Having officially been inducted into the Been There, Done That Club, I am now entitled to smile knowingly and sympathetically at first time parents whose haggard appearance and constantly worried expression are cute in a "Oh yeah, I remember that" way. And although I haven't reached the upper echelons of the club (the Been There Done That With Teenager Clique) and will never be awarded any of its prizes (the Been There Done That Times Four or More Award) I do still feel qualified to give you my emerging list of Things I Wish I Knew the First Time Around:
1) Infants, when they first come out, are %$*&@@! tiny. This makes them seem fragile. On the other hand, they've been tossed about willi-nilly for the past 9 months and are used to odd and dizzying positions. This combined with their smallness makes them easy to cart around in one hand while doing any number of things with the other.
2) Infants, when they first come out, grow out of the little tiny infant stage so fast that you really don't have to worry that Aunt Bertha's old baptismal gown is yards too big right now. Just wait an hour. She'll fit it into it then. If she hasn't managed to deposit her various bodily fluids onto it in the next hour before she grows out of it, it may even be suitable for the next generation of infant.
3) All the infant is a stage. Crying at 2am? Spitting up pints? Unable to bear being in the crib/cradle/pack and play without your constant shining face? Don't worry. Soon they'll be doing other vaguely annoying things and giving up that current habit. And before you know it, they're three.
4) Crying is not the end of the world. It is merely the beginning of the apocalypse.
5) Every baby is different. They say this but its hard to believe until you're trying the tried and true on your next born and she stares at you with a quizzical look that says "What the &^%%^$ do you think you're doing?" Then you find that your new infant actually likes, for instance, to be carried around belly down on your arm so she can drool contentedly on the ground in long droppy, wet strings. What this means about her future personality, one can only guess.
That's all my wisdom for now. Excuse me, I have to go rescue my second born from my first born, who is trying to "share" a Mr Potato Head by pushing it into the first one's face. For some inexplicable reason, Lauren is unhappy about this situation. She'll probably grow up and dislike potatoes, and she'll never know why, until she has her own children and sees what a mess they can get themselves in. By that time I'll have graduated from the Been There Done That Club and hopefully be ready to join the Grandparents Club.
Whoa. Somebody said this parenting thing never ends.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Out of the mouth of...
"One of the things Ford Prefect had always found hardest to understand about humans was their habit of continually stating and repeating the very very obvious." — Douglas Adams (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy)
We're shopping somewhere--anywhere, it doesn't really matter--and the shopping experience takes twice as long because people form living breathing talking barriers around us. And then they open their mouths.
"That's a tiny baby!" they exclaim.
"Yes, it is!" We exclaim back, reaching around them for the milk.
"They don't stay that way!" these people always feel the need to inform us, even though our three year old daughter, who is considerably larger than her sister, is right next to us. Presumably, even if we were ignorant of the fact that babies grow larger, we'd know by now.
We bite our tongues so the sarcastic "really!?" does not come tumbling out.
And then they smile at me like I've just created a small galaxy. They ignore my husband, even if he's holding the baby.
This happens at every stop, with every single customer, every single time.
At least they've stopped asking me when my due date is.
We're shopping somewhere--anywhere, it doesn't really matter--and the shopping experience takes twice as long because people form living breathing talking barriers around us. And then they open their mouths.
"That's a tiny baby!" they exclaim.
"Yes, it is!" We exclaim back, reaching around them for the milk.
"They don't stay that way!" these people always feel the need to inform us, even though our three year old daughter, who is considerably larger than her sister, is right next to us. Presumably, even if we were ignorant of the fact that babies grow larger, we'd know by now.
We bite our tongues so the sarcastic "really!?" does not come tumbling out.
And then they smile at me like I've just created a small galaxy. They ignore my husband, even if he's holding the baby.
This happens at every stop, with every single customer, every single time.
At least they've stopped asking me when my due date is.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
And then..
I was discharged from the hospital with strict instructions not to drive a car, climb stairs, or pick up anything heavier than the baby for six weeks post-partum, all of which were promptly violated as soon as I got home. Aside from the fact that we run a farm, our bedroom is upstairs, it does not take much physical strength to drive a car, and we have a 28 pound toddler...do they really think our species survived for so long because the women lounged around in the cave while the men did all the hunting and the gathering?
Saturday, May 15, 2010
And the winner is...
Lauren, a girl, weighing 7 lbs 6 ounces, and measuring 19.5 inches long, born at 8:04am on May 10th, 2010.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Can't Touch This
Maybe I had a fiercer look in my face last time or maybe I was just lucky, but during my last pregnancy I only had one instance of someone trying to touch me, and that was an old, senile lady who signalled her intent from miles away and whom I was able to fend off before she actually managed her assault.
