It's not about YOU!

I have gotten used to being the only woman left on the planet to wait until birth to learn the sex of the baby, but am I really the only one who lets the baby decide when to come out?! Does everyone opt for elective induction? All I keep hearing is that it's all about the mother, and it's her day, and the most important thing is to make her comfortable. Gee, you'd almost forget there was a baby involved. I kind of thought it was all about him! Or her.

miserable

This baby had better come out soon. Ten days until Tommy's birthday, and I think it would be cool for them to share a birthday. But, can I make it another ten days?

36 weeks pregnant

Last time I was this far along I went to the doctor on July 14 and then drove into a wall at 60 mph. Today's appointment was much less exciting, thank gods. I'm dilated to 2 cm (more than I've ever gotten to without pitocin) and am 50% effaced, plus the baby's head is so far down that my pelvis is spreading. I wonder what all that pressure on the skull will do to the baby's head? I've known babies who were so low they were born misshapen. Oh well, hats are cute.

Ryan and Mom go to Yellowstone Friday, for a week and a half so either this baby has to come in the next day and a half or it has to wait a couple weeks. I'm still hoping to have it on the fourth but we'll see just how much say I have in it. Wish me luck; I'll keep you all (one?) updated.

Baby Products I absolutely recommend

1. swaddling blankets. I've used the kiddopotamus ones before and loved them, but this time I splurged and bought the woombie and I hope they work as well as I've heard. Either way, the principle is the same: blankets that fasten shut so the baby can't wiggle out as easily.
2. toy links. These help bring hanging toys into baby's reach, hang Mom's purse on the stroller handle, attach handles cups to the stroller so they don't hit the ground, and basically whatever else you can think of. If I had a time machine I'd go back and invent them because they are so simple they make me feel stupid for not thinking of it first.
3. musical crib toy. There are all sorts of these things, and some people just use a white noise machine, but we chose to start with a heartbeat teddy bear and then go to a musical seahorse, which Tommy still uses. When we put him in bed we tuck him in, hand him his stuffed kitty, and then turn on the music. Sometimes we hear him wake up in the middle of the night and turn on the music himself. He's like Pavlov's dog now and starts yawning once he hears it. It's on my list of things to buy before the baby is born, so they can both have their own.
4. blackout curtains. Or at least a heavy blanket over the windows. Frilly, sheer curtains look good in the daytime, but unless you want your baby to wake up at dawn or have trouble napping, you'll want to find a way to keep the room dark. I made curtains for Tommy's room, and just lined them with a thicker black fabric and so far they seem to work well.
5. Baby sunglasses. I've never used the goggles kind with the elastic strap, but any kind would be good as long as they didn't dig into the baby's head. The reason I like these so much is that I see babies all the time squinting against the sun. Either the shade in the car window stopped working after taking that last turn, or the stroller canopy leaves a crack exposed, or it's just a bright day out and they're in a sunny spot. Either way, the odds are about 50/50 that the baby will leave them on if you start young enough (like within 2 days of birth) and it's definitely worth the $5 a pair of sunglasses cost to play those odds. My daughter loved hers and my son hated his. I still don't regret buying them either time.
   

