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.

Today I got a taste of the next phase of pregnancy, the one they tell you is coming after the first trimester, when the ungodly exhaustion and the nausea finally dissipate and are replaced with a burst of renewed energy. While I wasn’t scaling mountains or anything, I felt inspired after I picked up Yonah to trek up Mount Heart Attack to the park, where we played on the slide, the seesaw (his favorite), a spinny ride and this giant truck thing that doesn’t do much but somehow manages to make kids insane. It was nice to be out in the fresh air, especially since we’re enjoying a semi-warm spell, something akin to mid-fall in the States, and I was glad to give Yonah a chance to run around. He’s still getting used to trekking downhill; he took a little tumble on the pavement and bumped his head. He cried for about 30 seconds before deciding a bush was much more interesting. After our brief moment of drama, we headed over to the Mercaz Meschari to buy some groceries and check out the cute girls in their strollers. When we finally got home, I looked at the clock and was amazed to find I had pulled off a two-hour outing. Maybe there’s hope for me yet…

I find it ironic that it’s when we’re leaving that the light starts peeking over the horizon, but I believe that there must be a reason for that. I’m going to need my energy to build a life wherever we end up, be it in Cape Cod or in Sharon, MA or in Boston. In the past, I’ve had a habit of resisting investing myself in various communities in which I’ve lived, feeling that since it wasn’t where I was going to end up “forever” it wasn’t worth me expending the effort. After being here, I see the folly in that thinking; life is made up of the present moment and I will miss it if I hold off until some imaginary time when all will be exactly as I think it should. I did some thinking today I about the fact that Shuie and I don’t have a home of our own (yet). Like it or not, there is a lot of pressure in the States to be established and settled and quickly (i.e., you’re a failure if you don’t have mortgage by 21). I’ll admit that I have bought into that thinking and I’ve struggled with the fact that my life has not ended up fitting the mold. But this morning, in a moment of real clarity, this thought came to mind: “Home is with your family. Love your family and wherever you are is home”. It gave me so much peace. I am inspired now to dive in and really invest in the time and place that I’m in, temporary, not temporary, whatever. There is so much to learn and, I’m sure, lots of great people to meet. It’s amazing to me that an adventure on the other side of the world has given me the appreciation to have a quiet and happy and (dare I say it?) ordinary life with my family.

My teacher Leah gave an amazing class yesterday about this week’s parsha, Vayigash, in which the sons of Jacob learn that the vizier of Pharaoh to whom they are appealing for help from famine is in fact their long-lost brother, Joseph, whom they had sold into slavery 22 years before. The moment when Joseph reveals his identity to his brothers is truly a touching one, as is the happy reunion they share afterward. Leah gave particular attention to Joseph’s reconnection with his brother Benyamin (his only full brother, both being sons of Rachel), whom he had last seen when Benyamin was 9. The list of Benyamin’s sons later in the parsha (he had 10) are names that all suggest how deeply he missed his brother, and how he tried to fill the hole inside with the love he had for his own children. Leah illustrated this point by describing the loss of her own father when she was just a teenager, and how the 40-year hole has never completely filled, no matter how much she loves her husband and six children. The she told an incredible story:

A few years ago, Leah’s friend Zahava lost her son Aish Kodesh in a terrorist attack during the Intifada. Along with his parents, Kodesh left behind a wife, Inbal, and a little girl, Talia. While Kodesh was in the army, all of the men in his elite unit paired off into deep friend/partnerships. Kodesh’s partner was a man named Ofer, who was also his best friend. Ofer and Kodesh promised each other that if something should happen to one, the other would take care of the other’s family. Ofer was not married and when Kodesh was killed he devoted himself to Inbal and Talia. After a time, he fell in love with her and asked her to marry him. At first she was wary, telling him, “But Kodesh is waiting for me in Shamayim (heaven)”. “Well,” Ofer replied, “Someone must be waiting for me in Shamayim, too. While we’re here we might as well be together”. So they married. As a wedding gift, Leah bought them a tree. She chose a tree because in order for a tree to grow, you have to dig a hole. The holes we have inside after losing people we love, while a source a pain, can also be a place where new life can grow. Leah blessed them that from their loss they should grow and build together.

