I've reframed the idea of that hypersensitivity as a "crack" due to stress and instead I'm seeing it as an openness that is part and parcel of the expansive inner work I have to do to develop into a midwife.
I'm betting both are true, but I'll focus on my strength and softness and soothe the stress with that knowledge of myself.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Cracks
It's no surprise that I'm stressed out. I have three kids and an apprenticeship. This takes a lot of inner strength, to say the least, and I'm happy to say that for the most part I think I do quite well. Right now there are two areas that are cracking. (Not bad, in my opinion.)
The first is my old repetitive strain injuries are whispering at me. It's not nearly as bad as it used to be, considering I spent years in constant pain, destroying my liver with massive doses of ibuprofen. Still, it's the first time in almost 10 years that I notice pain in my wrists or hands at least once a day. So far I've only had to medicate a couple of times, and I'm confident that all the self-care skills I have now that I didn't back in high school and college will preserve these arms of mine.
The second is the danged internet. Man, I get hypersensitive about people I do not know and should not care about. I get offended reading blogs, comments on blogs, comments on news articles, comments on my comments on people's facebook pages. The simple solution is to just stop doing it, so that's my plan. If you find me a lot quieter or less opinionated in places that you've expected my web presence, you know why. I'm sure in a few weeks or months I'll have regained the perspective that allows me to not put undue stock in other people's opinions. In the meantime, while I'm too emotionally full to let my rational brain win, I'll be protecting myself by avoiding random strangers' opinions as much as possible.
And hey, less internet is better for my arms anyway...
The first is my old repetitive strain injuries are whispering at me. It's not nearly as bad as it used to be, considering I spent years in constant pain, destroying my liver with massive doses of ibuprofen. Still, it's the first time in almost 10 years that I notice pain in my wrists or hands at least once a day. So far I've only had to medicate a couple of times, and I'm confident that all the self-care skills I have now that I didn't back in high school and college will preserve these arms of mine.
The second is the danged internet. Man, I get hypersensitive about people I do not know and should not care about. I get offended reading blogs, comments on blogs, comments on news articles, comments on my comments on people's facebook pages. The simple solution is to just stop doing it, so that's my plan. If you find me a lot quieter or less opinionated in places that you've expected my web presence, you know why. I'm sure in a few weeks or months I'll have regained the perspective that allows me to not put undue stock in other people's opinions. In the meantime, while I'm too emotionally full to let my rational brain win, I'll be protecting myself by avoiding random strangers' opinions as much as possible.
And hey, less internet is better for my arms anyway...
Friday, December 24, 2010
At this moment...
Eliana is working easy but adult-level sudokus.
Kesenia is writing "mary chrismise" emails on Zoobuh email.
Donovan is walking around naked holding a Paper Jamz guitar under one arm and a booklight in the other hand.
Scott is outside doing yard work.
I'm appreciating just how good I've got it.
Kesenia is writing "mary chrismise" emails on Zoobuh email.
Donovan is walking around naked holding a Paper Jamz guitar under one arm and a booklight in the other hand.
Scott is outside doing yard work.
I'm appreciating just how good I've got it.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Lucky
Back story #1: Donovan has been saying "lucky" for a few months now... and it doesn't mean lucky. It means yucky.
Back story #2: Kiki = Kessa and Lala = Eliana
Back story #3: D sleeps in his room and then comes into mine in the morning, nurses in bed, cuddles for a few minutes (or seconds), and then we get up. Sometimes Kessa follows him in and cuddles with us. This is exactly where our story starts.
D points to Kessa. "Kiki lucky."
Me: Kessa's yucky?
D: Noooooo. (smiles) Lala lucky.
Me: Eliana's yucky?
D: Noooooo.
Me: Scott, what's he saying?
D: Dada lucky.
Scott: I'm not yucky!
Me: Maybe he's ribbing us. Is Daddy yucky?
D: Nooooo. Mommy lucky.
He gives me a huge hug and kiss, and makes me kiss him, demonstrating his words, and deliberately says, "Mommy lucky."
And I say, "You mean, are you saying, Mommy loves me?"
D: Yeah! Mommy lucky! Dada lucky! Kiki lala lucky too!
Yes, yes I do. I love that boy. And I'm lucky, too.
Back story #2: Kiki = Kessa and Lala = Eliana
Back story #3: D sleeps in his room and then comes into mine in the morning, nurses in bed, cuddles for a few minutes (or seconds), and then we get up. Sometimes Kessa follows him in and cuddles with us. This is exactly where our story starts.
D points to Kessa. "Kiki lucky."
Me: Kessa's yucky?
D: Noooooo. (smiles) Lala lucky.
Me: Eliana's yucky?
D: Noooooo.
Me: Scott, what's he saying?
D: Dada lucky.
Scott: I'm not yucky!
Me: Maybe he's ribbing us. Is Daddy yucky?
D: Nooooo. Mommy lucky.
He gives me a huge hug and kiss, and makes me kiss him, demonstrating his words, and deliberately says, "Mommy lucky."
And I say, "You mean, are you saying, Mommy loves me?"
D: Yeah! Mommy lucky! Dada lucky! Kiki lala lucky too!
Yes, yes I do. I love that boy. And I'm lucky, too.
Homebirth for people who want hospital birth
Through my apprenticeship, I've seen a fair number of families both here and in Utah who have come to homebirth not out of any real desire for a homebirth. Their idea for themselves was always to have a hospital birth, with an epidural, and some of these women have had children before, and done exactly that with those births. And now they've come to us not seeking an improvement in care, as some moms do after hospital birth, but because of money. They don't have insurance, and the cost of homebirth is about 1/5 of the cost of a completely straightforward hospital birth.
Often these relationships start with lots of questions about safety, and one question about pain - generally a variation of "can I really do it without drugs?". These questions, which are nearly universal no matter what a family's idea of birth is, usually get answered during the interview and over the first visit or two. Then through our usual prenatal care, these families come to trust us in a way they never imagined trusting a health care provider. They trust us not in the Western medicine way that I so often hear on the internet: "I trust my doctor because she's the expert and what she says I should do must be the right thing to do."
Instead they learn over time to trust us to provide them with all the information that they need to know so that they can make the most appropriate decisions for their families: risks, benefits, alternatives of all tests, procedures, and treatments available, and information about their own babies and bodies gleaned through long discussions with them and through any tests they have opted to take. Through this trust-building they also slowly trust deep down what their brain had believed when they hired us: we really will be able to recognize situations that would make a hospital birth a safer option, and we will tell them, and we will go. They trust us to guide them through a process that is theirs. "I trust my midwife to let me stay in control of this process and to tell me if this process gets outside the range of normal so we can alter our course if needed."
Sometime, usually in the third trimester, we return to pain, because now that trust is really built, mom admits she's worried that she won't be able to handle it. We talk about how the sensations of labor are not the same as an injury but more similar to physical work. We talk about how it's easier at home to make all the hormones of labor which help ease the sensation. We talk about all the ways the sensations can feel, and the ways that our support can help. Often, this is the one part that mom never quite fully trusts us on... but she trusts us enough to move into her birth calmly, and with the knowledge that she has our full confidence.
Then comes the birth. Sometimes it's huge for her, she thought it would be easier, she has a hard time moving into it and letting her body take over. Sometimes she soars right through it easier than a mom who had always wanted a natural birth or a homebirth. Usually, it's the same doable challenge we see time and again. Regardless, during the immediate postpartum, we always hear, "I'm so glad I'm home," and from the multips, "I feel so much better than I did right after my other(s) were born!"
With all our clients, we ask how the birth was for the mama (and even her partner) at postpartum visits, and allow her to process it. Sometimes we first hear, "That was so incredibly hard," and sometimes, "That was a lot better than I thought it would be." We hear the whole range of experience from these moms, the same as any other moms. But the one thing we always hear, sometimes 5 minutes after the birth, sometimes the next day, or a week later, or a month later: "I would not want to have a baby in the hospital. I don't care if we have insurance next time. If we have any more babies we'll have a homebirth again."
Those are some of my favorite words, and these clients have a special place carved out in my heart. It shows a special kind of courage to move into an uncomfortable place and embrace it, as mothers who would have preferred hospital birth have to do in order to have a homebirth. And it shows that, while I wouldn't push anyone to have a homebirth, it truly can be the gold standard of maternity care not only for "natural birth types" but for anyone.
Often these relationships start with lots of questions about safety, and one question about pain - generally a variation of "can I really do it without drugs?". These questions, which are nearly universal no matter what a family's idea of birth is, usually get answered during the interview and over the first visit or two. Then through our usual prenatal care, these families come to trust us in a way they never imagined trusting a health care provider. They trust us not in the Western medicine way that I so often hear on the internet: "I trust my doctor because she's the expert and what she says I should do must be the right thing to do."
Instead they learn over time to trust us to provide them with all the information that they need to know so that they can make the most appropriate decisions for their families: risks, benefits, alternatives of all tests, procedures, and treatments available, and information about their own babies and bodies gleaned through long discussions with them and through any tests they have opted to take. Through this trust-building they also slowly trust deep down what their brain had believed when they hired us: we really will be able to recognize situations that would make a hospital birth a safer option, and we will tell them, and we will go. They trust us to guide them through a process that is theirs. "I trust my midwife to let me stay in control of this process and to tell me if this process gets outside the range of normal so we can alter our course if needed."
Sometime, usually in the third trimester, we return to pain, because now that trust is really built, mom admits she's worried that she won't be able to handle it. We talk about how the sensations of labor are not the same as an injury but more similar to physical work. We talk about how it's easier at home to make all the hormones of labor which help ease the sensation. We talk about all the ways the sensations can feel, and the ways that our support can help. Often, this is the one part that mom never quite fully trusts us on... but she trusts us enough to move into her birth calmly, and with the knowledge that she has our full confidence.
Then comes the birth. Sometimes it's huge for her, she thought it would be easier, she has a hard time moving into it and letting her body take over. Sometimes she soars right through it easier than a mom who had always wanted a natural birth or a homebirth. Usually, it's the same doable challenge we see time and again. Regardless, during the immediate postpartum, we always hear, "I'm so glad I'm home," and from the multips, "I feel so much better than I did right after my other(s) were born!"
With all our clients, we ask how the birth was for the mama (and even her partner) at postpartum visits, and allow her to process it. Sometimes we first hear, "That was so incredibly hard," and sometimes, "That was a lot better than I thought it would be." We hear the whole range of experience from these moms, the same as any other moms. But the one thing we always hear, sometimes 5 minutes after the birth, sometimes the next day, or a week later, or a month later: "I would not want to have a baby in the hospital. I don't care if we have insurance next time. If we have any more babies we'll have a homebirth again."
Those are some of my favorite words, and these clients have a special place carved out in my heart. It shows a special kind of courage to move into an uncomfortable place and embrace it, as mothers who would have preferred hospital birth have to do in order to have a homebirth. And it shows that, while I wouldn't push anyone to have a homebirth, it truly can be the gold standard of maternity care not only for "natural birth types" but for anyone.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Childcare
I've said it before, I'll say it again: childcare for the kids is the hardest part of apprenticeship for me. I don't regret starting while they were so young, but for those who are interested in becoming a midwife and have young children, you have been warned.
