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Sleep & Life Hacks

Deciding to Become A Single Mother by Choice

5/20/2020

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​It was May, 2009. I was thirty-five years old. 

My boyfriend, Tom, and I had been dating a few months and always had a great time together, cooking, walking and laughing. We tried a different Brooklyn pizzaria every week, and made the best grilled cheese sandwiches and sweet potato fries together. But during our camping trip with his friends, something felt off. I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
 
The day after we returned, Tom asked to talk to me. 

"I don't know how to tell you this."

"What?" Uh oh. The uneasy feeling in my stomach deepened to dread and then panic.

"I think you are great. But I need to end this."

"What???"

"I can't really explain it. There's nothing wrong with you. Everything is great with you. But I just can't do this."

"I don't understand, " I answered angrily.  

"I don't really understand it either. But I know I've never wanted to be friends with an ex before but I really want to stay friends with you." 

"Gee, thanks," I said bitterly. "I already have a lot of friends." 

I was furious. Why would a person break up with another person if she was so great? Clearly he was lying. Asshole.

The morning after our breakup, I woke up and suddenly knew, with great clarity, that I was done putting my life on hold. For anyone. Or the lack of someone. I would make my own dreams come true. I didn't need anyone else anymore.

I felt oddly liberated. And a lot less angry. Dating in NYC at 35 had been a disaster. It was like I had a flashing neon sign above my head saying, "warning: biological clock is ticking." Men my age were dating much younger women. There was a much smaller pool of educated men than women. It felt like an impossible game. 

I was done playing games. I was taking my own life into control. 

A few months later, Tom agreed to my request to have a follow-up conversation. He explained there was nothing I had done wrong, he could just sense that I had been looking towards the future and that we wanted different things. I felt a strange relief and grattitude.

There was nothing wrong with me. We just had different paths. My bitterness was gone.

A weight was lifted from my shoulders. And the truth was, he was right. I did want more. He had understood me more than I had realized, more than I had understood myself. He had set me free. 


That day after the break up, I thought was going to buy an apartment for myself in New York City. Choosing what I wanted, without regard to anyone else's preferences. I looked at a few places, but after three weeks, I knew what I really wanted was not to buy an apartment. It was to have a family. On my own. 

Tom had set me free to pursue my wildest dream. But in truth, it wasn't really a new dream.

At age twenty-five, I had stumbled upon Jane Mattes' seminal book, Single Mothers by Choice, in a bookstore and bought it, despite the hefty price tag and my relative poverty. I devoured the book and then put the idea on back burner, because I entered a five-year relationship shortly thereafter. When that relationship ended, I spent several years actively dating, hoping to find a lifelong partner, but each time a relationship ended, my brain immediately reverted back to Plan B: to have a baby on my own. 

So this break-up with Tom wasn't so different. It's just that this time, there was no reverting back to Plan A. I was done with dating and ready to make my dream a reality. 

I restrained my normally enthusiastic nature and committed to waiting until the following February to actually start conceiving a baby. Just to make sure I wasn't rushing this decision.

While I waited, I started seeing a therapist, just to "clear the decks," mentally, and make sure I was in the best possible emotional state for making this decision. I agreed to let a former subletter share my apartment during the day while I was at work, as a way to save money. And I started charting my fertility signs each day. 

A few months later, I first visited my wonderful fertility doctor, Dr. Trivax. I thought it would be a good experiment, to see how I felt going to a fertility doctor, and was relieved to find that I felt nothing but joyous excitement at beginning the process. 

Dr. Trivax diagnosed with PCOS, a common hormonal imbalance that was preventing me from ovulating, and started started me on a medication to try to regulate my hormones. That February, I took my first fertility medication, Clomid, and had my first attempt, turkey-baster style, at getting pregnant, with the help of a donor. I was so sure it was going to work... and was amazed at how disappointed I was when it did not.

I did three more cycles with Clomid and then one with injected fertility medications. Each one failed. 

