Thoughts on Mothering

As the small group of you known as my loyal readers may remember, I made a decision last summer to let go of fear, to embrace the love around me, to stop fretting about it all ending. I had realized that I let myself love with only a bit of myself, and that I needed to drown in the love I have instead of just dipping my toe in. And soon thereafter, H and I decided to have another baby, and then very shortly thereafter I was pregnant. I am nothing if not fertile.

Throughout my pregnancy, I consciously practiced the art of loving without reserve. I opened myself up to H and my children. I pulled my kids back out of school because I decided to just admit and accept that I love being with them, love teaching them, love having them underfoot all the time. Not that it was easy. Umberto's epilepsy really tested me. The first time I saw him seizing, I could feel this pain that was like dying. The thought of losing my boy was so intense that I wasn't sure if I could live through the actuality. And honestly it was an act of will power to not withdraw myself from him--a sad attempt to stave off some pain. But I didn't do it. I kept loving with an openness and intensity that made everything sharp and clear.

Part of this letting go involved accepting that I love being a mother. I never thought that would be me. Ten years ago I couldn't imagine wanting to stay home with my beasties. Throughout my motherhood it has been hard for me to let go of this imagine I have of myself--tough, independent, career orientated, feminist, etc. I had a hard time trying to reconcile who I saw myself as with the everydayness of my life. I felt that if I admitted to liking staying home with the kids then I would somehow be unfaithful to the person I imagined myself as. This year I said "Fuck it!" and jumped into loving my kids, loving homeschooling , loving being pregnant, loving having a newborn.

But this doesn't mean that I am perfect, that I love it all the time, that I don't love my job, etc. And with the onslaught of Mother's Day (that capitalist marketing enterprise made up of guilt and profit) came the usual viral emails about the perfect mother and the not so perfect mothers who realized they needed to be the perfect mothers. How reassuring to read about the mom who complained so much about mothering that her friend thought she hated mothering. She, of course, realized she shouldn't complain. Then there were the hundreds of sentimental verses praising the holy mother who never yells, always says the right thing, etc.

My problem with these thing is that this love is messy, complicated, not natural as in women are naturally meant to be mothers, or perfect. This love is like all kinds of love. It's damn hard sometimes. Mother's Day came at the end of a hard week. The adjustment must have hit for Piper because we had a week of tantrums, crying, sobbing, screaming fits, and clinginess to mama. It's hard to be patient and mindful when you haven't slept more than five hours. I yelled too much, wasn't nearly as understanding as I could have been, and on and on. According to the sentiments I should be ashamed of myself for a lack of perfect parenting. And yeah it would be easy to wrap myself up in the guilt.

Instead, I apologized to Piper when I yelled. I explained to her that I was tired, and that it was hard for all of us to adjust to a new baby no matter how much we loved said baby. I was gentle with myself because the crushing weight of the image of the perfect mother is entirely too much to bear. I acknowledged that I don't believe in natural anything. I think we are cultural beings, and that our culture tries to cripple women by shaping them into certain boxes. Our limbs are contorted until we are no longer able to move. I want out of those boxes, and want to be able to move myself in more freeing ways. I want to be able to stretch into the many facets of who I daily become.

A Stroll Through Plaza-Midwood

Yesterday was rough. Perhaps the roughest since having Rowena. I knew it was coming--it's never easy adding a new member to your family. Of course a part of me hoped to avoid it--that maybe this time we would get to skip over the adjustment. But yesterday it all came crashing down. Piper had several long crying tantrums throughout the day including an hour long screaming crying session as soon as she woke up. I was not very patient and had more than a few bad mommy moments. Those moments were filled with guilt at how unmindful I had been as a parent. But it's hard to be mindful when you're exhausted and stressed out.

When H came home, we napped a bit together, ate dinner, and then headed out for an evening walk in Plaza-Midwood. I love these spring nights when it's still wonderful warm but not too humid. We emerge from our cocoon of home and get outside to explore little streets. And this time we were introducing little Rowena to our nightly jaunts.

The three older beasties chilling outside the Dish, a wonderful restaurant on Thomas Street. I'm not a big meat eater but I love their Cajun meatloaf.

Note exhausted eyes. Gargh I look old but I suppose anyone would when they're functioning on very little sleep. But also note fuzzy baby head!

H's photo of the little garage right beside The Dish.

This kind of summed up much of my day....

Seriously how could anyone resist this face...I know I can't.

I am very drawn to these lovely overgrown yards. I do like the structure ones as well but these appeal to me on my lazy level.

Wood travels....

Love...

Walking away...seems so hard to believe that she is five, and so independent yet so much in need of me still.

Pink houses make me laugh.

Sucky arm baby...

Nymphs in trees....

Resting on stoops.

I didn't know time even resided in a house. It's abode surrounded by barbed wire to keep us mortals out?

Home on daddy...

And then an evening snack from mom....

Presenting

Rowena Willow

8lbs. 9ozs

19.5 inches

Born April 15 at 3:23 am.

Born at a freestanding birth center with world's best midwife. No interventions what so ever.

Hope to have the story up tomorrow or Monday. I realized I have friends here that are not on Facebook so sorry for the late notice guys.

Moving

Yesterday ended up being an anxiety day. I find myself moving between high anxiety and resolve towards patience. I started the day with resolve. I wasn't having a baby for a while so I might as well get stuff done. I caught up on grading, note taking, and commenting on on-line forums. I made soup and burritos for supper. I fed beastie children. I did lots and lots of dishes. I even went shopping, with all three beasties and no H. It was a productive day fed though by a restless, anxious energy that finally exploded after a phone call from my midwife.

She had emailed me suggesting acupuncture and I hadn't responded because I wasn't sure what to do about it. I can't afford it is the bottom line, and I know my insurance won't cover it. Plus I'm a bit skeptical about it's effectiveness. She's concerned that I'm overdue for me, that the baby is getting really big, etc. And she was worried that the baby might be in a bad position making real labor hard to get into. Of course I told H who also grew anxious and kept saying "Maybe you need to go a Doctor." So we fussed around feeding each other's anxiety which only got worst when we got a call that H's dad was coming today (it's been changed to Wednesday).

I spent the evening doing pelvic tilts, hanging around on my hands and knees. Drinking raspberry leaf tea. I pondered the nasty mysteries of Castor oil. I used my breast pump (I have milk dear god). I worried that the blueberry wanted to come out but was stuck. By 11, I was a mess. I made dh put in 30 Rock so I could laugh. I need to get that energy out of me. This fear, this restlessness, this doubt about my body and the blueberry.

After laughing, H, without prompting, put on our birth music: Ravi Shankar and Philip Glass's Passages. I love this cd and had wanted to give birth to Piper during it but she came quick and to Glenn Gloud's rendition of Bach (not a bad thing at all). So now I have a new chance to use what I consider the perfect birthing music. As soon as the music started, I began to feel the tension leave. I started to move my hips to the music (good positioning move) and once I started moving, I felt myself leave my head and just exist in the movement of my hips, the heavy weight of the baby in my womb. The more I danced, the more I felt lost in my body's movements, caught up in s space where it was all material, all centered on the way the music soothed me, sent the anxiety away.

