For preggos

Labor Prep Guide -

BORN! @ exactly 32 weeks (Julianna's birth story: PG-13 for language)

Wednesday, Dec 16th, 2010
Sao Paulo, Brazil
10:30pm

Isabella was asleep in her bed. Rosemary was in the US. Roberto had just walked out the door to go for a jog. I was cooking dinner for myself -- penne w/chicken in a creamy tomato/red wine sauce. I ate one bowl-full. Went back to make some adjustments to the sauce and eat some more. I had the serving spoon still in my hand when suddenly a trickle of water ran down my leg. I looked down at the clear liquid on our white tile floor, confused.

I was 31 weeks and 4 days pregnant; the baby wasn't due until mid-February (I was hoping for Feb 14, as Rosemary is Apr 14 and Isabella is June 14 -- and all natural births, no inductions/cesareans).

I stared at the water continuing to trickle and puddle on the floor. I put the serving spoon down, and started whispering to myself, "Okay, what do I do? ...What do I do? ...What do I do?" I trickled down the hallway to the bathroom to check that my Kegel muscles were still working. And they were. It wasn't urine. I could make urine stop; I couldn't make the water stop. And it smelled sweet, and it was clear. Definitely amniotic fluid. I went back to the kitchen. I cleaned the floor. I got a towel to sit on. I looked at the clock. I called the midwife, for possibly the first time ever; usually I email her.

We talked. She wanted to make sure it was amniotic fluid. She told me I could go to the hospital to check, which is what I thought she would say. I was hoping there was some trick I had forgotten that would remedy the situation. There wasn't. When I hung up the phone and sat up, water that had pooled from not being allowed to trickle gushed out.

Roberto wasn't home yet, and he didn't have his cell phone with him. I called my mother-in-law. Then had to decide between laying still on the couch to avoid making the situation any worse, or cleaning up my husband and toddler's gigantic household mess--since my mother-in-law owns the apartment and hadn't seen the inside in a year...

I chose to clean up the mess.

And then I packed a bag for the hospital with my wallet, camera, and an extra pair of socks. I like clean socks.

My in-laws and a very sweaty Roberto all walked in the front door simultaneously. The dog started barking, and we all forgot to tell her to shut up, so Isabella woke -- thrilled to find her grandparents there. Roberto took a quick shower, and my in-laws packed-up Isabella to take to their house. Bella gave me an excited kiss and ran out the door. We let them take the first elevator so Isabella wouldn't get suspicious.

In the hospital, the nurse wanted to do a vaginal exam "to see if you are in labor and need a cesarean". Which, by the way, is total fucking bullshit. Luckily I knew that. I also knew that I shouldn't consent to a vaginal exam with my water broken (every exam after water is broken increases risk of infection, even with a sterile glove), but, honestly, hospitals are SO intimidating, and the nurse with her gloved hand wasn't willing to walk away without a fight, and my husband was looking at me like I was crazy for not doing what the nurse said, and I was afraid to cause trouble and start getting rough treatment that really would lead to a cesarean...

I wasn't dilated. And no contractions. And the baby's heartbeat was great, as always. Later, test results showed us there were no signs of an infection that may have caused my water to break; the cause was unknown, as is fairly common with premature rupture of membranes (or in my case, preterm premature rupture of membranes -- "PPROM").

When the nurse had her back turned, I made an unladylike gesture and mouthed to my husband "No fucking way am I getting a cesarean". I needed him to know that I had snapped out of my fear and expected to have control of this situation--that we were not going to blindly follow anybody's orders, and that he needed to prepare to deal with that.

So, I was checked into my room and at 3am was given the first steroid shot to ripen baby's lungs in case he/she was going to come within the next two weeks; the second shot would come 24 hours later, and the drugs would have the greatest effect if baby stayed put until at least 48 hours after the first shot.

We were still hoping to hold the baby in for at least two more weeks, if not the full eight. They told us that if baby was born then, at just under 32 weeks, he/she would probably be in the NICU for over a month. If we could hold the baby in until 34 weeks, he/she might stay in the NICU for half that. My husband asked our midwife if we'd still be able to have a (2nd) homebirth if we still managed to go past 36 weeks. She responded, "Forget about it," and predicted we had 10 more days at the very, very most.

We had to choose a doctor and a hospital. We chose the doctor who works as back-up for my midwife, and, after viewing the NICU, we chose to remain at our current hospital, which was closest to our home (a 7-minute walk). It's a very expensive, private hospital with a 90% cesarean rate, but the care is reportedly good, and the NICU nurse answered all my questions with the "right" answers.

