A photo journal comprised of my thoughts on motherhood and other life happenings, as well as some of professional work as a photographer. Southern California is home.
I’ve gone back and forth on converting my previous maternity series into a mama style series. I hardly consider myself fashion savvy. Most days, especially these days, I’m in ridiculously over sized sweat shorts and some comfy tank that I can easily pull up or down or over for what feels like the gazillion times I breastfeed a day. But ever since the newest little munchkin decided to grace us with his presence, I’ve been yearning to play catch up on all the fun styles I’ve missed out on over the past year. Like colored skinny jeans. Oh how I long to fit this post-baby-bod into some of those. In any case, if I do decide to carry on with the mama style shenanigans, the series will focus on fun, simple outfits that are very mom friendly.
I’ve visited a number of dressing rooms as of late. Curse those dressing room mirrors. Seriously. Damn them for providing views from every angle. And I swear the lighting in those little rooms is the most unflattering of all. In any case, we’ll see how long I can keep this mama style series afloat. I’m making no promises.
Things are beginning to reach a level of normalcy around here, meaning we’re all pretty much adjusted. Willy has returned to work and the few days that I’ve been on my own have been a-okay thus far. I’m fairly certain Hooper remembers nothing of his short-lived single-child life and has taken to his little bro quite well. He loves holding him and says “hi-yee” to him constantly. Van is sleeping as well as can be expected, waking two to three times a night to feed. Two nights ago he only woke once, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Breastfeeding is going terrific. My supply this time around seems much better and Van appears to be putting on weight. In the absence of sore cracked nipples, I’d have to say all is surprisingly well. What looked ominous last week looks pretty spectacular this week.
{I asked my beautiful sister to help me out with a post this week to allow more time for family bonding while Willy has off work. He goes back today, by the way, so wish me luck. These few weeks spent with our boys have been some of the best. With no further adieu, here’s some memories from our shared childhood…}
I was right about Hooper’s age when Ashley was born. I have no memories of this trauma but, according to family story, I was so pissed off with this new arrival monopolizing my mother’s time and boobs that I threw fruit at my sister. Namely, bananas. Granted, Hooper has a much sweeter disposition than I will ever have, but I still worry for little Van’s safety.
There’s also a family story that says I despised Ash so much that I called her “beast,” but I couldn’t say beast—it came out as “Beeze.” To this day, that’s what I call her—my Beeze.
We didn’t get along for the first 15-20 years of our lives. There wasn’t all-out fighting (though, don’t be fooled, Ash is vicious), but there was bickering, accompanied by a few sweet moments that revealed the true love beneath—my favorite “trick” was to tell her, “Give me a french fry and I’ll be your best friend.” And she would do it, every time. I’m not sure if you understand how much Ash loves french fries.
It’s only in the last decade or so that I’ve come to truly appreciate the bond siblings have. It’s like no other. There are memories, experiences, and feelings only my sister and I share. There are ways she knows me that no one else will. Ever. Here’s proof:
Ash will remember when:
We drove the Maui rental car (aka Monsta) all the way around the island
We smoked that weed before we got on the plane
We drove by her crush’s house, repeatedly
We ran around Grandma Helen’s living room while she played the fast piano song, usually after a meal of mac-and-cheese and grape juice
We pretended our Barbie dolls were Olympic gymnasts, complete with those custom leotards we spent hours sewing
We caught mom and dad having sex (It happened, mom, stop denying it)
We thought mom and dad might get a divorce after that Tahoe trip
We jumped on trampoline until the sun went down
We busted dad as Santa Claus
We watched “Price is Right” and ate Eggo waffles with towers of whipped cream every summer morning
We said, “Don’t tell mom and dad, but…”
We went to dad’s basketball games, drinking orange soda in the back of his van with those twins whose names I’ll never remember
We romped with Kasey
We each flirted with Dan Benson and cruise ship Joe
We memorized “Nadia”
We memorized “Grease”
We rollerskated in the garage to Janet Jackson
We made dad cry with that picture of us in our softball uniforms
We almost got away with you having that party while mom and dad were out of town (until dad found the beer bottle in the rose bush)
We named our goldfish after McDonald’s food
We begged our parents to have another kid
We complained about our parents, cried about boys, disagreed about everything, dreamt about gymnastics, shared way too much information about…well, I’ll spare your readers, laughed about everything
One of my most meaningful memories is being there for the birth of Van. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there with all the pain and grunting and bodily fluids. I thought I’d feel helpless, just standing there, but I could tell in her eyes that my presence meant something, even if all I could do was finger-comb her hair and kiss her forehead and tell her, “you’re amazing” (because, fucking hell, labor is no joke).
