Birthing Thoughts

So I've been thinking about childbirth more and more lately. Guess it's because I've got about 6 weeks to go and am just now realizing I didn't learn anything in the childbirth class we took 2.5 years ago. Not that there was much taught. Our teacher was this rather odd older woman who tended to go off on tangents. Here's one of the only things I remember from the class:

"Once you're ready to deliver, nothing will stop it. (pause) Unless you're in the delivery room and a gunman runs in, I guess. That could stop it, because your body has a built-in mechanism to stop labor when it's threatened. That's so the cavewomen giving birth could stop if she were threatened by a wild animal. So if you were in the delivery room, ready to deliver, and a gunman ran in and started waving his gun around, your labor would probably stop for a while." And so on.... G and I used to be hysterical after every class. Entertaining, but not very useful.

There was nothing about breathing and very little about helpful positions, although she did recommend (and sold, conveniently) birthing balls. I am glad we bought the big orange and green birthing ball (G. was very distressed about the icky colors but that's all she had in my size). We didn't use it during A.'s birth, but sitting on it now and bouncing while watching TV reminds G. that I'm pregnant and am sacrificing my body for his child. That's usually good for at least a neck rub.

Another helpful thing she did was to make all the "partners" get phone books to elevate the feet of their pregnant companions during class. That was nice because it set the right precedent - they were there for no other reason than to make us comfortable.

G. and I weren't completely unprepared - I did read lots of books so I had the whole "imagine a flower opening" image set in my head, we'd written a birth plan (which we completely threw out the window) and we had lots of supplies, from relaxing music to the birthing ball to a foam mat for me kneel on in the shower to hard candies to an ice pack. The only thing we ended up using was the ice pack. The last thing I wanted to hear was relaxing music. And, I wasn't moving an inch more than I had to, let alone get in the shower. Don't even get me started on the "flower opening" thing.

So I think maybe I should take a refresher course, but not from the same woman, who supposedly taught Lamaze but never mentioned it at any point.

A tangent of my own: The worst advice I got as I approached the end of my first pregnancy was from a woman I barely knew who told me that the best advice she got was to not think of the contractions during labor as painful, but to "think of them as a tightening. Because that's what it really is - it's not pain, it's just a tightening."

Just a tightening, my ass.*

Anyway. Bradley? A different Lamaze? Any suggestions? Has anyone found something that really helped? The only experience I have with contractions are pitocin-induced doozies and I have no idea how to manage myself should I actually go into labor on my own. We had a doula the first time and she gave me a nice leg massage with lavender oil and was also a helpful person to bore my eyes into during contractions (G. would've freaked), but I wouldn't say she was able to help with the pain. Most of that was because I was hooked up to IVs, monitors and all sorts of crap (and refusing to move), not because she was inherently unhelpful.

OK, so your assignment is: what kind of childbirth prep should I take? I want something that may help me go natural but that won't make me feel too guilty if I decide on artificial pain relief.

Your other assignment: For those of you who have been pregnant and/or given birth, what was the worst advice you got, either about pregnancy or labor?

I'm also going to fill space here soon with A's birth story. I love reading other people's birth stories, especially if they're worse than mine. Since we began induction on a Sunday and A. wasn't born until Friday, I'm hoping to provide the same kind of satisfaction to many readers.

*I recently found out that a very dear but sometimes a tiny bit anxious (no offense - you know I am too) family member is pregnant with her first, so E., if you're reading this, don't worry, your contractions are going to be "just a tightening" and absolutely nothing to worry about. And, should you want it, Fentanyl ROCKS (check it out - 80 times the analgesic power of morphine Yeeeaaah, baby).

Jaded Mommy

Another thing I appreciate about the A-Man is his sometimes over-the-top enthusiasm. He's almost two and a half, and yesterday he came into the kitchen, pointed at his feet and yelled, "Oh! Toes! Look! Toes!" I agreed, he did in fact have toes on his feet. Ten, to be exact.

Later on, as he was eating his macky cheese, he held up his arm and cried, "Oh! Look! Hand! There's hand!"....as if he'd lost his hand and had just about given up on finding it.

