“Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn’t learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn’t learn a little, at least we didn’t get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn’t die; so, let us all be thankful.” ~ Buddah

“You simply will not be the same person two months from now after consciously giving thanks each day for the abundance that exists in your life. And you will have set in motion an ancient spiritual law: the more you have and are grateful for, the more will be given you.”

~ Sarah Ban Breathnach

Everyday for 2 months?  Hmmmm.  I don’t know if I can be that disciplined.  I’ll try.

1. this is going to be the best thanksgiving holiday EVA.
2. i’m looking forward to putting a holiday appropriate table cloth on our table.
3. bella is sick but function-sick.
4. max is on the mend.
5. i feel like i did well on my applied ethics test, today.
6. i understand philosophy theories easily.
7. hal has four days off starting thursday.
8. our poster frames came in and we hung some of our favorite screen prints up this morning.
9. the kids are spending the night with their grandparents, saturday.
10. hal and i are going to a birthday party on saturday night.
11. my kids are happy, well fed, and loved.
12. my husband is happy, well fed, and loved.
13. i am happy, well fed, and loved.
14. our house is our home sweet home.
15. i can safely be my imperfect, dysfunctional, and opinionated self around my friends without fear of judgment or abandonment – as they can around me as well.

 

“It is not the failure of others to appreciate your abilities that should trouble you, but rather your failure to appreciate theirs.”

max has a touch of walking pneumonia.  they should have named it walk-run-play pneumonia when referring to children.  i’ve taken him to the pediatrician three times in the last three weeks, friday being the only day fluid showed up in the lungs.

i got a call around 12:30pm from The MIL.  she picked max up from pre-school for their every-other-friday romp-around.  he wasn’t feeling like doing much of anything, asked for a blanket and a pillow, then laid down on her sofa.  her call sounded panicked, as she tends to get very nervous about my children feeling ill.  right away i loaded napping bellagrace back into the van.  we had just returned home from our own friday morning outing.

from The MIL’s home i took max to the peds and got the diagnosis, a process i find to be unreliable since there are no tests done to definitively determine what he has.  but i go along.  the doc was cool about it, never once acting like i need to feel alarmed stating it’s going around and giving me reasons why he thinks it’s bacterial and not viral {only because i asked}.

i leave the office and immediately give hal a call.  it didn’t surprise me that he was all like, OH MY GOD HE’S GONNA DIE.  if you don’t know what it is, walking pneumonia can sound scary.  and if you know hal, he’s a bit of a health worry-wart.  after reassuring papa hal that max will be okay, there’s only a little fluid in the left lung, we have to give him antibiotics {for the first time} he calmed down and came to his senses.  then i called The MIL to walk her through it, too, her reaction being five times more alarmed than hal’s {like mother like son}.  its harder talking with her ‘cuz she seems to distrust the information i give her; or maybe she doesn’t listen or forgets then makes up her own story to tell the world.  it’s hard to say.  but her story always goes something like this:

i’ve been telling them for weeks now that max is sick, they never take him to the doctors and when they do they take him to a witch doctor, one of those nature doctors!  they don’t have a real doctor!!!!  i tried finding their doctor in the phone book – SHE DOESN’T EXIST. {the room goes silent and everyone shudders} i’ve had three children of my own, I KNOW.

hal and i have come to accept that no matter what we tell The MIL, no matter what the Truth, she has her own version and she’s sticking to it.  she’s smart enough to not tell her stories to me except in momentary lapses of reason, but she’s graced hal’s ears with them several times.  and when The FIL dropped bella off on friday, he said to hal, “your mother’s been telling you for weeks that he was sick.” in a tone indicating WE SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO HER.  a comment that hal and i agreed, should not have gotten back to me.  as soon as it left his lips, hal knew he made a mistake.  it’s better i don’t know about these kinds of remarks from hal’s parents because it upsets and angers me to the point of wanting to call the offender and let ‘em know what’s up.  this of-course, would be playing right into the hand of DRAMA, so i don’t.  instead i write out the DRAMA here.  lucky you.

well, like The Good DIL {heh}, i called The MIL this morning to give a Max Update.  all is well between us, we talk and whatnot.  despite our differences we are mostly always civil.  these days i’m proud of our interactions because they are akin to a minefield that a skilled runner has successfully navigated through.

a common line i get from her anytime we talk about max or bella, one i heard about five times this morning, is: you know, michelle, i raised three of my own. this is her way of reestablishing queen-bee status; reminding me that she already knows everything about mothering and i couldn’t possibly tell her something new about children, not even my children.  while in conversation i’m not sure how to respond to this statement so i ignore it and continue on as if it hadn’t been said. validating her is not a strong suit for me.  but i’d like it to be.