As long as I worked to control my emotions, I had almost no contractions the two days in the hospital after my water broke, but I continued to lose lots of clear, sweet-smelling amniotic fluid. The NSTs continued to show that baby was doing very well -- good heartbeat, active, happy. I kept drinking as much water as I could to continue to replenish the fluid... Eventually I realized the only time the fluid stopped leaking was when baby's head was acting as the plug--when I was sitting or standing. So, although no one else said it, it seemed to me and Google that the hole in the amniotic sac must be down low, near my cervix. Meaning pretty much no chance for self-repair. A tear at the top of the amniotic sac might have been able to repair itself, under just the right conditions. Bad luck.

We had an ultrasound to see how things were -- the first ultrasound of the pregnancy. And they respected our request not to find out the baby's sex. (Whew!) And everything looked really good. But I had already lost a lot of fluid. A lot. My belly literally looked smaller when I looked in the mirror. I looked five or six months pregnant instead of seven. So I kept chugging water. And going to the bathroom.

We were sent home the evening of the 2nd day with instructions to be super-careful to avoid and prevent any infection (take propolis, echinacea, vitamin C; sit on sterile towels...). And we would need to come in for ultrasounds once a week to check on things. I could feel Roberto's tension growing, knowing he was thinking about the time and money he was going to be losing.

We were home only an hour or two before contractions started -- about 44 hours after the first steroid shot. I drank tons of water, took some magnesium, then tried beer. The second Heineken worked; it stopped the contractions enough that I could sleep for three hours, anyway. (Thank you, Heineken; as far as pale beers go, you're a'ight.)


Saturday, Dec 19th, 2010

I woke at 6:30am, and contractions were light and infrequent. But they started returning by 8am. They were exactly 8 minutes apart, except more often with movement. I tried a bath at the doctor's instruction, but, while it helped me to cope, it did not slow the contractions at all; this was real labor, and it was happening fast. I talked to my midwife over the phone (midwife trick: See how the client sounds over the phone; if she's talking through contractions, she's still got some time to go). At the end of the conversation, she told me she would bring her birthing stool to the hospital, which I had requested when I interviewed her earlier in the pregnancy. At this moment, another contraction came on, and I realized I was really going to birth an 8-weeks-premature baby in a hospital today, and I almost started to cry as I told my midwife, "I'm not sure if I care right now..."

I had to get out of the bath and head for the hospital. I felt overwhelmed. The contractions H*U*R*T. (I can now say that faster DOES hurt more.) I couldn't shake my fear of what would happen with a premature baby. (Fear ALSO makes labor harder.) I was already moaning loudly with each contraction. This was serious.

Roberto was rushing me out the door as I tried to pull together the things I wanted for the birth. I tried to tell him he didn't need to be in a bigger hurry than *I* was, but he was too nervous to listen. And MAN is he a bossy pain in the neck when he gets nervous. But so am I. He was pulling me into the elevator when I started crying because "NOOOO, I won't go if you don't bring your guitar!" If my labor slowed down in the hospital, I wanted to be able to continue with elements of my original birth plan--which included Roberto with his guitar, giving me some rhythm to focus on during contractions.

I reminded him that he needed to just do what I said, because his tension and bossiness would increase my tension, which would increase my PAIN. And aside from that, I've been studying birth for some years now in addition to previously birthing two children, so there's really no contest on which of us is more qualified to be in charge of this situation! He didn't see it that way, but he did get the guitar so that I would shut up. Although when we arrived at the hospital, he left it in the car.

I don't think I had any contractions in the car; the vibrations felt GOOD--later I realized it was because they were helping the baby maneuver down. I had brought a pair of nail clippers with me, and while Roberto drove like his usual crazy self, I calmly chanted "It's okay, It's okay, It's okay..." while I clipped my nails. I knew I wouldn't want any germs under my nails later when I handled my premature baby. And I needed the chant to stay focused. My baby needed me to stay focused and make this easy on his/her tiny self.

When we arrived, my husband told me that our midwife and her back-up doctor (who managed to get special permission to attend our birth at this hospital) were both already in the hospital, somehow. We live three blocks away; they both live/work at least a 20-minute drive away with no traffic.

Contractions in the ER wheelchair upon arrival sucked, until the attendant started rolling the chair, and then those vibrations felt as GOOD as they had in the car. Then the attendant dropped me off in the exam room and made me sit on the bed-thing. Those contractions sucked, too. I instinctively felt that I needed to shake my legs, hard, with each contraction, which was hard to do with them dangling from the edge of the bed. I also dealt better with contractions if I was upright and staying still -- NOT laying down.