Right now I am looking for full-time childcare for my kids from January-June, and this is the first time I have ever needed full-time. I feel extremely fortunate because it means that I am going to get a ton of experience, and six months isn't too long in the grand scheme of things. I also have flexible kids who absolutely love people, new or well-established in their lives. Still, one of the advantages of midwifery as a career path was the ability to limit my own workload in the long run, and while I'm perfectly willing to work my tail off as an apprentice, I'm sure I'll be glad to have more time with my kids after this intense phase I have coming up.
Anyway, to return to the point, today I got a response regarding my childcare job posting from a woman who gave me some references. One of the names, given as the mother of a 6 month old for whom the applicant had babysat, sounded familiar and I googled her. Her facebook profile popped up and I started looking to see whether I knew her. As it turns out, she does not have a six month old. She is, in fact, 9 months pregnant with her first child. And facebook friends with my applicant.
So, this lady wants to care for my kids but isn't honest enough to say, "here's a personal reference, she's a friend who can tell you what a great person I am but I haven't worked for her" but is willing to get a friend to lie for her and pose as a client. Sigh. I'm glad this friend didn't know about facebook privacy settings. And, I'll be googling all my applicants AND their references from now on.
Right now I am looking for full-time childcare for my kids from January-June, and this is the first time I have ever needed full-time. I feel extremely fortunate because it means that I am going to get a ton of experience, and six months isn't too long in the grand scheme of things. I also have flexible kids who absolutely love people, new or well-established in their lives. Still, one of the advantages of midwifery as a career path was the ability to limit my own workload in the long run, and while I'm perfectly willing to work my tail off as an apprentice, I'm sure I'll be glad to have more time with my kids after this intense phase I have coming up.
Anyway, to return to the point, today I got a response regarding my childcare job posting from a woman who gave me some references. One of the names, given as the mother of a 6 month old for whom the applicant had babysat, sounded familiar and I googled her. Her facebook profile popped up and I started looking to see whether I knew her. As it turns out, she does not have a six month old. She is, in fact, 9 months pregnant with her first child. And facebook friends with my applicant.
So, this lady wants to care for my kids but isn't honest enough to say, "here's a personal reference, she's a friend who can tell you what a great person I am but I haven't worked for her" but is willing to get a friend to lie for her and pose as a client. Sigh. I'm glad this friend didn't know about facebook privacy settings. And, I'll be googling all my applicants AND their references from now on.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Roald Dahl only wrote so many books.
I love Roald Dahl. I loved his books when I was a kid, and I love them even more now that I'm a mom with kids who need high reading levels with appropriate content. Fantastic Mr. Fox is one of his shorter books, and the reading level that is listed online is 4.9, end of 4th grade.
Kessa is reading it to me. She turned 5 in August. She's not reading it because I'm making her, she's reading it because she wanted to. She's not reading the words without understanding the context - she's reading with inflection, correcting missed words based on context, laughing at the appropriate parts, and can tell me what's going on in her own words any time I ask. She won't usually read chapter books out loud to me, so I was shocked; I had no idea she was capable of this level.
When I talk about how unusually bright these kids are, most people don't understand that I'm not bragging, I'm worried. The ones who do understand THAT I'm worried mostly don't understand WHY I'm worried. We live in a more-is-better society, and so higher achievement = smarter = more-is-better, right? Not always. Here are some of the issues surrounding giftedness (for the kids and for their parents).
1) Appropriate content. Roald Dahl only wrote so many books. It's an ongoing process finding books at the right reading level, with content that is interesting and inoffensive for their maturity level.
2) Another kind of exceptionality. Giftedness is often thought of as the normal brain made faster or bigger, but in reality, gifted children's brains work differently, just as children with learning disabilities are wired differently. (Dual exceptionalities are common - children then have a learning disability in one area and are considered gifted in another.) The difference between a disability and a gift is that the former makes it more difficult to perform a function valued by our society, and the latter makes it easier to perform said function.
3) Ill-equipped public schools. We spend 10 times as much money on children whose exceptionalities make them low-performing than on those whose exceptionalities make them high-performing. On the surface, it makes sense to help the kids who need the most help, but our resources should help each child reach his or her potential. "No child left behind" should never equal "no child allowed ahead," yet it does. Even those districts which still offer programs for gifted kids often do not understand issue #2; their programs are simply fast-track normal programs, which, like grade-skipping, reduces boredom for the accelerated learner but does not allow the gifted child's brain to use its unusual pathways. Programs that truly meet the needs of gifted children are rare.
4) Social difficulties. Gifted kids don't fit in with children their own age. Their brains often don't include a bunch of social graces. They are often more mature in some facets of emotional development, yet highly sensitive, and more able to relate to adults or older children than their own peers. Yet they are often immature in enough ways to not be able to smoothly pass as older. The literature says that gifted children usually do better socially when they skip grades than when they don't; anecdotally it appears that either way, they fare worse than their peers of the same age or of their new grade.
5) Parenting challenges. In addition to the above issues surrounding a child's education and social integration, you get to have deep, thought-provoking conversations. These are usually fun and are the moments that you are proud of your unusual children. Even so, you do occasionally debate whether you might rather your child was content with your initial answers to her basic questions about the birds and the bees when she was five, rather than prodding you into a discussion of vasectomy at the age of six and the "Turkey Baster" conversation at the age of seven.
You can bet that I'm glad these are the challenges for my family. I wouldn't replace them with ill health or an exceptionality on the other side of the spectrum. Yet they are real challenges, and when my 5 year old read me a 4th grade book, I was impressed, and also got tears in my eyes. Tears knowing the difficulties she will face because she is different, recognizing the effort I will need to put in to her education, acknowledging my responsibilities in getting her needs met.
Kessa is reading it to me. She turned 5 in August. She's not reading it because I'm making her, she's reading it because she wanted to. She's not reading the words without understanding the context - she's reading with inflection, correcting missed words based on context, laughing at the appropriate parts, and can tell me what's going on in her own words any time I ask. She won't usually read chapter books out loud to me, so I was shocked; I had no idea she was capable of this level.
When I talk about how unusually bright these kids are, most people don't understand that I'm not bragging, I'm worried. The ones who do understand THAT I'm worried mostly don't understand WHY I'm worried. We live in a more-is-better society, and so higher achievement = smarter = more-is-better, right? Not always. Here are some of the issues surrounding giftedness (for the kids and for their parents).
1) Appropriate content. Roald Dahl only wrote so many books. It's an ongoing process finding books at the right reading level, with content that is interesting and inoffensive for their maturity level.
2) Another kind of exceptionality. Giftedness is often thought of as the normal brain made faster or bigger, but in reality, gifted children's brains work differently, just as children with learning disabilities are wired differently. (Dual exceptionalities are common - children then have a learning disability in one area and are considered gifted in another.) The difference between a disability and a gift is that the former makes it more difficult to perform a function valued by our society, and the latter makes it easier to perform said function.
3) Ill-equipped public schools. We spend 10 times as much money on children whose exceptionalities make them low-performing than on those whose exceptionalities make them high-performing. On the surface, it makes sense to help the kids who need the most help, but our resources should help each child reach his or her potential. "No child left behind" should never equal "no child allowed ahead," yet it does. Even those districts which still offer programs for gifted kids often do not understand issue #2; their programs are simply fast-track normal programs, which, like grade-skipping, reduces boredom for the accelerated learner but does not allow the gifted child's brain to use its unusual pathways. Programs that truly meet the needs of gifted children are rare.
4) Social difficulties. Gifted kids don't fit in with children their own age. Their brains often don't include a bunch of social graces. They are often more mature in some facets of emotional development, yet highly sensitive, and more able to relate to adults or older children than their own peers. Yet they are often immature in enough ways to not be able to smoothly pass as older. The literature says that gifted children usually do better socially when they skip grades than when they don't; anecdotally it appears that either way, they fare worse than their peers of the same age or of their new grade.
5) Parenting challenges. In addition to the above issues surrounding a child's education and social integration, you get to have deep, thought-provoking conversations. These are usually fun and are the moments that you are proud of your unusual children. Even so, you do occasionally debate whether you might rather your child was content with your initial answers to her basic questions about the birds and the bees when she was five, rather than prodding you into a discussion of vasectomy at the age of six and the "Turkey Baster" conversation at the age of seven.
You can bet that I'm glad these are the challenges for my family. I wouldn't replace them with ill health or an exceptionality on the other side of the spectrum. Yet they are real challenges, and when my 5 year old read me a 4th grade book, I was impressed, and also got tears in my eyes. Tears knowing the difficulties she will face because she is different, recognizing the effort I will need to put in to her education, acknowledging my responsibilities in getting her needs met.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
They're too smart for my own good.
K: "Treat please."
Me: "You can have one if you can spell that."
K: "T-R-E-A-T P-L-E-A-S-E"
Me: "You did it! So what do you want to eat?"
K: "Pumpkin pie."
Me: "Hmmm... you can have it if you can spell it!"
K: "P-U-M-P-K-I-N P-I-E. Did I do it???"
Me: [OMGmyfiveyearoldcanspellpumpkinandtreatandplease.]
For the record, I was going to give her the pumpkin pie just for trying to spell it. I'm not THAT mean.
E: "Eeeewwwwww, that stinks!!!"
Me: "Yep, we're in the middle of nowhere. It smells like that in some rural places because of all the cows."
E: "Mom, I am so glad we live in suburbia!"
D: (points to spider) "PIE!"
Me: "Yep, that's a spider."
D: "Dada."
Me: "Dad's not here, so we can't show him the spider."
D: "Dada pie."
Me: "Ohhhh, you mean that's a daddy long legs spider. Yes, yes it is."
D: "Me."
Me: "You want the spider?"
D: "No. Ouds me."
Me: "Oh, the spider will hurt you, I get it."
D: "Dada pie ouds me."
Me: "It's not a good idea to touch spiders. Don't touch it and it won't hurt you."
D: "Dada ouds dada pie."
Me: "You want Daddy to kill the spider?"
D: "Yeah, yeah, yeaaaaah."
Me: "Well, dad's not here, but maybe when he comes home."
Me: "You can have one if you can spell that."
K: "T-R-E-A-T P-L-E-A-S-E"
Me: "You did it! So what do you want to eat?"
K: "Pumpkin pie."
Me: "Hmmm... you can have it if you can spell it!"
K: "P-U-M-P-K-I-N P-I-E. Did I do it???"
Me: [OMGmyfiveyearoldcanspellpumpkinandtreatandplease.]
For the record, I was going to give her the pumpkin pie just for trying to spell it. I'm not THAT mean.
E: "Eeeewwwwww, that stinks!!!"
Me: "Yep, we're in the middle of nowhere. It smells like that in some rural places because of all the cows."
E: "Mom, I am so glad we live in suburbia!"
D: (points to spider) "PIE!"
Me: "Yep, that's a spider."
D: "Dada."
Me: "Dad's not here, so we can't show him the spider."
D: "Dada pie."
Me: "Ohhhh, you mean that's a daddy long legs spider. Yes, yes it is."
D: "Me."
Me: "You want the spider?"
D: "No. Ouds me."
Me: "Oh, the spider will hurt you, I get it."
