feel like I’m in an entirely different life now, which I suppose is true in a way.

A couple of weeks ago, I started thinking about the possibility of returning to work after L.B. is born and I realized that the prospect of going back to school makes me want to rip my nails out one by one. To be completely honest, I fell into teaching because I didn’t know what else to do with myself. This isn’t to say that teaching isn’t sometimes rewarding, but to maintain your energy for a long period of time, you have to have passion for it, which decidedly, I don’t. Plus, now that I’m a mother, I just know that I don’t want to expend all of my resources on other people’s children and come home with nothing left to give my own.

So, I sat down and did some thinking. What is it, really, that I want to do? This isn’t the first time I’ve asked myself this question, but this time I tossed out all of the limitations I’d placed on myself. Forget about money. Forget about time. Forget, even about what you think you are capable of, because you’re probably capable of much more. The answer seemed to sneak up on me, but once I discovered it, it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world: I want to be a midwife.

My faithful readers know that I have written much about natural birth versus “medical” birth and that I have a strong interest in natural living in general. I’ve had midwives come in and out of my life from a very young age, and while I was inspired by the work they did, I never considered myself the “medical” type, so I ruled it out as a possible career choice. When I was doing birth research during my pregnancy with Yonah, I felt the desire to follow that path growing, but again, I didn’t take it seriously. I just thought I could never handle something like that. Don’t ask me why.

Then my mother got sick. I was by her side during most of her illness, and the last six weeks of her life I was blessed to be able to live with her. I worked in tandem with my father, siblings and the VNA nurses to care for her, administering medication, managing the house and just keeping things going. I suddenly turned around and realized that not only was I not intimidated by the whole thing, but I was actually doing a good job. So, when the old desire to become a midwife came back during this pregnancy, instead of dismissing it, I started to think, “Maybe…”

So I started to do some research into different programs around the country, just to see what my options are. I also got in touch with some midwives here on the Cape, one of which was gracious enough to come and meet with me to talk about my own upcoming birth and gave me all kinds of material on midwifery. Turns out, there are a few different types of midwives: Certified Nurse-Midwives (CNMs), Certified Professional Midwives (CPMs), Certified Midwives (CMs), Direct-Entry Midwives (DEM) and Lay Midwives (LMs). CNMs are trained as nurses as well as midwives and are licensed to work in hospitals and birth centers. CPMs are usually trained through an apprenticeship, a rigorous learning program and are certified through NARM (The North American Registry of Midwives). They will typically deliver babies in birthing centers and facilitate homebirths. CMs, DEMs and LMs are usually trained the same way, but some go through a formal learning program and some are even self-taught. The tricky part about being a CNM versus the rest is that if you hold a Nursing License, you risk losing it in some states if you assist in a homebirth. Plus, some if not most of the training may be in the “medical model” as opposed to a more holistic approach. However, having a background in nursing, you have other opportunities to find steady work that other types of midwives may not (more and more hospitals and OB/GYNs are hiring CNMs for their staff; not that there isn’t some tension there, but it’s still a step in the right direction). Plus, you can always apprentice on your own time to learn alternative methods. So I’ve decided to go the CNM route, and have applied to the University of Pennsylvania’s accelerated BSN/MSN program in Nurse-Midwifery. I should hear back within a number of weeks.

In the meantime, I have signed up for training to become a Doula, or birth coach, in a weekend seminar coming up in March. It’s a great way to get to see some births and also get initiated into the “life”. I’ll be heading up to Beverly, MA where they have one of the only two birth centers in the entire state of Massachusetts. Since I’ll be keeping Shabbos, I’ve already spoken to the directing midwife about the possibility of sleeping at the Birth Center so I won’t have to drive. I told her I could pretend to be in labor so I could use the bed. We’ll see how it all works out…

As I mentioned, in the process of gleaning all of this juicy information, I met with a couple of midwives here on the Cape who have been amazing, Becca Taylor and Amanda Haddad. They have been so open to answering my million and one questions and even took me with them to a meeting of the Boston region of the Massachusetts Midwives’ Alliance in Cambridge this past Tuesday. The meeting was really interesting because it opened my eyes to the legal struggles that midwives have to go through in order to practice. Currently, while it is legal to practice midwifery in most states, there is no official licensing board or government backup (could it have anything to do with the medical establishment or insurance companies with lots of “green” leverage, perhaps?). As such, midwives can be held liable for “practicing medicine without a license” and many women do not have access to the kind of birth they may want because insurance won’t cover it. So, the MMA wrote a bill that is currently sitting in the State House proposing the creation of a State Board of Midwifery, which would offer licensing to midwives along with official governmental support. It could also possibly result in Medicaid reimbursement for homebirths. Needless to say, there is some opposition but there are representatives in the State House who are currently negotiating with them. While I won’t go into details here so I don’t compromise anyone, let’s just say these women are mobilizing forces in a push to get this bill passed, without having to practice under the supervision of OBs. It is amazing to me how people can be so passionate about the work they do that they are willing to go to such lengths to make it happen. To be a midwife, you really have to fight to do what you love.

