Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes Part II: Max's Birth

Getting to this post has been difficult. I imagine it has a lot to do with having a newborn baby. Every time he sleeps during the day I go to a list in my head of at least 5 things I want to get done and somehow "writing Max's birth story" never makes it to number one. I also recognize my need for distance from the experience and the perspective it brings.

More than anything though, I realized I have been approaching it the wrong way. Every time I've started to write it just sounds and feels wrong. I was trying to tell the story with a sense of humor, in an entertaining way. Unlike a lot of things in my life however, this experience doesn't fit into a neat, funny little anecdotal box. It was too intense, and at risk of sounding trite, too important. I have thought this since I found out I was pregnant and started researching birth-birth experiences and stories are not to be dismissed or trivialized. They are intrinsically important to mother and child. To the mother because I believe it radically alters her perception of herself and her strength. To the child because it is his very first experience of the world. It is important also to tell these stories, to share them with other people, to record them for the child to learn. Here's our story, told as simply as I can...

Its true what people say about labor. It does kind of all blur together. By no means however will I ever forget it. I realize this is from someone only 5 weeks out, but I am certain I will always remember.

Despite the blurred edges, there are things that stand out: my sense of calm after my water broke (despite having to go to a hospital instead of the birth center we'd planned on); my relief at seeing Doc at check-in as it was her normal day off (she came in because another high-risk delivery patient of hers and I were both in labor-told you she's wonderful); a few very long sessions in the hot shower; a nurse's cool hands stroking my back; my midwife's voice; Dave and my mom's fists pressing into the small of my back; meditative music playing on loop; dim lights; my TOTAL LACK OF SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS (I was basically half-naked and making inhuman noises the whole time).

Labor went on for 24 hours. Drug-free and I'll be honest, horrible, intense labor where I spent some time mentally cursing Hypnobirthing and the expectations it created. (Here's where some people may smile smugly and think to themselves "I told you so". And I will let them. Just for a second.) I never bought into the whole "childbirth can be painless" Hypnobirthing party line. But I DID think the breathing and meditation and positive visualization would help a lot more. And who knows, maybe it did. Maybe it would have been WORSE without those techniques.



I don't think I would've made it as long as I did if it weren't for my midwife. She talked me through contraction after contraction, made me get into positions that helped so much when all I wanted to do was curl into (ironically) the fetal position and cry. But a girl can only take so much. And 24 hours of back labor, 6 of those hours being stalled at 8 cm, was my limit. I was not trying to be a hero by not getting drugs that long. I honestly just kept going because I thought I could. It was that simple. When I no longer thought I could I asked for help.

I knew I couldn't keep going on my own and then have the strength to push my baby out in what might be a stressful delivery where I'd need all my reserves of energy. I also knew with how exhausted I was I couldn't weather the more intense contractions Pitocin would bring along with a speedier transition. And finally, I was not ready to "throw in the towel" as Doc put it, and get a C-section. I decided to get the Pitocin but with an epidural and the rest it would afford me. I felt it was the best use of interventions and the best chance I'd have at still delivering vaginally.

2 hours later I was fully dilated and being wheeled into the operating room (because I was considered a high-risk delivery). I was glad I'd had that couple hours of painless rest but I was also scared. It was actually happening. I was going to deliver a baby and attempt to do it butt-first. I have to say though, the atmosphere in the OR was...festive? There were 15+ people in the room...an anesthesiologist and neonatologist (the high risk thing again) as well as assorted nurses and operation techs. Apparently a vaginal breech delivery is rare enough to garner an audience. Everyone was really positive and encouraging. For someone who wanted a private, quiet, dim birth environment this brightly lit and crowded room was suprisingly welcome. I needed the good vibes at this point. (In fact, I even made a joke. Doc asked how I was feeling and I said, "Scared." She responded, "It'll be okay, there's an end in sight" to which I replied, "Literally." Brought down the house.)

An hour of pushing and my son was born. He came out bent in half and his head was stuck for a scary 15 seconds where Doc had to use forceps. Then there was the even scarier seconds where they whisked him over to the neonatologist and he was silent. I kept asking if he was okay until I heard him cry. Boy, did he cry. He sounded about as happy as my lady parts were (the epidural was pretty much worn off at this point).



