tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36715049898596031652024-03-21T14:18:14.506-07:00On Call MamaOn call for my own babies for now.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.comBlogger297125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-86566580310662082032013-06-04T00:12:00.001-07:002013-06-04T00:22:00.723-07:00All boy, revisited.Donovan: "Mommy, your hair is too long. It is long like sisters' hair. You should cut it."<br />
Me: "I've been thinking about getting a hair cut. How short would you like it?"<br />
Donovan: "It should be shorter."<br />
Me: "But what should it look like? Should it go down to my shoulders, or my chin or my ears, or should it be short like Daddy's?"<br />
Donovan: "No, it should be short like mine, but shorter." (This is basically a shaved head.) <br />
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Donovan: "When I am a grown-up, I want somebody to grow in my belly." I didn't have the heart to tell him he can't. Since I have committed to honesty with my children, I couldn't think of anything to say at all. I sat silently, touched that he values motherhood, feeling for him a bit heartbroken over the absence of that opportunity. <br />
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I love that he is the age that most children are becoming rigid in their expectations of gender roles, and he still doesn't care at all. I've known so many four year olds who think anyone with short hair is a boy and anyone with long hair is a girl, and yet he wants me to cut all my hair off. He still wears pink sparkly sunglasses with his Superman shirt, wants to be a mommy when he grows up (a mommy who works in a stereotypically male career as a police officer, recently changed from fire fighter), and practices his "karate" kicks with his painted toenails. <br />
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I know that society will eventually teach him everything it expects of him as a boy and future man - both good and bad. I hope he will only internalize those expectations that are the right fit for him and help him grow. I hope he will feel a small sting of disappointment when he does eventually learn that he can't be pregnant, and I hope he will admit it freely to other men and to women. I hope he will take the space I have given him to be his own person and fill it up with the humanity I know is within him and the values I try to teach him. I hope he will fill himself with integrity, courage, compassion, and respect, and shine that light out into the world, teaching other men that it's okay to be themselves, and teaching them to respect women and to respect men who don't fit our society's narrow constraints on acceptable masculinity.<br />
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It's not too much to hope for, and it's not too much to fight for, either. May I raise him so that his strong, loving, and open-minded soul grows and blossoms. <br />
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Two links before I go: <br />
1. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=TqFaiVNuy1k" target="_blank">Patrick Stewart shows himself to be this kind of man</a><br />
2. <a href="http://oncallmama.blogspot.com/2010/05/all-boy.html" target="_blank">The original "All boy" post</a>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-72058395275963887922013-05-25T23:27:00.002-07:002013-05-25T23:44:56.103-07:00Genetics, environment, and cancer<i>A friend of mine just posted <a href="http://drjanephilpott.wordpress.com/2013/05/17/angelina-jolie-cancer-your-genes-and-your-fate/" target="_blank">this blog post by Dr. Jane Philpott</a> about cancer prevention via diet, including lots of detailed information about the mechanisms by which cancer develops. I noticed that although she introduces her topic by discussing Angelina Jolie's decision to get a double mastectomy in response to having a breast cancer gene mutation, she discusses the effect of the environment on non-mutated genes to change them so that they allow or cause the growth of cancer. Thus, I wrote the following response:</i> <br />
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Informative article. Thanks for sharing. This is definitely a big part of why I lead a healthy lifestyle. (My doctors always look at my health history and say, "Your choices are great but your genes are rotten." Yes, I know, thanks.) <br />
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People have often argued with me on my healthy lifestyle choices, saying, "but you can't avoid xyz environmental problems so you're never going to win." Air pollution, cross-contamination of even organic food, cell phone networks everywhere, computer use... it goes on, all the things we can *not* control. <br />
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I would argue that the fact that they're right - I can't control everything - is more reason I should control what I can. Some people will choose to control what they can by opting for prophylactic mastectomy.<br />
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I have seriously considered and continue to consider getting tested. The BRCA gene mutation associated with Jewish women born after 1920 has a high fatality rate. The first Jewish woman born after 1920 in my family = me. The last Jewish woman in my family before me was born in 1906 and the next was born in 2003. I have no basis for comparison, no family history to use to decide whether there might be this gene in my family. My life experience with breast cancer is learning how much it sucks when someone dies too young of it - my two grandmas on my mom's side (both non-Jewish, one related by blood, one by marriage) died at 61 before I was born and at 51 when I was 11. <br />
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I understand that I have half the chance of having the Jewish version of the BRCA gene because I'm only half Jewish. I'm still waiting for someone to tell my Tay-Sachs gene about that. <br />
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The decision to get tested and to take action if positive also may hinge on this: "Unlike mutations, DNA methylation and histone modifications are reversible." <b>Unlike mutations</b>. So when someone is faced with an actual mutation, what do our food choices do for that? I saw lots of evidence in this article for preventing gene changes away from healthy genes to genes that allow cancer to grow, but not a lot of evidence to support that our choices will help our DNA shift away from inherited harmful mutations. I'd love to see any studies on that.</div>
Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-65338158578080452872013-05-20T22:14:00.002-07:002013-05-20T22:14:24.197-07:00Disneyland trip, 3 quotesKesenia, shrieking on the first drop of a roller-coaster: "I'm going to regret this!"<br />
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Donovan, in line: "Mommy, can you pick me up?"<br />
Me: "Not again yet, honey. Ask Daddy."<br />
Donovan: "Daddy, can Mommy pick me up?"<br />
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Kesenia: "I was so surprised, it knocked me out of my skin!"<br />
Donovan: "Now do you have new skin?"<br />
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<br />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-18697810783030710092013-05-01T21:42:00.000-07:002013-05-01T21:42:13.101-07:00LM/CNM considerations, Part 1Part 1: Being on-call and the age of the children<br /><br />In the early days of being a 24/7 professional, and even before then, I made an assumption that as the children aged, being on call would get easier. The idea was that the intense needs of the toddlers and preschoolers would give way to more independent, self-sufficient children, who could understand what being on call meant, which would lend itself to an easier time with call for everyone. Experienced doulas and midwives with children assured me that this was true. The opposite became true for me. <br />
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When my children were small, their concept of time was not yet concrete. The future could not be anticipated, plans could not be pinpointed. Almost every parent has made the mistake of telling their child something exciting is going to happen in the future - whether Disneyland in a month or a playdate later that day - and regretted the decision throughout the interim. For the on-call professional, this means that being called away on a moment's notice is not that different in their young child's eyes than leaving for work at 8am five days a week. On the other hand, school age children tell time and have created inner expectations about the way their days will unfold, which means that these older children will know the routine of a parent's scheduled work, but have to adjust suddenly when a parent is called away. <br />
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Additionally - and for me, more importantly - small children do not have scheduled events at which their parent's presence is meaningful to them. Older kids have school plays, music recitals, field trips, sports tournaments, graduations, and they actually know when their birthdays are, so there's no fudging and moving it a day later when a new baby gets the same birthday. For professionals that are on-call a couple of days per week, this generally works out: in this modern era, partnered physicians assist each other in making sure each is there for important events in their family's lives (versus the previous era in which male doctors often missed out but the stay at home mom was there for the child). Occasionally, they may not be able to manage it, and a parent may have to take call or stay at work and miss the event. But for professionals that are on call 24/7, this leads to a constant state of limbo. <br /><br />The following conversation took place several times in the months before I went off call: "Sorry, honey, I can't drive your field trip. No, I don't have clinic that day, but if someone goes into labor, I can't abandon you and your classmates 30 miles from your school." Then, on the day in question, whichever daughter had the field trip would come home after school and say, "Did someone have a baby today?" and I'd say, "Yes," and feel relieved and justified, or I'd say, "No," feeling horribly guilty, just as I had during the hours of the field trip. <br />
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So, is this uncertainty a problem or not? It depends on the mother, and it depends on the child. <br />
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Many of the midwives I know who do not have a problem with this have a partner or close family member who has full or nearly full availability for the children. My husband has some flexibility in his work, but works 60-90 minutes away four days per week. Our families live just far enough away to not be helpful in this regard, either. We always had babysitters and friends who helped with the availability for childcare, but this doesn't help with the emotional availability factor - having someone who cherishes the child available for important events. <br /><br />As a child, there are certain things you want both parents to witness, and sometimes, you really want your mom. I've always wanted to be there for those times. I don't care whether I'm the one to drive to soccer practices or wave at the kids as they walk into school in the morning, but I don't want to miss the moments that are important to them. Shortly after I went off call, Eliana led her school's daily prayer services for the first time. She was in 3rd grade, eight years old. In the morning, she asked me, "Mom, are you coming today?" I said yes. The best part of my day was saying yes instead of maybe. Witnessing her lead tefillah was awe-inspiring, knowing that I was there for her was great, but the best part was saying, for the first time in years, "Yes, I will absolutely be there for you."<br />
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There is beauty in "No," too. I'll never be a fully stay at home mom again; right now I am taking one class, and it's going to become 2-3 classes next year and full time school shortly thereafter, followed by a job that will hopefully strike a balance between meaningful work and a meaningful home life. So, I don't imagine that I will be there for everything that is important to them. But I will be there enough. And I will be able to say yes or no. This year, the girls have each led tefillah twice. I missed one time for each of them. They knew in advance, and they knew in advance that I would be there on the days that I was able to make it, which included Kesenia's first time leading tefillah ever. <br />