This time I have been touched at least five times, all of them unexpectedly.
Note to all the touchy-feely people out there: we teach our children it isn't okay if other people touch them and we teach them not to touch other people without asking, and you wouldn't dream of touching a woman on the belly any other time, so stop the ^&&%#^&#% touching!!
Pregnant women are not somehow suddenly in a different class of "human" when we become pregnant. We don't belong to you or to society. All the laws of polite society still apply to us. Don't ask us how much weight we've gained, don't tell us we look huge and for god's sake don't assault us with your ugly calloused dirty hands.
It's just never, ever ever ever acceptable. Okay? I mean, it just isn't. I'm sorry if your brain turns off at the mere sight of a pregnant woman, but just, I don't know, put your hands behind your back and tape your mouth shut if you have this problem. Because it is definitely your problem, not ours.
I did have one person ask me if she could touch me. It was nice of her to ask, I guess. Except, she'd already touched me. "Is it okay to touch?" she says, poking at my belly.
No.
No.
No.
This time I have been touched at least five times, all of them unexpectedly.
Note to all the touchy-feely people out there: we teach our children it isn't okay if other people touch them and we teach them not to touch other people without asking, and you wouldn't dream of touching a woman on the belly any other time, so stop the ^&&%#^&#% touching!!
Pregnant women are not somehow suddenly in a different class of "human" when we become pregnant. We don't belong to you or to society. All the laws of polite society still apply to us. Don't ask us how much weight we've gained, don't tell us we look huge and for god's sake don't assault us with your ugly calloused dirty hands.
It's just never, ever ever ever acceptable. Okay? I mean, it just isn't. I'm sorry if your brain turns off at the mere sight of a pregnant woman, but just, I don't know, put your hands behind your back and tape your mouth shut if you have this problem. Because it is definitely your problem, not ours.
I did have one person ask me if she could touch me. It was nice of her to ask, I guess. Except, she'd already touched me. "Is it okay to touch?" she says, poking at my belly.
No.
No.
No.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Home Stretch, Mark
At my last prenatal appointment my only complaint was that I'd lost six pounds due to the Martian Death Flu, otherwise known as a gigantic sinus infection, which sucked the life out of me at the same time the fetus was sucking my life into itself, making it a big double whammy. I got over that just in time for the dreaded Final Month; playing idly with my ring one day I noticed that I could no longer get it off. Then I noticed my ankles looked larger than normal. Then I broke out in a rash. Then I got this weird phlemy thing in my throat. Then I bent down to pick up the tiniest sliver of wood and my lower back threatened to go on strike.
Oh yeah, I thought. I'm pregnant.
The nice thing about ignoring pregnancy until your feet swell up is that you really aren't all that uncomfortable for most of it. Your mind is clear. Your energy is good. So you have to remember not to eat deli meat in front of strangers who might object and sometimes you might have to endure dumb comments, but for the most part it just goes along like the rest of your life except for the funny alien kicking and the fact that every time you look down your belly seems to expand at alarming rates. It's just that last part, where the body finally starts to tire of the whole endeavor and the fetus is beginning to wonder if there's more to life than darkness and amniotic fluid, that things start to get tedious.
Fortunately I don't also have to deal with doulas, childbirth classes and dumb questionnaires this time. I can say with confidence that I am due on May 10th. I can even be fairly certain that the birth will occur around 7:30 am or possibly noon. After thirty hours of labor which ended in a c-section the first time, I am wisely opting not to do that again and just go with the c-section part.
"But," a wise old soul informed me, "You do know that you can still give birth vaginally after a c-section? It's just society telling you you can't, you know."
Listen honey, the first time I let society tell me how to do anything, you'll be the first to know. In my estimation, while natural childbirth is certainly an option (the only option for millions of years) it is not the only option, and the thing is that you can have your drug free hippy natural home waterbirth with the thirty hour labor option and certainly a birth will result, but there's no parade afterwards. No one gives you a medal. And a complications-free c-section is just as safe as a complications-free vaginal birth so... you know, get over it. I'm doing the cut-me-open birth thing. If nothing else, I get an extra two weeks of disability leave out of it. And there's an incentive if there ever was one.
I just have to make it through the next few weeks without killing my nosey co-workers and without scratching my skin off.
Oh yeah, I thought. I'm pregnant.