it is our understanding that The MIL’s inferiority complex and low self-esteem {as suggested by our therapist who helped tremendously with our MIL issues} are the reasons she fails to acknowledge the good in others in favor of criticizing them, puts us down instead of lifting us, over-justifies herself, brags and whatnot.  i don’t fault her for any of this, we all have our peccadilloes.  i have some of these issues myself which is why i see them so clearly in her.  i’m aware of her sensibilities when dealing/speaking with her.  she doesn’t deserve a proverbial smack down or to hear a bullet point list of all my Rightness every time she offends or miss-speaks.   but i still have a hard time bringing myself to compliment her when she’s in THAT brag-i’m-better-than-you mode.  my ego gets in the way of kindness, sometimes.

so we get off the phone and i’m feeling a bit satisfied about telling her that we will be eating thanksgiving dinner at our house this year and going to hers after eating – a message hal was going to deliver but my less than mature side felt a sense of hahaha TAKE THAT when telling her.  she was fine with it, it seemed.  at least she pretended to be.  i’m sure i’ll find out if she’s upset after hal talks to her.  my in-laws have an active social life usually having friends over for thanksgiving dinner and turning our holiday into a cocktail party instead of a friends and family gathering.  the living room gets divided into two sections, us and them.  its uncomfortable to say the least.  the children are always a problem {they’re so loud, they bring out all the toys, and they want to take over the dinning room table!}, and food is always an issue.  if we want a complete meal we have to bring everything ourselves which is fine but it’s not easy.  this year will be the first year of a new tradition.  who knows, maybe at some point they will want to come to our home.

later in the day, max, bella, and i got to talking about what we are thankful for and made a list to put on our refrigerator.  so now i’m feeling like The Asshole for having so much animosity towards my in-laws and wishing i cared less about certain things and more about others.  so to further my efforts in showing kindness and action on unconditional love, i’m writing a thanksgiving letter to them expressing all the different ways in which our family is thankful for their presence in our lives.  what better time to express it than on thanksgiving?

the real lesson isn’t in the writing, but in the letting go of expectations once they read the letter; letting go of the wish to receive appreciation in return.

“The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn.”

For the first time, I recently worked out a Life Plan for the next five years.  It’s a loose plan, of-course, but it clearly outlines my education goals and parallels them to where my children will be at in school.  I have very specific reasons for getting a college education: 1.) despite criticism of the benefits of a college education by those with degrees and not working in their “dream job” or a field related to their degree, there is no question in my mind that having a degree will put me at an advantage in getting a position that is not available to highschool/GED graduates. 2.) I need a degree to be a social worker in the state of Florida. 3.) I value what college has to offer in terms of challenging my current ideas, expanding knowledge on subjects I’d otherwise ignore {eh, like math, geography, science, history}, and sharpening my critical thinking skills – though I do a fine job of this on my own, the classroom environment is unique in this area. 4.) I come from generations of non-college educated relatives and would like to break that cycle in hopes of making it easier for my children to view college as a natural procession of highschool, thus giving them a privilege in their upbringing that I did not have.  5.)  Hal has a master’s degree in library sciences, I can’t let my children grow up thinking that it is more important for the man/provider in the family to be college educated than the woman/homemaker.  6.) I don’t want to be a homemaker for the next two decades.  I’d like to go back into the workforce and avoid where I came from, retail management.  Avoid it like you avoid your in-laws until you need them to babysit.  Retail is hard, thankless work.  Folks who work in retail management are thicker skinned than I.   Even in the book retail industry, it’s hard finding a quality down to Earth store to manage – and if you do, you better hold on for dear life ‘cuz it’s like pure gold and there are at least a hundred applications on file for your job.

I’m constantly re-evaluating what I want for my children in terms of education and life in general.  Who knows, at some point, I could very well feel like Unschooling them.  Providing, of-course, we are able to live comfortably on one income.  There is always this over-looming concern that I will lose my social security disability income and we will find ourselves up shit’s creek without a paddle, financially speaking.

I originally went on a long ass diatribe in this post right here… about how limited the ability to homeschool/unschool/specialty school is to the average working American family.  About how tired I am with reading unconstructive _to the rest of us_ criticism of the public school system {it’s a public day care, it’s only purpose is to churn out factory workers, children are getting brainwashed and such}.  And how slights get pronounced without any accompanying resolutions to the public school system’s issues {the only course of action is to high-tail it out of there? Well, that leaves a lot of people in a shit-stained place of powerlessness}.  Or how all the pissing on public schools drives home the ill fate parents are procuring for their children’s creativity and intellect.  Those poor suckers who believe they are doing right by their children!

BUT, I stopped myself from posting that very long diatribe opting for this shorter version, because I realized that I was getting worked up over a group of people who I in many ways, agree with.  I also understand that even though folks who homeschool/unschool/specialty schools are typically white, middle-class, two parent homes {though, living on one income}, not POC or disadvantaged in ability, they get marginalized for what they choose to do with their children.  In a defense argument, a person will criticize the opposing or other groups as they work to get the positive points of their own practices across.   I get that.  Not sure its necessary, but it happens all the time.  Homeschooling/Unschooling/Specialty schooling is a political movement, in many ways, because parents are standing up to our government and saying, Our children deserve better and we are going to give them better.

