It has been a minute since I’ve been here. Blogging. With all of you. I intended to keep it up after Emmett was born, but life happened… along with a pandemic, a shift in job responsibilities, and just the day to day struggles of learning to be Ima. Many times, I’ve wanted to put things into words, but haven’t found them. Other times, I’ve simply been too tired.

I’m here now… reflecting. I’m here now, reminding you that it’s all worth it, never give up, and if you want to be a parent, there is a way.

Two years ago, our little nugget was a teeny tiny frozen embryo who made it known that he was the one we were destined for. Daddy and I watched on the screen as the doctors gently placed him in my womb. I’ve never prayed so deeply. From day one, he’s been our strong little guy. Just look at him now. Our little baby… now a toddling toddler.

We spent most of our day today outside… From pet blessings, to walking around the synagogue, then biking, strolling, pointing out things, waiving to neighbors, seeing how fast we can run, walking the doggies, exploring the neighborhood, climbing the jungle gym. He’s simply amazing. How did we get so very lucky? I realize I just painted a perfect picture… because today really was. Every morning that I wake up to his smile or his voice over the monitor, “Ima ma ma ma, da da dada… out, go out, go out.” It’s already a perfect day. The in between moments, however, are messy, hard, and aging me quickly! When he doesn’t get his way and screams with the lungs G-d gave him (passed down by his opera singing Ima), or when he falls and becomes world’s biggest drama king (okay, I may have gifted him that too), or when he poops at the most in opportune time. It’s a reminder that with every joy, there is struggle… and with every struggle, there is the potential for success.

The Chazzband (Jeremy aka Daddy) pointed out something the other day that I hadn’t really thought about. We were having dinner and our friend said I was “such a good mom.” I responded, “Thank you. I try.” To which my Chazzband says, “Are you kidding? Look at how amazing you are with him? You are doing so much better from when he was a newborn.”

It’s true. When Emmett was firstborn, I thought I made a mistake because I wasn’t cut out for this job. I loved him instantly and with my whole heart, but I didn’t know what I was doing or how to do it. I remember a moment where I found myself referencing Torah… The Holy One freed the Israelites from bondage in Egypt… Yay!!! BUT THEN, they were wandering… Ultimately facing this huge responsibility that they weren’t quite cut out for. How were they going to reach the promised land? They eventually did… but would I? We were finally blessed with a child after years of trying… freed from infertility… and now this baby had been born, and all of the things I was supposed to just know and feel weren’t there. This wasn’t Israel, it was the desert. How would I trek through?

Well, after a few months (and getting some sleep), I realized, I can’t function without rest, I had no clue how to care for a newborn, and my anxiety is through the roof. It didn’t matter how amazing my chazzband was or how often Gma E came to help out, I was treading water, and slowly drowning. What looked so easy on so many women who came before me, was the toughest job in the world for me. Then… coronavirus hit the entire world… and I didn’t know which end was up.

Turns out, our son/mom relationship was our silver lining of this horrible pandemic. He spent months next to me listening to zoom calls, napping through lessons with virtual students, listening to music while I video edited and designed flyers, observing me practice music and record, chilling hours in the stroller while I walked the block and made calls to check on people and comfort the bereaved.

Something clicked. I knew him, he knew me and we had an unbreakable bond. A year later, I understand (much of) what he says and needs, his smile makes me smile, and I can say with confidence and pride… I’m a darn good Ima. I’ve learned to ask for help when I need it. Are there moments filled with anxiety, frustration, and being overwhelmed? Many. But just like the struggles that brought us here, there is a wonderful moment around the corner.

Hold onto hope, and never lose sight of your dreams. Because when those dreams become reality… life gets messy and complicated… and it begins to make so much sense.

We hit a milestone. Half of a year!

Our baby boy has been with us six months, and completely changed every moment of everyday.

Looking back, it’s blurry. The early days ran into each other. Somehow, they felt like slow motion… and now it’s all gone by so fast.

Every single day I question if I am being a good enough Ima. Adding the layer of a pandemic has made me completely toss out ideals of limited screen time, having a nanny to help, and introducing a schedule of trying new foods and having strict naps.

