Katie's Life Adventures

Moving

2011-12-20T09:36:00.001-08:00

If you're looking here for me, I'm now blogging at www.mom-de-plume.com. Just FYI.

We are NOT Ready for Close-Ups, Mr. DeMille

2011-09-26T19:13:00.000-07:00

Once a year, I do the motherly thing and get portraits made of whatever children I happen to have given birth to at that point in time. This means that both boys have had or can expect to have portraits made at approximately 6 months, 18 months, and 2 and a half years, etc. Future children can also expect this general pattern. While perusing Facebook, I realized that I had not had any of the obligatory newborn portraits done and had a brief nervous breakdown because my babies' infanthood had slipped away without my enduring the chaos and carnage of trying to get semi-sentient beings to smile for a camera or laugh at a stuffed cat. Then I got over it. I mean, I probably should have gotten newborn pictures of my babies in suitcases and buckets replete with giant yarn hats and bows on butts, but I just didn't. I was too busy sobbing on my kitchen floor from sleep deprivation. I know that probably makes you wonder if I'm a bad mom, but wait until you read the rest of this post. You'll no longer doubt it.

At any rate, this past Saturday, Bill and I hauled the boys down to the picture place to get pictures made. I had purchased matching casual and dress outfits and was ready to roll. Will and John, on the other hand... not so much. (As an aside: yes I subjected my children to the indignity of matching outfits. I had to endure being clad in matching sailor dresses along with my sister who is five years younger, so my kids will be able to enjoy the same experience. It builds character.)

Now that I think about it, Will has never enjoyed getting his picture taken. When I took him at six months, it was all I could do to get him to smile, even though he's a total ham in normal life.

Then last year, we went with the extended Hennenlotter family, and he wasn't really into getting his picture made then, either. Somehow, though, we got some compliance-- or at least enough to get these shots:

This year, though, homeboy is two and a half and that means that he's, like, a legend in his own mind. Furthermore, whereas he's extremely well-behaved in Target and in restaurants, at family get-togethers, etc, he KNOWS when he's got you by the balls. He KNEW that I wanted pictures of my boys. He KNEW that I had made an APPOINTMENT to have pictures made. He KNEW that I wasn't leaving there without pictures and that I was prepared to drop some change to get my pictures. And he decided that if I was gonna get my pictures, I was gonna have to WERK for them. He refused to sit down when asked. He refused to hold his brother. We'd tell him to sit down and smile at the camera, and he'd look us dead in the eye and very sweetly say, "No thank you." Then he would go on about his merry way. Our photographers were reduced to getting "drive by" portraits:

The rest of the time when we were working with John or trying to view the pictures on the big tv screen, making crucial decisions about alignment, black and white versus oval, etc. Will was all over the place, exploring props, etc. At one point, a photographer asked him, "Where's your mommy?" I was three feet away watching him, but her implication was clear, "Who's the crappy mom letting her kid run wild?" And for once, ladies and gentlemen, that mom was me. I was the mom bribing her kid with candy (ineffectively, I might add). I was the mom who just shrugged and said, "Sorry!" to the photographers, salespeople, etc when Will wouldn't cooperate or when John fell asleep during his portraits. I was the mom who made them do another session because they didn't do the background I wanted and the backgrounds they did do looked bad. I was that woman. And I didn't care. I get pictures ONCE A YEAR. And DAMMITALL I deserved one day when I was that oblivious mother with her kid running wild who walked around with this air of entitlement, demanding this, and demanding that, (and getting it, by the way.) Yes, everyone in the Portrait Innovations probably thinks I'm the most ineffective mom out there and that my boys are destined to be on a bell tower one day with matching machine guns, but I truly don't care. I got my pictures, be they what they are:

So there's my sweet expressive John and my maniac Will. I don't know how it happens, but Will still manages, in spite of his tom-foolery, to take a good picture. Until next year...

The Substitute

2011-09-21T09:26:00.000-07:00

This one's not about my kids, though I am looking around for a substitute mother so that I can have a true mental health day. This one's about my job. Nobody's job is easy (well, except for Vanna White's).

As an aside, in researching for this blog post, Vanna earns an unconfirmed $4 million a year. I think this also includes revenues from her autobiography, infomercials, cosmetic endorsements, etc. But still. Damn.

Anyway, now that that digression is complete, back to me. Everyone's job poses its challenges. I say that because I get tired of hearing teachers complain about being overworked and underpaid, blah, blah, blah. Nowadays I think that's true for MOST people. That being said, I believe that parts of my job might be a hair more difficult than they are for other professions. Probably the most predominant element is the act of taking a sick day.

When I worked ~~for Satan~~ in the insurance industry, if I got sick, I picked up the phone, called my manager, said I'd be out that day, and went back to the couch/bed. Taking a sick day as a teacher is infinitely more complicated. I have to report my absence online, pray that a substitute will pick it up (else my colleagues will have to forfeit their planning periods to cover my classes, thereby pissing them off), and then I have to leave all manners of complex information from class rosters, to handouts, instructions, warnings, management techniques, etc so that whatever substitute I get can maintain some order and maybe even accomplish some sort of educational objective for the day. This may not sound so bad on the surface, but let me explain for you the major problems that typically occur with substitute teachers while assuring you that I have nothing but the utmost ~~sympathy~~ respect for them and appreciate their efforts.

1. Planning on Steroids

The effort required to plan lessons for a substitute is ten times that which I need to plan for myself. My lesson plans consist of a list of things that I want to do. My substitute plans are nothing short of a treatise itemizing not only the tasks for the day but HOW to accomplish those tasks. I have to write down details as inane as "pass out documents" as well as details as complex as "have students designate group leaders, scribes, and researchers. Then assign each group a laptop and have them research (insert assignment here). Monitor them closely for appropriate use of technology. No students should email, check Twitter, etc." Needless to say, when I plan for me, I don't have to write out such things, so the plan for a substitute is infinitely more detailed and therefore takes probably twice as long to make than if I were to come in to work and execute it myself. Yes, I could take the cheap way out and just leave a video, but I have a strict policy that I only show videos on days when I'm in class because if there's a slack instructional day, I'm sure as hell gonna be the one to take advantage of it.

2. The Unreliable Sub

In probably 60% of personal absences, my substitute has looked at my carefully crafted plans, seen the hard work and dilligence I enacted to make sure that he/she has a good day full of academic rigor, and then cast those plans aside in favor of his/her own agenda. Seriously. I came back one day to find that instead of giving my students notes on the Chaucer and the Middle Ages, the substitute had opted instead to subject my students to a 45 minute lecture on safe sex, birth control, and teen pregnancy. This is no lie. Another sub decided to use his time to promote his personal website and fledgling small business. Yet another told the students, "I've got plans for you guys, but you don't have to do them." I would've thought that the kids were lying to me about that had another teacher not corroborated the story after stopping by my classroom, concerned about the unfettered chaos transpiring therein. My personal favorite, though, is the substitute who fell asleep over his issue of The News and Observer. Sometimes, a substitute will pick up the job and completely lay waste to all my hard work.

3. The Over-zealous Sub

On the opposite end of the spectrum is the hard-core substitute. I appreciate this substitute's work ethic and infinitely prefer this sub to the Slacker Sub, but this substitute goes way over the top. I'm not sure what motivates this particular sub, but I think it runs the spectrum between delusional desire for power over young people to fear of these same young people and therefore the substitute clings to draconian implementation of the plan in order to keep from losing control. In either case, the usual result is total loss of control. I've only known one sub who could pull this type of tyranny off successfully. The problem with this sub is that he incites the kids to wrath. The focus of class for both parties switches from being trying to complete the day's task to being trying to seize control of the classroom to the disadvantage of both. These substitutes can turn even good students into terrors. The students want to show the sub who is boss and vice versa. Here again, my plans and hard work are completely for naught.

4. The Dysfunctional Class

I don't have a lot of discipline problems even with the more "challenging" students. I try to establish an environment of mutual respect, treat my students like people and as a result, we enter into a symbiotic relationship where I will occasionally make concessions to their whims and they will oblige by doing what I say 90% of the time. Nonetheless, this respectful relationship between the students and me does not automatically transfer to the substitute. I have some classes where I know when I enter the absence into the system that I am getting ready to make some poor substitute run the gauntlet. There's nothing I can do about it. I can threaten the class beforehand, but they will still act like total clowns simply because they can. A substitute's authority is miniscule, and they know that. The sub can't write them up, she can't give them grades, the worst that she can do is call in an administrator for support, but the students know that if she does that, she's calling her own ability to sub in question and thereby threatening her own employability. For these classes, I leave plans that I fully expect not to be accomplished and I usually leave a note to the effect that the sub's objective for that particular class is to simply survive. So again, despite my best-laid plans, the day will be a total wash (for that class, at least, and I rarely have more than one of these classes a year).

5. The Flawed System

Let's face it. The substitute teacher is in an unwinnable situation. Regardless of how conscientious she is, she has no power, and at the end of the day will suffer in direct proportion to how committed she is to executing my plan. In truth, there isn't much motivation to execute my plan. She doesn't have to deal with the consequences of it not being done. She doesn't really have the authority to give it the "teeth" that it needs to be effective. She may not have the content knowledge to support students who are trying to execute the plan. She is really unable to maintain any discipline except insofar as the students are willing to cooperate. Really, when I'm out of work, in most cases, everybody involved is going to lose out. I'm going to put a lot of work into making a plan that, unless the moon is in the sixth house and Jupiter aligns with Mercury (in other words my students are in a cooperative mood), will not be executed, or will not be executed correctly. I lose. A substitute is going to come into a situation where unless the previously mentioned cosmic conditions are in effect, he will be unable to execute the plan or execute it effectively. He loses. And the students come into a situation wherein they are given an assignment that they may or may not be able to complete due to the willingness of their classmates to comply with instructions and show respect to the substitute. They lose.

Yes when I come back to work, I can be all hard-core and write up the kids who screwed around with the sub, but even that is often a futile attempt to compensate for the fact that I couldn't be at work that day. To be honest, most of the time when I feel sickness coming on, it's just easier to come to work.

It Takes Two

2011-09-20T18:41:00.000-07:00

Back when I wrote about how much more difficult two kids are as opposed to one, I promised that I'd write about the benefits of having more than one kid, so I will now fulfill that obligation just as soon as I think of a benefit. Haha! Just kidding. Being a parent of more than one baby is a good thing, and here's why:

#1. Less Fear

With Will, I was convinced that every false move would kill him. When he fell off the couch that one time, I scrutinized him for days, fearing that he had some kind of closed head injury and was on the brink of death. (Incidentally, another benefit of two kids is that you're far less likely to leave your kid on a couch to fall in the first place.) I really stressed out about introducing Will to solid foods. Which to do first? What if he has an allergy? Not so with John. I now know that 90% of it ends up on the bib, anyway. I also remember being really committed to keeping Will in Pampers swaddlers for as long as I could. When my fat little Will hit size 3 at four months, I scoured stores looking for the hard to find size 3 Swaddlers. Now I know that a baby's ass won't rot off if it's not wrapped in the admittedly softer Swaddlers, and Baby Dry'll get you more bang for your buck.

#2. More entertainment

I hesitantly wade into this benefit because there are days, when my whirling dervishes are making my life completely chaotic, where I think, "For the love of God, PLEASE. Send me some boredom!" But seriously, entertaining a young baby and yourself becomes infinitely easier when you have an older sibling in the mix. I remember some soul-crushing boredom back in Will's baby days. I was home with him for five months and pretty clearly remember wanting to skewer my own eyeballs at the end of some of those days because of the sheer boredom. Both of my boys were/are good babies, but entertaining a baby when it's just you is much more difficult than when you have an older brother running around. Whereas Will spent most of his babyhood regarding me with a furrowed brow, staring at me as if to say (in a British accent), "Entertain me, mother," Will serves the invaluable function of entertaining John. John watches Will all the time and whatever Will does John finds to be the highest form of comedy. For example, in Old Navy yesterday, John was hanging off my front and Will would run up to us and grab John's feet. To hear John laugh, one would think that all of the Monty Pythons were enacting some sort of skit right in front of him. Many other Old Navy patrons and employees enjoyed this as well. This is a fabulous benefit for both boys, I think. John is really getting to the stage where he likes to play and can even play a little with Will. The other day John was sitting on the floor and Will rolled this giant ball toward him. John pushed it away (he was really trying to grab it, but you know, it's a big ball), so the ball rolled out into the room. Will ran and got it and rolled it back to John, repeat steps 2 and 3 and voila, you have a game between brothers. It was cute to watch. So yes, more than one kid means that they entertain each other which takes the pressure off of you.

#3: Idle curiousity

I am becoming more an more interested to see just how many forms Bill's and my genetic material can assume. Will and John are pretty similar in that they both are pretty good-natured, but then again, they're so different. They not only look different (though again, when I look at old baby pictures of Will, there are some similarities there), but their personalities are so different. Will has always been a studier. He's a thinker. He's a happy enough kid, but when I look back at Will's baby pictures I see one emergent theme: He's got his brow furrowed, studying something.

John's a smiler and a laugher. He thinks life is pretty hilarious and he laughs all the time. He'll be bouncing around in his exersaucer and catch your eye and just give you the biggest smile.

Will would look at you suspiciously like you had some shady motive for walking by. My mother-in-law remarked how when Will was born, he always had a finger up to his chin, like he was thinking about something (or flicking us off as he did the day he was born).

She then observed that John kept his hands clasped in front like he was praying. I think this summarizes the differences between the two perfectly, except that I think instead of praying, John is clapping.

This leads me to another difference: Toys. John loves toys. Give him a toy and he'll shake it and gnaw on it and laugh at it for 15-20 minutes.

Will didn't care for toys. I'd give him a toy and he'd look up at me as if to say, "Surely you mean to pick me up and carry me around right now. Surely this piece of primary-colored plastic is not for me to play with in lieu of interacting with my world via your capable strides around the house and yard. Surely not." Anyway, I find as their personalities emerge that I am more and more fascinated by who they are and I'm, quite frankly, intrigued to see what other personalities I could give birth to.

So, those are just a few perks of multi-parity. In the end, as much trouble as they can be, I wouldn't trade either one of them for anything... well, maybe for a smart phone, but other than that...

Best Laid Plans of Moms and Men

2011-09-19T19:09:00.000-07:00

Okay, admittedly, this title is probably completely off-base. What I'm getting ready to write about was not a best-laid plan. Most moms would probably pretty astutely NOT have attempted what I did today, and most men would definitely would not have.

I hesitated to even write this story because I should've known better. And though the ending isn't catastrophic or anything, the whole thing was pretty avoidable with just a little bit of forethought and a lot of common sense. That being said, I'm going to share this as a service to all the moms out there who might be tempted to follow in my misguided footsteps.

I took Will to see The Lion King today. And because I was home with both boys today and don't trust John to be home alone by himself (he threw a crazy house party last time), John came with us. The wiser of you probably already knows where this story is going.

First of all, I was a sucker for Disney marketing. I mean, the limited two week re-release created an irrational sense of urgency. What if Will doesn't get to see The Lion King in this two week span? Can he possibly function as a responsible adult without seeing The Lion King? My God, I had better RUN to the nearest theatre so that Will can see The Lion King, a movie which, if I'm honest, I didn't even like that much when I saw it as a child. I mean seriously. Disney just picked up millions of dollars by re-releasing a movie that they already had and threatening to snatch it away in two short weeks. It's a brilliant coup against the pocketbooks of the American public.

I really thought it would be fine to take Will to see this. We took him to see Cars 2 back in June and aside for maybe a 5-10 span of restlessness when the action lulled, Will was perfect. I though that surely he would be that way with this movie. And for the most part, he was. The problem is that I failed to see two very distinct differences between the past movie experience and today's movie experience. The most striking of which was that I did this experience alone, with a six month old tethered to me. When we took Will to see McQueen in June, John, Bill, my mom, my dad, my sister, two of my aunts, and my uncle were also in attendance. When Will got a bit restless, he just went to see another relative in a different seat. John, being just a baby blob back in those days, slept through the entire thing. Today, it was just me and my hands were full holding John so I couldn't go get Will when he decided to run circles around the front of the theatre.

The second thing to go wrong was that I hadn't really taken into account that other people would be seeing The Lion King at 1:15 on a Monday, and if anyone WAS, I figured they'd be moms like me with their kids. Up until the last preview, I thought we had a good deal. We had the theatre entirely to ourselves, which would have alleviated ALL the problems. With just us in there, Will could act like a total clown and I would've cared less. But, at the last preview, three women came into the theatre, climbed the stairs and plunked down about dead center. I mean, WTF? Don't you people have jobs? I mean, I do, but my child care was unavailable, so I had to take a sick day. At this point, I was no longer looking at a leisurely walk down an animated memory lane, but was now held hostage by my two-year-old's ability to remain still and attentive for one hour and 20 minutes (more, since the damn previews take thirty minutes themselves).

So, I told Will that we had to be quiet and be still so that the ladies could watch the movie. And Will, bless his heart, did the best he could. He sat there next to me in his seat holding his blanket and drinking his milk. John slept through the first hour. All was good. Then we got to the boring part. I'm talking about the animated lion sex accompanied by "Can You Feel the Love Tonight." Will had no time for that. So he got up. I didn't mind him moving around so long as he stayed quiet, but then he walked up one aisle and started pushing all the arms of the chairs down. Boom! Boom! Boom! John woke up. I gave Will the look of death and he came back and sat with me. Then John got fussy and didn't want a bottle. So I got up to walk John around that little corridor that runs beside the stadium seating. Will decided this meant he had carte blanche authority to turn the theatre into his own personal obstacle course.

I quickly tried to reign him in. After all, there were only five minutes or so left in the movie. But he would have none of it. The entire time, I'm imagining that these women, who never made even a noise of complaint or made any indication that they were even aware that my child was running wild throughout the auditorium, that they were like I used to be when faced with small children yet had none of my own. Naturally, I knew, in my infinite wisdom that ill-mannered children had bad parents. Now, when I see poorly behaved children in public, I am a BIT more sympathetic. That being said, while I now know from experience that kids don't always behave, I have always said that I wouldn't let my kids inhibit the ability of others to enjoy their environment. If my kids misbehave in public, we retreat to the homefront. So, I quickly gathered the diaper bag, Will's blanket, Will's sippy cup, etc, loaded John in my knock off Baby Bjorn, and walked out. Will ran out after me telling me to come back so we can see the lions. I said, "I'll go back if you sit down and stay still and quiet." He said he would and so I experienced no surprise whatsoever when we got back in the auditorium and he started to immediately run laps around the floor level seating. So, I turned and left again and this time we did NOT return. An epic tantrum ensued and as I had a baby strapped to me, I couldn't exactly pick Will up and carry him out. So I walked away again. We got outside and he fell prostrate on the ground and turned to start kicking the glass and I very quietly and calmly started counting according to the tenets of 1-2-3 Magic. Usually when I get to three, Will gets a time out. This time, there was no suitable time out place this side of Hell and even if there were, I couldn't get him in it because of the baby affixed to my front. Nonetheless, I just started counting in the calmest voice I could manage. I had no idea what would happen if we got to three. Fortunately, as soon as I started counting, Will calmed down. He reached for his blanket and held my hand as we walked to the car.

I fastened him in his seat and installed John in his bucket. Then I got in the car and started for home. Will started crying because he wanted to go back to the lions, but I calmly explained why we had to leave. He then fell asleep (another failure on my part: never go somewhere during nap time). I wasn't mad at Will as I drove home. He really did a great job to be two and a half. He just wasn't old enough for the experience and I was under-staffed to deal with his innate need to act like a two-year-old. In hindsight, I don't know WHY I wanted to take him to see that movie. It's never been my favorite. He did want to see it and even when he woke up from his nap, he asked to go back to the movie, but it just was a dumb thing to do. I should have taken him to the park. I think I just get anxious to share things from my childhood with Will, and truly, sometimes I forget that he's just two. He's a pretty articulate, smart little guy. At any rate, the moral to this story is that taking a toddler and a baby to a movie by one's self is just ill-advised. A better choice would just be to wait until one can stream it from or even put it in your mailing queue with Netflix... oh wait. Nevermind.

Operator Error

2011-09-18T19:53:00.000-07:00

Ever since my first baby shower, my mom has done nothing but rave about how many great new baby inventions exist for modern mothers. She has admired everything from bottle sanitizers to baby swings with timers, and she's right. The marketplace has certainly risen to the challenge of catering to the needs of the modern mother. I mean, I can plug my iPod into my stroller. The problem is that these high tech baby luxuries also require a high tech mother. I have had many baby items that were indeed wonderful, only I didn't know it because I didn't know how to work them. I don't mean to say that this ignorance is anyone's fault but my own, but let me share a few stories of my mishaps with baby gear to illustrate my point.

Observe the picture below:

This is Will when he was about four weeks old. My mother-in-law bought us this baby swing. She came to stay with us a few weeks after Will was born and while I stared at her bleary-eyed, pale, weak, and skinny from exhaustion, she told me, "You really need to use that baby swing. That will really help you out. Billy! Go get some batteries for that swing." A few days later, she left and I, in a fit of insanity only possible for mothers of newborns, reached the end of my rope. I decided to heed her advice and loaded Will into his baby swing. Imagine my total shock as he stopped crying and started looking around. Imagine my further shock as he drifted off to sleep within five minutes of swing installation. "What," I thought, "is this amazing device that makes my child sleep in a location that is not right next to me? More importantly, how can I show my deep appreciation for this object?" In the midst of setting up a full-fledged shrine around the swing complete with flowers, incense, and a pyre for animal sacrifice, I glanced at the still sleeping Will. As he drifted further and further into slumber, his little head began to slink farther and farther until it collapsed onto the tray in front. Make no mistake, he didn't seem to mind this position, but I thought he'd surely suffocate in it. "Why," I thought, "did they make this seat so upright that he can't sleep in the swing?" I dare say weeks went by as I puzzled over the swing. I'd stare at it, knowing it's power, but couldn't abide the thought of Will sleeping with his head crashed into his tray like some sort of narcoleptic senior citizen on morphine. Then I was watching A Baby Story one day and saw these parents load their kid into a swing that allowed the baby to recline. "Why the hell," I muttered to myself, "doesn't MY swing recline?" I glanced over at it. "Wait a minute," I thought. "Is that a HANDLE on the back of the seat? It is! What does that do?" Hallelujah! The swing reclined. I immediately loaded Will in and enjoyed a much needed 2 hour nap as a direct result of that swing. After I awoke, I could only look back with regret at the weeks of sleep I'd missed because I didn't know how to work the swing. I'm SURE it came with an instruction manual. I'm sure if I'd been committed enough to really work through the whole recliner problem in my brain, I might have even figured out the mechanism myself. The problem is that new moms don't have the intellectual capacity to handle technology like swing recliners. New moms barely have the intellectual capacity to work their own eyelids. I'm not sure what the swing manufacturers could do to fix this. Perhaps a big neon sign reading, "RECLINE HERE," would've helped. This takes me to the next bit of baby technology that was just too complex for me.

The travel system.

The travel system is comprised of a stroller, a carrier (which we have christened "the bucket") and a car seat base. The idea is that you can take your stroller, drop your bucket in it, cruise around, then pick your bucket up and drop it in the carseat base, all without even undoing the straps that are tethering your child to the bucket. When I went new baby shopping, I was jonesed about the "travel system." Then I took Will out for his first outing. How was I going to manage this bucket and a cart? Observe the picture above to discover my conclusions. The problem is that you can't load anything other than a few tubes of toothpaste into a cart with a bucket in the basket. Now, I may have been stupid about the swing reclining, but I KNOW I'm not the only one to totally eff up cart/bucket navigation. I've seen other moms' pictures where they are doing the same thing.

Anyway, I went through Will's entire babyhood wrestling that bucket into more and more restrictive cart spaces, wrangling Will's 17-20lb ass, exacerbated by the 17-20lb bucket across parking lots, down grocery aisles, etc. I eventually scrapped the bucket altogether, left the damn thing in the car, and wore Will in my Baby Bjorn knock-off rather than screw with the "travel system." Then, I had John. When I had both John and Will out at Target for John's Target initiation, I had a thought. I wheeled a cart to my car door, lifted John's bucket and angled the two small grooves at the bottom of the bucket over that silver bar that you will observe below the cart handle in the picture. Let me tell you that sonofabitch snapped right on. All that time I could've had the cart basket free and clear had I just been technologically savvy enough to experiment. Don't get me wrong, the buckets don't snap on all carts, but they do most of the carts. As it is, I still wore the baby around once he got big enough and now he sits up well enough to sit in the front of the cart. Nonetheless...

So, what made me write all this was the great jeans debacle that I had with Will at the end of this week. The other night, the weather turned considerably cooler. Cold enough so that jeans and a long sleeve shirt were appropriate for Will's wardrobe. I had bought six pairs of jeans for Will from Old Navy, and, like, twelve shirts, all for about $150. As my mom says, "You can't beat that with a stick." I bought 3T because I didn't want him to outgrow them until it's time for shorts next year. They were, expectedly, about an inch or two long. This is easily remedied by cuffing them. The waist, however, I think would've fit me comfortably, and have y'all SEEN my ass here lately? I didn't realize how bad they were slipping off of Will, though, until I went to pick him up from Pop Pop's Daycare and saw my child running around with his jeans halfway down his butt and a piece of twine tied around his waist from where my dad had tried to jerry-rig a belt for him. The only image I have of this is a video on my Aunt Pam's Facebook, so the Old Navy image of the jeans will have to suffice.

I remember having a similar issue last year and folded Will's waist bands down to remedy it. This year, however, I noticed this weird piece of elastic inside his waist band. It was on either side of the pants and had a hole and a button. Something told me to investigate further. Sure enough, all you have to do is pull that elastic out and you'll find a series of holes. Pull the elastic to the appropriate hole, secure it with the button and Voila! Your child's pants now fit. I went into the attic to check Will's 18 month jeans from last year and they had the same feature. So once again, it took me an inordinate amount of time to figure out yet another brilliant invention that child-gear manufacturers have created to make my life easier.

I hear parents all the time say that they wish their kids came with instructions. This would, admittedly, be helpful. But since that's not currently possible, I'd just settle for having a nice instruction manual to go with my kid's pants. Just sayin'

The Mom Wars: Working Mom Strikes Back

2011-09-17T12:15:00.000-07:00

About two months ago, I wrote about the Mom Wars, or the debate in the circles of motherhood which attempt to establish who is working hard, who is parenting more effectively, etc between working moms and stay-at-home-moms (SAHMs). In the previously mentioned post, I came down hard on the side of SAHMs and outline myriad reasons why working moms have the better gig. This was probably because I was on summer vacation and therefore was momentarily a member of the SAHM club. Now, I'm back at work and after not even four weeks of trying to keep three or four dozen plates spinning in the air, I feel like a plane crash survivor treading water in the middle of the ocean. At some point, I'm afraid I'm going to exhaust myself and then I'm going to drown.

Someone wrote some SAH version of If You Give a Cat a Cupcake
. As an aside, I really dislike that book. It's this litany of improbable cause and effect relationships between what can happen if you were to give a cat a cupcake and the activities that occur as a result. At any rate, the mom version goes through this stream-of-consciousness of how one chore leads to another (ie. you change a diaper and then you have to throw it away, which reminds you to take out the trash, which reminds you to rinse out the outside trash can to clean the sticky drink out that you threw in the other day, which reminds you to go to the grocery store to get more Coke...) etc. Anyway, the SAH version of this book is pretty dead-on when it comes to how your mind works when you're staying at home with your kids. One thought leads to another as you slowly try to tackle child-raising with housework, knowing full-well that neither will be complete but just trying to keep above the tide of domestic responsibilities. Again, it's like treading water.

The problem, I've learned, is compounded when you work and you have children. When it was just me, and even when I just had Will by himself, I did not feel that I was constantly amidst a tornado of responsibilities. Since returning to work after having John, however, my brain feels constantly filled to capacity trying to remember everything and meet every deadline. Every moment is filled with work. I used to sometimes just kick back and chillax for a minute, but now I KNOW it HAS to be done at work because there's no time at home. I'll get to work and immediately start grading papers, then they'll make an announcement to check emails, which'll remind me that I need to sign that bloodborne pathogens form, diabetes form, employee handbook form, etc. So I'll think, better do that right now. So I do it, walk it down to the office where I remember that I need to pick up some copying that I requested, which reminds me that I need to print a couple of more documents and go head and get them copied since I'll need them in a couple of days. Back to my desk and my computer I go, open the appropriate folder, get the documents, take a look at my other banked assignments, remember that one assignment that I gave last semester but wanted to tweak it, so I tweak it. Then I find myself questioning, "How long ago has it been since I re-read 'The Knight's Tale?' Should I read it again, or just take a chance that I'll be able to answer questions on it after I assign it?" Then I remember that I was grading papers, so I'll resume that task. I then realize that pretty much everyone has written paragraphs without topic sentences. I should review paragraph structure. I stop grading, go to my computer, look for those notes, activities, and assignments, print them out and put them aside to be copied. Then the bell rings to start first period and the above mental domino effect really hits a fever pitch.

When I finally get home, my mind is still doing the same thing, still trying to remember things. John needs another spare outfit for day care since he crapped in his today. Will wants to take Finding Nemo to day care (which is at my dad's house.)I must get it in his bag. Geez, time to pump milk already? All this is in addition to trying to play with my kids and teach them things in the four short hours between when I pick them up and when they have to go to bed. It's insanity. My brain feels so taxed from this lifestyle. I feel like I have so many things to remember but that I can't get a solid enough mental grasp on them to actually follow through. It's like hanging off a cliff and trying to grab sand to save yourself from falling. Still, miraculously, it all gets done. The house isn't as clean as I'd like it, but it's not filthy. My work at school isn't always done as fast as I'd like, yet I have to admit that most of the time, I'm on time with it all. Still, it's just a hard way to live and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up.

So, am I ready to give working moms a little more slack than I did in my previous post? Maybe. But I do still say that when I'm working, I'm not as good as a mom to my boys as I was when I was home with them. Even though my dad now keeps them, which feels so much better than dropping them off at a child-care institution, they still need me. And the sad thing now is that I know they want me. Will talks now and every morning he says, "Mommy, don't go to work. Stay here for a while." It breaks my heart. I have to tell you that I'm doing a great job at work right now. I'd like to do better, but all things considered, work is rocking and rolling. I don't think I can say the same about my parenting. I mean, I do okay. My kids are loved, bathed, fed, supported, educated, and are generally happy. I also know that being a SAHM on a continued basis isn't me. I need mental stimulation or I get a little crazy. I also know that I would NOT want to stay at home after my kids start school, but dislike the notion that I might not be able to reinter my profession because of this big child-raising hole in my resume. I love my work. I love having something that challenges me intellectually, that gets me out in the world, that makes me feel that I have purpose other than being Will's and John's mom. I like being who I am. That being said, I LOVE my boys and part of being a good mom means doing what's best for them not for me. I'm just not sure what that is right now.

Will has recently started watching Mary Poppins. In it, Bert sings a song to Mr. Banks that really hits me hard every time I hear it:

"You've got to grind, grind, grind at that grindstone
though childhood slips like sand in a sieve.
And all too soon they're up and grown
and then they've flown
And it's too late for you to give
Just that spoon full of sugar
to help the medicine go down"

It's a difficult decision to keep working. I'm still not sure it's the right one.

A Weighty Matter, or Myth-"bust"ing, or What You Will

2011-09-13T11:23:00.000-07:00

Today I want to broach a serious topic. Not really. I just want to talk about breast-feeding and weight loss and pregnancy and hitting 30 and other tragedies that befall female bodies over time.

Mostly, I want to dispell what I believe to be a huge myth about breastfeeding: that it helps you lose weight. To support my premise which has been derived by studying a sample size of one (or five if you count a few of my friends), I submit the following article released about five years ago:

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2004/09/16/health/webmd/main643898.shtml

I've written about my history with food before. I've never been a big eater, but mostly eat junk when I do eat. In fact, I eat most healthily when pregnant. In my regular life however, although I love salty foods, I'm not a big fan of sweets, with one exception: I'm an ardent Coke fan. Seriously. Observe the picture below.

You know, let me just be clear. I'm not just a Coke fan. Coke and I have a relationship. I'm a Coke addict. When I drink a swig of Coke, my eyes glaze over, roll back into my head, and start to close, and I feel my face contort into that slackened relaxed state which must look just like both of my babies look (or looked) when they would nurse. You lactaters know what I mean. The milk-drunk face.

Anyway, I give you this insight into my life to tell you that when I'm not nursing, I can get by on 1-2 Cokes a day and no additional sweets. When I'm nursing, I crave Cokes one after the other, like I've had as many as five a day this summer. (Don't judge me.) I guess it's the sugar (or high fructose corn syrup) because when I'm nursing, I also crave chocolate, cake, candy, etc. None of which even remotely peaks my interest when only satisfying my own nutritional needs. So, when I nurse, not only to I consume more of my one guilty pleasure, but my nursing appetite for other people's guilty pleasures increases as well. I eat more when nursing that I do when pregnant. In fact, I daresay I eat more when nursing than the entire roster of the Green Bay Packers eats when in football season.

Nursing is supposed to burn 500-700 extra calories a day if you are doing it exclusively, which I am. This means that you could theoretically burn off whole meals by sitting on your ass typing blogs while hooked to a breast pump. That could translate into a lot of weight loss except for the small glitch that you are nursing. A body doesn't just kiss that number of calories goodbye without demanding some recompense. Most of my friends admit that the cravings and hunger felt when nursing eclipse those of pregnancy ten-fold. Furthermore, nursing itself is pretty sedentary. You can't exactly run a marathon with an infant latched to your boob. Most of us are sitting on the couch watching Dr. Phil while milk extraction is occuring, be it by a baby sucking, or a breast pump whirring. Therefore, when the article cited above says that breastfeeding mothers have more fat stored and often are less active than formula-feeders, I totally buy it. I mean just the milk preparation alone is more exercise intensive than nursing. You have to shake formula. When you breastfeed, you just pour it into a bottle or lie there and be fed off of, emitting the occasional moo.

Therefore, I do NOT believe that breastfeeding facillitates weight loss.It may result in an initial weight purge, but long-term weight loss isn't really going to happen. And I have two kids and 125 pounds to prove it. So here's my story: With Will, my pre-pregnancy weight was 116. My six week post-partum weight was 114, which was mostly because I was so stressed out trying to figure out how to be a mom that I didn't eat. I also spent valuable eating time sleeping. Once I worked out the mom thing, about eight weeks in, I started to put that weight back on due to the aforementioned breastfeeding hunger. When I finished nursing, I weighed 124. I lost the ten pounds simply because I have this philosophy that losing ten pounds isn't as hard as losing, say, 110.

With John, I started pregnancy at 114, climbed to 140, and by my post-partum check up, I weighed 121. I now weigh 124. With any luck, I will stay at 124 until the end of breastfeeding, but who knows? I'll then lose the ten pounds before getting pregnant with the third kid... or I may just take up S&M and save the expense of daycare.

Here's what scares me though. I've not had many problems about turning 30. In fact, I found it safe and satisfying enough that I went ahead and turned 31. The one thing I'm noticing is that this body is really starting to change. It's getting squishier. My weight may not change, but the way it hangs does and I'm starting to get more and more suspicious that weight maintenance is about to get much harder. Most young people, I'm learning, keep their svelte physiques because their bodies just burn calories. It's a great big calorie bonfire in a young body. Then the body gets older and gets pregnant and the body realizes that, "Well damn, chocolate tastes freaking awesome!" And the body also realizes that running when one has cars and couches is a little silly, particularly when the whole exercise is just to leave your house, create some haphazard circle and then return to one's house with nothing to show for it.

So I have to admit, I'm a little scared. I've gone my whole life counting on nothing but the capricious whims of a high metabolism. Then, I messed with the fine calibrations of that metabolism by making it also sustain whole other human beings. My 29 year old body bounced right back after this exercise in procreation. Will my 31 year old body? What about my 33 year old body? Scary stuff. Scary stuff.

So in the end, I think there are many benefits to breastfeeding, but I don't think weight loss is one. I lost my baby weight pretty quickly with both pregnancies, but I think that had more to do with the fact that expelling another human being as well as tons of placenta and fluids tends to be a good weight loss regimen, not that I breastfed. It might have gotten my uterus back into shape faster, thereby making my size 6s easier to button one week after childbirth, but the size 8s I'm sitting in right now tend to bely any claim that breastfeeding is what made or will make me slim down. I've just got my fingers crossed that my increasingly senile metabolism will adjust itself appropriately when I no longer have to keep John in thighs.

If not, then I guess my thighs will be the ones to look like this.

Speak for Yourself, Ron Clark

2011-09-06T19:53:00.000-07:00

http://www.cnn.com/2011/09/06/living/teachers-want-to-tell-parents/index.html?&hpt=hp_c2

The article above is by Ron Clark. You might recognize him as the dude that was on Oprah and who left North Carolina to go teach in an inner city PS up in New York. He's written an opinion piece for CNN about what teachers presumably want to tell parents. In light of the genesis of another school year and in light of the 8th successive migraine that I've taken home with me, I'd like to take a moment to weigh in on my perspective of the parent/teacher relationship and on this article, which is, in my opinion, a bit presumptuous.

