Crying Babies

By: Brandy Black

We have reached 8 weeks with twins and I’m learning a very important lesson.  One that I don’t think I mastered with Sophia and to be perfectly honest I don’t think I will ever quite wrap my head around.  And that is sometimes you have to accept it when a baby is crying.  I am loath to admit that the truth is when you have three kids you can’t be everything to everyone.  I will be quite honest. I was convinced with Sophia and probably am with all of my kids that I can stop their tears if they are in my arms.

Yesterday was Sophia’s 4^th birthday and Susan had to work the first half of the day.  I wanted my daughter’s day to be special, filled with pancakes, balloons, kisses, and all the attention a little girl can handle.  You can imagine the pressure I was putting on myself as if I don’t do that enough already, I swear my shoulders are up to my ears and I could use a massage every day of the week.  When Sophia woke, the babies were sleeping. It was perfect timing to indulge in the excitement of her waking to a bundle of balloons.  We chatted and cuddled and soon the babies were up, both crying and hungry.  I fed them and then we all made our way out to the kitchen.

“Mom said she was going to make me pancakes for my birthday” Sophia said sweetly.

Oh great, of course Mom said that and now Mom is working and Mama has 2 babies wrapped in her arms.  I wanted to say “well it’s cereal this morning and Mom can make pancakes later” but after looking at her dear sweet birthday face, I set the babies down in their chair together and said, “Well let’s make pancakes then.” Sophia cracked the eggs, careful not to get anything on her pink birthday dress and the babies began to cry.  I continued on with Sophia, taking a deep breath, understanding babies cry, they are fed, changed and burped, just let it be.  The cries got louder.  My breasts began to hurt, for those nursing moms out there, you understand, when your baby cries your body goes into a tailspin wanting to fix everything and my body always assumes more milk even though I actually adhere to a pretty strict feeding schedule.  I broke down and picked Bella up, she kept crying, I set her down after a minute and picked up Penn, he stopped crying.  Sophia was ready for more instruction, I set him down and they both began to cry again.  I took a deep breath and gave all of my attention to Sophia, talking myself off the ledge.  The funny thing is that Sophia is unfazed by their cries, maybe it was all that pre-baby preparation but she just ignores it and so I followed her lead.  After 2 minutes of heartbreaking cries they stopped.  Penn stared blankly at us and Bella went to sleep. I couldn’t believe it.  I didn’t have to help them.  They learned to soothe themselves.  Even as I write this I secretly hope Susan doesn’t read it because she takes a much more lighthearted approach.  She admits that she just lets the babies cry when she can’t fix things, she even admitted that if she tried everything and they were still crying she’d probably take a 3-minute shower to get away from the tears.  That made me mad.  So mad, I did a Facebook poll to see who was in the right and Susan actually won.  Most moms said that it would actually be good to step away. I couldn’t do that, honestly, the tears only bother me when I can’t fix them and I can always fix my babies by holding them close and giving them lots of love, it may take 15 minutes but it always works.   The idea of ignoring them or taking a shower kills me but yesterday I realized Sophia needed my attention.  The reality is, things are different now, it’s likely someone will always be crying, if it’s not Sophia, Penn, or Bella, it will be my dog or my wife or maybe even me.  We can’t be everything to everyone.  We must spread our love and attention around and that is a big lesson for this Mama to learn.

Oh and Happy Birthday my dearest Sophia!  I loved going to Lady and the Tramp with you and having a hamburger milkshake picnic at the Roosevelt Hotel.  You are truly gorgeous in every possible way.

It’s All My Fault Anyway aka Parenting is Hard!

By: Heather Somaini

It’s that time of year when everyone starts asking what school your kids are going to in the fall.  Here on the west side of Los Angeles, it’s all about the private schools.  Crossroads, New Roads, John Thomas Dye, Wildwood, Curtis…the list goes on and on. Picking the right one seems impossible.

Which brings me to the impossible-ness (I know that’s not a real word) of being a parent.  This parenting thing is hard.  Super hard actually.  Every decision we make has an effect, makes a mark, and leaves an impression.  I was going to say that even before they’re born, we make decisions for our children, which is true.  Some parents, like us, make decisions even further back while picking out a sperm donor.  Now of course, every mother picks a sperm donor, just most of them marry him instead of selecting him from a catalog, paying for his stuff, and taking it to the doctor’s office in a cryo can.