And right before bed, the blueberry did some rather painful big movements that took a toil on my back but I slept really good (for me) afterwards, and when I woke up, the blueberry was low and centered. I could feel tiny hand movements that were no where near the head.

H and I had been talking earlier about how the problems with theories on the body is that they are so cerebral it's hard to think about bodies while reading and contemplating said theories. There's a lot of talk in many theoretical circles about "writing the body," "performing the body," histories/knowledge dwelling in the body" but how does one touch this? Is there a way to understand that reading/writing will never capture? I don't know but for me when I am this heavy with carrying life, a breath away from one of the most intense bodily experiences, I have no patience for "intellectual" argument about the body. The words hammer at me until I want to crawl under something to avoid their insistence for debate and argumentation.

Right now I want to wrap myself in music and the way it moves my body through the material imagery of birth.

From the Mouth of Camille

As I'm sitting in the recliner, reclined naturally, and moaning about the lack of Blueberry, Camille looks over and says "Come on Mama, it's nice, warm and comfortable in there. He (the kids are determined I'm having a boy child)'s happy in there." Makes sense coming from Camille as she was the one who let out the scream of horror upon arrival. She didn't want to be born. I was on the pit for 12 hours with her, and it was touch and go in terms of a C-section. Luckily she came, albeit unwilling, shortly before the OB showed up.

Camille's birth was seriously traumatic for me. It was not a planned pregnancy nor did it come at the best time. Combined with some other icky circumstances it was a big depression fest for me. The birth seemed like a manifestation of all that crud. I warred between wanting this baby so much and not wanting the baby at all. We had decided on one child (ha now right?), and having this baby meant that I was going to have to keep teaching. H had a really hard time with these emotions, and really felt that I was rejecting the baby. It was a wretched time for all of us.

My water broke at 5 am. in bed 36 weeks into my pregnancy. We rushed to the hospital because we thought her birth would be quick as my son's had been. But it wasn't. It was bad from the get go. The nurse who saw me was rude and kept insisting I had peed myself before she even checked me. Finally she checked and my water had broken. No apology. Then she was really nasty about me coming in so early. I explained to her that my first birth had been very fast and that they wanted me to come in as soon as there was any sign of labor. She made some comment about how water breaking was not necessarily a sign of labor and that they were no doubt going to have to put me on pitocin. And it just went down hill from there. After walking around for a couple of hours, I was bullied into the pit. And then after nasty nurse left, worried, frantic, wow your husband is hot nurse came. When she wasn't trying to push an epidural on me, she was flirting with H. It was so nightmarish. Basically, they jumped the pit as high as they dared, and I suffered through the contractions from hell, and finally was able to push (they tried to flip me on my back until I threatened to kill the nurse...midwife jumped in and said "I can deliver from this angle."). And there she was, angry, expelled from the warm, comfortable place. My daughter. Perfect and beautiful right from the beginning.

I am remembering this because I think maybe Camille gets the blueberry in ways the other two beasties don't. Both Umberto and Piper were ready to be born. Neither made much of a fuss upon leaving the womb. Camille needed more time, and obviously the blueberry does as well. I'm impatient and excited to meet this new beastie. I can't deny this. I'm done being pregnant. I'm huge, unwieldy, tired. I want my body back. But I also want to honor the blueberry's need to be warm and comfortable. To come out into this world when he/she feels ready to see it. I wish Camille had had that option.

No Right To Whine

I'm only at 37 weeks give a few days toward 38 so honestly I have no right to whine. There are women who go way past 40. But for me this is a long pregnancy. I have never been this pregnant. And in addition, I am having lots of "signs" that fizzle out to nothing. I felt so confident and proud of my body through this whole pregnancy. I felt strong. Felt like I made good decisions in terms of moving and eating. Enough so that I didn't freak too much out by my nearly 60lb weight gain. And honestly when I sailed by that 36 week mark I was pretty overjoyed as it meant that I could give birth at the center.

And now here I am not trusting my body. Today for the third time I thought labor was imminent. But after six hours of regular, fairly painful contractions, nothing. I told people. Canceled my classes. all for nothing. It's discouraging and makes me question my ability to even read my body. I keep hearing that I have to trust the baby, trust my body. And I honestly want to scream "Why should I?" At this point, there seems to be a lot of confusion on some one's part...

Last night, in the dark, with a breeze coming from the open window, I could feel the baby's presence like a breath. The nearness was a ghost touch but still there not solid but so real. I want to know this baby. I want to trust that this small presence knows when to come. Knows what to do. I want to believe in my body's ability to labor. To bring this life out when it is time. For now, I have to struggle against the tears, the frustration of living each day in expectation. And relishing those far fewer tosses and turmoils that ripple like earthquakes across my swollen stomach.

Musings Over Joy

I should be in bed but am spiraling down for some kind of surge of crazy energy. I have tomorrows dinner ready for the crock pot. A quiche cooked for sometime next week. I made brownies. The cloth diapers had their final wash and are now deliciously soft. I graded 45 tests and now only have about 20 more to go. And finally I feel somewhat sleepy.

But today was a beautiful day in its simplicity and quiet. We all stayed in, tucked away from the rain. Everyone was stiller than usual as if we were all caught up in a moment outside of time, outside of bustling and hectic energy. H and I had a lot to do but there was none of that panic that comes from being overwhelmed. We just sat down and chipped away, smiling at each other reams of paper, taking turns to meet little beastie needs.

Later in the day, I made a grocery run. I needed to pick up the food I think I'd want to eat while in labor, and round out our weekly grocery needs. It was nice to be alone. I've been craving a lot of alone time lately. Usually I nap when H takes the kids out so this alone time was precious...I was conscious. On my way back, from the store, I started to think about how amazingly wonderful this pregnancy has been. I who normally hate being pregnant was really just so in the space of being pregnant this time around. It was a glorious thing to feel those first flutters that have now turned to fully belly ripples of limbs moving and a little body shifting. I didn't hurt like I normally do and despite a huge weight gain, I didn't feel unwieldy. I was able to laugh at my waddle, and to rest in the glory of my round belly. I felt strong and powerful. I still do. I hope that carries into labor.

For me this baby is a healer. It has healed much of the pain that I wrecked on my own life and on my family last year. It has healed the way that I see my body. It has given me a confidence that I did not I possessed. This baby is a miracle as all my babies were. I wish now that I had slowed down and appreciated those in urtero moments.

And as I thought about this, I felt a bit sad that this is it. I will never do this again. My body will not grow anymore life. But I still have many years left of nurturing not just this body within me but the bodies of my family that surrounds me. We are all cupped in each other's hands.

Fear and Love

In small steps for the blueberry's appearance. This pregnancy has been surprisingly easy for me. Normally, I detest being pregnant but this time have reached a very zen place with it all. Even with an almost 60lb. weigh gain. I even enjoy watching the blueberry shift my belly into waves of movement. The settling of the same belly into a lopsided lump with a tiny ass poking out. I even talk to the baby which is so not me. I used to read aloud with the others but this time I find myself caressing the poking lumps and talking directly to said blueberry. Needless to say I feel quite close already to this new life. And with that feeling of closeness comes fear.

