Real Estate
My dad and godfather, Mike, at a Spanish Coffee making contest. And yes, that’s me using a garter as a headband.
My parents were both bartenders when I was growing up. I think my mom ended up in the job because all she wanted to do out of college was party, but my Dad was born to be a bartender. He loves people, he’s loud, and he’s not afraid to jump onto the bar top and sing “Happy Birthday” at an embarrassing volume, through a stolen megaphone. When I was younger, he was famous for this, and actually mentioned, mockingly (or perhaps I should say jealously), in the menu of competing restaurants.
So when I was a little kid, and people told me, “You know, your dad is the best bartender in Eugene,” I not only believed them, I took it for granted. (To the right: I bar-backed for my dad at a private party when I was fifteen years old.)
I think I was twelve or so when Dad started studying for his real estate license. To this day, I have no idea why he chose real estate as a second career, but after a year or two, he started working a second job as a realtor during the day, while continuing to bartend at night. He kept working two jobs all through my years in high school, and then through college. He only retired from bartending a handful of years ago, and then he threw all of his considerable energy into real estate, and he seemed as meant for that as he had been for bartending. He probably works more hours of the day then most people who get paid overtime, but he likes houses, and more than that, he likes helping people find homes they love, so it doesn’t seem like he’s working all that hard most of the time, just that he’s busy doing something he enjoys.
So when people told me, “You know, your dad is the best realtor in Eugene,” I kinda thought, well Duh.
I guess he probably wasn’t, (Though, in his day, he obviously really WAS the best bartender, again, Duh.) this is just something people who liked my dad said to be nice. Especially while he was still bartending and they were sitting at the bar after a few drinks.
Well, until a couple weeks ago anyway.
Dad was named Eugene Realtor of the Year for 2011. Apparently this is a pretty big deal, especially in his Remax office, where they’ve been trying to oust the returning champion (from a different company) for several years. Dad’s boss Kevin, knowing Dad was in the running, kept bugging a friend Judy (who had an in with the committee that selected the winner) to find out who won, finally stating: “If I knew Colin (my dad) won, I’d fly his daughter and grandson out as a surprise.”
Judy called his bluff.
So, Ender and I found ourselves hiding in plain sight at the Eugene Hilton, (above: Ender trying to blend in) waiting to show up when Dad got the award.
Dad had called me on the way to the banquet, just to chat, and told me he had to go when he got there. I was nursing in the hotel at the time, and told Dad to call me back later if he felt like it, since I didn’t really have much of anything going on beyond taking care of Ender.
At first, Dad probably had a hunch that he might win this year, but Mom managed to throw him off course, because Dad knew that they always have the spouses at the awards banquet.
Dad asked her if they’d called to invite her, and she said no, so Dad knew he hadn’t won this year.
When he asked if she wanted to go with him anyway, she said no, she thought she’d get sit outside and get some sun instead. So winning was already a surprise.
Ender and I were hiding in the hall, so I didn’t get to hear them making fun of him, or surprising him with the award, but I heard the very end when they asked if he could think of anything that would make the moment any better.
I think they’d hinted that I was here, because he was already both stunned and confused, and didn’t manage to answer before they brought me out.
He was pretty taken aback. He handed Ender back after a minute or two, saying he didn’t want to break him. I think he was pretty shaky, and a little afraid of dropping him.
Dad looked almost too blindsided to look shocked. Shocked was a few notches down on the surprise meter, once he had a chance to process.
In a way, Mom and I were just as surprised since we’d only known about the whole plan for about a week: it was all very last minute, and the excitement was still high, with no time for the secret to get unbearable.
When I first heard what they were planning, I didn’t think I’d be able to take them up on it. For one thing, I’d sworn before Ender was born that I’d never fly with him by myself, especially as a lap ticket.
Faced with the opportunity to eat my words, it almost didn’t occur to me that the trip was even an option. I was exhausted from a previous weekend of travel (Matt and I drove Ender to PA to meet family there) and barely recovering from mastitis, which makes nursing not only painful, but exhausting and more difficult than usual.
Then I reconsidered, realizing that the discomfort would be more than worth it. Flying cross country with an infant was a pain in the ass, but it was amazing to have the chance to introduce Ender to my parents a month early (they’re coming out to visit at the end of August).
Once I decided I was up for it, I had to figure out if it was possible. Even “portable” baby gear isn’t really all that portable, and I’d only have my own hands, which would be filled with baby.
The only real option was to get equipment in Eugene. I looked up baby gear rental companies, but although I found a couple in Portland, and one in Bend, I didn’t see any options for Eugene. Which is weird, because Eugene is definitely bigger than Eugene, but Bend is more of a tourist destination, so maybe rental equipment is more in demand, and therefore more available.
Borrowing would have been a possibility if Mom knew of anyone who had children that had just outgrown the equipment needed, but she didn’t. In the end, Mom ended up buying a carseat and play-yard (with bassinet). I went online and found a convertible carseat that he’ll be able to use when we visit in about a year as well, so it will be a little less useless. I don’t love the carseat, but that’s a different story and it was safe and worked for the time I was there.
I was out from Wednesday to Monday. 5 days seemed just long enough to make it worth it, and I didn’t want to stay longer, because I didn’t want to be away from Matt for any longer. Or to take Ender away from Matt for longer. Though I have to admit, a small part of me hated him just a little, for getting 5 whole nights of uninterrupted sleep.
Ender had already met his other grandparents, but for some reason it was a completely different experience watching him with my parents.
My mom calls him “baby boy!” in exactly the same tone as I do. Dad kept saying how beautiful Ender is, and is having as hard a time calling himself “Gramps” as I am trying to remember to hand Ender over to “G-ma” and “Gramps” instead of “Mom” and “Dad.” Whenever we went somewhere that my parents had friends, they hardly let me hold him they were so busy showing him off.
I talked my parents into waiting until late August to come out and visit, because it’s not likely that they’ll be out more than once a year or so, and I thought they would rather have some time to interact with a three month old (who’s old enough to interact back) than spend the whole time looking at a just born baby. Dad likes babies but my mom always claims to be not very into babies, at least, not newborns. I knew it would be different with her grandchild (as I assume it was different with me as a baby), but I was surprised at how dreamy-in-babyland she was. She was content to hold him, pacing to get him to sleep, for my whole visit.
As with our visit to PA, and the visits by Ender’s Cinci grandma, the thing I’m most struck by is how Ender is surrounded by people who love him. I’m so grateful that I had a chance to bring him to Oregon while he was new, and that my parents will get to see him again in just a few weeks. I wonder if I was ever really aware of how far away my family was before I had a baby.
Six Weeks
People are always commenting on how small Ender is. He’s never looked especially small to me, except maybe a few hours after he was born when I slowly came to admit that he was NOT as enormous as he felt like coming out… at 7lb 7 oz, he was almost exactly average.
For most new parents, the biggest clue that their baby is growing is how quickly they outgrow their clothes. In my case, I thought I could feel Ender seeming larger in my arms, taking up more of my chest as we cuddled. The clothes came after.
He was 10 lb 4 oz at his 1 month check up, which is almost a pound a week. He went from just under 50th percentile for weight and length to 75% and 85%.
This probably explains why he does nothing but eat for hours on end.
I guess it’s called cluster feeding, and it’s pretty obnoxious, but it is both rewarding and exciting to watch him grow so rapidly. He outgrew the newborn clothes almost immediately, and now my favorite set of PJs, which looked five sizes too large when we first dressed him in them, are officially too small. I am dressing him entirely in 3-6 month clothes now, before I even got a chance to dress him in all the 0-3 onesies on his shelf.
Many mothers find it hard when their babies outgrow their first set of clothes, but I love seeing the proof that he’s growing and that I’m making enough food for him. Maybe I’ll get the weepy fit when I get the time to actually pack away the baby clothes he only wore for a few weeks.
