The Thing About Forgiveness, aka Indefinite Hiatus

As the new mom of an amazing little girl, I’ve reached a point where I need, more than anything else, to protect myself, and my family, and my heart. And to do that, I'm going on a blogging and internet interaction hiatus. Very specific things have happened that have made me feel completely violated, disrespected, and broken, and left me wondering why I bother hoping that people around me will respect me, my family, and my decisions. And no, I will not be airing any dirty laundry in public (at least until we need to be sunning diapers and it’s warmer than 46 degrees outside, but we all know that’s not the sort of laundry I mean).

But there’s a lot of work I need to do toward forgiveness before I can even think about going back to saying things publicly—here, on facebook, on message boards, anywhere. I simply need to manage the things that I can manage and keep out the toxicity that I cannot handle. My energy needs to go elsewhere—to Michael, Mari, and my own self and self work.

Forgiveness has to be part of that work, and I have to recognize that it’s only going to happen on its own time. It’s not just work, but hard work. I’m sure there’s a labor or nursing metaphor in there somewhere, but I haven’t slept for more than three consecutive hours since the 4^th, so literary technique will have to wait.

I’m grateful that I go into this knowing that forgiveness is work. It’s difficult to think, examine myself, be conscious of my own role in the situation. It’s also difficult to think about why and how I was hurt so badly without giving into the rage that is so close at hand to pain.

More than that, though, I’m grateful that forgiveness is a solo activity, or if you believe in a God/dess , a two-party journey. It doesn’t require anything of the person who hurt me so badly. It’s somewhere I have to get myself, by myself. Forgiveness simply means that I will stop carrying around this giant sack of emotional rocks and move to a place where the pain no longer consumes or defines me at any point in my day. It means getting through this, learning something, and leaving it behind, as part of my past from which I will grow. It does not mean forgetting. It does not mean pretending particular behaviors and attitudes are ever acceptable. It does not mean pretending things are okay. It does not mean I will forget. There are no connotations of trust, or relational healing, or interpersonal re/connection.

Those things require reconciliation. That’s different. That requires actual apology that does not end in “but;” true apology that does not offer self-centered explanations that seek to minimize my feelings, experience, and subjectivity; genuine apology that does not attempt to make me see things from the point of view of the source of my hurt. It requires that someone take him/herself out of his/her own viewpoint and empathize in order to understand how and why s/he hurt another person, and to genuinely regret that hurt and work to prevent doing something like it again. There is no “but I just…” in reconciliation, any more than there is “well I’ll just carry around this one rock just in case I need to throw it…” in forgiveness. Reconciliation cannot start with me, because if it does, it will be read as accusatory, judgmental, punishing, and damaging, and I don’t want any of those things. I just want to live my life and love my family, respected by the people around me, without people trying to change me or my mind, tell me why I’m wrong, or why I should be more like them.

And that’s the thing about forgiveness. It’s an integral part of reconciliation, but it doesn’t require reconciliation. Forgiveness, when I can finally accomplish it, means that I don’t need reconciliation, however much I may wish it would happen. It means that I never need to hear “I’m sorry.” because I will have seen my world change twice—once because of the injury, and once because of forgiving it. I don’t know what that twice-changed state will look like for me. I don’t know how Michael and I will balance obligation with protection and sanity, and I don’t know how I’ll go about my life when I’m not carrying this big bag of hurt. But I do look forward to the day when I no longer cry every time I think about it, when I can go back to talking with people I love and not fearing betrayal and selfishness, when I can go back to being more of the self I want to be. There’s promise there, and hope, and I’m going to go work on myself and my family, and focus on that promise and hope.

Thank you!

An update: Mariana Ruah was born on Saturday, November 6, 2010 at 10:40pm. She was 19 inches long, and 7 lbs. 6 oz. in weight. Mom, baby, dad, and dog are adjusting well to this new reality.

As an addition to my last post, I thought that my praise and admiration for Swedish Covenant Hospital midwife group should continue, and begin to name names. Our midwife on Saturday night was Darcie, and she was assisted by Hannah, a midwife-in-training. Both Darcie and Hannah, as well as the nurses, were fabulous. The picture on the left depicts Mariana with Gina, of whom we spoke highly in the previous post. Gina came to visit us in the Mom/Baby Unit on Monday morning. We hope to add pictures of Darcie and Hannah in the near future. As you can probably imagine, Saturday night was a bit hectic and momentous for us all.

In addition to the expert care provided by the SCH midwives, we were accompanied by Andrea Bukiewicz and Amy Ortega. Andrea and Amy are doulas, women whose job and passion is to assist the woman with the birth process: before, during, and after the birth. Andrea and Amy were caring and excellent. They truly love their vocation. We are blessed by their lives.

Our childbirth educator was Holly Barhamand, who taught our course through Birthworks International. Holly was not only our teacher; she has also been a mentor, friend, and companion through this entire process.

Of course, absolutely none of Saturday's fireworks would have been possible without my fantastic and powerful partner, spouse, wife, best friend, and baby-mama - Krista. She labored for seven hours without pain medication. I was able to bear witness to her inner strength, beauty, goodness, and fortitude.

I'm sure that Krista and I will soon co-write and post the longer story of Mariana's birth, but I couldn't pass up this opportunity to thank the caring professionals for their assistance and presence last week.

To Darcie, Hannah, Gina, Andrea, Amy, Holly, and Krista -- Thank You!

Swedish Covenant Hospital: Midwives are cool!

A few months ago, one of my best friends, Sol Neely, and his wife, Kerry, gave birth to their daughter, Mila Rain Neely. Sol, a fellow graduate student in the Philosophy & Literature Ph.D. Program at Purdue University, was extremely impressed and existentially transformed by the care, love, and compassion of the midwife group with whom they worked. After Mila was born, Sol informed me that one of his current activist issues is to raise awareness and appreciation of midwifery. Today I join him (and many others) in this effort.

(P.S. Sol, Kerry, and Mila have since been infected with the zombie virus, and they are in the market for some tasty brains. Oh well, you can't win 'em all.)

Krista and I have been visiting the midwife group at Swedish Covenant Hospital since June or July, once we moved from Pennsylvania to Illinois. Krista had done her homework and research, seeking to locate a group whose values and philosophies complemented her own. Anyhow, since our first midwife appointment, we have been able to meet each of the seven midwives whose job it is to care for the woman/mother first and foremost. While we composed a Birth Preference Plan, we do not anticipate any awkward scenes or medical tugs-of-war in the birthing center.

One of the midwives in particular, Gina, quickly emerged as our favorite. This past Wednesday, we had another appointment, and after the meeting was over, we ran into Gina in the hallway and struck up a conversation, which ended up with me snapping a picture of Krista and her. It was a great morning-turned-into-afternoon.

I will have more to say about the awesomeness of the Swedish Covenant midwives, but that story remains to be completed...in a matter of days or weeks.

In a future blog post, I will also praise the virtues of doulas, including The Barefoot Doula and the Chicago Volunteer Doula network.

October 33, 2010

On Sunday, Oct. 31, I joked to Krista that tomorrow (Nov. 1) would be renamed "October 32." Given that line of reworking the calendar, today is Oct. 33. We're doing this because it doesn't totally seem real that we will most likely meet BugBear in the flesh before this month is over. While this is not the actual end of the pregnancy, reality is slowly but surely setting in: we are going to be parents...soon.

In the immortal (and undoubtedly intoxicated) words of Chicago Cubs announcer Harry Caray, "Holy cow!"

I have contacted a few professors at my school to see if they could cover my classes for the days/weeks around the kiddo's birth, and for the most part, my colleagues have been generous with their acceptance of the invitation/request. It will be weird to be away from the classroom and students for a little bit, but this is probably one of the best imaginable reasons to skip out on work.

We have constructed a list of possible dog-sitters, and are very grateful to have family, friends, and neighbors who are willing to help out.

What's left to accomplish? We're putting the finishing touches on the Birth Preference Plan, seeing the midwives on a weekly basis, composing a list of things to pack for the "big day(s)," and attempting to plan for those sorts of things that cannot be planned for. In short, we're expecting the unexpected.