Suddenly, while still waiting in the exam room, I needed to throw up. The nurse left the room to go get a bag, but Roberto was smarter and just brought the trash can closer to me -- just in time. I threw up (orange juice)--twice. I reminded Roberto that in both Rosemary's and Isabella's births, I threw up (and twice in a row) almost exactly two hours before they were actually born. So when I threw up, I knew my body hadn't gone crazy -- it was doing its work; we were still on the same team. This was good news, because I really wanted a beer or some drugs or a cesarean so I wouldn't have to feel this panic at birthing prematurely. I think I did mention beer a few times, but I didn't ask for anything else. I really didn't want this possibly-already-compromised baby to come out drugged.

My midwife and doctor came in to the exam room, looking like angels. Even though they had never attended a birth at this super-cesarean-happy hospital, the regular staff stayed completely out of their way and let them take over. They looked confident. I was so proud of them.

My midwife checked me, and I was declared 4cm dilated, to which I replied, "That's bullshit!" But I knew that there is no standard timeframe for dilation (although some docs will insist on at least 1cm/hr and induce you if you can't make it happen). I knew I could dilate to 10 in just a few minutes if conditions were right. My midwife also mentioned that a premature baby could be born without my being completely dilated. I also knew that even full-term babies can be born without complete dilation, if the mother is really listening to her body. I wasn't worried, but the contractions HURT, and the only number you EVER want to hear during labor is "10" anyway.

My midwife gently rubbed circles into my lower back during contractions--which were coming in groups of three!--and it made them so much more bearable just to have that attention. I would feel almost panicked when she would walk away from me to talk to the doctor, because I needed her for each contraction. Baby's heartrate was checked and was excellent.

Before I knew it, they were sending me to another room, where I assumed I would stay. I was checked again -- 6cm. I went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet with the door open for a few contractions (this is a good, often-comfortable position for labor, and it's good to have an empty bladder for baby to move past). Suddenly, my FATHER-IN-LAW walked into the room! I started yelling, "NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!!" I don't know if he saw me sitting on the toilet, half-naked, contracting, simultaneously pissed-off and bewildered, but he did leave immediately. I couldn't believe they'd allowed him into the room, but now I realize they were not used to natural births at that hospital; normally, their birthing mothers are drugged and quiet and social, I guess.

With each contraction, I was stomping my feet on the floor; I could feel the rhythm and vibration bringing the baby down. I was checked again -- 8cm, and feeling pushy, which sent them into a panic. I knew the baby wasn't coming just yet, but I didn't know I wasn't supposed to birth in that room. They had me lay down on a wheeled bed and rolled me to yet another room -- turned out to be their delivery room. Contractions laying down were horrible, but the vibrating movement of the bed down the hallways still felt GOOD. The car ride, the wheel chair, the rolling beds...all felt SO good.

When we got to the delivery room, I was surrounded by a number of unfamiliar people in scrubs. My midwife later told me that while she was scrubbing up, some nurse commented to her, "It will be a cesarean, of course?"

I noticed the lights in the room had been dimmed, which was very nice. But I looked around and didn't see my husband, midwife, or doctor, and I started to feel a twinge of panic. Nurses were trying to take off my shirt, but I was in the middle of a contraction and wouldn't let them.

Soon, my midwife and doctor came in -- everyone in the room, except me, had to don scrubs!! (Preparing for a cesarean, or was this a normal birthing preparation??)

Again, my midwife later told me that the anesthesiologist had come up behind me and said, "I'm going to do the epidural now." And my midwife had answered for me, since everything was in Portuguese and I wasn't listening, "No, we're not doing that!"

My midwife helped me move off the bed and onto the birthing stool, with lots of clean sheets covering it and the floor. I took off my shirt but did not put on a gown. I think probably none of the hospital staff had ever seen anyone give birth that way before, but it felt good to sit there. This would be my last birth, and I still wanted to feel free and do it my way. Plus there may have been cat fur or other germs on the shirt, but my chest was clean.

I opened my eyes after another contraction had ended and asked, "Where is Roberto?!", and he raised his hand from across the room, "I'm here, baby!" -- I hadn't recognized him fully decked-out in scrubs! My midwife called him over to our side of the room, and he sat in a chair behind me where he could rub my shoulders a little bit. Normally he's not great at shoulder rubs, but, in this moment, I just desperately needed to feel his presence. He stopped rubbing at one point when a contraction was beginning, and I thought I would die. "No, no!" "You want him to stop?" "No, DON'T! STOP! Roberto! NO, I mean, DON'T STOP!"

