With the recent and justified outrage against "personhood," contraception, abortion rights and jackass radio host Rush Limbaugh, I find myself being increasingly aware of my own political tendencies. I remember well the first day of World History at McIntosh High school, 10th grade, 1993. My teacher was the enthusiastic Joseph Jarrell, a name revered through the halls of McIntosh as either the best or worst thing that could appear on your 10th grade class schedule. When we came in, he seated us in neat rows alphabetically according to last name and pointed out a quote he'd written on the chalkboard.
"Those who do not learn from history are often doomed to repeat it."
Nearly 20 years later, I believe I can tell the people who learned from history and those who did not, and the difference is startling and frightening in the political arena. Now, let me make one thing perfectly clear: I think most people, individually, are reasonably intelligent. I think that people as a whole are easily led lemmings looking for someone to tell them what to think, do, feel, and buy because they are too lazy or scared to decide that for themselves. And that's where religion comes in.
As I get older, I consider myself less and less religious and more and more simply spiritual. I believe there's a God- the chaos is too defined for there not to be, I think, and I believe that there was a man named Jesus who lived about 2,000 years ago and preached a message of being nice to each other and taking care of those whom we can help. When I look at history, I look at the history of the influence of religion, politics and economics on the lives of the people of this planet. In truth, we studied the whole history of Europe through the lens of the effects of the influence of the Catholic (Catholic-with-a-big-c, Mr. Jarrell would remind us) church. The history of America is studied through the lens of religion, economics and politics. When you go to a dinner party what are the three things you're not supposed to discuss? Money, religion and politics. As Kostas Portokalos in My Big Fat Greek Wedding would say, "And there you have it."
Those are contentious subjects, sure, because everyone believes that whatever he or she think is the right thing to think. And what I believe has become dangerous to our country is that increasingly the people who are telling the mob how to think are a group of Fundamentalist Evangelical Christians who don't actually represent the actual opinions or feelings of most of America, just the ones that seem to shout the loudest and catch the attention of the Media.
I 100% believe that our forefathers were 100% in the right when they included in the Constitution that Congress shall make no law respecting religion. And I'm fearful that religion has become the number one driving force behind legislation and election happening in this country, and when religion takes control of legislation and election, you have one of two outcomes : The Dark Ages and/or The Taliban. BOTH of those things spring directly from allowing religious leaders to be the people who are making laws. During the Dark Ages, the Church was amassing huge wealth, building grand cathedrals that people still marvel at today and letting the believers live in fear, disease and filth. The Taliban failed pretty miserably at the amassing wealth and building cathedrals part,but they certainly slapped the Afghan people down into living in fear, disease and filth. Not the same sort, but nonetheless.
People like to argue with me that they don't have the opinions they do because of what they hear in church, and I say that's completely untrue. One of the things I like best about the churches that I've attended in my life with regularity is that they kept the polarizing issues from the media out of the pulpit. I've never had a pastor preach against voting for any one candidate or another. I've never heard a sermon on abortion or the sinfulness of birth control. So you don't think your opinions come from a preacher, eh? Well, in my mind there are 2 places where one can get their "truths:" their church (or the effect that religion has on their family and community, even indirectly) and science or mathematics. Morality and often political sentiment are taught to the masses by preachers, or those who are influenced by them.
So I don't know what the answer is. I'm not anti-religion, I'm not anti-government or even anti-politics. I think differences of opinion are necessary to inspire people to think. But I think the danger of the current hyper-religious political game is that it's taking one opinion, stamping "God Approved" on it, and running off with a smug sense of self-righteousness.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Baby Hairs
When I was pregnant, both times, I could get heartburn from crackers, from water, from antacids. According to the Old Wives' Tale Storybook, that meant my babies would have hair. Now, normally I am not one who puts too much stock in old wives' tales as I know plenty of people who had heartburn just as bad as mine whose babies were born as bald as Jean-Luc Picard. Then I gave birth to this:
Which looked like this at 2 months:
Who, by 6 months old looked like this:
And by a year and a half was sporting THIS:
When she was born with the mop, EVERYONE said "It'll fall out and come back in blonde." And here we are, over two years later and after cutting 4" off a New Years, my 2 and a half year old has brown hair to the middle of her back, still. Never once did a strand fall out, and nor did it turn blonde.
When I was pregnant with #2, we wondered what we would do if she was born bald. I mean, very few babies sport coifs like The Squirt, but we figured if Niblet was bald, we'd buy her a baby wig like Suzanne Sugarbaker in Designing Women. So when this girl was born, we were a bit relieved:
At first we were kind of excited because we thought maybe she'd have curls... but it turns out, she is a hedgehog.
And we like our hedgehog mighty fine.
Who, by 6 months old looked like this:
And by a year and a half was sporting THIS:
When I was pregnant with #2, we wondered what we would do if she was born bald. I mean, very few babies sport coifs like The Squirt, but we figured if Niblet was bald, we'd buy her a baby wig like Suzanne Sugarbaker in Designing Women. So when this girl was born, we were a bit relieved:
At first we were kind of excited because we thought maybe she'd have curls... but it turns out, she is a hedgehog.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
I have 2 kids! Let's not screw them up!
Well, Darling Daughter 2 was born just over a month ago and we haven't slept since then. C'est la vie. I think there is something in our genetics that causes us to forget, edit/polish or willfully ignore how awful having a newborn is because otherwise nobody would ever have 2 kids. On the plus side, she's totally cute and looks a little like a hedgehog.