What is that Bugbear doing, and why aren't you telling me about it?

Bugbear is...
wait for it...
putting on fat.

And getting into position to be born.

That's it.

Kicking, dancing, hiccuping, amusing friends and I by visibly wagging back and forth during exceptionally boring lectures, sure, but compared to growing ears or gaining the ability to open his/her eyes, s/he's not up to to much.

S/he's kinda squished in there, though in true medically accurate science terminology fashion, I'm measuring either 2.5 cm behind or 1 cm ahead of where I "should" be. But really, it's just time for him/her to put on that baby fat.  Though s/he's technically full term now, the longer s/he continues to cook and practice breathing, the better. For all of us. And since there's nothing abnormal about or wrong with pregnancy lasting 42 weeks, when people ask when I'm due, I just respond with "I'll be a mom before December!" because that's really as exact as I'm comfortable getting, even in my head.

We're nesting to a certain degree. Things are put together, built, the car set is ready to install, and we really do need to pack a hospital bag. Given the number of "hospital bag list"s that I have, however, if that doesn't get packed until I'm in labor, it won't be the end of the world. I spend a lot more time smiling and nodding as others tell me that we're doing things wrong because we're not doing things like they did. A friend suggested that I imagine advice givers and myself as ducks in conversation, because imagining someone else as a duck allows me to have their words roll right off my back more easily. I like that. Because really, at this point, we're not going to change our minds, and I don't so much care what others think. We may not be completely "ready" for Bugbear to show up, but we're never going to be totally ready, and no number of mini-lectures or amount of "advice" is going to change that. And that's perfectly fine.

I'm also noticing that I'm really drawing inward. I get more tired by people more easily than I usually do, and I just want to spend my time curled up with Michael with my head on his shoulder, watching bad tv or doing nothing. It's a sweet sort of enforced resting, a period where my body just can't do anything else, and I'm grateful and happy that I have a partner with fabulous shoulders who doesn't mind me leaning on them for extended periods of time.

Our Bodies, Our Selves, Our Socio-Political Agendas

I don't usually read msnbc.com because it tends to tick me off.

But I needed a break from class work today, so I clicked over.

And there was this article: "Back off, pregnancy police! I know what I'm doing!"

And my gut reaction was "A-FREAKING-MEN!" without even reading the article. Because I'm not big on the whole policing others' bodies to begin with thing. And pregnancy is a time when my distended belleh seems to mean I am somehow prime for the petting in grocery stores, for the questions about my bowel movements in daily conversation, for the raised eyebrows every time I crack a Coke or put an ice pack on my ribs, or choose to eat three hard boiled egg whites and some carrots with hummus instead of the proverbial pickles and ice cream.

You just can't do pregnancy right for the general US population.

So I read the article.

And then I was annoyed. It's about a glass of wine. BUT it's a well-justified, off-the-books-doctor-recommended glass of wine, so it's okay! If only people would just leave her alone and trust that she knows what she's doing... and while I am totally down with the "buzz off, jerkwad" aspect of this, I am frustrated that the doctor's approval seems to be what makes this glass of wine better than others.

I like wine. I've even had some in the last nine months. Not because I have a differently formed uterus. Just because it tastes good. Same goes for lots of things: sushi, lunch meat, hot dogs (seriously, ew, but when you need one, you need one), three bottles of blueberry beer (turns out I still don't actually like beer), raw sprouts, medium-rare steaks, canned tuna, edamame, and raw honey. And if I could find unpasteurized cheese and it sounded good, I would have eaten that too, but it's really freaking hard to find unpasteurized cheese in the US.

It's not that I got a positive test and decided to do everything possible to flout the system. It's that I truly believe the system is broken, and the system currently in place is one that works to consistently undermine women's intelligence, power, and prerogative to run even the most basic unit of our lives, our bodies. We are watched, and have people attempting control, from every possible perspective--the well-meaning but thoroughly entrenched medical institutions and their representatives that take our blood, urine, weight, and vital signs every six weeks (and then every four weeks, and then every two weeks, and then every week); the well-meaning friends and family who share horror stories and advice and experience without thinking to ask whether we want to hear, or being willing to accept that our choices are different and yet equally valid; even the stranger who lectures us about the triglycerides in bagels and how they make people fat while glaring at our 34-week pregnant stomachs, or the friendly cashier who says "I know who doesn't get to drink this!" as she rings up an alcoholic beverage.

These are not usually people who look at us and say "person with a vagina. Must be stupid, time for me to step in." These are usually people who want to help. Who think they have valuable information that we cannot get anywhere else. Who believe we somehow want or need their stories. Who truly believe the hype around fetal alcohol syndrome and poisonous soft cheese and the evils of "undercooked" meat. To whom it apparently never occurs that I might well know what's going on and choose not to be an extremist in the same ways that they are.

Clearly, there's a desire to protect others going on here. Clearly, there are people who consider fetuses people, and want to protect them and give them the best possible start in life. But since we couldn't successfully use a flash drive to transfer Bugbear from my uterus to Michael's stomach through our navels, we've had to accept that I'm the one carrying him/her. And that means that my choices are the ones that go, because in the end it is my body.

And so I choose, consciously and with careful thought and research, to give my fetus the best possible start in life. On my terms. Which means a diet of mostly vegetables and whole grains, very little palm oil, hydrogenated oil, or high-fructose corn syrup, and healthy and realistic portion sizes with limited amounts of meat and unnecessary fats while increasing the amount of homemade, local, and organic foods we eat. Which means upping my commitment to get rid of BPA, SLS of both sorts, parabens, and petrolatum (relatively safe, but who really wants petroleum by-products on his/her skin?) in my home and on my body. Which means as few drugs as humanly possible, limited to what I truly need to get through the day.

I'm not perfect. I ate Jimmy John's for lunch, with a Coke and a banana and an apple. Only half of the flour in yesterday's zucchini bread was whole wheat, not all of it. When Bugbear demands a Snickers bar, you best believe I'm going to go "well, if you really want it..." and then eat a Snickers bar because I won't be able to concentrate on anything else until I do so. But I know my choices, my risks, and I'm making my decisions based on those.

Chances are good that our socio-political agendas aren't going to match. If you're concerned about babies being hurt in utero because they're going to grow up to be some variety of less productive and more dependent citizens, then our agendas don't match. None of us are as productive as we could be. None of us are independent. Those of us who can claim true self-sufficiency or community sufficiency aren't reading this because they're too busy producing their own food, clothing, power, and daily needs to be reading blogs. What we're trying to prevent with policing pregnant bodies is not bad pregnancies or unruly children; what we're trying to prevent is the wrong sort of bad pregnancy, the wrong sort of unruly child, the wrong sort of tween/teen/young/adult political subject who will do and say the wrong things. And if snarking at a pregnant woman seems to up our chances of making the world a better place for the children of tomorrow, then who wouldn't want to take a glass out of a stranger's hand and lecture her on what she should be doing?

I kind hope Bugbear is always a thinking citizen who never takes a glass out of someone's hand because it never occurs to him/her to judge others based on appearances. I hope that s/he responds to the inevitable "because I'm your parent, that's why" with "well that's stupid. What's your reason?" I hope s/he embodies my favorite magnet: in his/her own way, with the addition of fighting ageism and ableism and general idiocy and unthinkingness as well. Not because I made the right choices, or the wrong choices, about what to eat and drink and wear and use while pregnant. Not because s/he wants our approval or love or extra spending money or the car keys. But because s/he grows up thinking and knowing that what we fight, and what we fight for, how we judge and how we respond to judgment, make a difference in how we know others and how others know us.

Happy National Coming Out Day!

 (image from this fabulous cloth diaper listing on etsy)

My facebook status has been borrowed by others. Without citation or credit, it's just floating around out there as other people's thoughts. I love this. I love that I said something worth copying. (Copy my papers, thesis, or other material on which I have worked my butt off, and out comes the "why you shouldn't plagiarize" stick, but this is a facebook status. Not the same.)