For obvious reasons, I was crying by the time Leah finished her story. As I looked around the room, I saw that everyone else was crying, too. The losses we experience can be devastating, but they also provide all of us with opportunities to reach out, to comfort each other, to connect, and eventually, Gd willing, to grow. I believe that each day I survive the pain of losing my mother is not only making me stronger, but also a more open and compassionate person. I am not afraid of other people’s pain now, and I believe what I’m going through will enable me to help someone else one day. I also know that my mother’s memory is honored in the family that I’m creating, every time I give love to my husband and my child(ren, Gd willing), and in the whole person I’m becoming, day by day. I pray that all of us out there with holes inside merit to use them to create a more loving and beautiful world.

I’ve just arrived home to find my landlord and his son tinkering around my apartment. Between issues with the fuses, mold in our bathroom and prepping the place to be seen by prospective renters, we have had a lot of activity in our place of late. I’m trying to be gracious and patient because they’re being more than understanding with us. Not only are Yossi and Carmela not penalizing us for breaking our lease — “The most important thing is your health,” they said — but they are planning on returning our last month’s rent to us as soon as they get someone new in here. I honestly don’t know if such kind landlords exist outside of this country.

Last night I prayed to Gd for clarity about our decision. I want so much to do the “right” thing all the time, though there are so many circumstances in which I can’t really know what “right” is until much later down the road, if there is even a “right” at all. As I went to sleep last night, I meditated on the prospect of both staying and going. While the idea of staying has its perks (being surrounded by a rich, Jewish world, more opportunities to learn and grow) when I thought of coming home I felt a sense of Shalva (peace) inside that indicated to me clearly that this was the choice I need to be making now. Then this morning, I was reading from a meditation book and came across this passage: “I realize that God’s will for me is not to make the “right” choice, but to feel free to make mistakes; to be sane”. I felt it was a message directly for me. Life is fluid, as my mother-in-law says, constantly moving and changing form. Our job is to flow with it as best we can in each moment with the resources we have at our disposal. I am quietly building up my trust in the current of life and my ability to follow it. For today, it is taking me in the direction of home.

If you happen to be wandering around Jerusalem at night and find yourself wondering where all the couples who are expecting babies are, you’ll probably find them all at Misgav Ladach hospital in Katamon, waiting to get ultrasounds. Shuie and I headed there last night around 8:30 and the place was hopping. We had an hour wait before we were able to get into our ultrasound appointment, and the whole show lasted no longer than 10 minutes. However, the wait was definitely worth it. We got to see the baby’s kidneys, spine, femur, hands and even the face in a 3D picture. Thank Gd, everything looks good. Apparently my hormonal trapeze swinging has not had any affect at all :). Afterward, Shuie and I stopped over at Ben Yehuda so he could have an overstuffed Shwarma sandwich and I could have a bottle of water to celebrate. L’Chaim!

I received an email from my sister, who has arrived safely in London despite the snowstorm, Thank Gd. She and her boyfriend Leo will be traversing the European continent for the next three weeks, visiting all the major hotspots, including London, Amsterdam, Munich, Rome, Prague, Paris, and many more that I can’t remember. For a split second I was jealous, remembering the fun I had on my adventures almost a decade ago (!) when I lived in Holland and traveled all over Europe. I quickly gave myself a mental kick, remembering that I have, in fact, spent the last four months residing in an exotic foreign country. Besides, the kind of running around she’s doing, while exciting, would be pretty much impossible with Yonah in tow. Not that he wouldn’t dig seeing the Mona Lisa, but I remember that after only two days of shlepping him around Tzfat I felt like I was under general anesthesia. It’s not always easy to accept that you’ve passed a certain phase of life and that your choices are a lot more complicated. Sometimes I wish it was just as simple as picking up and going. True, we did something to that extent by coming here, but the practical, day-to-day experience of living that choice was not a simple one. There was still childcare and expenses to think about, not to mention all the other grown-up stuff that I sometimes wish didn’t exist. But this is life, I guess, and while it does get more complicated as time goes on, it also becomes much richer.

