The Curse of the Bizard

It seems like every time I switch to a bizard-themed blog, I stop blogging. The good news is I actually have about 5 saved drafts that I haven't had time to finish between work and Andrew. The bad news is I am working the rest of this week and next, but I do plan to return to blogging over the holidays. I know Andrew's fans await! And aren't you dying to know my very most useful baby items and my haughty opinion of ubiquitous, content-free, crappy writing? Of course you are! In the interim, please enjoy this picture of Andrew, 11 weeks on 11/30, working with Dad before bed.



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Pilot Suit

Who's flying this thing, please?



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Stuffed Animal Hater*

I am one; I admit it, not reluctantly. Sure, most of us have had one or I'll even grant up to 3, special stuffed toys to get us over the rough spots of childhood, but please tell me why anyone needs an army of stuffed animals taking up space and being un-special in abilities or looks.

When I see all the stuffed animals out for Valentine's Day or in baby stores as suggested gifts, I mourn the loss of imagination and the person who gets one for me, as if to say: I find you totally unremarkable! Here's something patronizing to take up room in your life!

I am sure this, like most everything else I write, is an absurd overreaction to nothing. Nonetheless I will do my best to keep Andrew unburdened by the stuffed toy habit so many children suffer(ed) from, except those of his own choosing, especially if they are the supercute Manhattan Toy Company variety. Otherwise, I hope to keep this scourge away.

Sincerely,
Bizardclaw Ma

*I actually have a lot better topics to blog on, but this is the only one I have enough patience to type on my phone, which is pretty much the only way I can blog between work and Andrew. Any leisure time at the computer is designated for online shopping!


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Now You See It...

My complaint so many months ago that baby gear doesn't come in gender neutral colors often enough may not really have any teeth. As it turns out, in East Texas at least, there's almost nothing, NOTHING that is not available in mossy oak camouflage. And that's a color scheme for the whole family: amirite?

Spotted at the Nacogdoches Wal-Mart on Tuesday: mossy oak car seat strapped to a cart (that's buggy to East Texas natives like me). I should have snapped a photo (seeing still might be disbelieving!), but I was distracted/horrified by the parents arguing over who would put mossy baby in the car...so no one did for a couple tense minutes as both parents attempted to sit one another out, while baby remained unattended, still strapped to the cart. Awesome.

But back to my point about mossy oak: how can I claim I don't have options when I *obviously* do? Seriously though, can we get some plain old red or green up in here? Actually, never mind. After perusing the baby wares at Wal-Mart, I didn't want to buy anything anyway. Regardless of color, all my options still fell into the category of extremely inadequate and crappy. Le sigh.


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Live Feeds

I have a little bit of a quirky sense of what's intolerable. For example, I don't like a hot drink from a clear vessel. I don't like a vertical fold line on my shirts. Toilet paper should really roll out from the top, not the bottom, of the roll. And when it comes to word choice, I am especially particular.

Never, have I ever, been able to keep from twitching when someone uses the S swear word to describe a bowel movement, even from an animal. It does not bother me as much if it is in reference to say, all the items amassed by a hoarder, though it's still not a word I use. (I do enjoy liberal use of the initials b.s.)

I really get irritated with the modern, casual dining waiter who jovially asks "Can I take that for you or are you still working?" I am not working; I am enjoying a meal. Perhaps it reflects a certain new social norm to "conquer" your giant plate of mediocre food, instead of nourishing yourself physically and spiritually through food and companionship. I dislike this overly fake friendly attitude among waitstaff in general and our cavalier attitude towards food as something to scratch an itch via our gullets, but because I have another point I'd like to make, I won't dwell on the major shortcomings of generic American dining/ meal times, etc. (for now).

Actually, this pervasive idea about food intake as simply a means to an end may be exactly where I find fault with referring to breastfeeding as "eating" or simply "feeding" as though breastmilk is just a readily available option on the dollar menu at a drive-thru (though it is a value!) What I specifically want to discuss is NURSING a baby and why "feeding" is not really the only objective, though most people would say it is the primary objective of offering Baby the breast. (I would say it is the primary objective... sometimes.) Therein lies the rub of what to call it. I prefer the term nursing because I feel it is the most comprehensive, but I also use breastfeeding. What I *do not* say is that Andrew needs "to feed" or that he "is eating." In my mind, to do so misses the point of nourishing Baby by putting him in the arms of his mother. "To feed" sounds to me like I may as well set him in the trough and have him take his food Viking-style. If he were simply eating, his food could come from anywhere or anyone. But it doesn't.

Nursing comes from the mother, with the warmth and softness and heartbeat of the mother that Baby has known his whole life. Sure, when I am nursing Andrew, he is getting nutrition and hydration from my milk, but he is also getting antibodies for good health, the security of a warm and familiar place, and a human connection--someone who talks and sings to him, creating neuropathways and enhancing sensory development. Nursing is, in short, a way to meet Baby's every need and critical to his development: cognitively, emotionally, physically... To refer to doing something that miraculous as "feeding" is a major downgrade.

I have been asked several times if I ever pump so that Matt can have the joy of feeding Andrew. I have nothing against pumping for future times when I am not available, but no, I don't do this. Bottle feeding Andrew, even if it is breast milk, cannot bring Matt the joy that nursing brings me. And it cannot meet Andrew's needs in the same way. Simply put, that is not Matt's role. Though I often feel like I'm banging my head into a wall when I say to Matt "it's not just about hunger!," Matt also understands: it's not his role. He is the other important relationship to Andrew that teaches that love does not have to come with a snack.

In the very early days of nursing, when my milk was slow to come in and my nipples were painfully sore, I knew that come hell or high water, I would keep nursing. (And not just because I sort of consider myself invincible after the pregnancy from Hades.) Not only is it perfect nutrition for Baby, it is a mood-enhancer for me, releasing oxytocin and endorphins to help me deal with the adjustments to motherhood. It is healing, restorative, miraculous, and a beautiful way to bond with your child in a way that no one else in the world can.

After considering all this, how can anyone think of this perfect dance between mother and baby as a feed? What am I? Google reader? As for me and Andrew, we will nurse.




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The Way We Were

Today is the last day of my maternity leave and I'm heartbroken. Even being able to take Andrew with me to work and being able to work from home does not make up for this hurt.

I doubt it would be easier in a month or two, but it just seems extra awful because he's just one month old. I don't have a lot more to say about this that isn't better articulated through tears. I just want to be a full-time mommy a little longer. I'll never get this time back.

Tangential story to distract me: Matt and I watched a Hoarders the other day and the therapist made the hoarder lady repeat "I'll never get their childhood back" until she dissolved into tears. Her kids were in high school and she was still hoarding the equivalent of their Sofie the giraffe x a million. I don't want to be like that lady! I better quit...







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Have Baby, WILL Travel

Before Andrew was born, I naively believed he would be slightly easier to make travel arrangements for than say, a 66 pound pit bull. After all, he is a human. But no, I guess I took for granted our culture's total intolerance of children, and fear that children might suddenly have needs or-- God forbid!--feelings during adult center-of-the-universe time.

Today, Chay called a rural inn about a room we're going to share during an upcoming conference. By a turn of conversation, the innkeeper discovered Chay has a newborn and told Chay she'd need to consult her husband about the matter (?) and also informing Chay that the inn had no "baby stuff." Chay's clever response was that her baby is very fortunately portable. When the woman called back, Chay was able to surmise that she had booked us for the cow pasture. Finally, the woman asked for my title to address the invoice and when Chay told her "executive director," she backpedaled and asked "Oh, will that room be nice enough then?"

...

In olden times, this would have been funny to me. Does my title make me sound like I office out of the Ritz Carlton? But now I'm mad. The room is nice enough for a mother and young baby, but not the director of an organization hosting a small-time meeting? I have half a mind to boycott her business and just bunk up at the Holiday Inn 15 miles down the road, except that this woman is not yet aware that there will actually be TWO newborns! Ha! Andrew is a bonus attendee!

Also, the B&B where I usually stay when I am in Austin for business apparently has a no children policy. I'm not positive that this is illegal, but suspect it might be. At the very least, it is inconvenient and inhospitable. I fear this is only the first of many places where I will find myself turned out (or was the wedding Andrew was uninvited to the first?) for having the audacity to be out in the world with my child instead of banishing him to the land of non-stop babysitters and chicken nuggets until he is off to college (nothing against nuggets or babysitters) while I pretend to have a life that doesn't include him OR shunning myself to adult conversations during once-a-week playgroups only. It's ridiculous our culture should be so segegated, so intolerant.

And just because it burns me, why do some bizards with yippy toy dogs get to take them everywhere in rhinestone satchels and no one says a word, but both my adorable baby son and well-mannered and sweet big dog are personae non grata? Well world, look out. The mayor of Bizard City has a bone to pick.


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Test

Hello out there in TVland.

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A Spoonful of Compassion Helps the Chillaxin Go Down

If I have learned one thing since pregnancy and birthing Andrew, it is that any opinions (especially strongly-held ones) I have before actually experiencing a situation are going to be put to the test and are very likely to be modified or abandoned. Compassion and non-judgment are coming to me in greater measure all the time (don't worry, I am still a card-carrying member of the Better Bizards Bureau) and best of all, when I fear that science or my own body has failed me, I have discovered how surrounded I am by caring friends (and strangers!), who help me put my fears in perspective. Without getting too absurd, I am reminded of the teary conclusion to It's A Wonderful Life (sorry if I spoil it for you, but it's not like you haven't had 75 years to see it by now) when George Bailey's guardian angel leaves him a copy of Tom Sawyer with the inscription "Remember, no man is a failure who has friends." [sob]

Obviously, Andrew's two weeks post-dates birth at the hospital with an obstetrician using forceps and an epidural were NOT part of my original birth plan (full birth story to come). And yet, under the circumstances and given my state of mind and health and various other factors, I consider the whole experience a significant triumph, a case of divine intervention, and no small measure of hubris for me.