I don’t think pulling children out of the public school system will create change in the schools, but if there are enough parents with kids in the system, who see the problems I see and think along the same lines about education as I do, a movement for the rest of us is possible.  Will I lead this movement?  No.  Though, I will support one by getting involved.  I hope that my great great-grandchildren are able to look back on this time period and thank the stars America no longer puts its children through such an antiquated education process.

My real dilemma: I am nervous about making sure Max and Bella have access to the best education possible because unschool/homeschool/specialty schooling them is not going to happen.

All I can do is all I can do, right?

As Max and Bella enter into their “real” school years, I’ll figure out ways to supplement their education, encourage their passion and creativity, and teach them the critical thinking skills that I feel are left out of the educational framework of public schools – all things I’m doing now while they are in pre-school.  I’ll stay involved with their school.  These are things my parents did not do because they didn’t have the know-how, education, time, ability… privilege… to do so.

{I once had an internet friend scoff boldly at the idea of thinking about privilege.  She felt it is a waste of time because nobody can understand what anybody else has gone through to get to where they are.  While this is true, her argument was so far off from the reasons I think about privilege that I didn’t know how to respond to her, other than to agree to disagree: No, it is not a waste of time.  I recently found a blog post that explains why privilege is something to consider when thinking about social issues.  Not only white privilege, but all the different types of privilege.  I’m not nearly as intelligible as other bloggers on this issue, so I’ll just pass on my resources.}

I appreciate the privilege I have that affords me the time, energy, financial stability, and physical ability to think deeply about the education my children receive.  I know that just because others are not able to or don’t want to take on these lines of thinking {for all the various reasons that prevent humans equal ability}, it doesn’t mean they care less about their children’s quality of education than myself.  I acknowledge that every parent deserves to have real access to the best form of education possible for their children and each child’s special abilities.  And it makes me SO ANGRY that in our day and age there isn’t a public school system in place that reflects the knowledge we have of children, they variety of ways in which they learn, and their keen ability to learn anything they want to learn.   America is so far behind in meeting the educational abilities of children.  How long will we have to wait for the rest of America to realize our system is inept and there are others that work better? It is not fair that white, one-income, two parent, able-bodied, upper-middle class parents are still the majority who are given choices in a quality education.

I just don’t know what to do other than to squirrel-away in our corner of the world and do the best I can to make sure Max & Bella have the opportunities Hal and I feel they deserve.  Which, as far as I can see, is the good fight that every able and conscientious parent fights.

Though, I’m hoping there is a public school movement that I’m not {yet} aware of that feels the same way I do.

Manatee County School Board, Hello.  I have a feeling you and I will get to know each other as my children go through your system.  How well we get along, will depend on you.

Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire. ~ Yeats

“From the dog’s point of view, his master is an elongated and abnormally cunning dog.”

Bella’s new bed:

I mean, Camus new bed:

Oh wait, Bella don’t like that:

“NO!  THAT’S MY BED!”

The positions of power restored.  Alpha Bella takes her rightful place…

“Camus, don’t look at me like that.  And go get me some water, please.”

“Whuh? These chips are making me thirsty.”

“Who’s bed is it anyway?”

CAMUS, IT’S YOUR BED.

“I would not look upon anger as something foreign to me that I have to fight…I have to deal with my anger with care, with love, with tenderness, with nonviolence.”

Having not been on FaceFuck or Hipmama for this past month taught me several new things.  One, I have a lot of self-control.  Two, I have more time to write.  Three, I feel no guilt telling my kids “I’ll do that when I’m done with this piece of writing.”  Four, it’s easier to stop writing to care for someone else’s needs {this surprised me}.  And five, I love to read.

There are days when I don’t turn on the computer until late in the day.  I no longer feel that sense of obsession, that urge to check my e-mail, or a longing for connection that always seemed to be lingering like a dark shadow just under the surface of every post, every blurb, every comment I made on-line.  I’ve reconnected to day to day life.

My Google Reader account has blown up.  I love reading books, but it has been about two years since I finished one.  Articles and blog posts are easier to get through and often lead to, “oh, I wanna read that book, someday.”

I wanted to write a little about Mindfulness.  Maybe I’m wrong, I don’t study any particular sect of Buddhism, nor have I read a book that focuses on Mindfulness since before Bella was born, but I think Mindfulness means to be in the moment no matter how you are feeling.  Mindfulness won’t get rid of all those pesky feelings associated with Anger.  Nor will it prevent those feelings from cropping up.  There is no avoiding Anger.  Just as we have an overwhelming capacity for Happiness, we also have an overwhelming capacity for Anger – and in Buddhism, there is neither good or bad associations toward the two.  The two just are, suspended from judgment.  Both Anger and Happiness need to be nurtured with equal attention, so as to not make us miserable {yep, Happiness, too.  Ever hear the saying, too much of a good thing, ain’t really good?}.  One is just easier to relate to than the other because of our training.