I think part of the reason everyone sees Ender as small is because of his hair. His hair makes him look so much older than the newborn he is, when he cries it’s easy to picture him as a toddler throwing a tantrum. He has a pretty bad case of baby acne, but the spots across his nose look almost like freckles, and with his sweet cowlick, he looks just like one of the little rascals with a disproportionately large head. He looks just a bit more like a child than a baby.
Ender is a relatively easy baby. At night he sleeps in three hour chunks, and every once in a while graces us with a five hour stretch. I’m told he doesn’t cry as much as most newborns, but he still demands to be held and cuddled for most of the day, usually allowing me one two hour window where I can get set him up with the monitor and get some work done around the house.
Probably the coolest (and the most challenging) part of him getting older is how much more time he spends awake now.
He doesn’t like me to pump milk, because he can smell it and knows it’s not going right into his mouth, where it belongs. I think his baby brain has a very simple equation: “I’m awake” + “I smell milk” = “I must be hungry.” Only recently does he have some waking times during the day where I can hold him without him demanding that I feed him.
I have to admit I sometimes delay feeding him for a minute or two, just because he’s so hilariously cute when he’s hungry.
Much like a cat, Ender seems to be most alert when he wants food. Babies do this thing called rooting, where they move their mouth around trying to get a nipple, but when Ender does it, this means bobbing his whole head back and forth like a bird searching for seed. He pants and makes this “uh! uh!” noise that goes with it, and the first time he did it in the hospital I laughed so hard he shook on my chest.
He’s very easygoing, but I can’t help but think of him as a little cranky.
He never smiles, because he’s not yet old enough to smile, and since I’m used to older babies, emotionally I think this means he’s grumpy. He has been more fussy than usual the last week or so, but since week 6 is supposed to be the peak in endless crying, I’m pretty sure he’s actually showing us a pretty laid back personality. He really only cries when he’s hungry or gassy. Occasionally, when his “I’m awake!” period lines up with Matt and my “time to sleep” period, he’ll start fussing because we’ve tried to put him to bed, and he’s bored. We’re working on getting a mobile set up in our room over the pack’n'play in hopes that it will keep him interested and lull him to sleep.
He really is hungry all the time. When he’s at top appetite, he’ll try to eat anyone and everyone that comes near his path, but when I’m holding him, he zeros in on my nipples immediately, even through a shirt and a padded nursing bra.
I do love the moments, even though it sometimes means I get a little less sleep, where he’s fussing and furious in the crib until I pick him up… and miracle of miracles, he isn’t hungry. Instead he lays his head against my chest and settles immediately.
I know that right now, as far as Ender is concerned, his dad and I are just warm bodies, and pretty much anyone would do just as well for a cuddle buddy, but it’s still heart melting. Matt and I don’t co-sleep because it would take way too much to change our bed to a baby-safe environment. Also we’d like to give Ender a younger sibling sometime in the next few years, which means we’ll need the bed to ourselves at least once. But when Ender snuggles up against you, it’s easy to understand how people who plan not to co-sleep end up with a “family bed.”
Parenting, obviously, is full of adjustments. Depression runs in my family so even before we started trying for a baby Matt and I knew to be on the look out for postpartum depression, but so far, I’ve been just fine. Or as fine as any new parent, staying at home with an infant for the first time, can be expected to be. I have had a few breakdown moments, where I felt completely incapable and horrified at the thought of being stuck with all this new responsibility for a couple decades or longer. Each of these breakdowns though has had much more to do with sleep deprivation than real depression. It’s not all rainbows and sunshine the rest of the time, but my negative feelings are temporary resignation at being so static, pinned under a small tyrant.
It’s helped that we’ve made it a point to not be shut-ins from very early on.
My brother’s wedding was only a few weeks after Ender’s birth and it was an outdoor wedding with the best weather anyone could hope for in a Cleveland June wedding. It was perfect for us as well, slightly overcast evening so we weren’t terribly worried about the temperature or the sun.
I did try to pick up a sunhat for Ender, along with a cute outfit for the wedding, but although he fits 3-6 month clothes, he does NOT fit 3-6 month hats, and for whatever reason, they didn’t have any hats for a younger baby.
Fortunately it was pretty shady at the wedding, which was held in my brother’s (and his wife’s) back yard.
We’ve been back twice since for evening bonfires and potlucks, and since I’m generally a pretty anti-social creature, I’ve actually had more social interaction the last month than I did before having the baby. He’s so small, and his needs are so primitive, that for now he actually allows us quite a lot of freedom, so long as we have the energy to exercise it.
We’ve been out to restaurants with friends a few times. For the most part, Ender is quiet at restaurants, we shove his car seat into the back of a booth and give him a bottle if he gets hungry.
Sometimes he gets fussy, but he’s little enough that the looks people give us are still of the “aww… how sweet!” variety rather than the, “why can’t you control your brat” type.
He had his first real bath only a few weeks ago, in an infant-toddler plastic whale tub (actually a very clever design- much better than the detachable sling/hammock things that most tubs use for infants which just look kind of gross).
He also outgrew the infant insert for his carseat, which shifted him from slowly enormous looking, to suddenly tiny again. It’s been utterly strange to look back at photos from a few weeks ago and be able to see a noticeable difference both in his face and his size.
For me, the weirdest transformations haven’t been in Ender, which I expected, but in myself, and in Matt.
We took a trip out to PA to visit family a couple weekends ago, Ender’s first long trip. We planned on stopping frequently to give Ender breaks from the carseat, and ended up taking two days on the way out rather than our normal 6 hour drive.
We stopped at places like Bob Evans and Perkins, where we knew Matt and I could get a decent meal while giving Ender his bottle. Side note: the booths at Bob Evans are just a little too small to comfortably feed a baby.
It was strange for me, to hear Matt request a table for three. Every hostess or waitress looked down at Ender to evaluate whether he was old enough to need his own menu, and while most were bright enough to realize, no he’s not even old enough to try and eat the crayons much less color with them, just the fact that they had to look at him and judge reminded me that we now have this new real whole person in our lives.
Ender was fairly fussy at the stops, and so I spent much of the time between bites of my food standing and rocking him, trying to keep him from bothering the other customers.
Most people weren’t bothered, they just smiled at me and went on. The way they looked at me surprised me, because I realized they looked at me and saw a mother, they looked at us and saw a family of three. I wanted to tell them all that I’ve only had this beautiful boy for a month and that this is a new role. I don’t yet know that’s me.
Breast is Beast
Warning: Boob talk. Photos are mostly of Ender, because I thought (most) readers would rather see baby pictures than pictures of my boobs.
Unfortunately, I’ve never wanted large breasts. I was an A cup before I got pregnant, and a C cup at the end of pregnancy when I started shopping for nursing bras, and naturally I’ve only gotten bigger. Matt kind of likes it, but they hurt so badly that he doesn’t get to do anything with them anyway.
I know several people that have been unable to breastfeed for various reasons. So I told myself I wouldn’t let it get me down if I couldn’t nurse, but honestly, in spite of that, I expected nursing to be easy. I mean, women have been doing it as long as there have been people, right? And females have been doing it for as long as there have been mammals. So how could it be THAT hard?
And it hasn’t been, relatively speaking. I mean, it took both Ender and I a couple days to get the hang of it.
Apparently I can’t just stick him next to a nipple and expect him to go to town. A few days after giving birth, my arms were so sore from trying to hold him in place that I couldn’t tell which arm I’d got my tetanus shot (gotta get the Tdap to keep Ender safe from whooping cough).
Initially, the most difficult part of nursing Ender was keeping him awake long enough to eat anything. He’s getting a bit more lively now, but starting off, Ender was a sleepy baby.
While we were in the hospital it was 50/50 whether we would have to wake him up to eat, and when he did, he’d fall asleep as soon as his lips touched my boob. One of the lactation consultants finally told me to try “irritating” him when he stopped eating, and that let him get better meals.
These days, he’s nursing like a pro and I’ve more or less figured out the positioning issues. I’ve been very lucky that nursing has not been difficult for me, but as it turns out, “not hard” is not the same thing as “easy.”