When my milk took a week to come in and Andrew's non-following to the letter of baby progress charts left me in mental anguish, I kept thinking I was an idiot for leaving the sample of formula in our hospital room in the hospital. And I am sure anyone reading this right now knows that I am a lactivist to the max. Fortunately, my milk did come in and nearly 3 weeks later, I am almost calm about it (ha!), but desperation is a bitter pill.

And in a less life-or-death situation, but no less a dramatic turn of events, I never thought I would feel so warmly towards Bass Pro Shops. Before this last Friday, my opinion of them was "Why would I go in there?" I have now softened to this REI for rednecks, where the whole business hums in the key of mossy oak, to appreciate how family-friendly it is. There are quiet, cool spots for nursing; the aisles are roomy enough to push a stroller; the bathrooms are very clean and have changing stations; and there's a restaurant inside. Sure, the heady youth in me has no use for these amenities, but the overwhelmed new mother trying not to pack saddle bags like I'm heading into the great unknown for 3 months instead of a shopping center while my car is serviced, is greatly, greatly appreciative of them.

And so I conclude this surprise testimonial to epidural and Bass Pro Shops, though I stop short of giving a kindly opinion of formula companies who enjoy swooping in during times of desperation. Though I certainly have a LOT better understanding of the kind of support it takes to be successful with breastfeeding and feel a lot of compassion towards new parents struggling with this decision, I still think formula companies do some pretty evil things to sabotage the confidence of new parents. So who would have thought this is where I'd stand on the issues just a few months ago in my roaring 20s when I was so freewheeling (freewheeling with nausea!)? Not me, but I am grappling with the fact that the universe/God/life-force has many plans not yet revealed to me. Though I can't plan for them and that makes the taskmaster in me nervous, I can put my trust in the wonderful people I have surrounded myself with, including Andrew. And I can just chillax already because there's nothing else to do.

Note: This will probably not cause me to chillax. I am still myself, after all.

Back from Outer Space

Hello My People,

My what a ride this pregnancy was! I apologize for totally falling off the face of the blog-Earth at the end of it and even gradually as the pregnancy wore on, but I think most of you know that with various complications, it became more and more difficult for me to talk about. Even as some of the PUPPP rash faded, I took solace in a leprosy lifestyle of being inside, bemoaning my fate, and not taking calls or visitors.

Nevertheless, writing is so healing for anyone most of the time, but always for me because of it being my chosen medium and what not. So I do want to go back in time a bit and discuss some of the finer (but not really that fine-feeling) points of pregnancy and of course, the arrival of my treasure Andrew, who now sleeps so peacefully in my lap. A lot of semi-strangers kept saying "it will all be worth it in the end," and I usually wanted to facepunch them when they said this. I knew that, obviously, or I would not be enduring the relative hell I was in. And yet, I hate to say those bizards were so right on the money. From the minute I saw Andrew, I knew I would do anything in the world for him. And believe me: he enjoys testing that promise. When he's had gas, I walk with him, rock him, and nurse him even as feel my body kind of melting into "can't do this!"

Okay, so with all that said, I give you Andrew at one week asleep in my nursing pillow. I took a fancier first week portrait a la Young House Love that I still need to photoshop "1 week" onto and upload from the big camera. But this should tide you over.

Somewhat unrelated: I think I am going to change the name of this blog. But don't worry, the Maw will be back in the event of additional Turner children. God help us all though if that's not at least a few years down the road, though...

#1 Best Craving

Forgot to tell y'all that at the root of my alleged cigarette craving was a deep and abiding desire for unsweet iced tea. I can't get enough of this stuff. I even love sniffing tea bags in creepy fetish fashion. Regular Lipton is my best. Mmm, tea. I am having some now. It's a sensory explosion.

I briefly gave up the tea due to PUPPP and caffeine being an alleged trouble-maker for it. But it didn't really make that much of a difference and here's the deal I reasoned: I am so miserable in so many ways with hotness and itchiness and heartburn and not breathing that I absolutely WILL indulge this antioxidant-rich craving to my heart's desire with zero hesitation. PUPPP, you are the tyrant of me, but not the boss of me.

And aside from tea, I have actually found a new appreciation for all things unsweet. Coffee. Dark chocolate. I may be turning a nice corner here to a magical weight loss plan since sweets have in times past been my number one best.

But don't worry; it's not like I'll EVER say no to a tootsie roll. I'm pregnant, not crazy y'all.

PUPPP-date

Well, this post is about 3 weeks overdue, but frankly, I had to wait to write it until I could do so without watering my keyboard in the confetti of tears thrown at my daily pity parties. I still have them; let me bear no false witness about being stoic through this ordeal, but having survived three weeks of this, I REALLY know what I'm made of and also, that I can make it the rest of the way, which, God willing, will not be that much longer.

So first, if you haven't been tuning into my constant cries of agony via the twitter-verse and occasionally the facebook-verse, you might be wondering: what in the PUPPP is PUPPP?

It would not be terribly far off the mark to explain it simply as the 7th circle of hell. But that's not super descriptive, though, let's face it--the name of it isn't either. PUPPP, that most cuddly-sounding of all afflictions, stands for pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy. Broken down that means...itchy skin blisters and hives from pregnancy. Very science-y!

You know how I complained about stretch marks earlier and ho ho ho, man, were they damned itchy! Okay, well I found out I'm not just a whiney lady with stretch marks. My stretch marks were freakish, included little insect-looking bites called "vesicles" and if you get pregnant and have stretch marks like mine (though you only have about a 1 in 250 chance! hey!), please know that you're not being dramatic when you think, damn! I want to scratch my skin off!

So I'd actually had PUPPP much longer than I had known about it, but it was only when it spread to my arms and hands and soon feet, legs, thighs, back, shoulders, underarms, breasts, upper abdomen, behind the knees...that I knew it wasn't just stretch marks anymore.

In a most lovely turn of events, the very worst of the rash subsided within about a week of all-over onset thanks to 3 to...7 daily baths with pine tar soap (I went through 2 hefty bars within this week), 3 bottles of Sarna lotion, 2 tubes of hydrocortisone, 2 boxes of oral benadryl, 6 capsules daily of each: milk thistle, dandelion root, and stinging nettle, and one full-body painting of corn starch and water paste that occurred at 4 a.m. one particularly agonizing day.

I am now on a maintenance routine, taking 2 to 3 pine tar or PUPPP-relief soap (made by a woman in Washington state, an apparent martyr, who had PUPPP 9 times) showers daily, 1-2 benadryls each night to sleep, cool wash cloths and Sarna on my stretch marks intermittently during the day, plus continued supplements of milk thistle, dandelion root, and stinging nettle. I still get itchy, but I can sit still for minutes at a time, don't constantly have to rotate ice packs across my burning skin, and even sometimes wear clothes.

What I cannot do is go out in the heat, even for a few minutes, wear any clothing with a waistband, or lie in one position at night too long, lest I get at all hot or damp and cause the rash to erupt. What I also cannot do is lose heart and cry all the time. Crying is therapeutic to be sure, but it doesn't make the rash go away or my baby get here any sooner and it does make me question why I ever wanted to be pregnant. And I do not want my little boy to hurry his way into the world because I threw in the towel or ever thought he wasn't worth it.

And there have been some silver linings! For one thing, with the exception of a few trips to the office, I work from home every day, in my nightgown! My mom has made two overnight trips and one day trip to take care of me and I absolutely love that! I spent a great 2.5 days with my mother-in-law, who came to care for me while Matt had to go out of town, getting lavished with attention and foot rubs and getting to know her better, which was truly precious and priceless. (And she did all my baby laundry--can't beat that deal!) I have come up with new and exciting ways to make PUPPP puns and jokes. And my friends have truly, truly outdone themselves with their outpouring of visits, food stuffs, and general sympathy for my affliction. Don't ask me now if I would trade the PUPPP experience for not having had it at all (I think we all know I WOULD trade it! ha!) but do ask me later when I've had some forgetting time. Because the rash will fade (although some of my hive scarring seems to be slightly more long-term), but the love and support I have felt will not.

I apologize for keeping anyone (everyone?) out of the loop for so long because I have more baby showering to report on, nursery photo updates, prizes, and more to share--will try to do so after this upcoming week, a very busy one at work. I don't want this blog to only accentuate the negative because though this pregnancy has indeed tested my patience in ways I never thought possible (really? PUPPP?!), I must try to focus on the positives of it and how my life and my character are richer because of it. I hope it will make me a more compassionate parent, a kinder wife to Matt (who's really been just the very best of loves through all my trial and disappointment), and a more generous and thoughtful friend. All of you who have taken this road with me have inspired me to be a better person in every way. So while I'll stop short of thanking PUPPP and nausea and kidney stones for all the ways they've improved my life (?), I will say thank you to my pregnancy and my son for the ways they have already changed me for the better.

The Laundry List Goes On

I have so much to be thankful for as I prepare to launch here with Baby T, yet before I gush about love and the stellar support of friends and family, I would just like to add a couple of items to my list of why pregnancy is not my most awesome way to be.