I yearned for a transitionary period until six months where I could partially work from home… and a month after being back in the office, the universe shut down… so I brought my computer home to work 60+ hours from my dining room table. A world suffering from illness and strife wasn’t what I envisioned as a reason to work from home… but that was the cards dealt to many of us.

It hasn’t been an extended maternity leave like so many have suggested, “How nice you’ve had these extra 3 months at home.” Yes! Absolutely! I love being home with Emmett… but it’s not leave. It’s a juggling act. It’s feeling guilty that he isn’t getting my undivided attention. It’s blowouts in the middle of zoom calls, it’s making calls to the sick while feeding, it’s trying to get as much as possible done during nap time, and praying for five more minutes of sleep so that I can finish a social media post.

I am overflowing with gratitude for my mom who could have been wallowing in her complete loss of income, but instead used it as an opportunity to babysit her grandson a minimum of two days a week… and often more… so that I can have even more productive days working from home.

Postpartum is real, but I’m managing it so much better than expected. Perhaps a blend of amazing family and friends, and an incredible husband has done the trick. (He really outdid himself on this quarantined first Mother’s Day… a picnic with my favorite brunch foods, nap time (for me), new workout clothes, and so much more.)

My hair is falling out. It’s real and it’s disheartening… but knowing that it’s normal and not permanent helps. My hormones are trying to even out, I can feel it in my mood, cycle, energy and anxiety levels. I’ve lost the pregnancy weight, but this body will never be the same. I look like a deflated balloon… and have to tell myself that I did amazing things to have a body that looks like this. I carried human life for ten months… that’s insanely cool.

Bottom line is… while the whole world shifted, our little world shifted too. There is no room to sweat the small stuff, we get to watch a human grow and discover everyday (when he reaches for his toes or smiles at the dogs… It leaves me speechless with awe), and I’ve confirmed that it is true… women can do ANYTHING… we CAN do our jobs 110% and still be a full time mom.

We are blessed to have a six month old bundle of absolute joy and innocence. He LOVES his bottle, making silly noises, laughing, music, mornings with daddy, bedtime with Ima, daytime naps in grandma’s arms, meeting new people and doggies, seeing familiar faces, his crib (hallelujah!), touching soft surfaces, knocking everything over that is in reach, sleeping on his belly, hearing his name, petting all the puppies, walks in the sunshine, car rides, and bath time. We are blessed. We aren’t taking one single day for granted. We look forward to the world reopening, and hope for healing of our economy, and most of all for every human suffering from this virus… Thankful that Emmett will never know the pain and hardship this pandemic has caused, but instead, will benefit from the extra hours spent in our arms… filling our hearts to the brim.

Happy un-birthday my dear baby boy. Here’s to six very special months that made me an Ima!

Just a blog post to give you the news and address the beautiful wishes, prayers and encouraging love you have all surrounded us with.

Let me begin with some answers.

1. A birth announcement with his name (and picture) will be made public on the 8th day of his life, per Jewish tradition. The actual bris is delayed due to his jaundice and my emergency c-section but I’ll tell you about that later. We are doing great, just need a couple of extra days of recovery.

2. The bris will be soon, and private. We will have a naming before the community on 2/14/20, my first official service back. It will take place at our service called “Shir Shabbat of Love” featuring the Shabbatones. We hope you can join us that evening at CNT at 6:15PM. There will be an oneg in Baby’s honor to follow.

The birth story?

I had a premonition that something would go wrong when it came time to deliver. I feared dying in labor. I feared being paralyzed by the epidural. Thankfully, really really thankfully… those first two fears were not a reality, but there were close calls.

I feared I would be in labor for hours only to need a cesarean. My only reasoning was my own mother’s experience having me, and my big head. I told my doctors… multiple times. There was no tangible evidence that this might happen, so we went ahead with plans for a vaginal delivery. Even after guesses of a big birth weight, he ended up measuring normal to large on the ultrasound. Doctors determined he was ready and we went with a scheduled induction a couple days before his due date.