The first, worst problem has more or less resolved itself now, or maybe I’m just used to it and better at controlling it. Milk. EVERYWHERE. The first few days back from the hospital, I didn’t bother to wear a shirt, because I had to change every fifteen minutes.
Nothing could contain the milk.
It wasn’t just leaking, I was, at times, literally spraying milk in haphazard directions. Disposable nursing pads are pretty much useless and the reusable cloth ones are only marginally better. I really can’t fully express how much milk there was, how everywhere it was, and how inhuman that made me feel. Fortunately, as I said, this seems to be somewhat under control now, though I still end up changing clothes far more frequently than I would have pre-milk.
Sleeping is a challenge because the bras are too restricting, and even the nursing camis are tighter than I’m used to, making me feel like I can’t breathe. Those were still my best option until I managed to get a sleeping bra.
Whatever I wear to sleep in, I have to tuck a towel inside to keep from leaking all over the sheets, leaving me with a warm, puffy chest that combined with my unusually sized boobs, still convinces me that I’ve managed to fall asleep holding Ender every time I wake up. This morning I heard him fussing and actually starting cooing to my boobs before I realized he was in his bassinet.
Clothing in general is a problem. Maternity clothes are pretty easy to come by. There is the standby Motherhood store which can be found in most malls. I’d always heard that maternity clothes were horribly overpriced, but I found that so long as I avoided the “designer” label (A Pea in the Pod) the prices there were pretty reasonable. Target, Kohls, Macys and Pennys also all have maternity sections with more limited selection but decent prices.
Nursing clothes are an entirely different matter.
Pennys has a few nursing bras, but otherwise zilch in terms of nursing clothing. Motherhood has 2 foot wide section dedicated to nursing bras and camis. All other stores: nothing.
Mind you, most of these stores have nursing clothes… but only online, so if you want to try something on, you’re out of luck. Not that I have a whole lot of time to go shopping with a new baby. Even then, the selection online is pretty limited, and for some reason, MUCH more expensive than maternity clothes.
The lack of selection, and the higher prices, are probably both because there is less demand for nursing clothes. Nearly everyone I talked to said they either just kept wearing maternity tops (very stretchy so allowed access) or just looked for non-nursing stretchy tops that allowed them to pull one side up while leaving the other boob covered. I didn’t feel this was an option for me, because after going out and buying 5 nursing bras, I found that I couldn’t figure out how to NURSE in a nursing bra. So I needed something designed to give a little support, and allow a place for nursing pads. Which left me searching for nursing clothes, and stuck with crappy selection and pricing. I should be set for now, at least until it gets colder. Theoretically, by then I’ll have figured out how to handle nursing in normal clothes.
The most current issue is the actual process of nursing.
When my milk first came in, I thought I had oversupply, the nursing “problem” that every mother would probably love to have. My boobs hurt so bad that before the end of Ender’s first week Matt and I broke the rules about bottle feeding. To avoid nipple confusion, you aren’t supposed to introduce a bottle until four weeks or so, but we had Matt feed Ender right before bed while I pumped to reduce the pressure, allowing me to sleep.
Over the next few days though I felt like my supply was going down… whether because of the pumping, or just because Ender’s appetite was growing faster than I was producing milk.
Everything I read said the best way to up supply is to “feed on demand” rather than trying to get the baby to feed on a schedule, even a seemingly demanding schedule of every three hours. So… demand is what I’m trying.
Only, Ender doesn’t feed “every hour” as women online complain about their babies that feed “constantly.” Ender literally feeds constantly. I nurse him, put him down, he cries, wakes up and starts rooting again, wanting to eat. There are times of the day where I am doing nothing but nurse, for hours at a time.
Now if he were only sucking halfheartedly, I’d say it’s just comfort nursing, and try to get him to take a pacifier. But Ender seems to actually be eating each time he demands to nurse. I now have no concept of what sort of supply I have, because when he’s in a nursing mood, my boobs never seem to get much above empty, and when he’s napping, they’re full to the brim, painful, and I’m liable to end up shooting milk again. I’ll spare you a detailed description of Ender’s diaper contents, but I do think he’s getting enough. It’s still frustrating when I’m stuck feeding him in his apparently insatiable periods, and a little worrying that I’ve been unable to build up stored milk for when we go out.
I do realize I’m having a pretty easy time with nursing, it’s just not quite the magical mommy mystery that le leche promised me.
I enjoy nursing when it’s not the 5th marathon nursing session in a row, but it’s not uncomplicated.
I don’t so much resent waking up as I dread trying to get Ender back to sleep in the night, and when Matt has him with a bottle, I’m simultaneously relieved that I can stay in bed, and jealous that I’m not the one cuddling with Ender. I still find it very cool (and sort of weird) that I’m making food for my baby, but it depresses me that whenever I’m holding him while he’s awake, he’s fussing to be fed. In fact we have recently confirmed that Ender pretty much only goes to sleep at night for Matt… not because he’s doing anything different (we think) but because without fail, Ender smells the milk on me and starts demanding more, even if he’s just fed for a half hour. The fantabulous thing about this is it means we can probably get a good night’s sleep two out of seven days a week, on the nights Matt is free to help me.
I’ve been told by friends with kids that it gets easier, and I’ll admit that the various frustrations of nursing have not yet pushed me to consider formula, which seems like it would be even more of a hassle, not to mention unnecessary expense.
I have been pumping more, just an ounce or two after a couple feedings a day, because having that bottle as an option is kind of awesome.
Like most parts of new parenthood, nursing seems totally under my control on the days when I’ve had a good night’s sleep, and completely overwhelming on the zombie days. Every day it seems a little easier and a little more normal. Of course, the sleeping situation is only going downhill, so in terms of overwhelming vs. manageable, I seem to have reached a state of equilibrium. I guess that’s just a part of parenting too.
Ten Days
So now that I’m a parent (Wait, I’m what? Weird.), it’s obvious that everyone wants to see endless photos of my son (My what again?) even though each one looks pretty much the same as the next. You’re welcome world.
We got home from the hospital Saturday afternoon. Matt’s mom came in for the weekend to help us out and took good care of us while we tried to figure out a routine. She was nice enough to take Ender’s first photo outside the house, as soon as we got home.
Ender got a cute hat from the hospital. No idea who makes them, but I find it interesting that the fluffy knit hat, like the slightly more disposable hats they keep on the baby during the hospital stay, and the blankets used for swaddling, incorporates both blue and pink so theoretically no one will complain that their baby’s gender is being bended by pink blankets. Not that anyone would do that (people would totally do that).
We picked out a green onesie for Ender to wear home from the hospital, the first real “outfit” he wore. This lead to the realization that onesies are not nearly as convenient as I had assumed pre-baby: you have to get it over their HEAD?!
My aunt Marion sent me a Moby wrap for a baby shower gift. I’d registered for this sort of skeptically. I though they looked cool, but had some doubts about how easy they’d be to use. Watching Matt go step by step through the video tutorial didn’t exactly convince me, but now that we’ve played with it some, I’m sold. We also have an Ergo carrier, but we’re still waiting for the infant insert to arrive. I’m sure they’ll both have their uses. The Moby is GREAT for around the house. I suspect the Ergo will be the winner for outside, and will probably last a little longer in terms of baby age.
Being a new parent seems to move in waves from complete bliss to desperate how do we manage this mode. I’m actually pretty surprised at how speedy my recovery has been. I still have some pain, which I only notice about every six hours as the motrin starts to wear off, but my energy level is WAY higher than it was during the last couple weeks of pregnancy and certainly higher than I expected considering how I felt after giving birth.
The biggest post labor issue I’ve had was the edema (swelling). For one thing, I didn’t have any idea that this even happened… I thought swelling was a late pregnancy issue, not a postpartum issue. For another thing, even though the appearance wasn’t all that different from my swelling during pregnancy, this swelling just felt SO much worse. I found a poster on a baby forum who described it as walking on water balloons, which came close to what I felt, but my reaction was almost more existential.
I wanted to describe the feeling as numb even though I had no loss of sensation.