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As for it depending on the child, I didn't anticipate that my children would be stressed by the on-call lifestyle. They are very flexible kids - my one blessing in a cluster of challenging temperament issues for one child who shall remain nameless here. Yet it became clear to me that their stress levels were rising. We were undergoing a lot of changed mixed up with some serious limbo, so the constant limbo of 24/7 call was a detrimental addition to their lives. Recognizing this was one of the main points in deciding to take a sabbatical. Recognizing all of the above was one of the major reasons I started to re-examine the type of midwife I wanted to be on a longer-term basis. <br /><br />I sat my girls down about a year ago and told them honestly about the two paths I was considering. At the time, I was very unsure of what I wanted to do. I didn't include any of my reasons for being interested in home birth or hospital birth, or being a LM versus being a CNM. I only wanted to talk to them about their lives and our lives together. I told them that I had two choices. With one, I would work very few hours on a regular basis, probably one day a week, maybe two, but I would be on call all the time. With the other, I would have one year of being very unavailable to them (the accelerated BSN year of school - more on that in a future post), and then after that I would work hours that would let me see them more than they see their dad, less than if I did the first choice, but that they would always know when, and that I would be able to say yes instead of maybe - but sometimes no - when they wanted me to make a commitment. I made it clear that although I was asking their input, it was my decision, and that there was more to my decision than its impact on our time together. They both wholeheartedly asked me to choose the option with the schedule, even though it meant less time together. <br /><br />Now, I have doula and midwife friends telling me that they're still too young and that it will still get easier as they age, once they are old enough to be home alone and I don't have to worry about childcare anymore. I have to disagree. Teens may be happy to be left alone, but it's not necessarily good for them. They may also be playing it cool and not necessarily as happy to be independent as they are letting on. (When my dad came to see my school play when I was 16 - for the first time in 4 years, since he is a musician and had gigs in the evening when my plays were - I was so happy that I cried, but I tried to hide it from him.) I've also had some mom friends with teens tell me that they feel that teens need their moms even more than school-aged kids. I think that the reliability that I felt was utterly lacking in 24/7 call is integral to what teens need from at least one of the important adults in their lives, and that reliable adult is going to be me. In my case, it's true that if it isn't me, it will be nobody, but it's also true that I want to be reliable for them. <br /><br />I think - I hope - that work with part-time call or no call will help me meet my career goals while meeting my expectations for my relationships with the people I cherish. I can be the role model for my kids that I hope to be by demonstrating a good work ethic, pursuing my goals and dreams, participating in tikkun olam (repairing the world - by having a job that helps people), and prioritizing the most important people in my life. <br />
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Many people will react to this post by wondering why I don't just get a partner LM and go on part-time call as a home birth midwife. It has been - and continues to be - considered. Part 2 and beyond will give you some more information on why I lean away from it. Hang tight, I'll get there. Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-52826849128422452372013-04-17T22:32:00.002-07:002013-04-17T22:32:55.952-07:00Random updates and thoughtsWhy I haven't blogged in six weeks, short version: pneumonia and a wisdom tooth extraction. <br />
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The bombing in Boston: one person (possibly a couple) did harm. Countless people ran toward potential danger to help. My faith in humanity is intact.<br /><br />Dove's "Campaign for Real Beauty" and their new video: I admit fully that revealing that women see themselves more harshly than others see them was thought-provoking and touching; other than the value of that, the video was a hypocritical money-grab. Think on these points: 1) The same company owns Axe, whose ads are at best the exact opposite of the campaign and at worst are building rape culture. 2) The beauty they display doesn't have a whole lot of diversity - all are between size 6 and 10 and their faces fit American standards of beauty. Not a lot of ethnic diversity in some of the ads, including the recent video. 3) The beauty they display isn't "real" - these women are for sure airbrushed, and may well have had other photoshopping as well. Is the standard for "real," then, an average dress size? 4) They are just trying to make money by telling us "All those other beauty companies think you'll never measure up, but we think you're already beautiful... you just need a tiny bit of extra help from us!" 5) The underlying message is the same as all the rest of the media: the value of a woman is in her looks. <br /><br />
Donovan: "I want to be a hockey player when I grow up!" Me: "OK, first you'll need to learn to ice skate." D: "Can I hold onto your hand?" Me: "They have special things you can hold onto while you skate, or you can hold Daddy's hand, but I don't know how to ice skate yet either." D: "That's okay, Mommy, I will hold your hand and teach you."<br />
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Kesenia: "Kesenia's really enjoying learning to play cricket." Not a sentence I ever expected to hear at a parent-teacher conference, let alone kvell at. <br /><br />Eliana: Just walked in the door from a softball game with a bag each of pretzels, animal crackers, and red vines, and a Icee, which she has never had before, and said, before I could even register what she was holding, "I'm sorry." She had to explain all about how it happened. (No healthy options, Coach bought Icees, not her fault, etc.) I had to interrupt her to ask how the game went. "Oh, good! I got two runs and got the first hit of the game!" Yet Icee guilt was the leadoff. <br /><br />Softball: Scott and I are trading off who goes and who stays home with the other kids. (Pneumonia and post-anesthesia recovery notwithstanding.) She has fallen in love with my least favorite sport to watch... but she so obviously enjoys it that it makes the games fun for me. Next year D will do T-ball, so I will get to watch twice as many games, and if this cricket thing keeps up, I fear it will be three-fold. I will lose my mind, because at some point, the joy from watching the kids will be swallowed up by the endless watching of a sport I don't like. And then I'll have massive Mommy Guilt. I know with the Giants doing so well lately it's sacrilege around here to say that I don't like baseball, but I don't like baseball. Don't tell Eliana.<br />
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School, elementary edition: My kids have been at this school for a year and a half and I am still amazed by its contribution to their lives. The teachers really seem to understand them, and they work with them to not only help them excel academically but to help them grow as people. The culture at the school is warm and positive without coddling. Teachers have high expectations for each student to do his/her best and make strong progress academically and in life skills; I have not seen any evidence that any child has been the slightest bit given up on, no matter how challenging behaviorally or "behind" academically. (If it sounds harsh to say that teachers give up on kids in other places... I can still name children in most of my elementary through high school classes who were very obviously given up on. The fact that it was obvious to me even as a young child - though I couldn't have verbalized in these terms at the time - makes me incredibly sad as an adult.) The teachers really care for these kids, and they care for each other. The children are generally kind to each other, and when problems arise between students, teachers facilitate resolutions in such a way that the kids learn conflict resolution skills and other social skills pertinent to the situation. (Tact is a frequent flyer.) From what I have seen and heard, the interactions in the worst relationships between kids at this school are on par with those in normal relationships at Eliana's previous school. Parent-teacher conferences reinforced everything I see at home about how they've blossomed, and showed me that it is even more true at school. They are engaged, responsible, and growing. I am relieved, grateful, and awed. <br /><br />School, pre-K edition: I never would have chosen to redshirt E or K, even if their birthdays had been a few months later. Donovan needs it. I'm not sure whether he qualifies as technically being redshirted, since the official deadline's September 1 and his birthday is after that, but the school did offer to take him for kindergarten next year, and we declined. We've also declined to put him in the transitional kindergarten run by the girls' school or have him continue in his current preschool. The transitional K is meant to be academic preparation for either kindergarten or 1st grade for kids who aren't quite ready, with a teacher who is skilled at understanding and guiding behavior of kids straddling their 5 year birthday. We decided against this program because we didn't want him to go into 1st grade the following year, and we felt he would be bored in kindergarten after transitional K. I was also afraid that his attention span wouldn't be ready for the academic portion, even in the capable hands of the experienced teacher, and since it's not truly part of the elementary school (they adopted it when a community center shut down and it is not held on the school campus), it doesn't have the same feel, even though it seemed positive. His current pre-K has some good things going for it - nice teachers, lots of artwork coming home, good Jewish content, and right next door to the girls' school - but has never felt like exactly the right fit for Donovan. (Maybe I just miss the girls' preschool.) After considering all these options and then some, we decided to send him to a Reggio-Emilia school, because we feel that it will best encourage his social-emotional growth, which is what the kid needs the most. Given the culture of the elementary school, it was especially important to us for him to develop his interpersonal skills so that he can more easily benefit from and contribute to that positive environment. I'm sure that he will do just fine academically in the long run. Ensuring a smooth transition into elementary school is our main goal. <br /><br />School, grown-up edition: Nutrition has turned out to be an excellent class, and I've learned a lot that I didn't learn in the nutrition module of midwifery school. I had a little bit of semester-systemitis when we got into April, since I am used to the quarter system which would be starting new classes then. There was about a week of desperation to start a new subject, and now I've settled back in. So far so good grade-wise. The fall schedule of classes just came out, and I'm hoping that this time my registration appointment will be sufficiently early so that I can take chemistry, either anatomy or physiology, and a three-unit communications prereq. <br />
<br />There. Six weeks' worth of random updates and ramblings. I hope to keep up better and actually offer some well-developed stories and musings in the next posts. Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-36745240557640914162013-02-24T22:21:00.001-08:002013-02-24T22:36:22.785-08:00Loss and learning<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/QYjJNZAoNAs" width="420"></iframe><br />
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I dreamt that I was playing the violin. I was soft, my movements flowed, and my violin and bow felt completely natural in my arms. The music sounded as beautiful as I ever had the skill to create it. <br />
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I awoke, and the realization was instantaneous that this dream, which had felt like home, was only an illusion. The unearthing of the long-buried grief was just as immediate. It closed my lungs. <br />
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The music sounded more beautiful than I can ever make it again. <br />
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<a href="http://oncallmama.blogspot.com/2011/05/moldau.html" target="_blank">I lost violin now half my life ago.</a> I don't know when I stopped identifying myself as a violinist deep inside, but it's gone. I still love the instrument. I still have vivid, full sensory memories of every aspect of it. I'm amazed, on the rare occasions that I do pick one up, how well I can still remember to hold my body and place my fingers - because in between those occasions, I marvel at the fact that I ever had the abilities that I did, and I don't remember the person that believed she was a violinist with the same intransigent, integrated certainty as being female, daughter, friend, human. Yet I can wake from a few moments of revisiting that old self and find myself knocked sideways with grief.<br />
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Then I think of my self as midwife. This sabbatical and career shift is different from the end of my violin career in so many ways, the most obvious of which is that I chose to step away from home birth midwifery, and I would have done anything I could have to choose to keep violin. Still, I grieve it. I miss it. I miss witnessing the power of birthing women, just as I missed the power of music. I miss working with women as they create themselves as mothers for the first time or again and again, just as I missed working as a team to recreate a timeless piece of music. I miss using my hands to comfort, to assess, to receive babies, just as I missed the physical, proprioceptic quality of playing violin. <br />
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I wonder whether I will lose my identity or skills as midwife if I stay away too long. I wonder whether, if I did, the grief would follow me through my life in the same way as the loss of violin has followed me. I wonder whether, upon reclaiming midwifery in the hospital setting, I will stop being able to relate to my old home birth midwife identity or continue to grieve my choice. So I take this dream as a reminder of the opportunities that come with challenges - in this case, the opportunity to look back at the loss of my violinist identity and ensure that I preserve my midwife self, even as I step away temporarily from midwifery, perhaps permanently from home birth midwifery. <br />
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When I was forced by my body to quit violin, I rejected music so fully that I cut my connections with the friends I had made in symphony; in my midwifery sabbatical/shift, I am maintaining several relationships with midwife friends and intend to continue to do so. I stopped listening to classical music for several years, let alone playing it; I am keeping current on research and attending conferences and workshops on midwifery. I abandoned playing violin at a much lower level when I was unable to regain my abilities; I am willing to use my skills in a limited fashion in order to maintain my skills along with the standards I have currently set for my career continuation and my personal life, since fully using my skills at this time would detract from my attention to my career goals and family. <br />