I am spoiled by the privilege in my life. I am spoiled by appearing to be a middle class 20/30-woman-born-woman who is straight, white, able-bodied, well-educated, and well-mannered. Which of these are untrue or true doesn't matter. Just appearing to be these things gives me tremendous privilege. Bugbear will inherit many of these things. But it is one of my deepest desires that by the time s/he is dealing with who s/he wants to love and how, s/he will not have to ask me why I work for a church that says "homosexuality is fundamentally incompatible with Christian teaching" when we go to Pride and protests and spend our time claiming and living that God loves all people. It is one of my deepest desires that s/he will not know people who kill themselves, or drug themselves, or otherwise harm themselves, as a reaction to others' prejudices. I want him/her to grow up knowing love, in our home and in his/her world.

One of the most amazing parents I know has never asked her son if he has a girlfriend. From the time he was little, she's had conversations with him that involve questions like "Are there people at school you really like?" or "Do you know if you want to kiss boys or girls someday?" or "If you grow up to be a daddy, do you think you want to love a mommy or a daddy?"  I want to copy that. I want no part of my child's home life to assume s/he will be hetero. And I want to be active in the creation of a world where that assumption is done, and the assumption that being hetero is somehow better than anything is also done. I want Bugbear to find homophobia and hating queerness as ridiculous as we find phrenology.  And if saying "yes! Use my words as your own! Enjoy them!" moves us even one iota closer to that, then you can have my term papers as well as my facebook notes.



So, not for the first time, and hopefully not for the last:


Happy National Coming Out day! Here's to the idea that every day should be a day when we love (or have consensual sex with) whoever we want, without corporate sponsorship, violence, fear, hatred, firing, excommunication, or being otherwise treated as less than human.

Let's Talk Boobs.

I like them. Mine, others, whatever. Boobs are good.

I'm really quite attached to mine, even.

But boobs and facebook...they just don't seem to click.

And when you add in breast cancer awareness month, it's a triad that is odd and hyper-sexualized enough to drive me up a wall.

In case you've missed it, there are women whose statuses read things like "Ms.SmartyPants likes it on the first chair she sees in her house!" or "Ms.StudentYouShouldn'tHaveFriended likes it wherever she can get it! LOLZTXTME"

These are supposed to refer to where we put our handbags. Apologies, women of the world, I totally told your secret. And I didn't play the game. And I'm not going to.

Partly because Bugbear has eaten my brain, and my status would have to read "Krista likes it whenever and wherever she can find it, but doesn't actually know where that is."

More because it's not actually doing anything.

Rephrase: it's not actually doing anything useful for breast cancer, breast cancer research, or breast cancer education and prevention.

Instead, it's reinforcing the notion that breasts are sexual objects for the amusement, consumption, and enjoyment of others.

Or it's reinforcing the notion that coy oversharing is somehow a feminist act that means since we can act as if we're sexual, women now hold significant cultural power.  (And if you believe this, we probably need to have a talk about how Barack Obama getting elected does not mean racism is over, too.)

Or it's reinforcing the notion that my breasts are everyone's concern, without actually getting to the point that the health and welfare of all people should be everyone's concern.

I have issues with all three of those. Sure, breasts can be sexual. They can also be food dispensers. They can also be any number of things. Much like people, they're fabulously multifaceted. There is no one right use, reason for their existence, or way to think about them.

And sure, coy oversharing can be a fabulous method of flirtation. But being able to engage in minorly risque conversation doesn't mean I can prevent being leered at, whistled at, or treated like a piece of meat, and it doesn't prevent people from thinking that I am no more than my body. And that's a problem that no facebook movement is going to solve.

Sure, my breasts are a health concern. But my breasts are not a health concern that wants your "Feel the Tatas!" or your "Save the Tatas! or "I love your Boobies!" stickers, or car magnets, or other overpriced merchandise that is simply stuff with a slogan. If you feel that strongly, then feel your own tatas, regardless of your biological sex, since men get breast cancer too. Give your $3 to cancer research instead of to the magnet company (the Komen Foundation is one of only 9 charities focusing on breast cancer to get a four-star rating on Charity Navigator, and the only national organization to do so). And I don't want to hear what you feel for my breasts; I've checked, they're fine, and they do not want your dollars. They think your dollars should go to someone who will use them well.

There's nothing wrong with social networking for fun instead of for a cause. And there's nothing wrong with using social networking to do real good in the world. But there is something wrong with playing as if social networking for fun is actually doing real good. If you can't donate, can't volunteer, can't send a card to a family living with cancer, and can't find a way to support anyone in need in honor of those with breast cancer, then take your cursor, click here, and then click on the pink button that says "Click Here to Give--It's FREE!" and repeat daily for a way to use your computer to actually fund something that helps provide breast cancer prevention. Then get back to using your facebook status to describe your lunch, your child's bowel movements, or who I should vote for, the way God intended it to be used.

34 weeks.

How pregnant are you? 34 weeks! That's also pregnant enough that if (and this is an IF we are NOT hoping for!) Bugbear were born next week, we would most likely be able to take him/her home from the hospital as if /she were full term. That's also pregnant enough that the countdown to November is around 40 days. That's a lot of sleeps if you're 3 and waiting until Christmas. That is not a lot of sleeps if you're a full time student, homemaker, partner, and crazy enough to be making your own baby bedding. And I am not 3. 

Relate this pregnancy to objects we tend to eat or other everyday things.   Bugbear is around the size of a cantaloupe or honeydew melon, or possibly the height of an American Girl doll, could weigh around an average of 5 pounds, and may well be 20" long. Of course, s/he may be just under 4 pounds and 16" and still be considered perfectly average, so we're not putting too much stock in averages or ultrasound measurements. There's a chance s/he could take after me and be wee. There's a chance s/he could take after the rest of my family, and most of Michael's family, and not be wee. And either way, we have to wait until s/he is born to actually find out, so I guess it's good I like surprises.

Tell me some random stuff about the Bugbear.   It's another week where growing is the major job. The vernix is pretty much gone, but remains in his/her little armpits and behind his/her knees. If Bugbear is a boy, his testicles are beginning their final descent, and if he ever reads this, he will probably not speak to me for a week for divulging this information. Even if Bugbear has no testes, s/he is still putting on fat, which makes his/her skin smoother and will be useful for the outside world. His/her lungs are also developing, and from the hiccups s/he's getting regularly, his/her diaphragm is working away as well.

Tell me how you feel physically.  Huge. And I know I've said that before. But my body's ability to just keep getting bigger astounds me. I can't imagine what it would be like if I had a proportional torso instead of being long-waisted, because Bugbear has decided that under my ribs is the best place in the whole wide world to live, and even so, s/he still manages to take up a LOT of space and squish all my other bits too.  I'm also noticing swelling in my hands; they still don't look like it, but I'm pretty sure that my ring finger is a 4.5 or 5 now instead of a 3.5. Since "be able to wear rings throughout pregnancy" is no longer possible, my new goal is to avoid cankles. And I'm hoping that goes much better than the ring one.

What are you craving? Zucchini bread. Are you surprised? I'm not. But my mom brought me zucchini this weekend, so I'm totally going to have this magical stuff soon. And then I will be seriously happy. And milk. Which goes tremendously well with zucchini bread.
 
Are you crazy emotional? Often. This is the middle of two insanely busy weeks, where I'm booked at least four hours a day with stuff that has to get done. The pace is relentless, and so I'm tired, which makes me more likely to cry at anything. Like everything that still needs to get done but we can't really get other people to do for us...

Anything else?  We have a lot that still needs to get done on the practical end of stuff (like figuring out what goes to the hospital with us besides car seat, birthing ball, and lip balm, and then packing said stuff).

The shower that Carol and Lori threw us was wonderful, and we are grateful beyond words to the loving and generous people who were there to show Bugbear just how welcome s/he is to the world. And now we need to figure out what we still need to get, and then get those things, so we're hitting the fabulous-terrifying-OMG-what-have-we-done?!? world of BuyBuyBaby and BabiesRUs this weekend to do that sort of thing.

And we need to start washing and prepping diapers.

And I need someone who's an expert in early medieval Christian history to take over my online class participation, and someone else who is an expert in United Methodist Worship practice and theory to take over my quiz and presentation for that class.  I'll let you prep diapers when you're finished...

Wordless Wednesday

With many, many thanks to the fabulous Bridget Michau!