The possibility of going to UPENN opened up another discussion in my family as well. Although we have been planning on moving to Sharon, MA after L.B. comes into the world, it’s still a pretty far shlep from Shuie’s kids, about 3.5 hours. While it’s an improvement from the drive from the Cape (on a good day it’s 4.5 hours), it’s still a long haul to do every week. Philadelphia, however, is only an hour and a half from the kids, my Dad and my in-laws. There was a time when I was married to the idea of staying in Massachusetts but things have shifted a bit for me since coming home. My siblings all have their own lives and my family seems to be moving in another direction. So, we have started doing research into a couple of different Jewish communities in the Philly area. Two in particular are pretty enticing: Bala Cynwyd (pronounced “Ba-luh Kin-Wood”, on the outskirts of Philly) and Cherry Hill, NJ, about a 15 minute drive out of the city. Both seem like lovely places so we’ll be heading down to visit the week after next to spend a Shabbos and visit my cousins Sam and Jodi. If we like it, we may end up down there anyway, whether or not I get into Penn.

Oh, and the best news yet. My new midwife friends Becca and Amanda will not only be acting as mentors for me, but they are also going to assist me in a homebirth! Hooray! Some wishes do come true (though I may not be so happy about it when I’m in labor :). Becca came by for a checkup today and said everything is looking and sounding great. We got to hear the baby’s heartbeat and listen to the whoosh-whoosh of the placenta and umbilical cord.

It is very cool thing to be going through the process of pregnancy with a midwife while beginning the process of becoming one myself. I am definitely obsessed; it’s basically all I talk about. My poor husband finally told me at 11 p.m. the other night that his brain was done and he couldn’t hear anymore about pitocin or contractions or shoulder dystocia (that’s when the shoulder gets stuck in the pelvic bones after the head has already come out). However, tonight when he was on the phone with his mother he gave a wonderful illustration of some of the reasons that mothers hemorrhage after giving birth to the placenta. “I’ve watched the documentaries with Rea,” he told her. “It’s definitely rubbed off on me”. Good boy…

We are having the Motherload of all sick days.

The day before yesterday I came home from work to find Yonah, flushed and glassy-eyed, listlessly resting in Shuie’s lap. Needless to say he had a fever that kept him up overnight. The fever continued into yesterday, eventually spiking at 104.3. This was not the scariest part. In between fever spells, Yonah’s temp dropped, he started intensely shivering and his lips turned blue; he looked like he was auditioning for “Titanic”. We had another wild night last night — Bug has now taken residence in my bed — followed up by a trip to Dr. Marz this morning, who diagnosed an ear infection. Our plans to visit my in-laws in NY have been chucked (that’s 2 for 2) and we will be spending another quiet Shabbat here on the Cape. I am desperate for company and have been begging my sister, fresh off the plane from Europe, to come and visit me.

In the meantime I am in that zombie/space cadet frame of mind that comes from long stretches of interrupted sleep. Anyone who has ever had a newborn knows what I’m talking about: all your responses are delayed and the prospect of doing anything beyond going to the bathroom once in a while is pretty much laughable. I thought I could get a nap at some point today but unfortunately it’s not happening. Ah, the perks of motherhood.

I’m having some tofu issues. I’m the type that likes it extra, extra firm, tofu that means business. The soy stuff I bought in Israel was perfect, for me anyway: hefty, sturdy and friendly to any recipe I wanted to put it in. This American crap is a joke; it’s as soft as the wimpy kid with glasses who just struck out for the third time. It falls apart when I cook it and and practically cries at the sight of soy sauce. I could go to the Asian market and buy the real stuff but a rabbi once told me that anything shipped in from the East is questionable, kosher-wise. It could have been cut with the same knife they used to make Sheepdog Dumplings. So, I must overpay for passive-aggressive tofu and like it. Maybe I should start making my own in my free time, which should be starting around 2028.