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Moreover, I am focused on the fact that I am continuing on my career path as a midwife. When I had to quit violin, I had hope at first, but gave up completely after relapsing when I tried to play after being released from physical therapy. With midwifery, I know that I have chosen a sabbatical, and that it is temporary. I know that I will return to midwifery with all the dedication I had the first time, but with the wisdom I gained from the experience of being wrongly singleminded for so long. I will return having worked hard to maintain my skills and knowledge. <br />
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I am now almost certain that I will return to full-scale midwifery not by using my existing license to run a home birth practice, but rather via nursing school, the MSN in midwifery and women's health, and work as a hospital midwife. The reasons for this are not the point of this post, but I will talk about them soon. I wanted to share this now, however, because it is one of the ways that I focus on the fact that I am not moving away from midwifery during this sabbatical, I am moving toward midwifery and toward the initial call I felt to midwifery, which was to work with women choosing hospital birth. I have learned so much about how to meet the needs of my children along with my need to have a meaningful career, and this newfound knowledge will benefit my future clients/patients (it's going to take me some time to adjust to the P word), employers, and my family.<br />
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I don't believe that everything happens for a reason, but I believe that in everything that happens, there is an opportunity to create reason. Half my life later, I still sometimes feel broken in places by the loss of violin in my life. I am grateful that I have managed to draw upon the experience for wisdom in navigating the current transition in my life and career.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-91215949652417167982013-01-25T00:16:00.000-08:002013-01-25T00:16:59.935-08:00School update, already.Nutrition is a good class. I'm learning despite having studied it before. I'm looking forward to getting to some more challenging work, though. Chem should give me a run for my money when it comes around... haven't touched that since high school. <br />
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Spanish, on the other hand, I dropped. The instructor was good, but a few things came up that made me decide to wait. First, Scott had to miss work two out of my first three days of school, due to sick kids. For a class that is a requirement, such as nutrition, that's fine, but for a class that is only for my personal development, I'm not okay with impacting him like that. He's agreed to be the one to stay home for sick kids when I'm in nursing school, so I don't feel comfortable making him miss work so I can take an extracurricular, no matter how important it is to me in the long run. Second, I realized that I don't see any point in learning Spanish partway but not to a useful level, and I won't have the opportunity to follow up on this semester's class for at least a year, so it doesn't make sense to do this now. Third, I was quickly reminded that I learned French very easily, and Spanish seems to be following suit, so this route may be unnecessarily long and slow. Because of all this, I'm looking for an alternative way to learn. I have my home study program, plus the book from the class that I can't return, but I need a place to speak it. A community based class would be wonderful - a way for me to learn along with others, but be responsible to myself. I feel a little disappointed in myself for dropping a class for the first time, but on the other hand, I actually feel like I'm making a bigger commitment to learning by doing so - if I'd stayed in the class, I think it would have ended up just this one class. Plus, I'm reaffirming the commitment I made to my family when I decided to go (mostly) off call and (mostly) out of school until Donovan goes to school full-time. Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-72309847503412438012013-01-23T09:45:00.001-08:002013-01-23T09:45:08.862-08:0012 hours of motherhoodInterrupted sleep on a small boy's bed. Coughs, sneezes, and snot in my face. A sad boy crying for me. Cuddles and a movie. "I love you, Mommy," countless times.<br /><br />I wouldn't trade it.<br />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-41044701684670182992013-01-15T00:27:00.001-08:002013-06-04T00:23:13.316-07:00Gems 2011<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">And the slog through the old Facebook posts continues...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">January</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Stoked and motivated to work my tail off for the next 6 months!!! which is a good thing, cuz I'm gonna hafta.</span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />I </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">did not expect for tears to come simply by passing the freeway exit to my grandpa's house. Dammit.</span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Dropped our ketubah off at the framing studio. Think I can get it on the wall before our 10 year anniversary?</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />February </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I was browsing au pair profiles even though I still think that's an unlikely route for us, and I think very firmly that the au pair company should have given a somewhat Americanized name to the young woman named "Supaporn."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Welcome to the 21st century: My daughters are using their email addresses to send each other messages like "Poooooooooooooooo". Some things change, and some things don't.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Apparently there's an STD nicknamed Donovanosis. Oh great. Well, at least I didn't name my daughters Chlamydia and Gonorrhea.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Today, Eliana told me she didn't want me anymore. I told her to write a letter requesting reassignment, to the woman she wanted to be her mother now. She wrote it to me. Happy Valentine's Day!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">There's nothing in this world like motherhood to leave you stripped to your core, raw and aching. Love hurts.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">March</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">D strips himself naked; Kes picks up her blanket (knit by my grandmother 20 years ago before she died), approaches D: "Are you cold, honey?" Wraps him in the blanket, like wings folding around him, and I think: warm blanket, sister's love, great-grandma's love, truly the wings of the shekhinah.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">If I had to pick two words to sum up my last two weeks: bass-ackwards and mind-blowing.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Goodbye Kessa, hello Kesenia! </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">("Mom, I like Kesenia best now. Please don't call me Kessa anymore. But it's okay if you forget every once in a while.")</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">More email updates from the front lines of sisterhood: Kesenia is now tattling on Eliana via emails to me while I'm at work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I spent about 48 hrs wondering why I hadn't finished my MA and taught anthro instead of pursuing the strange world I've brought around myself. Then today I noticed I was studying pap smears, oncogenic HPV strains, and genital lesions, without having planned to do so, while enjoying my nice lunch salad. I think it's all good again.<br /><br />April</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">K: "Mom, what does fame mean?"</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Me: "It's when everyone knows who that person is. Someone's famous when you know who that person is even though you don't know them. Like Lady Gaga and P!nk."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">K: "Oh, I get it, I get it. Waitwaitwait... you mean Lady Gaga and Pink are REAL???"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">D stumbles into my room half asleep and blinded by my overhead light: "Nene, Mommy?" "Nope, it's sleep time." "Read a book to me, Mommy?" "Nope, it's sleep time." "Sleep to me, Mommy?" Who could resist? Precious fleeting moments feeling him drift off while still clutching me around the neck. My empty nest may be 16 years off, but I can see it.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Eliana, 7: "I don't like Jewish school because of all the stories that I just don't believe in! All that stuff can't have really happened, Mom. It's not real." </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">I literally almost fell over, mostly b/c I was laughing so hard at how awesome she is.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">10 points if you can guess what I said back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">May</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I think it's a good solid sign you're sleep deprived when you get the urge to do jazz hands because you have gloves on... latex-free non-sterile medical gloves.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">"Hello, I will not come out until you let me out today and I mean it. Nowone will see me again until you do it. (exept for special acations of corse) Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx. Sorry. I can not say that sentence. The world is selfish and cruel. Goodbye forever until you let me out. PS. Go Away! P.S.S. Let Me Out! Eliana"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">D might just win cutest "I love you": "Ah wuh loo."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Eliana's watching The Princess Bride for the first time tonight! A momentous occasion deserving Dad and Mom all to herself, popcorn, M&M's, and a late bedtime.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">My dad says, "Why couldn't you have done something easy for a living? Like be a lawyer."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">When Eliana was 4 she chased down, picked up, and got bitten by a jumping spider. Precocious D has checked this off his bucket list at 2.5.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I LOVE the body God gave me! Now the body the kids gave me, I'm less enamored with. ;)</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />June</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Still have no idea why there was a helicopter circling above for over 15 minutes at 1am last night... with no searchlight on or anything. But I do have an update on the situation, via Donovan: "Helicoppy no get us. Wiwwow clode."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">My iPhone can fill in "birthiversary" and "birthgivingday" for me, guesses lots of crazy and wrong words after I've input one or two letters, but won't fill in the last two letters of "schedule", "breakfast", or "weekend"! ?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Scott has a coworker named Yoga Kippur. This makes the JewBu in me very happy.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Donovan: "Gitcher own, LaLa. Gitcher own." Once again, hard to feel sorry for Eliana when it comes straight from her own mouth...</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />July</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Chocolate cupcake with lime frosting. Who knew?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">With the glaring exception of homophobia, I am so impressed with the values and priorities of this Mormon community. The rest of the US could use a dose of this sensibility.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Dizzy, temperature sensitive, constant internal monologue, achy, and nauseous. 2 points each = a 10 on my sleep deprivation Apgar scale.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Time has no meaning. I've had three naps in the past 24 hrs. We won't talk about what came before then... I can't remember! Trying now to get a good 6 hour chunk or longer... wish me luck!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">OMG, 2 nights of sleep? What kind of parallel universe is this? Ahhhhhh.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">It's Saturday, no one's in labor, I don't have clinic, I don't have my kids with me, and my body wakes me up at 6:30???<br /><br />Dear ginger chews, you are quite hot and spicy enough to keep me awake while driving at 4 am just the way you are. There is no need to try to go down the wrong pipe. Please refrain in the future.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Trunky: LDS slang referring to a missionary's homesickness/burnout toward the end of the mission. Applied to me by my supervisor on my last day of my midwifery internship in UT, with the implication that I had earned it.<br /><br />August</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I just got a FB friend request from Willma Dickfit.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">2001: "When Hell freezes over will I pay tuition for my children's elementary education, especially not in a school centered around one religion or culture." </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">2011: "Hey Lucifer... it cold down there?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">My husband is at a "work conference." And by that, I mean he's at a Metallica concert.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />September</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I sent all the paperwork from my Utah internship to my midwifery school today. The package weighed almost two pounds. It may have looked like paper, on the outside, but once in the envelope I could have sworn the contents were two pounds of my blood, sweat, and tears, and three weeks of my breath.