Stretch marks(galore)

Vertigo-go-go-goooo

The stretch mark problem is not just one of vanity. Sure, it may have started out that way, but that was in the small potatoes days of one...maybe 10 little vertical purple marks expanding out horizontally from my belly button. Now, my stretch marks have stretch marks. Most of them I can't even see (mercifully). This morning, I awoke to a burning (literally) desire to scratch the skin off this alien epidermis, discovering that I had yet another new one that kind of felt like a stab wound the size of the Grand Canyon healed over. I haven't drummed up the courage to look at it in the full-length mirror yet. I may never do this. It's like a paper cut you don't feel until you see it, and then it throbs. Only in this case, I already feel it quite as much as I am willing to. The only thing I can figure as I get more and more (and more!) stretch marks is that this baby and I are so anxious to meet one another, we're slowly dissolving the barrier between us through amazing claw action--he from the inside and me from the outside. The best part is when people who, if they've ever been pregnant (bless them), ask me if I'm using any cocoa butter on them. HAH! I am, of course--it's a small comfort to these angry crags--but you can hardly dig yourself out of an avalanche with a garden trowel. C'est la vie.

Vertigo: hello, I do not like you at all! Even after taking lukewarm showers, I now find that I have to lie down immediately to prevent falling over while I dry off. It's always the worst in the morning--by which I mean of course, until about 3 p.m.-- and I wonder if it's because I have been peeing out elements of my inner ear in the night. I don't that mean to sound as crass as it does; this is seriously something I'm questioning. I pee way more than I remember drinking (how could I drink the 8 glasses of fluid--at least!--I am parting with, nightly, in addition to all I part with in the day) and I am wondering if something essential is leaving each night that takes me all day to re-build up. This is bad though. Dizziness is very, very bad.

Okay, so now who wants to get pregnant? Raise your hand, but not all at once now! Hee hee. Well, we'll see who's jazzy when I am holding my little sweet one. I can't wait to say: what vertigo?

News Items For Your Edu-Tainment

Sonnie's Momo (now: O-Mo) blog makes me feel like a serious quitter when it comes to blogging. So I thought at least I'd take the opportunity to share a few items of interest that are completely unrelated to one another, if only to add another little hashmark to my Maw Blog post tally.

Item 1: I have had a bizarre, but insatiable craving for cigarettes. I guess insatiable because I have obviously not attempted to sate this craving. The only thing that makes me feel better about it is sniffing unbrewed black tea bags. I really don't know how to explain this. Matt thinks I am not craving what I think I'm craving because I don't even know what smoking is like, but I typically find it repulsive. Maybe I will buy a pack just to sniff it. I know that's weird, but so is most of pregnancy! I can't explain half of the stuff going on up in here, so I roll with it.

Item 2: Baby T is head down at (almost) 33 weeks, which means he will very likely stay that way. And that is fabulous news! (Is anyone else excited? I am excited enough for us all.)Of things I can stress/obsess over as we count down to due time, one of them does not have to be spinning my baby around for ideal labor positioning. Way to go Baby T! I love an overachiever!

Item 3: Baby T is a tall boy. This comes as a surprise to no one, but again, I really love an overachiever. Yes, bragging that you're tall is one of those things I delight in! :) Obviously, we don't know exactly how tall, but at my midwife visit yesterday, Vicki identified his body for me and noted his little behind was all the way up by my ribs with his legs kind of curled around across.

Item 4: Family party/shower this weekend! Can't WAIT to see all of our relatives, coming from near and far. Most people, I haven't seen at all since I've been pregnant due to: feeling awful for many months and it is going to be the best to have all my best around me sending Baby good vibes for a safe birth.

Item 5: I weigh 203.5 el bees. I am not sure why I delight in this and find it empowering. Maybe it is because if I don't delight in it, it will make me feel very sad and large. But I have stretchmarks to do that. Enough stretchmarks to circle the moon and back if connected end-to-end, as it happens. So when I think of my weight, I flex my arms and chant USA! USA! because I kind of feel like a champ for carrying it around all the time. I also feel very proud of my tall, healthy son! :)

Item 6: Homebirth is happenin'. Some of you know I was VERY concerned that my midwife had overbooked her clients for my due time and suggested that I may "have" to come to the birth center to have Baby. I finally summoned my courage and best stern voice and told her that under no circumstances was I coming to Tyler while I was in labor and that I'd choose a local hospital birth over that option. Meanwhile, I was shaking in my boots, hoping there was no bluff to call, and thinking I'd need to get together a very assertive birth plan in case of hospital. But as it happens, Vicki heard me loud and clear and told me that I was the only homebirth planned around my due time. She has back-up midwives she can have go to the birth center in order to make sure that, come hell or high water, she can attend my birth. I feel a lot better about this and cannot wait for the day when we welcome our son to the world in the peace and sanctity of our own home.

Going Green for Baby

I like to think that before I was carrying Baby, I was fairly earth-friendly. I used to make the claim in college that I was a "plain-clothes hippy." Most of my friends rejected this description, but I still stand by it. I used to be president of the Eco Club in high school and I've long been into "alternative" health care options, especially when it comes to Molly Tee (raw chicken anyone?). The other day, I expressed to Matt how I hoped this one vet might be available at the animal clinic I was going to because she was an herbalist and practices more natural-care remedies for animals. Matt asked "Why do you always have to seek out the weird option?" Because I am a plain-clothes hippy! Plain clothes because, come on, you don't have to neglect fashion and look homeless or a prairie-dweller just because you don't like chemicals.

Okay, but my point is that since Baby has been on the scene, I've become a pronounced, obvious hippy (who still enjoys fashion, thank you). Part of this transformation has been the fact that my nose/senses will NOT tolerate lab-brewed scents. I was never way into sun-riped razz-chemical, but now, I don't even like well, anything. I have pushed my Method body wash to the perimeter of my shower and have been instead using some Go Texan bar soap I got at the fair made of, I don't know, wheat, or something. My fancy Martha Stewart-recommended Fekkai shampoo has succumbed to the same shunned fate, replaced with some hippy juice that I think you can also use on mosquito bites (?) I acquired from Morning Glory. I threw out all the liquid Dial refill soap I had for bathroom soap dispensers because it caused the already threatening nausea waves to wash over me completely, which pre-pregnancy I had thought to be unscented. (What's in my bathroom now? You guessed it: more wheat bars.)

And the green cleaning workshop I attended with my pals for Chay's b-day was another major epiphany. I've used up all my comet and am now BFFs with Borax. It's super cheap, can be used for everything (kitchen! dishes! laundry! bathroom!), earth-friendly, and NO SMELL. I'm now trying to decide what to do with the few bottles of commercial cleaners that have been lingering in my cabinets for years. Ideally, I'd like to use them up and never buy them again, but I haven't used woolite pet stain spray since Molly was a puppy (an actual puppy and not just MY puppy). I've never used the weird free bottle of whatever that the Kirby vacuum people gave me, not to mention it reminds me of almost getting swindled. And honestly, now that I've gone green, it's hard to imagine getting any fulfillment out of using these products. On the other hand, I hate to just throw them in the garbage; it seems the pollute-y way. It's just that I have come to view commercial cleaners the same way I look at processed, chemical-y foods (peanut butter and jelly in the same jar will NEVER sit right with me) and I really want them out of my environment.

[brief interlude to allow you all to nap from the excitement induced by this post]

Hmm, I'll wait to hear y'all's thoughts on it. Meanwhile, I will go brew myself some red raspberry leaf tea (for toning my hippy uterus for birth times) and then perhaps wash some of my cloth diapers in borax. But don't worry y'all, I still really like hot dogs and candy, which I'll enjoy while I am reading Mothering and proclaiming my lactivist and intactivist views. Plain clothes. Hippy. I think I've made my argument!

Baby Shower: Stay Tuned!

On a cheerier note, yesterday was my awesomely fun co-baby shower with Chay, hosted by the lovely and talented Sonnie (and Kreg) and Merci (and Tracy).

As soon as photos are available from my various sources, I'll post them, plus close-ups of my most excellent treasury of gifts so lovingly given by my kind and thoughtful friends.

Thanks y'all! I had a blast! :)

P.S. I also put some art up today in my fake nursery. It's fiiiiinally starting to come together and when I get it a little neater in there, I am going to post photos. Caution: you might die from the cuteness and want to snuggle yourself in my fak-ery immediately.

Diabates Schmiabetes

Tomorrow is my 3-hour, tedious, torturous gestational diabetes blood testing because I "failed" the first one a couple of weeks ago. I will spare y'all my full-throated, vitriolic diatribe on this non-issue (my thanks to those of you who have endured it live or in chat), but instead present you with a research-backed, articulate and to-the-point article on why exactly it is a non-issue.

Gestational Diabetes: The Emperor Has No Clothes by Henci Goer

If you're not anxious to devour the whole article as I was, let me use this passage to sum it up nicely:

Good medicine demands that diagnosis and treatment of any disease fulfill four criteria:

* The condition has to pose a health risk;
* Diagnosis must accurately distinguish between those who have the disease and those who don't;
* Treatment should be effective; and
* The benefits of diagnosis and treatment should outweigh the risks.

An entire medical industry has grown up around diagnosing and treating gestational diabetes (GD) in the belief that doing so prevents perinatal deaths, congenital anomalies, neonatal complications, macrosomic babies, and because of fetal macrosomia, birth injuries and excessive cesarean rates. However, diagnosis and treatment of gestational diabetes don't fulfill any of the above criteria.


The article goes on to explain why the original GD study and research and modern broad-based testing of it amounts to little more than a hill of jelly beans.