I saw a drop of blood fall onto the white sheet, and I thought, "Is that supposed to happen?" When my midwife pointed it out to me, I figured not. Time to start pushing. I don't know how long I pushed, but I think it was through a couple of contractions. There was a cervical lip that the doctor moved out of the way; I'd thought that would hurt, but it felt good--necessary. But after that was the 'ring of fire', and I could feel my skin stretching TOO MUCH. It felt as though my clitoris would tear, and I did NOT want to be touched while this was happening.

I asked if I could touch, because I had been too timid to do so during my previous two births. I felt my baby's scalp, and I kept my hand there for a while.

Then it's almost a blank for me now. I don't know how long anything took. I know I felt the baby's scalp. I know I pushed hard while Roberto rubbed my shoulders. I know the head arrived, and then the body.

And then, in this dark little room, with what seemed like a crowd of people lined against the walls behind me, I was suddenly holding the tiniest little baby I had ever seen. An amazing, tiny, black-haired replica of my middle daughter--and she was crying! She was breathing, alive, well, complete! I was in awe. I don't remember if I said hello. I just remember looking down at this miniature baby in my arms in the dark, and it felt surreal. It felt exactly like a dream. My midwife asked, "Did you see??" And I snapped awake and looked -- I said, "A girl! Roberto, it's a GIRL!" And I whispered, "It's Julianna!"

I was allowed to hold her in my arms for some time, then they took her away to do their checks. I asked my midwife if she was okay, and she said, "Yes! Did you hear her crying?" Roberto left the room to go for a walk and cry-out his overwhelm and relief. (Or sadness that she wasn't a boy--I can't be sure!)

Julianna, born at 11:45am, was 1.9 kg or 4.3 lbs--a perfect size for her age. She was 16.5 inches long. Her APGARS were 7 & 10. She really was perfect. They gave her a tiny bit of oxygen, then wrapped her in a blanket and hat and brought her back to me. I held her again. She was warm, she was breathing on her own, she was amazing.

After that, she was taken to the NICU for further evaluations, where they later said, "She is perfect--just small!". She ended up staying in the NICU/SICU for two LONG LONG LONG weeks--although really this was very short, as the pre-birth prediction had been at least a month's stay. I spent most of that time in the hospital with her, holding her or pumping milk for her or snacking and surfing the internet. On her 16th day of life, she came home with me. That was the happiest day of my life, I think.

Today, Julianna is almost 5 months old. She has the most deliciously chubby thighs; she is cheerful and alert and beautiful; she is almost wearing size 6-mos clothing.

We are very, very lucky.

Julianna -- May 8, 2010

Thoughts on Brazil 23.01.09

1. They don't paint lane dividers on the majority of ordinary streets here. Crazy. I need to help these people.

2. Facebook is very slow. Also, sometimes I know I have comments, but I cannot see them. (I mean that they do not show up, not that I am too stupid to click "Show Comments".)

3. Nine hours on a plane with a toddler. Ick. Then Customs in a foreign language. Ick. Three days of sleeping to recuperate. Yay!

4. My mother-in-law furnished the apartamento for us. It's lovely and unexpected. I almost cried. Again.

5. It is embarrassing to be spoken to in English in public by my husband. I want my Portuguese class NOW!!!

6. Bidets.

7. I will have to take some pictures of the apartment and post them later. It is fabulous!

8. I can't believe I'm in Brasil. Bra-freaking-zil! South America! Where water spins down the drain counter-clockwise! Which is way prettier than clockwise.

whooooOOOSH -- quickest update ever!

My Girlies -- Feb 2008

NOT PREGNANT ANYMORE!

The last week or two of pregnancy was awesome. At that point, I could have stayed pregnant forever, happily. But, alas, such was not to be. Contractions began Thursday, June 14th, at 4:45am. And a 7 lb, 12 oz, girl was born in my bedroom at home at 5:43pm that same day.

And, yeah, it hurt like a hmmhmmhmmhmm!

Here she is at six days old:















And here she is at two days old, with her ecstatically loving big sis:



















We're all in love with each other. :)

GIRL

Some of you know; some of you don't. (Let's not pretend I was ever great about keeping in touch!)

Munchkin got her wish; her little SISTER is due in June of 2007! (My apologies to the little one for airing her private business to the world!)

Roberto was pulling for a boy, but I think Munchkin's will was stronger.

















Also: It took me five years to forget how exhausting it is to be pregnant. It may take me another five.

4 Wedding Pics

Hey, that back-of-the-head looks familiar!

It's PUNKYYYY! I'm making that face because the photographer wouldn't take the pic of me planting a giant smooch on her cheek. Denied.

Mommy & Baby

Candid photography!

Thank you, photographer! Thank you, Munchkin! Thank you muito, Punky! And thank you, dude-who-married-me! MWAH!