The nice thing about ignoring pregnancy until your feet swell up is that you really aren't all that uncomfortable for most of it. Your mind is clear. Your energy is good. So you have to remember not to eat deli meat in front of strangers who might object and sometimes you might have to endure dumb comments, but for the most part it just goes along like the rest of your life except for the funny alien kicking and the fact that every time you look down your belly seems to expand at alarming rates. It's just that last part, where the body finally starts to tire of the whole endeavor and the fetus is beginning to wonder if there's more to life than darkness and amniotic fluid, that things start to get tedious.
Fortunately I don't also have to deal with doulas, childbirth classes and dumb questionnaires this time. I can say with confidence that I am due on May 10th. I can even be fairly certain that the birth will occur around 7:30 am or possibly noon. After thirty hours of labor which ended in a c-section the first time, I am wisely opting not to do that again and just go with the c-section part.
"But," a wise old soul informed me, "You do know that you can still give birth vaginally after a c-section? It's just society telling you you can't, you know."
Listen honey, the first time I let society tell me how to do anything, you'll be the first to know. In my estimation, while natural childbirth is certainly an option (the only option for millions of years) it is not the only option, and the thing is that you can have your drug free hippy natural home waterbirth with the thirty hour labor option and certainly a birth will result, but there's no parade afterwards. No one gives you a medal. And a complications-free c-section is just as safe as a complications-free vaginal birth so... you know, get over it. I'm doing the cut-me-open birth thing. If nothing else, I get an extra two weeks of disability leave out of it. And there's an incentive if there ever was one.
I just have to make it through the next few weeks without killing my nosey co-workers and without scratching my skin off.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
If pregnant or breastfeeding
Everything was going quite swimmingly until I came down with what turned out to be a massive, huge sinus infection. It got so bad it infected one eye, making me look like a disfigured pregnant ogre constantly leaking mucus. In the midst of it all, my husband took a look at one of the teas I was drinking and told me I had to stop drinking it because it said not to during pregnancy.
What it actually said was: "If pregnant or breastfeeding, consult a doctor before use."
Turns out though that everything remotely medicinal says this. A package of pectin cough drops contains this phrase. Even my prenatal vitamins contain this phrase. Probably other ingestible items should contain this phrase, such as peanut butter, milk, butter, ice cream, pancakes...anything that could be found, in ten or fifteen or a hundred years, to cause warts or hair discoloration in the children of the mothers who ingested the items.
Because whenever we can, we should always blame our mothers for everything.
At work we are having stress management sessions with a woman who comes in every few weeks to deliver such wisdoms as sleeping and eating healthily will reduce stress. On her very first day she told us she herself was an anxious person because, and I quote, her mother "was very anxious and stressed while I was in utero." Apparently all those stress hormones took permanent residence in the resulting child.
Yeah. Right.
While it may be comforting for some people to assume that whatever their overriding problem is is not fundamentally their own fault, it doesn't make much sense to lay it on the very person who decided to bring you into this world. If you have faults of your own, imagine yourself for just one moment in your mother's shoes. She, just as much as you, is a human being with ups, downs, and faults. Her faults may or may not have been present in a very real way for you at times, but you as your own person chose to either absorb them as your own or bypass them. They were not inflicted on you. They were just there, plain as day, making up the person who happens to be your mother. Deal with it. Yeah, she raised you. But she didn't make you who you are. You did. Your mother is not you, and you are not your mother. You never were.
What it actually said was: "If pregnant or breastfeeding, consult a doctor before use."
Turns out though that everything remotely medicinal says this. A package of pectin cough drops contains this phrase. Even my prenatal vitamins contain this phrase. Probably other ingestible items should contain this phrase, such as peanut butter, milk, butter, ice cream, pancakes...anything that could be found, in ten or fifteen or a hundred years, to cause warts or hair discoloration in the children of the mothers who ingested the items.
Because whenever we can, we should always blame our mothers for everything.
At work we are having stress management sessions with a woman who comes in every few weeks to deliver such wisdoms as sleeping and eating healthily will reduce stress. On her very first day she told us she herself was an anxious person because, and I quote, her mother "was very anxious and stressed while I was in utero." Apparently all those stress hormones took permanent residence in the resulting child.
Yeah. Right.
While it may be comforting for some people to assume that whatever their overriding problem is is not fundamentally their own fault, it doesn't make much sense to lay it on the very person who decided to bring you into this world. If you have faults of your own, imagine yourself for just one moment in your mother's shoes. She, just as much as you, is a human being with ups, downs, and faults. Her faults may or may not have been present in a very real way for you at times, but you as your own person chose to either absorb them as your own or bypass them. They were not inflicted on you. They were just there, plain as day, making up the person who happens to be your mother. Deal with it. Yeah, she raised you. But she didn't make you who you are. You did. Your mother is not you, and you are not your mother. You never were.
"Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday."
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday."
Kabril Gibran
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