I’m reading a book called “Raising a Child with Soul” by Slovie Jungreis-Wolff, daughter of the renowned teacher Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis. For years, Rebbetzin Jungreis has taught a weekly parsha class at the Hineni Heritage Center on West End Avenue in New York City, right around the corner from my parents’ apartment. My mother was a devoted student of the Rebbetzin’s and shared a special bond with her; she ended up turning a bunch of people on to the Rebbetzin’s classes and her amazing books, myself included. This book was a gift to me from my mother’s friend Elizabeth in honor of L.B.’s imminent arrival and Yonah’s already rockin’ soul. Like her mother, Slovie Jungreis-Wolff is a passionate, deeply spiritual writer with a very clear and practical message: If you want your kids to grow up to be good people, you must be the example for them to follow. When not scared out of my wits, I’ve been inspired to really take a look at myself and see what kind of person is raising my son and baby-to-be.

One section of the book is all about the C-word: Communication. Most people will agree it’s important, but how much so is almost impossible to quantify. Slovie writes about David HaMelech (King David), who, in his infinite wisdom knew that communication was THE way to build bridges between generations. During his life he composed Tehillim (Psalms), which are a touchstone for people of all faiths even today. Lesser known is the letter he wrote his son, Solomon, before his death. Solomon was only twelve when he lost his father, but he was destined to take on a kingship that was surrounded with conflict and difficulty. To help him shoulder the burden, David left him with these words (from I Kings 2:2; interpreted by the Me’am Loez):

“Don’t mourn for me and my years. It is our nature as human beings to eventually die. Death in itself is not tragic, but it is a part of life. I completed my task in life. Now it is time for my soul to return to Gd. This is how Gd created us. But if it is your own loss you grieve, accept my words of advice and encouragement. You will not remain in the world alone. Gd will always be there for you. Everything I gave you came from Gd and so now just turn to Him directly and He will never forsake you. Take the strength that Gd has given you and use it properly. Understand that before you rule over others you must rule over yourself”.

I truly believe that we are sent the messages we need exactly when we need them. In this case, as I read these words, I felt like my mother was talking to me. It was a balm for my heart. For the first time in months, there was peace, acceptance and real hope.

Thank You, Gd.

Something has come into my life that has changed it forever: Spaghetti Squash. I think I’ve had it once before but the stars were not aligned then as they were the other night when I sat down to dinner. It was a simple experiment — halve and gut the squash, bake rind-up at 450 for 45 minutes, scoop out the goods, mix with wild rice and a little bit of strained tomatoes — but the results were sonic. It was, hands down, the best dinner I have eaten in months. Take it from me: for a serious world-rocking, look no further than your local produce aisle.

We’re here a week already and are just beginning to get settled in. I have one suitcase unpacked, another waiting patiently for attention and a bedroom in an impressive state of disarray. It’s easy to forget how difficult a simple task like unpacking can be when you’ve got a Yonah running around until you actually have to do it. You can place a sweater on the chair one minute and the next find it on the floor, where Yonah is making an origami swan with it. Pair that with the need to fetch him from the bathroom every few minutes and your productivity level pretty much plummets. In the meantime, I’ve taken on a part-time gig at the Chabad House doing administrative stuff that, were I doing it for some corporation, would make me want to peel my nails off one by one. However, the knowledge that I am helping the Rabbi, his wife and the Jewish community on the Cape actually leaves me with a warm, tingly feeling inside. Indeed, I do data entry with relish.

Last week Shuie and I met with Jessica from BirthMatters Midwifery Care, who spent an hour and a half giving us a rundown about the ins and outs (mostly outs) of homebirth. While we were very impressed with her and the care options she offered, the unfortunate truth is that insurance won’t cover the expenses. This is completely ludicrous for a variety of reasons, one of the most pointed of which is the fact that homebirth costs a FRACTION of what a regular hospital birth usually does. So, as much as we would love to have the baby at home, it looks like the hospital is where it’s at for us. The good news about Cape Cod Hospital is that they have 3 Certified Nurse-Midwives and a Laborist on staff who do most of the deliveries during the day. In fact, I went to my OB’s office yesterday and met with one of them, a willowy, soft-spoken woman named Jodi, to whom I voiced (pretty strongly) my desire to do a homebirth and concerns about doing the hospital go-round again. She agreed with me wholeheartedly. “You are a perfect candidate for homebirth,” she said. “Unfortunately, we’re working with a broken system.” The good thing is that the CNMs are very supportive of natural birth and are generally much more “there” for the laboring woman than the OB’s on call.