Pointless baby "necessities" that are a waste of money

1. baby mittens. Most newborn outfits come with the little fold-over pocket on the sleeves to keep baby from scratching herself, and if they don't you can use socks, which are cheaper and stay on better than little thumbless mittens anyway.
2. bassinet. I'm not talking about the pack-n-play with a higher level for a newborn to sleep in, but the piece of designer wicker furniture that stands in the corner, all top-heavy, just waiting for the baby to learn to move the slightest bit and topple it over. Cute, but pointless.
3. wipe warmer. If your house is too cold for baby wipes, why is the baby sleeping in it? Otherwise, room temperature wipes are fine and don't bother most babies. Maybe if the alternative were bracingly cold wipes a warmer would make sense, but in that case either the butt in question would already be bracingly cold, or you'd be an idiot for storing your wipes in the fridge.
4. gender specific gear. For one thing, ultrasounds are NOT always right, and buying your high chair, car seat, stroller, and swing in sexist colors could prove to be a mistake. For another thing, what if you have another baby someday and that kid is the opposite sex? Hand me downs are great, but when everything is pink and frilly, and the next baby comes out with a penis, it might be awkward (and expensive) to say the least.
5. Jogging strollers. Unless you actively jog, in straight lines on a roadway rather than a segmented sidewalk, these strollers are kind of pointless. For one thing, they cost WAY more than the regular travel-system stroller, which will work from birth through the toddler years, but they also don't all turn. A lot of the jogging strollers have immobile front wheels, which makes turning corners and maneuvering through doorways incredibly difficult.
6. crib sets. Of course when you're pregnant and setting up the baby's room, you want everything to be as cute as possible. But the $200 crib set is ridiculous. It is possible to buy a sheet (or two) and bumper pads for less than a hundred bucks. For less than fifty, probably. And the comforter and dust ruffle may look nice, but you don't use a blanket in the beginning anyway, and a dust ruffle is pretty pointless as it is. Also, these sets come with one sheep, which is fine until you put an actual baby on it and it gets spit up on, or pooped on, or it just becomes time to do a load of laundry, and then you have to have a second sheet anyway.
7. shoes. Shoes for children and adults are to protect their feet in case they step on something, or to keep them clean. Babies need no such protection. They look good in pictures, but you have no way of knowing how comfortable they are and wearing shoes can actually hamper learning to walk. If you must put shoes on a baby (barring formal occasions like weddings) use the soft ones without soles. And for God's sake, don't spend $50 on Nikes for a kid who will outgrow them within a month and never appreciate it anyway.
8. walkers. They don't teach babies how to walk; they teach them how to propel themselves backward into table legs and cabinets, and occasionally down stairs. If you want something comparable, get an exersaucer. It comes with more toys and less mobility.
   

A Mother's Wisdom

I'm definitely nesting now. I'm doing laundry every day, even if I don't have enough to make a whole load, and packing up my hospital bag and feeling a restless energy that should be put to use cleaning my house but often isn't (nesting does not negate the pointless feeling that comes when you realize your toddler will just grind more cheerios into the floor when you're done cleaning anyway). So now that I've told myself for the third time in fifteen minutes that I am not going to climb in the tub with a bottle of Soft Scrub and a brush, since I just showered and would like to stay clean for a while, I am going to make a list of things I've learned about childbirth, in case anyone actually reads this thing and maybe they've never been through this before and would appreciate my wisdom.

The lists that tell you to bring make up to the hospital for pictures are stupid. Sweaty hair, burst blood vessels, and a tear-streaked face are not going to magically transform into your everyday visage with the addition of lipstick and mascara. And they shouldn't. Your immediately-after-giving-birth photos should look like you just gave birth, not like you just showed up to meet the baby you're adopting.

The books and articles and websites about childbirth that tell you to steal the "handy" mesh panties from the hospital are stupid too. They all say to take the panties so that you can wear them for the first few days after delivery, so that if your pad leaks you won't stain your own underwear. Well, first of all, any underwear you wear within a week of giving birth will be stretched out beyond recognition anyway, stained or not, and you'll have to throw it away. But, second of all, think about it! If your pad leaks and you're wearing mesh fishnet panties (which are so stretchy they don't hold the pad against you anyway) you will ruin whatever is next in line for the blood to get to. This could be your clothes, or your bedding, or even your car if said clothes are thin enough. This is why I NEVER wear the mesh panties. Nope, not even the first day. I do, however, wear disposable underwear, in the form of adult diapers. No, not the diaper looking kind they sell on fetish websites (so I hear), but the padded paper underwear kind (like Pull-Ups but without the Minnie Mouse graphics). That way I can sleep well knowing that there's no way I'm going to ruin my sheets, and I can go out knowing I'm not going to be the last to realize a large red blotch blossoming on the back of my pants, and I can go more than an hour without running to the bathroom with an airline-pillow sized maxi pad in my fist. Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking there's no way you could possibly wear an adult diaper, because you have dignity. Well. . .