I'll address the point-by-point argument that Clark makes momentarily, but first, I want to say a few things about teaching before I launch into my opinions on Ron Clark:

1. I love being a teacher.
2. I am not underpaid (you and everyone in the world can view my salary on www.wcpss.net. I have nine years on my license, my master's degree and national board certification. You can figure out the rest.) I get that salary for working 10 months a year. Seems totally fair to me.
3. I work HARD.
4. I respect my students and try to deal with them reasonably.
5. I respect my students' parents and appreciate that they want the best for their kids.
6. I've never had an issue with a parent that went beyond exchanging a single email.

Okay, now on to Ron Clark. I'll bold his comments and respond in normal type.

#1- Please quit with all the excuses

"I was talking with a parent and her son about his summer reading assignments. He told me he hadn't started, and I let him know I was extremely disappointed because school starts in two weeks. His mother chimed in and told me that it had been a horrible summer for them because of family issues they'd been through in July. I said I was so sorry, but I couldn't help but point out that the assignments were given in May. She quickly added that she was allowing her child some "fun time" during the summer before getting back to work in July and that it wasn't his fault the work wasn't complete."

I'm stifling the urge to comment on just how much I HATE summer reading and don't know why we continue to assign it (AP English aside). Just so you know, Ron Clark, that mom wasn't making excuses for her son. I know it SOUNDS that way, but as a parent, I can tell you that she was making excuses for herself. When you totally slayed her son, she felt like you were criticizing her parenting. Your strong tone made her defensive and so she reacted like most people do when accused of something and that is to explain themselves. It's like when I went to the pediatrician when Will was one and got that 12 month questionnaire that asked me if Will was putting Cheerios into soda bottles and I felt like a total ass because I've never given him a soda bottle and a cheerio. I felt, in the moment, that I was single-handedly holding my child back and that he could never become a responsible, intelligent citizen if I was so remiss as to miss this very key developmental skill. I felt so chastened by this that I HAD to explain to the doctor that, no, to my knowledge, Will had never put a Cheerio in a soda bottle, but that was because I hadn't given him the materials or encouraged it. And I thought people weren't supposed to drink soda and so, you see it's not that WILL'S incapable, or not developing normally, or anything. It's just that I'm just not keeping up with what I need to be doing. So THAT'S what that woman was doing. She was responding to the insinuation that her child wasn't up to snuff by internalizing it to mean her parenting isn't up to snuff. Is it rational? No. Is it understandable? Yes.

This brings me to what I believe is the real reason that this mother made excuses and that is that Mr. Clark needs to calm down in his reprimands. He should do this not only to avoid inciting the behavior he dislikes, but he should also do it because when and how school work is done is not exactly his business so long as it represents the child's own work. I mean, the man told the kid he was "extremely disappointed" that the work wasn't done TWO WEEKS before school started. Isn't it due the first day of school? Could we reserve our "extreme disappointment" for when the due date comes and the assignment isn't complete? Can you imagine meeting your teacher for the first time and knowing that he's already "extremely disappointed" in you and school hasn't even started? I get that Ron Clark wants to impress upon the child the importance of not waiting until the last minute (I've yet to figure out WHY that's important, since my best work has been done that way, but people say it is, and who am I to argue?). So he wants to teach that lesson. Fine. He can convey this just as clearly by saying, "You'd better go ahead and jump on this assignment! There're only two weeks left and I want you to feel prepared and empowered on that first day!" The tone is totally different. Both mean get your ass in gear, but there's a huge difference between being urged into action with the promise of positive feelings and being told that you're an "extreme disappointment." If he hadn't tried to be an intimidating hard-ass, I bet he wouldn't have had a parent making excuses.

#2- Parents, be a partner instead of a prosecutor

"And parents, you know, it's OK for your child to get in trouble sometimes. It builds character and teaches life lessons... If we give a child a 79 on a project, then that is what the child deserves. Don't set up a time to meet with me to negotiate extra credit for an 80...This one may be hard to accept, but you shouldn't assume that because your child makes straight A's that he/she is getting a good education. The truth is, a lot of times it's the bad teachers who give the easiest grades, because they know by giving good grades everyone will leave them alone."

I totally agree that the best thing a parent can do sometimes is let her child fail and feel the full consequence of that failure. No, parents should not try to negotiate grades with teachers. Parents also shouldn't try to mitigate the consequences of their children's bad behavior. My problem with this is Mr. Clark's assertion that the grade given is always the grade deserved. This is not always true and even if it is, part of the learning process is knowing WHY you got a certain grade and knowing HOW to correct it. A student (and a parent) should be able to ask a teacher why he/she got a 79 instead of an 80 and the teacher should be able to explain it. While it's nice to think that grading is this logical, fair, completely equitable practice, it's not. Sometimes, teachers give a certain grade because they felt like it or they were irritated at something else when they graded that paper. Grades, particularly in humanities, can be VERY subjective and therefore a student or a parent is totally justified in asking for an explanation of a grade. I've found that 99% of the time, if I can give a student a rational answer as to why they earned the grade they did, I don't hear anything else about it. In the rare occasion that a parent has asked me, a well-reasoned explanation is all they want. If you are a teacher and you can't tell a parent or a student why a grade is what it is, then you DO need to rethink the grade.

I also vehemently disagree with his stance that good teachers don't give good grades. I don't fail a lot of students. I don't hand out A's all the time either, but it's important to me that my students grades reflect one thing: how well they've mastered the skills taught in my course. When I give an assignment, it's not this hoop for kids to jump through just for the Hell of it. It's designed to measure how well they can do a certain skill, like critical reading, or effective writing, etc. If I get that assignment back and it's terrible, that means they've not mastered the skill. I'm not teaching to hand out grades. I'm teaching to make sure kids know what they need to know to be responsible, productive citizens. If a student fails a task, that means I still have teaching to do. I often give students the opportunity to redo tasks or remediate a skill and be assessed again. A lot of my students get As, Bs, and Cs and it's not because I'm an "easy" teacher. It's because if they don't have As, Bs, or Cs, they've not learned what they need to and I ask them to go back and rework an assignment until they do.

This policy has worked really well for me. Not only does it really translate into more students understanding the course, but if this is your policy, parents really can't have a complaint with a grade. I've had parents question grades before and I've told them why the grade is what it is and that all the student has to do is make corrections, or come to remediation, or retake a similar test, or whatever to get the points back. What can you do then, but turn to your student and be like, "She's willing to work with you. The ball's in your court." That's putting responsibility on the student. Not saying, you didn't jump through this hoop in my timeline. Here's your grade and I really don't care if you know the material or not.

Now I'm not saying that all teachers are like I am. Some probably do pass out A's because it's the path of least resistance. I am saying, though, that if you're sitting with a parent who's fighting for more points for her kid, then you probably aren't explaining your grading very effectively AND you should probably think about why you're grading in the first place. I've learned it's always better to appear reasonable than to even actually BE reasonable. If you give people options and place the responsibility for success solely on their shoulders, they very quickly realize that they can only blame themselves if they don't succeed. I mean seriously. Imagine meeting with a parent about a grade and saying, "Well all she has to do to get the points back is redo the assignment, or correct this, or come to this help session, or do a similar assignment etc." What's the parent going to say? All she can do is look to the kid to take responsibility for the improvement.

#3- Teachers Walking on Eggshells

"My mom just told me a child at a local school wrote on his face with a permanent marker. The teacher tried to get it off with a wash cloth, and it left a red mark on the side of his face. The parent called the media, and the teacher lost her job. My mom, my very own mother, said, "Can you believe that woman did that?" I honestly would have probably tried to get the mark off as well. To think that we might lose our jobs over something so minor is scary...deal with negative situations in a professional manner. If your child said something happened in the classroom that concerns you, ask to meet with the teacher and approach the situation by saying, "I wanted to let you know something my child said took place in your class, because I know that children can exaggerate and that there are always two sides to every story. I was hoping you could shed some light for me."

Do we live in an overly litigious reactionary society? Yes. Does this marker face story send chills down my spine. No. First of all, it's hearsay. I'm hearing it from him who heard it from his mama who heard it somewhere else. Not exactly the best example. Second of all, if a kid wrote on his face, I actually don't think I would try to rub it off. At any rate, I don't know of many (if any) teachers who are seriously sitting around fearful of litigation. If you are, you might need either a therapist or to really evaluate some of your choices in the classroom. I do find it hypocritical, though, that he encourages parents to get "both sides of the story" by consulting with a teacher to verify what a child says when earlier in this article he criticizes the parent who, upon hearing about a child's bad behavior, asks the child, "Is this true?" Mr/ Clark says the teacher's word should be enough. Teachers have a lot pulling at their attention all the time and perhaps there is an angle to the story that he/she missed. There are usually two sides to a story and nobody should be faulted for trying to get more information. Not the parent who asks the child for his take on a situation, nor the teacher, who asks the parent for information about the child, nor the parent who asks the teacher for clarification. To maintain that because one is a teacher, he or she is infallible is dangerous and simply not correct. That being said, it did piss me OFF when I saw a student pull marijuana out of his bag and dangle it in front of classmates and the administrator that I called to deal with the issue simply asked the student if he had marijuana and the student said no so the whole issue was dropped. Overall, I think there's nothing wrong with anyone trying to get more information. Using discretion is deciding which is the most accurate information is another issue entirely.

Anyway, we'd all like to believe that all teachers are these saint-like individuals who give their all for their students. MOST of them are. But we all know that, just like you find all levels of competence in other professions there are good teachers and there are teachers who are jackasses. There are some who haven't thought their actions through. There are some who get off on having power over another person, so they make unreasonable demands on students and call them "standards" when really these standards have nothing to do with demonstrating whether or not a child has LEARNED the content. I'm thinking about that teacher who took off 10 points if you forgot to put your name on your paper and she had to spend all of three minutes figuring out whose paper it was. I'm thinking about the teacher who won't grade something unless it's written in black ink. I'm thinking about the teacher who keeps the grading criteria obscured like we're playing poker instead of trying help kids learn. I'm thinking about the teacher who thinks it's cute to try to scare kids on the first day of school by creating a climate of tension, stress, and unreasonable expectations, most of which have very little to do with actually LEARNING the material in the course. There are some teachers who mistake rigidity for rigor. Scaring the hell out of a kid because he wrote in the wrong color pen or has the wrong type of paper has NOTHING to do with whether or not he learned the course objectives. Refusing to take late work and handing out zeros like free iPods doesn't teach your students the content of your course. Teachers need to reconnect with the actual purpose of their profession. Teachers are not gatekeepers weeding out riff-raff from higher education by throwing out obscure stumbling blocks to separate the wheat from the chaff, they should be preparing ALL students to be intelligent members of their society.

So, I appreciate your sentiments, Ron Clark, but I just don't really agree. Teachers sometimes ARE the root of their own problems. All that being said, I'll never forget the year I had a teacher who was a mean, hateful witch. I was so angry and my friends' moms had gone to the school to complain. I wanted my mom to go too. She sat me down and said, "I'm not going to the school. If she wants your name on your paper, write your name on your paper. If she wants black ink, write in black ink. Is it stupid that she wants these things? Maybe, maybe not. Is it going to hurt you to give her what she wants? No. If the answer were yes, I'd go to the school. In this world, you're going to run into a lot of people who want stupid things. You'll have teachers, bosses, coworkers, government officials, the IRS, etc., all of whom will have different standards that they think defines what's "best." The best thing you can do when you run into someone who has power over you is to figure out what their game is and play it better than they do. That's what it's all about. Sometimes you'll run into an issue that you should stand up to, but at those times you have to ask yourself if the battle's worth fighting and if you're up to facing the consequences of taking the battle on, whether they be fair or unfair. That's what life's about." Is she cynical? Ehhh... a realist. Is she right? Yes. So that would be MY message to parents. Explain to you child how the world works and encourage him/her to find ways to surmount challenges without your fighting their battles for them. My advice to teachers would be to respect a student's and/or a parent's right to understand what's happening at school. An inquiry is not an affront to your authority. It's an opportunity for parents and students to learn and for you to really reflect on your practices, which can only make you a better teacher in the long run. So, that's my $.02. Keep the change.

Potty Training: Don't Take it Sitting Down

2011-08-23T14:13:00.000-07:00

Today was a momentous day in our family. After an entire summer of begging, bribing, and brow-beating, Will finally did a major solid transaction in the potty. I've read that a lot of kids train on bowel movements before they train on urinating, but Will has been the exact opposite. He started intermittently using the potty for pee this past spring, but try as I might, I could NOT get him to use the potty for the "main act" so to speak. (Note to a 19 year old Will who may have just stumbled onto this post while looking for porn: Sorry to chronicle such an intimate moment on the internet, but I'm just SO PROUD OF YOU!) Anyway, so it happened today while he was at my dad's house.

I won't get into too much detail about this since it is more of a personal experience, and since it's about such a squeamish topic for some. I mean, you might say my blog is nothing but a bunch of crap, but I don't necessarily want that to be the literal truth. However, now that I have become the master of potty-training having trained a single two-year-old, I have some potty-training tips to impart to you, my devoted readers. If you want to potty-train your child, you must:

1. Talk about the potty ALL THE TIME.

Seriously. You have to make a big deal about the potty. You may think that "potty talk" is not germane to most situations. You would be wrong. If you are riding in the car, you might say, "Boy. I'm glad I went to the potty before we left!" Or, "I have to drive fast because I have to use the potty." If you are in church, you might say, "Do you know what? God likes it when we use the potty!" (I'm convinced this is true.) At meal times you can just randomly insert the potty into your conversations. For example, "I finally got that report finished for Dan, who, as you know, LOVES TO USE THE POTTY!" This leads me into my next potty-training rule, which is:

2. Frequently list the names of people, animals, and Pixar film stars who use the potty.

Seriously. I have made a huge deal over the fact that everyone my son admires, real or imaginary, uses the potty. This list includes all major family members, firemen, policemen, Mary Poppins, The Court Jester, Nemo, McQueen, the big boys in the neighborhood, Calliope (our cat), Uncle Harry (my parents' English bulldog), and any number of other individuals whom my son has identified as worthy of his notice. Once you've done numbers 1 and 2 (so to speak), you are ready for the third step in potty-training. Do not attempt this next step unless you are SURE that you are ready to potty-train your child.

3. Buy 248 diapers for your child in one transaction

Seriously. I went to Target this past Saturday to get diapers for Will. They were having a special where if you bought two boxes of 124 diapers, you got a free $10 Target gift card. I thought, "God knows Will will use these, I'll just go ahead and get two boxes. (Yes, I could've got a box for John, but he's teetering between size 2 and 3 right now, whereas Will's been in size four for probably a year.) I believe at this moment, the universe conspired to make those diapers no longer necessary. This is similar to the fact that I have twice purchased huge boxes of tampons and mega bottles of ibuprofen only to get pregnant within days of the purchase therefore making both items unusable for the foreseeable future. So, a major diaper purchase will definitely push you closer to your goal.

#4. Your final step is to take your child to your parents' house where your parents will teach him to use the potty.

Seriously. My dad now provides my children with day care. I've tried all summer to get Will to use the toilet, particularly for the solid events. Day after day, I begged Will. I let him wander the house with no pants. I sat him on the toilet after breakfast when the major activity usually happens. Nothing. Nothing at all except Will looking me dead in the eye and saying, "I'm not using that potty, Mommy." Many days, I watched Will go into the bathroom to have privacy while he went to the potty in his diaper. I failed. Hour after hour, day after day, week after week, month after month, I failed. Will goes to my dad's house for one week, and manages two days without soiling the diaper he was dropped off in. This includes today which resulted in the first BM to be directly deposited into the potty. So if you're trying to train your toddler, take him/her to your mom and dad. I mean, if makes sense now that I think about it. They raised me, and I am successfully potty trained. I should have thought of it before.

I know that it'll be a while before he's completely potty-trained. I may even get a chance to use all 258 of those diapers, but this is a step in the right direction and I'm excited. In fact, this has trumped most of the major milestones in my life including when I got engaged and all my post-secondary degrees. I'm not sure what that says about me, but there you go. Anyway, glad to be able to share my parenting insights with the internet.

Suck on This!

2011-08-16T13:47:00.000-07:00

In meandering through the internet this morning (John's napping and Will's watching Mary Poppins), I stumbled onto the following article:

The basic jist, if you don't feel like personally perusing it, is the issue of women being asked to leave public places for public nursing. As a nursing mother, this seemed pretty relevant to me leading me to really consider my definitions of inappropriate when it comes to public nursing. Have I ever nursed in public? Not really. Unless you include my going to sit in the car to nurse or nursing (while covered up) in public rooms of my house when extended family is present.

I think part of the problem is that childbirth decimates all sense of modesty in women. I mean, child delivery necessitates that a number of strangers make themselves very familiar with one's personal regions and once the whole debacle is over, a woman pretty understandably sees no harm in the rest of society viewing what were previously esoteric parts of her body. That being said, while I don't see public nursing as a problem per se, I do believe that women have the responsibility to adhere to social conventions of modesty.

About a year ago, Bill, my mom, and I took Will to the zoo. While we were waiting at the entrance, I saw a woman breastfeeding in public. The woman was wearing a V necked T-shirt and she had pulled the V of her shirt down over one breast (the right, in case you were wondering-- the image is that vivid in my mind) and was pacing around outside with her entire breast exposed and her child latched on nursing. At this point, I had already nursed one child and was pregnant with another and I have to admit that even I thought this to be pretty inappropriate. There were benches lining the perimeter of the entrance way not ten feet from her in any direction. I see no reason why she couldn't sit on a bench, turned away from the general population (which afforded a great view, by the way), with her shirt lifted from the bottom so as to conceal her body from the general public. There was really no cause to walk around almost completely exposed, essentially flashing everyone in every direction as she paced in circles and walked through the middle of the entranceway. Do I think breastfeeding is a sexual act? No. Do I think it's gross or inappropriate? No. Do I think that you can provide your child with nutrition while at the same time conforming to social conventions of modesty? Absolutely. So, I'd like to look the situations of the four women highlighted and tell you if I think it's cool or not... because, you know, everyone is always asking my opinion about these things.

Woman #1: Was asked to leave a flight after she refused to cover up while breastfeeding her 22 month old.

Women should be allowed to breastfeed on planes. I believe that. But two things jump out at me about this woman: 1. She refused to cover up and 2. She was nursing her 22 month old. There's no reason why one can't discretely nurse on an airplane. You are barricaded in by seats, the airplane provides blankets if you don't have your own, and truly there's no reason for any personal exposure regardless of the presence or absence of blankets. She had to be really flaunting it for anyone to even notice, which was perhaps exacerbated by the fact that the child she was nursing was almost two years old. Two year olds walk, talk and look strikingly like grown up kids. They can also chew pretty much all solid foods, are coordinated enough to use forks and spoons and drink whole milk out of cups, with or without sippy lids. I'm not going to get into the whole issue of extended breastfeeding here, but typically, the type of woman who's still nursing a two year old is the kind with really fanatical views of breastfeeding. A "lactivist" so to speak. I'm sure watching a 2 year old walk up to his/her mom and ask to nurse was disconcerting to people, particularly when the mother wouldn't cover herself. I think a key point is that the attendant asked her to cover up. He/she didn't ask her to cease nursing or go to a bathroom. She was simply asked to cover up. There's no reason not to have complied. I think she's 100% in the wrong in this scenario.

Woman #2: Was breastfeeding in a mall food court and was asked to go to the bathroom to nurse by a mall security guard.

This woman is quoted in the article as saying, "I wear nursing tanks. I try to be discreet. I don’t need people to see my business. I had a security guard come up to me and say, ‘People are uncomfortable with you. I’m going to have to ask you to go into the bathroom." This is totally different. The nursing tank would have made her anatomy pretty difficult to see. I don't know where in the food court she was, but regardless, as long as she wasn't exposed, I don't see the big deal. I think she was right to be affronted.

Woman #3: Was asked to leave a Las Vegas restaurant for refusing to cover up while nursing her baby.

Like woman number one, why didn't she cover up? The waiter offered her a cloth napkin. All anyone asked of her was that she nurse discretely. She refused, leading one to surmise that her goal in public nursing was not (or not only) to provide nutrition for her child, but to make a political statement as well. I think this type of approach to public nursing is what turns so many people off.

Woman #4: Was asked to move farther away from the swimming pool when openly nursing her baby next to the pool.

In this scenario, again, no one said she couldn't nurse. In fact, no one even insinuated that she was being immodest by doing so. The lifeguard said he didn't want to contaminate the water with breastmilk so he wanted her to move back from the side of the pool. Now this particular argument makes no sense to me because presumably she got in the pool and could've leaked into it without anyone even knowing. Furthermore, I've seen breastmilk shoot some impressive distances, but I think the chances are remote that it would shoot into a swimming pool on the off-chance that a latched baby would come unlatched and then dodge the spray so that if could fly into the pool. Usually when my babies come off too soon, they take the spray in the face. Anyway, I'm torn on her situation. She said she was near the pool to watch her toddler son, but what would she have done if the toddler started to drown. Dive in with the infant still latched? Toss the infant aside? Also it said her husband was also at the pool. Couldn't he have watched the toddler long enough for the woman to nurse? I don't know. I think you should be allowed to discretely nurse at the pool. The key to all of this is discretion.

Here's the thing: the article brings up a few points to justify the position of women who claim they should be able to nurse in public completely exposed and despite the discomfort of those around them. One of which is the testimony of a Nigerian woman who talks about the prevalence of fully-exposed public breastfeeding in Nigeria. While this seems reasonable on the surface, I have to point out with what I believe to be astonishing accuracy that these women in this article don't live in Nigeria. Different societies have different social restrictions. There are other places in the world where men don't wear pants. Their bodies are every bit as natural as those of women and their constant nudity isn't usually prurient, but still if a man walked around pantsless in America, he would be quickly cited for indecent exposure, probably most quickly by the very women who make an issue out of public breastfeeding.

Another argument is that breastfeeding is a natural process and as such, people should be totally comfortable with it. A lot of things are natural, but we still don't do them in public. Using the bathroom is natural, having sex is natural, yet neither of these acts is publicly permissible.

The article also cites Victoria's Secret's no-nursing policy, as well as the location of woman #3's restaurant as being Las Vegas-- neither of which have a reputation for public modesty as being indicative of public hypocrisy when it comes to nursing. This brings up the only relevant point, I think, which is why are we more comfortable with seeing barely covered Victoria's Secret models or scantily clad Showgirls than we are nursing mothers? I think this might be the key issue and I honestly would much rather see a nursing mother than topless teenagers frolicking in swimming pools ala Abercrombie and Fitch ads. However, until public mores adjust, I think all people have a social obligation to act in a manner that facilitates the greater comfort of the majority. Particularly when discreet public breastfeeding is so easily accomplished.

I mean, I pump and bottle the stuff to make public feeding easier (as well as to make it possible for others to feed the baby so I can try on new clothes or eat a meal at a restaurant with both hands.) That being said, occasions arise when you don't have expressed milk. You can still feed in public without causing a scene. Choose a private corner of a restaurant or food court, or nurse in the car. Wear nursing tanks or bring receiving blankets so you aren't letting it all hang out. Failing that, you can STILL nurse discretely just by strategic positioning of your baby and your available clothing. Anyway, I think most of the conflict concerning this issue, as in most conflicts, comes from people on both sides wanting to start a controversy where there doesn't have to be one. And so I say to women and babies everywhere, there's no reason not to discretely breastfeed in public. If you can accomplish that, then by all means, suck on!

To the Second Power

2011-08-04T08:08:00.000-07:00

I don't want to scare any of my friends who just have one kid. I really don't. I think they should freely, blindly, and enthusiastically procreate their way into insanity just as I did. The purpose of the following is so that they won't be as smug as I was when they do so. Though, to be honest, people tried to tell me that having two kids was four times as hard as having one, and I didn't listen. It's kind of like how people told me that my first year of teaching would be equivalent to Hell on earth and I kind of smiled and thanked them for the advice while thinking, "Yeah. I'm sure it's hard... for stupid people." Therefore, no one is really going to appreciate this except for those of you who're enjoying the chaos that unfolds from multi-parity. And even if you single kid parents believe what I'm about to say, you don't know how it feels and that's the worst part. Anyway, for your edification and commiseration, I submit the following:

I'm really gonna have to get some of that gum.

Before John was born, I felt so confident. I just didn't think, knowing what I knew from having one, that I'd once again find myself prostrate on the floor sobbing and fantasizing about breaking bones, getting in car crashes, anything to warrant a couple of days in the hospital hooked up to morphine. In other words, anything to have someone step in, give me a break, and take care of me. I heard a divorced man on the Dr. Joy Browne radio show the other day (because misery loves company) talk about his child custody arrangement. His wife got the kids during the week and he got them on the weekends, and my first thought upon hearing this was NOT, "Man, that really sucks that their marriage didn't work out." It was, "Whoah, you mean she gets the weekends off?" Seriously. Things are bad around here. I'm tired. I'm going on 4.5 months without a good night's sleep. And it's taking it's toll. So here's the big deal about two versus one.

1. Sleep when the baby sleeps is awesome advice that you can't take when you have two babies.

John takes a morning nap now. It's like two hours long. It occurs right at the moment when I feel like I could fall asleep myself. The problem is that Will is around and he wants to run and destroy things at the precise time that John goes down. Therefore, I can't sleep when the baby sleeps. Only recently have I been able to synchronize the afternoon nap so the two boys are sleeping at the same time. The problem is that by that time, I'm wired and awake. By the time I get to sleep, somebody wakes up.

2. Going anywhere is a logistical nightmare.

Seriously. If I snap the straps on the carseats ONE MORE TIME, I will go insane. True story from yesterday: We went to Target. I put John in the Target baby seat hooked to the stroller because I forgot my baby sling. After doing this, I spent a lot of time trying to keep him from putting the straps of the Target baby seat into his mouth. Meanwhile, Will's on the run, which I don't mind as long as he stays in sight. Unfortunately, I had to buy a new sports bra so that I could cut holes in it to put the breast pump shield things in so that I can pump milk hands-free. Therefore, I couldn't keep a sharp eye on him which meant that merchandise displays and other customers could be in peril. So, I threatened Will with time out in the cart, and he came and stood with me, but I still can't concentrate on the crucial sports bra purchase because he has to ask me what everything IS all the time. In the midst of this, I conceded defeat with the baby seat straps and just told myself that Target baby seats are one of the many reasons why John has an immune system and why I'm doing all this breastfeeding nonsense in the first place.

THEN, we went to the produce section and Will wanted to hold the little plastic container of blueberries. And I let him do it. (You see where this is going... don't judge me.) Well, by and by (you literary types can enjoy the Huck Finn reference), he decided he didn't want to hold the blueberries anymore, so he threw the blueberries in the cart. The container broke open and blueberries went EVERYWHERE. I consider it a victory that I kept my cool. Will and I frantically started picking up blueberries, and just as we got the last few in the box, John fills up his pants-- onesie-staining-style. As soon as I process this, I realize that Will is missing. I find him hidden at the end of an aisle, also filling up his pants, and I realize that I left the diaper bag in the car. FML. I stood in Target, gestured to those around me and said outloud, "Anybody else need to take a crap?" And we paid for our goods and left. I'll leave you to imagine how I cleaned the boys up at the car, got them buckled in. etc. When you've got one baby, you snap him in and go. You bring a lot of stuff, but really, taking care of one child is relatively manageable. When you've got two, it's almost not worth it.

3. With two, each of your kids is only really happy 50% of the time. And you are really happy 0% of the time.

My days are comprised of seeing to Will's needs, seeing to John's needs, and trying to see to the needs of the household. If I'm playing with Will, John's either tolerating this in his Exersaucer, or he's in my lap fussing about it, or he's shrieking with discontent. If I'm playing with John, Will is tolerating the isolation by playing with his cars, or he's bored watching TV, or he's bouncing off the walls for attention, sating his need for activity by tearing out things out of dresser drawers and frolicking too boisterously near his brother. Sometimes, they both are on their own and I'm trying to quell this sick desire I have to have clean clothes, clean toilets, clean dishes, etc. The entire time I'm doing anything, I feel guilty because I can't do it all. I can't fingerpaint with Will and work on his ABCs when I'm trying to help John sit up and roll over and make him laugh. And then I feel guilty because deep down, I don't want to do those things. I WANT to sit on my ass and watch TV. I WANT to sleep for about 8 hours in a ROW.

4. Maintaining a schedule for anyone is virtually impossible.

John and Will get up at 7. John goes to sleep for his morning nap two hours later. That means as soon as I get everyone fed and dressed, it's time for John to take a nap. Ideally, I'd like to take Will outside and let him be active before it gets too hot. But I can't do that with John asleep inside. I could use a baby monitor (had I not smugly determined that one's not necessary when I had one baby), but then I'd be paranoid the whole time we were gone that John was being kidnapped in my absence. This means that we don't do anything until John wakes up at 11. At 11, I usually have an errand to run, but we have to eat lunch. They might both fall asleep in the car. I don't want them to sleep in the car because that might screw up the afternoon nap and I LIVE FOR THE AFTERNOON NAP. I want Will to play outside as well, but after 10, it's too damn hot to be out there. Will's miserable. I'm miserable, and we're honestly only out there because Bill'll subject us to the third degree when he gets home about, "Did you get any fresh air today?" To which I'd like to reply, "Yes. I sprayed that Febreze "Spring Day" fragrance on the couch and then made the boys smell it." So at the end of the day, I've not been the cool educational mom who has well-rounded kids. I'm the mom who has boys who watched more Finding Nemo than they should have and who spent time being alternately bored and over-stimulated. I lose again.

5. Having two means that what little bit of time you had for your spouse (or yourself) after having one is pretty much gone.

Here's what time together with Bill looks like: He's taking care of Will and I'm taking care of John. Or he's doing a chore and I'm taking care of both. Or I'm doing a chore and Bill's taking care of both. Or, they're both asleep and I'm trying to catch up on the sleep I lost the night before. Or they're both asleep and I'm trying to have some time to myself. Either way, it's a challenge to do things together once there's two. Especially when one doesn't sleep through the night. In fact, maybe all of the above will get better once John sleeps all night. At any rate, I'm sure all of this is nothing compared with what those with more kids deal with. And really, my fascination with them is trying to figure out when they had the time to conceive the additional kids in the first place. Again, maybe all this will calm down as John gets older.

Anyway, so those of my observations of life with two. And before you think I'm just a big Debbie Downer, I promise to delineate in my next post why having two is better than having one. Until then...

And We're Off...

2011-07-28T19:08:00.000-07:00

I gave John his first hit of "solid" foods tonight. Well, I say solid. That first batch of rice cereal is always so runny, I'm not sure it can be classified as a solid, to be honest. John actually did a good job with it, though. I was surprised because unlike Will, who never met a meal he couldn't keep down, John's spit up a few times. He also used to really turn his nose up at bottled breastmilk. I really expected him to turn up his nose at the rice cereal and furrow that gigantic forehead of his and spit it all out. I believe he kept down as many 10 or 11 spoonfuls. Some of it did get pushed out by his tongue, but my the end there, he was sucking it off the spoon, then stopping and grinning at me like, "You finally got the memo that I needed some food."

After he ate, he started burying his head in my collar bone to let me know he was sleepy and I put him in his crib while still awake and he put himself to sleep with no fuss. I've got my fingers crossed that those "experts" who say rice cereal won't get you anymore sleep are just totally wrong and that he'll give me at least six hours in a row tonight. Here's hoping anyway.

As I was feeding him his cereal, I just kept thinking that this was the first real step from being an infant to becoming an actual human being. I remember Will's earliest weeks as dragging by really slowly. Then it's like he had his first taste of solid food and before I knew it, he was having his first birthday party and walking around. Another baby is growing up. Now if only he'd sleep through the night.

My Parenting Manual

2011-07-27T08:22:00.000-07:00

Everyone else is writing one, it seems, so why don't I? So here it is. Keep in mind that it's being written on about two hours sleep and after observing the behavior of a sample size of two children, neither of whom has been alive long enough to remember more than one presidential administration. To be honest, I'm not convinced that either is aware of even one presidential administration and feel certain that when President Obama appears on TV, Will thinks, "I wonder what is his stance on the common opinion that Cars is inferior to other Pixar films," and John thinks, "I wonder if his boobs work."

Anyway, I say all that to make the salient point that I very well may not know what I'm talking about. So, I've finished Babywise and really now believe that there are two variants of parenting books. One type promotes attachment parenting (Dr. Sears, Dr. Karp, and similar), which, taken to an extreme can lead to such behaviors as breastfeeding your 15 year old and sleeping with your child on his/her wedding night.

At least that's the opinion of the OTHER variant of baby book writers (Babywise, Dr. Weissbluth, Dr. Ferber, etc) who advocate baby training and scheduling, which according to the attachment parenting advocates can lead to your child with indelibile associations between crying and sleeping, culminating with repeated visits to the Dr. Phil show to get tips on battling insomnia and the unexplained need to eat every three hours.

What has ultimately aggravated me in the baby book wars has been the determination of each side to present their own method by tearing down the methods of the opposition. They can't just present their method but they must also insinuate that by following the other side, you are abusing your child and setting him/her up for a lifetime of psychological and physical health issues. The end result is a parent torn between the opinions of experts each of whom tends to take the very loaded stance that if you don't follow their method, you are hurting your child. Parents don't want to hurt their children, even when they draw seahorses on the wood floors (thank God for washable crayons). I mean, Dr. Sears, sometimes my baby has to cry. I can't wear him in the car due to federal regulations. Is he really going to grow up to feel abandoned and suspicious if I have to or choose to let him cry occasionally? And babywisers (and similar cohorts), is my child really going to be a crying, needy, demanding jackass if I breastfeed him on demand, co-sleep, and wear him in a sling? I also want to weigh in to say that neither Dr. Sears nor baby wise seems to advocate these extremes. Dr. Sears ultimately says to follow your instincts and find the method that works for your lifestyle. Likewise, baby wise tells you not to let young babies cry and to always evaluate cries to assess if your baby needs you. That being said, both books take a hardline stance on some issues. Dr. Sears specifically says to respond immediately to your baby's cries, which I don't think is always appropriate. Babywise says it's totally cool to let your kid cry for half an hour or more, which I don't think is always appropriate. Anyway, the end result of these parenting manuals ultimately looks something like this:

So in light of this, I want to unveil the Hennenlotter method. The core of my parenting method revolves around this question, "Is this working?" I've taught high school English for nine years now and have had the pleasure of interacting with over a thousand different personalities. I've encountered some classes that made me want to wear a bullet-proof vest to work every day, and I've dealt with individual personalities that have presented their own challenges. What I've learned is that what works for one won't necessarily work for another. I've always got to try something, tweak it, and perfect it only to pull it out in another situation to find that it falls on its face and I've got to go back to the drawing board for a different approach. I think parenting is probably pretty similar.

So here's my take on each of the following controversial methods of sleep training and parenting babies.

Co-sleeping: If it works for you, then do it. I've done it with both boys and believe that I've gotten more sleep as a result. That being said, it has its time and place. At some point, we learn to sleep alone. The best advice I can give is to constantly reflect on the ultimate goal (which should be the development of healthy long-term sleep habits) and whether the practice is facilitating the ultimate achievement of that goal. Personally, I think by 3-4 months a baby is best served at least starting to learn to sleep alone in his/her crib. But that's just me and it's just me right now. I may have a 3rd child, or at this rate even a second child that makes me re-evaluate that claim.

Cry-it-out: I just let John cry in his crib at morning nap time. The reason for this was largely practical as I needed to get Will dressed and determined that if John was still crying after I'd spent some time seeing to Will's needs, I'd go in there and pick him up and rock him some more and nurse him some more, etc. As it was, he put himself to sleep before I got a chance to do so. Also I might also add that not immediately responding led to his sleeping his longest stretches of 7+ hours. That being said, do I believe "crying it out" is the right thing to do? Not always. Again, I gotta go with my gut and always ask myself if my choices are facilitating my goal of having a kid who has a healthy attitude toward sleep.

On-demand feeding: In the early weeks, I think that's the only thing appropriate. I think most babies develop a routine on their own as they get acclimated to the world. That being said if my kid sleeps for eight hours and starts losing weight and not having wet diapers at two weeks of age, perhaps I need to intervene. Again, it should all be tempered with common sense and an overall goal of facilitating your child's ultimate health.

Baby-wearing: Babywise kept saying that we wear our babies (in Moby Wraps, Baby Bjorns, etc.) to keep them from crying, creating unhealthy attachment. Personally, I think babies don't cry in slings because they're entertained. They're moving around, seeing new things, etc. To me this facilitates optimum learning and inclusion into the real world. That being said, if my kids ever seem unable to lie by themselves and be satisfied or spend time interacting with toys on the floor, then baby-wearing isn't accomplishing the ultimate goal of helping kids feel secure in the world both with others and alone. Therefore, I'd probably spend less time holding my kid and more time interacting with him/her on the floor.

When Bill and I got married we talked about how, like we have the golden rule of "Do unto others..." we should also have a silver rule. We deciding the silver rule should be "Everything in moderation." So, when it comes to babies and kids and parenting techniques, I think we should all get as many different techniques as we can and not hesitate to try something to see if it works. We can always scrap a technique or modify it to suit our needs. So that's my take on parenting manuals. Read them. Read them all. Take note of their strategies. Use their strategies. If they work, great. If they don't, then don't use them. But I wouldn't advise choosing one parenting methodology and rigidly adhering to it even if the results indicate its not working for you, all the while criticising the alternative. Try everything. When something works, keep doing it until it doesn't work and then try something else. Also you should always be open to the reality that some things are just phases, some issues resolve themselves, and that sometimes what's best for you, ie. a full night's sleep, isn't best for your child at this particular point in time. So that's my $.02, and unlike these books that are charging upwards of $10 for their wisdom, I'm perfectly willing to admit that $.02 is all my opinion is worth. In fact, I'll accept that it may have no value whatsoever and will thus share it online for free.