And now I’m not just her sister; I’m an Aunt to her two little boys. That’s probably my most important title to date.
I wonder what memories Van and Hooper will build together, probably without any of our knowledge. They’ll have stories together known only to them. I can only hope they’ll throw their aunt a bone every once in a while.
I’d be lying if I didn’t confess that this past week has been both magical and ominous at the same time. Magical because, well you know, we created another little human. We are now a family of four and there is nothing sweeter than that. Willy has been absolutely wonderful with Van, so patient and loving. And his relationship with Hooper is stronger than ever. We’ve all really bonded and that’s why, when I look to the near future that is this week, I say things are ominous too. That’s because Willy will be returning to work. That means I will have to juggle breastfeeding the little while making meals and spoon feeding my bigger (because we all know how time consuming feeding our horribly picky and finicky eater can be). It also means that I will have to discipline the bigger one my own, which has become quite the usual occurrence this past week. The culprit is only obvious and I’m hoping that in time the transition to becoming a big brother settles in. There have been a few times where Van has been at the breast and Hooper has come up and whacked him on the head. In steps Willy and over to the corner Hooper goes for his lecture on hitting. Take Willy out of that equation and I’m not sure what to do. I picture myself pulling my hair out, but I know that will happen soon enough on it’s own so I’m not sure what I’m going to resort to. I imagine I will figure it all out and I hope that with each passing day I learn a trick here and there to help me get through the day (preferably with a shower and three meals). To be continued…
As far as recovery goes, I feel shockingly fairly close to normal. I started using the term “normal” just a few days ago and it feels oh so good to let that nice word roll off my tongue. I get a bit sore if I do too much during the day, but so long as I take care of myself, I feel almost back to normal. I will be sharing Van’s birth story on the blog tomorrow, but not included in the story is the fact that I did tear (again). It was one of my biggest fears prior to giving birth the second time and I have to admit that immediately after confirming that Van was okay, I asked, “Did I tear?”. Sure enough, the answer was “stage 3”, same as before. I dreaded recovery instantly, but I’d have to say it has been significantly easier and less painful than the first time. The body has such fantastic ways of healing and caring for itself.
Sleep hasn’t been horrible either. Would you believe me if I said there was one night Van gave me a five hour stretch? And another night a seven hour stretch? Of course those are the exceptions. Interspersed are increments of an hour, maybe two, and sometimes only 30 minutes. Keeping it positive, it’s been nice to catch up on the Olympics in the wee hours of the night as I sit like a potato on the sofa with my lovely glow worm attached to my breast.
The last leg of pregnancy, for me, is an emotional roller coaster. The challenge is detaching myself and letting nature run her course. It’s an odd feeling to be housing a baby but have absolutely no control over when it comes out. Oftentimes I feel like people are looking to me to have some mysterious sixth sense and answer the question of when he’s coming, though I have no more control or insight over it than anyone else. I put a lot of pressure on myself and in a lot of ways I realize I dig my own hole. Van will come whenever he feels fit, I need to trust in that. Easier said than done, I assure you.
Google is my worst best friend, the kind that your mom always warned you was trouble and you knew in your heart of hearts she was right but you still couldn’t seem to turn down an invite to a sleep over. I want so desperately to waste my days researching natural induction methods and signs of impending labor. In an effort to fool myself into thinking labor is just around the corner, I’m fighting the urge to start tracking the time between my braxton hicks, which granted have gotten stronger but are still not the real thing. But the reality is no matter how much time I spend researching this or that, nature reigns all. I have no control and it’s the hardest pill to swallow this late in pregnancy.
