Real Life Now

One Year.

2012-02-07T21:30:00.000-08:00

My Wee Beastie,
Wendy Bendy,
Friendly Wendy,
Munchie,
My Darling Little,
My itsy,
My Groundhog,
My Darling,
Wendy-cat-harasser,
Wendy-floor-snack-finder,

Wendy-is-already climbing things.
I'm so glad I've been able to share the first year of your life with you. Nearly all parenting cliches are true now. I feel so obscenely lucky to be graced with your teething, cat-smothering, throwing on the floor self. You have a few nubs of promise, but no real teeth. Despite that you seem intent to eat through a hefty budget monthly-blueberries are your favorite. I can only hope you'll still love them so much when they come into season.
You walk. A little. And carry things. And to me, you look like you're about to take flight the way you move in that fantastic improbable way. You get yourself stuck between the couch and wall. You pull out all the books and hit me with them if I don't read them quick enough. You insist on the Babies book AGAIN AND AGAIN. You play the harmonica, the drum, the tambourine, an egg shaker, and the xylophone. You love baths. You can do a summersault. You always sneak on the bed when I make it, and I let you, because your laugh is hilarious. I'm learning how to play with you. How to stretch myself. How to nurse you ALL NIGHT and wake up ready t0 play. Which cries mean "HELP!" and which mean "DAMNIT THE CAT JUMPED ON THE TABLE!"
I'm hopelessly in love with you.
Last night you WALKED away from me. It was innocent enough, but I cried.
Because I need to let you. Again and again. Because you're growing up.
Happy Birthday little one.*
I love you.

Your Mom.

*This post has been a month in the writing. Life has been "like that" lately.

I'm healing. The darker side of my birth story.

2012-01-03T23:47:00.000-08:00

You may want to skip this entry if you do not wish to read about birth trauma.

My daughter got stuck.

It doesn't sound beautiful, or tragic, or unbelievably dramatic, but it was. Stuck, sounds like a thing that might happen if you're crawling between a table and wall. And you're uncoordinated. Stuck sounds like weird colloquial-isms like, "I'm stuck on you, babe!" Or maybe a piece of paper could get stuck to your coffee table when you spill coffee, and let it dry.
So, maybe stuck isn't the right word.
So, when I'm honest about it I say to myself, "My daughter had a full and true shoulder dystocia."
I call it a full and true shoulder dystocia, because those were the words my midwife used when she described it. For three whole minutes she was trapped between worlds. Born, yet unborn.
So much joy, and fear, and expectation lead up to the birth of my baby. I wanted to have a natural, unmedicated delivery out of the hospital. I labored for days, and I generally hate to toot my own horn, but I was strong and kind.
I can remember it so perfectly, almost like a dissociated-out of body experience. I can almost look down on the scene. I'm in the birth tub pushing my baby out, and we can see a little smidgen of her head, but we didn't yet know she would be a girl. And then that fleshy glimpse would recede from view. Again and again. I felt so joyful. I'd fought the urge to push for hours, and finally I felt relief. I was here, in the birth center, having a normal birth. I was so much at peace.
And then, I pushed her head out, and waited. In all the birth stories I'd read her body was supposed to come fluidly. Easily. A pause, a gentle push, and she would be born. The hard part would be over. But she didn't come. She was stuck. Her shoulder had lodged under my pelvis, and she stayed stuck as my midwife tried different maneuvers to free my daughter.
And my midwife said, "This is serious. You need to get on to your hands and knees and PUSH."
At the time I didn't feel scared. I had built a relationship or trust and respect with my midwife. I knew I just need to do what she said.
And I turned onto my hands and knees and PUSHED, and my midwife hooked her hands under my baby's shoulders and she slid into her hands. Through my hard work and and my midwives' incredible skill my baby was born.
She went to my belly, and I was so surprised by how heavy and purplish she was. But before I could register my surprise she was turning very pink, and my midwife was urging me to talk to my baby.
I had intended to tell my baby she had worked hard being born, and now I did with a conviction unmatched. "You did so good... I'm so proud of you... you worked so hard.."
And someone said, "Rosie, you're a rockstar." and my midwife said matter of factly, "Strong baby, strong mother."

Birth is not without risk, but by randomness and chance we brushed with a great a horrible specter. But it is through exceptional care, hard work, and the forgiving randomness that is the universe that my daughter and I are alive and unharmed.
After we'd had a chance to be close and bond as a new family we were curious to weigh our baby. It was then that we learned that while she was not exceptionally large her shoulders were as wide as her head, and this had likely contributed to her dystocia.
Despite the challenges of our birth I experienced no physical trauma whatsoever. I had no tearing or even significant bleeding. Our daughter had no discernible trauma from her birth. For the first few weeks it seemed as though her shoulders were sore, so we handled her gently as we would with any newborn.
I've been especially cautious about discussing the difficult parts of my birth story. As a pregnant mother to be I hated being trapped somewhere with a mother who was retelling the trauma of her birth, seemingly without any provocation.
I think the unprompted sharing of birth stories is a side effect of a culture that does not respect or understand birth. Birth is an amazingly transformative experience not to be minimized. In my experience there are so few outlets or avenues to discuss the beauty, pain, fear, joy, sexuality, and power therein. I had told myself that I wasn't talking about that part of my daughter's birth or her birth in general, because I didn't want to traumatize mother's to be, but I have to admit that in some ways I just wasn't ready to deal with it.
That we could have died. That I could have lost my daughter. That she could have been permanently traumatized by the experience.
But then we were fine. I'm still coming to terms with it. I was minimizing and pretending it wasn't a big deal anymore, because nothing bad happened. And now I'm in a stronger place. I can admit that something did happen. Something terrifying happened, and we are becoming okay with that.
Sometimes terrible things happen. Even to good people. And this time it didn't happen to me.
And I am humbled. It is a miracle.
When we tried to have a baby we reached out into the unknown, and because we were in love we made a person with our bodies. And I nurtured her inside of my body while my husband nurtured me. And I birthed her while my husband, midwife, doula, and family supported me. And now we love her, guide her, and I continue to breastfeed and nourish her with my body.
And it's just amazing. I am so thankful. Because every day I get up and I am healthy and alive, and so is my husband, and so is our daughter.
Writing this has been just one step to healing this experience. I know this, because as I wrote it I cried, my pelvis ached, and I now feel a little lighter. The trauma becomes another baby of sorts, and it must be acknowledged, supported, given room to just be whatever it needs to be, and I need to give myself LOVE to work through this experience. Part of that love is honesty. Admitting there was trauma that needs work and doing the work.

Words cannot describe the feelings of gratitude I have for my midwife, whose care allowed me to have a normal birth and good outcome despite difficult circumstances. To my husband and doula who supported me seemingly tirelessly.

placenta in my freezer.

2012-01-03T22:34:00.000-08:00

Around this time last year I was just beginning early labor. I was ignoring it, because I was feeling emotionally exhausted by all the false alarms. I was so ready to meet my baby. I'd had a midwife appointment. I went out to dinner with my husband. We had a long drive home, where we talked, talked, talked. The cloth diapers were prepped. The birth plan was typed. Anxiety was at an absolute maximum, and I have to admit that some things got forgotten.
We had a beautiful birth. We came home with an amazing baby. And a placenta. After we left the birth center we spent a night in a hotel, because we were too tired to drive home, and no joke the people who had planned to drive us home were too tired. And we ordered a pizza, slept a daze, and worried we'd forget the placenta in the mini bar freezer. It's wrapped in a plastic bio hazard bag-which looks a lot like a red grocery bag, and we stuck it in the freezer. I'd wanted my placenta encapsulated. I'd read about all the health benefits, but we had no budget, and admittedly no nerve to prep and dehydrate it ourselves. So, the placenta sat in the freezer, and I told myself if things got really bad I'd defrost it. But thankfully to date I have not developed postpartum depression. Sure, I had baby blues, but not the defrost the placenta and make a smoothie variety. Because I have dealt with depression before pregnancy, and even during pregnancy I almost expected I would have some amount of postpartum depression. I talked with my husband extensively about this, and we even made a plan that involved thawing the placenta among other things. As time went on, and we both felt okay and sometimes even confident about how we were coping emotionally as parents. We started to joke about that freezer-placenta-issue.
And then we moved and I couldn't stomach throwing it out. So, the placenta moved to our new freezer. And it's spent the last almost year hanging out with the ice cream and frozen chicken and such.
I have been able donate most baby clothes, and paraphernalia without too many sentimental hangups. Our house is almost spartan in design, and I do a monthly purging of excess stuff as I make my way to our local thrift store. I am generally not a keeper of things, but this is no ordinary thing!
It supported my baby. It might help with menopause. I made it myself!
I've heard of people planting their placenta under a tree, but we're renters and I'm sure if I planted my placenta under a city tree I'd be arrested and it would probably be eaten by dogs.
So, as it stands I have a nearly year old placenta in my freezer, and I plan to keep it. I am hopeful we will be blessed with another baby soon, and this time I will certainly budget for placenta encapsulation, and with any luck I can find someone who is willing to do a "two for one" special.

I was going to add a photo, but it's buried under trader joes frozen entrees. so, eff it. you'll have to take my word on this one.

an apology.

2012-01-02T14:17:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa,
I'm so fucking sorry. No seriously. I can see that I hurt your feelings the way I smugly opted out of your little fete. That much is obvious.
Because December 26th rolled around, and that night we decided to head to the Bay Area for some post holiday socializing. And on the ride down my stupid, awful period was making me feel awful. And then I started puking. In a cup. Because we were on the freeway. And I didn't want to pull over, and puke in a starbucks bathroom like some self respecting person, because I just wanted to get to my destination. I knew everything would be great if I could just get there.
But I actually puked so much that the smell made the baby puke. And we finally arrived at my brother in law and his girlfriend's house where I could be terribly sick. I would have gone to the ER, but seriously you just don't go to the ER the day after Christmas. People ignore bleeding head wounds and such so they can just enjoy the holiday, and then flood the ER. I had no intention of joining them.
So, I stayed in the bathroom laying on the floor in that self indulgent sick person way thinking stuff. "I'm never getting pregnant again!" (Oh. wait. I'm not pregnant.) And, "I'm never going to drink again!" (Oh. actually I'm sober.) And finally, "Please, it's awful. Just let me feel better, and I'll put some Christmas lights on a ficus and make everyone a gift like scrooge seeking atonement for his sloppy ways... oh please.."
And for the past handful of days I've a hot mess. No longer sick per-say, but I'm a sad impression of my former self. I feel weak, tired, and I need a lot of naps. My stomach is no longer tolerating legitimate amounts of food. I now eat half a sandwich and feel all full and embarrassed.
Some people might say I had Noro virus or food poisoning, but I think Santa is just pissed.
I'm especially sure of this, because I woke up today starting my second period of THIS MONTH.
I've obviously offended some deity. That much is clear.

The year Christmas didn't come.

2011-12-25T20:24:00.000-08:00

If you're like many children in the U.S. you probably read a few stories or watched a few movies that follow the same story. The holidays are here and a villain, bad weather, or plain old poverty is gearing up to ruin Christmas for everyone. Thankfully at the last moment the villain will have a change of heart, the storm will pass, or an act good will changes everything. Christmas always comes for everyone.
But this year the jolly, fat man flew right over our house. We didn't even get coal.
And it wasn't a tragedy. Perhaps I should explain.
My family is learning to live simply. When we got married we were determined to skip all the traditions that didn't work for us. We had simple ceremony in the park and hosted our own homemade picnic reception. Many friends and family still say it was the best wedding they had ever been to. When we had a baby we were sure we'd handle things in the same way. We skipped the baby registery and asked people to buy used items/hand me downs to our co-ed baby shower. We cloth diaper, bed share, and I breastfeed baby.
And then the holidays came.
"What do you want to do?" I asked my husband.
"I don't know, what do you want to do?" He would counter.
We live in a pretty suburban area, and Christmas came to town in September. It was still shorts and tshirts weather, but all the shops were already stocking their decor, candies, and specials. Modern covers of Christmas classics were playing in the fall as I picked out my first sweater of the season. I'll be honest, we were freaked out.
Our extended family is all over the state, and many years we had piled in the car again and again over just a handful of days to see everyone. Our baby seems to be allergic to the carseat and still cries at the sight of it. We knew this wouldn't be an option. Besides, wasn't it time to build our own traditions as a family?
"What if we just did homemade gifts... do you want to make things?" "What if we just bought second hand gifts... do you want anything?" But we didn't really feel so crafty, and we didn't really want any new things for our tiny house. When the Christmas sales came we upgraded our ancient mobile phones and called it a day, but it wasn't even Christmas.
Finally, my husband asked, "What if we did nothing?"
At first I was kind of scared. Wouldn't that be sad? Wouldn't our daughter miss the festivities? I pondered it and then my husband got his work schedule. He was scheduled to work both Christmas Eve and Christmas day. That made our decision pretty easy. We'd skip Christmas.
And no one freaked out. And nothing terrible happened. We didn't hustle trying to think up great gifts for anyone. We didn't craft late into the night. We didn't cut down a tree or set up a plastic one or even buy one in a pot and replant it. We didn't hang lights or tinsel. We didn't go to church, because we never do anyway. In the end we didn't even send cards.

We just lived our lives. We didn't stress. We didn't buy much. We didn't eat too much.
Leading up to the day people who ask, "Are you ready for the holidays?" "Is baby excited about Christmas?"
And we'd reply in a friendly way, "Oh we're skipping it."
And people were baffled. "Why would anyone skip Christmas?" they wondered out loud. "Oh, are you Jehovas' Witnesses or Jewish or something?" I have a friend who even called me a grinch. We had our reasons. We hadn't found anything in Christmas to identify with, and we are not the sort of people to follow tradition for tradition's sake.

Throughout the season the only thing I longed for was a marathon baking season. So indulged and made a stack of homemade candy.
And Christmas came and went without any fuss in our home. We got up and went to bed. We didn't unwrap or overeat or manage to get everyone we love into one home. We understand why you might. I have a few friends who really get a kick out of the holiday season and I'm happy for them. I know a lot of people of people who celebrate in unique ways, but I haven't met another family who was happy to skip the whole season without any bitterness. But here we are, and I imagine we are not alone.
We are not making any hard and fast rules, but we liked this Christmas-free year so much we'd be unlikely to start celebrating the holiday in the future. We know as our daughter gets older she may have questions about why celebrate holidays differently and skip some all together and sometimes we will struggle for answers to reasonable questions. Essentially, why are we different?
We are different, because we are not guaranteed long, healthy lives. We get up each day and live as honestly and genuinely as we can. We love as much as we can. We try to be kind. We try to learn. And we tried to stop doing things that didn't make us happy. And we tried to stop doing things we did not understand the value in. Because life can be very short. And life can be very long. And we want to live the very best we can. And we want to be happy. And we want you to you happy too, daughter. And sometimes that looks very odd. And that's okay.
So this year we skipped Christmas. And it was great.

Co-sleeping Essay.

2011-12-08T09:55:00.000-08:00

ETA: I wrote this essay on bed-sharing and co-sleeping about 2.5 years ago for my English Final. Long before I had a baby. Now I do indeed bedshare every night, and I love it. Enjoy! -r

Rosie Wiklund
English 110/120 F 11:15-2:30
Dr. C. Pages

A Good Night’s Rest

Should children be allowed to regularly sleep with their parents? For centuries parents around the world have shared their beds with their children in a practice referred to as family beds or co-sleeping. Despite its history and worldwide popularity co-sleeping in the United States is surrounded by controversy. A number of child development specialists, psychologists, and doctors have come out against co-sleeping citing concerns about mental wellbeing, fostering independence, and safety. These professional’s views on co-sleeping are often disappointingly short sighted. Many professionals in the United States are concerned with supporting independence of a young child, but this ideal rejects cultures which value interdependence as much or more than independence. Naturally all parents and professionals value the safety of children, but to reject co-sleeping outright as dangerous while simultaneously ignoring the dangers of solitary crib sleep is limited thinking at best. While bed sharing may not work for every family it is important for child experts to recognize the value which co sleeping may offer. I disagree with western child experts who speak out against co-sleeping because of their cultural bias which leads them to believe that the bedroom is a place limited to sexual intimacy, or suggesting that a child cannot be independent if they co-sleep. Additionally I disagree with experts who suggest that independence is vital while rejecting family values like interdependence. The family bed can serve as an affectionate refuge from the world, and for some eases breastfeeding and improves quality of sleep. Co-sleeping is a valued practice for many people including the Japanese, East African tribes, and more. Given the many benefits of co-sleeping it is inappropriate for western professionals to reject the family bed without further research.
Why do many experts reject co-sleeping? Admittedly, some doctors are quite reasonable in their concerns about physically harming infants in a family bed. In an article on the dangers of co-sleep Heather Chin writes, “Babies who sleep with a parent can become overheated, be rolled onto, or be smothered by soft sheets or pillows. They can also lose circulation if wedged between the mattress and furniture.” (www.mommobile.org). These concerns are rational, but they fail to consider a parent’s genuine interest in their children’s wellbeing. Preventative measures can be taken to make co-sleep safer. In her article “Checklist for Safe Co-sleep” Elizabeth Pantley describes some dos and don’ts of safe family beds. The co-sleep environment should be childproofed with a firm mattress free of excess bedding. It is also important that the bed is set on the floor or surrounded with walls to prevent the infant from rolling of the bed. Parents who co-sleep do not smoke around their infant or go to bed intoxicated. (www.motherandchildhealth.com). Unfortunately, cribs can also pose a risk to infants. KID or Kids in Danger, a nonprofit dedicated to protecting children by improving children’s product safety states that, “More infants die every year in cribs than from any other nursery product. In the last 20 years 1,100 children have died from crib related injuries. Nearly 10,000 children are rushed to emergency rooms with injuries and an average of 22 children die each year in unsafe cribs.” (http://www.kidsindanger.org). A parent considering crib sleep in the United States would be advised by safety commissions on the safest model to choose, but a co-sleeping parent may be simply told there is no safe way to share their bed with an infant. This seems to be an unfair double standard. It poses the question, is co-sleeping really so dangerous or are professionals simply unwilling to give parents the tools and education to make family beds safe? Why would a professional who works for children unwilling to explore co-sleep?
Perhaps physical safety is not the real issue experts take with co-sleeping. Dr. Meredith Small offers some insight in the book Sleeping With Your Baby She claims, “The bed in the West is also synonymous with sex, and that, too, makes co-sleeping with an infant suspect.” (P 12). Could it be that these professionals are allowing their judgment to be clouded by preexisting ideas about sexuality? Co-sleeping can be described as revolutionary in the West as it redefines the bedroom: no longer is the bedroom a place of sexuality, but instead it becomes a place of family and connection. Given that the bedroom is often a sexual place in the United States I wondered are co-sleeping parents still able to be intimate, and are they doing that in front of their children? It seems the co-sleeping parent is not willing to engage in intimate acts in front of their children any more than any other parent. For the curious outsiders to co-sleep Dr. James J. McKenna, director of the Mother-Baby Behavioral Sleep Laboratory University of Notre Dame, describes the logistics of sex, “Intimacy will have to be less spontaneous. You may need to start scheduling time together when someone else can tend to the baby, find some other place to be intimate after the baby falls asleep, or move baby into a crib or bassinet after he falls asleep.”(P 76).
Another fundamental issue in the co-sleep debate is that of how a baby is viewed. On issues of cultural views and the infant child Janet Gomez-Mena offers this explanation, “The idea that a baby is an individual and that he or she must come to see “self“ as separate from “other“ is a cultural concept. Not all cultures hold this view of the baby.” (P 37)While every family is unique, a baby is more likely to be viewed a small individual in an American family while in Mexico a baby is more likely to be seen as part of a whole. The implications of these views are varied and widely complex. It is of great importance that doctors, physiologists, and child developmental experts work with sensitivity to the culture in which a child lives. In the case of co-sleeping many experts suggest that a child’s independence such as sleeping alone is necessary in emotionally sound children. Ideally all children will learn to care for themselves and others so that they may contribute to their communities, but I argue that is not simply through private beds or an emphasis on early self care skills that a child’s wellbeing is fostered. On the subject of independence in children Dr. William Sears suggests that, “It is not the parent‘s responsibility to make a child independent but rather to create a secure environment and a feeling of rightness which allows a child‘s independence to develop naturally.” (P 38). Recently University of California, Irvine recently conducted a survey to examine the impact of co-sleeping on a child’s independence. Eighty-three middle class mothers with preschool age children took a questionnaire on family sleep habits and independence. They found that children who slept in their own beds were more independent in terms of sleep, but children who co-slept were more self reliant. For example, the children who had co-slept were reported as more able to dress without help, and entertain themselves with a toy or book. Early co-sleeping children were also reported to be more likely to make new friends and work out issues with playmates independently. While survey shows only a limited population it certainly offers some interesting insight on independence and co-sleep.
Having explored the risks and controversy surrounding co-sleeping it is important to remember and examine the benefits which family beds can provide. Before the development of language an infant has only crying to express their needs. Dr. James J. McKenna explains that prolonged crying decreases oxygenation and increasing heart rate causing the infant’s body to release stress hormones. He argues that an infant who is co-sleeping is less likely to cry themselves to sleep than their crib sleeping peers. He goes on to suggest that the energy lost in crying could otherwise be put into growth and development. The benefits of co-sleeping are not limited to children they can also extend to parents. Dr. James J McKenna quoted one mother who said, “I work in an office all day long; co-sleeping is a way to reconnect.”(P 51) Co-sleeping is also said to offer easier access to feedings particularly to those who are breastfeeding; there is no need to go far from bed to soothe a hungry child it is already here in your room and there it can stay when it falls back to sleep. Co-sleeping parents may notice they are also able to rest more as they need not go far from bed to comfort the child. The child in turn may be easier to soothe when it has not had to cry loudly from another room to alert a parent to it’s needs. Above all, one of the greatest benefits to co-sleeping can be the warm affection space that a family bed can be. In his book “The Family Bed” Tine Thevenin shares a memory of A Kikuyu chief of East Africa, “At night when there was no sun to warm me, my mother‘s arms, her body took it‘s place…”(P 35) This touching memory shows the bonding and positive feelings which co-sleeping can offer. For this paper, my friend Joe Maxey a twenty-three year old yoga teacher agreed to an interview on his co-sleeping experience. Joe shared his mother’s bed on and off until he was five years old. Joe was quoted as saying, “It offered me greater sense of stability in an environment which otherwise had little.”
Another issue fueling the co-sleeping debate is SIDS. SIDS or sudden infant death is a recognized medical disorder affecting children under one year of age. Tragically, some seemingly infants are put to bed never to wake up. It is not currently understood what causes SIDS. The Department of Health and Human Services states that, “SIDS is not preventable, but the risk can be reduced by placing the baby on his or her back to sleep on a firm surface, by making sure the baby has a smoke-free environment, and keeping the baby from being overheated.”. In his book Sleeping With Your Baby Dr. James J. McKenna examines some thought provoking statistics, “Japan, another industrialized nation not only has one of the lowest infant mortality rates (less than 3 infants per 1000 live births compared with around 7 in the United States), but one of the lowest SIDS rates in the world (between .2 and .3 babies per 1000 live births compared with around 7 for the United States). […] In 1998, 60% of parents said they practiced bedsharing in Japan.” (P 34). These are interesting statistics and I cannot help but wonder, could co-sleeping help to prevent sudden infant death? While these are admittedly very complex issues with a number of factors at work these are worthwhile statistics to be considered. If the child rearing experts of the United States were more receptive to exploring co-sleeping we as a country may be able to do more work to investigate SIDS and its prevention.
In closing I ask, is it possible to imagine a child would be most encouraged to develop independence by the firm external suggestions that they do like being required to sleep alone and feed themselves at an early age? Alternately, do is it possible imagine a child should have access to support and affection which co-sleeping can offer until they decide they are ready to become independent? It is easy to make a case for both styles of parenting and that is the suggestion at work here: each parent should be able to make the choices that they feel suit their family’s needs best. In this ideal, I hold the sincere hope that families are able to find to physicians, psychologists, and child developmental experts who practice with compassion. A professional need not always agree with the choices of a parent, but to quickly condemn a practice that is not supported by science or research can undermine the work of the child experts. Again, I do not suggest that co-sleeping should be required, or that it will work for all families. Instead I humbly ask the reader to consider the possible benefits of a family bed and to take a critical look at the professionals who are so quick to condemn co-sleeping.

Works Cited

Chin, Heather. "Mom Mobile". 10/25/2009 .

Cowles, Nancy. "KID - A Nonprofit ". Kids In Danger . 10/25/2009 .

Gonzalez-Mena, Janet. The Developing Child-Workbook. McLean, VA: Magna Systems, INC., 2001.

Keller, Meret A., and Wendy A. Goldberg. "Cosleeping and independence. (Bulletins: good news about pregnancy, birth, and parenting)." Mothering Jan.-Feb. 2003.

McKenna, James J. Ph.D., William Sears M.D., and Meredith Small Ph.D.. Sleeping With Your Baby. Washington, DC: Platypus Media, LLC, 2007.

Pantley, Elizabeth. "Mother and Child Health". 10/25/2009 .

Sears M.D., William. Nighttime Parenting: How to Get Your Baby and Child to Sleep. New York, NY: Plume Books, LLC, 1985.

Thevenin, Tine. The Family Bed . Wayne, NJ: Avery Publishing Group INC., 1987.

Bibliography

Chin, Heather. "Hospitals Push Safe Sleep Practices for Infants." Mommobile.org. Web. 14 Oct. 2009. .

Cosleeping.org - Information about co-sleeping - the family bed. Web. 03 Nov. 2009. .

Cowles, Nancy. "KID - Product Hazards - Dangerous Cribs Recalls." KID - a nonprofit dedicated to protecting children from dangerous children's products. Web. 25 Oct. 2009. .

Gonzalez-Mena, Janet. The Developing Child-Workbook. McLean, VA: Magna Systems, INC., 2001.

Keller, Meret A., and Wendy A. Goldberg. "Cosleeping and independence. (Bulletins: good news about pregnancy, birth, and parenting)." Mothering Jan.-Feb. 2003. Print.

McKenna, James J. Ph.D., William Sears M.D., and Meredith Small Ph.D.. Sleeping With Your Baby. Washington, DC: Platypus Media, LLC, 2007. Print.

"Mother-Baby Behavioral Sleep Laboratory." University of Notre Dame. Web. 03 Nov. 2009. .

Pantley, Elizabeth. "Checklist for Safe Co-Sleeping." Herbs, Nutrition, Pregnancy, Children, Natural Pregnancy & Birth, Attachment Parenting, Birth Choices. Web. 25 Oct. 2009. .

Sears M.D., William. Nighttime Parenting: How to Get Your Baby and Child to Sleep. New York, NY: Plume Books, LLC, 1985. Print.

Thevenin, Tine. The Family Bed . Wayne, NJ: Avery Publishing Group INC., 1987. Print.

Set your mail afire!

2011-12-02T17:29:00.001-08:00

This morning I woke up as my husband was slipping into bed, and realized my face hurt. Not like I slept on it hurt, but like oh my word owwwee.
So I skittered out my bed while the baby was still sleeping and picked up my warm rice sock thing, and the mail I've been trying to put out for days, but it's been too windy. And then I walked outside with my rice sock, and a horrible feeling came over me.
I just put my mail in the microwave netflix DVD and all.
So I scampered back to the microwave and pulled out one very trashed ER season 13 disc. God, it was such a good disc. I'm so sorry, the cue is going to be so long now guys!
And obviously I'm really sick. stupid sick.
So I went into a doctor. I don't do that. I'm not opposed to wellness. I see my acupuncturist every week. I just don't love that M.D. thing. Unless I'm a mess. Like today.
And he confirmed the my suspicions. Middle ear infection. Sinus infection. And my chest sounds, "Gunky."
And I'm not losing all this weight without trying just because my God is a forgiving one. I eat entirely too much chocolate for that to the case, and I need my thyroid checked just to be sure. Greeeeeeaaaaat.
And I must have looked a bit too much like a hippy when I said "my midwife suggested I get my thyroid looked at.." because he then ordered a shot of antibiotics I.M.
As in intramuscular. As in, IN THE BUTT.
Because I look like the sort of person who is going to leave his office and say, "Oh what is the worst that could happen? I'll just try some homeopathetics for awhile and see how that goes." AND DIE.
So he insisted that I get that shot. And I know I could have said, "No, Thank You! I'll try garlic and letcha know." But my face was throbbing in time with the overhead lights as he recommended it.
So I said, "uh, yes okay?" And he LVN gave me a shot in the low back, despite my generously pulling my legging down to an awkwardly exposing vantage. And damnit LVN, unless you know something I thought those muscular injections went in large muscles, and that hurt! And naturally I did this all while I held my fussing child, because seriously I'm sick, but I'm not a sadist. Joe was all exhausted, and I was like, "What, did you work 12 hours straight on no sleep?!" Ooooh. So, I took the baby. And held her angry, squally self as I got a very slow shot in the not quite butt.
And nearly vageled. yanoo.. passed out. I murmered something like, "Am I all sweaty!???" And the nice LVN physically urged (see: pushed) me into a chair.
I came home, and had one of those days where the baby wakes up when I put her down for a nap, because she smells her dad. It's like comatose, and then BAM. "DAH! DAH! DAH! DAH! DAH!" Like fricken Justin Beiber just arrived in an eleven year old girl's room. Insane. And then she is so angry and tired. And then she falls asleep again and the cat is like, "ROW, ROW, ROW, ROW."
And my poor husband is threatening to sleep in the basement. No joke. And I'm like, "Nooo. Let's talk about that when we've all had 10 minutes sleep."
But who knows when that will be?
Joe, God bless his soul took the baby and got my prescription and demanded I shower. And even offered me some "Drive-through."
But seriously, I need some hippy medicine. I'm going to put on the most rediculous amount of sweaters I can fathom and waddle to the co-op for some tofu-whole-wheat-sprouty soul food.
Before I implode.
Caretaking when you're such a mess is so sad it's actually hilarious! You should be laughing by the end of the post, but if you're all sad and thinking I'm pathetic that is okay too. I'll try again tomorrow. When I have the good drugs.