I go into each pregnancy with less ignorance than before. And this time I feel almost too knowledgeable. Because the price for that knowledge is lots of paranoia and fear. This time I have a lot of fear surround PROM (Premature Rupture of Membranes). This is essentially what happened to me with U and C. And they were both premature. Now I've learned that babies can die from this occurrence. I didn't know that before. I just figured that it was normal to have your water break before you had contractions. I spent last night awake and worrying that I was going to lose this baby.

This is all coming from, I think, my decision to let go and love. I had realized after a very rough spring last year that I distance myself from those I love because I am scared that I'll lose them. To death. To not being good enough for them. To something. I learned it was crippling to live that way and not fair to those who loved you with the abandon that you did not have. So I let go of the fear and embraced the inferno. And it does indeed burn you up again and again. But now I"m coping with the fear that comes from not holding back. The fear that comes from being so close, so in love. First there was Umberto's first seizure, where I stood by the door unable to be in the bedroom because the thought of watching my beloved boy die was killing me. And now there is this fear that something will happen to this baby that I don't even know yet. The fear is as crippling as the holding back so I know I have to let it go. But this letting go is so hard.

Overheard

Words float from others' mouths like bits of litter thrown into the wind.

They tumble about, floating for moments before descending

in whirls

almost hitting the ground.

Until you hear them, scoop them up, fold them and slip them into your

ear.

Waiting

I am entering month six of pregnancy. I would say that while I am not rolling in joy over being pregnant (pregnancy is not a fun thing for me; babies are another story), I am perhaps a bit more patient this time. After three pregnancies, one learns that waiting is part of the deal. But it is a sweet waiting in many ways. Right now I am still small enough to be able to move comfortably. I can sit and relish the thumbing, rolling, and kicking that feels like a party in my womb. There is the delighted look on H's face when he rubs my belly and calls "Hey Blueberry!" and receives a hello kick. There is the pleasure of folding tiny clothes (are they really THAT small?) and laying them neatly into drawers....the only time they'll be that organized. This is a kind of waiting that has an end. I will not be pregnant forever. There will be an outcome. Hopefully a positive one.

But lately I've been another in kind of waiting. It is a waiting that come from parenting as well but it is a more painful kind of waiting. As many of you know Umberto's EEG came out with some abnormalities while he slept. His MRI was normal which was a relief to hear but the abnormal on the EEG uped his chances of having another seizure. Of course the office assured it was still a small chance, and as it too often the wont of medical offices didn't really give us much information. Essentially we were back in the same spot as before "Wait for another seizure."

Now this kind of waiting does not have moments of joy. It is a tense waiting filled with worry and anxiety. While pregnancy has those moments, they are balanced with a kind of anticipatory hope. This was not that kind of waiting. There was relief with each day that nothing happened but that relief was overpowered by an intense preoccupation with worrying about every little twitch and flicker.

Shortly after the New Year's Eve office visit, Horacio was hugging Umberto good night. He noticed that Umberto's right hand was thumbing against his back. H asked Umberto if he could stop the movement, and Umberto replied that he could not. With a little more questioning, we discovered that Umberto has had this happen a few times. It's caused him to drop things. With a little research we thought that he might be having simple partial seizures. After a frustrating week back and forth with the neurologists office, things seemed to return to normal. For a time, we thought "Okay these are doable. Umberto can live with this. It's not horribly impacting his quality of life." Mostly I think we were tired of the stress of carrying the burden of waiting. Of waking up to every thump, every squeak of the kids' bed. It wasn't that we didn't care or that we didn't worry but more that we just felt that we couldn't live constantly in scrutiny of Umberto. He didn't need that nor could we maintain that kind of intensity.

Yesterday, we drove a bit to satisfy my craving for beef and fries. Umberto fell asleep in the car. When we arrived at the restaurant, he was hard to wake up and seemed more groggy than normal. On the way in, I handed him his comic book. Right outside the door, he dropped it. I turned to him, and watched as he attempted to pick it up a couple of times only to drop it again and again. I'm ashamed to admit that I was getting annoyed thinking he was playing games but then H gave this worried look and I realized he was having an episode. I asked him if his hand was bothering him but he lied and said it was because he was cold. I told him to tell me the truth and he did. I could tell he was scared.

Later that night, we had our usual hectic bedtime. Lots of hyperness, and unwillingness to sleep. Finally they all settled down and I went to sleep. It was a restless night for both H and I. This is not unusual for me but it is for H. He was awake this time. I was coming to, woken by H getting out of bed. I didn't hear the fall but H did. He was up and in Umberto's room in second. He called to me, his voice edged a bit with panic. I rushed in to find Umberto on the floor, convulsing, breathing in grunts, eyes opened. "It's okay." I told H as calmly as I could. I felt anything but calm. I felt like I wanted to run away. Like I couldn't bear to see my child like this again, and underneath that feeling guilt that I didn't feel strong enough to watch this. But neither H nor I let fear rule out. We cleared away toys, made sure he was on his side, cushioned his head, timed the seizure and spoke to him. As before he came out within two minutes, was unconscious for a tiny bit of time, and then spoke to us. He fell asleep soon afterward but woke up to vomit. All the same as before. It was a little eery how much this situation was like the first time. It was even the same day and the same time. Same scenario. He had gotten up to change the DVD in the player. This time he told us a lot more. He said he dropped the DVD and couldn't pick up with either hand. After trying a couple of times, he said his hands started to feel funny, and then he fell onto the ground. So we know now that he gets an aura which is really a blessing as it makes the waiting a little more bearable for him. He also didn't seem as scared. Perhaps H and I remaining calm and matter-of-fact helped him to gain his own strength.

Now we're back in dealing with the efficiency of the neurology office. I am done with them on level. They don't ever answer the phone. When they finally called me back this morning, they told me to up his medication. Umberto wasn't on any medication and when I told the nurse this, she acted like it was my fault. She insisted on calling in a prescription even though I've mentioned several times that we really want to discuss this step with a Dr. I just spent a half hour driving to every CVS around us trying to get the prescription to no avail. The problem is that Umberto likes the Dr he meet the first time, and I really would like Umberto be able to talk to this man. It's now pretty clear that Umberto does have epilepsy, and I'd like to have a conversation with someone about what this means for Umberto and our family.

Thus this period of waiting is over. I suspect that it will never be easy to watch these episodes and as always with children, we enter into another phase of waiting. Medication? Alternative therapies? Will he outgrow it? Is is possible to figure out what kind of epilepsy he has? But when having children one signs up to wait. And of course we have signed up to advocate, gather knowledge and research. Perhaps this will make the waiting more bearable.

When Science Experiments Fail

On Wednesday night we conducted a "Chinese Clock" experiment. We poked a small hole into a plastic plate, and set it in a big pan of water. We were timing how it would take the plate to sink to recreate a Chinese water clock. The time it took to sink would give us a unit of time we could use to time things. Initially it appeared to not be working. The plate just floated and didn't sink. The kids were a bit bummed that nothing dramatic happened and went off to play, coming by to check the pan every so often. "What are we going to do if it doesn't work?" I asked H. He shrugged and we both laughed nervously. Almost an hour later, I walked by the pan to see that the plate had indeed sunk. I called the kids who came running and recorded the end time excitedly. While this post isn't about science experiments failing, it is about how what can be seen as failures are often not failures at all.