I thought I was prepared for failure, having told myself that it can take a heterosexual couple twelve months of attempts through intercourse before medical intervention is typically called for. But it was hard not to be disappointed. And the side effects of the fertility medications, especially the injectible ones, were intense. Lots of mood swings. I was sad a lot. 

After the fifth failed cycle, I told Dr. Trivax, "that's it. If I am going to have all these side effects anyway, I want to increase my odds and move to IVF." 

He agreed and in October, I started injecting myself with multiple medications a day. Each day, I went to the doctor's office before work for blood tests and ultrasound exams. I felt like a big science experiment but all those needles and medicines were worth it if it meant achieving my goal. The hope was that I would produce 10-20 eggs that would be surgically removed and artificially inseminated with the goal of later returning one or two healthy five-day-old embryos to my uterus. 

Well, due to my PCOS, my body outdid itself. Dr. Trivax harvested not 10-20 eggs, but fifty-two eggs. The nurse told me afterwards that this was their second highest retrieval ever. 

That sounded like a thing to be proud of but it had a big downside. I woke up a few days later in excruciating pain and profoundly dizzy. My abdomen was swollen and tight as a drum. I crawled to the phone and called my doctor's office and was instructed to come in immediately. 

Luckily, my friend Jessica was staying with me, because I was so dizzy I could barely walk. She called a taxi and I somehow made my way downstairs with her help. She sat in the front seat of the taxi so I could lie down in back. We made it upstairs to the doctor's office and I bypassed the triage area and walked straight to the back, teling the nurses I had to lie down immediately.

They put me in an extra exam room and exchanged worried glances as they checked my blood pressure. It was abnormally low, which explained my profound dizziness. I was clammy and sweaty, groaning in pain from time to time. When they needed me to sit up, I had to lean against one of them for fear of passing out. The pain felt like the worst constipation of my life but I didn't have to go to the bathroom. It was my baseball-size ovaries pressing down on my lower abdomen. They gave me Tylenol, the strongest medication they had, but it did nothing. I tried using the bathroom but that didn't help and in the bathroom, I got so dizzy and boiling hot -- instantly drenching my clothes in sweat -- that I had to lie down on the bathroom floor. 

The nurses brought me a rolling desk chair and helped me get back to my exam room. Hours had passed by this point, all the other patients had left, and they were ready to leave. The doctor in the office that day was not my own and seemed reluctant to get involved. So the nurses asked me what I thought should happen and I smiled weakly, because it seemed so obvious, as I said,

"You have to call me an ambulance. You can't send me home like this." Finally, my nurse practitioner background had come in handy in my fertility journey: you have to call an ambulance if your patient can't walk. Of course.

The ambulance was duly summoned. The EMTs seemed embarrassed that I was only partially dressed -- it hurt too much to have anything touching my belly -- but I couldn't have cared less. Just moving onto their gurney hurt. Riding over potholes on an ambulance gurney was excruciating. Worst of all was being forced to wait hours in the emergency room for pain medication and a room upstairs, despite the fact that my doctor had sent orders for to get me admitted and to start pain medication immediately. When the nurse -- who appeared unbelievably cruel to me as she casually strolled around the emergency room eating a sandwich and chatting with friends while I writhed in pain, my medication waiting -- finally brought me a pain pill to swallow, I promptly vomitted it back up. My body was so maxxed out on pain that I couldn't tolerate even a pill in my digestive tract. 

Finally I was transferred to a room upstairs and given a comfortable bed and adequate pain medication through an IV. The residents pumped me way too full of IV fluids and I swelled up even more, but I didn't care. I was just grateful to be out of pain. They gave me medication for dizziness, too, and it made me so sleepy I could barely pry open my eyes even when the doctors came to check on me. 

Two days later, I was discharged, my belly so swollen I looked four months pregnant. I was sent home on bed rest. There was no way I could transfer an embyro back into my uterus at that point because becoming pregnant would have made me even more sick with the Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome than I already was, and it could have have been potentially life-threatening.

