Hey Disney, What About the Rest of the Princesses?

Given the recent upheaval about Disney changing Brave's character, Merida, on their Disney Princess site, it begs the question why the other characters on their princess site are "updated" as well?  We just watched the original Disney Cinderella from 1950, and I did not even recognize their new version as Cinderella.  Fortunately, they have changed Merida back to her original image, however, the other characters remain a bedazzled, sexed up version of their predecessors. 

It's not like Disney princesses have traditionally been synonymous with feminism, but can't we at least leave out the extra make-up, sparkles and perfect hair?  Why have ANY of these characters been altered?  I understand that the sexier version of Merida goes against everything she represented in the movie and that's why people got upset, but why is nobody appalled at these other transformations?  What is this saying to our children?  I've already written at length about my feelings on sex being marketed to young girls (you can find that piece here), and this is no different. 

So I have to ask, "Hey Disney, what about the rest of the princesses?"  Shame on you Disney, for tweaking these beloved characters into what seems like their "Bratz" alter egos, just to make a buck.

CLICK ON IMAGE TO ENLARGE

Photo Credits:
Snow White (1937): Groucho Reviews
Cinderella (1950): Orangetagged.blogspot
Ariel (1989): OnTheRedCarpet.com
Belle (1991): Cineplex.com
Pocahontas (1995): Fanpop.com
Jasmine (1992): Cineplex.com
All "updated" characters are from the Disney Princess site

What To Do When Someone You Know Has A Late Term Pregnancy Loss

Over the past few months I have been asked this question personally, as well as seen the topic a number of times on online chat groups.  Since my loss at four months just this past December, I have a new perspective on this and thought I'd share, since it seems to be a bewildering topic that is best answered by someone who has been through it.  I'm fully aware that my situation could've been far worse and my loss could've taken place even later, but this was my 6th miscarriage, and getting four months into the pregnancy only to have it very unexpectedly end was, and still is, indescribably painful.

The easiest, most general advice I can give to anyone who may know somebody who has had the great misfortune to lose their baby late in the pregnancy is to treat that loss like you would any death in the family.  Miscarriages are still so taboo in our society, and people just don't respond the same way.  People don't generally flood your doorstep with food and flowers, the way they may do so if you lost a child they had a chance to know.  While I will admit that there is most certainly a difference, as I cannot even fathom the devastation I would experience if something happened to my 2 year old daughter now, and I realize it would be far greater than anything I recently experienced, I still believe that right out of the gate, I think the feelings are pretty comparable.  I felt equally incapacitated with grief and unable to function. 

Furthermore, women who lose a child that far along (or at any stage, really) are not just dealing with mourning a loss, they must confront the physical aftermath as well.  I had gone in for a routine appointment, expecting to be in and out with no suspicion that anything at all was wrong, and minutes later my entire world was turned upside down when there was no heartbeat.  I was presented with the option to either induce labor within the next day or two and birth my baby, being warned that I'd be on a maternity ward and that it may take days, or I could schedule a D&E.  I did not think I had it in me emotionally to handle the labor, so I went with option B.  Unfortunately, since I was so far along nobody would touch me, including my OB GYN.  I had to juggle phone calls between my doctor, my insurance company and several specialists, trying to get in for the procedure as soon as possible.  In the end, I had to walk around with my dead baby rattling around inside of me for an entire week.

One week to cling to the already large belly that I had.  One week to try to explain to my two year old that there was no longer a reason to kiss and hug my belly and tell it she loved it everyday.  One week to hang on to the last physical evidence I'd ever have that this child existed.  One week to begin the grieving process, and then have to start all over again once the baby and my belly were finally gone.  I felt movement very early, and could still feel it for that week, except unlike before, it was only when I made sudden movements to make it move.  I spent that week going back and forth from thinking maybe everyone was mistaken and it was still alive since I could feel it, to running to the bathroom because I felt like I was starting to bleed. 

Throughout it all, I still had a child to feed and a home to manage, but people just don't reach out in the same way as they do when other family members pass.  It was the few that did that made me realize how important it was, and prompted me to write this post.  Several sent beautiful flowers and gifts, and women I've never personally met from an online forum I belong to even got together and made a magnificent gesture of sending angel wings ornaments (this was Christmas time) and cards.  One kind friend took our daughter off our hands for the afternoon, just so my husband and I could be together and mourn.  And my mother brought us groceries, which was just huge.  Grocery trips are rather difficult (they still can be months later), because the stores are often filled with babies and newborns.  There is no way I would've gotten through a grocery trip that first week, and my husband was too busy back at work so he could afford to take off when I physically needed him after the D&E, plus he was taking care of my daughter and trying to keep up with all of the things I was too devastated to do - all while dealing with his own grief.  Then of course the D&E led to some issues afterwards, and it was quite some time before I could physically put everything behind me. 

So that is why my advice is to treat it like any death in the family.  Cook for them, clean for them, whatever they are comfortable with allowing you to do, but whatever can be done to make their lives easier, especially if they already have other children, is in my opinion, the best way to help.  I know the devastation would be far more insurmountable if my child had made it to this world and I got to know it first, but that didn't make it any easier at first.  I find myself never saying the word "miscarriage."  Since my other 5 losses were very early, before we even heard the heartbeat, to me they will always be miscarriages.  What I find myself saying instead is "when my baby died."  Because that's what happened - I had a baby and it died.  If I had a 10 year old child die there would be no euphemism to say in its place, I'd simply refer to that time as when my son/daughter died.  I don't do it consciously, but realized it recently.  So if you ever have the great sadness of knowing someone who has experienced this, treat it like their BABY died.  Not just an unspoken "miscarriage."  There was a baby, and they never got to know it.  I will forever wonder what my child would've looked like.  Whether or not they would've looked just like my daughter, very different, or somewhere in between.  I will never be able to know that child, but I will never forget. 

This brings me to my final piece of advice, which is to check in on that person.  Months down the road when everyone else's lives have moved on and everyone has forgotten...they will not have forgotten, and for them the pain is still very real.

The Importance of Creating with Children

Tonight I made bread with my 2.5 year old daughter, as we've been doing for some time now.  I wish I could say I was one of those moms who loved baking - I actually kind of hate it.  Or I should say, hated it...until now.  Cooking is my real passion - without measuring or following recipes, tasting as I go.  Even though my bread machine did all the kneading for us (sorry all you awesome baker moms out there!), my daughter was simply BEAMING at the chance to stand up high on a chair and help me measure the ingredients and slice the butter.  I am constantly striving to find more ways to involve her in things and let her help, as she loves to say, "Can I help?  I'm a good helper!"

She is always so excited to help me in the kitchen, and even asks for her apron and insists that I wear mine.  But tonight especially, she was just radiating bliss, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by two thoughts.  First, I really enjoy these moments with her, and think I may even love to bake now because of it.  Tonight I saw that her involvement makes it a completely different experience, and one that I don't want to miss out on.  I think I may even tackle real bread, just so she can knead it, even though all that keeping track of rise times and whatnot is not for me.  But seeing the joy she'll get kneading that dough certainly is.

The more important realization, something that of course guides our parenting but really hit home for me tonight, was that it is so crucial to create with children - art, music, and especially food.  It gives them a sense of pride being involved, and an understanding that things aren't simply purchased - somebody makes them.  Children are bombarded by consumerism, coerced at a young age to want and need material things, and I think cooking or baking with your child provides an essential lesson that not all things need to be bought at a store. 