Now that I have 2 kids, I feel very "parenty." And as a former nanny and now a teacher, I have dealt with the consequences of bad parenting and the rewards of good parenting every day for the last decade or more. I hope that I will do better by my own daughters than some of those whose decisions make my job more difficult than it needs to be while taking the examples of the great parents I interact with whose children reflect the job they're doing.
What are some things that are hallmarks of good or bad parenting? Oh, let me ennumerate....
1. Good parents advocate for their child but don't try to control outcomes for their children. Kids absolutely HAVE to learn what it feels like to fail. If you shield your child from every disappointment, even a truly deserved failure, you have taught them that everything will always go their way. As adults we KNOW that isn't true, and some of the most aggravating and intolerable people you know in your life are almost certainly those who believe they must get their own way all the time.
2. Don't be afraid to make your child cry. As humans we learn the difference between right and wrong by not liking how we feel when we've done something wrong. I don't think kids are born with a conscience. I think it is a parent's job to make his or her kid feel bad when they've done something wrong. The kid then learns that feeling bad about what you did sucks and boom! a conscience is born.
3. Trust your child's teacher until he or she gives you a real and valid reason not to. Teachers see your child in a whole different environment than their family does. A teacher might, one day, tell you that your child did something that you have a hard time believing- but in my experience, teachers don't generally make up stuff to make children look bad. Teachers understand kids a lot better than most parents do because we see such a wide variety of them. A teacher can often give you the best advice for how to deal with an issue, although legally we're not allowed to because it's overreaching, I guess. If your son or daughter's teacher tells you that he or she is having trouble with behavior or academics, it's in your best interest to believe it. It doesn't necessarily make you a bad parent if you have a kid who struggles with something- but it DOES make you a bad parent to ignore the reality of it and fail to help your child cope or overcome.
4. Learn to say no. Learn to MEAN no. Learn not to let "no" change to "yes" or "maybe." Being able to stick to an absolute no is an invaluable parenting must. Does that mean you're never allowed to change your mind? Of course not- one of the best things a child can learn from his or her parents is that sometimes it's necessary to reexamine a situation. But if you always cave into your child, they will learn, once again, that they're supposed to get their way in every situation.
5. Help your child learn that ALL actions have consequences; good or bad. I don't mean that you need to reward all good decisions and punish all bad ones. We already have a culture of children who have been raised believing that they deserve candy for pooping in the toilet. I reward for things that go beyond a regular expectation. But that doesn't mean that you can't teach your child that good things have good consequences anyway. You cleaned up your room? Wow, now you hava a nice neat place to play, aren't you lucky? You were nice to a new student in your class? Awesome, you probably made a new friend. You learned your vocabulary for the test this week and got a good grade? I'm proud of you and all those new words you are learning will make you sound so smart when you use them in your speech or writing. I don't expect kids to be perfect, obviously. But I have found one of the most powerful negative consequences for a child is to have a grownup express disappointment in their choices, but not to try to stop them from doing what they decided to do. You're choosing to play your computer game instead of studying for your science test? Wow, I'm really disappointed. I thought you would make a better choice than that..... for a child in whom you have developed a conscience, that stings worse than you unplugging the computer and forcing them to open their science notes.... they make the choice to do the right thing themself rather than being forced.... and they don't end up being mad about the Huge Injustice their Evil Parent just did to them.
I got all thoughty for this post because I have a set of parenst who is not happy that I noted on a report card that their child's behavior modification plan was going well. First of all, having the teacher tell you your child's behavior plan is successful is a COMPLIMENT to your child. But these parents are only concerned that it indicates that there was a behavior problem to begin with. So what? Stop believing your child is a perfect angel- kids are HUMAN and they are not perfect. CELEBRATE that your child has overcome something that was a struggle. Tell your child you're proud of the good work he or she has done in having more self control in the classroom. Understand that your child's failures don't make you look bad unless their reaction to the failure isn't what it ought to be.
Oy. I have just under another month of maternity leave and I'm pretty happy about that. I absolutely love many of the students in my class this year and the parents who have raised them to be awesome, but on the whole I will be glad to move this group up to first grade and start fresh with new kids and new parents. It's a hard mix this year.
Now that I have 2 kids, I feel very "parenty." And as a former nanny and now a teacher, I have dealt with the consequences of bad parenting and the rewards of good parenting every day for the last decade or more. I hope that I will do better by my own daughters than some of those whose decisions make my job more difficult than it needs to be while taking the examples of the great parents I interact with whose children reflect the job they're doing.
What are some things that are hallmarks of good or bad parenting? Oh, let me ennumerate....
1. Good parents advocate for their child but don't try to control outcomes for their children. Kids absolutely HAVE to learn what it feels like to fail. If you shield your child from every disappointment, even a truly deserved failure, you have taught them that everything will always go their way. As adults we KNOW that isn't true, and some of the most aggravating and intolerable people you know in your life are almost certainly those who believe they must get their own way all the time.
2. Don't be afraid to make your child cry. As humans we learn the difference between right and wrong by not liking how we feel when we've done something wrong. I don't think kids are born with a conscience. I think it is a parent's job to make his or her kid feel bad when they've done something wrong. The kid then learns that feeling bad about what you did sucks and boom! a conscience is born.