Dave was over by the table with him and he came back to me to tell me (with tears in his eyes) that he was beautiful. I got to hold him for a few seconds. He was red and wrinkly and screaming. I said hi to him and he stopped screaming and looked right into my eyes. Its a moment, more than any other, I will never forget as long as I live.

Minutes later he was being whisked away to the NICU. What followed were 4 very long, very scary days...

Stump Trouble

Infant's umbilical cord stumps are the grossest things in the world.

Max's started oozing and getting gooey three days ago. As if a crusty brown raisin-y thingie that's going to FALL OFF isn't bad enough, now it has to OOZE and stain all his adorable onesies??!! Also it smells like pierced ear holes (you know the smell I'm talking about). I want to vomit/faint every time I see it.

Then today it decided to just hang there. By a thread. Of SKIN.

I stared at it for his entire afternoon feeding today, willing it to fall off by the force of my gaze. Stumpwatch 2010.

I'll take rectal temperatures any day over this.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes Part I: No, We Didn't Do It For Insurance Reasons

Whew. The last few weeks were easily the most intense days of my life so far. So eventful that I'm going to need to blog about them in installments. It'll be fun! I'll even put in cliffhangers to make you come back for more.

We left the island the day before Thanksgiving to go to my weekly midwife appointment, spend the holiday with Dave's brother and family, and then settle into our temporary baby-awaiting camp in Sturgeon Bay. At what was anticipated to be a normal, "everything's good to go", lets talk about what labor feels like for the millionth time weekly baby check we heard these plan-altering words from Marijke, "I hate to say it, but I think this is a head". While feeling the TOP of my belly. Breech again. Or still. Regardless, we were four days out from my due date. Not a promising amount of time to turn the kid. We went for an ultrasound the same day to confirm the position. Breech indeed. Folded right in half with his feet by his head...frank breech to get technical.

Suddenly we are facing a hospital birth with an OB. Luckily the referring OB for the birth center is easily the most wonderful woman in the world. She'd performed our 20 week ultrasound and we'd loved her then. After confirming the breech, Doc informed us of our options: try an external version to turn him and if that didn't work, schedule a C-section or attempt a vaginal delivery. Doc is a maternal fetal medicine specialist and has performed many breech deliveries successfully. She said the kid and I were good candidates based on his presentation, head proportion, my health etc. We decided to try the version (the next day-Thanksgiving!!-per Doc's wishes. What OB have you ever heard of coming in on a holiday for an elective procedure? The most wonderful one in the world, that's who.)

Let me tell you something...an external cephalic version (ECV for you medical acronym fans) isn't that fun. I'd rather have been eating stuffing thank you. You go to Labor and Delivery (L&D...there's another one for you) in the hospital, they hook you up to a couple monitors (one for you, one for baby) and then Doc cranks on the outside of your stomach trying to manually push the kid into a forward roll. I'm not gonna lie-it hurts. You spend nine months trying to protect your belly and then suddenly someone's fingers are three inches deep, manhandling the womb. Ouch. And unfortunately, it was unsuccessful. She didn't try for very long as it has the potential of being distressing for the kid.

We left disappointed, freaked out and with a very big decision weighing heavily on our shoulders. Also hungry. Where do you go at 7'o'clock on Thanksgiving in Green Bay? The Golden Basket! A family diner with a $7.99 Thanksgiving dinner special. Dubious neon yellow gravy smothering the whole plate aside, it was a welcome feast at that point. It was across that cheap Formica tabletop that Dave popped the question. Or popped the statement as it were: "We should get married tomorrow." I didn't think he was serious until I saw his face. I'll leave the sappiness out, but I will say it was genuine and unexpected romance and I will remember how it felt forever (okay, a little sappiness). I wouldn't have wanted to be proposed to any other way. It was perfect.

Suddenly faced with a high-risk birth and a difficult decision to make, the scariness looming could easily have pitched us into negativity and tremendous fear. I was already skidding down that slope. Dave felt the positive energy of that commitment between us would really help get us through our first big hurdle of parenthood. He was absolutely right, and I've never been so sure about anything.

Unfortunately government offices didn't cooperate with our "lets get married tomorrow" plans, as being the day after Thanksgiving they were all closed. An agonizing, but exciting, weekend followed. We orchestrated an elaborate plan to get our birth certificates from the island (aided and abetted by some sworn-to-secrecy friends), all the while researching breech deliveries, C-sections and tightly crossing fingers and toes that baby wouldn't come on my due date (probably the only pregnant woman in history who hoped for that) so we could make it official first.