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">2 years and 2 days after my first birth with my Nova ladies, I got to catch my 25th baby as official primary under supervision and attend my 74th official birth as a midwifery student. (Unofficially, 27 catches and 88 births as student, and I have no idea how many doula births.) This boggles.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">E: "I feel like running away from home."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Me: "Where are you going to go?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">E: "I'll wait on the sidewalk for someone to call the police and then the police can take me to Grandma's house. But first I need a rope."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Me: "What's the rope for?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">E: "To climb out the window down to the street."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Me: "We do have stairs..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">D: "Tekiyah!" (blows toy shofar) "Teriyaki!" (blows toy shofar)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">You know your 3 year old had a great birthday when bedtime results in a record-breaking meltdown followed by sudden silence.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />October</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Sometimes Kesenia says something that sounds exactly like my Grandma Anne. I know she's got a bunch of her genes just by looking at her, but it's still uncanny when the same phrasing and inflection comes out of her mouth. How does my 6 year old Californian sound like a 90 year old New York Jew?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Watching Donovan try to remove his temporary tattoos.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Dear God, when I named my firstborn "God has answered me," I guess I jumped the gun a little. I apologize for being presumptuous. 8 years later... Please may I have some answers for parenting her? Or one? Or just a clue? Humbly, Me.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">So... that vacation I thought I took 6 months ago? It was in 2010, not 2011. I don't know what that means.<br /><br />I woke up to find my eldest and my father playing poker at the kitchen table. <br /><br />D: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">"Mommy, me play a big, scawy song on the pano. It go BOMBOMBOM."<br /><br />November</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I walked out of my (old) house for the last time today. Goodbye Chapman Way.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">"Donovan, you can wear clothes or pajamas when you're sick. What do you want to wear today?"</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">"Me wanna wear naked."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Sweet, sweet Eliana is cuddling a double ear infection-ed boy to sleep. Beautiful.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Now he's delegating: </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Me: "Donovan, can I have a snuggle?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">D: "Kessa, can you go snuggle Mama?"<br /><br />December</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I haven't figured out how to drink wine with glasses on. I keep bumping the glass into my glasses as I try to finish off the last sips. I'm sure the fact that I'm tipsy by the end of one glass is not helping.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Donovan keeps showing off his new vocabulary word, "directions," by using it as often as possible. Fortunately for my sick sense of humor, he can't pronounce it correctly. He leaves off the D... so we're having lots of inadvertent conversations about erections.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-72931853199298760372013-01-14T22:11:00.000-08:002013-01-15T23:30:42.814-08:00Ramblings on collegeFirst day at community college today! I'm enrolled in Nutrition and Spanish. Nutrition is one of the prerequisites for all the nursing programs I'm interested in, and Spanish is for fun. Well, I suppose it's actually more important than that, because learning Spanish has been one of my back-burner personal goals since I moved to LA for college 15 years ago, so it's nice to finally take it from queued up to cued up!<br />
<br />
Speaking of that glorious age gap between college age and my age... I sat down in Spanish class and the woman next to me turned to me and said, "How old are you?" Now, this question isn't something people generally ask, certainly not right off the bat, so I made a split second decision to give her the benefit of the doubt and answered, "Thirty-three." She said, "Oh wow, I thought you were in your twenties. I'm eighteen, and I think I'm the youngest one in here." I said, "Nah, I'm sure there are lots of people right out of high school here," (although the truth is, anyone under 25 looks like 18 to me anymore) and thought, yep, I was right to give her the benefit of the doubt. It's still not the most polite question, perhaps, but she was feeling intimidated, and apparently didn't think I was old enough to have reached the point where it was inappropriate to ask, so I'll cut her some slack. I had actually just been walking around the campus noting how young everyone looked (and the fact that I'm almost twice as old as many of them), so I related to her feeling of being on the sides of the age spectrum.<br />
<br />
It was also the second time in the past week that my age has come up with someone I didn't really know. The other time was when a mother of young children asked me if Donovan was my only child, and I replied that I have nine and seven year old girls. She said, "Oh, you look too young to have a nine year old!" To which I replied a thank you and that I was young when she was born. I can't remember whether she asked my age or not. <br />
<br />
Right, my classes...<br />
Both professors are energetic and engaging, thank heavens. The Spanish professor is going to do a full immersion course, which absolutely thrills me. I know that's what I need. She did half the class time in Spanish today, and won't speak in English again unless she absolutely has to, and I was pretty impressed by her ability to teach Spanish using only Spanish. She says her semester class is worth about 3 years of high school Spanish, so I say bring it on. I've been waiting a long time for this! <br />
<br />
It's very strange to be back in school in the age of computers. I walked in to Nutrition, and the screen had a webpage projected onto it so that the professor could show us how to log in to the course website to do our homework. I feel like I ought to become a member of AARP when I talk about what the technology was like when I went to college, and I only graduated 12 years ago. (I called home from orientation on a pay phone. In my defense, it had push buttons, not a rotor.) We had email and signed up for classes via the internet starting my second or third quarter. But no professors used power point yet, there was no such thing as an online course, and submitting coursework via email attachment is something I did once when I was sick and the instructor took pity on me. <br />
<br />
It's also strange to have the background I do. Most of the people there have recently graduated high school. Some others have spent time working after high school. This is what we expect from college students. So, when my Nutrition professor asked us to give a short intro and tell her why we were taking her class, and all the other students were talking about where they worked and what their major was, I'm thinking, "Hi, I'm Megan, I'm a mom and a midwife, and I don't have a major here because I already have a bachelor's from UCLA, but this is one of the prerequisites I'm taking so I can get a nursing degree to become a midwife... yes I know I'm already a midwife... it's complicated." So I just said, "Hi, I'm Megan, I'm undeclared and am taking prerequisites for an accelerated bachelor's in nursing," so that I wouldn't sound braggy but giving the instructor the chance to gather that it's a second degree if she knows about ABSN programs. The strange part to me is balancing being open and honest about who I am and where I come from, without making anyone feel that I think I'm better than they are. <br />
<br />
In truth, I think we're on completely equal footing. I've never taken these classes before. At UCLA, I avoided science classes like the plague. My physical science courses were in Environmental Science. My biological science course was Anatomy and Physiology for non-science majors, no lab component, and I took it pass/no pass! I was going to be an elementary school teacher, so I majored in the subject I enjoyed most. I never would have believed you if you had told me I'd be a midwife someday. If I'd had any inkling, you can bet I would have worked my tail off to get into UCLA's nursing school. <br />
<br />
Hindsight.<br />
<br />
It's going to be a grand adventure. Even if I end up deciding to stick with being a licensed midwife working in home birth, rather than going back to school to be a nurse-midwife so that I can work in any setting, I'm excited to be exercising my brain while the kids are in school, and learning new things. This semester in particular is exciting since these topics will be applicable to my life in general, not just to my potential career path. <br />
<br />
I'll check in with updates. Hopefully not all of them will be about speaking Frespañol. ("Escucho la radio tous les jours." Yeah.)<br />
<br />
<br />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-21089433231898501682013-01-12T11:17:00.001-08:002013-01-12T11:17:29.178-08:00Three more "sk"sDeks<br /><br />Baksetball<br /><br />TuksMeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-58765528870488910462012-12-20T01:35:00.000-08:002012-12-20T01:37:40.071-08:00MiraclesDonovan came downstairs an hour ago, after a few hours of sleep and right at my bedtime. He almost instantaneously fell back asleep in my lap, and I haven't managed to get up and put him back to bed so that I can get some sleep. I sit here, finding useless drivel and a few pages of interest on the internet, all as an excuse to keep listening to him breathing and feeling his weight and warmth. I look at him to examine his eyelashes and lips, and try to burn his four year old image into my memory.<br />
<br />
In response to last Friday's tragedy, a woman posted a lovely piece on her blog that details in beautiful prose the eccentricities of six year olds, explaining in part why we as mothers find ourselves mourning these children we didn't know. Reading it, I had tears streaming down my face, not only for the mothers who lost children, but for all moms. This post in particular made me cry because, while most mothers will not lose their six year olds to death, we will, if we are lucky, lose our six year olds to age seven. <br />
<br />
These moments are precious and fleeting, and I hope that, when every mother is posting in her blog or on Facebook to "hold your child a little tighter," it is not only out of fear for the slight chance that she could lose her child, but also in acknowledgement of how very precious every day is that we have together with our loved ones. Any of us could die prematurely, but more than that, should I live one hundred years, each of my children living to bury me, these moments will have been equally as important. We are all so valuable to each other. And we all change and grow - but not with the speed and wonder of children.<br />
<br />
Donovan has slid off me now. He is on the couch, with one leg draped across my legs, the other tucked up near his tuchis with his arm wrapped around it, and the other arm up across my belly. His head is tilted back, and I keep glancing over to watch his pulse in his neck for a few seconds at a time.<br />
<br />
He can't say "sk." He likes to aks me questions. He loves his Spiderman maks. He has a book that has a snuck in it. In addition to aksing me questions, he likes to make comments. "Mommy? I love you. That's a commint." "Mommy? I have a commint. I sink my sisters should come home now." (His TH comes out as S, which is fair because Kesenia's S comes out as TH.) He likes skin contact with his hands, primarily wrapped around the back of my neck. His hugs and cuddles are wholehearted and often uncomfortably enthusiastic. He seems to have no idea that he has grown in the past three years, so that he snuggles and roughhouses like a golden lab that thinks he's a chihuahua.<br />
<br />
He is the most ordinary boy and the most extraordinary. Every child is the most extraordinary.<br />
<br />
No matter how many births I attend or how old my children get, I continue to marvel at the miracle of their breath and pulse. The miracle of life, of being, its transience, its mystery, how all the evidence I can observe of their lifeforce while they sleep has absolutely nothing to do with who they are. How much their existence means to me that I could never have imagined before them. <br />
<br />