3. Trust your child's teacher until he or she gives you a real and valid reason not to. Teachers see your child in a whole different environment than their family does. A teacher might, one day, tell you that your child did something that you have a hard time believing- but in my experience, teachers don't generally make up stuff to make children look bad. Teachers understand kids a lot better than most parents do because we see such a wide variety of them. A teacher can often give you the best advice for how to deal with an issue, although legally we're not allowed to because it's overreaching, I guess. If your son or daughter's teacher tells you that he or she is having trouble with behavior or academics, it's in your best interest to believe it. It doesn't necessarily make you a bad parent if you have a kid who struggles with something- but it DOES make you a bad parent to ignore the reality of it and fail to help your child cope or overcome.
4. Learn to say no. Learn to MEAN no. Learn not to let "no" change to "yes" or "maybe." Being able to stick to an absolute no is an invaluable parenting must. Does that mean you're never allowed to change your mind? Of course not- one of the best things a child can learn from his or her parents is that sometimes it's necessary to reexamine a situation. But if you always cave into your child, they will learn, once again, that they're supposed to get their way in every situation.
5. Help your child learn that ALL actions have consequences; good or bad. I don't mean that you need to reward all good decisions and punish all bad ones. We already have a culture of children who have been raised believing that they deserve candy for pooping in the toilet. I reward for things that go beyond a regular expectation. But that doesn't mean that you can't teach your child that good things have good consequences anyway. You cleaned up your room? Wow, now you hava a nice neat place to play, aren't you lucky? You were nice to a new student in your class? Awesome, you probably made a new friend. You learned your vocabulary for the test this week and got a good grade? I'm proud of you and all those new words you are learning will make you sound so smart when you use them in your speech or writing. I don't expect kids to be perfect, obviously. But I have found one of the most powerful negative consequences for a child is to have a grownup express disappointment in their choices, but not to try to stop them from doing what they decided to do. You're choosing to play your computer game instead of studying for your science test? Wow, I'm really disappointed. I thought you would make a better choice than that..... for a child in whom you have developed a conscience, that stings worse than you unplugging the computer and forcing them to open their science notes.... they make the choice to do the right thing themself rather than being forced.... and they don't end up being mad about the Huge Injustice their Evil Parent just did to them.
I got all thoughty for this post because I have a set of parenst who is not happy that I noted on a report card that their child's behavior modification plan was going well. First of all, having the teacher tell you your child's behavior plan is successful is a COMPLIMENT to your child. But these parents are only concerned that it indicates that there was a behavior problem to begin with. So what? Stop believing your child is a perfect angel- kids are HUMAN and they are not perfect. CELEBRATE that your child has overcome something that was a struggle. Tell your child you're proud of the good work he or she has done in having more self control in the classroom. Understand that your child's failures don't make you look bad unless their reaction to the failure isn't what it ought to be.
Oy. I have just under another month of maternity leave and I'm pretty happy about that. I absolutely love many of the students in my class this year and the parents who have raised them to be awesome, but on the whole I will be glad to move this group up to first grade and start fresh with new kids and new parents. It's a hard mix this year.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
It Just Never Ends
I haven't posted in a while because I'm too pregnant to live. Between trying to not lose my job, keep my house neat enough to at least not qualify for an episode of Hoarders, taking care of the world's most awesome 2 year old, 2 dogs, 2 cats, a husband and myself, blogging basically didn't exist..... but you forgive me, you know you do.
So Fun With Labor officially got off to a start on Wednesday. Baby Girl #2 is due on 1/26, but all signs point to her intention to make her debut earlier. There's been a nasty stomach flu working its way through the kids at school and they were kind enough to share it. While I managed to avoid the cataclysmic puking episodes, the other symptom led to me getting fairly dehydrated. So dehydrated in fact, that it made my blood pressure go bonkers which in turn started me having some irregular but strong contractions. My blood pressure usually hovers around the 115/75 range, so seeing numbers like 140/110 was scary. On Thursday at work I just felt "off" and emailed my OB who asked if I could get my BP checked at school or if I could run over to their local office and have it checked. Our public health nurse who is one of those old-school nurses who know everything about everything took one look at me and said "Oh honey, you need to go home" before she even checked my BP. So once she got that scary number, I was sent packing to the OB who sent me to the hospital for monitoring, blood work and fluids.
Luckily all the bloodwork came back negative for anything scary, and after a couple of hours of fluids the contractions tapered off and I felt much better. But I still got sent home on bed rest and OB said she'd be surprised if I was still pregnant by the end of next week. On Friday I enjoyed having a day of rest, to be honest, and today I've been uncomfortable and just trying to keep the stress down so I don't ratchet up the bp again.
But of course, my mother can't allow that. Oh no. For some reason the woman has decided that me having children is somehow all about her. Yesterday I was accused of having had the baby and not telling her. Today I have enjoyed her standard passive-aggressive emails about how "inconvenient" it is for me not to answer her phone calls to make me decribe everything my 2 year old has done or said in the last 48 hours. Inconvenient. INCONVENIENT. Why do I have to make anything about my life convenient for you, Mother? Why is the birth of my child something that should revolve around you and what's easy for YOU?!? I don't see a single reason why it should, so therefore it's not going to. You are not the only grandmother on earth whose grandchildren live out of driving distance. I am not under any OBLIGATION to make travel plans for you. You're a big girl. As my dear friend would say, scratch your mad place and get glad.