[about this picture. we took a bunch of photos with our timer on thanksgiving and the best one I'm hardly in, but woah boobs, and Joe looks like a sexy jeans model. Enjoy!]

free range anxiety

2011-12-02T01:05:00.000-08:00

Tonight I couched myself, because I'm having a cough. And the baby stirs every time I cough. So, I'm out here sad-sacking it up. Using all of the force of my being not to direct this sadness into a box of trader joe's cocoa truffles in my pantry. (on the third shelf. on the left. near the ritter sport bar, chocolate orange, and chocolate caramels. yeah, I've totally become that lady.)
Given that I have such an awesome life, husband, baby, and chocolate stash I'm really doing good.
But when I lay my head down if it isn't this cough keeping me up it's a wandering anxiety.
The trouble is, I'm a rational person with an irrational problem. I'm a relatively orderly person dealing with just a wee bit too much mundane stress. So, instead of throwing myself a badass pity party with all my snackfood or getting properly depressed I just feel anxious. I feel weird and my thoughts race as I try to fall asleep. My reasonable mind lays there saying, "go to sleeeeep. be peaceful. rest! it'll be good! who knows when the baby will wake up." and lately when that fails I get all analytic and try to understand why I feel so anxious.
Last night I came up with a few gold stars;
My library book is overdue by a few days.
I need to call the pediatrician and pay them a very small bill but I only remember this at night.
Joe is working nights again.
It was especially windy, and maybe the boogy man broke into my basement?

So, I called my husband. At work. It was deeply humbling, but things were banging. In the night. You know, like things that GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT.
But the only thing bumping here is that rootless anxiety. In college I sometimes took xanex, not for fun but to cope. And now I don't. And school is a lot harder with a baby.
I often feel like everything is short sided when I'm mothering-and-in-school. Which in math would not even be possible, but where emotions and grades are concerned it really is possible.
There is not enough time, energy, or enthusiasm.
And I'm left feeling like a bad mother. And a crap student. And to make matters worse, this is by far and away the worst class I've ever taken. Nutrition is not exactly a soft science, and this professor writes quizes that are straight up WRONG. Or maybe she is right. Perhaps moderate drinking will help prevent chronic heart disease, and my problem is I'm not drinking nearly enough and I'm about to have a heart attack.
um. no.

that isn't it.
So, I'm taking a break from school. for I don't know how long.
and that really does break my heart a little. (more drinking? no...) But it's the right thing to do. For now. Because she is only going to be so small for such a ridiculously short period of time. She keeps babbling like she wants to talk. Her birth class alumni are WALKING.
And I absolutely must soak in this little baby-ness. Because I didn't want to grow up and be a college student. I wanted to be a mother. I know that's not exactly okay in this modern era, but it's what I wanted. What I still want. Truly I want it all. Self fullfilled, mother, married to the love of my life, career.

but right now something has to give. and I refuse to miss this. it's entirely too good. school can wait. I might try psych in the fall. I hear it's an easy A.
Is being a mother to just one baby enough?
What kind of badass I'll have to be to get up in the morning and say,
"Actually, I don't have to do it all. I prefer to do this, and do it really well."

Like when you put nutella on french toast, but apply that to your whole life.
Because I have no guarantee at another life, and I won't get to raise her all over again. The finality of life is quite frightening at times. I feel like I'm at a fork in the road in some mythic story or fable. Perhaps with an ominous sign that says, "choose wisely." I've picked my daughter, and my marriage, and my own happiness, because I wasn't happy when I was trying to do it all.
And I'm still just a tiny bit anxious and unhappy because I have to face the reality that maybe I'll never even do some of the things I thought I wanted. I'll have to let go of THE PLANS I MADE. And just live. As happily as I can.

When I put it that way it doesn't sound so bad.

A curse on you!

2011-11-22T15:22:00.000-08:00

I'm in support of naps. I like to nap, but I especially like when my darling child naps. It's not that I don't want to spend time with her, we literally spend HOURS a day strapped to one another. We do yoga together. We eat snacks. We listen to dance music and shimmy and clap. (yes, she claps. IT IS the cutest thing ever.) But when she is tired, she is kind of a terror. And with that full throttle messing with shit she does during all waking hours, I can see how she might require a nap or two to get through the day.
but my kid is a sleep fighter. and I'm not a cry-it-out lady. Let's not get into politics, I'm just not doing it, okay? So we take a bath, and I strap her on and do the dishes or vacumme or take a six mile hike, and she falls asleep. I slip her into bed. Sometimes I nap too, and sometimes I get a few glorious minutes to do things I used to do pre-Wendy. I make things with yarn. I do my homework. I read snanky blogs without constantly getting distracted and saying, "aw, gosh, that is a nice screw you found! let me trade in my cell-phone mmmkay, because I love you. I don't want you to die! Or get an x-ray and find you have a screw in your innards!"
sometimes she sleeps. but usually, the universe conspires and puts me on a sneaky "WE MISSED OUR NAP" hate spiral.
Nap time. baby is in that in-between sleep and wake zombie face cuteness place.. and something often happens.

A) My cats who never ever meow start going "MEW MEW MEW I AM THE CAT LOOK AT ME! HI HI HI HI ROOOOOOW."
That happened today and I wanted to punch my cat. 99% of the time these cats look offended if I so much as greet them without food in hand, but when I put the baby to bed they are in my business.

B) We bed-share. Mostly. We certainly room-share. My husband, dear beast is just as sleep deprived as I am. He often works 12 hour night shifts. So, during the day he is in our room sleeping. I ninja in past the cats with a sleeping babe in my arms and he immediately springs from the bed with a clatter. "waaat? work! I have? What time is it? Are we okay!??" And bam. The baby is up. This hasn't happened once or twice. It's happened 5 million times or so. I understand. He's tired. We're all tired. He says he would stop if would could put a clock in our bedroom, but I absolutely solidly refuse to do that. I was be 2x the crazy I am today if I had a clock to watch and know just how little sleep I get to the minute. Oh. Hell. No.

C) Sleep baby vs. cell phone. I turned the ring off my cellphone about 6 months ago. You want to get in touch? Facebook or send smoke signals. I'm not sorry. People only call me when my kid is snoozing.

D) Random oddball stuff. Loud dumptruck? Check! Drunk frat boys walking by? Check! Very loud visitors? Duh!

E) Today just blew my mind. My neighbor is a crazy old dude and decent artist who has painted rainbows and tiger heads ALL OVER HIS HOUSE. When we moved in I thought it was vaguely cool. Not a selling point or a deterrent. For such a groovy dude he sure seems nervous about my babywearing and has made a number of disparaging comments, but I don't care much. I don't really have to see him. But he does have an "art gallery" in his home. And it attracts anyone awful in an RV. And today his patrons were being so loud. There they were, screaming about how much they love the moon goddess (Wish, I was joking. I'm not.) So, after this went on for some time I poked my head out and saw these offensive loud people. And they were the sort of adults who wear tacky animal hats and other such non-sense. I'm sure some of you are nice, but most of us scratched that itch as teens and put away the raver "candy" years ago.
"Excuse me, my daughter is trying to nap, can you bring it down a notch?"

Cue extreme cat butt face on their end. (Urban dictionary is lacking in this department. If you don't know what a cat butt face or CBF is just go to a mirror and purse your lips in a really pissed off fashion. Then look at your cat's butt. Then think of that every time someone gives you the ol' CBF!)
"But it's only 4!" says the man.
And I notice the woman has a young child and is pregnant.
"Yes, I know, but my daughter doesn't care what time it is. She's very sleepy. If you could take it back inside or bring it down just a notch or two?"

"But it's only 4...." He whines. Like a child. A grown man-child.

"THIS IS A NEIGHBORHOOD. PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO LIVE HERE." I whisper in a very scary I'll cut you fashion, and he finally gets it.
I hope he gets a paper cut, and all his food in his fridge spoils, and he trips over things that arn't even there AND ALL HIS KIDS GET COLIC.

One day many years ago I was working as a barista in a very busy cafe, and this notoriously awful woman came up and ordered a very involved drink and a muffin. And I started to pull out her muffin, and she flipped out and said, "NO. NOT THAT MUFFIN! I WANT THE OTHER ONE!" I looked at her like she was bat shit crazy. Because she was. And she looked at her tiny baby and her hugely pregnant belly and said, "Someday you'll understand."

And I still think she's a bitch, but some days I do sort of understand.

Sleep is important. It will make you cray-cray. As a parent you must take care of yourself, because so many wonderful perfect people depend on you. And if you parent them "just-so" they won't turn into assholes who wear animal hats and scream in other people's yards.
God bless.

XXL

2011-10-25T12:58:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure I subscribe to that 9 months UP 9 months DOWN theory about post-pregnancy weight loss, but my case was just a touch more extreme.
In the first trimester of my pregnancy I lost close to 30 pounds. I had a mild to average case of hyperemesis. (Please consider visiting helpher.org to learn more about hyperemesis.)
And when I finally got a hold on hyperemesis we moved across the state and away from most of my support network. And I threw myself face first in the direction of cheese and reese candies. And my the end of my pregnancy I was 30 pounds up from my pre-pregnancy weight.
Wait. What? Let's stop and do the math. 170 -30=140+60=190.
holy, wtf.
Within weeks of having Wendy I was returned to my pre-pregnancy weight of 170 lbs, and feeling generally positive. This was familiar skin. sort of. reshape, and weird, but back in my old jeans all the same.
and then Wendy started to move. REALLY move. If I thought pacing with a fussy baby and hitting the gym was a good weight loss plan I hadn't seen anything yet.
With Wendy's seperation anxiety my gym membership is getting dusty. I'm crying on the inside about this one. But with chasing Wendy and forgetting the occasional meal in the madness of it all I'm down to 152.
so, 190-20=170-18=152.
Not bad.
but lately I feel more like a fleshy vessel than a person. Apt to expand or contract wildly.
The amount and sheer size of clothing I've gone through in the last two years has been dizzying.
Size small and XXL are both chillin' in my dresser. Side by side in bafflement.

Yesterday I bought a new bra. And some medium sized pants that seem a bit too big this morning.
what a roller coaster.

cry-it-out.

2011-10-22T09:23:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking of doing the "cry it out" method....
for myself.
It's been this long, awful, stupid weekend. And a friend has a birthday today, and I had this divine inspiration.
"I'm gonna get all pretty like I used to, how hard could it be?"
I was gonna shower, do my hair, makeup, and put on something that didn't have any smears on it.

I had a plan, I brought some toys and a very happy baby to the bathroom, and set to work. And five minutes in the absurdity of the situation was becoming clear. My dear child was only interested in pulling open drawers to try and eat vitamins or find sharp objects. The only thing more interesting might be pulling open the toilet, and really having a "water sensory experience."
On top of that my hair was greasy and not holding a curl at all. Getting in the mirror wasn't a good thing anyway. I was having thoughts like, "what is a facial, and will it make me look less old?" Something has happened to my face since I last looked at it, and in that light it wasn't agreeable.

so before the kid lost a finger to a drawer hinge I piled us both in the shower. I might not go pretty, but at least I could be hygienic. People like hygienic people! and she screamed. She screamed the house down. This was the worst shower she'd even had in her whole, short life. And I was not prepared to let the idea go. I was going to get clean, damnit. And she just kept grabbing my nipples and twisting and pinching. And I started to have a good, hard cry.
So, we took it back to the nap mat, and she nursed, and I snuffled all sad sack like.
And she toddler out of the mat, and I continued my self-piteous boo-hoos, and she took a giant crap on the rug.
And I was wrong, we had not had the worst shower in the world, but we were about to. This time she was really happy, and smearing poo all over the both of us. and the walls. and the tub. and when we were starting to get clean the poor kid fell asleep sitting up.
So I took her to bed, and strapped a really absorbent diaper on her. and scrubbed the rug. God bless club soda.

And put on my xxxxl maternity lounge pants, and a ratty shirt. And took a photo for posterity.
because someday not too far off, I'm going to miss her "babyhood" so damn much. And I want to remember it accurately, lest I have a dozen children and completely lose my mind.
that's all.

the boddler.

2011-10-16T22:26:00.000-07:00

I am absolutely sure I am not the first person to coin this phrase, but there seems to be a weird place that lives between baby and toddler. I currently have a boddler. Boddler, as a word makes me very uncomfortable. Like the word 'tween. All this niche marketing springs to mind. And I shudder a bit, but the boddler is a stage all it's own.
Because we've outgrown the exersaucer, the jumperoo, the bumbo, and all that. Crawling is ON. Walking is NOT. Books and blocks and toys are good for mashing, but so are empty water bottles and shoes. There is no "thing" that soothes or distracts in any reliable way.

We're in an uncharted territory, and I'll be honest, it scares me. I'm no stranger to playing with my kid, I love it. That's actually a big part of why I had a child. So, I could take them to the park, pool, children's museum, etc.
But lately we're in a pretty miserable in-between place. Nothing is interesting for more than a few seconds, and yet the routine is essential. I have said before, I thought I would be a "go with the flow" parent and I got a "oatmeal and then the park at 9:32 a.m. on Tuesdays" sort of kid. That's okay. I can try to flow with that.
Yesterday I had to try and flow with her inflexibility. And it wasn't good. It was really, really bad. Wendy had been "mystery fussing" it didn't seem to be gas or boredom or over-stimulation and I kept peeking into that adorable gummy mouth.. no teeth yet.
So, we went to the children's fair in town. And we ate mini icecreams.
And I tried to put our tired girl to bed only to find one of the cats had peed in her nap mat. Because their box had been blocked by something. (we'll never make that mistake again. ever.)
So, I put Wendy on our bed and Joe got an enzyme cleaner and I scrubbed for ages, and decided not to think about the issue anymore.
And Wendy screamed ALL NIGHT LONG. And it didn't seem to be teething or gas. And I looked for the bizarre. And I paced, and rocked, and bathed, and changed her dry diapers, and burped to no avail, and patted, and shushed, and tried not to cry.
And I wished sometimes she was like those babies that sit in carseats and stare at the walls for hours, because damnit I felt so unfit to mother this child. She needed something, and I couldn't give it to her. I couldn't begin to figure out what it was. I wondered if I had post partum depression, but I really couldn't figure it out, because I couldn't think clearly over all the screaming. And I felt so very guilty for thinking in that way. I didn't want her to be different, but I couldn't help her. I felt helpless.
Joe took "the morning shift" and let me get some sleep, and the afternoon was kind of bad. The evening was rather worse and I was trying to look up the symptoms of PPD, but again the screaming was too distracting.
And then tonight after we'd read every book on the shelf even the bad ones. The nap mat was dry and didn't smell like cat, and I sprayed it with essential oils just to be sure, and I put her to bed.
And she has been sleeping like a rock.
My beautiful, inflexible rock.
Just wanted her nap mat. And was prepared to cry about it all night. And I couldn't give it to her. I didn't think of it at the time, but it makes perfect sense.
I have a strong willed child. A sensitive child. A spirit that chose me.
I'm doing my best. And we must both be patient. We're in this together.

deferred?

2011-10-12T10:04:00.000-07:00

"A dream deferred is a dream denied." - -- Langston Hughes

and today I'm dreaming about sleep. And sleep deferred is sleep debt, but unlike old credit cards the sleep debtors don't call or send letters. They sneak in to my psyche. I'm irritable. I'm talking to my child like she is a rational adult, and no good will come of this.
"Honey, if you bite/scratch/hair pull/headbutt your friends they won't be your friends anymore. I'll always be your mama, but it makes me mad when you do that."
It's not that she doesn't sleep at night. She sleeps for a few hours waking only a few times to nurse. Then I come to bed after a few hours of schoolwork. housework, and "me time." And she nurses, all night long.
So, I sleep a scant 45 minutes or so before it's wake up.

Today's wake up didn't come in the the form of giggly squeals, or headbutts.
I'm deeply asleep, and she grabs a huge chunk of my hair and rips it out.
I'm saying, "No! Christ! Stop it! Awful!"
And then I'm feeling guilty, because those are the first words she hears out of me.
And I spend my whole morning mothering an average messing-with-shit-cat-food-eating baby, and she is forced to deal with my horrible attitude about it all. And my husband comes home all sunshine and light after his 12 hour night shift, and I don't know how he does it.
I hate everything.
But then, baby looks sleepy. Hope! At last! We'll nap, and everything will be okay.
So, I nurse her in the bath and she is asleep in my arms and I scrabble out of the bath sopping wet, and start towards her nap mat. And our cat who hasn't made eye contact since the last time I roasted a ham is suddenly desperate for affection. Generally I'd be thrilled, but right now I'm just losing it. MEOW. MEOW. ROW? ROOOW? MEOW.
The baby's eye shoot open, and immediately go into denial. Walk directly to the nap mat. Nurse baby some more, but she is wide eyed and craning her arm behind her so she can paw the wall in a way crazy homeless people do.
The morning drags on as my darling child makes a lot of scratchy gabs for my face and I try to ingest some caffeine. She makes a few more desperate attempts to subvert the baby gate (and by baby gate I mean ottoman shoved in doorway.) and enjoy that coveted catfood, or as I've taken to calling it, forbidden meat cereal.I'm sad, desperate and I hate everything. And guilt is coming out of my pores, because I have everything wonderful in life and right now I'm not so grateful or happy. My real fear isn't this morning or today or this weekend. It's a big picture fear. At least six more nursing prereqs, if I take one a semester I have another 3 years. Then the waitlist. Then nursing school. Awful, awful nursing school. Then applying to a master's program, a waitlist, and CMN school.

And the real questions that scare me in my bones are,
Will I get better at balancing motherhood, home, and school?
Will I ever be the nice, involved mother who doesn't have rotting food in the sink I dream of being?
I'm using words like, "No! Stop! Quit it!" Sure, my face is being clawed and my nipples bitten, but am I doing my child lasting damage?
Is this good for us?
Am I going to miss my baby's childhood chasing a career?
Is this fair to her? And then I think about the call. The phone is going to ring, and I'm going to kiss my sleeping babies, kiss my husband, pile into the car and support someone as they become a mother. Guide a father as his child is born into his hands. In their home. Safe, supported.
And my daughter will see me as a whole person, not a woman with a dream deferred. And maybe she'll go after the life she wants, because she knows people who have and did. But the dark side wonders, will I miss her babyhood while I'm in school? Will I miss her childhood catching other people's babies? If I'm lucky enough to grow old will I wish I'd done things differently?
I just don't know. I try not to make any important decisions when I'm hungry, angry, lonely, tired, or sad. and lately I'm always one of those things. So, I'm continuing. Doing the best that I can, which some days doesn't seem nearly good enough.

I was going to have a beautiful day...

2011-10-06T17:46:00.000-07:00

I had such a nice day planned. I was going to take the baby out in our new jogging stroller. I was going to go to a baby and me yoga class. I was really looking forward to all this.
And I woke up, and it was pouring rain. And my stroller had a flat tire.
So, we got ready for yoga. Hot shower. dress the baby. Look up directions.
Pile in the car.
Yoga is not in this location. It's somewhere else. The woman in class did not know the address. Baby had a poopy diaper, that I had to change on a bench under an alcove.
Feel grumpy. Strap grumpy baby in the car.
Sulk the whole way home. Send a whiny email to yoga instructor, yodog, where's the class, my morning sucked, I'm bitter.
Walk the stroller to the bike shop for a tune up. Feel joyful. Start to trot. Notice I've lost weight since I wore these yoga pants. They're trying to slide down my butt. Just like the other yoga pants. Damnit, I need new clothes.

Realize my breast has popped out of my sports bra. A while ago. On Main St.

Come to an abrupt break. Fix my bra.
Look at the traffic. Which all looks abit... surprised.
Duck into my coffee shop. My barista. Thank God.

"I see you got a new stroller..."

"you saw my boob, didn't you? I'm gonna go home and die now."
"ahaha. I wasn't going to say anything. I'm surprised you didn't get a black eye. You must have A LOT of milk."

"mm yeah. thank you."

I'm mumbling something about my bra. And starting to feel really miserable. It's all wrong.
I go home and mop the basement. Husband says the niceties. It's REALLY not that big of a deal.
No, big floppy breasts on Main St. It happens. ... to me.

And then the basement is clean, and the baby is asleep on my chest, and I DO have a lot of milk. And I go get some acupuncture. And something wildly out of character happens for me.
I'm in the chair and I've fallen asleep, and my arms keep flopping into my lap, and so I decide I should leave before I impale myself, and I see Michelle (my acupuncturist) is with another client so I lay and nap a bit.
And then my vision gets kind of light and bright. And yes, I'm reclining under a ceiling fan, but this seems otherworldly.
Suddenly I realize, that if I let go of all this negativity I hold onto I will still have a personality left under all the bitterness. And everyone will be safe and okay even if I let this negativity disperse into the universe, because I don't have to hold onto it. I don't have to look after this darkness for anyone. Everyone will be okay. So little by little I start to let go. And I'm still a person, and everyone is still okay.
And then I say to Michelle, "Wow, that was different somehow."

And she says, "We did the same points as last time, but sometimes when you talk to the body you have to repeat yourself. The body says, 'what did you say?' you say go 'this is what I said.' 'this is what I said.' 'this is what I said.'"
And then she just smiles. It was pretty beautiful.
Infact, I was having that beautiful day I thought I would. It was just a little different than I expected. It was humbling. And it was the sort of day that made you want to cry and ask God why everything was so beautiful, real, and true.

And then I talked to Lynn (the receptionist) and she showed me I looked just like her sister who studies a lot of math. And I said I used to hate math until I realized math was like dancing. You just have to find a rhythm, and before long you can anticipate your partner's moves.

And then it was time to go. And I had a nice voice mail from that yoga instructor. Saying we'd talk soon about where yoga was. And that was welcome news.

this is..

2011-09-28T21:24:00.000-07:00

through all the tantrums I dream of sleep. I'm so very tired, maybe you are too? Is it naptime yet? Afternoon napsies? sometimes? Dear, surely you're sleepy..
Night time howls, oh it is bedtime?

And she goes down on her own schedule, in arms, nursing until she is asleep. Safe, comfortable, secure.
Some nights I still hear the long, sad, teething-baby kind of day in my head. Peaceful music plays and I still hear the cries that have long since ceased.
And even on those days, I manage to miss her just moments after she is tucked away in bed I miss her. In an achy sort of way.
This push pull is so deeply maddening. It's actually beautiful.

this is where I am with things.
I ache when you hurt. Not in my gums, but in my sappy mother heart.

Poor girl, I love you.

ongoing wendy weeklys

2011-09-26T21:15:00.000-07:00

Wendy is fifty weeks (eegads!) She finally has some hair, the sweetest little curls on the back of her neck, oh my gosh it's cute. She babbles so sweetly and growls in such a wild way. She loves to harass and poke the cats. She has a baby doll named Will, and she loves to poke him and giggle. She still thinks pulling all the books off of the shelf and laundry out of the basket is the best thing ever. ♥ ♥ ♥

Wendy is 47 weeks. She claps up a storm, loves her shaker, and thinks Daft Punk is pretty badass. She loves to steal sock balls out of the laundry basket, and munch blueberries. yum! ♥

Wendy is 46 weeks. She kisses open mouth kisses, how continental! I always pat her back, and she has started patting mine. She loves dumping and filling, but her stacking cups overwhelm her so much I had to hide them. She screams for her dad when he gets home. she's starting to connect word sounds with things. I'm definitely Mama, and Joe is certainly dah-dah! She still nurses to sleep so, so, so sweetly. She helped me celebrate my 26th birthday. I love my amazing girl!

Woo a few weeks have flown by! Wendy is 44 weeks. She waves all the time, and she has started giving kisses. She finally broke her nap strike, and she loves to cruise along the furniture.

Wendy is 41 weeks. She demands routine and familiar. Her favorite fruits are plums. She loves dates with Dad or "dah." She can finally nurse in a wrap. ♥

Wendy is 41 weeks. She demands routine and familiar. Her favorite fruits are plums. She loves dates with Dad or "dah." She can finally nurse in a wrap.

wendy is 40 weeks. She has FINALLY started snuggling. mama is blissed out. Oh, and she likes pulling books off her toy shelf and eating catfood! yuck!

Wendy is 39 weeks. She says, "nay, nay, nay, nay" when she is mad. She loves to be carried on my hip. She gets so happy when Dada gets home from work. ♥

Wendy is 38 weeks. She demands a little more space, and spends most of the night in her own bed in our room. She loves to play with books, and crawl around the house. She is always warm, and seems to really appreciate this cooler fall weather. ♥

Wendy is 37 weeks! She likes her stroller again, She pulls up and then sits down instead of toppling over. She is developing a strong interest in water (splashing, the sink, the hose.) she loves munching cucumbers. ♥

This update is for Wendy at 35/36 weeks. She is a little vacuume cleaner, she wants to eat everything off the floor (yuck!) She fusses when our house it hot (double yuck), but loves all our trips to the pool! Her favorite book is 'Mr. Brown can Moo' by Dr. Seuss! She pulls up to stand, and sometimes lets go then topples over. What a big girl! ♥ ♥ ♥

Wendy is 34 weeks. She is a teething machine who likes a routine. She loves to find lint to stick in her mouth. She thinks her kiddie pool is pretty awesome. ♥ (yep, this one is a little late.)

Wendy is 33 weeks. She takes a great nap when grandma babysits. She loves munching fresh pears, brown rice, raspberries, and bread. She is pulling up on everything and trying to 'cruise.' She loves trying to 'combine' things. (Putting a duck in a cup. Tapping things with her toys.)

Wendy is 32 weeks. She crawls lightening fast. She pulls up, and has no idea how to get down. She nurses a lot less, and that makes mama cry. :*(

Wendy is 31 weeks! She got her first high chair, and she LOVES being up high, near the food, and having her own spot! She went to the zoo for the first time (and mommy's first time too!) and said "ab-dah!" to all the animals. ♥

Wendy is 30 weeks! She loves to play with non-toys (spoons, keys, phones, rocks!) She pulls herself up to sitting, but rarely sits still for long! She loves to crawl around the bed and nurse in funny positions (standing, sideways, over the shoulder!) She has a lot of fun feeding herself, and making a mess!

Wendy is 29 weeks! She pulls up, and is trying harder to sit up every day. She loves munching on dried mango and coconut butter. She loves to crawl around the bed and howl like a wild thing after her naps. ♥ ♥ ♥

Wendy is 28 weeks. She had her first move, she loves trying to chase the cats, she had her first sippy cup and she thinks it's awesome. We got her a exersaucer and she thinks it's awesome. Lots of new things this week!

Wendy is 27 weeks! She cut a tooth, but it disappeared! Her crawling is getting better still! She is getting HEAVY she weighs almost 15 lbs. She loves routine and structure, which is such a shock for her go-with-the-flow mommy. ♥ ♥ ♥

Wendy is 26 weeks, she says "Mmm-MAAA" and "Baaaa-BBB!?" She makes spitty raspberries, and her crawling is getting stronger every day. She has no interest in sitting up, whatsoever, yogurt is by far her favorite food, and she loves daddy time! ♥

Wendy is 25 weeks. She makes lots of preword sounds, especially "Maaa-MMAAA-mmmmmaaa" she rolls all over, loves trying to chew on shoes, and punching her parents. ♥

Wendy is 6 months! She loves to teeth on big chunks of fruit or veg. She hyperventilates when she gets excited or upset. Something about a hot car and loud music put her to sleep now-go figure! She doesn't crawl but she scoots, wiggles, and rolls all over!

Wendy is 23 weeks. She loves long hikes, splashing in water, and listening to birds. She loves to chew on fresh fruits and vegetables. She loves drives with just her and mommy. She thinks hiding under a blanket for peek-a-boo is hilarious. She has really long, loud farts that crack us up.