You have no dignity. Once you've had strangers who may be part of the nursing staff but who really knows because you're in no position to be checking IDs checking you for dilation, and peed into an upside down plastic toddler cowboy hat every hour all night just to have your kidney output measured, pushed out a baby with none of the fears of public pooping that you'd previously had, and then asked just about anyone capable of pronouncing "La Leche" about nipple pain and the football hold (or alternately about engorgement and cold cabbage leaves), your dignity is gone. Before this happens, you can't imagine such a thing, but it's true. Kind of the way you swear you'll never let your husband see you less than presentable but then you get the flu and he not only sees you sick but knows what color you vomit after chicken soup. Like that.

Breast feeding hurts. Not as much as childbirth, or even as much as stubbing your toe, should you stub your toe for ten minutes on each side every two hours, but what the experts refer to as "sore nipples" is more like tearful pain. Don't get me wrong; I've done it for a year with each of my kids so far and fully intend to do it for a year with the third. But when they tell you that breast feeding doesn't hurt unless you're doing it wrong, they're bullshitting you. For the first month or two it will hurt. Nipples chap and sometimes crack (like if you suddenly were to start washing your hands a hundred times every day), and babies have stronger suction than squids (I assume; I have no proof), and it hurts. But it gets better, and it gets easier (if it hurts too much, buy a nipple shield; you can get them online or at drug stores), and by the baby's two month check-up most nursing mothers wouldn't trade it for the world. Just, don't listen to experts who will tell you that it shouldn't hurt, or that nipple shields are only for people with inverted nipples. Those people are wrong. Period. End of story. And it only hurts for the first few weeks. After that your nipples toughen up (in pain tolerance, not in texture- don't worry) and you could slam the damn things in a car door without getting hurt.

Men who say they wish they could share your pain are lying. Grab them by the nuts during just one contraction and see for yourself. They will, however, attempt to share your hospital issue pudding cups. Bastards.

Steal from the hospital. Everything except the fishnet underwear. Take the Vaseline and the diapers and the wipes and pads and bottle of hand sanitizer and stupid little leaky bum pads (they call them chucks, can you believe it?!). Take it all, because they will bill you for it anyway and they actually expect it. Leave the onesies and the sheets, but take all the "disposable" stuff. In fact, I never buy diapers before having the baby. I figure if I buy size 1 they'll be too big and if I buy size Newborn I'll pop out a ten pound baby, so I just steal from the hospital and then send my husband to Walmart before I run out.

Hospitals are loud. And bright. And babies have no sense of time. You'll likely either give birth in the middle of the night, or during the day after a long night of labor. An airline sleep mask and a pair of earplugs are wonderful things to pack. You'll still hear it when the baby next to you starts crying but if you're lucky you won't hear it when the baby down the hall starts crying, and then sets off all the others in chorus.

Contractions hurt like a bitch. Some women can breathe their way through them and use focal points and whatnot, but they still hurt. There's no reason to go to the hospital for a tightening feeling, or cramping, or pressure. When you feel like screaming and gutting yourself with a fishing knife, that's when you should go to the hospital. Very very few women don't realize they need to go to the hospital. Even those women on "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" usually think their appendix is bursting or something. It's different for every woman, and for every birth, but it does hurt, and those of us who get epidurals don't do it because of a tightening, or cramping, or pressure. And once you've been through it just once, even if you had a relatively painless experience (emphasis on the word relatively), you too will laugh at the women who go to the hospital with indigestion.

Weepy mother post

It has occurred to me that the baby could very well be born this month, and that seems to be what it takes to kick me into gear. Today we bought the baby its first toy (a floppy stuffed Eeyore) and the picture/coming home outfits (one for each sex, since we don't know), and when we got home I vacuumed the bedroom and put together the pack n play. Well, I started putting it together but you need a waist to do that so Tom helped me. Then I ripped the covers off the swing and bouncer and carseat and am now doing a load of delicates to wash all that up. I need to pack my hospital bag (Ryan has the bag somewhere in her room and I try not to go in there because I suspect there are VC tripwires in the clutter) and wipe down the plastic parts of all the baby gear (Damn! I forgot to buy Clorox wipes) and then worry and panic and all the other stuff I've been successfully putting off by telling myself I had the whole rest of the summer left to go.