Luckily my husband has risen to the occasion and will be informing her that I will not be talking to or answering text messages from her or anyone else until after the baby is born and if she wants updates on anything, she will have to embrace the "inconvenience" of calling him instead.
So Fun With Labor officially got off to a start on Wednesday. Baby Girl #2 is due on 1/26, but all signs point to her intention to make her debut earlier. There's been a nasty stomach flu working its way through the kids at school and they were kind enough to share it. While I managed to avoid the cataclysmic puking episodes, the other symptom led to me getting fairly dehydrated. So dehydrated in fact, that it made my blood pressure go bonkers which in turn started me having some irregular but strong contractions. My blood pressure usually hovers around the 115/75 range, so seeing numbers like 140/110 was scary. On Thursday at work I just felt "off" and emailed my OB who asked if I could get my BP checked at school or if I could run over to their local office and have it checked. Our public health nurse who is one of those old-school nurses who know everything about everything took one look at me and said "Oh honey, you need to go home" before she even checked my BP. So once she got that scary number, I was sent packing to the OB who sent me to the hospital for monitoring, blood work and fluids.
Luckily all the bloodwork came back negative for anything scary, and after a couple of hours of fluids the contractions tapered off and I felt much better. But I still got sent home on bed rest and OB said she'd be surprised if I was still pregnant by the end of next week. On Friday I enjoyed having a day of rest, to be honest, and today I've been uncomfortable and just trying to keep the stress down so I don't ratchet up the bp again.
But of course, my mother can't allow that. Oh no. For some reason the woman has decided that me having children is somehow all about her. Yesterday I was accused of having had the baby and not telling her. Today I have enjoyed her standard passive-aggressive emails about how "inconvenient" it is for me not to answer her phone calls to make me decribe everything my 2 year old has done or said in the last 48 hours. Inconvenient. INCONVENIENT. Why do I have to make anything about my life convenient for you, Mother? Why is the birth of my child something that should revolve around you and what's easy for YOU?!? I don't see a single reason why it should, so therefore it's not going to. You are not the only grandmother on earth whose grandchildren live out of driving distance. I am not under any OBLIGATION to make travel plans for you. You're a big girl. As my dear friend would say, scratch your mad place and get glad.
Luckily my husband has risen to the occasion and will be informing her that I will not be talking to or answering text messages from her or anyone else until after the baby is born and if she wants updates on anything, she will have to embrace the "inconvenience" of calling him instead.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
The Dangers of Christmas
After using a small crane to lower myself onto the floor this morning in order to wrap the only gifts I've managed to purchase so far this holiday season, I've come to the realization that Christmas is dangerous, ya'll. And not for the reasons you might think.
Sure, we hear about the folks who slice their finger or hand open on a blister package that requires a nuclear reaction to open and heading to the emergency room for stitches. There's the unfortunate Turkey Fryer accidents. There's the dissolution of marriages and disowning of children by parents who were up until 4am assembling the tiny plastic parts of a Barbie Malibu Dream Castle. But for pregnant kindergarten teachers, there is even more peril.
First of all, there's the hormonal issue. I cried the other night because the pork chops I had in the oven weren't browning the way I wanted them to because they were thicker than the ones I usually buy. I collapsed into a bewildered heap of sobs over that disaster. That has nothing to do with Christmas, of course, but how can you expect someone who cries over pork chops to be able to drive while you're playing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" on the radio, Light 98? Or "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch?" I mean, these songs are FILLED with emotional triggers like "Your soul is an appalling dung heap overflowing with the most disgusting assortment of garbage imaginable." Sobs, I tell you. I carry mascara in my purse so that once I get to school I can somewhat reassemble myself.
Of course, that doesn't last long. And why? Pants. They keep caring if I'm wearing pants to school. Yes, I wear a dress as often as possible and recently made the foray into leggings and longer shirts, but I haven't found a way yet to wear my ACTUAL nightgown or a pair of sweatpants to school without escaping notice. And with a baby belly roughly the size of the unexplained object orbiting Mercury:
They're COMING FOR US
Pants are seriously dangerous. As a matter of fact, on Thursday I was a mere moments from taking my scissors into the stinky peed-on bathroom in my classroom and cutting the waistband on the maternity pants I was wearing so that I could stand to wear them for another moment. I had a whole plan to extend them involving duct tape and my stapler, but luckily the Husband showed up with my sweatpants just in time for my pants to escape Mythbusters style rigging.
THEN this morning I got the proofs of The Squirt's 2 year old photo shoot with a talented photographer friend. The kid is spectacular, I must say. Even the dogs look cute in the shots they invaded. Me, not so much. I look like a whale. An actual, verifiable, World Wildlife Association Profiling Endangered Species. There is only one of my kind: The Central Virginian Mommious Colossus. I am SNL's Land Shark's Whale counterpart. And this is particularly troubling because I've really not gained that much weight at all (nneighborhood of 10lbs, sometimes as much as 15 depending on when you weigh me). So this served to completely destroy the picture of myself in my head that I have where I am a Whole Lot Thinner Than I Actually Am. Tears. Oh yeah. Tears.
And now I'm trying to plan some merriment for my kindergarten friends for next week, and it's frustrating because I have a Jehovah's Witness in my class. They take the fun out of everything and replace it with Watchtower pamphlets. This is the first year I haven't spent the whole month of December playing my collection of Robert Shaw carols and such on the CD player in my classroom instead of my usual "Piano's Most Relaxing Hits" albums.