A really interesting thing happened when I walked into Jodi’s office. On the wall was a painting of two women holding babies. Around the image was written the words, “And the midwives feared Gd and did not heed the word of Pharaoh.” It was the story of Yocheved and Miriam, Moses’ mother and sister, who were the midwives of Israel in the land of Egypt. This is part of the Torah portion we read this past week. In Israel I learned more than once that the energy of the weekly parsha repeats itself every time it comes around again; I found it comforting and reassuring to bet met with it in her office. When I mentioned to Jodi that this was the week’s parsha, she nodded. “It’s the story of Passover”. When she told me her kids were named Noah and Ariel, my suspicions were confirmed: Another young Jewish mom on the Cape! I was so excited I was practically bursting to invite her family for Shabbat dinner. I held myself in check, though, seeing as I had just met her and I wasn’t sure about the whole midwife/patient thing. Who knows? With time…

It is so refreshing to have a REAL Sunday after Shabbos, a day to relax, get settled, unpack and clean up. My stepdaughters Sima Ellie and Huvi are here with us this weekend, so all the “settling in” stuff is basically on hold until they go home tonight. We’re not quite snowed in, but there’s definitely enough white stuff out there to make us want to scratch our plans for the day and just hang out. Shuie went off to the Chabad house for morning minyan so it’s the girls, Yonah and me for the next couple of hours.

“So what are you going to blog about now?” my Aunt Renee asked me a few days ago. Excellent question. Can life, free of big, fat international intrigue, still be interesting? I’d like to think so. There are still a million new recipes to try–I made my first from-scratch pie crust for Shabbos; I made it too thin so it ended up rock-hard. Note to self: thicker crust–a baby to bring into the world, a Yonah to play with, the rest of my life to figure out. If people will read, I’ll keep writing. Then again, I’ll probably keep writing even if people don’t read. This blog is good for my sanity.

Josh and Katherine surprised us with a visit yesterday afternoon. I was so thrilled to see them, not only because I’ve missed them so much, but because our visit ate up a good 2 1/2 hour stretch of a LONG Shabbos afternoon. We had a talk about our current places in life, how we’re all struggling to find a place that’s really “home”. J and K may find themselves elsewhere at some point in the future, and Shira and Aaron are all making lives for themselves, too. Who knows where it will take all of us? I never thought it would happen to my family because we’ve always been so close, but it seems we’re all drifting. I suppose that’s normal, probably even good (who wants to live with their siblings forever?), but it’s still a little heartbreaking, too. We will always be each other’s family, but it looks more and more like we will all be forced to created communities/families of our own, apart from the one from which we came. The home base we once had hasn’t ceased to exist, but it’s shifted shape enough to seem like another entity entirely. It will take some getting used to, but perhaps one day I will find myself happy in a “home” of our creation, perhaps even grateful for the turns in life that brought me there.

In the meantime, I am very curious to see what kind of life we can build for ourselves out here on the Cape. The Jewish community here compared to the one we just came from is like going from the middle of Times Square to the middle of the Sahara. Okay, I’m exaggerating. There is still some Jewish life here, maybe even more than I realize, and there are definitely plenty of young moms, so I’ve got that covered. If I stay open to possibility, I may find myself surprised.

Yonah calls. Must run.

Whoa.

After a 12-hour flight, an overnight stay in New York and a 7-hour drive in the snow, we have finally arrived at the Cape. I am way too bombed to feel much of anything except a craving for sleep and a few hours’ respite from parenthood. Within an hour or so of our arrival, a magnetic force drew me into my parents’ bedroom, the room where my mother died. Some of her things are still on the nightstand from when she was sick. Her teddy bear, Ralph, is still sitting on her setee. I didn’t expect her to be there, but the need for her, to tell her everything, was so immense I crawled onto her side of the bed and cried into her sheets.

Our arrival home was pretty anticlimactic; everyone has been busy with their own thing so there were no major fireworks or surprise parties planned to herald our arrival. My in-laws were happy to see us (Well, Yonah, really. They put up with us to get to him) and my stepdaughters, of course, are thrilled to have the other half of their family back.

Okay, beyond exhausted. Will write more tomorrow.