D: "Dada pie ouds me."
Me: "It's not a good idea to touch spiders. Don't touch it and it won't hurt you."
D: "Dada ouds dada pie."
Me: "You want Daddy to kill the spider?"
D: "Yeah, yeah, yeaaaaah."
Me: "Well, dad's not here, but maybe when he comes home."
Thanksgiving
I love Thanksgiving. It's the one guaranteed time per year that my extended family comes together. We're all nutty and we are truly blessed to enjoy each others company in a way I know to be rare. Everyone gets along with everyone, and we have a blast.
This year, I came home with no blackmail video. I was there without Scott, so I had more responsibility for the kids than usual. (I say "more" rather than "total" because my parents and aunts and even younger cousins did help out. They rock.) I can't blame it on that, totally, though. It was our first Thanksgiving since my grandpa died, and I just wanted to look around and soak it in a little. Our family.
We laughed as hard as we always do - although I don't think Aunt Nancy peed her pants, so I guess we didn't quite reach maximum hilarity, or maybe she just wasn't there for the funniest bits. We didn't play darn or poker, or finish the 1500 piece puzzle. We did drink gewurztraminer, Martinelli's, finish the fudge before the dinner leftovers, and make even faster work of the chocolate liqueurs. My girls tagged after their older girl cousins and Donovan learned 4 new names and made it clear that his favorite new buddy was my 13 year old cousin Andrew (ayyew). We teased the young (and the not-so-young!) about boyfriends and girlfriends, retold the favorite family stories, ribbed each other at every chance.
It was just like always, exactly the family my grandparents created. They're gone but they're always here, in our playfulness, our offbeat humor, our love for each other.
This year, I came home with no blackmail video. I was there without Scott, so I had more responsibility for the kids than usual. (I say "more" rather than "total" because my parents and aunts and even younger cousins did help out. They rock.) I can't blame it on that, totally, though. It was our first Thanksgiving since my grandpa died, and I just wanted to look around and soak it in a little. Our family.
We laughed as hard as we always do - although I don't think Aunt Nancy peed her pants, so I guess we didn't quite reach maximum hilarity, or maybe she just wasn't there for the funniest bits. We didn't play darn or poker, or finish the 1500 piece puzzle. We did drink gewurztraminer, Martinelli's, finish the fudge before the dinner leftovers, and make even faster work of the chocolate liqueurs. My girls tagged after their older girl cousins and Donovan learned 4 new names and made it clear that his favorite new buddy was my 13 year old cousin Andrew (ayyew). We teased the young (and the not-so-young!) about boyfriends and girlfriends, retold the favorite family stories, ribbed each other at every chance.
It was just like always, exactly the family my grandparents created. They're gone but they're always here, in our playfulness, our offbeat humor, our love for each other.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Vomitus virusus
Saturday evening as I was walking out of a lovely baby shower, Scott called me: "Donovan's sick; he threw up." Scott put him to bed, he slept decently, considering, but woke up the next morning throwing up again. Just a few times, then stopped and seemed in pretty decent spirits, so I left him with Scott again while I took the girls to Sunday School and stayed for a parent education session, then to Eliana's soccer year-end party, then on to a 7th birthday party for a dear friend's daughter (who happens to be one of Eliana's favorite people). I checked in with Scott a few times, and he said Donovan was doing much better. After about 7 hours out, I was very happy to go home and nurse my boy, who was also very happy to see me.
We sat on the couch, nursed, and just as I said, "Do you want the other side?" he nodded, latched off, and threw up all over me. Soaked me down to the skivvies. It was very clear that Scott had been feeding him normal food far beyond the BRATY diet. Ew.
The girls and I needed dinner and there was nothing reasonable in the house, so I sent Scott to the store to bring home sandwiches and some coconut water for the boy. He'd had most of the two bottles of pedialyte that were in the house, and he loooves coconut water. (The triple O vowel is a very special vowel that you may not have been taught in school.) Right before he left, D threw up again, but fortunately this time I had a towel handy.
While Scott was out, D cried, and cried. I started worrying. Now he had a low fever, where there had been none before. He said, "Pee. Pee." when there was no pee, and said, "Ow," pointing to his crotch and belly. It was past urgent care hours on a Sunday, so I did what any reasonable parent who doesn't want to spend $1000+ clogging up the ER unnecessarily would do. (Did I mention we have a $6000 per person insurance deductible? Did I mention that as of December 1 it will only be $250?) I called my inside help - Dr. Aunt Katie, my sister in law, my phone triage doc. She told me what would warrant an immediate trip to the ER and I decided to stay home, as those symptoms weren't quite presenting.
D had another decent night. In the morning, he either nursed or cried. He still made eye contact with me and did communicate a little bit, so this was looking a lot better than when I rushed Eliana to the hospital, but it was definitely time to see the doc. I got an appt with a ped we hadn't seen before (ours is out on medical leave!?), and she was great. She was worried about him, said he was on the verge of needing to go to the ER to get hydrated. She gave us until 1:30 for him to perk up or she wanted us to go to the ER. She also sent us home with a stick-on pee collecting bag (oh fun memories from E's hospitalization). The ped said to push pedialyte bigtime and to feed him. He did take some yogurt and initially drank about half a container of pedialyte, but by 11 he stopped eating and drinking altogether. He only wanted to nurse, but he was not swallowing, so I know he wasn't transferring milk. When I realized that nothing was going in and therefore nothing was going to help him get better, I decided it was time to go to the ER.
Right then, though, he fell asleep, and I thought, hmmm, maybe a rest will help. I had about an hour until our 1:30 deadline and thought that would be a good amount of sleep. At 1, the nurse from the ped's office called to check in and agreed that it was time to go to the ER, so I woke him up and we headed over.
They would not let me nurse him until after taking his temperature. OK wait wait wait. I totally get how if you are going to have your temperature taken orally, and you have something cold or hot to drink, that it would mess with the temperature reading. But we're talking 98.6 degree boob that is not transferring milk, and then they took his temperature rectally. Now, obviously, I could've popped the boob in no matter what they said, but when your kid is that sick, hoop-jumping in order to get the treatment you need is just kind of what you do. At that point it is not about figuring out that this might be a stupid idea - this thought process didn't happen until I was actually walking out of the ER after it was all over. So, people who know more about physiology and illness and hospital procedures than I do, (Dr. Aunt Katie?) if there was a good reason for me and the whole ER to have to listen to him screaming, please let me know what it was. Because from where I'm sitting, it seems like a hospital protocol lost in translation and being enforced when it didn't actually pertain to our situation.
Anyway, cry cry cry because I'm not nursing him, and as I've established, it was either one or the other all day (it was now about 2pm). The nurse was trying to get a pulse ox on him and it wasn't working, and when I said for the third time since meeting her, "if you just take his temp and let me nurse him he'll hold still," she finally switched to taking his temp. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #1.
Nurse nurse nurse. Pulse ox on the ear, he pulled it off, I held his arms, no tears because we're nursing, it goes back on, success. Nurse nurse nurse.
Two nurses came in to set up for IV placement, with a blood draw, and a catheterization to rule out bladder infection. They asked me to lay him flat for the IV placement, and I sang into his ear while the nurse put a tourniquet on his arm and he cried. I laid my body across his legs, held the arm the nurses weren't using, and felt just a little bit thankful that I had been pregnant and unable to be in the room for Eliana's x-rays during her hospitalization, then guilty, then thankful that she had been so out of it while she had her IV's placed that she didn't cry or even show any signs of registering it, then guiltier. The nurse remarked how strong he was. Thankful that he was not in bad shape like Eliana had been. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #2.
After the IV was placed, the blood was drawn from it, and as they went to finish taping and put on a splint to keep his arm straight (which didn't work), I let go of him, leaned over the table with my shirt up, and let him nurse. The nurses were amazed. Wonder if they'd ever seen a nursing two year old before, let alone a mother willing to contort herself for the sake of ne. A bit more time passed and they weren't going for the catheter, so I asked if I could sit back down with him as, contortionist nursing or no, that would be more comfortable. They said they were going to wait for some of the fluids to go in, so I settled in. Nurse nurse nurse. He finally fell asleep.
Just in time for the nurse to come in for the catheterization. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #3.
Over fast, back to nursing. In and out of sleep. Two boluses of fluid. All tests back normal. Doc said we could go home. The nurses came in to take out the IV, and he woke up a new boy. Talked to me about the clocks on the wall, about wanting the splint off, about going home and seeing Kiki and Lala. On our way out of the ER, he said, "Moon up," and on the drive to pick up his sisters from our friend Sharon aka angel's house, he sang the Laurie Berkner Band's "Moon, moon, moon." All I could say was, "Oh, I missed you so much. It's so nice to see you."
Overall, we were treated very well. This is my second ER experience at ValleyCare and the nurses and doctors have been respectful and have provided an appropriate level of care each time.
All day I thought about how lucky we are to live in a place with clean running water, with pedialyte and coconut water available every mile, with IV fluids available. In other places, dehydration kills toddlers regularly. We are so lucky.
We sat on the couch, nursed, and just as I said, "Do you want the other side?" he nodded, latched off, and threw up all over me. Soaked me down to the skivvies. It was very clear that Scott had been feeding him normal food far beyond the BRATY diet. Ew.
The girls and I needed dinner and there was nothing reasonable in the house, so I sent Scott to the store to bring home sandwiches and some coconut water for the boy. He'd had most of the two bottles of pedialyte that were in the house, and he loooves coconut water. (The triple O vowel is a very special vowel that you may not have been taught in school.) Right before he left, D threw up again, but fortunately this time I had a towel handy.
While Scott was out, D cried, and cried. I started worrying. Now he had a low fever, where there had been none before. He said, "Pee. Pee." when there was no pee, and said, "Ow," pointing to his crotch and belly. It was past urgent care hours on a Sunday, so I did what any reasonable parent who doesn't want to spend $1000+ clogging up the ER unnecessarily would do. (Did I mention we have a $6000 per person insurance deductible? Did I mention that as of December 1 it will only be $250?) I called my inside help - Dr. Aunt Katie, my sister in law, my phone triage doc. She told me what would warrant an immediate trip to the ER and I decided to stay home, as those symptoms weren't quite presenting.
D had another decent night. In the morning, he either nursed or cried. He still made eye contact with me and did communicate a little bit, so this was looking a lot better than when I rushed Eliana to the hospital, but it was definitely time to see the doc. I got an appt with a ped we hadn't seen before (ours is out on medical leave!?), and she was great. She was worried about him, said he was on the verge of needing to go to the ER to get hydrated. She gave us until 1:30 for him to perk up or she wanted us to go to the ER. She also sent us home with a stick-on pee collecting bag (oh fun memories from E's hospitalization). The ped said to push pedialyte bigtime and to feed him. He did take some yogurt and initially drank about half a container of pedialyte, but by 11 he stopped eating and drinking altogether. He only wanted to nurse, but he was not swallowing, so I know he wasn't transferring milk. When I realized that nothing was going in and therefore nothing was going to help him get better, I decided it was time to go to the ER.