On the slightest end of positive, this week I only had ONE unexplained pee puddle appear on my classroom floor, and only had to make one awkward phone call home to a parent because his son was masturbating on his rest mat during naptime. Oh yeah, baby.
Sure, we hear about the folks who slice their finger or hand open on a blister package that requires a nuclear reaction to open and heading to the emergency room for stitches. There's the unfortunate Turkey Fryer accidents. There's the dissolution of marriages and disowning of children by parents who were up until 4am assembling the tiny plastic parts of a Barbie Malibu Dream Castle. But for pregnant kindergarten teachers, there is even more peril.
First of all, there's the hormonal issue. I cried the other night because the pork chops I had in the oven weren't browning the way I wanted them to because they were thicker than the ones I usually buy. I collapsed into a bewildered heap of sobs over that disaster. That has nothing to do with Christmas, of course, but how can you expect someone who cries over pork chops to be able to drive while you're playing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" on the radio, Light 98? Or "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch?" I mean, these songs are FILLED with emotional triggers like "Your soul is an appalling dung heap overflowing with the most disgusting assortment of garbage imaginable." Sobs, I tell you. I carry mascara in my purse so that once I get to school I can somewhat reassemble myself.
Of course, that doesn't last long. And why? Pants. They keep caring if I'm wearing pants to school. Yes, I wear a dress as often as possible and recently made the foray into leggings and longer shirts, but I haven't found a way yet to wear my ACTUAL nightgown or a pair of sweatpants to school without escaping notice. And with a baby belly roughly the size of the unexplained object orbiting Mercury:
They're COMING FOR US
Pants are seriously dangerous. As a matter of fact, on Thursday I was a mere moments from taking my scissors into the stinky peed-on bathroom in my classroom and cutting the waistband on the maternity pants I was wearing so that I could stand to wear them for another moment. I had a whole plan to extend them involving duct tape and my stapler, but luckily the Husband showed up with my sweatpants just in time for my pants to escape Mythbusters style rigging.
THEN this morning I got the proofs of The Squirt's 2 year old photo shoot with a talented photographer friend. The kid is spectacular, I must say. Even the dogs look cute in the shots they invaded. Me, not so much. I look like a whale. An actual, verifiable, World Wildlife Association Profiling Endangered Species. There is only one of my kind: The Central Virginian Mommious Colossus. I am SNL's Land Shark's Whale counterpart. And this is particularly troubling because I've really not gained that much weight at all (nneighborhood of 10lbs, sometimes as much as 15 depending on when you weigh me). So this served to completely destroy the picture of myself in my head that I have where I am a Whole Lot Thinner Than I Actually Am. Tears. Oh yeah. Tears.
And now I'm trying to plan some merriment for my kindergarten friends for next week, and it's frustrating because I have a Jehovah's Witness in my class. They take the fun out of everything and replace it with Watchtower pamphlets. This is the first year I haven't spent the whole month of December playing my collection of Robert Shaw carols and such on the CD player in my classroom instead of my usual "Piano's Most Relaxing Hits" albums.
On the slightest end of positive, this week I only had ONE unexplained pee puddle appear on my classroom floor, and only had to make one awkward phone call home to a parent because his son was masturbating on his rest mat during naptime. Oh yeah, baby.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
There's a Madonna Song in Here Somewhere
With The Squirt, I elected to have an induction and it failed. I ended up having a c-section which was neither the most or least enjoyable experience of my life.
What was the least enjoyable, you may ask? Well, it just might be the phone calls I get from various personages taking me on a delightful passive aggressive guilt trip revolving around the birth of my children!
When The Squirt was born, I was teaching the worst 5th grade class ever assembled by a soulless, neckless demon from the depths of Hell. I was compounding the problem, I'm sure, by being exhausted, uncomfortable and grouchy but truthfully passing the time with a pack of rabid babboons bent on giving me the Ebola virus would have been a more enjoyable way to spend my day. Then the phone calls began.
One side of the family remained willfully ignorant about the details of pregnancy and childbirth and didn't seem to understand why neither me nor my beloved obstetrician could pinpoint with any accuracy when exactly she would be born and how much she would weigh. I'm already getting the "have they told you how much she weighs?" questions again, and this time I'm answering with the information from my What Not to Expect app..... so today? About 4lbs. "Why is she so small?!? Is there something wrong?" Um no. Did you think that as soon as the sperm hit the egg a 7.5lb baby magically appears? I am under the impression that she grows. You know, gets larger every day. And if someone has invented an intrauterine scale then I certainly haven't heard about it. Le sigh. Last time someone expected to be able to videotape the birth and didn't really want to listen to my objections, so I got the nurses to tell people that nobody other that my husband was allowed in the room because of the Swine Flu outbreaks. L&D nurses are GREAT liars.
So one cold and rainy afternoon in November, I was forced to abandon the rabid babboon hoarde to field a series of passive aggressive phone calls from my own mother and grandmother. It appears that my mother had decided that my unwillingness to consult the Dark Arts to divine when my child would be born so that she could be assured of being present, and my inability to secure travel plans for picking her up from the airport when there were no day or time parameters to consider was code for me saying I Don't Like You And Don't Want You To Ever See My Child. Then to add insult to injury, I expressed interest in spending the last few days of the husband and my life as a couple as, you know, a COUPLE. Without houseguests. I am mortifyingly selfish it seems. Either that or my mother is secretly a 2 year old.