We took off the two weeks H had for vacation. I hadn't planned on any kind of winter break because the whole concept of a break sounds rather superfluous when homeschooling. But we don't have H around like we did when we both were in school so it made sense to just relax with family. But I was determined to start off right when H went back to work. I sat down on Sunday, made lesson plans complete with times, etc. We were going to do school and we were going to do it at certain times, etc.

Sunday was hectic. The furnace had broken down Saturday night so we had to wait around for a repairman before we could grocery shopping. It was too cold to do so much so my plans to make up suppers for the week didn't really pan out. By the time we had heat, been shopping, and eaten dinner, I was beat. But the kids weren't, and C and U managed to wake me up three times in about an hour and a half period. I ended up awake until 4 when I fell into a fitful sleep. Of course this meant I didn't get up until ten totally blowing my schedule.

As I sat there drinking my coffee and eating chocolate chip pancakes with Umberto, I sort of gave up in my head. I thought "What's the point? We're already two hours behind my plans." And then Umberto came over with a bunch of books so I read to him and he read to me. When that was done I thought we might as well do writing and before lunch we had done most of the work I planned for the day. When Camille got up at her usual late hour, I did her stuff.

As we sat and ate lunch, made plans to go to the library with H when he got out of work, I realized that I had to let go of the schedule. The point of homeschooling for us was to get out of the system. I believe that schooling are manifestations of cultural expectations. I'm not a big fan of "natural" learning. All learning, I'd argue, takes place in a cultural motif of various kinds. But I do think that once we are aware of these motifs that we can begin to choice new motifs. I'm also aware that this is a position I come to through being educated and in some cases privileged (but that's really a whole different post). My point is that I realized that I had decide to home school because I hate the educational system--what it represents and what it does to children. I didn't want to recreate school in our home. I wanted something different.

And I know that my kids learn whether they are doing something formal or not. They learn when they play creatively, when they hang out with friends, when they sit and listen to H and I debate stuff. Learning is never ending if you are open to the experiences that are at hand. And while I do believe they need guidance (again I'm not here to debate the merits of unschooling vs. schooling or whatever), I think that guidance doesn't always have to be hammered in through rote routine. In fact, I am still a rather undisciplined person despite years in formal education.

Our new plan is that we make up a list of things we want to accomplish for the week, and then we do them. It doesn't matter when or where. This takes a lot of pressure of us. Instead of just giving up, we give in. We do science experiments at nine at night...

And we learn that sometimes even those failures teach us something.

A Personal "Why Health Care Matters."

This is by no means an intellectual post about health care. I promise no "facts," "figures" or "data" to back up any kind of argument. This is mostly a personal reflection on why the health care debacle has seemed especially poignant to me.

A couple of weeks ago, we got two bills in the mail. They were both from CMC's ER. Now let me clarify. We didn't go to the ER for routine care. My son had a random seizure. We didn't really have a choice but to bring him. In fact, we called 911, and the ambulance driver kindly told us ahead of time that we could drive him and save ourselves the transportation fee. These bills were for two separate services. One was for the actual visit and the other was for sending blood work results to Umberto's doctor. The first bill totaled a little over $2,000 and the second was for $700 and some change.

Now here's the services that we paid $2,700 for. At the ER, we encountered a lovely nurse who threatened Umberto (who had just had a seizure I remind you) with an anal thermometer because it was going to be so difficult to hold the thermometer in his mouth for him. She only relented after I started to get Umberto redressed, and told her we were leaving for another ER, and her superior came and told her to hold the thermometer in Umberto's mouth (note: this is a children's ER at a special children's hospital). Then a resident came in, and questioned us about what happened. She took Umberto's pulse, and listened to his chest. After a 15 minute wait, another Dr. came, and told us "Your son had a seizure." (no shit). Then after another 10 minute wait, the resident came in, and took blood. We were there for maybe 45 minutes. The second bill involved the transfer of a sheet of paper to the Dr.'s office. I guess they pay their photocopiers a lot of money.

I just looked at the bills, and thought "Wow. And we wonder why we have raising health care issues?" Later I got another bill with the information that I still owed $700 after my insurance took care of the rest.

Couple this with the bill that came from Umberto's MRI: $3, 550. And we don't know how much the EEG is going to cost but we do know that we had to pay $150 in copays for just the Drs visits.

I don't feel like we had a choice in these medical decisions. Umberto had to go to the ER. He had to have the MRI. He had to see the Dr.s he saw. I mean, it's not like we were worried about a cold. Our child was on the floor having convulsions. And if we didn't have insurance, Umberto wouldn't have been able to have the MRI or the EEG.

While we go through this, we are also fighting our insurance company concerning the birth center. All we want to know is how much they are going to cover. The woman H spoke to was totally unhelpful. Her suggestion was that we go to a hospital in our network. H explained to her that this was simply not an option. And she still didn't really direct us in how we are supposed to go about filing our claim. What's stunning about this is that it's much cheaper to give birth at the birth center. The OB we were seeing was charging us $1200 after insurance. This doesn't include the hospital fee. Add to this that the birth center I'm going to is covered by SC Medicaid. The state's willing to pay for it but not my private insurance? And we're worried about a government plan? Seriously?

What really pisses me off right now is that we pay over $600 a month for insurance. We rarely go to the Dr. because we're pretty healthy. But this year we've run into things where it's obviously vital for us to have insurance. Yet even with the insurance we're still paying huge amounts of money. Our copay for a regular office visit is $30. Our copay for a specialist is $60. We have an individual deductible of $1,200. That's for each of us. This is what insurance gets us.

There is so much wrong with this picture that it's hard to even begin to explain it. First, our government is about to make it illegal to not have health insurance. But they're not doing nearly enough to protect us for the insurance corps. There is no guarantee that my insurance might not get jacked in preparation for this change. And I can't just go without or I'll have to pay a penalty. I don't have a public option so that I can be GUARANTEED a fare rate. And if they don't jack my prenium, they're likely to jack my co payments and my deductibles (this is what our insurance did this year...and we're talking state employee insurance by the way). So I face the real possibility of paying more each month and with each visit. End result is that I'm going to have be dying before I go the Dr.'s.

Then there is the issue that comes from the birth scenario that I think is in indicative of a larger problem. In Europe, all normal births are attended by midwives: both in home and in hospitals. OBs are only called in in risky circumstances, and even in those circumstances C-sections and inductions are rare. But here in the US, midwives are demonized, out-lawed, and run out of business even when they are allowed to practice. C-sections are prevalent despite WHO studies which show that they are dangerous. We have one of the highest infant/maternity mortality rates in the "western nations." So why can't I get my insurance to cover a cheaper and healthier birth? Lobbying. The GYN/OB associations in this country is a powerful force. Just like the insurance lobbyists. Decisions are not made on what's best for the country but on pockets being lined with money. And it's not a simple party issue. Both parties do it. When Obama said he was getting 95% of what he wanted in health care, I really wanted to throw up. As I face a mountain of hospital bills, I am not sure I'm getting 95% of what I even need. And for the conservatives who are bemoaning having to pay for the poor, let me point out that both H and I work.