I can hardly contain my excitement for this spring, when my daughter will be nearly 3 and can help me in the garden.  She had fun last year helping me rake the soil where we built the new garden, plant seeds, and every time she went outside she'd make a beeline for the garden to try to find things to help me harvest.  We got to taste things off the vine, and then she'd find all those green beans she picked showing up at dinner, where we could thank her for her help and point out those were the same beans she picked earlier.

I look forward to this growing season, when she'll be even more cognizant and able to appreciate more, as well as those seasons in the future when she can learn about composting, canning and more.  While everyone does not have the space for growing their own food, we can still create with our children.  Dance with them, play music with them, paint, knit, sew or do silly crafts with them...make english muffin pizzas if you don't know how to cook.  Even if you're not experienced in any of those fields, they aren't judging.  Help raise a new generation of contributors who will fill the world with more art, music, good food and all around beauty.

To the "New Moms on the Fence About Breastfeeding"

This evening I came across a piece titled "6 Reasons to STOP Breastfeeding," and while I hate to give it any additional traffic, I feel compelled to respond.  I acknowledge there are plenty of legitimate reasons many women have for not breastfeeding, either by biological force or by choice, but I cannot get behind any of the ones provided in the manner that they are presented in this article.  However, despite being in complete disagreement with her rationale, I have no problem with one woman declaring this list as it applies to her own life that I'm not living.  It saddens me a little bit, but in no way angers me that one mother may make these choices for herself and her children.  What I do find infuriating and somewhat dangerous is the closing statement, "I'm writing this for all the new moms out there who are on the fence about breastfeeding. I think there are plenty of real, but non-medical reasons to stop breastfeeding. And, they're valid reasons, at least in my opinion."

As I've already admitted, no, I don't think these reasons are valid, and addressing new mothers with such brazen complacency, acting like this is the solution to every frustrated mother's problems is astonishing.  Again, if these are issues/solutions for her - so be it.  Many would say there are ways around most of them, but I'm not here to speak to the woman that wrote that piece and tell her how to live her life.  I would like to address the same group of "new moms out there who are on the fence about breastfeeding." 

My daughter is 2.5 years old.  As I've discussed before, we did not have an easy start to our nursing relationship with her in the NICU and myself recovering from a c-section, but we persevered.  I am a stay at home mom to one child and I am fully aware of the luxuries that affords me when it comes to nursing.  My daughter was exclusively breastfed until just under 8 months, and I don't think I've touched my pump since she was 4 months old. So I fully grasp the kind of commitment this woman is referring to.  She still nurses at least 5 times a day, but I will be the first to say that if I was working full time, I do not think I would've stuck with it so far beyond that first year.  That, like the decision every other mom makes when it comes to breastfeeding, would be my choice and I'm not here to condemn anyone for choosing differently.  Again, I understand there are plenty of women who may not be physically capable, or arrangements with employment make it too difficult, or any number of other things that may deter achieving a successful breastfeeding relationship.  This is for the women who are able to nurse, but are still unsure about the impact it will have on their life. 

After reading the article above, I had the overwhelming urge to say one thing to those very same women she was speaking to.  It is such a SMALL portion of your life together with your child, and it means so very, very much.  When I'm 70 and my daughter is 36, this time in our lives will be nothing but a blink of an eye.  And I don't even have to wait that long.  On a day to day basis can the sleep deprivation and demands of being a mother make some days seem longer than others?  Of course they can, but other days I cannot even fathom that 2.5 years have already gone by.  Do I miss partying and doing what I please without consequence?  Hell yeah!  And believe me, a large glass filled with nothing but 3 shots of Jack Daniels used to be my drink of choice, so I'm well versed in the bar hopping lifestyle.  But that was what I did in my 20's, and now is the time that I'm spending growing and nourishing my child (hopefully children one day).  I guess I've always felt like parenting was more about self-sacrifice in the name of your child's best interest.  And while I'm certain sacrifices will continue to be made throughout her life into adulthood, I know that my daughter will not always require the level of commitment that she does now, and one day, a day that will come all too quickly, I will long for these days of incomparable intimacy with her.  The days when I can still pull her close and nurse her and have that connection with her.  There is really nothing like it, and nothing that would deter me from doing it again for as long as I could if we had another child.  I will never be able to get this time back, or have another chance to have such a tremendous impact on the overall health and emotional well being of my child.  When my body is finished making and nourishing babies, then I'll worry about appearances.  But even then, I wouldn't trade in my stretch marks or breasts that are no longer what they once were for anything, because they helped make the one thing that is the most beautiful thing in my world.

Giving Thanks and Never Giving Up

I wrote the following post just over 2 weeks ago, the night before finding out my baby was dead at 16 weeks.  In an ironic twist of fate, I had been up all night passionately writing, all about our infertility journey and how excited we were about our pregnancy.  We never dreamed we’d be able to have our first daughter, much less a second child, and I wanted to inspire hope for those who thought even one child may be unattainable.  I wasn’t going to publish what I’d written, because of the obvious devastation.  But a friend pointed out that perhaps I was writing this for my future self.  Maybe I need to heed the very advice I set out to convey to others about perseverance and never giving up on your dreams.  When I wrote it, I hadn’t the slightest idea that 3 hours later I’d wake up, go to a routine OBGYN appointment and receive the news that there was no heartbeat at 16 weeks.  No clue that I’d lay on that table while they double checked with an ultrasound, weeping and wailing once it was confirmed.  That everything we’d planned for was gone, and our whole world would be turned upside down in an instant.  So I decided to post what I’d written – for you and for me…

My second child is due this May.  It will be nearly 4 years to the day since I heard the doctor utter the one word I never thought I’d hear at 33 years old….hysterectomy.  I went into that appointment with such high hopes, thinking I’d finally found a specialist who would help me fix everything.  Needless to say, I was completely blind-sided by the recommendation.  Friends and family encouraged me, and even my husband felt that my quality of life was more important, and perhaps it was time to give up on having a baby.  I considered it…and came pretty close to going through with it.

My story is not a short and sweet one, nor is it an easy read.  But my hope is that for those of you who are going through it, I can provide a little bit of hope and exemplify just how important it is to keep yourself educated, have the courage to persevere even when everything seems stacked against you, and most importantly - never simply trust the word of a doctor because they say so.  For those of you who have not gone through it, or may know someone going through it, I sincerely hope you will take the time to read my story, so that you may have a better understanding of something that is so painful, and such a taboo topic of discussion.  It’s easy to just rattle off a list of treatments and surgeries, but there is so much more to it than that.  So much more physical and emotional pain with every cycle - so much heartbreak.  Infertility has to be one of the most isolating difficulties a couple can face.  It is such a unique sadness that at times it can feel like even friends and family just never seem to know how to comfort you unless they’ve been through it themselves.  And when it comes to acquaintances, somehow people can muster far more sympathy and even empathy for illness, but mention the word “ovary,” and most get flustered and seem confused as to why you would even say such a thing. 