Wendy is 22 weeks! She notices the cats, and tries to grab them. She loves loud, busy places. She loves taking naps our new baby carrier. ♥ ♥ ♥

Wendy is 21 weeks! She is babbling more and making great raspberry sounds. She does less hair pulling in favor of hair stroking, and sucking on my hair. (ew). She is trying to figure out crawling, but often ends up going backwards. She is much more interested in independent play and will spend up to 20 minutes chewing toys and laying on the floor. ♥

Wendy is five months! She is extremely happy and puts everything in her mouth. She loves her bumbo chair. She wants to be carried and hates when we sit down. She can see across the room, and smiles when she sees something she likes! ♥ ♥ ♥

Wendy is 19 weeks. She loves to grab her feet and wiggle. She pees the second I take her diaper off. She rolls from back to front and back again. She sticks her butt up, and tries to army crawl. She is getting nice and pudgy. She tried a solid food, and isn't quite ready. She seems to love the outdoors and napping in the sun.

Wendy is 18 weeks! She loves to babble and make spitty raspberries. She sticks her tongue out and grabs her feet. Loves her bumbo. Tolerates playing by herself for longer. Chuckles! Went to work with mommy for a full day. ♥

Wendy is 17 weeks! She is rolling over and trying to crawl. She likes to hold stuffed animals. She can soak a shirt in drool in less than a minute.She loves her bumbo chair and doorway jumper.

on sleep.

2011-09-26T00:20:00.000-07:00

When I was pregnant, I had the most fabulous idea that I would bed-share and family bed pretty indefinitely. Oh just think of the snuggles I was going to have. When Wendy was an itty, bitty little one she was happy to oblige. While not particularly cuddly she did love to nurse, nurse, nurse. She would lay on a boppy on my lap and nurse herself into a happy milk coma waking up only to root. I'd watch TV, read, and use the internet. The house was in shambles, but it was a really sweet time. We would go to bed together, we'd nap together.

Once Wendy passed the six month mark, she was decidedly less interested in nursing. Sure, she wanted to eat, but she was all but done comfort nursing. She needed to be almost cajoled into eating- she was just so busy! A soothing bath, a nurse, and she was fast asleep. And I realized I could get up. And she would be fine. And she was. Things went on in that fashion for many months.

Until about a month ago, something changed. I would put Wendy to bed, and do my homework. Wendy slept happily for hours perhaps rustling once to nurse, and quickly going back to a deep slumber. When I would come to bed Wendy would become aware. She would fuss and cry all night. She didn't want to nurse, get up, or have a new diaper. I scooted far away, but she just flopped and howled.

My mother instinct was nagging me. "My baby wants her space." And I just hated the idea, so really and truly. So I ignored it, and everyone had rough nights and rougher days.
Sleep debt compiled and drew interest. I was grouchy. She was grouchy. We were a kreb cycle of irritable.

So, I made her a nap mat. And the first night I laid her down, nursed her, and she drifted off to sleep so sweetly. And I cried very quietly the entire time I nursed her. I don't really know why. I'm just so happy that she is thriving, and becoming this independent child. And it hurts, that she needs me just a little less every day, and I'm left struggling to figure out my role. How do I mother this child who wants her own bed, but still has separation anxiety?

Now, each night I tuck the baby in and nurse her. She falls asleep, I do my thing. She usually wakes once to nurse and I get up again. Finally, I tiptoe in and usually enjoy a few hours of solo sleep. I miss holding her. I miss the comfort of knowing she is right there safe. I don't have to check her breathing, she is right there. Now she is nearby, and I am indulging in deep belly sleep. Ah, glory. At some point she wakes up, and I scoop her into my arms and take her to bed for a good snug and nurse while she is entirely too sleepy to mind.
Everyone is okay.

We also do naps on her nap mat, and when she is up sometimes she will let out a cry because she is all alone, and sort of freaked out about that. Other times I nap with her, and when she wakes she squeals and giggles and mashes around the room. She looks so happy, and wild, and free.

and as much as I miss our constant cosleeping I have to respect this stage she has entered. I can also appreciate that the needs of infants change on a dime. She may decide to return to the family bed full time, or may lobby for sleeping in separate rooms in a big girl bed. Only time will tell. For now I simply appreciate where we are.

People ask why we didn't opt for a crib or a pack n' play, but a nap mat felt the most natural. I can nap, nurse, and snuggle with her on a nap mat. She has the freedom to explore. There is no danger of rolling of the side, climbing over the rails, or getting her limbs stuck in the bars.
To support a safe nap mat we've kept our room very simple, and I am constantly checking the floor for debris. Generally, she sleeps with the door shut and our tiny house relieves us of the need for a baby monitor (we can hear her from anywhere.) Sometimes I leave the door open, and simply listen for a wakeful baby.

so far, so good.

Here is another great link to montessori style bedding for infant and some theory.

Gracelessly.

2011-09-13T21:49:00.000-07:00

Eight and a half months. 36 weeks. Wendy has been living outside of my body almost as long as I have carried her. She headbutts and hairpulls me into wakefulness. Her favorite foods are cucumber and yogurt. She wants nothing more than to go to the pool, brandish spoons, and steal my lipbalm. She is the sort of baby who makes me want another dozen children to call my own, and not because she is a good baby. She isn't very 'good' at all. She is a high need child. She cries, and fusses, she has separation anxiety, she has does not have an easy biological rhythm to set a watch to. She is hungry when she is hungry, she is sleepy when she is sleepy. She is fiercely mine. And she doesn't have to be 'good' for me to love her. And I am loving her gracelessly. Sometimes underslept and irritable, often hot and overwhelmed. Truly in awe, and painfully aware, that somehow we are moving to our own beat.
Some days I feel an aching loneliness that comes when he was at work and she is asleep.
But usually it is a very busy, little house with my tiny scientist, my beautiful husband, and two funny cats.
40 weeks in, 36 weeks out, and I am in awe of the intensity. The joy and the honor of mothering this bold spirit while she is still so small.

How I am mothering.

2011-05-02T23:57:00.001-07:00

Mothering is the most complicated thing I have ever done. I have heard many a fine and neatly summarized quotes on the subject of mothering, but none truly express the experience. My heart doesn't walk outside my body, but daughter who I adore is strapped to my chest all hours of the day and night. Surely, that is something. And honestly, mothering is not the hardest job I will ever love. Because my hardest job was door-to-door fundraising in the snowy suburbs of Philadelphia for environmental causes in winter without decent weather gear. Mothering isn't my job, it's more like a calling. Mothering is a relentless passion of mine.

Some days I just do what I have to do and make sure things get done. My daughter is breastfed, her cloth diapers are clean and she is dressed suitably for the environment. But in the simplicity of being here I find a joy that catches me off guard and makes me feel giddy. When my daughter cracks a smile and squeals with laughter, or follows the pages as I read her a book I feel just like I did when I dabbled in drugs as a young teenager. I find myself asking, "is life allow to be this much fun?" The answer is "yes," but it is always a cautious yes. It is a yes that is filled with a weary gratitude.

Every day I am grateful for my daughter. In our happiest moments I try to be still and just experience the happy. I try to take pictures with my mind so I am not always behind a camera lens. When things are truly hard, when I am sleep deprived and covered in all manner of bodily fluid listening to and failing to soothe that sanity stealing whine-cry-shriek the darker side of gratitude is also present. I remember the achy fear I felt when I was bullied into a teenage abortion, that I would never be a mother, but now I am. Even through the worst I am so grateful that I could be a mother after all that. And I think of early pregnancy and pinky red spots in my underwear and a fear so intense it made my sweat, because I wanted this baby to live. And I think of preterm labor and singing Down to the River as I prayed that the contractions would go away, and let this baby grow strong. And they did. And the darker gratitude is there too. The, things go wrong and this time they didn't gratitude is always there. Reminding me not to take anything for granted.

Staying at home with my daughter is a truly life altering. I bristle and chafe when people ask, "When are you going back to work?" Because I am working. I grew 8 lbs 12 oz of beautiful baby girl and added another 5 lbs with my breasts alone in four months. We are working together. She is growing and I am nourishing. She is learning and I am learning how to be her mother.
Right now, staying at home can be rather isolating. I know I am incredibly lucky to have the luxury of staying home an unlimited amount of time, and for this reason I am cautious about who I share my struggles. and to many the success that is a few more ounces gained by baby or a stack of freshly washed diapers drying on a rack outside may seem decidedly trivial.

But these are my joys.

This is how I am mothering. It's struggles, it's blessings they are all mine. And I wouldn't change a thing. It seems each day I am packing away baby clothes that are already too small, and we are already talking about having another baby, and my plans to go back to school. And I want to savor this unique time, because it is changing so fast.

The weekly Wendy

2011-05-02T23:32:00.000-07:00

The weekly Wendy to date.

Wendy is 4 months! She battled her first cold, and won! She giggles spontaneousness now(no tickling required!) She is rolling from her back to her side and sometimes onto her belly. She squawks a lot. She loves her blankies, and she has grown more tolerate of her car seat. She is apx. 13 lbs 5 oz, and 26.5 inches. Total beanpole!

Wendy is 15 weeks old. She has a really impressive reach and grasp. She loves to take off my glasses. She is spirited and opinionated. She still hates her carseat most days. She giggles often, and enjoys long conversations mostly consisting of "hmmmpt." "ooooa." and "oooahhhaaa." ♥ ♥ ♥

Wendy is 14 weeks! she is starting to discover her feet. She loves to chew on her hands and go to the pool. She giggles when I tickle her armpits. She is showing a strong interest in table foods, but she will have to wait a few more months. she is more aware of her environment, and that made for distractable nursing until another growth spurt hit.

Wendy is 13 weeks old. When we drive with the windows down she tries to bite and grab the wind. The sound of coughs and sneezes freak her out. Waking up next to mom and dad makes her really happy. She is starting to arch back and straighten her legs which makes carrying her trickier. She is using pre-word sounds like "ma-ma-ma-ma-ma." and "pa-pa-pa." ♥

Wendy is three months old. She love to have "conversations." She is finally starting to enjoy playing on her tummy. She is building a routine for herself asleep by 11 up by 9. Her grin is heart melting.

Wendy is 11 weeks old today. She used to just try to grasp things in her gym, and now she also enjoys swatting things into her mouth to lick and chew. She also enjoys chewing on her moby carrier's straps. She went to the pool for the first time, and thought it was awesome and nap inducing! She seems more aware of the world around her every day - which is making for some hilarious nursing. ♥ ♥ ♥

Wendy is ten weeks old! She loves to get up early. She is a drool machine, and a big fan of chewing her hands. She likes to chew on her freezy teething rings, and frozen wash cloths, she is an amber necklace wearing homeopathic munching baby! She had her 2 month pediatrican visit with Dr. Assarian, she is 12 lbs and 23 3/4inches. Big girl!

Wendy is nine weeks old. She loves batting at toys in her boppy play gym. She can put her hand in her mouth. She has a great giggle. She had her first daycare visit at the gym - she loved it! She is loving spending more one-on-one time with daddy. She thinks it's hilarious when I blow raspberries on her belly. ♥ ♥ ♥

Wendy is two months old. She makes the most adorable happy squeal in the mornings. She loves the jingle dog toys. She loves to take baths. She holds her head up and looks around. She doesn't want to be put down.. ever.

Wendy is 7 weeks old! She likes to smile and coo in the morning. She loves her jingling dog toy, white noise, nursing, cuddling, when daddy gets home from work, and LOATHES her car seat.

Wendy is six weeks old. She likes eating to maximum capacity, when her daddy shakes a rattle, and lullabies.

Wendy is five weeks old today. She makes all sorts of coos, squeaks, and grunts now. She is starting to do a social smile and loves lullabies. She has almost outgrown her 0-3m size clothing. Big girl! ♥

Wendy is a month old today! She likes to wake up early and grunt like a tiny human alarm clock until we get up, She loves taking baths, and as of today she can grasp a rattle. ♥

Wendy is three weeks old today. She loves her swing, moby wrap, being carried, snuggles with Grandma Pam, when her Dad has extra days off work, cluster nursing and long naps.

Wendy is two weeks old today. She loves sleepsacks, when daddy burps her, breastfeeding, and late nights.

fifty things

2011-04-11T22:26:00.000-07:00

Fifty things I like to do in no particular order:

50. text with friends

49. baking

48. using the crockpot

47. going to the farmers market.

46. crochet

45. walking around the park

44. going out for tea

43. getting a massage

42. swimming

41. yoga classes

40. watching a show on netflix

39. walking around my house when it's completely clean.

38. washing cloth diapers and hanging them on the drying rack.

37. potlucks and bbqs

36. taking a bath

35. playing with the cats

34. shopping thrifty

33. hitting the treadmill

32. reading a magazine

31. really getting dressed; shave, makeup, hair, outfit

30. painting my toenails

29. waking up next to my husband and baby

28. road trips

27. volunteering with our midwife

26. snuggling with my husband

25. celebrating holidays and seasons

24. sewing

23. laying in the sun.

22. rocking the baby to sleep.

21. gardening

20. sculpting

19. making out with my husband.

18. writing

17. sharing photos of my life

16. dying wool

15. long chats with my husband

14. making homemade gifts

13. reading a good book

12. making and drinking lots of iced tea.

11. painting

10. playing with the baby

9. having a cocktail or glass of fancy beer

8. going out to eat

7. trying a new recipe

6. snuggling the cats

5. blogging and reading blogs

4. setting my thermostat to oppose the outdoors and relishing the reprieve.

3. nursing the baby.

2. aromatherapy

1. doing nothing at all.

Two months.

2011-03-14T10:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Wendy,

You're already two months old. You start each day with happy grunting. Happy grunts and squeals that obviously say, "Hello, play with me!" Generally, as long as you're always in someone's arms you're a happy girl. You're quick to grin. You love your play gym. Just weeks ago you were completely unimpressed with your boppy gym. Then you began to squeak and swat randomly when we put you in, now you're swatting with purpose. I can tell you really want to grab onto things, and sometimes learning how makes you really mad. That's okay.

Your dad and I got a gym membership that has childcare, and as long as you're dry and well nursed you'll let just anyone friendly hold you. They put you in a moby carrier and you go right to bed. I'm admittedly pretty relieved to know that while you seem to prefer your dad and me you are willing to make friends.

You've started sleeping a lot more at night. While you haven't shown any interest in a pacifier you have started sucking your fist and fingers for comfort. Sometimes you suck on your fists when you're hungry, but mostly you just soothing yourself. I also notice you make little munch-munch-munch motions when you sleep. It's really cute.

On the rare occasion that I just can't get you settled from a fuss you really like to share a warm bath with me. Afterwards you're so peaceful and usually willing to receive a massage.

Even though I sing offkey you really settle in when I pace and sing for you. It makes me wish I knew more songs.

I've started blowing raspberries on your belly when I change your diaper and you think it's hilarious.

I've loved the last two months. I'm trying to savor every moment. You no longer look like a newborn. It's obvious you're an infant, and I see babyhood coming our way fast. I'm so excited about every new skill you learn, or bit of personality you reveal. But it's all a little bittersweet. You're growing so very fast.

I love you.

I like my imperfect body and you should too.

2011-02-15T11:18:00.000-08:00

I see a ton of ladies hating on their post-baby bodies, and some very genetically blessed ladies who are rockin' it.

I'm right here in the middle. I gained some weight, and I lost it. I'm hitting the gym. My belly is so textured with stretch marks that it reminds me of a trapper keeper I had in middle school.

I still have some weight to lose, and I don't know when those stretch marks will fade.

But I love myself, and I love my body.

And you should too.

You made a baby. That is pretty amazing.

If you're not happy with your body, please try to remember all that you did. Nourish yourself well. Put your baby in a carrier and dance in the living room or in the stroller and walk until youfeel the burn. Leave baby with a sitter and take a class that sounds fun or take a mommy and me class. Do something active a few times a week.

Don't make excuses. Take care of your body and love yourself. Flaunt your self esteem. It's a great example to your children.

Wendy - one month.

2011-02-01T21:35:00.000-08:00

Dear Wendy,

You're a month old! The last few weeks have just flown by. I just laugh when I'm out because people say "She's so small." And I think, "Oh NO! She's huge! Look at this big, strong baby I made!"

We got you a swing and you really love it. Sometimes you get fussy and you don't want to stop moving or rather being moved. I put you in the moby carrier often and walk around the house. That always soothes your fusses, but it's quite a workout for your mom! When you're resting you often push a hand out and if you feel open air instead of a warm body or edge of a confining space you get upset.

Bedsharing seems to work really well for us. We have our big California king bed on the floor. We don't have too many pillows and your dad and I sleep with a light quilt. You sleep on top of the quilt in a sleep sack or jammies. Sharing a bed makes nursing so easy. I can almost do it in my sleep. I know you rest really well being so near to us. You often reach out a hand to make sure we're there and go right back to bed. It's so sweet. We keep your cloth diapers by the bed so night time changes are really easy. I feel like we're all getting a lot of sleep for a new family. In the morning, when you're ready to start your day you grunt. You make lots of little grunts until we get up.

Cloth diapering is going really well. We have a few different system and they all have their benefits. We have a few that look like cuter cloth versions of disposables. They have a fleece layer that keeps you dry and an absorbent insert. I love these diapers because they are easy to put on, fit well under clothes, and are easy for running errands. Unfortunately these diapers can be tricky to care for. We always seem to be washing them "wrong" and the fleece repels pee - causing it to roll out the edge of your diaper. Then we have to use a special wash to fix the diapers. What a pain! We have Fuzzibuns, Bumgenius, and softbums brand pocket diapers. We also use Bummis whisper wraps with inserts. Sometimes we just fold up a prefold and put it in the wraps, but for night time I like to use a hemp/minky fleece insert - they're really absorbent. These wraps are not as easy to put on as pocket diapers and when you're wet you really feel it, but the velcro closures are much easier for night time diapers and washing these diapers is hassle free.

The other day your dad and I strolled through walmart and looked at all the formula and disposable diapers. We really are saving a lot of money by breastfeeding and using cloth diapers. We also feel like cloth diapers are best for your sensitive skin.

You have a really impressive grip. You're starting to reach out to things and grab them. You love to grab my necklaces and big handfuls of my hair. I'm starting to keep my hair over my back and I've invested in a few baby friendly and "teething" necklaces. Today I handed you a rattle and you grabbed on and rattle, rattle, rattled.

As for me, I'm working on something I've been meaning to do. I'm practicing driving so I can take my driving test. Soon your mom will be able to legally drive. Vroom.. Vroom.. You usually love the car and the motion puts you right to sleep - even when your mom is behind the wheel.

At your 3 week home visit you weighed 9lbs and 3 oz. You really like to comfort nurse, but I have a pretty substantial milk supply which means that nursing to soothe often leaves us both covered in milk and you a little frustrated. We offered you a pacifier when we're sure you're not hungry and we can't sooth you in other ways. You have a hard time keeping a pacifier in your mouth, but you seem to like it and it hasn't effected your ability to latch.

The first weeks with Wendy.

2011-01-20T20:42:00.000-08:00

Dear Wendy

My first weeks with you have been amazing. Some days I am shocked by how easy and natural it is to be your mother, and a few times I have had to cry because you are entirely too perfect to be in the care of a mere mortals especially first time parents. Your father and I only have as many days on the clock as parents as you've been alive. We're doing our absolute best and I think you know that. I wanted to write down some things about you and my postpartum period that I may want to remember later.

When you were born you had just a bit of very dark fuzz on your head. Now the back is growing like a weed and your hair seems to be growing in a much lighter shade. Maybe you'll be a blonde like your dad and I were. Regardless, you currently have a cute little baby mullet.

Your finger nails were also fantastically long, and you have very sensitive skin. The first days we had you we used some very natural unbleached disposable diapers. We changed them very often, but after wearing them it looked as though you'd been wearing pink underwear! They really seemed to bother you. We tried to switch to cloth diapers, but they were "too tall" and seemed to bother your umbilicus.

For the first few days we had you home we wrapped you in a towel with an unfastened prefold diaper. This seemed to suit you just fine. Your umbilicus fell off on day three and we switched to cloth diapering. We certainly do a fair amount of laundry, but cloth diapers seem to agree with your sensitive skin. We've already bought a few more adorable cloth diapers, but even with that expensive it's obvious we are saving a lot of money by avoiding disposables. I'm a little nervous about seeing next month's power and water bill, but we're only doing 1-2 extra loads of laundry a day to wash the diapers. Between our clothes, blankets, burp clothes, and such we do about 3 loads of laundry a day total.

When we first brought you home from the birth center you were just a little jaundiced, but this cleared up in just a couple days.

In pregnancy, labor, and delivery we always prepared ourselves for hard work. In breastfeeding I prepared for especially hard work. Within minutes of your birth you had a good strong latch. You nursed vigorously and almost continuously for the first two days. I developed some light bruising and cracking on my nipples. I used a lanolin creme and that helped me heal pretty quickly. Sore nipples weren't fun, but it wasn't the misery others have described. Pain is relative! Sometimes when you would try to latch you would startle and push yourself away from me with your arms, not know it was YOU pushing you away you'd get really upset. You would turn bright red and howl unhappily at my breasts. I would hold you, hold my breast so it wouldn't smother you, and your dad would hold your arms still for a couple seconds. Then you could relax, latch, and settle in for a good nursing.

At 2.5 days my milk came in and you were a very happy baby! I never experienced a miserable feeling of "engorgement." My breasts looked very large, and felt a little tender. Nothing too bad. When my milk lets down I feel a mild pins and needles feeling. Nursing went really smoothly for about the first week, but then we hit another little bump in the road. I developed something of an oversupply. When my milk let down it would sometimes choke you and you'd gag. You were also feeling fussy, having some gas, and having occasionally greenish poos.

We talked to our midwife and found that if I could regularly hand express through the first let down and then nursing on the same side a few times before switching to the other breast you experienced far less fussiness, gas, and your poo is more mustard yellow in color. When we're out and about I can't always express through the first letdown, so this problem isn't completely solved, but it's greatly improved.

My breasts seem to leak all the time. I am often grabbing a burp cloth, recieving blanket, or dirty shirt to sop up streams of breast milk. I'm genuinely surprised by how much my milk smells and looks like low fat diary milk! I feel a bit bovine. You've recently mastered the side lying nursing position, and those long nights have gotten a lot easier for both of us. Because we have a family or co-sleeping bed I hardly have to wake up to nurse you, and you have a lot less jostling.

You are a night owl, and I have no desire to impose any designs on you. I know how entirely stressful and pointless that would be. I nap in the afternoon with you. I feed you when you are hungry. Your dad gives you the best burping and takes you into the bath when you're stinky. You adore sleep sacks. Something warm, fuzzy, and the easiest to change diapers in is your favorite outfit. You wear footie pajamas when we have to go out. You have some pretty cute outfits, but we almost never bother you in that way. There will be plenty of time for dress up later. Because you are a January baby onesies are quite useless. You have no less than 20 that were given to you, and I doubt you'll break them in before you outgrow them because it's rather chilly here.

You've just started to make noises that arn't crying or squalking. You make grunts sometimes when you poo and when you nurse. They are not exactly coos, but we are enamored.

You weighed 8 lbs 12 oz at birth and then 8 lbs 3 oz at your first pediatric appointment. At 2 weeks you weight 8 lbs 9 oz. You're on the up and up, and we want you to eat eat eat!

The birth of Wendy.

2011-01-13T19:35:00.000-08:00

Tuesday January fourth was a frustratingly ordinary day. I was thirty-nine weeks and 5 days into my pregnancy, and decidedly tired. I had an almost 40 week midwife appointment in San Francisco. My husband and I had recently moved three hours north to Chico, CA, but we had grown quite attached to our midwife so we made a now weekly commute to see her.

The appointment was uneventful and we left with the intention of scheduling a 41 week non-stress test. My pubic bone ached, hips hurt, painful braxton hicks contractions had been my constant companion for weeks. Those practice contractions as I came to think of them had teased me for weeks making me feel constantly on the verge of something fantastic.

That night my husband and I decided to stop into a restaurant and recreate the dinner we had the night we found out we were expecting. And oh what a dinner! We had bread with honey-butter, ribs with steak fries, shrimp, steak, Cesar salad, and a sweet potato heaped with caramel and toasted marshmallows. I washed this down with a few glasses of sweet tea and felt decidedly right about the world. We had a long drive home and spent the time talking about what our lives were like before we met one another. It was a very romantic and intimate night.

I slept poorly that night. I had a lot of painful braxton hicks contractions, and I couldn't get comfortable. I tossed, turned, and visited the bathroom often. After midnight I noticed some bloody show, but made a point of not getting excited. I knew that bloody show could happen some weeks before labor, and my practice contractions had caused a few false alarms.

Around ten a.m. I started trying to push on my own back during some particularly painful practice contractions. Joe is a much earlier riser and he came back in to lay down a press on my back. I managed to nap like this for awhile.

Around eleven a.m. I gave up on sleep and got in the shower. I spent at least an hour in the shower letting the hot water rush onto my back and belly. The shower was quite soothing. The practice contractions hung on persistently and I had to start telling myself like a mantra "I'm not in labor, I'm not in labor." I refused to be disappointed by another false alarm. Toward the end of my shower I heard the sounds of Chopin and Joe met me with breakfast in bed. Between contractions he fed me bits of bagel with cream cheese, Clementine, and homemade cookies. With breakfast he made me a fresh fruit smoothie and a pot of chamomile Assam tea. Then Joe gave me a wonderful massage that seemed to last for hours. I was still having painful contractions, but I felt refreshed.

Joe put a pizza in the oven and I phoned our midwife Judi to ask how bloody a bloody show should look. I didn't mention the contractions, but I imagine she knew something was afoot. Joe and I laid in bed for a while staring in one another's eyes like love sick teenagers and timing contractions. It really was beautiful. My contractions seemed to vary between five and seven minutes apart.

Joe took the pizza out of the oven and phoned Judi to mention the contractions. She said she thought I was in early labor and that we should make the drive to San Francisco whenever we felt the time was right. We watched an episode of Dexter and ate pepperoni pizza with ranch. It was fantastic, and my contractions were building in intensity. I had been shifting and making long sighs to cope with contractions, but now I needed to stand or push myself onto my hands and knees and let out low "woooooo" sounds to cope. We tried to watch another episode of Dexter, but during the intro I started to feel like a wild animal. I paced the house trying to imagine where I could get comfortable, when I realized it was time to go. There was no more denial. I was definitely having a baby.

We got into the car and Joe phoned our Judi and our doula Shannon to let them know we were on our way. Many friends and relatives had been quick to critique our "birth plan." "Drive three hours to San Francisco while you're in labor? That's insane. What if you have the baby?" We didn't have the baby in the car. Laboring in the car was hard. It would have been hard anywhere. At one point I was pretty sure I was losing my mind. I looked up and saw a shooting star, and then Joe said, "Did you see that?" We were obviously meant to be doing this, just as we were. My contractions were between three and four minutes apart and I was having back labor. During contractions I would feel a tightening in my abdomen and back that overwhelmed my senses. At this point I no longer had a body. Just a very uncomfortable middle. Between contractions my belly would relax, but my back would ache. I couldn't talk much, but I encouraged Joe as best I was able that we had plenty of time and to obey the speed limits. I imagine this must have been a really scary drive for him, and he did great. He encouraged me to "breathe, and let it out." After we had been in the car for about an hour I got an urge to empty my bladder and we stopped at Mcdonalds. I timed my pee break so I would have a contraction in the privacy of the stall. Joe ate a chicken nugget happy meal in under 4 minutes. It was an amusing sight. We intended to get a hotel in Emeryville across the San Francisco Bridge and labor for longer, but our midwife encouraged us to come in and get a cervical check first.

At this point we were navigating West Oakland and I was letting out guttural moans, and even a few screams during contractions. At this point a man who I wouldn't want to run into in an alley was crossing a street and I let out a fantastic scream. I gave him a scare, and while I felt bad I just had to laugh. The situation really brought me into the moment. Crossing the bay bridge was also funny. I was hoping we would move through the toll between and not during a contraction so I wouldn't scare the toll operator. The labor Gods had mercy on the toll man and we moved through between contractions.

Arriving at Sage Femme's Birth Center in San Francisco was a fantastic relief. Judi and her midwife assistant Deanna welcomed us. In the main room a child birth preparation class was happening. I dragged my teddy bear Rugby into my cervical exam. It was weird and juvenile, but it made me feel a lot better. Judi said that I was dilated to two centimeters and ninety percent effaced. She offered me sterile water injections on my back which offered some relief from the back labor I was feeling. She encouraged us to get a hotel within the city and wait for active labor. I heard Judi talking to Joe about his feelings and how long labor might last. Deanna reminded me that I was two centimeters was and ninety percent effacement would make the rest of dilation happen with ease.