Monday morning dawned. No baby yet. We had decided not to schedule a C-section but let the little guy come on his own schedule and go into labor naturally. We would get to the hospital and take it from there. Both of us leaned heavily toward a trial by labor as long as things remained favorable and Doc was on call when it all happened. One phone call to the Clerk of Courts later and we had an appointment with a judge at 4:15. Just enough time to get our marriage license ($25 bucks extra for same day expedition), get my hair blown out, buy a new pair of shoes (I might get married in jeans but I was NOT getting married in UGGS), pick out wedding bands, and get our witnesses called in. Everything just fell into place. It was so Celestine Prophecy it almost made me want to reread the book (almost).

The ceremony was perfect. The judge read a beautiful statement and vows...I thought it'd be all "wham bam by the power vested in me", but if I could've picked out a wedding script, I couldn't have done better than this.
A sampling:
"The intimacy of love is one of life's greatest joys, and when this is combined with real friendship, both are infinitely enhanced...Marriage symbolizes the intimate sharing of two lives, yet this sharing must not diminish, but rather enhance, the individuality of each partner...We must give ourselves in love, but we must not give ourselves away. A good and balanced relationship is one in which neither person is overpowered or absorbed by the other."

Really? How great is that?

We had a delicious Italian dinner afterward with our good friends and witnesses and I went to sleep that night feeling the most secure and peaceful I'd felt in a long time.

Then I woke up at 6'o'clock to my water breaking.

"Have you had that kid yet?"

Nothing like being too big to get out of the car to make a pregnant girl feel pretty. Here's the tale:

Dave's mom, Gloria, and I were returning from my weekly midwife appointment and her Suburban was parked on the ferry. I had to pee, per usual, and attempted to exit the vehicle. Unfortunately, the space between the car door and the center wall of the boat was a good 12 inches shy of belly clearance. This led to several minutes of Gloria, along with 2 ferry employees, maneuvering the giant SUV into a position where the whale in the passenger seat could get out to empty her ever-demanding bladder. I saw car doors opening and heads peering out of windows all over the boat to see what all the commotion was about. Based on a previous experience (I stumbled walking off the boat a couple months ago. Went down on one knee. Not a big deal. Upon meeting a woman for the first time on the Island recently, she said, "Oh, I heard about your fall on the boat. Everyone was really worried." My FALL?? Its not like I tumbled down a flight of stairs and had to be triaged. I stumbled. STUMBLED.), I'm pretty sure this incident will be on the front page of the Washington Island Observer. Sigh.

A mere 1 1/2 weeks til D-Day. I can't say I'm super anxious/excited/worried etc. Not that I'm not looking forward to the inside kid being an outside kid, but the strange calm that descended earlier on in this pregnancy has fallen again. Which is a vast improvement to my standard high-anxiety state over the most mundane of life changes. And I have to say, I'm no longer feeling the "get this kid out of me" urgency I was a few short weeks ago. Make no mistake, I'm ready. I'm just letting everyone else get all excited and worked up for me...we're averaging at least 2 "check-ins" per day ie: "Are you in labor?" "Any signs?" "How are you feeling?", and my favorite, from the always succint Ms. Olive, "Lost your mucus plug yet?" (Answer: no.)

In case I don't have a chance to post another blog pre-delivery, I'm going to take this opportunity to bookend my gestation with another list of some unanticipated pros of pregnancy:

-The joy of having a sweet tooth. Never before have I understood how profoundly gratifying it is to give into the siren song of a glazed donut.
-An expanded awareness of the variety of bodily fluids in existence: meconium, lochia, colostrum...who knew?
-Built-in (literally) entertainment everyday watching my stomach move. Fascinating.
-I've discovered how much I like to swim. Thanks to breech boy I started swimming to turn him and haven't stopped.
-Almost 10 months hangover-free.
-My family relationships have become much closer.


And finally, a brief Hynobirthing update, since we finished the 5 week class: my opinion hasn't really changed from the first class. I love the support of natural birth, the approach to viewing the whole thing as what it is, a normal function that women's bodies are capable of, focusing on the positive, using breathing and meditation to quell fear and as a result, pain etc. However, 5 classes was a bit much. I got all that from one class and reading the books. Maybe because our frame of reference included a 6 hour round trip journey and an overnight stay to get to the class, we didn't find it as worthwhile as the couple who just drove across town. I'd recommend it to anyone as a tool, but maybe just buy the book and do a one-day class or workshop. Also, thanks to my firmly entrenched procrastination habits, I haven't exactly been practicing the techniques everyday like I'm supposed to. Overall effectiveness in labor as a result?
To be determined.