In the last few weeks, I've been trying to make it clear to various family that I don't intend to schedule a C-Section for the birth of kidlet #2. It does not appear to be sinking in for some, but others have decided that I am intentionally inconveniencing them so that I can be sure that they cannot be present when she is born. Out of spite, you know. I am spitefully choosing to give birth in the intended way if possible. Egg on my face, right?
My general feeling on the matter is this: I have a 2 year old. I will have a newborn. I would vastly prefer to avoid major abdominal surgery and the recovery involved. After a C-Section, you're not allowed to pick up anything heavier than your baby for like 2 weeks. Someone explain that to a 2 year old, please? All she would know is that Mama will hold the baby but not her, and I can't hurt her like that if I have the power to possibly avoid the issue at all.
Since I AM the one who will be giving birth to this little Riverdancer, I can't say I particularly care about making it convenient for anyone else. And it really chaps my ass that I'm dealing with passive aggressive guilt trips because my decisions regarding my body, my baby, and my family are inconvenient for people's travel plans. As far as I'm concerned there is exactly ONE other person on earth who has any actual right to be present for the birth of this little girl, and that would be her daddy. If it works out that the more long distance family is able to be there, great. If not, I'm not responsible for that.
So my decision to VBAC if possible is NOT made out of spite to you, Mother. Nor is it intended to relay some secret message of hatred towards you. It is about ME prefering NOT to be cut open and sewn back together when I have this handy dandy doorway all biologically ready for my child to exit. Why smash a hole in the wall if there's already a door to walk through? Of course, if medically necessary I'm not opposed to having another c-section, but it's nobody's decision but mine and my doctor's.
Oh, January, you cannot come swiftly enough.
To Quote Her Madgesty Herself: And I'm not sorry..... it's human nature.... and I'm not sorry, I'm not your b!tch, don't lay your $hit on me.......
What was the least enjoyable, you may ask? Well, it just might be the phone calls I get from various personages taking me on a delightful passive aggressive guilt trip revolving around the birth of my children!
When The Squirt was born, I was teaching the worst 5th grade class ever assembled by a soulless, neckless demon from the depths of Hell. I was compounding the problem, I'm sure, by being exhausted, uncomfortable and grouchy but truthfully passing the time with a pack of rabid babboons bent on giving me the Ebola virus would have been a more enjoyable way to spend my day. Then the phone calls began.
One side of the family remained willfully ignorant about the details of pregnancy and childbirth and didn't seem to understand why neither me nor my beloved obstetrician could pinpoint with any accuracy when exactly she would be born and how much she would weigh. I'm already getting the "have they told you how much she weighs?" questions again, and this time I'm answering with the information from my What Not to Expect app..... so today? About 4lbs. "Why is she so small?!? Is there something wrong?" Um no. Did you think that as soon as the sperm hit the egg a 7.5lb baby magically appears? I am under the impression that she grows. You know, gets larger every day. And if someone has invented an intrauterine scale then I certainly haven't heard about it. Le sigh. Last time someone expected to be able to videotape the birth and didn't really want to listen to my objections, so I got the nurses to tell people that nobody other that my husband was allowed in the room because of the Swine Flu outbreaks. L&D nurses are GREAT liars.
So one cold and rainy afternoon in November, I was forced to abandon the rabid babboon hoarde to field a series of passive aggressive phone calls from my own mother and grandmother. It appears that my mother had decided that my unwillingness to consult the Dark Arts to divine when my child would be born so that she could be assured of being present, and my inability to secure travel plans for picking her up from the airport when there were no day or time parameters to consider was code for me saying I Don't Like You And Don't Want You To Ever See My Child. Then to add insult to injury, I expressed interest in spending the last few days of the husband and my life as a couple as, you know, a COUPLE. Without houseguests. I am mortifyingly selfish it seems. Either that or my mother is secretly a 2 year old.
In the last few weeks, I've been trying to make it clear to various family that I don't intend to schedule a C-Section for the birth of kidlet #2. It does not appear to be sinking in for some, but others have decided that I am intentionally inconveniencing them so that I can be sure that they cannot be present when she is born. Out of spite, you know. I am spitefully choosing to give birth in the intended way if possible. Egg on my face, right?
My general feeling on the matter is this: I have a 2 year old. I will have a newborn. I would vastly prefer to avoid major abdominal surgery and the recovery involved. After a C-Section, you're not allowed to pick up anything heavier than your baby for like 2 weeks. Someone explain that to a 2 year old, please? All she would know is that Mama will hold the baby but not her, and I can't hurt her like that if I have the power to possibly avoid the issue at all.
Since I AM the one who will be giving birth to this little Riverdancer, I can't say I particularly care about making it convenient for anyone else. And it really chaps my ass that I'm dealing with passive aggressive guilt trips because my decisions regarding my body, my baby, and my family are inconvenient for people's travel plans. As far as I'm concerned there is exactly ONE other person on earth who has any actual right to be present for the birth of this little girl, and that would be her daddy. If it works out that the more long distance family is able to be there, great. If not, I'm not responsible for that.