Right then, though, he fell asleep, and I thought, hmmm, maybe a rest will help. I had about an hour until our 1:30 deadline and thought that would be a good amount of sleep. At 1, the nurse from the ped's office called to check in and agreed that it was time to go to the ER, so I woke him up and we headed over.
They would not let me nurse him until after taking his temperature. OK wait wait wait. I totally get how if you are going to have your temperature taken orally, and you have something cold or hot to drink, that it would mess with the temperature reading. But we're talking 98.6 degree boob that is not transferring milk, and then they took his temperature rectally. Now, obviously, I could've popped the boob in no matter what they said, but when your kid is that sick, hoop-jumping in order to get the treatment you need is just kind of what you do. At that point it is not about figuring out that this might be a stupid idea - this thought process didn't happen until I was actually walking out of the ER after it was all over. So, people who know more about physiology and illness and hospital procedures than I do, (Dr. Aunt Katie?) if there was a good reason for me and the whole ER to have to listen to him screaming, please let me know what it was. Because from where I'm sitting, it seems like a hospital protocol lost in translation and being enforced when it didn't actually pertain to our situation.
Anyway, cry cry cry because I'm not nursing him, and as I've established, it was either one or the other all day (it was now about 2pm). The nurse was trying to get a pulse ox on him and it wasn't working, and when I said for the third time since meeting her, "if you just take his temp and let me nurse him he'll hold still," she finally switched to taking his temp. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #1.
Nurse nurse nurse. Pulse ox on the ear, he pulled it off, I held his arms, no tears because we're nursing, it goes back on, success. Nurse nurse nurse.
Two nurses came in to set up for IV placement, with a blood draw, and a catheterization to rule out bladder infection. They asked me to lay him flat for the IV placement, and I sang into his ear while the nurse put a tourniquet on his arm and he cried. I laid my body across his legs, held the arm the nurses weren't using, and felt just a little bit thankful that I had been pregnant and unable to be in the room for Eliana's x-rays during her hospitalization, then guilty, then thankful that she had been so out of it while she had her IV's placed that she didn't cry or even show any signs of registering it, then guiltier. The nurse remarked how strong he was. Thankful that he was not in bad shape like Eliana had been. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #2.
After the IV was placed, the blood was drawn from it, and as they went to finish taping and put on a splint to keep his arm straight (which didn't work), I let go of him, leaned over the table with my shirt up, and let him nurse. The nurses were amazed. Wonder if they'd ever seen a nursing two year old before, let alone a mother willing to contort herself for the sake of ne. A bit more time passed and they weren't going for the catheter, so I asked if I could sit back down with him as, contortionist nursing or no, that would be more comfortable. They said they were going to wait for some of the fluids to go in, so I settled in. Nurse nurse nurse. He finally fell asleep.
Just in time for the nurse to come in for the catheterization. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #3.
Over fast, back to nursing. In and out of sleep. Two boluses of fluid. All tests back normal. Doc said we could go home. The nurses came in to take out the IV, and he woke up a new boy. Talked to me about the clocks on the wall, about wanting the splint off, about going home and seeing Kiki and Lala. On our way out of the ER, he said, "Moon up," and on the drive to pick up his sisters from our friend Sharon aka angel's house, he sang the Laurie Berkner Band's "Moon, moon, moon." All I could say was, "Oh, I missed you so much. It's so nice to see you."
Overall, we were treated very well. This is my second ER experience at ValleyCare and the nurses and doctors have been respectful and have provided an appropriate level of care each time.
All day I thought about how lucky we are to live in a place with clean running water, with pedialyte and coconut water available every mile, with IV fluids available. In other places, dehydration kills toddlers regularly. We are so lucky.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Activism
Wonderful article about how the desire to help others is not a desire to put others down, it's a desire to lift them up.
http://dailymomtra.com/2010/11/activism-isnt-about-being-better-than-you/
http://dailymomtra.com/2010/11/activism-isnt-about-being-better-than-you/
Thursday, November 11, 2010
(teen)
I thought sevenTEEN year olds were supposed to sneak out their bedroom windows, not seven year olds.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The latest...
...from Eliana: "Mom, I can be a midwife right away when I grow up, without having to go to school first, because I've learned so much from you, and I was there when Donovan was born."
...from Kesenia: (a new song comes on the radio) "Mommy, are you sure this song is appropriate for me?"
...from Donovan: "ayyy, ohhh, ayyy, ohhh" (Hip hop hooray... with arms overhead and everything)
...from Kesenia: (a new song comes on the radio) "Mommy, are you sure this song is appropriate for me?"
...from Donovan: "ayyy, ohhh, ayyy, ohhh" (Hip hop hooray... with arms overhead and everything)
Taco Bell
I'm not a fast food person; we generally only eat it on road trips. A few days ago, however, I wasn't near home and had only a few dollars cash in my pocket - no credit cards. So, I took the 3 kids to Taco Bell. They behaved great, in my opinion. The girls sat still, ate nicely, spoke with appropriate volume. Donovan also held his volume and, although he tried to make a break for it once while we were in line, he settled down at the table. After a while, though, he was full, and got down. He started swinging his chair back and forth, which caused a slight "thwunk" sound. I told him to stop and get in his chair, told him I'd have to come get him to stop and put him in his chair if he didn't do it now, and then I went and did it, saying "OK, I'm going to sit you down now."
A very rude voice comes from behind me: "Yes. Thank you."
I turn around and see a man in a business suit, old enough to have grown children if not grandchildren, glaring at me.
Sir. You are in TACO BELL. You are sitting in a plastic chair at a plastic table eating a meal that likely cost you under $3. My children are behaving better than many I have seen in real restaurants. If you don't want to be around children, find a posh place to eat, or eat at your desk. Do not act like I am the inappropriate one because I dared to bring my children in public, and one of them actually acted like a child for one minute out of fifteen. In, did I mention - Taco Bell.
A very rude voice comes from behind me: "Yes. Thank you."
I turn around and see a man in a business suit, old enough to have grown children if not grandchildren, glaring at me.
Sir. You are in TACO BELL. You are sitting in a plastic chair at a plastic table eating a meal that likely cost you under $3. My children are behaving better than many I have seen in real restaurants. If you don't want to be around children, find a posh place to eat, or eat at your desk. Do not act like I am the inappropriate one because I dared to bring my children in public, and one of them actually acted like a child for one minute out of fifteen. In, did I mention - Taco Bell.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Positive reinforcement
Donovan poops on the potty, and I think, well, he's old enough for some positive reinforcement, and I go get him a sticker. Before I get a diaper on him, he sticks it to the end of his penis.
I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking this is hilarious. And, fabulous! He's maybe putting two and two together and getting that the sticker is for achievements having to do with his nethers.
But, then he tries to pull it off, and unfortunately this is a very sticky sticker. He cries, I put him in the sink and start running water over it, he keeps crying and trying to pull it off, I keep running water over it, he stops trying to pull it off and starts batting my hand away after I think it's soaked enough to come off easily, it finally comes off, and... there goes my positive reinforcement.
I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking this is hilarious. And, fabulous! He's maybe putting two and two together and getting that the sticker is for achievements having to do with his nethers.
But, then he tries to pull it off, and unfortunately this is a very sticky sticker. He cries, I put him in the sink and start running water over it, he keeps crying and trying to pull it off, I keep running water over it, he stops trying to pull it off and starts batting my hand away after I think it's soaked enough to come off easily, it finally comes off, and... there goes my positive reinforcement.
Year of Wonders (contains spoilers)
I love books that are so vivid I can smell the environment, that I get completely lost inside, that become so real to me sometimes I forget I'm reading fiction. I just read Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks, and this was one of those books for me. Because of that, I rank it among the best books I've ever read. And part of me wishes I hadn't read it. Not now, anyway.
I won't touch Beloved either. I read it in high school and it ranks among my favorite books, but I'm not sure I'll ever read it again, now that I'm a mother. And I'm not sure I'd recommend Year of Wonders to mothers. (In fact, if you're reading this and you're in the first year postpartum, I ask you to abstain from reading it until after your baby's first birthday. Second birthday if you had any kind of PPMD.)
The reason I am not sure it was good for me/mothers is the combination of that vivid prose with the topic at hand. I knew it was going to be a dark but hopeful novel from the description: a plague-stricken village decides to quarantine itself to avoid spreading the disease. What the description left out is that the heroine, who was described as a housemaid, is a widow whose children are the 4th and 5th plague victims in the village. The way their lives and deaths were painted by Brooks will haunt me for a long time.
I felt I would have liked the warning that I would cry Where the Red Fern Grows style three times within the first third of the book.
And yet, within that, was the most beautiful depiction of motherhood and of a mother's love that I have yet to read. I'm not sure I would take that away to get these fictional dead children out of my head.
Other pieces of the book were brutal as well, but less traumatic to me.
Another interesting part of the book for me came when the village midwives/healers are killed as witches, and later, reluctantly, the heroine becomes the midwife. It made me realize that I have always been the kind of girl who would have been burnt at the stake 400 years ago: I'm a skeptic, I see things in shades of grey instead of black and white, and I've always been a bit different. Prime recipe for trial by drowning. Perhaps that is part of why I'm less daunted than others to be a midwife - a profession that is still on the fringes, still suspect, still more likely than others to get me burnt at the now-metaphoric stake (lose my license, lose everything in court, and thankfully no longer in CA but still in 24 states, get thrown in jail). I also noticed for the first time that, like my parents but few others in today's world, I am doing the same thing with my life that I would have done 400 years ago. Pretty cool!
The descriptions of birth that were in the book were overdramatized and unrealistic. I do believe that birth was more dangerous in Europe in 1660 than in most locales in 2010, but 3 out of 4 births in this book were near-death situations that were resolved in unlikely fashion. (Woman with severe blood loss to the point of losing consciousness before the baby is born, has a frank breech baby which won't come out, which is turned by internal maneuvers, comes easily once vertex, squalls immediately, and both survive. Ya may have just crossed from improbable to unbelievable, yo.) I'm working hard to forgive this aspect of the book. It's hard to imagine what the scope of a midwife would have entailed in another time, what she may have resorted to in desperation to save a mother or baby, and I wouldn't expect an author to be able to imagine in realistic terms - even if she consulted with an obstetrician, OB's likely have pretty backwards ideas of what midwives of old did. Most of them have backwards ideas of what midwives do currently!
Overall, I'd recommend this book highly to anyone who does not yet have children. To parents and especially mothers of young children, you've been warned as I wish I had been.
I won't touch Beloved either. I read it in high school and it ranks among my favorite books, but I'm not sure I'll ever read it again, now that I'm a mother. And I'm not sure I'd recommend Year of Wonders to mothers. (In fact, if you're reading this and you're in the first year postpartum, I ask you to abstain from reading it until after your baby's first birthday. Second birthday if you had any kind of PPMD.)
The reason I am not sure it was good for me/mothers is the combination of that vivid prose with the topic at hand. I knew it was going to be a dark but hopeful novel from the description: a plague-stricken village decides to quarantine itself to avoid spreading the disease. What the description left out is that the heroine, who was described as a housemaid, is a widow whose children are the 4th and 5th plague victims in the village. The way their lives and deaths were painted by Brooks will haunt me for a long time.
I felt I would have liked the warning that I would cry Where the Red Fern Grows style three times within the first third of the book.