Cause it's New Year

I love these things at the end of the year, and I'm tired so I need to start off my blog a day thing with something a bit light. Thanks to Jess and Matt for the survey!

Year-End Survey

1. What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before? Finished and defended a thesis.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I honestly can't remember. I may have them somewhere on the blog....ummm so I guess that takes care of whether I kept them or not...I'll likely have some in my head.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? No.

4. Did anyone close to you die? Yes.

5. What countries did you visit? No where this year.

6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009? A new baby:P

7. What date from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? August 10 (the day we decide we really did want another child).

8. What was your biggest success? Finishing my thesis.

9. What was your biggest failure? Some personal stuff which involved some people that I wish I just had not gotten to know.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? I had the flu, the cold, and a lingering sore throat, mat burns on my feet and elbows, a nasty bruise from falling off a chair, and numerous cuts and burns.

11. What was the best thing you bought? Probably my thinkpad.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration? H was his usual amazing hisself.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Me. I'm not proud of who I was for a short period earlier this year.

14. Where did most of your money go? Bills and lately Amelie's.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? Adding another beastie to our collection!

16. What song will always remind you of 2009? All of APTBS's Exploding Head....I openly admit to compulsively listening that album for a few months.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you a.happier or sadder? b. thinner or fatter? c. richer or poorer?
a. happier! b. totally fatter (blueberry related) c. same

18. What do you wish you'd done more of? Nothing that I can think of...

19. What do you wish you'd done less of? Facebooking.

20. How did you be spend Christmas? At home and then with a movie later in the evening.

21. Did you fall in love in 2009? Just with H...again.

22. What was your favorite TV program? Lost and the Wire.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year? Oh yes.

24. What was the best book you read? I don't think anything really fired me up this year...oh wait, I really got into Batille.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery? Deerhunter, Okerville River (I knew them before but just discovered that I really really like them).

26. What did you want and get? Joy.

27. What did you want and not get? I don't like to spend time dwelling on wanting...

28. What was your favorite film of this year? The Wrestler

29. What did you do on your birthday? My mom brought me a cake and we ate cake with the family.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? Having not gotten involved money wise with "friends." Actually having not meet those friends period. That and not even bothering to try school for the kids a second time.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009? Neopunk until I got pregnant and then it was all about the billowing tent.

32. What kept you sane? Not that I'm sane but H has worked on it.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Hugh Jackman

34. What political issue stirred you the most? Health care/gay marriage

35. Who did you miss? Everyone in Maine

36. Who was the best new person you met? Noone really. I didn't meet anyone who blew me away.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009? My insecurity doesn't just effect me.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
These are my least favorite things to answer...I have no idea.

Dressing Like Ladies

Piper: Pumpkin likes to kiss Ching Pao (this is in reference to two of Piper's stuffed cats).
Umberto: Aren't they both boys?
Piper: Yeah. But sometimes at night Pumpkin likes to dress up like a lady and kiss boys.

All said very loudly at Sub Station II.

Alice

Sometimes FB has its uses. I discovered last night my mentor, my friend, my hands down favorite professor died on December 26th. I had not spoken to her in many years. For numerous reasons an awkwardness had developed between us. But that did nothing to dampen my own feeling of love for Alice.

Alice was a magnificent presence. There are many people, too many as I get older, whom I have a hard time picturing without photos. But Alice is etched into my head. I can close my eyes, and see her standing outside whatever building she's teaching in, often with a gray cloak or sweater wrapped around her short, plump body. Her big old fashion glasses framing piercing eyes that knew how to pin an obnoxious student with one glare. She often wore long simple skirts, wool socks, chunky shoes. Her hair was gray, cut into a page boy. It doesn't sound like anything memorable but she was. She'd look at me and say in her husky voice "Let's have a fag." And then she's pull out her Benson & Hedges and scrounge around her entourage for a light. It always reminded me of one of those old 40s movies, the way we all scrambled to be the one who lit her cigarette.

In the classroom was where the magnificence really shown. I remember when we were reading Beowulf, and she fell backwards onto the desk at the front of the room in a swoon over the language. There was an uncomfortable laughter but from those of us who often swooned over language it was a permission to be in love with text. Alice's love, her passion, for literature came with her everyday to the classroom. This is a woman who taught for many years. This passion never dimmed in the entire time I was privileged to know her. She tolerated no disrespect for the literature, herself or her students. She did not know any trendy educational methods, and when she learned of them she scoffed. I am sure that her teaching methods were utterly boring to many students who took her classes but for me, and for many others, her teaching was an inspiration.

Alice had no tolerance for fools or complainers. She was by no means unsympathetic. She herself was the daughter of a working class man, and she brought compassion to her teaching. But she expected hard work and thought from her students. What this meant for me was someone who pushed me but who also encouraged me. Anyone who received one of Alice's typewritten notes knows what I mean. Often I received a little note stapled onto a paper, or slipped into a book. She would tell me what I was doing right, and offer pointers in what I could do better. I learned to read because of Alice. Really read. And I learned to not be ashamed of my words, my thoughts, or the excitement I felt when reading an excellent novel. Alice defended me, nurtured me, berated me.

She wasn't perfect which no doubt was part of her inestimable charm. She hated new things. Refused to touch a computer. Didn't like much literature written after Joyce. Was a total Anglophile with a sharp dislike of literature outside of that canon. She and I had one of our sharpest disagreements over the novel One Hundred Years of Solitude. I defended the novel against her attacks, and she finally snarled at me "Why don't you just read a book about butterflies." She hated feminism (even though I'd argue she was quite the feminist), and was not overly thrilled about my "defection" to religious studies. She had sharp criticism for those she deemed unworthy. She was often a sarcastic bitch in the classroom, and the sting of her tongue left many in tears (we became friends after she tried this method on me and I lashed back). Sometimes she was fickle. It was easy to fall out of her graces, and painful. She was uncomfortable with me as mother, and the last time I was with her was an uncomfortable dinner with U who was about one at the time. Her distinct disapproval of how I parented was apparent, and she ended up snubbing me for much of the night. It hurt but I loved Alice, and love stands those moments.

I hold all these memories of Alice. I don't just wish to remember her as the good, wise woman. She was more than this. She was not a character in a literary novel. As she often reminded her students, life is not literature. She was human, fallible with magnificent talents and faults. She lived too grandly to have minor faults. Her gift of friendship to me has left it's mark. I am a Bloom student. Her support of both my professional and personal life kept me going when I wanted to quit. I enjoyed lunches at her house in her wild English garden. I met her husband and her children. I enjoyed glasses of wine with her and her stories. I cherished those type-written letters, and the little gifts she offered me. And when it ended, as it should, I took away much more than I lost.