What I really felt was that my feet and hands didn’t belong to me. I could control them, I could receive sensory signals, but my hands were not a part of me. I was about ready to call up Oliver Sacks, because it was something right out of one of his books. The three or so days of this I experienced are probably the closest I came to losing it. Forget being kept up by Ender, between leaking milk EVERYWHERE and not owning my body parts, I couldn’t sleep at all.
Fortunately the swelling went down a couple days ago and the detached limbs feeling went with it.
Now sleep is a problem, but not as much as I expected. Ender sleeps very well at night (probably too well, babies with jaundice apparently tend to be kind of lethargic) but we wake him every three hours to eat.
Interestingly, this is revealing how very different my and Matt’s sleep needs are. In the past, we’ve noticed that Matt does far better with sleep deprivation than I do.
He can usually function just fine on 5 hours a night for several days at a time, or less for a day, then he’ll need a weekend’s good full (8 hours) sleep to recover.
On the other hand, I get stupid with lack of of sleep if I don’t get 8 OR MORE hours most nights. Or at least that was true before pregnancy.
I seem to need a little less now, which may have something to do with hormones, or may just be practice since sleeping during pregnancy was pretty terrible towards the end.
Either way, I still tend to need a good 6+ hours or I’m pretty much useless for the rest of the day, and I need a longer night’s sleep right away to get my brain back.
With that history, I expected Matt to do better with newborn sleep issues than I do, but as it turns out, broken sleep is a much bigger problem for Matt than for me. This is most likely because even before I got pregnant, I had disrupted sleep 99% of the time. I already sleep like a baby- that is, not in very long stretches. I haven’t “slept through the night” since I was a baby. So having to wake up every few hours isn’t nearly as much of a change for me as it is for Matt. We’ll see if this continues on when Matt goes back to work and won’t be up to help as much, or for that matter if Ender continues to allow me to sleep in 3 hour chunks.
I’m a bit worried about how I’ll do in general once Matt goes back to work. He’s been doing so amazing as a dad.
The first day after giving birth I literally needed a nurse to help me walk to the bathroom. I managed to take a shower, but only technically- I spent the whole time under the water leaning on the handicapped bars. I couldn’t stand upright for more than a few seconds at a time.
This left Matt to do the bulk of non-nursing baby care. When it was time to nurse, Matt brought Ender to me and helped prop up pillows so I could try to find the right position. I don’t think I changed a diaper until day 5 or so, not at all while we were at the hospital. Neither of us minded the arrangement (at least if Matt did he never said so), I was too exhausted to want to do anything more taxing than holding Ender, and Matt got to have lots of close time with new baby.
That’s sort of the pattern we fell into though, reinforced by the discomfort of edema. When I called my midwife to ask about the swelling, they asked a few questions to make sure I wasn’t having blood pressure issues (we have a bp monitor so this was pretty easy to rule out) and told me it was normal, I’d just need to stay off my feet more, elevate them when possible, take epsom salt baths and drink lots of water. Since I wasn’t on my feet that much to begin with at that point, that meant I spent most of my time the first few days home sitting on the couch, holding Ender.
This wasn’t completely useless, since for jaundice we needed to have as much of him in indirect sunlight as possible (as in ideally he should just be wearing a diaper), and the only way he’s content is if he’s either swaddled or being held.
But as lovely as it is to hold my baby, this doesn’t exactly prepare me to care for him independently.
Matt’s mom will be in town the first week he goes back to work, which will be a huge help, and I’ve been slowly working on doing the various baby activities on my own.
My first step was to make sure I can nurse Ender without help. This is harder than it sounds, which I don’t understand at all, because honestly, what did women do in the 18th century, or pre-history, before they invented boppys? The first time I tried to nurse him just by holding him up to my nipple, but apparently it’s not that easy, at least not with a newborn.
It’s not easy to juggle a baby, a boppy, make sure I have what I need/want within reach (like water), have nursing pads, soothies and Lansinoh ready for use, and have towels, blankets, or something absorbent to catch the GALLONS of milk leaking out of my body (ok probably only ounces, but I was seriously getting soaked with the stuff, especially the first few days my milk came in… it was horrifying).
I’m sure this will become second nature as time goes on, but it took me a while, and a lot of careful maneuvering, the first attempt. I’m much better now, but it’s still awkward.
I’ve not had any trouble dressing Ender, but Matt did all the swaddling at the hospital, and while he’s nowhere near as adept as the nurses, (they wrap up a baby like cartoon rodeo stars) he got pretty good by the end, so that Ender would only escape after several hours.
It’s pretty funny, Ender loves being swaddled, it’s one of the things that calms him down almost immediately, but he writhes around trying to escape the whole time. He always manages in the end, even from the nurse wrapped straight jackets.
Matt got pretty good at it, and was doing every part of the night routine but nursing, but every time I tried a swaddle, Ender took it apart within minutes.
I’m sure I would have gotten the hang of it eventually, but we ended up picking up some velcro swaddlers, that are much easier than a 30 inch blanket.
I was able to get Ender in the pre-made swaddle without too much trouble, and he can’t get out of that one, though he’ll occasionally manage to get a hand poking out the side.
Swaddling was key to me being able to do anything at all during the day, but mastering the moby was probably even more important.
It’s amazing how much difference having two hands free makes, not just in freedom of motion, but in emotional weight. The wrap keeps him very securely next to me, so I get all the upsides of holding him, but can still roam around and, you know, do stuff.
I’m still trying to figure out how tight to tie the thing so Ender is secure without being too squished, but the wrap was probably the best thing I’ve learned for letting me feel like I might be able to manage with Matt at work.
Of course I know I will manage… as with the nursing, women (and more recently the occasional man) have been managing for quite a while.
I’m sort of easing into relieving Matt of baby care because I think it will make things less difficult when he’s not shouting distance away (I cover Ender’s ears) but I don’t want to take over too much because I don’t want to rob him of time with the baby before he goes back to work. Even if I don’t get used to it, I’m aware that I’ll learn the baby skills when I need to learn the baby skills… sort of like Matt did at the hospital.
Mostly what I’m worried about is being lonely. I think I’ve got a bit of an edge here on many women who start to feel isolated after a couple weeks of maternity leave. Not leaving the social setting of a workplace, there won’t be as much culture clash for me, but it’s still easy to see how the all-consuming task of new parenthood could be overwhelming.
Matt saved two weeks of his vacation time for the baby’s birth, and the first week was taken up at the hospital. This week, at home with him and watching him be with Ender, has been so special, and so valuable. As hard as it is right now not to be an Ender-hog (and sometimes I’m an Ender-hog even though I know I shouldn’t be) the best part of this week has been the calm (Yes, calm! Don’t ask me how.) warm exploration of our new family.
We’ve got Matt giving Ender a bottle before bed now. We decided to ignore the expert advice on waiting so that he could have the feeding experience. I’m greedy for more though, more time together and more time watching the two of them.
I know I can manage on my own, but I also know that I am going to miss Matt so much when he’s back at the office, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to miss being immersed in baby land, even if he’s simultaneously a little relieved.
Olivander
Olivander Call Neely, born at 12:15 am June 1st. We’re calling him Ender for short.
Warning: many bodily fluids described ahead. If you aren’t interested in reading about the birth, skip the bulk of the text here for photos below.
My water broke at 4:30 am on Tuesday. I had been feeling little trickles for about half an hour, but kept saying, no, it’s NOT my water, until finally I decided to get up and use the restroom and WHOOSH, just like in the movies. Ender wasn’t due until June 11, and with a half constructed changing table, giant boxes waiting to be broken down and removed, and all sorts of pre-baby chaos in the house, Matt and I were hoping for just a LITTLE more time, but just as everyone who took a look at my giant belly predicted, Ender came a little early.
If you want to see a sleeping man leap straight to a standing position, “damnit, my water broke” are apparently magic words. Actually, a week later, Matt is still a little jumpy whenever I say the word “water” in the bedroom.
