I may be stupid...

I just gotta say - it's open enrollment time for health benefits and all that crap, I'm sure many of you are dealing with this yourselves at the moment. You guys, I have 3 degrees from institutions of higher learning and I CANNOT figure this shit out! I have seriously spent many hours (OVER LUNCH, in case my boss finds this journal) trying to figure out which health plan is going to give me and my family the best coverage for what we need for the best price. I JUST DON'T KNOW! Fortunately, all the information is online these days - if I had to do all of this on paper I would've hung myself already, for sure - and as I type this I have 4 browser windows, 2 PDFs, and 2 spreadsheets open trying to make a final decision. Still, I have no confidence that I'm making the right choice. And while Orion is plenty smart and all, you know I can't leave this kind of thing to anyone else. Besides, he would have descended into a deep depression days ago had he been in charge of figuring this stuff out.

I look at the 12 plan brochures, each with 2-3 different plan options, all with different premiums, and co-pays, and deductibles, and PPO networks and I think of my 86-year old Grandmother who had to sign up for the Medicare prescription drug coverage not too long ago. DON'T get me started...

I don't know why I'm telling you all this, other than I need to rant, and I want anyone else out there who's feeling too stupid to function in this healthcare system at the moment to know: I feel you. Better than not having any health coverage, for sure, but still....can we not work this shit out as a people? I know that Americans are supposed to be all about having choices and "control", but I just feel like they're confusing me with their jazz-hands and fireworks and I'm going to end up losing my house when I have to pay my share of the bills when Linus breaks his arm after climbing up on the mantel and playing Supa Fwy!

Google me now, mofos!

I find it amusing that I get more hits on this blog from people googling, "belly button rubbing" than I have regular readers. Of course, there are only 4 people who check regularly, so it's not that fantastic, but still...

What the fuck?! What is it that people need to learn from the internet about belly button rubbing? Looking for How-Tos?! Or is this some sort of fetish and people are looking for like minds? Are there belly button rubbing naughty pictures out there? To each his own, but...ew.

He still does it, by the way, Linus and the belly button comfort rubbing. It's still his only security "blanket" (though it may be getting competition lately from his Supa Man hoodie). He's pretty much weaned himself over the last couple of months, so there's no nursing-for-comfort now, just belly button checks. On occasion, not all the time. It's great for me because you can never misplace your belly button and then demand that I find it before you'll leave the house. Nobody cries because they can't find their belly button. At least, I'm assuming.

Wha?

(While looking through an alphabet book)

Me: What's this? (pointing to the letter "M")
Linus: M!
Me: Yes! What's this? (pointing to the letter "K")
Linus: B!
Me: Close! It kinda looks like a "B", but it's a "K".
Linus: K!
Me: Yes! What's this? (pointing to the letter "J")
Linus: Wonda Woman!
Me: What? What is this?
Linus: Wonda Woman!
Me: Huh.

60 Minutes Australia can fuck off!

I'm not kidding, they really can. I told them as much in an email. I may have used the phrase "yellow journalism" as well. Fuckers.

I'm pissed because they featured a story on their October 22nd broadcast called, "Being there". No, I don't watch 60 Minutes Australia. Someone on the parenting listserv back in Lawrence that I still belong to posted about it. It's supposed to be a story about Attachment Parenting, but it ends up making AP parents looks like radical, permissive kooks. Attachment Parenting, in case you don't know, is a parenting philosophy that advocates building a strong bond with your baby through things like breastfeeding, co-sleeping, and "baby-wearing" (using a carrier as much as is practical so the baby gets the benefit of lots of physical contact), along with "gentle" or "positive" discipline (which in practice means a lot of things, but primarily non-violent). The idea is that if you establish this strong attachment, your kids will develop into secure, emotionally-healthy, peaceful people.

Before I even knew I had a parenting "philosophy", I knew that these things made sense to me and described the kind of approach I intened to take to parenting an infant, at least. This parenting group back in Lawrence (I've written a bit about them before and how much I miss their support) is an Attachment Parenting group. We're not affiliated with the international organization - mostly we're a bunch like-minded parents. I got in touch with the group initially because I didn't know anyone, apart from far-flung family, that had small kids and I felt like I needed to make friends with other parents. Critical! It was only later that I realized I'd happened into the right group for me, and felt lucky to be surrounded by people who fully supported, and could give informed advice about, the choices I was making as a parent. Hell, I don't even like to refer to a "parenting philosophy" - sounds a little like I'm in est, or a scientologist or something. We don't have a secret handshake or anything. I think some parents tend to gravitate together because what we're doing is not particularly well-represented in the mainstream media or popular culture.

Ok, back to the 60 Minutes story - so, they misrepresent AP parents from the begining. They chose to profile parents who go waaaaay beyond any AP parent I've ever met. They open with an image of a woman with big ol' boobies tandem nursing her daughters. They totally play on people's squicky response to breastfeeding in general, and especially breastfeeding toddlers and young children (apparently there are many cultural similarities between Australia and the United States on this subject). Also, they misrepresent AP as taking a "no discipline" approach and they lump a bunch of other random shit under the AP rubric which doesn't belong there at all. Notice that I've said nothing thus far about home-schooling, home-birth, and Elimination Communication ("EC" - not using diapers, essentially) among other things. Now, it's true that some AP parents are also home-schoolers, or had home births, or only wear Birkenstocks, or drive fucking Volvos, or only name their children after natural features of the landscape, but that doesn't mean that those are AP principles simply by association!

AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaagh!

They even go as far as showing the tandem-nurser mom expressing some breast milk and applying it to some sort of rash on one of her kids. Wtf?! What can that POSSIBLY have to do with AP?! It may be a perfectly fine idea, I don't know, that's not the point. The point was, I can guess, to show how far-out and nutty that family is. In fact, that women's breasts get more airplay than anything else in this story. They also have a midwife on who practices AP with her kids, and she actually does a fairly good job of talking about her parenting philosophy in the face of what I would characterize as derision from the "journalist", but every time she talks about her approach to discipline, they cut to a shot of her 3 year old crying, or screaming, or generally melting down. Please! I don't care what parenting approach you take, if you have a toddler, you're going to have to deal with crying and screaming. But they were doing it in a way that made it look like her kid was completely out of control.

Then to top it all off, they have on a child psychologist (Dr. John Irvine) who makes the claim that AP parents are actually subjecting their children to "emotional abuse". I'm not kidding, that's a direct quote. Now, I don't know anything about this guy, I've never heard of him before, but he's totally off his nut if he really believes that. Now, I suspect that what he's really refering to are those parents who don't set any limits with their kids. I suppose that would be "no discipline", and I'm sure that does lead to insecure, entitled assholes. You'll get no argument from me about that. If that's the case then, he needs to get his fucking story straight about what he's actually talking about, rather than talking out of his ass. There are many child development experts and pediatricians who endorse an AP approach, by the way (Drs. Sears and Jay Gordon are two of the most well-known), NONE of whom were interviewed in this piece. AND, they don't even mention that there's an international organization, let alone interview a representative. No! That would potentially put AP in a positive light. Asswipes!

Why am I so upset about this? I don't know exactly - part of it's because it's such a crappy, distorted, bullshit piece of "journalism", and part of it's because I feel personally slighted. It's just so frustrating. I know a lot of parents who could be characterized as AP, and most of them are smart, sane, nice folks. None of them are strident about it. They represent a broad spectrum of choices: some breastfed for 2 months, some for 4+ years. Some co-sleep, some don't. Most all of them have used a sling or other baby carrier for some period of time, but they also use strollers. Many of them have caught grief from family or friends (or even complete strangers!) for some of the choices they've made. Like most parents, they're just trying to do right by their kids without completely screwing them up.

That's my goal, anyway.

Now, any parent can choose whatever approach works for them, I don't care. Oh, I'll probably judge you IN MY MIND, but that's because I'm that way. I'd never actually SAY anything to you unsolicited. Actually, I'm quite sympathetic to the plight of most parents. All it takes is your first toddler meltdown in a public place to knock the smug right out of you. I'm also happy to explain at length why I've made the choices I have, because you know they're well-informed at least. If you know me at all you know I've approached parenting the same way I approach just about anything - research, research, RESEARCH. Why didn't you call ME, 60 MINUTES?!? Too boring?! Not willing to wag my boobies on TV?! Oh HO! Little do you know.

Phew! I feel better now. Thanks for letting me get that hot lump of screed out.

Mini Me, er...Him

Ok, that right there could be a picture of Orion. Hands on hips, walking around, surveying the situation, furrowed brow. Of course, Orion doesn't have a pair of monster boots like that, and if he did, I doubt he'd insist on wearing them everywhere, every day. Sometimes, Linus even tries to get me to let him wear them to bed, but you gotta draw the line somewhere. I'm always taken by surprise whenever Linus busts out with some look or gesture that's exactly like Orion. I mean, I'm a biologist and all, so I know how it works, but still...

I figured I'd give a bit of a Linus update:

Well, he rocks, of course. That kind of goes without saying. He's talking all the time now and it's cute as hell. He's past that stage where we can say stuff in front of him without him understanding. Now if we want to talk about, say, chocolate (or "chocus", according to Linus) we have to spell it out, otherwise it can get ugly. He pretty much keeps up a running monologue, unless he's pooping or getting into something he knows he shouldn't, like mining my bag for gum. Handy, that. Kind of a warning system.