We arrived for our 7:30PM induction on the full moon Monday night. As we were anxiously and nervously walking into the hospital, they called to tell us they had too many walk in emergencies, and we had to go home and wait. Around 10:45PM, we received the call that they had a room ready. We walked in and up to the 4th floor where they were waiting for us. After check in, medicine began. It was about 12:30am on 11/12/19. Contractions began, and I made a tiny bit of progress on dilation. By morning, my support team had arrived. None of which, Jeremy or I could have done without. My mom and sister were invaluable cheerleaders and I can’t imagine this happening without them, and my doula, Nan, a retired L&D nurse of 32 years, is the most amazing angel I have ever known. For 24 hrs, my complete advocate, guide, captain of the cheer team… everything. If you can arrange for a doula to accompany your birth process, I can not recommend this enough.

By the time the team was complete, contractions had kicked up, but I wasn’t dilating so much. Dr. Pack came in and said he wanted to break my water. He sent in the laborist, who decided it wasn’t time. Dr. Pack was determined, and came in a couple of hours later to do it himself. My dad and stepmom made it in just as the action picked up (and along with three of my best ladies: Dani, Jolie and Lizzie via FaceTime, stuck it out in the waiting room, keeping things entertaining, until they heard we were safe.)

After that, labor progressed rapidly. Contractions were 2 min apart, then 1, then 30 seconds… and they were INTENSE. I insisted on moving from my back and trying different positions to labor. The best position was on the birthing ball. I probably spent two hours there, experiencing contractions until I declared it was time for an epidural. Of course, the anesthetiologist was busy, so we began a round of pain medicine that was a great bandaid for the waves of unbearable pain. Eventually, the epidural came, and my blood pressure tanked to the point of passing out and dropping baby’s heart rate. I came to with several nurses turning me on my side and stabilizing mine and baby’s vitals. The process continued like that was totally normal. I dilated to a 6 and we were more than halfway there. Once I received the epidural, it quickly seemed like I had reached a 10, and was told, “It’s time to push.” I thought, this went way better than I’d expected! Hard part is almost over!” Looking back, I don’t really remember much of the details in order… and it got worse… much much worse.

The Push

After I began to push, I was surrounded by my team, and I was giving it my ALL. Let me tell you, those workouts these last 10 months and leading up to pregnancy were the best possible thing to do to prepare. Forget the teas and recipes… Instead? Lift, stretch, walk, dance… move… if you want to be prepared for this. Special shoutout to the best pilates instructor, Alexis, for encouraging those bridge poses and my trainers Krystina and Heidi for all of the prenatal moves… I cannot say more about how much this helped.

The Emergency:

All of the moving aside… Baby didn’t want to exit the old fashioned way. After 4.5 excruciating hours of pushing… including 2 hours of asking for the doctor to come in, it was decided that a c section was needed immediately. By then, the epidural had worn off… I was feeling not only my baby’s head in the canal, but contractions like none other. I was paralyzed by pain. Just rolling me from labor to the OR had me doubled over the hospital bed pleading for relief.

Once in the OR, I remember them asking the Chazzband to wait while they prepped me, scooting me onto the table, putting my arms out horizontally, and then waking up with a baby in my arms, in recovery. Due to my extreme exhaustion, the spinal tap for c section completely knocked me unconscious.

I missed the birth of my own son.

The week before I jokingly said, “Why can’t we just get knocked out and wake up with a baby in our arms. It would make the process a whole lot less stress inducing.” Little did I know, that’s an option, and not one I would recommend.

The doctor felt bad that I was unable to witness the birth because my body was so defeated from pushing so long, the epidural acted like anesthesia. It will be something I long to know, forever. But at the very least, Jeremy witnessed his son being born at 12:23am on November 13th (both World Kindness Day AND his great grandfather’s birthday— who he is named after.) That… is priceless.

Now, Recovery:

When I came to in recovery, they had placed baby on my chest. I could hardly feel him because the epidural had reached my fingers and even parts of my chest and face. I was paralyzed from the belly button down and numb from the shoulders down. I said, “Did I have a baby? Is he mine? He’s so beautiful. But I can’t feel him.” It was incredibly difficult to know I had to hand him over because it was too dangerous to have him there without my sensations working. I was also shivering uncontrollably for four hours due to the shock. As soon as my fingers started to tingle, I asked to have him back. He immediately attached to me like we had never been separated.

The hours that followed are quite blurry. We’ve had a few visitors but mostly are just trying to adjust on our own to parenthood. Due to the trauma, baby has jaundice and I had some extra recovery, so we’re still in the hospital and hoping to make it home in time to bring in his first Shabbat as a family. The bris will be a little delayed, but he should enter the covenant before Thanksgiving.