Above and beyond the feelings of isolation, the daily physical pain and complications that came with my afflictions and nearly every treatment I sought, the greatest challenge by far was finding knowledgeable doctors, and continually educating myself.  I have had two different doctors tell me at two different post-op appointments that they had “no idea what that was” growing inside of me.  Unfortunately, these statements were regarding two completely different things.  To this day, I’m appalled by the fact that I had to contact a friend at the U Penn library to access medical journals so I could research these things myself.  I just couldn’t believe that a doctor would simply show up after looking inside my body during a surgery and basically say, “Yeah, um…there’s something growing in there…I got nothin’ – no clue what that is…have a nice day.”  One removed what he found (a web of scar tissue filling the inside of my entire uterus) in what turned out to be the worst method possible, and the other simply left what he found, because as of my final surgery, these other mystery growths are completely covering all of my organs in my entire pelvic region, and couldn’t be removed without scraping and damaging everything.  

It can be a little unsettling to hear that foreign things are growing all over your organs, with only a pathology report to guide your way to interpret the findings.  I tracked down a man who wrote the one article I found on the subject, just to make sure this was not something that had the possibility of becoming malignant.  Why was that my responsibility as the patient?  I would think a doctor would be inclined to take on the challenge of figuring it out in the 14 days time to the post-op appointment, and would feel like a fool to simply admit incompetence.  Yet, time and time again they did.  And every time they stopped asking questions, I’d move on to another doctor.

In three years time, I went through six doctors.  I had 3 surgeries in the last year and a half of that time, all performed by different doctors.  The first two surgeries each unveiled a completely new problem, which explained why all previous fertility treatments were utterly futile.  The doctor who diagnosed my PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) decided to simply send me home with prescriptions for 3 months worth of Clomid to make me ovulate, and Metformin for the PCOS, and told me to come back in 3 months if I wasn’t pregnant.  It was only through meeting other women on the Medhelp.org infertility forum that I discovered the standard protocols of treatment that my doctor was completely neglecting.  He refused to do ultrasound monitoring for residual ovarian cysts, even though it is quite common when stimulating polycystic ovaries for extra cysts to linger (hence the name - polycystic).  As a result, I was in the ER 3 times in my 7 months on Clomid for cyst ruptures.  Other things he overlooked were testing my husband’s sperm before putting me on all these drugs, checking that my tubes were open with an HSG (hysterosalpingogram), and most importantly, taking my progesterone levels each cycle to make sure the drugs were working and making me ovulate.  I had to kick and scream and force them to do all of these things, months into treatment.  Turns out the pills didn’t work several times, and by the end, I was on the maximum dose.  Needless to say, having to battle them to get the proper care, and ultimately not receiving it when it came to monitoring for cysts, only compounded the emotional stress and drain that came with each failed cycle. 

Despite my increasing cyclical pain, prescribing me 40 oxycodone for my monthly cramps, and once even hospitalizing me overnight when painkillers were not enough to control my cramps, this doctor refused to entertain the notion that endometriosis was a possibility.  I even had a family history of it.  The next doctor confirmed this diagnosis with my first surgery, and found the endometrial implants were pulling on my fallopian tubes.  When I asked if that could’ve been inhibiting the egg from successfully getting to my uterus to be fertilized during all those months on Clomid, she said, “Absolutely!”  She also discovered that the greater source of my pain was probably adenomyosis – a condition where the endometrial tissue grows within the muscular walls of the uterus.  And just as with endometriosis, where the implants scattered throughout the pelvis act as they would if they were inside the uterus – swelling with blood and then shedding it once a month in a foreign place, the same happens with the implants within the muscular wall in adenomyosis.  Because of this, it had really gotten to the point where there was very little time in my cycle when I was even remotely comfortable or pain free.  Every day I would wake up not knowing if I was going to be incapacitated in pain that day, or just have random stabbing pains where I could manage to function.  Unfortunately, unlike endometriosis, the implants cannot simply be removed, since they are in the muscular walls.  The only way to cure it is to remove the muscle all together – the uterus.

With this news came great frustration, but also comfort in knowing what I was facing, and the assumption that now that the endometriosis had been removed, I may at least have a shot at conceiving.  I simultaneously began seeing a reproductive endocrinologist that we had to pay out of pocket for.  So began the daily hormone injections in the belly, the IUI (intrauterine insemination) and IVF (invitro fertilization) cycles, and failure after failure.  Early miscarriages, complications like ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, and after my egg retrieval for my first IVF, I was not exactly optimistic because I showed up for the embryo transfer doubled over in pain with a terrible fever and awful pelvic infection.  For those of you who may not be familiar with the egg retrieval process in IVF, a vaginal probe is inserted with a large needle on the end of it.  The needle goes through the vagina and all the way up into the tender, swollen ovaries that have been stimulated to produce sometimes dozens of follicles with eggs, and each follicle is stabbed with the needle to extract the egg.  Each time I had it done I had 18 eggs removed, many women can have more.  You then have 3 or 5 days to hurry up and heal, before growing embryos are implanted back into the uterus.

After two failed IUI’s and a failed IVF, 10 months had passed since the first surgery and the daily pain was intolerable again.  Since the first had provided some relief, I scheduled a second surgery with a new doctor, who I’d recently switched to after many other incidents of incompetence by my last one.  This time, he decided to take a look INSIDE my uterus, where he found a dense web of intrauterine adhesions (scar tissue filling my uterus).  Aside from hearing the final doctor recommend the hysterectomy a few months after this, the post-op appointment for this surgery was perhaps the other rock bottom moment of my infertility journey.  I was informed that he found this tissue and that he had never, ever seen anything like it before (but removed it anyway).  He repeatedly emphasized while shaking his head and almost grimacing that I had “Just a boggy, BOGGY uterus!” – a term used to describe the severity of adenomyosis and how flaccid the muscular tissue is because it’s composed of blood filled implants.  He also handed me my pathology report, which described the samples of tissue taken from my uterine wall as “necrosis,” or dead.  Then he wanted to do another ultrasound to check on things, but I had to wait while he went next door first.  I sat there, trying to hold it together with the knowledge that all those recent fertility treatments were again futile given my uterus had been filled with scar tissue the whole time, that I was now up against some other unknown factor that this dipshit hadn’t bothered to research, that I’d now be forced to move onto another doctor again, and that word – “necrosis” just lingered in my head and made me feel like my womb was dead inside and I had no chance of ever conceiving.  In the meantime, he went next door to give an ultrasound to a VERY pregnant woman I had seen in the waiting room.  Through paper thin walls, I got to hear them talking about the positioning, what that meant for the impending delivery, their excitement, their laughter…  It took everything I had to wait until I got to the curb where I waited for my husband to pick me up before I began sobbing uncontrollably.

The news of what I would later learn was called Asherman’s Syndrome led me to find someone who was actually listed on the websites for this extremely rare affliction as a specialist, and astoundingly, he happened to work in the same office as my reproductive endocrinologist.  Unfortunately, even though he was only an OB/GYN, since he was affiliated with a fertility clinic my insurance wouldn’t pay.  In the meantime, I rather foolishly attempted another IUI and another IVF, thinking since he had taken the scar tissue out, all systems were a go!  More early miscarriages…more failure. 

I did a little more research and heard of something called ovarian drilling as a treatment for PCOS.  I was bound and determined that all the other doctors were incapable of cleaning me up properly inside, and I would go see this specialist, ask him to do the job, and at the same time perform the ovarian drilling.  It’s a procedure that has less than a 50% chance of inducing ovulation, and even less getting pregnant, but at this point, I decided I was done with the fertility treatments.  I couldn’t take ANYMORE hormones or procedures that caused my ovaries to swell with pain.  The drilling had at least a small chance of getting me pregnant naturally.  However, we had no means of paying for it all.  So after three years of me being in and out of employment and on and off bed rest, all the while paying in part for fertility treatments, we ended up putting our first home, a house we poured our hearts and souls into fixing up, on the market.