He's completely fascinated with Superman ("Supa!") and how he can fly. I really don't know how he found out about Superman. I suspect another kid at daycare must have spilled the beans. He loves to "fwy" like Supa - he puts his arms out and either wants us to carry him, or he dives onto the beanbag ("FWY!") (I know - killing you with the adorable. Believe me, I know!). The other day we were at the grocery store, when suddenly he yelled out, "Supa!" I'm looking around not seeing anything, but the baby keeps insisting, "Supa!" Finally, I follow his pointing to a jar of Napoleon brand roasted red peppers. I'm totally not getting it, then it dawns on me that Linus thinks the little picture of Napoleon is Superman. Well, he did have dark hair and we was wearing a red and blue outfit, so...ok.

Napoleon, Superman. Potato, Potahto, right?

Roasted red peppers are one of his favorite foods, by the way, completely independent of the whole Supoleon confusion. Peppers and "tatoes" (tomatoes). And, of course, chocus.

Can't forget about the chocus.

We go to Nathan Hale High School, we get things done!

I went to my 20th high school reunion last month. Oh, yeah. I didn't think I'd make the effort at first, but then Tina was all for it, so I thought, "Why not?" Then as the time got closer I got increasingly nervous and excited, much to my own internal embarrassment. High school was a hard time for me, as I imagine it is for many if not most people. My family was a mess on top of all the precarious negotiations of the high school social scene. I wasn't in a hurry to revisit all that. Before the reunion, Tina and I met up with an old high school friend, Sandy. It was lovely to see her again! Seriously, I don't know why we lost touch. We fortified ourselves with libations before heading over to the "billiard hall" where it was being held. Nervous, nervous, nervous!

Turns out, there was absolutely no reason to be nervous. The whole thing was a bit boring, actually. About a hundred repeats of this conversation (from my side):

"Hi! Oh my god, how ARE you?! Great! What have you been up to? Good, good. Oh, everything's going well for me. Yeah. Well, we just moved back to the west coast. Yeah! I just started a postdoc with ____. Yeah! I know! Yeah. I do! A little boy - Linus. Oh, thanks, we like it too. Here's a picture. I KNOW! Isn't he?! Just 2. Yeah, he is big for his age. I know! And you? *Gasp*! Ohmygod! So cute! Really? Yeah. Well that's great. .... Yeah. .... Ok! You too!"

All of this done in a much higher voice and sing-song tone than I EVER use in daily life. Jesus. Embarrassing.

There were a few people there I was happy to see, and I few people I was hoping to see that weren't there, but mostly, a bunch of people I feel entirely indifferent about. Apparently many people remember me as someone who just did what she wanted and didn't give a shit what anyone thought. Which... is a perfectly fine way to be remembered, I guess. I remember feeling awkward much of the time, but...

There was one moment that made the whole trip worth it though. I got to witness first hand a drunken, bitter rant by Tim L.! Now, I had a crush on Tim when we were in junior high. A big crush. And even though I was well over it by high school, he always had this, "Yoooooouu had a crush on meeeee-eee!" kinda attitude all through high school. Gah! Back in junior high, when he found out I liked him, he told me that he could never like me back because I had too many freckles.

I know!

When I asked him what I was supposed to do about that, he said, "Well, a little acid should take care of it." And then he burped in my face.

I'm pretty sure that was about the time I stopped liking him.

Anyway, at the reunion, Tina and I made our way over to the bar to refresh our drinks, and found ourselves standing at one of those high, round, bar tables with Tim. He was clearly well into the scotch by this point. We exchanged a couple of pleasantries along the lines of what I quoted above, and then the most awesome thing happened! He goes:

"Ya know. I'm sick of people acting like their lives have all turned out soooo great! [in a falsetto] "How are you? Oh my life is so great! Everything's just great!" [fixes me with a drunken stare] Well. My life's been a roller coaster! [rolling head around to illustrate] I went to college, then I dropped out, then I tried again, and then I dropped out. [gestures with scotch in hand, sloshing drink] Then I found out I have ADD, which is probably why I couldn't ever finish. I got married, then it turns out she was a BITCH, so I got divorced. Now I drive a bus for Metro. So, no! My life hasn't been that great!

[moment of drunken silence]

Ya know. Just keepin' it real."

Oh. my. god. It was AWESOME!!!

Total fucking schadenfreude and it. was. DELICIOUS!

Tina, to her credit, was very gracious and started talking about how really, things haven't always been so great for her over the years, and what not, while I just stood there taking it all in with a big, stupid grin on my face. I mean, sure, everybody's gone through ups and downs over the last twenty years, and nobody's life is perfect, but in general, my life's pretty good. And really, I can't say that I'm too torn up about Tim L.'s life not turning out so great (see above anecdote).

Yes, I am a small, petty woman.

Later, I saw Tim across the room, arm around a women who also professed a bit of a hard luck life story. Also, quite drunk. In fact, Tim was buying her a drink while we chatted. I'm pretty sure they left together. Nothing like a drunken hook-up between bitter trainwrecks at the 20th high school reunion.

Aaaaaah, the majesty.

I know I suck at this!

Yeah, that's right. I know one of the things that makes a blog readable is, you know, actual words. Plain Jane had a post today where she made comments to some of the journals she reads. I doubt that any of them were to me specifically (I know she's read me before, but I don't think she checks back (though if so, Hi Jane!)), but all the ones that said, "UPDATE!" could have been. I know! Blogs that aren't updated regularly annoy me! Yes, I annoy myself. All the time, actually.

In my defense, I didn't really know what to post following Tori's death. I started a couple of posts, but it all seemed so lame and inappropriate. Now that there's been some time, I feel like I can write about trivial stuff again. Either that or I've come to embrace the fact that I'm lame and inappropriate.

You pick.

Also, I've been working on a paper at work, so I've been a bit sick of writing. And, writing for scientific journals and writing for a personal blog do not mesh. In fact, all of my training as a writer (such as it is) has been geared toward technical writing, which I think is really at odds with good journal writing. In scientific publications you have to dispassionately describe results as succinctly, yet completely, as possible, all without the use of personal pronouns, or even acknowledging that actual people conducted the research. The effects of my immersion in that kind of writing permeate this blog, I think, and not in a good way. I think that my writing here tends to be too brief, not enough detail or development. Not to seem to be sucking up, but one of the things I like about Jane's journal is that she can go on for paragraphs about one topic, really delving in and describing her feelings in detail. That's one of the reasons I like her writing. I always catch myself trying to sum up everything in one sentence. Skimpy. My writing here is skimpy. Just so you know that I know.

I've contemplated just deleting this blog and keeping my junk to myself, but then...something comes up and I want to write about it. I figure no one's making you check in and read, so I'm just gonna keep going. I could make some empty promises about updating more regularly, but I won't insult your intelligence. I will say that this latest gap was due to unusual circumstances and hopefully won't happen again.

We went to Tori's memorial service a couple of weekends ago. It was in Reno so we all flew down. It was awful. Not the memorial service, which was lovely, and hard, and very emotional (obviously). No, Reno was awful. My family lived in Sparks (next to Reno) when I was a kid, but I hadn't been back there in about 20 years. Now I know why. If anyone reading this is from Reno and has deep affection for it - sorry, but that place sucks ass. Both Orion and I had headaches from the moment we arrived, and mine finally developed into a my first ever, full-on migraine. I think it was the combination of the high altitude, bone-dry air, cigarette smoke, flashing neon lights, loud, loud, LOUD noise, crying over Tori, and the pack of crazy fuckers known as My Family that did it. But I've cried and been around my family before without getting a migraine, so I'm really blaming it on Reno. By Sunday evening I was huddled in a ball in the rental car, which was blissfully quiet and smoke-free. Fortunately for me, Missy gets migraines, so she slipped me one of her pills and an hour later I could walk again.

I hope I never see a buffet or the inside of a casino again. Seriously, gross. I've never considered myself particularly sensitive to cigarette smoke, but Oh My God, I have limits! I'm pretty sure I've developed a spot on my lung just from walking through the casinos to get to whatever buffet to eat with my entire clan. I guess I've become wimpy since my waitressing days. All that living in places where smoking is banned in all public buildings (otherwise known as "Civilization") will do that to a person, I guess.

Ok, lunch time is over. That's another reason I don't update often - finding time to write. Blah, blah, blah. I'm living up to the Complain-o-peeps moniker today, eh? I have lots of little saved stories from over the last month and a half. I promise to update frequently, for awhile anyway.

Inadequate words

Tori died yesterday.

Her body just couldn't do it anymore. When it became obvious that there was no hope, they cut back on her sedation in the hopes that she would regain some consciousness. Apparently, she did wake up enough for Missy to tell her what she could.

I don't know what to say now. It feels like I should say something about how she faced the last 8 months with incredible strength, which she did, and how sorry I am for Missy's loss. It all sounds so inadequate.

Here's something: The Children's Hospital has a Courage Bead program. Essentially, every time a kid going through cancer treatment has a procedure, or experiences a milestone of some sort, they get a bead to add to their string. Different color and types of beads signify different things. So, for example, every time she got poked she got a black bead to add to her string. When she lost her hair she got a brown bead. When she got her bone marrow transplant she got to pick out a special, big, glass bead (she chose one with a tree on it). She got glow-in-the-dark beads for her each of her radiation treatments. You get the picture. When I was there for her birthday, her strand of beads was over 19 feet long.

Her favorite bands were Green Day and My Chemical Romance. She had a huge crush on Johnny Depp. She wanted to get a tattoo of a heart on the inside of both of her wrists. One facing out and one facing in - for the love she'd received and the love she'd given. I'm so sad she never got to do it.

My concern is for Missy now. I can only begin to understand the depth of her grief. We asked her to come and stay with us for as long as she'd like. I hope she does.