Though we’d been warned in our childbirth class that when the water breaks it doesn’t just stop… I wasn’t fully prepared for the fact that it just. kept. coming. I called my midwife Colleen from the bathroom and left a message with her answering service, then texted my doula Kim, and our friend Willow who is thinking of becoming a midwife or doula and who we had invited to attend the birth. Irregular contractions started shortly after my water broke, but they were so mild I wasn’t sure that’s what they were. I called the midwife again a couple hours later when I didn’t hear anything (she was sort of busy in another labor).
We put a towel down on the bed and Matt and I took a nap, figuring the easy part of labor would take a while, and we ought to get some rest while we could. Shockingly, we both managed to get a couple hours of sleep in.
When I woke up contractions had stopped entirely. We heard back from Colleen’s office around 10 or 11 I think. I was told that normally they’d recommend I stay at home and labor there as long as possible to avoid ending up with Pitocin, but because I was group B Strep positive and had ruptured membranes (water broken) they wanted to get me in to be checked and figure out what to do from there.
On the car ride over to Colleen’s office, contractions had restarted, were consistently 5 minutes apart and irritating but still not especially painful. I had a couple more painful contractions walking to the office, and then once I was set up on the table to be checked, they stopped entirely again. I found this confusing, but I guess that’s all pretty normal. I was at 3 cm, so Colleen recommended Matt and I go to the nearby mall (air conditioning) and walk around for an hour or so, to try and get things going. I think this was around noon, but I’m not entirely sure. She asked us to call and check in at 4 (pm) and I assume at the point we would have needed to start talking induction.
As soon as we started walking, contractions started again, and they became more painful, though still tolerable. I was a little worried about how bad they’d get though, because they seemed to be almost entirely in my back, and I’ve not heard warm fuzzy things about back labor.
By about 2, contractions were getting to be less what I would call tolerable. We wanted to get a meal in me before starting what we figured would be a loooong day(s), so we drove to Liquid Planet for a smoothie and a pita. I didn’t manage to eat much. We left after fifteen minutes or so to go to the hospital, where I was pre-registered.
I should probably explain here, that I was trying to go for an unmediated birth. This is not for any philosophical reasons, it’s for phobia reasons: I hate needles. Pregnancy HAS actually reduced this fear considerably, along with years of annual flu shots and now, weekly to twice monthly allergy injections (2 in each arm), but the idea of a GIANT NEEDLE in my spine freaked me out, and I was way more afraid of that than the pain, so epidural was the course of last resort. I’d requested the holistic birthing suite. It’s a recently added labor room with a large jacuzzi bath for laboring and is generally set up for natural birth. That room was already occupied however, so we were put in a different room with a big baby pool instead. All the birthing rooms at St. Johns are private, so I didn’t really mind.
Colleen was still in another birth (I think a different one, apparently May has been insane for births) so the nurse set me up on a fluid IV until she could get a script for the antibiotics (for the GBS). They wanted to get me two doses before the birth. I think I threw a wrench in the works here… I’d forgotten to mention an amoxacillin resistance. They always ask about allergies… but resistance just means it stops working, and so I never thought to mention it. It was lucky I was reading about GBS treatment a few days earlier and saw that the normal treatment is penicillin. So I think it took longer than expected to get me sorted with antibiotics, and as a result I was laying in bed for a couple hours with a fluid IV and increasingly bad back labor. The nurse who set me up was very sweet and, reading my needle phobia, got my blood draw done at the same time as the IV poke (not exactly sure how that works).
At this point no one really knew how far along I was, because the plan had been to wait for Colleen to check me to avoid extra risk of infection from lots of checks, and Colleen was still caught up in labor. I hadn’t called Kim (doula) or Willow (trainee doula) yet, because the idea is to wait until active labor, and everyone figured I should wait to hear how far along I was. I knew I was in pain, but since I had no idea how BAD the pain would get, I wasn’t sure. When Colleen arrived, she took one look at me and said we should get me up and moving. She was a little surprised that I was still on an IV instead of just the heplock, and got the antibiotics truck rolling so I could be a little more mobil. Colleen suggested I move to the toilet in the meantime, which I found pretty gross, but the change in position did seem to help for a while. She also said yes, for the love of all that is holy or unholy, call the doulas (she may not have put it like that, I think my pain was starting to translate language in interesting ways). I was only at 4cm, which probably should have been discouraging, but Colleen made it sound like good progress.
Both Doulas were on the way, but I think I was still on the toilet when I said, get me some drugs, PLEASE. I had been mildly freaked at having a heplock, though mostly distracted by contractions, but at this point I was wholly thankful to have it, as it made the nubain that much easier to get into my blood.
Can I just say, nubain is awesome? I moved from the toilet to the rocker and the contractions still hurt, but I didn’t care that it hurt. I LOVED the nubain. The nurse said, “Oh yeah, you’re high,” and I said, “YES I am.” Anyway.
Kim and Willow showed up at around the same time, with me still flying but the pain sharpening through the drugs. When I started to have a hard time again, Kim got me up from the rocker, and had me kneel, leaning on a birthing ball. This helped some, but not enough. What DID help was the pressure Kim applied to my lower back. I think she showed Matt and Willow how to do this as well, but I was starting to lose track of who was doing what at this point.
For some reason they want you at 5 cm before you can use the birthing tub, but my pain levels were rising rapidly, and the second dose of nubain didn’t help for nearly as long as the first. I started to talk about an epidural, but Kim suggested I get checked to see if I was far enough along to use the tub. So we did that.
I don’t think anyone expected me to be further along than 5 cm, but I was at 7. They started filling the tub, and I tried to figure out what I wanted to do. I had a pretty good idea about how the rest of the night was going to go.
I think I was progressing faster than people thought I was. Colleen had predicted (out of my earshot) a baby sometime after breakfast. First time labors aren’t supposed to move all that fast, but the pain seemed to be escalating fast… I had a feeling if I got in the tub I’d lose my window for an epidural by the time I needed one. In the end I figured I’d give it a try, and if it didn’t help enough, I’d get the epidural.
It did help, a lot, especially with water on my back and Matt stroking my hair. It ended up working out really well for me that the birthing suite was occupied: the baby pool used as a replacement was padded everywhere so I could move around without fighting hard surfaces. The walls were like vinyl couches.
Everything still hurt more than I felt I could cope with. At this point everything goes from kind of blurry to almost blank in my memory. I think I went into transition almost as soon as I got into the tub. It was horrific. It’s as close as I’ve come to crying from pain in my adult life. Friends had told us that the screaming you see on TV is unrealistic, but let me tell you, I am a screamer. Also a curser, though I’d like to point out that my swearing wasn’t directed at anyone, and I don’t believe I ever resorted to screaming, “you did this to me,” at Matt.
I think the only reason I didn’t say, “that’s it, get me the epidural,” is that I sort of zonked out in the short peace between contractions and couldn’t focus long enough to say anything.
I have no idea how long transition lasted. At some point I started feeling “pushy” and when I mentioned it Kim and the nurse said to go ahead and push. Colleen wasn’t around at that point, I think she was nap-recovering in another room from her back to back deliveries, so I started pushing halfheartedly, not really sure.
I think at this point I managed to vocalize that I wanted an epidural if it wasn’t too late. I was pretty sure it was too late, so I wasn’t too crushed when they got me out of the tub to check me and announced I was fully dilated, and someone ran to get Colleen.
Kim kept saying, “push through the pain,” and eventually I realized that pushing actually made the pain of the contraction LESS and I started pushing with a lot more enthusiasm. They asked me if wanted to get back in the tub, but I was pretty sure I didn’t have the energy/coordination/balance to get back in, much less back OUT again, and I did not want to deliver in the water, so we continued in bed. I don’t remember when Colleen got there, or when they added the birthing bar, and when I look at the nurse in the photos, I don’t even recognize her (there were a couple shift changes while I was in labor).