2006, 12/01 - Hi!

Where have we BEEN?!

Update:


First, there was: the standard amount of cuteness you have come to expect from the Munchkin.

Then, a house was purchased, and walls were painted green. (Sorry, no pic.)


Then, there was a wedding!


And a flowergirl!

Then, there was a honeymoon. (Also no pics.)


And, most recently, there was a first-ever major haircut.


Followed by a donation to Locks of Love.

And then I didn't know where to find the USB cord to my digital camera for a really long time. And then I found it when I was actually left alone one night because the husband had a late gig and I can't stay up late anymore because my body can't handle it because it is working over-time to incubate a new little munchkin. And that's how you have new pics today, and that's pretty much it for the update!

But also:

Munchkin: [enters room, arms outstretched] "Iiiiit's MEEE, you ollld poop!"
[quoting Katharine Hepburn's character in "On Golden Pond", thank you very much, yes, she's adorable, and I will be keeping her.]

2006, 06/12 - Baby's First Recital!

She loved it! She wants to do more recitals! Every day!







Tap costume



















Ballet costume













Ready to go on-stage for rehearsal













Caption: The recital!

Better caption: Me, excitedly recording a moment I would 10 minutes later accidentally delete--causing massive and life-long self-hatred.






But at least I recorded the rehearsal--although not with my fancy, brand-new, expensive, bought-just-for-this-recital camcorder.

And I did successfully record her ballet performance--only lost the tap. Still...GOD!
Hate! Self!


Me, excitedly recording a moment I will NEVER EVER EVER delete.






Need to make copies. Lots and lots of copies. And hide them. In a vault. Away from stupid me!

2006, 06/01 - Simma down nah!

1. I have vanilla nut coffee and several kinds of muffins and two giant croissants. HAPPY!
2. SO! HAPPY!

Decided last night that:

1. Munchkin is too bossy.
2. This is my fault, because I've always thought the bossiness was cute.
3. The bossiness is sometimes very cute--because she's just like ME!
4. But the bossiness is no longer cute now that [drumroll for last night's epiphany]: For probably the first time ever, Munchkin and I do not actually want the same things. We're both growing up, and a little bit apart, but in a normal way. And it's hard. She's my BABY and I want her to STAY my baby. And she kinda wants to stay my baby, too. (aww) So we're both trying to boss each other into playing along with our own plans. Kinda funny, in a way.
5. But now it's time for me to really learn how to assert my motherly authority.
6. I guess.

2006, 05/31 - Us So Far

2006, 05/31 - Blathering

1) Don't even bother trying to Google "preschooler tantrums" or "preschooler whining". Just don't. Because this is what you get:

A. "The other night, Bunny was being rambunctious, throwing things around her bedroom while I was trying to get the girls ready for bed. I warned her that if she kept it up she would not be allowed to bake cookies with me once my toddler was asleep. She then picked up a tube of diaper cream, and when I asked her for it, she threw it at me (so tired of the throwing!). It hit my toddler in the face making her hysterical. I sent Bunny to her room, told her she wasn't baking cookies, and that was that. When I went to check on her 10 minutes later, she was asleep." Oh, she fell asleep! Great! That solves everything! "Hey, Munchkin! Stop whining! Go to sleep! Need help? Here's some vodka!"

and:

B. "[Another morning,] as my husband walked out the door to go to work, he bent over to give the girls kisses good-bye and Bunny turned her cheek and ran away in a huff. He said, "Papa's leaving. Can I have a kiss?" She replied, "No!" So he walked out the door. Well, of course, that set her off. "Waaaaah! I wanted to kiss, Papa!" I explained to her that Papa didn't want to be late for the bus, and that she had two chances to give him a kiss. We talked about why she was being so grouchy (she couldn't find her other shoe), and that if she needed something to "use her words." Next time, you bet she will give him that kiss." "You bet"? "You BET"? Just like that? "YOU BET"?

and this from Dr Benjamin Spock:

C. "Many children whine at only one parent, not both, although some are equal-opportunity whiners. In this case, whining often expresses not simply a habit or a mood in a child but also an attitude toward, or a slightly disturbed relationship with, that parent." "Disturbed relationship"? Between ME and MY MUNCHKIN?! You go to HELL! You GO to hell and you DIE, DR SPOCK!