Tori's crashing. She's crashing and we're all lost. They had to put her on a respirator, so they induced a coma so she wouldn't fight it. They also put her on dialysis because her kidneys just can't handle all the toxic by-products of the cellular breakdown she's experiencing. She's unable to regulate her own blood pressure, so they've got her on three different meds to keep it up. She can't handle being off those meds for even a minute (like changing the IV) without her blood pressure plummeting. She also has a fungal mass in one of her lungs, despite being on two powerful anti-fungals. If she makes it past this crisis, they're going to have to do surgery to remove half her lung. Christ.

I don't think she's coming back from this one. This time it seems like too much. Too much. The poor kid's body has had so much to deal with over the last eight months. She has fought back from the brink before, however. There is some hopeful news in all this - she's developed the rash that says the transplant cells have taken root. She's making white cells again and actually has a white count.

I worry. I worry. I cry. I hope.

Bittersweet 16

I finally got down to Oakland Children's Hospital to see Missy and Tori last week. Finally! It was Tori's 16th birthday last Wednesday so all the women in the family went to celebrate with her. Her Bittersweet 16th. She can have a Sweet 16th later if she wants. I'm glad I finally got to lay eyes on them. I'd made plans to fly down there 3 other times, but each time either I was sick or the baby was sick, and Tori essentially has no immune system so I couldn't risk exposing her to something I might be carrying.

I was unprepared for just how bad Tori looked. I get daily updates and I've seen pictures, but seriously, she looked like 8 kinds of hell. It was shocking. The poor kid. She's had her bone marrow transplant, but she's dealing now with the effects of the radiation she had to have before she could get the transplant. She's still bald, but now her kidneys aren't working right, so she's all swollen with excess fluids. She has, essentially, radiation burns on the tips of her fingers and toes and a couple of other places, and she bruises at the slightest touch. She's losing the lining of her mouth, nose, throat, intestines, etc., so she can't eat. I never heard her complain, but she's obviously in a lot of pain, and other discomfort, despite all the pain meds she's on.

For all that Tori's going through, my heart was really with Missy. I just can't imagine what she's experiencing. It's really the horror of watching her child die, because that's what she's doing. Even if the doctors can cure her, Tori's dying right now. It's all part of the treatment - taking you as close to death as possible, so that they can bring you back cancer-free. It really seems to me like the doctors have thrown Tori off a cliff. She's falling, and maybe they can catch her at the bottom and she'll survive the fall. And Missy has to watch all of this, and can't do anything about it except be there, fall with her, and tell her over and over that if she has anything to say about it she'll be fine.

I was there 3 days, we never left the hospital, and I came home exhausted. They've been there 8 months, less one week furlough home when she was doing better back in March. Eight months. I don't know how they do it. Or, I guess I do know. They do it because what choice is there? Missy's in that hospital room 23 hours a day because that's where her daughter is.

Go hug whomever you love right now. I'm serious, y'all, go do it. Hug 'em and look them in the eye and SEE them. I'm sure you hug your loved ones all the time, but give them an extra one for me, ok?

Awkward chicken transition

Whatever I write about next is going to seem trivial, so I'm just gonna dive in. It's an uncomfortable segue from cancer to poultry, but here goes:

We got chickens. Real, live, peeping, baby chickens. 4 of them.

They look just like this:


Tina, do not freak out! You'll never have to see them - you weren't really ever going to come down for a visit anyway, were you?

I decided to start a little, backyard laying flock. Even though this is something that never EVEN entered my mind prior to about 6 months ago, apparently it's not that uncommon for people to have urban, backyard flocks. You might think there's some local ordinance against it in your town or city, but probably not. Not for a few hens anyway. Roosters are another story - lots of towns ban them because they drive the neighbors crazy with the crowing - but a few hens is pretty low-impact, from a neighbor perspective.

I started thinking about it because when we lived in Kansas our friends, Dick and Cathy, kept chickens. They're a retired couple who live on about 25 acres outside of Lawrence, and they keep a pretty big flock, for amateurs anyway, of about 20 birds I'd guess, including a couple of roosters. Cathy's into heirloom breeds, so they have lots of different kinds of chickens. One of the perqs of being their friends is that they would give us eggs all the time; a dozen eggs a week for years. Those were some good eggs. I'm not kidding. If you've never had really fresh eggs from healthy, happy chickens, do yourself a favor and find some.

I've told Dick and Cathy a couple of times that if Linus turns out to be a genius we owe it to them. They kept me in high quality protein throughout my entire pregnancy and through Linus' first year AND eggs are a good source of choline, which is key in brain development. The whole time I was pregnant an omelet sounded tasty, while many other foods were Off The List, so I ate a lot of eggs. There was a front page article in the New York Times last Sunday all about how we're living longer and healthier lives than our ancestors, in part because we have better pre-natal and early childhood nutrition. So, Linus will also have to thank Dick and Cathy if he lives a long time.

Anyway, I've been missing those good eggs and I started looking into what it would take to raise laying hens. Turns out, not much. I may have mentioned this before, but I am a total geek. I'm all about data, so when I approach something new like this my first response is to gather as much information as possible. I spent weeks reading every website and book about raising chickens I could get my hands on. I now know pretty much everything you can know about raising chickens from reading a book. I could write a thesis. Of course, I'd end up plagiarizing all over the place because I have no ACTUAL experience, but none-the-less, I'd get an "A".

Once we decided to give it a try, I had to figure out where to get the chicks. Turns out, you can get them mailed to you. Seriously. No big deal. A peeping box with holes in it will be delivered to your front door by your regular mail carrier. Who knew? There are a number of hatcheries around that have just about any breed of chicken you might want. I decided on Barred Plymouth Rocks. They're supposed to be good layers and calm, not flighty, important because I don't want any chickens flapping around my head, and pretty nice looking.

You know...for a chicken.


The problem with ordering through the mail is that the hatchery will decide how many chicks are needed to keep each other warm and even if you just want four pullets (girl chicks), they'll pack in as many extra cockerels (boy chicks) as they deem necessary. Of course, they have way more boys than they need because chicken sex-ratios are just like ours, 50/50, so using them as packing peanuts is no loss to them. So, it's possible that I'd have 15 chicks show up on my doorstep. I wanted to avoid this if possible, so I found a hatchery not too far from here where I could go pick them up. I'll write all about how I'm never patronizing that hatchery again in another post, but for now I'll just say that I went up there yesterday and picked up my chicks. They're living in an old fishtank for the next month or so until they're big enough to move outside. Orion's building the outside accommodations for them. If they all make it through puberty, in about 5 months we should be getting a dozen or so eggs a week from them.

The irony is, I don't like birds. I'm with Tina on this one, though maybe not quite as borderline-phobic. I've never kept birds of any kind. I'm not much of a bird watcher. I have a bird feeder in my yard, and I'll occasionally look up a visiting bird in an old, hand-me-down bird guide, but mostly I'll watch the robins working the yard through the blinds with slitty eyes. I don't trust those robins. You can totally see their dinosaur ancestry in the way they move. Creepy. I don't feed the ducks or geese at the local pond, uh uh, no way. I never saw the penguin documentary. Never will. Penguins freak me out. But somehow this seems do-able. They are pretty cute when they're small, so maybe watching them grow up will make them more familiar; not so alien and disturbing.

I don't know, we'll see. If it doesn't work out I'm sure they'll make a fine stew, so either way...

Callouses

I have been trying to write about this for a month, but I keep laming out.

My cousin Missy's daughter, Tori, has leukemia. I haven't written about it before because I didn't really know what to say. She was diagnosed on this past Christmas Day. A couple of days before Christmas she developed a fever and general illness. She got dehydrated enough that she had to go into the hospital and that's when they found out. It's Acute Mylogenous Leukemia (AML), which is quite serious. She's been in the hospital ever since, except for one week-long furlough home. She's been going through rounds of chemo interspersed with recovery and treatment for a variety of secondary infections. She keeps developing a mystery meningitis that's been difficult to treat, among other things. She was told by her doctors when she went into treatment that even though this form of leukemia only has a 20-30% long-term survival rate, they thought she'd get through it ok.

I just have to say that the chemo she's been going through is fucking medieval. In a hundred years from now we'll look back on these treatments like we currently look back on bleedings to treat "ill humours". They essentially have to nearly kill her over and over in order to get her to the point that they can try and fix her. She's on a ton of pain meds, and antibiotics, and miscellaneous what-have-you. And, of course, she's lost all of her hair. It all friggin' sucks. She's 15, by the way.

They've been trying to find a bone marrow donor for her for months. They finally found a match, though she's been through another round of chemo and then radiation before that can happen, hopefully next week. She and Missy have been hanging in there through all of it. Missy pretty much lives in Tori's hospital room. They have special, long-term accommodations across the street from the hospital, but she doesn't use them. She just sleeps in T's room. I think that's pretty much what I'd do if I found myself in the same situation.

Missy's always been a bit of a black sheep in our family. She was the first of all of us (me, my sister, and my other cousins) to have a baby. She was young, around 20, and unmarried. Oh! the clucking and tsk-ing that went on in the Complain-o family when that happened. I gather she's always been a big disappointment to many in our family. She has a hard time keeping a job for very long, and she's hit up a number of us for money more than once. When we were growing up, I was closer to her than any of my other cousins, though we only see each other every couple of years at family gatherings in the last couple of decades.

I tell you all this to put this next part into context. I was talking to another member of my family, whom I'll refer to as "B". I was talking to B about Tori's health and how hard it's been on her and Missy. How they've both persevered and hung on all through all the crap one goes through with cancer treatment. I know that Missy and Tori had been having tough times dealing with each other before T was diagnosed. Typical mother/teenage-daughter conflicts, I think.