Wonderful news! I submitted a short piece to “Mishapacha” magazine (a pretty well-known Jewish publication) and I’ve just been told that it’s going to be published! I don’t know any of the details about when it’s going to print but as soon as I find out I will let everyone know.

Not to brag, but while the East Coast is getting slammed by a full-scale blizzard, we here in Jerusalem have been enjoying some of the most beautiful weather we’ve had in months. One could say it was almost Spring-like, but one wouldn’t want to rub it in. It’s been so pleasant that while riding on the bus with Shuie yesterday, I felt an uplift of spirit that prompted me to second-guess our decision to go home. My head started swirling with maybes and what-ifs that eventually got me so stressed out I felt like I needed electro-shock treatment. So much for enjoying the weather.

Either way, we have made our decision and now the challenge is to accept it, embrace it and do it b’simcha (with joy), even though there will always be maybes and what-ifs tagging along. My good friend Billy says that sometimes the line between My Will and Gd’s Will is so blurry that sometimes you have to just make a decision and do the best you can with what you’ve got. I would say that in this case, I can completely relate. I go back and forth about making the “right” decision, fearful that I will make some kind of monumental mistake, either giving up a once-in-a-lifetime experience or setting myself up for a potential stressful and isolating pregnancy, while shouldering the pressure of trying to make it here financially. So even though things are not 100% clear, it is time for action, and in this case that means going home. I can continue learning in the States, maybe not in such a structured way, but it is possible. Right now, my focus has to be on having a safe and happy rest of my pregnancy and prepare to bring LB into the world.

Speaking of the pregnancy, my husband and I went to Misgav Ladach hospital yesterday for our second-trimester ultrasound, where they told us that they had booked us for the wrong appointment and could not see us. Being my hormonal, fiery self, I was pretty ticked that we had to haul all the way to Katamon just to be turned away. As I launched into a mini temper-tantrum, Shuie, ever the angel, took my hand and whispered, “Ein Od Milvado”, (”There is nothing besides Him [Gd]), assuring me that everything happens for a reason. In my art class yesterday, my friend Idit told me that our husband’s voices are the voice of Gd, meaning that Gd speaks through our life partners to help guide us and give us clarity. In that moment my husband’s voice spoke the truth with equanimity and love, but I had only one response for him: “Shut up, Shuie”. Ah, the delights of pregnancy…

My husband’s voice also gave me another slice of truth the other night when we sat down to write our plan for when we get home. I brought up the possibility of taking the job in Cambridge, the one that would call for a 3-hour commute each day. On a piece of paper, in bold writing and highlighted by a dark square, Shuie wrote, “COMMUTING IS NOT AN OPTION”. In my head, I think I can do everything. I think I can be five months pregnant, care for a toddler and commute 3 hours a day while working a demanding job. In reality, that is actually insane. I got for a five-minute walk and I am ready to sleep the rest of the day away. But every time I tried to argue the possibility, Shuie referred me back to the square: “COMMUTING IS NOT AN OPTION”. This is really hard for me to accept, but accept it I must. Harrumph.

Yonah turned 16 months old yesterday and has graduated from “Cutest Kid in the World” to “Cutest Kid in the History of Mankind”. Along with his penchant for reading — he asks very nicely, saying, “Book”, “Read” and “Please” — Yonah now wears multiple hats at once (this is not a metaphor), walks all over the place and gives his Mommy delicious baby kisses. He also loves to dance and can recognize his favorite song, “Popcorn!” by saying, “Pop! Pop!” as soon as it starts. Yonah loves Elmo; every afternoon Mommy lets him watch 10-15 minutes of Sesame Street so he can have his fix. His hair is so long now it hangs in his eyes so his father went out and got him special clips that have a soccer ball and a dreidel on them because I was adamant about him not looking like a girl. Of course, Yonah pulls them out the minute I put them in, but if I grab his hands and sing him a song, sometimes I can distract him long enough that he’ll forget I put it in (Listen, you gotta do what you gotta do). Despite his chronic cold, Yonah is almost always in good cheer (unless Mommy is on the phone and can’t pay attention to him). I think he is going to make a FANTASTIC big brother.