We choose how to take care of them before they’re born and listen to the doctors about everything from genetic testing to not drinking coffee.  Once they’re born, we take such precious care of these little creatures that can do nothing for themselves and cry when they need anything.  Soon, we’re teaching them to use a spoon and walk.  We select their food, their clothes, their caregivers, their activities, their playmates…everything.

Even as I write this, my mind wanders to the big decision we have before the Fall of what school they will attend for Kindergarten.  My heart breaks a little knowing that our twins will most likely be separated into different schools, miles apart.  I try to come up with the best way to explain it to them but I fail miserably every time.  I keep hoping a brilliant plan will miraculously pop into my head before the dreaded day that I sit them down for that talk.  I’m sure my build up to it will be immense and once it’s done, they will run away to play as if nothing new transpired.  That’s the way with kids, right?

Back to these parent decisions.  My frustrations these days lie mostly in this concept that as parents, we are supposed to be the final arbiter in everything for our children.  Who am I really to know what’s best?  I know my kids well but I’m not them.  They are not me.  Their hopes and dreams and struggles and successes are not mine.  And mine are not theirs.  My choices would not be the same ones they would make.

But every day, I know that my daughter needs something.  The experts can’t exactly put their finger on it.  They’re not sure exactly what it is.  But I’m supposed to make decisions as if I did know.  I wish it were as simple as choosing the right school to go to.  I could weigh the pros and cons of each.  I would decide confidently.  I’m a good “decider”.  But there is nothing to weigh today.  No pros and cons.  Just a little girl who can’t seem to recall things at times or who disengages in large groups and doesn’t want to play.  How do I weigh that?  How do I make a decision about that?

I called my mom to tell her that this parenting thing is hard, almost impossible.  She agreed with me.  Jokingly, she then said that every decision I make will leave an impression and probably scar them for life and when they’re 30, they’ll come home and tell me everything wrong with them is my fault.  As we continued to chat, she said that part a few more times.

I finally realized she was talking about me.  Maybe I shouldn’t worry so much.

Survival Skills

By: Brandy Black

It took one night in the hospital for me to realize that I had to feed the twins at the same time.  During pregnancy I swore I didn’t have it in me to nurse two babies at once; it sounded difficult and I wasn’t interested in being a milking factory.  But after waking up at 3AM to feed one for 20 minutes, change the diaper, burp, and swaddle –and then picking up the other and doing the whole thing all over again –I couldn’t handle it.  I realized I needed to master the double feeding skill…and fast!  The next night I quickly learned how to put their little heads together in a football hold and nurse away.  Sure my boobs are incredibly sore but I’m at least getting sleep.

The only thing that kept irritating me was the fact that I had to wake Susan up just to have her hand me one of the babies because I couldn’t pick them both up at once.  Although she didn’t mind, it just seemed silly to interrupt her sleep for that.  After a few nights at home, I figured it out and began feeding, diapering, burping, and swaddling all at once on my own.  I now take on the nights alone with carte blanche to get whatever I want during the day (when Susan’s not working).  This is particularly fabulous on the weekends when I can sleep in as long as I please.

Three weeks into having 3 kids I’m surprised at how well it’s going.  I realize we are in the honeymoon phase (as the experts that have been down this road before tell me), but I will say that all is easier than I envisioned it to be, or at least I now know it’s possible.  It helps that this is my second round. I’m less anxiety-ridden about the little things and have some sense of what’s ahead.  I have tackled preschool drop off with the babies in tow, and although it takes me 45 minutes to an hour, I can do it and have been for the last week.

Our au pair arrives at the end of this week and I will soon learn what it’s like to have a third adult living with us and helping to raise our family.  So much change has happened to us in the last 12 months it’s hard to remember what life was like before. But the other night when I walked up our street pointing out all the white twinkly lights with Sophia’s little hand in mine after our date together, I realized that I love my life, I love my children, I love the change, and I’m so grateful that everything happened the way it did.

My Christmas Story

By: Brandy Black

The babies were scheduled to arrive on December 21^st based on the doctor’s orders. This would have been past full term for twins. I wanted them to pick their birthday. On December 6^th I had contractions that started at 8 minutes apart and went down to 3 minutes for a good 2-3 hours.  I was fully admitted into the hospital and was told the babies would be arriving in the next 24 hours. We called my parents at 3AM and told them to get to the airport fast.  Suddenly, contractions stopped and I was no longer dilating.  Cedars kept me for observation for 5 more hours and then released me advising that I would likely be back in the next couple days.  I called my father as soon as I realized we weren’t having the babies quite yet and he couldn’t hear me.