Tommy held the Eeyore in the cart while we shopped today and he was being so gentle with it. He kissed it and hugged it and rubbed it softly. He is going to be so good with this baby and it makes me tear up to think about. He's already such a big boy and he's not even two yet! He's decided recently that he loves taking showers with us. He took his shower with me last night and stayed in there through all my shampooing and conditioning and everything, and then he didn't want to get out when I did. I let him hang out in there under the water for a while and he looked so grown up. Not afraid of getting water in his eyes or anything, just holding onto the bar of soap and rubbing it on his belly until Tom made him get out. It seems so hard to believe that two years ago I was feeling all the same kicks I feel now, and it was him!

Ryan went to he movies with a friend last night. Her first movie without a parent. She saw Twilight Eclipse and I guess she liked it, although the whole Twilight saga makes me roll my eyes. Too much emotional drama and eternal love pledging by teenagers. But apparently mopey pouty kids are what people want to see these days. I'll wait till November and go see Harry Potter 7 with her, thank you very much. If she hasn't completely outgrown being seen with Mom, by then. I miss my little girl. Just a few years ago she was dressed up as Luna Lovegood at the midnight release of the last Harry Potter book, struggling to stay awake long enough to get it, hyped up on chocolate frogs and smoothies from the Border's coffee shop. Now she only wears black and everything has to have skulls on it and when she stands next to me she's almost as tall as me. Taller, if she's wearing her black platform boots and hipster fedora. I remember when she was the one with the stuffed Eeyore.

Ugh. Hormones! I'm getting all weepy now. I have to go switch the laundry out now, and avoid any more maudlin internet prose. Hopefully my next post won't be that the baby's here. I'm not ready for that just yet.

Sometimes it sucks to be a mom

Brian Jensen was a punk. He worked at the pizza place a lot of my friends worked at and he thought he was the baddest, best looking, most envied guy around. No one liked him, but he couldn't see that. He attended the local community college (and flunked every class) and drove a five year old Grand Am with a $5000 paint job and lived in his parents' basement. When he would return from a delivery an hour late, or twenty dollars short, or when he'd hang up after taking an order with no address or phone number, he'd shrug and say "I have ADD." It was his answer to everything, because it had always worked. He'd been medicated since first grade and had never learned to do so much as tie both of his shoes in a row. He played video games and read comic books and admitted that they were the only things that could hold his attention because the explosions and fights "changed things up every couple of seconds".
When my daughter was 8 and the doctor suggested ADD as a possible cause of her falling grades, Brian Jensen was the face that popped into my mind. I agreed to have her tested, and gave the questionnaires to her teachers, and filled out the parent portion myself, but the whole time I was thinking, "She can read a Harry Potter book in one day! How can she have trouble focusing?" It wasn't until the doctor told me that it was ADD that it was explained to me. Everyone can focus on stuff they like; kids with ADD just can't focus on anything they don't. It's not by choice, just an inability to buckle down. But still, did I want my kid to be Brian Jensen or worse, whatever Brian Jensen would become if unable to get his pills? If Ryan did have ADD, I told myself, it was a mild case and she could learn to focus despite the obstacle. And then if she found herself without insurance, or in a new town with a new doctor unwilling to write the prescription, she wouldn't find herself incapable of keeping or finding a job.
That was 4 years ago. There's a boarding school Ryan wants to go to, an actual goal she has, that depends in large part of grades. And in the past year I've gotten phone calls about forgotten homework assignments (including ones she was looking forward to), papers left on her desk at home over and over again, and even once when she hit a kid without even realizing she was doing it. Classic ADD behavior. So I finally broke down and asked for a prescription, and it costs $150.00.
It sucks to finally come to terms with the fact that your kid needs a crutch, only to find out you can't even give it to them. And Tom tells me that a kid who can read a whole book in one day can't have ADD anyway, and that she needs to just buckle down when she doesn't like something. It feels like there's no one to talk to about this, no one who will understand how hard it is to try to walk the line between denying your kid help she needs and not letting her stand on her own two feet. And every day that I spend wobbling on that tightrope is another day she doesn't have the help.
I can't help but wonder; if the pills were free, would Tom have such an objection to them?