I have tons of “what if this” and “what if that” kinda questions, questions that no professional out there can answer… Questions more appropriately asked to the magic eight ball I so naively allowed to control my fate years back when I had beaded curtains separating my closet from my room and glow in the dark stars pasted all over my ceiling. I’m anxious to say the least and it has me on edge. It’s an all too familiar feeling and the more the script seems to match the prior one, the more anxious I become.
I read a rumor the other day that the Beatles “Let it Be”, written by Paul, was written for his mother Mary who was a midwife. Needless to say, I added it to my labor playlist. I’m trying my best to let things be these days, but trust me, it’s a battle.
I’m no pro in knowing what to include in that little suitcase planted at the front door awaiting those infamous words of, “Honey, it’s time!”. I had no plans of even going to hospital the first time around. To be honest, I hadn’t even showered the morning I gave birth. Instead, we hightailed it downtown to our appointment with the backup OB, in his office, and were prompted to go directly from there to the hospital. I had nothing. The following are some things I would have brought…
Toiletries/ overnight stuff // Clothes to bring the baby home in // My labor tunes (keep in mind the hospital may or may not have an iPod deck or a CD player, so pack your own) // Labor snacks // Purse // Granny panties // Camera // Birthing ball // Cell phone and charger
I can tell you from having nothing that it didn’t really matter. The experience is so solidified in my mind as being incredibly momentous and empowering that I can’t say I lost much by not having my pre-determined labor tunes playing or even having it all captured on camera… and for those who know me, you know I have trigger finger. Point being, you and your support team are all you need. Keep it simple.
There is a bond that only siblings have the privilege of knowing. My sister and I didn’t always have the most in common growing up and we fought often. We are 19 months apart. But once we became adults, our friendship flourished. She’s taught me a lot about life and myself and it’s because of my relationship with her that I look so forward to the friend Hooper will soon have for life in his brother Van. My sister came out to visit over the weekend to celebrate my birthday and watch the US gymnastics Olympic trials. We joined my parents Saturday evening at the Huntington Library in Pasadena for a picnic and tunes from the roaring 20’s. It was a splendid evening. I laughed so hard I cried, I think we all did, compliments of the face juggler app on the iPhone. I highly recommend checking it out. Here’s some shots from our Saturday evening.
I love being a mother, I’d never stray too far from that statement. I have been candid about the fact I think caring for a newborn is ridiculously difficult and I’ve shared my worries with bringing another child into the world when things with the first seem so calm and settled and enjoyable. Not for one second do I think raising these little rascals will always be peaches n’ cream. I’ve shared my feelings about the yin and yang of life, touching on motherhood being about moments in time and perspective. For the most part, I stick to the love story of raising Hooper but surely there are rough patches, exhausting times, and moments where I’ve wondered if I did everything I wanted before having children. It’s only normal, in my opinion. That’s why I practically shit my pants laughing so hard when I read about a segment on the Today show where a blogger turned author discussed what she’s coined “Mommy Confessions”. Some of the confessions are brutally honest, others are just down right funny. Here’s some confessions she shared:
I confess that most days, I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. Everyone thinks I have it all together — good wife, good mom, successful career — but I really don’t. I’m ready to stop pretending to be perfect now.
I tried for seven years to get pregnant and now that I’m a mother, I wonder whether it was all worth it.
If I have to watch Barney one more time, I may have to stick a fork in my eye. Actually, then I’d get some attention. Maybe not such a bad idea.
I sometimes try to get sick, just so I have an excuse to go to sleep at 6:00 p.m.
I joined a gym just for the free day care. I drop the kids off and read magazines and blogs in the locker room.
I pretend to be happy being a stay-at-home mom but sometimes I feel like I’m slowly dying. I cry every night in the shower. This isn’t what I thought it would be.
I kiss my young teenager good-bye in the morning as she leaves for school, rising above the hormone-fueled snarling and histrionics. Then I close the front door and flip her off, with both hands.
I miss the career I gave up more than I miss my son when I go to the grocery store. But I always get to go back to him.