“I said we aren’t having the babies.”

“I can’t hear you, we’re on the plane, see you soon.”

Dial tone.

Susan and I drove home, disappointed that we weren’t going to be holding our precious babies.  My parents arrived a couple hours later.  Days passed while my mom and dad helped prepare the house.  We soon discovered how much needed to be done, how overwhelmed we were, and I got more and more tired each day.  They took care of us, shopping trips, babysitting, pick up and drop off for preschool, servicing the washing machine, getting my car fixed, I forgot how much family can help when you let them.

After many days passed, I gave up on any chance of the babies coming early.  On December 15^th Susan and I went to do some final Christmas shopping.  I was pushing us around tired of being home and doing nothing but wait.  Suddenly in line I got tired and dizzy and had to sit to gather myself, Susan convinced me to skip our last stop and head home for the night.  We got home and I raced to the bathroom because pregnant women with twins have to pee a hundred times a day.  I felt a burst and suddenly a rush of water came out of me.  My water broke.  I was in such shock that I didn’t believe it and everyone kept asking me if I was sure.  I walked back to our room to talk to Susan and stood as water leaked rapidly out of me.  Susan began to laugh and than panic as she rushed around gathering our belongings for our second visit to the hospital.

By the time we arrived to the hospital the contractions were stronger and it was confirmed the babies were coming.  We checked in at 5:45PM and by 11:00PM I was in the operating room with 12 people around me pushing with all my might.  I focused on their voices cheering me on.  5 pushes later Bella Black Howard arrived, white and gooey and full of life.  Her cries brought me tears, tears of joy that I hoped I would have at the sound of her little voice.  But my joyous moment was quickly interrupted with panic around me.  “He’s flipped, I feel a foot now, not a head”.  There was much commotion and I couldn’t figure out what was happening.  My doctor leaned down to me and told me that we would likely be doing a C-section for baby B.  There was chatter around me, I was tired and a bit dizzy, I looked over at Susan and she had backed away from me with her hands over her face.  “What?  What happened?” I asked her.  We had made an agreement that no matter how bad things got she wouldn’t let it show on her face because I knew I would panic.  I began to panic.  In what seemed several minutes later, Susan finally took a moment to speak to me, she huddled over me as to block the others from my view and told me that they were going to try one last thing to get our baby boy to flip around, she told me to relax and breathe and picture him flipping.  I closed my eyes and focused until I heard “I feel a head, I feel a head Brandy, push”.  I pushed hard and what had been a room full of noise and chaos became silent as all waited for baby B to arrive.  An oxygen mask was placed over my mouth and 10 pushes later baby Penn came out screaming.

I didn’t know at the time that Susan and the nurse had conspired to get another doctor in the room who was a big advocate of me having a natural birth, so much so that he had been talking about us since we checked in.  Apparently it’s rare that pregnant women with twins opt to have them naturally so the doctors were following us closely and making bets on what would happen.  Once recovering our nurse told us that my delivery was “epic”.

I didn’t know how I was going to react to these two new family members; everyone has a different experience after birth. Some parents don’t immediately bond with their kids and given that parts of this pregnancy were scary and challenging for me, I wasn’t sure which way it would go.  Luckily, I gushed with love the minute I heard, saw, and held them.  I stare at them in the middle of night and can’t believe I ever feared their arrival.  I treasure them, each and every one of them.  I can’t imagine life without my darlings Sophia, Penn, and Bella.

It was the happiest of holidays with my arms full of delicious children and the realization that I adore being a mama.

Super Nanny

By: Heather Somaini

My kids really have three moms…it’s complicated, I know.  We’ve probably ruined them for life.  First they’ll have to explain to every new friend that they don’t have a dad and instead have two moms.  And then they’ll ask who this Sheenah person is.

Izzy and Free don’t know life without Sheenah.  She arrived on day 10 of their little lives.  She came home the same day Free did actually.  We had been at the house for about a week with Izzy along with my mom and dad on that Sunday night when Sheenah arrived with her entire entourage in tow.  Her sisters and her cousin all came to check out these strangers she was going to live with and work for.  I guess they decided we were ok because they didn’t run screaming from our house leaving tire marks at our front door.