Stupid name trends

1. Sticking y's in names for no reason, just to seem edgy. Robyn, Suzyn, Eryn, Kymberly, Jaymie. It's stupid and unnecessary and dooms your kid to a lifetime of misspellings. It's almost as bad as
2. Sticking i's in names for no reason, just to seem edgy. Kimmi, Candi, Jacki, Jenni. Names are assumed to carry with them some sort of dignity and replacing the Y with an I, or just eliminating half of the IE erases that dignity, and it also makes the name sort of porny.
3. Stripper names. Certain names don't have Ks in them. Crystal, Candy, Carla, all normal with a C. But Krystal, Kandy, and Karla are all stripper names. Stick a Lynn at the end and they go straight from the pole to the screen. (What jobs are there for a Krystal Lynn other than porn actress or Dairy Queen clerk?)
4. Giving kid names to babies who will hopefully survive into adulthood. Don't name your son Billy or Timmy or Danny. Name him William or Timothy or Daniel. Or at least go with Bill, Tim, or Dan. No adult man wants to hear "Do you, Timmy, take Suzyn to be your wife?"
5. Horribly dated names. Don't name your kid Hermione, or Renesmee, or Miley, or Chandler, or any other name that no one ever thought of before the movie/TV show/album came out. How stupid would it be for some 50 year old guy to be walking around named Howdy Doody? About as dumb as the 35 year old soccer moms named Madonna seem. And as much as you love the idea of naming your princess after a half vampire baby who killed her own mother, it's tacky.
6. Adjectives as names. Nothing sounds good after Harry, or Dusty, or Rusty. There are plenty of very good names you can choose for your kid wihtout it sounding like a bad description.
   

more to come....

Americans eat stupid.

I don't understand how most Americans eat. I mean it. We have to have MSG in everything. Or sugar, or salt, or high fructose corn syrup, because we've over-stimulated our taste buds to the point where anything natural is bland and subtle flavors are undetectable. I grew up on pasteurized processed cheese food and the first time I tasted Meunster cheese, it tasted like air to me. It took 3 cubes of cheese before I could detect any flavor at all! And yet, despite that, we seek out the bland in everything! White bread, white rice, pre-steamed rolled oatmeal (which we then add sugar to. Go figure.). A study was published this week detailing the correlation between brown rice consumption and lower diabetes rates. The thing is, all the articles I read were very clear in stating that no one knows why this correlation exists but that there is a very good chance that people who pick brown rice over its bleached counterpart are more likely to lead healthier lives in general. In other words, yoga instructors and vegans eat brown rice, not couch potatoes and the morbidly obese. (A gross generalization but not one without merits.) I try to eat healthy, and simply, but I fail sometimes just like everyone else. But I think my days of white rice are over, in part because of my predisposition to diabetes. Two bouts of genstational diabetes have scared me enough to eat chewier rice.

Totally cool stuff about my son

1. When he spills things he MAKES me get him either a towel or the vacuum hose, and will not abide waiting.
2. He compulsively counts his toys, yet only can remember one number. I hear "two two two!" when he plays with his cars.
3. He sits in his crib and plays by himself for half an hour or more in the morning, giving me time to brush my teeth.
4. He can't function in the morning without his "coffee", an instant breakfast shake. He follows me around chanting "Cah" until he has it.
5. He points at the computer, shaking his sock monkey, until I play the song from the Kia sock monkey commercial for him.

.....to be continued

Totally cool stuff about my daughter

1. She's a geek and would get way more excited about meeting a Mythbuster than a Jonas Brother.
2. She has actually used the phrase "tubas are awesome" in casual conversation.
3. She hates Justin Bieber both in theory and in practice.
4. She still sometimes holds my hand while we shop.
5. Of all the women on TV, Kardashians and Britneys and Gagas, she wants to be Kari Byron.
6. She understands when I call the weeds Hemingway's Cat.