Yesterday, he asked me where he was before he was in my belly. Oh my sweet. In my heart, in an ovary, <a href="http://oncallmama.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-legend-of-kesenia-lily.html" target="_blank">tucked in a corner of the galaxy where spirits come into being</a>, with all those who have come before us and all those who will come after us, everywhere, nowhere, in another dimension where all that exists is love. Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-39570277392925882522012-11-20T19:35:00.003-08:002013-01-15T23:36:03.782-08:00Gems 2010<span style="font-family: inherit;">January</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">After a new year's kiss from both her mom and dad, and a swig of Martinelli's post-clink in a real wine glass, Kes looked up at me and said, (wait for it...) "Where's the toast?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Donovan: "Lalala" = Eliana. Oh my heart.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">OK, I'm officially pathetic. Packing up to ship out two of the girls' dresses that they've outgrown and I sold... and crying.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Eliana asked for thirds at dinner tonight. Not surprising, except the meal was tofu with onions, cabbage, and brussel sprouts. Man, there is nothing on this planet like hearing a 6 year old say "more brussel sprouts, please".</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Overheard from the next room: K - "You're not a fairy anymore." E - "Oh no, that means I'm dead!" (THUD)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">February</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Kes just got out of bed: "Mommy I have to tell you something. Thank you for naming me that, it's the most beautiful name in the whole world. And, I have to tell you a question. Who in our family loves God the most?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Just got an automated call from my kids' medical group: "Our records indicate that your child has not received the flu vaccine. The flu season is not over." Funny, we've noticed both of those things in the past week.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">March</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">E: "Mom, I wish there was magic in the world, so I could ask you to grant wishes, and I would wish that there were no more fires in the world, and no more bad dreams. Are you sure that wishing wells aren't real? Can we look for one, and if you let me have one of your pennies, I'll let you have one from my piggy bank."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I have brought 3 babies to this world from my own body, but tonight I laid hands on an emerging baby for the first time, and thought, "Oh wow, so *that's* how it works!"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Bought some nail polish at Whole Foods this morning to have a girly toenail painting session with my big girl. Eliana: "Wow, mom, thanks for the heck of spoiling me!"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Overheard on her way to her room for some mommy-enforced pull-it-together time, Eliana: "Why do I do this to myself?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Had a fabulous vacation! Got to see 10 family members I rarely see, a friend I hadn't seen in 10 years, and my best friend. Watched my 12 year old cousin play ice hockey (the only girl in the league), went to a movie in the theatre for the first time in an embarrassingly long time, and let the kids run around UCLA.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">April</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Hospital cesarean rates range from 13.3%-70.5% in the state of California. I know what that says to me... what does it say to you?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Donovan is so happy to be home and see his Daddy that he just put on a 10 minute long slapstick/show-off demonstration for him. Had us both in stitches!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">E: "My dream last night was bad! Our house was half like Grandma's house, and there was a secret room with a volcano in it. Then the volcano sprouted, and we had no snorkels! But for good, we survived."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Two hours at an alternative school yesterday, one meeting with our public school principal today, and I'm now more confused than ever.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">As a naked D climbed into Kessa's bed this morning, Kessa: "Yike! I don't like boys with penises in my bed!" (Yeah, Kessa... keep that attitude for a loooong time, will ya?)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Just realized that today marks Donovan's 19 month birthday - which means he's nursed longer than either of my girls did! Only 5 months to go til the goal I always had and have never been so close to!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">May</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">"Holy sakes, Mom, I love you so much it's even more than you love me!" Holy sakes, Eliana, I don't think that's possible.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">The miracle of motherhood is that each child is the best one. Lucky me, I got the best mom to boot.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Took E with me to neonatal resuscitation role playing session today. She wanted to participate; I said the students needed to practice how to help babies who needed it. Her response? "When you're done, can you do a birth where the baby is OK, and then can I help?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">June</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Laughing at myself for what just came out of my mouth after Eliana started to whine and make excuses after getting caught: "Don't fuss at me! You disobeyed me, I'm the one who should be fussing!"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">We're officially nightweaning Donovan. And by "we" I mean Scott.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I would not recommend telling a 4.5 year old with an active imagination that there is magma underneath the earth's surface.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">2 sexy men checked out my behind while talking in Italian... Great ego boost! Til 5 minutes later when I realized I just had a gummy bear stuck to my jeans.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">July</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Good life lived, Grandpa. Goodbye, I love you. You'll always be my hero.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">The sadness sneaks up; I know it always will find its moments. There is peace in a certain rightness of it all. A long life of love, laughter, loss. The decline of the body, personality intact, unwilling to abide. All of us left behind celebrating the person we have lost, appreciating what he gave us. Wanting to fight it, but finding sadness untinged by injustice. Easier to accept the circle of life when it's full.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">As of today, 28 assist births and ONE PRIMARY!!!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I just had the hands-down best vegetarian sushi I have ever had, and my mom said her salmon strawberry salad was about as good as it gets. Who knew the best Japanese food would be in Orem, Utah?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Donovan is squirting himself with a water gun, joyfully, right in the face.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">August</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">found D dragging the broom down the hallway, followed him to retrieve it, and found that he was bringing it out for a very good reason! (The contents of a box of cereal all over my kitchen floor.) I'd be proud of him for wanting to clean up after himself if I didn't suspect that the mess was made solely for that purpose.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Oopwoop (n): a small widely cultivated muskmelon with a heavily netted rind and reddish-orange flesh. Originated by Donovan, from the English, "cantaloupe."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I appreciate Sharon so much! And someday D will be able to tell you the same, instead of just calling you Tssth. (It's a start.)</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">September</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">D just walked up to me with an empty Odwalla bottle and mango smoothie in his hair and all over his face: "Uh-oh. Mmmmmmmmm!!!!"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I got paid a pretty penny to sleep in a strange man's bed last night. (An exercise in reserving judgement. I haven't traded in one of the world's oldest professions for the other.)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">"Oh go away, bad lizard. Don't you be followin me. We're just playin a game, you're not a part of me. Oh go away, bad lizard. Don't you know I don't love you. Go away, go away." "Nice song, Eliana." "Well, you know, I'm a rock star."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Years and years of kids in cloth diapers, including 6 months of TWO in cloth, always washed my own. Making the switch to ordering a service. In other words, UNCLE!!!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Eliana just told me, "Mom, you should make yourself clear."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">OMGcuteness: D's newest word is "happy!" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">October </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">L</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">iving on a wish and caffeine.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I'm watching Kessa write a list of the books she wants, and D scribble with markers. So awesome that he is drawing with them instead of eating them!!!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I gave Donovan a sticker for pooping in the potty, which he promptly stuck to the end of his penis. Talk about defeating the purpose.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I would like to switch off my multitasking button, but I can't find it amidst all the stuff I'm doing.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Kes, having just been given white socks to put on: "but those don't have any beautiful for my girl feet!"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">November</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Ahem, pardon me, excuse me... SCOTT GAVE NOTICE!!! SCOTT GAVE NOTICE!!! New gig starts Nov 22. Hallelujah!!!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Today I stood in the space where Donovan was born, took deep breaths, and tried to let go. Everywhere else in the house I am excited to move out and move on. In that space, I want to stay forever.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">E: "I don't want to wear leggings any more, I want to wear jeans because they make me look like a big kid, and I AM a big kid."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Every time my girls' twinkletoes light up while I'm driving in the dark, I think I'm getting pulled over by CHP. Dear Sketchers, next time could you make the lights in the twinkletoes any other color combo besides blue, white, and dark pink?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">December</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Current cutest word: "huk" = hug.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I wore sandals today. It was raining. That may officially make me a hippie, if I wasn't already.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">E asked permission to stop playing with me and go on her zoobuh email. 2 minutes later I get an email from her: "Mom, can you gmail me back and tell me more about college?" And to think I expected she'd be emailing someone in maybe a *different* house. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Eliana, to me: "You are making my day so much more terrible than it was!!!" (internal monologue: "The feeling is mutual, my child.")</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">D is sleeping in his own bedroom tonight! Woot for ending the 3 kids in one room phase of our lives! Now to move all the toys out of the family room and into the kids' bedrooms!!!</span></span><br />
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Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-35389765860231234542012-11-20T16:43:00.002-08:002012-11-20T16:43:36.671-08:00Birth and the oceanI wrote the following today in response to a FB comment in which a woman said how much she dislikes the adage "Trust birth." (I generally agree with her, though I understand the impetus to remove some of the excessive fear around birth in our society.)<br />
<br />
<i>I always say I trust birth like I trust the ocean. I trust it to be powerful, to have some constants but to be unpredictable, to be bigger than I am, and I don't turn my back on it. I can learn skills to help traverse it, but I can't control it. It can be beautiful, peaceful, awe-inspiring, and it can wreak havoc. It predicates life but can take life. And I love being around it.</i><br />
<br />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-58606922938184309042012-11-18T20:11:00.003-08:002012-11-18T20:25:45.102-08:00Gems 2009My mom doesn't seem to think Facebook is a good enough permanent record of how awesome my kids are. She's probably right; it's much easier to go back through my blog, and I can archive it on my computer. So, here are some of my favorite moments I posted on Facebook over the past few years, starting with 2009. I'm sure this isn't as interesting for you, dear readers, as a real update or an opinion piece, but I do want to hold on to these moments for my children's futures. <br />
<br />
January 2009<br />
<br />
Happy to be working on a 1000 piece puzzle instead of 24.<br />
<br />
My husband appreciation shirt has been rendered unwearable by boy pee. <br />
<br />
Bouncing a baby boy in his Beco Butterfly on a birth ball.<br />
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Being held captive by a snoozing boy. Or is that captivated?<br />
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Both relieved and sad that Donovan now takes a paci.<br />
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Crying with hope. <i> (My friend Julie's son was born with congenital diaphragmatic hernia and was not expected to survive. This was in response to the first update after his birth, which told us that he was doing better than expected. He's three now. http://thetuleys.blogspot.com/)</i><br />
<br />
February 2009<br />
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Can't type my statu s beca use D keeps h itt ing the spa ce bar.<br />
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Who swapped out D for anti-sleep boy?<br />
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Very sad about the line of cars outside E's school with posters in the windows that say, "I teach here and got my pink slip."<br />
<br />