I opened my copy of, Anger, by Thich Nhat Hanh, randomly to this passage:

When anger manifests in us, we must recognize and accept that anger is there and that it needs to be tended to.  At this moment we are advised not to say anything, not to do anything out of anger.  We immediately return to ourselves and invite the energy of mindfulness to manifest also, in order to embrace, recognize, and take good care of our anger.

I love this book.  It has been the One Book that has really help me to accept all the feelings that come with life and mothering – Anger being of the most confusing.  And this acceptance includes the various words describing Anger: Frustration, Annoyance, Irritation – all common in this job we call: Parenting.

This book talks about “Embracing Anger.”  And goes on to give suggestions in how to do this.  I love this idea because intuitively I find Anger to be a useful emotion when channeled properly, which means in ways that cause no harm.   The idea of willing Anger out of my life through Mindfulness seems counter-intuitive to the very meaning of the word Mindfulness.

Anyway, I was just thinking about this so wanted to write it out.  It seems that I read more about Mindfulness being about obtaining happiness than what Mindfulness can do for Anger.

There are a million different ways to care for Anger.  What do you do when you are angry?  How do you care for your Anger?

I embrace Anger by writing the moment it visits {as clear by this blog.  Public expression isn’t necessary, but so damn cathartic}.  When I can’t do that, I breath deeply.  I tell the person I’m with {usually Hal or the kids} that I’m feeling angry/annoyed/frustrated and need to take a moment to myself.  I sit silently.  I take care of my Anger by speaking of it after it passes.  I cry.  I’m unproductive and yell, pout, and sometimes bully, but always following up with acknowledgment of my misbehavior and an apology.

Max says, “I want to take a deep breath with you, mommy.”  He uses his words, “I am so angry right now.  STUPID, FREAK!”  He name-calls.  Sometimes, he apologizes for this.  He says, “I want to be alone,” and goes into his bedroom.  He paints.

Bella hits, cries, yells, throws things, and pouts, and sometimes, apologizes if she hurts someone in the process.

Hal, gets quite, bottles it up and won’t talk about it at all.  He pouts.  He yells.  He uses sarcasm.  Sometimes, he bullies.  Then, when he’s calmed down, he talks about it all – apologizing {with me he always does, with the kids, not always}.  Often, he just talks about it, like, “Michelle, it really makes me angry when you… insert offense here.”  Hal and I have supported each other in learning how to respond to our personal anger and that of each other for years.  We are always “working” on it.    

I feel like anger is one of the emotions that got swept under the rug while I was growing up.  For years I didn’t know what to do with it until it built up inside, warped, distorted, and took over my common sense and general well-being.

Anger is not an emotion that I run from anymore.  It doesn’t scare me.  It isn’t going to permanently go away by practicing Mindfulness.  I greet it, invite it in, sit and chat with it, learn from it, enjoy the gifts that it brings, then see it out the door.  Pretty much the same interaction I have with Happiness.  This has gotten considerably easier as the years pass.  Mindfulness {aka: Awareness} doesn’t dissolve suffering but it makes it possible to live and love fully despite suffering.

So anyways, that turned into a longer tangent than I intended.  My original idea for this post was to just share this blog with you:

The Fat Nutritionist

and in particular, this post:

The Rules of Nutrition.

Enjoy!  Happy Saturday to you.  Or not.

“We can describe the thoughts of Hamlet, but we cannot describe a Migraine.”

Bella, really?

Yes Mom, really.  And don’t try to stop me, either.

I can’t be Nature Girl ALL THE TIME.

Now, ya’ll should know… I do not wear heals, pearls {any jewelry for that matter. Bella broke all five of my necklaces playing with them}, or have a hand mirror in the house.  I also don’t do pink, though I do like the color.  Oh Bella, I hope you wear a size 10 when you grow up so I can borrow your shoes.  Maybe you can teach me how to walk in heals sometime.  Soon?

Bella came home from Lola’s house sick.  She threw up in the car this morning on our way out to lunch.  The vomiting detoured our lunch outing sending us straight to Lola’s to wash up.  I should have insisted that she come home with me.  Her spirits were high and she didn’t have a fever at that point.  She wanted to stay and my MIL really wanted to keep her because she had plans to pick up Bella’s cousin of the same age, Sylvia, and let them play together.

I’m sure they all had fun, but it does make me nervous because Little Sylvia has a new baby brother.

Bella threw up again before she came home around 7pm.  As much as I dread the idea of sitting at the walk-in clinic for god-knows-how-long, if she still  has a fever in the morning, I’m going to take her.