...to be continued

The real facts behind the McDonald's coffee case

While at my obstetric appointment, being told I needed an ultrasound for no reason other than that I'm pregnant, the infamous McDonald's Coffee Case came up. The point was that people will sue for anything and scanning all fetuses regardless of need or cause or even the mother's wishes is just what doctors have to do in this litigious society.
A couple weeks later I had a friend tell me that tort reform is more important to keeping medical costs down than insurance reform because, after all, people sue when their coffee is too hot.
Today a friend of mine posted on facebook a link to an article about a woman who googled directions for a walk, wandered down the middle of a road, got hit by a car, and is now suing google. My friends comment: And coffee is hot, too.

All this crap pisses me off. It's very easy to hear some radio DJ mock a lady for suing McDonald's because her coffee burned her, but do they realize that McDonald's knowingly set their holding temp for coffee to 185`, hot enough to cause third degree burns to the lips, mouth, and throat at the very first sip? Do they know that the woman who sued tried to settle in the beginning but McDonald's told her they had more lawyers and could afford to wait her out? Or that the coffee didn't just burn her lap but actually melted her genital and anal regions, requiring 8 days of skin grafting? Nah, all they know is that some lady spilled her coffee, got burned, and sued McDonald's. After all, what point does fact have in a hyperbolic example anyway?

Clean your plate, or not. No big deal either way.

I was always a picky eater, and I never cleaned my plate. Because of this, I've never made my kid clean her plate. If she dishes the food onto it and she decides how much to get, then I do try to get her to finish it, but if she doesn't then she doesn't. Same with Tommy, although he's too young still for this to really apply to him. But I have seen parents force-feed the last of the baby food jar, or the last couple ounces of a bottle, to a kid so I guess it could.
People say they're opposed to "wasting" food, so they make their kids eat it. I've never understood that concept. Whether you feed it to the dog, the garbage disposal, the trash can, or a crying child, it's still wasted. The money has already been spent on it (it's not like you get a refund or rebate if it all gets eaten) and a certain amount of food has already been prepared. Throwing some down a trash chute or the throat of a kid who isn't hungry makes no difference, either way it cost the same and that money is gone. You can learn from it and not serve your kid as much in the future, or not, but the theory that food uneaten is wasted but food swallowed against someone's will isn't baffles me. I've heard parents use the "some kids don't have food" line to justify this. Do they really think those kids are somehow happier if excess food gets shoveled into someone who is already full than if it got thrown away? Does it make the starving kid less hungry if my kid gets made sick by it? And none of this even touches on the part where teaching kids NOT to stop eating when they get full contributes to obesity later, how linking uneaten food and guilt in a person's mind can lead to food issues later on. I'm just talking about the part where somehow it's wasteful to put food in the trash but not to put food in an unwilling child.

Small town life

Sometimes I wish I lived in a city. I like small towns, and have never in my life lived more than 15 miles from my hometown, but sometimes I wish I lived in a city.

I read about a thing in Seattle where people go and pay maybe $10 and bring books they've read and no longer need, and get to mingle, make friends, drink 2 glasses of "free" wine, and everyone goes home with someone else's old book instead of their own. Imagine such a thing! Meeting people who like to read, drinking wine, and the absolute worst that can happen is that you walk out with no new friends and only a new book to read.

There are places out there with museums, and art galleries, and coffee shops that don't play all Christian music all the time. Places with cooking classes and pottery studios and independent subculture newspapers. Places where adults ride bicycles without DUIs.

I like small town life. I like that my kid can ride her bike to the park and I don't have to worry, that I can send her to the store with my bank card and they know it's okay because they remember that I told them it was. But sometimes I wish she were going to attend a high school with more elective class choices than Spanish and home ec. Sometimes I wish that her probable English teacher next year didn't remember her mom as the one who crushed on the pizza boy in high school. Sometimes I wish she were growing up in a town with museums and art galleries and independent subculture newspapers.