I marched into this specialist’s office with such enthusiasm that I’d found my savior.  I told him my story, and again, by this time another 8 months had passed since my second surgery, and the intolerable daily pain was back.  I told him I wanted the ovarian drilling, and if he could clean up any remaining scar tissue in my uterus (properly) as well as any endometrial implants I thought I had a shot.  He stopped me dead in my tracks.  He refused to do the drilling on the grounds that he was concerned about creating more scar tissue on my ovaries and causing more pain.  He told me it was time to consider giving up, and in his best judgment I should probably just get a hysterectomy. 

Like I said, I considered it, and quite seriously.  I was enduring a lot of pain at the time.  But after attending NYU, Drexel University, SUNY Cortland and Cornell for three different majors, the only thing I was ever sure of in my life was that I wanted to be a mom.  And not just be a mom, but HAVE a baby – hopefully several.  It was the only thing I’ve ever felt in my heart that I knew I wanted to do and be.  I couldn’t give up.  I also knew deep down that if I gave up then, that I would hold such deep resentment for the rest of my life for those incompetent idiots that had failed in my care all of those years.  And not just the ones for the 3 years prior, but all those doctors who never recognized the signs of my PCOS and endometriosis all along, and never treated me until my PCOS had progressed to the point where I gained 60 pounds in two years regardless of changing my diet and exercising, and my endometriosis was getting me hospitalized for menstrual cramps.  I had to at least try one last time with someone who I felt confident in, so that if it didn’t work after that I could be more at peace.

I went back into his office teary-eyed, and literally begged and pleaded.  I told him that “no” was not an option.  He very reluctantly agreed, and the surgery was scheduled just 2 weeks before we closed on our house and moved.  We paid for the surgery with what we made off of the sale of our home, and moved into my mother in law’s house.  Leaving our first home to move into someplace where another’s belongings occupied every nook and cranny was not easy. 

The surgery was a phenomenal success.  The first month immediately after, I ovulated completely naturally but did not get pregnant.  The second month, I got pregnant with our first daughter!  Of course, even that had a roller coaster start.  Initially some things were spotted on the ultrasound that were perceived as loose blood, and no heartbeat was detected by 7 weeks.  I was told to go home and wait to miscarry.  I remember very unsuccessfully attempting to work at the coffee shop where I was employed at the time, but being set into an emotional frenzy by every little cramp waiting for the bleeding to start.  They were convinced since my HCG levels were so high, there had to have been a heartbeat.  After a week of no bleeding, I returned to the doctor where there was not only a heartbeat, but the source of my astronomical HCG levels, as well as what was originally thought to be loose blood – 2 other gestational sacs!  We went from one to none to potentially THREE!  Fortunately the other two never got to the heartbeat stage, so there was no sense of loss.  Because of my PCOS I had not only ovulated, but done so 3 times all on my own.  So everything is always possible. 

Since having my daughter, my cycles have never been more regular, and more pain free.  In my entire life I never experienced anything like it – even as a 14 year old.  I continued to nurse because I felt that had to be contributing to the hormonal balance.  I got pregnant about 15 months after giving birth, but lost it in the first few weeks.  But we continued to try – month after month peeing on sticks, let down after let down.  I would cry when I would see friends post pictures of their adorable families, with my heart aching because I knew my daughter would make such an amazing big sister.  I felt the clock ticking away as I knew I couldn’t nurse my daughter forever, in what I perceive to be the driving factor in my hormone balance right now.  Finally, 26 months after giving birth I got pregnant again, 100% percent naturally.  After going through all of this, not only was it looking like we’d never have any children, but we never, ever dreamed we’d be able to have another.  

There are no words to describe the gratitude my husband and I feel in our hearts that we were successful in the end, and will now have the family we’ve always wanted.  Lucky?  Absolutely.  Some may say miraculous, and many say god had a hand in it all.  That’s your choice to believe, but since I don’t believe in god, miracles, etc... I can only affirm that had I not continued to search for answers, simply rolled over and refused to take control of my own treatment, not demanded to be properly cared for and refused to take “no” for an answer…I would be childless today.  We are ecstatic about our upcoming arrival in May.  Four years ago I never would’ve imagined we’d be where we are today – awaiting our second child.  It CAN happen.  There is always a chance that it will!

Thank you for taking the time to read my story.

Defining Feminism

Recently, Mothering.com's editor Peggy O'Mara published a piece claiming that breastfeeding, and more specifically, the right to breastfeed in public, is "the feminist issue of our time."  I had a flood of thoughts upon reading it, and I feel compelled to respectfully disagree. 

Let me start by saying that my almost 27 month old daughter still nurses 6+ times a day, even [gasp!] during the night in bed with me, and I have no issues with nursing publicly.  I think Peggy made some very valid points about breastfeeding being a basic human right, among other things.  However, saying it is "the feminist issue of our time" is a bold statement. 

My initial reaction was that the seemingly endless battles for reproductive rights would probably be at the top of my list of current feminist events.  Then I began expanding my view to encompass the international scope of women's rights.  I could feel my heart sink as I reflected on young girls who had their water poisoned at their schools in Afghanistan, or the BABIES who are raped and maimed in the Congo.  These are just two examples of the numerous atrocities committed against females worldwide, and suddenly, breastfeeding in public certainly did not seem like it was at the top of the list of feminist issues.  Even the assaults on reproductive freedom here in the US seemed somewhat myopic to me.

It is important to note that I am very passionate about rights for breastfeeding mothers, and infuriated by what has been going on lately with attempts to redefine rape, limit women's access to birth control, and disable the ability for a woman to make life transforming decisions about her own body.  I just wish that a few more feminists in the US would be equally outspoken and enraged about the treatment of women all over the world.  Rarely do I see information flying around social networking sites about the lives of the women in Darfur, or the acid attacks that are becoming increasingly popular in many countries.  I am a survivor of rape, a survivor of domestic violence and a survivor in general, but I am humbled to think of the things so many women around the world have to face in their lives everyday, just trying to achieve having their basic human rights met.  Is breastfeeding THE feminist issue of our time?  Personally, I don't think so.

Sexy Little Girls

The sexualization of young girls seems to be a disturbing trend in this country, and it leaves me deeply concerned about the types of things that will be marketed to my daughter as she gets older.  Sadly, I didn't even have to wait that long to discover inappropriate girls clothing, when I stumbled upon this bathing suit from the Gap while searching for my daughter's first suit.  I was shocked that a leopard print string bikini was being sold for girls ages ONE through five.  When I was a kid, my one piece suits had rainbows and hearts on them.  Not that those suits don't still exist, but I found my brow furrowing as I sifted through more and more sexy suits for toddlers.  Ultimately, we decided to skip the bathing suit and put her in nothing but an Applecheeks cloth swim diaper, which some may argue exposes more than a string bikini.  However, there are undeniable associations between sex and things like animal prints, string bikinis, fishnet stockings, thigh highs, short skirts/shorts, etc...  I would think nothing of seeing a 2 year old wearing only a diaper, or a six year old in a short jumper.  Yet I look at most of the young girls I see around my town, and many are wearing shorts that in my day we called "Daisy Dukes," because the super sexy (adult) character on Dukes of Hazzard always wore incredibly short shorts.  I suppose when I think of it, there was a trend in the early 80's for short gym shorts with white piping up the side (for both guys and girls), but the socks pulled up to the knees that often accompanied them just doesn't scream "Sex!" to me.  It just seems that the clothing currently being offered to tweens and younger has a very different tone than it did back then.