The only reason I am even putting up with this ridiculous charade of a diagnostic test is because my midwife* insists I must if I wish to have a homebirth with her, which I do, because I have no other choice for a homebirth at this time, unless I just want to go into the woods with a blanket and a bucket--a scenario I must confess to considering seriously lately. I regret my lack of options, but am comforted by the fact that my mom, a competent, knowledgeable, and savvy veteran labor & delivery nurse will both accompany to my test tomorrow and at the time of the birth of my baby.

In the meantime though, I continue to roll my eyes at yet another confidence-sabotaging hurdle and sigh at the 12-hour fast on the horizon. WhatEVER gestational diabetes.

*"Wait, Mary, don't you love your midwife?" Um, I love that having her gives me a fairly good option for homebirth. I love that, for the most part, she doesn't insist on forcing tests on me. I love her that, when she is present at my appointments (most of the time it's her assistant), she is nice to me. Do I think she is awesome and supersmart and amazing? Not really. But this is rural East Texas and this is my option. Fortunately, I am extremely confident and knowledgeable about my choices and I have the full support of my mom, who is just about the best and smartest and most competent care provider I know.

That's the Ticket!

Instead of continuing my rant of earlier in the week, I'd like to accentuate the positive and talk a bit about how empowering pregnancy has been for me, despite all the negative crapola from some people trying to usurp my decision-making. Actually, it's so empowering to me, it's almost hard to believe all that other junk makes a difference (but it does, alas).

I know (really, I know) I complain a lot about pregnancy-related inflictions a la nausea, heartburn, cramps, etc. but in the silver-lining/feeling zen department: I have survived! Less than 3 months left and I will have successfully made AN ENTIRE PERSON! I can do ANYTHING! My body is an extraordinary machine that is crafty enough to make life! Wow! And once I give birth, I know I will really feel like a major superhero.



I would say "I feel sorry for women with a super smooth pregnancy who are not, second-by-second, alerted to what their body is truly capable of," but I think we all know that would be totally disingenuous. I am actually happy for them (though half-heartedly at moments), but I am also happy for me. And I am not even just saying this from the top of Olympus; I'm actually pretty nauseated right now, but look at me! I'm like Charlie Bucket's grandfather, except instead of touring the factory, I am a third trimester mom-to-be, ready for anything.

I never thought my life could be
Anything but catastrophe
But suddenly I begin to see
A bit of good luck for me

'Cause I've got a golden ticket
I've got a golden twinkle in my eye

I never had a chance to shine
Never a happy song to sing
But suddenly half the world is mine
What an amazing thing

'Cause I've got a golden ticket


Sure, taking the stairs at work is getting harder and harder and running: yeah, I don't do that. My back and feet ache, my joints need some TLC, I can't see my legs when I'm standing up, and my lower abdomen looks a little like a purple zebra, but by golly, I feel like these things are my trophies. They mark me as a person who kicks an extraordinary amount of ass, despite the fact that I am not sure I have much actual kicking ability at this time.

I also am pretty sure that in true Mama Bear fashion, present physical limitations notwithstanding, I would not hesitate to facepunch anyone or anything who I felt threatened my cub. RAWR! Max empowerment! I am now wondering if men felt the need to be the only ones who voted for so long because they realized they could not CREATE AND GIVE BIRTH TO PEOPLE. I am amazing. You are amazing.

Fear and Loathing in Las Utero

Warning: LOOOONG Rant ahead.

"Hello pregnant lady! Do you hate your body? Don't worry! You will!" Perhaps it seems like I'm exaggerating, but I cannot tell you how many times this message is apparent in a "modern" pregnancy. Even having selected homebirth and feeling confident and assertive about breastfeeding (in short, I exempted myself from hearing other people talk to me that much about their own ideas of childbirth), I still have to negotiate the battery of testing and barrage of the world's insecurities hurled my way (this week was especially bad for it) and it's getting close to time to facepunch.

Last night following a very bizarre and circus-y La Leche League Meeting at Memorial Hospital, Chay and I asked to go upstairs to tour the birthing area, just for our own edification and whimsy. After all, it's good to know your options. When you don't know them, you don't have any. And what a slap in the face! I was immediately relieved that I would NOT be birthing there after the nurse on-duty answered every question/statement ("Oh look a large shower for relief during labor!") with "Only if your physician orders it, but most surprisingly allow it."

Surprisingly? Bizard, guess what's up? I am the boss of my body; how do you like that?! I'll take a shower if I want to and you can step off. Oh, but is there someone with more education than me around here who I can obey? PLEASE! I wanted to slap her. But what was the lesson? You can't trust your body to tell you what you need when YOU are birthing a baby. You should ask an "expert." [eye roll]

I was very saddened to hear during the LLL meeting how many of the attendees have some busybody in their family or friend group weighing in that their nursing baby was too thin/too fat/too hungry/unable to nurse/didn't like the taste (???), which caused the mother to then either wean early, steer clear of nursing in the first place, unnecessarily supplement with formula, or take some other dramatic action. What some people don't realize is that the number one reason women will "fail" at breastfeeding is not: pain, infection, low supply, difficulty latching, or any other of the reasons that are often given. No, the number one reason, what most others are attributed to especially frustration, is lack of support: people telling you your body doesn't know/can't do what it was designed to do. Designed to do! Would you accept a broom that did not sweep? A lightbulb that did not give off light? No, and neither should women accept others telling them that they cannot breastfeed or that there is a better way for their babies or giving them other grief/stress about how to do it. Did women 100 or even 1000 years ago think they could not? NO or their babies would have died. Our bodies did not become stupid/incapable in the last century, no matter how much advertising money is spent to make us believe just that. But oh the advertising is relentless and unconscionable! "Humans, are you eating an unhealthy diet and never exercising? Well, it's obviously because your body is incapable of health and is a failure without technology! Take this pill! Buy this product! Be happy!"

[scream]

And finally, my major lowpoint of this week: the gestational diabetes test of nothing, which I succumbed to on Monday. This test involves drinking a bottle of high fructose corn syrup and then sitting still for an hour, at which time your blood is drawn and your glucose is tested to make sure you're under 140. This is a very normal process, considering I often drink 50 grams of HFCS and then sit absolutely still for an hour in my everyday life. Wait...what? I would also like to add that 50% of women test positive for this test, which results in another hellish test of 150 grams of HFCS and hourly blood monitoring for 3 hours, while fasting. Delightful! In the end, only about 7% of pregnancies (women can vary from pregnancy to pregnancy) will ever have gestational diabetes, which can be monitored with regular blood draws and mediated with diet to make it a non-issue, so I definitely see why 100% of women are subjected to this torture and nerve-wracking fear of "failing" the test when most have not exhibited ANY of the signs of having it. Oh wait, no, I have no idea. This is not even to mention the MANY, MANY tests for various other alarmist pregnancy-related issues that produce ridiculously high levels of false positives, are expensive, and don't amount to a hill of beans that I flatly refused, but which most women, if they are sold the bill of goods that comes on the pregnancy conveyor belt, have inflicted upon them. And why? Because it is rare these days, what with insurance horrors and time-poverty in the medical industry, for a doctor or medical personnel to explain to you in plain English that OMG! pregnancy is not a disease or a medical event. In a vast majority of cases, pregnancy and birth are: normal, natural, and safe. If you are simply aware of signs of trouble: consistent high blood pressure, excessive swelling, etc., almost 100% of the tests that are so casually administered to discover some kind of non-existent pathology, could be done away with. But that would not bring in the big bucks or sell us crap we don't need and it might, OMG, it might! teach women that they, and not their superior, highly-evolved physicians, are the experts on their own bodies.

Oh my Lord, this post is so long and I haven't even started ranting about ultrasound and the absolutely criminal legislation that just passed in Louisiana mandating that any woman getting an abortion there, even in cases of rape or incest, have an ultrasound first. But I guess that before you can truly loathe and fear your body, you have to first recognize that it is a dirty vessel of sin. OMG! OMG! I am going insane. That will have to be my next post.

If you read this far, you are awesome. Thanks. :)

God Save the Date!

I ordered a really cute baby book from Amazon to start recording some of my thoughts and ideas from pregnancy for Baby's future brain trust, so he can enjoy the way I still enjoy my own baby book. And it's lovely, but something's missing.

There are, naturally, a lot of fill-in-the blanks to document milestones such as "date you first felt baby kick," and "date Baby took his first step." These are a good idea, of course, but I was somehow surprised by them. "Date?!!" I thought to myself. "I'm a terrible mother already! I don't remember my kid's STUFF!"--and I racked my brain to figure out the precise date and time I first felt Baby on Board. But while I was doing that, I re-lived exactly how that moment felt (like a little fishy!), what I was doing (lying in Tempur Pedic dream bed), what I was wearing (Liz Lange maternity uniform, blue issue), and that magical moment of I experienced the mystery and wonder of it all. But I am sorry to tell you, I have no idea what the date was beyond April 2010. So that's what I recorded. (I am also sorry to tell you that aside from the wonder feeling, most of my pregnancy could easily match with those more practical details.)

Unfortunately, there was no room in the book to write "Baby, you felt like a little fishy to me, moving swiftly back and forth across my belly. I gasped in wonder knowing, really KNOWING, that you were a real person inside of my person." So I am writing it here.

A date is a wonderful thing and it helps us to quantify and understand an otherwise elusive moment in time. But in some ways it sterilizes an experience and boils it down to X number of days ago when it can be so much bigger, or in some cases, a bit less cosmically relevant. Knowing the specific night that I put Matt's hand on my belly and baby gave him a good hard kick for the first time will not tell our son how his dad exclaimed and held me tight, knowing we were glimpsing the future. By the same token, telling you I last ate soup on May 1, 2010 (I have no idea, actually) seems to impress some larger meaning on such a non-event.