One of the things that's become clear to me during all this is how religious/spiritual many of my family members consider themselves to be. Missy posts regular updates to a website maintained by a charity for families with kids in the hospital for long-term treatments. It's a good way for all of us to keep in the loop without having to bug them by calling them on the phone daily. There's also a guestbook feature where friends and family can post notes. Almost all of Missy's posts and posts in the guestbook include calls for prayer and talk about counting your blessings. There's also a lot of talk about how God doesn't give us more than we can handle and Tori has been so brave and strong in this regard, and God works in mysterious ways, and other such platitudes. My conversation with B meandered in this direction when B said something that just stopped me cold. B said that really, Tori getting cancer was a blessing in disguise because she was going down the wrong road and would probably have been pregnant within a year, or a drug dealer. Now, this experience has drawn her closer to Missy, and Missy's had to step up and act more responsibly and in the end they'll both be better for it.

What?! I couldn't even begin to respond. I just let B ramble on. Normally, I like B. B's always seemed sensible and down-to-earth to me in the past but, what the fuck?! I've said before that my family is a bunch of crazy fuckers, which it is, and I think this causes those of us who are relatively sane to develop callouses in weird psychic places in order to survive. That's what I think has happened to B. That's the story I'm going with anyhow. I mean, seriously, cancer is a blessing because it might keep her from making some mistakes? The hell that kid (and her mom) has gone through. Do we hate teen mothers that much, or drug dealers even? And the truth is, I'm afraid Tori is going to die. Not afraid in an abstract, cancer-is-scary, kind of way, but in a concrete, it-very-well-may-happen kind of way. What then? How does B fit that into the cancer-as-a-blessing philosophy?

I know that hope is important, and maybe B is only expressing this in terms where actual dying isn't a possibility. That whole, "Tori is strong enough to fight her way through anything and will be better for it" kind of thing. I get that. Still. ..

If only!

We just got back last night from our latest trip up to Seattle. We were there to attend my sister's commencement. She graduated from Bastyr University with a B.S. in Herbal Science. Which, good for her! I had been planning on going up by myself, that way I could just drive up, attend, drive back, but my mother laid the guilt voodoo on me about how my sister would only graduate from college once, so "the whole family" should be there, celebrate, blah, blah. I caved. I should have trusted my instincts and stuck to my original plan because, first of all, who has commencement at 1pm on a Monday afternoon?! And also, guess what? A 3-hour commencement ceremony is pretty much the last place you should take a 2-year old. What?! Really?! Yeah. It was nice and all, but not enough singing and clapping and talking trains to keep Linus' attention. Seriously, it just. wouldn't. end.

There was a moment early on where I got all excited about it. My mother was reading the program before everything started when she exclaimed, "Oh, look! The keynote speaker is Patch Adams!" "Really?!" I replied. "Cool!" Because, see, I thought she was talking about J.P. Patches. Seriously. For those of you who don't know, J.P. Patches is a Seattle icon. He's a clown who had a local children's show from the about the late 1950s, until the early 80s. Sort of a Captain Kangaroo (only better!) for Seattle kids. Ask anyone of my generation who grew up in the Seattle area and they will invariably LOVE J.P. Patches. I only caught the tail-end of the J.P. Patches era when my family moved to Seattle, so I don't even have the depth of love that many of my peers do, but still, I was stoked!

So, imagine my disappointment when I figured out a couple of minutes later that I wasn't going to be listening to J.P. Patches at all, but instead to Hunter "Patch" Adams, M.D. Talk about a let down. My mother couldn't understand my disappointment. Hmmm. Let's see. Beloved iconic clown of my youth vs. "clown" doctor made famous in (what I imagine to be, as I will NEVER watch it) a suck movie staring Robin Williams (exactly the kind of movie, by the way, that my mother LOVES, which is how I know I should avoid it at all costs. My mother's two favorite movies ever, and I'm not kidding? Jumping Jack Flash and Sister Act. I rest my case.). His speech was everything I thought it would be - self-righteous and long-winded. He started off with a whole anti-capitalist thing, which I can totally get behind, and went on to talk about how schools don't teach people to love and that's the most important thing for healers, and really everybody, and on and on. Fine. He even goaded everyone into standing up and hugging the people on either side of them. Anyone who knows me knows this is the part where I really started to look unamused. That kind of shit makes me crazy. I'm not against hugging. I hug people all the time. But I'm not going to hug complete strangers in some bullshit attempt to make a point about how if we all just loved each other we'd all be happy and healthy, or some such crap. Fortunately, I was out in the lobby, with all the other parents and toddlers, watching it all on closed-circuit TV. Gah!

Then, he talked about how he's never accepted any money for any work he's ever done as a doctor. He talked about this more than once, in fact, about how he doesn't accept money, or have any savings, or insurance, or a 401k, and all said in a way to make you feel creepy about getting paid for what you do. What. ever. I'm sorry, but my sister is a single mother with student loans to pay off. She damn well better charge for her services, 'cause I can't afford to support her, and she's been leaching off my parents long enough.

Bah! Enough about it.

When we got home last night, Linus had a melt-down. Like, the second he got out of the car in our driveway. A full-on, sobbing, meltdown. I think he'd just been holding it together through all of the travel, and events, and new places, and new people, and more travel of the previous 3 days, that when he saw familiar territory, he just let it all out. He wanted me to carry him around while he sobbed and pointed at different things. When I'd take him over to those things, he'd scream, "NO!" and point at something else, blubbering all the while. Poor kid. It really was a lot. I felt like melting down and I had the benefit of experience and alcohol to get me through it all. It seems like we've been traveling, or people have been visiting us, every weekend for about a month and a half now. We were supposed to go up to my cousin's again next weekend, but not any more. Orion's going to go up and build them a deck, but the baby and I are going to stay. home.

Oh, that sounds good! We'll lay around in our pjs all weekend eating waffles. I'll show him clips from the J.P. Patches Show and we'll talk about the commencement speech that could've been.

Oh, sheet.

This time the gap in posting is not my fault. I tried to log onto Blogger several times a day, every day last week and couldn't get in. Don't ask me.

I think Linus has reached that 72 word threshold. Apparently, toddlers slowly acquire one word at a time until they reach a 72 words (or maybe 83, or 67. I'm making these numbers up, alright?! It's something in that neighborhood.), which is some kind of magic threshold, and then they start acquiring dozens of words every minute! Or, something vaguely similar to that. Anyway, his vocabulary is suddenly expanding rapidly. He only has to hear a word once and it's his. Which, is awesome, but also means that I gotta watch my mouth. He knocked over his water the other day and I said,

"Oh, shit."

To which he responded,

"Oh, sheet."

Now he says it all the time. He gets the context right. If something unexpected happens he exclaims,

"Oh, sheet!"

But, he will also just wander around muttering to himself,

"Oh, sheet. Oh, sheet. Oh, sheet."

like he's got a lot on his To Do list and not enough time.

On a totally different subject - my body is trying to trick me into getting pregnant! I find myself lately getting this surge in my sex drive just as I'm ovulating. I'll be at my office winding things down at the end of the day and I'll find myself thinking, Man! I hope the baby's napping and Orion's ready when I get home because I could really get on the train to Minneapolis*! -looks at calendar- Wait a minute! I'm ovulating!

Now that's fine. It's not that I won't have sex if I'm ovulating or something, but it's more insidious than that. We'll be in bed or some place and I'll be thinking, Hmmm, sex! But then I'll realize that we're, say, out of condoms. Rats! Weeeeell, maybe we could do without just this one time. -glances at calendar- Wait a minute! I'm ovulating! DAMN YOU EVOLUTION!!

Oh, sheet indeed!

(*don't ask me, talk to Orion about that euphemism for sex. I can't remember all the details now, but it was something like, many years ago we were making out but then I decided I didn't want to go any further, much to Orion's disappointment, and he says, "Don't get on the train if you don't want to go to Minneapolis!" Hah! We've been using it ever since.)

Movies and TV

Sometimes your greatest sources of support can be your greatest sources of insecurity, you know? Many people feel that way about their parents. I may be that for Linus one day, who knows? But in this case, I'm talking about me and an online parent's support group I belong to. Well, it's online now, but it was in actual person when we lived in Lawrence (as well as being online). What? Ok, there's a group of parents in Lawrence who maintain a loose affiliation with the Attachment Parenting International Authority On How-Not-To-Parent-Like-Your-Parents, or whatever. There's a listserv, and regular playgroups, and coffees, and stuff like that. Mostly, it's a group of parents talking each other down from the freak-outs. Very Important to have that, especially for a first-time parent. You don't know what's normal, or common, or freak-worthy unless you have someone to ask. This group was my someone.

We saw a couple of the families when we were back visiting - we really miss them! I still check on the listserv regularly, just to keep in touch, especially since we haven't found a similar group here yet. There was a recent discussion on the listserv that has me questioning some of the choices we've made with regards to Linus and watching TV and movies. Now, I didn't realize I had a parenting philosophy before I had Linus, but it turns out I do. It's all mixed together with my personal philosophy of life, such as it is. I don't have a manifesto or anything, just a series of things I tell myself, when I need a reminder. Stuff like:

Don't be an asshole.

As regards parenting, this generally means that when I'm tired, or hungry, or generally pissed off at something having nothing to do with home, don't take it out on my kid. This one can be a little bit of a challenge for me because when I am tired, or hungry, or stressed, I tend to get angry easily, so the codicil to this axiom is:

Cool your jets.