Much like a lot of things in the next few weeks.

Bottoms Up!

We got excellent news on Monday; the kid, who has been breech for a stubborn couple of months, turned things around. Was it the cold packs on the top part of my belly (ie: in utero torture)? Spending 10 minutes 3 times a day in a very attractive position called the "Polar Bear"? Handstands and somersaults in the pool? Flashlight and Dave's voice aimed at my pubic bone? Me relentlessly poking and prodding his head? Prayer? Positive visualization? The one trip to a chiropractor certified in the Webster technique for turning babies? Hours spent on google?

We may never know.

Ugh

I know I should lend no credibility to these things but I've never been able to pass up a quiz in a magazine in my life.

From http://www.justmommies.com/quizzes/labor_prediction_quiz.php:
Get your bags packed early just in case you need them. Make sure your partner has a phone available when he's away because this baby just might come early. We predict your baby will come 2-3 weeks early. Your baby will most likely be born in the morning. Justmommies predicts that your baby will weigh approximately 9.8 pounds and that your labor will be about 11 hours long.

Pelvic Rest Is Not My Cup Of Tea*

Thanks to a few alarming incidents of painful, menstrual-like cramps (always in the wee hours wherein a discussion such as the following ensues: Me: "Honey I'm cramping. What should we do?" Dave (rubbing my back): "Call the midwives." Me: "Should we call the ferry line?" Dave: "Call the midwives." Me: "Should we wait and see if they get worse?" Dave: "Call the midwives." Me: "I don't know what to do.") and one midnight trip to the ER at 26 weeks, the midwives have recommended I be put on "pelvic rest" until I'm full-term (37 weeks). The ER visit is a blog unto itself...let's just say my anxiety surrounding hospitals was not assuaged and I'm pretty sure the guy in the room next to me was in the first stages of zombie flu.

A fetal fibronectin test (swab requiring an non-lubed metal speculum...midwife hugged me afterward) reassured us that I wouldn't be going into labor in the next two weeks (fetal fibronectin is a chemical your body starts secreting before labor. If its present, look out below; if not, you can pretty much rest assured a preemie is out of the question for the next few weeks). However, to err on the side of caution, because painful Braxton-Hicks contractions are rare in first-time pregnancies (look at all my facts!), its pelvic rest for me.

And what exactly is pelvic rest? Is it as fun as its distant and more widely-known cousin, bed rest? Pelvic rest means I should be taking it easy, not riding bikes, and not ah-hem, doing what got me in this condition in the first place. With one added specific stipulation: no orgasms. Who gets medically advised against orgasms?? This girl.

Also anything I'm doing, if my uterus starts tightening, pain or no, I'm supposed to stop, drink water and lay down. Well my uterus has been tightening regularly for a couple of months now. Braxton-Hicks contractions are the common term, and have been described as "practice" contractions for the big event. (If that's the case, my body has passed the dress rehearsal stage and my labor and delivery is going to be like a tired old Broadway show in its millionth season. The cast will just be going through the motions, singing the songs, bored but effortless. I'll have the Cats of birth experiences.)

All this pelvic resting has left me feeling mainly bored. I have just enough leeway to start doing something (painting baby furniture, taking a walk, doing laundry, hanging pictures etc) and have to stop. Or, as I'm more apt to, finish what I'm doing and be increasingly uncomfortable. I dislike being unable to do things. "Taking it easy" is not fun when its enforced. It leads to things like sobbing for a 3-hour Animal Cops- Phoenix marathon, procrastinating writing this very blog, feeling guilty for not practicing my Hypnobirthing exercises, and analyzing with growing horror the steady influx of cellulite and flab on my ass (all things I've accomplished today).

Meanwhile, the kid continues to kick me in his spazzy little way (powpowpow, rest, powpowpow, reeeeeeessssssst, POWPOWPAPAPAPOW!!!, rest, repeat) and get hiccups at least 3 times a day. Clearly his life is sailing right along, totally unaffected by my grievances.

Which I guess, after all, is the point.



