NYC Moms

LAM-A Little Known Disease

My husband and I were living in England when I became pregnant in 2004. Everyone had told us that pregnancy and birth were what Britain's National Health Service "did best". But mine was no simple pregnancy, as I'd been born with a heart defect that lead me to artificial heart valve replacement at age 24 and the need to be on toxic blood thinners--that I still take today.

Had I given birth in England, it was explained to me that a mid-wife would help me with the birth, and only if there was a real emergency would a doctor have been brought in. So when I was offered the chance to move back to the states for a position as Executive Producer at CNN's New York bureau, I jumped at the job, as well as the possibility of being able to have the chance at specialized/private healthcare once again.

In hindsight, maybe I had a sixth sense that something was going to go wrong, as I refused to set foot on American soil without having my health insurance in check. (Or maybe it was realistic American paranoia of realizing that if something were to go wrong and I wasn't insured through work that no insurance company would touch me due to a pre-existing condition.) But, my paperwork went through at the last moment and I jetted back to start my new job in New York at seven-and-a-half months pregnant. I'd successfully finished my first week on the job when I passed out in the middle of the newsroom.

Surprise on the #2 Train

Most New Yorkers would say there's very little that surprises them. Some might call us jaded or skewed, but living in this city, it's rare that something stops us in our tracks.  When something does appear that makes us take note, New Yorkers seem to react differently than one might find elsewhere. On a recent morning, I was paying little attention as I entered the #2 train. The train doors closed, and I managed to get one of the two last seats--located in the middle of the car.  A woman and her approximately four-year-old daughter sat across from me. The train doors closed and it rattled along to the next stop. When the doors opened again, several people got on and proceeded to vie for that last empty seat. In a moment, they all did an about face, and the rest of us could hear them quipping, "nasty", or a sarcastic, "really nice," and they shook their heads as they quickly filtered through to the opposite end of the car. This early morning commotion prompted myself and the mother/daughter team to check out what had caused the stir. And then we saw it.      

Photo Procrastination

Here it is, well into February, and I've yet to wish anyone an official Happy New Year. I'm not talking about the colloquial greeting to a friend on the street or a co-worker in the office. I'm talking the official "now that I have kids I have to do this right and take their photograph (perhaps even pose along with them and the dog) and sign up for a nifty on-line photo service and send out a greeting card," Happy New Year. I meant to do it right this year. Well, I meant to at least make the effort to do it "right" this year. But here's the rub--I'm a photo procrastinator.

For the past month and a half, our NYC mantel has been lined with lovely, guilt-inducing photo greeting cards from friends and family. Some hailed from friends we've not spoken to for a year. (Or maybe longer than that, from the number of kids that now appeared in their photo.) They ranged from the more traditional "sister-in-law's, catalog perfect beach shot of my should-be J Crew kid models nieces and nephews", to "Baby's first Christmas spent in Hawaii," to my friend's kids dressed as "Honest Abe-the Republican and an Independent Tiger," to my brother's new twins saluting us with "Joy, Peas and Love," dressed in appropriate and mandatory accompanying pea pod outfits. Even my husband's ex-girlfriend's card managed to reach our new address, "wishing us happy holidays filled with love, laughter and hot rum."