1b. I already know whining is usually related to hunger or tiredness. We have practiced the "Avoidance Of Fun Things For Mommy To Do Because It Is The End Of The Day And Munchkin Is Tired And Won't Be Any Fun But If We Just Go Straight Home And Eat And Go To Sleep Everything Will Be Fine Although Boring" technique for years. As recommended by my still-beloved-though-a-little-less-so-than-last-week Dr Sears. This technique is starting to suck, because, hello, I have decided I would like to have a life now? Munchkin is five years old? I am not getting any younger? I am single? I need to get out of the house and make friends now? Okay, so example "A" above does not impress me. Tired children have tantrums. I know. Hungry children have tantrums. I know. (This is why the back seat of my beloved car is covered in crumbs. "Eat Cheerios and be happy, Child!") Example A, you are nothing to me. Thanks.

1c. Now, example "B": The whole "You created this situation when you..." and "Why do you think this happened..." and "How do you feel when blah blah blah..." does not work with Munchkin. I'm sorry. It doesn't. I laughed my ass off reading example "B". Munchkin is stubborn. She'd decide never to kiss Papa again. This is the girl who starves herself if you put the wrong plate of food in front of her. This is the girl who turned around, laughed, and claimed, "That didn't hurt!" when I once made an attempt at spanking. This is the girl who went all day long without using the restroom at her new school because she did not want to talk to the teacher to find out if she needed to ask permission to go--and continued holding it all day long for several days, until we asked for her. This is the girl whose halo is really, truly, held up by horns. She is going to rule the world someday. But first she is cutting her teeth on breaking me.

1d. And, Dr Spock, that was just mean.

1e. But I know I created this situation myself. Munchkin is a strong personality, but she is also my first child and therefore my experiment and I don't really have a mother and I don't actually know what the hell I'm doing and I know this is just a phase brought on by the finalization of the divorce and my dating and whatnot but still oh my god I just don't know what I'm doing and this is crazy and I should have done SO MANY THINGS differently with her and now I have to start being more firm with her to undo some things I unconsciously taught her she could get away with but this isn't even fair because it's all MY fault; children don't raise themselves and why did I think that just because she is a genius she would figure out socialization and respect all by herself...

2. She hates that I am dating. She hated when I was married to her own father and he and I would even dare try to hug each other. I dropped everything of myself for her. I did not want to be a selfish child-hater like my mother. I went overboard. I let the marriage suffer (although not me alone, by any stretch). I never went out. I never did anything except take care of her, and read, and play on the computer, and cook. This was wrong. I would not do this with a second child.

2b. But Munchkin caught me so off-guard! I love her so much! I want her to have everything! I want things to happen for her! ...But I didn't have to give up my Self for her. Shit, and now I want my Self back, and she thinks my Self belongs to her... Maybe I can sneeeak my Self out of her death-grip while she's sleeping one night...

3. But! Guess what! Whiny phase is normal! Spoiled children in this town are normal! Parents making mistakes is normal! I! AM! NOT! THE! ONLY! ONE!

4. Munchkin is an AWESOME kid. Honestly. She is SO GOOD at school. She is SO SMART. She is SO BEAUTIFUL.

5. But I think she's really pissed-off at me. She doesn't understand why I don't still love her daddy. She is afraid I will love my new beau more than her, though I've told her a hundred times that she will always be my Number One Girl. I love her to pieces.

5b. I wish I could find the right thing to say. We've been having so many Talks, and I just don't know if I'm getting through to her yet. Sigh...

5c. GAWD, I'm such a PANSY! My daughter's not even AFRAID of me!

Well, whatever. Look how big she is!

2006, 05/24 - Relationships

I am reading several books currently:

• The Successful Child: What Parents Can Do to Help Kids Turn Out Well by my beloved Dr William Sears (purchased this weekend)
• Everything Parent's Guide to the Strong-willed Child by...someone (Okay, so I haven't started this one yet--also purchased this weekend)
• Unequal Childhoods : Class, Race, and Family Life by Annette Lareau (Which, yes, I have totally been working on for over a year, but I like to read lots of books at once, and this one is always in the car instead of in front of my face on the coffee table, but I really like it...)
• Ten Great Works of Philosophy by Robert Paul Wolff (Umm... also permanently installed in the car...)
• Miss Manners' Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior, Freshly Updated by Judith Martin (I LOVE MISS MANNERS!)
• and much, much, more!

The last book I finished was Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho. It was "okay"; the ending was much too short.

Previous to that, I read The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. Loved it.

So, what's new with me?

• I am officially divorced.
• I am in an amazing relationship with a Brazilian musician. But it's too amazing. Can't possibly last.
• I cut my own hair on a whim last week, and it actually looks really good.
• My daughter hates me.

Munchkin! Is! Crying! And! Whining! All the time!

And she says I'm MEAN! And that she HATES me!

And she LIES!!!!!