It is now 10 a.m. and I have begun cleaning out the fridge. It’s amazing what kinds of things end up living in there when you don’t stay on top of things. I still catch myself in those moments when I find myself asking, “Who’s going to take care of…?” and then I remember, “Oh, right. I’m the Mom. I guess I’m supposed to do it”. The art of running a household is a very subtle yet demanding one, tackling an ever-growing list of household chores, keeping bellies full, clothes clean, children and husbands happy, cabinets stocked. It’s kind of like playing a constant game of whack-a-mole (And that’s if a mother is blessed with the ability to devote her energy solely to her home. Add a job on top of that and we’re talking Wonder Woman). For the ones who aren’t running the show, it may seem as if these things just magically accomplish themselves. My mother, for example, was always doing, but it never registered with me that she was actually keeping everything together. Now that I’m on the other side, the truth has become as clear as day: If Mama don’t do it, it don’t get done.

We have just reached the tail end of what was my first official vegetarian Shabbat, and I must say that my husband/guest (Shloimie) seemed none the worse for it. On the menu was Rice and Bean Soup, Zucchini and Eggplant Lasagna, a Tofu/Veggie Quiche, Sweet Potato Pie and my whole-wheat Challah. While it was definitely a change from the norm, it was really refreshing to do something different. So, yay.

We are t-minus 9 days to Operation Homecoming and I now have one suitcase three-quarters packed. I am starting to get really excited about coming back to the States but am trying to temper myself, knowing that while change can be exciting, the initial rush does wear off and routine sets it, bringing with it all the challenges you were able to ignore in the chaos of travel. Still, the joy of seeing my family and settling back into someplace familiar I hope will be a balm of sorts for me and offer some sense of settling before the new baby comes.

Amongst the mini-library that Yonah received from Uncle Josh and Auntie Katherine for Channukah was a book by P.D. Eastman (one of Dr. Suess’s pen-names, by the way) called “Are You My Mother?”. It’s a standard favorite which many of you have probably read, but if you haven’t, the Cliffs Notes version is that a baby bird emerges from his egg to find his nest empty and goes on a journey to find his mother. He asks a variety of different animals if they are his mother, which they are not, and eventually finds himself back at his nest, where his mother comes home bearing grub for him. Yonah handed me the book to read to him yesterday and in the middle of it, I suddenly burst into tears. I am that baby bird, traveling around the world and seeking for that sense of “home” that only my mother could provide for me. The only difference is that when I come home, she won’t be there waiting for me. However, the home she made is still there and waiting to be filled with family. So I’ll do the best I can with mine.

I’m reading a fantastic book called “Bread and Fire”, an anthology of essays by Jewish women about the experience of being a Jewish woman. These women are from all different facets of life, some observant, some not, some straddling the line. Some are career women, others stay-at-home mothers. But each has something incredibly deep and touching to say about this identity into which we have been born, and all the power and responsibility that comes with it. I found one essay in particular to be so sweet and moving; it was about a woman who has been struggling with infertility for over six years, and finally, having tried everything, she is down to one last option. Based on a teaching of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, the author makes the decision to mentally put herself in the place she wishes to be, meaning, instead of identifying herself as a “childless woman struggling to have children”, she thinks of herself as “a mother of a large family, Thank Gd, who is waiting for her children to come home”. The essay is really a testament to the power of positive thinking. Now, I know this doesn’t guarantee that this woman will ever have children; she says so herself in the essay. But imagine the sense of peace and contentment that must come with a decision like that. Imagine truly believing that your goals have already been accomplished; you’re just waiting to see them in front of your eyes. So, I’ve decided to take it on for myself. I have been telling myself, “I am a person who fully trusts Gd and who knows she is being taken care of”. By placing myself in that reality, I can slowly ease myself out of the fear-based freak-outs that come when I think about money or jobs or the welfare of my family and all of those future phantoms over which I really have no control. Also, the good thing about my goal is that it’s already true. Deep down, I am someone who has faith and knows she is being taken care of; I just forget that when my mind gets in the way. But for today, I will try something different and see if I can bring that inner reality into my outer reality.