Joe and I stayed at a nice hotel not far from the San Francisco mission district. The rooms were beautifully designed and had a theme of sorts. Ours was named after a writer of some sort and a plaque on the door read "Big Daddy." This struck me as very appropriate. Everything was blue, brown and had a very sexy James Bond sort of look to it. Joe set me up in the bath and gave me a coconut juice. He got to unpacking the seemingly hundreds of bags my nesting instincts had encouraged me to pack for this day. We labored together for close to an hour and then our doula Shannon arrived. Immediately she set work encouraging me like Joe had. The three of us labored the entire night. They fed me, helped me to the bathroom, and held me. They would give me massages and remind me through hard contractions to make deep, low, sounds. Joe would tell me how much he loved and how good I was doing and Shannon would remind me that each contraction was bringing me closer to meeting our baby. These words kept me so strong and focused. My body got into the hard work of labor and moved with very little regard for my limbs. Joe and Shannon had to work hard to protect me from bruising and strain as I threw myself into positions trying to work through contractions. I hated being in bed. The soft squishiness of the bed felt like torture on my hot achy back. I found my favorite positions to be lying on my side in the bath and turning on the shower. I also liked to sit on the toilet. Peeing offered some small relief from the pressure I was feeling, and it helped me know I was staying hydrated. I asked for Joe to give me sterile water injections twice more while we were in the hotel. They offered less relief than they had initially, but they helped my back.

In the very early a.m. hours my contractions shifted. I felt a low, strong pressure begging me push with contractions. I knew instinctively that I was not dilated enough to push yet, and I told Joe and Shannon how I was feeling. Shannon urged me to keep my breathing high in my chest when I felt the desire to push, and she phoned Judi. Joe spent the next several hours encouraging me to take a deep cleansing inward breath as a contraction began and then we would blow out together in a series of short bursts. At this point the only place I wanted to be was the hallway floor of our hotel room. Joe and Shannon surround me with pillows and used a yoga ball to support my legs as I labored on my side.

Around six a.m. Shannon spoke to our midwife Judi and they wanted us to go back to the birth center to be assessed. I really didn't want to go into the birth center until I was definitely in active labor, so I lodged myself in the bathtub for another hour and a half. Finally around 7:30 a.m. I was feeling very "pushy" and braced myself for another car ride. Shannon helped me to the elevator and Joe carried our million bags. Then he slapped our key down on the desk and said "My wife is in labor! Room 413 checking out!" And off we went.

The ride to the birth center was less than 15 minutes and entirely surreal. The sun was rising over the mission. People were bustling about, and I couldn't stop thinking, all these people are somebody's baby. I'm about to have my baby.

Judi checked my cervix when we got to the birth center and she declared me a good 4 or 5 centimeters dilated. We were in active labor. Shannon was so happy she clapped and did a little shuffle. Deanna and Shannon got to work on setting up the room we would birth in.

I must have teleported into the birth room, because I don't remember getting there. The rooms in the center have different colors and themes. We were in the blue room, the walls were a pale blue, and the bedding was done to match. I'd received acupuncture in this room, and the familiarity put me at ease. I immediately stripped off all my clothing and asked for a shower. I was allowed to shower for a little more than a half hour. The shower was wonderful and eased the pain I felt during contractions. After the bath I moved to the bed to labor on my side. At this point Joe's family started to arrive at the birth center and wait in the lobby. Joe and Shannon took turns taking breaks as both of them had been awake the entire evening. Deanna, our midwife's assistant was responsible for taking fetal heart tones and vitals on me. I really like Deanna, but every half hour she became my least favorite person. She had to move me into standing or squatting positions that seemed to intensify contractions to take vitals on me and the baby. I let Deanna know my displeasure through a series of whines, protests, and finally guttural screams and scary, animal eye contact. She was a very good sport about this.

I requested sterile water injections for my back a few more times and Judi said I was decidedly too full of holes to continue in this way. I knew she was right, but I liked the injections. They were offering relief for a shorter amount of time, but the injection itself seemed to be a useful distraction from all the other things going on. At this point Judi brought me some herbal tea that seemed to really speed up my contractions, and I started to vomit a little.

When I started to vomit my support people were very quick to encourage me to eat food. Intellectually, I knew I needed to eat food to keep my energy up, but I found this pressure to eat decidedly annoying. I would force some broth or juice down only to throw up. Still, I was peeing plenty so everyone knew I was not too dehydrated. Deanna came in to get heart tones and tell me to eat. Then she urged me to labor moving from my left side, then one my hands and knees, then of my right side. It was exhausting and quite painful to flip around between contractions, but they said it may help the baby to turn. I wondered how she drew the short straw today. She had to do everything that bothered me. I requested Judi for a cervical check and she found that some hours later I was still dilated to four or five centimeters. At this point Judi offered to break my bag of waters. I knew this is not an intervention she offers without very careful consideration. We briefly discussed the possible benefits, risks, and alternatives. My instincts said to go for it, so I locked eyes with Joe, and said "Yes."

My water breaking was delightfully warm, splooshy feeling. The warm feeling encouraged me to ask for another shower, and Judi said that would be okay. The shower was a great disappointment. It seems I am the first laboring woman at Sage Femme Midwifery to ever use their entire 150 gallon hot water heater. My shower was luke warm. Deanna tried to boil water, but I'd already moved to my new favorite place - the toilet. I had no business on the toilet, but it wasn't the bath or the bed. Beds were entirely too uncomfortable. At this point I feel asleep between contractions on the toilet only to wake up during the next contraction. My contractions had slowed a bit, and people seemed to worry I was exhausting myself. What I knew, but didn't feel up to explaining, was my contractions were less frequent, but far more productive. I don't know how I knew, but I did. Then I had a delightful brainstorm. I hated that bed, the shower was freezing, and the floor was cold tile. Where was I going to labor? I asked Shannon to make me a space to labor on the floor, and with a mat, yoga ball, and blankets I got to work. Things started to feel very productive.

Deanna came in for another vitals assessment and I gave her a good solid growl. "No, NO, NO, Get Judi! I want Judi!" I'd really tried to be nice to the people supporting me in labor, but I needed Judi. Right then. Judi came in and I asked her to check my cervix. She was obviously nervous that I may not have progressed much, but I felt very insistent. Her assessment showed that in just hours after breaking my bag of waters I was dilated to eight centimeters. Judi looked very relieved and everyone let out a happy cheer.

Judi said it was okay if I wanted to get into the birth tub now. I got into the tub and used towels to support my back in the water. I found laying on my side with my leg propped onto the edge to be the most agreeable position. Then I started to use a variety of fantastic curse words. I'd spent so many hours trying not to push. Now with my contractions my body seemed to push without my permission. The pushing relieved all the pain I was feeling, but I knew pushing before I was fully dilated could cause my cervix to swell and really slow my labor. It was such a scary moment. Then Judi came and said something expressing that my body knew what to do. I was just amazed. She checked my cervix and found I was dilated to nine and a half, and said we could wait or she could try to push the cervical lip out of the way.

Ecstatic does not begin to describe how I felt. I'd spent so many hours fighting this feeling, and now I could just embrace it. Judi attempted to move the lip of my cervix and said I may deliver over it. I really took my cues from Judi. She seemed confident and in control. I felt strong and well supported. Judi then asked if I had read Ina May's Guide to Childbirth. I replied that I hadn't and felt very amused that we were conversing between pushes. She replied that, "Ina May says, some women have adequate pelvises and others have Mam, you could fit a pony through there pelvises."I wanted to know when sort of pelvis I had and she replied happily, "the pony sort." I felt really pleased with myself about this.

Brit another one of Judi's assistants joined us and asked if we wanted Joe's family to know I'd started pushing. I said, "Sure, why not invite them in?" I was feeling really relaxed and happy at this point. In between pushes we laughed and I joined snatches of conversation. It was really surreal.

Joe was an ideal support at this point. He would urge to me breathe nice, deep, and strong. Judi would tell me to push into her hand. It was a great focus, and Judi was able to rotate the baby. As I pushed the baby's head would slide into view and then out. I was a very vocal pusher. Joe and I let out fantastic screams together. I put my hand down and felt the baby's head and we speculated if it had any hair. Judi guided my hands and Joe's hands to support my vulva and prevent tears.

Then things shifted. Judi told me in a very serious tone to push down fully. I did and then she said, "This isn't a joke. Turn onto your hands and knees, and push, push, push." I knew something was wrong, but I didn't feel scared. I just knew I had to do exactly what Judi said. I pushed hard and sincere and felt a lot of pressure on my bottom. Then into water my baby was born. Quickly Judi was rubbing the baby and it let out a fantastic little cry. My cord was quite short, but I held the baby on my belly for a few moments. Joe looked between the baby's legs and said, "She's a girl! I have a daughter! Oh my God. We have a daughter." He started to cry in long, loud, happy sobs, and I said "Hello Wendy!" I told her how I knew birth had been hard work, and that she did a great job. At this point our family made a quiet exit so our new family could bond.

Then Joe clamped her cord and at the insistence of Judi took her to bed. I birthed our placenta into a pan on the next contraction. It was a warm and sloppy feeling. Then I was given a shot of Pitocin in the leg, because I was bleeding a bit. My uterus was messaged a bit. None of these things really hurt and I was helped from the birth tub into bed. Judi assessed me and found that while I had some "skid marks" or mild abrasions I had not torn. I didn't need any stitches.

I laid in bed holding Wendy while Joe held me, and she latched and started breastfeeding. The three of us stayed like that a while and then I urged Joe to care for himself - he was starving!

During her wait my mother in law made a split pea and barley soup with a brown rice stir fry. It was a great celebratory meal.

Then Judi, Deanna, and Brit came in and did Wendy's assessment. She was eight pounds and twelve ounces and measured nineteen inches. She was born on January sixth her estimated due date at 8:20 p.m. She has very pale green eyes, some dark hair, and huge hands. Wendy's head was approximately the same circumference as her shoulders, and during her delivery she had a true shoulder dystocia. Her shoulder became lodged under my pelvis for some minutes, and I credit our unbelievably capable midwife Judi for Wendy's safe delivery.

Our daughter is fantastically healthy, breastfeeding with ease, and dare I say gorgeous?

I feel so empowered by the birth of my daughter. People in our lives and strangers we met were very quick to say commuting from Chico to San Francisco for prenatal care and birth were crazy. Judith Tinkelenberg and Sage Femme Midwifery gave our family amazing support through our pregnancy and the birth we were afraid to even hope for. We'd be crazy not to go.

We already know we'll be returning to Sage Femme if we are lucky enough to give our daughter Wendy a sibling. We already miss having an excuse to visit Judi and everyone at Sage Femme weekly, and we know we will feel forever in their debt and lucky to know them.

Months of pregnancy.

2010-12-24T21:41:00.000-08:00

Some of the pregnancy highlights and lowlights.

Month One:

Your dad and I live in his mom's guest room, because he has just graduated nursing school. He is looking for work. I'm pushing through a school semester. I'm studying child development. Your grandma has some extended family over and orders Chinese food. I have never seen a food so repulsive. It makes me need a nap. During my nap I dream that I'm pregnant. I wake up completely assured that I am pregnant.

I take a pregnancy test the next day. I pee on the tiny stick and get in the bath. I watch in horror and fascination as an impossibly faint line shows up next to the control line. I call your dad into the bathroom, and show him the test. He gently assures me that this test cannot possibly be positive. I start researching pregnancy tests on the internet, and everything I read says that you can't be a little bit pregnant. You are or you arn't. And I'm sure that I am, but your dad doesn't believe me.

The next day your dad and I babysit for his cousin. I hold this tiny baby and feel an almost effervescent mix of joy and fear. Your dad's cousin takes us out to dinner and I eat barbecue ribs and a sweet potato with caramel and marshmallow topping. That night your dad and I debate about whether or not I'm pregnant. We decide we'll settle the issue by taking one of those expensive digital tests. It immediately flashes "pregnant." I cry. It's not exactly a happy cry. I'm pretty overwhelmed. We stopped using birth control just months ago, and I thought we'd be waiting for you a lot longer. Your dad is wonderful. He just holds me.

Month two:

We visit a county clinic to confirm the pregnancy. The staff is awful, and they separate your dad and I. We're both scared and angry. The staff tries to bully me into having invasive genetic tests done. I refuse. You're my baby, and I already love you. However God made you. Nothing is going to change that. We leave the clinic feeling scared and frustrated. We go to Sage Femme Midwifery Service. It's like night and day. They understand us. They listen.

I'm still in school, and it's getting really hard to focus on my studies. I've started to having morning sickness, but it doesn't confine itself to morning. I'm sick at all hours of the day, and I cannot stop vomiting. Instead of gaining weight, I'm losing it at an alarming rate. When I take the bart train to class I have to carry plastic bags to vomit into.

Your dad is taking the state board registered nursing exam for the second time. We are hopeful but nervous.

Twice this month I have spotting and we end up in the emergency room. I am terrified of miscarriage. I am sick and anxious. On the second emergency room visit we have an ultrasound where we see your heartbeat. Your dad is so happy he cries. We get home from the emergency room after four a.m. and find your dad has passed the his exam. He is officially a registered nurse.

Month Three:

The school semester is finally over. I am so sick I can barely get out of bed. I throw up the entire drive to and from our midwife appointments. I start taking Zofran a very medication used to treat nausea. I'm of the effect Zofran might have on you, but I have lost almost thirty pounds and it may be more dangerous to lose more weight. The medication is not a magic bullet, but I feel well enough to eat some. Your dad spends hours every day looking for work. It's a hard market. He is cold calling any place that might hire a new graduate registered nurse. He finally gets a response from a registered nursing facility in Oroville, CA. He goes to an interview, and they love him. We're thrilled. He goes to training and they want him to start immediately. Your dad finds a sublet for us to live in that day. I'm angry that he chose a place for us to live without consulting me. I quickly forgive him. A new chapter in our life is beginning.

Month Four:

Oroville is over a hundred degrees most days of the year. This is assuredly the most rural place I have ever lived. We do not have cable or access to the internet. From the backyard the view is endless unspoiled grasses and trees. I cannot see another building. There are rattle snakes in the yard and the woman we rent a room from gets on my nerves. She always has family in town, and this makes the house feel claustrophobic. And she never does her dishes or takes out the trash. Happily there is a pool, and your dad loves being a nurse.

Month Five:

Just a few days after our one year wedding anniversary your dad and I fly out to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico for a week long vacation. We explore, we eat a ton, your dad loves the swim up bar. It was decidedly the best vacation either of us have ever had. Your dad and I come home with a very special souvenir. We have traveler's illness. Still, we are impossibly tired of living in our sublet is Oroville. So, we begin looking for a house to rent right away. We have to make a lot of emergency bathroom stops, but we just don't care. We find a wonderful two story, three bedroom house to rent in Chico, CA. The walls are brightly colored, and there is a tiny private yard. Your dad and I have never lived some where so nice. We're very happy.

Month Six:

I finally look very pregnant. We're slowly filling the house. It's taking awhile, because it's such a big house, and we want everything just so. I spend the better part of the month unpacking. I finally feel like I've gotten the hang of being pregnant. I feel healthy and strong. I do a lot of yoga. I go to breastfeeding meetings and make some friends. Your dad loves nursing, but he is less thrilled with the place he works. He is looking for another job.

Month Seven:

I'm really slowing down physically. I'm taking naps again, and indulging in a lot of chocolate. I do a lot of reading, and watch plenty of movies. I'm putting on weight, and starting to get stretch marks or my belly. I can't easily put on shoes that tie, shave my legs or paint my toenails. I spend a lot of time crocheting. I trade start trading the things I make for things I'd like in your nursery. It's starting to look really nice.

Month Eight:

We worried our cat Chichi was lonely. We know that she will soon be sharing our attention with you. We got her a kitten friend we've named Cajohn. He is furry and Grey just like Chichi. They bonded really quickly, and spend their days rough housing and snuggling.

I'm starting to feel really big. Your dad and I are going to midwife appointments in San Francisco all the time now. We've started birth class. We find out that I have gestational anemia, and this might compromise our ability to birth at Sage Femme. I take iron religiously. I start snacking on all sorts of weird iron rich foods like pumpkin seeds and dried figs.

We invite all of our friends and family for a party to celebrate my twenty-fifth birth, our new house, your uncle's birthday, and to have a baby shower for you. We make a ton of food, and people bring awesome potluck items. Your great grandma brought a stew with sausages, your Grandma made her amazing pecan pie, and Lisa made red velvet cake. People brought all sorts of adorable clothes, blankets, and toys for you. Grandma gave us a beautiful homemade drum, your Great grandma gave us a changing table, and your Great Aunt Sissy gave us a certificate to have food delivered after your birth. The gifts were wonderful, but we were happiest just to see all our friends and family.

Month Nine:

We have to go to our local hospital because I'm having contractions. We really want to meet you, but not yet. You're too small. The next day we see our midwife and she determines that I have a urinary tract infection. Our local hospital didn't bother to test for a urinary tract infection. I'm angry with them. This can cause preterm labor. I take antibiotics and herbs that discourage contractions. I feel better than I have in weeks.

I get follow up blood work. Those pumpkin seeds did the trick! I'm not anemic anymore, and we're approved to birth at the center. Your grandma visits and helps me stock our freezer with easy meals for after birth.

I clean a lot, watch movies, play video games, and go for walks. One day I'm doing laundry and feel a really uncomfortable sensation in my low belly. Then my pants are soaked. I call our midwife nearly hysterical, because I think my water has broken and I'm not full term yet. We determine that I've simply pee'd my pants. You probably kicked me in the bladder.

Your dad and I keep trying to fit in date nights. Just days before Christmas we go out for Mexican food and take a long walk around the mall for exercise. I spend the evening having a ton of contractions and vomiting. Your dad calls our midwife, and she insists we go to our local L&D. I'm not really dilated or effaced but L&D holds your dad and I hostage all night. They're nice and they give us snacks, but we really just want to go home.

Now we spend our days in anxious, exhausted, anticipation of you.

a bit ranty

2010-12-04T14:34:00.000-08:00

For the last week I've been feeling something I've dubbed pre-pre-term labor.

A handful of contractions each hour (that hurt!), but not enough to really scare anyone.

A dull, uncomfortable menstrual cramping feeling in my low belly.

A nagging backache.

fatigue.

etc.

So, I called my midwife assuming she would tell me this was just typical late pregnancy misery, but she told me to go to my local L&D to get checked out.

So, I clearly told them all my symptoms and they put me on a fetal monitor to check out the baby and watch for contractions. I didn't really have any so they sent me home with the explanation that sometimes "pregnancy just feels like that."

I saw my midwife the next day and she ran a urine culture just to be sure.

My midwife phoned today to say that while I passed a urine 'dip test' when they ran a culture it was obvious that I had a very serious (but asymptomatic) UTI.

My midwife is really annoyed at my local hospital for skipping this easy/low cost test and prolonging my misery, because in her experience preterm labor's number one cause is a UTI which won't always show up on a dip test.

So, I called my local hospital to politely, but firmly inquire why they didn't run such a routine test and express my sentiment that they are indeed a bunch of horse's patoots.

So glad it looks like we will be delivering in my birth center.

So grateful for my thorough midwife.

Who knows how long this pre-pre-term labor misery would carry on if I didn't have a patient and involved care provider?

festivus

2010-12-02T07:19:00.000-08:00

Today I am officially 35 weeks into my pregnancy.

The holidays are coming along in an agreeable and festive way.

Which is to say, we're only doing what is fun, and not spending too much on junk, because you "have to."

Yesterday J-- roasted a Turkey breast and made all the fixin's to go with it.

It was a delightful feast for two, and I am very excited to say WE HAVE LEFTOVERS. yum, yum, yum.

Monday the 29th I had to be evaluated for preterm labor at our local hospital. I've been having dull, achy, no fun menstrual cramp sensations in my lower abdomen since the 27th that sadly are not soothed by normal comfort measures like taking a bath, hydrating or laying down. In addition to the cramps I've had contractions. Some painful, some less so. They don't follow a schedule, and they arn't getting closer together, but I seem to have at least one or two every hour and sometimes four or five an hour.

The hospital evaluation showed only one contraction and they ran a few tests to see what the cause of my discomforts may be. Not so illuminating. Happily they gave me a bagel and juice, and for a hospital experience it was decidedly nice. So, having had a tasty snack and a tour of the birth facilities in case we should end up there in an emergency, I was discharged.

The next day we followed up with our midwife. She decided to run a few more tests which we are waiting for results on. She gave me some herbs which hopefully with suppress these contractions for another few weeks.

The madness has been soothed ever so slightly, but the cramping continues without mercy. I also have a backache and hip/pubic bone pain in a very sincere way. I'm having marginally less contractions and accepting that this may simply be my cross to bare for the remainder of this pregnancy. Despite the discomforts I sincerely hope baby stays put another couple weeks, and that I do not also go terribly over due. One woman should not have to have it both ways, I say.

Still, I'm on baby's time. Whatever you need at this stage, little one.

The house is quite tidy. We even put up a real Christmas tree, and it smells fantastic.

I'm trying to pass this not so comfortable time by watching TV series on netflix, crocheting, cuddling the cats, having long chats with J--, and plotting.

In the next week we intend to take our mattress and box springs off the squeaky bed frame, and put on old bedding. The not so glamorous gearing up for co-sleeping is about to begin.

The nursery is *almost* finished, and it looks really amazing.

Between our cleverness, thriftiness, and the generosity of our friends and family things are shaping up in a beautiful way.

Today we're hanging the rainbow christmas lights over the windows, and the Tibetan Prayer flags over the cradle. We just want to get a few frames to hang some inspirational pictures, and BAM nursery is done.

We also need to install our convertible car seat. I hear this is only slightly more fun than installing a Christmas tree into an old fashioned stand. Perhaps worse. Luckily, we are not afraid to ask our local fire department/highway patrol for help if we need it.

In this last stage nesting, I am also stocking our freezer with easy things we like to eat. The pantry is being loaded with pasta, while the freezer is crammed with frozen pizzas, lasagna, and eggrolls. This may not be the ideal postpartum diet, but WE WON'T STARVE! And that is, a good thing. If friends and family drop by they will be encouraged to bring lighter, more salady food to supplement the stash.

The head fake of all this, is that I'm really doing my best to prepare for the great unknown. To give myself freely to the experience of late pregnancy, labor, deliver, new motherhood, and nursing.

I cannot control how my body feels right now, but I can be gentle with myself.

I cannot control the unknown variables of my birth experience, but I can attempt to educate myself and bring a sincere desire to birth in a healthy emotional environment. Even in an emergency cesarean birth this is possible.

So,

Take bed off bed frame and liberally apply stained, ugly bedding -never know when that water might break, how messy the post-partum time may be, and co-sleeping is safest without excess bedding.

Continue to stock freezer and pantry with easy to prepare foods.

Hang xmas lights and flags in baby room.

Look for inspirational pictures/frames for baby room.

Install the carseat.

Pack a birth center bag and come what may.

I encourage the people who read this far to check out the cool give away on swapmamas.com from pooters.

1/4 of a century

2010-11-12T21:03:00.000-08:00

Today I turned twentyfive.

I woke up late. I fought waking up the way children sometime fight sleep. And then I got out of bed and J-- and I went put for sandwiches. He went to work. And then a friend came over and we went on shopping errands. I bought a black nursing bra for about $5, but other than that I was just happy to be out. Smelling the smells. Seeing the sights.

Looking at things like a person who just aged to a quarter of a century.

Life hasn't always been easy.

Some days, weeks, and years felt really really hard.

but right now...

in some small ways..

I feel like I've got things figured out.

I'm eight months pregnant today. As I enter the later stages of pregnancy I'm feeling some real discomforts. My hips and pubic bone ache miserably and I've had to give up a lot of exercise, because this was making it worse. My poor belly is embellished with angry, red stretchy marks. I know they'll fade. I'm not even worried about the fashion, but they itch and ache. My breasts are heavy and achy aswell. Still, I love being pregnant and I imagine I will miss it a lot when I'm not pregnant anymore.

The kitten and the cat seem to love one another already. She shares her cat tree. They chase one another around. They rough house. And today I came home to find them grooming one another. Life is good.

As long as it's healthy...

2010-11-01T22:03:00.000-07:00

Lately our decision not to learn our baby's gender has been causing me some grief.

Not because I want to know.

I love this baby regardless of it's currently unknown gender. I really don't prefer a gender. Following stereotypes boys and girls and being their parents have unique joys and challenges.

The thing that really freaks me out is what people are quick to tritely respond when we talk gender.

"So, is it a boy or a girl."

"Baby is a surprise. We decided not to find out."

"Well, do you want a boy or a girl?"

"Well I want a baby. I'm not worried about the gender."

Then they counter with....

"As long as it's healthy, right?"

Well, since you asked, no.

As parents we hope for the best. I can't pretend to imagine the challenges faced by the parents of children who have special needs or are critically ill.

Still, I wouldn't wish away an unhealthy or imperfect child anymore than I'd wish away a boy or a girl.

It's my baby. It's parenting without conditions. It's loving without exceptions. Why should that surprise anyone?

Why should the alternative be considered polite elevator chat?

Hormones and fierce protective love are putting me at odds with polite chitchat.

That's for sure.

oh baby

2010-10-29T23:26:00.001-07:00

Remember how hard it is to be a baby...

you used to be one.

At thirty weeks into my pregnancy it shouldn't surprise anyone that my brain has been reset to only think it terms of cute, little things.

I keep telling myself, "The baby room is almost done."

and then I find another delightful excuse to swap, trade and barter some other cool baby thing.

At least it's crunchy, hippy, cool baby stuff.

At least I'm not buying it all.

At least it's not new.

It seems on some small level I'm resistant to giving in to that have a baby will buy stuff thing many mothers I know are going through.

Perhaps this is a rebellion in some way. But I'm not sticking it to the man. The man hardly cares what my baby and I do. Sure, babysrus and formula companies would love me to buy in, but I doubt they really care.

But resisting the parent consumer urge is just part of how I'm trying however pathetically to retain my identity as I become a mother.

Sure, I'm a mom, but I'm resourceful and clever and green and savvy. I won't be a soulless unhappy person. I'll be great.

Right?

I hope so.

Sensing our cat chichi was lonely we adopted her a mini-me. She is not obviously impressed.

She isn't trying to kill her little boy clone Cajohn and I'll take it. As Chichi has gotten older she has become her own cat. Decidedly more independent. I appreciate her modern woman cat attitude. But I'm glad to have her counterpart around to sleep on my face and make me worry I'm going to roll over onto him. They make a very nice team. I dream some day they will play together. Sleep within a few feet of one another.

Maybe keep one another company while I, while retaining my identity, meet the many needs of the infant we'll be bringing home soon.

As pictured, a bewbie hat, Chichi cat and Cajohn her mini-me.

Generous Mom Business.

2010-10-23T13:37:00.000-07:00

Today was Chico's first peace.love.swap. It's a really cool event where parents can get together and bring things they don't need for their children anymore and hopefully find things they do need. Later the extras go to charity. My midwife has a huge pile of free baby clothes in her birth center. Many folks bring things and few folks take them - so I took a few and brought them to the swap where they might get used. I brought a few bags of baby gear mostly very cute gendered styles for older babies and left with a few adorable maternity pieces and some gender neutral newborn size clothes. Overall, the event had a sense of *newness* about it. As a volunteer at a brand new event I often had the feeling I wasn't doing everything exactly right, but everyone was very nice. Because the event is new to Chico there weren't a ton of attendees and there wasn't a ton to choose from, but it seemed like everyone had a good time and I made out like a bandit with a pretty fair swap. The next peace.love.swap is in December, and I am hopeful that I will not be too pregnant to enjoy the swap.

Last week a local friend gifted me over nine huge bins of yarn that her grandmother had wanted to pass on. I'm feeling really overwhelmed with gratitude and well stocked to make lots of fun things. The first thing I wanted to make was a pile of gifts for the friend who gave me the yarn. I will be posting pictures of my progress as I begin, Operation: Huge Thank You, Rachelle, Gift.

And! as if the good fortune fairy hadn't flown over my house enough.. my husband found a lady on craigslist giving away a boppy, baby swing, and moniter. Things were all things we considered 'extra' but they would be nice to have! Hopefully that pans out.

Having a baby really DOESN'T have to be lonely or expensive. Be humble, be creative, put yourself out there. The universe is very excited about babies - just ask them and they'll tell you! If you go to one Mom's group and they're all freaks try another, then another, then another. Eventually you'll find your tribe.

Oh and definitely check out this week's 30 minutes of fluff. They have the lowdown on cloth diapering and how to make it awesome. This week they're giving away two Kawaii cloth diapers.

Mama love.

2010-10-16T23:00:00.000-07:00

I have been a little lonely. Because sometimes you can be surrounded by people. People you love very much. The person you love more than anything. And still be.. lonely for a different kind of love.

I don't have my mother in my life. Whether or not adults need mothering is an issue of debate. While I know this is anecdotal, but plenty of pregnant woman and new mothers I've met expressed a strong desire to have adults in their life who are their parents by blood or damned paternal. I am not immune.

My mother in law is an incredibly busy woman who works full time as a pediatric oncology nurse. If that needs any explaining, she is coordinating the care for children who have cancer. Her job takes a huge amount of emotional stamina. On top of that she is continuing her education in her 'free' time.