We’ve had our ups and downs, like anyone would.  Sheenah doesn’t like sushi and we don’t understand that – she’s clearly from another planet!  She also thinks that some of our all-organic groceries might be a little much but she humors us none the less.

Sheenah decorates our eat-in kitchen area for all major holidays and birthdays.  It looked like this for Valentine’s Day. The kids love it and squeal like it’s Christmas!

Sheenah loves our kids like her own and I swear she would take a bullet for them, just like us.  She has fed them, wiped their little butts, dried their very big tears, bandaged their scrapes and soothed their tiny souls.  There isn’t anything she wouldn’t do for them.

I can’t believe that in March, the twins will turn 5 and Sheenah’s time with us will be the same.  So much time has passed and I’m confident it would have been much more complicated if we hadn’t found Sheenah to also help Tere and me through this life-altering experience called parenthood.  I remember many nights early on falling asleep with a baby on me and waking to Sheenah slowly picking that baby up to put her in the crib.  Those sleepless nights and bleary-eyed days were impossible and Sheenah’s support was invaluable.  We were learning how to be parents and she was helping us along the way.

Sheenah had a big birthday yesterday and I hope she celebrates all through the holidays – she deserves it!  We took her out to mark the occasion and even met “the boyfriend”.  I really hopes he understands that Sheenah has three moms and we get to grill him at every opportunity.  ”What are your intentions with our nanny?!?!”

A couple months ago I realized that Izzy and Free have officially adopted Sheenah.  They were running through the house and I think away from Sheenah when I heard one of them end a sentence with “…Sheenah Somaini”.  I looked at Sheenah and we both started laughing.  I told her it was official and now she was stuck with us forever.  Of course, the kids call her that all the time now just to see if they’ll get the same reaction from us.

No matter what, Sheenah’s a part of our family and we wouldn’t be the same without her.  I hope we’ve had as much of an impact on her as she’s had on us.  Happy Birthday Sheenah!!

Parent-Teacher Conferences

By: Heather Somaini

When did school become so hard?  And pre-school none the less!  Isn’t pre-school just about finger paint and jungle gyms?  Isn’t Kindergarten just about learning how to get through the morning without a nap?  I barely remember pre-school and I went longer than most – two whole years.  I have a January birthday so my parents decided to wait until I was 5.5+ to start Kindergarten.  Most kids had their first taste of school when they hit Kindergarten and it was a rude awakening that some grown-up in the front of the room actually wanted you to line up and stand still!

Now we live on the west side of Los Angeles and EVERYONE is obsessed with starting their kids in school as soon as possible.  There are videos to teach your baby to read and flash cards for numbers.  When did we become this way?  When did someone decide that teaching their kid to read and do math before Kindergarten was a GOOD idea?  When did our aggressive pursuit of advancement extend to squeezing our children’s free-wheeling little brains and spirits into pre-determined silos of thinking and behavior?

When did it all become so serious?  We had one public elementary school in the small Vermont town we lived in.  There was one class for each grade and in the winter, we took one afternoon each week to go skiing.  I had the same kids in my class each year.  Here in Los Angeles, we have a plethora of educational options.  There is our neighborhood public elementary school, multiple public charter schools, magnet schools, and the holy grail of the westside – the best private schools that money can buy.

Tere and I have stressed out about schools ever since we realized they were eventually going to go them.  We’ve researched, discussed, debated, asked for advice and generally stressed out for years now.  With the twins half way through their third and last year of pre-school, a common question these days is “where are you applying?”  Your kids’ entire future could be riding on who they meet in Kindergarten.  Maybe their seat mate is the next Steve Jobs or Bill Clinton or Warren Buffet.  Can that really be true?  I mean, I went to public school in a small town in Vermont.  Did that limit my future?  Tere went to a parochial school in the “high desert” of California.  Was she predestined for her life now?

I can’t believe any of that is true.  I have to believe that we determine our future, our fate, our destiny.  I have to believe that my kids will thrive in most schools and environments.  I have to believe that they will love to learn and set themselves on a path of discovery.  But I did find out this week that our kids are perfectionists – it was pointed out many times at our parent-teacher conference.  Both Izzy and Free get frustrated quickly when the vision in their head of something doesn’t exactly match the results their hands create.  They’re learning though that with practice, they get better.