One day Alice and I were talking in the courtyard at UMF, inhaling our fags. We talking about teaching, literature, people we knew. It was a few days after a rather strange evening, the beginning of our distance. She had already forbidden me from taking any more classes with her ("I have nothing left to give you."). Any time I spent with her was now a treat laced with sadness. She looked at me after a few minutes of chatter. It was the look she gave when she had something big to say. "You remember in Beowulf after Beowulf defeats the monster?" (I always loved the way she said "the monster" in reference to Grendel....with a hint of malice and evil in her voice). I nodded. "What does Hrothgar give Beowulf." I had to think for a moment "Treasures, " I remember. "Yes," she said, "but there is something more important. Does he offer Beowulf a place to live?" "No," I answered laughing. "No!" she spits, "He gives him horses so that he'll get the hell out of there. He's not going to risk his throne to a young man. He gives horses so that he can leave." She's quiet again, and then she looks at me, and this time is gaze is as piercing but it's sad, "This is what a good teacher gives their students, horses." And with that she threw her cigarette down.

Thank you Alice for the horse. It's carried me far away but never too far to forget.

It's True

I have neglected my poor blog and her little audience. I need to redo that commitment to write everyday for a month. Perhaps in January. I do miss writing here, and I know that the act of writing keeps me sharp both mentally and in terms of writing skills. I know this is something I need to maintain in order to complete my Ph.D. But...well I became readdicted to knitting. It's the knittings fault.

I'm a very tactile person and knitting appeals to that in me...as well as my sad undeveloped artistic sense. I love hanging out in knitting stores, not actually buying anything, just lusting after the rows and rows of colors, textures, variety. Of course what's amusing is that I often buy skeins only to have them sit because I don't want to use them. They're almost too pretty. This was the case with two skeins of Italian ribbon yarn I bought on sale. They sat in my basket for over two years. Seriously. I'd look at them often, and imagine what they could be but could never quite bare to actually use them. I was afraid that my paltry skills would create something not worthy of such beautiful yarn.

In fact, my fear of being less than perfect is what lead to two years of having yarn sitting about but me doing nothing with it. This fall, I finally, decided to just knit, regardless of the consequences. I made a couple of very simple scarves for the girls. They were okay. Nothing spectacular but the girls liked them and they didn't look horrible. And me being who I am, I jumped into some deep knitting with an "easy" lace pattern baby blanket. Initially it didn't look too bad. I could see my mistakes but to H's untrained eye, it looked great. However as the weeks went by, the bottom started to swirl out like a skirt. At first, I just attributed this to it needing to be blocked but then it occurred to me that I had some how dropped a lot of stitches and the bottom was much longer than the top. I finished it then, and gave it to the girls for their stuffies. Now I'm finishing up the world's biggest scarf for H, and I just finished up two purses from that lovely ribbon yarn for the girls. The purses were my own design (very simple as befits such a luxurious yarn) and I'm proud of them. Next on my project list are a papoose, a kimono type sweater, and a hat for the baby, a scarf for Umberto, and hats for the whole family. I'm going to try socks soon.

As for other news, I am hugely pregnant. My plans to keep thin with a tiny cute belly blew up...literally. The blueberry kicks a great deal now to the point of hurting me sometimes. We are highly anticipating our water birth even though our insurance is threatening to not cover much of the expense. But I can't imagine giving a hospital birth at this point, and we'll eek out the money somehow.

Umberto had his EEG and his MRI. We won't know the results until Thursday. I'll update on his blog at that point.

We brought home a little something extra with our xmas tree. The place we were always buy our trees was offering free kittens. The kids fell in love with an almost pure black kitten with a little white spot on his chest. We caved to their pleas so now we have a new member to our family. It's nice having a cat again.

We had a simple Christmas this year. We decided to not buy nearly as much, and while we didn't get that same level of giddiness with the kids that we've gotten before, we did get kids who were ultimately much more satisfied with what they did get. In addition, we got toys we thought they'd all use, and that's been true so far. We'll definitely being doing more of this as the years pass. I don't see the point in going broke to accumulate more stuff that none of us really need. I know that Umberto felt it a bit more than the girls did. His friends were all getting Wiis, I-pods, etc. and he is old enough to feel that pain of why not me. We pointed out that he did get an X-box in September as an early gift, and we also pointed out that with the money we saved from buying too much stuff we can do things like get treats at Amelies (a French bakery in our neighborhood), go to B &N, go on small trips, etc. He was able to see that and accept it.

Happy Holidays everyone. I'll be posting a bunch of pictures later one, and will likely resume my one post a day in January so stay tuned....

Back and Forth

Our big news this semester is that we pulled the kids out of school at the end of October. Again. I know, I know. Initially it seemed like things were going great. For the first month, there were no mornings fights about getting ready. The kids went to be fairly easily. They talked about school, seemed to be making advances, etc, etc. I hated it. I hated the schedule. I hated not being able to do anything unless it revolved around their school hours...it was made doubly harder by being pregnant but they were happy so I dealt with it.

Then things started to slowly turn back into what we had experienced before. Umberto complained bitterly every morning. He was starting to talk about not being able to do the work, and it was apparent that he was falling behind and that his esteem was suffering. Camille was starting to act out again, hitting Piper being rude and having emotional outbursts with us. And it was a lot to deal with coupled with a four year old and a pregnant body. I appreciated their teachers' efforts but the reality was that the kids, both of them, needed a lot more one on one. Something that is pretty much impossible in most class rooms. H and I talked about it a great deal. I talked to my mom about (she had them on Tuesday and Thursdays). Both were counseling me to pull them out which was a big deal. Neither of them had really been 100% behind the homeschooling so for them to say "Pull them out" told me that my instinct wasn't off.

And fueling much of these thoughts was the fact that I missed them. When I had them home in the Spring I was going through some stuff. I was influenced by some people that I think really thought that kids should be out of sight for most of the time. They made snide comments frequently about how we spend so much time with our kids. They certainly thought homeschooling was crazy and one of them made many comments about how lazy homeschooling mothers were. It's hard to home school when that is your support system. It made me doubt my choices. And I wasn't doing much with them! I was so wrapped up in myself and not fully in a good way. Yes I was finishing up a thesis which was a big deal but I was also spending hours on Facebook.

We decided to pull them out at the end of the year. We were hoping Umberto would start reading at that point. But he continued to not only not read but to actually digress. And then my friend, M, started up our old group. We skipped school a couple of times to go hang out with our homeschooling friends. One time we went to the pumpkin farm. The kids had a lovely time. Umberto ran with his old friends, laughing and happy. Camille followed M's oldest daughter around, and played with the animals. They were joyful and carefree in a way I hadn't seen in a long time. At the end of the day as we driving home, Camille said to me "That was the best day EVER!" And i knew that we had to go back to this lifestyle. That it wasn't just me that yearned for those unstructured days. It was the kids.

At the end of October we pulled them out. It was the best decision we made. Umberto's reading has improved dramatically in the last few weeks. His love of books had returned. We spend hours reading chapter books together. Camille is about as chilled as Camille ever gets. She continues to great academically perhaps more so because she doesn't have the social pressures that I think pressed in our her.

I don't think they'll ever go back to school...at least not until college, and this suits us as a family just fine.

Mortality

Last night, U had a seizure.

I knew I loved my children but did not realize the depth and power of that love until I thought that one of them was dying.