Confessions of a hormonal bitch

1. When I read freecycle, I immediately dismiss out of hand posts written without punctuation, with horrible spelling, or with some trashy sob story. "In need of anythin u mite have for a house. I have 4 dotters and one has a babby boy so we need firniter and kitchin things. Nun of us drive so needs to be dilivired. Also, I have lots of babby rats to give away if enyone needs snake food or pets."
2. I respond to stupidity in the comments sections of online articles. It seems like every Jon or Kate Gosselin article has about 3 dozen "Who even cares about these guys?" or "Why are these people still news? When will they go away?" comments. I don't respond to all of them (I'm only one person) but I do sometimes feel compelled to answer "Some of us do care, including you, who took the time to click on the headline, read the article, and then type out a comment here. People who really don't care don't even click on the article in the first place. You're not fooling anyone; you want to feel superior but nobody's buying it."
3. I have no patience for drama, and it bothers me to no end when my facebook page is full of it. Want your ex to stop calling you? Threaten to call the cops if he keeps it up, and then call them! Wish you could tell your friend what you really think of her new man? Tell her! If you won't tell her, then you obviously don't really want to, so in that case stop filling my facebook page with it.
4. I normally really like reading Dan Savage's advice column but lately it just seems like he's over-the-top in favor of just about every kink or fetish on the planet except heterosexual monogamy. Wanna have a threesome? Do it, and if your partner has a problem with it they're holding you back and being selfish. Want an open marriage? Do it, and if your partner has a problem with it they're holding you back and being selfish. What about the person who wants a normal old-fashioned marriage with ups and downs, but without a constant search for immature instant-gratification from outside sources? Oh yeah, DTMFA.
5. I absolutely hate Nazi comparisons. I detest when Glenn Beck makes everything out to be the work of nazis, or the same as nazis, or equal to nazis. But I can't help but think that after WWI Germany was in such a terrible economic mess that it was fairly easy for someone to show up and say all they needed to do was go back to their roots, to what Germany used to be like, with real Germans and not all these Jewish immigrants. And now that we're in a terrible recession with banks failing and unemployment soaring we have tea-baggers to say that we need to get back to our roots, to what the founding fathers wanted, which was (apparently?) Christianity and a lack of Mexicans.
6. I don't want a baby shower this time, since I already have most of the stuff I'll need and would just end up inviting the same people over for basically the same party anyway, but I do get all misty when I see baby shower decorations.
   

I'm old

A friend asked the other day, via facebook status, "If you didn't know how old you were, how old would you be?" It was obviously intended to remind us all that as long as we stay young at heart we never have to feel old, and to get us thinking about how short life really is and how much of the daily bullshit could be brushed aside if only we'd make the choice to be Toys R Us kids forever. Without hesitation, I answered, "53". In reality, I turn 34 in 2 months.

I don't feel 21, and considering what an immature ass I was at 21 I'm kind of glad for that. But I don't feel young at heart and I resent the implication that I should. The idea of a gray-haired old grandmother out rollerblading through the park because she's young at heart (and most likely being filmed for a Depends commercial) is endearing, but the reality is that the people who think they can stay 21 forever don't become gray-haired old grannies rollerblading int he park. They become Botoxed denial queens who hang out in the bars wearing too much make up and too few clothes, smoking Menthol cigarettes and trying to pick up young guys, all while wearing a cropped off tee shirt with the words "Young at heart" printed on it.

I make a conscious effort not to dress too young. I don't want to be one of those moms who shows up to the parent teacher conference braless in short shorts. When I get chilly, I put on a sweater rather than walk around looking like 2 tanks are preparing to fire through my blouse. I don't giggle if someone asks me if I'm my daughter's sister; I roll my eyes and wonder just who they think they're kidding. I don't wear bikinis or low-rise jeans and I get excited about new flavors of oatmeal (they make a latte one now, can you believe it!). My hobbies, rather than roller blading or jogging, include crocheting and gardening and sewing.

Now that I think of it, maybe I underestimated when I said 53. Maybe 72 is more like it.

No Child Allowed Behind

I try to teach my kid that not doing things has consequences and that you don't always get a second chance. In a nation of no-fault divorces and abortions and probation and expunged records, it's hard to teach that. But if I give her until bedtime to get something done or else, then or else kicks in at bedtime, not the next day.