Hidden in the pantry in a box labeled “flour” is top-of-the-line chocolate and a few joints. I rarely resort to it, but it’s a comfort knowing it’s there.
Here’s some of her “Mommy Manifesto” that also had me rolling and nodding in agreeance at the same time:
I shall maintain a sense of humor about all things motherhood, for without it, I recognize that I may end up institutionalized. Or, at the very least, completely miserable.
I shall not judge the mother in the grocery store who, upon entering, hits the candy aisle and doles out M&M’s to her screaming toddler. It is simply a survival mechanism.
I shall not compete with the mother who effortlessly bakes from scratch, purees her own baby food, or fashions breathtaking costumes from tissue paper. Motherhood is not a competition. The only ones who lose are the ones who race the fastest.
I shall shoot the parents of the screaming newborn on the airplane looks of compassion rather than resentment. I am fortunate to be able to ditch the kid upon landing. They, however, are not.
I shall never ask any woman whether she is, in fact, expecting. Ever.
I shall not question the mother who is wearing the same yoga pants, flip-flops, and T-shirt she wore to school pickup the day before. She has good reason.
I shall never claim to know everything about children other than my own (who still remain a mystery to me).
I shall hold the new babies belonging to friends and family, so they may shower and nap, which is all any new mother really wants.
I shall strive to pass down a healthy body image to my daughter. She deserves a mother who loves and respects herself; stretch marks, dimples, cellulite, and all.
I shall not preach the benefits of breast-feeding or circumcision or homeschooling or organic food or co-sleeping or crying it out to a fellow mother who has not asked my opinion. It’s none of my damn business.
I shall try my hardest to never say never, for I just may end up with a loud mouthed, bikini-clad, water gun–shooting toddler of my very own.
I shall remember that no mother is perfect and that my children will thrive because of, and sometimes even in spite of me.
Honestly, all the excerpts are worth posting. You can check out the article yourself here. Definitely a good read.
Hooper and I mosied around some of the local thrift stores last week and scored some great finds. Hooper was such a good shopping partner right up until I made the amateur mom mistake of letting him out of the stroller to play with the Radio Flyer I intended to buy him anyway. It’s like I lost sight of the fact he has no concept of having to pay for things first. He was happy as a clam with that bike until I plopped him back in the stroller and brought the bike up to front to store while I kept shopping. Big mistake. There were tears, oh there were tears. It didn’t help that I put the bike in the back of the car in direct line of his vision, so he continued to cry because he could see it but not touch it. Then I made another mistake of trying to hit up one more thrift store, but we quickly left empty handed once his tears turned into a I just need a nap kinda cry. We went home, he napped, then he woke up and it was Radio Flyer playin’ time the rest of the evening. In any case, we scored some great finds. The vintage telephone stand is one of my favorites from a local collectible store that has so much stuff piled on top of stuff that it was nearly impossible to even bring the stroller in. I had to back Hooper out of that place. It was insane. Seriously, glorious hoarding to the umph degree. I’ll have to bring my gloves and shovel next time I go back there.
Mother’s Day morning started with sun shining through our window and birds chirping. Sounds dreamy, right? It was. Willy rolled over and reached to the side of his bed and handed me a beautiful handmade card with the most lovely words inside.
I felt special instantly. I unwrapped my gift and was pleasantly surprised to be the new owner of this lovely vintage dress (It appeared on my Mother’s Day gift guide here). I added it to my post pregnancy prize pack.
Then I heard the sweetest little “Ma-ma” spoken over the monitor. Willy and I rolled out of bed to find this little monster standing in his crib, ready to go.
We listened to some music while we got ready for the day and headed off to brunch at a restaurant nestled back in the Simi Valley hills with extended family. Hooper wiggled his way from person to person, entertaining everyone with a captivating game of peek-a-boo. When we arrived back home at noon, well past his usual nap time, we put Hooper down. It took him quite a while to fall asleep, but sleep he did. He didn’t make another peep until almost five o’clock. I had the luxury of taking a long nap myself, which I think my body really needed. I have a feeling the baby has dropped as I’ve been having a significant increase in pressure and have since adopted the well-known pregnancy waddle. So yes, it was nice to rest. When we were all awake, we headed to Lowes to pick out some plants.