*title credit to Kelly Wright-Pedersen of Kelly's Video Blog fame

You Are Getting Veeeerrrry Sleeeeeeppppyyyyy....

As many people close to me have already observed, I've turned into a bit of a hippie since getting pregnant. Or at least I've been accused of it. If plans for cloth diapering, homemade baby food and natural childbirth a hippie make, so be it. (Oh and I'm tie-dying onesies next week. Haha.) However, my inclination toward mockery of anything I consider touchy-feely, New Agey prevails. Thus Dave and I were skeptical before our first Hypnobirthing class last week. It was suggested by a friend, I did some further reading, and our birth center offered it so we figured we'd give it a whirl. I wanted to take a birthing class of some kind. I've been doing a truckload of reading but Dave wanted something more hands-on. We fully anticipated chanting and crystals and a bunch of people we couldn't stand (think Maggie Gyllenhall in "Away We Go").

Not so! We both really liked the class and I'm looking forward to the next 4 weeks. And get this-I'm actually excited about the birth itself. I didn't harbor a lot of fear about labor and birth as it was, my mindset has firmly been "my body is built for this, I'm low-risk and healthy, I can do it naturally and normally without intervention". However there's always some anxiety and what-ifs and I can't say I've felt "excitement" about my actual birth experience til now.

I plan on sharing a little about what Hypnobirthing is and our experience with it. Sort of be the guinea pig for anyone who's interested.

Basically Hypnobirthing says women's bodies are completely capable of birthing their babies without help, birth is a natural process and not a medical event. The pain associated with birth is a culturally-based, fear-induced pain that is not necessary (they do not dismiss childbirth pain as unreal, rather as something that doesn't need to be experienced) and women can train their minds and bodies to birth comfortably and gently through self-hypnosis (essentially guided relaxation and deep breathing). The anecdotal and scientific evidence surrounding Hypnobirthing's success rate is staggering. I encourage anyone to research it.

That's an extremely basic description of the philosophy. With the class comes a book, CDs and other materials, and the method requires practice and commitment at home. It does not guarantee a painless, "perfect" birth without intervention. Everyone's birth experience and body is different, and sometimes there are complications and genuine medical emergencies that arise. However, another part of Hypnobirthing I love is the complete absence of focus on any negative. There is no class or chapter on complications or risks of childbirth. No what-ifs are presented. The philosophy does not encourage denial of these realities, rather that for one's mind to be in the right place, it must be totally focused on the positive. I figure the preponderance of negative birth images and people's propensity to share "horror stories" of birth (what IS that about?) with pregnant women already far outweighs the positive birth information in our society. Why add to it in a class that is striving for mind over fear?

I'm explaining this because it has motivated me to make a decision-I will no longer listen to or accept negative information about birth. No more horror stories, no more "but you have to hear this", no more "NICU" or "A Baby Story", no more women screaming on their backs. I'm fully aware of the importance for all women to share their birth experiences, negative or positive, and I'll be happy to hear your positive encouraging story, but please wait until after I've brought the kid into the world to regale me with tales of blood, sweat and tears. Dave and I spent a lot of time and effort to find the caring, competent midwives we have and I completely trust them to know what to do in the event of a complication or true medical emergency. That's why they went to school and dedicated their careers to birthing babies. They have attended over 700 births between them...I have attended 0. They are the professionals. It is their responsibility to know what to do in the very small chance there is a problem. My responsibility is to trust Dave, my body and my baby to have a calm, gentle and natural birth.

I feel the need to declare this for a couple reasons: A. my first baby shower is less than a week away and I've been to a few that have descended into horror storytelling, with everyone contributing a "well my friend's sister-in-law's neighbor needed 27 stitches" tale to top the previous one. I love the idea of a group of people who care about the parents-to-be getting together to express their support and share the couple's joy. (And if there's a Bloody Mary bar for the non-preggos, all the better). I just think negativity has no place in this celebration. B. I'm getting kind of sick of the eye rolling, derisive snorting and incredulous or snide commenting ("you don't have a DOCTOR??!!" and "just wait, you'll be screaming for drugs") I get the majority of the time in response to my desire for an intervention-free, midwife-attended childbirth outside a hospital. Especially because I cannot conceive of reacting in a similar fashion to someone else's planned C-section or desire for an epidural. Its wonderful that women have choices in childbirth. I'm not trying to be a hero or a martyr, just making the choice that works best for me and my family.