So I had to wait. Meanwhile, the embryology lab successfully inseminated 36 of the 52 eggs, and twelve 5-day-old embryos were successfully frozen. The IVF cycle, despite my illness, had been an amazing success. I was thrilled. All the trauma and lost time had been worth it. 

Luckily, getting my period immediately reset my hormones. My belly shrank back to its normal size and I returned to work. And I had a big decision to make: how many embryos to transfer. Should I transfer two, increasing my odds of pregnancy and also increase the risk of twins, or play it safe with one? 

I was embarrassed to admit that having twins sounded amazing to me. I thought I would like having two children, and had lived with twins in college and in San Francisco, always envying their special bond. As a former neonatal ICU nurse, I had taken care of up to four newborn babies at once. I figured that "just" two couldn't be that hard. I ultimately transferred two embryos. In hindsight, that was a mistake on my part. While twins are indeed magical, twin pregnancies are high-risk for both mother and children, and the impact of two simultaneous children on my finances, emotional health, and energy would have been intense. 

Ten days after that transfer, in the upstairs bathroom of my cousin's house during a racuous family Thanksgiving celebration, I took a home pregnancy test. I was terrified. I couldn't bear another disappointment after all I had endured with the IVF procedure. 

To my joyful amazement, the test was positive. 

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What's Holding You Back from Sleep Training Success?

5/13/2020

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Your thoughts.

You have unconscious beliefs and thoughts that are telling you that it's your fault that your child doesn't sleep well. You are beating yourself up.

You also think it's too hard, or not fair, or selfish. You fear that sleep training might hurt your child.

The problem with all of these thoughts and beliefs is that they are keeping your child, and you, from getting the sleep you both need.

The more you think these thoughts, the more you feel the negative feelings they create. And even worse, your child feels that negative energy, too. 

A family that I worked with a few months ago was convinced that sleep training was abusive. I tried my best to convince them that this was not true, and sent them research demonstrating that sleep training is safe and beneficial to children. I showed them that misleading articles that argue that sleep training is traumatic were based on flawed research (on rat pups or children in homes with domestic violence).

But these parents were ultimately unable to let go of their damaging belief. And a result, their child did suffer with sleep training. Because he felt his parents' emotions, and believed them, that there was something wrong. Of course. Children, especially pre-verbal children, are incredibly tuned into our feelings and our energy. Especially feelings of fear. 

If you want to change your child's sleep, you have to identify, first, the story you are telling yourself about the problem. You can't let go of that story until you know what the story is. I suggest you write them down. Then, forgive yourself for the situation you are in. It's not your fault. You always had the best of intentions. You are a good and loving parent who has only ever wanted to help your child. 

Next, we can create a new story. You know your child needs better sleep. Depriving a child of healthy sleep is like depriving a child of food. You wouldn't let your child go hungry. And from now on, you won't let your child go without sleep, either. Your child will be healthier and happier with better sleep. And so will you. 

You also need to believe that you are strong enough to support your child through a transition. You have to believe that you and your child are strong enough to withstand strong emotions about that transition. You and your child can tolerate strong, negative feelings in life, not just in sleep training. Your role is not to take away the negative emotions, but to support your child through them, to assure him of his safety despite feeling angry or sad or tired. Tell yourself and your child that all feelings, even negative emotions, are okay.

We parents have a hard time allowing our children to feel pain. We love them so much; we want to take away the pain. But we can't prevent children from feeling pain. We can only support them through it, and teach them that they are strong enough to feel all the feelings. Feelings can't hurt us. 

We are having a great example of this right now with COVID-19. We can't keep our children from feeling sad, or anxious, about the changes the pandemic has brought. We can acknowledge that our children are missing their friends, their routines, their birthday parties and trips to the beach and hugs from loved ones. We are sad alongside them. But we can't make them not be sad. To tell them, "you aren't allowed to be sad about missing your old life" would be ridiculous, right? So why can't we give them space to be sad about a change in their sleep routine? We can. Our children can be sad without us doing something wrong. Sometimes, life is hard. We can get through it, together.