Willy agreed to take some photos of Hooper and I without any hesitation. Another mother’s day gift. Unfortunately, a little someone did not want to cooperate.
This looks like a cute mother-son photo where the son wants to be lifted up into his mama’s arms, right?
Not the case. He’s crying because he wants to sit in the drivers seat of the car and play with all the buttons and steering wheel. This is his new favorite thing.
I tried explaining to him that today was Mother’s Day and that his mama really wanted a couple nice photos with him.
He then told me that if I wanted photos with him, that I’d have to chase him. So, I did.
And this was the result: Mama holding a crying toddler. Well, I tried.
Even Papa tried.
Nothing worked.
So I took a picture by myself instead.
I snapped a few shots of Hooper on his giraffe (I’ll share the rest soon) and we called it a wrap.
We capped the day off with dinner out, put Hooper to bed, and stayed up and watched a movie. It was lovely.
I have a long list of fears associated with becoming a mother to two and they are compounding one on top of each other in my mind this week. I feel the urge to put them down on virtual paper to expose my vulnerabilities so I can more effectively deal with them and move on. I’ve been more emotional/on edge this week and I think these fears are to blame. So here are the top six that have been floating through my mind these days (listed in no particular order):
1. Energy. Will I have the energy to be the mom I want to be? I’m already anxious about returning to work and that’s not happening for quite some time. I worry about waking up “X” amount of times during the night to breastfeed, getting up at 5am, working (and working hard mind you) on my feet for 12 hours, coming home and eating dinner at 8:30 pm, and having the energy to either do it again the next day or mother a toddler and a relatively newborn baby the next day. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
I’ve had so much time to spend with Hooper these past weeks. We’ve gone to the zoo, park, play dates, beach, and even Hawaii. We’ve had breakfast dates and picnics in the backyard. If I’m tired, I nap when he naps and we both wake up refreshed. Throw working full time and another baby into the mix and I’m haunted by the possibility of not being able to be the mom I want to be and know I can be. It’s got me pretty torn and emotional these days.
2. Breastfeeding. I know now what I’m up against and that’s good and bad. Good because I know the challenge that awaits and bad because even under the best of circumstances it is nothing short of a challenge. I’m fully dedicated and I place very high standards on myself, which makes it even more difficult because I really give myself no other option than to breastfeed. The dreamy part of me fantasizes about even going past the 12 month mark this time, but I’ll see where I’m at when I get there. I had a lot of supply issues the first time around that forced me to ween about that time, which really was a gift from above because I was more than ready to have my ta-tas back to myself.
Hooper took forever on the boob for the first three months. I’d watch half a movie before he was done breastfeeding in a single session. I’m trying to imagine how that’s going to work with Hooper climbing on top of the kitchen table or potty training or any of the other constant interruptions that require my full attention. I imagine many interrupted breastfeeding sessions which inevitably will lead to those oh-so-painful clogged milk ducts which require warm baths and relaxation and well… you know my response to that: ya freakin’ right. ::deep breaths::
3. Attention. Sometimes I feel like the Giving Tree, which I shared in my Mother’s Day post yesterday. It’s about a tree who gives everything to this little boy. The boy eats his apples until there are no apples left and uses his branches until all the branches are gone and eventually the boy gets older and all that’s left of the tree is the stump. The old man then uses the stump to sit on. So yes, sometimes I feel like the giving tree. I worry that I will be spread so thin trying to be the best mom to two children and the best wife and in the midst of trying to find the time to still care for myself, I worry that, I too, will be nothing but a tree stump for others to sit on.