I have to mention the Chazzband again… he is my hero. He’s never left my side, and while he did almost pass out (which I blame on his strict keto diet, but more likely it was the sight of active labor!), he has started out fatherhood completely hands on. He’s letting me sleep and recover, and he’s changed way more diapers than me. I’ve never seen him more amazed and overjoyed than he is looking at his son. I knew he would be the greatest daddy, and 2 days in, he’s proving that to be true.

It is not all sunshine and rainbows. This road was bumpy, and it’s only just beginning. What’s different now is this bundle of miracle that we have the opportunity to rear.

***Thank you***

*I want to thank all of our nurses, CNAs, doctors, and even the CEO of the hospital, Sam, who made our experience a safe and happy one. Other than one (pretty big) blip with the delivering doctor, I couldn’t have asked for a better experience. I’m grateful to my GP Dr. Stephanie Lehrner and OB, Dr. Ed Pack for helping us diagnose my infertility and helping us find Dr. Bruce Shapiro who literally made this life possible. Dr. Sharon Roth, the most amazing acupuncturist, who treated my infertility and every pregnancy symptom. Throughout this process, all of them including Dr. Keith Brill, and my hero Nurse, Nanette Spector, have guided us through this. It took a village of family, friends and amazing medical guidance to get here. We are indebted forever.*

What’s next?

Thank you, all of you, for your support and love through this all. Hopefully you’ll continue to follow the blog to watch baby’s journey and see what the future holds for our little family. 

Usually, I’m a woman who can articulate my thoughts and feelings, and is good at looking at a situation or perspective when it comes to helping, comforting or guiding others. I’ve noticed, however, when it comes to this birthing/child rearing/mothering stuff… I’m just overwhelmed. It feels like I know nothing and no matter how much I read or how much advice I solicit (or more like, hear unsolicited), I’m completely unprepared for how life is about to change. I’m confident in my life as a Cantor, yet feel like becoming a mom might feel like someone throwing me into an OR and telling me to operate on someone’s heart. Not ready. Don’t know how. 10 months wasn’t long enough prep.

Ready or not… tonight’s the night.

The Chazzband and I have our bag packed. We’ve cleaned, setup the necessities and a bit more in the nursery, the clothes are all washed, I’ve even written the bris ceremony… we’ve nested just about everything except for maybe some meal prep. It feels a little unsettling to go against Jewish superstitious custom which says not to bring anything into the house (although we are keeping the name quite secret). I just couldn’t. I’m stubborn, organized, and my brain could not let me sit idle these last two months. I felt like the only thing that would help me feel some sense of readiness, was to get ready for Baby’s arrival. Still not feeling ready.

Ready or not… tonight’s the night.

Speaking of my need to prepare… I’ve annoyed my doctor with my labor anxieties to the point that we scheduled an induction. Please don’t judge this choice (people REALLY like to judge everything from the moment you’re pregnant through how you raise your children.. I’ve noticed). We didn’t just schedule because I needed to know when he was coming, that would have been irresponsible. Instead, we chose to do this because he’s healthy and he’s built like his dad. We guesstimate that he’s 8.5-9lbs already, he’s in the ideal position, and he’s made it to his due date (minus 3 days). Could I regret this decision to move ahead before labor naturally begins? Sure. My gut and my doctor, however, tell us this is a healthy decision.

Ready or not… tonight’s the night.

We will check into the hospital tonight and start the process of bringing life into the world. The timeline is unknown, my body’s reaction is unknown, and basically every moment after is unknown. I don’t do well without a plan where we know… but I have no choice. I have to let the Holy One guide me, my nurses and doctors and just let it happen. Women do this every second of every day… I can too. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

What am I afraid of?

1. The physical pain and trauma of labor. Yes, I plan to get an epidural… but again.. the reality is unknown.

2. The emotions. I think about this little boy and I tear up… at the thought of bringing him into the world, yes, but also with worry that I won’t be maternal enough… strong enough… good enough at motherhood. (In general, I’m super awkward around newborn humans… but bring me a puppy to fawn over any day…) What I don’t worry about is how much we will love him. That will be limitless.