And she told me she got in trouble at school this week! More than once! And she hit someone yesterday! But her teachers haven't said anything about it! And she's NEVER gotten in trouble at school before!

Suddenly I feel like I am in over my head.

Munchkin is frustrated and acting-out. We are going through a Very Difficult Phase. I am frustrated and acting-out myself. I am trying to be More Energetic. I am trying to be More Consistent. I am trying to be More Attentive. But, F*CK! She's still crying over every little thing! I SUCK!!!

But I've talked to my mommy-friends. I am not alone in dealing with whining, hitting, hating, and crying. So, a little relief there. But, GAWD, I want my sweet, cuddly, HAPPY girl back!

Before Munchkin was born, I read The Baby Book: Everything You Need to Know About Your Baby from Birth to Age Two by Dr Sears--COVER-TO-COVER. (Also The Complete Book of Breastfeeding by Marvin S. Eiger & Sally Wendkos Olds, but that's not what we're talking about today, although, by the way, YES, I totally recommend this book!) I LOVE The Baby Book, and I feel so secure in my parenting when I read it, because I did everything it said, and I did it well, and I had a PERFECT BABY and a PERFECT TODDLER. But that was when it was just me and Munchkin. Now we have Outside Influences, like peers and teachers and her own father...

MY POINT! I HAD A POINT!

In Dr Sears' The Successful Child, he states ten or so characteristics of a "successful" child. Top on the list was an ability to develop and maintain successful relationships.

I read what he had to say about this, and I looked up at the sky and sighed. Fuck. That's the part I skipped. I was more concerned with making sure she knew about Good Touch and Bad Touch and Remember You Don't Have To Hug Anyone If You Don't Want To Not Even Your Grandparents Who Just Bought You Everything You Even Glanced Near At The PX. I was more concerned with being There For Her than EVER getting out and developing a life of my own after we moved out of Texas. She's seen me with friends or family only a handful of times. She saw me in an unhappy marriage where there was very little affection. She saw me with my inlaws whom I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. She's seen me with my bosses with whom I try to maintain a distanced, professional relationship.

Munchkin and I are warm with each other. We share LOTS of hugs and cuddles. But I have not taught her to share her warmth with others. I have not shown her how I share warmth with others, because I haven't been sharing warmth with others.

I was taught the importance of Being Independent and Doing The Right Thing. I was either never taught or never really picked up on the lessons of Loving, Trusting, or Having Fun. I thought people were expendable.

I am learning some things about relationships and life and the world. And I am reading things that reinforce the truth of these new ideas. And I am having to look at changing some things about myself for happiness and growth. And I am having to teach Munchkin these things about relationships at the same time that I am learning them.

How fucking lucky is Munchkin that she will be learning these things at age five instead of twenty-five? How fucking jealous am I of my own daughter for having someone like ME as a mother? HEY, MUNCHKIN! I'LL TRADE YOU!

I started off the day feeling like a shitty mother. But it's going to get better. And it's going to be awesome. And we're going to be great. And we're going to be happy and healthy and make differences in the world.

Back to reading.

2006, 04/27 - SPRING!

Stop looking at me like that! It's SPRING! Who wants to be stuck indoors blogging? Or even READING blogs? Go outside and fall in love with something!

Munchkin-Approved:
Mas Que Nada - as performed by Roberto Gonçalves

2006, 04/11 - Apples

Mama: Well, if you don't do it, I'm gonna drink all this milk; how do ya like them apples?
Munchkin: What apples?
Mama: It's an expression.
Munchkin: I like apples!