Old School

2011-07-26T19:14:00.000-07:00

I'm faced with quite a troubling reality and I'm not sure how to handle it. I've got to go through a break up... with my son's daycare. I've loved my son's daycare since the first time I went there. We really did a lot of research about daycares (in the form of my calling to see how much it cost) and I was really happy with my decision. Actually, it was Will's decision. I narrowed it down to two and then put the brochures in front of him and went with the one he picked up and started chewing on:

I still remember his first day of school:

At any rate there are two kids now, which takes daycare bills up to two grand a month. We could buy another house for that. Also, my dad has entered retirement and needs some "part time" work, so, he's going to be taking care of my boys. I kinda want to tell him that this is much more than a part-time job, but I kind of like the thought of having an extra grand a month, so I'm keepin' it on the DL. Will loves his Pop Pop and I'm sure that John will too once he gets past the stage of identifying everyone based on whether or not said individual has working boobs.

So I've got to let the daycare know that my boys won't be coming there anymore. I hate that John won't be cared for by Mrs. Stanley. I hate that Will won't see his little friends anymore (though he frankly doesn't seem to care). I also hate that they've been so flexible with me only for me to leave them in the lurch. Most of all, and this is so egotistical and conceited, I hate that they won't get to take care of my boys. I feel bad for them that they won't get to hear Will belt out "Blow" by Ke$ha or experience John's amazingly bright eyes. They probably could give a damn, but I'm all like, "You poor bastards won't get to take care of my kids!" Anyway, that's my next parenting challenge. Breaking up with our daycare.

In sleep news, John continues his good work of sleeping long stretches one night, then waking up 18,000 times the next. The good news is that I put him down while still awake tonight and he put himself to sleep with no fuss... after spending the better part of ten minutes trying to scratch off the little giraffe pictures on his sheets. A neighbor loaned me Baby Wise and I'm in the midst of it. I'll weigh in on it soon. I think the baby sleep book wars are really coming down to being between Baby Wise and Dr. Sears. This is quite exciting. Stay tuned.

Sleep Training Sucks

2011-07-24T12:50:00.000-07:00

I know now that I was spoiled with Will. Babies do not always just magically begin sleeping consistently through the night at 14 weeks. Moreover, I thought that Will slept this way (don't laugh) because I was this highly effective parent. Clearly, my child wouldn't have perfect sleep habits if I just hadn't been this parenting savant. As it turns out, Will slept well because Will slept well. Either that, or some nuance of my parenting with Will is what led him to sleep through the night and I didn't take note of it, so I can't replicate it with John. Perhaps it was the bob haircut that I had back then.

At any rate, as you might surmise, John still isn't giving me any consistent sleep. He teases me, going as long as seven or eight hours a night and then reverting back to 45 minute to two hour stretches, as he did last night. It's driving me nuts. Seriously, I've started drinking because of it.

I'm a coffee drinker now. Never in my life would I have thought that I'd be one of those people who had to have a daily "cup of ambition" to start my day, but now I am. I am running solely on caffeine, sugar, and rage. Seriously. I'm getting to the point where I'm really infuriated all the time. Anger comes out of no where for me and it's really hatefully unreasonable. It reminds me of that scene in Clue when Madeline Kahn is talking about why she killed Yvette. If you aren't familiar with this particular example of comic brilliance, check out the following:

This flames on the side of my face phenomenon is a daily occurence. Only it's not funny. Not at all. It scares me if I'm honest. Anyway, I've shared on here how I thought I had triumphed in the sleep wars only for my luck to run out 2-3 days later so that I got to enjoy yet another night of mystery awakenings. And isn't it exciting? I just love that unpredictability of NOT KNOWING when I will be awake or asleep. It's wonderful. And it's a real pick-me-up too when I'm feeling down or discouraged.

All of this has led me into a new dimension of parenting: Sleep training. I have purchased a shit ton of books about how to get my kid to start sleeping through the night. These include Dr. Sears The Baby Book (he has a whole chapter on sleep), Dr. Karp's The Happiest Baby on the Block, Dr. Weissbluth's Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, and now Suzy "The Baby Coach" Giordano's The Baby Sleep Solution. I daresay I will continue to buy baby sleep books as long as I continue to be sleep deprived. I've NOT tried the Babywise books because they aren't available for Nook and I don't have time to be going to the bookstore. Now that I've started my project to build the biggest library of theoretical baby sleep techniques, I've noticed a few things about people who want to sell you sleep training books.

1. They are all soul-less opportunists

These people are worse than drug dealers who hang out outside of rehab facilities. They KNOW you want what they're selling. They're almost as bad as people who sell books about weight loss. They are taking advantage of human desperation. They know you want to sleep so badly, you'll do anything. They also know you are so sleep-deprived that you'll buy anything if it promises more sleep. They know that you are desperate and you have no capacity for sound judgment. They see your complete abject vulnerability and they think, "Cha-ching!" (I exempt Dr. Sears from this category for reasons that I'll explain later.)

2. They all promise 100% success

I mean, that's pretty enticing. That's what the Baby Coach is currently telling me. She says that 100% of babies succumb to her sleep method. Consider me seduced. Dr. Weissbluth said the same thing. So did Dr. Karp. None has yet delivered on that promise (although in all fairness, I've not yet implemented Giordano's method because it just seems too self-serving. Give me time, though. I'm getting desperate.) Again, Dr. Sears has been the only one to concede that I'm probably not going to get any sleep any time soon unless I just get really lucky.

3. They all hate each other

I didn't know this until I read multiple sleep books. Now I see veiled shots that these people are taking at each other. Giordano will pause in the midst of saying how your baby should fit your schedule by saying something about those people who want you to schedule your life around your baby's whims (did you get that Dr. Sears?) Dr. Weissbluth, while explaining how sleep is a neurological function, will caution you, the reader, to view with suspicion the claims of anyone who insinuates that your baby doesn't sleep because he's not receiving ample nutrition through the day (he's talking about YOU Ms. Baby Coach! And you Babywise!) And Dr. Sears takes the biggest swipe of all by telling you to beware of all baby-trainers.

4. They all are telling you completely different things.

Here're the sleep training methods in summary:

Dr. Weissbluth: Kids don't sleep because they're exhausted. This seems counter-intuitive except that I'm also exhausted but it takes me hours to fall asleep unless I take Benedryl. He explains that the body secretes adrenaline whenever pushed beyond its natural inclination to sleep. I believe this. At any rate, your challenge with Weissbluth is two-fold: get your kid rest and teach your kid to self-soothe. To do the first, you should put the baby down after he/she has been awake two hours. Then you should do the final put down at about 7:00 at night. This worked for me-- for a night or two. In fact, John did his best stretches after I implemented this method. To accomplish the second Weissbluth challenge, you should also put the baby down when he's drowsy, but not yet asleep. If he fusses, let him learn to self-soothe. This man has clearly not met John Hennenlotter. John will scream until he gets what he wants. John shrieked from Wilson to Holly Springs once and never even tried to soothe himself. Soothing wasn't what he wanted. He wanted me to talk to him and smile at him and laugh at him. That I was driving at the time was no excuse for my not doing this. Neither is my sleeping. So, I'm not a person who fights a futile battle. If I let John scream all night, he will. And he will continue to scream until I address him. I can submit any number of car rides as evidence. That being said, I have learned if John is just squawking and not crying that letting him fuss and fidget for a while has led to self-soothing. If he wakes up shrieking, then I can hang it up. So, you gave me a little Dr. W. but you've run your course. Thanks for playing.

Dr. Karp: This guy's spiel is that new babies are in the "4th Trimester". I first had to overlook the fact that he wanted me to accept that there were four of something that the word itself determines to only occur in threes. TRImester- equals three. Anyway, so because new babies are still in need of a womblike experience, he advocates the 5 S's. Swaddling, Shushing, Swinging, Side/Stomach positioning, and Sucking. This worked to get me as much as a 4 hour stretch of sleep when John was about 2-3 months old. Then he got strong. Really strong. I could swaddle him in steel wool and he'd break out of it. In about 5 seconds. And YES I did it really tight. He also succumbed to the swing for a while. Now he hates it. The second I walk toward it he starts to protest. The loud shushing in his ear would stop fussiness, but fussy's never really been my problem, and he spits a pacifier in my face before I can even take my hand off of it-- moreover, he can't exactly suck his fingers if his hands are pinned to his sides in a swaddle. So this method also ran it's course.

Suzy "The Baby Coach" Giordano: I've just purchased her book and started reading it. She tells me she can get my kid to sleep 12 hours every night, take a 2 hr afternoon nap and a 1 hr morning nap. She gives me a 100% guarantee. She also says that when my baby wakes up, he will chill in his crib until I get ready to go in and rescue him from the little baby cage. Most of this is about getting him to eat 6 oz every 4 hours during the day. Apparently, despite the fact that John rarely EATS when he wakes in the middle of the night, he's waking because he's hungry. I don't know about you, but I never wake up because I'm hungry. I don't think my kid does either. Also, her telling me that if John's crying, I should go stand next to him and rub his back and speak soothingly to him and he'll just calm right down and go to sleep sounds like she's not met my kid-- see previous comments about perilous tear-soaked car rides. Furthermore, her insinuating that I should expect to spend half my day or more away from my kid and also have him so trained that he doesn't even call for me until I get ready to deal with him makes me wonder if she got confused and thought I bought a dog rather than had a child. I might give her a shot if I get really desperate and start to think that that's okay. Or I might not. I'll let you know.

Dr. Sears: Dr. Sears is the attachment parenting guru. He advocates things like extended breast-feeding, the family bed, and baby wearing. Actually, that's not fair. Dr. Sears repeatedly says in his The Baby Book that you should do whatever works for you and your baby, emphasizing that despite the taboo associated with the above, if you think it might work, give it a try. He also says that these techniques will not work for every family and that the key to good parenting is acting on instinct. One thing he is against is any kind of method that tells you to let a child "cry it out," especially if the practice of this tears your heart out of the frame (and it will). He says that you don't force a child to sleep, you parent a child to sleep. He's the only one who doesn't give you any step-by-step training guide and he's also the only one who doesn't promise you that you'll ever get a full night's sleep until your child is ready. As it is, he has like 8 kids and they're all doctors (his oldest kid is the pediatrician on the TV show The Doctors.

So of all the baby sleep experts that I've read, Dr. Sears is my favorite. And to be honest, my willingness to take John out of his crib and keep him next to me after his first sleeping shift has been the only thing that has gotten me any rest. It's not perfect rest. But it's better than nothing. The rest have given me food for thought. Dr. Weissbluth was very informative in sharing that sleep is a neurological function that requires neurological maturity (not appetite control). Also, I've been following the two hour rule in trying to put John down for naps after he's been awake for two hours and he is a LOT happier. Dr. Karp did make some good points that made me sympathize with the hugeness of a baby's transition into the real world, and again his methods worked better than what I'd been doing before. And who knows, maybe the Baby Coach even has something to share with me if I can get past some of her language that seems to give the impression that babies should learn to fit my schedule and be available at my convenience. Maybe that's not what she's saying, but it sure sounds that way.

Anyway, at the end of all this, I have to succumb to the wisdom of two people, both of whom are named Bill. My husband told me this morning, "You think you have control over him and his habits. You don't. I think the sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be." This comment pissed me way off at the time. But in hindsight, it makes sense. If I let go of trying to control my own life and just let it happen, I'll feel much less frustration and will probably also, in some Zen-like way end up having a baby who sleeps through the night all the time. So that's my next step.

The other Bill is none other than Billy Joel who prophetically sang,

"They will tell you you can't sleep alone in a strange place.
Then they'll tell you you can't sleep with somebody else.
Ah but sooner or later you sleep in your own space.
Either way, it's okay, you wake up with your self."

Please God let it be sooner rather than later. That is all.

Dr. Sears, Avert Your Eyes

2011-07-15T05:16:00.000-07:00

Last night, John slept for seven hours. 8:30 to 3:30. I'd like to say that this means I got enough sleep, but those of you who have kids know what I was doing during that time: compulsively checking on John to make sure he was asleep and not, in fact, dead.

Also, even though he slept last night, it was not always peaceful sleep. In fact, at 10:50, he threatened to turn last night into just another in a long string of nights wherein the longest stretch of sleep that he (or I) got would be 2.5 hours. However, as fortune would have it, Bill had decided that last night, he and Will would sleep outside in the tent. So the house was empty save for me and John. Since no one else's sleep would be troubled by a little noise, I decided to experiment. I know that night after night, the only time John really eats is after 2:30. Otherwise, he just comfort sucks and/or immediately falls back to sleep, sometimes before I can even get the snaps undone on the nursing bra meaning that the boob and me are just standing there dejected while he drifts back into slumber. In light of this, I thought, maybe Dr. Weissbluth and Bill and my mother are right. Maybe I'm too quick to run to him when he fusses at night. Maybe I shouldn't rush into his room and rescue him from his crib when he first cries. Maybe I should *gasp* see if he'll cry it out.

I know. In doing this, I'm putting myself in real risk of having to forfeit my membership card to the Dr. Sears fan club. And perhaps I should clarify. What I was doing was not letting him cry it out per se. At no point, should his distress persist beyond a reasonable amount of time, would I leave him in there to cry himself to sleep. In fact, since he's still only three months old, even the staunchest cry it out advocates would tell me that he's just too young. What I was doing was just delaying to see if he could resolve his sleep issue on his own. So when John awoke fussing at 10:50, I said to myself, "Let's just sit here and wait. If he's still awake and fussing at 11:00, I'll go get him. OR if his fussing turns into all out crying, I'll go get him." So I waited. He would calm for maybe 30 seconds a few times during that ten minutes which was enough to convince me, at 11:00 to hold out for another five minutes. The five minutes, it turned out, wasn't necessary as John made his last fuss at 11:02 and all was quiet after that. Naturally, I checked on him to make sure the silence meant sleep and not death and sure enough, he was in there breathing and sucking on his fingers. He might have cried out a couple of times after that at various times during the night, but that was the last prolonged protest before I finally went in and brought him to bed with me at 3:30-- after he had completed SEVEN hours of sleep in his own bed, by himself.

Now, throughout today he may realize that he let me get the upper hand. He might diabolically tap his fingertips together and exclaim, "Next time, Mommy! Next time!" like Dr. Claw on the cartoon Inspector Gadget. He may really let me have it tonight and demolish my research findings by sleeping no longer than 2 minutes and 38 seconds-- and that's a cumulative sum of total sleep over the course of the night. I'm prepared for that possibility. But as of right now, preliminary research seems to indicate that some of his sleep problem was actually ME, responding too quickly to let him have the chance to self-soothe. When he'd fuss in his bed, I'd be quick to get up and pick him up and soothe him to sleep instead of just hanging back to see if he'd resolve it on his own. Then he'd be brought into bed with me and would have even less opportunity to soothe himself because I'd haul out the boob at the slightest stirring.

In fact, but for the reality that he squalls in his car seat when I CAN'T comfort him, he might never have learned to self-soothe at all. I'm a first responder and maybe that's not the best thing. Dr. Sears talks about not letting babies cry, etc. but is that always teaching babies how to resolve their own difficulties? In fact, how is a parent to know that a baby is truly having a difficulty and not just engaging in normal infant fussiness. If I'd have swooped in at first protest last night, I'd never have known that John's waking is just the natural waking we do in the night and wasn't some indication that he NEEDED something, whether it be milk, a clean diaper, comfort, etc. Furthermore, I'd have denied him the opportunity to practice calming himself and would also have probably kept both of us from having a good night's sleep. I don't think John sleeps any more soundly next to me now than I do to him. When he was a newborn, it was the best thing. It allowed both of us to get a lot of sleep and I think it quickly organized John to realize that night was for sleeping. He's never been a baby who sat wide awake at night and I attribute that to co-sleeping. Now, I think his needs are a bit different. We all wake up during the night. We just know how to put ourselves back to sleep. John needs to learn that and if my delaying my response time by fifteen minutes means that he becomes a better self-soother, then so be it. As I said, if he really started crying or it his protests lasted beyond 15 minutes, I'd have gone in and got him.

I know that we're talking about babies here, not individuals whose chance at being accepted to Harvard might be compromised by early intervention in fussy awakenings, but this has been somewhat of a breakthrough for me. And truly, perhaps the reason Will turned into such a good sleeper was not my attachment parenting (at least not beyond 10 weeks or so), but the fact that I started playing in a pit orchestra and was out late most nights for a few weeks. This meant that Bill put him to bed and I know for a fact that Bill is not an immediate responder to crying.

Finally, I think that John slept better last night than he has previous nights. He woke up smiling and happy. Usually, after marathon nights with me, he wakes up fussy and crying. And truly, Dr. Sears is more about trusting your maternal instincts than following one sure method, so maybe he'd be totally on board with last night's experiment. I did trust my instincts which told me that John didn't wake up because he needed something from me. He just woke up because sometimes we wake up. My instincts told me to hold on and just see what would happen.

So, all is a bit brighter in the Hennenlotter household today. We're all happier and I'm even marginally better rested (hopefully I'll soon get over that compulsion that makes me feel the need to check on him every 15 minutes.) Hopefully, I can report similar results tomorrow morning. Time will tell.

My Mom of the Year Post

2011-07-14T03:07:00.000-07:00

I was going to write about marriages, but that has been postponed due to an issue of an urgent nature for which I am getting ready to berate my 15 week old son for acting like a baby.

But seriously. I'm at my wits end with his sleep. Yes I was spoiled with Will who started sleeping 10 hours at 14 weeks. I know that now. But Jesus Christ, John still sleeps like a freaking newborn and it's killing me. There are some nights when he'll do a long stretch. A long stretch for him is usually 4 hours, and has been as long as 5 hours and 35 minutes. So I know he has it in him. The problem is, he only does it maybe two nights a week. Then after he does his long stretch, he's up and down the rest of the night. He wakes up constantly. He fidgets. He fusses. He farts. Then he falls back to sleep but leaves me awake, angry, and resentful.

I've tried everything. I've read everything. I've tried Weissbluth's methods regarding napping, looking for overtiredness, etc. He still wakes up like this, PLUS according to Weissbluth, he's still too young to let him cry it out. So I have to cry it out. I've tried the 5 S's. Swaddling used to buy me some time, but now he breaks out of it like the damn Incredible Hulk. And YES, I'm doing it tight enough. If I pull that damn fabric any tighter, it's going to tear. Plus, the 5 s's are more a response to colic and fussiness and that's not him. Yes he wakes up fussy, but calming him is relatively easy. The fact that I have to get up to calm him is the problem. I don't want to get up and swaddle and shush and swing and suck and whatever the Hell that fifth one is every two hours.

I've a been a huge Dr. Sears fan ever since becoming a parent, but wish Dr. Sears to know that breastfeeding, baby-wearing, and bed-sharing also are not getting me or my kid a full night's sleep. I started co-sleeping with John at birth. Then at about two months, I transitioned to having him start the night in his own bed. That first stretch of night sleep spent in his bed is the longest and the best. Then he wakes up and when he wakes, he usually comes back to bed with me. And I don't bring him into bed with me because I just really like it. I do it because if I put him back to sleep in his crib, he wakes every 15 minutes as opposed to every 1-2 hours. Still, while he sleeps with me, I get punched and kicked and farted on and spend most of that time acting like a human pacifier/straight jacket for this kid. So I don't know where to put him to sleep after that first stretch. I really don't. Dr. Sears says the best place for a child to sleep is wherever everyone sleeps the most. Well, Dr. Sears, I think everyone will sleep best if this kid is put out with the cat every night because he's loud and he's unpredictable. And I'm quite frankly so sick of it that I don't know what to do.

Seriously. I'm at my wits' end and I can't think of a solution to this problem. I bear the entirety of the night-time by myself. Bill sleeps. This is not because he doesn't try to help. It's just that even when Bill has taken John during the night, John wakes me up with his squalling and screaming anyway. And it takes forever for a bottle to be prepared, etc because God was short-sighted enough to only give one parent working boobs. I mean, what the Hell? Design flaw at its greatest. So I figure, regardless of who is actually up taking care of the tyrant at night, I'm going to be awake anyway. It just makes more sense for at least one of us to get a full night's sleep. This means that I've got to soldier through the day watching the clock and praying for naptime or that Bill has to take the two boys all day so I can sleep. Neither situation is ideal. It's not fair to him or me that daylight hours can't be more productive for both of us. And I've only gotten a reprieve from him these weeks because he's not working. When he goes back to work, then to Hell with me.

I don't know what John's problem is. But whatever it is, I don't have the solution for it. I really don't. And I'm tired of being called in to provide five minutes of comfort to a baby who wakes up for no other reason than to be comforted. Seriously. He goes back to sleep in five minutes. I can't. I can't DO ANYTHING and I don't want to be a part of anything that asks me to just be there and resent it while another person just sits and cries and fusses. I'm tired of it. I don't care if he's hungry at 2:30am (he's not). I don't care if he has gas. I don't care. I just want to sleep. And there it is. The sentiments of a caring mother. I just want him to shut up. And I want him to QUIT getting his shit together and calming down at 6am, just in time for Will to wake up. He's deliberately doing this, I'm telling you. Anyway, that's that. I'm sure this will pass. And I'm sure other people have it worse and I know that three months as a percentage of a person's life isn't really too bad. But sleep deprivation is a bitch. It really is.

The Sophomore Syndrome

2011-07-13T20:25:00.000-07:00

I was looking back at the ghosts of blogs past and read some of my pontifications back when I was pregnant over what I'd do differently after my second baby was born. Some of it (like co-sleeping from Day One) I adhered to. Most of it (especially that bit about asking for help when I need it), I didn't. This brought me to a new epiphany about multi-parity (or, for you who do NOT spend too much time on WebMD, bitch with more than one kid). I mentioned in an earlier posting about the secret pregnancy wars wherein you feel some vague sense of superiority about being ahead of someone in pregnancy, or in having already had a kid and entering into a second pregnancy. I've now learned that being a second time mom is similar to that sophomore syndrome in high school. You are so glad not to be a freshman anymore that you try to find as many ways possible to let everyone KNOW you aren't a freshman anymore. You mark your emergence from freshmanhood as proof that you are a wizened professional at schooling. You drop references to "last year" to let any and every one know that this isn't your first rodeo. This is a response unique to second timers.

With my second pregnancy, I remember constantly mentioning "my other son" or saying, "last time I was pregnant..." etc. I know this isn't unique to me because I did this research study and was seated next to a woman who was very pregnant. I asked her her due date and she told me and then quickly said, "But I'll probably be early because my first baby was early." In fact, any time any one asked her about her pregnancy, she was quick to bring up this other child that she had and compare and contrast the pregnancies. While I found it laughable and slightly annoying, I totally understood why and had to admit that I'm guilty of the same thing. And to be honest, I totally felt smug and superior to her because I'd already moved to two child status because I knew that when she brings that baby home, her life is going to turn quickly to shit. I had already learned that she, like me, by very virtue of being a second timer was not only mistaken in her assessment of how prepared she'd be for the second baby, her over-confidence in her past experience was going to set her up for an epic fail. She thinks she's got it together. I thought the same thing. Two of my neighbors just had their second kids. Before they were born, they thought the same thing. We all discussed how we felt so prepared and so ready for the second child only to realize that it's about 4000 times harder than having the first. This is a classic sophomore mistake.

In your sophomore pregnancy, you think you've got this gig figured out because you managed to bring one child under your control. When I one day embark upon my junior pregnancy, I will now know that I don't know shit about raising children. Someone who said smart stuff once remarked, "True wisdom lies in knowing you know nothing." I'm totally there and it's important to be there. It affects your entire parenting stategy. Before John was born, I thought I was totally not going to turn into a raving, sleep-deprived lunatic. I thought that by virtue of the fact that I'd been there before, my house would not be reduced to a swirling mass of chaos because I had strategies up my sleeve, dammit. I realize now that this was total ignorance which not only didn't help me in the adjustment to a two child household, it hindered me because I didn't really prepare myself for what was coming.

When I get pregnant for the third time (because I'm a sado-masochist), instead of writing blogs about how I'm going to do this, that, and the other and feeling so prepared and serene because I've already had some kids, I'm telling you right now that what I'm going to do is build a barricade in my house and hide behind it for the next 18 years. Kids, I've learned, are like that creature in greek mythology that keeps growing heads when you cut them off. Who was that, anyway? Scylla? Charybdis? Hydros? Helios? I used to know the answer to this. It's my JOB to know the answer to this. Unfortunately, I think the part of my brain that used to know this is currently being used to keep track of all of Will's die-cast replicas of the entire cast of the motion picture Cars. At any rate, I know now that to tackle parenting, you have to be prepared for everything and you do that by recognizing that you are really prepared for nothing. That way nothing takes you by surprise. In other words, your best strategy is to accept that nothing in your life is under control. It is all chaos and what you should do is accept this so that if you accidentally have a moment wherein your children behave in ways that suggest that they were not raised by wolves, you can consider it a nice surprise and wait for the other shoe to fall.

Anyway, all of this was just a really lengthy intro into what I will talk about in my next post and that's what you have to do to remain on speaking terms with your spouse after having children. I would talk about this tonight, but John is a diabolical mastermind of chaos and he likes to keep me on my toes by never settling into a sleep pattern. One night he will lull me into a false sense of security by sleeping 5 hours and 35 minutes without waking. Then the next night, I will be confident and secure in the knowledge that I can both blog and sleep. As a direct response to my presumption, he will only sleep in shifts lasting approximately one and a half hours long. He's brilliant, I tell you. Brilliant. So anyway, hold this thought because now that I'm in the midst of my sophomore venture into parenting, I've learned some pretty interesting things about the battle of the sexes when it comes to trying to survive in a house featuring offspring, particularly brand-new offspring. Stay tuned...

Luv Being Pampered

2011-07-07T19:51:00.000-07:00

I've heard and read stories about parents receiving unsolicited advice on how to raise their kids. I've heard of strangers in malls and restaurants weighing in on what a parent is doing wrong/right in his/her parenting. The fact that these people can diagnose this based on a two minute observation of a child's behavior is impressive, but as I've said before, I've never been one of these people who receive criticism from strangers and most who know me have said that this is because I look like a bitch.

I've mentioned that I was kinda scared for a while there, particularly right after John was born because Will decided to start doing a Linda Blair in The Exorcist impression and I started to wonder if I should perhaps shave his hair to make sure the sign of the beast wasn't imprinted in his scalp. Then, he came under my control. Again, if I've learned anything from parenting it's that I don't know what the Hell I'm doing so I'm not going to tell you that I solved his behavior problems or that I've practiced anything even close to something resembling good parenting. At the time I was struggling for solutions because NOTHING was working, even spanking. I read this book called 1-2-3 Magic, started using the strategies and my kid started behaving. All of this could be a testament to the truly magical properties of 1-2-3 Magic, my superior parenting skillz, it could be luck, it could be the fact that I started having priests come over to bless Will's bath water, it could be that my tolerance of bad behavior has increased to the point where he's still behaving like maniac to the general population but I just don't notice it anymore. But all I know is I'm constantly proud to take Will places now whereas I used to pray to the patron saint of crazed toddlers anytime I had to take him into public. Furthermore, I've been complimented no less than five times in the past two months by strangers about how well-behaved Will is. In Wal-mart, in St. Augustine, FL, in the hair salon while Will was getting his haircut, at Stride Rite, and today at Marbles when another parent marveled at how patiently Will waiting his turn to drive the fire truck.

So, while I've received (with relish) unsolicited praise of my son's behavior, I've not received criticism-- except in one arena. Potty training. You would be surprised at the number of people who have very strong opinions about where my child takes a shit. In Belks a couple of weeks ago, I was changing Will's diaper in the ladies room and an older woman raised her eyebrows at me and looked pointedly at my son getting his diaper changed. Her message to me was clear: that child is too old to be in diapers. My mother is another person who is PASSIONATE about where my son's excrement is deposited. She is convinced he should already be potty-trained. As for me, who, as it happens, changes most of my son's dirty diapers, I'm in no rush for a few reasons.

Reason #1: I've learned that kids seem to hit major milestones on their own time tables. I truly believe that just like Will just one day started crawling, walking, talking, etc, he will one day decide to use a potty. I highly doubt that we will be filling out his applications to law school and have to stop so I can change his diaper. Therefore, while I spend a lot of time talking about using the potty and showing Will the potty and asking him if he wants to use the potty, I don't really force the issue. It's really a passing subject in our conversations. Like we might be eating breakfast and I might casually interject, "Hey Will, you know what I like to do? USE THE POTTY!" And then we continue eating and change the subject-- usually to something related to cars or other modes of transportation. At any rate, if my attempts to get Will to walk by the time he was nine months old are any indication, I can commit myself wholeheartedly to the task of potty-training and let it consume my every minute and beat my head against the wall when he continually refuses to make poopies in the potty, or I can just avoid all that strife and one day enjoy a nice surprise when I walk by the can and see Will sitting on it reading the Reader's Digest, dropping his deuce like a competent member of the human race. In other words, with or without my intervention, I feel sure that one day, probably sooner rather than later, Will will use the potty.

Reason #2: Diapers seem to me to be endlessly more convenient than having to procure indoor plumbing for a toddler who has a sudden realization that he needs to make pee pee...when we're, say, driving down I-85 in the middle of the night... and we encounter that long stretch in Virginia that features nowhere to eliminate waste that doesn't put you in real risk of acquiring a termite infestation in your neither regions. I hear parents say all the time about how they want their kids out of diapers, or how tragic it is to have two kids simultaneously in diapers. I know some parents who are super-excited to get their kids potty-trained. I'm just not that parent. I don't doubt that this is a manifestation of my ignorance of the wonders of having a child who can manage his own waste. My hesitation to get my child out of diapers is probably akin to that phenomena wherein prisoners are paroled but immediately saboutage their release because they are scared that they can't function on the outside. And outsider looking in is like, "Dude. Prison sucks. Being out and being free is so much better!" But the prisoner is so entrenched in and comfortable with his current lifestyle, however bad, that he prefers it to the instability of he unknown. So that's another thing that's holding me back from potty-training. Will's diapers have become a security blanket for me. They mean that if I'm waiting in a long ass line at the Post Office and I finally am one person away from the counter, I will not have to forfeit my place because Will suddenly has to crap. His diaper is there for me.

Reason #3: I don't know how to potty train a child. I've read all the theories on potty-training. I even remember being potty trained myself and getting an M&M every time I used the potty. My hunch is that I should just put underwear on Will and let him feel the discomfort of soiling himself. I feel this will motivate him more than anything else. In fact, something tells me that in the end, this is what will have to happen to get the boy potty-trained. The problem is that BILL doesn't want to do this because he says it'll be way too messy. On one hand, I totally get that sentiment. I know and fully understand that Bill's more than a little scared at the thought that our son's ass, which is notorious for creating things of a vile and heinous nature, will be roaming our house able to swath any of our possessions with a delightful coating of poo. I'm scared too. It scares me more than anything I have encountered yet in my life. Letting Will loose without a diaper seems to me like jumping out of an airplane without ever having practiced pulling the cord on the parachute. It must mirror how a little bird feels when he's pushed out of the nest for the first time without ever having really flown before, or how dogs feel when you throw them in a swimming pool and they have to sink or swim. I KNOW that there will be human waste all over my house. I know that I will wash underwear over and over again. And yes it scares me, but something just tells me that in the end, that's what's got to be done. So whereas I may theoretically know how to potty train this kid, I'm a little concerned that getting Bill to cooperate with it might be even more challenging than getting Will to. And the thing is, since Will is a boy, I NEED Bill's buy in to this little project. I have no idea how to work the appendage euphemistically referred to in our house as a "winkie." I don't have a winkie. Truth be told, I don't WANT a winkie. They are fairly unattractive and seem to be dangerous body parts with minds of their own. Anyway, being as my son must learn to master his winkie as part of potty training and I have never had the challenge of mastering a winkie, it seems to me that the primary potty trainer should be the same-gender parent. I wouldn't expect Bill to know how to tell a girl about the proper management and cleansing of hoo-hoos. Therefore, getting Bill's support in this endeavor is paramount.

In the end (no pun intended) I know that I will have to confront this scary reality of parenting. And I also know that Will is getting more and more ready to be toilet trained. He's been telling us when he has to use the potty since before he was 18 months old. He asks us for diaper changes. He has made several pee pees in the potty and even asked to get out of the pool one day and made a huge long pee pee in the potty at the pool. After that, he told me, "I didn't want to pee pee in the pool, mommy. That's nasty." When he has to make a bowel movement, he goes into the bathroom and hides in the corner to do the BM. He wants privacy when he's taking a crap (which for some reason hasn't yet led him to the realization that mommy would appreciate the same consideration) This being said, he refuses to use the potty to do #2. I think it may be because when he uses the potty, we're in there with him and he wants privacy. Anyway, I know this milestone is looming in the near future. One day he will have to start using the potty.

I guess another metaphor for what I'm experiencing is that moment of dilemma where you're getting ready to enter a swimming pool filled with water that is fairly chilly. You can wade in or you can throw caution to the wind and dive in. I'm typically a wader. I stick a toe in and then cringe as I walk deeper and deeper into the pool. The whole time I'm anticipating and recoiling at the cold water touching my skin. In the end, I know I'm going to enjoy my swim and that the cool water will give me some refreshment in the hot summer, but getting there is filled with anxiety and apprehension. Likewise is my experience with potty training. I know that I will enjoy the day when my son takes responsibility for his own excrement. I know that it will be nice not to regularly drop $30 on a box of diapers. I know that I'll enjoy the peace of mind that must come with never having your child approach you smelling like a waste treatment plant. I know that I will not miss applying Desitin to my child's ass when he gets diaper rash, nor will I miss his screams of "Be careful, mommy! Be careful!" when I try to clean up a rash-inducing poopy. But still, getting there seems frought with discomfort. Maybe one day, I'll just throw caution to the wind and dive right in.

A Mama's Mind

2011-07-05T09:41:00.000-07:00

A little something to note about me: I'm the person who walks around with her head chronically up her ass. I'm the one who cut you off on I-40 the other day and it was for no other reason than I was not paying attention. I'm the one who went to the grocery store to get ground beef, bought 5 zillion things only to come home and realize that I didn't get any ground beef. I'm the one who makes grocery lists only to get to the store and realize that I left the list at home on the counter or in the car. That's just how I roll. The weird thing is, when you become a mom, your brain starts to do this weird thing where you compulsively remember everything that your kids need even if you're that person who is otherwise forgetful. This seems to be yet another character trait, like selflessness, that is magically flipped on when you give birth.

The other week, I took Will, John, and myself to Black Jack, NC to stay with my Aunt Pam. Bill was out of town again and so was my Uncle Benjie, so it just seemed like the right thing to do. In packing for the three of us, however, I had to remember to pack all my clothes, John's clothes and diapers, Will's clothes and diapers (in his new lightning McQueen suitcase)

My breastpump stuff, all my technology (laptop, camera, NookColor, requisite chargers, cell phone stuff, etc). A few choice toys for Will. The cooler with John's bottles, Will's utensils, The pack and play, John's portable swing, wipes, diaper bag, and the list goes on. Here's the amazing thing, though: I, who have on more than one occasion forgotten to pack underwear for myself, never forget anything for them. We were out on a very sunny walk one day and Bill said, "Geez. I can't believe we forgot John's hat!" To which I reached into my diaper bag, procured the errant hat, and said, "We didn't. I brought it." This amazes me. I have never been the girl who remembers the hat. I'm not the girl scout. I don't have a first aid kit or sewing kit in my pocketbook, but I somehow anticipate and prepare for every situation my kids could possible encounter. When I was loading my car to leave Pam's, my uncle Benjie peered into my trunk and said, "Man, you're so organized, Katie." I thought a minute and then said, "I guess when you have kids you just start to think differently." And it's true.

My life changed when I had kids and I've had to adapt to survive. I am a different person now. For example, previously, my desk at work was a mess. Now it's super-organized and I think I know why. I read somewhere that messy spaces (and I'm talking mild mess, not hoarders mess) are indicative of highly organized minds. This makes sense because your mind has catalogued the location of an object meaning that a proper place is unnecessary. Since having my children, though, I've noticed that my mind is constantly in a state of spinning. It's like the stock ticker at the bottom of a news channel that's always ticking away while two other boxes of news stories blare across the larger screen. My mind is a machine lately, but it's a delicate machine. A slight miscalculation or decalibration can cause the whole house of cards to fall. It's like I'm standing on my own but Marcia Brady's bracelet is hovering at my ear all the time and Tiger is circling ready to make me unstable and collapse. At any given time, I can tell you the milk level in Will's sippy cup, where all his cars are, whether or not John's bottles have been washed, when I need to juice my boobs, when John ate last, who needs a nap, who stinks, whose diapers are running low, etc. To strenghten my thought processes and consequently, my preparedness, my physical environment is very regimented. I have systems in place and God forbid another major household adult (ie. Bill) attempt to mess with those procedures.

He took John all last night and I for some reason, got angry at him for this. My rational mind was saying, "Katie, you're such an uptight bitch! He's HELPING you." But the other part of my mind was like, "He let John stay awake from 2-3? HOW many bottles did he feed him? Seriously, he heated up a bottle and then never fed it to him so now four ounces of breast milk is wasted? I have to pump how many ounces this morning to get my seven bottle storage back to capacity?" It's terrible. Poor Bill can't win. At any rate, I've had so much anger here lately at procedures being changed and I think that's why: those procedures are all that's separating me from dissolving into a puddle of condensation where my brain has melted down from trying to keep track of everything that my kids need.