Next, we focus on building up our children's confidence, and our connection with them. Special time, cuddles, playing hide and seek or tag, praising desired behaviors, maintaining limits, even letting them have tantrums and staying close by for a hug afterwards all strengthen your connection with your child. If your child is anxious, make time to discuss the anxious thoughts well before bedtime. At bedtime, gently enforce a limit that anxiety-provoking topics will be discussed the next day. Offer to write down all the anxious thoughts on a notebook next to the bed so your child knows she can let go of those thoughts without fear of forgetting them. Then, practice mindfulness or sing a song or listen to a meditation recording. Make bedtime a reassuring, relaxing time. 

In the morning, after the separation for sleep, show your pride in your child's new independence. Be joyful. Greet him with smiles and hugs. Show him that you know he can learn new habits that will keep his body feeling well-rested and healthy. Push the fears away and remind yourself of the story that you believe, that your child is so much better off with healthy sleep. 

It can be hard to change your child's sleep habits. Hard isn't bad. You were built to do hard things. And so was your child.

If you would like emotional support during the process, or if you need some practical advice, set up a free consult and let's get you and your child the sleep you need. We can have your entire family sleeping soundly in two weeks or less.  
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"I Was Starting To Think I Never Should Have Had Children"

5/10/2020

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"It was so terrible before. The sleep deprivation was so hard for me. I was starting to think I should have never have had children. 

Now 
I don’t have to doubt myself as a mom all the time anymore or think how I can physically hurt myself to survive those sleepless nights!

The first days and nights were tough, but I am very much looking forward to what’s next and can’t believe that I’ll have a child that sleeps well!! I will enjoy motherhood so much more.

This also opens up the window of having another baby in a couple of years which I really wanted but thought could never happen. I was gonna get sterilized! 

Thank you so much!" 
​

-- Violet, mom to Lucas, 4 months, day 4 of our work together

While it's a well-known fact that many new mothers suffer from "baby blues" or even postpartum depression, many parents don't know that massive sleep deprivation can also cause symptoms of depression. Regardless of the cause of depression, better sleep can only help. 

Violet, above, believed that she had postpartum depression with both Lucas and her older son, Liam, but was surprised to discover that her symptoms quickly resolved once she got better sleep as her baby slept better. Violet is lucky to have a supportive partner who handled many of Lucas' night wakings but she was still unable to sleep through her baby's crying. It would have been even more difficult if she didn't have that support system. 

Being depressed also makes it harder to sleep well, and that, in turn, can worsen depression. Adding in a baby who doesn't sleep well can be a recipe for disaster. And a study shows that babies with depressed mothers may sleep worse than babies who don't have depressed mothers. It can be a painful cycle of sleep deprivation and depression. 

"While the fact that new mothers are often sleep-deprived will surprise few, the concern is poor sleep is considered to be a risk factor for depression, and depression may in turn contribute to or exacerbate sleep disturbance.  Several studies indicate that postpartum women with depressive symptoms experience poorer sleep quality, less total sleep time, longer sleep latency (longer time to fall asleep), less time in REM sleep, and more sleep disturbance than women without depressive symptoms.5-9

One study estimated that women with postpartum depressive symptoms sleep about 80 minutes less per night than women who are not depressed.2 Another study also showed that because infants’ sleep patterns tend to follow maternal circadian rhythms, the infants of depressed mothers may also experience poor sleep quality, which may further exacerbate maternal depressive symptoms.9" 

This is why sleep training can be a gift for the entire family. When a baby's sleep gets better, her parents sleep better. When sleep gets better, depression often improves. And sleep deprivation that we thought was postpartum depression resolves and the symptoms of "depression" magically disappears. And it seems that babies of depressed mothers also sleep less well than babies of non-depressed mothers. So if mom sleeps better, baby's sleep may also improve.