The pushing actually hurt much less than transition. It was incredibly HARD, but such a relief to be in less pain that I was able to joke around a bit with everyone in between contractions. There was still considerable pain, I was still yelling and cursing, but it was more about the exertion than the agony. Colleen was awesome about explaining that the almost unbearable pressure/pain/stretching at the end of each contraction let me stretch more slowly. Kim managed to get me to relax between and prepare for the next. For the most part, I think pushing was within my coping range, but it was probably the most physically taxing thing I’ve ever had to do.
At first pushing was fairly productive, according to Matt, Kim and Willow you could physically SEE the difference as Ender moved down. One of the few times I opened my eyes, I glanced down and was startled at how flat my belly was. Progress seemed to stall right at the end though, and everyone kept telling me I needed to push harder/more. I didn’t exactly have more to put into it. Eventually Colleen said if we didn’t get him out soon she’d need to do an episiotomy or get the vacuum. She was actually numbing me up for the an episiotomy which got me a bit panicky (the needles, not the thought of cutting which I wasn’t thrilled about either) but I finally managed to get him out in the next push.
Before, they kept talking about how he would “pop” out once he got over that edge, and that’s really what it felt like.
I actually thought Colleen had bopped him on the head to somehow get him to jump out (it didn’t make any more sense in my head to be honest) and then there was this wiggly mass of baby on the bed. Matt was supposed to get to hold him first, but the umbilical cord wasn’t quite long enough for that, so they put him on my chest. He was sort of greyish blue, which really worried me while they were suctioning out his lungs. The first of many freakouts in parenting, I realize. I’m pretty sure it was only a matter of seconds before they cleared his lungs and he started screaming in earnest, but it felt like quite a lot longer. He pinked up pretty soon once they got him crying, though his feet and hands stayed purplish for a bit.
I literally do not remember ever seeing that nurse. I was pretty content to just stare at Ender, though I think it took about a day for the real awe to set in.
The name Olivander doesn’t have any special significance for our family, we found it in a baby name book, and both quite liked it. We figured it’s nice and unique without being so weird sounding that he’ll get teased or be embarrassed. I have no idea what the “right” way to pronounce it is, but we’re saying it like a mash-up of Oliver and Alexander.
Olivander means “protector of the olive tree” which we thought was kind of cool. As a side note, Oliver means “olive tree” but it can also mean “elf army,” which is sort of awesome. We did NOT get the name Olivander from Harry Potter, though one of the characters is named Mr. Ollivander, and I’m sure people will assume that no matter what we say. Ah well.
Ender is a character from a favorite sci-fi book, Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card. We figure if he doesn’t like that nickname when get gets older, he can always go by Ollie or Van or even Oliver. Olivander is the name I used while he was in the womb, and Ender seems like a different creature than the imaginary baby I carried around for nine months. To us he looks like an Ender.
Willow was our wedding photographer, and she took most of the photos during the birth, as well as keeping me stocked in ice chips (love ice chips) and probably helping out in lots of other ways that I was too busy to notice. She also took a flipbook worth of photos of Ender crowning, which I will not be sharing, and which make me wince. Lots. I have a second degree tear, which I’d hoped to avoid, but I realize in terms of tearing it could be much worse.
Of course, every minute of the pain was worth it, but I wouldn’t say it was necessary. I wasn’t sure where my needle fear would balance with pain tolerance, and now I know: next time I’m getting the epidural.
It’s interesting to me that some of the people who set out to have a natural birth say they’re doing it that way because they want to be “present” for the birth, to be aware of the whole experience. For myself, I think I would have been much more aware and present had I had less pain. I think I would have been mentally defeated pretty early on without the nubain and the support of both my husband and doula(s). Transition was impossible, and I kept repeating, “I don’t want to,” because I realized, “I can’t,” was pretty much unhelpful and, frankly, untrue as evidenced by human history. The only real upside I can about the pain is that it made the pushing phase seem tolerable by comparison, but even with that, I think I may have had more energy for it if I hadn’t been so spent by transition.
I am glad it went the way it went. I am also glad it’s over.
The next morning:
Look at me, wearing clothes. That didn’t happen much while at the hospital, they aren’t kidding when they say modesty flies out the door.
Holding him is incredible. I can’t believe how soft he is.
With our insurance we get two days at the hospital from time of birth, and since Ender was kind enough to be born just after midnight, it was closer to three days, which made me feel much more secure about the whole healthy newborn thing, especially since my labor was fairly short- they only had time to give me one dose of antibiotics for the GBS.
I kept asking people if his nose looked yellow, but they periodically tested his bilirubin levels (the way they measure jaundice) and they were fine… right up until the point that they jumped up to not fine. I think that was sometime late Thursday, and unfortunately they weren’t able to get a blood test on him until Friday, when we were supposed to be discharged.
The levels were high enough that they told us he needed to stay another night… and under the UV lamps the whole time.
That was tough news… one of the things we loved about the hospital was that we had the option of keeping him with us the whole time we were there, and the UV lamps meant our time with him was limited to half hour feedings every three hours.
There were a few upsides to this though. The first one was that they wanted to supplement my milk with a little formula after each feeding to make sure he was getting enough (and flushing out his system). This gave Matt and opportunity to feed Ender, which he wouldn’t have had otherwise since everyone says don’t introduce a bottle until 4 weeks etc, etc.
Probably the biggest upside of being separated from him is that, as much as it sucked, it gave us a chance to sleep in solid 3 hour blocks. The last two nights had been disrupted by every little sound he made, every big sound he made, as we struggled to figure out how to get him to sleep, and the frequent checks by nurses on both his and my health. The third day, where I was technically discharged from the hospital (we stayed on as “boarders” at no cost) there were no checkups, and no fussing, but we still had access to lactation consultants and knew our baby was being taken care of. So even though it was emotionally rough, we both felt much better for the extra rest and support the next day, and I think we went home from the hospital much more recovered than most people do. We had to continue to monitor Ender’s bilirubin levels, and today they finally went down on their own. He’s still a tiny bit fake-tan looking, but he’s beautiful anyway and with any luck his color will return completely to normal over the next day or so.
Of course the final benefit was that being away from him made us appreciate being with him, and gave us an extra drop of patience for the next week of sleep deprivation. It’s anyone’s guess how long that will last, but for now, we’re all three feeling pretty good.
I’ll try to post more photos later this week.
Baby “Pictures”
Ultrasound photos are nothing like as clear as I thought.
Actually, I believe they do have the fancy 3-d ultrasounds now, that let you get a much clearer picture, but we didn’t get one of those.
Instead, the printouts were Xerox-looking black and white images that ranged from blurry to mildly creepy (see right). That said, the image on the screen, complete with real-time motion, was much clearer than any of the prints, and totally amazing. Aside from whatever disorders the ultrasound is supposed to screen for (everything looks normal), it is rather comforting to actually see that HOLY CRAP there’s an actual BABY inside me.
In fact, there’s a baby BOY inside me. The tech was 95% that we’re having a boy, and the doctor seemed even more sure.
One of the coolest looking things from the ultrasound (of which they unfortunately didn’t get a picture) was the baby’s spine. Initially it was one of the only things I could identify from the shifting grey blob. It looked a bit like goose-neck – you know, the bendy bit on a lamp? The hands and legs were also pretty incredible, and it was wonderful to see the baby moving around since, as of last Thursday (ultrasound day) I hadn’t really felt anything that I was sure was baby movement. I’m feeling much more now, though it’s still hard to distinguish between a restless baby and my body making normal body noises. At my midwife appointment on Monday, it took a while to get a heart beat (150) because the baby kept kicking the sonogram. I’m sure soon enough the baby movement will be more than obvious. Right now I mostly feel him moving when I’m lying down and not distracted by anything.
We do not have any names picked out yet. I’m pouring through baby name books nearly every day. We are NOT looking for suggestions. 
Currently the plan (once we pick a name) is to keep it secret until the baby is born. I’m told that when a baby is a fetus, friends, family and even strangers feel free to tell you exactly why the name you’ve picked is terrible, but that once the baby is born, people are a bit more likely to hear it as the baby’s name rather than a topic for discussion.
We got a total of 9 ultrasound images, but these were the only ones that were clear enough to share. Like most babies, he’s obviously not interested in posing for the camera. Next photos should be sometime in June.