Delicate Condition

I worry too much. Particularly about random things that are likely never to happen. I create potential scenarios and play them out to their most unlikely and ridiculous anxiety-inducing conclusion. It does not make my life easy. My career in particular isn't suited to this sensibility.

For example, I had a "practice updo" on my books recently. A. Updos are a challenge for me and rife with opportunity for overthinking B. practice updos are almost universally scheduled by brides C. this client was not a bride (according to the receptionist who took the appointment.) These three knowns led me down a week-long path of obsessing about the unknowns and coming to my own crazytown conclusion. I was convinced I'd have to do some revolutionary and intricate technique like cornrow-pincurls on the bridesmaidzilla from hell.

Enter sweet, lovely and standard blowout-wanting mother-of-the-groom who just needed some help choosing a hair ornament and a fresh hair color. Really? I probably shortened my lifespan by about 2 hours with all the stress I unnecessarily created for myself over this situation. Ugh.

As you can imagine, being pregnant with my first child greatly exacerbates my condition. In this vein, I present to you a couple of my latest random anxiety-producing scenarios which range from semi-likely to quasi-likely to not a snowball's- chance-in-hell-likely:

-No one really looks at registries and all I will get at my showers are cutesy picture frames, clothes and stuffed animals (sans gift receipts), leaving Dave and I to spend thousands on much-needed items like crib mattress pads, my well-researched cloth diaper system and carseats.
-My labor will be so swift that we won't have time to get to the birth center, I'll be forced to deliver at a hospital, and my midwife won't get there in time, leaving me in the care of doctors and nurses I've never met and who won't listen to me.
-Someone will give the kid processed sugar before his 1st birthday leading to a downward spiral of candy-dependency, childhood obesity and a penchant for TV, video games and cheap plastic toys.
-my sex drive will never be the same.
-Laszlo will develop an extreme dislike for the kid and will start nipping (even though he's never even bared his teeth before).
-In 2012 when the government accidentally unleashes a lethal zombie-vampire virus, we'll be hiding from zombie-vampires in a closet and the kid will start coughing, threatening to give our hiding place away, and in a terrible, Sophie's Choice-esque moment I'll have to decide whether to smother my child or let everyone in the closet be eaten by zombie-vampires.
-People will sit too close to me when I breastfeed.

Oh, there's more. But I'll leave it at that lest I sound crazy.

American Idle

I'm obsessed with this book. Its as if the author read my mind about raising children and articulated it better than I ever could. Would buying it for everyone who may be potentially caring for my kid be too pushy? 'Cuz thats what I want to do. And why not? I've been subjected to schedules, timetables, cuddle cures, philosophies and child-rearing rants galore, and while there are valuable ideas to be cherry-picked from almost everything, nothing makes as much sense as The Manifesto of the Idle Parent. I've reprinted it here in its entirety in the hopes it will pique your interest:

THE MANIFESTO OF THE IDLE PARENT

We reject the idea that parenting requires hard work
We pledge to leave our children alone
We reject the rampant consumerism that invades children from the moment they are born
We read them poetry and fantastic stories without morals
We drink alcohol without guilt
We reject the inner Puritan
We don’t waste money on family days out and holidays
An idle parent is a thrifty parent
An idle parent is a creative parent
We lie in bed for as long as possible
We try not to interfere
We play in the fields and forests
We push them into the garden and shut the door so we can clean the house
We both work as little as possible, particularly when the kids are small
Time is more important than money
Happy mess is better than miserable tidiness
Down with school
We fill the house with music and merriment
We reject health and safety guidelines
We embrace responsibility
There are many paths
More play, less work


Isn't that fantastic? Some of his thoughts are controversial, at least in the short form. Particularly "down with school". That raised my eyebrow. However, once I delved into the chapter addressing this particular maxim, it became clear. Not down with education and learning, but down with the state-run, standardized test factory that many public school systems have become. Brilliant. Agree 100%. There are many times I have been thankful my brain just happens to function right in line with the Western formal education paradigm. Recently I've worried that my kid's may very well not, with "ADD" and other alternate ways of learning pervasive on both ends of his gene pool.