And yet, within that, was the most beautiful depiction of motherhood and of a mother's love that I have yet to read. I'm not sure I would take that away to get these fictional dead children out of my head.
Other pieces of the book were brutal as well, but less traumatic to me.
Another interesting part of the book for me came when the village midwives/healers are killed as witches, and later, reluctantly, the heroine becomes the midwife. It made me realize that I have always been the kind of girl who would have been burnt at the stake 400 years ago: I'm a skeptic, I see things in shades of grey instead of black and white, and I've always been a bit different. Prime recipe for trial by drowning. Perhaps that is part of why I'm less daunted than others to be a midwife - a profession that is still on the fringes, still suspect, still more likely than others to get me burnt at the now-metaphoric stake (lose my license, lose everything in court, and thankfully no longer in CA but still in 24 states, get thrown in jail). I also noticed for the first time that, like my parents but few others in today's world, I am doing the same thing with my life that I would have done 400 years ago. Pretty cool!
The descriptions of birth that were in the book were overdramatized and unrealistic. I do believe that birth was more dangerous in Europe in 1660 than in most locales in 2010, but 3 out of 4 births in this book were near-death situations that were resolved in unlikely fashion. (Woman with severe blood loss to the point of losing consciousness before the baby is born, has a frank breech baby which won't come out, which is turned by internal maneuvers, comes easily once vertex, squalls immediately, and both survive. Ya may have just crossed from improbable to unbelievable, yo.) I'm working hard to forgive this aspect of the book. It's hard to imagine what the scope of a midwife would have entailed in another time, what she may have resorted to in desperation to save a mother or baby, and I wouldn't expect an author to be able to imagine in realistic terms - even if she consulted with an obstetrician, OB's likely have pretty backwards ideas of what midwives of old did. Most of them have backwards ideas of what midwives do currently!
Overall, I'd recommend this book highly to anyone who does not yet have children. To parents and especially mothers of young children, you've been warned as I wish I had been.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Earnest, now: American postpartum depression
On October 1, 2010, Kristi Couvillon-Wise committed suicide as a result of postpartum depression. I didn't know her, but it cut me.
I take it very personally when women are knocked down or even let down by what is considered normal in our society. And while postpartum depression crosses all cultures, we have a unique set of variables here in the US.
(Note that when I say "we" and "us" I am talking about the predominant culture of both laypeople and obstetricians. I am not talking about myself, my community of birth professionals, or midwives in general. That "we" does much better, which I'll address toward the end of this post.)
We have high rates of risk factors: cesareans, twins and higher order multiples, cessation of breastfeeding, among others. We have competitive mothering and the desire to continue the illusion of perfection to others (see earlier post). But what came to mind for me the most is a refrain that Mason tells our pregnant mothers frequently: "In this culture, we often worry about the wrong things." Usually she's talking about adequate rest, stress reduction, and nutrition. Reading about Kristi's death, I realized how much it applies to postpartum depression.
We worry about birth emergencies that are not truly emergencies. We also worry about birth emergencies that are extraordinarily rare. We worry about harming our babies with sushi or by lying on our backs. But how often does our society pay attention to the most common complication of the childbearing year?
Can I say that again... the most common complication of the childbearing year. Postpartum depression is the primary complication and it deserves our attention. Women deserve our attention. Mothers deserve care providers and a culture at large that work for prevention, that recognize the signs, that destigmatize postpartum mood disorders, and that make simple management and more in-depth treatment easy to obtain.
As for midwifery care? (Enter new use of "we" - those maternity care providers, including MD's, who provide the midwifery model of care.) We can not prevent all cases of postpartum depression. We can do a lot. We reduce risk factors by ensuring that cesareans are only used judiciously, by enabling breastfeeding to proceed as best it can, and by emphasizing the importance of social support. We promote self-care for all, which acts as prevention and treatment: adequate sleep and rest, good nutrition, sunlight and fresh air, time to honor the self. We offer superior postpartum care, seeing mothers 3-6 times during a span of time in which mainstream obstetric providers only see a new mother once, and we check in with their emotional well-being, not just their physical healing. We refer to professionals who understand postpartum mood disorders, rather than using a single line of pharmaceutical defense.
For harm to come to a mother, her baby, or both as a result of postpartum depression is, thankfully, rare. Suffering is common, and it's time to stop accepting that and change our society's focus to the benefit of women and babies.
I take it very personally when women are knocked down or even let down by what is considered normal in our society. And while postpartum depression crosses all cultures, we have a unique set of variables here in the US.
(Note that when I say "we" and "us" I am talking about the predominant culture of both laypeople and obstetricians. I am not talking about myself, my community of birth professionals, or midwives in general. That "we" does much better, which I'll address toward the end of this post.)
We have high rates of risk factors: cesareans, twins and higher order multiples, cessation of breastfeeding, among others. We have competitive mothering and the desire to continue the illusion of perfection to others (see earlier post). But what came to mind for me the most is a refrain that Mason tells our pregnant mothers frequently: "In this culture, we often worry about the wrong things." Usually she's talking about adequate rest, stress reduction, and nutrition. Reading about Kristi's death, I realized how much it applies to postpartum depression.
We worry about birth emergencies that are not truly emergencies. We also worry about birth emergencies that are extraordinarily rare. We worry about harming our babies with sushi or by lying on our backs. But how often does our society pay attention to the most common complication of the childbearing year?
Can I say that again... the most common complication of the childbearing year. Postpartum depression is the primary complication and it deserves our attention. Women deserve our attention. Mothers deserve care providers and a culture at large that work for prevention, that recognize the signs, that destigmatize postpartum mood disorders, and that make simple management and more in-depth treatment easy to obtain.
As for midwifery care? (Enter new use of "we" - those maternity care providers, including MD's, who provide the midwifery model of care.) We can not prevent all cases of postpartum depression. We can do a lot. We reduce risk factors by ensuring that cesareans are only used judiciously, by enabling breastfeeding to proceed as best it can, and by emphasizing the importance of social support. We promote self-care for all, which acts as prevention and treatment: adequate sleep and rest, good nutrition, sunlight and fresh air, time to honor the self. We offer superior postpartum care, seeing mothers 3-6 times during a span of time in which mainstream obstetric providers only see a new mother once, and we check in with their emotional well-being, not just their physical healing. We refer to professionals who understand postpartum mood disorders, rather than using a single line of pharmaceutical defense.
For harm to come to a mother, her baby, or both as a result of postpartum depression is, thankfully, rare. Suffering is common, and it's time to stop accepting that and change our society's focus to the benefit of women and babies.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Music
Me: Oh Cecilia, you're breaking my
D: HEART!
Me: You're shaking my confidence daily... oh Cecilia, I'm down on my
D: KNEE!
Me: I'm begging you please to come
D: home. Ho-o-ome. Uh uh uh, ooooooooo Ciiiia ooooooooo.
(translation: makin love in the afternoon with Cecilia up in my bedroom)
Kessa (as "I Will Survive" comes on): "Eliana! Eliana! Look, mom found disco on the radio!"
Eliana (via email): "Mom, guess what? I played betovens 9th sipheney on the piano!"
D: HEART!
Me: You're shaking my confidence daily... oh Cecilia, I'm down on my
D: KNEE!
Me: I'm begging you please to come
D: home. Ho-o-ome. Uh uh uh, ooooooooo Ciiiia ooooooooo.
(translation: makin love in the afternoon with Cecilia up in my bedroom)
Kessa (as "I Will Survive" comes on): "Eliana! Eliana! Look, mom found disco on the radio!"
Eliana (via email): "Mom, guess what? I played betovens 9th sipheney on the piano!"
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Getting real
The thoughtful post about how our society lets down new mothers and babies by focusing on all the wrong things is, indeed, coming.
But I've been stopped in my tracks by the new and suddenly popular blog, Single Dad Laughing. Despite the name, and his usual lighthearted posts, he has written three hearty, soul-searching posts that have gone viral. If you haven't read them, they are all worth reading, but get the tissues out, because at least one is sure to get you.
Memoirs of a Bullied Kid
You Just Broke Your Child. Congratulations.
The Disease Called Perfection
All three made me feel and think deeply.
While I was never popular, I was also never singled out and targeted, so the first wasn't too painful. It is more the nagging feeling that I could have done more for those who were singled out that bothers me through my adult life. I appreciate this post giving tools to adults and children to try to help those who truly suffer at the hands of others.
I had good parents and I am a good parent, so "You Just Broke Your Child" served me as an excellent reminder of how important I am to my children, even in the little ways. That reminder is not only helpful to keep me in line with being there for them, but also to keep me sane when it feels like I am on a hamster wheel of parenthood.
It was "The Disease Called 'Perfection'" that got to me the most. The raw truth to it was staggering. And as someone who has always been harder on myself than anyone else has been on me, it was a painful mirror.
I also live in one of the most competitive areas in, likely, the world: the San Francisco Bay Area. It's just a part of the culture here to keep up appearances. A dear friend - who is from outside of the US, lived nearby for over a year, and is living in another country entirely now - put it this way: "I hadn't seen people clinging to the illusion of perfection on such a scale anywhere before I moved to California."
The post calls on us to be real. I have always agreed with that - we lock ourselves into despair by believing we're alone in it. It's a catch 22, because the shame of admitting it means we won't ever tell someone else they are not alone, and they will never say the same to us. But except in rare instances with close friends, I have not lived up to my ideals. I have not been brave enough to be real. This post spoke to me and tonight I'm going to tell you some real.
If you've read this blog for a long time, you know how much I love my children. You know the cute things they do and say, and how ridiculously smart they are. All this is true. But the reality is there's more.
Real #1:
My babysitter quit without notice two weeks ago. I sobbed. Not because she was a fabulous babysitter - in fact it's been a bit of a relief having her gone - but because this is the 4th time in 3 months that I am looking for childcare, and this is making me feel like a failure as a mother.
Mothers, whether they work or stay home, see it as their responsibility to raise their children. In our society, fathers may parent well, but mothers raise the children; in the same way, mothers may earn money, but the father carries the burden of supporting the family. (I know this is a generalization but it is also the cultural norm and hard to erase from our psyches, even in families that have chosen to have a working mother and stay at home father.) I carry this weight on my shoulders: to take wonderful care of my children, including making sure they are well taken care of while I am not with them, whether that means they are with their dad, another loved one, or a childcare provider.
I am not living up to my own expectations in finding solid childcare for my children. This is the number one stressor in my life right now. It has even made me think about staying home with my kids - as Mason says, women aren't about to stop having babies. But the trade-off would be greater and more stressful: I would miss my work. I would miss out on what I call my "reset button" (the refocusing I do at births and even at prenatal appointments brings me home refreshed and ready to appreciate what a gift my children are to me). I would be vastly disappointed in myself for leaving my apprenticeship. I would resent my kids for driving me away from my calling. I would feel as though I was failing in different ways, some related to parenting and some to self. None of this would be pretty. None of it would serve my kids better than pushing forward with finding them a new childcare situation, to be strong, reframe "failure" into a past mistake and succeed in the future. That is what I need to do, and while I am struggling with the feelings around this, I am hopeful. I am grateful to have a preceptor who also chose to push through her apprenticeship with small children, because she understands how I can be stressed out about it and yet remain dedicated to midwifery.