So I am going to try to keep up with the dates if I can in this book, though it's not really my way. (My way seems lazier and lazier the more often I think on it. Whoops.) But I am also adding some little envelopes for letters to my book, so I can recall to Baby, who will one day be a man, in my own way, the most significant memories I have of his early years, even if it is not the day he first recited the first stanza to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Maybe it will just be the way my eyes now well with tears as I imagine singing and rocking him to sleep or seeing him tromping around the woods with his dad. This is the stuff of the memories I already hold dear.

A post script about dates...

Right after I published, I was looking at my time ticker and thought "Holy geez! 86 days left!" But of course, like my dedication to milestone dates, my tenacity to my own due date is pretty shrug-worthy. My philosophy is that my due date is not an expiration date. While I hope very much, for the sake of my joints and my digestive functions, that Baby doesn't tarry too long in my most of me, he is really welcome to join us in this big world whenever he's ready.

Also, Baby and I are both enjoying Nacogdoches Farmers Market plums with gusto and I believe that these also become dates. Or maybe it's prunes. If so, what is the date, exactly?

Clear Your Clutter with Feng Baby*

It's here: the third trimester. On one hand I feel like: "wow! already?!" On the other, more logical hand that is in regular touch with my acid reflux, I think "Of course it is here. I have felt every minute of this pregnancy and enough is enough!" But it really is amazing how soon Baby will be with us--really with us all, and not just intimately acquainted with my digestive tract.

It seems the less room I have in my body, the more desperate I am to make room in my house--for baby, yes, but also for new dreams and opportunities for our family. (Molly was pleased to be the first recipient of a new dream therapeutic dog bed especially for seniors.) I am in nesting mode I suppose, though Matt contends I have merely returned to my former pre-pregnancy obsessive self. I haven't felt like myself in so long, it's hard to know if he's right. But even so, did my former self throw out bags and bags of personal letters from high school with nary a care? No, former self did not! Though present self still struggles with hanging on to more recent correspondence from loved ones.

Nevertheless, my desire to make way for baby is relentless and if I have to adopt my brother-in-law's psychological tactic of substituting the word "saving" with "hoarding" to get myself moving, I will! Ex. "Are you hoarding these leftovers for supper later in the week?" It's a nice, over-the-top move. Fortunately, Matt is anti-hoard and if I wanted to throw out pretty much everything in our house, he would support that. Unfortunately, Matt is also ridiculously evolved and he keeps reminding me that even if we didn't do one more thing to ready our house between now and Baby's arrival, we would certainly be adequately prepared due to having food, blankets, and our love.

Ha! Our love! Now, get to work putting that crib together, Huzz! Ha! :)

I know he is right on the money (as usual, sigh), but don't be surprised if the next time you come visit my house, the whole thing has been turned upside down, emptied into a dumpster and we're all sitting on the floor in empty rooms lighting incense. Although I think it's safe to say it won't be that dramatic since God knows I can't really sit on the floor comfortably and incense makes me want to vomit. So if nothing else, I will literally come to my senses to save me from myself.

Still though, it's gonna get feng-tastic, people!

*I have no idea if this makes any sense. I know neither the meaning of the word feng, nor the word shui. Hopefully that blog title is not offensive in another language.

Pregnancy Not Prevail!

I'm not sure how it happened, but I've become a pregnancy stereotype. In the mothering.com due date club forum I frequent, it seems like every time someone is complaining about some annoying side-effect of pregnancy, I am right there with them. Let's review.

• Nausea? You know it. (still.)
  
• Heartburn? Like fire!
  
• Leg cramps? Crippling at times and the crazy legs, too.
  
• "Pregnancy Brain", i.e. Losing Your Mind? Just ask anyone who...what was I saying?
  
• Peeing all night?If I flushed every time, Nacogdoches would be out of water.
  ...and now my own special contribution!
  
• Kidney stones! Ah yes, hello calcium overdose.
  

Actually, yesterday's kidney stone incident may not have even been a kidney stone. My doctor told me there wasn't any trace of it in my pee by the time I saw him, but it's possible that 1) it was very, very small--though it didn't feel like it-- and I had passed it already 2) Baby and my organs were pressing on my ureter and any small amount of sediment + pressure could have restricted urine flow causing the same pain.

Did I mentioned that I drink about 3 16oz. glasses of milk and take a gimongo calcium supplement every night before bed due to the aforementioned leg cramps and crazy legs? Yeah, so therein lies the problem. Do I keep taking the calcium and possibly continue to experience what feels akin to what I imagine a gunshot wound to the back does or do I skip it and not walk a couple days after a long night of cramps?

Or hey! How about I just keep feelings sorry for myself! Ha ha. But despite cursing my fate a few times yesterday and lamenting not catching a break, I think I am waving the victory flag. I am so happy to be on the other end of this thing, stone-free (although my doctor said a shift in baby or sleeping position may cause it again) and better still, owner of a small bottle of Tylenol with Codeine. I don't have to take it...but I like knowing I could.

Pregnancy, you can't beat me! I'm still walking around with the living and my son is going to be hard core awesome because I have literally put everything I have into making him.

The House of Tomorrow

Since I went on kind of a mini-tear about babies and gender this morning on my twitter, I thought I might as well comment in long-form on my blog. Are you all familiar with Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet? I was introduced to this marvelous work of poetry by my brother-in-law, who gave the book to my sister many years ago. Here is what Gibran has to say about children that beautifully articulates my philosophy, as well.

On Children
Kahlil Gibran

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.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Before I knew I was having a boy, so many people (strangers, especially) implored me to find out so they could buy me the appropriately gendered items or comment about his or her future as an appropriately gender-specific thing. And this is perhaps the reason why I didn't want to know and once I did, wanted to hold my secret close. Admittedly, I did go a little cuckoo when I saw some little dinosaur shoes for my precious son, but maybe someday if I have a little girl, she will love to wear them, too. My point is: my son is not even here and already the world is trying to tell him who he can be and I don't like it! He can be anything! He is the sun and moon and stars to his mommy already, but his destiny is not written.

My reply to some people has raised more than a few eyebrows when I said I don't care if he is gay or transgender or Mr. Lumberjack like his dad. And I don't! But even if he is not going against the grain in such ways that are central to his identity, I want him to be free to do and see and think what he will, without the world prejudicing his views from the moment his eyes first can see. Is this a hopeless idealistic wish? It may be. But for my son, I wish for the world to be his and I will protect, with my life and my whole heart, that opportunity.

Boy Joy

You may know I was completely ambivalent about finding out the gender of baby originally. Though I was SO curious (and that curiosity ultimately won out, at Husby's urging), I felt like it would spoil one of the best surprises of life or it would somehow let strangers know me far too intimately. Once I did know, I felt mixed, not because I was wishing for a girl, but like I had ruined my own surprise party. I wrestled with the decision to even share the info once I knew (as you know). But now, after sitting with the news of my little boy for a couple of weeks, I am just so thrilled: a little boy! Wow! My son!

A few days ago, I was listening to Handel's Messiah (my favorite) in my car on the way back from Lufkin and when the chorus sang "Unto Us a Son Is Given" (re: the birth of Jesus Christ), giant tears of happiness rolled down my cheeks as I thought about my little treasure I had been entrusted with, that I am growing inside me. I briefly contemplated naming him "Wonderful" or "Counselor," but "the Mighty God" and "Prince of Peace" convinced me these choices might be over the top. :) Still though, you know *I* will think he is the best of all!

What thrills me, perhaps in equal measure, is that my son will have the most wonderful man I know as a father and role model. This is very comforting since I am unlikely to lose my job as Mayor of Bizardtown anytime soon, but thinking of my little baby son does make me want to be better in every way. I hope I will be a mom worthy of this special treasure.

Triumph Over Pregnant Enemy #1

Last Friday, at the conclusion of a period of seemingly endless optimism in which I kept saying "Oh no, this nausea will go away soon," I finally got an acupuncture treatment at a chiropractor's office in Lufkin.

YAY.

Actually, the evening following the treatment, I kind of felt the worst ever, but as the good doctor had told me I might, I was bracing myself. Imagine my delight when I woke up at 5 a.m. the next day bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and feeling like a human for the first time since December. It was a breakthrough! I wish I could say it's been constant sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows since then, but I've still had some stomach hugging moments. However, I've had a lot more good days than bad and the bad moments pass quickly. I'm also eating dinner again almost every night, which is truly a victory.

I have another "tune-up" with Dr. Roberts on Monday and I am hoping with continued treatments every couple weeks or so (not covered by insurance but which are mercifully highly affordable), I can banish my old frenemy once and for all.

I know you're all really wondering if Baby Turner is a boy or a girl and I am distracting you with some acu-tastic sleight of hand. Would you feel more enthusiastic about my triumph over nausea if I told you it will all be worth it to hold my little boy in September? Because I think it really will. :)

P.S. I know this is a public blog, but please keep Little Boy Turner out of the major news media outlets. I still feel a desperate secrecy about my treasure among bizards.

Baby Gifts Galore!

I apologize for the extreme delay in posting all of these photos after I have been teasing you with them for so long. Life is hard for the nauseated; what can I tell you?

The complete album is 14 pictures (and I will keep growing it as I get ready for baby!), but below are a few highlights.

It's definitely no secret that I am the world's worst photographer, but these should give you a general idea.

First, a sampling of the Rumpsters all-in-one diapers my sister gave me--28 in all in four colors and three sizes! AWESOME!