Hey! I never said my philosophy wouldn't be a series of cliches, or worn-out catch-phrases! The one that's germane to this post is:

Moderation in all things (including moderation).

So, we let Linus watch TV and movies. Orion and I both like TV. And movies. Especially movies. I'm choosy about what he watches I don't just plunk him down in front of anything and walk away. Especially no commercials! He likes Blue's Clues ("Buh buh boo!") and Thomas the Tank Engine ("Tsoo-tsoo!"), and we have a bunch of movies on DVD. He loves all the one's you'd expect - Nemo, Monster's Inc., Shrek, etc. I also bought The Incredibles, but once I saw it, I realized I didn't want him watching it. Too much shooting. I'm not completely laissez faire about it. I want to do what's best for him, but I also don't want to be a freak about it, you know? Apparently I've already ruined him by letting him see any electronic media before the age of 2. There's a family in the Lawrence group who stuck to that recommendation and didn't let their little boy even see Sesame Street before he turned 2. Hell, we took Linus to his first movie when he was 18 months old. Wallace and Gromit! Awesome! And he loved it. Sat on my lap and didn't take his eyes off the screen until about the last 10 minutes when things get really crazy. Then he was ready to walk to the back of the theatre, though he didn't want to actually leave until the movie was over.

When Over The Hedge came out a couple of weeks ago, we thought, "Great! Another movie we can take him to." (Even though he's still not 2 yet! *gasp*!) I made plans, but then a discussion about it cropped up on the listserv. Some of the parents were against taking their kids because there's some cartoon-ish violence and "mean-ness". Until I read that it didn't even occur to me to not take him on account of that kind of thing. We took him anyway, even after the discussion. It was no Wallace and Gromit mind you, but he liked it ok. I don't know, maybe that makes me a bad mom. Not like criminally bad, but not stellar. The parents that had an issue with it have kids who are a little older, like 5. Maybe if Linus was that age, I'd think harder about it. I just don't think it's a big deal at this point. And, while I don't want him to turn into a violent little bully, I also don't want him to be...I don't know...somehow stunted or something because I wouldn't let him experience stuff. Especially stuff I loved as a child, and still love now. Rationalizing? Maybe. I'm not gonna lie - part of why I want to take him to movies is because I want to go to movies.

Gah. Being a parent is confusing!

a long month

It's been a month of no entries and if you're one of the 3 people who seem to check this site with any regularity, I'm sorry. A week turns into a month before you know it. This gap in posting is partially due to a sudden influx of travel, illness, and long hours, but also because I've psyched myself out with regards to what I should post. I'd started to feel like I needed a funny story or some kind of complete allegory to write about. It was weighing me down, which is stupid, but I was thinking of just deleting the blog entirely. Instead, I've decided to try easing up on the self-imposed rules a little bit, and just write more as a journal. I know the blogs I enjoy reading the most are more like that - regular chats about what's going on. Eh, we'll see how it goes. Could be boring as hell. I can always delete it later if need be.

So, we just came back from a week in Kansas. We went back for my doctoral hooding. Even though I actually finished last summer, KU only does one doctoral hooding a year in May. I really just saw it as an excuse to go back and see all of the friends we left behind, which was great, but I'm actually glad I went through the hooding. It was nice to have a little pomp and circumstance at the end. All this crazy medieval symbolism everywhere - get my clerical robes, walk across the stage past the University Mace, shake hands with the Chancellor wearing the Chains of Learning, or some shit like that. Seriously nutty. But also a little awesome.

My advisor and I passed the time waiting through all the other hoodings seeing who could find the most Byzantine dissertation title in the program. Unfortunately, I don't have the program with me, but I'll post the winner later. The best part was when my advisor leaned over to me while we were watching someone get hooded for a Doctor of Education and whispered, "Just remember, their degree isn't as high as yours." Hahahaha! Like they'd have to give up the better parking spot whenever we might meet. Like people will whisper when they pass, "Yeah, but he only has a Doctor of Education, not a Doctor of Philosophy in Education." I don't know, maybe it does make a difference in some circles. In fact it probably does. Who am I kidding? It totally does. I still think it was a hilariously random thing to say.

It was great being back in Lawrence and seeing friends. In some ways it was actually harder saying goodbye to people this time, because I knew that I probably won't be seeing many of them again. Some of our very close friends may actually come out to visit us at some point, but I'm not holding my breath. Others, especially the families, won't. It's just not practical. So, we'll keep in touch for awhile and then eventually slip out of contact. I hope not, but that just seems to be the way. Okay, this is making me feel maudlin, so next topic...

While in Lawrence I bought myself some art. Three painting, actually. A present for myself for the hooding. One by Paul Hotvedt and two by Paul Flinders. I knew before we went out that I wanted to see if Hotvedt had anything that I liked. My friend Brad has two little paintings by him that I've always coveted. He does these beautiful little landscapes of the region around Lawrence, and I wanted something to remind me of it. Here's the piece we got ("September 4, 2004"):


He had these great tryptichs, and if I could have afforded it, I would have bought one. But I'm not complaining - I love this piece!

I'd told myself that if I saw something I liked while we were there, I'd buy it. Lawrence has better art around than where we live now. There's some good stuff around town here, but I think we live too close to Portland and everyone just goes there. But I think Lawrence is pretty much it if you're an artist in Kansas. Every restaurant and coffee house in town has some local artist's work on display. I don't know if it's so great for the artists - I gather that supply is greater than demand, but that means, frankly, that we could afford it. We saw a bunch of Paul Flinders' work up at one of the coffee houses in Lawrence and I loved about four pieces instantly. Here's one of the ones we bought ("The Big Promotion"):


I don't have a picture of the other one - it's this awesome little oil of some spindly-legged birds. Both Pauls were very nice people as well, as far as I could tell.

An all-around lovely trip. Got hooded, hung out with friends, came home with some art.

The long weekend

Well, we're back from a loooooooong weekend in Seattle, which is strange because we were only there for about a day and a half. It sure felt longer. We took the train up Friday morning, arriving in the late afternoon, and trained it back Sunday afternoon. The primary purpose of our visit was to see Tina and Dave's new baby, Finn. We high-tailed it over to the hospital as soon as we arrived. He is of course beautiful, wonderful, and small. Tiny. Not by newborn standards - he weighed in at just under 8 lbs. - but by Linus standards. I find it really hard to believe that less than 2 years ago Linus was about that size. But he was, I have pictures. It seems impossible that the 30 lb. juggernaut careening around the living room was ever that compact and demure.

After breakfast with my father on Saturday morning, we went back to the hospital for another Finn fix. We hung around Tina's room for a bit chatting and passing the baby around, then Orion left with Linus to change him and get him to nap. Then this thing happened that I feel very bad about. Finn started making the "I'm ready to eat" signs, so Tina got ready to try and nurse him. They hadn't had many opportunities to nurse yet, so they were still very new at it. As many of you know, figuring out the nursing thing can be hard at first. Considering that we've survived as a species, you wouldn't think it would be that hard, but it sure as hell can be. Especially given that most of us have never actually seen a woman nurse a baby, other than maybe a passing glance at a receiving-blanket-draped Mystery Activity by some woman trying to be unnoticed in an airport or some place similar. So, Tina and Finn were having a little trouble getting a latch going. I'm still nursing Linus now. I remember the challenges of the new nursing relationship, and I could see about 8 things going on that may have been contributing to the difficulty, but I didn't want Tina to think I was criticizing her, or come across as a know-it-all, so I didn't say anything.

For about one minute.

They continued to have trouble and Finn was starting to get frustrated and cry a little.

Now, in my defense, the sound of a newborn baby crying makes me crazy. Or maybe "crazed" is a better word. Since becoming a mom, I can't sit still in the presence of a crying newborn. I can't. Once, last year, I had to leave the dressing room at a department store because there was a baby in one of the stalls, fussing it up. The mom kept trying on clothes and saying things like, "You're ok. It's ok." while the baby continued to cry. I couldn't take it, I had to leave. I'm not saying that she was a bad mother or anything, or that I was angry and stalked out, I just couldn't stay. And it's not like I'm a "sensitive" person who feels things especially deeply or whatever. It's just - you know how they've done studies of brainwave patterns in different people in response to various stimuli, and new mothers show radical changes in their brainwaves when they hear a baby cry? I've got that, in spades.

So, Finn's starting to cry a little, and really at this point, I had 3 choices. I could have left - it was really time for me to go anyway. I could have just kept my mouth shut and let them struggle through it. Maybe they would've figured it out, or maybe not and would just have to try another time. Or, I could have taken the bull by the horns, so to speak, and gently but decisively told her what I thought the problems were and offer to show her alternatives.

Instead, I approached her bed and in a really half-assed way, kinda, sorta tried to "help". I did this by lamely pointing out a couple of things and maybe, sort of, suggested a few things. I think I was going for "gentle", but it was really just half-assed. Now mind you, Tina never asked for my help. And really, I pretty much just made things worse. Finn got more and more frustrated, and Tina and I got more and more tense in response, and Tina got more and more frustrated, and soon we were on the bad-nursing-experience spiral. I don't know what Dave and his mom were doing behind me - probably developing a deep dislike for me. Finally, Dave called in the hospital lactation consultant, and I skulked out.

So, to recap - things weren't going well, I stepped in and made them worse, then I left.

My only solace is that maybe after I left, they could blame me for the trouble and then settle down and get things working right. Maybe all the half-assed left the room with me. In case Tina reads this post before I have a chance to talk to her:

Lady, I'm sorry!

I left the hospital feeling so bad for Tina, and also so tense from the brainwave alterations. I tried to get Linus to nurse a little once I got back to my in-laws so that I could get a dose of those brainwave restoring nursing hormones, but for the first time in the History of Linus he wasn't interested. Of course.