3. The exposure and vulnerability. Sure, I wear my heart on my sleeve and share my innermost feelings with the world when I write this blog. But my physical body has always made me uncomfortable. I don’t even wear shorts in public (minus a swimming pool when I have to)… my loose skin and ample hips often make me self conscious… and yet tonight, I have to put my legs in stirrups, while natural yet private things happen without my control, and then birth a child from within me in front of a room filled with people. That’s incredibly vulnerable and scary.

4. The change in our marriage. In theory, the Chazzband will always be number one, AND we’ll have a new number one to share the spotlight. The fear is, will it change our marriage? I hope so. Hopefully it only makes us better and stronger. We’ve worked hard to build a partnership, and although not perfect by any means, we finally figured out how to be ourselves and also be a strong team. No matter how much he likes to ride a motorcycle, wear crocs, likes his privacy, and listens to country, and how much I like to wear sparkles, go to the gym, and be a holy vessel for the Jewish community… We just know, we are the halves to each other’s wholes. We went through a patch where it was hard to accept how we had changed after 30, and eventually we fell more in love with one another, differences and all. The struggle with infertility actually brought us closer together. Now, we have to go through another change, way more life altering… can we withstand it? I think it will prove to make us even stronger. At least this is my prayer.

While it all begins tonight, the labor could be long. Many of you have asked for updates… and I promise you’ll know soon enough. Don’t worry if it’s not right away. Family and friends in the hospital have been asked to wait until our say so to post anything… so please be patient and just say a prayer for Baby Hutchings, and for me.

In the meantime, I share this one:

“God of all generations, You have blessed our life with companionship and mutual love. For all Your gifts we are thankful; now our hearts are full, in this time of expectant hope.

We await the birth of a new life, and You are with us. As a parent holds the hand of a child, so now make our spirits serene. Let us wait in confidence and calm, with hearts unafraid. Let our child be born to health and happiness. Help us to be worthy parents, and bless us with a long life nourished and sustained by the sweetness of family love. Amen.”

It’s the 6th anniversary of a life changing decision to undergo roux en-y surgery. (I had the majority of my stomach tied off and replumbed). Over three years, I lost 115 pounds through conscious eating and being active every single day… and I’ve improved on this lifestyle choice every day since.

Last night, while on a date with the Chazzband, he said, “I was looking at a picture of you from like three years ago, and you really do look so much healthier now… you were really thin and your hair was falling out. ” Let’s be clear, he wasn’t commenting on my beauty. This man has loved me and thought I was beautiful the way I am now, three years ago when I was gaunt and my hair was falling out, and sixteen years ago when we met…

This was a reminder that I was reaching for an unattainable, unnecessary, self. It’s one of the reasons before and after pictures are so troublesome (and I’m totally guilty of them).

We are continuously on a journey… and our size does not determine our success. I would say, the comparison photos I’m posting today are of me carrying a child we have longed for, for so long. It’s a triumph and a blessing to have gained 60lbs back (30 in almost 2 years of grueling IVF hormones and 30 in pregnancy) to reach the success of these images.

And yet… my mind is playing tricks on me. Every outfit I’ve grown out of (including my shoes), and every photo I see, the body dysmorphia tells me I’ve failed. How will I ever get back to the me of two or three years ago? The rational side of my brain says that I’m not supposed to “get back to that.” Instead, I’m supposed to embrace what comes next. Whether I lose these 60lbs, or they stick around… EACH POUND HELPED ME MAKE LIFE. I say this to myself, and then struggle to believe it. It’s a cycle of body love/hate, and so many of us understand it.

Recently, at a dinner with friends, there was a comment made about someone’s health because they had become so incredibly thin. They responded, “Thank you so much for calling me thin!” I’m not judging… I promise. Perhaps that’s the goal… for some. It does, however, make me ask…why? There are certainly perks to being thin (as there are to being curvy). Does the size of our waist determine if we’re happy? Healthy? Successful? Realistically, not usually.

So let’s chase a new goal. A goal where our weight doesn’t define us.

Whether we’ve gained or lost weight due to pregnancy, medicines, lifestyle changes, hormone imbalances, or simply because we weren’t thinking about it… May it not determine our self worth, or our success. If we keep saying it, and keep living it, maybe one day we’ll believe it.