Also, babies who are tired tend to be fussy and difficult to soothe. As they get more rest, babies tend to more happy, calm, and focused. This strengthens the relationship between parent and child and gives parents more confidence in their relationship with their baby, which, in turn, leads to a better quality of life for the entire family.  

If you have been struggling with the idea of sleep training, or working with a sleep consultant to improve your baby's sleep, know that helping him will help you and your whole family. As one of my clients said, "Sleep is truly a gift for the entire family."

Committing to, and following through with, sleep training is hard. Let me help. I promise we will find a solution that works for you and your parenting values. Set up a free consultation and we will figure out it together. 

"Postpartum Depression and Poor Sleep Quality Occur Together." Harvard Medical School & Massachusetts General Hospital, MGH Center for Women's Health, 2011. 
https://womensmentalhealth.org/posts/postpartum-depression-and-poor-sleep-quality-occur-together/


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The First Year in Mexico As a Single Mama From Brooklyn

5/4/2020

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Six of the seven suitcases.

​​We arrived in Mexico on August 6, 2018, with 7 overstuffed suitcases and a giant carseat bag. The plan had been to only bring six suitcases but it was so hard to decide what to leave behind -- the vast majority of our belongings -- and what to bring. By the end, I had so much "decision fatigue" that I was throwing things, willy-nilly, into our suitcases. I brought all the play food, for example, and all the magnatiles. The play food mostly goes unused and the magnatiles get used every day. Lesson learned: most toys are really unnecessary. 

Navigating the enormous Mexico City airport with those 7 giant suitcases, a giant car seat bag and a wiley preschooler (plus her more docile sister) was mostly a nightmare. Luckily I had a stash of American dollar bills for tips... but those didn't help when Amelie turned and took off running back through Immigration. Past the soldiers with machine guns. I was on the verge of tears as I attempted to hoist her squirmy self up to the customs camera. Thankfully, immigration officers took pity on our bedraggled group and let us go in the handicapped/employee line. Grateful doesn't begin to describe how I felt. 

We arrived in San Miguel de Allende after a night in a hotel and a four-hour drive to a temporary apartment where we lived out of two suitcases before moving into our year-long home at last. It was a relief to unpack but our belongings sure looked skimpy. Mostly in a nice way. I liked feeling freedom from too many belongings. But sometimes I worried that my children didn't have enough things. Over time, I saw that they really were happy with just a few toys. Nowadays, we rarely buy toys and instead use our money on travel and experiences.

A few days after we arrived, my one English-speaking friend from the children's school, Katie, notified me that there was an emergency meeting for parents. Using Google maps, I nervously navigated my way to the meeting's location. I still barely knew my way to Centro at that point. I found my friend and she introduced me to what felt like millions of other parents. I was startled to experience being pulled in for a quick hug and air-kiss on the cheek before even exchanging names. What a difference from New York City, where I never touch even my closest friends!

I only understood about half of what was being said but with a help of a friendly translator, who helped me and another brand new American parent, I came to realize that the school's land had been taken over in a coup! What an introduction to life in Mexico. I had no idea if this was typical or not. I was impressed by how calm and respectful everyone seemed to be. 

Luckily, Katie knew someone who had just purchased property with a vacant school on it, and our school was able to take it over. A couple weeks later, the children and I went to help prepare the new property. Painting and scrubbing was a nice introduction to the new school for all three of us. I still felt like an idiot whenever anyone spoke to me in Spanish -- my Spanish speaking was moderate but my understanding felt poor -- but it was good to be able to wordlessly work alongside others. 

The first day of school was very hard. Calliope was joining the first grade class, despite completing first grade in the United States, because the Waldorf school required children to be seven to start first grade (and she had just turned seven). She was actually the youngest in her class. Little did I know, repeating first grade would be a tremendous gift for Calliope. It allowed her to focus on learning Spanish (and making friends) without being overly challenged by academics. It actually bolstered her confidence immensely and solified her mathematics skills. 