Sunday, October 3 - Baby Shower

Dear BugBear,

This afternoon is your baby shower. It's one of those rare occasions in life where the honored guest will not be physically present (in the usual way). That's pretty weird, huh? We will do our best to remember what happened, and to let you know how much you are loved by family and friends, even before you were born. Sorry - it's probably bad form to save you some leftovers.

Thanks in advance to Nana Carol and Auntie Lori for making today's festivities take place, and to your friends and family who came to celebrate your arrival in a few weeks.

Love,
-Dad

32-ish week update, with pictures!

32 weeks is 8 months pregnant. That's big. So's my belleh.

We (Bugbear? Bugbear and I? I? Subjectivity is such a pain to determine. And I am still a dork.) had an ultrasound on Friday to make sure there was no growth restriction due to the two vessel cord. Thankfully, everything looked good! We'll get more details at our next meeting with the midwives, but I believe this means we're back to being a normal-ish pregnancy, with no more extra monitoring or check-ins. Yay!

We also got some detailed, determined, medically exact news. Bugbear probably weighs 4 pounds, 9 oz right now. Give or take 11 oz. Which means s/he weighs somewhere between under 4 pounds and over 5 pounds. Go go Gadget Math Skillz.

Michael also took pictures with his phone, because that's his thing.

 (Bugbear)

(Belleh)

(Krista and Bugbear)

 (Michael and Bugbear)

The horribly blurry quality of the last one is my fault, since I'm the one who took it. It was seriously cute in person.

At this point, Bugbear looks something like a creepy Skeletor and an amorphous blob. S/he is big enough that s/he's kinda squished, and his/her face and limbs and body are all there, but difficult to see or do much with because of size. So you're not missing much when you can't tell what the photo strips are actually showing. But they'll still go in his/her memory book. Once we take them off the fridge.

61 Days Away...

That's right, 61 days until Bugbear's due date.

And s/he gets his/her first case of the hiccups.

Am I jinxing myself to at least 61 sleepless nights of my belly pulsing if I say it was kind of cute?

A Letter to Bugbear

Dearest Wee One,

When I spend time stretching my ribcage, trying to increase the room around my lungs and lung capacity, it is not so that you can squish up there and hang out while continuing to restrict my breathing. I really like you and all, but I also really like oxygen. And since you still need me for oxygen, it would be better for us both if you let me breathe.

Now scoot down. Bonus points if you scoot down and stay off my bladder.

Love,
Your Host

31 weeks, with pictures!

How pregnant are you?  I'm this pregnant:

 

I'm pregnant enough that when I look down, I see this:

I'm so pregnant that this:

counts as dressed and ready to go for the day (and no, that's not my skateboard).

But on the upside, I've finally gotten used to it. Just in time to be pregnant for not much longer. But I'm going with "better late than never" on this one.

And yes, to answer the question I've gotten many many times since March, I am still wearing heels. With no plans to stop. Rumor has it that they're impractical for things like avoiding spit-up and chasing toddlers, so I have to get them in while I can. That, and I don't own any flat shoes that aren't unattractive and used only for exercise.

Relate this pregnancy to objects we tend to eat or other everyday things.  Bugbear is probably 3.5-4 pounds this week. The best description I've read of this is "like four large navel oranges," which isn't very good at all, in my opinion. But kind of like 16", apparently not many things are 3.5-4 pounds, and I'm really not comfortable taking a picture of the 3.5 pounds of ground turkey in my fridge and saying "s/he weighs as much as this."

Tell me some random stuff about the Bugbear.  This is a fun and interesting week for development! In addition to continuing to add fat and build muscle, all that brain business last week means that this week, all five senses are fully functioning and responsive. Bugbear's digestive system and other major systems are fully formed and mature enough to be useful if s/he were born now; only his/her little lungs still need a few more weeks to be really ready to go. In spite of the fact that I am seriously feeling the invasion of my lung space, Bugbear's space is getting cramped too. S/he is probably fully curled into fetal position just due to space limitations, though I am also certain that s/he can stretch out in all four directions at once when s/he really wants to do so, as evidenced by my getting kicked/punched in the ribs and iliac crest at the same moment).

Tell me how you feel physically.  Strange. Huge (seriously, how have I gained 19 pounds since February?). Amazed and a little impressed that I can want sleep so badly, get so little, and somehow not be exhausted. Some days every millimeter of me aches, and some days I feel great, and sometimes it's somewhere between those two. Nothing new or remarkable.

What are you craving? Zucchini bread. Still. Apparently there's been some great unadvertised zucchini blight and you can't find good sized zucchini anywhere. And even when you find little ones, they get moldy and unusable two days after buying them. It's sad.

Are you crazy emotional?  I'm more overwhelmed than weepy. I started school this week, and while classes are going to be great, there's something very weird about knowing that I won't make it through the term and be able to attend all of them.  I also have craploads of paperwork due for various things, and I haven't yet found a paper day planner that I can use to keep my brain straight. And while I love my iPhone, there just isn't enough space on that calendar, or the google calendar, to really get my head tethered to my shoulders. Oh, yeah, plus hormones...just getting through everything that I know will be due, and the events that are coming up, can be a challenge.

Anything else? I gave in and started putting ice packs on my ribs when Bugbear is just plain obnoxious in his/her playing in and on them. There's xylophone playing, and then there's Michael being able to put his hand on my ribcage and feel Bugbear moving them around, and when it's the second sort, it's time for him/her to get out of there. Fortunately, it works. And since I've recently discovered what people meant when they said that pregnant women are always hot, I don't have the ice, either.

The dance parties are more intense and longer, too. S/he went for a good hour last night. It turned into one of those strangely cliched moments where I just sat and watched my stomach roll and rock and burble and was amazed at all that's going on in there, and the sweet strangeness of feeling something while seeing it from a very different perspective. That we're only doing this once compounds that strangeness and sweetness and emotional stew, I think. This is the only time I'll be this pregnant. But this is also the only time in my life I'll be feeling these things. And while I could certainly do without the painful aspects of his/her parties, there's also something bittersweet about trying in vain to sear these things into my memory, knowing that I'll never have back these moments. I know that's true for all of life, but it's been very interesting to work through it specifically in relation to carrying this thing that will become our baby. 

60 consecutive minutes of sleep...

HEAVEN. Absolute freaking heaven. I'd go so far as to say "Seventh Heaven," but that's just all sorts of bad tv associations.

I really never thought that anything I could mention on a public blog could top dark chocolate and orange gelato in southern Italy in July.

And then, last night, I slept. And while I'd still love some good gelato (and wouldn't mind temperatures above 80 again!), waking up and realizing that I'd slept for a full hour and wasn't in pain was one of the most fabulous moments I can remember.

AND there was ice water by my bed, like I knew I'd be thirsty and planned ahead. Totally a slice of heaven.

Of course, it took propping myself up with pillows from my favorite chair (yes, I am a 70 year old man at heart), chamomile/passionflower/valerian tea, lavender oil, and probably a whole lot of good luck, but I don't care. It was glorious. And the chair is just fine without one of its pillows, which is good, because I'm not giving it back.

30 Weeks?!

How pregnant are you?  75% done-ish pregnant. If Bugbear were a grade, s/he'd be a very solid C. I'm pregnant enough that when I had orientation last week and my first class this week, people didn't ask "are you pregnant?" but rather "how far along are you?" or "when are you due?" or "How are you still wearing heels?" That's pretty darn pregnant.

Relate this pregnancy to objects we tend to eat or other everyday things. Bugbear is roughly the same size this week as s/he was last week--awkward, and without any good comparison.  All his/her energy (and apparently, all my calories) have been going toward brain development, as the wrinkles on the brain's surface increase and more myelin is built up to help speed connections.

Tell me some random stuff about the Bugbear.  S/he is losing most of his/her lanugo hair this week, since the fat that s/he's putting on takes over the job of regulating temperature while inside. There are probably still patches on his/her back and forehead, so it's not all gone, but more is gone than present. Once outside, it will be difficult for him/her to regulate his/her body temperature again, which is why skin to skin contact and babywearing are two things we're looking forward to doing.