After seeing a photo that a friend posted of sexy tween Halloween costumes, I decided to fish around and see what's out there.  I make my daughter's costumes, as my parents did for me.  In 4th grade I was a tree - encased in cardboard that had a bark print on it, with small branches sticking out of my waist.  In 5th grade I was a ladybug, with a baby tub covered in red fabric and painted with black dots strapped to my back, and some black socks stuffed with other socks dangling from my shirt.  Even in junior high I remember Halloween being about fun and creativity - not how sexy I could look.  When I searched the other night, I found so many appalling costumes, many marketed to girls as young as 4 years old, that are not a far cry from a french maid outfit.  This one happens to be made for girls as young as 10 years old. 


I'm not exactly sure when or how this happened, but I'm so saddened by it all.  Clearly these things are being prominently marketed because there must be some parents out there actually buying them.  There are so many choices as a parent that while I may not practice them myself, I will happily dismiss as every parent's right to decide.  Whatever the case - video games, cell phones, sugary foods...I will usually say "to each his own"....EXCEPT in this instance.  Sexualizing young girls is NOT acceptable to me in any way, shape or form, and I will unabashedly declare it. 

I would by no means consider myself a conservative, puritanical sort.  I'm an atheist who'd like to think that I'm explicitly liberal by nature, and I am perfectly fine with educating children at a young age about sex.  Yet the implications of dressing young girls this way infuriates me to the core.  There is the obvious reasoning that children do not need any help attracting pedophiles and sexual predators, but there's so much more than that.  What sort of message does it send to an 8 year old that it's acceptable to exploit her not yet developed body and show it off?  Abercrombie and Fitch came under fire a while back when they introduced a padded bikini for the 7-8 year old set. Just what every girl needs! A complex that their breasts aren't large enough and their body isn't good enough before they even start, much less finish developing!  Last summer parents were livid when JCPenney was selling a shirt that said, "I'm too pretty to do homework, so my brother has to do it for me."  How is this any different?  I guess it's alright to send your child out into the world wearing shorts that from a distance look like underwear because they don't actually say on them "My mom thinks the only thing that I've got going for me is my body, so I should show it off.  Here ya go boys!" 

In an age where women are being forced to fight resurfacing battles over reproductive rights, isn't it time we start empowering our daughters to be strong, intelligent women instead of encouraging them to be sexual objects?  I know that's what I intend to do with my own daughter, and I can only hope that over the next few years this trend begins to subside, rather than get worse.  Sadly, I'm not entirely convinced that will happen.

The "I Help" Bag

My daughter just turned 2, and her blossoming independence seems to be showing itself more and more these days.  I find myself constantly trying to come up with ways to allow her to help, as she is always asking to do so.  Months ago she started helping me unload the dishwasher, despite the fact that I have to reposition or even hand her about half of it since she can't reach it, but it was clear how excited she was to do it.  It became a little problematic in that we could not load anything in front of her, because she'd come running in yelling, "I help!  I help!" and start to unload the dirty dishes.  So I started to show her how to put the dishes in too.  Even if it means loading the dishwasher in a fashion that would usually make me cringe, I think it's just as important for me to learn to let go and try to let her do as much as she is capable of handling.  Watering plants, "wiping" her little table when she's done eating, "drying" pots and pans...you can always see how proud she is of herself whenever she can help.

A few months back I began a ritual when grocery shopping.  As soon as the groceries start coming through the door, she always comes running saying, "I help!  I help!"  Sometimes navigating a toddler while unloading groceries can be quite challenging.  Especially if it's a trip she did not come along for, and she hasn't seen me in a few hours.  The "I Help" bag solves all of those problems.

What I started doing is finding all the boxes from the grocery trip that she cannot really do much damage to even if she gets into - cereal, crackers, tea, etc...  and group them into one bag.  As soon as she comes running, all the bags I need to tend to go up on the counter, but the "I Help" bag goes right on the floor for her.  She excitedly takes out each box one at a time and runs into the living room with it. There she will usually explore it for a moment and abandon it somewhere.  By the time she is done unloading and investigating the items from her bag, I am also done putting away everything else, and I give her a big hearty "thank you!" for her help and a high five.  The smile on her face whenever she feels like she's genuinely helped me is priceless. 

The Disposable Free Party

A disposable (and plastic) free party?  It CAN be done!  I was so intimidated by the concept, but so inspired by some like-minded mamas on an online forum I frequent.  If they could do it, why couldn't I?  I decided to put my fears aside and give it a try.  With careful planning and a few ideas to navigate clean-up, it was shockingly easy to pull off, and I'm excited to share how it is possible...

After scouring the web for eco-friendly disposable options for my daughter's birthday party, and finding out that even biodegradable utensils still contained plastic, I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  I found some wooden utensils, and some plates made from fallen leaves, etc... but in the end, I could not convince myself to pay such steep prices for things that would just be used once and thrown away.  I also laughed at the thought of myself explaining to guests that the plates were made of fallen palm leaves, and the forks from sustainably harvested wood.  I realize that some people may not have the kind of supplies I had on hand to initially pull this off all at once, but if you like to entertain, it is certainly worth considering investing in things here and there that can be used over and over, rather than throwing your money away on what is essentially trash after a single use.

MATERIALS:

Faced with the daunting task of serving appetizers and dinner to 45 guests, including 15 children, I began to assess my stash of dishes, silverware, napkins and potential glassware.  Before I even began taking inventory, I decided that even if it meant going to some yard sales, thrift stores, or even a  dollar store to get some additional stoneware plates, I'd rather purchase things I could have and use forever.  Thanks to the fact that our large dishes didn't fit in the dishwasher here when we moved in (forcing us to purchase another set), I had a substantial amount of dishes.  After years of entertaining, I was fortunate enough to have ample appetizer plates and bamboo trays that could double as plates for the kids.  Since we've been using unpaper towels and cloth napkins for years now, I even had a nice set of cloth cocktail napkins with just enough for everyone.  The final piece was glassware.  In addition to wine glasses, I used mason jars for drinks set up outside on a table by the beverage coolers.  Since I occasionally can our food, I did have a hefty stash of them, but decided to invest in one set of smaller jars that I knew could not only be reused for entertaining, but obviously everyday as well.  The $7.99 I spent on those jars was the only money spent on servingware, which was far less than purchasing even non-ecofriendly options of everything for 45 guests.


I felt the jars could stand up to use by children, but one sleepless night left me worrying about toddlers who may not be ready to drink out of traditional glasses yet.  This problem was solved by a quick email to all the parents, explaining that I was trying to keep waste to a minimum, and while I was providing water, homemade iced tea, and lemonade, they would be served in large glass jugs and jars - not juice boxes or plastic bottles.  I asked for any parents of small children to please bring their own sippy cups, and they happily obliged.

The only thing I was going to be slightly short on and unwilling to invest more in was silverware. For 9 years the extra stainless steel set I registered for at our wedding have sat in a box, and I was so excited to finally use them!  But even with salad forks and dinner forks, that only gave me 40 forks and 20 knives.  This led me to the next step of the planning process, which ended up being a lifesaver and what really enabled me to pull it off so easily.