4. Getting out. This one is less of a fear than the others because I realize this as being more temporary than the other worries I’ve shared. Nonetheless, I’m trying to imagine doing something simple like going to the grocery store with both of my little munchkins. For starters, the car seat will take up the space where I normally sit and strap Hooper which means Hooper will have to walk. Sure, he’s fully capable of walking. Walking is not the issue. It’s the keeping-his-hands to himself that will be an issue. I’m imagining apples coming tumbling down one after another and tomato sauce containers crashing to the ground spreading glass and tomato sauce everywhere. With more access to things, I imagine more tantrums when he can’t have what he wants. I’m imagining chaos and then I’m imagining the solution being to remain at home and wait it all out, regardless of a potentially empty fridge and grumbling tummies. Maybe I’ll start a vegetable garden outside. Ha! See, I’m trying to think positively. I’ll stop here. I won’t even mention going out to eat as a family or taking a plane ride anywhere or even going for a walk with the dog.
5. Time to Blog. This one sounds silly in comparison to the others, right? But really, this blog has become very dear to me. It takes care of my unyielding urge to document and is a wonderful venue for me unleash whatever emotions come up. I feel better, for example, just by writing this post. When I’m away from writing for any length of time I have the same feeling as having a sink full of dirty dishes. This little corner of mine here on the worldwide web has become a way to unload and a way to display all I love and cherish. It also warms my heart to relate to other moms who share my same love and struggles with motherhood. Everyone tells me I won’t have time to do things like blog and I’m determined to prove them wrong. But I’m also determined to breastfeed and be the best mom and the best wife… I’m determined to do a lot. I just hope I’m not setting myself up for disappointment by placing too many expectations on myself.
6. Losing my hair. Yup, in the midst of trying to handle, rearrange, and accept everything on your plate, the post-pregnancy hormones do you no favors. When Hooper was about 4 or 5 months I started losing hair around my hairline by the handful. About a month or so later I started to notice what Willy and I referred to as “grow backs”, little sprouting hairs starting to return. It was bittersweet. Sweet to have the hairs coming back, bitter to have little antennas sticking out everywhere. Today, a year or so later my “grow backs” are about bang length. Anything beats the bald look, really. So yes, on top of everything, I’m worried about my hair falling out. Hopefully I’m not pulling it out myself. Ha!
So there you have it. I would love to hear from others who have shared similar fears and how they dealt with them effectively. In the meantime, I’m trying to remind myself that my way of dealing with impending change is to build it up to be the worst case scenario. That way I tend to be pleasantly surprised when things aren’t as hard as I imagined them to be.
Hope everyone had a wonderful Mother’s Day. I’ll share a recap of our lovely Sunday within the next few days. And many congrats to my friend Lisa who birthed her second beautiful baby on Mother’s Day.
Last year was my first Mother’s Day with a baby in hand. It felt like my birthday. Not because I got lots of gifts, though I did get a few special ones, but because I woke up with that same excitement in knowing that the day was not only special, but special for me. And getting to share the day with all the other woman that make the same sacrifices and share the same struggles feels really special. Mother’s Day has become my new favorite holiday and that little boy just waking now in his crib and that little munchkin fluttering about in my belly are the reasons why. My husband and my boys are my world and today is a day for me to reflect on just how lucky and fortunate I am.
I have a few special little tidbits to share. Interspersed are some of my favorite photos of me and my little guy from his first year. Let’s get started!
An article published in Market Watch determined an average of what stay-at-home-moms would make if they were paid an annual salary for their work. That’s right, stay-at-home-moms check your mailboxes for that annual check of $113,000 for your 95 hours of work per week. Working moms can add $67,000 to their annual salaries for the additional work they do when they come home from work. Score! If only…
Next I’d like to share a wonderful “Letter to Motherhood” written by the beautiful Melissa of Dear Baby. She also writes for Babble and she posted this sweet letter some time ago. I’ve come back to it many times because it’s just so beautifully and perfectly stated. She writes:
What is motherhood but the very best chance to learn what you are made of? It will strip you down to nothing. Make you doubt yourself a thousand times. And it will make you roar with a fierceness you’ve never before seen. It will search your heart for your greatest fears and the bravest of all your intentions and set them out on display.
It breaks you. It saves you. It steals the girl you were. All of her. You’ll never sleep like her or be as carefree as she once was, but she’d never believe the courage or the selflessness she’ll one day possess in you. Motherhood replaces her with someone who understands love on a level the girl you were never could.