I remember, in my post-partum daze, looking at his newborn toes in wonder at how they'd managed to grow perfectly within me, despite my inability to build anything. But after over two years, I'm just not as surprised to see his toes at the end of his feet. Nor am I surprised to see "So Many Toys!!" in our family room every morning. But he sure seems to be.

He reminds me to not take toes, hands or toys for granted. Wouldn't it be great to wake up every morning and say, "Oh look! We have a bathroom! How lucky are we?" or "Oh! It's cereal!" I think it would probably get on everyone's nerves just a little, but it would still be cool.

Thanks, Johnny

When I was a kid, sometimes I couldn't sleep. I could get pretty anxious feeling like I was the only person in the world who was still awake. But the nights I heard Johnny Carson coming through my parent's door, I knew everything was OK.

Silly Tickers

Oh what the heck....

If You Read it Backwards, It Says "Paul is Dead."

Even as I'm supposed to go to the store, I'm sitting here writing a blog post in code. Can you figure it out?

Look at Charlie's blog for a clue. I'm really bad at this sort of thing, but it'll postpone the grocery store for a tiny bit and that's OK. Let's talk about movie songs.

Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel....Do you know how long it took me to find the lyrics to "Windmills of Your Mind?" About 20 seconds. And here you can hear Dusty Springfield sing it while viewing photos of Buffy.

Everyone has a favorite movie song, and "Windmills" is one of mine. "MacArthur Park" is another one, simply for the non-sensical melting cake/lost recipe factor. How many times have you wanted to hear MacArthur Park played on an organ? Full service we are, here. Oh, and who could forget...

Nadia's Theme? Duh duh, duh duh, two keys at a time on the piano, that song was played with feeling and drama by every 13-year-old female piano student in the late 70's.

Did you figure it out?

More Posts about Breasts

I just want to make it clear that I was not on the top of the list of the "saggy redheaded moms" search. No, no, no - that person had to search through a ton of sites to find me. But now that I've mentioned it below, I am at the very top of said search on Google. You can't imagine my pride.

Note to guy in Copymat: Do not tell my 2-year-old son that he's "pimpin'." Believe me, if he were in fact "pimpin'," I would know about it and I would have made him buy me an iPod.

Reality Show Roundup:

I'm enjoying that Martha-Stewart-Apprentice show very much. I enjoy it so much that I can't remember the name. Wickedly Perfect - that's it (they need a new name). I had to tune out halfway through because Damn Donald starts his show at 8:30, and if I had Tivo it wouldn't matter but I don't. Another thing I'd have if my son were pimpin'.

The Apprentice looks good this season, but I liked it last season, too. It looks like they may have finally found a non-crazy black woman. The whole Burger King angle cracked me up. Are they running out of golf courses and ice cream shops to take over?

Did you hear that Jeff Probst has found "true love" with Julie from last season? WHAT?? Non-descript-whatever Julie? I am so not seeing it. Of course, I'm not a 43-year-old man stranded on a desert island, either.

I've seen the Amazing Race maybe twice, and thank goodness the wife beater's out of the running. That guy was crazy. Victoria (his ill-treated girlfriend) was quoted as saying, "We enjoyed every minute of the Race no matter what it may seem like." I'll bet - it was particularly fun when he was screaming at you and actually shoved you. Jonathan responded to the viewer backlash after that episode by saying, "I am deeply saddened by the storyline that CBS went with." How 'bout the storyline YOU WENT WITH, A**HAT?? They're still together. C'mon guys, if Brad and Jen can break up, you can too.*

And American Idol - why does it seem so vicious this time around? The faces of these poor deluded people getting their dreams dashed just aren't as laugh-out-loud funny anymore.

*Note to guy in supermarket: Don't criticize your customer's purchase, even if it's a People magazing with Brad and Jen on the cover. I'm heartbroken that their love didn't last, understand?

Trying to Find Order in Randomness

1. I think I understand what it's like to be 2 years old and not understand the rules of the game you seem to be playing. Yesterday I was cleaning out a closet and A. kept coming in, tapping me on the shoulder and saying, "Susie! Susie!" and then some sentence that seemed to include the words "red cones." I eventually figured out he was saying, "Excuse me!" and asking me if I had red cones (I think). I didn't know why he'd think of red cones, so I suggested maybe he was asking for raincoats?