I had a migraine up until around 6pm, today.  Max was miserable hanging out with me.  Though, for the most part he did really well to leave me in bed.  When I was up caring for him, he whined non-stop about how he ALWAYS gets a toy on Friday, and how I am THE WORSE MOMMY IN THE WORLD because I wouldn’t take him to the store to buy a toy.

He is use to going over to his Lola’s every Friday and she buys him toys.  It’s going to be hard for him to get use to alternating Friday’s with his sister and not getting a toy when he’s with me.  He is the kind of person who doesn’t let go of things very easily.  He stays upset for a long time, all day even.  I mean, seriously, ALL DAY LONG he was badgering me about buying him a toy.  I just kept saying the same thing over and over to him.  He’ll get it, eventually.

Our puzzle project got put on hold, too.  He recently busted out the mixed-up puzzle pieces and set out to put every one of the puzzles together, thereby organizing them at the same time.  It upset both of us that I wasn’t able to work on this with him.  He can do them all by himself, but what’s the fun in that? I was happy to see the puzzles spread out because this is an activity that we both enjoy.  He also got some games for his birthday that he can play with everyone.  I am really looking forward to a family game night when both kids are old enough. {note: that creepy doll in the background was a Goodwill find from Max to Bella.  Max was with his Lola, ‘cuz if he were with me, I would have vetoed that gift.}

And if you are curious about that new couch… {we’re still waiting for the ottoman to be delivered on the 18th}…

Have a lovely weekend, everyone.

Good Read…

I’m working on another post that is taking longer than it should, but in the meantime I wanted to share with you a blog post by, Mandolin, on Alas, a blog:

Q: Since When Is Being Criticized Like Having Your Limbs Blown Off by a Landmine? A: Since That Criticism Came from Someone with Less Privilege Than You

This was in my e-mail box sent by a feminist sister-friend.  Stuff that makes me think.

FIVE YEARS AGO TODAY, at 4:01am, I gave birth for the first time {somebody pinch me}…

Year: 2004

Early Labor

Monday morning we were trying to figure out if Hal should call off from work. His job was letting him take a week off vacation time starting when I went into labor. We went back and forth struggling to decide if we were starting labor today or tomorrow. Finally, he called into work and told them today was it, he needed to start his vacation (which, by the way, the time he took off was not really a vacation). Even if labor didn’t start there was plenty to do around the house to get ready for it and besides, I wanted his company.

I had a little bloody show early in the afternoon but the day went on contraction free. I ate a lot, slept a lot, and just tried to relax when I was awake. Hal cleaned obsessively despite my nagging him to relax.  He had enough nervous energy for the two of us.  I would say to him, “Slow down and take a nap, we might be up all night! You need to conserve your energy!” And he would respond, “No, I can’t, _must_vacuum_this_dirty_carpet.” I just laughed even though I was a little worried about how he would fare during labor at 3am, with no rest during the previous day.

We had a 5pm prenatal visit at the birthing home with our midwife and she suggested coming in if we felt we could. Heidi stressed that we should carry on as per unusual because it’s really important not to obsess over early labor – that is a good way to wear yourself out, increasing your chance of a transfer to the hospital {exhaustion being reason #1 why homebirther’s transfer to a hospital}.

On our drive to the birthing home I started having extremely painful contractions. It became necessary for me to arch my back and squeeze Hal’s hand during each one. Ohhhh this is it! I thought. So this is what it’s like to be in labor – one big painful as all hell menstrual cramp! I had no idea it was going to get worse, nor did I think it was possible.

We’re in the parking lot when Heidi gets out of her car, walks over to us, and is cheerfully like, “So how ya feeling?” Face tense, I respond, “having strong contractions.” While saying this, I started to bend over bracing the nearby car. “Ohhhh yeah, assuming strange positions. You’re starting to cook!” Heidi exclaimed with enthusiasm. Hal and I chuckled and I felt reassured that this was normal.

My cervix was one centimeter dilated at the appointment.  My instructions were to keep carrying on as per normal, go home, and call Heidi when I was in “active labor.” My response was, “Active labor? Aren’t I in active labor?  This feels pretty fucking active to me!” She assured me that when active labor kicked in, there would be no mistaking it. Yeah, I felt a little panicked at this point.

Well, Hal and I, being the food centric folk that we are, decided that grocery shopping was in order.  We pulled into the “Reserved For Expecting Mom” parking space for the last time. As I waddled down the isles, one of the clerks walked by and said with an uneasy look on her face, “Girl, I know you not in labor AND grocery shopping.” The situation was absurd.  I chuckled at her and said, “Oh yes I am,” while thinking, “so leave me the fuck alone,” I kept walking and shopping. It’s safe to say she got the hint and carried on with her own business.

Every contraction brought me to my elbows leaning over the cart for support. It wasn’t a dramatic scene, not a scene at all, but it was surreal to us. Poor Hal, he was becoming visibly anxious and just started chucking all the stuff he knew we liked in the cart without thought. The bill was around two hundred dollars – way more than the 50 bucks we planned on spending. The drive home was intense and the contractions were feeling the same.