Piper came into our room at about five. I heard the bed squeak in the children's room and told H that "U is going to be scared without Piper." Then I heard a thumb, and a kind of rhythmic beating on the floor. I must have known at some level what was going on because I got up and ran in. I wish there was a way to convey the terror of seeing your child, so tiny and vulnerable on the floor, their body arching in rigid movements, eyes rolled up into their head. There was a part of me that knew he wasn't dying but it didn't stop anther big part of me from thinking that he was. I screamed for H to call 911. He was really right behind me. I was kicking stuff out of the way, and H was on the floor beside U. I ran upstairs and called 911.

Then I couldn't go back into the room. For a few seconds, I stood terrified at my open door, talking to the dispatcher, trying to hold it together but knowing deep inside me that I was not sure I could mentally survive U dying. And there was dark terror that one could love another human being to that level. To love something as fragile as a human takes such an enormous risk.
All this went through my head in seconds.

When I walked into the room, at the dispatcher's request, H was sitting on the floor, holding a non responsive U, and crying "Please Goosey come back." "Is he breathing?" I cried. "I don't know." H said his voice hoarse with panic and that same despair that had settled deep inside me. He was breathing. H moved with him onto the bed while I paced on the phone with the dispatcher waiting for the medics to come. At first, Umberto was unconscious. When he came back to us, he didn't appear to recognize us, and then he finally looked at me and whispered "Mama."

I felt detached at this point.Almost as if to feel would take him from me. Maybe if I could shelf some of this intensity the pain would be less. I ended up driving him to the ER. Trying so hard to chat like everything was okay. Inside I was crumbling, terrified that he was going to seize in the car or that he would die before I got him to ER. Once in ER, he quickly came to himself. He was reading, talking to me, responsive, not shaking anymore. He only lost it when they had to draw blood.

They don't know what's wrong with him if anything. I guess it's fairly normal for children to seize without reason. We were told to watch him basically to see if it happens again. Living like this is a bit scary. I didn't dare go to sleep when we got back until I knew H was going to be awake watching over him. I find it hard to let him out of my sight. I have broken down a few times today, leaning into H and sobbing. This love is scary and painful. To know that to lose someone so fragile could be so devastating is a frightening prospect to look full on. And there is no longer the option of distance. This is the child I carried in my body, that I pushed into the world, that I nursed. He is like my own body but not...even more of a wild card than my own body. But I can not not love him. Not have him buried deep inside me.

Love is a wild and dangerous thing. Unpredictable. But for today, on this day where we are supposed to give thanks, I give thanks every time I see my little man. Knowing that he is alive.

Four Months...Give or Take a Week

Apologies. Still awaiting that glorious second trimester when the world is wonderful. Where I am fertile pregnant goddess with thick, silky hair, and boundless energy and patience. Currently, I am still sick. Two months of being congested, plagued by awful headaches, and an itchy chapped feeling face have left me exhausted, grumpy, and a bit bitter. Tonight I am riding the worst spell yet. Headaches that are so painful that I literally can not move for hours on end. I am attempting to sleep in the recliner because I am unable to breath laying on my back. It's all quite dreadful.

The blueberry seems utterly unaffected (of course one could argue he's a damn parasite sucking my life energy away but we won't go there will we?) His (no I have no clue about the sex) kicks grow stronger each day especially when I lay down at night. His nudges are reassuring as I plod through this fog of illness. H has felt him a bit which is pretty exciting. This pregnancy seems to be flying by....soon to end with my last baby. Funnily it feels so complete that I don't have any sadness over this image. With Piper I felt a bittersweet emotion every time I imagined her as my last one. I knew, I guess, that I wanted one more.

And Piper. I am sad about my baby girl. I find myself cuddling her, holding her on my lap, nuzzling her soft fat cheeks, her little neck. She squirms, eager to get away, to run and play with her siblings. It makes me sad to think that she's not the baby in so many ways. Sometimes, she still creeps into bed with us at night, and I relish the feel of her little body against mine. I bury my nose in her hair and inhale her scent. I know that when day comes, she will break from me to assert her own self into the world. When we go to the park, she runs with the big kids now, and I find myself panicking a bit but then remembering that Camille ran with these kids when she was four.

The other ones are home now. I will write more about this decision on their blog. Maybe tomorrow. But we are all happier and at peace. I love waking up to them! Not waking up to the dread of having to get them up. Umberto's already making more and more progress in his reading. Camille is nearly fluent. They act liked freed birds.

And I finally have a place to give birth. I had given up on my home birth, and had decided we couldn't afford the birth center. I didn't feel like I had in me to fight my insurance over this. Then about two weeks ago I got an email from the midwife who works at the birth center. It was about insurance, and I felt like it was a sign. While the OB practice I was going to was fine...it was just fine. I didn't feel happy about my decision. It was impersonal and no matter how much they tried to hype it, I was going to give birth in a hospital. I called her and made an appointment to meet. Of course we didn't have an auspicious start. H took my keys to work along with my wallet so I had to cancel about a half hour before I was supposed to be there. She was wonderful about it and we re-scheduled.

On Tuesday, I loaded up the beasties (they get to come to these visits) and we head to South Carolina. The center didn't look like much. A brick office building, bleak on a cold rainy day. I bundled up the kids, feeling discouraged. Did I want to give birth in an office building? But then we walked in, and Damaris came to greet us. I knew immediately this was the place and that she was the one. The inside was peaceful and simple. There was a quiet waiting room with a big TV (much to the joy of the beasties), two lovely rooms (Camille wanted the purple one) with big friendly looking beds and a birthing pool (I can have a water birth!!!!). The exam rooms were not doctor like at all. Damaris was wonderful. She spent a lot of time talking to me, getting my birth history, getting to know me and my concerns. She also talked to the beasties, and explained them to every step of the exam. She let them hear the heartbeat, and I will never forget the awe in their eyes. The way that Umberto sort of visibly melted. She understood that this was our baby not just my baby.

I have no idea how we'll afford it if the insurance doesn't cover it but we'll figure out something. I simply must give birth here. It's the closest thing to home.

Hopefully I will be back to write more. I have many things to write about. I have finally begun to read Proust and am now consumed by memory.

Early Nesting and Nurturing the Anit-Social

Pregnancy makes me a lousy friend. Or maybe being pregnant gives me an excuse to be a lousy friend. Or at least this pregnancy does. I'm honestly not sure if it's the pregnancy or me. My anti-social nature did kick in around the time we knew for sure. But it was there even before. Of course it's only gotten worst as I've gotten further along. Lately, I'm happiest just hanging out at home, with the family. I don't have any urges to go out without the kids. I am not really into entertaining parties, or even having people over.

There are some things I don't mind doing. I like going to the park and meeting up with people. I don't mind exchanging pleasantries with people when I bump into them. It's not that I hate people or hate everyone that we hung out with...it's just....

Maybe it's because I felt like I lost my way a bit in the spring. And now I feel like I'm home again, back where I want to be, happy, content, passionate about my life again. I just want to roll decadently in my life as it is. I want to be with H and the beasties. I feel like I'm rebuilding something here. And it's important to create this with just the family.