The teachers asked at the end of our conference if we had any questions for them.  I really didn’t have any.  After a number of not the best meetings, I’m a little shell-shocked still.  I wonder how long I will stay this way.  Will I still brace myself for a challenging report when they’re in third grade?  I’m ecstatic that this one went well and both Izzy and Free are thriving.  It makes me happy.  Can I stay happy for a little while longer?  How about no more curve balls for just a little while?  Let me stay in my happy place until they graduate from college and can start paying their own rent!

34 Weeks!

By: Brandy Black

I made it to 34 weeks.  Hooray!  I’m too exhausted to write a whole lot so I give you a picture of the two kids in the belly and the one that keeps me busy each day.

Quick updates:

Due date: 12/21

Babies: 5 pounds each

Mama: tired and hoping that the nursery will actually be done by the time the babies are born.

Thanksgiving: brought in by Whole Foods

Belly: Enormous

Penn State

By: Heather Somaini

In the past week or so we’ve all read about the arrest and shocking accusations made against a coach of the Penn State football team.  Coaches and school officials have either voluntarily stepped down or been forced from their positions for the choices they made in this situation.  Students have rioted on campus and tearfully supported their football coach.  Suddenly today, a 39-year-old man has come forward accusing a Syracuse University basketball coach of similar molestation.

Full disclosure, I am a Syracuse University alum – happily spent four years in that rainy, snowy city…well, town and played in the marching band including the 1988 Sugar Bowl.  I am an Orangeman.

I have read that the Penn State football team brings in north of $70 million a year in revenue to Penn State.  I’m sure the Syracuse teams bring in as much if not more.  I’m sure many of these sports teams bring in funding for all sorts of amazing facilities, programs and scholarships.  I’m sure that without them, these schools would not be able to provide the world class educations that they do.  I’m sure that their ability to attract top notch educators and students would be diminished if they didn’t have that source of revenue.  I’m confident that great and amazing things have come from all that abundance.

But when groups of people hold court over that sort of revenue generation, it ultimately leads to power.  Our private and public institutions should know better than to give anyone running something as significant as a university’s athletic program carte blanche license to do as they will.  It’s common knowledge that Joe Paterno ran that school and that town.  Nothing happened without his approval.  His denial of actual knowledge of what happened is shameful and his insistence on coaching out the rest of the season is embarrassing.  It was right that they ousted him.  It’s just too bad that his legacy is now this instead of all the amazing things he has accomplished.  But maybe he should have thought about that when he didn’t fully hand over and encourage a full investigation at the time it was brought to his attention.

It’s also somewhat incongruous that a graduate assistant who saw what he saw didn’t immediately stop to protect a child.  What was he thinking?  He just left?  As a parent, I can’t even imagine how you wouldn’t rush into that shower and punch that man out.  How could he continue to work there knowing that Sandusky was still allowed on campus, in the gym, in the locker rooms and maintained an office.  It’s mind boggling.  It’s not surprising though that he continued to rise through the field at the Penn State coaching staff.  We all know how this works.

I guess what kills me the most is that this group of people felt that the revenue generated by the team, their careers, and their power were more important than one ten-year-old boy. Forget about the fact that he probably assaulted 20-30 or even more young men over the course of his lifetime because at the time they didn’t know about them.  But they did know about one boy.  One boy is enough.  We shouldn’t be so disgusted by the sheer volume to act.  One boy is enough.  No child should be taken advantage of like these boys were.  One boy is enough.

The New Normal

By: Holly Vanderhaar

“Why are we here, again?”

This is the question I found myself answering —over and over again— when my daughters and I attended the 30th Anniversary Celebration of Single Mothers by Choice. I had of course told them that the celebration was the main reason for our trip to New York —their first trip— but they were more caught up in the excitement of the cabs and subways, the Empire State Building, and the cheesecake…ohhhh, the cheesecake.

“This is a big meeting with other families like ours, other families without a dad. Some of the other moms used a donor, like I did, and some adopted their kids.”

(crickets)

Then: “I thought you said there would be donuts.” And, “Can we go back up to the room and watch TV?”