When we got home, Hal put the groceries away while I took a shower. The whole time I was showering, I knew this was it. I knew this would be my last shower with my pregnant belly.  I rubbed it gently and gazed in awe.

Hal needed to take the dogs to his parents house.  I went back and forth with, Could I stay by myself comfortably or did I need to call Liz to come over before he leaves?

My extremely independent way of managing pain got in the way of reason.  I called Liz just to give her a “heads up” that I was in labor and might call her back in an hour or so when active labor kicked in. Hal started to get the dog’s food and before he left I stopped him, called Liz back in tears, and cried while blubbering out, “Can you come over now? I don’t want to be alone.”

As soon as she got to our house, Hal gave her the quick low-down on what was happening and bolted out the door with the dogs. She came into the room were I was laboring on the bed and I asked her to spoon me. I needed to feel flesh and warmth to feel safe. I wanted to crawl into a cocoon.  She got into bed and wrapped herself around my body. We talked a little (I don’t remember about what) and she went through each contraction breathing with me. The fear was really beginning to build.

I needed to get up and move a bit so went out into the living room where I could hear, Cerberus Shoal, playing on the stereo. Liz and I held each other rocking back and forth, dancing to the soft music while I moaned through a couple more contractions.

I looked at her and said, “I am so scared.”
“Me too.” She replied.
We cried into each others shoulder rocking side to side.

We went back into the bedroom and I screamed my way through a couple more contractions. This, anyone knowledgeable about natural childbirth will tell you, is not the best way to manage the pain. The intensity and pain was picking up. Liz called my midwife and at this point, I was still able to talk so I let Heidi know that the pain was serious. As soon as we got off the phone with her, my water broke. Liz called her back to let her know that the liquid was clear and Heidi replied, “I’m on my way – I’ll be there in 45 minutes.”

“Good gawd!” I thought, “I’m going to have this baby in 45 minutes!”  Little did I know, I was just transitioning into active labor which means I had about 6-12 more hours to go, at least.  Hal got back and as soon as he walked into the room I said to him, “I need the trash can, I’ve gotta throw up.” And then it began.

Active Labor

I labored with Hal until Heidi got there. Once Heidi arrived and assessed the situation relief and calmness filled the room. She helped me to find my center. Even though I had the intellectual knowledge that my body could birth Max, I was still dependent on a professional to tell me that I could do it – that everything was going normally.  After all, I had never experienced birth before this in any capacity. All I knew was what I read.  I needed to be reminded of what I already knew. As soon as Heidi said I was doing great, confidence swelled within me.

I tested positive for Group B Strep, so needed an IV of antibiotics. Heidi was having a hard time finding a vein to cooperate and I was having a hard time sitting still, so we opted for the two shots – one in each hip.

She told me at this time, “If your blood pressure goes one point above normal we are transferring to the hospital.” My blood pressure had ridden a little on the high side throughout my pregnancy but never reached that dangerous point of preeclampsia high. I was okay with transferring at any point for a medical reason. My decision to have a home birth was based on the fact that I wanted an honest opportunity to have natural childbirth. No interventions unless medically necessary. Heidi’s position comforted me.  I knew I was safe.

Phil arrived and Heidi directed him to get the small kid’s pool out of her car so Liz and him could start setting it up. My eyes were pretty much closed from here on out, only opening to walk. I tried lying on the bed and relaxing while the pool got filled with air and then water. I threw up again. Two garbage cans required as part of my Home Birth Supply List, and a roll of garbage bags. While I was preparing for this, I remember thinking, what will this be used for? And, why two?

Finally, the pool got filled with water.  I was a little leery about getting totally nude so slid into the warm water with my undies and sports bra. When immersed in the soothing water I didn’t like the way cotton felt on my skin so took off my underwear. Shortly after this, the phone rang. I could hear Hal’s mom’s voice yelling for him to pick up the phone. She called three times in a row – I wanted to rip the phone out of the wall.

Things started to really pick up at this point. The contractions were closer together (I never timed them, not once), they were painful enough to cut off my use of words.  Memory at this point, encumbered and taken over by the power of my primitive spirit.

I fell into a place that didn’t allow for language to seep in.  A place I could never imagine existing.  Any time I tried to think of something specific my mind just simply did not allow words to form. Forced to stop thinking. This was the first time in my life that a situation barred words from my brain. I just became what I was doing. I felt At One with my body. I could have labored a million and one years ago and it wouldn’t have felt any different. The connection to my primitive brain was strong, beautiful, powerful, wild, foreign, erotic, and uninhibited. As labor progressed, I began to move on instinct alone.