The other interesting thing that happened this week is that

Tell me how you feel physically. Kinda like death. The hip pain is really, really bad at night, so I'm not sleeping for crap. On Saturday, I slept for six hours straight after driving three hours, working for ten hours, then driving another three hours. It was GLORIOUS. Now I'm feeling lucky if I get two hour stretches instead of 30 minute stretches. I'm looking forward to binding belts and getting things squished back to where they should be. Not only do I miss my clothes, but I miss the ability to sleep, even if I won't be expecting much consistent sleep.

What are you craving? Zucchini bread. Mom's recipe, no nuts, fresh from the oven with salted butter melting on the top of it, burn the roof of your mouth and your tongue just a little bit, zucchini bread. Fortunately, Michael is headed to a farmer's market today, so I'm hoping all my craving dreams will be coming true on Friday morning.

Are you crazy emotional? Nope. I'm again seeming to be on a more even keel. It's work, and it's hard work, but it is nice. And since I'm not sleeping, it's hard work that I know I need to keep up so that I don't wind up a miserable holy terror for the next 8-12 weeks.

Anything else? I've started singing to Bugbear when s/he gets all kicky and worked up, as his/her little kicks/punches/headbutts/WhoKnowsWhats can be knock-me-off-a-chair painful at times. It's usually the rib ones that hurt most. But sometimes, I can't help but picture a fetus dressed up as a melodrama villain plotting to see what will hurt out of sheer boredom. On the upside, singing and rubbing the little extremities seems to work. On the downside, it's making me realize just how much resonance without pitch control my swollen sinuses have given me.  S/he doesn't seem to mind, though, and I'm not quite ready to start putting ice packs on my ribs to make him/her move, so this seems good for now.

29 Weeks is a LONG time.

29 weeks is 203 days.
Or 4,872 hours.
Or 292,320 minutes.
Or a whole bunch of seconds.

And I'm 29 weeks pregnant today.

Bugbear has only existed in some form for 27 of them, of course, but I'm not going to re-do that math. It's still a long time.

How pregnant are you?  Way pregnant. Pregnant enough to really, really miss my cheekbones. I'd post a picture, but that would just be depressing.

Relate this pregnancy to objects we tend to eat or other everyday things.  Grab a yard stick. Find the 16" mark. Imagine that as a fetus. That's pretty much as close as I can get to an everyday object that's roughly Bugbear's size (probably 15-17") right now. There just aren't many foods that are 16" long. And comparing him/her to the size of our dog

just seems odd. Bugbear is getting very close to his/her length (height?) at birth, and once s/he hits that, developmental energy will go to packing on the pounds in fat and muscle. The average 29 week old fetus is around three pounds (roughly the weight of a three-pound free weight), so we can expect Bugbear's weight to fall somewhere between double and triple that when s/he is born.

Tell me some random stuff about the Bugbear.  I can't find much to say! It's like all the websites and books that I regularly consult have run out of trivia and interesting ways to describe what's happening right now. Things seem to boil down to "baby is still kinda hairy, covered in vernix, and growing. Baby is gaining weight, is moving a lot, you're gaining weight, if you went into labor right now baby would probably survive with some NICU time, and here is a laundry list of scary conditions that are highly unlikely, but we need to fill up space. The end." 

Tell me how you feel physically. It depends on the day. I'm tense, and stressed, and that's showing up in my shoulders. Some days it hurts to work out, some days it hurts to not work out. Sometimes I'm killer death thirsty and hungry, sometimes I'm so tired of constantly eating and drinking that I think I'd rather pass out than have to keep doing both all the time. Sometimes I'm so happy that I can eat whatever I want that I just smile while scrounging for snacks.

I'm unable to sleep through the night. I'm up at least once, usually twice, sometimes three times, to pee, and it's become impossible for me to roll over without waking up and flipping myself over with concerted effort. Fortunately, I'm able to stretch those times across an eight or nine hour stretch, so it isn't bad. But especially after three consecutive nights of dozing in two-hour blocks, I fantasize about going to sleep and then waking up and having it be morning.

Bugbear has also decided that the lung xylophone is great fun. It isn't. S/he is pretty cooperative about moving out of the way when I'm focusing on breathing exercises, though, which gives me at least a few minutes a day where I can catch my breath.

What are you craving? Nothing, really. If it sounds or tastes good, then I eat it. If it doesn't, then I don't. I've now gained 18 pounds over the course of this pregnancy, so it seems like that sort of intuitive eating is working well for me.

Are you crazy emotional? Thankfully, not this week. I've taken the time to do a good deal of writing and exploring what I'm thinking and feeling, and it seems like those things have helped me to focus my thoughts and really figure out what's bothering me and how I need to go about adjusting that. It's not easy, but it's necessary, and I do appreciate that I'm less likely to burst into tears at random moments or require all my concentration and energy to avoid yelling.

Anything else? I've taken the time to make the first of the baby gear I'll be sewing for Bugbear (and for the record, finding a way to use a rotary cutter with a giant belleh is extremely difficult)--a blanket, and some teeny sleep sacks that are too cute for words. Once I get pictures taken, I'll be excited to share those!

Today's Happy Place

This morning has sucked.

So I found a happy place.

Waterfire in Providence, 2004 or 2005.

Of course, now I miss the sun (yes, I know it's dark in that picture), the sand (yes, I know Waterfire isn't on a beach), and my family.  But I still really love that picture.

Can You Please Fix This For Me?

I love summer. I LOVE it. I love the warmth and the scalding heat, the quality of the light, the million amazing intensified smells, the sounds--yes, even the cicadas and the pheromone-laden bass overload from drivers who are newly 16...it's my season. I thrive in it.

I don't like complaining. Complaining is different than a good old fashioned bitch-fest with a friend, which is both desirable and necessary on certain occasions. But people whose main mode of discussion or existence revolves around how bad things are drive me nuts. That is not conversation. Either do something about it, or suck it up and shut up. Especially if you're complaining about the weather. Especially if you're going to say global warming probably doesn't exist, or doesn't matter enough for you to change your habits. If I can go two weeks in winter without feeling my toes and still respond to "cold enough for you?" with "well, I haven't felt my toes for twelve days, but I'm grateful that I have a house and heat!" and a smile on my face, then you can stop griping.

But even with those two fundamental aspects of my personality out there, and even if I adjust my threshold of "too hot" to be 90 instead of 95, I am over The Hot. It needs to be done. It was 92 here today.  And because I only drank 24 oz of water before leaving the house for church instead of my usual morning 32, and because I did not drink another 32 oz of water between church and the farmer's market, I wound up nearly passing out on the way home. And I have been a useless lump since walking through our door and downing a 12 oz ginger ale, 16 oz of chilled red raspberry leaf tea, and 32 oz of water, then laying down to read. Then getting up to get more liquid, then peeing, then laying down and resting. Then getting up to pee, then getting more liquid, then laying down and resting. Repeat. A lot.  (Sidenote: I've officially decided that, fabulous as True Blood is, the Sookie Stackhouse novels are infinitely better. She's far more interesting and less sniveling, and there's less of a rushed, gotta-fit-everything-in-at-once globby mess of a plot. The show does Lafayette better. The books do everything else better. Anyway.)

And as good as I usually am about drinking lots, and lots, and lots, of water--over 100 oz a day doesn't bother me--apparently The Hot means I need at least 150% of this. And that's just too much. And since I like not passing out, and I like Bugbear, no matter how much I like being warm, I need The Hot to go away. I'll still happily settle for 89 and sunny (bonus points if the breeze off the lake magically reaches me), but this over 90 stuff needs to be done.

Bugbear is fine with this. Bugbear has taken my increased fluid intake to mean it's time to play the xylophone from the inside of my right ribs with renewed gusto. S/he has even been happy to provide the headbutt to my bladder that reminds me to empty it and make room for more fluid. But if the weather listens to you, and you could put in a good word with September for me about getting this sorted out, I'd appreciate it.

28 weeks.

Even the most non-mathematically-inclined websites are calling this third trimester. I am...not into it. Somewhere between five and fourteen weeks from now, I'm going to be a parent. And while I may have some super cute bedding, and I'm not of the "ohmygawd I need STUFF before I'm ready for a baby!" school of thought, I'm just plain not ready.