Make My Day
When I got outside I was not at all surprised (though somehow, even still, dismayed) to see my car buried in the snow. My Subaru was one of only two in the lot, the other a truck, with a man I hardly noticed waiting for the engine to warm.
Resignation. I ran a gloved hand around the frame of my car door, relieved when the snow flaked off, no coat of ice lurking beneath. At least it would clear off easily. I sat down, legs outside, put my keys in the ignition. And looked up as my snow-cave car brightened in sunlight.
The man from the other car had wiped his snow-brush, the size of a janitor’s broom, across my front window. Another quick stroke cleared the snow from my back window and that awkward triangle back back window. I grinned at him. In five seconds he had spared me five minutes cold work. “Thanks!” I yelled through the glass.
He gestured with the brush. “Close your door!” Then he quickly cleared off the rest of my car while I sat comfortable and happily bemused. When he finished, he opened the passenger door, peered in, and said, “You have a NICE day.”
Undoubtedly.
Weeks or months ago: just before the downpour started I realized my front tire was flat. Found my jack missing, called AAA, got the spare on. The spare was also flat, but fortunately, not all the way.
I drove slowly and neurotically to the gas station and realized I wasn’t sure how to use the air pump. I pulled out my phone and texted my husband for advice.
Meanwhile I climbed out of the car and compared the air tube to my tire with some puzzlement. I noticed the tag on my tire with psi recommendations just before Matt texted me to look on my tire for psi recommendations.
Perhaps 45 seconds had passed from the time I parked my car when another car drove toward me. Before he even came to a stop, he leaned on the horn.
At first I thought he must be honking at someone else. I made the universal “what?” sign with my hands and shoulders. I glanced back at at the air tube, almost defensively. I wasn’t sure how to use the psi recommendation since I didn’t have a tire pressure gauge.
The man climbed out of his car. He was redfaced and breathless with rage. “Are you going to use it or talk on your phone!?”
Anger prompted anger, but I did my best to stay calm. “Well I’m trying to figure out how to use this,” I tried to explain. “I’ve never had a flat tire before.”
He shouted over me. “Are you going to use that? So why are you playing on your phone!?”
“I’m talking to my husband, he’s helping me-”
“Why are you blocking the air pump while you talk on your phone!”
Finally I gave up and yelled back. “My husband is telling me how to use the air through the phone! Why don’t you back off so I can use it?”
He glared at me, purple now. “A PHONE won’t help you do that!” He drove off.
My car was in front of the air pump for a total of five minutes. Most of that was yelling: once the man left I took about a minute to figure out how to insert the air tube and took a guess at tire pressure. After I saw the flat, it took me 20 minutes (in the rain) to admit I couldn’t find the jack, 45 minutes for AAA to get there, and another 15 minutes (in the POURING rain) to get the spare on.
I missed a doctor’s appointment, hoped I wouldn’t need to cancel my hair cut, and stressed about having to buy new tires, but even damp and rushed, I wasn’t in a bad mood until that self important jerk started screaming at me.
Small gestures, kind or mean, can have an incredible impact. When I was a kid in a Catholic school we had “Random Acts of Kindness” week. It was beyond lame. An obvious shortcoming was that orchestrating something like that sort of negates the whole “random” aspect. The suggestions were stupid and forced, the whole process brought with it a cumbersome self consciousness.
I can see now though, the hopeful mind behind it. When I feel the flush of happiness caused by something so simple, (or the fury caused by a minute of thoughtlessness) it’s easy to believe the world can be changed in small, slow pushes. I remember the movie “Pay it Forward.” It was an interesting concept, but honestly a bit unbelievable. The problem with “pay it forward” as the Sixth Sense kid imagined it is that it depends on such large acts. The movie implied that you have to give an awful lot to get anywhere, but I don’t think that’s true.
Maybe the things we do for (and to) people, the things that could change the world, can be so tiny we hardly realize we’re doing them. As small as yelling, as brushing off some snow, a snide comment or a compliment. Maybe the cascade will be so slow we won’t see the effects in our lifetimes, but that doesn’t mean they go nowhere. Every day we change the world.
*domino photo from Malkav
Wrap Up 2009
I got this survey last year from Linda of All & Sundry. A nice easy way to look back on the year.
1. What did you do in 2009 that you’d never done before?
Got my MFA degree! Finished (really finished) a novel! Spent an entire year married.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don’t remember what my resolutions were (or if I had any), but I’m happy with my progress on various goals. Next year I hope to find a publisher and get some illustration work.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
No, but a close friend did get pregnant, so, next year.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Matt’s Granddad died in the spring. I only met him a couple times but he seemed like a wonderful guy, and he had the most kicking wake I’ve ever been to. I mean, whole room singing joyfully for life celebration type a thing. It was sad but not depressing if that makes any sense.
5. What countries did you visit?
Didn’t get out of the country this year, but I did get to visit my parents in Oregon, and a couple good trips out to DC.
6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?
A publishing contract. Work that pays in money (free books and video games are nice but…). A house. I can dream, right?
7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
Er… I can’t think of any big dates. Sorry.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Finished novel revisions. Graduation.
9. What was your biggest failure?
I can’t think of anything I feel I failed hugely at. Probably biggest issue is setting too many goals at once, but I’m getting better at that.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Probably got a couple bad colds, as per usual, but nothing major.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
IPHONE. Love it. Also, related, “Things” app for iPhone. Productivity has soared. Or at least, you know, moved. Forward.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My big brother took a risk and quit a job he hated, to do what he really wanted to do (coaching at the fencing club), with less money and less security. Related: Walt Dragonetti, this year’s Veteran WORLD champion in Men’s Epee. My friend Kim started Med School, my friend Amy started a new grad program and my sister-in-law went back to school AND started to learn Reiki. Oh, hell. All the people in my life are amazing.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Repeat from last year: If I can’t say something nice, I’m definitely not going to type it on the internet.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Coffee and books.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Just living… I’m having a good time.
16. What song will always remind you of 2009?
I’m on a Mother %#@& Boat!
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder?
Happier!
b) thinner or fatter?
Probably about the same.
c) richer or poorer?
No idea.
18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Getting my name (and portfolio) out. Drawing.
19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Staying up till all hours and getting up far too late.
20. How did you spend Christmas?
With family in PA. Finally saw Christmas Vacation, which is apparently where 99% of Matt’s Christmas jokes come from. Oh who am I kidding, make it a round 100.
21. Did you fall in love in 2009?
Yup. Still. Always I think.
22. What was your favorite TV program?
I saw this “Mystery Diagnosis” program a couple times while in Chicago that seemed pretty interesting, though likely to cause acute paranoia.
23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Hate might be a strong word. Some fresh disappointment.
24. What was the best book you read?
Escaping the Endless Adolescence (though I’ve still got a little bit to go, since I’ve pretty much just been reading it between Borders trips). I’ll get around to buying it at some point. Anyway, I think it’s brilliant.
25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Jonathan Coulton. Awesome.
26. What did you want and get?
Time to focus on creative things.
27. What did you want and not get?
Nothing important.
28. What was your favorite film of this year?
29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
Spent a leisurely day with Matt. I think we went to Chilli’s and Kim made me an awesome Coraline card. I turned 28.
30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Hmm… it would have been nice to have made more progress on the whole converting creative efforts into income front… but I think I’ll get there.
31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
I spent most of the year trying to fit into the jeans that I fit into at the end of 2008, and finally succeeded about a month ago, since which time I’ve been trying to fend off the holiday spirits which are determined to make them shrink again. Otherwise I’ve been wearing all the same stuff I’ve been wearing since (or before) college, until I visited Oregon and Mom bought me a whole bunch of new clothes. Thanks Mom! I can finally throw out my dress pants that were once black but are now the color of pilled.
32. What kept you sane?
Error. Question is based on incorrect parameters.
33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
John Stewart.
34. What political issue stirred you the most?
Local issues and Energy. GAY RIGHTS.