Second, me wearing a couple of different slings: the Maya wrap and the Karma Baby silk brocade one, both from my sister.



Third, Baby Boden cotton sleepsuits from my mom.



Fourth, baby's first book courtesy of Lady Jen.



Fifth, stylin' sneaker socks...courtesy of ME! Ha.



But I won't post all the photos. You'll have to visit the album to see all the great and generous presents for yourself! Thank you notes coming soon (sorry they are SO late in a number of cases), but interim shout-outs to: my sister, my mom, Lady Jen, and Chrissy. Baby is so lucky I know you and so am I!

Frick or Frack?

I am losing my mind trying to choose a car seat. No kidding. This is why I let Matt buy toothpaste; all these decisions stress me out. It's bad enough when we're talking about a little tartar control, but the safety of your child? Holy LORD. I mean, logically, I realize that some of this is just a total racket/mind job playing on parents' fears and guilt. You didn't choose the one with XYZ? Oh, your child will surely die in a fiery crash...

Even though most parents would like a definitive answer to: which one is the safest? There really isn't one. All seats have to pass the same rigorous government testing standards. That said: some do more. Some install more easily/fit better in certain cars. Some depend on if you want a convertible seat (faces both front and rear for all the newbs, out there) or if you want to buy a baby seat...and then a convertible seat (told you it was a mind job). And the most expensive is not necessarily the best.

Are you confused yet?

I have looked in various online forums and I even found a database that tells you which seat fits your car best. I kind of had to majorly LOL when some posts said that everything was tight in the Volvo S40 and I should consider another car. Oh yeah...let me just go do that.

I am to the point where I want to walk into a store blindfolded and just load one into the buggy.

That said, I have narrowed it down to the Britax Boulevard or Roundabout and the Sunshine Kids Radian XTSL (I am sure those letters are in the wrong order...whatevs). The Boulevard or the Roundabout are gigantopotomous and I think the Radian is super heavyopotomous. How often will I be moving this thing? Hopefully: never. I really like the Peg Perego Primo Viaggio (does that sound like a perfumed vagina to anyone else? Gross.) infant seat, but it's $250 and you have to switch to a regular seat after Baby reaches 22 lbs, or at about 6 months. Not a great value, unless like the super amazing Jo, you can get a loaner in great condition from a trusted friend for free! (Brilliant!).

I think I will just have to go to Babies R Us, where I hear they will let you try them out in your car or if you do buy one and it doesn't fit, you can return it easily. One thing's for sure though: I will have that seat securely installed well in advance of Baby's debut. I like to have killed myself attempting to install Lucie Jane's car seat for her unplanned ride home from the hospital in March. There was a label that said "Even if you think installing this seat seems simple, please follow instructions in the manual." Simple? I nearly gouged my own eyeballs out! And my sister told me that one was rated as being "easy to install."

And you want to know the best part? My mom had 5 kids and they hadn't even INVENTED baby seats until my sister was born. Even then she got whatever one was made by the car manufacturer. And we all lived! But I know, I know--I don't want to risk Baby dying in a fiery crash. But I really don't want to risk Baby having a totally insane mother. Might be too late for that, though...whoops. I will be very glad when the car seat is purchased and all I have to worry about is being a good and effective parent. Ha!

WHAMMY!

Long time, no see, right? I know. I know. I don't know what to tell you. I've had some...indigestion. I have more news coming soon, but I thought I'd show you a real Regretsy I found this morning on Etsy.



[Shudder.]

Nice how the mom's head is cut off because she is not important to the process. She is just a baby-carrying vessel. The important part is the BUMP! OMG! [eye roll]

Also: ultrasound picture is kind of creepy. Amend that: SUPER creepy! Look, it's cool to be excited about your ultrasound (I am excited about mine--more on that later), but let's be honest: to anyone who's not you, your baby kind of looks like a fuzzy alien. And maybe even to you, if we're really being honest.

Good news. Great news. BETTER news!

I hate to jinx myself by telling y'all that the last few days I've been feeling quite a bit better, but I wanted you to know: I've been feeling quite a bit better. The evenings are still a little hard with headaches and nausea, but having gained back 3/4 of my day, I'll take it!

Except for the snow (the snow!), this weekend was one pick-me-up after the other and I think that contributed greatly to my well being. First, Chay made me the most delicious moon pies of all time. They are heavenly and encouraging me to drink more milk, which makes me feel great! Second, I am pretty sure I have whooped bronchitis. I still cough a few times a day, but everything else bad is gone and I have put the Nyquil back in the medicine box for keepsies. Third, in preparation for a weekend guest, I somehow mustered the energy to tidy up my house. Yay! Fourth, Anne drove a million hours out of her way to visit us on her spring break! Her charming company and good cooking was just the thing! Fifth, there is a vase of daffodils on my kitchen table smiling at me at every meal. :)

But let me tell you about my greatest relief of the weekend: the Stupak amendment. Yes, with the passage of healthcare reform Sunday night, America was treated to Rep. Bart Stupak's huge victory over the reformists by asking the president to re-affirm that public funding would not be used for abortion. Why am I, a pro-choicer, so relieved about this? Well I wasn't until I heard a woman categorize Stupak's maneuver as now guaranteeing that every woman in this country can carry her baby to full term if she wants to. THANK GOD!

Just think, in one fell swoop, Stupak has ended domestic violence and homicide against pregnant women (their #1 cause of death). In addition, he has turned the big kidnapper van of vigilantes out to thieve my baby from my womb right around. No longer will abortion be forced on me in my own home! THANK GOD! THANK GOD! I have been so worried about this.

Also, the Maw is back and dude, I need some Doritos STAT. Nom. Nom. Nom.

I know I promised pictures and I vow they are on the way THIS WEEK! The will of Stupak declares it must be so!

Same Song, Second Verse

Well, now that I think my twitter feed can't get an more graphic or disgusting, I thought I'd take a minute to give you all a junior update: I'm still nauseous! Alright! Go Team!

Not really. It feels awful and now that I am well into second trimester (16 weeks today! In another month, I'll be halfway!), I'm thinking: where is the light at the end of the tunnel I've heard so much about? It's coming; I know it's coming. I wish it would hurry.

To all my friends, I am sorry if it seems I've dropped off the face of the Earth. I really have mostly been laying in bed, although I play solitaire on iPhone a great deal.

In other fun news, my belly is really getting nice and big and people have started asking me when I'm due instead of just assuming I'm fat. +1! I'll post a pic here in the next few days. I'm glad I can still get around pretty easily though, so I'm not too huge. I do not eagerly anticipate my beached whale days.

But I'll take them sooner rather than later if it means I won't feel so darned SICK!

Another unusual change of pace: the Maw has really settled down. In fact, I'm hardly hungry at all anymore and sometimes I have to force myself to eat when I am feeling so, so nauseous. Emergen-C is my new BFF and I usually have two or three of those a day, so at least I'm getting *some* nutrition.

Mostly, I just want everyone to know that I'm alive, baby is doing great, and I'm hanging in there. My midwife appointment last week went great. I'm measuring just right for my gestational age, my blood pressure is right on target, and baby's heart rate is a racy, but normal, 152 bpm.

Let's hear it for health!

P.S. I didn't forget about the layette item pics! Some of y'all are used to Sonnie's excellent and timely photography, but I am way less reliable than she is. Stay tuned though; I won't forget!

With This Life, This Death

Here's a little secret: pregnancy is not for the faint of heart. I was reading Week 14 of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and I had to laugh when it said something like "Hey, nothing to this pregnancy stuff now, right? It should all be a breeze for you in second trimester." This was clearly written by an alien who was not pregnant with a human baby. I would certainly not classify the week I've had as breezy.

For those that don't know: I am blogging from NC where any minute now, we are hoping and praying my sister will go into labor. Really, we've been hoping and praying for this all week, but it's not like we've just been sitting here.

My sister's dog Ginger, a very beloved pet friend to me, was diagnosed last week with end-stage cancer that began in her liver and was rapidly spreading to her lungs.

I knew Ginger almost from the day my sister "accidentally" brought her home from the pound. She had gone to get her neighbor's roaming cat out of impound and was quite taken with the "male lab mix," who if 6 weeks old, was barely that. The "male lab mix" turned out to be Ginger, our beloved girl, and American Pit Bull Terrier to the stars. This pocket-sized pup went to grad school with my sister: in her purse! She used to rip up everything in her reach: books, shoes, it was all fair game. But she was always the sweetest, kindest, gentlest dog I ever knew. When I lived with my sister, Ginger and I went everywhere together. She even went with me to my therapist's office--no kidding. Louise didn't offer dog-bringing to all of her clients, but Ginger had a gentle way of making everyone adore her and by the end of most appointments, she was asleep on the couch next to me. Ginger also loved bubble baths and I am not kidding when I say she took one--with me!--nearly every single evening. It was my love for Ginger that inspired me to get Molly, though after meeting rambunctious Molly, I actually considered asking my sister if she might trade me for Ginger (!), though I knew she never would. All of this is to say, Ginger was my great friend. I love her so very dearly.

As you may know or have guessed by now, Ginger is no longer with us. When my mom and I arrived in NC Monday, Ginger was so very thin, but still managed to get on her hind legs and put her front paws on me in welcome. But she was fading fast. Wednesday night, my sister and I were with her around the clock as she began to struggle to breathe and could not seem to lie still, panting and eventually crying for pain meds. Thursday, we knew what we had to do, though the decision was excruciating. A wonderful veterinarian from Peaceful Passings came to my sister's house on Thursday afternoon, confirmed what we knew--that Ginger's body was shutting down--and we petted and held our girl as she crossed over. It was a very precious moment and I could see immediately when she had left her body.