And this weekend she drove three hours north and booked a hotel that would accommodate her dog, just so she could come and love me how I need to be loved.

She took me out of brunch, and then we went to a baby resale store that pushed baby resale to the utmost, a level which disgusts me. Chewed up, nasty baby binkies and moldy old car seats, yuck. But it was nice, because we were trying to connect and celebrate the baby I'm about to have. My first child. Her first grandchild. We walked around downtown and admired the adorable onesies and designer car seat covers in the high end baby boutiques. We left empty handed and snickering. Who would spent $30 on a single onesie that was on clearance? What had that onesie cost originally?

We gave up. We moved onto a baby preparation day much more suitable to our natural inclinations and talents.

Where would the lesbian mother in law and crafty pregnant lady end up in some big cliche joke?

The hardware store.

And nest we did.

We bought Spackle, and mounting hardware, and screws, and bolts and things.

I patched a tiny hole in the bathroom wall. She mounted a mirror and we fiddled around for hours mounting a vintage chandelier. The trouble was.. the curtains that came with the house were too damn ugly.

So, tomorrow we're going to a discount store to find some curtains that don't... ruin everything. I mean, clash with everything.

And the only thing to was visit the Chinese restaurant I'd been to just the day before and order a bunch of takeout to share with my mother in law, her wife, and their puppy. The resturant staff still recognized me, and wanted to know if I'd be back tomorrow. I'm sorry they asked, because I'd love to go back tomorrow. Good Chinese food is really hard to find, and I love this place.

So, we all curled up and ate until our sides hurt while we watched Wild Cats with Goldie Hawn.

And I went home very happy, feeling loved just how I needed to be loved. Mama loved.

And then I sneezed and pissed my pants. Because pregnancy is amazing. and humbling.

And I now struggle to access my own feet for putting on my shoes and painting my toe nails. I have also given up on certain aspects of hygiene. I may have to ask my dear hubby to shave my legs.

If I have seen you lately, and you haven't commented on my fantastic huge low belly and it's plans for total body domination... God bless you.

Oh nursing bra.

2010-10-07T22:47:00.000-07:00

I sure love Swapmamas. This week a traded a mama a few nursing bras for a copy of Stieg Lawson's Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.

Which brings me to my current review.

Goddessbra I'd like to thank you for remembering that breasts do indeed grow larger than a "DD."

While in Motherhood bras a "G" seems to be entirely too tight, on a Goddessbra I wear an "F." I have no idea if Motherhood bras run small or Goddessbra runs large. I simply find the comparison worth noting.

The Nursing Goddessbra is delightfully comfortable, and while I hope I would never have to run or sprint while wearing one it seems to be adequately supportive.

Pros:

Very comfortable I imagine I could wear it all day!

Highly padded seams

Very Breathable cotton

Moderately/Highly supportive

Cons:

Very high full coverage cut makes this bra unsuitable under most clothing.

Very high cut seems to push my breasts downward. This may be a personal problem, but I am not impressed. A bra that makes my breasts look saggier? Not so good.

The straps are incredibly wide. This may add to the comfy-ness, but it certainly makes it harder still to wear this bra under anything.

The bra has a very obvious seam that cuts across the middle of the bust. This seam shows up loud and clear under any tshirt material, and most sweaters. It screams "Look at this weird seam on my bra. Weird, eh!?"

These factors cons with these pros make for the most comfortable yet unflattering bra that has ever supported my breasts. I don't imagine designing very large nursing bras is an easy feat, but this bra misses the mark on so many points I doubt I will ever wear it out of the house without an enormous sweater to cover myself. Make that a parka. Still, it's blissful comfort will make this my absolute favorite at home and night time bra.

Final rating: B-

Still searching for that illusive day time/date night/leaving the house nursing bra.

Incase you were wondering, this blog was NOT sponsored. I wrote this review in the off chance it may be of help to another busty nursing mama. Godspeed. Your feedback on busty nursing adventures is appreciated.

I'm not sick.

2010-10-06T16:12:00.000-07:00

Since my last post I have indulged in a cheap and stubborn woman's solution to a missing set of cooling gel breast pads. Darling J-- and I went to every big box store near our home (thankfully there are a few!) until I found what I needed. Reusable freezer gel packs. Most people use them to keep their tiny tot's lunch at a food safe temperature. I bought six reusable freezer gel packs at our local dollar store, and reveled in my thrifty cleverness.

My achy breasts are numbed into submission and I am a happy lady.

The only hitch in my awesome chilly boobs day is my throat. I have a dull, nagging, sore throat. I'm drinking tea, slurping miso soup, sucking cough drops, applying compresses, and when all this fails.. simply pretending and stating emphatically to the empty room, "I am not sick."

I'm trying to be very gentle with myself. But as soon as I can I'm going out to get some sincerely needed toilet paper and whatever hippy concoctions I can brew up in an attempt to slay these germs.

I'll be making some hot-honey-lemon-ginger tonic, and I recommend you do the same. Here is a recipe. It's delightful when it gets blustery. Or even in often inappropriately sunny California, you can pull the shade and pretend the rest of the world is not sick either.

the rant of a woman with size 'G' breasts and growing.

2010-10-04T21:32:00.000-07:00

Today I had a good, hard, angry cry. Because I couldn't find my breastpads. They're God's gift to me at the moment, these tiny gel packs that fit so perfectly in your bra. A few times a day they soothe the angry, achy, miserable experience that is living with my breasts. And they're missing. Early this week they went missing and after a long angry search I found them in the laundry. I wasn't the person that put them there. Now, my beloved soothy gel breastpads are missing again. I can't say for sure who moved them or where they have gone. I'm scowling in the mirror, glaring at my poor husband, and even shooting suspicious glances at the cat. Last night I went to bed with two Ikea freezer packs on my breasts. Make them lime, give them a cute name. IT IS NOT THE SAME. Today I cleaned the house top to bottom. It was exhausting, but surely my breast pads would be turned up and my sanity would be unearthed once more.

WRONG WRONG WRONG

They're still missing. So, like any completely insane pregnant woman I called my husband and explained the situation. And the poor man chuckled.

Which received some unhinged missive like "SURE. I'M IN MORE PAIN THAN I'VE EVER CASUALLY EXPERIENCED. I CAN'T EVEN PROPERLY DIGEST A TYLENOL, AND MY DILEMMA IS FUNNY?"

And then I explained that if someone didn't find my breast pads soon things were going to get very very ugly. And no, large size ice packs just don't have the same appeal. If I have to hold the compresses in place it only serves to remind me of the most perfect soothy gel breast pads which are missing.

/end psycho babble.

The glamorous parts of pregnancy.

2010-09-27T15:55:00.000-07:00

I'm getting to a marginally less attractive part of pregnancy. It seems I'm moving gracelessly from adorable baby bump to My, Dear you certainly are pregnant.

To make things more exciting the veins in my belly and chest have gotten considerably more blue and multiplied. A roadmap of weird vein is taking over. Accentuate the pale. That's fabulous! When I first noticed this I thought something was very wrong, but the internet assured me in it's best motherly tones these veins simply support my baby's growing needs.

And well, don't remind me I don't have varicose veins. Because I seem to have one that comes and goes at will on my labia. Enjoy that knowledge gem.

And my breasts hurt. Yours too? I'm sure, but I double over sometimes thinking "OH GOD, SOMETHING IS WRONG! CALL THE MIDWIFE!" I hate to call the midwife. It's either a stupid thing to be ignored or a reason to go to the emergency room. I hate both of those answers. Anyway, Sunday I broke down and phoned, because I was pretty sure I was going to die. And as firmly and kindly she explained this was just another miracle of pregnancy. My breasts are preparing to feed a baby, and for some that just feels like crippling pain. Hot or cool compresses might help, but really they don't.

As if my breasts weren't on my bad side at the moment. I am fully puddling out of the top, bottom, front, left, right, and center of my 34DD bra. My friend sent my a "G" bra priority mail, and it only sort of fit - it was a bit snug for such a made up sounding bra size. I'm worried once engorgement from breastfeeding sets in I will never be able to find or afford a bra. ever again. I haven't found anything under the $50 mark and they generally involve a lot icky flesh tones, granny shapes, and spandex. I actually get the sniffles when I think about this too much. It's true. My breasts make me cry right now. Thinking about my future breasts gives me honest to God anxiety.

Ah, I would get sad, but today I can't stop farting. And I'm a farts are funny sort of girl. So, I crack up every time I toot. This part is actually cheering me up.

Pregnancy is magical. I'm making a human being that shares my genetics, my husband's genetics and just a little fairy dust. You should expect the process to get a little freaky, a little gross at times, and still. I say, WHAT, WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?

Churning away.

2010-09-24T10:48:00.000-07:00

Tricky business. Fridays I like to go to a breastfeeding mothers meeting. I'm not breastfeeding yet, but it's a chance to meet other mothers in the area. Today I had to skip my meeting to wait for someone to fix the dishwasher. A man came by, looked at me like I was nuts, and handed me a mealy ziplock bag. Fixed! About ten minutes after he left, the dishwasher was making an angry, loud churning. I spent another 5 minutes trying to pretend that I was hearing a normal dishwasher noise, but anyone would know this was a disruptive noise. A noise that was driving me insane from upstairs. So, I phoned back to say "Hello. It's the bag lady. My dishwasher is still broken." Someone might be back at some point. great.

I feel like pregnancy has turned my brain into a big melty slurpee. I cry often. I break dishwashers.

When you open yourself to it..

2010-09-17T23:52:00.000-07:00

Be gentle with yourself.. That has sort of become my mantra. I mumble it to myself liberally. Thursday we made another daring trek to the midwife in San Francisco. To say J-- and I are very involved in our health care may be a pathetic understatement. So, when we arrived at our appointment and waited for more than a half hour without greeting or explanation I was feeling slighted. When a strange woman I'd never met rolled in with her student assistant and asked if we had any questions come up since our last appointment my pregnant lady hormones nearly turned me into a small dragon. Polite but firm, "Sorry.. WHO ARE YOU?" rerouted the derailed train that was our appointment. General things were covered, and replacement midwife had the excellent sense to bring my usual superhero midwife in. Smart girl. I wasn't sure if I was going to throw things or start crying. I don't like waiting without explanation, and I certainly don't want a new random midwife to try and fill in without at least getting to know me. I'm sure this won't happen again. Things actually ended on a wonderful note. My regular midwife made fun of my enormous breasts and we talked openly and earnestly about the fears that can disable you(namely me) in labor. We referred to this as taming your paper tigers. Like Pam England in her wonderful book Birthing From Within we started to look at what things I tell myself, and how I might begin to acknowledge fears and let positive ideas in. My the end of the night J-- and I were indulging in one of my favorite treats.. Irish pub food. It was the first time I'd been in a bar since I'd been pregnant, and the state of my condition was quite obvious. When I walked to the bathroom I obviously made some people uncomfortable, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh or shout "Don't worry! I'm here for the food!"

The sewing machine in question seems to be good and properly dead. The original owner has either gotten busy or decided he is not interested in giving me any money back despite my sulky but sweet requests. Craigslist is a gamble. Often you win, and on occasion you do something very different. I haven't given up all hope of a good outcome, but I've made my peace and order another more durable machine. The new new machine came in the mail today. I immediately made a dress that I feel very positive about.

Then J-- and I went for a driving lesson. FACT: I never bothered to get my licence, and now with our location and baby on the way I need to earn that card! Despite my fears I have been getting behind the wheel, and things are progressing well.

That night we bought a TV stand. A real life bit of furniture. And in theory on Monday the 10 foot long monster vintage sofa in green and gold we want will be delivered. Ahhh furniture. So novel after all these weeks.

If you want to test your communication skills I recommend you assemble very involved modern furniture that requires allen keys with your spouse. I'd say we came through with flying colors.

Keep calm.

2010-09-15T18:00:00.000-07:00

Willy Wonka: But Charlie, don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he he always wanted.
Charlie Bucket: What happened?
Willy Wonka: He lived happily ever after.

I have a craft room. A space to make what I make. I have a JCPenny Model 7043 1980 Sewing Machine. It doesn't have a computer. I really love that. Generally, I like technology, and I may have been scarred by one bad experience, but I despise a computer in a sewing machine. I remember hunching over a sewing machine listening to the strangest noises churn out and then suddenly frantic beeping like a microwave from hell would bleep out and the stitches would stop dangerously fast. It seemed to be trying to eat my fingers. And it's tiny seemingly pointless computer would flash "Error E5!" almost enthusiastically. The expletives that followed would always embarrass me. "$^&^$^, I Just want to make! Why do you?! I wasn't.. &^%$&&%$^@% even doing anything strange! You! Why do you hate me!?" Sewing shouldn't be like that. So, very cheaply with a generous warning I sold that computer sewing machine on craigslist a year ago. I never looked back. I often longed for a sewing machine, but I didn't long for that. So, when we got settled in our new house I began my campaign. Which included a series of statements about why it wouldn't be a strange or bad choice to purchase a sewing machine before any furniture. And then I stepped up my game.

"It could be my birthday present. I would remember. You know I would."

and so it came to be, I owned a sewing machine before we owned a couch. My husband is a very patient man.

The owl pictured above is my bank. The bank of Wiklund. Owls have exploded in the most amazing way. I have had this bank as long as I have been alive. I stole it from my older sister. It still has some decrepit cat stickers on the bottom. I stole those from my sister also. I wasn't a nice child really. Well, actually, I sincerely hope that owls are not exploding .. past, present, future, ever. But owl fashion, you don't need me to tell you, has taken the F-- over. I would like to thank owl fashion, because without it I might not be talking to a variety of children's boutiques about selling my gear. Still, I am excited to stretch my crafty skills, and see what is possible. What can I do beyond the hoot? Where did this O'Rly craze begin? Will I birth the next original idea? I doubt it sincerely, but it is a fun fantasy. The Owl, The Unicorn, The Bear, The Cat, The Bunny. So much fun. They remind me of a beginning of imagination and materialism. Being small and wearing costumes. Feeling so inspired. Whenever I make things I like to think about the feelings I had as a child wearing old dresses as capes, trying to make fairy wands from toilet paper rolls.

My yarn habit has gotten sort of freakish. Happily I've found a practical way to store it for just pennies that keeps it fresh, fun, and well organized. Amazingly, I'm going through this really quickly.

I'm opening my sewing machine manual, and learning about the ins and outs of this machine. Last week I sewed a 'mockup' child's dress out of a disgusting, stained pillowcase. I sewed slowly and felt decidedly giddy to find the result was wholly beautiful - though crying out for quality materials. Then toward the end of the 'mockup' I bumped something and messed up my thread tension. When I was a little girl using my mother's ancient singer I would do this all the time, and my mother would amble in and fix my stitches and the machine's tension. Because she supported me in this way I never learned to fix my own thread tension. I wanted to cry a little. I always thought my mother would be there to fix my stitches. Addiction has taken her away from me, my husband, our baby, and sometimes the strangest things bring this to sharp focus. I'm learning my own thread tension, because I'm growing up, and because I have to. And all I can do is pray that my baby will learn things when it is ready.. not because I cannot be there.

Each day, we are the the best people we can be. That's all we can do.

Update: I couldn't figure out the tension, because the machine is broken. Oh poot. I bought it from a man who lives two blocks away off craigslist so hopefully he'll be into buying it back.

Are we gearing up or winding down?

2010-09-13T19:38:00.000-07:00

This week I got a copy of the book I was published in. It was a neat feeling, but I was left with something in my mind. I wondered, Okay, What Now?

I've found a few shop owners who are interested in buying my hand crafts - or rather they found me.

Okay, What Now? We're negotiating bulk prices. We're dancing the delicate dance of being polite and involving ourselves in commerce. It's such a very hard thing to do.

So now, I'm sorting things out as best I am able. I am looking into craft fairs, and just seeing where I want to go with things.

I'll be six months pregnant this Thursday. All of these baby clothes they're little nesting vehicles. They're how I'm exploring this idea that very soon I will have a tiny baby in my life. These tiny hats, teeny dresses, little overalls, are how I'm saying to myself...

Something big is coming this way..

The deeply rooted impact of burning man.

2010-09-07T09:04:00.000-07:00

Many of my friends are getting back from Burning Man 2010. They are dirty, and many of them seem to look supremely satisfied like runners who have just finished a marathon or lovers who made love all day. I didn't go this year, because it wasn't right. I made a lot of excuses, but the truth is that my first burning man experience was entirely too profound to repeat without applying it's lessons learned. It is has been more than a year between my first visit to burning man's black rock city and my current life. Every day I am learning something new about myself that it seems that I may have only come to understand because I went. I could try to list all of the things I've learned about life, people, and experience, but this would be flat and lackluster. I will only share the highlights that come up again and again.. haunt me even.

Remember that even when the journey is terrifying and unknown you can prepare, but in the end all the material goods you pack may weigh you down. The best thing to travel with is good people and an open mind to the experiences life is trying to bring you. Travel light and practical in your spirit and try to avoid checking baggage in any sense. This advice really helped on my recent trip to Mexico, and I am hopeful it will offer some support as I birth and parent my first child. I cannot plan what kind of birth I may have or what kind of experiences I will parent through. I can only try to surround myself with earnestly supportive people who embrace my values and open myself to what will be.

Each experience can be what you make it. This can apply to the world you live in the other weeks of the year. Your relationships, home, job, hobbies, and passions are yours like clay for the molding. Do your best not to forget this. You travel hundreds of miles to make a world of your own design. The world at home is ready for some redesign. What needs tweaking? What should exist in your city? Don't even ask "Why not?" Just be yourself boldly, kindly, respectfully. Do not pathetically hang onto things that are not working people, plans, and ideas included. Imagine for just a moment that the universe has been chomping at the bit to give you all things, not what you think you want, but what you really need at that stage. Try to take these heat rashes and disgusting experiences as a learning opportunity.

In almost all you do try to take care of this body. It has a way of impacting all you aim to do. Exercise every day. Don't make excuses. You'll be so glad you did. Some days you may want to try to beat your own records. Some days you'll need to be tender with yourself, and just be glad you're trying. Eat as healthy as you can possibly afford to. Pack extra hydrocodizone cream, lipbalm, tylenol, and anything else that makes your body feeling soothed. Ask first, and give massages to the people around you. Touch can be so very healing. Hydrate. Enjoy yourself and experiment with booze, exotic food, fad diets and exercise routines, etc. but don't be excessive. You may ruin your own fun and hurt the people around you.

Eventually you will know the difference between a life that is fearlessly yours and a life that is too off beat to ever move with the universe. At that point you can decide if you care at all if it serves you to sometimes connect.

Camp DFHY, I love you guys. You are some of the most sincere friends I have ever had. I hope you're all doing well, and had a wonderful time on the playa and in life at large.

you were right about everything.

2010-09-06T20:58:00.001-07:00

The things that have made me hate other people make me love you more.

because with you, I know, the struggle is worth it. We're worth fighting for.

I still have not learned to make things in my sleep. I'm more than five and a half months pregnant. The baby can kick me hard enough to alarm me. Nesting urges have been successfully channeled into making things and trading them. The army of cute loving people have finally hammered home an idea people have been putting on me for ages..

"you should be selling these..."

Okay. I give. I should. I just can't abide the idea of selling my things 'one at a time' on etsy or something. That doesn't appeal right now. I'd like to made a stash and sell at craft fairs. I want a human connection. I want notoriety. Okay, not really. But maybe I'd like to avoid some of the pits I can see myself falling into as a stay at home mother. I don't want to let the house go to pot, and have nothing to talk about at parties because I don't do anything for myself.. There are plenty of badass mamas and dadas who stay home with their kids, and I want to be badass too. I want to figure this out. I'd like to sell to shops. That is my idea of fun. I need a bigger 'inventory'.

I think I'd be tempted to trade a nonvital organ for a trust worthy sewing machine. I have visions of the things I'd make. I get frustrated and excited with all the creative energy. I get frustrated at the limited hours in the day, and the hand cramps that come up. I get happy and scared thinking about what my life looks like with a new born baby.

After having been sick for so long I am a decidedly trim pregnant woman. My belly sticks out about a mile from my tiny frame. I am loving it. There I said it. For the first time in my adult life I feel really beautiful and lovely. Strange that I happen to be rather pregnant, but what can I do but go with it. I always felt too thin, or too fat, or too something in the face, or focus on my fucked up teeth. Now I just feel pretty.

We still don't have a couch. I'm starting to care about that less as day go by. I might never care, except it is very weird when guests come over. You drove three hours to see me? Well, I missed you too. Would you like to join me on the carpet for some tea? We have hardwood if you prefer...

We also don't have a washer and dryer yet. This I'm actually quite fond of, because every time we go do the laundry I have an excuse to tool around the coffee shop, craft store, and dollar store for at least an hour. It's wonderful. I might cry a little when we get a washer and dryer.. but then.. I am planning on cloth diapering so it would REALLY help.

Braver than you know.

2010-09-02T13:54:00.000-07:00

If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together.. there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart.. I’ll always be with you.
-- Winnie the Pooh

I may like to toot my own horn, but I am not inclined to admit to shameless self promotion. Still, sometimes you cannot help but appreciate places where you have met a challenge like it simply wasn't. Instead of just climbing emotional, spiritual, and financial mountains in your underwear you do something good and decidedly different. That metaphor just sort of peters off here, but essentially the challenges of life can sometimes be matters of perspective.

I may have mentioned I recently joined a website called swapmamas. Well, I have a not so secret skill. I'm no wizard granny, but I've been known to turn great hunks of yarn into functional items. So far I've been able to trade or arrange to trade hand made baby hats and things I didn't need for ...

A baby ring sling carrier (New retail cost: $40+)

A number of easy care reuseable cloth diapers (Retail new cost: $100+ and counting)

And an on bed co sleeper. (Retail new cost $60 + shipping)

So, now I spend my baby growing unemployment hours whipping out stitches and sorting of mutually agreeable barters.

I am still looking for a bouncer or swing, a baby bjorn carrier, more reuseable diapers, a crib at some point, some nursing bras/tops, and a jogging stroller. Still I cannot help but feeling like one very resourceful Mama-to-be.

If I can just add local swaps, word of mouth, and craiglist scouring to my toolkit this house and baby room will be prepared in no time for pennies.

To date I have only spent $10 on batteries, $15 on yarn, and $40 on a rocking glider with matching glide footstool. These were essential. Don't tell me a glider isn't essential until you've carried a watermelon under your shirt for a few days.

So, not that there is a pile of extra cash around here, but imagine I pocketed the amount most people spend preparing for a new baby. I think with enough cleverness I could actually do cordblood banking and start a badass college fund. Now, wouldn't that be something impressive? It's a goal.

What else is cool? Well, we haven't registered anywhere. Ah, the registry, where you walk around a shop or tool around the internet compiling a wishlist that your family and friends would hopefully buy you a lot of. We're not doing it. zip. zilch. nada. Just like the wedding if the want to get us something they'll have to ask what I might need or just randomly buy cute and nonessential items. Which let us be honest, many people prefer doing. :)

What.. am I crazy? No.. I'm 'saving up' for babysitting favors.

The nesting instinct. It's getting tricky to manage.

2010-08-31T18:04:00.001-07:00

Life in the new house is beautiful, but honestly it is not simple.

I had heard tales and jokes about pregnant women and their almost

primal urge to ready their lives and specifically homes for their new babies.

Still, like many aspects of pregnancy I am alarmed by the intensity of my experience.

Here we are in the dream house with it's vibrant walls and spacious scapes.

It feels entirely too spacious. We don't really have furniture. The flat screen tv is sitting on the floor. A very scratchy loveseat sits in the living room with boxes of nicknacks.

We're eating off the heirloom China we got as a wedding present from J's dad that cannot go into the dish washer or microwave, because we haven't bought anything more 'day to day.'

I'm so very edger to start building a home and start collecting the few things I want for this baby.

As we start to 'get on our feet' traffic tickets, utility deposits, and old unpaid debts swim up to us.

We're getting it all paid, but it just means that the nesting instinct just keeps getting differed.

I don't mean to say 'Oh poor me.' We're very lucky. Some days are just tricky.

This weekend I was attempting to do some gardening in the yard to sooth these 'prepare this house for baby' urges. I managed to pull out a big, dead shrub.

We called a gardener who advertised free estimates for yard work. Two men came. With very limited English. The quote they gave was entirely too much. So I told them not to start any work without talking to my husband. Today one of the gardeners who speaks no English at all came and started hauling away the shrub waste in question before I noticed. I had to stop him halfway through and phone J-- who translated that we never accepted the job and had no way to pay them.

Oh.. what.. gets.. lost.. in .. translation.

I felt so terrible, and if I had the money to pay him I really would have but we don't and the cost was entirely too much.

I'm hell bent on cloth diapering as it saves so much money, but it is tricky when the initial cost can be as much as $600. I need to get clever on this one.

I recently found a website called swapmamas - where you can trade baby gear you don't want for things you do want. No cash ever changes hands. Checkmate, Economy, I gotcha there.

I've even been able to swap for some pretty fancy stuff because folks appreciate my handycrafts.

With cleverness, perseverance, and a little sweat many good things can happen.

I also found peace, love, swap. Similar service happening locally.

Now, If I could just find a new inexpensive convertible car seat I think I'd be winning. It seems that despite the fact we have qualified for nearly every state program imaginable we make 'too much' to buy a low cost car seat. If a lady who qualifies for Medical can't get a low cost car seat.. who can? Nevermind. We'll figure it out, but if you have any ideas I am all ears.

Pictured at 21.5 weeks with my new homemade haircut.

It's been awhile.

2010-08-24T09:40:00.000-07:00

In mexico.

The room that will gay up my theoretical daughter.

I have some great friends. But sometimes through chance or mistake we'll go weeks, months, or even years without really talking much. No one really did anything wrong, we just got busy. There will sometimes be attempts to rehash in detail everything that has taken place, but these efforts make life entirely too small. Boring, ordinary, strange, magical I believe in fairies things are happening every day. Similarly I cannot try to explain everything. I'm just back as though I never left. The obvious differences including my new permanent address and a baby belly. In my absence I moved awkwardly through the 'MAM, ARE YOU PREGNANT OR JUST A LITTLE FAT?' stage. I cannot honestly say I miss trying to dress that very in-between body.
So, here we are in Chico. My lovely two story three bedroom home with the vibrant wall color. The baby room is already painted a robin's egg blue. We have chosen not to find out the baby's gender. The family clamors with excited, frightened, 'WHAT IF IT'S A GIRL, YOU'LL PAINT RIGHT?!'
No, dear concerned persons, I won't paint. I love the color, and I haven't found any studies that show conclusively that a blue nursery will make my 'daughter' gay or that a pink carseat will scar in infant son for life. And anyway, gay kids would be just fine in this household.
Now you know.
Back to regularly scheduled musings.

It gets easier.

2010-07-10T12:48:00.000-07:00

I'm updating 'live' from a hot, stuffy, library in a small town in California. Until we move into our own respectible internet-having household in a couple weeks updates will continue to be sparse and come from strange places. With that in mind, I'd like to start with my favorite piece of poetry ever written.

Advice to Travelers
by Walker Gibson

A burro once, sent by express,
His shipping ticket on his bridle,
Ate up his name and his address,
And in some warehouse, standing idle,
He waited till he like to died.
The moral hardly needs the showing:
Don’t keep things locked up deep inside —
Say who you are and where you’re going.

I think this work is very sincere, soft, and comforting. My advice to travelers is to try to remember where you are going, and for God's sake remember to live your life on your way there. Traveling is not a break, and sublet apartments, college, and pregnancy are not a pause in life they are just a very different kind of life.
I'm just over fourteen weeks into my pregnancy today. Sometimes I feel sick, but mostly I feel happy. Accepting this pregnancy has certainly been a challenge. I can't imagine why, but it simply has. This pregnancy was sooner than expected, but very wanted. Still, for months now I have lived in an ambilivent, anxious fear of the unknown. Now, a shift is taking place. I've had to buy more maternity clothes, but I can't seem to convince myself that I am not just fat. Then suddenly, last night while pouring through my millionth pregnancy/birth/parenting book I realised I was going to have a baby, I was going to birth it, and I was going raise it with my husband. The wonderful, terrifying, exhausting reality hit me like a God-damned cannon ball. I have been walking around in a giddy, frightened fog ever since. In the realms of the physical my tiny belly is slightly more noticable, hot stuffy rooms make me quesy, and my skin is very sensitive to sun. I don't get a sunburn I just break out in freckles and white pigmentless spots. I'm swimming about an hour a day a few times a week so I can only imagine I will be a decidedly polkadot woman before this pregnancy is over.
J-- and I are getting along well. Earlier this month he bought a newer Mercedees from his grandmother at value. Yesterday he got his first paycheck as an RN it was more than we ever budgeted, and appartently it will continue to be. I spent over $100 at the grocery store. I have produce. I'm easy to please. We topped off the "OMG, We're not broke college kids anymore" day with a few stolls around the discount clothing racks. I bought a few nearly shapeless tshirt material dresses, and some maternity leggings. I was deleriously happy to discover that Forever 21, my favorite store for cheap shopping, has added a maternity section. I was elated. I danced an uncoordinated, little gig. I know, I really do know how to live it up. Then we set up an automatic monthly transfer to our savings account. We didn't exactly cash the check, roll in money, buy rims for the benz, and make it rain, but it was a lovely day. We even ate pizza.
Now, I am looking into updating my older than dirt eyeglass perscription and using my driver's permit before I expire another one. Driving scares the explatives out of me, and I'm rather hormonal. This should be interesting!