Today, I’m 6 years post op from weight loss surgery, and it’s been a great success. It uncovered my PCOS, helped me have a limited stress pregnancy (no high BP, no GD), and showed me what I’m capable of. I’m healthy, fit, and still on the journey… I’m not chasing a body that isn’t mine, but instead working everyday to celebrate the body I was given.

#pcos #weightlosssurgery #rouxeny #journey #infertility #ivf #postop #goals #health #pregnancy

The alarm went off at 6am to begin waking up for day two in the sacred marathon that is Rosh Hashannah (Yes, it’s not over yet). I smacked my phone (as I do on the daily) to turn off the alarm and said, “Five more minutes.”

It was only thirty seconds later that the life inside me gave me a little poke. I thought to myself, “I can now say, I get to meet you NEXT MONTH.” It’s surreal, it’s joyful, it’s scary, and I’m ready to feel ready.

Amidst this serene morning greeting, I cannot help but feel despair. Life is not perfect. These happy moments are balanced by uncertainty and memory.

We have been quiet about a situation facing our family these past few weeks. While it’s not my place to go into details here… it has shaken us, and made us look at life with a new lens. It is a reminder that everything can change in one instant… just like the miscarriage last year… and the fateful night our hometown faced two years ago tonight… One October.

It was break the fast, I was my typical Cantor-self, exhausted but running on adrenaline, and I decided to hop on a red eye to Miami to spend ten hours with the Chazzband (who was being a mensch, working for FEMA on hurricane relief efforts for the past five weeks… we had never been apart so long in our fifteen years together). After having breakfast with my Poppy (grandpa) z”l and great aunt and uncle, Jeremy and I spent the afternoon together, and I hopped back on a flight to Vegas.

Understandably, I fell asleep on the plane. (I think I had been awake forty hours at that point.) When I woke up, I looked down at my watch and saw that it was 11PM… we should have landed at 10:30PM, but we were still in the sky.

I felt it. Something was wrong. Was it the plane? No less than two minutes passed and the pilot came on the speaker… “Something is happening down in Las Vegas… we cannot land the plane… we are heading to Phoenix… that’s all the information I have right now.”

‘Something׳ is happening? What does THAT mean? Of course, I was on a flight with no Wi-Fi and my phone was at 25% battery. I needed to know what was happening at home. Finally, as we hovered over our Phoenix landing, I was able to get through to my sister. “There are shooters all over the strip. The police are scrambling. It’s a mess. We are so scared. I’m with my friend at her house, I’m okay. Mom is okay.” Well, she picked up that news on the police scanner, which later proved to be false… but the mass shooting wasn’t. A few minutes later, she called back with more of the real details. I heard “Route 91 festival” and hung up the phone to call my friend Dani… because I knew she was there. (Before Jeremy took the FEMA job, we were we’re going to buy tickets and go that night with Dani and Brian.) She answered…in a panic…. a woman who never panics. She was running for her life, she had dodged bullets… and thank God, she and Brian were safe.

When we hung up, I prayed. I trembled. I just wanted to go home.

We sat on the tarmac in Phoenix for two hours and were cleared to fly back to Las Vegas. It was 2:30am when we landed, and I’ve never walked through a more eerie and quiet McCarren Airport. My sister picked me up, and drove back to her house…. trying to figure out how we could help. The blood banks were already filling up. The community began to band together like never before. The biggest tragedy became Vegas Strong. There were weeks of giving, praying and remembering that followed. Including an amazing concert I had the privilege of organizing with the selfless time and talent of my colleagues in the global Jewish community. It was the most beautiful thing out of such incredible darkness.

If we weren’t there on One October, we all knew someone there that night. Every Las Vegan was hit by the largest mass shooting in American history.

Life moves so quickly… and after this tragedy the rest of the world seemed to move onto the next and then the next. But when the yahrzeit comes, it is a reminder for us to stop, remember, reflect, and take any steps we can towards building a better future. It cannot be a distant memory, but instead shape our journey.

May we spend today remembering the 58 lives lost… too soon… before their true potential known.

May your day, this day of newness in the new year, be a fresh start to tackle whatever lies ahead. We may not be able to change what happened then or what happens now, but we can be the sun that shines on whatever darkens our day.

L’shana tova tikateivu v’techateimu