Even though I no longer live with Ginger, it has been so strange that she isn't here. We are incredibly lonesome for her wonderful spirit and steadfast love and I keep expecting her every time I walk in the back door.

So we've had a hard week, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world. I needed to be with my sister and with Ginger, though it left us all so much worse for the wear. For the first time in my pregnancy, my nausea turned to vomiting and it wouldn't stop the whole day of Ginger's death. Between the crying and not being able to keep water down, I felt my heart was dying right along with Ginger. Even Baby Turner was mourning. On top of that, I now have a rattling cough, a sore throat, and well, I don't want to admit the rest to myself for fear I might actually be really sick. My sister, exhausted, stressed, and grieving, had long, strong contractions, but we are still waiting on baby's debut.

For now, we're optimistic baby will come tonight,but have decided to stay in NC through Sunday evening and leave Monday morning to return, instead of in the morning as originally planned. Please think good thoughts for us all as we celebrate the life of our dear Ginger and also prepare to welcome a new life to our family.

Love,
Mary, the Maw, and family

P.S. On a cheerier note, my mom and sister kick-started my layette with adorable sleep suits and onesies and a TON (maybe 24?) of brand new all-in-one cloth diapers in three sizes, a diaper pail liner, three wet sacks, cloth wipes, 2 dozen Indian pre-fold diapers, and more. Anyway, this is exciting stuff, so I will blog more about it when I am feeling cheerier and can post pics. Stay tuned!

The Dream Theme

You know how when you get married and people you don't know ask you what your colors are going to be and you're like "wha?" That is how it is with babies and nurseries. "What is your nursery theme, lady-I-don't-know-who-appears-to-be-getting-fat?"

My nursery theme for right now is "I hope I can get some of the junk picked up in here before baby comes, but it's looking kind of unlikely now, 6 months out, because I am really tired." But I don't know--that's not that great of a theme. I guess I can do better. :) I mean, I did eventually come up with a theme of red and cream for our wedding. Kind of. A bunch of stuff ended up being red because Matt and I like it or white by default...so let's go with that.

I was poking around my amazon registry yesterday (this is not a hint or anything; that registry is basically my working to-do list at this point) and a sort of theme emerged: enchanted forest/forest friends. Yes, I like trees and rabbits and deer and squirrels and fantastic Mr. Foxes, and owls. So there's my theme. Ta-da!

Not bad for 6 months left, eh? I know. You're impressed. Now, this has been a lot of exertion, so I'm really going to need to lie down.

P.S. The whole happy schmappy post about nausea-free days and feeling energized? False alarm. I am back to pitying myself. Possible correlation to pitiable weather conditions? I think so.

Round and Round I Go

How big is the Maw? Judge for yourself.

From Blogger Pictures

This photo was taken last Tuesday night at a huge Texas tourism dinner. (Yes, that is Texas First Lady Anita Perry wearing a garbage bag in the middle. Apparently, her huzz got all the good hair.)

I enjoyed peoples' puzzled faces as they attempted to determine if I was pregnant or simply had a very festive Christmas, but did not want to ask. (Little do they know it is both!)

Anyhow, the Maw is really growing in there and the day this picture was taken I noticed a total difference in the way my pajamas fit from the night before. That is to say: tighter, much tighter.

But the good news is I am but three days away from the second trimester, and I am already starting to feel like it. I still get a bit queasy in the evenings, but the days have been gloriously nausea-free, which has just been lovely and enabled me to eat some of my faves again. Sweets and cheese, I'm talking about you, my loves! Also, the weather has been getting warmer and even when it's cold, it seems bearably so. The sun is showing itself a lot more and my terrible humor is lifting. (Also! New bed coming on Monday! EEEE! Might even get up the energy to clean my house today!)

I'm always glad to see February fade into March, but never more than this year. Yay Spring!

A Care Provider That Cares

Sorry for my long absence, y'all. I was emotional. I was sick. I was tired. But I think things are on the upswing. Second trimester is a week and 2 days away. Whoop whoop!

I had my first prenatal appointment with my doc, or rather my doc's bullying minion, Friday, Feb 5 and to say it did not go well would be an understatement of epic proportion. No, I didn't get chased around with an X-Ray machine or sit in a tobacco-filled room of creepy dudes, but it was emotionally very charged. There were a lot of *surprise* diagnostic tests and procedures, little time for my questions or objections, and absolutely no respect or regard for my wishes to not simply be put on the conveyor belt that seems to be modern pregnancy.

Let me say right off that I do NOT judge anyone for having every test the doctor wants to give or she wants to take. I respect everyone's options and the fact that each woman should be able to say what is right for her and her pregnancy. By the same token, I would like being able to refuse certain procedures, to be respected, and to be treated like a thinking person who has feelings and fears, and like other women, wants what I perceive to be the very best care for me and my baby. At the very, very, very least, I would like to be informed when a procedure is being performed and if I have a question about it, I would not like a judging, bullying face with an expression that looks like they are about to report me to CPS to be the response.

So it didn't go well at the doctor and I spent the whole day and subsequent weekend crying and pondering my options. I made an appointment with a midwife in Tyler who WILL come to Nacogdoches to offer a home birth, but will also open up her birthing center to me, should I choose to have baby there.

I went to see her today and I love her! I am almost relieved I had such a terrible doctor's appointment because it made me seek her out. She gave me a hug. She supported me emotionally. She answered my questions in a non-judgey way and she reviewed all procedures, options, choices, etc., gave me information, and was just simply kind and caring without charging me a penny or obligating me to her in any way. Then after the consultation, she asked me if I wanted to hear baby's heartbeat. I did and I heard it! Baby even gave the Doppler a few healthy kicks to let us know s/he was active in there. It was so joyful and not at all like the Doppler assault I experienced at my doctor's office. I am so happy! I am so relieved! Matt is also happy and relieved that I am happy and he has even agreed to home birth, birth center birth, water birth--whatever I want. It feels great to be myself and have that decision supported. :)

Solemn Vow

If I am ever pregnant again in the winter like this, I am going to take a tropical vacation. A long, sunny vacation where it is warm, where I will drink non-alcoholic coconut drinks and bask in the glowing rays of the ever-loving sun and forget that January and February are going on quite differently elsewhere.

Seasonal affective disorder? I think mine is terminal. The combination of nausea, exhaustion, and no sun + very, very cold biting weather (since October! longest, coldest winter in memory!) MIGHT kill me. March, where are you and will you promise to be good to me? If not, please send all future correspondence in care of the U.S. Virgin Islands.

Hypnobabies is Hypnoawesome!

I mentioned hypnobabies a few posts back and wanted to just say a few words about it:

IT IS SO AWESOME!

First...what is it? Here is an explanation from Hypnobabies.com:

Hypno...babies??

Yes! These are babies whose parents choose to easily and naturally prepare for childbirth using the Hypnobabies method of Hypnotic Childbirth, which some might call "hypnobirthing". Hypnobabies however, is very different in that we teach real medical hypnosis techniques, creating an automatically peaceful, relaxing and more comfortable pregnancy, a calm confident Hypno-Dad, and an easier, fearless and often pain-free birthing for our Hypno-Mom.

Hypnobabies is a complete childbirth education course that also teaches Gerald Kein's famous Painless Childbirth techniques to Hypnobabies mothers so that they can enter hypnosis, deepen it themselves and remain mobile during labor, completely comfortable at all times. Most of our Hypno-babies have no drugs in their systems when they are born, and are able to nurse, breathe well and interact with their happy parents immediately.

Did you know?
There are people that have life-threatening allergies to anesthetics who successfully undergo medical and dental surgery with hypnosis as their only anesthesia! If hypnosis can create effective pain elimination for surgeries of all kinds, we know it can work for childbirth, and it does quite well. Your mind is much more powerful than you may realize, and right now you're using only 10% of it. You can easily tap into that gold mine and you'll be amazed at what you can do!

My sister introduced me to it, and also Lady Jo, as a way to create natural anesthesia during birth by meditating and going into a hypnotic trance. Jo reports excellent results!

Although I have not begun listening to the birthing tracks, I must report phenomenal results from the "Eliminate Nausea Now" track and the "Joyful Pregnancy Affirmations" track! Not only have they made my nausea SO. MUCH. BETTER. and a lot more infrequent and quicker to pass, it has also banished my headaches, cured my ubiquitous insomnia, and helped me to feel more positive in general about my body and about the development of baby and so on. I listen to these tracks on repeat for most of the night on my iPod and sleep so very soundly and peacefully! And my sister, who is just a month away from delivering and can hardly seem to get comfortable with herself at night is sleeping soundly through the night. Can't say enough great things! Yay HB!

So now when I constantly reference Hypnobabies, as I surely will, you will know what I am talking about.

Dream On

The wild dreams continue!

Last night I dreamed I spontaneously went into labor with some soft teething toys. They were so lumpy just right by my crotch and all of a sudden I had a contraction and there they were. I can't remember what they all looked like, but one was a squishy zebra with very long legs (disproportionately so) and a light blue bowtie.

At the time, I exclaimed how easy labor was and that delivering was a snap. (Easy to say when you're only delivering soft toys!) Although a bystanding doctor (of unknown name/origin) told me that meant I was fully prepared for real labor and that baby was coming very soon.

I hope by soon, he meant September. Baby has some cooking to do although wow--Baby is the size of a lime now and is swimming all about in my grapefruit-sized uterus, opening and closing his/her mouth and swallowing the amniotic fluid. :)

What Dreams May Come

I have heard reports before of pregnant women having wild dreams before, but I had no idea how wild until they began with such fanfare last night.