So my decision to VBAC if possible is NOT made out of spite to you, Mother. Nor is it intended to relay some secret message of hatred towards you. It is about ME prefering NOT to be cut open and sewn back together when I have this handy dandy doorway all biologically ready for my child to exit. Why smash a hole in the wall if there's already a door to walk through? Of course, if medically necessary I'm not opposed to having another c-section, but it's nobody's decision but mine and my doctor's.
Oh, January, you cannot come swiftly enough.
To Quote Her Madgesty Herself: And I'm not sorry..... it's human nature.... and I'm not sorry, I'm not your b!tch, don't lay your $hit on me.......
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
'Twas the Week Before Thanksgiving Eve
So the World's Most Awesome Toddler turned 2 on Friday, and as punishment to her parents all of her Georgia grandparents came to visit. No, actually, it was fine.... just exhausting. Hadn't seen my parents get along that well in, well, my life. And Her Majesty certainly enjoyed being the EXACT center of attention. She is also a recent convert to the Birthday Cake Fan Club.
So now it's Thanksgiving Eve, and my mother has been here since The Squirt's birthday on the 18th. She has made it her mission to completely decorate The Squirt's new Big Girl Room which includes painting a lot of furniture because we're too cheap to buy anything new and happily took hand me down furniture. She also decided to repair the damage to the guest bathroom that my grandmother caused a good year ago and that she exacerbated. All fine and dandy. I think she intends to paint my upstairs hallway, too, which again, is fine. She's good at these sorts of things and while I could do it myself, I'd prefer not to.
However, today we took a trip out to a couple of shopping establishments because I had to buy The Squirt's new Big Girl bedding set (CUPCAKES!) and my mother needed to go to Home Depot for some things that she assures me are essential to the wellbeing of my family and the Earth and my lack of which she finds troubling (spray acrylic. Who just keeps spray acrylic in their house at all times?). These 2 hours of my life proved sufficient to render me more or less a hypertensive manic-depressive maniac hellbent on killing all those in my way. Why, you ask?
On the way to Homegoods, she tells me I have to buy new bathroom rugs because she threw out my existing rugs yesterday (and trash has since been picked up) because they weren't the correct rugs. Then I am informed that she intends to hang a towel bar about 2 feet up from the floor in the bathroom so that my daughter can wipe her mouth on it after brushing her teeth. Yes, because that's necessary. Then we arrive at Homegoods, and she immediately takes off at Warp 9.9 with my toddler in hand, ignoring the fact that I'm nearly 8 months pregnant and physically unable to move that fast. If you've never chased my mother around a home accessories or grocery store, let me tell you now that it's both aerobic and frustrating. The key is to NEVER let her have control of the cart. Otherwise, you spend the grocery trip filling your arms with all the things you INTENDED to put in the cart and then circling the store looking for the buggy and trying in vain to catch her long enough to put this armload of groceries into the cart so you can start that process again. The comedic properties of chasing your own grocery cart around the store as it's being driven by a maniac in sweatpants is unfortunately lost on me. It's kind of like Whack-a-Mole, only you don't get to hit her on purpose.
So being careful to keep from circling the sun while traveling at maximum warp to avoid unintentional time travel and having to be part of some bad Star Trek plot involving humpback whales, I managed to acquire the things I intended to buy and subsequently answer all her continuously unanswerable questions about what exact shade of purple was in the quilt set that I did not own yet. I was also required to purchase an over-the-door hanging organizer thing because she cannot abide my purse hanging on a doorknob or a Target bag being placed on the floor until the contents are unpacked. Oh, and a scented candle for the bathroom, which I guarantee my husband will throw away next week because scented candles give him migraines. My total cost: $140. She bought the kid a pink poodle purse for $4.99.
So then we head to Home Depot, where again, she grabs the toddler and accelerates towards the exit. Approaching the exit, she hands me the child and then despite me saying "This is the exit, the entrance is there," she zooms in through the out door, leaving us to chase behind her unable to get a cart or buggy for my 32lb ham of a child to ride in. So, this means I spent the next 30 minutes chasing her AND a toddler wearing new and exciting twinkling sneakers through Home Depot trying in vain to prevent injury to myself and/or damage to the Home Depot inventory that would require me to pay the store for the destruction. I vetoed a $30 towel bar that I don't need or want, much to her chagrin. Suck it, lady. After she amassed all the things that Home Depot sells that my home was teetering on the edge of self-destructing without, I was allowed to pay for the purchases while MotorMother takes my child and runs for the car like a woman currently shoplifting a turkey out of the store in her underwear.
Did I mention that in the course of this day I had to stop at no less than 3 different gas stations until she could find the appropriate brand of cigarettes? And I am so desperately allergic to and loathing of all things related to smoking that my soul dies a little with each stop. If only I'd known the incantation to make a horcrux, it would have been smart on this trip.
Finally, after we leave Home Depot I decided to acquire some lunch for everyone, and swung into McDonalds. The Squirt got excited about "Chicken anna FRIES anna SAUCE, Mama?!?" So taking a deep breath, I barely survived the sojurn through the highly inefficient newly redesigned 2 lane drive thru system with my mother on a continuous loop about how HORRIBLE the drive thru line is and trying repeatedly to get my child to repeat the things she wanted her to say.