Then he started coming in, tapping me on the shoulder, saying, "Excuse me! Excuse me!" (Still sounded like "Susie! Susie!")

I'd say, "Yes?"

He'd say, "Got any red cones or raincoats?"

I'd say, "No, I'm sorry, I don't have any red cones or raincoats."

He'd grin, turn around and say, "OK!" and walk out.

About 50 times. I'm still not sure what he was asking for.

2. G. very inconveniently began his day at 6:15am today. He had a very inconvenient 8am client. Who can have any insight into their psyche at 8am? Psssshhhh.

3. I have clients from 2pm to 5:30pm today. Then I'm meeting an old friend whom I haven't seen since my wedding 4.5 years ago. She's in town for a memorial service tomorrow for another college friend with whom I didn't stay in touch, but spent a lot of time with in college. She's our age and battled cancer for 4.5 years. I've been dreaming about memorial services and college all freakin' week long. I plan to go to the service tomorrow and I'll probably see people I used to be very close to in college (which was way back in the late 80's for those who are keeping track). It's all very Big Chill.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm worrying about what to wear. It's not a reunion, for heaven's sake, but it is, kind of. Not that I have many choices of attire, being 34 weeks pregnant and all. I usually wear a lot of black, but black is sort of passe for a memorial service, isn't it? What's going to look suitably sober and thoughtful, yet also say, "I've made such a success of myself and am thoroughly fulfilled now"? And how shallow am I that I'm thinking about this on the eve of a (relatively) young mother's memorial service? I know the truth, though - you'd be thinking the same thing.

It's a Big Day

Thanks to the recent mailing of the St. Matthew's Prayer Rug and whoever searched Netscape for "saggy redheaded moms," Everyday Lunasea rolled over the 10,000 visitor mark. I know that's a day's take for some bloggers, but hey, I'm impressed. Thanks for coming.

Cranky

One of the things I adore about A. is that he's very affectionate. He loves to snuggle, and a couple times a day spontaneously cries, "Big Huuuuuuuuug!" and throws his arms around me. However....for the last few days he's been in a full oedipal-breast-worship phase and I'm sooo over it.

I think I nursed A. once last week when we were in bed and he wanted to get up and I didn't. Other than that time, we haven't nursed in weeks, which is fine by me because it still feels like rubbing my boobs against a cheese grater (I really didn't want to get out of bed that day).

But, nursing has been replaced by fondling. Not discreet fondling or a little feel-ya-up, either. It's full-on patting, rubbing, burying-the-face-in-my-chest and kissing-my-T-shirt type of fondling. While making high-pitched noises. Constantly. It's as if he and They have this special relationship and I'm just a third wheel. I can't politely excuse myself, though, because They are attached to my chest. Another suggestion for Whoever's In Charge of Mommy Design - detachable breasts.

So I've got one on the inside kickboxing his way out*, and one on the outside trying to meld into my chest. This is one of those days when I'm ready for the baby wagon to come by and take both of them away.

*I found the kick count chart I kept with A. recently - where you keep track of how long it takes the fetus to kick 10 times. A. was usually good for 10 kicks in anywhere from 10 minutes to half an hour. This kid, when he's awake, can do 10 kicks in two minutes. It's like bam bam bam bam bam let-me-out-it's-too-cramped-in-here! Sorry, kid, I didn't ask to be only 5 feet tall. Believe me, it would be a lot different if I were in charge of Mommy Design.

Don't Put Jesus in the Recycling Bin

Every time the St. Matthew's Church does a bulk mailing of its Prayer Rug, I get a ton of Google hits about it. I wrote about it here, almost a year ago (March 13th, if it doesn't automatically take you there).

I ended up putting Jesus in the recycling bin. And you know...this past year has not been the greatest (except for the healthy pregnancy). Hmmm. I wonder if they'll send me another one. I hope so, because then I can make sure it's touching both my knees and I can maintain the connection between St. Matthew's and Someone Connected With This Address.

You Say Potato...

There may be hope for Jake yet. G wants an Italian name (A's is totally Irish) and likes Giacomo. Then we'd call him Jake. Sort of like Bill is short for William, yet doesn't start with the same letter (which never made sense to me before, but now is OK since I can use it for my own purposes).