The first day of school included a "bridging up" ceremony for new first graders. In front of the entire school community, each seven-year-old walked across a flower bridge, holding the hand of an older student, away from the kindergarten teachers and towards the first grade teachers. My poor, shy girl was quietly crying across the circle from me, not understanding a word of what was being said. I ached to take her in my arms and comfort her but waited helplessly across the circle with Amelie instead. The kindergarten teacher escorted Calliope across the bridge -- she was too scared to take the hand of an older student -- and delivered her to the first grade teacher, Yolanda. 

Then Yolanda and her student teacher escorted the first graders directly into their classroom and closed the door behind them. There was no chance to hug her goodbye. I felt terrible. I hadn't anticipated this separation, and thus, hadn't said goodbye before the ceremony. My poor girl: a new country, a new school culture (Waldorf), a new language. And now, no chance to formally separate from me before a very long first day. 

I delivered three-year-old Amelie, sobbing, into her teacher's arms and headed home. It was Amelie's first full day of school in her life. She had only attended preschool two mornings a week before, and her nanny and nanny-share-buddy, Leo, always went with her. 

Oh, my aching heart. I could barely get anything done all day, worrying and waiting to pick them up. 

To my relief, they both seemed fine at the end of the day. Exhausted, yes, and clingy, but not traumatized. Thank goodness.

I continued dropping them off and picking them up by taxi for that first week -- each crying at drop off each morning -- and then switched to the school's van service near our home. To my surprised relief, they both seemed to like the van and there were no more tears at drop off. It turns out that transitioning in a parking lot was a lot easier than being personally delivered to their teachers. Who would have guessed?

They were exhausted each day after school during that first month. I could hardly blame them. Those days that I went to school for a parent meeting, I was exhausted too. All that Spanish! And not just "ordinary" Spanish like greetings and ordering food in restaurants. Oh no, this was high-level, fancy pants, pedalogical Spanish. Anthroposcopic was my favorite. I don't even know what that means in English!

Calliope, especially, was moody in those early days. Amelie, too, but it was easier to see that it was just plain exhaustion for her. By October, the dark moods started to lift. Amelie started to speak in Spanish -- her class was only Spanish-speaking. Plus, she had had a Spanish/English bilingual nanny, Susie, back in Brooklyn, so she had had more exposure to Spanish. And Amelie is a born mimic. To her, figuring out to speak Spanish and charm others was just a game.

Calliope, my more cautious and reserved little soul, was more reluctant. She would only speak in English at school, but mostly didn't speak at all. Luckily, her initally-stern-appearing teacher turned out to be a warm and loving gem of a person. I felt so lucky! She truly understood Calliope, how hard to push and when to relax her standards. And Yolanda had another teacher working with her all year, Manuel, so there was an extra person to help Calliope as needed. And they both spoke English fluently. Best of all, the "handwork" (knitting and sewing, for first graders) teacher, Theresa, is American and speaks English to all the children during her art class. And Calliope is dextrous and creative beyond her years, so she had a class where she she was a shining star among her peers. This bolstered her confidence in school. And in October, a bilingual girl (English/Spanish) joined the class and Calliope had a true friend!

With the children more settled at school, it was time to figure out what to do with myself. Looking back, I wonder why I didn't give myself more time to relax. It was the first time in more than 15 years that I was neither working nor in graduate school. But I was so accustomed to the grind of full-time work! I didn't know how to relax. 

I got an online job as a health advisor to new parents. I hoped it would allow me to work half-time, but they never fully launched so work was scarce. My friend Jackie had had good luck building niche sites for Amazon so I decided to give that a shot, and signed up for an expensive online course. 

The initial challenge was that I couldn't think of an item to build my niche site around. It had to be at least $50 but not already have competition from other niche sites. So all kitchen items, for example, were out. There were tons of websites devoted to them. Finally, the instructor of the course took pity on me, after hours and hours of researching items, and suggested... toilets. 