Real #2:
Read this list: Cognitive distortions
Eliana has every single one. In massive doses.
I've known she was an intense and passionate little girl for a long time. I've read and re-read the definitions of ADD and ADHD, confirming each time that no, that wasn't what was going on. So what was?
This summer, she got in trouble for something - I can't even remember what it was, normal kid disobedience stuff, and I told her to go wait for me in her room... standard discipline in my house, to separate and then reconnect, talking over the issue after reconnecting. This time, however, when I went to reconnect, she said to me, "You don't like me because I'm ugly."
WHAT???
For those who don't know me, I didn't give that to her.
It is one of my highest priorities and perhaps the biggest output of energy in my life to cope with Eliana's huge personality and guide her through her issues without, as Single Dad Laughing would say, breaking her. She is an incredible kid and it would be horrible to subdue her - to destroy not only the parts of her that hurt herself and others, but the beauty and vibrance that is at her core.
And here's your real: I don't know what to do, and I'm terrified. After finding this list of cognitive distortion, I'm definitely up for counseling, but I don't know how well it's going to work for her. I don't know how to love her any better than I do, I don't know how to help her feel better about herself, more or less discipline ain't gonna help. And here's what scares me the most: cognitive distortion is a prime recipe for depression (if not a symptom of it!) and she hasn't even hit puberty yet. This needs to be ameliorated before hormones are thrown in the mix.
Real #3: Today, I would have really liked not to be the mom. I love these kids so much, but just for one day, I would have liked not to be the one feeling guilty about using friends for childcare, to not be the one doing the nanny interviews, to not be the one who bears responsibility for getting my wonderful, hurting daughter the guidance she needs to become a well-adjusted adult. I'd love to be the auntie for a day and play and love on these children with all my might and none of the weight of parenthood.
For the record, this is not a plea for help fixing these issues; thankfully, I've got plenty of resources and I'm working on it. For me, right now, help looks like your love, support, friendship. It looks like stability wherever I can get it. It looks like grace and understanding when my bandwidth is taken up. It looks like an open heart that can feel the love I have for you even when it comes in small glimpses.
It IS a plea to listen to Single Dad Laughing and get real. Let down your guard. Let's not all pretend to be perfect. You're lovely the way you are.
But I've been stopped in my tracks by the new and suddenly popular blog, Single Dad Laughing. Despite the name, and his usual lighthearted posts, he has written three hearty, soul-searching posts that have gone viral. If you haven't read them, they are all worth reading, but get the tissues out, because at least one is sure to get you.
Memoirs of a Bullied Kid
You Just Broke Your Child. Congratulations.
The Disease Called Perfection
All three made me feel and think deeply.
While I was never popular, I was also never singled out and targeted, so the first wasn't too painful. It is more the nagging feeling that I could have done more for those who were singled out that bothers me through my adult life. I appreciate this post giving tools to adults and children to try to help those who truly suffer at the hands of others.
I had good parents and I am a good parent, so "You Just Broke Your Child" served me as an excellent reminder of how important I am to my children, even in the little ways. That reminder is not only helpful to keep me in line with being there for them, but also to keep me sane when it feels like I am on a hamster wheel of parenthood.
It was "The Disease Called 'Perfection'" that got to me the most. The raw truth to it was staggering. And as someone who has always been harder on myself than anyone else has been on me, it was a painful mirror.
I also live in one of the most competitive areas in, likely, the world: the San Francisco Bay Area. It's just a part of the culture here to keep up appearances. A dear friend - who is from outside of the US, lived nearby for over a year, and is living in another country entirely now - put it this way: "I hadn't seen people clinging to the illusion of perfection on such a scale anywhere before I moved to California."
The post calls on us to be real. I have always agreed with that - we lock ourselves into despair by believing we're alone in it. It's a catch 22, because the shame of admitting it means we won't ever tell someone else they are not alone, and they will never say the same to us. But except in rare instances with close friends, I have not lived up to my ideals. I have not been brave enough to be real. This post spoke to me and tonight I'm going to tell you some real.
If you've read this blog for a long time, you know how much I love my children. You know the cute things they do and say, and how ridiculously smart they are. All this is true. But the reality is there's more.
Real #1:
My babysitter quit without notice two weeks ago. I sobbed. Not because she was a fabulous babysitter - in fact it's been a bit of a relief having her gone - but because this is the 4th time in 3 months that I am looking for childcare, and this is making me feel like a failure as a mother.
Mothers, whether they work or stay home, see it as their responsibility to raise their children. In our society, fathers may parent well, but mothers raise the children; in the same way, mothers may earn money, but the father carries the burden of supporting the family. (I know this is a generalization but it is also the cultural norm and hard to erase from our psyches, even in families that have chosen to have a working mother and stay at home father.) I carry this weight on my shoulders: to take wonderful care of my children, including making sure they are well taken care of while I am not with them, whether that means they are with their dad, another loved one, or a childcare provider.
I am not living up to my own expectations in finding solid childcare for my children. This is the number one stressor in my life right now. It has even made me think about staying home with my kids - as Mason says, women aren't about to stop having babies. But the trade-off would be greater and more stressful: I would miss my work. I would miss out on what I call my "reset button" (the refocusing I do at births and even at prenatal appointments brings me home refreshed and ready to appreciate what a gift my children are to me). I would be vastly disappointed in myself for leaving my apprenticeship. I would resent my kids for driving me away from my calling. I would feel as though I was failing in different ways, some related to parenting and some to self. None of this would be pretty. None of it would serve my kids better than pushing forward with finding them a new childcare situation, to be strong, reframe "failure" into a past mistake and succeed in the future. That is what I need to do, and while I am struggling with the feelings around this, I am hopeful. I am grateful to have a preceptor who also chose to push through her apprenticeship with small children, because she understands how I can be stressed out about it and yet remain dedicated to midwifery.
Real #2:
Read this list: Cognitive distortions
Eliana has every single one. In massive doses.
I've known she was an intense and passionate little girl for a long time. I've read and re-read the definitions of ADD and ADHD, confirming each time that no, that wasn't what was going on. So what was?
This summer, she got in trouble for something - I can't even remember what it was, normal kid disobedience stuff, and I told her to go wait for me in her room... standard discipline in my house, to separate and then reconnect, talking over the issue after reconnecting. This time, however, when I went to reconnect, she said to me, "You don't like me because I'm ugly."
WHAT???
For those who don't know me, I didn't give that to her.
It is one of my highest priorities and perhaps the biggest output of energy in my life to cope with Eliana's huge personality and guide her through her issues without, as Single Dad Laughing would say, breaking her. She is an incredible kid and it would be horrible to subdue her - to destroy not only the parts of her that hurt herself and others, but the beauty and vibrance that is at her core.
And here's your real: I don't know what to do, and I'm terrified. After finding this list of cognitive distortion, I'm definitely up for counseling, but I don't know how well it's going to work for her. I don't know how to love her any better than I do, I don't know how to help her feel better about herself, more or less discipline ain't gonna help. And here's what scares me the most: cognitive distortion is a prime recipe for depression (if not a symptom of it!) and she hasn't even hit puberty yet. This needs to be ameliorated before hormones are thrown in the mix.
Real #3: Today, I would have really liked not to be the mom. I love these kids so much, but just for one day, I would have liked not to be the one feeling guilty about using friends for childcare, to not be the one doing the nanny interviews, to not be the one who bears responsibility for getting my wonderful, hurting daughter the guidance she needs to become a well-adjusted adult. I'd love to be the auntie for a day and play and love on these children with all my might and none of the weight of parenthood.
For the record, this is not a plea for help fixing these issues; thankfully, I've got plenty of resources and I'm working on it. For me, right now, help looks like your love, support, friendship. It looks like stability wherever I can get it. It looks like grace and understanding when my bandwidth is taken up. It looks like an open heart that can feel the love I have for you even when it comes in small glimpses.
It IS a plea to listen to Single Dad Laughing and get real. Let down your guard. Let's not all pretend to be perfect. You're lovely the way you are.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
American priorities for mothers: version one (snarky)
Birth and postpartum the standard American way:
"Why would you want to have a baby at home? Something could go wrong! You could need a c-section! Your baby could have the cord around its neck! You could bleed to death in five minutes! And the hospital is life-saving! You want to check out before 24 hours? Ludicrous! Your baby could stop breathing! You could get an infection! Stay here where it's clean and we take good care of you!
OK, now go. Go home. No we don't need to see you any more. Sure, your baby absolutely needs to go to the pediatrician, at one week, two weeks, four weeks. Absolutely. You, though, you just go take care of yourself and be thrilled with your baby. Breastfeeding is tough? That's okay, formula is perfectly fine. Here, have a free sample. No, we don't care how you're doing, not until your six week visit. Then we'll be happy to tell you how much less you should weigh by now, how breastmilk is best - oh whoops, I forgot, of course formula is fine, no I didn't mean to make you feel guilty! Now of course, you wouldn't imagine stopping at one child, but you'd better go on the pill right now so you can space them appropriately and not ruin your body or screw up your kids irreparably.
Isn't motherhood amazing? Oh, it's hard? Well, what did you expect, it's a baby... you could've just bought a cat if you wanted easy. You don't seem depressed at all, you just need to sleep train your baby and then you'll feel better. But isn't motherhood amazing?"
I will follow up with an actual thoughtful post on the culture of fear of birth, blame on mothers, and complete ignorance of postpartum depression.
"Why would you want to have a baby at home? Something could go wrong! You could need a c-section! Your baby could have the cord around its neck! You could bleed to death in five minutes! And the hospital is life-saving! You want to check out before 24 hours? Ludicrous! Your baby could stop breathing! You could get an infection! Stay here where it's clean and we take good care of you!
OK, now go. Go home. No we don't need to see you any more. Sure, your baby absolutely needs to go to the pediatrician, at one week, two weeks, four weeks. Absolutely. You, though, you just go take care of yourself and be thrilled with your baby. Breastfeeding is tough? That's okay, formula is perfectly fine. Here, have a free sample. No, we don't care how you're doing, not until your six week visit. Then we'll be happy to tell you how much less you should weigh by now, how breastmilk is best - oh whoops, I forgot, of course formula is fine, no I didn't mean to make you feel guilty! Now of course, you wouldn't imagine stopping at one child, but you'd better go on the pill right now so you can space them appropriately and not ruin your body or screw up your kids irreparably.
Isn't motherhood amazing? Oh, it's hard? Well, what did you expect, it's a baby... you could've just bought a cat if you wanted easy. You don't seem depressed at all, you just need to sleep train your baby and then you'll feel better. But isn't motherhood amazing?"
I will follow up with an actual thoughtful post on the culture of fear of birth, blame on mothers, and complete ignorance of postpartum depression.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Pink parts
Eliana comes in the kitchen tonight to tell me that Kes needs to wipe better because her vulva is red. So Kes pulls her pants down and va-moons me. I tell her it's not really red, just a little pink, but it wouldn't be a bad idea to wipe a little better after she pees. She says, "Can I go look at it in your mirror?" and I give her permission to open up my room to access the full length closet mirror.