After waking up for my 3 a.m. snack of Greek yogurt, I decided to try to go it alone without Hypnobabies (more on this later) and try to sleep quiet, uncoached sleep. It was only moments before Molly was having seizures and going wild-eyed and foaming at the mouth all over our bed. I was so upset and Matt said he would call an emergency veterinarian in Crockett (about 1 hour's drive away), but I needed to put Molly in the car and take her there right away, even in the middle of the night.

When I arrived in Crockett, I called Matt to find out my next steps in finding this emergency vet and on the phone he said "Ah, I don't think it's that big of a deal. I didn't call her. Just don't worry about it."

"But I'm here," I said. "I drove all this way! Molly is still seizing."
"I don't know what to tell you," he said. "I am on hold with this GIS company, so I'll have to talk to you later."

I woke up FURIOUS! ENRAGED! I was so angry at Matt for abandoning me and Molly Tee in the middle of the night! In Crockett! While seizing!

So I decided to tell Matt about my dream and he said "Well, it's probably because you're worried about our eventual divorce." He was chopping a bowl full of onions and putting them in a saucer in front of me.

"What are you talking about? Why?"
"Well, I have this friend Michelle, in California," he continued. "She was pretty upset when I told her I was married. But I said 'Don't worry. Nothing lasts forever.'"
"What do you mean Matt?" I pleaded and began to cry. "Why are you chopping all these onions? Don't you love me?"
"Sure I love you," he said. "But we all move on."

Little did I know I was not telling Matt about my dream. I was having another dream! When I woke up for really real, I told real Matt about the dreams and did he coddle me and tell me everything was going to be alright? No, when I worried about my bad dreams aloud he taunted "Nothing lasts forever."

Real nice, husby. He told me also that if I wanted to keep him around and not have him calling Michelle (whoever she is), I better play my cards right. That old husby is a little devil! Don't call him in the middle of the night from Crockett if you need an emergency vet.

Let the wild rumpus begin!

Two Old Bizards Sittin' in a Tree

Last night, Matt and I were talking about names we like and don't like. The conversation came around to our own names and when I asked Matt about mine, he said he would not have married me if he didn't like my name. In total Full House/Stephanie Tanner style I thought "How rude!" But then I thought about it and realized if we were being honest, I definitely would not have married him if I didn't like his name either. I remember struggling with this issue with certain boyfriends and ultimately, I knew they were damned for it (among other things). So what does this mean? Matt and I are just two old bizards and we're really fine with it.

What Daniel Has Taught Me About Pregnancy

I have wanted to keep this blog more up-to-date, but I am wondering how many times I can tell you I am fiercely hungry, not feeling very zen about nausea*, and going to bed early and waking up late? I mean really: who wants to hear that over and over again? I know I'm bored with it.

Saturday morning, I was in the early stages of waking when I was forming this brilliant metaphor about how the Maw might actually be a vampire. It was so apt! But then I woke up, tried to write it, and of course it made no sense at all. So the Maw is just among the unborn, and not the undead.

I will tell you a funny story though. Last night (the middle of it, of course), when I was shoveling raisin bran down my gullet, I started thinking about my nephew Daniel. He loooooves Wii, especially Mario Kart, much as I looooove food and especially the eating of it.

When I was visiting with Daniel and my sister in December, Daniel was desperately trying to unlock a special character in Mario Kart called Dry Bowser. He became so obsessed with it that at one point, he was simultaneously seat-bouncing on the ottoman, sobbing, and screaming "It's not fun! It's not fun! It's not fun, Mom!!!" Naturally, my sister and I being very compassionate people thought the best thing to do in this instance was to record this insane episode on video, while laughing uncontrollably. It remains today my very favorite video on youtube (sorry world; it's privately held). But even so, I kind of get where Daniel was coming from; it's how I've started to feel about eating.

I do it so often and have to choke down so much that I kind of want to scream/sob "It's not fun! It's not fun, Mom!" Because it isn't. :( I dread when I'll be hungry again because I know it will be very soon and I won't have the energy to prepare anything, but also am tired of always going to restaurants. Of course, no one was MAKING Daniel play Mario Kart, but I know he'd understand anyway.

* I kind of want to do harm to some women in the online forum I post in when they talk about how they "finally got to experience nausea this morning and it was glorious! I knew baby was healthy and doing well!" Oh shut UP. It is not awesome. I do not feel glorious about it. I look forward to not having it ever. again. Nausea is shrimply the worst. Bizards and your zen-ness!

The Maw of the Tiger

Sonnie told me that 2010 is not just the year of the tiger, but the year of the white tiger, a very auspicious once-every-60-years moment in time. I love Chinese astrology and researched further (courtesy of my BFF Google)that the white tiger is the same as the metal tiger, or the tiger associated with metal as its element. (Other options are water, wood, fire, and earth.) I am a metal monkey, myself, so even though monkeys and tigers are not typically BFFs, maybe the fact that we're both metallic will help us to bond over our shared love of shiny things.

Also, Tigers are the Eastern counterpart to the Western Aquarius and I love me some Aquarians (most notably Mr. MRT)!

Anyway, I'm kind of writing on a low tank here, having only been able to stomach a baked potato for dinner, so I'll stop this non-award-winning prose and let the internet speak for itself re: the tiger.

THE METAL TIGER 195O AND 2010

The Metal element gives the Tiger its sharpness in action and speed of thought. Tigers born in the Metal year like to stand out in a crowd. With an inspiring assertiveness and competitive demeanor, they determine their goals and then do anything necessary to achieve them. This good-looking character sometimes suffers from mood swings and temper tantrums. The Tiger can be known to jump to conclusions or to act too quickly without weighing the options or understanding the consequences. This is a flaw Tigers must learn to curb.

Feed Me Seymour!

Okay, I've mentioned the hunger alarm and being ravenous, but I am not sure I can stress enough what I have become: the Maw.



No, seriously: the Maw. I have decided to change the name of this blog for a short while to drive this point home.

The amount of eating I do exhausts me. This does not even include the amount of time I spend thinking about eating or trying to figure out what will appease (never offend!) the Maw.

I am 8 weeks today and you better believe I am counting down to 13 weeks, at which time it is alleged I may go back to some semblance of a non-nauseated, non-maw.

Right now, baby is just over 1/2" long and is using 25% of my blood! (But I am making lots of extra blood for this purpose. At the time of delivery, I will have about 4 extra pounds of blood!) My heart is working very hard to keep up with this extra supply, so that is why I have become such a non-hanger-outer and early bedtime haver.

And I know what you're thinking: this pregnancy business does not sound very palatable. I won't lie: I've been feeling a little low, like there's no light at the end of the tunnel. But know this: not too terribly long from now, I will be snuggling up with my beautiful, perfect baby that my body is making from scratch! What a miracle! That's what I'll keep in mind--that is, when I'm not thinking about my next meal.

Sincerely,
Ma of the Maw

Poll Results, Round 1

Well the results are in and it's a boy by a small margin. Thanks for telling me; now send us only blue stuff. Ha. Thanks also for not voting for Pat. :)

Okay, but seriously: you all have a 50% chance of being correct. I'll let you know in September.

New poll re: pants. How much longer can I wear regular ones?

Of Mice and Men...and Insurance

Here is the difference between good insurance and bad insurance.

Bad insurance= very expensive and no maternity coverage
Good insurance = moderate to low cost and 100% maternity coverage.

Good insurance starts for me and Matt on February 1 and I am very excited. I am going to get my teeth cleaned, my eyes checked, and I know not what else. But I am in a conundrum about maternity care. When both a midwife and a doctor would mean out-of-pocket expense, a midwife was an easy choice for me. Now that I know I will have 100% coverage with an OB, the waters are much muddier. This is a savings of about $3500.

The only thing is that with my OB, I am already being scheduled for a "pregnancy package" like I'm getting school pictures taken and being rolled out on the conveyor belt, but I am not sure I want everything in the goodie bag.

For one thing, I'm horribly torn about an ultrasound. I mean, I already know I'm pregnant (no doubts, whatsoever--just see my grocery bill)and I have been reading various articles about how the risk of ultrasound, while thought to be fairly innocuous with moderate exposure, is still not recommended for routine use by the AMA--and God knows those people like to order every test there is.

In my research, I came across several articles that talked about lab tests on pregnant mice who, after prolonged exposure, gave birth to brain-damaged micey babies because of the heat build-up in the tissues. The exposure was very long and the gestation for mice is much shorter than for humans, and yet...I remain unconvinced. Especially when I read on Slate that Tom Cruise purchased an ultrasound machine for home use to have a looksee anytime he wanted. I mean, if what he does doesn't sway you the other way, what will? The man is crazy as betsy bugs.

But two ultrasounds are part of my "val-u package" and when I told the receptionist I'd rather not schedule one just now, she acted very judge-y and accusatory. Finally, I was like "wait a minute! I'm not having this conversation with YOU. I think I'll speak to the doctor, plz." But I was nicer than that, obviously.

I know if I make it plain I do not want the ultrasound, they're not going to strap me to the table anyway, but I am feeling disappointed that already someone at the practice was questioning my right to or even my desire for informed consent. I didn't even say I never wanted one or it was out of the realm of possibility; I just said I didn't want to schedule one at this time. Geesh! Is a non-judgey environment worth $3500? Maybe so. Insurance, why do you torment me with your options after I've gone without so long?!

"Who dares to paint my royal roses red?! Was it YOU?!"
"Not me, the two!"