I know I've meandered off topic here, but my point is that having a child changes the way you think. You are constantly considering every possibility. You are constantly trying to be prepared because to be stuck at Target with a child who desperately wants milk but doesn't have it is a CRISIS. Not having Blettie in the car when Will might try to start his afternoon nap there is a TRAGEDY. God forbid I get to Pam's house and have to go buy a pack of diapers. Heaven help me if John gets milk slime on his chin and I've not brought the baby wash cloth that I wipe it off with. I'm stressing out just thinking about it.

The most astonishing thing is that I believe this compulsion to always be prepared to fulfill my kids' needs will never go away. I had a small get together at my house the other night which my parents, among others, attended. I had everything I needed, or so I thought. As everyone was getting their drinks I realized I didn't have ice. My mom said, "I brought some. I figured you wouldn't have any." At that point I realized that a mother knows her kids. My mom used to tell me, "No one knows you better than I do." And that would piss me off to no end. How dare she think she knows me better than I know myself? Now I know that she was right. She might not know the minutiae of my life, like my class schedule, or what I plan to make for dinner, but she knows my mind just like I know Will's and John's. She knew I wouldn't think of ice and she was prepared to help me out. This is yet another surprising side effect of motherhood. It's quite irritating at times but strangely comforting too. I may overtax my brain so much that while I have everything Will and John need, I might forget what I need. Fortunately, Mama's already thought of it and is there to throw me a break. She's a mama. And I am too now and because of that, she no longer seems even half as crazy and irritating as she used to. When it comes to me and my children, I'm turning into my mother. And may God have mercy on us all.

Ka- CHOW!

2011-06-08T09:26:00.000-07:00

Did you know that Disney Pixar is releasing a sequel to Cars this summer creatively entitled Cars 2? Do you know who is super-excited about this? Do you know who had never even seen the original Cars until maybe two months ago? Do you know which idiot is going to take her two-year old to see Cars 2 when it's released? Do you know whose house might as well be painted red, yellow and black with a giant number 95 on it along with the logo to "Rust-eze?" Do you know who never gave a shit about any Pixar motion picture before her two-year old fell head over heels in love with Lightning McQueen, Mater, and the gang? If you answered, "Katie Hennenlotter" to any of these questions, you'd be absolutely correct. Unfortunately, the budget for the prizes that I was going to offer my readers for that correct answer has been blown on Cars merchandising. Thanks for playing anyway.

I have embarked on yet another facet of parenthood with this whole Cars thing that I had never before considered and that is that upon having a child, you become enslaved by the seductive marketing power of our friends at Disney. One day, I needed to clean my house, so I put in the Cars DVD to keep Will entertained while I worked. For that 1.5 hours of peace and clean toilets, I have paid with my life. Will is a Lightning McQueen maniac. Seriously, I wouldn't be at all surprised if you see my son featured on Extra! some night for stalking Lightning McQueen, hiding in his bushes, taking pictures of him in the car wash, etc. Will loves the entire cast of Cars. I can't tell you how many Def-Con 8 emergencies we've had over the past two months because Will's Hot Wheels sized Lightning McQueen, Mater, and/or Sally (it's really not Sally, it's the purple car from the new movie, but he calls her Sally) have gone missing. One of Will's favorite games is to load McQueen into Mac's trailer, take him out again, and repeat the process. The most charming thing about this is that the designers of Mac's trailer made the trailer inpregnable for toddler hands. So every time McQueen goes in, I have to start the process to get him out. I say start the process because God forbid I fully extract McQueen from Mac's cab. WILL has to do this. My job is to simply pry the back open JUST ENOUGH (which is like 3 millimeters) for Will to be able to open it himself. Yay.

Furthermore, I want to take a moment to comment on the fact that Will refers to Lightning McQueen solely by his last name. It's like they're on the same football team or something. Which leads me to a marginally relevant aside. Have you ever noticed this about men? For some reason, being on a last name basis with someone is indicative of more intimacy for men than being on a first name basis? Bizarre. At any rate, I can't tell you how many times a day I hear, "Mommy? Where's McQueen? Is McQueen upstairs? Do you know where Sally is? Mommy. Please help me find McQueen." When I go into either of the two major discount retailers, I'm fearful that Will will spot some Cars merchandizing because one cannot see McQueen and walk by him. When one spots McQueen, or Mater or any of the other guys, one MUST IMMEDIATELY STOP and interact with them. Afterall, you wouldn't pass your best friend, minister, or father and not say hello, right? Passing pajamas or clothes or even breakfast cereals (more on that later) with McQueen lengthens a shopping trip a little, but passing a display of McQueen toys means that I might as well go to the outdoors department, purchase a Lightning McQueen tent, pitch it in the aisle and wait for Will to tire of interacting with the cast of Cars 2. Moreover, when it's time to go, Will will choose a handful of figurines or pajamas or cereals, look me dead in the eye, and say, "Okay Mommy, let's go pay the lady." And the thing is that nine times out of ten, I will, as a compromise, exhort him to choose just ONE figurine to take home. So Will usually wins out.

The most disturbing part of this is that I'm getting sucked into the merchandising. There have been times when I have been shopping alone (rare, but it happens) and I will spot an item with the Cars logo and I will buy that damn thing because I know Will will like it. I have gone online to peruse the inventory of Cars pajamas, Cars bathing suits, Cars wading pools, etc. to find the best deal. Take last night, for example. I made a trip to Kohl's with my son and my baby because I received a Kohl's gift card as a Mother's Day gift from Bill's Aunt Joan and I was going to use it to buy Will another pair of McQueen pajamas. On an unexpected but appreciated solo trip to Target last week, I had to talk myself out of a LOT of Cars merchandise. I think I would've walked out of there with a Cars racetrack, Cars pajamas, Cars T shirts, various and sundry Cars pool toys, including a Cars wading pool had I not had the threat of Bill waiting for me at home. (I would also have bought the Cars breakfast cereal until I saw that it was just red and oat colored cheerios in a box with McQueen on it).

In a lot of ways, Bill's tight-fistedness and disdain for merchandizing (unless of course, it's Dungeons and Dragons and World of Warcraft and Comic book heroes or any merchandizing that HE's unterested in) has been an irritating obstacle. In other ways, I'm so glad that before I make a McQueen purchase, I have to think about how to rationalize it to Bill. This means that though I was poised to come home with maybe $30 of Cars merchandise after that trip to Target, envisioning justifying the purchases to Bill meant that I just came home with a $5 kick board for the pool. And I was scared about that, until Bill confessed that he was getting ready to buy him the same thing because the kick board "had all the characters on it". Incidentally, Will refuses to put the kickboard in the pool because he doesn't want Mater to get wet. FML.

I've found myself becoming more and more like my mother in my drive to cater to my son's love of all things McQueen. My mom used to take my sister and me shopping and buy us all kinds of clothes when we got to middle and high school and became brand whores, and when we'd get home, the three of us would go to all lengths to get the bags upstairs without daddy seeing them. Sometimes, I'd go distract him while they hauled in the loot and other times the bags sat in the car as long as 24 hours before we determined a good time to get them in the house. In my own marriage, I've found myself purchasing Cars merchandise, taking it out of the bags and boxes in the car, disposing of said bags and boxes in dumpsters at work and behind post offices and just phasing the new toys and clothes into the toys and clothes already in circulation and praying that Bill won't notice. Then when he's like, "Hey, why do we have three McQueens?" I say, "What? Hmm. Maybe my mom bought him more." And sometimes, I'll not even pose a theory for how the items got into our house. I'll just say, "He does? Wow. That's really strange." Like McQueen just spontaneously appeared in our house in a spontaneous and mysterious fashion, not unlike the conception of Jesus. I know in theory that this deception in a marriage is wrong, but I can't help myself.

I mean, Will is not some brat demanding McQueen all the time. There have been many occasions when I told Will to say bye bye to a particularly enticing McQueen display in the store and he's done so saying, "Bye bye McQueen, see you next time." This rampant McQueen purchasing is my own problem. My own addiction to seeing my son's eyes light up and hearing the hilarious conversations he pretends between McQueen and Mater and Sally and Mac is fueling the merchandising mania of Cars 2 and the movie hasn't even come out yet. I love hearing Will exclaim, "Tractor tipping is FUN!" And putting McQueen in time out (because McQueen can get rather mouthy at times). This leads me to the realization that Will isn't necessarily the one who has been duped by the ad execs at Disney. I mean, I'm the one whose been prowling the internet for McQueen pajamas. I'm the one who has seriously considered buying the huge battery powered electric McQueen that Will can actually ride in (and Will was not even there. He doesn't know that this paragon of coolness even exists) and only desisted because I didn't think I could phase that toy in under Bill's nose without him realizing that something was up. Furthermore, there's not room in the garage for it (though I would consider parking in the drive way and yielding my garage spot to McQueen).

I'm sitting here now seriously considering going to get a McQueen wading pool with my Target gift card that I got for my birthday (as an aside, it's amazing how gift cards given to me with express orders to "go do something nice for yourself" go more towards buying shit for my kids-- and the most amazing part about that is that buying stuff for them makes me happier than buying for myself.) I also have to confess that there's a part deep down in my soul that is scared to death that Will will spontaneously lose his love for Cars. This would kill me in my soul. I've committed so much time and money to Cars. He CAN'T stop loving them. He CAN'T. Because then what would I search for on the internet?

Fortunately, Will is passionate about McQueen. The other day at Target another boy dared say to Will that, "I don't like McQueen and those cars." Will remained calm, looked this older child directly in the eye and proudly said, "I do. I like McQueen and Mater and Sally," and then proceded to hold-forth on the merits of these toys in comparison to the boring Hot Wheels, which this kid was eyeing. By the time Will finished his dissertation of the value of Cars cars (ie. McQueen says KaChow, Mater is funny, Sally is purple, they have eyes, and, of course, tractor tipping is fun,) the other kid was sold. He started looking at the Cars display instead. So Will does love Cars right now, but I know that one day he will give them up. Nonetheless, based on this Target exchange I do have hope that the amount of my life that I've invested in all things McQueen won't be in vain. Will's persuasive argument in favor of McQueen gives me hope that at the very least, he may have a future in marketing for Disney, and as this blog would indicate, so do I.

Linus

2011-06-07T08:19:00.000-07:00

Oh how my life has changed since becoming a parent. When I compare the soundtrack of my life today to the soundtrack pre-children, I can't believe that my world still features roughly the same characters. The two small ones that have been added have changed the very music of my life. Previously my house would be shrouded either in silence, in my rehearsal for the musical gig du jour, or the dialogue from Investigation Discovery or Discovery Health. Now it's replete with my youngest son's cries and coos, and my older son's maneuvers through the room. Will now believes that he is a car, so he vrooms through the house, honking his horn when he needs someone to clear his path, and even initiating a steady monotone "Beep! Beep! Beep!" when he puts himself into reverse. Being the parent of a child who has settled irreversibly into toddler-hood, Will has some new quirks that have made life alternatively delightful and infuriating.

Fortunately, the tantrums and the bulk of the really bad behavior has abated. Whether this is due to Will's being at home with me rather than being in daycare, or whether the 1-2-3 Magic really works, or whether he just emerged from one phase simply to resubmerge in another one in the near future is anyone's guess. I just know that life is easier and I no longer have to keep an exorcist on call. This is enough for me. Nonetheless, the next few blogs will highlight the little things that have defined Will over the past few months. The first of which led to my purchasing a shirt for Will from Old Navy embossed with a picture of Linus holding his blue blanket.

Most kids will at some point tether themselves to security objects. Pacifiers, bottles, blankies, and various stuffed animals do create a sense of home even away from home and offer comfort after a particularly upsetting time out. My son is no exception. His security object is his blanket, or "Blettie" as he calls it. The mispronunciation of "blanket" in and of itself is mysterious to me. He knows how to say blanket. But when he wants his "blettie," the mispronunciation is sure and strong. He articulates every syllable and every every cluster sound (ie. "bl") with loving care. It's like his tongue has to caress the word describing the object that means so much to him just as he surely will caress the object itself. The "T" in the middle of the word is sharp and clear. He doesn't flap over it like we tend to do with mid-word Ts. When Will wants his blanket, he says, "I need my "buhleTTie" and while the rest of the world looks at him like, "What the Hell did you just say? I know exactly what he wants and scramble to get it for him.

Will's "Blettie" has become yet another figure in our house. This blanket is, admittedly, a pretty cool blanket. It's got the super-soft plush body lined on the edges with satin. His blanket is light blue with orange, darker blue, and yellow dots. The satin around the edge, which he strokes between his thumb and forefinger when he's trying to go to sleep, is also light blue. The interesting thing is that my mom said I'd stroke the satin around my blankets to fall asleep when I was a baby. I can just imagine the conversations that will ensue when scientists isolate the satin-stroking gene on the human genome in the next century or so. I have no idea when he started attaching to the particular blanket. It was one of a number of blankets given to us as baby gifts and at some point, I must have tucked him in with this particular blanket and he marked it as his equal. At any rate, this blanket is now a key part of my every day.

Anyway, many blankets are made featuring the soft center and the satin edges, but Will MUST have his "orange and blue dot blettie" or else he might as well be wrapping himself in newsprint. AND as luck would have it, this blanket, manufactured by Nursery Rhyme for Belk, was discontinued right at the time that Will fell in love with it. Why does this happen? Do stores somehow have a radar that detects the precise moment when a child marks an object as a security object that initiates the immediate cease of production for that object? At any rate, after repeated encounters with leaving Blettie at Nanny's house, or having to stumble out of the warm house into the freezing garage because Blettie was left in the car, and after enduring the hours of therapy that Will needed every time Bill or I determined that it was time for Blettie, God forbid, to be washed, I quickly realized that we needed more Bletties. Since my sister works for Belk, I thought procuring such an object would not only be easy but cost-effective because she can use her employee discount. So my sister checked her Belks only to learn the devastating truth that "orange and blue dot blettie" had been discontinued and replaced with "orange and blue striped blettie." The striped blanket felt exactly the same, was the same dimensions, used the same colors,had the same satin edging, but just featured stripes in lieu of spots, so I foolishly thought it would suffice in a pinch. I quickly learned that this blanket was inferior to the spotted blanket, so the search began. I went online to no avail. I even went on eBay and found the pink girls' version of the spotted blanket, but not the blue boys' version. My mom in her travels managed to obtain two or three of the spotted blankets which she wisely purchased for use at her house. She taunted me with this information: that SHE had extra bletties should Will find himself at her house without one, but I was shit out of luck should I encounter the same scenario. Thus, my search for extra blankets continued.

Every now and again, I'd stumble across one at a local Belks. It had clearly been returned by the parent of some short-sighted child who just didn't see its obvious value-- either that or the parent wisely ascertained that this blanket was tantamount to crack cocaine for toddlers and never let his/her child have it. So in the end, there were about three "Bletties" in circulation. Fortunately, Will hasn't been particular about having the original blanket; he's perfectly content with imposters just so long as they feature that key orange and blue dot design. Inevitably, even with three, they'd all somehow end up at my mom's house, or they'd all end up in the car, or they'd all end up in the wash or at daycare, or some variation of these scenarios which meant that at some point, Will would be in a location, desperately needing comfort where there was no Blettie to be found. Blettie was becoming a major force in my life. I was tired of having to get up and seek out an available Blettie when needed. At times I wondered if the bletties were conspiring against me. Were they deliberately malingering in dark corners of rarely visited rooms in our house, smoking cigarrettes and laughing at my frantic searches over bottles of Corona? My son became a Blettie tyrant telling me, "I want Blettie. It's upstairs. Mommy, go get it." I can't tell you how much time I have spent trying to locate a Blettie and get it to my son when needed. And God forbid we ever not KNOW where a Blettie was.

Then a few weeks ago, God smiled down on me. We were in the Belks in Greenville, NC. I said, "Let's check the baby department and just see if they have any of Will's blankets." My shopping companions (my sister and Aunt and two sons) complied. I searched high and low for the baby blankets finding none and was almost ready to give up altogether when the heavens opened and a ray of sunshine illuminated a clearance blanket display next to a register. On this display were, to use a highly informative and mathematically sound term, more orange and blue dotted bletties than you could shake a stick at. Moments after I made the discovery, Will spied this cache of bletties, exclaimed, "There's my orange and blue bletties!" and hauled ass to the rack. By the time we all got finished, he had about three blankets in his hands and my sister and I were each also carrying one or two. The net yield of orange and blue dotted bletties was six. It was a great day. I have no idea what the cashiers were thinking as they rang up these treasures (which thanks to being marked WAY down and thanks to my sister's 20% discount were a mere three dollars each), and I don't care. They may have called security to have them keep an eye on the compulsive blanket buyer, but if either of them or anyone is security for that matter had ever been near a toddler in search of his/her security object, they would all surely understand.

Naturally, Will had to have two Bletties for immediate use, but since we were buying six and had as many as four or five more at home, we felt safe making this concession. As an aside, Will at some point thought it'd be wise to put a blettie over his head and go running down the mall, which of course, terminated in his running head first into the casing of one of those watch stands with such force that it sent him sprawling 3-4 feet as he fell to the ground. So, picture a toddler running freely down a mall with a blanket completely encasing his head running into a watch stand and falling down. This is what I saw and God help me, I laughed. I laughed, my sister laughed, and my aunt Pam laughed. He was on the ground crying trying to unearth his head from the folds of the blanket and the three of us were shifting between hiding our mouths with our hands, turning away to let off really passionate but silent guffaws, and biting our knuckles trying to quell the laughter by inflicting a little pain. Within seconds of his hitting the ground, I ran to him to hug and comfort him because I'm a mama, and we have to do that. However, even though my arms were around him, and my fingers were wiping his tears away while my eyes looked for signs of injury, my ears listened to his speech for sounds of concussion, and my mouth told him he was okay and that this is why we don't run in a mall, especially not with blankets on our heads, I still had moments where I know if he could see my face, he'd have seen the laughter in my eyes. Son, if you're an eighteen year old right now and you just happened to stumble onto Mommy's blog while looking for porn, yes, I laughed in your misery. But oh shit. If you'd have seen it transpire, you'd have laughed too. And fortunately, we had plenty of bletties on hand to comfort you.

Unlike Linus, Will doesn't have to carry the blanket with him at all times. It should, however, be within a 25 foot radius at all times. In light of this regulation, I took the blanket boon from the Greenville Belks and have a blanket in each car, one blanket upstairs, one downstairs, one or two at Nanny's house and four stashed away in his linen drawer for emergencies. Will spends most of the day blanket-free, but he does want his blettie any time he's trying to go to sleep and anytime he's upset. After a particularly emotionally draining time-out, he will ask for his blettie. If he falls and gets hurt, he will find a blettie. The response to the blanket is so automatic, it's become one of those things that I cling to in times of uncertainty and turmoil. The world may go to Hell in one fell swoop, my house may fall down, God may not be real, but I can cling to the truth that as soon as Will's hand comes in contact with his blettie, the middle two fingers of his other hand will go directly into his mouth. I've mentioned that my kids don't do pacifiers, but they do now both suck fingers. (Yes, John has utterly discarded the paci himself in favor of his thumb. John discovered in the recent past that his arms, hands, and fingers came with these really practical hinges that enabled him to get his thumb into his mouth. He doesn't suck it often, but when he does suck for comfort, the thumb is his man) Will's fingers of choice since the day he came out of my uterus were his middle two fingers on his right hand. Don't get me wrong. He's not a kid who walks around with his fingers in his mouth. His finger sucking is directly related to the presence of blettie and he only uses blettie for the aforementioned occasions, but God knows that if there is a blettie in hand, there are fingers in mouth.

But anyway, so the above is a true description of my encounters with security objects. Bill wants to wean Will off his blettie and fingers, but as much grief as the blettie has caused me, I would never part Will from his blanket(s). Maybe I find it charming, maybe I can relate to the comfort a nice warm blanket can provide, or maybe I see the blettie as my viceroy-- comforting my little boy when I can't and helping him to feel safe in a world full of watch stands, time outs and sleepless nights. I know that Will will give up regular interactions with his blettie some time before he starts medical school, but I daresay that even when I, God help me, pack him up to go away to college, I will tuck a blettie somewhere in his luggage which I know he'll finger from time to time and reminisce on his toddler days full of Lightning McQueen, Hershey kisses, and long, restful naps. Then, when his own child is incubating in the womb and his wife has her baby shower--(God please let him be married. Please don't let him be 16 with a 14 year old girlfriend-- or worse, 31 with a 14 year old girlfriend)-- I will enclose for my grandchild an orange and blue dot blettie. God knows I've got plenty of them.

The Mom Wars

2011-06-04T21:47:00.000-07:00

I went back to work this past week. I only have to go for 8 days before I'm officially out for the summer, but nonetheless, I temporarily rejoined the ranks of working mothers for the next two weeks. The day before I went back, I was talking to my mom and mentioned how I was going back to work the next day. She looked around her and then leaned conspiratorily towards me and said, "Aren't you glad?" I can't quite articulate what I felt when she said that but I think it was something like relief. My mom was a working mom for most of my childhood. I know she stayed home with me until I was two years old, but from that point on, my sister and I were raised in a family of two working adults. Anyway, that foray into my past aside, I felt relief when she said what she did because I WAS feeling glad. To be honest, I felt like my return to work was more like a vacation than a drudgery and here's why: Being a stay at home mom (SAHM)- particularly when one of your kids does not yet sleep through the night- is HARD work and it's neverending work. It's a Hell of a lot harder than working all day and momming all night.

As fate would have it, I stumbled across a blog just yesterday wherein the author was incensed about SAHMs referring to themselves as "full-time moms" the implication being that working moms are only part-time moms. I have to disagree with her, however, because I think that working moms are NOT putting the same amount of energy into raising their kids as SAHMs. I'm not saying that's a BAD thing. Hell, it's the choice I've made for my family, but being a teacher, I do get a taste of both worlds, I think. Throughout the bulk of the year, I work by day and mom by night, but for two months in the summer, I get my kids all to myself both day and night. And since my husband travels so much, I'm on call 24 hours a day. My job is by no means easy. I teach high school kids. In many respects I'm mothering at work as well as at home, but going to work everyday is EASIER than staying at home all day for the following reasons:

1. Alone time: When I'm at home with my kids, every second is spent with my kids. There is literally not ONE span of time during the day when I'm by myself. I can't even use the bathroom by myself. At work, I can sit in my classroom by myself during my planning period and/or lunch. When I go into the bathroom, no one follows after me wanting to "help" me with my toilet paper or roll Lightning McQueen on my bare legs making Vroom Vroom noises while I complete my transaction. There's something to be said for those moments of peace-- and then there're the glorious car rides BY MY SELF where I can listen to whatever I want without A) having the Radio Tyrant request that I play his favorites on my iPod (over and over again) and/or B) have every song or podcast interrupted ad nauseum by announcements from my son that there is a big truck or a motorcycle, etc. Don't underestimate the value of alone time, working moms. I guarantee you that you have a LOT more of it than the SAHMs.

2. Eating time: For the SAHM, a meal is something crammed in your face in bits and pieces over the duration of an entire day. Particularly if you have young children, the act of sitting down and eating food (forget about actually enjoying it) is a forbidden luxury. With small children, you've got to cut their food, police their eating of it, keep hands clean and faces wiped off. More to the point, the young child often spends great chunks of his mealtime eating YOUR food, even if it's the SAME food that's on his plate. Therefore, if you even get a fraction of the food you prepared for yourself, you're lucky. This is compounded by the fact that if you have and are nursing a baby, particularly a baby who wants to be constantly held, you have to do some precarious balancing to both wrangle your two year old, nurse and/or hold your newborn while trying to feed yourself. So working mom: When you get home from work, yes you will face these same feeding challenges, but during the day someone else is feeding your child(ren) and you can feed yourself. Now I'm not saying that office lunches are always fun or that you don't occasionally (or often) have to work through lunch. I have teenagers traipsing into my classroom during every lunch period. But the act of eating while working doesn't have the disjointed chaos that the SAHM experiences every day.

3. Time with adults: To me, part of the exhaustion of SAHMing it is the fact that I am simultaneously tremendously busy and also a little bored. Will is a great conversationalist, but he doesn't have many thoughts on the economy. Water cooler discussion is a big deal, working moms. It keeps you a part of the world outside of your home. It keeps your mind sharp and your psyche invigorated. Yes when you collapse at the end of the day, you're tired just like the SAHM is, but you were apart of something in a world that is bigger than your house. I don't care how many enrichment activities I take Will to, outtings at the park, readings at Barnes and Noble, the conversation is still juvenile. Even talking with other SAHMs at these outtings stays very G rated. Why? We're always all focusing 75% of our attention on our kids, making sure that they aren't attempting any death-defying stunts. That time away from kids is important and it makes a day easier to get through.

4. Preservation of identity: Some women seem to be totally fulfilled by motherhood. Or so it seems. No life change more completely decimates a woman's conception of herself than becoming a mother. Yes, it's a wonderful experience, but when it happens, who you were BC (Before Child) is GONE and everything you do centers around your kids... unless you go to work everyday. When you're at work-- particularly if it's a job that you trained for and worked hard to attain and had BEFORE you got pregnant-- you have a piece left of who you were before kids. At work you aren't "Will's mom". You are a competent employee who is regarded and respected because of something totally dependent on your own competence-- not on whether or not you can successfully keep your two year old from having a melt-down in the Harris Teeter. Don't underestimate this working moms. It's important. Does it mean that at the end of the day, you've done less work than a SAHM? No. Does it make that exhaustion a little easier to accept? I think so.

5. Transition between work and play: Happy hour was invented to help people shift gears during the day. That change from work to home is IMPORTANT in terms of making both places acceptable and even enjoyable. For the SAHM, the work day NEVER ENDS. Imagine if you lived at your office and never left it. Weekends and evenings, holidays and vacations were all spent there and you were beholden to it 24/7 365 days a year. That's what it's like for the SAHM. The workday NEVER ENDS. When Bill gets to Friday, he'll say to me, "HEY! It's FRIDAY! Cool!" ANd I'll be like, "It's really no different from the other days of the week because on Saturday, I'll be doing the same job." If you don't think that that transition between work and home is important, spend some time without it. I think that lack of transition is the cause of 90% of post-partum depression, and other mood disturbances among mothers. Having that transition, the idea that there's a difference between work and home is HUGE and it's yet another thing that makes working motherhood easier than the alternative.

When I say this, am I trying to imply that working moms aren't just as tired when they lie down at night as SAHMs? No. Motherhood is hard work. I'm not saying that mustering the energy to fold that load of laundry or clean that toilet is any easier for a working mom than it is for a SAHM, but it's certainly not any harder. (As an aside, when I talk about the SAHM, I'm referring to the woman with small children- not the woman whose kids go to school all day.) But are you putting the same amount of time into being a mother as a SAHM? No. You aren't. I know this for a fact. When I'm at home with my kids, I'm with them all day. I teach them, I discipline them, I navigate the ups and downs of their phases and stages. I set their schedules, I provide their nutrition with my own two hands. When I'm at work, someone else does these things until I pick them up from daycare. Once small children sleep through the night, they go to bed at 8:00pm, give or take a half-hour. That's at MOST 4 hours a day where I interact with my child. The SAHM, by 8:00pm has clocked 12 or more waking hours with her child. The working mom has clocked 5 at most. When my kids go to bed, yes, I'm getting their stuff ready for the next day, folding their clothes, preparing lunches, bottles, etc, but I don't consider that stuff to be "mothering" per se. Bottom line, when I work, someone else is cutting my baby's lunch meat and teaching him not to have tantrums (though I must say, I've done a better job of curing that behavior this past month), applauding his victories, and kissing his boo boos. When I'm a working mom, am I a part-time mom? Yes. If I'm honest, I am. I'm not saying that working mothers are loving their kids part-time. I know that I think about my kids all day long, worrying about them, smiling over something they did the night before, etc. In terms of loving and thinking about my kids, I do the same amount of that as any other mother, I'm sure. But as far as providing care for my babies with my own two hands, I am NOT logging the same amount of hours as my SAH counterparts. I'm working just as hard, but I'm not MOTHERING as hard-- assuming that the term "to mother" means to provide hands on educational, palliative, and nourishing care for my children.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to lay a guilt trip on working moms. I think there are many advantages to a child seeing his mother be successful at something outside of the home. I know that many family finances necessitate two incomes. I'm not saying being a working mom is a bad thing. I am saying that, sorry working moms, we simply are not interacting with our kids as much as SAHMs. This doesn't mean we don't love our kids just as much as the "full-time moms". It doesn't mean we aren't providing for our kids in other ways. It doesn't mean that we're bad parents, but if you're a working mom and you're begrudging a SAHM the option of listing herself as a "full-time mother" on Facebook, claiming that the implication is that you're a part-time mother, then I've got to disagree. All moms are working around the clock, but SAHMs are truly the ones who are mothering full-time. The rest of us are only logging part-time weekday hours and weekends engaging in hands-on, direct contact and interaction with our kids. I'm not saying it's wrong or bad, but I am saying that you have to call it what it is.

Parenting 101

2011-05-23T18:48:00.000-07:00

Here's what I've learned in the past two years of parenting. Ninety percent of parenting is absolute bold-faced, deliberate deception. As a parent, a good lie is a great tool.

For example, say your two year old wants to hear Toto's "Rosanna" for the 5000th time during a 15 minute car trip and you could live out the rest of your days without ever hearing "Rosanna" again and die in complete contentment. What do you do? You lie to your child. Simply say, "Oh, I'm sorry. Rosanna's gone night night. It'll be back later." Your child takes a moment to process this and then says, "Tonight, Tonight?" Referring to the song by Hot Chelle Ray which is also a favorite. Play this new song until you have similar feelings towards it, repeat the lie, and move on.

Seriously, lying to my child has really worked wonders in terms of preserving my sanity and even as a behavior management technique. I've used the Santa Claus is watching trick to great effect, and even the Easter bunny is watching trick worked until I used it at the Olive Garden, prompting Will to exclaim, "Walk away bunny, we're trying to eat in here." My favorite behavior management lie is one that only works at the Cheesecake Factory. You know how at the top of the columns in there, they have those weird faces? Well, Will is scared of the weird faces, so when he starts getting antsy, I will say something like, "Oh no! The lady up there is getting mad because you won't sit down!" Then I'll look up to the nearest face and say, "It's okay lady. Will's sitting down right now. Don't worry. Will's eyes get as big as saucers as he calmly backs himself back into his seat. Not only does my conversation with this face probably qualify me for some kind of mental illness diagnosis, this is probably also some form of child abuse, but it works, so I'm not going to think too deeply about it. My friend Jeremy tells his kids that he's calling the police when they misbehave. This works for him. Someday I might try this same technique. I'll show Will that "Scared Straight" TV show, and then I'll start threatening to call the cops.

I've also started using plain bribery as a parenting tool. For example, let's say I would like Will to eat his string beans, but Will would prefer to eat bread. I confiscate the bread and then when Will asks for bread, I say, "Eat three string beans and I'll give you a piece of this roll." He hauls ass to those string beans, crams three of them in his mouth and then comes back to me with his hand out, waiting for his piece of bread. I can keep this up as long as the roll holds out. OR, if I want Will to take his nap, I'll say, "If you stay in your bed and go straight to sleep, I'll give you a piece of candy when you wake up!" And it works! And the cool thing about that one is that most of the time he's forgotten about our deal by the time he wakes up, so I don't ever have to pay out the candy. I've also been using candy with potty training. It started out that if he used the potty, he'd get candy, and then he started sitting on the can trying to pee so hard that I thought he might be doing kidney damage. So now that he's got pee pee under control on the potty, I've upped the ante to requiring that he does a poopy in the potty. He's not done one of those yet. He's quite hesitant to do that, for some reason, the result being that I canNOT keep him free of diaper rash. I'll get him healed up from one, changing him the second he has a bowel movement in his diaper and then a week later, a BM will slip by me for maybe ten minutes and he's all broken out again. It's terrible. I've got to get him using the potty if only to avoid the diaper rash.

Another great parenting tool is manipulative scheduling. Will goes to bed every night like a pro. He rarely comes out of his room after we put him down and if he does, we can get him back in there with minimal effort. Nap time is a different story, though. For this reason, I've started trying to guarantee that Will, John, and I will be traveling in the car around 1pm. Will falls asleep in the car at the time of day and then all I have to do is transfer him to his bed. I have contrived all kinds of unnecessary outtings at this time of day just to save myself some naptime hassle. And I'm not gonna lie: There've been days when I've fought the naptime battle just to load both kids in the car and drive around aimlessly waiting for Will's head to slump in my rearview mirror. You have to be careful with the naptime drive because if you take the kid out too close to naptime, and he gets tired, you could be dealing with a fatigue-induced tantrum while on your errand. Similarly, you can avoid some behavioral issues if you try to avoid being out when the child gets hungry, UNLESS you have brought a snack or lunch along. A lot of times when Will's being a pain in the ass, I've notived that it's usually very near mealtime or bedtime.

Anyway, those are my great parenting observations as of late. I go back to work for about ten days before summer vacation this Wednesday. It's the day before exams start, so I won't be doing too much work. Still, I'll be off Stay-At-Home-Mom duty for a few days before picking it back up again for the rest of the summer. Let me say this, knowing that it might piss some people off: Being a stay-at-home-mom is a HELL of a lot harder than being a working mom. Working moms who think they're shouldering more responsibility should remember the value of adult company, alone-time, even if it's just a trip to the bathroom, being able to eat lunch without having to cut another human being's food (unless your boss is really demanding), etc. After a month with the two-year old and the infant all day and all night, going back to work feels like a vacation. I just wanted to throw that out there. My hat is off to the permanent SAHMs.

What's in a Name?

2011-05-08T20:59:00.001-07:00

Oh and I've been meaning to give a little background on the origins of my sons' names. Will was easy- the day I got engaged, my father-in-law said, "What are you naming your first son?" And I said, "William Lowe Hennenlotter, IV, of course." I kept that promise Mr. Bill. The challenge came with the nickname. Both my husband and father in law began life as Billy and transformed into Bill at adulthood. The transformation is hard for my husband whose mom and sisters and aunts and basically all relatives still call him Billy. Then one night we were playing cards with Bill's parents and my father-in-law called Bill "Will". I then decided that that's what I'd call my son. It was cute enough to work for him in boyhood and solid enough to sustain him as a man. We tossed around "Liam" as well, but it's just never sat right in on my tongue. I love it for other people, but my guy's a Will.

Naming my first son was easy, but naming the second was almost as easy. Naming is a family thing for me-- a way to honor loved ones and so deciding on the name John David was almost as automatic as deciding on Will's name. My name, Katherine Lorene, comes from my grandmothers. When I and my sister were born they didn't know how to tell gender prior to birth, so my parents had a girl name and a boy name. The boy name for me and then for my sister was John David. John after my Great-Grandfather and David after my father. Since that time I've met other John Davids and one such almost made me give up the name. In fact, I think the comment from this family when the name of my child was divulged was, "That's been done!" And my response is, "Yes, it's actually been done by a lot of people and would've been done by my family first had I been a boy. So don't get all possessive about a name." But anyway. What clinched John David for my second boy was the fact Bill's maternal grandfather's name was John and I got the impression from my mother-in-law that she really wanted her father's name to be carried on somehow. One of my nephew's middle name is John, but you know, having a name be the first name, the one that the kid gets called by is special. When I first found out that I was pregnant, my mother-in-law said, "If it's a boy, what do you think of the name John David?" and that's when I decided to name my second son John David. I've really struggled with whether or not to call him John or David, but one thing he is NOT to be called is J.D. No offense to anyone living or dead, including J.D. Rockefeller (who was John Davison, by the way), but initialled names have a stigma to me. I just see him growing up to live in a rusty single-wide with a mullet and a cap with a confederate flag on it sitting on the top of his head, wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off talking about how the tornader blew his moonshine still clear across the county. I know this is totally unfair and biased and offensive and demonstrates what an ignorant pain in the ass I am, but it's just how I feel. So anyway, that's how my second boy became my John. (And yes, I do occasionally sing Shelley Fabares's "Johnny Angel" to him.

So, what to name this third child that may be conceived in the next 1-3 years? Well, I don't know. One thing I've almost decided is that the third child will also have a one syllable first name like Will and John. With a name like Hennenlotter, you've got to go quick and strong with that first name. If it's a girl, maybe Anne or Claire or Grace. If it's a boy, maybe Mark or James or something else I haven't thought of yet. Who knows? But naming a kid is kind of a big deal and I realized that it's pretty much a pre-requisite in these mommy blogs (if that's what you want to call this-- I'm more inclined to call it the narcissitic self-revelation of a self-professed ego-maniac. Hey, at least I'm honest) to go into how you chose the name for your baby. So that's why I named my boys thus. You may all take a collective sigh of relief at having now been apprised of this crucial information.

Mother's Day

2011-05-08T15:28:00.000-07:00

I am celebrating my third Mother's Day today. Each one has been special despite the fact that my husband has only gotten me something from my kids for the first one (though he says he has plans to go out to get me something this week.) It doesn't really matter. I mean, one day I will get pissed about something else and if I have to I may hurl out, "You didn't get me anything for Mother's Day!" as part of the final fireworks, but not because I'm really upset about it or anything. It'll just be useful ammunition for that day and as such is really a gift in and of itself. It's like the time my dad forgot his and my mom's wedding anniversary. I walked into the kitchen that evening (my dad was outside)and told my mom happy anniversary and she shushed me. I asked, "What? Has daddy not said anything?" And she said no. So I started toward the door to tell my dad that he'd better get to the Food Lion and get a card or something and my mom exclaimed, "Don't you dare!" I was confused because in my mind, if daddy learned about this marital milestone, my mom would get a gift or might at least stand a chance at eating out rather than cooking. I asked her why it was such a big secret. She said, "Because I have a surprise for Daddy and if you mention it, you'll ruin it." I waited for the rest of the evening for the big unveiling of the anniversary surprise. It never came.