So, there was that, but that's not why the weekend felt so long. There's just too much family to try to jam into a day and a half anymore. Of course, it's all about the baby and not about us. Now we're obliged to give everyone an adequate viewing of Poopenstein. My mother thinks that the bulk of our time should go to her and Orion's mother thinks the bulk of our time should go to them, and we still have to fit in my father and sister and round and round. We end up driving across town at least 6 times while we're there, and that's a serious deal in the gridlock of Seattle.

AND, to top it all off, I was reminded on more than one occasion that my family is a BUNCH OF CRAZY FUCKERS.

I'm not kidding. Orion's family is a little odd in mostly charming ways, and all families have that nutty uncle or the cousin that no one talks about. But every member of my family is a life-long resident of Crazyfuckerland. My first reminder came on the way to breakfast with my father. I have only one sister, and she is a single mom and has one son. My nephew decided to ride with Orion, Linus and I over to the restaurant, while my father and sister followed on. Once we were all in the car and on the way I said, "So, how's it going?" He says gravely, "You were mean to my mother as a kid and I will NEVER forgive you for it!" My nephew is 6.

It is true that I was mean to my sister when we were kids, and she has never gotten over it, BUT WE WERE KIDS. I was mean to her, she was mean to me, and the circle of sibling life was complete. I'm four years older, so I always had a bit of a height/weight/wits advantage (still do, in fact), but that's one of the perks of being the elder sibling. Yeah, I would push her around and generally act like an asshole, but then, she STABBED ME IN THE KNEE once. That is the nature of contentious sibling relationships. I have apologized many times for any and all things I may or may not have done to her when we were growing up, and I would again if I thought she'd shut up about it, but she won't. By the way, I'm 37 and my sister is 33. We haven't even lived in the same house for almost 20 years.

Honestly, when my nephew said that, I wasn't exactly happy about it, but it didn't really phase me either. It pretty much seemed par for the course, but it really upset Orion. Anyone who knows Orion knows that it's unusual for him to get upset. He's pretty much the poster boy for Mellow, but he kept saying that he just couldn't believe that she was setting my nephew up against me. He fumed about it for the rest of the day. I briefly considered bringing it up to my sister, but you don't need to go looking for drama in my family. Pretty much any conversation with her can end up in... what word am I looking for? Histrionics? Yep, I just looked it up and "deliberate display of emotion for effect" is exactly right.

So, that is one tiny example of crazy fuckerness. Here's another - at lunch with my Mom later that same day, she drops the news that my father had sexually harassed an employee at one of their businesses and they just settled the suit for $75,000, putting their company in danger of failing. Oh, and this all happened 2 years ago. What the fuck!? I'm just finding out about it?! And it's not like it was being kept a big secret or anything - my aunt, uncle, and sister (and probably all my cousins as well, knowing my aunt) knew all about it from the beginning. Also, this is apparently the reason my mother finally decided to divorce my father. Their divorce was final last fall, but I'd just assumed that my mother had finally gotten sick of what a huge asshole my father is. He really is. Big, big asshole. She should've left him 30 years ago, frankly. I've always thought so.

And here's a rich detail - just at breakfast that morning my father asked me if I'd been surprised that he and my mom, "had split the sheets" (wtf?!). I choked on my pancakes and tried not to let coffee come out my nose while I thought about whether I wanted to answer, "Are you fucking kidding me?!" That wasn't the first time he'd asked me that question either, but I'd just chalked it up to his impending Alzheimers. In retrospect, I think he was fishing to see if anyone had told me about the lawsuit. He should've rested easy in the knowledge that of course no one had. My mom probably would've never told me if I hadn't mentioned that my father said he thought it was, "better this way", like it was some kind of mutual decision.

Crazy, crazy fuckers.

Aaah, to be the favorite

So those memories about thinking Linus didn't like me when he was new have been on my mind lately because I am currently the Favored Parent. It's a pretty sweet gig, I tell you. Any parent out there will know all about how sometimes you're the cat's pajamas, and other times you're completely repugnant to your toddler. I think moms generally have a bit of a leg up, especially nursing moms, but we all end up doing time on the Losers List. There doesn't seem to be any sort of pattern in when or why positions shift, they just do.

I mentioned before that Linus sleeps with us. He also goes to bed whenever we do. I think we ended up with this arrangement because, as I've mentioned before, I'm lazy and this is easy. We all get ready for bed, climb in, lights out, everybody falls asleep. Some parents like to put their kids to bed early, but that usually means that the kids wake up at some ungodly hour and that would annoy the hell out of me. I'd much rather have a couple of quiet, kid-free hours in the morning than in the evening. Linus usually sleeps until 9:30 or 10. Weekdays I get up around 6:30 and head off to work before even Orion is up. I work a 4, 10-hour day schedule, so I get my extra hours in before Linus is even aware that I'm not there, and since he stays up late with us in the evening I get lots of time with him. On the weekends, I'm usually up by 7:30-8 and that gives me plenty of time for a jam-hands-free cup of coffee and a newspaper, or whatever. I'm not so perky in the morning. It takes me awhile to become fully interactive.

Linus is a funny little guy. Sometimes he'll wake up in the morning and just walk out into the living room, but usually he wakes up, sits up in bed and yells, "Ma?!" I'll get up and go into the bedroom to get him, but usually not before a couple more "Ma?!"s. I'll open the door to the bedroom and he'll be sitting on the bed with a worried look on his face. I'll smile and say, "Good morning!", and he'll stretch his arms up to me. I'll pick him up and he'll relax against my shoulder. I'll carry him out to the living room and he'll stay in that position until he wakes up enough to ask for the booby, or, "B" as he calls it. He'll nurse for awhile and then climb down off my lap and head off to look for a ball, or a rock, or the cat. I really like this weekend morning ritual. I can completely relate to the desire to be carried around in a sleepy haze until breakfast sounds good.

Apparently, during my work week when I'm not around when he wakes up, Linus will still call out, "Ma?!" Orion will go into the bedroom to get him, and when Linus sees who it is, he'll throw himself prostrate onto the bed crying, "No! No! No! No!" Orion will pick him up and he'll cry, "No, Da-ee!" He'll settle down pretty quickly, but still... Fortunately Orion thinks it's pretty funny, instead of upsetting, which is how I'd feel.

I usually get the better deal, which is totally how it should be, but not always. Sometimes I'll load Linus into the car and get in, ready to drive off, when he'll ask, "Da-ee?" The baby-sign for Daddy that we tried to teach him is hand open, palm out, with your thumb against your forehead (it should be thumb against your jaw for Mommy), but Linus translated this to pointing with his index finger into his ear (he pats his chest for me). So he'll point in his ear and ask, "Da-ee?" and when I say, "Daddy's not coming to the store with us, honey." boo-hooery ensues, with wails of, "My Da-ee!" over and over.

Really, I think he'd like to have both of us within arms reach at all times. Orion and I were sitting next to each other on the couch the other night, which is unusual as Or usually sits in the easy chair. Linus was beside himself with joy. He squished in between us, cupping our cheeks with one little hand each, and recited, "Ma. Da-ee. Ma. Da-ee." in a dreamy voice. You'd think he'd never seen us in the same room before. Kook.

Smiley Joe

When Linus was a couple of weeks old, I started to worry that he didn't like me. Before they start smiling it's all business with babies. They're either sleeping, or rooting around for food, crying if they don't find it. They'll spend some time looking at you, but it's a look like, "What the...? Who..? Who are you?" I knew that babies don't start smiling until about 6 weeks. I knew it in my brain, but in my heart I was becoming sure that Linus was developing a deep dislike for me. He'd stare at me like he was very disappointed to discover that I'm his mother. Then, when 6 weeks came and he still wasn't smiling, I was convinced. He just didn't like me. Oh, I'd make light of it and laughingly joke with everyone about it, but it chilled me to the bone. I'd kitchy-coo and baby-talk until I developed a blister, but he'd just stare at me deadpan, "Just give me the booby, lady." I'd think to myself, "Well, ok. Sometimes you just don't like someone. Nobody's fault. Doesn't mean you can't work with 'em. I've had plenty of coworkers I didn't like. No big deal, right? Sure. It'll be fine."

And, it's not like it was unrequited love at this point. I wasn't too sure about him either. Oh, I was down with the care-giving, his every whim was my command, no question about that, but I wasn't all google-boogle yet. It wasn't so much of a torch as a match that I was carrying for him at this point. But I did want him to like me, like really bad. I was afraid that if he didn't like me I'd pull a Reverse Grinch and my heart would shrink and harden, and I'd shrink and harden, until I looked like Nancy Reagan. Even if we didn't like each other, I didn't want Nancy Reagan raising my son. I didn't want the grape of new motherhood to become the raisin of indifferent parenting.

But then at 7 weeks he started smiling. Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, people! That is really when I started to fall in love, you know? Who wouldn't?! Every time he caught sight of me, his face would light up. In truth, every time he caught sight of anybody his face would light up. It's like once he worked out this smiling business, he wasn't looking back. People would often comment that he was the smiling-est baby they'd ever met, and I believe it because he smiled all the time. And it's not like this lack of specificity in any way dampened the warm feelings that his smile engendered in me. It's baby magic. Think about it - when a baby looks at you and smiles hugely, don't you feel extra special? Like you and that baby have an unspoken connection? Like that baby's seen through your gruff exterior and into your gooey center? Yeah. Doesn't matter if you've never seen that baby before in your life, you are now BFF.

It's such a good strategy to get us to take care of their floppy selves.