I'm tired. I'm psychoemotionally drained from a very long and difficult summer. I'm struggling with depression, and even without that added challenge, I have very little patience and very few filters thanks to my hormones. Add to that the gallons of unrequested advice about pregnancy, parenthood, what we do or don't need, and general commentary that just keeps pouring in, and I find myself wondering whether there exists a nuclear fallout-type shelter specially constructed to prevent its inhabitants from The Dumb. And then I find myself wondering how long one could hide out in this mythical shelter, and how much extra it would cost to make it invisible even to the almighty and frankly kinda creepy GoogleMaps. 

So that's what's up this week. And last.

In other news...

How pregnant are you?  28 weeks. Also known as seven months. Also known as 84 days until our due date.

Relate this pregnancy to objects we tend to eat or other everyday things.  Bugbear is roughly 14.5-16" long at this point, the diameter of the front tire on the original BigWheel, but not the size of many fruits or vegetables that we've been able to find. In spite of the lack of fruit comparisons, Bugbear will probably grow another 1/2" this week.  S/he is probably 2.5-4 pounds at this point. That sounds small. It feels huge. S/he is also up to around 3% body fat, which will continue to increase as healthy growth continues. 

Tell me some random stuff about the Bugbear.  It's brain time! Instead of a flat surface, his/her brain is gaining the wrinkles that make a brain look like a brain, as well as developing rapid synapses and building practice at other important functions. Bugbear's eyes are able to open at least partially, and s/he is practicing blinking, and might even close his/her eyes or move away if we were to shine a bright light at my belly. Additionally, s/he is practicing new lung movements like coughing, sucking, and hiccuping, in addition to the practice breathing. I haven't felt any hiccups yet (knock wood) and I'm totally fine with that. There's enough other movement, often visible from the outside, that I'm confident he/she is just fine in there without feeling hiccups.

Tell me how you feel physically.  Tell me how you'd feel if your inside bits looked like this:

and I'll tell you whether you're right (image from http://www.childbirthconnection.org/article.asp?ck=10241).  I'm having fairly constant but unpredictable heartburn--pizza, bad. Cranberry juice with Sprite, fine. Plain water, bad. Water with ice, fine. Mint Tums, helpful. Fruit Tums...you really don't want to know what it's like to buy fruit Tums at Costco and then find out that when you eat them, you burp fruit flavored chalk for six hours. It's sad.

I'm also having pubic symphysis pain. Lay on your back and put your hands down at the bottom of your abdomen, below the butterfly-looking bits of your hips. Feel the bones that are small and at the very bottom of your pelvis in the front, below where your tail bone is in the back? That's your pubic symphysis. Now imagine a combination of a charlie horse and a bone bruise. That's what it feels like. Hopefully, nothing is splitting (in pregnant women, abdominal muscles can separate down the center of the abdomen, resulting in all sorts of fun issues), it's just something random and painful. I am looking into one of those ultra sexy maternity support girdles, but I just can't bring myself to even think about how freaking itchy and miserable it would be, much less actually get one. And though some may claim it's "the latest style to wear them over the clothing as a fashion statement," I'm simply not that hawt.

What are you craving? It depends on the day. I had one day where all I wanted was sugar, another where all I wanted was whole grains and veggies, and another where it was all I could do not to go buy a box of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese and then eat it. Nothing consistent, though I am very excited about the fresh avocados, organic tomatoes, and buffalo mozzarella that I picked up today.

Are you crazy emotional?  Yep.

Having A Healthy Baby Is Not All That Matters

Michael made the off-handed comment this weekend that “telling Krista all that matters about pregnancy and giving birth is having a healthy baby at the end is a really good way to piss her off.” He’s right.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.

And I cannot come to any conclusion other than this: Having a healthy baby is not all that matters. Having a healthy baby cannot be all that matters if we actually want social systems and norms that are worth handing over to those babies. When we say that having a healthy baby is all that matters, we become participants in a system that says women cannot know themselves, cannot make good decisions, and are worth less as human subjects than they are as carriers of babies. A healthy baby matters, but that cannot be all that matters. Choice, responsibility, and change must become vital parts of pregnancy if we want it to be something other than dehumanizing and invasive. 

Choice

Bugbear was a surprise, hence the nickname.

Bugbear is now loved and very much wanted.

Just as I could not have come to this point without the legal right to choose safe medical abortion (that’s a post for another day), I cannot come to be a parent without being respected throughout that process. Having the choice to make informed decisions, based on knowledge of all my options, is a vital part of this.

If I am not involved in the medical care that impacts both me and my fetus, then I do not have a choice about what is going on. Informed consent is a vital part of any trustworthy relationship that involves choice. Informed consent cannot be consent without real information. Much as we would love infallible information that would make the difficult decisions easy, medicine cannot provide that for us. And so informed consent has to include both positive and negative potential outcomes in order to be informed and make a meaningful choice. This is icky. It means we have to admit fallibility and reliance on procedure more than practical individual attention. Moreover, the choices that come out of information have to be respected, or they don’t count.

There is, necessarily, more than one being involved in this mess that is pregnancy. In our case, there’s Bugbear, whom I very much love and want to be healthy. There’s Michael, whom I very much love and want to be healthy. And there’s me, whom I need to love and whose health is a constant project. To claim that all that matters is a healthy baby is to kick out of the equation those who are capable of making any choices, who already exist as human subjects, and whose bodies are subjected to medical attention and intervention. In the face of that pressure, I find myself ignoring, dismissing, and not loving myself as much as I should, all in the name of maintaining a sort of tenuous compliance with American notions of health.

Responsibility

 

Compliance is a huge part of what we consider health. We have all sorts of problems with defining health, but we somehow know what a good patient who wants to be healthy looks like.  Good patients often hand over responsibility for their choices in exchange for being considered responsible in their actions. I will wholeheartedly agree that medical professionals often know more than I about health and illness. But I’m not going to ask a cardiologist for breastfeeding advice, and I’m not going to ask a family practitioner to read neurological scans with the same expertise as someone who spends her working hours examining brain pictures. I am, at the very least, responsible for choosing what I ask of whom.

By no stretch of the imagination am I am neo-con. Talking about personal responsibility often gives me hives because of the political connotations. But responsibility in a medical situation needs to be addressed, and to be handled differently if pregnancy has any hope of moving beyond being all about “the baby.” If I am seen as incapable, irresponsible, or not needing to be burdened by pesky facts and choices, then I cannot be responsible, because I am not even treated as human.

So what does that have to do with pregnancy?

Everything.

Pregnancy is not only about “the baby.” There are other things, like how I am treated, by whom, and to what end, that do matter. Do these matter more than “a healthy baby,” whatever that means? I don’t know. But I shouldn’t have to choose.

Change

Women are only going to be respected and treated as equals when we not only request it, but demand it and expect it. We must stop being so concerned with being good patients that we willingly write ourselves out of our pregnancies, in the name of "good" doctor-patient relationships, in the name of “they know more and therefore they know best,” and in the name of having healthy babies at the expense of all else.

If I want a broken system of relationships to change, I need to become a vital part of my own care. So long as there is a risk that blanket admissions consent forms mean that things can show up in my vagina when I don’t want them there, that I can be restrained without consent, and that I can be harassed, coerced, or made to feel less than others because my beliefs and desires do not coincide with norms, I am not a vital part of my own care. When those things happen, and are considered perfectly acceptable because I come out of an ordeal with a healthy baby, I am an incubator, a dehumanized cog, a woman whose use value is higher than her actual worth. And those things must change. Like so much other social change, this isn’t exactly convenient. Fortunately for the change I want to be in the world, though, I’m not about convenience.

I’m in good company, though. Babies aren’t so much about convenience either. There is nothing stopping Bugbear stopping from turning breech at 42 weeks, or deciding that s/he’s done cooking and wants to come out NOW in the middle of my taking an exam. And nobody is telling my fetus that so long as mom is healthy and happy, what s/he wants doesn’t matter and should be dismissed out of hand. Mutual respect is probably a bit much to expect of a fetus, but respect for both those being born and those giving birth should be a minimum in this world, not a goal we have to fight for.