A day or two later, I realized that mama's surprise for daddy was the ability to hold the forgotten anniversary over his head for all time. This event was one of those head-scratchers. One of those moments when you watch your parents interact and you wonder what the Hell is wrong with them. Now I get it totally and all I can say is, "Well-played, mom. Well-played."

Like marriage to the unmarried, most of motherhood to the non-mother can be head-scratching. I wrote a post probably ten months or more ago called, "I Know Why Your Mom is Crazy." Look it up at your leisure. It highlighted how for years I thought my mom was this certifiably insane individual who was occasionally pretty cruel and heartless only to find out that she was that way because she had kids and kids make you crazy. I told my sister that mama was probably pretty normal before our asses came along. At the time I wrote that post, I was the parent of an eighteen month old, give or take. I didn't even know HALF of the insanity that a child could invoke because I was at the easy stage of parenting. I now even think that my mom was totally justified in those spankings I got for shit that I didn't even do. Those times she lost her shit and yelled at me while chasing me through the house wielding a flyswatter and swearing that she will "beat me half to death"-- totally justified. I now know how a child can drive you to that kind of craziness which is why I'm getting my Celexa back on Tuesday.

That's right new moms. Here's a newsflash for you: Your five month old or one year old or whatever is really cute now and you might even think that said baby is a real challenge. I'm telling you right now that they are not. I'm also telling you that you are currently not parenting. Don't flip your shit. I thought I was parenting too when Will was younger. You are biologically a parent, but you haven't started parenting yet. Right now your kids are happy with most of what you do. They like for you to help them with things. They smile with glee at the sound of your voice, but let me tell you. A day of reckoning is coming and it is called the second birthday. At this time, your child will transform into a person who makes no sense at all. He will demand that he do everything himself, but will then not do it, or will not be able to do it. He will ask you to get him some milk but will insist that HE take the cup down from the counter. If you hand him the cup, no matter how lovingly, he will scowl at you, stomp his feet and say, "No, I do it." He will go get his stool, climb on it, place the cup of milk back on the counter, remove the stool, get the stool back, and get the milk himself. He will want you to simultaneously help him and leave him alone. He will be like a little dictator, a little Henry VIII who is always changing the rules. One day only Daddy can put his shoes on. The next day mommy can assist in putting his shoes on provided that she wears orange and faces east. One day, leaving the Target (yes, I arbitrarily place articles before discount store names) will be an acceptable activity. The next day one must NEVER leave Target. Ever. That little face that used to light up when you entered the room will at or around the second birthday begin to scowl at you and tell you to "WALK AWAY!" No shit. My son tells me to walk away. He has also told his father, his grandparents, his aunt, his great-aunt, the pastor, the cat, my parent's English Bulldog, the Easter Bunny, and the sun-- yes that's right, the SUN to walk away. Somedays I am so beside myself in frustration and just plain confusion that I lose my shit and have a tantrum right along with my son.

It's like having an unruly classroom where you spend the entire semester trying out strategies to make your day go smoothly. Some days a strategy will work. Other days it won't. One step forward, two steps back. The problem is that whereas the class would only comprise about 81 minutes of my day and then I could send the miscreants on their way, this miscreant LIVES with me. Now let me backtrack for a moment and say that most days with Will are more good than bad. He's really delightful. And even in his ruthlessness, he makes me laugh-- particularly with telling the sun to walk away. I tried to explain to Will today after he told his daddy to stop talking that there was a hierarchy in the world and unfortunately, he was at the bottom of it right now. Will responded by telling me to be quiet. The crazy thing is that I obeyed. Anyway, I have stumbled on some strategies that have been helpful this week in managing the volatile moodswings of my two year old.

I read this book called 1-2-3 Magic where if a child starts acting like a jerk, you calmly say, "That's one." If they persist, you say, "That's two." If they persist further, you say, "That's three." And you take the offending child to time out. The key is you don't get emotional, you don't get angry, you don't have conversations wherein you try to convince the child of your position. The thing is, 90% of the time, it works. It works to the point where sometimes I only have to say, "One." And Will looks at me and says, "I'm sorry mommy. I be nice." It does NOT work in public, but I'm trying to work around that. Now, I've been in the business of behavior management long enough to know that kids are like antibiotic resistant bacteria, so to what extent this does work, I doubt it'll work for long. I did learn one lesson from it, though, that I think will have some longevity. And that is to keep emotion out of it. The writer says, and rightly so, that as parents we tend to progress from reasoning to arguing to yelling to spanking and that what ends up happening is two temper tantrums occuring simultaneously in the end: The child's and the parent's. I saw myself so clearly in that description that I searched my house to see if this man was spying on me. He also correctly point out that any parent who starts down that road is doomed from the first step: reasoning. Kids are not adults and even if they can understand your reasons, they don't care. It's kind of like how I, as an adult, know that if I'm buying a house, I should make an offer, know my ultimate limit and be willing to walk away. When you see a house though, you want it emotionally and so while you rationally know you should hold out, you don't WANT to. It takes a lot of maturity to override that emotion. A lot of adults don't even have it. Therefore, to try to reason with a child that wants his/her own way is just dumb.

Since I have found a way to emotionally detach myself from Will's antics, we've been happier. And he's been better behaved. The only thing I've not gotten a handle on is what to do in public, so stay tuned. Anyway, it's mother's day and being a mother is hard. I'm lucky to have a great mother who somehow managed to wrangle my crazy ass under control. Did she keep it together all the time? No. Do I? No. But parenting is hard and I'm finding that I spend 90% of the time not knowing WHAT do to and panicking when I feel like I'm losing control and consequently losing control. As a parent, you feel so vulnerable because you want your kid to be good and productive and well-liked. You also constantly feel judged by other people, other parents, etc. To be honest, I don't think most parents are being judged. I think we're judging ourselves. More on this later. My blogs have tended to fall apart at the end of late because I always start watching something cool on TV. This time it's Game of Thrones on HBO. Anyway, I'll think more and write later-- unless something else cool comes on. Until then...

On My Own

2011-05-06T19:38:00.000-07:00

No, I'm not getting ready to sing songs from Les Miz. I'm going to talk about something I did tonight and then veer into something totally different that I guess is vaguely relevant.

Tonight, I went to a movie by myself for the first time in my life. I've heard of people doing this before, but it seemed so very strange at the time... so lonely. At the time I first heard of this, I was probably single with no kids. Now I am married with two kids who are very dependent on me-- in fact, one is loathe to leave my side for more than 20 minutes at a time, probably because of my boobs-- and yes, I'm talking about Bill. Not really. Baby John is who I'm talking about.

Anyway, so the movie Something Borrowed came out today and I've read the chick lit book, and so even though I didn't particularly like the book, I still wanted to see this movie. Don't ask why. It's probably for the same reason that I went to see the Shopaholic movie about two months after Will was born and because I stayed at home so much after Will's birth, I thought that movie was like a cinematic masterpiece. So this movie came out today, I wanted to see it, my sister had to work, it's not Bill's cup of tea, and so I just decided to go by my damn self. To be honest, I didn't enjoy the movie TOO much but more on that later, but I did enjoy sitting in that theatre by myself eating my popcorn without anyone commenting on the amount of butter salt that I put on it and drinking my Coke without anyone commenting on the high fructose corn syrup, etc. When I left Bill with the two boys tonight, I planned to go to the mall, which for some reason is an activity that is socially acceptable to do on your own. Going to a movie? Not so much. WHY is that? Mall-ratting is so much more social than a movie. I would think that the activity requiring a partner (if there IS such an activity) would be the more social activity of walking around a mall where you can at least have a conversation. In a movie you're just sitting there watching a story. Anyway, when I decided to embark on this solo cinematic experience, I did so because I heard a quote from a movie in my head. This quote is the most poignant quote I've ever heard from the movie Date Night, no. Scratch that. This quote is the most poignant ever to appear in any movie at any point and I'm including Mammy's quote from Gone With the Wind where she says, "You done had a baby, Miss Scarlett. You ain't never gone be 18 and a half inches no mo."

Anyway, in the movie Date Night, Tina Fey says, "God no. If anything I fantasize about being alone. Leaving and going to a hotel for the afternoon. Being in a quiet room where I can eat my lunch with no one touching me. And drink a diet Sprite in peace." Hell to the yeah. This is an extension of a soliloquy of Shakespearean significance wherein she talks about the hazards of a day of motherhood replete with kids' surprise about putting pajamas on despite the fact that we do it every night, to washing off the food and boogers that kids leave on you all day. So I went to a movie by myself. I am an independent woman. I am Beyonce'

The movie itself was okay. The main characters who are supposed to hook up are pretty damn boring. Kate Hudson's character and the supporting cast make the movie worth watching and that's all I'll really say about it. I want to move now to a new subject, sort of.

What is wrong with men? I'm not generalizing here. I think that I married a comparatively good man. I think he's one of the best ones. But he still thinks that this whole child care gig is MY responsibility. When I have my breakdowns because I've been on kid duty 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for the last 6 weeks and I mean that LITERALLY, he'll be all, "You need to ask me for help." I'll tell you what pisses me off about this-- and bear in mind that he's perfectly willing to help me out-- It's that I have to ask. Because the fact that I have to ask for help implies that this is MY responsibility. That he is a supporting character in this whole parenting role. Why IS this? Why, when a baby is crying, or standing at the top of the stairs needing a diaper change after his nap or any number of things am I the default parent? Here's an example: I was downstairs feeding John from my boob. Will woke up from his nap and called me to come get him. I told Will, "Go find Daddy. He's upstairs, he'll help you open the gate and come downstairs." Daddy, albeit industriously folding laundry (see, I told you he's a good guy) ignores Will's cries of, "Daddy! Daddy?!?" So I go upstairs and lose my shit because I cannot get Will's shoes on and help him down the stairs with a baby attached to my boob. I just can't. So, I did what I normally do when I get pissed, "Slam things around and mutter under my breath ( and I wonder where Will's tantrums come from.)" So Bill finally said, "I wish you would ask me for help." And that did it for me. If a child with half of your genetic material is asking for something, why do I have to be the one to help him with it? It's like he busies himself with other household chores so as to not be available when a child needs something. The other day, I was cooking dinner and asked Bill either to give John a bottle (of EXPRESSED MILK La Leche Leaguers- chillax!) or to cut up Will's dinner. He emptied the dish drainer. John's screaming and Will's in time out probably because he's irritable because he's hungry I had to blow my top and say,"I need you to feed the baby or Will. Not empty the dishdrainer." And he still says, "If you'd just ask me for help..."

Well, if you are a man or my husband (who never reads this blog, but should), here's the thing. If you have a wife who has given birth to a child at any point in the last 18 years, you should know that she needs help. If you have a wife who has given birth to a child in the last three months, you should know that your household is in a state of emergency. Your wife needs help at all times. In fact, I am, as a service to all women, asking for help effective right now and extending to the end of time. Therefore, if you are in your house and a child needs something, go take care of that child. Don't cower in your man cave or grab a basket of laundry to look busy. Go tend to the needs of your child. If you get there and your wife has picked up the child, ask her, "Would you like me to do that?" If you and she arrive at the child at the same time, leap in front of her and grab the child. If you get there first and she arrives and offers to take the child from you, do not believe that she REALLY wants to do this. Refuse to let her have the child-- (unless the child is hungry and she is breastfeeding.) When a woman says, "Do you want me to do that," she does NOT want to do it. She wants you to reassure her that it's okay that YOU'RE doing it. Refuse and say, "No, dear, I've got this. You go rest."

Another thing, fathers, especially if you have a newborn in your house, do not ever try to have a misery duel with your wife. For example, my husband went away for a week to work. He's done this twice since our second son was born. When he got back, he tried to be all, "Oh I worked from 7:30 to 6:30 every day then ate and went to bed and got up early to prepare for the next class." He said this as soon as I picked him up from the airport. This was after he had a free night in a La Quinta Inn that Friday because his flight was cancelled. He did NOT have to get up and prepare for a class on Saturday. He, in short, got to live my fantasy and spend the night in a hotel by himself watching whatever he wanted, sleeping whenever he wanted, eating whatever and whenever he wanted and you get the general idea. What he was trying to do in sharing his schedule with me was to plant the seed that he should not have to undertake any extra childcare duties. He should, in his mind, not be expected to say, "Oh Katie, you've had these kids 24/7 for the past week, let me give you the afternoon off."

Here's the thing, not only for my dear husband, but for all men. Before assuming that you have pulled your fair share of weight regarding work and personal sacrifice, you need to ask yourself the following questions: Did you get to sleep in a bed by yourself for an uninterrupted three hours or more? Were you able at any point to use the bathroom in a state of total isolation without one or more people crying outside the door and banging on it, or barging in and tearing you off about 15 yards of toilet paper, wanting to sit in your lap and flush the toilet for you? Did you enjoy a meal where no one needed you to cut and/or blow on his/her food despite the fact that the FOOD IS NOT HOT, and your dining partner(s) if you had any, didn't require you to repeatedly exhort them to SIT DOWN and quit running around with forks/spoons/ribs in their mouths? Were you at any point able to shower or bathe without someone standing tubside dropping matchbox cars in the water and demanding that you fish them out and without someone else screaming like he was having bamboo shoots shoved under his nails because you put him down or he was unable, for 15 minutes, to suck one of your boobs? Were you able to ride in your car without someone constantly pointing out mundane shit out of your car window and demanding that you not only look at it, but restate that it is, in fact, a water tower? Could you listen to any selection in your car stereo that you wanted without someone insisting that you listen to Toto's Rosanna 23982347092834 times? Were you able to propigate your DNA without vomiting, constipation, back pain, hemmorhoids, insomnia, swollen appendages, weight gain, abdominal muscle contractions, the augmentation of orifices to more than ten times their usual size, tears in your genitals and/or having gaping wounds cut into your abdomen, etc? If the answer to any of these questions is yes, you have not matched your baby mama in terms of physical exertion and personal sacrifice in a day. You are, in fact, running at a deficit and you will NEVER be able to overcome your baby mama's overtime when it comes to WORK. Therefore, at all times, you should consider yourself on duty when it comes to childcare, house work, etc. At no point should you feel like you are being put out for anything that you do around the house. I don't care if your baby mama is sitting on the couch asleep. She NEEDS that sleep. I don't care if she's sitting somewhere having a team of Vietnamese women cosmetically enhance her finger and toe nails. The point is: She deserves it.

I say all this because Bill had the audacity to say to me, when I left him to go see the movie by myself, "When do I get a chance to have time to myself?" I've not sure how I responded because my head exploded. This was after he went to play volleyball on Thursday night and had had the aforementioned week out of town, not to mention the weekly five hours of alone time he gets every Sunday when I take the kids to church because he's a heathen and won't go. So now that I've gotten that off my chest, let me move on to the last thing.

I am finding that I can be one bad-ass woman when I have to be. I have embraced and unleashed my Inner Bitch. In my life, I've been raised to believe that there are some things that men should do. They usually involve any business having to do with the yard, the trash, the grill, and the car. This week I proved that I am just as competent as a man in two of these arenas. First, as a result of circumstances that are really not too important and not worth really discussing, my driver's side-view mirror somehow acquired a crack. It may or may not have had anything to do with the fact that when the car was in reverse it by happenstance came in contact with the side of the garage. I don't really know, and it's not important. The point is that I needed to get the mirror replaced before Bill returned from vacat- I mean, work. This is not because I needed to HIDE anything from him per se, it's more that I didn't want to trouble him with life's little mundanities. So I took the car to the dealer as it had some scheduled maintenance anyway. When I left it, I said, "Hey, how about replacing that mirror too?" So the car dude calls me and tells me it's gonna cost THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS to replace this cracked mirror. Now, everyone knows that car mechanics lie to women. But I had just wrestled Will to the ground in the Harris Teeter when he went ape-shit over not being able to eat a banana in the produce section without having PAID for the banana. Another me another day might have accepted this price. However, this day, I was like, "TO REPLACE A PIECE OF GLASS?" Let me be clear: The mechanical part of the mirror still worked. There was nothing wrong with the motor, the casing, etc. The glass was cracked. That's all. So I went online and did some research, then I went to another repair center and had them order just the glass, which they did. I took the car to them, they popped the glass in in five minutes, and the whole thing costed me $30. SUCK ON THAT AUTOPARK HONDA!!! That's more than 90% savings thanks to the fact that I chose that day not to be a girl. Big Mama took care of herself. Finally, I replaced the gas tank on the grill today by myself. Yet another man's job that I did. So, the moral to this blog is, that I can do things by myself and everything is cool.

If the ending of this seems abrupt it's because I have to go squeeze milk out of boobs now and just really don't feel like writing this anymore. Until next time...

Relativity

2011-05-04T19:25:00.000-07:00

I have shifted from just being at home caring for John to caring for both Will and John. John will be six weeks old on Friday. On one hand, I can't believe he's already six weeks old. On the other hand, I can't believe he's only six weeks old. Newborn time, like pregnancy time is screwed up. At the same time that everything seems to be dragging by, it also seems to be flying. Go think about that for a while and let me know if you can make it make any sense. I can't.

I was thinking about my old self today while my two year old was having a psychotic break in the Barnes and Noble. As I dodged his flailing feet and tuned out his screams of frustration because I dared to suggest that we LEAVE the Barnes and Noble before he had played with every frigging truck that they have on display there, I thought back to myself at, oh, 26. I skipped around taking copious naps in my cute little townhouse, going to movies, pretty much doing whatever the hell I wanted. Yet I thought my life was so bad because I was single and alone and nobody loved me, blah, blah, blah. Then, all my 26 year old dreams came true: I met Bill, and a little of my freedom slipped away.

Instead of being able to do absolutely whatever the Hell I wanted whenever I wanted, I was faced with the new prospect of having this other person who would probably want to do shit with me at some point, even if I really wanted to piss away an entire day watching Lifetime. All of a sudden, instead of saying, "Let's do it!" If a friend asked me out to eat or whatever, I had to start saying, "Well, let me see what Bill is up to." Then once we got married, I even lost control over my house. Suddenly, there were strange gargoyle statues in my guest room, my TV was hooked up to all these damn speakers with the tacky black wired criss-crossing everywhere. Then there was the added inconvenience of getting into my bed, reading to do Sudoku puzzles until I fell asleep, only to occasionally have my respite interrupted by roving hands wanting to disturb my sanctuary of tranquility and personal freedom with that whole sex nonsense. Or worse, I might look forward to sleeping in on a Saturday morning only to be awakened by Bill, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wanting me to do something like go for a nature walk or a bike ride and look for birds or play frisbee. I thought, oh my life is so hard. I have to meet the needs of Bill and myself. I know! If I have a kid, then Bill'll have someone to do that frisbee nature shit with and I'll get to sleep in on Saturday (I know. All you moms out there are chuckling and shaking your heads.)

Then, I conceived and bore Will. My precious little Will who came into my world and totally flipped it upside down. I know a few girls who are expecting their first kids and there's a part of me that feels sorry for them. I see them at their baby showers, glowing with excitement, thinking they'll actually use the wipe-warmer instead of blindly groping for whatever wipe, kleenex, paper towel, steel wool pad she can put her hands on in the middle of the night. I hear them talk about their birth plans and how they're going to breastfeed and how they've read that if you start out getting the baby to eat every four hours... Oh you poor, poor girls. I wonder if all seasoned moms feel the mixture of happiness, smugness, conspiratorialness (because we've made this gig look so fun that our girlfriends have totally been suckered into it, not unlike the indoctrination that inspires people to join cults) and plain pity. Lots of joy comes with having kids. But those first 2-3 months of new motherhood is tantamount to being in this warm and cozy space only to be drenched with a bucket of ice-water. Total shock. Shock and awe that makes those strikes on Baghdad a few years ago look like lighting up a Hibachi to grill some burgers. That being said, at the time I was SO TIRED and SO BORED. I thought that having a newborn had to be the hardest thing ever. Then he got older and things got better, but I still found myself having to play cars and entertain him more than my Facebook habit really had time for, and I thought, "Hmmm... if Will had a sibling, then they could entertain each other! Let me get pregnant again!" Okay, seriously, seasoned moms. The laughter is getting out of control. Keep it down. This is not funny. This is my life.

And then my second baby comes right as my first baby hits his terrible twos. And I realize that taking care of one newborn is EASY. Sure I don't get much sleep, but that's a mere inconvenience compared to the horror of trying to reconcile the needs of the baby with the needs of the two year old. (If you're asking, "Why Katie, what about YOUR needs?" then you must be one of those first time pregnant girls or simply childless because my needs went out the window a long time ago.) With one newborn, I can sit on the couch all day alternating nursing with brief spurts of napping. I can watch Dr. Phil instead of that damn Chuggington. I don't have to play Matchbox cars with one hand while precariously balancing the newborn who is nursing from my boob with the other hand. I can go to Barnes and Noble and look at books and even eat at a restaurant without being in constant fear that my two year old will suddenly lose his shit. I am held hostage by my toddlers mercurial moods. I have NO IDEA what might set him off. One minute, he will be totally cool with the fact that I would like us to get in the car and leave a location. He will dutifully leave the store, climb into the car and his seat with no problem. Then, an hour later, this same process will necessitate a SWAT team, as he holds me and any other unfortunate occupants hostage to his tantrums. This morning, he threw a tantrum because my sister got John out of the car. Apparently, Will decided that only mommy can get John out of the car on Wednesday mornings and wanted us to feel the full force of his rage that this key rule was broken. With JUST a newborn, I could go out to eat and the only disruption might be that I have to give my newborn a bottle or hold my newborn. Yet when I HAD just a newborn, I thought it was so damn hard. And one day, I will add a third child into the mix and will long for the days when it was just me, my newborn, and my two year old.

The moral to this is that misery is very much a relative emotion. I was bummed out because I was single, then I was vaguely dissatisfied because I was married with no kids, then I was beside myself that I had this kid who constantly wanted stuff, and now I'm ready to embark upon a major substance abuse problem because I now have TWO kids who constantly want stuff. I have jumped from the flying pan to the fire to a pool filled with hydrochloric acid to the fiery depths of Hell itself and who knows how much hotter it can get around here. I sometimes wish that 31 year old me could go visit 26 year old me, show her a videotape of today while I carried a writhing and screaming 30 lb toddler to the car and getting him into his car seat only to add his 10 lb brother to the mix who suddenly had an attack of painful gas and reflux, the result being TWO screaming children and me, wondering how to get this all under control all while my husband has lunch with adults and sends me emails with links to funny videos he found while screwing around online at work. I want to show 26 year old me that video and say, "Girl, enjoy this time. Because you are, over the course of five short years, about to get yourself into more trouble than you can get out of in a lifetime." I want to show her that and I want to pop her in the face when she rolls her eyes and says, "My kids would NEVER act like that." God, remember when you didn't have kids and you thought that parents had power over children and so you'd roll your eyes and sigh heavily when you saw some kid acting like a maniac in a restaurant? God forgive me for ever doing that. I knew not what I did.

Don't get me wrong. I love Bill. I never wish that I hadn't married him. I LOVE Will. He has given me so much joy and even in the midst of his tantrums and craziness, he still makes me laugh. For example, today, my sister told him that we were going to the mechanic's shop to pick up her car and he looked at her and said, "Car too heavy." He also, when threatened that the Easter Bunny was watching him to see if he was behaving, exclaimed, "Walk away bunny, I'm trying to eat in here." He's a riot and he's wonderful with a good heart. He is just two and he's started the journey to break away from me and run his own life. In fact, seeing him do this makes me want to hold my John David a little tighter and realize that the infant days are exhausting, but at least John can't talk or move. No seriously, every day of my children's lives has its own triumphs and disasters. But damn. Sometimes I really think about how easy life was five years ago. I love my kids, but it's like my mom told my sister and me one time: "I wouldn't take a million dollars for either one of you, but I wouldn't pay five cents for another one just like you." Here, here, mom. Here, here. So after writing all that, I think maybe it'll all be okay if I wait THREE years to have my third rather than two... Sometimes I think I'll never learn.

Living on the Edge

2011-04-19T18:23:00.000-07:00

As of Friday, John will be four weeks old. Since I last wrote he has exposed me for the fake nipple pushing child-abuser that I am and refuses to take a pacifier. When I put it in his mouth, he wrinkles his little forehead and then spits it out in one fell-swoop. Will has taken it upon himself to be the Pacifier Patrol and will go to all lengths to mandate that John suck on a pacifier. Will will insist, "He wants his paci!" And I'm like, "What do you know about a paci?" Bill said he probably knows kids at daycare who use them. Anyway, so now when we ride in the car and John starts crying, I don't have the luxury of popping a pacifier in his shrieking mouth and driving on. Now we just grin and bear it. Nonetheless, I feel seconds away from an emergency if I can't find the pacifiers. I was tearing the house up before loading John in the car this afternoon just in case he started crying while we were on the road. (You moms know that hearing your baby cry is like fingernails down a chalkboard-- and if you're breastfeeding as I am it has the added effect of initiating a launch sequence of milk production and letdown in the boobs which feels like about a thousand little needles piercing the boob tissue from the inside out.) Bill told me today, "For someone who's so adamantly anti-pacifier, you sure are trying hard to make John take one." At that point, I conceded defeat because I realized that even when I HAVE a pacifier, he just spits it out, so it's really a waste of time. John has located his thumb and will occasionally suck it to soothe himself, but most of the time he won't settle for anything less than a nipple loaded with milk.

At any rate, breastfeeding has now hit the stage where prior to milk production and letdown I feel this rush of euphoria. I'll be in the kitchen, or walking the street or just otherwise minding my own business and all of a sudden I'll feel so giddy and happy and I'll think to myself, "What the Hell are you so happy about?" And then I'll realize that I'm probably experiencing a momentary oxytocin high. Before I can even put two and two together, the boobs start to prickle and then they're that much fuller.

I may have told everyone this already, but the milk production in my bra right now rivals anything currently occurring at PET or Maola. I've got 20oz in bottles waiting for immediate consumption and about 18 bags of milk, each storing 2-3 oz in the freezer. I'm cranking out 21oz a day right now through pumping in addition to what is excreted by nursing, which I do on demand-- and I nurse more than I bottle feed. The bottles are only there for Bill to help a sister out when I go nuts due to sleep deprivation-- more on that later. At Will's biggest, I was putting out 36oz a day plus nursing on demand. The boobs clearly have remembered what it means to feed a baby and have jacked up production beyond what makes any kind of sense. Best I can figure is that John eats 15 oz a day. Therefore, I estimate that I'm putting out at least 10 oz too much on a daily basis. This is all well and good and I would have killed to have this level of production when Will was three weeks old and all I had been doing was nursing and didn't have any stored, but damn. I guess I should be thankful. In fact, that's exactly what I now choose to be. And I'd like to give a big shout out to the sisters residing in my bra. Ladies, you've outdone yourselves. Good work. You should take a vacation for two in Hawaii.

I remember with Will a period between about 2-8 weeks where I had weekly breakdowns due to sleep deprivation. John and Will were/are good babies. They slept for two hours, woke to eat, and then went immediately back to sleep. They for the most part don't wake up in the middle of the night and spend a few hours awake staring at me. This may have happened a couple of times, but is by no means the norm. Still it's amazing how two hour chunks of sleep really aren't enough. It turns out that you do need to have extended chunks of sleep not to lose your damn mind. I feel sorry for Bill. I know I'm totally unreasonable and hard to live with. If I remember correctly, though, each week the breakdown gets a little less severe and we have less bloodshed. So hopefully, this little guy will settle into a more human schedule soon. Will slept through the night-- and I mean 12 hours from 7:30-7:30 starting at 12 weeks and continued to do so until he was about 18 months old, when he started sleeping about 10 hours a night. I've got my fingers crossed that John will do the same. Until then, I'm just going to cling to the edge of sanity and pray that my marriage and my children can live through this difficult time.

A Sucker Born Every Day

2011-04-13T19:30:00.000-07:00

Specifically, there was a sucker born March 25th of this year. I finally threw caution to the wind and gave John a pacifier. The first time I gave it to him, he sucked happily on it while I accomplished a task previously impossible (ie. use the bathroom in peace.) He's not but so into it though because I tried it a couple of times today and he looked at me like I was an evil witch and spit it out and resumed crying. Basically, I think it'll work only when he's looking for a good comfort suck. If that's not what he's after and what he really wants is for me to hold him or to feed him, I can hang it up.

Here's the thing with second kids-- as committed as I am to Dr. Sears and his attachment parenting which espouses that a crying baby should be immediately addressed so that he can learn to feel security and trust his parents, there're times when I need to attend to my other baby and John will just have to wait. Now I know the Sears' had eight kids, but I'm just clearly not the mastermom that Martha Sears is. And Will seems to really appreciate when I take time away from John and devote it solely to him. The other night, I left John in the swing downstairs to tuck Will in and John started crying. Will stopped me from reading and said, "Mommy. Go pick John up!" And I looked at Will and said, "I don't want to hold John right now. I want to be with you." And he got the cutest grin on his face. It wasn't spiteful or devious or gloating, it was just like a realization that his mommy still loved him. So, hopefully the pacifier will occasionally stop John's crying while I spend some time with Will.

At any rate, John took the pacifier. He's not totally fooled by it though, which gives me some relief. Like it matters in the end. Like he's going to have to tell a future employer whether or not he used a pacifier as an infant. I've got to keep reminding myself that these huge parenting controversies that seem to be particularly marginalizing in the first couple of years of a child's life REALLY aren't all that important in the long run. And on that note, the baby's crying. I wonder if he'll take the pacifier so I can store some of this milk away that I've pumped out while typing this.

The Pacifist

2011-04-11T14:19:00.000-07:00

I remember being really jazzed about breastfeeding with Will. After the first six weeks, that is- once my supply was established and my nipples had all the sensitivity of leather. This time, I'm wondering what kind of illicit drugs I was on to feel that way. Here's the thing: Breastfeeding has been easy to establish this time. My milk came in probably two days after he was born. I started pumping it right away-- just once a day for fifteen minutes and nursing on demand. My suspicion that Will had in fact sucked the nerve endings out of my boobs in his barbaric attempt to get milk seemed to be well-supported because it's not hurt to breastfeed this time. Maybe it's because I'm insisting on a good latch. At any rate, I've not had the cracking, bleeding, bruising, or the eye-crossing constant pain. I'm glad about this.

Here's the thing, though. I'm full of milk. I've got more milk than this kid will ever drink. I'm six bottles ahead of him and already have eight bags frozen. My boobs are FULL every three hours. Night time is torturous and any time the baby moves I am quick to try to shove my boob in his mouth to get him to suck off the excess. Breastfeeding this time has just felt like this dirty process. Like it's more of a waste removal activity than an act of nourishing my child. I'm tired of my boobs being full. I'm tired of feeling leaks. I'm tired of feeling like I'm carrying around bowling balls in my bra. Plus my boobs just feel constantly... dirty. But mostly I'm tired the milk surplus.

I think this is partly due to the fact that my baby loves to suck. I think he's been using my boobs as a pacifier and that this behavior has given my boobs the idea that we are wetnursing for every baby in the neighborhood rather than just feeding one baby. This leads me to a dilemma. I've always hated pacifiers. My mom said I would never use one, nor would my sister. I remember giving one to Will just to keep him happy while doctors tried to listen to his chest or while I heated up a bottle of expressed milk and he spit it out in disdain like, "Woman, who are you trying to kid with this fake nipple." Also, Will came out of the womb sucking his middle two fingers, which he sucks to this day whenever he tries to go to sleep (but not, incidentally, at any other time of the day). At any rate, I think John's using me as a pacifier and this is misleading my boobs to step up milk production resulting in a great deal of discomfort as well as a large quantity of time with me sitting with my shirt up or off while this kid sucks on me. And I don't even get Mardi Gras beads.

The thing is, I think John would use a pacifier, but I don't know that I want to give it to him. I always thought that the kids who toddled around with a pacifier in their mouths looked a little like they were the spawn of West Virginian siblings. This is my personal hang up. I'm sure if you, gentle reader, have a kid who loves his/her pacifier that your child is every bit as brilliant and as cute as mine, so I mean no offense. I'm just expressing my personal hang ups about this device which I'm toying with trying so that I don't have to seek employment with Maola just to keep some semblance of comfort.

So, to pacify or not to pacify? I guess on one hand, I could give him one and see if he'll even use it. He might be like his brother and refuse, which would make this whole dilemma rather moot (and by the way, it's MOOT point. Not MUTE point- sorry just irritates me when people write MUTE point. Almost as much as when people use the term IRREGARDLESS.) But what if John gets the pacifier and he likes it? How do I keep it from turning into this crutch that I have to take away later? Then again ther say a pacifier lowers risk of SIDS. hmmmmm... Let me think some more and get back too you. Right now I have to let this baby with his mouth wide open at my boob like a baby bird eat AGAIN. To be continued...

Look Out Below

2011-04-07T18:28:00.000-07:00

I don't know if two pregnancies and two experiences with this is enough of a sample size to really draw some clear conclusions on the topic. Nonetheless, I've not let such mundanities as trustworthy statistical evidence and strict adherance to the scientific method interfere with the crap I say is true on here in the past, so why start now?

John will be two weeks old tomorrow and for some reason, with this baby and with Will, the two week mark is the point where I lose my damn mind and start crying all the time, bemoaning my poor choices as a mother and just generally marinating in a state of unhappiness and ennui.

I think in the insubstantial amount of reading that I've done on the subject, that there're three states of post-partum mood disturbance: post-partum psychosis, post-partum depression, and the baby blues. I think the difference between the latter two is simply scope and time. If it goes away in a week or two and you can still hold onto some grasp of reality wherein you still see good things in life, then it's probably just the baby blues-- when your brain responds to the collosal hormone dump that happens once you no longer need gallons of estrogen and progesterone and whatever to Hell else to sustain a pregnancy. For the regular Joe (or Jane as the case usually is) this adjustment in hormones doesn't go unnoticed, so it takes a week or two for the brain to readjust and start functioning like it belongs to a regular human being. If the condition persists beyond a couple of weeks and becomes increasingly severe so that the sufferer can no longer perceive any good in life and becomes more and more withdrawn and detached from life then it's post-partum depression.

So which do I have? Not sure. At this point, I'm willing to leave it at Baby Blues, because I had this with Will and never developed depression from it. Of course, with Will I was taking anti-depressants.

At any rate, what you may have deduced is that I've not been feeling myself these past few days. Nope, I haven't. I just sit around and breastfeed and help the baby with his farts and rock him to sleep and sleep with him. In the intervals, I fight with my two-year old and feel guilty that I've ruined his little life by conceiving and birthing this second child, or perhaps by not shipping him off to navigate his terrible twos with someone more qualified. He's really not been himself. Part of it is terrible twos and would probably be going on regardless of our newest Hennenlotter. The other part, I think, is because he doesn't get 100% of mommy and daddy's attention anymore. Sometimes, like tonight, he's his sweet little adorable self. Other nights, he's throwing things and kicking and screaming and smoking marijuana and telling me to go F--- myself. Oh no wait. That's 16 year-old Will. Two year-old Will is just throwing things and screaming, and kicking, and hitting.

He does get better every day, but one thing I noticed yesterday is that I've spent the bulk of the last two weeks with John and haven't really spent time with Will. Yesterday I spent some time with Will and learned that he's really not the same Will from two weeks ago. He's learned too much. He talks like a human being now. He apparently picks out his own socks. He's made all kinds of small steps towards becoming an adult and I missed it. I missed it taking care of his little brother.

You can't tell this, but I just had to take about a ten minute crying break. Seriously, everything makes me cry. I spent probably 75% of any given day crying here lately. I've rejoined the ranks of sleep deprivation. When John and I could snooze in the king sized bed, it was all cool. Plus, he was a newborn, and I forgot that part about how newborns fool you into thinking that the sleep-deprivation that every parent bemoans won't happen to you with this one. Both of mine slept really well those first ten days. Then, I suspect, the Vicodin prescription ran out in both cases, and I lost the assistance of that nice little warm euphoric tranquilizer making a microscopic, albeit effective presence in my breastmilk.

Two other things have contributed to my sleep-deprivation: 1.) Bill is home, so John and I lost the comfort of having a king-sized bed to sprawl out in. For reasons that I can't quite fathom, I feel guilty making Bill share in the sleep deprivation. It's like I feel this is my burden alone. Like I was sitting by myself somewhere the night this child was conceived doing some satanic ritual and this child and his non-sensical sleeping patterns are my penance for straying from the will of the Lord. Furthermore, though I know I said this time I would ask for and accept help when this became overwhelming, I have confirmed that I am a huge and conscienceless liar-- or else so delusional that perhaps I should consider myself a candidate for post-partum psychosis. I just can't ask for help. I feel guilty. What the Hell is this guilt thing about, anyway? At any rate, last night Bill took mercy on my weary soul and took John when he awoke for his 3am party and as a direct result, I couldn't sleep, but tossed and turned for two hours. So Bill is trying to help his poor wife, probably because he remembers the carnage that unfolded the last time I started losing significant chunks of sleep. Anyway, because Bill is back I moved John and myself to the couch (I know, firm solid mattress- but it's a deep solid couch, I'm skinny, and the baby is too.) Nonetheless, I stay mashed up in the corner, unable to do anything but lie on my right side, spend ten minutes trying to get the baby to latch in a side lying position every two hours, feel irritated due to the constant sucking sensation on my boob, and wonder if I'll ever regain feeling in my arm. So the couch isn't big enough afterall. Also, when I do sleep, my slumber is filled with paranoid dreams that the baby is constantly in the process of falling off the couch and therefore I awaken with this instinctive lunge movement that threatens to crush the baby lest I do a split-second-- and I mean a literal split second reality check and stop myself. Then I remembered, we still have a guest room with a full-sized bed. So now we will be sleeping in there. Hopefully this will help.