The in between

2010-06-30T05:06:00.000-07:00

It is fantastically hard to be in between things. A sublet is hard. especially after six months of living with family. This summer apartment says loud and clear, "Get comfortable, but don't bother settling in." We have been doing this for so long. We have lived without permanence or a place that was truly ours for so much time now. As I progress in my pregnancy my heart aches for stability and privacy. I need a place to build a nest. I have always been a homebody, and now more than I can ever recall, I need quiet and peacefulness. For a little while, a little less excitement is just what the doctor ordered.
The quiet of the hills makes me want to read grubby Dean Koontz paperback books, and invest in a padded glider rocking chair.
I spend my days reading, crocheting, sewing, and taking naps with the lovely cat. It really is a beautiful life. This morning J-- and I went for a swim in the pool. Last weekend we swam in the lake. We have slow mornings with homemade fruit and yogurt parfaits. The produce out here is amazing.
In less than a month we go on our anniversary vacation to Mexico. In less than a month we'll have been married for a year. We'll have dealt with the hardest external obstacles we have ever seen to date and gotten closer for it.
It's all the things that dreams are made of, and when I can reflect for just moments I am genuinely happy.
Still, I want stability. A house that is ours. I want things to be so stable that I face the dangers of becoming horrifically bored if I am not careful. This is a good wish. I think it will come true.
Today is one of my 'big deal' midwife appointments. As usual, it will take hours. Also, if everything is okay we will hear the baby's heart beat of doppler. At eight weeks I had an ultrasound that picked up a strong heart beat, but I have been waiting with baited breath for this end of first trimester doppler heart beat. What can I say, but please please please?

country life

2010-06-25T15:18:00.000-07:00

Things are changing in a big way. When J-- got a job, and took a summer sublet in a very tiny northern California town I had a list of demands. I got the cushy bed. A king size bed that is just the right level of firmness requiring no pillow top. The bed even has a bed frame, and a real wood headboard that is sort of stacked behind the bed. We're real adults with a real live bed.. sort of. I love it. I have slept amazingly well. I'm unpacking and being as domestic as one can without, the basics.
We don't have the internet. I have lived like this before, and to be honest I am rather surprised by how much a low tech life agrees with me.
Our house is at the top of a hill and from the back yard I cannot see a single house or building. For miles and miles I can only see grasses and alpine trees. We have to drive almost ten minutes on unpaved road to reach the house.
The backyard is beautiful and includes a hammock and a pool that should be swim-able within the week. Sadly, we have moved into a place that is referred to by locals as 'rattlesnake hill' and I have to use caution while gardening and exploring.
I eat a lot of otter pops, and try to avoid turning on the air conditioning unless it gets above 78 degrees. I certainly could not have imagined a year ago that this would be my life.
The mornings with J-- are lovely and the evenings alone can be a little stir crazy, but I am managing surprisingly well.
Today we are fetching my darling cat from my mother in law's house. Kitty can also enjoy country living, from the window sill of our room under my adoring gaze.
Because we will only live in this house for two months or so I am not bothering setting up satellite internet. For this reason, my updates may be a little sporadic.

Happily, I am almost 12 weeks along, and pregnancy is changing. It is marginally easier. Morning sickness has almost lifted and I have stopped taking zofran. I feel 78% like my old self, and that is good enough for now. Sadly, I have started to experience sciatic nerve pain. Sometimes I want to just punch myself in the leg.

The little battle

2010-06-18T10:48:00.000-07:00

I have heard before in passing that the French refer to an orgasm as 'the little death'. I have no idea if this is true. I don't know the French, I've never been to France. I have no idea why an orgasm would be a little death, but it certainly is interesting. I generally think of an orgasm as a little happy brain chemicals, a nice time with my husband, a prerequisite to a wonderful nap, so on.
In the theme of phrase that I hardly understand, and rants that only make sense to me I present to you the theory of the little battle.
It seems my tiny baby bump, and towering breasts are engaged in a warfare of sorts. They fight to be the most visually dominating force on my small frame. Some days the breasts win, while other days the belly reins supreme. I'd like to assume that in the end the belly will win, but it seems the breasts will not concede without an earnest battle. Oh dear, oh dear.
I am eating altogether healthier. I am enjoying veg, fruit, whole grains, and protein. I also indulging in plenty of Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream, Cheez-Its, and Gummy worms. With this in mind, it is mighty fascinating I haven't gained a pound.
Zofran is still doing it's job, and I am still holding onto the hope that someday soon I won't need it anymore. That day is not today, but maybe it will be soon. I'm 11 weeks pregnant today, and nearly out of the first trimester. I still have fleeting thoughts that something is wrong with me or the pregnancy. When I think that all I can respond to myself is that I will see the midwife soon. I will have answers. I will have confirmation and consolation. I dare not explore that concept much farther, as it offers no comfort or useful musings.
I don't sleep all the time anymore. It just seems I cannot function without a five hour midday nap. I try to make accommodations to make this possible. I have few responsibilities so I try to comfort myself and laze with the cat. She has discovered the delight of curling up under the covers with me and I am delighted in turn. We are always growing closer. I am always amazed by the heart's capacity to learn to love again after tragedy. Our shelter cat loves me.
J-- had his first official shift day as a working RN yesterday. He worked at PM and sounded jazzed about life. This morning they called him in a bind, and asked him to come in. Looks like my indispensable husband is about to work a double on his second day as a professional.
Commuting home nightly after such long shifts would be impossible for J-- and he has taken a sublet with the intention of coming home to me on days off. In a surprising development J-- would sincerely like Chichi and to move into the sublet with him. He misses me, and I miss him. The logistics of yet another temporary move are sort of difficult to get my head around, so I am letting J-- handle most of the details. Currently he has an airbed, and I need a comfortable mattress at a minimum. I'd also like some way to access the internet while I am there. We also, will need to move our things which will require some packing and arranging. I am not so concerned about this detail because our December move helped us to sincerely pair down our belongs. We still have some things packed and stored in the garage here, and at an aunt's house in Santa Barbara. Things will need to be fetched and curried, but I cannot seem to work up the energy to stress like I usually do. I know I have support. I know J-- will pack if I cannot. I know it will work out. I just need to get in the car and be pleasant. I think I can manage that.
Today he gave me the dirty job of selling his bike to some nice young man from craigslist. It was a dangerous seeming fixed gear, and I often worried about him speeding through traffic. Still, I can't help but feel like I have sold off a portion of my husband's youthfulness as he makes way to be a father. He is so excited about being a father. He promises he'll get himself another bike at some point that suits him better.
This post probably seems as trivial as can be with it's idle murmurings about waistlines, bustlines, and bicycles. Still, it hints at something beautiful and sinister happening. We're becoming parents, and we're trying to balance that with who we think we are. This is a strange and delicate thing that requires careful handling. My only practical response is to take a nap.

Yum.

2010-06-15T22:31:00.000-07:00

Kitchen gadgets can be items of mockery. I mean, who really knows what to do with a slap chop? Alternately, I am completely and wholly in love with my food processor. Tonight I made banana icecream. All it contains is frozen bananas whirred with a blade until amazing. The product is far more impressive than the sum of it's parts. A recipe is here.

relaxing.

2010-06-13T23:59:00.000-07:00

I spent my entire Saturday at the birth center. This pregnancy seems interested in consuming my entire person. I gently resist, saying to an unknown force, "The best parents are their own people too."
Parents who still occasionally blog about something other than their children. Parents who have their own hobbies and interests.
The morning involved a healthy pregnancy class. San Francisco bay area has plenty of stereotypes about people eat, and plenty of them are true. We were warned about eating too many servings of fruit a day because of the sugar content. Naturally, this happened as I finished my third Clementine in a 45 minute sitting. I laughed bitterly and dug an apple out of my handbag. The suggested quantity of food and exercise we take in daily also made me chuckle. The week I work out more than six times, or the day I eat more than 4 cups protein, 4 cups veg, 4 cups fruit, and 4 cups whole grain.. I'll give ya'll a call .. from my bathroom. At the end of the class the instructor taught us some recipes and fed us lunch. Feeding me always wins big points. Big ideas I can get behind: get a food processor they're cheap and awesome. I got one from the thrift store that afternoon and I've already used it 3 times, and I will use it to make baby food.
Eat more fruit, veg, nuts, and beans. Sure, why not? I like those things.
Things that won't likely happen soon:
Me eating that much food in a single day. Working out that aggressively. Prior to getting pregnant I liked to run a few times a week. A few weeks into my pregnancy, running was out. Running didn't hurt, but my heart rate got very high and something was telling me to quit. I'm looking forward to morning sickness lifting a bit so I can enjoy more walking, swimming, and yoga.
My idea: your body is a genius. Listen closely, it will tell you what to do. I don't think it is so bizarre that a woman in the throws of morning sickness would want lots of white bread and potatoes. They don't seem as nutritionally dense as dark leafy greens, but if you are constantly vomiting your body may have a chance to absorb some vitamins and sugar before you inevitably puke again.
These theories of mine are probably why I'm not teaching the healthy pregnancy class!
That afternoon was the birth center orientation. We learned a lot more about our midwives and the history of the birth center.
Something has happened.
I started telling people something I'm not proud of. I told my husband, my mother in law, and my midwife I'm dealing with anxiety.
And sometimes, it's getting in the way of what I want to do. I have always dealt with some amount of anxiety, and had success managing it. In pregnancy, managing anxiety is harder because it's so hard to eat and exercise like I used to. When my body suffers my mind suffers. It is a natural progression. My midwives had all sorts of resources and ideas for managing anxiety. For now I am finding a lot of relief in just being honest about my experience. I am also relieved to know I have a whole team of people to support me should I need it.
To be honest I have a very reasonable thing to freak out about. J-- got a job. They still have to do the paperwork, but it seems to be 'in the bag.' I am so happy he can begin work as a registered nurse. The stressful part is that during the first month or two J-- will have to commute almost 3 hours each way. With a commute that long he will not be able to come home every night. Then, once we've saved up just a little we will be moving to a place neither of us know many people. We're very optimistic about our moving. The area is so affordable I would be able to stay home with baby as long as I wanted, and we could rent a very nice house. Those are wonderful things, but transitions are hard. We're communicating about what we need from each other during this time, and putting up prayers that this will all turn out as it is meant to.
Just for reference this move doesn't mean we would be changing our birth center - I love them too much. Right now we commute almost 2 hours from the east to go there. It will be a challenge, but commuting about 2 1/2 hours from the north will be managing. I know, I know I won't live near my birth center, but I don't consider birth an emergency. If I have an emergency I will end up in the nearest ER regardless of our move.

Moral of the story, relax and stop playing with yourself - pervert!

2010-06-10T10:47:00.000-07:00

I called me midwife. She is nice as can be. I now have after hours phone numbers. Fabulous. This morning's horrific spotting incident seems to be stopping. The midwife answered all my questions, and then said I probably shouldn't examine my cervix until I'm much more at ease in my pregnancy. Essentially, I will have some very minor spotting because that is just my lot. Poking yourself in the cervix causes a different kind of spotting, because of all the blood flow happening in your baby making parts. So, if I get stressed about minor spotting I should phone her and put my feet up, NOT explore my nether regions. Any reasonable person would do this. I am not always instinctively reasonable.
My midwife is going through her first pregnancy, and she admitted that she put her hands in her bits a lot when she first got pregnant, and freaked herself out needlessly. Nice to know the professionals are not immune. It can be hard not be invested in and worried about your pregnancy.
They even invited me in to try to hear a heart beat on doppler, but I'm going to wait until Saturday. We have to be at the birth center for an orientation anyway.

About Henry

2010-06-10T09:59:00.000-07:00

I just have been hesitant to write about this, because it is complicated. I love blogs. I have a few I have been reading and following for years. In particular I love to read the stories of families in their day to day lives. One writer I have been following for some time lost her son. When you follow stories of people's lives tragic things can and do happen, but in this situation I felt so personally invested. In a strange way I have been aching for this mother and her family as they cope with the loss of their beloved Henry. I didn't know Henry, and admirably his mother works to protect the privacy of her family. Protecting the privacy of your family is a difficult task to balance when your are writing the story of your family. What I do know, is that like many people Henry struggled with substance abuse, and tragically he was taken violently from his family too young. I can't imagine the grief this family must be going through. I just want to urge people to visit the Mamapundit blog. Learn the story of Henry, and consider donating to his memorial fund.
The Henry Louis Granju Memorial Scholarship Fund
via administrator James Anderson
Morgan Stanley Smith Barney
2000 Meridian Blvd., Suite 290
Franklin, TN 37067.

This family will continue to be in my prayers, especially as they prepare for the birth of their fifth child.

The business of being me.

2010-06-10T06:59:00.001-07:00

This post has a lot of examining my cervix, and general freaking out. Don't read this if that isn't your cup of tea.
Before I got pregnant I was doing something called FAM or Fertility Awareness Method, with limited understanding. It's all about taking your temperature, checking your cervix, and looking at your cervical fluid daily to better understand your fertility. I'd read the books, and they often reminded me that my body was far more complex than I ever gave it credit for. Some people use FAM to prevent pregnancy while others use it to help achieve pregnancy.
Honestly, I have no idea what I was going for. Maybe I just like touching my own privates in the early A.M. Anyway, FAM has given me an appreciation for checking out my privates semi-regularly. Not in a sexy way. Just in a 'hey, how you doin' fashion.
Yesterday I had more very light brown spotting, which by far, is the most unnerving part of pregnancy. As previously discussed I have had spotting before, and I know it can be normal. 1/3 of pregnant women are said to have some spotting, and many go on to have normal pregnancies. Despite this, I take everything seriously. I get upset every time.
In response to this spotting I scrubbed my hands like I was about to do surgery and proceeded to poke myself in the cervix. Then I had the 'holy shit, does it always feel like that?' moment. So I proceeded to worry, and worry. I took some pills and went to bed.
This morning J-- has like three or four job interviews in another town. They would require us to relocate, but I'm fine with that. I said we could move to 'the sticks' if I can have chickens. He inviting me to come on the car trip.
So, today I got up early, and looked at myself in the privates (See: what on earth is my deal?) I had very small quantities of red spotting. Naturally, I just lost it. I just told J-- I couldn't come today, and wished him luck. I am fretting, and hating myself for not getting my midwife's after hours number.
Now, I'm just sitting around waiting for the midwife office to open, and generally losing my shit. I have no intention of going to ER again unless they absolutely insist. The spotting is very, very light, and I don't have cramps. And to be honest, the ER can offer little more than reassurance, and I don't want that variety of hand holding right now. I'm hoping they'll just tell me to stop touching my privates with the implication that I am a pervert, and maybe tell me to come in today. In my fantasy, they wave a make me not crazy anymore magic wand, and then let me hear baby's heart beat on the doppler. That would be cool.
I was freaking out last night. I generally operate in a series of worst case scenarios in my head. I plan for realistic awful things, and imagine how I would cope. I have lived this way for a very long time. Something tells me this is a sort of shitty way to deal, but honestly it is my baseline.
Like most people under the sun, I had a difficult childhood. I paid for a few compact cars worth of therapy, and now I have great boundaries and communication.
I still operate like the worst is about to happen.
I like to think about how this happened. How I came to be this way. In the formative years, I got let down a lot. I don't mean to say I didn't get a bicycle for Christmas. I mean grizzly things took place. Eventually I realized, blind hope and trusting everything would be okay was going to break my spirit. I'm a sensitive person. So when I entered a new situation I imagined plausible ways it might all go wrong, and I imagined how I could cope with even the worst. Admittedly, in my formative years the worst happened a surprising amount. Sometimes, something worse than I'd imagined took place and I was completely knocked on my ass. This helped me step up my game. I'm not fantastic - I don't prepare for earth quakes on the average workday. I just do what I need to do to get by. I don't think for a second I'm alone in living this way or excessively pessimistic. When I've developed a level of comfort with a given person or circumstance, the fears of the worst generally ease up until they all but go away. For example, I've accepted my marriage as a good and stable force in my life. I work on my marriage, like any married person should, but I don't worry about it's viability.
Still, sometimes worst case scenarios can leave me a wreck. College was new and foreign, and I spent a huge amount of energy almost disfunctionally stressed about the application and financial aide process. It was so much evaluation and bureaucracy, and I had to deal with some of the most callous people god has made. When I finally started classes I was on such high alert, that I genuinely put more than I had into school. I ended my first semester with a 4.0 - the president's honor roll, and I was published. I earned a completely unnecessary certificate.. seemingly for sport. Every day those worst case scenario voices were telling me that for all my efforts I would likely still meet failure and shame. Every time I felt that way, I just pushed myself harder. My academic accomplishments were sort of grand, but I cried often and gained approximately 30-40 pounds over six months. A few semesters later I was completely exhausted. I had just gotten married, and gone on a vacation in the first part of semester. I only earned a 3.8 GPA. I knew I could do better, but the experience was surprisingly manageable. I didn't have to be perfect. Very good was good enough. This semester I had a little less on my plate (maybe) and I earned another 4.0 GPA. This time I didn't have to. I'd lost weight, and I had time for my hobbies.
Pregnancy, like my first semester is new and rather terrifying.Those worst case scenario voices keep saying, 'this is all going to end in tears.' I know this is a protective mechanism. A pathetic device that seems to hope if I don't feel relaxed in my pregnancy I won't be crushed if it ends in a miscarriage.
I'm a bit scared right now, and if it does all end sadly I imagine I'd be crushed either way. Unfortunately, I can't change the way I operate over night just because it suits me. These mechanisms served a purpose. They preserved my hope and desire to live in truly challenging times.
Now, I have nothing to do, but put my feet up and pray about it. In recent years, something rose up to meet the fear. It wouldn't quiet the fear, but it was there too. I was praying. Not to a specific God. Sometimes I wasn't even praying for a specific idea. I'm just inviting in hope. I'm just praying that I am going to weather the storm, and my life will have been good. That I won't feel a sense of unfinished as I die. Morbid, but true. Today, I'm praying that this pregnancy is viable. I'm also praying for peace in the coming weeks and months. I know that not every prayer can come true, but now I'm strong enough to invite in hope, even with the knowledge that things sometimes end very badly. I once read a touching article about a drastic surgery. I wish I could remember the name. I wish I could remember what the surgery was for. All I can remember is the surgeon being quoted as saying, "You pray to your God, and I'll pray to mine." Even when our God, our fears, our hopes are different we can be together in this experience. I feel alone right now, but I know that this fear isn't something I'm doing by myself. No one gets an easy life. We all have our own struggles. We are all scared of something, and trying to understand how to cope. We are all, as subtle as it may seem trying to be the best people we can in the very short time we are awarded on this planet.
"Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you've got to be kind."
God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater by Kurt Vonnegut
Be kind, be good.

To my own baby,
Science goes so far, but it often comes down to the patient's will to live. For you and me, at this stage nothing can be done. Do your best tiny patient. We are already so thrilled about the very concept of your life.
Love you,
Your Mother

My sanity- cheaper and easier than expected.

2010-06-08T19:17:00.000-07:00

I've been irate lately. I wake up angry. If you get to sleep after 2 p.m. and still wake up angry - you have some nerve. Apparently, I have nerve. Getting angry about people disturbing your sleep at 3 a.m. - Normal. Getting angry about people disturbing your sleep at 3 p.m. - Weird. This tiny baby takes all my energy, and makes no apologies. I can sleep 12 hours, and be exhausted. I've tried sleeping less, but I just fall asleep sitting up. This sort of bizarre exhaustion makes me feel like a tiny dinosaur -stomping around, freaking out, wishing I could shoot lasers from my eyes. Lord, I miss my old self - I hope I can find her soon. Happily, Zofran is keeping my nausea under control. Now I battle ... myself under the influence of rootless cranky and endless exhausted. I'm kind of like a toddler in a grocery store just losing it in the checkout line, and you just look at her parent with a mixture of pity and disgust. I'm like that from the moment I wake up. I'm playing the role of the toddler, helpless parent, and disturbed bystander.
Things got a lot better over the last two days. I dyed my hair. I sincerely hope I have not poisoned the baby. I had an inch and a half of pale blond roots on my greasy black hair, and it looked like something the cat drug in. I feel so much more presentable for haven marinated my scalp in chemicals. Glamorous even.
Then today, I finally went to the thrift store. In terms of thrift stores, some are great, some are cheap, some are hip, some are organized. It is hard to find all those things in one place. J-- was nice enough to drive me almost 45 minutes to get to the most affordable/organized/large place I could think of. I am so glad we went. I have pajamas, loose tops, dresses with room for belly, and jeans with an elastic waist. Lord, I never thought I would be so excited about pants with an elastic waist, but they are so comfy. Pajamas were an absolute must.
Confession: I have been wearing the same husky XL "Nurses provide Compassion and Care" tshirt for a week. Sometimes with enormous red satin clown pajama pants. The shirt has a lot of different colored gatorade stains now. It is pretty darn sad. I'll be mighty glad to wear some pajamas that say, "I'm comfy, but don't call the mental health crisis line. I'm Okay." My old getup was just begging for a mental health intervention. Hopefully that is behind me now - for a few months at least.

Be careful with your pajamas they may make you sad and lonely - waiting for the phone to ring. But hey! That is an exciting Tea Cozy!

Leaving the house experiment

2010-06-05T21:34:00.000-07:00

Today I went on a day trip. This is big news, Zofran rather works. I can do things. Mother-in-law suggested a trip to a national park. It's got redwoods bigger than a van. It's got a beach. It's got a creek. I was shit terrified I was going to get horrifically sick, and ruin everyone's fun. Happily, I didn't do that. I just went and had an okay time.

J-- and I went off by ourselves. We went on the 'creek trail' I've been to these woods a lot, and I said, "We can we along this, and it all loops back." We walk, and walk, and walk. J-- hums the Deliverance song, and then whistles various Winny The Poo songs. I was getting the hint. This trail did not loop. We walked up quite a hill before I was forced to admit that continuing on would mean sleeping unprotected in the woods with nothing to eat but lemondrops. I admitted my own failings, and we turn around. Nothing eventful happened after this. I took more Zofran in the car, and did not vomit.

I don't want to elaborate too much, but I think I have discovered those pregnant lady mood swings. I really pride myself on being emotionally stable. Needless to say, I loathe being at the mercy of my emotions. I want to hibernate until I can compose myself and be polite.

One of the last few things my bloated little belly would fit into has gone missing, and I lack the energy to go buy pregnant lady clothes.

I hope I can figure this out, because "fat", naked, and emotional is no way to be.

One day at a time.. sort of.

2010-06-04T23:57:00.000-07:00

Zofran is not a magic bullet. But it really does seem to take 'the edge off' and I'm thrilled. I also found my new favorite thing. Gatorade is the nectar of the Gods apparently. I had no idea how great this stuff was. I bought every flavor (except blue, which is scary) and hid it in my closet. I am not a good sharer.

I woke up with a stomach ache, and had to notice the drug's limitations. It is for nausea, not anything else. Still eating food is thrilling.

My new favorite foods are protein bars and mini pizza bagels. Weird, but very satisfying. Yesterday was my first day in over a month where I definitely ate near 2000 calories. A sure success.

More unisome and sleeping on my face adventures. I need to prop myself up before I drug myself in the future.

The point is, it seems to be getting more manageable. One day at a time works really well, but the days are starting to blend together.

The two pound freak out.

2010-06-03T20:46:00.000-07:00

This post in admittedly a big pity party, please feel free to skip this one.

Today I woke up with a searing face ache. I'd been told to try unisom before bed to relieve night time 'morning sickness'. It worked so well that I slept on my face all night in the same position, and got horribly congested. I got up around nine this morning thoroughly angry at my face-ache-head-ache situation. I started the shower, and stepped on the scale.

I've lost another 2 pounds. Bringing my total pregnancy weight loss to 17+ pounds. Generally, I have been able to take things in stride. I worry, I bitch, I get over it. I didn't do that today. I sat in the shower and had a good hard cry.

I weigh thirty pounds less than the day I got married. I weigh approximately the same amount I did when I met my now husband over three years ago. I don't know when this morning sickness, or weight loss will stop. I feel powerless and frightened. Sometimes I just feel unfit. I wonder if I couldn't just use a positive attitude and determination to manage this 'morning sickness'. I always fail to positive-think my morning sickness away, and I often feel like a failure that I can't.

It is so hard to be a reasonable, sane adult as I deal with this. It is so hard to be a compassionate partner to my wonderful husband.

God, give me strength. Today J-- picked up my generic zofran. I'm trying not to get too excited. This drug might not be the magic bullet that makes everything all better, but I would be so thrilled if it took the edge off. I took my first dose this afternoon, and slept the entire day. I woke up begging J-- to get me 'cold, red gatorade' and because he is a saint, he did.

Feeling slightly better by late evening I woke up, and put an entire batch of bagel bites in the oven. My well meaning mother in law tried to ply me with a sweet potato. I can't feel guilty about the absolute crap I consume at this point. I eat what sounds like it won't make me throw up, and I'm thrilled when my cravings are high calorie. I need calories. Lots.

I'm so grateful for my husband, my midwife team, and the state of california who is paying for my medication. California, I'll make it up to you. J-- I love you so much.

It's all going to be okay.

2010-06-02T21:41:00.001-07:00

My midwife team, entourage really, has two hour appointments. We talked so much that I felt like you do when you leave a party and realize you drank 1/2 glass of wine too much and bore the person seated at the table next to you for hours. Just like that, except I won't be too embarrassed to call and insist we do this again soon. It's perfect, and strange, and just what we wished for. Joe loves them too.

I looked at the thrift store, but nothing was decent. Sometimes you lose at thrifting. No worries. I'll just resign myself to yoga pants until I find better accommodations.

It was all so perfect that I have nearly forgiven the universe for the hour and a half of stop and go traffic; where I threw up much bile into a plastic cup much to the horror of my own modesty and neighboring drivers. It was a long, sad drive home.

I now have a zophran prescription and some ideas on how to get help paying for this supposedly $500 a month medication. I'm also desperate, outside of that crackers in bed, ginger.. thing ...What helped your 'morning' sickness? Or let's be real, what helped your hyperemisis?

life right now.

2010-06-02T01:22:00.000-07:00

Continue to file these journals under 'pregnancy is harder than I thought.'

I am already looking very pregnant. I have this awesome belly, that you would be wrong wrong wrong to call 'bloat'. This belly is alarming for a few reasons. First, today marks eight weeks and 4 days of pregnancy. Sure, my uterus has grown. (Did anyone actually want to know that? Too bad!) From the size of a small pear to a grapefruit I am told. Our baby, is the size of a large kidney bean. In about three days, baby may be the size of a grape. Given these tiny fruit equations, I feel I shouldn't look so large. Also, I shouldn't look so tummylicous, because morning sickness in it's earth rocking power has robbed me of over fifteen pounds. I am now 150 pounds, my arms and legs look stick like. My belly (and breasts) have their own solar system it seems. I am now taking a drug called Reglan for morning sickness. I have no idea how it works, only that this drug supposedly won't give baby two heads. Also, I don't vomit nearly as much bile. Thank you modern medicine! I'll try to ignore the side effects which seem to include sleeping 18-20 hours a day and feeling too tired to get up and pee, oh and weird dreams! Perhaps that is just a pregnancy symptom that has nothing to do with Reglan, but I doubt it.

While I'd like to say life is hard, and some days I feel very challenged, I know our life is good. We have this baby, each other, extended family that don't mentally unhinge us, a great cat, food and shelter.
Also, I've taken the summer off of school. I was too damn tired, and I knew I would fail. I'd rather skip a semester than get bad grades. I'm just like that. When I'm not too tired to get up and pee I do all sorts of luxurious things. I am catching up on my netflix que. I have a gamefly account, and boy do I love our Wii game system. I spend a lot of time reading murder mysteries. I also spend a lot of time on one of my guilty pleasures. I like to knit and crochet things for baby. I'd like to try sewing some cloth diapers - they are so practical and thrifty! In terms of sewing skills I am probably a 4/10. Crafty enough to fix a hem, but by no sense a stuff maker. I want to make these diapers though. I just need to find someone to loan me a sewing machine. At the moment I'm crocheting up an adorable diaper cover, if I had a head for business I'd be rich. These things sell for almost $20 a piece. LORDY! They only take minutes to make. If only I was this clever at sewing.

Tomorrow I am going to do a bad mom thing. I'm having a cup of black tea, and just praying I don't break the baby. I haven't had caffiene in over a month, and lord I miss a real cup of tea. Besides, tomorrow is special. We have our first appointment with the midwife.