I labored hard but more comfortably while in the water. I moaned, moved, cried and eventually became the pain. Pain at this point ceased to bring fear with it. I welcomed it.  Pain was power the way suffering makes you stronger.  Before this point, I had moments of doubt, moments when I said out loud, I don’t think I can do this. My midwife knew I could and as Hal put it, she didn’t even entertain the thought of transferring to the hospital because I was complaining about the pain. {Though, for the record, if I had flat-out demanded to transfer she would have helped me and switched to support-person doula-mode once we got to the hospital.}

It was Heidi’s belief in me, her support alone that helped me find way to that sacred place within that only I could travel. We all give birth alone no matter how many people surround us.  The person I trusted to watch over me was the one who had the power to “make or break” my confidence. 

I reached 10cm while in the pool – mind you, Heidi didn’t check me every hour. She ASKED a couple of times if I wanted to be checked. I always said yes. She told me to listen to my body and let it lead me into pushing. Some people say pushing is the best part for them. Well, for me, it was the hardest part. Before I started to push, I got to a point where I thought I could labor for hours. I even fell asleep between contractions (30 seconds to a minute little sleepy-time). All I had to do was whisper, water or juice, and a straw hit my mouth. I was so relaxed and deep into Laborland that two other friends arrived unbeknown to me and just slipped right into the groove of the laboring women.

When I started to push, the part of labor Heidi kept referring to as “athletic” during our prenatal visits, became clear. I was pushing with deep grunts in the pool for a while when Heidi suggested sitting on the toilet to let gravity help bring Max down through the birth canal. Otherwise, she said, I could be laboring in the pool until the following day. I was nude except my black sports bra and didn’t even give getting out of the pool in front of all my friends a second thought.

Modesty no-more.

While on the toilet I growled, grunted, pushed, and yes… pooped. I actually got embarrassed and tried to clean my ass right there in the middle of laboring! Heidi said in a calm motherly voice, everybody poops, Michelle. I chuckled at her and thought of the children’s book of the same title. Okay, I had to surrender, pooping is a reality of labor – even when all your friends are there.

Did I mention, modesty-no-more?

After pushing on the toilet, I moved to the vanity area to get into a squatting position. During the move a contraction came on, pulling me down to hands and knees. Moaning and pushing, it passed. After it passed, I got in position to squat and push through the next one. Heidi sat in front of me, the large pad underneath my body to catch liquid, blood, poop, baby – what-ever decided to come out, Hal on one side, and Heidi’s birth assistant was on the other. We barely made it through the contraction before I said, “Hal can’t do this, his back!” Hal has a herniated disk that he wasn’t thinking about, but I was. I needed him to be strong after Max was born, too! For the next few contractions, Liz stepped in to support my 250lb. body into a squatting position. The two women holding me weighed half of what I did but their strength and desire to help was enough to support my big-momma weight.

We moved to the bed, next. This is where I started to feel sheer exhaustion kick in. To feel like I was making progress, Heidi asked if I wanted her to keep her fingers inside of me during each contraction. YES! I said. I needed to feel like I was making steps forward because it was _such_hard_work.

I labored in this position the longest: on my back propped up by Hal who was sitting behind me. Liz was pushing my right leg back and the birth assistant had the other leg. Heidi was in front of me, Monica behind her and Phil and Jenna alternated holding my right hand and giving me drinks. We were all getting tired and we all felt like Max would never come (except Heidi, of-course). The moaning turned into growling a deep throaty growl.

During this time, I felt very connected to Heidi. At one point during my pushing when she needed to leave to use the bathroom, I felt connected to her in a weird _I can see you even with my eyes closed_ kinda way.

She made a little joke, “If you have a contraction, you know what to do!” Everyone kinda giggled languidly and she walked away.

“Okay,” I thought, “I’ll just wait for you to get back before I have another one.”

I listened to her pee, the toilet flushed, she washed her hands, went into the living room, started walking back towards the bedroom, in the hall way – okay contraction, you can come now. She was back in time to put her fingers inside of me to guide Max down. That was the longest pause between contractions that I had since starting to push.

Then, Heidi said, “Look, Monica, can you see that, that is Max’s head! Your baby is coming soon, Michelle! Push for your baby!” I got excited knowing that the head was finally visible.

I heard Monica in a child-like excited voice, “oh my gosh, I see it! I see the head!” I was like, YES! Finally!

Again, Heidi suggested changing positions. Man, was this getting annoying. When the heck was I going to get to see Max?! I tried going through a contraction while lying over the birth ball, nope, didn’t work. I aggressively threw the ball accidentally hitting Phil with it while yelling, “I don’t like this!”

And then, suddenly, I felt Max.  I said, I need to get back in the water. I need to get back in the pool right now.

Everyone helped me into the pool. As I began to sit a contraction came on so I squatted into it. “Yes!” Heidi exclaimed. “That’s it, Michelle! Do that again!” I pushed a few more times – one right after another – while holding on to Monica. I heard Heidi asking her birth assistant to watch the time. Remembering that Monica has scoliosis and not wanting to hurt her, I asked if she was alright. She said yes and before she got to the “s” part of yes, I was pushing again.