The thing I can't figure out is exactly how it's pronounced. Our name book says "JOCK-uh-mo" which brings too many images of Michael Jackson to mind.

My meager college Italian says "Jee-ah-KO-mo."

What if he's a fair redhead like A? Will it be weird for him to have a very Italian name?

He-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless

G. vetoed both of my choices for names yesterday (Jake and Luke). That means we're back to square one. People think we're being coy when we say we don't have names yet. They reply, "Oh, you guys know, you're just not telling, right?"

No, we really don't know. He-Who-May-Remain-Nameless-Until-He's-Old-Enough-to-Pick-His-Own isn't sending me any signals, either. (I mean about the name - he's a serious kickboxer when he's awake). When I was pregnant with A, I wanted to name him Liam, so I told G, "He's telling me his name is Liam. It's a special connection moms have with their unborn children."

G replied, "Yeah, he told you he was a girl, too."

Last Night's Conversation

G. props himself up, peers over me at the clock and gasps.

L: What? What's wrong?
G: (gasp) It's 12:04.
L: Okay.
G: (shakes head and says dramatically) That's not good.

I asked him why, but he was already back snoring.

Vote for Pedro!*

You gotta go vote on the BOB awards.

No, sadly, Everyday Lunasea did not make the list of finalists, but I'm sure I was number 11.::::snort:::: Actually, some really awesome mommy blogs, way better than my little dusty corner o' the web, didn't make it either, so I don't feel at all sad.

I haven't voted yet because I feel compelled to check out every single finalist before I vote in a category, and that takes some time. But in my travels I've discovered some new favorites, and I'll bet you will too.

And I take personal pride in the fact that the blog I nominated for Crafty Blog, ljcfyi, is now at #3! There's a page where you can see the latest rankings, and it's updated every 15 minutes.

*See how hip I am? According to the SF Chronicle, this line references the latest teen cult favorite, "Napoleon Dynamite." Which just goes to show you...that I subscribe to the Chronicle.

Like a Cat in Heat

Does anyone watch the "West Wing" anymore? There were some strange animal references tonight:

1. CJ to Toby: "You're like a dog in Pompeii."
2. Toby: "It's like walking around Washington with a sick chicken."
3. Abbey to Jed: "You've got to hold onto the fish or it'll jump out of your hands."

Now, I admit to missing at least 30% of whatever the hell they're talking about because they talk so fast and jump between topics constantly. Still, not one of these made sense to me, even in context.

G. says it's the Dan Rather episode of the West Wing.

Oh, by the way, if anyone saw it tonight, did you see Kristin Chenoweth walking beside CJ, making Kristin look like a midget and CJ look freakish? That's what it would look like if my acting career had ever gotten started and I got a part on the West Wing walking beside CJ.

The Store That Has It All

As I was getting A. into his jammies tonight, he looked over at the floor, saw a little bugger creeping around and said, "Ant!" Regular readers will be familiar with our ant issues.

A: 'Nother ant!
L: Sure enough. Where do you think they're coming from?
A: (with absolute certainty) From Target.

Proof that God Hates Women

I seem to have entered that fun, final stage of pregnancy where my hormones cause me to sleep more lightly and wake up every hour. I'd really kind of hoped it wouldn't happen this time because I'm more tired anyway, but here it is. Every hour on the hour.

We spent the last few days moving our office from one city to another. Actually, G did most of the moving, I provided emotional support, dusted, and helped pick out the couch.

G: "I hope you're not as tired as I am."
L: "Did you wake up every hour on the hour last night?"
G: (backpedaling furiously) "No, I meant...I know you're more tired than me...I was just saying that I hoped you weren't as tired as I was, 'cause I'm pretty tired..."

Why Don't We Just Amputate His Hand For Him?

I subscribe to a parenting newsletter where you enter the ages of your kids and they send you helpful tips. It just featured some suggestions for letting toddlers help in the kitchen.

"Give your toddler a butter knife and a cutting board on the floor and he can cut up a potato."

First of all, I can't cut up a potato with a butter knife. Second, ARE YOU PEOPLE CRAZY????