Yes, I said the midwife. My husband is a nurse. My mother is a nurse. My family is quite mainstream medical. I'm quite crunchy in my leanings, and our visits to the ER reminded me something I knew on a very deep level.

Having babies, for a lot of folks is a very natural thing. For me, doctor's offices where my husband is treated like an idiot infiltrating a girl's only slumber party, and my well researched choices are openly mocked are a worst case scenario.

We had one visit in a traditional clinic where a social worker who didn't even introduce herself kicked my husband out of the room, because it was policy. Then she proceeded to try to bully me into having an Amniocentesis, AND a CVS test. Despite the fact I'm only 24, healthy, with no genetic risk, and wouldn't terminate. They pushed, pushed, pushed, and treated me like an idiot for saying "No." Those tests are not very accurate, I wouldn't terminate, and I'm not high risk by anyone's standards. God willing, we'll never go to a place like that again.

I only say this to express that I am so grateful for our birth center and midwifes who respect my husband and our choices. It wouldn't be the right choice for everyone, but we're excited that the option exists for us.

If I'm feeling well enough, the birth center is walking distance to one of my favorite thrift stores. And I do need more belly accommodating clothing.

It shouldn't surprise you.

2010-05-28T22:00:00.001-07:00

I'm pregnant. I was on and on and on about wanting a baby. I really felt I had some pressure to go forth and make children. I have a suspected diagnosis of endometriosis which for many, including my sister, can lead to premature infertility. That apparently hasn't happened to us. We are feeling overwhelmed, and grateful. Telling my sister, that I am having a baby when she can't was one of the hardest things I've ever done.

When I thought I wanted children I always pictured myself nuzzling newborns. Somehow, I thought storks would bring my babies. Maybe, I had already gotten okay with the idea of adoption on some level. I had no idea pregnancy would be so hard. Like satirical media, I feel like the first person to have ever been pregnant. Every strange thing my body does, feels worthy of a media alert.

My body has been doing the same basic things for almost twenty-five years. Suddenly, I am sharing my body with a very tiny, very demanding person. Over the course of two weeks I threw up so much that I lost twelve pounds. The sickness only let up in the slightest when I would cry myself to sleep. It was a very sad picture, indeed.

Then, horror of horrors I started spotting. In my mind bleeding, even the teeniest, tiniest, leetle bit is not a pregnancy thing. I soon learned that 1/3rd of women will experience spotting in their pregnancy, and many will go on to have perfectly healthy children. This did not stop me from going to the ER -twice. Stupid, expensive, rookie mom move. The ER is a great place if you are in grave danger, or break your foot by dropping a bean can onto it. Scared, spotting, new mom-to-be stay the hell away. Granted, plenty of techs, RNS, Doctors, and staff were wonderful and very reassuring. I am so grateful for them. Any one who was not roses and sunshine to me left me completely convinced that I did not have a viable pregnancy. If you want nice people to put faith in your baby's will to live go to church, the many people in my ER have seen the worst and it shows on their face. They diagnosed me as having a threatened miscarriage. That doesn't fit with my symptoms, but it is faster to file people's experiences under something close instead of something accurate. On our second scary trip to the ER my wonderful ultrasound tech went very slowly, and found a very healthy heartbeat.

The chance of losing a baby after finding a heartbeat, even with minor spotting, is very very small. I'm still scared, but now I am finding the faith.

Finishing this last semester of school was really hard. I was very exhausted and sick. Most of all, it is hard for me to understand how much my life is changing when the baby isn't even here yet. I now have to decide if I can manage summer semester with that earth shaking exhaustion and morning sickness. Then I have to make changes to my plans for fall. A long commute and my most challenges classes left to transfer will have to wait. I would be 37 1/2 weeks pregnant during Statistics, English, Geology, and Communication finals. That seems like a terrible idea. I'd planned to come back in the spring to take a few more electives so I could transfer as a junior. Now it seems I'll take my easy-peasy electives in the fall, take spring off to spend time with baby, and spend summer and fall of next year doing Statistics, English, Geology, and Communication.

J-- passed his RN exam, and is looking for work. Keep us in your prayers. I'm so proud of him.

Things are already changing so much. It's pretty scary, but also sort of amazing.

On being human

2010-04-28T00:41:00.000-07:00

Dear Journal,

Sometimes I wish badly that I could rant about what is going on, but I have a rule. I don't share things that arn't mine to share, and I don't write things that I imagine could hurt people.
It is unfortunate that I should limit myself in what I write, but my writing and any cathartic experience that may come of it is not worth hurting people.
And sometimes it's hard to live in line with my own values, but I keep finding it worth while.
Tonight, I'll go to bed next to my husband and the complicated world I live in will recede.
I will get up and continue to try to find the goodness and love people. This morning I woke myself up with my laughing because I was having a very nonsensical funny dream. I think that's wonderful. I've been having nightmares for years. I'm only now, for the first time in my life experiencing the beauty, humor, and fantasy of dreams. I really think this says something good about how I'm doing. This minutiae of my days be damned, because I am going to be okay.
I've been eating a lot of salad lately. I have this sort of stupid goal to eat a salad every day of the summer. I started doing this a few weeks ago, and instead of getting sick of it, I'm eating even more salads and loving it. My favorite is spinach, marinated mozzarella, carrot, tomato, parsley, and balsamic vinegar. It's amazing, and when the 'wet' things are sorted out it travels really well. I'm also enjoying spring mix, avocado, tomato, crouton, carrot, and Annie's Italian dressing. I think as long as I keep mixing up the recipes it should be a success. The weird part is I have to grocery shop every two days or so to get fresh veg. The cool part is I lost weight without trying and I feel awesome. I am at my lightest weight in years and the salad every day thing might now be sustainable, but I'm enjoying it anyway.

Published.

2010-04-26T19:34:00.000-07:00

It's a nice idea to keep your address updated at your college. In the last month my school has sent me two letters, and no, they're not bills. The first was to inform me that I had made the President's Honor Roll again, and the school would like to recognize my excellent grades. Thanks, I appreciate that! Today I found out an essay I submitted ages ago is being published in a youth voices yearly. Published, like where they send me a check and a copy of the (softcover) book. It's not really a big deal, but it nice to no know the powers that be see value in what I write.
At this moment I have a rather nasty cold and a few end of semester deadlines looming. Apparently the powers that be expect me to continue earning those grades and award ceremonies.
Ah, crikey. I never saw myself as a writer, but just as a person who can't help but write. The difference is not semantics. I'm just a geek with a lot to say, and if anyone is still reading this blog .. Thank you.

The Cat

2010-04-18T16:18:00.000-07:00

My husband and I have a cat. She is about a year and a half, and smallish with long sooty colored gray fur. We adopted her just months after we were engaged. We talked excitedly for months about the cat we would get, and when we felt we could afford it we went to our local shelter. My husband wanted a white kitten. I wanted a cat of stable temperament regardless of age or appearance. We settled on a small, slighty scruffy gray kitten approximately three months old. She would hiss and cower when anyone came near hear. The shelter volunteer took her into a "meet and greet" room so my husband and I could get to know her. "She is perfect," he announced and left us together in the room to fill out the adoption paper work. She cowered miserably under the bench, and hissed when I approached. I tried to entice her with a string on a stick. Cautiously she stalked the string. I begged the gods of cats, "Please don't let her be a miserable cat that only hides under the bed". Then a woman with puffy, bleached, blond hair and pinched, pulled, overly tanned skin knocked on the glass.
"Hellloooooooo, Helllloooo, that cat is darling. If you don't want her .. She's mine!" She said.
"No, She's mine." I answered. It was amazing how quickly I had moved from doubtful and reserved to fierce, protective, mama-love. I looked into her tiny, green, cat eyes and promised her telepathically I would look after her.
We named her Chichi, which is Spanish for something like "nipple" or "boobie". I fought my husband on this name, suggesting we name her something a little classier. He reminded me of Chichi Rodriguez a world famous golfer who started his own inner city youth foundation.
"Fine, Chichi cat. Can we call you that?" She howled miserably from her carrier in the back seat of the car.
Chichi was not a hide under the bed cat. We were broke college students, and we could afford a bed frame. Our second hand mattress and box springs sat on the floor. Chichi responded to our lack of a bed to hide under with uncanny resourcefulness. She hid behind the nightstand, in our closets, and behind the couch.
Unfortunately for Chichi and her plans to be an under the bed cat -she was entirely too cute. We couldn't help but seek her out. My husband and I would crouch by the night stand or learn over the back of the couch and scratch under her chin. He would tempt her out of her hiding places with toys and tiny cans of stinky gourmet cat food. Life went on this way for months.
Slowly, slowly, she began to explore the tiny universe of our "Studio plus" apartment. She made use of the entirely too expensive cat climbing thing I bought her.
Cautiously, Chichi was coming out of her shell. She would amaze us with her hilarious sideways army crawls across the carpet. She would baffle our friends as she would challenge her reflection to a fight in the sliding glass door.
By summer my husband and I had standard cat complaints. She sat on the keyboard, she ate the cream cheese off our bagels in the morning, and she took disgusting, human sized poos.
She started sleeping with us at night. Days before our wedding she bit me in my sleep. She took a bloody chunk out of my left hand. Wedding photos had to be adjusted to cover my nasty, scabbed hand.
I recently learned that I kick in my sleep. I apparently kick hard enough to send a seven pound cat flying and possibly bruise a few ribs. I now understand why I have been woken up with cat teeth in my flesh. Sometimes the world seems random, unbalanced and cruel; when it seems like this try to accept that you may not be working with all the answers. Your cat may be biting you because you're kicking her. Now, take that advice on a massive scale and allow it be blow your mind wide open - I did.
Last night my cat laid on my chest with her tiny furry paws wrapped around my neck. Her furry cheek was pushed into my fleshy cheek for hours. When I focus on any aspect of natural life for very long I can't help but feel amazed.
The cat is just like me. Abandoned when she was young, and then fearful. Later her natural responses to stressful situations where completely misunderstood by even the people who loved her most. Despite all this the heart wants to love. Even through abuse, abandonment, struggles and finally acceptance the heart is willing to try. The heart is the ultimate optimist, and deep down it never gives up on love.

My Husband and Chichi. My favorite 'people.'

real life now

2010-04-18T00:49:00.000-07:00

The semester is finally wrapping up. Like my Biology teacher keeps saying, the big thing in the middle is often the nucleus and lately, THE SECOND LAW OF THERMODYNAMICS, things generally roll down hill. What no one really talks about, is this, it can take a surprising amount of energy to get something to roll down a hill. In this case, as usual the semester is rubbing me down a hill, and I see again and again the mistakes I have made. I have schemed and schemed, and now I have built a plan. A busy summer semester followed by a busy fall semester, and a near optional spring semester where I take just a few more child development classes to round things out.
The point is, I'm almost done with undergrad school. I have nearly taken all I can from community college. Next, I have to decide if I am interested in the multi-thousand dollar investment that is a sophmore and senior year at a proper state school. I AM SCARED TO DEATH. Will it be a fantastic waste to go? Will I regret it if I don't? Do I just want to work, and start my family? Is this just a way to postpone this great decision?
For as much as I have whined, bitched, and occasionally hated college it is the first thing I have ever been good at. As a child I never did well in school, and as a young adult I had only moderate success at entry level jobs. In community college I have excelled in a noticable way. I have recieved the president's honor roll four times and counting. My GPA is above 3.8. When I leave community college, will I ever be so good at something again? I like to hope that my greatest accomplishments are not already behind me, but as I wrap up my last semesters I can't imagine what is next. The phrases I could insert here are cliche and call my future an abyss, an open canvas, a question mark even. None of these ideas or phrases do my experience any justice.
I am the first member of my birth family to ever go to college. I don't talk to my birth family much anymore. I think that generally, they are good people at heart and struggling people in reality. So struggling, in fact, that is would be very hard to know most of them in their day to day. But my family is my root, like it or not they are my people and they are where I come from. I feel no epic sense of responsibility to my family in my education. They have not supported my schooling emotionally or financially. Still, I feel ill at ease to know I am the first of any known member of my family to attempt higher education. I don't have a role model, and on my level I am asking, are my genes the college sort?
Next week I have my first pre-interview. I wrote a resume outlining all of my pre-employment experience and education. They called right away and inviting me to "come tour the facilities". This will be an opportunity for me and my prospective employer to smell one another out, and perhaps if we match schedule an interview. When I think about this I manage to feel a variety of conflicting emotions that suggest I am calm, distanced, jittery, and unsure of what to wear.
Of course I am freaked out. A real job, a job with a title. A real job that requires a college education. A place where I am a teacher and a leader. This job would be the chance to start a life I never imagined I could actually have. Whether it's this job or another opportunity shortly down the line, very soon I will be living a life I never even dared to dream of. I can also say with a sad certainty that my parents, didn't hope for much for me from they day I was born. They simply hoped I would stay out of trouble, not cost too much, and be thankful for what I got.
I have come so far I hardly know how to operate in the day to day, and now I am exploring a life far beyond my imagination. A life I thought was for other people; born into different situations, with different parents, in far away neighborhoods, for people with inborn talent. Somehow this life is mine, and not all by chance, but because I have earned it.
I grew up around get rich quick, and that's where they get you sort of people. People who were always trying to take short cuts, and people who thought the world was out to trick and short-change them. I have become a self-made millionare of the heart and mind. Because I learned that almost all cliches are true. Especially when my second grade teacher told my mother, "The sky is the limit for your daughter, you just have to let her try."
So, where do I go from here?

Somebody's Baby

2010-03-27T19:59:00.000-07:00

I want a baby. Some days it seems I want to have a child for myself, because it's what I want. I feel I understand the selflessness that raising a child requires, but I imagine this is something you won't really know until you experience it.
When I was in a darker part of my life I thought about death a lot. I didn't think about suicide much. I just felt unnerved by the permanence of death. I was experiencing loss, and I began to understand my own mortality. Death wasn't for other people, or other families. Death was going to happen to everyone - it was just a matter of when and how. I felt so small and helpless. I would find myself staring into crowds of people, trying to accept our shared fate.
Now, I'm more okay. Accepting my own mortality was just part of growing up. Now when I look into crowds I don't think so much about our end. I think about the beginning. There was a time when every one of us was somebody's baby.
The choices we make as parents may impact our families for generations. It's terrifying to think of, but it is also sort of amazing.

that desperate look.

2010-03-21T16:04:00.000-07:00

Some days I wake up sad. It is frustrating. I have my husband, my health, a great education, but a longing gnaws at me like a dog. I considered having a party. One half dozen donuts - party of one. Thankfully, I dragged myself into the kitchen had a bagel and we went to the Concord flea market. I'm a late riser, so things were winding down when we got there, but I still say I scored pretty hard. For just $10 I got white oversized sunglasses with brown/nude lenses, a new MAC eyeshadow set, and some neon yellow nail polish. The folks at fabulous on a budget would certainly approve. I am especially excited about the MAC eyeshadow which normally costs $50 for a four pack. It was probably a mistake not to stock up on thrifty MAC, but I just don't go through cosmetics fast enough. Then something sort of dreary happened. A funny man a jokester type locked eyes with me held up a baby onesie and shouted "You two look about ready to have a baby." Oh sir, if only that were true. I laughed and blushed like you might expect, and died just a little bit inside. I must give off the scent off desperation lately. What a grim thought.

Finally.

2010-03-20T23:18:00.000-07:00

I finally got my first of many student loan checks on Wednesday. It was pretty glorious. I now have pants with asses. The inner thighs had been worn out of most of my jeans, and I was starting to worry I'd get arrested for exposing myself sexually. I'm so glad that is behind me. I was happy to find I've dropped 1-2 pants/dress sizes aswell. The scale is stubborn as hell, but things are changing. Perhaps, I am doing that 'muscle is heavier than fat thing'. Though part of me thinks that theory is just a myth someone concocted to make me feel better about stalemated weight loss. Still, the pants don't lie. Infact, I can now buy a larger selection of jeans and dresses at forever 21. I have to admit, part of my weight loss goals were inspired by their cute and cheap clothes. I am now the giddy owner of some very flattering $7 yoga capri pants.
I have also gone on a number of cute dates with my husband. I feel very lucky. Wednesday we bargain shopped until our feet were raw. Then we had dinner in a swanky San Francisco roof top place. I'm so glad J-- likes to shop. Thursday we saw Alice in wonderful in 3D. We rubbed elbows with the fancy folks of Walnut Creek. We had cocktails in the same room as a number of young, rich, powerful people. It feel like an elaborate rouse. A fun one. Then Friday after school we celebrated my great biology exam. (I got 101 pts. out of 100. Sweet!) We went to one of my favorite east bay gay bars. I wore my pink metallic leggings with nikes. I always wonder what people must think of J-- and I there, but everyone is nice enough, the drinks are good, and the dance music is incredible.
Spring is coming in like a mack truck. Today J-- and I bought food for a family bbq. We made kabobs and peppermint iced tea. We ate dinner with my mother in law's partner on the patio. We had a big fat pineapple. Daffodils graced the table. I ate one of my favorite spring side dishes - chard sauteed very briefly in a bit of real butter served with lemon.
The day wore on in a flat sort of way. Another agonizingly long two weeks of school until spring break. Baby lust (wanting to have a baby, this is.) lingers around the edges of my awareness. It makes me a bit sad. I try to focus on the good things about being babyfree for now. Time to focus on just being married. More attention for school. Ability to enjoy cocktails, sushi, and unpasteurized foods. Still, some days I feel annoyed and positivity is harder to hang onto. I to the gym and hot tubs with J--. Nothing was magically better, but I was able to buy a little patience. Tomorrow I may do another timed 5k. Don't read into that one too much.

Life -- Am I doing it right?

2010-03-16T21:55:00.000-07:00

Tuesdays are God-Awful. Every school semester I manage to ruin one day of the week. The day I have too many classes, with a long commute, a questionable instructor - you get the idea. By accident or necessity I build a relatively manageable schedule with one totally shit day. Blessed Tuesday this semester I crawl out of bed around 10 a.m. hurry to catch a train, sit on said train for 1.45 hours, Sit through a four hour creative writing class, eat a quick lunch, take another 25 minute train, take 45 minute crowded bus, take child development class 'including children with special needs', get picked up by husband... TRY NOT TO FREAK OUT AND THROW THINGS.. Yes, that is an important step.
By Tuesday evening I am wracked with anxiety. That is if everything goes well. Assignment deadlines and exams make this equation oh so dreary.
Today was marginally better than some Tuesdays. Creative writing. So many terribly accomplished writers - most of which at least twenty years my senior. The young ones all quiet prodigies. And me, trying to figure out where the damn comma goes. I got my first assignment back. An A- I don't know if I deserve that, but I want a 4.0 so, this lines up with my goals..
I got a cryptic message from financial aide. A check is waiting for me, but 'it has a hold, and I should visit financial aide to clear this hold.' I will go in to school tomorrow, but who knows if the office will be open, or if I will have arrived with anything they need. If it goes well I should have one of my grant checks just in time for St. Patrick's day. Wouldn't that be lucky? (I'm also dying inside. Yes, that was a bad joke.)
So, tonight, sitting in a sandwich shop with my husband I started to wonder out loud "If I HATE one day every week am I studying the right thing?" (Yes.) "Am I getting life right though?"
We don't know. Some days I do things I hate because I think it will serve me.
I want a degree. I hate earning some of my generally education credits. I think I want to work in this field, but most days I just want to be someone's mother. Then I know in my heart the best mother I could be would contribute to her home with a job she (generally) enjoyed and pursue her own hobbies.
I have always wanted children very much. I was the sort of child that definitely wanted to be the mother. Getting married to a wonderful man may have made this a bit worse. Rational or no - I'd really like to start a family. And for this reason I get irrationally annoyed with people who ask us if/when/how we'd like to start a family. J-- had a graduation party on Saturday. No less than five comments ranging from sweet to rude/obscene were made. Someone even asked when I was expecting 'the baby.' I'm not entirely sure where she got the idea I was pregnant. Just a bit of advice, don't ask a lady about 'her pregnancy' until she is about 9 months along and maybe not even then. I went home and had a cry about it. Sure, I want a baby, but I don't want to look pregnant when I'm not. I'm what they call 'clucky' and I don't want to chat openly about it.

Black Magic

2010-03-15T01:05:00.000-07:00

My hair grows in flaxen blond. As blond as one might have hair grow in naturally. My eyebrows grow in dark and thick and sooty. I can't imagine how these features got together, but they did. I looked abit like an Olsen twin without the millions of dollars, thinness, or matching sister. I don't care for it much at all. As soon as I was old enough to earn my own money I began buying hair dye. As a wild and crazy young teen I tried every hair color under the sun. I was fantastically punky with my quick fading oranges, reds, pinks, yellows, blues, violets, and greens. Occasionally employment required a subtler hair color, but I was always towing the line wearing the most obscene reds, two tones, and cuts. It wasn't until I met my husband that I found something right. My hair was tired, and I was growing tired of the maintenance these colors required. I had cut it short and I was growing in something that looked like my natural color. He casually recommended coloring my hair black to compliment my dark brows and pale skin. I countered, "Once you go black there is no undoing it." One of the only ways to remove black dye is to remove one's hair. He insisted. This was a nice idea. It would look fabulous. I thought, "why not?" From where I was it couldn't get worse, and I could always shave it all off again. So off I went to my drug store and bought a black dye. It was love at first rinse. Black hair just looked so right. I felt sexy, I felt fun, I felt natural. Somehow, with my hair dyed black I felt more natural than I ever had with pale blond hair.
At times the every 3 week hair dye sessions were inconvenient. Worse still were the conversations about my hair when I was a little overdue to color it. "You dye your blond hair BLACK?" They would ask. They didn't need to finish that suggestion. They obviously thought I was nuts. Who, 'blessed' with blond hair would go and make it black? Me, that's who. Blond in my opinion is not superior. It is just an option. My love affair with that black bottle dye began almost three years ago, and my eyes never wander anymore. I have one hair color for me and it is nice and dark. Blue black, Natural Black, Midnight Black. I don't care.. It is all black.
Like any fine romance black dye and I ran into problems. In the beginning of this year I stopped talking hormonal birth control after almost ten years. My hormones naturally shifted and I developed an allergy to hair dye. Every dye job left me with a miserable, itchy scalp. I took benadryl by the handful and tried to pretend this wasn't happening. But eventually, I could no longer deny what was happening. Something I loved wasn't good for me. I had no idea what to do. My roots were getting steadily longer and I was sad. I went in for a trim and it went deeply and horribly wrong. She took inches instead of a quarter inch and gave my layers a decidedly Sarah Palin look. I am not normally upset by bad haircuts, but truly I was saddened by this hairstylist abuse of control. I was helpless in her hair and she took advantage. We argued, but that wasn't getting my hair back onto my head - so I left. My mother in law - bless her - seeing my impending meltdown took me to a local stylist. She had never been there, but we both decided ANYTHING would be better than this haircut. The woman, Mary, was a gem. She trimmed and shaped my awful haircut into something punky, fun, and cute. Something that didn't say, "I want power, and to kill some deer!" My new haircut channeled eighties glamazons like Cyndie Lauper, and Joan Jett. It was fierce. It was poppy. My new stylist Mary mentioned my roots. For some reason it didn't bother me. I admitted, "Yes, I seem to be allergic to my hairdye."
"This happens when your hormones change." She said.
"I don't know what I'll do." I replied and worried my lip with my teeth.
She told me all about Japan. A place where a team of geniuses had engineered a permanent hair color strong enough to make blond black permanently and free of ammonia. I bought a box, but I was wary of becoming too excited. This could all end in tears I reminded myself. The box wasn't flashy. It was an ugly sort of orange. The product name was weird and drab, "#59 Oriental Black" Weird. I was used to flashy packaging with beautiful, shiny haired women. The brand name was decidedly unflashy aswell. Could Bigen products really help me? Inside the box was a small glass jar of powder and a measuring cup. Over-sized plastic gloves were also included with instructions in no less than six languages. I was to mix the powder with tap water in my own bowl and apply. "What is the worst that could happen?" I asked my reflection.
My reflection was decidedly wary. I saw visions of color gone wrong, of a shaved head. I gave a shiver and tried anyway. I had to. Blond was not an option. The mixture smelled lovely. Soft and perfumey. Not at all like ammonia. Slowly I brushed the brownish paste through my hair - permanently staining my hairbrush in the process. I waited hopeful and nervous. The result was altogether ordinary. It was black hair root to tip. I was elated. I didn't itch. I had answer, and my romance with dark hair was back on track. What do they say? Ah yes, once you go black you never go back. So true.

run girl, work them hips.

2010-03-14T18:02:00.000-07:00

I ran my first timed 5k today. It was pretty neat. My time comes in a bit slower than people with back injuries and artificial hips at 51 minutes. Running isn't all about time. Running isn't about who you're behind or even who you're with. It is who you are - Stronger for the challenges you face, and willing to try.
I really wanted to try something I hadn't done, but I didn't push myself as hard as I theoretically could have. Actually, I just needed a run.

Not getting what you want.. part II

2010-03-08T11:49:00.001-08:00

(This story began here, but had to be let go of for the evening when exhaustion set in like a mac truck. )
In just weeks I was running half marathons. No actually, that didn't happen, but eventually I reached a place where I could go into a real live gym and know if my heart that I was allowed to be there. Yes, I was abit overweight. Yes, I wheezed walked up more than a few flights of stairs. But something inside me was shifting. Something fierce and mama bear like was growing. I was just as entitled to be healthy as anyone else.
Running offered a reprieve that drugs or alcohol never came close to. I had found a stop button for my constant inner chatter. The 'what if' could wait. It would have to. All I could concentrate on was my burning muscles, aching bones, and ragged breath. I would have to concentrate actively on my breathing or I'd find myself halfheartedly holding my breathe and becoming more nauseous by the moment.
Now, running is not such an epic mind over matter issue, but it is still consuming. I no longer need to remind myself to breath, but as a young runner I am constantly working on my form. Gazing at my reflection I am scrutinizing, reminding myself to hold my head high and proud. I cut the air with my chopping arms like a tiny terminator. I try to imagine my legs moving like a wheel one motion moving fluidly into the next. One leg is pulling up so that the other can touch down.
In this moment, for the first time in my life, my body seems joyous and graceful. Some days I imagine myself a gold retriever lopping gaily through a field. Some days I am a fierce cheetah tracking my kill. Some days I am just a woman leaving my day, my trivial worries, my past on the track.
Now I am hitting the treadmill or trail three to five days a week. My run - it is calling to me offering comfort, blisters, and endorphins in near equal measure. I am beginning to entertain the idea of running marathons. I am fantasizing about shock absorbing shoes and compression socks. I am asking, am I worth it? What if?
Every day it is getting just a little easier to live inside my own skin. What if the worst happens? The worst may happens and it may not, but slowly I am learning. The force of my anxiety will not hold the world at bay. I am still scared some days, but I am building the heart, mind, and body of a woman ready to rise to the challenges.
I am still at least ten pounds away from a healthy B.M.I. On my best days I weigh 157 lbs, and on my frame 147 lbs is my peak healthy weight. It might even be better if I weighed less still, but this body is a process. I plan to live in it for the rest of my life. These plans may take time. Sometimes I am giddy at my accomplishments. I have already lost 15 pounds and kept it off for months. Some days I am frustrated and impatient. I am on a weight loss plateau for the moment curious to see what I could change to push along toward my goal. Happily, the best solutions are usually the simplest. I am running harder, and longer.

What if I don't get what I want? A story about running from your problems

2010-03-07T23:10:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the hardest part of living with depression is not the reality. The hardest part is the great daunting 'what if'? What if I don't get what I want? What if I really can't trust anyone? What if these years in college add up to a fantastic debt and a low paying, misery making job? What if my body fails me and I'm completely infertile before I can even try to have children?
Indeed, what if that happens?
and then finally, What is my life going to look like in a year, five years, a decade or more if I let fear rule my every decision?

This is the point where I feel oddly like I have opened a damned if I do, damned if I don't pandora's box of sorts.
How am I going to pry my heart open to possibility of goodness and love? There doesn't seem to be enough accomplishment, yoga, meditation, religion in the world to say,
"I promise you are going to be okay - no matter what happens."
You just have to get out of bed every day thankful for your precious human life assured fiercely, THERE ARE NO GUARANTEES.
It is all random. It may be orchestrated by the hand of God, but at the end of the day you can only control yourself. Some days you cannot honestly control how you feel in your heart or body. Still, you can get out of your bed, out of your house and see what life may be offering.
Once you are up and moving if your heart hurts consider a good hard run. Even if it is on a treadmill you would be amazed to see what can come up and be left behind.
When I first started running it felt like I was having an elaborate joke. A joke between myself and myself. I knew I wasn't a fit person, so why was I even trying to do something like run? I used to joke that I wouldn't run unless I was being chased. Perhaps I was being chased, by the ten pounds that stands between me and a healthy B.M.I, by body angst, by boredom, by depression, by life.
The first weeks of running felt amusing and altogether terrible. I would run in place with my Wii watching old episodes of 'The Biggest Loser'. I would space out and think 'God, look at her go! Surely, I can do that too.' For weeks I couldn't breathe or stand having people around while I ran. Surely, they would see how pathetic I was. How embarrassing it was to try to do something I wasn't good at. Later I started to see more and more that my heart was willing. I believe the body can do the most fantastic things when the heart is willing.