It’s okay to sometimes wish you could go back and live a day in her shoes. A day to bask in the decadence of irresponsibility. But if she could look forward: If she could see herself tested, how her fears have been faced, how the question “Am I strong enough to survive this?” is answered with a resounding yes, time after time. She’d feel damn proud to become the woman that awaits her.
Beautifully written, right? I couldn’t agree with her words more.
And lastly, The Giving Tree Movie, spoken by Shel Silverstein in 1973. This has always been one of my favorite books from childhood, but I’ve never been able to fully relate to it until now. Because now, as a mother, I am the giving tree. I feel like gifting each mother a nice big bucket of water to keep their leaves bountiful and their roots growing. So yes, water yourselves this Mother’s day. We all deserve it.
And a special Happy Mother’s Day wish to my own mother who always lends an open ear and always helps me keep things in perspective. I love you, mom!
It’s so exciting to watch Hooper interact with babies younger than him as it offers a glance at what to expect when his brother arrives. I’m pleased to report that he exhibits no signs of jealousy when I hold little Emerson and actually seems moderately into her. We’ll see how that all changes when I’m playing mama full time to another little munchkin. ‘Til then, I leave you with a little Hooper & Emerson lovefest.
Hooper also had a play date with his pal Evan. These guys are only three days apart and his mom and I are both pregnant again, with just seven weeks separating our due dates. So cool. These two splashed around with the water, played on the slide, ate animal crackers, and did what boys do: got dirty. I’m still trying to get the dirt out of Hooper’s clothes. Sarah got to join in the fun too. Here’s some snapshots from their time together:
What happens when your husband watches your toddler, your best friend is in town, and it’s Sunday (AKA flea market extravaganza)? You come away with some treasures, that’s what. Here’s what I collected. And please note, not one thing is for me. Oh the joys of motherhood. Who is this selfless person Hooper calls his mom? I hardly know her.
My favorite find were those vintage Zip shoes. When the lady told me the price, I immediately opened my wallet. They were so cool that they actually silenced my bargaining mouth. I paid $7.00 and walked away feeling like a million bucks. Oh the rush of a good find. It feels so good.
Oh yes, wait now. There was one thing for me or at least for the sweet little place I call home. This awesome plant stand made it’s way into my trunk and I couldn’t be more pleased. Time to visit a garden and complete this little guy.
Happy Cinco de Mayo. Hope you all are spending this beautiful Saturday with a chilled Corona and some homemade salsa. I have a few things to share, starting with this photo of Hooper @ 22 weeks in his “No Hablo” onesie. Want a onesie similar? You can find one here or here.
I also put together a special Cinco de May edition of Mamas & Tykes:
I told you this Hershey’s shirt is one of my new favorites! And to think I found it under a large pile of clothing and paid only $3 bucks for it! These shorts have been featured in a prior Style de Hooper post and were purchased on Ebay. The shoes are Vans and let me tell you, slip-ons are where it’s at!
When I was pregnant with Hooper, my midwife palpated my belly. Her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise came over her face as she proclaimed, “he’s a long boy!”. Fast forward to his birth, where he measured 23 inches. She nailed it, he was a long boy. And that’s just one of many things I love about midwives; they use and trust their hands.
When I went to see my new backup OB, he confessed that he cannot tell the difference between a babies rump and head when he is palpating a woman’s pregnant belly. He also confessed that although he wears one of the most expensive stethoscopes around his neck, he hardly ever uses it and cannot tell the difference in various heart rhythms. Instead, he said, he relies on ultrasound for detecting the baby’s position and an EKG to determine heart rhythm. He’s young and he’s the product of modern day machinery, I mean medicine.
At any rate I recently read a fascinating article, “The Most Scientific Birth Is Often the Least Technological Birth”, written by Alice Dreger, a professor of clinical medical humanities and bioethics at Northwestern University’s Feinberg School of Medicine. She starts the article by sharing the answer she received when asking her medical students what came to mind when they envisioned someone who chose a midwife over an obstetrician. The students described a granola girl. You know, they one’s that look almost Amish and frolic in fields of grass and mix herbs from their gardens in their spare time.