2006, 04/04 - Music

Munchkin & Mama Overwhelmingly Approve:
Djobi Djoba - The Gipsy Kings

2006, 04/03 - Doctors

1. Oh, man! I'm hungry! Why did I let that munchkin have my breakfast?!
2. Yesterday, I found a tiny sampler bottle of Johnson & Johnson's Baby Wash in the medicine cabinet. As I recall, it was one of many items in our "goodie bag" from the hospital--along with some formula, which--okay, don't even get me started. Anyway, I remember the first week we had Munchkin home, and we were wondering when we needed to start washing her... The Baby Wash bottle didn't have any instructions on it, so I remember thinking, "Ok, is this soap that you rinse off, or is this some kind of baby astringent?" And I was very disappointed with the answer. Soap. Borrrrinnnng!
3. Munchkin had a sinus infection last month. And that was bad enough, but then just a week after she had finally recovered, she landed a whole new illness--this one with muscle aches, tummy ache, sore throat, congested cough, high fever. She didn't go to the doc for the sinus infection, but I took her in immediately for this thing, because I was thinking it might be Walking Pneumonia. She tested negative for Strep, so the doctor said it's "just some virus" (Wow, thanks, Doc!) and prescribed a precautionary antibiotic. (Now, I am majorly anti-medication and especially anti-antibiotics, but Munchkin's been sick for too long, and, for some reason, she just won't eat raw garlic.) So it's yummy strawberry-flavored Amoxicillin, which, I have discovered, is the SAME DAMN THING they prescribe for STREP. Why the phuck do we even test for strep if we're just gonna... I mean why even make this stuff prescription... I mean it's just... GAHHHH!
4. I've been two parts fortunate, half-a-part smart, and another half-a-part cautious: Munchkin almost never gets sick. She's had exactly three unwell doctor visits in her five years of life--and two of those were only since she started preschool this past fall. She's been on antibiotics three times now. The first time as a fetus when my stupid doctor put me on antibiotics for a UTI which turned out to actually be an allergic reaction to a new detergent (oh, THAT'S why the UTI tests were all negative! Huh!); the second time this past fall for a possible UTI, which turned out not to be one; and then now for "just some virus".
5. This is the last time. No more doctor visits and no more antibiotics. Both these last two visits were me being paranoid because I've had such great luck with Munchkin's health that I figured our winning streak must be about over. Well, it's not. My kid is healthy, and doctors suck.
6. Except for dentists. It's definitely time for us to schedule another one of those visits.

2006, 03/21 - Music

Munchkin-Approved:
Mariposa Traicionera - Maná

2006, 03/20 - Our Speed

Friday: Munchkin & I went shopping for clothes. (Mommy has new shoes! Yay! Happy Mommy!) Munchkin was in a great mood, and she was hilarious. (Not that I'm partial or anything.) She was trying out new vocabulary words on me--continually catching me off-guard and amusing us both. The highlight of the night was when she made me sit on the floor and be her audience as she gave a show in the middle of a store, singing and dancing her little heart out. She's usually painfully shy, so when she actually musters up the courage to be herself in public, I encourage it, as long as it's not bothering anyone.

Munchkin's greatest loves are singing and dancing, and her first ballet recital is later this summer... She's excited about dancing on the stage; I'm terrified she'll develop stage-fright and the experience will be ruined for her. Ahh, motherly anxiety...

Saturday: Munchkin & I attended a birthday party at a place called Pump It Up. This place is insane. Okay? Insane. Might be good for, like, thirty-year-olds, but my little preschooler and I were SO overwhelmed. Munchkin couldn't climb some of the things herself and would not accept help from anyone except me or another little girl. So I, being Super Mom, in my silky skirt and prissy thigh-highs complete with garter belt (panty hose suck, ok?), had to help her through the obstacle-tunnel and then go down the gigantic slide with her. (Luckily, she was sitting in my lap, so HOPEFULLY my skirt did not fly up too far. At the least, I have not yet come across any incriminating photographs.) The slide was terrifying; I refused to do it again. (Literally, it was terrifying, but, if anyone asks, I was simply upset about the amount of static introduced to my skirt, 'k?) Munchkin tried the slide again, this time by herself, but she cried afterward. And who can blame her? It was scary! Then she wanted to try the other giant slide, but when she got to the top, she chickened out and started crying. I had told her I wouldn't go down any more slides, and I held firm. (For heaven's sake, my bosses were there!) So one of the workers slid down with her. She cried. Then she wanted to try it again. Got to the top and started crying. Again. Everyone else left to have cake, and I was stuck alone in the room with the giant slide and a crying Munchkin screaming at me from the top. I climbed up to get her down, and she grabbed my hand and tried to pull me down the slide with her. She ended up letting go voluntarily and sliding herself, only to cry again when she reached the bottom. I climbed back down to console her. She wanted to go up again! (Why? Haven't fulfilled your tear-quota?) But our group's turn in the room was over, so I couldn't let her go up again and test herself. Really too bad. :(

So I am never going to that place again. Ever. With a skirt on. Ever. While my bosses are there with cameras. Never. Okay, thanks; I just needed to get that out.

Afterward, we were both drained. D-R-A-I-N-E-D. But we bucked-up, procured Munchkin's bicycle from her grandparents' house, and spent some time hanging out at a local playground. THAT is much more our speed.

Munchkin's dad has a sinus infection, so, after the park, we bought some groceries and went to his place and made him some chicken noodle soup. (And I swiped back all of my STUFF that he's been forgetting to return. Bastid!) While we were there, I got to watch television! Wow! TV! And, you know what? There was nothing on. Nothing. At all. My wallet and I felt so validated!

Sunday: We did nothing. Also very much our speed. ;)