When I started my journey to single motherhood in 2001, I was going to do this right. I joined SMC. I made friends with other local SMCs. I rehearsed the “why we don’t have a daddy” speech until I was comfortable. I was going to spare my child as much existential angst about our unconventional family structure as I could.

I should have known that road maps are useless on this particular journey, at least in our case. I should have known this when the ultrasound revealed I’d conceived identical twins on an unmedicated, poorly timed, “Hail Mary” insemination. The Daddy Question was posed not while cuddling up at bedtime as I’d always pictured it, but in the hosiery department at Target on a Sunday morning with other shoppers around (who were, no doubt, listening avidly). There went my composure, and I panicked: I didn’t think it was any of the nosy shoppers’ business, but I also didn’t want to give my daughters any sense of shame, any impression that it was something we Didn’t Talk About. So I stammered my way through a truncated version of my carefully crafted speech.

We lost our local SMC support system when we moved from Phoenix to St. Paul, Minnesota so I could go to grad school. The girls were four at that time, and I had every intention of connecting with the large community of Minnesota SMCs. But our weeks were hectic; the girls had started full-time pre-K, I was busy with my coursework and coping with teaching undergrads at the same time, and by the time the weekend came around, we just wanted to nest at home. My personal support system ended up being rebuilt out of my fellow grad students, one of whom was a single mom by divorce. And my daughters had each other. And time passed.

So now here we are, four years later. I still want to provide them with a community of families that look like ours. But I’m realizing that it’s not necessarily something they want —or, more accurately, it’s not something they see the point of. It may be a twin thing, first because they’re used to being different from their peers just by virtue of having a twin; and second, because they have a built-in support system that no singleton will ever understand. This is clearly my baggage. It doesn’t stop me worrying, though. Should I push them more, encourage them to build relationships with other SMC families? Or, by pushing, am I putting at risk their perception that our family structure is, if not normative, at least unremarkable? They don’t feel a need to have their lives normed by association with others “like us” and that’s a good thing, right?

Holly Vanderhaar is a freelance writer and a single mother by choice. She lives in St. Paul, Minnesota with her twin daughters, two cats, and too many books.

Balance…Possible?

By: Heather Somaini

Balance. I sort of hate that word. I often hear parents talking about finding the right amount of “balance” in their lives between their work, spouse, kids, and themselves. I’ve always said that it’s less about balance and more about prioritizing what’s most important and spending time doing those things. Balance would then just…appear.

I feel terribly unbalanced these days and maybe even unnecessary. I think I’m missing a need to be needed. That sounds weird and looks even weirder written down. Why should any of us need to be needed?  I don’t know but I do.

I realized after I had my cycling accident that everyone seemed to do just fine while I was laid up in bed.  Tere went to work just fine, the kids went to school…the world kept spinning without me.  So why do I feel like there isn’t enough time in the day to get ahead at work, give my kids the love and attention they need, think ahead to the holidays and maybe, just maybe show my spouse that she is not the last thing I’m thinking about every day?

Although I know everyone in my life needs me to some degree, I also want them to need me in the right way – the way I want to be needed.  You know what I’m talking about – in the hero way.  I want to save the day as often as possible.  I want to be the one with the good ideas, the smart quips and the “pull that out of my hat” types of rescues.  I fear it happens very infrequently.  Being needed in the wrong way feels stifling and tragic like a heat wave that just won’t let you breathe.

It doesn’t help that I feel sort of broken.  My right hand is functional for most things but completely un-functional in the grander scheme of things.  Everything takes me longer to do and the amount of conscious thought every minute of the day is incredible.  No matter how careful I am, I end up bonking my hand in some way once a day – sometimes somewhat gently and other times well…not so much.

I have a stream of doctor’s appointments to make sure that I’m healing ok.  Which I am, by the way.  But I don’t really look the way I used to.  The body is incredibly resilient but the pavement left indelible marks on me, somewhat like a tattoo. Soon they will use a laser on those marks to see if we can break them up a bit.  If not, I’m left with some interesting scars.  I’ve been told scars are sexy, that it shows I’ve thrived through something difficult and painful.  I like that concept for the marks on my leg and maybe even my arms but my face…that’s a whole other matter.  I want my face back the way it was.

Which brings me back to balance.  Can I have it?  Is it possible?  What if I get it and I hate it?  What if what I really thrive on is the need to be needed and in getting that, balance is impossible?  Do you have it?  If you do, what does it feel like?

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