EXECUTION:

I set up a station in the kitchen, right next to the counter on a rolling cart.  There was a tub for dirty dishes, with a sign pointing to the trash below, asking guests to please scrape their plates in the trash before putting them in the tub.  There was an additional labeled tub next to it for silverware, so I could access it easily and wash it if necessary to replenish my borderline adequate supply.  I had another sign next to the tubs for people to put their glasses on the cart, and finally, I hooked a fabric grocery bag to the handle of the drawer on the cart, and pinned a sign to it for "dirty napkins." 

All of the guests happily brought their dishes in and scraped them, and the fact that I didn't have to navigate through a stack of plates with stuff stuck to the bottom as well as the top made loading them in the dishwasher a snap.  I made sure my dishwasher was empty when the party began, and had planned to run a load of tiny appetizer plates while the entrees were being served, but some kind friends ended up washing that round for me by hand.  Nearly all the remaining dinner dishes fit in one load, and most of my serving platters are dishwasher safe, so I rinsed everything that would fit and stacked it and just ran those later.  All the jars (glasses) fit among the two loads.  So that was it - two loads in the dishwasher including some of my serving platters.  Easy peasy!

I almost didn't even need to replenish the silverware, and out of my 48 cocktail napkins, 18 were actually used.  I think when people are made aware of what they are using, that need to grab a stack of paper napkins diminishes, as does the drive to grab a paper plate and plastic fork, ditch it, and just grab another for more food.  We also provided a set of TV tables out on the deck (borrowed from my parents) and as many surfaces as we could to allow people to abandon their things and return to them later if they wanted.

I kept wondering what percentage of guests would think I was totally OCD and insane vs. who would think I was organized, but people were surprisingly accommodating and happy to do their part.  I only hope to provide those of you out there who may have toyed with the idea in the past the very same inspiration I found in hearing others who made it possible.  I cooked enough food that we lived off the leftovers (seriously - I did not lift A FINGER to cook!) for almost another week after the party, and yet amidst the cooking and the serving, I have to say that using my own reusable items was far easier than I ever imagined it would be! 




Appetizer Dishes (set up days before party)

A Case for Cloth Diapering

It is quite common when discussing cloth diapering for the debate to quickly boil down to the end result - throwing something away vs. reusing it.  Often people will say something to the effect that one baby's waste isn't going to overflow a landfill.  It makes sense to think in these terms, considering the word "disposable" is in the name of one of the diapers being compared, but there are far more factors involved that should be considered.  It is not merely a question of throwing something away or reusing it.

I'm sure there are plenty of valid reasons for parents to use disposables.  Whether it's that both parents work full time and daycare doesn't allow cloth, or simply a matter of being unaware of the simpler, cuter options available these days (many still envision the rectangular prefold with a giant pin under plastic pants)...  whatever the case, I'm not interested in condemning anyone for using disposables.  Plenty of people I know who are amazing parents do so.  I only hope to open up the discussion to include a much larger picture - one that isn't limited to negotiating the merits of not throwing something away.

An argument that is often mentioned in defense of using disposables is the depletion of a natural resource in the form of water consumption for washing cloth diapers.  Over 300 pounds of wood is used to produce enough disposables for just ONE baby for ONE year.  Each single-use, disposable diaper takes 1 cup of crude oil to manufacture, resulting in billions of gallons of oil used worldwide for diapers annually, and 246 pounds of plastic used to diaper one baby for just one year.  That is just under one TON of plastic per year for every 8 babies in disposables.  I believe that crude oil figure is limited to the production of the polyethylene, polypropylene, polyurethane and polyacrylate that are in the actual diapers themselves and their packaging.  It does not take into account the machines used to clear cut the forests involved in that wood pulp production, nor the tankers used to deliver the oil to the diaper manufacturers, or even the fuel for the trucks that deliver the diapers to the retail stores.  Certainly there is fuel involved in manufacturing and delivering cloth diapers as well, but those diapers can be used repeatedly for years - not just once for a few hours. 

As for water, there is plenty involved in bleaching the wood pulp, and toxic, carcinogenic dioxins are the result of this bleaching process.  These dioxins don't dissolve well in water, and attach themselves to microscopic plants and animals, where they are eaten by larger animals and begin their way up the food chain, ultimately reaching humans. Since dioxins are difficult for animals to break down, each time it is ingested by a larger animal the toxic concentrations increase, through a process called biomagnification. 

Just as there is a ripple effect with dioxin pollution, including poisoning the people who work at the plants and live in the towns where they are located, the environmental impact of disposable diaper production is far reaching on a global scale.  Indigenous people are displaced to clear cut forests or drill for oil.  Land, water and air are contaminated during the collection of the wood and oil, as well as during the diaper manufacturing.  Approximately 28 billion disposable diapers are used in the US alone every year, and it is estimated that it takes 250-500 years for one to decompose.  This rate may be slowed even further if wrapped tightly in additional plastic.  If you look at the instructions on a package of disposables, it should say that solids are to be discarded in the toilet before throwing away.  Most users do not do this and add human waste to landfills. 

At a time when our natural resources are dwindling, I urge any parents out there who may have considered cloth to give it a second look.  It's not just a matter of filling up landfills.  I realize that all the types of cloth diapers and numerous brands can be daunting, but there is an abundance of resources and helpful mamas all over the web willing to reach out to new cloth diapering parents and help them navigate through it all.  Beyond the environmental impact, I haven't even mentioned the best part of cloth diapering - it's more affordable than disposables, and above all...those diapers are so darn cute!

Life, Love and the Importance of Lactation Consultants

On the heels of the Whoopi Goldberg comments regarding the breastfeeding initiative, I felt compelled to share my birth story.  I’m sure there were plenty of other problems that could’ve occurred, but to us at the time, it felt like just about everything that could’ve gone wrong did, indeed, go wrong.  I was quite resolved to nurse my daughter from the start, but those days in the hospital were far more trying than I anticipated.  Were it not for the support of the amazing lactation consultants at our hospital, I’m not sure we would’ve succeeded.

After 6 hours of contractions 2-3 minutes apart (from midnight to 6am) we went in to the hospital with our awesome doula.  I was completely heartbroken to find that I was only one centimeter!  They quickly determined that my uterus was in spasm, which meant that between the highs of the contractions, it was never fully relaxing. So every time I moved the slightest bit I'd have a mini or full contraction. I couldn't even get to and from the bathroom without 2 extra contractions. So nobody could massage me, I couldn't move and I stayed frozen and tense for the majority of my labor because of it. I remember yelling at my husband in a panic when he caressed my arm because I thought it was going to bring on a contraction. Because I was so tense they gave me a sedative at about 7am. It knocked me out but not for the contractions. So I'd be completely passed out, and every 1-2 minutes wake up screaming and clutching the bed rails, and promptly pass back out. It was the weirdest, almost nightmare dreamlike state ever. By noon I was maybe 2 cm, and I pretty much threw in the towel on my natural labor. I think I may have hung in there if I had been progressing and knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel becoming even remotely visible, but 12 hours of contractions 1-3 minutes apart (and more hours prior) was wearing me out with no progression, so I caved. Not to mention the fact that my spasming uterus was basically keeping me locked up like a popsicle and threw that entire labor I’d envisioned of using the hospital birthing tub, walking around, etc...out the window.  I’m sure plenty of you 30 and 40+ hour labor moms would probably laugh at that, but in the moment that’s where I was at – I needed some actual down time where I wasn’t tensed up thinking I couldn’t move for fear of the impending contraction that movement would cause.