When I got home, I more or less only wanted to sit on my sofa and try not to die. But no, I was sent to Target because you see, she'd decided my bathroom curtain situation was inappropriate, so she took down ONE curtain rod from the 2 windows in my daughter's room and moved it to the bathroom window which faces a windowless side of our neighbor's house. Since nobody except the 2.5 foot tall kid is ever naked in that room, I'd not really worried about covering the window which was apparently a sad, sad travesty in my life. Instead of just buying another rod next time we happened to be there, it became imperative to get one with some haste because now only one window of my daughter's room was covered. Logic defies.
And the kicker is that SHE has a prescription for Xanax, not me.
So now it's Thanksgiving Eve, and my mother has been here since The Squirt's birthday on the 18th. She has made it her mission to completely decorate The Squirt's new Big Girl Room which includes painting a lot of furniture because we're too cheap to buy anything new and happily took hand me down furniture. She also decided to repair the damage to the guest bathroom that my grandmother caused a good year ago and that she exacerbated. All fine and dandy. I think she intends to paint my upstairs hallway, too, which again, is fine. She's good at these sorts of things and while I could do it myself, I'd prefer not to.
However, today we took a trip out to a couple of shopping establishments because I had to buy The Squirt's new Big Girl bedding set (CUPCAKES!) and my mother needed to go to Home Depot for some things that she assures me are essential to the wellbeing of my family and the Earth and my lack of which she finds troubling (spray acrylic. Who just keeps spray acrylic in their house at all times?). These 2 hours of my life proved sufficient to render me more or less a hypertensive manic-depressive maniac hellbent on killing all those in my way. Why, you ask?
On the way to Homegoods, she tells me I have to buy new bathroom rugs because she threw out my existing rugs yesterday (and trash has since been picked up) because they weren't the correct rugs. Then I am informed that she intends to hang a towel bar about 2 feet up from the floor in the bathroom so that my daughter can wipe her mouth on it after brushing her teeth. Yes, because that's necessary. Then we arrive at Homegoods, and she immediately takes off at Warp 9.9 with my toddler in hand, ignoring the fact that I'm nearly 8 months pregnant and physically unable to move that fast. If you've never chased my mother around a home accessories or grocery store, let me tell you now that it's both aerobic and frustrating. The key is to NEVER let her have control of the cart. Otherwise, you spend the grocery trip filling your arms with all the things you INTENDED to put in the cart and then circling the store looking for the buggy and trying in vain to catch her long enough to put this armload of groceries into the cart so you can start that process again. The comedic properties of chasing your own grocery cart around the store as it's being driven by a maniac in sweatpants is unfortunately lost on me. It's kind of like Whack-a-Mole, only you don't get to hit her on purpose.
So being careful to keep from circling the sun while traveling at maximum warp to avoid unintentional time travel and having to be part of some bad Star Trek plot involving humpback whales, I managed to acquire the things I intended to buy and subsequently answer all her continuously unanswerable questions about what exact shade of purple was in the quilt set that I did not own yet. I was also required to purchase an over-the-door hanging organizer thing because she cannot abide my purse hanging on a doorknob or a Target bag being placed on the floor until the contents are unpacked. Oh, and a scented candle for the bathroom, which I guarantee my husband will throw away next week because scented candles give him migraines. My total cost: $140. She bought the kid a pink poodle purse for $4.99.
So then we head to Home Depot, where again, she grabs the toddler and accelerates towards the exit. Approaching the exit, she hands me the child and then despite me saying "This is the exit, the entrance is there," she zooms in through the out door, leaving us to chase behind her unable to get a cart or buggy for my 32lb ham of a child to ride in. So, this means I spent the next 30 minutes chasing her AND a toddler wearing new and exciting twinkling sneakers through Home Depot trying in vain to prevent injury to myself and/or damage to the Home Depot inventory that would require me to pay the store for the destruction. I vetoed a $30 towel bar that I don't need or want, much to her chagrin. Suck it, lady. After she amassed all the things that Home Depot sells that my home was teetering on the edge of self-destructing without, I was allowed to pay for the purchases while MotorMother takes my child and runs for the car like a woman currently shoplifting a turkey out of the store in her underwear.
Did I mention that in the course of this day I had to stop at no less than 3 different gas stations until she could find the appropriate brand of cigarettes? And I am so desperately allergic to and loathing of all things related to smoking that my soul dies a little with each stop. If only I'd known the incantation to make a horcrux, it would have been smart on this trip.
Finally, after we leave Home Depot I decided to acquire some lunch for everyone, and swung into McDonalds. The Squirt got excited about "Chicken anna FRIES anna SAUCE, Mama?!?" So taking a deep breath, I barely survived the sojurn through the highly inefficient newly redesigned 2 lane drive thru system with my mother on a continuous loop about how HORRIBLE the drive thru line is and trying repeatedly to get my child to repeat the things she wanted her to say.
When I got home, I more or less only wanted to sit on my sofa and try not to die. But no, I was sent to Target because you see, she'd decided my bathroom curtain situation was inappropriate, so she took down ONE curtain rod from the 2 windows in my daughter's room and moved it to the bathroom window which faces a windowless side of our neighbor's house. Since nobody except the 2.5 foot tall kid is ever naked in that room, I'd not really worried about covering the window which was apparently a sad, sad travesty in my life. Instead of just buying another rod next time we happened to be there, it became imperative to get one with some haste because now only one window of my daughter's room was covered. Logic defies.
And the kicker is that SHE has a prescription for Xanax, not me.
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