In addition to all this, I've now got a cold. Therefore, I frequently have fits of iron-lung candidate coughing that wakes both me and the baby up. Speaking of which, it's about time to take my Delsym.

So, the symptoms of my insanity are the aforementioned constant crying, horrible dreams and paranoid envisionings of finding the baby to be a victim of SIDS. Wondering what clothing I'd bury the baby in because certainly he can't make it past babyhood. Not with such an ineffective mother. I mean, hell, I'm writing blogs when I should be counting his breaths and using the force to make him take the next one. Then, as if my own internal dialogue of craziness isn't enough, I take him for his two week check up yesterday. He got weighed, is back to his birth weight + 1oz, has good color, good pulses, etc. BUT his breathing rate is way too rapid. Like twice what it should be. So I spend yesterday getting chest X rays and trying to hold back tears so that I don't look like the crazy post-partum chick holding a tiny lead circle on her son's junk so that his X ray doesn't render him sterile. His lungs looked fine, which should be good news. However, what this means is that they don't KNOW why the Hell he's not breathing normally. If the chest X ray had revealed a pneumonia or something, I'd at least have him in a hospital full of people who ostensibly know how to keep babies from dying. As it is, I'm just at home with my doctor's home phone number (again, should be comforting, but when a doc. gives you a home number, your first response is, "Holy fuck. This must be really bad) and instructions that if he spikes a fever, he needs to be rushed to the ER and I need to call her. A fever, for our purposes is a rectal temperature because 100.5. But guess what. I can't find the damn rectal thermometer. It's like gnomes come into my house and steal all the shit that I need to keep my child alive. So, all I have is a defunct CVS brand ear thermometer that consistently measures my temperature to be 95.5. It will register a fever, but then you have to wonder if you should add a degree or two to the fever since surely, a 95.5 temp would indicate some stage of rigor mortis. Whatever. So I don't know if my child has a fever. And because I'm even more convinced that his life is hanging by a mere thread, I am constantly asking Bill is he looks blue, does he feel feverish, because I just don't dammit know anymore.

Finally, John keeps a consistent case of infant gas that Mylicon is insufficient to mitigate. Will did this too as a baby. So he either does these sleep grunts that are punctuated by farts the size of what you would expect to emerge from Maytag repairmen or baby hippopotamuses, or he wakes up crying with pain from the farts that won't come. And having wrestled with my own lower digestive system this week and the pain that occurs when such a bodily system awakens after a period of stagnation, I really sympathize, but there isn't but so much I can do.

Well, the farts are calling. Pray for my poor crazy sleep-deprived soul.

Big Brother in Charge

2011-04-01T07:52:00.000-07:00

I've been quite busy since augmenting the Hennenlotter brood-- not necessarily with the new baby, but I've been doing my due diligence in making SURE that I sleep whenever possible.

I have come to the realization that conception and childbirth are two areas of life in which I quite frankly excel. I love giving birth. Labor and delivery? Yes it hurts a tad, but again, it's really not bad. Pushing is HARD WORK, but it's so worth it. If we had the time and the money, I'd be the next Michelle Duggar. I love giving birth. Bill has been telling everybody, "She made it look easy... again!" I think he thought this labor might be bad enough to bring me to my knees screaming, but it didn't. Did I get an epidural? Yep. I labored for about six or seven hours before I got it. Did the epidural hurt? It was more uncomfortable than last time, that's for sure, but nothing unbearable. Pushing, though still work, was much more short-lived this time. I think it may have only been 15 minutes of pushing. I did get a second degree tear down there and added a new hemorrhoid to the collection. I know I tore with Will's birth, but I don't remember it persisting in being this sore like this tear has done.

I'm back in my regular clothes. I've not weighed, but I am starting to feel like my body is returning to it's original state. My belly button is persisting in sticking out, however. I've heard of a thing called an umbilical hernia wherein your belly doesn't go back to normal without surgery. Hopefully mine is just taking its time going back in. It has, after all, been only a week.

Will has been a force to be reckoned with this week. Granted, he's had some extenuating challenges. 1) He has a new baby brother which is a huge change for everyone 2) His daddy is out of town (and returning tonight!!) and 3) He's had Bill's parents staying at the house with us to help out this week. Number three is a good thing, but it is still a big change. Particularly since he doesn't see Bill's parents very often. Anyway, he's been Hell on wheels. Tantrums, yelling, whining, crying, hitting, throwing, etc. This behavior has been frustrating to say the least but it's also been exhausting. Fortnuately he seems to do better each day. Yesterday he was actually more like his old self, which was a relief.

None of this has been directed towards the new brother, though. Will is very conscientious about taking care of his baby brother. Will is very possessive of his blankets, but he insists on wrapping John in one of his blankets. He likes to touch the baby. He tries to soothe the baby when he cries. He tells me I need to pick him up. He's intrigued with breastfeeding and sometimes tells me he wants to eat something "out of there" and points to my boob. Then again, this morning, Will insisted that the baby wanted to lie in his Boppy pillow and I explained that he didn't because he was eating. Will pensively looked at me and then at John and said, "He eat too much." This made me laugh, especially since he doesn't eat nearly as often as Will did when he was the same age. Will also developed a personal conviction that John wanted to play football and therefore procured his almost full-sized East Carolina University football and sat it in John's lap while John sat in the Boppy. Needless to say this football was almost as big as John himself so I kept trying to remove the ball except Will would throw a fit when I did so and give it back to the baby saying, "'Sokay Baby John. Here football."

Anyway that's the latest. I've been typing this with one hand while nursing with the other. More to come. Incidentally it's hard to believe that as of 6:16pm tonight, John will be one week old.

Big Bad John

2011-03-26T05:17:00.001-07:00

Okay! Well, you should know, if you don't know already, that John David Hennenlotter was born at 6:16pm on Friday, March 25, 2011. He was 20.75 inches long and he weighed a whopping 8 lbs and 10 oz. Remember how I said the doctors thought he was going to be smaller than Will despite the fact that I thought he was bigger than Will? Well, it turns out that the one carrying the baby around does have a better feel for that sort of thing than the doctors. When he was born, the labor nurse said, "He's a toddler!" And sure enough my heavy and long baby boy lay on my chest seconds later. The only things on him that are small are his feet. Will was a quarter of an inch shorter and a little less than a pound lighter yet his feet were huge (and still are, meaning that I have to pay for the premium Stride Rite shoes because they come in extra wide. John's feel are tiny petite little things. I wish I had pictures to post right now, but I don't. I'll get them up in the entry soon though.

I'm going to see if I can crank out the birth story really quickly before I spontaneously fall asleep. I didn't sleep really well last night. Apparently, the post-labor cramping that the uterus does to return to its normal size tends to be worse with second and subsequent children. Some cramps were as bad as the labor pains themselves. At any rate, I'm staying on top of my Norco and Motrin consumption, so my eyes tend to spontaneously close. Despite this, I still spent the time that I did snooze in this sort of half-slumber that wasn't very restful at all.

Nonetheless, here's my story:

Shortly after typing yesterday's birthday blog, I was sitting on my couch watching The Doctors. We were given Friday off from work for reasons known to no one, but I'm not one to complain about a day off. We decided to take Will to daycare even though Bill and I were both off simply because we both had some things we wanted to accomplish. Bill wanted to study for a new certification exam, and I wanted to sleep and feel sorry for myself since my labor induction experiment from the day before led me into that huge tease only to seemingly fail.

Basically, I tried to do the two most scientific of the old wives tales: 1) I tried the baby-making activity and made sure to let the chemicals said to be produced on Bill's end have some time to work their magic. If this is TMI, I'm sorry. Babies, their generation, germination, and genesis into the wide open world are really not for the faint of heart. At any rate, apparently a hormone in a man's reproductive byproducts can stimulate dilation and contractions. And to be honest, they did. I don't think they will do this if things aren't biologically ready on their own, but it did give a good "push" so to speak into some productive albeit false labor.

This brings us to Friday morning on my couch while watching The Doctors. I remembered reading that mammary stimulation mimicking nursing movements could start labor. This makes perfect sense because these same movements stimulate contractions AFTER the baby's born that return all your junk back to its previous size. So, I decided to give it a try. Within five minutes, contractions had started. I kept "priming the pump" so to speak and contractions began a regular 4 minute pattern. I thought, "By George, this may be it!" So I went upstairs and took a bath. The contractions continued and any time I worried that they might abate, I repeated the labor stimulating behavior. When I got out of the tub, they were getting stronger and seemed to come every 3-4 minutes. I still wasn't ready to call myself in labor though. My worst fear was getting medical personnel involved in something that was little more than wishful thinking on my part. I blowdried my hair, put on make up and clothing and then went to the bathroom. At this point, I saw blood, so I decided that I was in labor.

I called the office and asked them if I should come in and be checked and they agreed. Then I awakened my sister and told her to get up and take me to the doctor. We got in the car and naturally hit every light, got behind every geriatric driver in the Triangle, etc. The pain didn't make me feel an urgency to arrive at the doctors so much as a fear that labor would stop and then I'd be in there with the biggest let down to date in this process.

At any rate, we got there, waited in the waiting room, and finally my name was called. I went back and they made me weigh and give a urine sample, which was perplexing to me, but anxious to use my new-found pee-catching technique, I obliged. Finally, I got into the exam room, waited in there for several lifetimes and in walked the doctor. She checked my cervix and then imparted to me the most welcome news of the past ten months: "Well, you're four centimeters dilated, headed for five. You're ready for admission!" This filled me with hope, but I was still cautious. She must have sensed this because she said, "If you get next door and your labor stalls, we'll just break your water and have this baby today anyway." I think angels did actually appear in the sky and start singing the Hallelujah chorus. I came out of the office and told my sister that the baby was coming and we were headed to the hospital. She went to the car and got my bags and I called Bill.

It was like as soon as I knew it was safe to believe myself in labor that the serious contractions really started. They were like someone grabbing my sides and then squeezing in a downward motion giving charley horse sensations into my pelvic area. Just like with Will, while I found contractions to hurt, I didn't find the experience to be excessively painful. The thing is, when they hit, the build to a peak and then they ease off for a minute or two until the next one. I think I was in the labor and delivery room for a couple of hours before I got the clearance for my epidural.

The epidural hurt more this time than it did last time, but again, it wasn't severe pain. It was just some serious discomfort. Then, it took effect and aside from a couple of back contractions, I didn't feel much of anything after that. Once the epidural was in place, they broke my water, at which point I was already 6 cm. Then maybe an hour later, I was ready to push.

The WORK that goes into pushing took me by surprise last time and even though I KNEW, theoretically, that it was exhausting, the work load took me by surprise again. At any rate, I think I pushed for three contractions (at each contraction you push to the count of ten three times) when the nurse said to stop. She paged the doctor to come for delivery. While we were waiting, I continued to contract and John started to turn and move himself out. He was ready to get it done. The doctor got in just in time, I pushed once and delivered his head, and pushed again and delivered his shoulder. At that point, I felt that huge lightening sensation as he left my body. Amid exclamations about how big he was, he was placed on my stomach where he cried for the injustice of cold bright awakenings everywhere. I told him not to worry. It was all okay.

They took him to the bassinet for some cleaning and noted that he was large for gestational age (LGA) and that he was also a bit trembly, indicating that he might have low blood sugar. His tremble and the fact that my uterus had apparently created a very close relationship with my placenta and would not surrender it (I just imagine the two clinging to each other saying, "I cain't quit you!") led them to give him to me immediately for breast-feeding. He was not a quick latcher like Will was, nor was/is he the aggressive feeder. When he did get his latch, though, and start sucking, both his tremble and my placenta gave way and all was well with the world.

I'm going to have to stop here because the painkillers helping me cope with the cramping and the pain of a second degree tear are causing my eyes to involuntarily close. More to come soon.

Birthday Party Part Four

2011-03-25T06:15:00.000-07:00

Oh boy. Last night I really thought I wouldn't be writing this blog. I tried a suggestion of the old wives to induce labor and arranged an impromptu rendezvous with my spouse. In terms of creating contractions, it WORKED. Then the contractions started to get farther apart, but stronger, which I totally didn't understand. Then, the whole experience ended with one of the strongest contractions that I've felt in both pregnancies. This one put me to my knees. I got the chills with it and got flushed and had tears in my eyes. I thought, "Oh thank goodness. This is it! If these keep coming at this strength, we're going to the hospital!" I was at my parents' house because Bill was at volleyball, and my mom kept trying to get me to go straight to the hospital, but I've been fooled in contractions before, so I held off. And then when that contraction eased off, the only thing that remained was some mild tightening at about ten minute intervals that eventually went away completely. That disappointment actually made me break down and cry. I cried like all the injustice of the world had descended upon me. The last time I remember crying like that was when Will was supposed to be induced on March 3, 2009 and too many bitches started voluntarily having their babies, so he couldn't be induced. It was cruelty in its fullest form. Last night was like that. In all the labor-mimicking events that I've experienced with this pregnancy, THAT one felt like the real thing. With that one, I started to actually let myself fantasize that in mere hours I might be able to see my feet again. Only to be catastrophically let down. Anyway, so here we are! Birthday party day four.

Okay John, to be born on Friday (as both of your parents were) you gotta ask yourself, "Are you loving and giving?... Well?... Are ya, punk?"

Here're the birthday boys and girls for today:

Danica Patrick
Sheryl Swoopes
Sarah Jessica Parker
Paul Miles
Elton John
Bonnie Bedelia
Paul Michael Glaser
Aretha Franklin
Anita Bryant
Gloria Steinem
Eileen Ford
Simone Signoret
Howard Cosell
David Lean
Bela Bartok
Arturo Toscanini

Well, March 25th. You really put out some classics over the years, didn't you? I mean, ELTON JOHN! ARETHA FRANKLIN! Bartok and Toscanini, although they're classical composers, really aren't my faves, but they're still cool enough for honorable mention. The only person I really don't like on this list is Sarah Jessica Parker. Don't know why, I'm just not a fan. Anyway, I actually don't have that much commentary to make about these celebrities. I feel more inclined to take a nap, since I am off of work today. Seriously though, I'm at the point where I'd just as soon not write a birthday party part five, although looking ahead, March 26th put out even more cool people than March 25th. Well, we'll see.

And before I close, I just want to make the following declaration to my body: At this point you can either go into real, legitimate labor, or you can not hurt in any way at all. Quit toying with me. I'm not in my right mind.

Handle with Care

2011-03-24T05:23:00.000-07:00

I'm so bitter in these blogs you all probably think I'm like six weeks past my due date rather than three days away from even achieving it. Hell, I forget that as of right now, everything's running right on time. Again, I'm more worried that the baby'll come while Bill's out of town next week than anything. I really just want Bill to be here.

At any rate, I've discovered in the last couple of weeks that people don't know how to deal with a woman who is quite obviously in the final stages of pregnancy and consequently is insane. Therefore, I've compiled another set of rules for the general public about what to do when you encounter the 9+ month pregnant woman in the wild.

Rule #1- Just leave her alone.

I mean, I'll get specific about the kinds of behaviors that are currently irritating the crap out of me, but as a rule of thumb, a heavily pregnant woman does not want to talk to you. She has no interest in you. She's not interested in social graces. She doesn't want to plaster a fake smile on her face to make you feel justified in interrupting her misery with any of your inane and predictable comments to be specified momentarily. There are only a few subgroups of people with whom she will even consider conversation (and it will NOT be polite conversation). These are family members and close close friends with whom she can bitch and complain without remorse. And members of a sisterhood known as other mothers particularly those who are currently pregnant as well. And if you're a mother who delivered all of your babies at 36 weeks- you can go ahead and eff off too. You don't get it. If you find yourself not a member of the above societies and you still find yourself dying to talk to a pregnant woman, here is the only sign that it's okay to approach her: She looks you in the eye and gives you a genuine smile. Otherwise, just let her calmly walk by and no one will get hurt. Seriously, I could go the next three weeks without talking to a soul and be totally cool with that.

The rest of the rules apply only if you're an ass, and you disregard Rule #1.

Rule #2: Do not accentuate the obvious by asking rhetorical questions.

I'm talking about questions like, "You're still here!?!" and "You mean you haven't had that baby yet?" and any number of variations meant to convey humor and sarcasm but which do nothing but aggravate the Hell out of your pregnant conversation mate. Because I'm OBVIOUSLY still here. Either that, or you should approach Ron Howard about making a movie about you as a sequel to A Beautiful Mind since you are obviously hallucinating conversations with people who are not present. The second question is equally inane. I know you're trying to convey this devil-may-care sense of comical repartee by asking if I've had the baby yet, but we pregnant women are not in a joking mood right now. Clearly I've NOT had the baby yet. Because I can guarantee you, if I'd had the baby, I would not still look like the prow of a ship and I would NOT BE HERE because I'd be in my hospital bed, taking my Vicodin, and watching soap operas-- or better yet, SLEEPING which I've not been able to successfully do for the past month.

Rule #3: Do not make ANY comments about a pregnant woman's size even if you consider them to be compliments.

Whether you're saying she looks like Shamu's understudy or whether you're saying that she looks like she has the abdominal muscle tone of pre-nervous breakdown Britney Spears, a comment about a pregnant woman's appearance is NOT appreciated. By saying things like, "You look ready to pop!" Or "Wow, you've really shot out there this month!" you are confirming the pregnant woman's belief that she has turned into a walrus. Imagine how you would feel if someone told you that you looked like Wilford Brimley. Not cool. Not cool. To imply that she is NOT very big, on the otherhand, conveys a belief that she could A) get bigger, which she doesn't even want to contemplate and that B) she's somehow not justified in feeling the extreme amount of discomfort that she is certainly feeling because she's not as big as you think she should be. To tell a pregnant woman, "Oh! You're so small and in such good shape" is tantamount to saying, "Oh! Your broken leg doesn't look nearly as crooked and swollen as so and sos." Your smaller pregnant woman doesn't feel any more comfortable than the biggest pregnant manatee on the block. Your in anyway insinuating that she's literally not pulling her weight in the pregnancy business will NOT be appreciated. Just don't talk about a pregnant woman's size. Period.

Rule #4: Do not interrupt a pregnant woman

If you see a pregnant woman engrossed in a task-- and a task could be anything from actual work on a computer, calculator, nuclear reactor, etc. to grocery shopping, to simply walking down a street or hallway, to sitting silently looking down at her hands, DO NOT INTERRUPT THAT TASK. You will know if a pregnant woman is available to talk to you by the afforementioned smile and EYE CONTACT. You must have BOTH and both must be genuine. Interrupting a pregnant woman causes two simultaneous and uncontrollable reactions in that woman. 1) She will become immediately angry and 2) She will totally lose all concentration, forget what she was doing (or where she was going) or what her hands looked like, and this will exponentially add to reaction #1. A pregnant woman's mind is not what it used to be. Pregnancy hormones make you freaking nuts. It's like PMS times 1000. In fact, I remember one woman who'd never been pregnant telling me that at least since I was pregnant, I didn't have to put up with PMS for nine months. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Pregnancy is at least six continuous months of non-stop, out of control PMS X 1000. And that's only if you get a reprieve in the second trimester, which some women don't. This also doesn't count the post-partum period when you get something like PMSX1000 combined with menopause (replete with sheet-drenching night sweats). Needless to say, I quickly filled her in on the pregnancy hormones. In fact I think I read somewhere that a pregnant woman produces 80 times more hormones in a single pregnancy than a woman who never has children will produce in her ENTIRE LIFE. Male scientists who say pregnancy insanity doesn't happen be damned. It's a frigging CIRCUS in a pregnant woman's mind, complete with clowns, elephants, midgets, and trapeze artists. And the ringmaster has taken a sabbatical. So if you see a pregnant woman engrossed in an activity, NEVER interrupt her. EVER. The only exception is if the building is on fire or her life seems to be in imminent danger due to falling debris, flash flood, or the fact that she's so engrossed in what she's doing that she's getting ready to step off a cliff. Also, be aware that even if your interruption in the exceptional events DOES save her life, she will still be angry at you. Proceed with Caution.

Rule #5: When a woman is at the end of her pregnancy, it is no longer safe to ask her about her due date.

If you're really that curious about it, ask a friend of hers or her mom or her husband, but do NOT ask her. And for Heaven's sake, if you ignore me on this and ask anyway, the only safe way to ask this question is a simple, "What is your due date?" Do not say anything that implies a specific measurement of time. Last night someone asked me, "How many more weeks?" and another person said, "What, have you got about a month left?" This INFURIATED me. I know that the persons meant no harm. And as both have never had children, they don't KNOW exactly what they did to me by asking that way. I'm not looking at WEEKS left people. Nor months. I'm looking at DAYS. To imply anything else does a couple of things to my mind over which I have no control. 1) It scares me into thinking that I've screwed up my math and do in fact have some interminable amount of time left before I get to see my feet and intimate regions again. 2) It again, implies that you have underestimated the time and effort that I have already put into this project. It's like what if you slaved for hours over an assignment, pent three of four sleepless nights agonizing over it, poured blood, sweat, and tears into it and then someone said, "How long did this take you to do? A half an hour?" That's how time insinuations on pregnancy duration questions feel to a pregnant woman. Is it irrational on her part? Maybe. But if you want to preserve a relationship with the pregnant woman, heed my advice. And seriously, if you don't KNOW her due date, you guys probably aren't really friends anyway and therefore, you are REALLY skating on thin ice with inquiries like this.

So these are just a few suggestions to help you navigate life with a pregnant woman. Seriously, though, unless you guys are intimate friends or relatives, I'd just leave her alone until that baby comes out.

Birthday Party Part Three

2011-03-24T04:59:00.001-07:00

Good news! John was not born on Wednesday, so he will, ostensibly, not be full of woe. Here we are at Thursday, 39 weeks and 4 days, meaning if he's born today, he'll have "far to go." I'm not sure how much store I put in this old rhyme basing one's personality on the day of the week on which he/she is born if for no other reason than I, as a Friday's child, am supposed to be "loving and giving." Needless to say I am NOT very loving and giving right now-- or ever, really.

Okay, on to the celebrity birthdays:

Peyton Manning
Alyson Hannigan
Sharon Cor
Mase
Annabella Sciorra
Mark "The Undertaker" Calloway
Louie Anderson
Alan Sugar
Steve McQueen
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Joseph Barbera
Clyde Barrow
Ub Iwerks
Roscoe "Fatty" Arbunkle
Harry Houdini

Hmmmm.... this is certainly a mixed bag. Also, you'll be pleased to learn that I found I don't even have to click on the celebrity's name to find out who the Hell he/she is. I just have to hold my mouse there and this info box pops up, so I'll let you all know just who these effers are and whether or not I believe them to be qualified to share astrological information with my second son.

Peyton Manning. I didn't even have to hold my mouse over his name because I actually know who he is. I'm totally cool with my son being an NFL quarterback or just being generally considered masculine enough to one day play football, so cool. However, if the presence of Alyson Hannigan on this list mean that my child will one day go to band camp... hmmmmm. Don't get me wrong. My sister was a band geek. I've proudly played alongside many a band geek in my feats of musical prostitution. I can't let John be a flute-player though. I mean, let's face it. Most men are not James Galway and therefore can't pull off playing the flute while keeping their masculinity in tact. Am I already enforcing gender stereotypes on my son? Yes. I am. This does not mean that I won't love him if I come home and find him in my closet wearing one of my evening gowns. It does mean that I will never encourage him to play a woodwind. No offense to you woodwinders out there. It's just woodwind players are a strange breed. Particularly those of you who play double reed instruments. I think the air gets backed up in your brains and things just go a little off with you. Nothing but love.

Okay. Sharon Corr is an Irish violinist. That's kind of cool, I guess. Then we've got Mase, the hip-hop artist, along with Alan Sugar who's a self-made millionaire-- the British Donald Trump, it would seem. Joseph Barbera and Ub Iwerks were famous animators. You may recognize Barbera as a member of the Hanna-Barbera team who gave us the Jetsons. Ub was one of the first animators of Mickey Mouse. And yes, I'm a little disappointed that the name Ub was under-represented in the baby name books because I think we'd have seriously considered it. Clyde Barrow was a bank-robber. So John could potentially be a football playing, band camping, hip-hop artist who draws pictures of mice and makes himself a millionaire by robbing banks. I like it.

My favorites on this list, though, have to be Steve McQueen (if for no other reason than his name is now inexorably intertwined with Lightning McQueen from the Disney animated classic Cars, and Harry Houdini. The latter should be an obvious favorite because I'm extremely interested in John's breaking out of his current sticky situation in ways that defy logic and gravity not unlike the man with whom he'll hopefully share a birthday.

Today's my last day at work. See you tomorrow with Birthday Party Part Four.

Birthday Party Part Two

2011-03-23T05:34:00.000-07:00

Well Tuesday came and went without baby so so much for his being full of grace. (And since Monday passed in like fashion we can also rule out his being fair of face (and the Karl Malden nose seems to confirm this-- actually, he had his hand to his face in that pic. That's not really his nose. Otherwise, we'd have neo-natal plastic surgeons standing by in delivery. We're on to his being a potential Wednesday's child, which is ostensibly full of woe. This is what Will is and here lately, this is the truth. Poor Will has had this cold that he can't shake. He's been on two antibiotics for it. They thought it could be allergies but the Claritin he's been taking every day don't seem to help. He's running a low-grade fever a lot of days and he can't sleep for his snotty nose and cough. The snot is clear though, so I'm thinking it IS allergies. I'm a bit worried about him, actually. He's not been himself.

At any rate, today is Wednesday, March 23, 2011. I anticipate it being yet another day to produce no self-sustaining (in as much as an individual with no neck muscles can BE self-sustaining) Hennenlotter offspring. Hooray. Am I crampy? Yes. Am I leaking unsavory substances? Yes. Does this indicate anything other than I'm in a tad bit of pain and need frequent baths? No. Thanks for playing. So, IF John were to be born today, he would share his special day with the following:

Michelle Monaghan
Keri Russell
Chaka Khan
Roger Bannister
Wernher von Braun
Akira Kurosawa
Joan Crawford

So March 23rd is clearly not a cool birthday. Except for Chaka Khan and Joan Crawford, I either don't know or could go without knowing the rest. I will say this, if John is born today, we will celebrate every birthday by singing "I'm Every Woman" instead of "Happy Birthday" and then he and I will reinact scenes from Mommie Dearest. I mean those are the only two celebrities that I really know anything about in this list. Keri Russell was on that show Felicity but I don't want John to feel pressured to maintain long, luxurious locks of curly hair. The rest I don't know who they are. And I could click the hyperlink on the site serving as my source for these things (I'll never divulge my sources), but I'm just really too lazy and feel this pressure to teach the kids who are trickling into my classroom right now. Ridiculous I know, but I'm just that kind of dedicated employee. Stay tuned for Birthday Party Part Three, coming your way tomorrow!

Birthday Party Part One

2011-03-22T05:09:00.001-07:00

After a night of some pretty severe contractions and some promising looking leaks, labor has once again stalled just as it was starting to get interesting. The powerlessness over this whole process has resulted in my going a little nuts. I mean, at the end of the day, you realize there's not a damn thing you can do to make this process get started. I did not realize with my first pregnancy how infuriating, frustrating, and a tad exciting that can be. I mean, it's mostly infuriating and frustrating, but there is this tiny amount of excitement when you realize that this COULD be the day. I mean, labors start and finish in a matter of hours. So who knows? My sitting here on the blogger at 8:30am with no discernible uterine quakes could suddenly give way to a full-blown gestational earthquake out of the blue. This is not unlike most volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, tsunamis, etc.

Then again, one realizes that as possible as said acts of God are, most days they do not happen. And hence life goes back to routine, day in and day out, feeling little tremors of activity which only die away to nothing within hours. Probably the biggest differences between an out of the blue disaster or significant earth event and childbirth are the fact that A) childbirth is typically a pretty positive experience and B) You KNOW that childbirth is imminent within a certain prescribed amount of time, and so you're in that much more anticipation of the event realizing at the end of every day that you have absolutely no control over it and that the day that started out full of promise has turned into a disappointment just like the days preceding it. Therefore, from here on out, I've decided that the only way to take control of my life is to read about what famous people my son will share a birthday with if he is born today. I will post and comment on this list every day and will continue to do this until April 4, when the doctor said I'd be induced if John has not arrived by then (Oh sweet Lord, please no. Please don't drag this into April) At any rate, the doctor I see next week has a reputation for being a little more, "Let's do this!" so I'm hoping if I come in next Monday at 40 weeks and 1 day that he'll just say, "You know what, you're 3 cm dilated (and who knows, maybe more by next time), let's just get her done," and schedule an induction for the next day. I may plead insanity if he doesn't immediately offer this to me.

Anyway, if John were to be born today, he would share a birthday with:

Reese Witherspoon
Elvis Stojko
Matthew Modine
Stephanie Mills
Lena Olin
Bob Costas
James Patterson
George Benson
Marvin Yagoda
J.P. McCarthy
William Shatner
Stephen Sondheim
Marcel Marceau
Karl Malden
Louis L'Amour
Chico Marx

This is quite an artsy crowd. Will shares his birthday with Vivaldi, which I really liked, being a violinist, but should John be born today (yeah right) he'll be in some good astrological company. Personally, I'm not too jazzed about Reese Witherspoon. I mean, I never minded her, but Bill thinks she looks like a Chihuahua, so he's not really a fan.

I am excited about William Shatner-- because who wouldn't want to share a birthday with Captain Kirk. The only thing better than that would be Leonard Nimoy-- whose birthday, in case you're wondering, is the day before John's due date (March 26th). Andrew Lloyd Weber and Stephen Sondheim are also pretty notable, though I'd hope that whatever astrological influence that colored the music of the latter wouldn't manifest TOO strongly in John. I'm not sure how I'd feel about always singing lullabies in G flat major. Also, as big of a fan as I am of Karl Malden's work, I'd like it if John could avoid the Malden nose. Then again, I'm thinking of an ultrasound pic right now that has me worried that John might actually already possess the Malden nose, in which case, delivery might just have gotten that much more painful. (I'll post side by side Malden/John nose pics when I get home.)

Not looking good for our hero. (Subsequent ultrasounds indicated a profile appearing much more normal in the nasal category, but you never know.

So, 8:35am at 39 weeks and 2 days and no baby. Y'all please get your prayer chains going. I'm very serious when I say that this kid needs to come on out and party with the rest of humanity. This is more nerve-wracking than waiting for a Vatican conclave to choose the next Pope. I keep waiting to see a white plume of smoke projecting from my intimate regions to let me know that the ordained time has arrived. I mean, John. Listen to Mommy. You're seven pounds or more. You clearly are a man who values your space as you've been kicking the hell out of everything that remotely puts pressure on my abdomen since you were only 20 weeks along. You have already beaten your older brother up several times. You're ready for the world, little man, and we're ready for you. Let's make it today. Love, Mommy.

Does This Baby Make Me Look Fat?

2011-03-21T14:07:00.000-07:00

Current count- 39 weeks and 1 day. My current weight: 143. Total maternal weight gain: 28 lbs. Baby's estimated weight this week: 7.5 lbs. Current cervical dilation: 3cm. Current effacement: 70%. Current mental status: Vacillating between boredom, excitement, and anxiety (new this week!)-- with some hunger thrown in for good measure. Current work status: All papers graded and grades recorded and posted. Days until I officially start maternity leave, baby or no baby- 3.

So, that's me. I've been secretly operating under the notion that as soon as I graded all my papers, I'd go into labor. I know that publishing one's personal prophecies is pretty much a guarantee that they will not happen, but what the Hell. At any rate, though more grades will undoubtedly come in between now and Thursday, at this point, I've graded and posted all that I can.

I went to the doctor today, from which I got the stats posted above. She said that the baby was small last week, probably weighing in the 6 lb range. This week she pronounced him to be about 7.5lbs. Apparently homeboy had a growth spurt. Of course, I know those estimations are pretty much a shot in the dark, but damn. At least it accounts for the 2.5 pounds I gained this week. Shit.

There're no two ways around this: I am huge. My body, arms, backside, etc are all still about the same size-- maybe a tad bit of cellulite in the posterior region, but I still look like me. The real difference is this huge Great Pumpkin-sized appendage hanging off my front. My God. I think I will explode. People are looking at me funny now in public. They stare and the look on their faces says something like, "Holy shit. She's gonna explode." They don't stand too close. Seriously, I'm just really big now. I count it a miracle that I've not acquired stretch marks. It's a small favor, but thank you nonetheless, dear Lord, for doing me a solid. At least when I've got the Kate Gosselin flab gut from the skin stretched beyond all physical possibilities it won't be striped with bright red stretch marks. At this point, you gotta take what you get and run with it.

I had a new feeling surface while I was waiting in the exam room for the doctor: a tad bit of apprehension and anxiety. This was new, but I'm looking at it as a good sign. I just got to thinking about my lady regions and the carnage that is surely imminent. I know it's really not THAT bad, but I felt for the area. I also felt for the spinal column when I get my epidural-- that didn't hurt last time, but what if it does this time? Then I just kind of took a moment to bask in the fact that pretty much my body was on the cusp of having all kinds of things done to it that are just not normal. And I started to feel a little bit of fear and dread. I mean, what if it's NOT as easy as last time? And last time I seem to remember it not being exactly a cake-walk, though it in no way matched the unmitigated Vaginal Battle of Gettysburg that my girlfriends had warned me of. Still, things get dicey down there. And it takes a few weeks for your junk to recover. I'm remembering now how every time I peed it felt like my kidneys were supplementing my urine with hydrochloric acid. And that first major solid digestive experience wasn't exactly my fave.

Anyway, I had some breakthroughs at the doctors office today that are worth mentioning. The first is that I have finally gotten the urine sample down to a freaking art. Here's what you do: grab a couple of paper towels the minute you get in the can. Grab your pee cup and write your name on the lid. Then, you use the sanitary wipe to clean your junk. After that, you hold the pee cup right up against your peeing apparatus and go ahead and pee. This keeps you from peeing all over the cup. Once you remove the cup from the area, wipe it with the paper towels for good measure, screw your lid on and then carry on with your regularly scheduled bathroom activities. It was much cleaner this way. And watch this be the last urine sample I have to leave until we conceive child number three-- ALTHOUGH, if memory serves me, I do think one gives a urine sample when one arrives in labor and delivery. So HOLLA! I'll get to put my pee gathering technique into practice once more.

In other news, have you noticed how on TV, when women go to the OBGYN, they get these little robe things that tie around the waist in not necessarily an attractive way, but certainly a feminine way? Are these ever actually used in OB-GYN offices? Because the giant paper towel just really isn't working for me, I don't care if it IS pink. When I wrap it around my waist, no matter what I do, my ass hangs out. I can't contain my ass in the paper gown. If the exam bed faces the door, it's all cool, but when you face away from the door, even though I know the doctor will see much more than my ass, I can't help feeling awkward that I'm pretty much mooning her when she walks in the door. I will continue to experiment with the paper skirt until I work this issue out. I almost had a solution today. If I remain pregnant until time for my next appointment, I will make it my personal service to woman-kind to make the paper skirt a viable medical wardrobe option. That is all.

When the receptionist made my appointment for next week, she said, "Oh honey, I hope you don't keep this appointment. Surely you'll go into labor in the next few days." I hope she's right. Because one thing's true: The two of us can no longer stay in this body. One of us has to go. It's either gonna be him or me.

Big Boys

2011-03-17T08:08:00.000-07:00

I've spent enough time belaboring (pun-intended) the imminent arrival of my second son. Let me update you on the adventures of my first. Will had his two year check up yesterday. He aced all the little questionnaire categories, as we knew he would because our child is a genius. He got his measurements taken and they were as follows: Height 35 and 1/4th inches- 70th percentile- This means that his adult height is predicted to be at six feet. For a boy whose parents are 5'3" and 5'8," this is exciting. My dad, on the otherhand, is 6'3", so we're thinking some of Pop Pop's genes got mixed up in the Will batter. There's a two inch deviation for adult height estimations so he could be as short as 5'10" or as tall as 6'2". Either way, when he's fully grown, he will be taller than both his parents. It's hard to believe that he'll ever be that big. I must admit though, when I used to fantasize about motherhood I did have one or two daydreams about giving a stern lecture to a boy who towered above me, yet was still intimidated by my disapproving gaze and my accusing pointer finger. This may yet become a reality.

Will's weight was 30lbs and 13oz, which puts him in the 80th percentile. The doctor said that she was in no way concerned that he was "overweight" he's just a solid kid. His head is 20 inches around and in the 93rd percentile. I've said it before, but big heads are just going to be unavoidable for my kids. It's in their DNA on both sides in both a literal AND figurative sense.