“Okay, now Michelle – little pushes. Cough him out, now. He’s crowning. The burning you feel will be the top of his head coming out.” I was in such disbelieve that this was actually happening to me. It didn’t burn.

*cough, cough* I pulled off my black bra without thought, yearning for his skin to meet my breast.

“Do you want to feel his head?”

“No!!!!! I’m scaaaaared!!!!.” I cried. Hal and Monica, with my permission, touched his head while he was crowning.

“Okay, his head is out. Now a gentle but good push and he’ll be out. Hal, hold your hands like this to catch him.” Push.

I felt his whole body slide out of me. I fell back with relief.  I saw Hal’s face while he held him and looked at him – big smile and teary eyed.  I heard Heidi chuckle and have to tell Hal to give Max to me. He put him on my chest.  He couldn’t stop smiling and staring at our baby.  Max was so warm.  So sweet.

I laid there with him resting on my chest and waited for that sweet first cry. Exhausted. Blissful. Proud. There was commotion around me but all I cared about was Max and Hal.  And HOLY SHIT I DID IT!!!!

Heidi rubbed his feet and he let out a cry. The most beautiful cry he will ever let out.

Heidi didn’t forget about the placenta, like I did, and said, “With your next contraction, you’ll birth the placenta.” I was still in the kiddy pool of water. A few moments passed, I contracted lightly and she said, “Give a push – it will be easy and painless because there are no bones in this.” That was really weird to hear someone say. To think that someone else with bones came out of me struck me as bizarre! I birthed the placenta. It was perfect and healthy.

Hal and I crawled into our bed with Max and gazed at him. Hal held him while I got checked over. I didn’t tear at all but had some mean looking hemorrhoids. After being checked, having my tummy massaged, and given herbs and homeopathic meds, I took a shower.

Jenna made me some food, which I hardly ate.  Heidi took care of the medical stuff with Max.  And Hal passed out on the bed for about an hour. Max took a bowel movement on his way out so Heidi had to put a tube down his nose and suck out the meconium that was in his lungs. He was breathing kinda funny but eventually started breathing normal after she cleared his lungs. There wasn’t a lot of meconium so she wasn’t worried. After all got “Okayed” with Max, I tried to nurse him. It wasn’t easy but we (me with Heidi’s help) got him to successfully latch on.

Everyone left. Hal fell into a deep sleep and I snoozed with Max on my chest. It was 6am.
We took him to the pediatrician’s for a 2pm appointment that Tuesday afternoon and got the second, “he’s perfectly healthy,” stamp of approval.  Our new life started.

8lbs 1oz
Born at 4:01 am, Tuesday, November 9, 2004

Birthday #5 for Mr. Max

We had a small family birthday party for Max tonight at my in-laws.  My MIL baked the cake and then commanded my FIL to decorate it, barking orders at him something about green and the Incredible Hulk.  This is what he came up with:

The Incredible Hulk One-Eyed Clown? Awe, just kidding, Max ate the eye.  He was a little unsure as to what it was, too…

I think I may have to send this to Cake Wrecks, one of my favorite _make me laugh out loud_ blogs.

And this is me holding my brand new nephew who I happily snuggled with almost the entire night…

I have never been one to jump at holding an infant, EVER.  Now that I’ve had two of my own, and they are both far out of that stage in their lives, I just can’t get enough of that sweet newborn soft love.  My nephew is the best.  And the best part?  Why, handing him back to his mama, of-course.

Day 3: “I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all.”

Saturday started out pretty rough.

Words for a writer are like paint for a painter and wood for a carpenter.  Heart and Soul would rot of death if they had no access to the written word.  Had I been stricken with this awful disease before typewriters graced the tips of calloused fast fingers, if I had no access to a computer, the words would melt a hole in my head like a wild fire taking over a garden.  The stench of burnt and lost forever syllables would be torture.  Pain keeps the old fashion tools of pen and paper out of my hands.  I always need a way to spill my moonshine-mind out into the world.   To keep burning emotions locked in a manic-writer-brain would drive a word-smith into madness.

If you made it through the ashes of sorrow without pity, smugness, or feeling chafed by vexation, thank you.  I can hardly believe I share such pitiful reflections with total strangers through metal and wire.  I do appreciate your soft presence.  It is not without consideration for the worse of possible criticism that I write – yet I write as if you are not there anyway.  Though, there is something about knowing someone else is reading that keeps me from loosing perspective in the sea of self-pity suffering.

After the digging of anguish, much of the darkness lifted and dirt fell from my eyes.  It was a beautiful day by Florida standards, in the low 70’s, which allows for outdoor fun minus the usual buckets of sweat.  So outside we went…

On our way home from Lola’s, Bella gave Max all of her M&M’s.  He then shared all of his M&M’s with her, doling one out to her every time he ate a few.  I’m always comforted by how well they get along.  They have a strong bond, those two.