26 Week Update

What happened to week 25?  I skipped it. Moving is intense, emotional, and invasive. And while I am grateful beyond words to the many people who made it possible, I needed time away from being exposed and chatting about my inside bits.

How pregnant are you? 26 weeks--6.5 months pregnant. Eleven to sixteen weeks until we meet our healthy and fully gestated Bugbear!

Relate this pregnancy to objects we tend to eat or other daily stuff. Bugbear is just awkwardly sized at this point. S/he's probably around 13" long---the length of a small pineapple or an English hothouse cucumber--and weighing around 2 pounds now. The placenta is roughly equal in size to Bugbear, though it won't grow much more, while Bugbear will.

Tell me some random stuff about the Bugbear.  Bugbear's circulatory system is now fully functional, and his/her lungs continue to develop and practice breathing. His/her eyes may be opening, and s/he will start blinking sometime in the next two weeks. The eyes themselves still have very little pigment so that they're blue right now, though they will probably change later in life. The neural pathways that will process sight and sound are developing, and though s/he obviously has no way of attaching meaning to anything yet, familiar sounds will be recognizable after s/he is born, and his/her responses to light will become more developed over the next few months.

The hair on Bugbear's head, if it exists, still lacks pigment, but will start developing it over the next few weeks (like eyes, the color may well change). The lanugo hair that covered his/her body earlier is starting to come off, and will be mostly shed within the next 6 weeks. S/he has been developing sweat and oil glands, and those are now functional. The bits of shed skin and oil that s/he is creating become part of the amniotic fluid, which is now replaced every hour.  

What are you doing with/for Bugbear that's new?  Now that Michael can reliably feel Bugbear kick, we're taking time for them to "play" each day.  I still can't tell the difference between his/her head, butt, and back, other than that they all feel hard-ish and are not the things that kick/punch/dance; I do spend time when s/he's quiet kind of poking around, wondering whether I can actually tell what things are, or I just want to be able to tell.

In spite of Bugbear's lack of input, we've also purchased all the fabric for a crib skirt, fitted and flat sheets, teething guards, pillows s/he won't get until s/he is older, a hanging book nook, storage boxes, and probably some scrap fabric toys. None of it is made yet, but it's available.




Tell me how you feel physically.  I've gained 16 pounds, and every ounce of it is hanging out on the front of my body. I feel huge; I cannot fathom gaining another 10 pounds by mid-November.

I love that I'm still able to work out, but I've had to switch to more aerobic and weight lifting and less yoga because the relaxin is killing my joints. If I stretch too much, which happens unintentionally in some of my favorite poses, I feel like a marionette, limbs just hanging out of my joints and uncontrollable. It's really unpleasant, painful even, and will wake me up; so yoga is weekly instead of daily, and I'm getting accustomed to it even as I don't like it.


In news of the physically weird, I've started getting nosebleeds while sleeping, which is really common during pregnancy, but also disconcerting.




What are you craving? A night where I sleep straight through without waking. Or lots of zucchini sauteed with onions and topped with cheese and tomatoes.
 
Are you crazy emotional?  Yep.

Tell me how you feel otherwise. I'm starting to get excited for my classes to start in September, even as I'm nervous about how pregnancy will impact my abilities to be a strong student. Even as things have settled down in some respects, life is still stressful and unpredictable, full of moments that we just can't plan for, which wears on us. I get to see my mom next weekend, which is super exciting, and hopefully will be refreshing in spite of the million things that we have to get done.

P.S.

Dear BugBear,

Thanks for surprising me with your physical movement. Keep it up, kiddo!

Love,
-Dad

Kickin' Butt, Bladder, Etc.

Bugbear is kicking butt. And bladder. And various other squishable internal organs. S/he even found my stomach and made me burp the other day.

And at yesterday's midwife appointment, s/he kicked visibly while flipping around to run away from the doppler. His/her nickname has gone from Ute Ninja to BeeGee, because s/he has daily dance parties at 3pm, 6-8pm, 10pm, 4am, 6am, and 7:30am, and a ninja would not be that predictable.

And in fabulous exciting news, Michael finally got to feel Bugbear moving around last night at the 10pm dance. I think the memory of laying there with his hands on my abdomen and saying "Oh that was it" with no doubt at all, and me knowing exactly what he'd felt, might be the high moment of this pregnancy so far. It was nothing other than happy, exciting, and intimate, and I get a rush even just closing my eyes and thinking about it. It feels more like an us thing and less like a me thing now, and I cherish that.

05 August 2010

Dear BugBear,

Please, in addition to kicking and dancing around in your mom's ute while I'm mostly asleep, kick and dance around while I'm awake. I would like to enjoy this wonderful experience while conscious.

Thanks.

Love,
-Dad

24 Week Update

What's going on? We're moving this weekend! I am so looking forward to getting everything unpacked, and starting to make the new space into our home, especially since this is where we'll be bringing home our Bugbear.

How pregnant are you? 24 weeks, also known as six months. That means I have four months, or sixteen weeks, left if I'm pregnant for the average 40 weeks. Babies aren't past due until 42 weeks, though, and we're certainly not looking for intervention or induction, so we could be looking at 18 more weeks of being pregnant. Even so, I'm more than halfway there.

Relate this pregnancy to objects we tend to eat or other daily stuff. Bugbear continues to grow, and is probably around 1.5 pounds this week. That's still roughly the size of a spaghetti squash, or papaya.

Tell me some random stuff about the Bugbear.  Bugbear is...still developing. S/he will probably add another 4-6 oz this week from adding fat, developing muscle, and calcifying bones. In addition, s/he's gaining complexity in his/her lung structure, and starting to produce white blood cells that will augment and eventually overtake the passive antibody transfer between him/her and me. Though Bugbear's eyes are still fused shut, s/he is developing rapid eye movement this week.

If heartburn is actually an indication of hair growth (a 2006 study showed a strong and significant correlation between the self-evaluated severity of heartburn and independently rated amounts of hair a baby had), Bugbear may be a bonobo.

What are you doing with/for Bugbear that's new? I chose a song to sing to Bugbear so that there's a distinctly familiar melody at hand when s/he is born. While baby books recommend this sort of thing, it's a result of my experiences as a big sister--I used to sing "Six Little Ducks" to my mom's belly when she was pregnant, and after my sister was born, she would calm down when I'd sing it to her. I love that, and wanted the same sort of comfort and bonding with my child. Random side note: there are 228 youtube videos called "Six Little Ducks," and I feel lucky to have found the one I remember after only watching four of them.

Tell me how you feel physically.  It's been a really difficult week. Lots and lots and lots of pain. I was unable to reliably walk for two days because of the sciatica, and while I'm super thankful that's over, not being able to exist without pain really took a toll on me. Add in killer death heartburn, some baby migraines, nighttime cramps in my calves, a weird perpetual evil-chalky taste in my mouth (that doesn't go away with brushing my teeth, mouthwash, food, water, tea, or anything else), and I'm ready for next week to be better.

What are you craving? I don't even know.  

Are you crazy emotional? Yes. It's clearly linked to all the pain, and the stress of moving, but I can safely expect to burst into tears at least twice a day.

Tell me how you feel otherwise. I'm still frustrated about my lack of standing up for myself, and working on how to best approach that. I'm excited to move, annoyed that I will be largely useless in the actual lifting stuff and putting it places process, and looking forward to a pretty quiet week of just unpacking and adjusting.

Pregnancy Has Made Me a Wuss

A word of warning: I swear here. It happens when I'm mad.

I used to be really good at standing up for myself.

I've had to advocate for my body, my thoughts, and my decisions for a long time. Phrases like "Yes, I am actually in that much pain. No, I absolutely will not take a drug that I don't believe I need and has a substantial risk of permanent debilitating side effects. No, I will not take something else just in case. Yes, I do need the muscle relaxants. Yes, I do actually put on my seat belt every time I'm in the car, thankyouverymuch, AND I make my passengers do so as well. No, I will not agree to be seen by a med student instead of my usual doctor" used to come out of my mouth with relative ease.