As John Mayer croons in the background, I am taking a much-needed break from cleaning, packing and tending to all of the little details that are part of moving. Our kitchen table has become a (pretty artful, thank you very much) display of all of our kitchenware; we’re selling everything today and tomorrow and I’m hoping we’ll be able to get rid of a good amount of it. Whatever we don’t end up selling we’ll be giving away, so either way we get something, be it cash or brownie points with Gd.

Per the suggestion of my friend Marlene, I watched the documentary “The Business of Being Born”, produced by Ricki Lake. The film is about the “Birth Business” in the United States, which at this point is a billion-dollar industry that pushes the use of drugs during labor, and as a result, the number of cesareans being performed on women is on a steady climb. There are hospitals in New York in which 45% of all births are C-sections. There is even a trend among the rich and famous to schedule “designer births” in which they schedule an induction and have their C-section, followed up by a neat little tummy-tuck. Essentially, having a baby in the U.S. is becoming an increasingly impersonal and potentially dangerous enterprise for both mommies and babies. For such an advanced country, I was shocked to find that the United States has one of the highest rates of maternal deaths WORLDWIDE, due mostly to the (mostly unnecessary) interventions pushed by doctors, hospitals and insurance companies. “If you really want to humanize birth,” says the former president of the World Health Organization, “then the best thing to do is get the hell out of the hospital”. No surprise, then, that the focus of the film was on the benefits of natural birth either at home or at birthing centers, under the care of skilled midwives. This film is really special, not only incredibly informative but also empowering and touching. I highly recommend it (Thanks, Marlene!)

When I sat down to watch the movie again with Shuie, he made a connection I hadn’t even thought of about my own birth experience. Before I had Yonah I read everything I could get my hands on about labor and natural childbirth. I went into the hospital wanting to do it naturally but somehow found myself hooked up to an electronic fetal monitor, Pitocin pushing into my bloodstream and numb from the waist down from an epidural. Due to the inability to feel the bottom of my body, when I delivered on my side I ended up pinching my sciatic nerve and didn’t know it. For two weeks after having Yonah I was bedridden, unable to walk without immense pain. Even now I’m can’t be on my feet for too long or the pain starts kicking up again. So, after having a hospital birth, I have Sciatica at 28 years old. The only other people I know who have it are all on social security. But as it turns out, based on the history of medical interventions in childbirth, I got off pretty easy.

So I have since been doing a lot of research about midwives, birthing centers and natural birth options in my area. I’m glad I got Shuie to sit down and watch the film with me; before this he was completely unwilling to consider anything but a hospital birth. After seeing the film, though, he’s open to meeting with a midwife. His only concern now is that the pain will be too much for me and I will regret giving up the option of using drugs for the pain. He’s definitely onto something; I have NO threshold for pain. But I’d like to think that there’s a part of me that would be able to push through and really do it naturally. We shall see…

While it’s 10:45 a.m. and I’m already pooped, I’m trying to keep my eye on the prize. Our flight is tomorrow night and in only a few days, Gd willing, we will be arriving home to the Cape. Aside from selling our stuff and wrapping up packing, there is not much else to do. For now, I will just take it one step, one minute at a time. Now to get myself off the couch.

As our last Shabbat in the holy land comes to a close, an unexpected melancholy has settled on me. While I’m no longer struggling with the decision to leave, the closing of another chapter of my life is a sad thing. I have had some challenges here, but there were also some wonderful experiences packed into these past four months. I’ve met some really special people and learned many things I never knew. Most importantly, I learned that I am able to grow on my own. The more subtle spiritual and emotional growth that I know occurred–I haven’t been through all this for nothing–will probably take some time to manifest, or at least for me to recognize it. Coming back to the States will be a huge opportunity to show me what has actually happened during my time in Israel; I’ll be returning to my old life but as a much different person. How will my eyes see the world now?

We will be arriving home smack in the middle of the holiday season, which I’m hoping will be relatively calm and not too cold. I’m looking forward to coming back to the Cape house, seeing the trees through the wall of windows in the living room, the stars in the impossibly clear sky, the sound of the ocean on the crisp, clean wind. The silence. I wonder if being back in the house where my mother died will be a comfort to me. Shuie, Gd willing, will be working at the Chabad House in Hyannis while he finishes up his smicha program, which will enable us both to get involved with the Jewish community out there. I’m very excited about the opportunity and bursting with ideas. First is a kosher, organic cooking class…

Life really does go on, doesn’t it? We have our adventures, our chapters within chapters, and as much as we can feel a particular stage will stretch on forever, it does eventually pass. All things truly do come to an end. But with every end there is also a beginning, bringing with it infinite possibilities. With every new moment, anything, truly anything, is possible.