A few minutes pass, and I totally forget about the previous conversation, lost in chores. Until Kes comes running full speed down the hall toward me:
"Mommy, mommy! It's such a lovely pink! My vulva is beautiful!"
A few minutes pass, and I totally forget about the previous conversation, lost in chores. Until Kes comes running full speed down the hall toward me:
"Mommy, mommy! It's such a lovely pink! My vulva is beautiful!"
Friday, September 3, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Yeah, I'm that important.
Last week my parents took one of my girls, alone, and then the other, so that they got special one on one (two!) time with their grandparents and so that I got to parent two children instead of three. Totally awesome, all around. The girls really enjoyed not having to deal with each other! (I enjoyed not having to LISTEN to them deal with each other!)
I called Eliana on her second night there:
"Hi, Elly!"
"Hi... who is this?"
"It's your mom!"
"Oh, Mommy! I almost forgot about you!"
I called Eliana on her second night there:
"Hi, Elly!"
"Hi... who is this?"
"It's your mom!"
"Oh, Mommy! I almost forgot about you!"
Friday, August 6, 2010
The Legend of Kesenia Lily
Far away, tucked in a corner of the galaxy, is a secret, safe space where spirits come into being. They sparkle and glow, and all the people on earth think that they are stars in the sky like any other. But these spirit stars are so much more, holding within them everything that will be special about each baby born into the world. Their spirit mother is the moon, and she guides the spirit stars until she chooses their Earth Mother and sends them into their mothers' wombs, into the growing baby, to be born.
Once, there was a spirit star named Lily, who sparkled and shone extra bright. Moon Mother could see that she was an unusual spirit, and would be a gift to all around her. When Moon Mother looked at this spirit star, she felt peace and love, and could see that Lily would soothe sickness and sadness, and work to uphold justice in the world. In fact, Moon Mother loved Lily so, that she decided she would wait as long as possible to send her to Earth, and would keep her as her own special spirit child.
Lily watched one after another spirit star disappear, and each time she would ask Moon Mother to help her find that baby on Earth so she could watch the baby grow into a child. It was thrilling how she could recognize each of her friends even now that they were people. As time passed, Lily started feeling like she might want to be a baby too, but she trusted that Moon Mother would choose the right baby and Earth Mother for her.
Then one day, as Lily watched one of her old friends, Rose, playing with her mother, she noticed that the mother was growing round, but that no spirit star had gone to her yet. Concerned, she watched Rose every day, and pretty soon she had fallen in love with Rose's Earth Mother. She wanted to go to be this baby's spirit, to be this Earth Mother's baby, but she knew that the way of the spirit stars was to follow Moon Mother's decisions. She kindly approached Moon Mother: "Moon Mother, I love you very much, and I know that you will send me to a good family. Look there, how about that Earth Mother? Her baby grows large and ready, and yet you have not sent a spirit star to her yet." Moon Mother answered simply: "My spirit child, I have not chosen a spirit star for this family, nor will I send you."
The Earth Mother had also noticed that although she could feel her baby moving inside her, the baby felt empty to her. As her belly grew larger, and she started to feel her womb preparing to birth the baby, she listened daily for her baby's spirit. She worried about what would happen to her baby if no spirit came, and she spoke aloud, "Please, let my baby be healthy and whole," as she looked up into the moonless sky.
Lily watched that night, as the Earth Mother slept, her belly tightening rhythmically without waking her. "Soon," she murmured, "soon this baby will be born, with no spirit to sustain it on Earth. I love Moon Mother, but I also love this Earth Mother and Rose." Lily made up her mind. On this night, the New Moon, the one night of every month that Moon Mother slept, she would sneak away and become the baby in this Earth Mother's belly.
And so she did, kissing Moon Mother gently as she left. But she arrived on Earth in a new place, and in daylight. It was a room, with a beautiful bed, but not Earth Mother's bed, and Earth Mother was not sleeping in the bed but in a strange pool of water nearby. She was naked and was making sounds that Lily had only heard when watching other star spirit babies be born. "Wait!" she cried. "I'm not there yet!" But of course, no one could hear her, and she didn't know how she was supposed to get into the baby without Moon Mother's help. The baby's head emerged underwater, and she dove quickly into the water, wishing with all her might that it would work.
Earth Mother suddenly felt an electricity and a flash of light, and with a cry of triumph and joy, she pushed with her body and reached with her hands to fold the baby into her arms, onto her chest, and up out of the water. "You're here!" she cried. "You made it!" Lily squalled with all the pleasure of being in her mother's arms, and relief from the effort it had taken to so quickly transition from star spirit to a real baby. Earth Mother felt under the water, between the baby's legs, and exclaimed, "A girl! Oh, my Kesenia. Hello Kes! Kes." Lily heard her baby voice crying, as she tried to say, "Yes, Mama, I am your Kessa Lily."
To my sparkly, loving healer child
Kesenia Lily
Once, there was a spirit star named Lily, who sparkled and shone extra bright. Moon Mother could see that she was an unusual spirit, and would be a gift to all around her. When Moon Mother looked at this spirit star, she felt peace and love, and could see that Lily would soothe sickness and sadness, and work to uphold justice in the world. In fact, Moon Mother loved Lily so, that she decided she would wait as long as possible to send her to Earth, and would keep her as her own special spirit child.
Lily watched one after another spirit star disappear, and each time she would ask Moon Mother to help her find that baby on Earth so she could watch the baby grow into a child. It was thrilling how she could recognize each of her friends even now that they were people. As time passed, Lily started feeling like she might want to be a baby too, but she trusted that Moon Mother would choose the right baby and Earth Mother for her.
Then one day, as Lily watched one of her old friends, Rose, playing with her mother, she noticed that the mother was growing round, but that no spirit star had gone to her yet. Concerned, she watched Rose every day, and pretty soon she had fallen in love with Rose's Earth Mother. She wanted to go to be this baby's spirit, to be this Earth Mother's baby, but she knew that the way of the spirit stars was to follow Moon Mother's decisions. She kindly approached Moon Mother: "Moon Mother, I love you very much, and I know that you will send me to a good family. Look there, how about that Earth Mother? Her baby grows large and ready, and yet you have not sent a spirit star to her yet." Moon Mother answered simply: "My spirit child, I have not chosen a spirit star for this family, nor will I send you."
The Earth Mother had also noticed that although she could feel her baby moving inside her, the baby felt empty to her. As her belly grew larger, and she started to feel her womb preparing to birth the baby, she listened daily for her baby's spirit. She worried about what would happen to her baby if no spirit came, and she spoke aloud, "Please, let my baby be healthy and whole," as she looked up into the moonless sky.
Lily watched that night, as the Earth Mother slept, her belly tightening rhythmically without waking her. "Soon," she murmured, "soon this baby will be born, with no spirit to sustain it on Earth. I love Moon Mother, but I also love this Earth Mother and Rose." Lily made up her mind. On this night, the New Moon, the one night of every month that Moon Mother slept, she would sneak away and become the baby in this Earth Mother's belly.
And so she did, kissing Moon Mother gently as she left. But she arrived on Earth in a new place, and in daylight. It was a room, with a beautiful bed, but not Earth Mother's bed, and Earth Mother was not sleeping in the bed but in a strange pool of water nearby. She was naked and was making sounds that Lily had only heard when watching other star spirit babies be born. "Wait!" she cried. "I'm not there yet!" But of course, no one could hear her, and she didn't know how she was supposed to get into the baby without Moon Mother's help. The baby's head emerged underwater, and she dove quickly into the water, wishing with all her might that it would work.
Earth Mother suddenly felt an electricity and a flash of light, and with a cry of triumph and joy, she pushed with her body and reached with her hands to fold the baby into her arms, onto her chest, and up out of the water. "You're here!" she cried. "You made it!" Lily squalled with all the pleasure of being in her mother's arms, and relief from the effort it had taken to so quickly transition from star spirit to a real baby. Earth Mother felt under the water, between the baby's legs, and exclaimed, "A girl! Oh, my Kesenia. Hello Kes! Kes." Lily heard her baby voice crying, as she tried to say, "Yes, Mama, I am your Kessa Lily."
To my sparkly, loving healer child
Kesenia Lily
Sunday, June 6, 2010
DNA
"But Mom, does the sperm have REAL directions on it? Like are the instructions for the baby all written out all over it so tiny that we can't see?" - E
On a side note, how to get this kid off of her sperm hangup and realize that the egg is equally important DNA-wise? I swear she still thinks the dad gives the directions and the mom grows the baby, no matter how many times I tell her half the instructions come from the egg. OWN IT, Elly! You've got massive baby directions waiting in your ovaries right now!!! (Is this my progeny's version of penis envy?)
On a side note, how to get this kid off of her sperm hangup and realize that the egg is equally important DNA-wise? I swear she still thinks the dad gives the directions and the mom grows the baby, no matter how many times I tell her half the instructions come from the egg. OWN IT, Elly! You've got massive baby directions waiting in your ovaries right now!!! (Is this my progeny's version of penis envy?)
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Signing and cussing
Kes holds out her thumb, forefinger, and pinky, and says, "Mommy, what does this mean?"
Me: "I love you."
Kes: closes up the pinky "And what does that mean?"
Me: "That's an L."
Kes: closes her fist and holds up her middle finger "What does that mean?"
Me: "That's a bad word sign that people use to tell other people that they're really mad at them."
Elly: "What's the word???"
Me: "I don't want to tell you the word because it's not appropriate for children to use it."
Kes: "Is it poopy-butt?"
Me: "No, you have never heard it before because grown-ups don't use it around children."
Elly: "Is it poo-gas?"
Kes: "Is it tuchis-boofer?"
Elly: "Is it booty-bumper?"
Kes: "Is it poopy-booty?"
Elly: "Is it poo-poo guns? Is it stupid-butt?"
And so on...
Me: "I love you."
Kes: closes up the pinky "And what does that mean?"
Me: "That's an L."
Kes: closes her fist and holds up her middle finger "What does that mean?"
Me: "That's a bad word sign that people use to tell other people that they're really mad at them."
Elly: "What's the word???"
Me: "I don't want to tell you the word because it's not appropriate for children to use it."
Kes: "Is it poopy-butt?"
Me: "No, you have never heard it before because grown-ups don't use it around children."
Elly: "Is it poo-gas?"
Kes: "Is it tuchis-boofer?"
Elly: "Is it booty-bumper?"
Kes: "Is it poopy-booty?"
Elly: "Is it poo-poo guns? Is it stupid-butt?"
And so on...
Friday, May 28, 2010
Mini midwife
Ellen, a local midwife, held a NRP skills role playing session today. For childcare, I had Kes at a playdate and D with a sitter who only had room for him, and Eliana was home from school due to today being a furlough day. (Yes, as in no school and the teachers not getting paid kind of furlough.) So, I took her with me to neonatal resuscitation role playing at Ellen's - brought books and activities. She didn't end up using any of them, since Ellen let her play in her son's room. Elly joined us at lunch, and then didn't want to leave once we started role playing again. First, she sat on laps and watched, then inched closer until I had to tell her she needed to back up out of everyone's way.
Elly: "I want to help, can I do something, Mom?"