35. Who did you miss?
Sheila. Both my thesis defense and reading were a tad bittersweet.
36. Who was the best new person you met?
Not sure. I’m antisocial.
37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009.
I’m more capable than I think. A lousy job can make you completely miserable.
38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
I might be able to do this if I ever remembered song lyrics.
*images all created using iPhone app “SpawnLite”
Creepy Coraline
As soon as I saw the movie, I decided to go as Coraline for Halloween. As you might remember, I am a big fan of Neil Gaiman, so it seemed appropriate.
Part of the reason for this is that it gave me a great excuse to dye my hair blue. For as long as I can remember, Halloween has been my favorite holiday, and that’s half because I love the spooky and half because I just love costumes. I take my costumes very seriously. When I ordered my yellow rain boots online, Amazon gave me this screen:
So it’s clear I’m not the only one who had the idea to dress as Coraline. But wigs are for the weak!
Anyway, I’ve dyed my hair blue before, and it did not go well. I followed online instructions rather than what was on the bottle, and ended up with crappy looking blue hair for about a day and a half… and seaweed green hair for another 6 months. In spite of past experience I ended up choosing the same dye (Raw Colors’ True Blue from Hot Topic) and this time I followed the instructions on the bottle.
It seems to have worked much better, but the dye gets everywhere.
I have a blue tub and a blue pillow case (inside out fortunately) and the only reason my face is no longer blue is because I scrubbed it off with Gojo. Note: when dying your hair, don’t bother using Vaseline on the outside of your ear, because they’re going to get dyed no matter how much you use. Put the Vaseline INSIDE your ears. This color seems to be fading to a dark teal color, and though I’m sure it will eventually get to that unlovely seaweed hue, I’m a bit more optimistic about the fading. We’ll see.*
Costumes are all about details, so I replayed the movie over and over to figure out what I needed. I was surprised at the lack of dragonfly barrettes (I found only a really crappy one, for $10 and decided it wasn’t worth it), so I thought I’d use the costume as an excuse to try my hand at some wire jewelry. Then I ran out of time.
Instead I dug through some of my old jewelry and found a dragonfly necklace from who knows when, and pinned it over a plain white barrette and called it close enough. I did manage to find a small purple messenger bag like the one Coraline carries when she’s outside. It’s not exactly the same color, and it’s got more to it then the one from the movie, but I liked it, and it looked like something Coraline would pick out if she had the option.
Of course the ultimate Coraline detail would be the spy-doll.
I don’t really sew, but this seemed like a good chance to try. I don’t think the doll appears at all in the book Coraline, but I’m all about costume details, and I thought the Coraline doll would add just the right bit of creepy.
I started off well enough, but once I stuffed it, the whole thing fell apart (not literally). The shape was completely wrong, and when I added in fabric paint it looked creepy… but in entirely the wrong ways. I also just didn’t leave enough time, so finally the night before Halloween I had to call the doll a fail. I left it on the table to dry, where it completely freaked out Matt when he got home from work, so, you know, I got SOME Halloween satisfaction from it.
This year was the first time I’ve been in town to celebrate Halloween with my friends in about five years. While I worked for the Vindicator, I ended up going to a student media conference every year and then last year, I was of course on our honeymoon. I wore my ceramic horns and Matt and I went reverse trick-or-treating on the train (we gave out candy) so that was lots of fun, but it’s not the full-costume Halloween I’ve missed. Overall I think Coraline was probably one of my more successful costumes, probably because it was extremely simple. It was also one of my more economical costumes since most of the elements were either something I could reuse, or things I already owned.
Plus, I still have blue hair, so OBVIOUSLY it’s a costume winner.
*The background in this photo comes from one of the tunnel scenes in Coraline. It is owned by whoever owns it (Henry Selick? Neil Gaiman? Not sure, but certainly not ME) and I have no idea whether it’s legal to use it in this context. If someone from Coraline land (no I don’t mean the OTHER world, I mean author, director, frothing lawyers etc.) wishes me to take it down, I will do so.
Frozen
On September 29th, a U.S. District Judge dismissed Janice Langbehn’s lawsuit against Jackson Memorial Hospital.
(click for larger version)
In February of 2007, Janice and her life-partner Lisa Pond were beginning a vacation with three of their four children when Lisa collapsed on the deck of a cruise ship. Lisa was rushed to Jackson Memorial Hospital (Florida) and Janice followed with their children as quickly as she could.
Half an hour after arriving at the hospital, a social worker went to Janice and told her, ““you are in an anti-gay city and state. And without a health care proxy you will not see Lisa nor know of her condition.”
Janice, a former health care worker, responded quickly, having her legal Durable Powers of Attorney faxed to the hospital. In spite of this, Janice and their children were left in the waiting room with no information for several hours. Eventually a surgeon told her that Lisa had suffered an aneurysm and would have no recovery.
A priest came to give Lisa last rites, and Janice attended with him, seeing her life partner for the first time in five hours. After the rites, Janice was ushered back into the waiting room.
Lisa was in the trauma room for 8 hours, but Janice was denyed the comfort of being with her during her final hours, minutes. Their children, legal children of both Janice and Lisa, were not allowed in to say goodbye before their mother died. Jance continued to wait in a non-informational bubble until Lisa’s sister came to the hospital. At that time, Lisa’s sister was told that Lisa had been moved more than an hour ago. They had not bothered to tell Janice or their children, waiting in useless space. The blogpost explaining the case can be found here.
In some ways, this story has nothing to do with Same Sex Marriage. Power of Attorney is exactly the legal protection someone is told to get if they want to make sure they’ll be allowed to be present in the event of a loved one’s deathbed. This is the power that allows you to make medical decisions for someone, to stay informed on their condition, to be allowed to visit their bed if it is medically possible. If a gay woman with Power of Attorney was denied those rights, there is no reason to believe she would have been given information and access even if she had a legal marriage. There was NO legal basis to keep Janice away from Lisa as she lay dying. As for keeping out the children, there is no human explanation. It’s nothing short of hateful.
The dismissal of the case is an endorsement for Legal discrimination based on sexual orientation.
This is not being overly dramatic. If there is no other legal basis for the decision, it can only be legal discrimination. My concern, beyond the obvious unfairness, is that if it is “ok” to discriminate based on sexual orientation for ignoring Power of Attorney, perhaps it is also ok to discriniate for treatment. This may seem like a stretch, but the precedent has just been set. I only hope they appeal.
In other ways of course, this is entirely about gay marriage. I have never understood why people who feel it is “wrong” for gay people to marry, think their belief entitles them to make the marriage illegal. Laws are meant to protect us, not to cage us, at least in this supposedly free country. Having same sex marriage in no way harms those who feel it is immoral. Keeping it illegal on the other hand, harms many.
I do not however think that legalizing gay marriage is the solution. Rather, I think all “legal” marriage should be abolished. Too many people of this country have proven that they are incapable of understanding the difference between legal marriage and religious marriage. Here is the point: the rights given by a legal marriage CANNOT be determined by religious standards. It doesn’t matter if we call it a marriage or a bunny rabbit; the only thing the STATE can grant two people, any two people, is a civil union. Currently, most states call this civil union a marriage. A few states call civil unions a marriage when it is between a man and a woman, but a civil union when it’s between two men, or two women.
It’s idiotic. Let’s just call them all civil unions and be done with it. If marriage is so loaded a word that we automatically attach religious meaning to it, the state has no business granting it, any more than it should start baptizing babies, or mandating fasting periods.
It is as problematic to have the state grant marriages as it would be to have the state tell churches who can marry. If the idea of having two men marry seems wrong to you, imagine having the government tell your church that they must allow men to marry each other.
Leave marriage where it belongs: In church. It should be up to churches to decide who can and cannot marry. If your church says it’s a sin for a woman to love another woman, that is their right, no one can force them to allow it. That’s what a separation between church and state MEANS. Meanwhile, if those crazy Unitarian Universalists start marrying Jane and Jane, WHY SHOULD YOU CARE? Please. I am begging. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Let them live their lives freely.