Besides adding to my ever increasing excitement to be the BEST PARENT EVER, this book has done me another very important service: I am now looking at the move to Washington Island in a much more specifically positive way. My pro side of the pros and cons list for this move was looking mighty generalized: "healthier for kids", "better quality of life", "slower pace of life" etc. Blah blah blah blaaaah. How moralistic and bo-ring. Meanwhile my cons list was far more detailed and I must say, more persuasive: "only one bookstore that is closed in winter", "no organic groceries", "no free concerts in the park", "scary horror movie setting-type woods", "can't walk to get a chai in the morning", "no vintage clothing boutiques", "minimal ethnic diversity", "no Indian restaurants" (I know, I know, my city girl is showing).

But now my pro list is far more exciting: "can raise chickens. and maybe a goat.", "can have campfires at night", "can build a treehouse", "don't have to work as much", "no money-sucking family outings to tempt-ie; zoo, museum, theme parks etc", "we can grow, can, freeze and store our own food", "small rural public school", "nature, nature everywhere", "can make significant moves to get off the grid"...the list goes on and on. How freeing, invigorating, creative, FUN.

And all the things the city does offer that can't be replaced and are beneficial (Bombay Sweets, Third Ward boutiques, diversity, summer festivals, my family) will be obtained in monthly doses when we visit.

So read this book. Even if you don't have kids. I promise it will refresh your perspective on the important things in life.

Falafel to go

If I've learned anything about life, its that one can never really be fully prepared for every curveball thrown one's way. I read my ass off when I first found out I was with child. Seriously, I probably could be licensed as some sort of official know-it-all when it comes to what to expect...when you're expecting (ugh, couldn't resist). However no matter how well-researched my cloth diapering plans are, there will come a time when the crap is real and it won't exactly work out the way it did in my head. No matter how prepared I think I am, something always happens to throw me off guard and remind me just how life's unpredictability really can be summed up on a bumper sticker: shit happens.

Never has this been more evident to me than recently, when faced with a situation I hadn't even considered in the innumerable new situations one finds oneself in when pregnant: the ex-boyfriend run-in.

I'm showing now. No longer looks like I might just have a muffin top, thank god. You can actually tell I'm pregnant (my yardstick for that is I've had my first crazy old lady encounter. Apparently it is inevitable that a doddering 70+ woman sporting mismatched clothes and an unfocused gleam in her eye will approach a pregnant woman, hand outstretched to touch the belly, and start rattling off semi-linear thoughts. This particular grand dame's kids, you'll be excited to know, were "all rats save one, who lives over on the next block and have you had any cravings yet dear?" Cripes.)

So yes, when I ran into the Rasta (every guy I dated whom I didn't take seriously was given a snarky nickname. What? I was in my twenties. Now that I'm a serene and mature 30, that's all behind me) while fulfilling a mid-afternoon falafel craving, I was wholly unprepared. We made brief eye contact, he made eye-to-belly contact, back up, back down and then we pretended we didn't know each other. I could handle that. What I was unprepared for was how I felt; simultaneously smug and vulnerable. Like, "ha, check out my Fruit of the Womb, look who's glowing, nyah nyah nyah" combined with "oh shit did he notice I'm not wearing a ring and do I look totally fat and gross?" I don't particularly like smugness or vulnerability and had never fathomed a combo. It didn't feel good. It felt distinctly uncomfortable.

I'm curious how other women have felt in this situation. I suppose it depends on the breakup, ie: still friends vs. barely acknowledging one another's existence. Please share.

T'aint Right

Apparently not only am I now wearing a sign that says "give me whack job advice" and "tell me horror stories involving dozens of stitches and neonatal intensive care units", but also "while you're at it, why don't you ask me if I'm getting an episiotomy, especially if you're male and not on intimate terms with my anatomy?". I've had three men in as many weeks bring up this comfortable and appealing topic to me.

Since we're already toeing the perineal area, lets dive right in, shall we? (Be warned, the following paragraphs address a vulnerable, personal issue. I reserve the right to look askance at anyone who doesn't understand the line between blog-appropriate and face-to-face-discussion-appropriate. Meaning: don't ask me about my rear end at brunch.)

Thank god I read Belly Laughs by Jenny McCarthy. Besides being damn funny, she's the only pregnancy book author I've encountered (and there have been MANY...I'm an over-informer) who mentions the excessive hair growth. Back there. That's right- were it winter I wouldn't have to worry about my buttcrack catching cold. If I hadn't been prepared for such a phenomenon, I'd be frantically googling the possibility that I possess some sort of latent monkey gene.