Me: "No, because the student midwives need to practice how to help babies who are born needing some help to breathe at first."
The next role-played scenario involved a baby who was ready to go back to mom while mom was close to passing out, so I nudged the student who was holding the baby (looking a bit like she would rather be helping mom), and pointed to Elly:
"Dad can hold the baby while you help tend to Mom."
Eliana held the uglyscaryfetusdoll and utterly beamed.
After the next role playing scenario, she asked if she could help again, and I repeated myself.
E: "When you guys are done practicing, can you do a birth where the baby is okay, and then can I help?"
So, that's how NRP practice ended. I told her to receive the baby and hand baby to the Mom, and that she could then listen to the baby's heartbeat, which was going to be just great. That's exactly what she did. It was absolutely adorable, if I do say so myself.
Elly: "I want to help, can I do something, Mom?"
Me: "No, because the student midwives need to practice how to help babies who are born needing some help to breathe at first."
The next role-played scenario involved a baby who was ready to go back to mom while mom was close to passing out, so I nudged the student who was holding the baby (looking a bit like she would rather be helping mom), and pointed to Elly:
"Dad can hold the baby while you help tend to Mom."
Eliana held the uglyscaryfetusdoll and utterly beamed.
After the next role playing scenario, she asked if she could help again, and I repeated myself.
E: "When you guys are done practicing, can you do a birth where the baby is okay, and then can I help?"
So, that's how NRP practice ended. I told her to receive the baby and hand baby to the Mom, and that she could then listen to the baby's heartbeat, which was going to be just great. That's exactly what she did. It was absolutely adorable, if I do say so myself.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
All boy
Society's pretty funny. Not just ours, either, but the nature of the beast of culture. The perfect paradox: culture is, on the one hand, this external construct, partially arbitrary, partially linked to our environment. On the other hand, culture is biologically mandated; our hard-wired biology for behavior is incomplete, and we need culture to help round out our behavioral patterns.
So, gender. Boys and girls are different. Sooooooo different. But gender is a cultural construct. When Donovan runs around like a wild animal, says "vroom", or attaches to my breast like it's an oxygen tank in a vacuum, he's "all boy." And these "all boy" parts of him seem to be ALL anyone else wants to see in him. And since he's my first boy, lots of parents of boys seem to think this must be the first time I've experienced these "boy" qualities (and to tell me how to handle them or what I'm in for in the future).
Not so. Eliana remains a wild animal, and was just as avid a nurser (until my pregnancy with Kes intervened). Kes LOVED planes, trains, and automobiles. Nobody seems to hear me when I say I've seen this before.
Similarly, no one wants to hear that Donovan loves shoes and pretty fabrics. Or that he cuddles dolls with more tenderness than Eliana ever did (she had zero interest in dolls until Kes was old enough to insist that's what they were going to play together). Or that he loves to brush his hair in the mirror. And if they do listen, and sometimes in my own mind, what I hear back is, "Well, it's okay if he's gay." Yep, it is, but is it not okay to be male, straight, and feminine?
But I'll say it loud and I'll say it proud, my boy is all boy: he loves trucks, boobs, frogs, shiny pretty clothes, dolls, and kisses, and all that is my all boy.
So, gender. Boys and girls are different. Sooooooo different. But gender is a cultural construct. When Donovan runs around like a wild animal, says "vroom", or attaches to my breast like it's an oxygen tank in a vacuum, he's "all boy." And these "all boy" parts of him seem to be ALL anyone else wants to see in him. And since he's my first boy, lots of parents of boys seem to think this must be the first time I've experienced these "boy" qualities (and to tell me how to handle them or what I'm in for in the future).
Not so. Eliana remains a wild animal, and was just as avid a nurser (until my pregnancy with Kes intervened). Kes LOVED planes, trains, and automobiles. Nobody seems to hear me when I say I've seen this before.
Similarly, no one wants to hear that Donovan loves shoes and pretty fabrics. Or that he cuddles dolls with more tenderness than Eliana ever did (she had zero interest in dolls until Kes was old enough to insist that's what they were going to play together). Or that he loves to brush his hair in the mirror. And if they do listen, and sometimes in my own mind, what I hear back is, "Well, it's okay if he's gay." Yep, it is, but is it not okay to be male, straight, and feminine?
But I'll say it loud and I'll say it proud, my boy is all boy: he loves trucks, boobs, frogs, shiny pretty clothes, dolls, and kisses, and all that is my all boy.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sick
Being sick and on call sucks. It is probably my least favorite thing about being on call - the feeling that I could miss a birth. When I was a doula for hospital births, it was always about letting the moms down - I was to be the only person in a professional role who would stay with them the entire birth, so my presence was extremely important. In the apprentice role, they probably hardly miss me if at all - they'll be attended consistently by midwives whom they know as well as they know me, won't feel anything lacking in my absence, and even if outside of labor they might think, "I like Megan a lot and really want her at my birth," chances are in the moment they'll be too busy to care. But now, I need the births... and not just the numbers to check off to graduate and take my licensing exam. I need the learning experiences that births offer, whether they go completely smoothly or have complications; every experience becomes integrated into my knowledge of how to manage someone's labor - or to sit back and let it unfold beautifully on its own.
It's sort of like a wedding: I remember feeling sad when getting regrets on my wedding invitations, but then didn't notice the absence of any of the people who couldn't make it - I was too busy having the experience of the night with the people who were able to make it. But now, when I have to send regrets regarding other people's weddings, I think that night how I wish I were there, knowing full well that while they may wish I had been able to make it, they're too busy to miss me at all!
So, I sit here knowing that if someone goes into labor while I'm sick, she'll hardly notice my absence, and that my preceptors would forgive me my humanity (they don't want babies getting sick either), but that it would be one miraculous and instructive experience less in my repertoire.
Please, nobody go into labor.
It's sort of like a wedding: I remember feeling sad when getting regrets on my wedding invitations, but then didn't notice the absence of any of the people who couldn't make it - I was too busy having the experience of the night with the people who were able to make it. But now, when I have to send regrets regarding other people's weddings, I think that night how I wish I were there, knowing full well that while they may wish I had been able to make it, they're too busy to miss me at all!
So, I sit here knowing that if someone goes into labor while I'm sick, she'll hardly notice my absence, and that my preceptors would forgive me my humanity (they don't want babies getting sick either), but that it would be one miraculous and instructive experience less in my repertoire.
Please, nobody go into labor.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Note to self
When operating on 3 hours of sleep, do not fall asleep accidentally with D at 6pm. It will not end well.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Nuh. Uh.
My best friend from college just showed up in my email inbox. I'm shaking with both excitement and apprehension - for years after college I tried to keep in touch with decreasing success and finally gave up probably about a year ago. I still care so much about her and think about her frequently, wish she was still in my life, and am afraid that this will not turn into knowing each other again, or that it will but then will stop. She is one of my favorite people. It's worth a try. I'm hopeful.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Cute, cute, and cute
Eliana: "Holy sakes, Mom, I love you so much it's even more than you love me!"
Kesenia: "Mimi, on Mother's day, can we please go to Whole Foods Market to buy you some flowers?"
Donovan: refusing to use the tightly clenched spoon to feed himself ice cream, used his paci instead.
Kesenia: "Mimi, on Mother's day, can we please go to Whole Foods Market to buy you some flowers?"
Donovan: refusing to use the tightly clenched spoon to feed himself ice cream, used his paci instead.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Colloquialisms
Tonight Eliana was doing online math flashcards, sitting on my lap. The assignment was 0-20 addition or subtraction, and after she finished it, she wanted to do x2 multiplication. The first problem that came up was 9x2. I said, "Oh, they're starting with a hard one." She turns around, looks at me with this expression that I was being ridiculous, and waved me off. The "oh, it's NOTHING" hand gesture. Where did she learn that?
Then, a few problems in, she accidentally typed a 5 instead of a 6 for 2x3 and pressed enter before she noticed. She burst into tears, and as I asked her why she was crying since nobody was ever going to see her answers and she and I knew she knew the answer, she suddenly pulled herself together, smiled, and said, "Don't make a cheesecake out of a cheese crumb."
Thank you, Geronimo Stilton.
I'm pretty impressed that she read a figure of speech in a book and not only applied it correctly but that it actually made her feel better!
Then, a few problems in, she accidentally typed a 5 instead of a 6 for 2x3 and pressed enter before she noticed. She burst into tears, and as I asked her why she was crying since nobody was ever going to see her answers and she and I knew she knew the answer, she suddenly pulled herself together, smiled, and said, "Don't make a cheesecake out of a cheese crumb."
Thank you, Geronimo Stilton.
I'm pretty impressed that she read a figure of speech in a book and not only applied it correctly but that it actually made her feel better!
Monday, May 3, 2010
Nightmare
I dreamt last night that my iPhone didn't ring when my preceptors called me! They were ticked! (The iPhone not ringing is actually a pretty rational thing to dream about... the ticked off part is the funny part, since they'd really say, "Oh yeah, my iPhone does that too," whenever I noticed the voicemail or if they called back b/c it was urgent. We know our crazy iPhones...)
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Money matters
Eliana: "Can we go out to dinner?"
Me: "I don't know, that's expensive... will you help pay for your dinner?"
Eliana: "I can take some money out of my piggy bank."
Me: "How much?"
Eliana: "A quarter, a dime, a nickel, and a penny."
Me: "Well how much is that?"
Eliana: "25+1 is 26, plus 10 is 36, plus 5 is 41. 41 cents."
Me: "Bummer, that won't buy you anything for dinner."
Eliana: "I can add a dollar too. A dollar and 41 cents, is that enough?"
Me: "Not really, it might get you a taco bell burrito, but that's about it."
Eliana: "Well, I can't give you any more money than that because I have to keep money in my piggy bank so I can save up for when I'm an adult. I have to save up so I can buy a house. So, I'm sorry Mommy, I can't help you buy any more dinner than a dollar and 41 cents or else I won't be able to move into my own house when I'm a grownup."
Me: "I don't know, that's expensive... will you help pay for your dinner?"
Eliana: "I can take some money out of my piggy bank."
Me: "How much?"
Eliana: "A quarter, a dime, a nickel, and a penny."
Me: "Well how much is that?"
Eliana: "25+1 is 26, plus 10 is 36, plus 5 is 41. 41 cents."
Me: "Bummer, that won't buy you anything for dinner."
Eliana: "I can add a dollar too. A dollar and 41 cents, is that enough?"
Me: "Not really, it might get you a taco bell burrito, but that's about it."
Eliana: "Well, I can't give you any more money than that because I have to keep money in my piggy bank so I can save up for when I'm an adult. I have to save up so I can buy a house. So, I'm sorry Mommy, I can't help you buy any more dinner than a dollar and 41 cents or else I won't be able to move into my own house when I'm a grownup."
Let's maintain that attitude...
Donovan was climbing up into Kessa's bed yesterday morning, buck naked.
Kessa: "I don't like boys with penises in my bed!"
Good attitude to have, Kes, hang on to that for quite a while please. Also, what a precocious understanding of gender fluidity!
Kessa: "I don't like boys with penises in my bed!"
Good attitude to have, Kes, hang on to that for quite a while please. Also, what a precocious understanding of gender fluidity!
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