Those were easy. They were hard at the time, but now I miss the days when I was "only" fighting about the mundane details of my life, diagnoses, drugs, and treatment plans.

Now, I feel myself fading fast in so many conversations that should be hard-at-the-time and then done. I just can't find the fight in me. I know full well that I'm responding to the cultural narrative that says "Don't you just want a healthy baby? As long as you have a healthy baby at the end of the day, what happens to you and how you're treated don't really matter in the long run."

And while I'd like to call "Bullshit" on that one, I'm tired. And so I don't. And then I kick myself.

Most recently, I've been researching Gestational Diabetes (GD) tests, protocols for treatment, and outcomes. A lot of what I've found has been standard fear-mongering. Babies whose mothers have untreated GD can DIE, and you will feel guilty for the rest of your life because you could have prevented it (this is both a completely untestable claim and one that Freudian mother-blaming would have been proud to behold). Babies whose mothers have untreated GD can be TOO BIG, or sometimes they're TOO SMALL. Babies whose mothers have GD, treated or not, need additional monitoring. Women who have GD are more likely have high-intervention birth experiences ending in c-sections.

"But it's all okay! You'll have a healthy baby!"

It's not all okay. Yes, I want a healthy baby. But I also want to be treated as a person, and damnit, that should not be radical. GD, like so much of medicalized American birth, is controversial, non-standardized in diagnosis and treatment, and is based in faulty studies done ages ago combined with regressive notions of maternity care that minimize the fact that it's not a Baby in an incubator, it's a Woman carrying a fetus. And damnit, that woman deserves to have a say in her medical care.

"Why not just take the test? You're already at risk, and really, it's only an hour, some crap sugar drink, and then you know for sure."
I do technically have two of the risk factors. I am OLD (29), and I am NOT THIN (serious social crime). My ovaries should have shriveled up and died long long ago, in mourning of the days when I was young and fertile and beautiful. Never mind that correlation is not causation, and the fact that many women over 28 do test positive for GD does not mean that being over 28 is the cause of GD. Even if age really ain't nothin but a number, there are other Very Important Numbers that I fail. At 5'2" and 148 pounds before pregnancy, my BMI was 27, putting me squarely in the "overweight" category. Nevermind that BMI is laden with problems, including an inability to account for muscle mass, natural fat deposits like boobs, and a general fallacious belief that standardized weight is available to and healthy for every person. Overweight is risky.
My hypothetical questioner is right that the test is an hour. And I could read for an hour. But I'd prefer to read for an hour at home, in a comfy chair, without being stabbed, poked, or prodded.
And it doesn't necessarily have to be a crappy sugar drink. I'd rather have jelly beans, and that's a medically "proven" alternative I haven't been offered.
I'd also prefer a test that's standardized in its measurements (right now, the US version isn't), takes into account the natural changes that it purports to be monitoring (blood sugar levels are naturally progressively higher as pregnancy continues, which means that the same woman could pass at 24 weeks, do nothing different, and fail at 28 weeks just by virtue of being pregnant), and doesn't automatically place me in the absurd category of "high risk" (testing positive for GD means that women are monitored more closely, subject to more interference and intervention during their birthing processes, and due to the cascading effect of intervention, more likely to have c-sections).
--See here and here for more extended discussions and extensive citation of these things.

I KNOW these things. They're why I called my midwives office to request that my test be done at 24 weeks instead after my 25 week appointment.

So what did I do when she said that they prefer to test at 26 weeks?

I responded with a bold, well-researched, intelligent, individualized, and thoughtful "oh. Okay. Thanks, have a good evening!"

That's not me. At all. We gotta get this fixed before someone tells me I need a non-stress test or a fluid levels check just because. Because pregnancy and parenthood may inevitably change me, but this is not okay.

How do I get back to being the sort of woman who stands up for herself instead of caving at the slightest pressure? What do you do to remind yourself that you're strong, intelligent, and capable?

A few images for today

Dear BugBear,

In case you haven't noticed by now, your mom and dad can be somewhat offbeat individuals. In the event that you are unaware of this reality, please consult the following blog post.
While visiting the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago a few weeks ago, we happened to step into the gift shop. There was a display where one could customize some tiles to spell out words. We, of course, took this opportunity to procure the necessary letters to spell "Bugbear."

And here is a zoomed-in version, complete with shark attack action (courtesy of your zany Uncle Dan).


While at the grocery store, I thought that it may be both silly and appropriate to slap an "Organic" sticker on Krista's belly.







At a different grocery store (Trader Joe's), we decided to conduct an experiment. According to some accounts of fetus development, you are approximately the size of a papaya.








We hope that this rather odd sense of humor either entertains you, or that you merely tolerate us and love us anyway.

Yours,
-Michael (aka Dad)

How is this only 23 weeks?

What's going on? Fortunately, it's been a quiet week. Generic daily activity, and getting ready to move next weekend, but nothing hugely surprising in our lives, and that's very nice.

How pregnant are you? 23 weeks. I feel like I've been pregnant forever. Round. My uterus is roughly 1.5" above my navel at this point, which explains the roundness, but it's still very, very surreal to see my body changing so drastically on a daily basis.

(I know, I know, dirty mirror, sorry!)

Relate this pregnancy to objects we tend to eat or other daily stuff. Bugbear is huge. Relatively. Over a pound at this point, and tall/long enough that s/he is bigger than last week, but no longer given likely weekly measurements on various websites. So s/he's still roughly the length of a spaghetti squash. Our ultrasound last week showed that his/her feet are 4cm long right now, so looking at a ruler helped give us a better picture of exactly what's growing in there.

Tell me some random stuff about the Bugbear.  Bugbear is having a growth spurt this week, and for the next few weeks, at a rate of up to 6oz per week, due to increased intake of the sugars and nutrients in the amniotic fluid. So it isn't my imagination that I'm feeling more huge each day, and actually feeling my abs and round ligaments stretching and pulling and changing.

Visually, Bugbear's eyebrows are now visible, and if there's hair on his/her head, it could be up to 1/2" long, though it's unlikely to have pigment yet.

Internally, Bugbear's middle ear bones are hardening, which is creating a sense of balance and direction--as s/he moves around in my uterus, s/he may be able to recognize up and down, as well as be able to distinguish rolling movements. I know that I'm certainly feeling those things!

His/her pancreas is starting to produce insulin, and s/he continues to pack on the baby fat. Alveoli are forming in his/her little lungs, which will eventually allow him/her to breathe after birth. That sort of development means that we're increasingly close to viability, or the possibility that Bugbear could survive in the outside world if s/he were born in the next few weeks. We obviously want him/her to keep cooking for at least another 10 weeks, though!

What are you doing with/for Bugbear that's new? We're starting to think about things like baby showers, which means deciding what stuff s/he and we will actually need and want, and what just isn't us. I'm spending far too much time on etsy looking at fabric that I might use to make bedding...but fabric is just so delightful. So far, we haven't had a periscope peek out from my navel and nod vigorously at any particular pattern, so this is one of those decisions that we'll probably have to make without the kid's input.

Tell me how you feel physically.  Odd. Achy. Huge. I've had some days with pain so bad I couldn't walk, and more where I feel somewhere between good and excellent. I am freaked out by my hugeness, and the knowledge that I'm only going to get bigger. But there's also something really intriguing about never really knowing what I'm going to look or feel like a few hours in the future.

What are you craving?  Cherries. I bought two pounds of organic cherries at Trader Joe's yesterday, and not eating them all at once is as difficult as not eating all the shortbread with chocolate that I bought.

Are you crazy emotional? Yes. Tears at tiny diapers, my hair, moving again, not moving, the unfairness of life that's happening to so many people I care about right now, missing people, the future, adorable onesies, meat, being tired, being awake...it doesn't take much right now.

Tell me how you feel otherwise. Overall, good. I'm really working to incorporate my goal of living in the present at every moment into this pregnancy. I'm only doing this once. This is the point in my life where I'll be 23 weeks pregnant, and I want to drink it in, remember it, take it for what it is without forcing it to be anything else. It's harder to do so when the pain or exhaustion or frustration are bad, but it's also helped me to appreciate what's going on rather than trying to make it more ideal.