March 2009<br />
<br />
My baby boy officially exists. <i>(Got him his birth certificate at 5.5 months of age.)</i><br />
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Amazed that I went from 0 to 3 kids asleep in 60 seconds. If only it had been a little earlier....<br />
<br />
May 2009<br />
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Laugh for the day: Kessa: "When I was a little kid..."<br />
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I love co-sleeping, but I'm becoming less and less enamored with co-not-sleeping.<br />
<br />
Just found Eliana filling in the online form to be contacted by an "Admissions Advisor" from American InterContinental University. <br />
<br />
June 2009<br />
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I hope D will find a new, and less stinky, favorite food than goat cheese.<br />
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Cleaning house with a boy on my back.<br />
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Flabbergasted that D purposefully submerged his entire face in the bathtub, held it under for several seconds, and repeated this several times tonight. <br />
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July 2009<br />
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I think it's official - D talks! None of my 3 kids' first words have been mama or dada, but all 3 have made me proud. <i>(Eliana: book; Kesenia: Nana (Eliana); Donovan: Nehneh (nursies).)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Trying to figure out which shoulder houses the good angel and which shoulder houses the bad angel.<br />
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Just looked in the baby book and found out that at D's age, Kes was 3 lbs and 1.25" bigger than Donovan. And y'all wonder why I look confused when you tell me how big he is.<br />
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Awesome thing about Elly #473: She loves watching opera on TV, cries about the plot, but won't stop reading the subtitles to spare herself. <br />
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The UC Davis Human Lactation Center - love that they have to specify "human."<br />
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Grasping at D's infancy.<br />
<br />
August 2009<br />
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It's absolutely stunning how much cooler - erm, *less hot* - 100 degrees feels when I'm not pregnant. <br />
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I need a shower, I have D's banana on my shirt, my girls are in jammies, D is pantsless, and I am going to Peet's right NOW.<br />
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Fell asleep at 8:30 with Donovan. Kudos to Eliana: "I noticed it was dark out so I looked at the clock, and it said 9:17 so I went to bed."<br />
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September 2009<br />
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Woke up this morning to Kessa telling Donovan, "You're my pride and joy!"<br />
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Which child do I take to 4 year old preschool today? KESSA??? Doesn't Eliana still go to Beth Emek? What do you mean she's in first grade? Donovan's not turning one! Stop denying me my denial! <br />
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A year ago just now, I had some good contractions and a sneezing fit, and when I sneezed in the middle of a good contraction, my water broke. I thought, wow, we'll probably have this baby by dawn. Ha! Wrong, so wrong. Contractions ramped up for a couple hours and then stopped, and thus began the waiting game. And now you know, don't sneeze during contractions unless you're really in labor.<br />
<br />
October 2009<br />
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Got home from a birth at 5:30 am and wondered briefly what my neighbors must think when I drive up to the house at all hours, park terribly, and stumble to my front door, then decided I don't care.<br />
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3.7 near Sunol = first earthquake Eliana has felt.<br />
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"Eliana, if I said you could take piano when you turn 7, but you'd have to choose a sport to give up, what would you choose?" "No, Mom, I don't want to stop doing any of my activities." *picks jaw up off floor*<br />
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Having Mommy guilt about my 3 days away at MANA after hearing Kessa cry out in her sleep and say, "Bye-bye, Mama!" Heartbreaking.<br />
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November 2009<br />
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The house does not have feelings. The house does not have feelings. My kids needed to play at the park today, and the house does not have feelings.<br />
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Today, I'm thankful that my hair is Kessa's blankie. Mmmmm, cuddles. (<i>Aw, she gave that up when I made her quit thumb-sucking.)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
December 2009<br />
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Major milestone: the day the kid reaches something higher than you thought he could reach, making an enormous mess, and you mutter to yourself while cleaning it up, though you are superbly thankful it wasn't something sharp or hot. <br />
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Apparently I didn't learn from yesterday's milestone. Today, my shoes smell like eggnog. <br />
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Last night's Hanukkah: sparse decorating, candlelighting, latkes, applesauce, broccoli, cake, and a $9 present that they all have to share... and they smothered me in gratefulness and love. Three cheers for unspoiled children. <br />
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I wonder what causes a one year old to wake himself up in the middle of the night by hiccuping.<br />
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Eliana gave my brother a list of seven things to find, requiring him to check them off using stickers, and then wrote him a note saying, "Congragalations! You figured out the scavenger hunt!"<br />
<br />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-56497187805016718372012-10-16T13:24:00.002-07:002012-10-16T13:44:08.674-07:00Career developments<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">There are a couple of major developments on my career path! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">One, I'm starting up my own business as a licensed midwife providing prenatal and postpartum supplemental care to women planning hospital births. I'll be offering them all the care home birth midwives give their clients during our hour-long visits that obstetricians and hospital midwives simply don't have the time to give, and may also not have the training to give (e.g. holistic approaches). I will also provide home inductions for select prenatal clients and potentially for select clients of doula friends; the first and foremost criterion for home induction will be that it would occur within a day or two of a scheduled hospital induction. (In other words, I'd be trying to help them avoid Pitocin and/or Cytotec.) Well-woman care and prenatal classes will round out the business. Stay tuned for my website! </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Two, I'm officially a DVC student for Spring 2013. I will be taking prerequisites for the BSN and MSN programs I am considering, so that I will be ready to move forward either direction when I decide (in 2014 or 2015) whether to go back on call as a licensed midwife providing home birth services or to go back to school to get my MSN to be a nurse-midwife in a hospital. Nursing prerequisites tend to be impacted classes, so hopefully I am going to be able to get these classes done within a reasonable amount of time while still being able to schedule them while Donovan is in preschool or at night after bedtime. There are also some online options I can explore, at DVC and otherwise, and I can also take classes at CSU East Bay as part of its "Open University" program. Most importantly, I have to get excellent grades so that I can get accepted into an accelerated BSN or MSN program. (And then, if I go the BSN route, I will need to continue to have nothing but top-notch grades so I can get into a distance MSN program.) My graduate school GPA was fantastic, but my UCLA GPA makes me a bit nervous, especially if you count the pass/no pass classes which factor in as C grades if they are included. It's above the minimum, but not as high as I'd like to feel confident about getting into a school that's high on my list. Also, I'm not sure how it's going to look that I started grad school and left before completing my MA. I am hoping that they will see my tenacity and perseverance from my completion of my midwifery licensure program, and understand that I left my MA program simply because I decided against the career that had been the whole purpose of obtaining the degree. Given that the accelerated programs specialize in helping people switch careers, I am optimistic that they won't hold that against me. Regardless, I'm holding myself to a high standard for my grades in these prerequisites. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Finally, I am still hoping to do some birth work over the next couple of years. Of course, with a class schedule, I won't have the option of going on call full time. However, I am hoping that a birth center or private home birth practice will be able to find a use for me to be on call a couple of days a week, or that I can fill in for an assist during school breaks, to enable her to take a vacation. It might be pie in the sky, considering the full 24/7 call that most area midwives are committed to, but I'm throwing it out there that I am looking for this kind of work. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">If you are a friend or client who has a friend planning a hospital birth but not getting everything she needs from her OB or who is postpartum and would like some extra support, or if you are a home birth midwife with a potential client who just couldn't convince her husband to agree to home birth, I would appreciate your referrals. If you are a home birth or birth center midwife who would like to share call or has an assist who would like to share call, I would love to talk about working together. If you would like to simply cheer me on for success in school or in my business, I would also appreciate that! </span></span>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-64189549044813088362012-10-15T18:16:00.002-07:002012-10-15T18:16:12.436-07:00TypingI am teaching Eliana how to properly type. Today, she wanted to watch me type, to see how I keep my hands centered and move my fingers. I stopped talking, and while she talked to me, I typed back. Here's the transcript of my side of the conversation: <br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.09910901356488466" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"I love Eliana so very very much that I am going to kiss her a zillion times. Don't run away, not right now. I have a whole lifetime to keep kissing her and kissing her. Plus she’s sick and snotty and so am I. So why would I want to kiss her right now? Yucky. Ew. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew. Get off! No more kisses! Please please please. Ew now she’s touching her stinky feet. Eeeeew. Go wash your hands. Maybe you should put on some socks. Weren’t you going to read some more? Or are you having too much fun watching Doctor Who? No sneezing allowed. Ew no don't kiss me now. Phew, but I could smell your snotty breath. Ew ew ew. Haven’t I ever told you that giggling and silliness are not allowed in this household? Well, then why are you giggling? No coughing allowed either. Now, go wash your hands, and then what should we do? Type what? Every what? Infinity infinity infinity infinity. You said type everything. So, infinity. Yes? What is it my darling snotty child? That would take 33 years. Type what? What about? Ask me a question. You still can’t understand. You won’t be able to understand how much I love you until you become a mommy yourself. And then you won’t believe it, because you’ll think you love your children more than any other mommy in the whole wide world loves her children, even more than I love you. That’s how much I love you. So I’d love to tell you all about it, but you still won’t know for many many years." </span></span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She was uncontrollably giggling through about the first half of this. Then, the question she asked was, "What have you wanted me to understand since I was a baby, but I couldn't understand then?" </span></span></b>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-41012639918500390652012-09-15T21:00:00.004-07:002012-09-15T21:00:51.480-07:00Rosh Hashanah
When I first became Jewish, Passover was my favorite holiday, probably because the seder reminded me of Thanksgiving, and I liked spending time with family. Since having kids, especially Donovan, my favorite has switched to Rosh Hashanah. <br />
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I love my children's wonder at our ancient and plentiful world and our small but important place in it. I love teaching them how crucial good relationships are and what integrity means. I love that they enjoy the symbols and rituals (and let's be honest, they don't feel that way about Passover). <br />
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I love remembering sitting down to eat with my girls on the first night four years ago, going on 21 hours of broken water without contractions, and having all my worries about not going into labor at home just melt away from me. I always seem to spend Rosh Hashanah remembering my emotional experience of that time and of his birth, and then focusing more on him on September 30th: his amazing growth and development, and his enjoyment of being the birthday boy. It's almost as though I view Rosh Hashanah as my birthing day and the 30th as his birthday. <br />