I don’t consider myself a granola girl at all, in fact, I’m slightly offended when someone refers to me as a “hippie” because I’m choosing a home birth. Instead, I consider myself very rational. I also find myself to be a hostage of my own principles. It’s nearly impossible for me to do something I don’t believe in. And I do believe in medicine, otherwise I would not work at a large hospital as a registered nurse. But I believe their is a time and place for medical intervention.
Dreger goes on to make a clear differentiation between science and technology, noting that the scientific literature shows that interventions used during birth actually increase the risk to mother and child instead of decreasing it. A bold statement made by someone both in the academic and medical worlds, no? She states the problem with her medical students is that they think that what it means to be a scientific doctor is to bring to bear the maximum amount of technology on any given patient. And this, she says, makes them dangerous.
It goes without saying that all woman want a healthy outcome when it comes to birthing their child. The problem today, she says, is that no one seems to tell them what the data indicates is the best way to get there.
Recounting her own pregnancy in 2000, she says:
“My mate and I consulted the scientific medical literature to find out how to maximize safety for me and our child, here’s what we learned from the studies available: I should walk a lot during my pregnancy, and also walk around during my labor; doing so would decrease labor time and pain. During pregnancy, I should get regular check-ups of my weight, urine, blood pressure, and belly growth, but should avoid vaginal exams. I should not bother with a prenatal sonogram if my pregnancy continued to be low-risk, because doing so would be extremely unlikely to improve my or my baby’s health, and could well result in further tests that increased risk to us without benefit.
According to the best studies available, when it came time to birth at the end of my low-risk pregnancy, I should not have induction, nor an episiotomy, nor continuous monitoring of the baby’s heartbeat during labor, nor pain medications, and definitely not a c-section. I should give birth in the squatting position, and I should have a doula — a professional labor support person to talk to me throughout the birth. (Studies show that doulas are astonishingly effective at lowering risk, so good that one obstetrician has quipped that if doulas were a drug, it would be illegal not to give one to every pregnant woman.)”
Drawing from several experts in the birth world, Dreger points to the problem in the way birth is conceived in America — as “dangerous, risky, and in need of control to ensure a good outcome.” She also touches on the lack of insurance coverage for births outside of the hospital setting, the misuse of science to support the new technologies of birth, the lack of information provided to woman regarding the dangers in interventions offered, and the limited options women in America have in regards to bringing their child into the world.
I had to fight hard for home birth coverage. I wasn’t even aware that coverage could have been obtained the first time around and thus had to pay out of pocket for something that in hindsight could have been covered had I had more knowledge or had someone presented my options to me. Instead, obtaining home birth coverage was something I did proactively. I made home birth an option for myself, no one presented it on a silver platter. It’s unfortunate because I know a lot of women don’t have the time or energy that I did to put toward it, even if our desires for the best birthing outcome are the same.
Dreger concludes by stating, “We’re all very interested in having healthy babies and it is pretty easy to make the kind of cognitive errors that people make, and attribute to technology benefits that don’t exist. At the same time, when there are problems in a pregnancy, that very same technology can be life-saving. It is easy to make the [problematic mental] leap that technology is always going to be necessary for a good outcome.”
I get that this is a touchy subject. You can check out the comments to her article if you really want to get fired up one way or the other. I get that a home birth is not for everyone. I get that a natural birth is not for everyone. I get that some women are more comfortable birthing in the hospital setting and I get that some prefer an Obstetrician to a Midwife. But my bottom line has never wavered: Women need to be educated. The consequences of many of the interventions throughout labor need to be discussed and options need to be more available.
I try not to buy books on Etsy, I really do. I prefer to find them at thrift stores or flea markets for the satisfaction in the hunt and price. But every now and again I come across an Etsy find that I just can’t pass up. This is one of those. Take a look and you’ll see why my knees buckled. It won my heart over with it’s depiction of all the family helping. What a wonderful world it was back then 😉
I mean it came complete with a vocabulary list, can you really blame me?