His Dad's looks, but my incredulity

Rocks and sticks

Raising a boy is weird. I imagine raising a girl is weird too, but what do I know? I do know that raising a boy is weirder than I expected. I'm not sure what I expected exactly, but I know I didn't expect to spend so much time admiring rocks and sticks.

Linus loves him some rocks and sticks. You'd think they're much rarer than they are, given his response. We have a little patch of gravel outside our front door. Whenever we go out he'll stop and pick up a rock. He'll then exclaim excitedly something like, "Look at this AWESOME rock I just found!" Except, not in adult english, or any intelligible language. Then he'll hold it up for me to see. He'll insist on taking it into the stroller, or car, or whatever conveyance we happen to be using. He'll repeatedly examine it, then hold it up and exclaim it's virtues for all to agree. Over and over. Sure, he'll either eventually drop it and forget about it, or chuck it at something. Sometimes when he's getting out of the car, he'll find the rock he dropped at some point during the ride and it's all, "Wow! Look at this awesome rock I just found! Right here in the car of all places! Isn't it great?!"

And if it's not rocks, it's sticks. The bigger the better, of course. There are lots of parks with nature trails all around the edges of town here, and I'm trying to get more exercise and other such crap, so we spend a lot of time walking the trails. Linus will immediately find a stick, carry it for a few feet, then abandon it for another, better stick. He'll eventually settle on the stick, then he starts whacking the shit out of the trail. I'm not kidding. If he's not beating the ground into submission, he's clutching the stick in both hands, pointing it at you while making emphatic, "p-shoo, p-shoo!" sounds. I try and play it off with, "Oh, is that your magic wand? Are you putting magic in my leg?"

Totally bullshit, but what's a parent to do? We don't have guns, or play that way with him. We don't watch violent stuff on TV, though I'm sure he's seen some of that - even watching the evening news you'll see gunplay. It's like the gun gene turned on at 20 months. Wtf?! And it's not like he's old enough for us to have a discussion about the implications. Mostly, I try to play it off. I'm hoping that if I keep acting like he's pretending he has a magic wand he'll eventually be like, "hmmm, maybe this is a magic wand. Awesome!"

But this is what I mean about the weirdness. He's not mean, in fact he's a really sweet, caring kid. But he runs around all day alternating between reciting toddler poetry about the sublime beauty of the common rock, and chucking them at anything that moves. When he's not pretending to shoot you with a stick or a pen, that is.

C'mon!

I mean, seriously.

Belly button privacy

Linus doesn't have any of the usual transition objects. No blankies, binkies, stuffed animals, nothing. He doesn't suck his thumb, or twist his hair, or pull his ear.

What he does have is his belly button. It's his comfort touchstone. He will rub it if he's in need of comfort or reassurance. If he comes into a room full of people and noise and commotion, he'll stop a little ways in, rub his belly button, and watch what's going on before he decides whether to join in or not. If he finds a situation upsetting, his hand finds his belly button immediately. We were watching "Robots" the other day, and during the sad scene at the train station where Rodney says goodbye to his parents - finger on the belly button. He'll also rub his belly button when he's nursing - the complete Comfort Package.

I find it to be completely endearing.

His abdominal focus doesn't end there. He likes to press his belly against things, especially another person's belly. Often while he's nursing he'll decide that it's time for belly contact. He'll lift his shirt and arch his back, trying to press his belly against mine. If I lift my shirt and press bellies for a second, he'll smile and continue nursing happily.

It gets nuttier. He'll walk up to things and press his belly against them. I'll be fixing some food in the kitchen and he'll come in, lift his shirt, press his belly against the fridge, or one of the cabinets, turn around and walk out again. I freaked once when I saw him going bare-belly-first towards the oven. I let out a little shriek, which took him by surprise, causing him to stop, drop his shirt and rub his belly button while looking at me with concern. I needn't have worried - of course we have a modern oven with adequate insulation, so the door was cool to the touch. I just had visions in my head of 2nd degree belly-burns. How awful would that be?! I even saw him try to belly-press the cat. Didn't go over real well, but I can see the appeal of the warm, fuzzy cat belly.

I think this is an example of the kind of thing that's really cute when a baby does it, but it would be totally creepy in an adult. Imagine one of your co-workers pressing his naked belly up against the water fountain or the copier machine. Nuh uh. Not charming.

All of this means that onesies aren't too popular in our house any more - no belly button access. It's really quite sad when his pair of onesie pjs makes it up in the rotation. He'll be rubbing around for a couple of minutes searching for access. I usually take pity and unzip them down to the waist. You can just see him relax when he finally finds that navel. Aaaah.

And he's almost as interested in your belly button. If you lift your shirt, he'll poke a finger in it. This really cracks him up! However, this is where I've drawn the line.

I have declared my belly button OFF LIMITS.

I will participate in the belly press, no problem, but I will NOT have fingers in my belly button. I don't like it. I tried to be game for awhile, but I just decided, "nope."

I don't have a whole lot of physical boundaries these days. I will nurse him. I will take a bath with him. Closed doors are upsetting, so he can come into the bathroom when I'm showering or using the toilet. In fact, he really likes to hug me while I'm sitting on the toilet (I think I'm just at the right height). Fine. He sleeps with us and sometimes I'll wake up in the middle of the night and he'll be plastered right up against me. So? Sometimes when he's nursing, he'll feel every bit of my face, or he'll want to investigate my teeth. No problem. He likes to pull off my socks when I'm sitting on the couch and consider, and have a discussion with, each of my toes. You bet. The cat likes to sit on my lap while I'm watching TV, while the dog likes to sit on my feet. Ok. I will have intimate relations with Orion. Great!

But my belly button is PRIVATE.

I hope we can still be friends.

My little nutjob

It goes without saying that Linus is totally effing cute. Like, melt-your-face-off cute.



See? Of course, he's not as cute as your kid, that goes without saying, but only yours. Everyone else's kid pales in comparison.

So, he's cute, but also... total nutjob. That is, in fact, one of his nicknames, "Nutjob" (it's overtaking "Peeps" as Most Commonly Used, as he doesn't peep anymore).

What's that? You doubt me?

Allow me to elaborate. He is, of late, completely enamored with two things; pretending to blow his nose, and throwing away tissue. Well, there are others, but these are the ones we're talking about today. He often combines his two loves. He's watched very carefully whenever he's seen someone blow their nose. Apparently, he thinks what we're actually doing is sniffing the tissue before we throw it away. I don't know if he's come up with reasons as to why we're doing this, all that's evident is he wants to do it too. If we leave a box of tissues within his reach, he will take one out, sniff it, and throw it away, over and over again, until the entire box is gone. Same with a roll of toilet paper. Sometimes with the toilet paper, he'll forego the sniffing and go right to the throwing away part. And he's not constrained to throwing things away into the garbage. He'll often "throw things away" into a drawer, or a box, or my shoulder bag.

Over, and over, and over, and over.

I have evidence. Video evidence! If you click on the link below, it will take you to a page with 2 short video clips. You have to click on the images to get the clips to download before you can play them. Be patient. Depending on how much server traffic there is it can take awhile to download. In the top one you will see the Sniff, Throw Away, and in the bottom one you'll see the Throw Away Not In The Garbage.

See the videos here.

I love how in the second one, if you look closely, you can see that the drawer is already full of wadded up tp. He'd been at it awhile.

Now tell me that isn't nutty!

Labor amnesia

I realized after posting yesterday that I really don't remember all that much about my labor. I guess I have that labor amnesia that women get so that they'll be willing to go through it again. Evolution rocks! I mean, obviously I remember quite a bit about it, but not as much as I'd expect given that it was pretty much the biggest single event that's ever happened to me. I have no idea what filled those 54 hours. I remember being in the tub, breathing through contractions, blah, blah, blah, but I was in labor (and awake, mostly) for that first night, a whole day, another whole night, ANOTHER whole day, and well into another night. That is a LOT of time, but I have specific memories of about 6 total hours of it.

And I remember things at a distance. Like, I remember thinking near the end,

"I'm never doing this again."

"Nope."

"Not a chance."

But I don't really remember why. Or, I remember why - I was tired and it was painful and I was tired of being in pain - but I certainly don't feel that way now. Now I'm like, "Eh, wasn't that bad."

Some of the amnesia happened immediately, it's not just the passage of time that's muted the memories. I had no idea that 2 days had past, even while it was happening. I think it's a pretty common experience - you go into this primal, non-linear mode. You're so focused internally that external stuff doesn't register the same.

That limited world view stuck with me for quite awhile after Linus was born, but my bubble expanded to include him. I was all Gweneth Paltrow, "I don't care if I never make another movie again." But, eventually I read the screenplay for "Infamous" and decided I was interested in the outside world again.

Aaaaah, I miss the babymoon.

Birthed

Well, I'd apologize for not posting for so long, but it seems no one reads these posts, so it's not even like my apology would fall on deaf ears (blind eyes?). Ah well, saves me from feeling guilty about it.

So, to finish the labor story. I labored for a long, long time. This baby was taking his time. I was progressing, just really, really slowly. Once the contractions started in earnest, or really, once the baby moved down to a certain point, I couldn't keep anything down. Every time I'd try to lay down, he'd apparently hit my vasovagal nerve and I'd suddenly throw up. You know this nerve - remember when Bush swallowed a big piece of pretzel and passed out? Same nerve at work. Sometimes even when I would turn a certain way it would happen. It was totally sudden and disconcerting. I think I've said before that I rarely throw up. And, it's not like I was continuously feeling nauseous at all. Just, get in the wrong position - Boom! Gross.