I started building a niche website called, I believe, TheBestToiletReviews.com. (In case you were wondering, TheBestToilets.com was already taken.) I kept trying to prod myself into completing next steps but the trouble was... I hated it. I hated everything about it. Friends suggested I give up by I hated to waste the money I had invested. So instead, I spent hours and hours NOT working on it and not leaving the house because I was SUPPOSED to be working on it.

Finally I threw in the towel. What an enormous relief. I immediately felt so much lighter. 

The company that hired me to work remotely as a child health advisor was looking for more sleep consultants so I got the idea to train to become a child sleep consultant. It made perfect sense: my life had been completely transformed by sleep training my own children. I had felt so empowered by seeing the tremendous changes in them when they got the sleep they truly needed. Moreover, as a pediatric nurse practitioner, I had seen the negative effects on children of inadequate sleep: poor school performance, hyperactivity, obesity and excessive daytime sleepiness (yes, children can be both sleepy AND hyperactive -- it's quite common, actually). 

I was accepted into the 5-month training program with the Family Sleep Institute, the only training program that seemed to be both evidence-based AND inclusive of all training styles and families. The online training and reading turned out to be really fun! It was great to be learning and studying again. I had always been a good student and it was great to return to my roots. 

In the process of turning my focus to the sleep training program, I also started to feel less lonely. I deeply missed our daily visits with Amy and Emily, back in Brooklyn, but Amy visited in February with her two children, my children's best friends and nanny-share partners for seven years, and somehow that turned things around for me. It was like my emotional tank got filled and that kept me going until April, when my other dear friend from Brooklyn, Emily, came to visit with her daughter. Then in May, my childhood friend Emily (a different Emily) came for three weeks with her children and husband, and my SMC friend Denise came with her son. By the time they left, it was just three weeks until we returned to the States for six weeks of glorious summer with our loved ones.

But I was also busy building community in San Miguel. I had a group of neighborhood mom friends, mostly with younger children, and Jackie, friends online since we were pregnant with our oldest children and in-person since our visit to San Miguel the summer prior. We actually had a little group of moms with donor-conceived children living in San Miguel, ranging from 2-6 people at any given time! It was great because we all committed to going out every Saturday night together, often including other friends and visitors as well. I loved having regular social plans and having affordable babysitting to support it! In NYC, babysitting ran me $20/hour, which made the very thought of going out become stressful. In Mexico, it was more like $4/hour. Much more doable! And San Miguel de Allende has an amazing number of restaurants, many of them quite good, so there was no shortage of new places to try. 

I was also making friends with other English-speaking parents at the children's Waldorf school. As my Spanish developed and my confidence grew, I got more friendly with the Mexican parents as well. It was important to me to be friends with Mexicans as well as Americans but I was intimidated -- I felt like a child, and not a very bright one at that, when I tried to keep up with group conversations in Spanish. I stopped going to most of the school meetings, realizing that they were not worth the cost to my confidence. 

By the time we returned to the States at the end of June, we were feeling much more settled in Mexico. And also very, very grateful to be within our beloved community again. Despite that gratitude, though, I knew our "experiment" of life in Mexico was not yet complete. I knew I wanted at least another year. The first, and hardest, year was over. It was time to start reaping the rewards of all that hard work. 

to be continued...

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San Miguel de Allende's famous pink sandstone church (that my children refer to as "the castle" -- they think it's the one in Disney movie credits)
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Brooklyn besties Leo and Eleanor come to visit. 
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But San Miguel pals like Mika and Teo are amazing too.
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San Miguel mama friends are wonderful, also. 
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Calliope's classmates and teachers after a performance for parents. 
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Feeling all the community love and Amelie and Mika's joint birthday party. 
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Churros in Mexico City with beloved Brooklyn friend, Annabelle
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May visitors: childhood friend Emily and SMC-NYC friend Denise and their families. (Calliope was SUPER happy to have her photo taken).
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    Author

    Abby Wolfson is a pediatric nurse practitioner, certified child sleep consultant and certified life coach for parents. She divides her time between Brooklyn, NY and San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. 

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