This is not an unusual feeling for me when I'm pregnant. I'm just used to it coming later. My nesting instinct usually comes in the third trimester. I only want to be with my family, in my home, getting things ready. Preparing for the new addition. But never has it come this early. And that's where I am. I find myself nesting. And it's not a space that I feel safe in sharing. I think it's why I am more inclined to go outside to see people. I don't feel so vulnerable out there. And if you asked me what I felt so vulnerable about, I am not sure I could put it into words. It's just there...

Naping

If there one thing a pregnant woman knows how to do its nap. These naps used to make me feel so guilty. I hated feeling so tired all the time. Perhaps having insomina has softened my attitude toward napping. When you don't sleep half the night, naps are often what helps you function. And you know I am growing another life inside my body...seems like one rather needs the energy to do such a feat. Now I relish my naps, don't begrudge myself them, and try not to beat myself because my house is a mess and I'm behind on my reading.

Today I really needed the nap. Camille was up on and off all night with a very high fever and a headache. Plus I had to get up and go pee a hundred times. The joys of pregnancy. And since Camille was in bed with us, I had a hard time settling down when I was finally able to go to sleep. I got up this morning to get the boys off, and then spent time puttering around the kitchen. I cleaned up a bit, and started to bring trash out, started on our dining room. By ten I was drained. I took a nap with great joy despite playing girls. I had the strange vivid dreams I only seem to have with pregnancy. This time we were in Mexico and I was so upset because Horacio had decided rather last minute to stay for an extra week. I kept explaining to him that we didn't really have the money to pay for this change. And then in the process of arguing with him, I realized we hadn't packed yet! I realized there was no way any of us were going to be able to leave that day.

I woke up though with an added bonus...a story idea all formulated in my head. This hasn't happened in about a year. It was very exciting to make my coffee planning out a story. Imaging the characters, figuring out the plot, and designing the stage.

Three Months! Three Months!

I'm sailing into that lovely second trimester where hopefully my energy will return and my "evening" sickness will abate. I was kind of stunned to realize that I'm 12 weeks already. Time doesn't usually fly for me during my pregnancy. And with this one, I am in such a different world space. I am in some ways not nearly as busy as I was with the other pregnancies, and in other ways I feel much more burdened. With the first three pregnancies, I was pretty much doing something full time: either school or work. This time, I am working part time, have all the kids in some kind of school, but yet I am more tired and more drained than before. I have a hard time trying to motivate myself to do anything. Yesterday I clean the fridge and that pretty much did me in for the day. I'm way behind on my course correcting. My house is a disaster area.

But for some reason, it's just not driving me crazy like it would normally.

A lot is not driving me as crazy as it normally does or did with my other pregnancies. My mood swings, as just one example, are off the wall. I alternate between a kind of earth mother serenity, sobbing over anything, and irrational anger and irritability. Before, the irritability particularly bothered me. I was upset at what I perceived as my demonstrable lack of patience with the children. This time around when these moments sweep over me, I have the good sense to go to my room, lay down until it passes while just allowing myself to indulge in the feeling. I know that it is not a reflection on me as a mother but more of a reflection of hormonal shifts.

But best yet is the simply being fairly okay with my body. I am not gaining the way I planned. I was going to gain as little weight as possible....be one of those fairly small woman with a "bump." Alas this has not come to be. Instead I am getting bigger each day. I gained about 5lbs in a month, and continue to climb. I do exercise everyday but my eating is not the best. I eat what I can and what I crave which isn't honestly always salad. Sometimes the thought of salad makes me want to vomit. Instead of lamenting, however, I am just accepting my body as is. I'm remembering that this a body I can be confident in...and honestly despite some typical aches and pains, I can't remember pregnancy ever feeling this good. I feel strong, and yes even earth mother like. I feel like I always thought I would during pregnancy but never did.

About two weeks ago, I felt that first quickening....just a tiny flutter of life. And today bending over, I got that dreadful cramp that comes from a fetus being balled up in one spot. There is life in there, and instead of freaking me out as it normally does, I felt this sense of peace.

I need this this time around. Gossip abound in my department. There are hints that this is going to cause me to lose a chance to teach in the fall. Due to some unforeseen circumstances (having nothing to do with baby) we are holding off grad. applications for another year. Of course this is already being attributed to my suspected pregnancy. I haven't told anyone in my department with the exception of Sean and a friend. But I am showing, and so people are talking. It had me in tears the other night. I feel as if I have more than proven I can do this with children but yet I am still continually doubted. It seems that as a woman there is nothing I could do to prove myself. I will always be seen as having burdened myself with children.

But when I feel those little things that let me know there is life in there, I don't care. My children are not burdens. They are the enrichment to my life. They are the completion I have spent a long time seeking.

Ginger Drops the Ball

Getting knocked up in the middle of a month long blog promise does not work so well. I always forget that during the first trimester I am utterly unable to function. It gets worst as I get older. Now I'm kind of stunned that I managed to work full time as I did. I do remember that upon getting home from the full time job, I just kind of collapsed into bed. And this time around is no exception. I'm tired. I'm trying to juggle two different schools for the beasties, volunteer somewhat at the big beasties' school, and feeling guilty for not even making parent meetings at the younger beastie's preschool. I'm also teaching two classes (one filled with slackers and whiners gifted with a strong sense of entitlement), and having to drive Piper 45 minutes out of my way to where my mom teaches. My mom who rocks then takes Piper with her to pick up the other two beasties. H picks them up on his way home. It's a hot mess. And top this all of with applying for Ph.D programs, and trying to fit in learning Spanish somewhere into the mix. It's not been relaxing.

Thus my blog writing has fallen to the wayside. And yeah I'll admit to FBing. It's easier really. But I am spending much less time there. I'm there but always offline, trying to avoid the inane chatting which too often sucked up too much of my time. Maybe I'll just scrap it. I've thought about getting rid of all my friends in Charlotte because hell they can see me, or call me or whatever. Then I'd just have those people who are in Maine or where ever. But I haven't got to that point yet.

But the second trimester is coming up...about four more weeks, and then I'll feel wonderful. I'm looking forward to having more energy. I need it.

And of course I'm struggling with all my weight issues. I was so determined to not gain a ton of weight this time around. I had this vision where I wouldn't even be showing until like my fifth or sixth month. I kept picturing myself as one of those skinny bitches with their little baby bumps. I continued to exercise regularly, watched what I ate....for about two weeks. I'm still going to the Y nearly every day, and when I don't do that, I walk for an hour or so with H. But the eating...I'm hungry quite literally every two hours. And if I don't eat, I feel sick to my stomach and dizzy. I'm already showing. Had to buy maternity clothes a couple of weekend ago since nothing fit me. It's very depressing for me to see myself naked and find this huge belly leering out me. It's not just a baby bump either but bump and fat. I know I'm going to get lectured by the Dr. when I go in on the first. I dread it. And yet I'm struggling to not be so neurotic about it. H adores me and finds me beautiful. My kids love my belly with the "blueberry" growing inside. It's all me. I know.

Hopefully I'll be on more. Writing. Sharing. Connecting with my friends.