From the moment our doula called the doctor, he was unfriendly to her and refused to speak to her even though I was in the middle of a contraction when she called.  This behavior continued once we arrived, but he was gone by 7am and replaced by a much more considerate doctor.  The nurse, however, had an equally frigid attitude towards our doula. Fortunately, at 11am she left her shift early and we were switched to the most wonderful nurse who was there for me until 11pm. But the first nurse would practically roll her eyes when I asked to turn over, because it meant she had to reposition the heart monitor. Amidst my weird sedated state, I would only ask about once every hour and a half if I could roll over to the other side because she made me feel bad about it.

So we arrived at 6am, epidural and pitocin started at noon, and by 4pm the downward spiral began. I got a fever, and my daughter’s heart rate was elevated. I had also passed meconium earlier and was Group B Strep positive, so the clock was ticking. They tried to give me something to bring my fever down, and said they'd give the baby some time to get her heart rate down. Nothing was working. The other main thing was we went in engaged at -1 with her in the perfect position, and then my daughter actually started to move BACKWARDS throughout labor. Before they cut me open you could see her curled up in a ball just beneath my rib cage. I didn't even know this was possible!

By the time the doctors switched at 7pm the new doc came in and was unbelievably pissed that nobody had called it and cut me open yet. At that point he insisted to do so, and when I told him I needed to talk it over with my doula and my husband, he stormed out in a fury. The nurse came back and said that he said if I didn't agree he was calling his lawyer. It was all very upsetting but we could kind of see it coming. My doula was getting uneasy about the snowballing problems, and ultimately, the main deciding factor was that my daughter was simply not coming out but actually moving backwards, and I was not progressing. But I wasn't progressing even before I got the epidural so I don't necessarily think that was it. Even my doula insisted that there was no other option.

Within 10 minutes of OK'ing the c-section I was being strapped to a table with my arms tied down like jesus on the cross. It was at this point they informed me (after telling me otherwise) that this same doctor wanted to cover his butt and because I had a fever they feared the baby might have an infection, so she'd be staying across the hospital in NICU for 2 days. Everything I'd hoped for went down the crapper in those 10 minutes. I tried to stop crying about it all and waited to see my daughter. I remember my husband having to wipe my running nose and tears because my arms were tied down.

They took her out and it was decided my husband would go with her. I am so thankful that our doula had sweet talked the nurses and docs into letting her come in when he left. She was able to stay with me for the majority of the surgery while they put me back together, and she also stayed with me in recovery. I don't know what I would've done if I was there alone because I was there for over 3 hours in a windowless room with no baby, no husband and just a nurse going in and out late at night after a LOOOOOONG day.

They also convinced our nurse to let me see my daughter that night (beyond the 60 seconds I got to see her after they took her out when they held her up to my face on the table). They told the nurse how long we tried to conceive and how many painful years I'd been waiting for this baby, and even though the doctors wanted us separated so I didn't infect her with my supposed infection (my temperature immediately returned to normal after the surgery!) she agreed. The nurse brought her down to me in recovery and I got to hold her for 10 minutes, but 10 minutes only.  She slept soundly the whole time.

The next morning I was on an epidural and couldn't leave my bed, and my daughter was across the hospital in NICU. I kept harassing the nurse to get me off the epidural so I could go see her. My husband was bringing video of her back to me in my bed, and it was difficult keeping grandparents away until I got to see my baby.

By noon I was finally able to get into a wheelchair to see her, after incessantly pestering the worst nurse ever. Later, this same nurse returned to tend to my beeping machine a few hours after taking me to the bathroom for the first time after the epidural.  I told her I was relieved because I needed to pee again.  She replied, “You don’t need to buzz me for help if you have to pee, that was just for the first time.” So at less than 18 hours post c-section, she told me this and stood there and watched as I struggled like a turtle on my back trying to get out of bed, and continued to watch me hobble over to the bathroom and go by myself. 

When this nurse finally got everything in place so I could be removed from my epidural and do all the things I needed to see my daughter, I got wheeled a long distance across the hospital.  Obviously they were giving her formula, but they were very supportive of my breastfeeding. I was so doped up on percocet I could barely keep my eyes open, and people had to practically help me hold her the first time I got to really meet her. I still cry when I look at how out of it I was in those pictures. The first time I nursed her was behind a screen in NICU, with the stiffest hospital pillow on my lap, and it was really difficult to position her and lean forward with the c-section.

When I went back to my room I kept trying to pump and was completely unsuccessful.  Not a single drop would come. They say you need a baby for the hormonal response, so in desperation I put on the newborn channel on the hospital TV in some pathetic attempt to get a response. My husband spent the majority of those first two days with our daughter, which was what we both wanted. I had seen several lactation consultants at this point who showed me how to use the pump and watched me nurse, but FINALLY one came in on the second day and got me bigger flanges for the pump so my nipple wasn't rubbing against the edges when it pulled in and out, and...SUCCESS! I remember shuffling out to the nurse’s station with my measly ounce of milk and being so proud!  If it weren’t for the help of that LC, I’m not sure if I had it in me to keep trying to pump without my baby there - especially when it was hurting so much because the flanges were too small. 

After the first meeting I would deliberately NOT take my pain pills when I knew I was going to see my daughter, but it made holding her and trying to nurse her excruciating. I had dreamt of this being such a beautiful experience for us, and there I was under fluorescent lights with a stranger’s family on the other side of the screen, grimacing while I tried to sit in an uncomfortable chair with that damn stiff, awkward pillow on my lap nursing her.  At least she had an excellent latch. The lactation consultants were phenomenal and checked on me often and came with me to the NICU multiple times to help.  They were so supportive, and I can remember one coming into my room first thing when she arrived for her shift, because she wanted to see how I was doing right away after meeting me the day before.  She said she’d thought of me often overnight and hoped we were doing well.  She encouraged my husband and I to do as much skin to skin contact as possible with our daughter, and she was so pleased to see that despite our rough start being across the hospital from one another, I was still trying.

When they finally gave her to us in our room after those first 48 hours, they said she was getting jaundiced and we had to overfeed her. At this point, as first time parents hearing threats of taking her away to go under the lights, we were willing to do just about anything they said and didn’t give it a second thought. We had her pounding formula and nursing ‘round the clock. Less than 12 hours after she was in our room with us, they said she didn't look good and suspected that the results of the blood test they just took were going to be bad and she'd have to stay under the lights and not in our room.  They said they’d probably be back in a few minutes to take her away as soon as the test results came back, and that she probably wouldn't be going home with us if it was as they suspected. I instantaneously lost it and was in complete hysterics until 20 minutes later when they came back and said she just squeaked by on her blood test! They had just given her to me and they were going to take her away again? And factor in postpartum hormones? HOLY! Thankfully everything went OK from that point on until our release from the arctic hospital, into a 105 degree summer day.

I still can't really tell the story verbally to anyone without crying, and every time I see that triumphant moment in a movie where the baby is handed to the mom to nurse it I get choked up. To this day, I haven’t been able to get through reading “On the Day You Were Born” without sobbing. I think it would've been a lot easier to swallow if she had been in my room waiting for me after recovery and we could've gone from there.  In the months that followed people asked about my “giving birth,” and I never felt like I gave birth to her.  I felt like they took her from me, in more ways than one.  I guess I still feel that hesitation whenever “giving birth” to her comes up, because it feels misleading.