Open letter to my husband..

2010-03-04T22:07:00.000-08:00

Dear J--
You are the sexiest man in the gym.
Today you made me french toast while I was sleeping in.
Tonight you made me mint iced tea.
I'd like to have your babies, you amazing gift to woman kind.
<3

monster in the office.

2010-03-03T19:42:00.000-08:00

My financial aide Guru-the one who says I really should have a check by next week-asked me to bring in just a few more bits of paperwork today. She asked me to leave some things with her and some with another department. I phoned the other department and asked a question about paperwork and then something about hours. You see, my school's financial aide department is so impacted by California's budget crisis that they can hardly keep open during their posted hours despite lines out the door. The hours the financial aid office keeps change - daily! To add to the excitement financial aid does not have the budget to answer it's phones or respond to messages. How is one to know the hours of financial aide? Come in! The trouble? My 1 hr 45 minute commute to school! So, getting back to that call- I asked my related question and followed with 'oh and since you can see today's posted financial aid office hours from your desk, will you please tell me them?' The woman says, 'no.' I replied, 'Okay, I know it isn't your job, but could you please glance to your left what with my 1 hr 45 minute commute and all?' She replies.. 'No, I don't care.' Ladies and gents no one has ever been more rude to me with exception to the man who mugged me on a bus or the kids who beat me up in school. It was such awful behavior that I just got the giggles and I've had them ever since. My lord, this lady must hate her life -poor thing. When I got to school later just hoping the office I needed would be open (God bless, it was) I mentioned this silly scene to a man who responds to things like this. He told me the woman was known for behavior like this. Wow, Berkeley, in this economy with so many folks who so badly want to work, why is this lady on payroll? What could I do except smile and will that information out of my head? To know that such bad behavior was getting a paycheck when so many great folks want to work.. well that would melt my brain. So, let us pretend this never happened, because truly there are some awesome people working at my school through a budget crisis and I commend their excellence. I will commend it even further if I actually get my grants next week.
I have a theory, but it is a bit fantastic. The nasty woman is no woman at all, but rather a warlock covered in human skin who is holding someone's loved ones captive ensuring her continued employment. This makes a great deal more sense, so, I'm going with that.
I left the scene feeling elated about the possibility of getting my grants and woozy at what things had happened before noon. There were so few options left but to go to the library and stay until I had an armful of books and follow it up with frozen yogurt. Such excitement at the value price of $2.55 USD, no fat, and apx 300 calories. Yummy! Later I napped, bathed, and went to the gym for a few hours with my husband. We followed it up with a chemical laden dip in the hot tub. My skin is dry and scratchy, but I'm happy and hope for the future is clawing its way back into my heart.

My Balls? Well actually they're in my heart..

2010-03-02T22:28:00.000-08:00

Like a grinch who meets a cute little Cindy Lou Who-Who causes his heart grow three sizes I had a transformation today.
Magical, weird, sleep deprived things are happening. Did you know that sometimes my commute between the train and bus takes almost three hours from my apartment? Good God, how is this legal?
And to step up this challenge that is college now I am still waiting on a check. Today, after my one hour and forty-five minute train I walked into the financial aide office. I waited an hour. At minimum wage I'd have apx. $5.45 usd. It wouldn't be livable, but it would be more than they gave me. I was informed that the only person who could possibly help was in cast, and would only take phone calls. The woman at the desk assured me in a believable fashion that she the person in question would indeed answer the phone. Sadly, she did not answer. She did not return my phone call within the four hour class that followed.
What happened next was a surprise even to me. I went back to the financial aide office and grew some balls. Perhaps, I flexed my ovaries. Use whatever colloquialism you fancy most! I simply could not abide anymore silliness. I had waited weeks. I had stood in that line for an hour. Where was my check? Where were my answers? I cut in line. I never ever do this for any reason, but I had already waited long enough, and I needed answered. I told the receptionist in the politest fashion possible that the woman who was supposed to answer the phone did not. She looked around. She took that poor, kind woman with a cast and hobbled her over to me.
What happened next almost made me cry. She looked through the files, found some issues, and said I would like see a check for at least my grants by next week. I felt so overwhelmed I almost started to cry. I told her so and she promised to email if she needed anything else. True to her word she sent an email asking me to come in the next day to drop off a few more documents. What can I say? Thank you to the financial aide lady, please don't let me down.
What have I learned? Sometimes polite and patient get you diddlysquat. Sometimes, you must stand at someone's desk and say in very firm but kind way that you have no intention of leaving until you get what you need. What a dangerous tool. Now, let us hope I don't have to flex this muscle too soon in the future. I pray it is smooth sailing from here.

Some days are easier than others.

2010-02-28T19:04:00.000-08:00

We moved. I survived. The house has more closets. That is nice.
Last week every class I take had an important paper due. I tried to stagger my work and take it a little bit at a time. That method seems to be impossible when the papers are all due at once. I feel as though I have been hit by a semi truck, and I am still waiting for grades. I would be nervous if I weren't so very tired. To add to the excitement J-- took his state board exam for nursing (N-CLEX-RN) Wednesday. Needless to say this added to the tension in the house. Poor Chichi cat is like a scale for our nerves and starts biting whenever we are too stressed. To add to the glamor that is casa de la new grad + student.. I still haven't received my student loans. Not a dime. If J--'s family weren't supporting us we would be homeless and hungry right now. That makes me a little angry. I wonder how many folks who aren't as lucky as J-- and I have had to drop out of school, because they needed to work to live. This is a depressing thought. Mid-term exams are starting soon, and surely I hope I have my loans before then lest I fully freak out and steam from the ears. I need a sense of independence. I need to buy my own food and train tickets. I want entertainment that costs money. Sure, that sounds greedy, but stop buying magazines, going out to dinner with your spouse, and taking day trips. Tell me how you feel in two months and counting... We use the gym together, he walks me to the train, and we watch videos for free online. It's sweet, but I miss the drama of date night.
Infact, I may be going stircrazy. Send help. Send someone more assertive than me to the financial aide office.

If I would revel in the moment I wouldn't get sick as often.

2010-02-11T20:10:00.000-08:00

Amazing things are happening in a quiet sort of fashion. J-- got his temporary nursing permit and a test date for February 25th. I am so happy for him. Life is a series of steps now. The last two steps are J-- gets a job and we get our own place. Great things like financial independence are happening and I hardly even know what to feel about it. Really, it seems too good true so I do my best to ignore that realities we are coming to just as I tried to ignore the practical aspects of graduation and moving here to my mother in law's home.
On Monday the four of us are moving homes again. I have opted out. I am not packing, I am not freaking out, I am not accepting that I am moving again. It just is what it is - it will go as smooth as it will whether not not I stress. I am too self involved and tired to stress right now. J-- assures me that our few possessions will be moved to our new room without issue. God bless my lovely husband.
Today I did my first series of in person observations for my child development classes. Observations are just what they sound like I went forth and took notes. I was nervous that seeing all these children would intensify by must-make-a-baby wants, but actually I didn't think of that at all. I studied furniture, staff, and routines. I cooed and made tiny waves. Good times were had by all. I had been shaking in my boots nervous, but everything went really smoothly and I am mostly ready to write my papers.
I came home overwhelmed and exhausted. My scratchy throat that I'd assumed was allergies is now swollen. My head is fuzzy and my nose is runny. I want to rush, excel, kickass + take names and the like but I just have to slow down and relax. I am reading fiction and drinking lots of juice. High calorie juice genuinely offends me, but I feel it infuses me with wellness. I drink up.
When J-- and I got engaged his gran made a most fantastic offer. She said we could travel anywhere her timeshare company had a room. Because we were so busy with school and Burning man last year, we decided an anniversary trip would be more suitable than a honeymoon. I am over the moon happy to say that this year we are going to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico this summer. I am using a significant portion of my grants to buy our plane tickets and passports. I don't care - this will be my first time leaving the United States. I am brushing up on my Spanish. I am elated.
I wanted to finish up by saying something about Valentine's day. It is fun if it is fun. If you hate being single you will hate it more this day. If you love being married most days you might love it more this day. Try to remember that in a marriage you can make every day about love. J-- and I are on a very tight budget this year and we didn't exchange fancy Christmas presents. I am not expecting much in terms of material goods this Valentine's day. Day to day in the most sweet and practical ways my husband shows me his affection. These are a few amazing things he did just today that remind he loves me,
He set an extra alarm so I wouldn't oversleep.
He asked how my day went with genuine interest.
He always makes me tea.
He went to the store for chocolate and cold medicine.
He didn't make fun and say 'chocolate doesn't go with colds.'
He told me the dinner I made was wonderful and went for a second helping.
He brought me a clean, warm blanket from the dryer.
He bathed the cat and he is currently singing to her while he blowdries her so she won't be cold.
God, I love him.

acceptance.

2010-02-05T22:31:00.000-08:00

Today is the sort of day where I have to trust myself. Moving to Northern California meant leaving behind some amazing friends, an adorable (but cramped and dysfunctional) apartment, and the familiar. We have embarked on a journey of hope and promise. This has been especially difficult and I will dissect this experience into three portions. First, I meet new people who seem cool and might even be great. I respond in my mind, "Sure, you're great, But you are certainly not Andrew, Stinna, Katy, Tyler, John, or Nikki.. you're not even Dane!" Today I wore an adidas jacket my friend Stinna gave me. Every time I pull on this oddly fitting black and white zip-up I know I'm getting slightly cooler by Stinna association. I miss them so much, and while I know I will visit, part of me know that friends that good or something you have to treasure your whole life. I'm not ready to make new friends, but I hope I will be soon. Second, while I feel greatful that I can share my mother in law's home I miss my own space. I want to be able to be loud at three in the morning, have noisy sex, and walk around naked. Being a twosome can be awesome. Someday soon we will have our own nest and I know I will look fondly on this house sharing experience. Third, I am a creature of habit. I look at spontanious people with a sense of envy and disgust. I have a day planner. My backpack carries a seperate pencil case crammed with pencils, highlighters, pens and such. I ask alot of question to clarify. I plan. I frequent restuants and shops with loyalty. I often eat the same thing happily. I buy yogurt in bulk. Moving into a space where the placement of things is not of my doing and leaving my routines leaves me a frustrated tutting lady for awhile. Happily, I am building a routine here. I have made myself familiar with the junk drawers. Sadly, the mother in laws are moving to a new house in two weeks and I will have to get to know the junk drawers all over again.
I know that the mother in law's are happy about the move so I try to be happy as well. Perks include a swimming pool, better gym, and MORE larger closets for me. Downsides are all but obvious I move again, cat moves again, the junk is relocated. Some day.. stability. I long for it. For now.. "Adventure."
My biology class was rather fantastic today. All sorts of silliness and breathing helium gases to express ideas. It was the first time since I moved here that I especially enjoyed a class. The concepts are sometimes challenging, but I am not bored. In fact, I am often laughing. A big thanks to my professor for reminding me that community college can be fun and interesting not just a way to swap a teeny chunk of your soul/sanity/whatever for cheaper tuition.
Here is a fun video from my college biology department. Naturally I am not the same rosie in the video as I am not 7 years old.

The first week and strollers.

2010-01-28T16:05:00.000-08:00

School has been amazing. I am tired, on a tight budget, and happy. The first week of classes is all about reading the syllabus, but assuredly that is a headfake. The first week of classes is all about the professors setting boundaries. As politely as humanly possible my four professors have been saying 'I do not make enough to take your shit... Show up, on time, turn off your iphone and widgets, do the reading and you'll be just fine!' Naturally, I am nervous and excited. In my classic A-type fashion I am organizing my binders, and trying to find the energy to read ahead in my books. As usual being required to speak in class has inspired a part of myself that I hate. When I have to speak in front of a group without having time to plan, think, plot, say something nonfreakish I generally fail in my own eyes. I leave class excited, slightly nauseous and cringing. Am I a freak or what? Did that joke about stalking just deadpan? [yes..] So, why, did I follow it with a mention of a dead cat? OH GOD... WHY? My resolve for next week is to not say anything weird when I am required to 'share' but I can see this failing. It usually does. I can't help being myself it may be less weird as the semester wears on and others come out of their shells more, but for now I am hopelessly, fiercely, offbeat.
Human interactions aside, the subjects I am studying and the curriculum excite me. I have to find a center in the bay area that serves children with special needs where I can do a series of observations and interviews. Some of my classmates had a melt down about the idea of finding their own center. My mother in law works in a leading bay area pediatric oncology center that serves children with special needs. Today she is asking her boss if I can do my observations there. I am praying so hard that her boss says 'yes'.
In addition to school I am trying to earn my associate teacher permit. At this stage even understanding the paperwork is a challenge. I asked one of my instructors for help in understanding the requirements and advice on where to get CPR/first aid training, TB tests, etc. She wanted to know where my challenges started and I explained, "The paperwork is in Spanish and my Spanish is not very good..." You can only imagine my teacher's bemused expression. She has promised to bring the paperwork (in English) to class next week. I can assuredly say this is a win. Now I just need to find an accredited center than will let me work for at least fifty hours..
J-- has happy news. He recently had a root canal and he has been a real trooper about this. Today he received yet another letter from the prison expressing interest in employing him. I am so pleased. we also learned that one of his classmates has been given a job. It is great to get that feeling that employment is just around the corner for both of us.
Things around the house are also going really well. The four of us seem to be communicating really well and we are making a weekly roster to determine who makes meals. This will really help to ensure that everyone gets a healthy family dinner even when we are all moving in a million directions at once. We are also planning on going as a four-some to the Tea Gardens for a prevalentine's day festivity.
One thing that leaves me wanting is my commute. I knew this would be a challenge, but I had no idea it would be so weird. Most days I have to take both a train and a bus to get class. The train is always crowded, but such is life. The bus is worse than I might have expected. My last bus a rather curvy woman sit on me. She didn't sit on my lap, but because the seats were so tight a lot of her legs were on me and the woman to her right. There is nothing to do in this situation except be polite and will it to end. I was too tired to stand for the entire bus ride and that may have embarrassed her and I would hate to do that. After about twenty minutes into the ride most of my right side was numb and I was altogether relieved when space on the bus opened and the woman moved. She also looked quite relieved. Just as the feeling was returning to my right limbs a woman got on the bus with a huge stroller. Suddenly the bus was crowded again. I love babies and sort of wanted a peak at the baby. Sadly, I noticed this woman had a dog in her carriage. I like to imagine that there is some very reasonable reason that this woman had a dog in a stroller on a bus at rush hour, but I am at a loss. All of my ideas didn't make sense. Dogs are not allowed on the bus unless they are service dogs. That dog may not have working limbs requiring a stroller. The ideas were not lining up... and then I noticed the diaper bag. This is only topped by the woman who I have seen twice now ignoring the train elevator to street and forcing her stroller onto the escalator. The child screams like it is going to die which is not all together crazy, afterall strollers on escalators are very unsafe. The only thing better is the road biker dressed head to toe in spandex who smelled a great deal of ham. The only wonder is the dog didn't start barking. Happily, my commute is only three nights a week and I get a ride home in the evenings.

How I dye yarn with food color. A photo how-to.

2010-01-20T15:11:00.000-08:00

When I was nineteen I worked in a marionette puppet theater. To say I wondered around to 'find myself' would definitely be an understatement. Shortly into my career as a puppeteer I slipped on some artificial snow during a wanting performance of The Little Drummer Boy. I finished the show, but I fell hard enough to break six ribs effectively ending my puppeteer dreams. For more than a month I was confined to my bed healing. This restful time finally helped me find gumption to learn how to knit. Laying as still as I could I would gently work the yarn over the needles. Crooked scarves, dropped stitches, and curses punctuated that time. Later as my health improved my needles accompanied me to a number of physical therapy waiting rooms. I'm glad I found the patience to knit and eventually crochet. Yarn arts have offered entertainment on long car trips and boring commutes. I love the busy feeling of knitting hands while my brain enjoys a dose of television. Fiber arts have offered inexpensive and beautiful gifts for friends and family through the years. Unfortunately, as a young student I hit a snag in my fiber arts. Yarn costs were piling up. I would troll our thrift stores, ebay, and craigslist, but I would often have to settle for cheap and sticky acrylic yarns. Recently I found a questionable stash of mildew scented beige yarn in a thrift store. In desperation to knit I decided I would try to dye it. I am hooked. Dying my yarn is a great deal of fun. Wool, fancy mohairs, and even some funky cotton blends are willing to soak up koolaid or food color. Amazing! I recently found some hotpink cottonish yarn in a thrift store for pennies and bought it up in the off chance it would hold dye. Here is the tutorial in a photo how to,
Step One: Wind yarn into loose hanks. Add enough water to cover and at least 3 TBSP white vinegar. Soak overnight.

Step Two: Drain vinegar water from yarn into sauce pot. Bring to boil. Add desired food color.

Step Three: Here is where your creativity come into play. I added blue because I wanted a purplish yarn. As your yarn boils it will soak up the color. At this point you can add drops of other shades allowing them to soak up and give a cool mottled effect.

Step Four: Boil water until it turns very pale or clear allowing your yarn to soak up the color. I have poured my boiling water into a Pyrex to show it really will turn clear or close to it.
Step Five: Rinse yarn in warm water. Water should run clear. This will show that your color has set.

I am very happy with my final product. These muddy purple shades will be of much greater use to me than hot pinks!
NOTES:
Please use your own best judgment. THIS PROCESS WILL ONLY WORK ON NATURAL FIBERS. Cotton seems to be a 50/50 success rate. Only dye cotton if you are okay with the possibility the dye job may suck. :) Please use reasonable safety precautions. You are using dye and boiling water! While these products are all foodgrade before the dye 'sets' it can stain the holy hell out of your hands, clothes, pans, and surfaces. Please make accommodations. Consider using pot holders and rubber gloves.
There are seemingly hundreds of threads on the internet for further reading on dying your own yarn with koolaid, food dye, and even eggdye. How cool. I enjoyed this link And of course knitty. I have only posted my 'tutorial' because my method is ever so slightly different and includes a number of photos. Good luck and enjoy! J-- and his Mom are driving to Southern California to handle some business. For now it is just me stir crazy bored in the rain. I have begged them to bring me home exotic koolaid, and I hope they do. I must make that field trip to oakland for koolaide and yarn, but the diagonal rain is putting me off.

Biology, Bento Boxes, and Koolaide.

2010-01-19T23:55:00.000-08:00

Today I was able to pick up my biology text book. If you(my imaginary readers?) were not convinced I was a geek let me sock it to ya. I have spent the better part of the afternoon crocheting and reading my biology book. The universe is amazing that is for sure. My book Essential Biology 3rd Ed. by Campbell states that, "Biologists have identified about 1.8 million species of living organisms"(1). I am really looking forward to this semester. I think the hours (mostly late evenings) and commute (involving a commuter train and bus!) may be hellish but the classes seem lovely. Biology, Environment & Curriculum for young children, Including Children with special needs, and writing fiction. In addition to the scholastic back to school excitement I am also looking forward to starting another season of tasty bento box lunches. Tomorrow will definitely involve a trip to one very scary storage and disorganized storage unit in an attempt to uncover my bento box stash. My first class is on friday and I want to bring a tasty lunch.
This past week has been restful to excess, but I have been dying my own wool. Knitty has a great tutorial on dying wool with koolaid. Pardon the pun, but I am hooked. The house smells like hot koolaid, wet brightly colored wools are drying in the window sill, and I am on the hunt for a better variety of colors. Our grocery only carries a red, orange, and yellow. They also surprised me by charging almost fifty cents a packet. When I was a kid you could get 20 packets for a dollar when they went on sale. I may have just aged myself with that notion. This week I will be making a field trip into Oakland to scout their creative reuse store for pale wools. Conveniently there is a corner liquor store near the reuse store, and I am hoping I will get lucky on my koolaid hunt.
Tomorrow evening J-- and my mother in law are headed south to sort out some pre licensing bureaucracy so I will be very lonely. This will be the first time I've slept away from J-- in more than a year, but happily he should be home in time to pick me up from my first day of class. This weekend we would like to make home made gingerale together. What fun!
I promised to update my readers on the "guinea pig" fertility tracking so here goes. I am not accidentally pregnant yet, but I finished my period only to start spotting days later. Additionally, my moods are all over the place. Coming off hormonal birth control sort of sucks!

I can control these things with my mind.

2010-01-14T15:06:00.000-08:00

I can't know for sure, but I think only in this stage of my life could a bed that is too comfy be a threat. A full size mattress previously owned by another relative topped with soft flannel sheets and a heavy quilt or two is my undoing. You see, there is nothing to do today. It is briefly sunny, but it is also chilly. We are not in easy walking distance of a park and BART (our train system) fair can add up rather quickly. So, I sit on my hands or sleep in too late because until school starts there is nothing to do. Nothing.. that isn't cheap or free and coming from my own imagination. Yesterday was great because we got a free ride to the park.
Today I plot my last three semesters in community college. As of this summer I will likely have a real job. Some days real life is coming at me much too fast. I am going to leave the house to get some oh so comforting fast food. I'm hungry and it fits in our nonexistent budget. Also, it provides a decent walk. Our old landlord was supposed to send our deposit checks on our apartment by Monday. My fingers are crossed that they arrive by Friday. I'm tired of broke and I'm tired of confrontation. We have a gym at the apartment complex and it seems I'm due for some mindless jogging and peddling. Sometimes exercise is just the thing to shake of these blues and help me feel in control. If I'm not cheery at that point I got a copy of My Neighbor Totoro from our netflix today.

It's not mold. It's Creme Brulee.

2010-01-13T20:42:00.000-08:00

Today was gorgeous I got out of bed at the crack of noon and knew today was the day I was joining to make crock pot creme brulee . God Bless the writer of 365 Crockpot. I mixed the heavy cream, eggs, sugar, and vanilla into the crock pot and off J-- and I went to explore San Francisco's golden gate park. One of the mother in laws works as a pediatric oncology nurse and today she wanted to check on some patients in the hospital across the bay. We tagged along and toured about the park. Just waking the enormous, lush park puts my mind at ease. I've promised J-- and myself that we will come back to the beautiful Japanese Tea garden. As broke, yes broke college student and recent graduate we often have to be flexible in how we celebrate. This year we are thinking of doing valentine's day at the tea garden and botanical garden. Us and a million other clever folks! I'm sure it will be lovely.
My dinner of cheese stuffed shells was entirely too cheesy. This was a recipe I made up in my I'm a vegeterian so I can eat 5lb. bricks of cheese for fun days. As a much more relaxed omnivore I'm must reevaluate this recipe to include something other than shells, spices, CHEESE CHEESE CHEESE and marinara. I made a side of steamed carrots, but that cannot save my waist line. Desert alternately was the sort of thing that makes a young cook feel altogether cocky. I feel like with recipes like that under my belt I CAN DO ANYTHING! Then I consider my questionable dinner selections and relax a little.
In other wondrous news, J-- got a letter from the prison system today. In most families I'd imagine a letter from the prison system is bad news, but here it is fantastic. J-- is being considered for a position as an R.N. When J-- first told me he was considering taking work in a prison I was freaked out, but as days go by I feel much more relaxed. Naturally, in a prison safety precautions are taken to protect working folks, but from what I've read most patients are grateful for compassionate care. J-- is certainly a great guy and the understands the need for compassion in his work especially if it takes him into a prison. Now I am just hoping and praying the folks at the state see what a gem J-- really is! As a bonus we are hearing that many R.N.s in the prison system can make upto $7000 a month or more. Wow! Right now we live on about $24,000 a year if not less. That would certainly be a change of pace.
It was also the day I managed to get menstrual blood on a pair of rather expensive white sheets. Why would I share something so freakish? Because I have no idea how to get dried blood out of a white flannel sheet, but some one does. I'm convinced. If you have this knowledge, please please let me know.
And if this wasn't random enough, I've finally uploaded a few shots of some things I crocheted this holiday season. Shots include a number of hats, a big shawl, crochet Ballet slippers, a scarf, and our kitty Chichi. Enjoy!

PMS and other wonders.

2010-01-12T16:59:00.000-08:00

Being a full time student has a variety of benefits. (Outside of the obvious drawback, which is that short of working your ass at an additional job or having a rich beneficiary you will be perma-broke while you accrue debt.) But truly some days the student life is the rich life. It seems that every day I learn something new about that world and that is while I am on winter break. Seriously folks, I haven't gotten a break from work or school since I was a tiny child. Now I am expected to laze away for winter, spring, and summer breaks. It can be glorious. It can be maddening and in just under two weeks it comes to an end. I will have the school units and facilities to work part time as an afterschool help in an amazing bay area early childhood education facility. S0, as one of the last 'breaks' I may experience for a long time draws to a close I feel a little wistful, but I can't say I won't be better off. For example, today when PMS reared its ugly head and bared down onto me I stayed in bed. Actually, I got up put oatmeal into the crock pot and slept some more. Around noon J-- and I feasted on very hot crock pot oatmeal. It was amazingly yummy. After the oat feast I realized I had no real obligations, fatigue, crackiness, and a general urge to whine. With that in mind I went back to bed until almost 4p.m. At that point I got up, but only sit still enough for the mother in law's cat Alta to sit on my legs while I ate ants on a log and read a tacky murder mystery. Ah, good lord this is a sweet life! While many things about life as a student or my living situation in general can be a challenge I must say today felt wonderful. When again, in my life will I be able to stay in bed just because I have PMS and I feel like it? I don't know. Not soon I imagine. This post is all about gratitude. Yes, gratitude and eating the secret chocolate stash I keep in my closet.
As I sign off it is worthwhile to note that the crock pot beef stroganoff we had for dinner was really yummy. Infact there were next to no left overs. Tomorrow I am making my own cheese stuffed shells but I am already scheming about what I can put in that magical crockery. I am thinking creme brulee, homemade lipbalm (this may have to wait for student loans), and a nice roast, and yogurt. Yum, yum, yum.

Learning.

2010-01-11T17:51:00.000-08:00

As J-- digs into week three of job hunting it is hard not to look back at recent years, months, weeks, and days and think about accumulated knowledge. However trivial it may seem I am learning all the time and what I learn outside of the classroom can be just as beneficial as what I learn inside. With no particular order I will attempt to explore some things I have learned.
1) The admissions and financial aide portion of college will often be more challenging and tear provoking than any class. At this stage I am waiting for a variety of important meetings which will determine what classes I will take for the next year or so. These classes must be carefully selected giving me the appropriate transferable credits to ensure my acceptance to San Francisco State University. I also have one group financial aide meeting left standing between me and a check which will hold both my loans and grants for the next semester. To say I really really want this check would be a vast understatement. When you live under your mother in law's roof financial autonomy takes on a whole new level of importance.
2) Pet sitting can offer a wonderful, albeit, brief getaway from routine- even if you do wipe up cat sick at least you do it in a big empty house with your husband.
3) Boar bristle hair brushes lead to remarkably less wincing during hair brushing. Woohoo.
4) The slow cooker is an option worth exploring. My mother in laws have a slow cooker. Tapping into a very quirky urge I have sleuthed out a number of delicious looking recipes. The slow cooker gives a beautiful siren song. It seems to cry out "I can prepare a beautiful, nutritious meal with no assistance! Try it!" Can you come through crock pot? Right now I am entertaining a number of fantasies involving the dumping of random veg and meat into a pot and returning from school hours later to find an amazing meal my family will rave over. Today I am trying a beef stroganoff recipe. I am hopeful and nervous about the posible outcomes. Whatever happens I made stovetop chocolate pudding. That can makeup for any awful meal, right? To support this fetish like interest I am near obsessively following http://crockpot365.blogspot.com
5) Not all married folks need a hormonal birth control. J-- and I are "this" close to trying to concieve our first little one. Naturally, we would like to have our own income and perhaps a vaction first. With that in mind we have ditched my dependable but rather annoying nuva ring. Instead we are trying out the fertility awareness method. Can the careful use of charting fertility symptoms and using a "backup method" (IE condoms) on fertile days help plan a pregnancy or prevent one? Follow me, human guinea pig for details! And check out http://www.tcoyf.com/ to learn about the fertility awareness method.
6) It is entirely possible to be sick for a near month. Shortly after we arrived I developed a u.t.i. I began a course of antibiotics. That didn't work and the nasty bug turned into a kidney infection requiring a much stronger antibiotic. As I finished my last round of pills I developed an icky headcold. As this clears I am starting my first hormone free menses. Hopefully, it isn't too uncomfortable. In my view I have paid up my dues on being sick in 2010! I am hopeful that I will have a healthy spring.
Just ten days until school starts again and I am nervous but excited. On this note I am signing off.