This led to an even more irritating phenomenon - heartburn. I have a low-grade, chronic acid reflux problem for which I take a certain purple pill every morning. On the purple pill, fine. Forget to take the purple pill and by about noon I have the worst heartburn. I was in labor for a total of 54 hours, during which time I neglected to take any purple pills. I wasn't planning on being in labor that long people! So after a day or two of throwing up at regular intervals and no purple pill, my esophogus was burnt. Should I ever be in labor again, I will have a designated Purple Pill Person. It will be their job to make sure I take the purple pill, and to have on hand a supply of low-acidity beverages. Fran had told me to have a couple quarts of juice on hand. I did. I was ready. I had about 5 quarts of juice on hand, weeks in advance. Are you kidding? Give me a list and I will have every item crossed off by the deadline. I was juice-ready. I was well-supplied with orange/pineapple, grapefruit, and cranberry juice. Yeah, that's right. All my favorite juices, to be sure, but not so good with the heartburn. Look, I had no idea, that I was

a) going to be throwing up all the time.

and

b) going to be in labor for 54 hours.

Why didn't somebody go out and buy different juice? you might ask. Yeah, I don't know. I think when I decided that I could keep something down it was very late at night. I'm not sure, honestly.

Anyway, all that aside, I labored, and labored and labored. I spent quite a bit of the first two days in the tub. We had a lovely old claw-foot, cast iron tub in that house. The side where you sit back was angled at the perfect angle. It was quite deep as it was, but Orion also caulked around the fixtures so that you could fill it to the rim if you wanted to. I spent hours in there. I even fell asleep a couple of time between contractions on the second day.

*sigh*

I miss that tub.

Throughout this long labor, the baby was fine. We'd listen with the doppler and his heart rate was perfect. Turns out, he was facing sideways. Once he got down far enough that Fran could feel his head, she announced that he was facing to my left. This is probably why the labor was progressing so slowly. In retrospect, I was having typical labor for a baby in this position. I would have one strong contraction followed by one or two weaker ones. I had lower back pain, whether I was having a contraction or not. Classic signs, apparently.

After about 40 hours, we had a discussion about whether I should go to the hospital. Heartburn aside, I was feeling pretty good, and the baby wasn't in distress, so we decided to stay at home. Fran gave me some herbs to slow the labor down temporarily so that I could try to get some sleep. I guess I did sleep for a couple of hours before the contractions woke me up again. I really hated that feeling, being woken up by a contraction. I wish I'd had someone with me monitor when I was about to have a contraction and then wake me up before it did. It was one of the few times I felt overwhelmed by labor, waking up in the middle. It made me resist falling asleep.

After another 12 hours or so of labor, Fran said we should talk about going to the hospital again. She was concerned that I was becoming exhausted, after 2+ days of very little sleep and nothing except a little bit of honey to eat. She said that if the doc at the hospital could turn the baby's head with forceps, he'd probably pop right out. I didn't really want to leave home, but we'd always said that if things pointed in that direction, we'd go to the hospital. I still felt like I could work through it, though I was pretty tired. By this time I could feel the top of the baby's head with my fingers, which was exhilarating, but I also really, really wanted to be done. Like, a lot. Seriously.

Maggie'd told me months before that if for some reason I needed forceps help, to not let anyone except Dr. Bruner near me. She called him "The Wizard With Forceps". Apparently, they don't really teach the proper use of forceps in OB/GYN schooling anymore. Nowadays, anything goes slightly out of the ordinary and *bang* you get a C-section. Dr. Bruner was older, had been well-trained, and knew what he was doing, by all reports. It was about 10pm by this time, so I had someone call the hospital to see who was on-call for deliveries. If it was anyone else, we were staying home and would just work through it, but as luck would have it, Dr. Bruner was the doc on call, so we decided to go ahead and go in.

That was a seriously uncomfortably car ride, though thankfully a brief one. I was still having regular contractions, and I'd progressed enough that these were the pushing kind. It was a slow walk into the hospital with regular stops for breathing through contractions. I told the nurses on duty how far along I was, but they totally didn't believe me, probably because I'd just walked in. They were a bit patronizing, like, suuuure you are, pat my hand. They led me into a small exam room to check me out, felt the top of the baby's head, and kinda freaked out. It was pretty funny. I felt a contraction coming on and got up so I could deal with it standing (my preferred position at this point) and one nurse was all, "You can't stand up! We don't want the baby to fall out onto the floor!" Hah. I just looked at her and got up. I reminded her that I'd been pushing for hours and if the baby was going to come out that easily, we wouldn't have been there. She came to her senses and was like, "Right, ok."

We all moved into a big labor and delivery room. Dr. Bruner arrived about 10 minutes later, checked out the scene and said I was lucky it was him, for all the reasons I've already enumerated. There was a brief discussion about whether or not I wanted an epidural. I asked him if the forceps were going to hurt. He said, "Not any more than regular contractions." Total. fucking. lie. I don't know what I was thinking, trusting someone who'd never been in labor, let alone had a forceps delivery. Orion stepped forward and said that I didn't want an epidural. This was one of his jobs. We'd talked a lot about it before and I made it clear that I did NOT want anyone sticking anything into my spine. I'd had a lumbar puncture in the past, and until The Procedure, it was the worst physical experience of my life. I'd asked Orion to advocate for me because I might not be able to do it myself. I'm glad I did, because I was seriously considering it. I was tired, and tired of being in pain, but I didn't really want an epidural. He was a champ.

Now, having said all that - If I had known how much the forceps were going to hurt, I would have demanded pain meds. I'm not kidding. I felt every bit of those forceps the whole way. I'm glad, in the end, that I didn't have an epidural, but I would never go through that again without some pain relief. Fortunately, it was quick. Forceps in place. Turn in one contraction. About 3 more contractions and the baby was out. From begining to end, my labor in the hospital was about half and hour long. Of course, Linus was all red and gooey and squishy and half-baked-looking. We toweled him off, I popped a boobie in his mouth, and he nursed away for quite awhile.

So, I ended up giving birth in exactly the position I didn't want to be in - that is, feet up in stirrups - but I don't really care. I'm glad I labored at home. I could do what I wanted, and I was surrounded by the most loving and supportive crew. If I'd been in a hospital the whole time, there is no way they would've let me labor that long. I would have ended up having a C-section. No doubt. As it is, I had a drug-free birth and the baby came out healthy and alert - pretty much just as I'd hoped.

If I ever get pregnant again, I plan on trying home birth again. The only thing I would do different is spend more time walking in my ninth month, and a lot of time on my hands and knees in the last weeks of pregnancy, to lessen the chances of the baby being in the wrong position again.

Oh yeah, and have different juices on hand. Maybe, apple?

Finally in labor

I am so sorry about the gap in posting! I've been all caught up in work-related stuff and haven't been paying enough attention to my 3 loyal readers.

I was due on July 14th. I knew he (we found out we were having a "he" at our last ultrasound, in case I forgot to tell you) wasn't coming early, as much as I really, really wished he would. I mean, part of me wanted to postpone his arrival for as long as possible because I was freaked out like just about all new parents about what was about to happen, but I was so sick of being pregnant towards the end. All you moms out there know what I'm talking about.

Huge, huge, HUGE! Can't breathe when I'm sitting, can't stand for more than a few minutes. Can't fit more than two bites at a time into my stomach, have to pee every hour.

You know.

And my ears! I forgot to tell you all this before, but the most consistently annoying side effect of pregnancy for me, throughout from week 1 to week 40, was that my ears were stuffed up and muffled. Aarrgh! So annoying!! Because your hormones cause your mucus membranes to get all spongy when you're pregnant (nice), a lot of women have stuffy noses the whole time. Not me. Stuffy ears. I couldn't hear anything anyone was saying. It was like I was wearing a giant marshmallow hat with earflaps. I could tip my head to the side and my hearing would clear up, but then when I tilted my head back upright, within a minute I wouldn't be able to hear again. Seriously annoying.

So, though I was scared, I was also sick of it and I really wanted to be done. But I knew he wasn't coming early. I know first-time moms tend to deliver later rather than sooner, but it could happen. Right? "Dream on, hoser," said my instincts, and they were right. At about 4 pm on my due date, I decided to take a nap. I rolled over from one side to the other at one point and felt a *pop* down there.

"Wait, what was that?"

I got up and went to the bathroom. My water broke!

"Woo hoo!"

"On the way!"

"Wait, what's that? Is that a contraction?"

"Is it?...wha?...um...no."

"Ok, I know this can take some time" (12 hours on average for a first-time mom) "but according to my calculations, I will have a new son by tomorrow morning."

"Yay!" Clap, clap, clap!

Um, not so much.

I called Fran to let her know that my water had broken, to give her a head's up. She told me to call her again when I wanted her to come over. You bet! We'd laid in all our birthing supplies weeks (sometimes months, who am I foolin') ago. Sealed bags of clean towels, lots of absorbent pads, like the kind you can use for disposable changing pads, as well as about 6 yards of that padded vinyl used for outdoor tablecloths, a whole bunch of raspberry leaf tea, and a couple of other herbal concoctions. Fran had given us a list early on. I made the bed up with clean sheets and put another clean fitted sheet over the top of everything so we could just take it off when everything was through. I puttered around the house, pausing for the occasional moderate contraction, and eventually fixed dinner. I made salmon. I remember because I eventually threw it back up. Not right away, mind you, but...yeah.

I took a shower after dinner, and settled in for the big event. My contractions eventually came on stronger and more frequently, so at about 9 pm I called Fran back and told her that I thought it was time for her to come over. I thought, "It won't be long now!"

Wrong.