Ryan didn't do an English assignment. The teacher wants to giver her a detention every day until she turns it in. Now, the thing was supposed to be done today and to my mind, one due date means one detention. But the school says "You WANT your kid to get a zero?!" and says she can turn it in any time before the end of the term. It's not that I want my kid to get a zero,but I want her to get what she earned. In this case, she earned a zero and I think it's counter-productive to keep giving second and third chances just so she doesn't have to actually accept the consequence of not getting the work done on time, all while continuously punishing her with detention every night for 3 weeks.

How many kids go off to college to learn that they can't hack it because "mean" teachers won't grant them extensions on papers or let them take make-up tests? Kids who got good grades in high school because instead of a safety net their parents and teachers provided them with safety harnesses. And what happens when people who have never known any rigidity in rules miss deadlines at work?

Look, I accept that my kid screwed up. I left her to do her homework on her own, sink or swim, and she sunk. Give her a detention for not doing it if you must, and reflect it in her grade as a zero. But don't simultaneously coddle her with endless chances and punish her with endless detentions. And when I explained to the principal that I considered work ethic and responsibility to fall under character development, which is my jurisdiction rather than the school's, he told me that my chance was back when the assignment was handed out and now it was their turn.

Any tutors out there want to homeschool my kid?

Nature? What nature?

If you're going to know the weight, length, sex, birthday, and name of the baby before ever giving birth, what do you have to look forward to except pierced eardrums, sore nipples, and the smell of dirty diapers? How about forgoing the ultrasounds and elective inductions and just wait to have the babies when they're ready to show up?

Ranting & Venting

Pregnancy makes a temper worse; it shortens your fuse. And I have a short enough fuse anyway, so I spend a lot of my time either biting my tongue or apologizing lately. So I think this may be the post where I vent about stupid little things I'm bright enough to leave alone in real life. So here goes:

1. Don't look at my transluscent, glowing legs and shake your head, or tell me I "need" to get some sun. Don't say, imply, or suggest that the color of my skin is inferior or undesirable. I refuse to dye my skin brown or submit myself to cancer-causing tanning beds, or even just waste time lying around in the cancer-causing sun, because people think I was born the wrong color. I am not pasty, or deathly pale, or corpse-like. If I were a paint color, I would be Northern European White, and I think that's just fine.
   
2. Don't tell me that my 2 previous healthy pregnancies, one with gestational diabetes, are irrelevant to this one because "every pregnancy is different" and then tell me every woman needs a third trimester ultrasound. If every pregnancy is different then tests should be administered based on a particular pregnancy, not as a blanket policy.
3. If you have diabetes, and it is not gestational diabetes and didn't start out as gestational diabetes, don't pretend you know anything about gestational diabetes. A diabetic woman who becomes pregnant is at MUCH higher risk than a pregnant woman who develops diabetes. Quite simply, having high blood sugar while a baby is forming can cause horrible birth defects that developing gestational diabetes after the baby is (for the most part) formed does not cause. Running around telling women with GD that the sky will fall and their babies may die if they accidentally mis-measure one meal helps NO ONE.
4. If you bitch about getting dirty looks because you smoke while pregnant, you forfeit the right to blab on about the dangers of vaccinations. You just do. You can't bring back polio because you're such a health freak if you're sucking down Marlboros with your Prenate vitamins. And don't even start about the organic food. Yes, my children eat brussels sprouts that might have been touched by chemical fertilizer, but they eat them in a smoke-free home.
5. Don't tell me how horrible epidurals are. I have had 2 and they are fine. There is a relatively low risk with them, but everything has a risk to it (including birthing children in the first place), and no one I have ever met has had any problems with an epidural. They have never slowed my labor down; on the contrary they have sped it up both times. I like a bit of relief with my pain and who are you to judge me for it?
6. Don't judge me for what my ancestors did. I have one adopted parent and one descended from Amish stock. Now until my mother dies and I (maybe) find out who birthed her, I have no hope on that side, so I would like to be able to go back more than 3 generations on my dad's side. But since someone left the faith a hundred years ago, we're all shunned and no one will tell us anything! I love when people tell me to just go to ancestor.com. Like the Amish upload stuff!