I am only sharing this because a. its too funny not to, b. I feel like I need to spread the warning, and c. I want to find out if this is common or if its just me and Jenny with the new place to put braids.

A friend who's blog I love recently posted about her experience at her Brazilian wax appointment, wherein the aesthetician referred to her butt hair as "intricate" (weekendatdaddys.blogspot.com). I'll be addressing my problem in similar fashion soon and can't WAIT to hear what my practitioner says.

Pornstar In My Mind

Let me set the scene: Its about a week ago. I'm leaving Milwaukee to go to Washington Island (my future home in 3 short months) for the weekend and I'm feeling pretty hot. I still haven't gained any weight, my hair is longer and thicker and shinier than its been since I was 16, my skin is clear and, so I've been told, glowing, my boobs actually BOUNCE (a feeling this barely B-cup girl has never felt until now)...pregnancy is great! I'm practically a Victoria's Secret model. I decide to wear matching leopard print bra and underwear to enhance the Heidi Klum aura. I'm feeling confident. Sexy. Healthy. Even...THIN!

That is, until 6 hours later when I encounter a full-length mirror in Dave's bedroom clad only in aforementioned sexy separates. Lack of full-length mirror in my bedroom at home (my roommate has one but I don't exactly stroll into her bedroom in my underwear. Although I'm pretty sure thats what a fair percentage of the male population would like to think female roommates do in our spare time. That and hit each other with pillows in our communal shower) has precluded me from actually seeing the full monty in roughly two weeks. Let me tell you, two weeks is a looooong time in pregnant town. Long enough for my body to have completely morphed into SOMEONE ELSE'S BODY. Someone with hips (and an ass!) several inches wider than mine. Someone with a potbelly that doesn't suck in. And the jiggle. Oh god, the jiggle. Where did all this cellulite come from? I never had this much before. I may not have gained any weight, but the weight I already had packed its bags (with COTTAGE CHEESE) and relocated to new places.

Now I'm not under some misguided impression that it'll only be my abdomen that will change during pregnancy. I know I'll get stretch marks, more cellulite, hips will spread, blah blah blah. Nor do I hate the new body (completely). I just wasn't prepared for such a radical change in 2 weeks. And for everyone who says "just wait", I know that too. I realize the butt and hips will only get bigger, the cellulite jigglier, the potbelly enormous, and this great rack? Deflated and drooping. I know. But seeing it incrementally, each day's little change, makes it a lot easier to accept than all at once, okay?

Lesson learned: go into my roommate's bedroom in my underwear once in awhile.

Watch This Space

I've been wanting to write a blog for YEARS, but like a lot of things I've wanted to do, it wasn't until I fell pregnant and bars stopped being fun that I actually found the motivation to do them. Things like: eating healthy meals at home, taking long walks, waking up before 11 on days I don't have to work, doing my laundry on a semi-regular basis, making art, using the public library...so this is what people mean when they say becoming a parent makes you a better person. I always thought they were just being smug.

Speaking of smug, I promise not to become one of those parents who says things like, "You can't understand until you have a child." I may think it, but I'll keep it to myself. This might be as futile as when I was a teenager and swore I'd be a cool adult who understood what its like to be a teenager. For the most part I now think teenagers are annoying (especially in packs), with stupid hair. And their music all sounds the same. Get off my lawn kid.

Alterra is my favorite hangout now. Rose melange and minty green tea, what more could you want? Its also a good environment for writing. At least it WAS, until the woman a few tables away started snorting and coughing and expelling her rosemary turkey wrap THROUGH HER NOSE. Or the guy who thinks he's Robert Pattinson walked by and gave me what I'm sure he thought were "twilight eyes". Hey guy, you're NOT ROBERT PATTINSON. Also, stop looking at my dog.

People love my chihuahua. Everywhere we go he gets pointed at and whispered about, strangers want to come over and touch him and talk to him. I wonder if thats how it feels to be a celebrity. I wonder if thats how people are going to act when I have the baby out in public too. I can't wait to take them out together (maybe even dressed in tiny matching outfits!) and see who gets more attention. My money's on the chihuahua.

Some pregnancy bonuses: I can be as crabby as I want and blame it on hormones, apparently I'm "glowing" (although I attribute that more to not drinking and eating healthily) and I no longer feel compelled to suck in my stomach (even though I have yet to gain a pound).