Anyway, Will is so much fun. He speaks in full sentences all the time, can tell you whole stories about his day, runs, jumps, insists on doing everything himself, etc. He's a riot. He's been running an afterschool exercise boot camp for me and Bill. He gets home and wants to play outside and so he gets onto the sidewalk, turns to us and says, "Mommy! Run! Daddy! Run!" And then we're expected to run while he chases behind. It's not long before you're fifty feet ahead of him, so you stop and wait which only prompts him to further admonish you to continue your own jog. He's quite bossy.

Will also LOVES playing with the older boys in the neighborhood. They're between the ages of 5 and 8 and anytime they're out, Will will tell us, "I go play ball with the boys." And he gets his soccer ball and kicks it or carries it to where they are. They are so patient with him. They'll give him a ball to play with or try to distract him with an activity while they attempt to continue with integrity their own big boy play. Every now and again, a boy will take a time out and go try to show Will how to dribble a basketball (and Will's almost got that worked out), or how to do some trick or other. Will just grins and revels in the acceptance and moves himself to be right in the middle of the action. I try really hard to keep him out of their way because I know they probably really want to play their big boy games without tripping over a two-year-old, but it really is touching to see A) Will admiring and looking up to the older boys B)Seeing Will ambitious enough to go right up to them and not be shy about trying to get involved in their reindeer games and C) Seeing these boys who have, I'm sure, full agendas of big boy activities in which Will only gets in the way, be so nice to him.

So that's Will for now. I'm trying to think of cute little stories of crap he's done lately that's cracked us up, but it's late. I'll work on his update more a little later.

38 weeks and 4 days

2011-03-17T04:35:00.000-07:00

Yep. We're at that point. I'm counting days now. The current count to the due date is ten days. But we all know-- English teachers especially-- that due dates are but mere suggestions. I am exceedingly anxious for this baby to come out now. (I know that I've done such a good job of keeping this fact under wraps in previous blogs, but really. Let's do it). The reason, really, is mostly that I am concerned that Bill won't be here when he's born. I've given the green light to the out of town work on the week of the due date, mostly because I hoped the baby would come in the two weeks prior. Also, we can't be turning down that amount of money. Babies do tend to come with their own little price tag-- especially if you're on the State Health Plan, which sucks BIG ASS. But regardless, I really want Bill to be there. I don't want it to be just me and some nurses and the doctor. I talked with a co-worker today about this "stripping the membranes" phenomena and apparently she had this service performed for her and was in labor by the time she got home from her OB appointment. I remember her due date was June 6th (because June 6th is my birthday) and she had her baby on the 4th, I think. If it gets to Monday and nothing has happened, I may mention to my doctor that this is something I'm really interested in.

Then again, what if I'm NOT interested in it. What if it is excrutiatingly painful? Then again, though I've always considered myself to be pretty much a huge wimp about pain, I've always tended not to find "painful" things to be painful. Surgeries, births, etc have just not impressed me with their pain power. Maybe this is because I always accept pain relief when offered. Maybe this is all psychological. Maybe I've always anticipated more pain than I've experienced and therefore the anticipation gave me a bit of a reprieve because the reality rarely matches up to the anticipation. For whatever reason, though, people will often tell me that something was horrendously painful and then it turned out not to be. People said being induced with Pitocin made contractions more painful and I didn't feel any pain beyond menstrual cramps up until receiving the epidural seven hours later. The only reason I got the epidural was really fear of future pain rather than relief for current pain. And to be honest, I'm okay with that. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, as they say.

At any rate, the ideal circumstance would be to go in to labor in say.... fifteen minutes and have the baby today or at any point before the next appointment. But if he's not here by Monday, I may just give this stripping the membranes a try. To be honest, I'm not sure how he's not already stripped his own membranes with all the shit he keeps doing in there. The internet and baby books say that he should be having less movement now because of his cramped quarters. Not true for my son. Last night he was squirming and kicking so hard, I swear to God I was worried something was going to tear. He also burrows into my cervix so hard sometimes that I feel like I need to reach between my legs and make sure a leg isn't hanging out. I keep trying to tell him, "Dude, if you want out, it's totally your call. Come ON. Mama is READY."

It's so funny, though, because when I'm not pregnant and I see pregnant women (particularly first-time moms) bemoaning their babies' continuing uterine residency, I'm always like, "Girl, he's easier to take care of inside than out. Don't stress about it. He'll come out. And when he does, there will be times when you want to hook him up to an umbilical cord and cram him back in." Particularly when he's crying for food an hour after you just fed him and your boobs still feel like they've been scraped with razor blades. Those were dark days in Will's first weeks. Fortunately, I've yet to find a mom who hasn't told me that breastfeeding is MUCH easier the second time than the first- except for moms who had girls first and then had a boy, actually. I think boys tend to be more rough with the boobs. At any rate, I'm hoping it won't be the perilous adventure that it was with Will. THAT was a situation that I thought was painful. Maybe this is because I hadn't anticipated that KIND of pain. Anyway, now I'm the one in the stirrups again and I'm making a mental note now to remind myself that every pregnant woman wants the baby out and she is perfectly justified in wanting this and not to say anything other than, "I hope he/she comes out soon for you."

Another thing making me anxious to get this show on the road is that I really enjoyed labor and delivery. It was a rush. A feeling of true accomplishment. I really have no negative memories about it. There's the build up of active labor, then there's the time to push when you feel so tired you just can't keep going and then the baby leaves your body and you are a GODDESS. You have put life onto the earth. You have done something that only your gender and God can do. It's a hugely powerful feeling. Even the breastfeeding, despite it's initial trials, is a real feeling of power. It's like you're an alchemist. I converted base liquids to milk without having to ever drink milk. And it looked like milk and everything. It's like Coke went in and milk squirted out. And my husband was in awe of me for weeks. In fact, he will still talk about Will's birth and say, "You were amazing. You really were tough! You surprised me." Anyway, I just want to get it started.

ACTUALLY, STOP THE PRESSES! Since writing the above, I've had a maternity leave status update! It turns out that if I can make it to May with paid leave status, then I can be out for all of May, even when my leave runs out, and still keep my health benefits for me and the kids. Therefore, I could be out until June and theoretically arrange to keep the baby out of daycare until he's five months old and have to return to work in August-- surely I can arrange childcare for him for the ten days that I'd be at work in June. In this case, the ideal arrangement is for John to be born on March 25th or 26th. Then I can make it to May on paid leave AND Bill would still be in town (he leaves on the 27th.) I LIKE this idea. Hmmm... this changes everything!

I like this thought. I like it a lot. Actually, so long as I can hold him in through the end of this week, I'll be fine. So JOHN, Mommy has a new message for you. You are NOT allowed to be born before this weekend. You are not allowed to come out at any point before Mommy has worked a full day tomorrow-- or enough of a day so as to not have to take leave. Anytime after tomorrow afternoon, you may come. Your ideal arrival date is March 25th. March 26th is a second choice. Pencil these dates in your calendar and give it due consideration. And now that I have decreed thus, I will probably immediately go into labor. Such is the way of the world.

Shower to Shower

2011-03-16T00:53:00.000-07:00

I got an email today from my pregnancy spamming service that featured an article on baby shower etiquette. Most of the advice offered was about when to hold the shower, who in polite company should throw the shower (i.e. you shouldn't throw yourself a shower, etc). So I got to thinking about baby showers.

For this second baby, I've not had (nor did I want/expect) a baby shower: First of all, it was only two short years ago that I gave birth to the bundle of insanity currently sleeping upstairs. We still have EVERYTHING we need, including some shampoos and stuff left over from my baby showers for Will. I did register for a few things at Babies R Us just in case someone felt generous, but we really don't need anything except for things that no one wants to buy like diapers, wipes, breast pads, and nursing bras. Furthermore, this baby is a boy just like Will is. So we don't even need clothes-- truly we have TOO MANY clothes. A shower for this second boy would be more trouble to everyone potentially involved than it's really worth.

I further don't think that, as a rule, there should be baby showers for subsequent babies. The only exceptions being MAYBE if the second baby is a different gender or if the second baby is arriving five or more years after the first-- meaning that parents have likely given away all baby paraphernalia or need to because baby technology becomes obsolete almost as quickly as the current version of iPhone. I've seen where people disagree with me stating that "every baby should be celebrated." Well, that's all well and good, but in my experience, the purpose of a baby shower isn't to celebrate the baby. It's to help the parents accumulate the shit ton of STUFF that one needs to sustain the modern American baby.

Anyway, for what it's worth, here's my own personal philosophy about baby shower etiquette (and I guess this could apply for wedding showers too). I'm no Emily Post, but here's just what I think:

Rules for the party throwers:

1. Even if you think everyone knows everybody, include the address of the shower location on the invitation.

I've seen a number of invitations that just list the location as "Jane's House." This happened with my own baby shower and a number of friends who had no idea the identity of the house's owner or the location of the house were quite confused. Also, everyone relies on GPS nowadays so addresses are a must. It might also be nice to include directions in the invite.

2. Check with the parents-to-be first.

Surprises are all well and good, but especially if you're trying to get out of town relatives to the event, you'd probably be more successful by getting the scoop on people's schedules through the guests of honor.

3. Use restraint in gift suggestions.

Personally, I'd rather buy someone what they want/need for a new baby, but I've always felt it a bit strange to be given an invitation that says, "So and so needs new bottles, a stroller, and receiving blankets." By all means, include where the mother-to-be is registered, but the specific lists seem a little gauche to me.

4. Do NOT ask shower guests to address their own Thank You notes.

This has ALWAYS rubbed me the wrong way. I've had it done for me at a couple of my showers and the impulse is very nice. I get that you want to make life easy for the new mom/bride. The thing is though, if a guest has taken the time to go buy a gift, wrap it, and bring it to a strange place to commune with strangers, the LEAST the expectant mother or bride can do is look up the person's address and write it out herself on an envelope. Again, this self-addressed thank you note envelope trick was done for me at my showers, and I felt really uncomfortable about it. I ended up throwing the self-addressed thank yous away and rewriting the addresses on cards that I had chosen. It just seems right and more grateful for a person to take some time with her thank you notes. Whenever I have to address my own thank you note at a shower, I always think, "Well shit. Do you want me to write the note too and then all you have to do is just sign it? Should I have brought a stamp?" Maybe I'm just an overly critical bitch, but again, a person who's gone to the effort to choose, buy, wrap, and deliver a gift deserves a thoughtful, individualized thank you note and they shouldn't have to address it themselves.

The only advantage I can see to the self-addressing is being assured that you have the RIGHT address for a shower attendee. But you can be assured of that just by having a guest registry at the shower where you ask attendees to sign their name, list their address, and maybe give the expectant couple advice or something. Anything more than that, in my opinion, is tacky.

5. Come Hell or high water, start the shower on time.

Don't make everyone else wait for a late guest, the only exception to this is if the guest of honor herself is late and barring a very legitimate excuse, she should be ashamed for making everyone wait.

6. Be on the lookout for loner guests.

The host/hostess has a lot to do, but if you see a guest kind of neglected and off to one side by herself, try to talk to her and introduce her to others. Or politely suggest that the shower honoree do so.

For the shower attendee:

1. Thanks for coming.

Seriously. Showers can be fun, but I feel like a lot of times they are by-and-large an obligatory social event that you attend because you feel like you have to. As I say above, going to the trouble of choosing, purchasing, and wrapping a gift as well as attending a shower requires a lot of effort, so your efforts are appreciated.

2. Be on time, particularly if you are direct relative (ie. grandparent, aunt, etc) of the baby.

This is a courtesy, really, to the other guests. I can't think of how many showers I've been to where everyone is sitting around staring at each other because "We can't get started until (insert individual's name) arrives!" Yes we can. As long as the honoree is present, we can and should start the shower and end the shower at the preordained time.

3. If the honoree has a registry, choose a gift from that.

Now Emily Post says that you are perfectly within your rights (and you are in a judicial sense) to buy someone whatever you want to get them regardless of registries. Here's the thing though: a registry is a good indicator of what a person needs. If a person doesn't need/want another baby book, then your buying one for them is really not going to be helpful to them. The point of a shower, really, is to help a person entering a new phase of life to have the "stuff" she NEEDS to get started-- to make life easier for her. Don't get a gift that the mom-to-be is going to have to take back or get rid of if you can possibly help it. Also, I imagine that if you're giving a gift, it's because you want to be helpful to the new mother. If it were me, I'd stick to the registry.

4. If you diverge from the registry, be careful about giving something that is ornamental,or that might be a bit too specialized or suited to individual taste:

I personally don't think you should ever give someone tchotchkies-- little sit around ornamental things, but I am biased because I hate stuff that just sits around. Some people like that stuff, I realize. At any rate, if you're tempted to step into the untamed wilderness of off-registry gift giving and want to give a porcelain baby bootie or a statue of a mom boob-feeding a baby, really ask yourself if something like this is reflective of what you've seen of the mom's taste. Bottom line is, unless you've been to her house and seen that she has decorated it with more novelty shit than you'd see hanging from the walls at Cracker Barrell, avoid sitarounds.

Baby clothes are popular items to buy off-registry because they're really cute and it's fun to buy a new baby cute little outfits. It's also good for new moms because the kids will need clothes and a lot of times shower guests can buy things, Baby Ugg boots, for example that wouldn't be practical for the mom to buy herself. However, if you're going to buy something like that, consider how much use the baby will get out of it. A baby will use the hell out of the little rompers and sleepers and onesies and a lot of those can be really cute. If the parents are church-goers, a cute dress or little suit can also be very useful and cute. Be mindful, though, of crocheted things, things with lots of itchy materials- lace, etc. Try to be gender appropriate as well. I know gender roles are becoming more and more archaic, but most dads (and moms) don't want to see their sons clad in a crocheted or lacy white one piece suits, etc. Again, you want your gift to be useful, I assume. Stick to the mainstream. Also, don't buy baby clothes that have slogans on them that are in anyway distasteful or have any negative connotations. I hate those onesies, shirts, bibs, etc. that say things like, "Mommy's Little Monster." Or "Be afraid. Be very afraid." Or anything indicating that the baby has some kind of behavior issue. First of all, you don't want to create some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. Second of all, it's just not nice. Again, some women might think stuff like that is funny or cute, but some may not. It's best to err on the side of caution. I mean, if a mom wants to brand her child as a monster, or a spoiled brat, or "Mommy's future ex-con," let her make that decision.

I would avoid buying baby equipment that's not listed on a registry simply because you may be duplicating something the couple already has or does not need. Of course, in the end, buy what you want but remember that the purpose of a shower is to help offset the huge amount of time and money that a new parent will spend just trying to accumulate all the CRAP that babies need. Add your own personal flair, but be practical as well.

5. Except in rare situations, do NOT regift.

Regifting is typically just a shitty thing to do. It's got a passive-aggressiveness to it that just screams, "You are so unimportant to me that I am just going to give you something that I find in my house that I don't want." I mean, there are situations when regifting is okay. For example, if you got a set of duplicate baby monitors for your shower six months ago and you see that your friend has listed the same set on her registry, by all means, as long as the packaging is in tact, and the monitors are "new," give her your spare set of monitors. But circumstances like this are really the only ones in which a regift is appropriate. If you don't want to buy/get someone something, just DON'T. Send your shower regrets and move on. I think the idea that just because you're invited to something for someone that you are obligated to give them gift is ridiculous and I personally wouldn't fault anyone who didn't abide by it. Remember that giving a gift is nice, but that new mom has to find some way to use or get rid of your gift if it's not appropriate. Also, she has to write you a thank you note. If you don't want to take the time to get someone something that you've chosen specifically for them, the best gift you can give is no gift at all. Don't use the occasion as an opportunity to clean out your closet.

And for God's sake, if you DO regift, make sure that there's no EVIDENCE that you've regifted. Realizing that you've been a victim of regifting really makes a person feel special (read sarcastically). I can recall an occasion or two wherein I opened a box after a shower and found a gift receipt for the merchandise that indicated that it was purchased three years ago-- long before I ever got pregnant. Either the gift giver is psychic, or they used me as a receptacle for their unwanted stuff.

Regifting books can be okay. People don't tend to register for them and people also tend to get duplicate copies of the same books for this reason. If you've got three copies of Goodnight Moon, I don't see anything wrong with including a copy in a gift for a new mom to be. But, BE CAREFUL when you do this. A lot of people will write personal messages in the cover of the book for baby saying, "Hope you enjoy this, love Aunt Marge." Will's got a couple of books in his library right now that were obvious regifts because inside the cover, someone wrote something like, "Dear Alex, I loved this book as a child and hope you enjoy it too. Love, Georgette." One day, I will have to tell Will that we don't know who the Hell Alex and Georgette are because we were victims of regifting (though honestly, we do USE the books, so that's better than receiving a regifted Spongebob music box or fountain in the shape of a lactating breast or some other item that a person obviously just wanted to get rid of.) Bottom line, and I think this applies for anyone-- don't make someone else your consignment shop. Put some thought into the gift, or seriously, JUST DON'T GIVE ONE. And I just want to say again: Not giving a gift is OKAY. OR gift cards are always appreciated and useful and don't require that much effort (Hell, the grocery stores have gift cards to just about everywhere now.)

5. Be social at the shower

You may not know a soul there, but try to stay open, amiable, and make a little bit of small talk. It's hard (or it should be) for a host or honoree to see someone off by herself picking at the wallpaper. Even if you aren't one for small talk, at least make an effort to be near people and to keep an open, happy expression on your face even if you'd MUCH rather be at home.

For the shower honoree

1. Don't be a diva

Yeah you may be a an expectant mother, but that doesn't make you special. Don't expect people to cater to you just because of your condition. Offer to help serve snacks, wash dishes, get your gifts set up around your chair, pack up your own car with your loot, etc. Nine times out of ten, people won't let you do it, but it's good to offer regardless.

2. Be sensitive of your guests' time.

If you know some of your guests have to leave early, ask to open their gifts first. Allow people to ooh and ahh over your stuff, but save extensive repartee' with individual guests for later. I was at a shower recently when the honoree spent way too much time bickering with her sister about whether bib slogans saying, "It's all about me" were more appropriate for her or for her baby. Because if anything is true, once that baby arrives, it will NEVER be about you again-- unless you are currently on or hope to someday qualify to be on MTV's Teen Mom. I'm not trying to be a hard ass and say not to joke or have levity, just keep your conversations generic so that anyone can join in and keep them short so that the business of the party can be accomplished to the point where if anyone wants/needs to leave, they can. If after the cake is eaten, the games are played, and the presents are unwrapped people want to stand around and joke and chit-chat, they can and will do so. Otherwise, be sensitive that though your shower is undoubtedly an important part of your guest's social calendar, they may have other stuff that they want to do.

3. This one is obvious, but say thank you and do so with thoughtfulness and sincerity.

Really it speaks for itself. Look each guest in the eye and thank them verbally, then follow up with a thoughtful thank you note. You'd also be well-advised to get your thank you notes done before the baby comes. I was able to for one of my showers, but the other one came about four days before Will was born. It's VERY difficult to write thank you notes when all you want to do with your free time is sleep or pump breastmilk. Also, take some time to think about individuals and make your thank you notes unique thereby showing that you do feel some gratitude for their generousity. Now, I'm a bit of a wordsmith, so I probably take/took WAY too much time to include individual anecdotes, messages, inside jokes, etc in my thank you notes, but I think it does make a difference to the gift giver. At least it does to me. I know that getting a note from someone that demonstrates that they really thought about me and my gift when writing the note feels better than getting a generic, "Thank you for the ___________________. It is greatly appreciated. Sincerely, ________________." And I've even gotten a note or two that didn't even mention what I specifically gave the person. Seriously, someone took time out of his/her life to find, buy, and deliver a gift for you. Put some time and effort into thanking them. This also applies to thank you notes to people who have regifted you and unloaded something really inappropriate on you. If anything, and this is shitty of me, I know, I tend to lay it on thickest for people whom I know regifted to me just in the hopes that it makes them feel a little contrite. Anyway, be grateful and magnanimous.

4. Try to help your guests get to know each other.

Showers are often conglomerates of representatives of every facet of your life, from family, to co-workers, to long-time friends, to fellow church members, and so on. Chances are people are unlikely to know each other. The fact is that you are most likely the only person in the room who knows EVERYONE. I'm giving this advice, even though I'm really bad at this particular skill, but try to go a little further than just introducing everyone to each other. If you introduce individuals make a suggestion of something they may have in common. OR if you notice a guest kind of hanging off by herself without anyone to really talk to, YOU go and talk to her (or him.) Most of the time, I can handle myself in a social situation and am fairly gregarious. But also, there are times when I just don't know anybody and am not on my small talk game. Even if you are the most self-assured person in the world, being ostracized by the rest of the guests (though unintentionally) can still feel awkward. Help everyone to feel included if you can. (That being said, people also need to try to take care of themselves in these social situations. The honoree does have an obligation to mingle and circulate.)

5. Be reasonable and tasteful in your registry.

Don't register for just big ticket items like strollers and what not. Help people out by registering for things that they can afford and that they might enjoy buying. It might not be a bad idea to include some books and outfits on a registry. You might even register for a toy or two. One of my favorite gifts was a Mozart cube toy that I registered for on a whim. As a musician, I was like, "Oh, the baby should have some kind of music item" but he really did end up playing the Hell out of that toy and I dare say his brother will too. My second registry which I made being relatively certain that I wasn't having any kind of shower, is pretty boring and full of things that people who are acquaintances probably wouldn't feel comfortable buying. That's fine, but if you do have a shower, go back and tweak your registry to add things that people will enjoy picking out and won't feel weird about buying. I mean, my coworker probably just wouldn't feel cool about buying me nursing pads. Be sensitive to this and you're more likely to get what you want/need.

So that's my personal take on shower etiquette. Take it for what it's worth-- I think market value is currently about $.02. That is all.

True Love and Doctor News

2011-03-15T04:26:00.000-07:00

I didn't experience my finest hour yesterday. At one point, I coughed, peed on myself and had to call my husband to have him bring me a pair of pants and a maxipad to work. This was a low-point in my life. Regarding the pee, no one that I know of noticed. I was able to keep it pretty reliably on the DL, but the act of having to report to one's spouse that one had experienced urinary incontinence was a new and exciting development in our marriage. That, my friends, is true love. When your life partner can admit that she can't hold her pee pee amid acts of laughter or coughing and you still want to engage in sexual activities with her. I believe "in all stages of bladder control" should be added to the wedding vows. Anyway, so that's just another undignified byproduct of the late stages of pregnancy. Baby heads resting on bladders tend to impede muscle control in that region.

I reported this to the doctor yesterday and she just sadly shook her head in acknowledgement of this very real consequence of pregnancy. "Just wear a really big maxi pad." She said. In other news, I lost a pound, keeping me at a 25lb weight gain. Urine, blood pressure, etc. all continue to look normal, meaning that I don't get a nice doctor-ordered bed rest any time soon. She felt the baby's position, estimated his weight to be in the 6 lb range and predicted that he wouldn't weigh much more than seven pounds if he went to term. All this time, I've been thinking that John was a bigger boy than Will and it turns out that he's probably not. I'm okay with this. My dad scared the Hell out of me by suggesting that the baby might weigh as much as he did when he was born (he topped out at almost ten pounds). You don't bounce back from ten pounds. He's head down and low in the birth canal. She said he couldn't get any lower without some labor. She did a cervix check, pronounced it to be about 2 cm and 70% effaced. She said she could feel the baby's head then sat back and said, "Well, we're just waiting for labor. And if I knew when labors would start, I'd be a trillionaire. It could be tonight, it could be two weeks after your due date." I shared with her about how I understood that we just couldn't know, but said, "Had I known what an awesome perk the possibility of induction was with gestational diabetes..." "...you might have tried to fail that test." She finished. So, I'm just playing a waiting game now.

I have had some promising looking "leaks" that indicate that things are shaking up in there, but again. You can be dilated, effaced and leaking all grades of nastiness and still stay pregnant for days and even weeks. It doesn't mean anything. It's just some entertainment for the long wait, kind of like seeing road signs telling you that your destination is 130 miles away, then 100 miles away, etc. You still have a hell of a ways to go, but it just feels more productive on the journey. That being said, the way these things work you could be driving along thinking you've got 150 miles left only to show up at your destination a few minutes later. It's unpredictable. That fact is both exciting and infuriating. Because I could still have a whole MONTH to go. Oh my God. Oh my God.

Mostly I just don't want to be at work anymore. I should've asked the doctor if she could contrive some excuse to get me out of work a week or so early. As it is, I have eight work days left. But each day is absolutely killing me. I've got these damn research papers to grade and I'm just at a point where I can't do anymore at the end of a day. Yesterday I was at work from 7-3, went to the doctors immediately afterwork, went to the grocery store, then picked up Will, then played outside with Will for a couple of hours, then came in a cooked supper, then cleaned the dishes, then helped get Will in the bed, etc. It's frigging exhausting. I couldn't bring myself to grade but one paper at home last night before I was exhausted to the point of tears. Then Bill, for reasons unknown, let Will sleep in our bed last night and if my sleep isn't already shitty enough under the best of circumstances, I had to deal with Will's squirming and kicking and crying all night. And the reason that Will was so restless was probably because Bill let him sleep in just his diaper and I bet he kept getting cold. Why in the Hell I'm the only one who sees value in just saying, "Will, let's put on pajamas." Getting the pajamas on in less than five minutes with no screwing around and then going about our business is a mystery to me. When Will and I are home alone, we wear pajamas, he gets in his bed and he stays there and goes to sleep. When Bill comes home, bedtime protocol gets shot to Hell. It's mysterious.

Anyway, if you're the praying type, pray that labor begins TODAY. I need not to come to work every day. And I need to get this baby out so that the real exhaustion can begin.

Peace.

For Better or For Worse

2011-03-14T04:18:00.001-07:00

In sickness and in health, in varying shades of obesity... Perhaps wedding vows should be rephrased a bit to reflect the zeitgeist. I'm 38 weeks pregnant. I woke up this morning and could not get my wedding rings on my finger. This never happened with my pregnancy with Will and it's not happened to date in this pregnancy. I am appalled. I am also concerned about walking around in an obvious state of sexual compromise with no wedding ring. Call me old-fashioned, but I just don't think it's a good idea to be pregnant without being married. I, at least, wouldn't want to take this shit on without someone legally bound to help me out. But whatever.

I told Bill that I couldn't wear my rings this morning and he very helpfully offered to show me some "finger aerobics" exercises (do you see why marriage is SO IMPORTANT in the act of procreation?). I, in turn, showed him a finger exercise with which I already had some familiarity. Unfortunately, it gave the wrong finger a work out. It's cool, though.

Well, two weeks ago yesterday, my son told me that the baby would be born in two weeks. Bill said this was because the Caterpillar book mentions the caterpillar's coccoon ensconcement as lasting two weeks. I was more hoping that my child was psychic. As it turns out, he is not because I'm just as pregnant as I ever was and am more and more irritated about this fact. Furthermore, I am sleepy. And I'm irritable. And I'm still pregnant.

I probably walked two miles yesterday (the main goal was to find my son and husband who had taken off on a suburban wilderness adventure), but I'd be lying if I said that deep in the recesses of my mind, I wasn't hoping to walk the baby out. I also ate mexican food and had sex. Neither of which started anything remotely resembling labor. I also can no longer laugh or cough without peeing on myself. This sucks doubly because A) I've peed on myself (not enough for anyone but me to see, but enough for me to feel 85 years old) and B) water breaking and peeing feel quite similar-- the only difference being that peeing tends to stop whereas water breaking tends to continue to incontinently dribble out and no amount of Kegel activity can stop the flow. Therefore, there's always this moment of false hope when I pee on myself that my water has broken, thereby giving my pregnancy a definite end date (you get induced within a day of water breaking regardless of whether or not you actually go into labor because of risk of infection). Even still, as only 10% of women break their water prior to labor, this surefire sign of a literal light at the end of the tunnel is not something I can greatly pin my hopes on.

Can you tell I'm done with this? I am so done with it that I just really cannot adequately express the feeling in words. Are the symptoms unbearable? No. The reflux is more present, but Zantac is a magical drug. My back does occasionally hurt. I feel like I weigh 800lbs. My rings no longer fit. And the baby doesn't appear to understand that if he wants to move around with quite this level of ferocity, he'd be better served to do so outside of my body. I can't sleep anymore because my heart races when I lie down and then when I do get to sleep, I naturally have to wake up pretty soon thereafter to pee (for some reason, peeing on myself during sleep just doesn't happen.) I'm just tired of it all. I really am. This sucks. And knowing that I could go up to 42 weeks in this state of ennui, false anticipation, and discomfort makes me want to run screaming to the hospital where I will steal some Pitocin and an IV and put myself into labor. I was talking to women in the neighborhood last night during my ambulatory travels and one woman was talking about her son's being TEN DAYS overdue. This is NOT okay. This is why kids don't turn their papers in on time. From the womb, they are taught that a due date is just a suggestion and that you have a two week buffer on either side of that date with which to play around. The woman who said this only had one child, and they say that your second and subsequent children are much less likely to go overdue, but hell, what do I know? WHY didn't I want to be diagnosed with gestational diabetes again? Now I can see how valuable the knowledge that one will not be allowed to remain pregnant past the due date is.

In fact, I go to the doctor today and I'm going to drink about a two liter of Coca Cola beforehand and DEMAND that they do another three hour test for me today. Surely I can jack my blood sugar up enough to be classified as a diabetic, even this late in the game. I like this idea. I don't think I've gained any weight this past week fat fingers not withstanding, but we'll see. Oh my God. I'm so sleepy. Damn this time change. Well, that's all. I'm sure I'll think of other stuff to complain about and get back on and refresh this posting instead of grade research papers (there's something else to complain about). Hang with me.

My Birth Plan

2011-03-10T18:49:00.000-08:00

First of all, when I picked Will up at daycare today, I had to sign a form that acknowledged that another kid bit him. I don't mind signing the forms that say that he fell down or something, but I hate it when these other miscreants bite my son. My son is not a biter and I know this is probably more something that I should be thankful about rather than smug about. Some kids bite. But they don't need to bite my baby. I must have gotten a pissed off look on my face because the teacher got all apologetic and said, "I'm sure it's just a one time thing." I know it's nobody's fault (except for the creep who did the biting), and that the teachers can't prevent it and that it's taken seriously. I just don't like the idea. Apparently, Will was in the "reading center" minding his own business reading a book (because he's a genius and has a keen grasp of the importance of literary immersion) and this animal came up and bit him. Day care will not divulge the identity of biters (which is probably good) but my baby can talk now and so mommy found out what she needed to know. And now she will give this child the stink eye every time she sees him.

One thing I do fault daycare with is the fact that I think Will is in a class full of kids that are younger than him. If he were with the older kids, this might not happen. I dislike that he's in a class with kids up to nine months younger than he is. Nine months is huge at his age and I think he learns more when he's with kids who are his age, if not older. At the new year, they moved those who'd already turned two into the "Twos room." And Will stayed behind. He was really tight with Kayla and Caleb but they got moved to the twos. Well, now Will is two and he needs to move up and away from these biting babies. That's just how I feel. I will be expressing this next time I see the director. Furthermore, my child is gifted and should not be held back by something as arbitrary as age. I mean, it's my fault, really. If I'd have had sex and conceived him three months earlier, he'd be with his friends right now and wouldn't have babies biting on him. Okay. Enough daycare hating for today. I like my son's daycare a lot. I'm just have hormonal mama bear urges right now.

In other news, I get email alerts about pregnancy which comprise of weekly updates about my baby's development and articles and things of interest. One thing that I got today was a third trimester checklist. I started to peruse it, laugh at some of it, check off some of it, and then think about whether or not the fact that I don't have pregnancy portraits, belly casts, or henna belly art done makes me a bad mother. I mean, I know that shit is special and all, but I feel fortunate just to have gotten a picture of my huge ass with my digital camera last week. Getting portraits just isn't going to happen. And I'm not entirely sure I want it to. The list also reminded me to take child birth classes. I am not going to do this. I mean, it might be damn good entertainment, but it just seems like it could compromise crucial time that I could be using to play with my son (also born without the assistance of childbirth classes), watch TV, or take a nap.

Anyway, another perplexing thing on the third trimester "To Do" list was "Finalize your birth plan and give it to your doctor." They provided a helpful link to a "Birth Plan Worksheet." I've yet to understand the purpose of this mystical birth plan, but I thought I'd fill it out and post it on the internet. If the doctors really want to know my wishes, they can Google "Katie's Birth Plan". My comments are bolded, usually below each category (it was formatted as a check list-under each category were these options with check boxes. I didn't make these options up).

My Birth Plan

ATTENDANTS AND AMENITIES

I'd like the following people to be present during labor and/or birth:
Partner:
Friend/s:
Relative/s:
Doula:
Children:

I know from experience that at the birthing event, I will not give a shit who is in the room. I will, at that moment, have bigger fish to fry than taking a roll call to see who's around. If the entire team roster of the Carolina Hurricanes wishes to be present, I really don't have a problem with that. First of all, so many people will have had their faces in my intimate regions that I really don't see what difference a few more will make. And if my nearest and dearest really want to watch-- well, I doubt I'll even notice. So, the more the merrier. And what the Hell's a doula? Don't answer that. I already know. I'm just being facetious.

I'd also like:
To bring music
To dim the lights
To wear my own clothes during labor and delivery
To take pictures and/or film during labor and delivery

Bring music? Yeah, I'd like to bring the North Carolina Symphony and have them play all nine symphonies by Gustav Mahler. I would like to wear my wedding gown, have Steven Spielberg film the birth and would very much appreciate if the overhead bulbs could be replaced with strobe lights. Seriously, though, I'd just like to lie in a bed and have people bring me shit and let me watch whatever I want on TV.

LABOR

I'd like the option of returning home if I'm not in active labor.

If there's only one option, why include it in the checklist? I would not like the option to return home. If I arrive at the hospital and am not in active labor, I prefer that the hospital put me in active labor. Immediately.

Once I'm admitted, I'd like:
My partner to be allowed to stay with me at all times
Only my practitioner, nurse, and guests present (i.e., no residents, medical students, or other hospital personnel)
To wear my contact lenses, as long as I don't need a c-section
To eat if I wish to
To stay hydrated by drinking clear fluids instead of having an IV
To have a heparin or saline lock
To walk and move around as I choose

Hmmm... wearing my contacts would be preferable. This seems to be the only part of the birth plan that I really care about. The presence or lack thereof of my partner is rather immaterial. I should like the power to order him about as I choose-- drawing him close when I feel like it and telling him to get the Hell away when I feel like it. Some of these things aren't even an option to my knowledge. You aren't allowed to eat except for popsicles. I'm not so sure that just including this on my birth plan is going to be legally binding enough to throw away hospital protocol. In terms of IV, I don't care what goes into the IV so long as they don't wedge that bastard into my wrist so that the needle rubs into my bones. Even in that, I don't think I have a choice. I don't know what a heparin and/or saline lock is, so that's immaterial-- but it sounds like something that ought to necessitate the input of a doctor. Whatevs.

As long as the baby and I are doing fine, I'd like:
To have intermittent rather than continuous electronic fetal monitoring
To be allowed to progress free of stringent time limits

You know, I might be getting into this. Because if I can lie in that bed without those damn contraction and baby monitoring belts on, I'll be a lot happier. I HATE those damn things. You can't move without losing the baby's heartbeat and then the nurse has to come back in and put more of that ultrasound gel on, etc. That being said, I know babies get distressed in labor. So it is probably good to keep an eye on his heartrate. I know Will's always accelerated during contractions and they were concerned about that. Regarding time limits, I want to be allowed to progress in the quickest and most efficient way possible. Let's get her done.

If they're available, I'd like to try:
A birthing stool
A birthing chair
A squatting bar
A birthing pool/tub

Oh my God. Do I even have to comment on this list? I'd like to try one of those Sleep Number beds. Are those available?

I'd like to bring the following equipment with me:
Birthing stool
Beanbag chair
Birthing pool/tub
Other:

Bahahahaha. I just imagined myself showing up to the hospital carrying Will's beanbag chair with soccer balls, baseballs, and footballs all over it. Yeah. I want a bean bag chair. Because you'll definitely be able to get that fucker cleaned after dribbling blood and amniotic fluid all over it. And how the Hell are you going to bring a TUB with you to the hospital. Yes, I would like to bring the Flintstones Wading Pool that I had many a happy day in back in 1983. I've already written about how small my hospital bag is. I'm not hauling in a bunch of crap if for no other reason than for the sheer principle that the hospital is going to cost me a small fortune and therefore, they should provide any and everything that my heart desires.

When it's time to push, I'd like to:
Do so instinctively
Be coached on when to push and for how long

Or how about just push? Seriously. If I remember correctly, you do a little of both. At first, the nurses tell you when, then you might get tired and decide to sit out a contraction. And at some point you don't need someone coaching you because you've been pushing for the past hour and you have the hang of it by then.

I'd like to try the following positions for pushing (and birth):
Semi-reclining
Side-lying position
Squatting
Hands and knees
Whatever feels right at the time

I'd like to defy gravity and push while doing a head stand. I like to make things as difficult as possible. I'd also like to try pushing in a Downward Dog yoga position, in third position on a violin, followed by a grand jete, and ending with the 69 position. Again, how about I just push?

PAIN RELIEF

I'd like to try the following pain-management techniques:
Acupressure
Bath/shower
Breathing techniques/distraction
Hot/cold therapy
Self-hypnosis
Massage
Medication

Oh my God. Self-hypnosis? Does that mean I lie in the bed dangling a pocket watch in front of my face telling myself that I'm getting very sleepy? Umm, I'll take medication for $1000 please Alex. And it probably will cost that much. I don't believe in pain. That's why we have chemistry.