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I love being prompted every year to examine myself and honestly appraise my real shortcomings rather than the false or shallow shortcomings I tend to focus on throughout the year. We all get so bogged down in the moment, overly criticizing ourselves for small mistakes, missing the bigger picture. At Rosh Hashanah, I have to intensely look at the whole picture of who I am and who I want to be. It's a big job and an incredible opportunity that I am grateful to have. </div>
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Shanah Tovah! </div>
Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-86537403824962745882012-07-16T10:55:00.002-07:002012-07-16T10:55:44.477-07:00My family, in a nutshell<span style="background-color: white;">Me: "How much do you love me?" </span><br />
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Eliana: "Infinity times infinity."<br />
Kesenia: "A thousand chocolate much."<br />
Donovan: "Peanut butter and jelly!"<br />
My husband: "Thirty-five qualsarcs."<br />
<br />
<br />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-36018747114431355662012-06-24T23:40:00.000-07:002012-10-16T21:51:05.344-07:00Eliana on her birth daySome memories of my babygirl on her birth day nine years ago:<br />
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She pushed her own way out of me, and cried when only her head was born. I have a visual of her feet pressing a strange lump out of my belly at the top of my uterus when the contour of my belly had otherwise flattened due to her head being all the way out and her chest in my pelvis, with the accompanying sound clip memory of her first cry. <br />
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She moved constantly during labor. <br />
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She looked exactly like her father from the very moment she was born. Acknowledging this was the first conscious thought I had when she was laid on my belly.<br />
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Her eyelashes were incredible. The nurse commented on them right away.<br />
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She intently examined Scott while he held her for the longest while.<br />
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She was awesomely round and delicious, and covered in soft fur that lasted years and years. Some of it is still there. <br />
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She had dimples that showed when she made some facial expressions, and they were not in the usual dimple spot, but much higher, on the top of her cheekbones near her eye. I still see them when she smiles a certain way. <br />
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Happy, happy birthday baby. You know that I didn't like some of the things that happened when I was giving birth to you, but I'm glad you also know that your arrival made me unspeakably happy, that I was awash in love for you from the very first moment I touched you, and that I treasure the memories of us in your birth. What you may not know is that motherhood is much the same - no matter what happens, always, always, love trumps the rest. I love you, daughter of my heart.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-89307035881863637242012-06-22T10:02:00.002-07:002012-06-23T09:42:23.315-07:00CrossroadsThe past several months, I've focused on living in the moment with my kids, but I've also been looking back at the past several years to try to glean the life lessons I learned. In the past few weeks, I've increasingly been looking forward at the paths I can choose for my career and how they would impact my family life. Right now I see four:<br />
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1. Home birth midwife. Despite this having been the ultimate goal of the academic and apprenticeship program leading toward my California midwifery license, at this time, I find this to be the least likely choice. The six months away from call has impressed upon me that my family life did suffer while I was on call and that my desire to be off call came from more than pure burnout. On the other hand, perhaps six months simply wasn't enough time to recover, so I'm not going to take this option off my list yet.<br />
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2. Hospital midwife. I always had an ultimate goal of serving women in the hospital. When I began my apprenticeship, I hoped to practice home birth midwifery for 15 to 20 years and then return to school to become a CNM, switching gears to hospital birth. I believe that the 99% of women who give birth in the hospital deserve compassionate, evidence-based care just as much as the 1% who birth at home. I'm also clear about the challenges of being a CNM in the hospital: the lack of independence, the protocols that defy the evidence, the reduced time with clients. Those challenges are not the only stumbling block I would have to choose to overcome; after spending 3 years working toward obtaining my license, there is little appeal to starting from scratch and working through 3-5 more years of school to get my MSN and certify as a nurse-midwife. The upside of this option, other than the call to serve, is that I would have a schedule. It also pays well enough that I could work part-time and still contribute financially to my family, and offers malpractice insurance. <br />
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3. Birth center midwife. There is a birth center in the north bay, and ones in various stages of planning in Berkeley, Napa, and Modesto. Some of these would entail quite a commute, but I could see myself working one clinic day and one 24-hour period of on-call work by staying in the town that day, for example, if any of these birth centers needed that type of help. This option would have the benefit of the schedule (including scheduled, limited call time) and of working within the model of midwifery care rather than medical care, but would likely pay little and may have some of the drawbacks of hospital care, such as lack of time with clients or continuity of care. Plus, like all other licensed midwife options, there's no safety net of malpractice insurance. I would need to learn Spanish for two of these birth centers - which is actually a plus. <br />
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4. Consultant midwife. My biggest short-term idea for a career path is to begin my own business providing supplementary care to women planning hospital birth. This would not involve care during the birth - they could also hire a doula if they wanted birth care - but would entail several prenatal and/or postpartum visits in which I would provide all the care that home birth midwives provide their clients that OBs and Kaiser midwives don't have the time (or in some instances, such as holistic options, the knowledge) to provide. I would also provide home induction services to help women start labor without hospital intervention. I am very excited about this idea, as I think there is a huge need for this, particularly in the bay area, where there is a large number of women who desire the kind of self-mastered, education-driven health care that our current hospital maternity care system is ill equipped to provide on its own. I would make my own hours and be my own boss, which highly appeals to this child of freelance musicians. However, I would be giving up attending births, and after six months of sabbatical, I already miss birth.<br />
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There are also some other ideas floating around in my head, such as lactation consulting, which I'd always intended to do next after getting my license, though burning out ended that idea in the short term.<br />
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Much to consider, and I'm leaving all these ideas open. My current plan for the remainder of the year is to work on a model for the consultant midwife business, and try to enroll in one class at a junior college or CSU East Bay to start finishing the prerequisites for the three nursing schools I would apply to if I decide to go that route. I also hope to be called every now and then to assist any midwives within striking distance, to keep my skills and sensibilities fresh. I just got a lead on this today, and surprised myself by tearing up with relief and happiness at the prospect of getting to attend another home birth sometime soon. <br />
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Clarity would be nice, and sometimes I get frustrated that I'd really like to both be a home birth midwife and the kind of mom that I am when I'm not on call, but looking at all the options available to me, I feel blessed to be able to have these choices to make, and comforted that regardless of the path I choose, I will be serving women and families. I'm also grateful for what clarity I have managed to glean that has helped me refocus my priorities on my family.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-4680761069276385152012-06-17T10:07:00.003-07:002012-06-17T10:15:37.918-07:00Boy partsD, during his required post-bath towel cuddle:<br />
"Mommy, this is my penis."<br />
Me: "Yes it is."<br />
D: "And where is my scrotum?"<br />
Me: "Right there."<br />
D: "What is my scrotum?"<br />
Me: "That's it."<br />
D: "No, WHAT IS IT??? Like, my penis pees. My anus poops. What is my scrotum?"<br />
Me: "You mean, what does it do? What is it for?"<br />
D: "Yeah."<br />
Me: "It keeps your testicles in it."<br />
D: "My tessicles?"<br />
Me: "Yes, they're very important parts of your body inside your scrotum."<br />
D: "Can we eat them?"<br />
Me: "No, they stay in your body, we don't eat testicles."<br />
D: "Oh, okay. Can we eat possicles?"<br />
Me: "Yes, eating popsicles is a much better idea."Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-25779291424642310502012-06-17T10:02:00.000-07:002012-06-17T10:14:37.636-07:00BodyLast night, I went swimsuit shopping. It's a story for another time, but in short, my clothes don't fit me anymore because I gained 10 pounds during a two week course of prednisone that I needed for an allergic reaction to amoxicillin. That weight gain has made me 10 pounds heavier than I have ever been outside of pregnancy or postpartum.<br />
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I laughed at myself for the conflict I always have between my ideal (self-acceptance, focus on inner beauty rather than outer) and reality (hot damn I am a perfectionist). I didn't enjoy seeing a higher number on the swimsuit tag than ever before. I found things about my body that I'd love to change - some that will change as I work to lose that prednisone weight, and some that won't because that's just how my body is built thanks to genetics and my nine pound babies. But I also appreciated things. I appreciated the fact that the Victoria's Secret body I used to have has been replaced by something much more important: a mother's body. I appreciated the way the extra weight has contributed to the boobs. Most importantly, I appreciated my health and the availability of the powerful drug that kept a miserable allergic reaction from crossing over into a life-threatening one. I appreciated that I'd matured enough to have this perspective, having no idea that the perspective was about to increase further.<br />
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Right after the swimsuit purchase, I saw a young woman with an older woman whom I assume to be her mother given the way they were interacting. The older woman was obese, but not in any unusual way in today's society; I never would have noticed her weight under normal circumstances. It was her daughter's weight that brought my attention to it.<br />
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This young woman was the thinnest person I have ever seen. This is an understatement. The first part of her that I saw was her shoulder, and I thought it was deformed for a moment before I realized it was just lacking all muscle and fat. As I changed focus and saw her whole body, my eyes stung with tears, my stomach lurched, and I recognized that I risked hyperventilating in time to take slow, conscious breaths. Living death was walking in front of me. I worked to control my body, to breathe, to keep blinking my tears back, to keep my shaking to a small tremble, and in doing so I let my thoughts go.<br />
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"Anorexia. Could it be anything else? Chemo? Genetic disease? No, she's wearing other hallmarks of anorexia, the makeup and hair coloring that obscure her, and that hair is eating disorder hair, not chemo hair, not healthy hair. She's got months to live if nothing changes, I can't believe she's not hospitalized, she's got a week or few before that, or maybe they just let her out? No, they wouldn't, not with her still so skinny. Her mother, doesn't she see it? It's so severe, how could she not see it? Has she fought her heart out to save her, but it's a losing battle like watching your child battle a drug addiction? Does her heart break every day? Or is her image of her daughter just as distorted as her daughter's image of herself? Am I a jerk for wanting to say something to her, for wanting to just say, "Please get her help, this is dangerous"? Or am I irresponsible to let this family walk away not having said anything? Even if she gets help now, she's probably done permanent damage to her body - what will happen to her in the long-term? How can I keep my babies from this? And everyone else. This needs to end for everyone."<br />
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I wonder what percentage of Americans have a healthy relationship with their bodies and with food. I wonder what percentage of Americans are a healthy weight. Obesity poses health risks, but from the studies I've seen, the risks of underweight are even greater. All the impossibly thin people we see in the media - the "sexy" and "fit" - contribute to both underweight and overweight. People then either do all they can to conform to impossible standards to the point that healthy choices are disregarded, or recognize that it's impossible and giving up to the point that healthy choices are disregarded. The food crisis contributes too - if your food isn't nutritious, you can either eat too much of it in an effort to get your needs met, or you can easily starve yourself since you weren't getting your nutritional needs met in the first place.<br />