I’ve entered week 23 of the pregnancy and LB is groovin’; lots of movement, lots of kicks, thank Gd. Babycenter.com says that the baby is now 11 inches and weighs over a pound (they compare it to a large mango). The site also says that the baby can hear everything, so I guess LB gets to listen in on the million and one books I read to Yonah every day, as well as all the music I play for him. Our new favorite album is called “C’mon”, a very mellow kids record by a duo called Renee and Jeremy. The music is upbeat but very sweet and chilled out. If you’re on the market for kids stuff, I highly recommend it. My favorite of their lyrics, “Is there really any wonder how a baby comes alive/add a little love and they go…”.

I read a book over the past couple of days called “Siblings without Rivalry” by Elaine Mazlish and Adele Faber, two parenting gurus who have written a bunch of bestsellers. Even though I know Yonah is still little, I know it’s going to be an adjustment for him when LB arrives, so I want to educate myself as much as I can about raising happy siblings who feel they get what they need from their parents. One thing that particularly struck me was the idea of making sure kids know that they are not loved the “same”, but that they are loved “uniquely”. Every child is different and it’s not realistic to expect to love them all in the same way. Instead, my job as a parent is to recognize the special qualities about each child and celebrate them openly. My mother was great at that. In fact, when we were young she took all four of us to a child psychologist who met with each of us one-on-one. In our meetings he asked us who we thought the favorite child was. All of us said, “Me”. That was the gift she had as a parent; she recognized what was special about each of us, never compared us and encouraged us to celebrate our differences. I suppose that’s why we’re so accepting of each other now, and why that sense of competition doesn’t exist between us. I pray, pray, pray that I will be able to provide that same sense of love and security for my children. It is so not easy; raising kids demands every shred of your inner resources. But I assume that if I’m being blessed with children that Gd thinks I’m up to the job.

My bed and I had some quality time today. In between packing sessions, cleaning the kitchen and rounds of laundry, I snuck in not one but two naps while Yonah was at Ruchama’s. Shuie went and picked him up so I could have a little more time to sleep. Even with the extra snooze time, 4:30 this afternoon found me lying on the carpet in our living room while Yonah played around my head and eventually came to lie down next to me for a cuddle. I chucked my evening plans to go with Shuie to a fundraiser tonight, opting instead for another date with my bed. We are having my sibs-in-law for Shabbat which means I get to cook. Ugh. I’m going to need all the energy I can muster.

I wish those Star Trek beam things actually existed in real life, as it would make our transit back to the States so much easier. We’re leaving at 1 a.m. on Tuesday Night/Wednesday morning, which will put us at JFK at 6 a.m. on Wednesday. All you geniuses out there who have done the math may be asking yourself, “What’s the big deal? It’s just a five-hour flight”. Not so much. The 6 a.m. arrival is including the time difference. 6 a.m. in New York is 1 p.m. in Israel. You got it: We’re in for a 12-hour airplane funfest. Now here’s the weird thing: our flight here was only 9 and a half hours. When I asked Shuie today why the trip back is so much longer he shrugged and said, “I dunno. Something to do with the wind”. I suppose I should be grateful that his answer was so simple; had I asked my father the same question I would have been in for a 45-minute lesson on aerodynamics, Galileo and probably something involving the Talmud. Just kidding, Dad…

When my mother was sick she wrote on a blog every day (I’m not as original as you thought), sharing with everyone who cared to read the ups and downs of her illness and how it felt to live battling Cancer. She had a huge readership and eventually the blog became our main source of keeping people informed about how she was doing. My father wrote me today to let me know that Mom’s blog has a new address: www.debbisjourney.com. I decided to revisit the blog today, reading entries she wrote around this time last year. It’s amazing to me how much hope she had for her recovery; there was even a point when she thought she would be able to go back to teaching preschool. She was so brave; all she wanted was to live so she could be with her children and grandchildren. As you read on, you can see her will to fight dwindling. And then, only six months later, she’s gone. There are moments when I still don’t believe she died. There are her thoughts, right there on the internet. There’s her voice in my head and pictures of her, so vibrant and beautiful, right in front of me. How can this person no longer exist? I know there are no answers to these questions. I wish I didn’t have to ask them.