VAGINAL BIRTH

I'd like:
To view the birth using a mirror
To touch my baby's head as it crowns
The room to be as quiet as possible
To risk a tear rather than have an episiotomy
My partner to help "catch" our baby

To push the baby out. The details are really immaterial at this point in the game.

After birth, I'd like:
To hold my baby right away, putting off any procedures that aren't urgent
To breastfeed as soon as possible
To wait until the umbilical cord stops pulsating before it's clamped and cut
My partner to cut the umbilical cord
Not to get routine oxytocin (Pitocin) after I deliver the placenta

A grilled cheese sandwich, fries, and Coke.

C-SECTION

If I have a c-section, I'd like:
My partner present at all times during the operation
The screen lowered a bit so I can see my baby coming out
The baby given to my partner as soon as he's dried (as long as he's in good health)
To breastfeed my baby in the recovery room

The morphine pump and Percocet to be handy immediately following the procedure.

POSTPARTUM

After delivery, I'd like:
All newborn procedures to take place in my presence
My partner to stay with the baby at all times if I can't be there
To stay in a private room
To have a cot provided for my partner

Aside from the aforementioned grilled cheese, morphine pump, and Percocet, I'd like unlimited access to television.

I plan to:
Breastfeed exclusively
Combine breastfeeding and formula-feeding
Formula-feed exclusively

Make sure the baby gets something to eat when he's hungry.

The following can be offered to my baby:
Formula
Sugar water
Pacifier
Please don't offer anything to my baby at any point

I love that last one. I just see the kid whose mom checked that box lying in the nursery with a "Don't Feed the Baby" sign, not unlike those seen at the zoo, taped to his bassinet. Seriously though, don't give my babies a pacifier. I never liked it when kids run around with pacifiers in their mouths. I always think, "Yeah, there's a sucker. Doesn't even realize that they're being duped by a fake nipple." Don't get mad at me if your kid likes the paci. I know your child is bright and delightful. It's just not my bag. Then again, if you're a doctor or nurse and you're trying to listen to his heart with a stethoscope and he's screaming, give him a pacifier. I mean, everything in moderation. And sugar water? No. Only high fructose corn syrup for MY kids.

I'd like my baby fed:
On demand
On a schedule

On a schedule? A schedule for an hours old baby? Good luck with that.

I'd like:
24-hour rooming-in with my baby
My baby to room-in with me only when I'm awake
My baby brought to me for feedings only
To make my decision later depending on how I'm feeling

For the hospital to provide all care until my baby's 18th birthday.

If my baby's a boy:
I'd like him circumcised at the hospital.
I'll have him circumcised later.
I don't want him circumcised.

I'd like him to receive constant intravenous Viagra.

Okay. I think that Birth Plan should suffice. Seriously though. If you are having a baby, a birth plan just seems like a good way to be disappointed. Just roll with it, girl. It's all good.

The Plight of the Working Mom

2011-03-10T08:29:00.000-08:00

What I'm getting ready to say is probably not going to be very popular, but I think it's true-- at least in my case.

Having a working mom (or I should say having two working parents, because there's no reason a dad can't stay at home) sucks for kids. Here's a little anecdote from my day to justify this statement:

Since Bill's out of town and I've been routinely experiencing periodic intervals of regular contractions, I decided it'd be best if someone came to stay with me at night just in case I go into labor and don't have time for someone to drive to my house to get Will/drive me to the hospital, etc. So last night, my sister came to stay. My typical routine is to get up a 6:00am, clothe myself, clothe Will and take him to my dad's where he gets his breakfast and then my dad or my sister take him to school.

When my sister arrived last night, however, she told me that she was just going to dress Will and give him his breakfast at our house and then take him to school before she had to be at work. On one hand, this was a pretty sweet deal because it meant all I had to do was get myself ready and go to work-- which is what I do when Bill is at home. On the other hand, I didn't get to see my baby this morning. He apparently woke at about 7:00 and Whitney, who sleeps like a corpse, finally aroused to him running around upstairs yelling, "MOMMY! MOMMY!" She said he sounded near tears. She went up to him and explained that I was at work and that he was okay, and he calmed down and all was well, but in hearing this story, my heart is still broken at the thought of my baby not knowing where his parents are. He will go all day (until around 4:00) without seeing his parents. I mean, he knows and loves my parents and sister and is used to them, but still. With Bill traveling so often, I've been the staple force in his life and I just felt terrible that he woke up and neither Bill nor I were there. I told Bill about it on the phone this morning and Bill was like, "Well change is good. He needs to learn to adjust to change, etc."

I think the feeling I'm talking about, like I've abandoned my child, is something that only moms experience. I never would have understood it before I became a mom, but it's this very primal feeling of needing to protect your babies and I wasn't there this morning. I HATE thinking of my baby's being upset and I'm not the one who's there to help him. And THAT'S what sucks about being a kid with two working parents; not knowing who you can count on.

Honestly, Bill's travel situation exacerbates our struggles a bit more than the standard working family with 9-5s who stay in town most of the time. Still, though, I had a realization the other day that the only adults in my kid's life who are constantly there at the same time every day are his daycare providers. Whereas on any given day or week he doesn't know if his daddy will give him breakfast or his Pop Pop, or if Mommy will get him dressed or Daddy (or Whitney- as was the case this morning), he does know that Ms. Ashley and Ms. Tabitha will be with him for the day and that they will guide him through regularly scheduled activities. He knows that mommy will be with him for dinner and she will read to him and put him to bed, but aside from that, daycare is what he can count on. This breaks my heart.

I mean, on an intellectual level, I know that there are benefits to daycare. He will grow up to be more social and to relate better with his peers. He won't be clingy or afraid to go out in the world. He will learn that he can trust people outside of his family. He will have a head start on academic subjects and will probably perform well in school because of the head start. On the other hand, I worry about his moral development. I stayed out of a lot of trouble in my life because I valued my relationships with my family above the relationships I had with peers. My house was my home base. I went elsewhere out of necessity, but if given the choice, I liked to be at home. I want Will (and John, provided that he ever decides to leave my uterus) to feel safe at home. I want them to feel like home is their primary location. Not school.

Then again, I've known a lot of kids with stay at home moms who are over-indulged lazy screw-ups and kids from working homes who are very industrious, moral individuals with a strong sense of "roots". I would include myself in that second category. I know that every family does what they have to do to make ends meet and to make their own families work to the best of their abilities. I mean, that's what we're doing. So maybe making a value judgment that kids lose out in some way when both parents work isn't exactly fair, and probably more reflects my hormonal emotional response to my son's temporary distress this morning. I also have to remember that our working family scenario is more atypical than most. I just hate that my baby called for his mommy today and she wasn't there. And I wonder how often during the day Will falls down and cries and someone else comforts him. Of course, Bill says I coddle Will too much anyway. But I'm his mama. He grew in my body and I delivered him. I put myself aside to nurse him and attend to him. He slept by my side every night for his first few months. I was home with him every day for his first six months. It just seems like ever since Bill cut his cord, he has begun this detachment from me. That's the way it should be. But I'm not so sure he should detach from me when he's just two years old. He walks and talks but he's still a baby and he needs security. I just wonder how much security he loses by our current arrangement. That's all.

Mental Detachment

2011-03-09T08:17:00.001-08:00

So last night's excitement abated and disappeared and here I sit at work in much the same situation as every other day this week, except operating on less sleep-- if that's even possible. I know that things are going on in there. I feel pinches and pulls and cramps and each day gets a little more intense. Still I know that this in no way implies that I'm in anyway getting ready for labor. In fact, the only thing that gives me any indication of hope is the fact that I did pack my hospital bag. I was was seriously not planning to do that until about five minutes before I went to the hospital. It's INSANE how much smaller it is than last time. Last time I used my luggage. This time I've got a little duffle bag and I've still got plenty of space in there. I just ended up packing some pajamas, a going home outfit for me and the baby, I did pack a couple of pairs of underwear just in case the complimentary vaginal carnage drawers the hospital provides aren't as desirable as I remember them to be. I also packed two nursing bras in case one gets drenched due to leakage and some nursing pads. I took a lot of superfluous shit out of my make up bag and am just keeping it sitting on the top of the open suitcase so that I can use it in the mornings, but at the same time, give someone the simple instructions to put the make up bag into the suitcase in the case that I am not able to bring my suitcase myself. I also packed a book and some DVDs.

It all fits into a bag about a foot deep and 18 inches long. The bag will be roughly the size of the baby-- actually, the baby may be bigger. I will add a technology bag which will feature my laptop, cell phone charger, camera and camera connection cables. Outside of that, I'm done. All I remember from last time is that I had an abundance of stuff that I never used. And then I just had to unpack it all when I got home and I HATE unpacking stuff. I MIGHT bring a pillow. I haven't decided.

Anyway, my brain has totally withdrawn from all other society. I'm here at work, but I don't know what the Hell I'm doing here. I've got research papers to grade and have done a stellar job of staying on top of all my grading. It's going to take all I've got to get these done, though. I'm tempted to let my DVD player do some serious teaching for the remaining eleven work days. I just do NOT have the energy.

I still am trying to remember if I felt this out of it when I was pregnant with Will. Then I remembered that I didn't work from 36 weeks on with Will. I moved into my new house and then spent time taking serious naps and watching Dr. Phil. If I'm honest,that's really all I'm qualified for right now.

Okay mission for the rest of today: Haphazardly teach 4th period, cobble together a group project to tie together all medieval literature that will last us for Thursday and Friday and perhaps into Monday. I will then take home my daily research paper ration (five per day- MAYBE ten), take a nap, pick up my nugget, feed him some dinner, get baths for both of us and then go to bed. That's the plan. I'll let you know how much ACTUALLY gets accomplished.

Musings from 3am

2011-03-09T00:42:00.000-08:00

Well, something that hurts is going on, but I don't know that it's labor. For one thing, Will has kept me up the majority of the night. I brought him into the bed with me because he woke up crying because he's sick and so he's done nothing but squirm and kick all night. Then at about three, I got up to pee. When I laid back down, my butt all the way around to my uterus started cramping. At first I thought it was some kind of bizarre butt charlie horse because muscles are always cramping up when you're pregnant-- particularly legs and particularly in the middle of the night. The thing is, I can't seem to get a rhythm on it. If my rhythm-checking is correct, which I feel all kinds of uncertainty about, then they are coming at intervals of about 4 minutes. It's not particularly painful though. Just feels menstrual-crampish. I've had off and on bouts of cramping all day today. This morning the cramps were coming every ten minutes and this lasted for about an hour and a half and then stopped. Then I had some happening this afternoon-- I also felt a compulsion to pack my hospital bag and get the car seat down out of the attic. Then those eased off. Anyway, I'm sure this will turn out to be yet another scenario where I get my hopes up that something productive might be starting only to stop and leave me right back where I was.

Going into labor when the baby gets good and ready is a really bizarre thing to me because last time I had the help of an IV of Pitocin and a contraction monitor to let me know that I was, in deed, having contractions. There really was no mystery involved. I wish something definitive would happen to let me know, like water breaking (which only happens in 10% of labors) or some blood or something to help a sister out. I guess the fact that I DON'T know means that it's probably not anything significant. Then again, you see the bitches on I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant in labor all the time and they don't know what's going on. Of course, they managed to somehow overlook their entire pregnancies, so perhaps they shouldn't be the gauge of normal labor observation.

Well, I thought that getting up would help things a bit, but I'm still just as clueless as I was 55 minutes ago. I think I'll go back and lie down and see what gives.

Don't get excited about this, though. I'm sure I'll be posting my 38 week update on Sunday. Peace.

Technically to Term

2011-03-07T19:06:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm at 37 weeks, which to the medical community= a full-term baby. This piece of medical trivia doesn't stop most babies from remaining safely ensconsed in their uterine paradise for as many as five more weeks, however. (42 weeks being the limit at which most doctors will let a woman carry a baby). My God. To think that it could be as many as three weeks is disturbing enough. The thought of five more weeks makes me want to scour my kitchen looking for some kind of device with which I can immediately break my own water. I swear John. If you hang in there that long, you can consider yourself grounded immediately when you're born. The thing is, even that joke's on me, because if you're like your brother, you'll keep me tethered to you and a breast pump almost constantly for the first month or so anyway.

I went to the doctor today. Today weight gain 26 lbs. If the current rate of gain continues, I should hit 30lbs at 40 weeks, which is the midline suggested weight that I should be. I'm okay with that. The doctor did the standard stuff today and did not do a cervix check, which I was a bit disappointed about, to be honest. Then again, it really could be in my favor because if she had checked and I was still only 1cm, I'd have probably had to go over to the psychiatric unit before heading home. Particularly when every night is filled with all sorts of crazy sensations that make me wonder if the baby has somehow managed to smuggle a jackhammer into my uterus.

At this point, it's just a waiting game. Blood pressure, etc. is all fine. I'm huge. I experience contractions all the time, but they are frealz, so it's more an aggravation than anything. I'll get a good big one that wraps around my back and moves downward and I'll think, "Oh sweet! That felt legit." And I'll check the clock and then next thing I know 30 minutes have gone by and I haven't had another one. My belly is a constant landscape of shifting peaks and valleys and arms and legs and feet and butts jump up and move around. I'm quite uncomfortable. My rings are starting to get snug, which concerns me. I can still get them on, but it's getting more and more difficult. My feet and legs don't really swell. I have no stretch marks, so I guess it could be worse. The acid reflux is definitely a regular feature but it doesn't seem to bother me as much this time as it did last time. None of the physical symptoms are as much of a bother as they were last time. I am just more ready to get this over with. My doctor said something today about how you're ready to move on sooner with your second and subsequent pregnancies. I can't remember if I was ready to go last time at 37 weeks or not. With the first, I think you're apprehensive enough about the prospect of labor and delivery that you want the discomfort of pregnancy to end and you want to meet your baby, but you have a little bit of hesitancy about the actual prospect of delivery. Better the pain you know than they pain you don't. You don't want to jump from the frying pan into the fire (if I think of more appropriate cliches, I'll be sure to go back and include them later, so feel free to check this posting multiple times.) Now, I'm really not too worried about labor and delivery. I didn't find it to be painful at all. Exhausting yes, but painful, not really. Maybe I'll change my tune with this delivery, but as of right now, I'm going in more apprehensive about the initial breastfeeding pain than I am the pain of labor and delivery.

Therefore, the doctor is right. I'm ready to go ahead and get this party started. Also, I'm kind of in a limbo because on one hand, I want to go ahead and give birth. On the other, I want to remain at work as long as possible so that I can stay out later into the semester. On one hand, I am SICK of my job right now, but on the other, I think I'd rather do it now than in May. Oh well, my preferences don't really matter in the long run. He'll come when he's ready.

We did decide for Bill to keep the out of town job that he's scheduled for on the week of my due date. We're just keeping our fingers crossed that John will come either next week or the next week (38-39 weeks) when Bill doesn't have work scheduled and will be home. If he doesn't then Bill MAY not be present for the birth of his second son. I do still think that's a shame, but we can't turn down $3000, especially when Bill could cancel the job and the baby come when he would have been off anyway. OR when the baby could come THIS week, when Bill would be out of town regardless. If you're one to commune with heaven, we'd appreciate if you'd drop a hint that a birth either next week or the next would be preferable. The doctor did offer to strip the membranes to get things going in week 39, but I've yet to google what that entails to see if it's something I'm really interested in. (I doubt it.)

And that's 37 weeks.

Slipping Through My Fingers

2011-03-05T18:30:00.000-08:00

Mamas, if you want to have a good cry, look up the Abba song referenced in the title of this blog. Yesterday, Friday, March 4, 2011, my Will turned two.

Even though right now, I look like this:

Celebrating my little Will's second birthday this weekend has reminded me how quickly pictures like the one above turn to this:

And then this:

Will at 3 months

Followed by:

Will at 6 months

And then:

Will at 9 months

Will at 1 year

Will at 18 months

Leading to:

Will at 2 years

The old people are right. It really does go by so fast.

Wedding Bell Blues

2011-03-04T08:16:00.000-08:00

Ohhhhh. It's March and therefore the musician's version of March Madness is ready to ensue. Wedding season is fast approaching and many brides are looking for someone to play that crucial Pachelbel Canon in D on their special days.

Let me let you in on a little secret: I've freelanced weddings since 1996 for money only. In recent years, however, I've conveniently ignored many requests for wedding music. I typically prefer an outlet called the pit orchestra. Less pressure, more fun, and more money-- not more money on an hourly basis, but I just would rather receive a check for $800+ than a check for $150, even if I got that $150 from playing 3-4 songs in a single wedding ceremony. No other rite of passage has virtually raped more musicians than a wedding. First of all, your friends feel entitled to your services and will offer you the chance to play/sing in their weddings and they will not pay you. Or they will give you some kind of gift that in no way comes close to the amount that you would have charged and that you deserved for the sacrifice of playing that damn Canon in D or singing "In This Very Room."

As a service to musicians everywhere, allow me to inform the public about what it means to be a wedding musician and some helpful tips for having a successful relationship with your wedding musician.

1. Whatever your musician charges you, he/she is NOT ripping you off.

Here's the thing: Just because you wedding musician only shows up at the wedding rehearsal and the ceremony doesn't mean that's the only time he/she has invested in your event. First of all, musicians do occasionally practice, even when the service music is something that they could probably play in their sleep due to its rampant overuse in weddings. Also, a wedding screws up an entire weekend. You can't work other gigs, you can't take a weekend vacation, you can't really relax over your weekend because you've got a wedding to play. So if you're thinking the rate you're being charged is exhorbitant, just think of it as paying your musician for a good 12 hours of work.

Secondly, a wedding is, for some reason, more stressful than other gigs. Part of this is due to the creature known as the Bridezilla, who walks around with a sense of entitlement and self-importance that I think is inversely proportional to how long her marriage will last. In other words, the more emphasis she puts on having the perfect ceremony, the shorter amount of time I give the marriage. Also, even if the bride is a perfectly reasonable woman, all musicians are aware of the fact that they are a key part of one of the more important days of a person's life. Before videography, this probably wasn't as big of a deal. Any of us who've gotten married know that you remember probably about 2% of the day, but now that women hire people to videotape their weddings, a wedding musician can rest assured that his/her performance will be preserved for posterity and that any wrong note will be repeated at anniversaries and divorce proceedings in the future. This is a lot of pressure. Whenever I play a wedding,I'm always thinking about how if I screw up, the couple will roll their eyes at that point in the ceremony for years to come. They will mutter under their breaths, "That damn violinist."

2. If you have a musician friend and are planning to ask him/her to play/sing for your wedding, be prepared to pay the full rate.

I can't count the number of times that some random acquaintance will come to me and say, "I'm getting married XYZ and I want you to sing a solo!" I used to just do it and roll my eyes every time they acted like it was an honor to be a part of their service. But that was years ago. That was before I got sick and tired of girls calling me up, using me, and abusing me for their own personal gain. Now, I say, "Oh, okay. Well, my rate is ____________." And then I wait to gauge the reaction. Typically it's a look of utter confusion/bewilderment. I mean, I think a lot of them believe that I was supposed to A) be honored just to be included and B) save the girl some money from hiring someone else. Just so you know, it is NEVER okay to ask someone to sing/play for your wedding and not offer compensation. And I don't mean give them what you think would be a nice token of appreciation. I mean, you should formally ask, "How much do you charge?" If your musician friend wants to perform her services pro bono, she will at this time offer to do so, but you will have done your due dilligence by asking.

3. Know something about what kind of music you want for your wedding.

I don't mind helping someone pick stuff out, but it's really difficult when you go to meet with a bride and ask what music she had in mind and she gives you a blank stare and says, "I don't know. What would you suggest?" You can get a wedding music CD for five dollars and listen to a few selections. It's totally fine if you don't know your specific selections, but at least be able to tell the musician your favorite TYPES of music and what type of service you're having. Just being told, "We're having a very traditional church service and I really was kind of envisioning classical and traditional wedding music"is a big help. If you are going for a laid-back ceremony with no religious affiliation and like classic rock, tell your musician, but meet with him/her having given some thought to this type of thing. Again, you don't have to specifically know what you want, but if you know the TYPE of what you want, that's preferable.

4. Pay the musician before the ceremony.

Have someone give the check or cash directly to the musician or place the compensation on the music stand before the ceremony begins. Wedding days are hectic for families and as wonderful as your reception is sure to be, most musicians are NOT going to hang around for it. Furthermore, you'll be busy with pictures and greeting guests, etc. after the wedding. Musicians feel awkward hunting you down afterwards and bothering you for their money. However, they're also entitled to their compensation when the service is performed. (No, it's not okay to send it in the mail.) In all that must be done on the day of the wedding, make sure that someone remembers to pay the piper, so to speak.

5. If your first musician choice isn't available for their wedding, it's perfectly cool to ask for their recommendation for other musicians.

One thing about the music community is that it's a tight-knit network of people who look out for each other and love to get work for each other. I've always marveled at how well musicians network. You'd think there'd be this element of competition and job-grasping, but there just isn't-- probably because we understand that if we get work for someone else, they'll repay the favor. So if you're talking with a potential musician and in talking you decide that a brass quintet is really more along the lines of what you're looking for than a string trio, ask the musician for names of brass players. I guarantee she knows some if she's at all active in the music community. Or ask for the names of other players of her instrument if you decide she's too expensive or she's not available for the date of your wedding, etc. Musicians are really like cockroaches. If you find one he/she can probably lead you to thousands of others.

6. Don't screw around during your rehearsal.

I know on one hand the rehearsal is this social occasion when people trickle in as they feel like it after work and then everyone talks and screws around and wears dumb T shirts saying, "I'm the bride" or "I'm with stupid" but be mindful of the fact that your musician as well as your officiant, and probably your wedding planner, is there to do a job. Try to get your people there as soon as possible and get it done. There'll be plenty of time for socializing when you get done and get to the open bar at the Shriner's Club or where ever your rehearsal is being held.

7. It's good etiquette to invite your musicians to both the rehearsal dinner and the reception.

This goes for any other professional or vendor who is working your wedding. Don't panic, though because 99% of the time, the musician will decline (unless you have the afforementioned brass players who might find it difficult to turn down a free open bar.) At any rate, as I say, they're probably going to say no, but you should invite them anyway.

So that's my treatise on How to Treat Your Wedding Musician. I've cranked out a lot of blogs today-- mostly because I had drafts of all these different blogs sitting there on my blogger dashboard and just decided that the time was right to get them posted. I think this will be it for tonight, though.

Stats

2011-02-28T17:51:00.000-08:00

Report from the doctor: weight: 139lbs- total weight gain 24 lbs. Urine checks out okay, blood pressure's excellent, iron is "quite good." She felt the baby's position and said that he was "very low" and so she wanted to do a cervix check. Not that anyone should know about my cervical status, but she pronounced it to be 1 cm.

The cervix checks are actually really cruel, if you ask me. As a rational person, you know that your cervical dilation means absolutely nothing: that women walk around being 3-4 cm dilated for weeks whereas others are pronounced to be closed as tight as a drum at an afternoon appointment and then go into labor that very night. Nonetheless, pregnant women are not rational women. And at 36 weeks, they are very interested in getting the baby out. Therefore, one hears that one's cervix has started preparing for labor and one starts to cling to that information like blades of grass at the precipice of a cliff from which one is in the process of falling. You know that the information, like the grass, really bears no weight, but you grasp anyway because that's all you've got left. It means absolutely nothing, yet it feels like everything. Actually, what I am more optimistic about is the fact that the baby is apparently in a low station. Cervical dilation and effacement is a mystical phenomenon that I don't really understand-- kind of like telekinesis and calculus. Gravity, on the other hand, I totally get. When push comes to shove (pun intended) the cervix is no match for 7 lbs of humanity being sucked toward mother earth. My uterus can't maintain its tenuous hold on that weight for long. Not if it's already surrendered quite a bit of ground to a baby who I feel burrowing like a mole towards the nearest egress every night. In fact, I've not been doing enough to help John will his mission. I've got to do more activities that utilize gravity to its fullest. I wonder if my neighbors would mind my using their trampoline.

Oh and I asked about scheduling an early induction (requesting maybe two days early) and the doctor said she can't do it without medical reason, which is comforting in a way. You read all the time about these doctors who'll let you elect to have a C section and will induce you to suit their own scheduling. Anyway, she said that if it got close and the baby hadn't already come on his own, that they'd do something called "stripping the membranes" which could get things started. This sounds like a horrendous thing to do to a body. I hate the word membrane, for one, and the thought of stripping a membrane, whatever that should entail, just sounds painful and wrong. I think I'm just going to tell Bill to cancel that week of work. I've thought about it and despite the fact that I see the rational argument for his working that week, the idea that he wouldn't be there to see his kid born just doesn't feel right. Plus, I'm pissed that he never calls me from out of town to see how my doctors' appointments went, nor does he ask about them when he's at home. I mean, I'm a low-maintenance girl. I don't ask for a lot. A phone call, or hell-- even an email or text, just inquiring would suffice.

He's in Chicago this week and he emailed me to ask me if he should persue some job opportunity in Wilmington, which pissed me off because why should I quit my job that I like and leave all the seniority that I've built up, my friends, etc., take a pay cut to work in a poorer county, and leave my family support-- not to mention my musical contacts (all with a newborn, by the way-- and it's so weird that after listing all that I'd leave, I only teared up when I thought about leaving my obstetricians) when he can't even ask me about how my doctors' appointments go. And the job's not permanent. Sorry, I must've just had a hormone surge or something because I just got really angry all of a sudden. It's starting to pass.

That's been happening a lot this week. I've had a lot of feelings. Lots of things are making me cry. When Natalie Portman won the Oscar last night and mentioned her "next big role" as a parent, I cried. I cried for a good 15 minutes on Saturday because I saw dust on a table. It's like I'm getting big to the point that actually cleaning is this arduous experiment in suffocation and contortionism, so now I'm just seeing messes and resenting them. Bill worked hard to clean on Saturday. Usually, I get pissed when he cleans because he doesn't do it right (I'm really starting to think I AM a Type A bitch), but on Saturday, I just had this recognition that A) he wasn't doing a bad job, and B) it meant that I didn't have to do it. I did clean the bathrooms though. I seem to remember this with my Will pregnancy, when we moved to a new house when I was 35 weeks pregnant (however, I'd already quit working for a three month unpaid leave of absence). I felt this huge need to get furniture assembled and put together, but I also felt huge and every time I'd try to move furniture or get on my hands and knees and assemble/clean something, I'd quickly become exhausted. So I'd just sit there and cry about it.

Anyway, I've been crying constantly. It's just a sign that my time is near, I guess (and by near, I mean four weeks away.)I started crying in a restaurant Sunday night because we were talking about Will's birthday on Friday and I said I couldn't believe he was two and my mom said, "Wait until you watch his little legs climb onto a school bus. Then you'll really lose it." And I pictured Will getting onto a bus and started to cry. Will gave me a hug. That's someting else. Bill taught Will to give Mommy hugs this weekend when she cries, so he's been doing it very diligently. Bill's a good guy. I complain about him, but I'm a pregnant bitch. Now I'm going to cry for getting angry at Bill.

Dear God, let's get this baby out so that I can start to reclaim my body and my mental health. I mean, I KNOW that neither body nor mind will return immediately at birth, but at least we can begin the hormone regulation that will one day mean that I can sit at my desk at work and not start crying just from looking at a picture of Will.

Oh well, that's the latest on the medical front of this pregnancy. Next appointment is one week from today. Maybe the weekly appointments will help time progress more quickly.

My Second Dilemma

2011-02-28T05:02:00.001-08:00

Will's got another cold. The only symptom of this is green snot and boogers. His daycare teacher apparently told Bill that "Will has a lot of green snot" insinuating that Will needed to go to the doctor. I don't know about you, but I don't remember ever going to the doctor for green boogers and snot as a kid. We called it a cold. I can remember having snot cascading from my nose, being assaulted with Kleenex, having the snot get so packed in there that you KNOW it was infected because it started to stink and all your food started to taste like it. And then, miracle of miracles, the colds always seemed to go away. The only time I remember getting antibiotics as a kid was for ear infections, which I never got after I was about four, and strep throat. I mean, now I go to the doctor for sinus infections and get my antibiotic, but I seem to get more sinus infections as well. I mean, science has proven that the over-prescription of antibiotics is creating these MRSA superbugs (and is probably yet another factor contributing to the rise of auto-immune diseases.) Maybe not every case of green snot requires antibiotics. Maybe NO case of green snot necessitated antibiotics unless breathing is compromised. I for one am inclined to save the antibiotics for the big guns. Let's not waste them on green snot and boogers. (Just had to cleanse my head of thoughts of Green Eggs and Ham.)

I posted on Facebook about being in limbo about whether to take off work today and haul Will to the doctor to appease daycare, just to get some opinions from other moms. One mom posted about not being one to run her kids to the doctor, but that if my maternal instinct told me to take him... at which point I started thinking, "Does my maternal instinct tell me to take him to the doctor?" Every single one of my alternate personalities unanimously answered, "No." I rarely get that kind of agreement from my psyche. I think this is just a cold and it will run its course. Is there bacteria in his nose? Probably. Can his immune system fight it off? Yes. At least at this juncture. He's not coughing in his sleep. He ran thirty laps around Target last night and didn't get so much as out of breath or a wheeze. He's not wheezing at night. Home boy is fine. My SIL mentioned that since WILL said his face hurt, I might investigate, and I guess maybe I should take his word for it. But Will also told us he had roasted pheasant at daycare for lunch. He speaks the language a lot better than he understands it. (The pheasant, by the way, occurred because we asked Will what he had for lunch at school -- after having already seen the menu-- and he rattled off a litany of foods, only one of which he ACTUALLY had for lunch that day. Then we started asking him, "Did you have Filet Mignon? Did you have duck l'orange? Did you have roasted pheasant?" And he replied, "Yes." Then we asked a couple of days later what he had for lunch and Will said, "Pheasant." He's gonna be a real smart ass, I'm telling you.)

Anyway, so I did NOT end up taking a day off work to take him to the doctor. If he were showing distress past a runny nose, I'd consider it but he's not. And you know what, I'm sure his face does hurt. Faces that are filled with snot do tend to hurt, but it's okay to hurt. Sometimes things in life hurt and you just have to deal with it. If I run him to the doctor every time he complains, he's just going to grow up to be a whiner who freaks out about the littlest ailment and goes running to doctor after doctor getting pills instead of just getting through it. How do I know this? Because I was a first born and my mom ran me to the doctor for everything and now I've got my general practitioner's phone number memorized. My sister on the other hand, was never taken to the doctor and shows no hypochondriacal tendencies. Plus I observe that kids who are always in the doctor for one reason or other tend to be whiny kids and whining aggravates the Hell out of me. There is nothing worse than a kid who whines. Seriously. I'd rather deal with a tantrum than whining. Don't get me wrong, Will's two (or he will be on Friday). He whines, but I don't reinforce it like some parents do. Both whining and tantrums actually have the same immediate consequences, actually. Anyway, back to doctors. I don't want Will to be a kid who's always complaining about not feeling good or this hurts or that hurts (trust me. I was that kid). I want Will to be this tough warrior-like man who, short of a gangrenous appendage, soldiers through life without a regard for pain.

Part of me is slightly disturbed at this complacency that I have with the health of my first child. The first time he got sick scared the Hell out of me. I thought death was imminent. But as time has gone by, I've just started to realize that sometimes a sickness is just a sickness. A fever, even a high one, is sometimes just the result of a virus and it'll run its course. Now, the wheezing and the overnight hacking coughs and seeing him unable to exercise without becoming winded will prompt me to see the doctor, even in absence of fever. And if a fever doesn't resolve in 24 hours or doesn't respond to Motrin, Tylenol, tepid baths and ice cream will send me to the doctor (sometimes the emergency room). But if he's just got a runny nose, I think he's going to be all right. This isn't to say that in the darkness of night I don't sit there and worry about him catching the flu or developing pneumonia. It doesn't mean I don't run into his room sometimes at 2am to listen to him breathe. In fact, my sister has the flu right now and I had to take Will to my parents' this morning (where my sister lives). I walked in and saw her asleep on the couch and it took every ounce of restraint I had not to grab a can of Lysol and liberally spray it all over her person, the couch, and the house in general. I settled with just telling Will that Aunt Whitney's nasty and to stay away from her. Anyway, they say the more kids you have the less you tend to worry about their health and safety, so if I'm this complacent with Will, my other kids may not survive childhood. Either that or they WILL be the devil-may-care warriors that I previously described. But that's my latest worthless parenting opinion. Save the doctors' visits for the serious stuff.

Four Weeks to Go

2011-02-27T19:40:00.001-08:00

Although, if you take Willstrodamus's word for it: Two weeks. He patted my stomach today and said, "John coming two weeks." I don't know where that came from. Bill suggested its because the caterpillar in The Very Hungry Caterpillar stays in his coccoon for two weeks. Sounds reasonable.

I'm getting uncomfortable now. The heartburn/reflux has motivated me to start taking the Zantac. I've been crampy and emotional all weekend. My back kills me, especially when I'm driving. In other words, it's a typical last few weeks of pregnancy.

I have a doctors appointment tomorrow and probably for the remaining Mondays of my pregnancy. I'm down to going once a week.

A dilemma has arisen this week. Bill has been scheduled to work out of town for the week of my due date. He can always turn down the work, but here's the thing: He's off for the two weeks BEFORE my due date. It would truly be so much more convenient if I were to have the baby, as Will suggests, two weeks prior to my due date. I'm toying with asking my OBGYN tomorrow if I could be induced a week or two early (at 38-39 weeks). 37 weeks is the benchmark for a "full-term" baby. Therefore, the baby is ostensibly fully developed enough to come on out after that time. I'm a little embarrassed to ask her tomorrow, to be honest, as the whole schedule-your-child's-birthday-for-your-ultimate-ease-and-convenience seems a bit frivolous to me. Then again, it's no more frivolous, in my opinion, than all these other interventions including scheduled C sections, In-Vitro-Fertilization, etc. They all seem to suggest an arrogance as if we humans know better than nature. For that matter, they were willing to induce Will early (albeit only two days) for that fictional gestational diabetes nonsense when ultrasound after ultrasound indicated that he was normal size.

I don't know. I'm trying to defend my decision to ask. I really am not so sure it's a good idea. I don't want Bill to turn down the work, though. I mean, babies cost money and we've got another daycare tuition looming in the future. I talked with my mom and she said, "Why does Bill have to be there when he's born?" To which I didn't have a good answer except, "Shouldn't he at least show up for the birth of his child?" And she said, quite rightly, "Men did not used to be allowed in the delivery room." So I said, "Well whose going to hold my leg, give me ice chips, and wipe down my forehead between contractions?" And she said, "That's what nurses are for." And I said, "Well, he's only been to ONE doctors appointment throughout this whole pregnancy, to which she responded, "Did you actually want him to go to appointments?" And I had to admit that I really couldn't give a damn. In fact, I always have secretly wondered why women cart their husbands to these appointments. Bill went to the big ultrasound appointment with Will and to a presurgical appointment prior to the surgery that I had with Will. After that, he pretty much stayed out of it. With this baby, he went to one appointment with me when we were again, discussing the possibility of surgery. There was also an ultrasound involved (though it wasn't the big one-- I think it was at about 12 weeks.). He hasn't been back since and I truly don't mind that.

I mean, I'm not trying to hate on you ladies who took your husbands with you to all your appointments. For all I know, your husbands trailed after you, wanting to be as involved as possible. And if that's what you guys wanted, then more power to you. I just think that ob appointments, save for the 18 week big ultrasound, are pretty anti-climactic and that most men just really shouldn't be involved. I mean, I don't need Bill there to help me pee in a cup, watch me get weighed, watch them take my blood pressure, watch the doctor measure my uterus and listen to the baby's heartbeat and that's all that 95% of OB appointments entail. The others are just full of activities that are even more unappealing-- like rectal swabs for Beta Strep, full physicals, glucose challenges, and cervix checks. It's women's work, I tell ya. Women's work.

So, do I care if Bill's not at the delivery of this baby? I don't know. My emotional side DOES care. It's like we're not a real family if he's not there or something. I feel like he should be there to see his second son enter the world just as he was for his first. Then I worry, what if something's wrong with John? I'd like him to be there to ask his own questions or whatever. It feels wrong if Bill isn't there. Plus, I'll be lonely and paranoid on a irrational level that the nurses will be pitying me as someone who is doing it all on her own. Kind of like going to a movie alone where you don't REALLY care what people think because you're secure in your relationships and yourself, but at the same time, you know it looks out of the ordinary. So that's on an emotional level. And now I'm really obsessing on that bit about what if something's wrong with the baby. I hate that worry. I know all moms probably do it, but I just really intensely dislike that feeling of anxiety.

Anyway, on an intellectual level, I know that I and the obstetrical staff are quite capable of delivering the baby without Bill. I know that in terms of help, the first week is the time when I least need him. I know that a slew of people will descend upon me to take care of Will and help around the house. I know that I'll spend two nights in the hospital where Bill is equally unnecessary. I know when I come home that newborn baby care will pretty much be up to me since I'll be the food source.

I don't know. In my gut, I think I do want him to be there. I think I will ask about that induction tomorrow, but if the answer is negative, which I have every suspicion it will (and should) be, I think I will ask him to cancel that work job. I just don't feel right about him not being there.

Oh well. Maybe my water will break in the middle of the night and I can avoid this controversy altogether. Now I need to go to bed. I hate I even got into these damn Academy Awards. I feel this obligation to see them through to the end, which I will heartily regret tomorrow morning, I'm sure.