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Of course, it's not just our society; true anorexia nervosa is a mental illness that crosses cultural boundaries. But just as the asceticism of the medieval church led to a rash of anorexia then, our culture is embracing ideals that contribute now.<br />
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Eating disorders have a higher mortality rate than any other mental health disorder. If you or someone you know struggles with one, please intervene as soon as you recognize it. It's not worth your health.<br />
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http://www.anad.org/Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-76346233431214309072012-04-19T09:44:00.003-07:002012-04-19T10:10:07.614-07:00Birth TerminologyA couple of recent discussions on Facebook and a yahoo group have got me thinking about birth terminology. Namely, the words "delivery" and "vagina." There's a lot of desire to avoid these words within the home birth community especially, and also among people interested in natural childbirth in the hospital. <br /><br />They just don't bother me. Or perhaps, I am more bothered by the possibility for miscommunication or a reduced view of competence that comes with a desire to change these words. <br /><br />Yoni, for example. If I go into the hospital with a transferring homebirth client, and I say "yoni" to the doctor, I'm not going to get taken seriously. If I use the word yoni with my friends and acquaintances, I am doing nothing to legitimize homebirth midwifery in the public eye. And then there's the question of whether the word vagina is really offensive. It's supposed to be offensive because it originally meant "sheath for a sword" in Latin. But in embryonic development, the term for the creation of the neural tube is invagination. This makes me think that vagina really means tube, and that the Romans happened to call the their sword sheaths by the word for tube. Makes sense to me. <br /><br />Besides, in being offended by "sheath for a sword," we're ascribing our own cultural values and impressions onto that term. What if in Roman society, the sheath was seen as important because it protected the sword? What if the sword and the sheath were seen as important dualities, like yin and yang, with the sword representing aggression and the sheath representing peace, or love, or safety, or nurturing? I realize that these are only imaginings - I'm extrapolating things that are impossible to know - but my point is that we can not be any more certain that the term had any violent or otherwise negative connotations as so many people seem to assume. <br /><br />And then the term "delivery." The saying that I've seen going around is, "Pizzas are delivered, not babies." I certainly understand and approve of putting the credit for the work of birth on the mother instead of on the midwife or doctor. I just don't have a problem with the term delivered, as long as it is used well. <br /><br />I think the use originated in a religious/spiritual or safety aspect. As much as we sometimes like to romanticize birth because it IS usually safe, we also know that sometimes emergencies happen and where medical intervention isn't available when needed, outcomes are worse. So in the past, after a birth, thanks went to God for the safe delivery of the mom and baby on the other side of the birth journey, as God was seen as having shepherded them through. <br /><br />When doctors got involved in every birth, the thanks started going to them - though to be honest, in the days of "drug-em-up-and-drag-em-out" doctors really were delivering the babies rather than the mom birthing them, plus then there was the sense of delivering as saving, like "deliver me from pain". Gross, yes, but that was the origin of doctors "delivering" babies - scopolamine, forceps, and our society's previous love of doctors as demi-gods. <br /><br />If you look at the word delivered in the same meaning as the way a pizza is delivered, then using it is awful even if we say that the mom delivered the baby, because it makes her seem like an unimportant vessel who is only existing to put the baby on the planet, but if you look at it with its older, more spiritual meaning, I think it's actually just as lovely as the word "birthed." I have no problem saying that I shepherded my babies into this world through an epic journey. Yep, in that sense, for sure I delivered my three children. <br /><br />And as for the doctor/midwife - I've caught 27 babies. One of them I delivered, because he needed me to get him out right then. Actually, my third baby needed my midwife's help to get him born too, so I'd say she helped deliver him. I'm not sure what other term we could use for when intervention is needed to get a baby out - whether hand maneuvers for a shoulder dystocia or an instrumental or surgical birth. "Extraction" is the only other one I've heard, and it's much nastier in my opinion. <br /><br />I'm actually equally unhappy about the word "caught" - pizzas are delivered, baseballs are caught. (If somebody asks me if I have a catcher's mitt in my bag one more time...) I like the word received, but then people don't know what the heck I'm talking about, even my crunchy birthy friends. <br /><br />Word choice is important, words can be powerful, but to me, a vagina is a vagina, and when a baby is born, her mother has delivered her earthside through the deep and powerful journey of birth.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671504989859603165.post-41367150909812206122012-03-25T23:14:00.006-07:002012-03-26T21:29:43.344-07:00Sabbatical. Time to heal.I've been mostly absent from blogging largely because I've wanted to blog nothing but this post, but have been unable to start on it until now. I feel simultaneously as though I have a space in my life that has been blown wide open, large and empty, and that this space looms with fullness and intensity. <br /><br />I wrapped up my apprenticeship at the end of last year, and as it came to a close, I was suddenly shaken from my longstanding belief that I would seamlessly move from apprentice to midwife. Shaken from denial, really, of so many things... denial that I was capable of working that hard forever, that I was still being the sort of mother I aimed to be, that my children were weathering my work well, that I wasn't missing out on that much, that I was doing the right thing. <br /><br />A birth came at rush hour on Friday, just as I was arriving to a community Shabbat dinner with my children: our first attempt at making new friends at our new synagogue. Scott was an hour away via BART. My sitter was an hour away given rush hour traffic and the fact that we were so newly moved that I hadn't found one in our new neighborhood. I was a half hour away from the birth. On my first call regarding the birth, the mama was already pushing. I was not going to make it to assist the midwife. A mom I recognized from the preschool, that I had met once, got out of the car next to me with her kids. I asked her if she had a sitter that lived nearby that I could call. I told her what was happening. She offered to take my kids to the dinner for the hour until Scott could arrive. I accepted. We exchanged names and phone numbers, I introduced my children, and I left. I made it to the birth about 15 minutes before the baby arrived. <br /><br />The next week, I didn't get called to a birth because upon a first phone contact with the midwife, we had a major breakdown of communication. While I was going through my head ideas of how I could find childcare faster to get to the birth faster to help her out sooner, she thought my hesitation meant I didn't want to go because I was with my kids. I was crushed - not only disappointed to miss the birth, but hurt about the way the miscommunication had gone. <br /><br />I realized the reason it had hurt so much was that I had always put so much effort into getting to births fast, and that at the moment that the miscommunication occurred, the ideas I was having about expediting childcare were all just as inappropriate as the choice I had made a week prior. In our miscommunication, I saw that she viewed wanting to stay home with my children as a more reasonable reaction for me to have than desperately scrambling to find shoddy childcare situations to shave 45 minutes off an arrival time - despite my reliable track record, despite the fact that I had not once given anyone reason to believe that I would hesitate to attend a birth for any personal reason. Dear God were my priorities askew. What a wake-up call.<br /><br />And if that was a startling realization, even greater was the realization no matter what I did, there would always be sacrifices to be made one way or another toward midwifery or toward motherhood. Of course I knew that already, I had just never realized how deep, important, and mutually exclusive those sacrifices would have to be. I started to think, perhaps my standards for the kind of midwife I want to be and the kind of mother I want to be are not compatible. <br /><br />Perhaps they're not. Or perhaps I am too burnt out right now to think otherwise. <br /><br />2011 chewed me up and spit me out. Largely, I have no one and nothing to blame but myself. I signed up to take on a second apprenticeship despite seeing clearly on the calendar how busy my first was about to get. I signed up to go to a busy birth center. I charged forward even when each midwife who knew me well asked me if I was handling it all okay. I was handling all quite well, actually, but in retrospect, I should have seen it coming, because this is how I always am: calm, clear, and effective during crisis - burnt to a fragile crisp after it's resolved. <br /><br />Yes, I made the choice to pack my time full with apprenticeship opportunities. Still, I could not have foreseen how 2011 would unfold in terms of births. I attended enough complicated births to last most midwives several years. Of 44 births I personally attended this year, 19 had complications ranging from postpartum hemorrhage to events so strange I have no corroboration for them in literature or anecdote. I also was a part of the prenatal and postpartum care for 16 other clients whose births I did not attend either because I was out of town at the birth center or because they transferred care to the hospital before the start of labor and thus didn't have the usual 3-person birth team. Two of these sixteen clients had normal homebirths; for the other fourteen, I had varying levels of stress regarding their complications as I was updated from the midwife and/or student who did attend to them during their transfer or during the birth. (This is far different than being present during complications, but it is still significant to my stress levels over the year.) This is not normal. Generally, we see minor, easily managed complications in about 25% of births and more stressful ones in perhaps 5% of births. For my 2011, it was 55% overall. About half of those were scary (23% of my 44, 21% of all 60). <br /><br />As 2011 was coming to a close, it was clear that I needed a break. I talked to Mason and Mollie about the plans to bring me on as a junior midwife, told them I was considering quitting, and we came to the conclusion that a sabbatical was in order. The plan was made that I would take all of 2012 off call. The relief I felt revealed to me just how heavy the weight I had been carrying was. <br /><br />Of course, it wasn't a complete vacation from midwifery - I still had my schoolwork to finish and my licensing exam to sit. I took the exam in February and passed! <br /><br />Another relief, and another door opened wider for my children. If I were single and had no children I would have needed a break after that crazy year. Being that I am married and have three children, I not only needed a break, I needed a reunion. I've been soaking up my kiddos. <br /><br />It's already becoming clear to me that I need more than 2012 off. I recently said to a new friend, "Midwives are notoriously unreliable to anyone except their clients." It's true, and I want to be reliable to my children. <br /><br />My son is still little. I read Frye with newborn D nursing in my arms, I started attending clinic when he was six months old, I started attending births when he was eleven months old, and I have been so busy that I have missed out on more than half of his life. While I completely understand how this works well for some families, it is not working for me. It is not what I had ever intended for myself in motherhood or intended for my children. Time to start being myself again.<br /><br />That's the crux, isn't it? I am a midwife. I am a mom. Like my love for my children, these identities overlap in my heart and fill me. But unlike love and identities, time can't overlap, and I have to choose what to do with mine. Right now, I am choosing to focus on my family.<br /><br />A wise friend told me that this year my job is to forgive myself. I appreciated that, and then I edited it. This year, my job is to heal. I can't regret the choices I've made over the past few years. I am not angry at myself. I have learned so much and been a part of so many wonderful experiences I could never regret. Nor could I bring myself to regret the traumatic experiences - in them, I learned, and I mattered. And even though I have questioned it, I do not regret now taking this time for my family. I'm quite certain that I did the right thing with my time over the past few years, and that now the right thing is to shift gears. I don't regret, and yet it hurts. I missed them and I still miss them. I feel sore and raw from some of the choices I have made and some of the experiences I did not choose. Sometimes the right path is the hard path, the painful path. This is the year I heal.Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00387238559185062480noreply@blogger.com3