But despite it all, despite spending those first few weeks home lamenting about the bonding we missed that I had played out in my head over and over....a friend of mine who is an amazing midwife said it best – “Birth is about separation, not bonding. It is probably the most literal example of separation. You have a lifetime to bond, and you and your baby are already connected.”

She was right. Upon returning home, we nursed exclusively for the first 7 months, and continue to do so today. We have shared a bed every night, and at nearly two years old, I still wear her occasionally, despite her enormous size. Others may have their own means of bonding, but for me those things helped tremendously. I can proudly assert that everyone who meets her says she is the happiest baby/toddler they've ever seen, and not the traumatized little baby I anticipated because of our separation at birth. We are so, so close, and yet, she is independent as can be and often running away from me down the street! She is a social butterfly at parties and could care less if I’m around in those situations. Yes, that rocky start is painful to think about, but in the long run, it sounds crazy to say but it didn't really matter. What mattered was things like the  lasting relationship the LC's helped me establish, not the separation.  No matter what type of birth you have, that love and intimacy can still be cultivated, even if you are denied it immediately following the birth.  She’s happy as can be, and we have an undeniable bond…and we always will.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story!

Is Technology All Good?

As a child born in the mid 70’s, my generation has witnessed a pretty radical lifestyle shift due to technological advances.  It is a transformation that will no doubt continue to insert itself further and further into our lives with the development of each new “must have” gadget.  It begs the question – are these things really “must have” items?  I grew up with a hand-me-down walkman, and my first one speaker boom box with a shoulder strap (which I thought was the greatest thing ever!) wasn’t bestowed upon me until the 5^th grade.  After saving babysitting money years later, I purchased my first CD player in 9^th grade.  My parents didn’t get cable TV until we’d all moved out, so my childhood television viewing was limited to VHF/UHF, and we had a giant antenna in the attic that my father would go up and adjust while the chain of kids would yell up from our remoteless, knobbed TV in the living room to give the OK that the reception was clear.  Do I feel deprived in the least?  On the contrary, I think we were quite fortunate.  I do not necessarily believe that we as a society are better off with all of these techno toys.  I’m sure many would disagree, but I feel like for children it encourages the slow death of imagination, and for some, it can drastically alter their abilities to seek information and formulate intelligent thoughts without pushing a button first.  Most importantly, all of these technological accessories that have infiltrated nearly every aspect of our lives can take away dramatically from family time.  The compulsion to equip each family member with every electronic “necessity” is contributing to a society where parents spend far more time working, and causes an increasing economic struggle as more and more “required" items enter our lifestyles.

I believe some of the driving forces behind the incessant pursuit of all the latest and greatest devices are celebrity worship, and/or the almost obligatory American desire to acquire status symbols.  In the 80’s, only the wealthy could talk on seemingly unattainable car phones.  With global corporate expansion and sweatshops abound, we now have an affordable means for the middle class to connect to the upper class.  The school teacher with a modest income may not have a million dollar home, but now they can have the same iPad as someone who does.  It’s a morsel of luxury and status thrown out for the rest of us to enjoy.  (Insert celebrity here) has XYZ smartphone, and I can have one too!  But now my husband and son need one, and the kids need iPods, and no respectable member of the middle class could be caught with an old tube television, and of course little Janie is on the computer all the time, so I guess we need a second computer, maybe even an iPad, and let’s not forget cell phone plans for all of those smartphones, and the multi-room DVR cable package for all of our TV sets.  When will it be enough?  What cost are parents and children really paying for all of this “connectivity” and convenience?  Who are we really connecting to? 

My husband and I have no desire to own a smartphone, and at least once a month I question whether the two of us even need cell phones.  I realize there are probably quite a few professions out there where there is an expectation that you must stay connected by all means possible, and in that instance, I’m sure a smartphone could almost be deemed a necessity.  But does the 20 something barista at my local coffee shop or a 10 year old child need to maintain that sort of connectivity?  It pains me to see people dining out with friends, and everyone at the table has a cell phone in their hands, rather than engaging in conversation.  I wince even more when I see parents do it around their children.  Every time I see a toddler in a doctor’s waiting room playing games on mom’s phone, my heart sinks deeper and I begin to wonder what the world will be like when my daughter grows up.

Well meaning friends and family have given our daughter their phones to play with on a few occasions, and we usually oblige because we’re not that concerned about a handful of exposures.  However, it is simply not built into my instincts to reach for my phone to entertain her no matter where we are, and the same can be said of my husband.  Our goal is to try to inspire her to create, imagine and play freely as much as possible.  We live by a pretty strict no plastic unless absolutely necessary policy in all aspects of our lives, but particularly when it comes to our daughter’s toys.  There are a few silicone teethers and a rubber duck made of natural rubber, but beyond that, no plastic.  This means she doesn’t own anything that plays tunes at the press of a button with flashing lights and eye catching moving parts.  However, she does have tons of musical instruments, and she loves to grace us with performances.  She has cars that move if she makes them go, and she delights as they race across the floor.  She adores dancing, and will even take her “babies” for a romp on the dance floor, but the only movements they perform are those that she does for them, not the other way around.  At 21 months, I have watched as she continues to “invent” little games, and these are the things that most often induce uproarious laughter.  A few months back, I was upstairs when my mother was babysitting and heard my daughter’s shrieks and giggles echoing through the house.  I came down to find the source of the commotion was that she had taken a water bottle and turned it upside down on a spoon handle, and was shaking it back and forth to rattle it.  Another time I came back from the bathroom to find her standing at her table, blissfully entertained while spinning her baby that was draped over a bowl.  A few days later she and I spent quite some time taking turns rolling a ball around inside a bowl as fast as we could until it flew out.  That unexpected moment the ball would fly out cracked her up every time.  I realize that many toddlers are completely satisfied with simple items like boxes, and perhaps many would do the same as she had.  And yet, I can’t help but wonder if she would’ve been so utterly happy and captivated during any of these instances if she had spent the last year and a half inundated with toys that do everything for her. 

My intent is not to shame parents about their plastic toys or for using smartphones.  I think every parent makes the choices they think are best for their children, and everyone has different things that are important to them.  As long as parents love their children I respect those decisions, even if it includes giving them all plastic, animatronic toys - just as I’d hope they’d respect my decision not to.  I don’t know their situation or their reasoning and I don’t pretend to.  I’m also not trying to say that all technology is evil, or the internet is bad, or computers are bad, or even smartphones.  I realize that many of the things I’ve spoken of have their merits, especially when it comes to accessing and sharing information.  I don’t think that all kids should be limited to the 1963 edition of the World Book Encyclopedia when in the confines of their home to do school reports.  Information is fantastic!  But learning in the process - having to read through pages to find what you’re looking for, and having the ability to access that information beyond pressing a few keys is extremely critical.  Beyond that, imagination is even more valuable, as is human interaction - especially in families.  It is the excess with which our society has begun to cling to all things technological that concerns me.  The implications of it all on our children…on ourselves…. How many people are struggling that much more to maintain a lifestyle of data plans, service contracts and continual upgrades on their futile quest of keeping their devices from becoming obsolete?  Is the economy the only thing to blame for the diminishing middle class?  Or is it the inevitable result of a society perpetually striving for just too many material objects - objects that didn’t exist 5, 10 and 20 years ago.