Style de Hooper
Here’s another snazzy look Hooper rocked the other day. See that little curl over his left ear? It’s killing me with cuteness. The outfit isn’t so bad either.
See that cut on his left hand? He had a run in with the mirror. Oh and that mark on his chin, you ask? Not even sure when or where that happened. This boy… I tell ya…
Shirt: The Children’s Place
Vintage overalls: From Etsy seller Little Reader Vintage
Shoes: Classic Vans
An Update
Lucky for us, our midwives have a couple OB/GYN’s that back them up, so to say. This, in and of itself, says a lot about not only what they do but how they do it. I definitely have my issues regarding trust of the mainstream medical field when it comes to labor, but seeing an OB that I know my midwives trust helps soothe some of my anxiety.
Since our appointment with our midwives, I’ve done a lot of reflection regarding what’s important to me and what I feel is best for myself, this pregnancy, and this baby. Keeping to my New Year’s resolution, I reached out to positive, educated, and encouraging individuals and what I got in return was just the support I needed.
I had one friend from High School that put me in contact with her sister-in-law who has had a home birth and is preparing for her second, also to be born at home, in March. She shared a story with me of a friend that also planned a home birth, labored at home for 22 hours, and ultimately transferred to the hospital where she underwent a medically-necessary c-section. It happens. It was her perspective that I found enlightening. She said: medical intervention helped her in the end, laboring at home helped her in the beginning. This same friend went on to have her second baby at home, in a pool in her living room, with no complications.
Always up for a good debate, I like to play the devil’s advocate. I sent an email to our OB, Dr. K, who delivered Hooper on the operating room table. Here’s what he had to say:
As we talked about in the office, I think your odds of an uncomplicated delivery are extremely high. Second labors tend to be faster and easier than first labors and less second pregnancies go past the due date. I do not, however, have a crystal ball and there are certainly patients attempting home births who need to be transferred in labor due to some issues that arise. I do not think your chances are any higher than anyone else just because of your first labor. I do back up midwives because I think it important that patients have options and choices. I am also very up front if I think that choices should be limited because of circumstances. I see no such issues with your pregnancy at this point. My agreement with the midwives that I back is that I will agree to care for patients that they feel are no longer low risk. I obviously do not tell my patients to seek midwife care but I would always agree to back them if that is what they chose. You have become my patient and I would always try to give you advice that keeps you in the realm of safety while trying to allow you to ‘get what you want’. I think you are an excellent candidate for a home birth if that is your choice. If you choose that, I will be happy to serve as your back-up MD in case there are issues that require my attention or your transport. I hope this helps you.
And help me it did.
With Willy on board as much as he’s gonna be on board and with the support I so desperately needed, I’m feeling good. I feel more confident than ever about my decision.
A special thanks all those who have reached out to show their support, espically to Ali for putting me in touch with Abby, to Dr. K, to Janet for listening to me vent when things needed to roll off my chest, to my midwives whose patience, support, and love for what they do seems otherworldly, and to my lovely husband who listens to all my crazy shenanigans and trusts me enough to join me on this journey. Willy, you are the crispy pickle to my sandwich. Oh gosh, now I want a pickle. A really crispy pickle.
Photo credits: source 1, source 2
The Adventures of Sarah & Hooper
1. “Hey Sarah, check out my piece of paper…”
2. “Hey mom, look at Sarah and I pway wif dis paper…”
3. “Ut oh, Sarah’s taking my paper…”
4. “Dis is my part. Sarah can I have the rest. I know how to share.”
Confessions Of…
I used to always push avocados on Hooper. He’s always been in the low percentile for weight and avocados are good for packing on the “good” fat. No matter what recipe I tried, he’d have none of it. I was about to let an avocado go to waste the other morning and thought I’d give it another go. It’s been a while since his last avocado rejection episode. Here’s what I included:
One Avocado
Strawberries and blueberries
Yes, in case you are wondering I always include a big bowl of spinach for my little popeye
Hooper waiting patiently
Hooper not waiting patiently
Steamed Carrots
Cherries and Banana (I actually used two bananas)
Butternut Squash
And, as always, the result:
Then & Now, 14 weeks
When I was 14 weeks pregnant with Hooper, we were exploring Cuba with eyes wide and hearts heavy with anticipation for the inevitable change that was to come. It’s funny, when you have a baby it becomes almost impossible to remember what your life was like before they existed. It’s hard to remember what we did with all that free time when the only one depending on us was ourselves. But traveling has a way of changing that; a way of cementing memories and solidifying your existence as merely a couple. We’ll always remember and cherish our time spent in Cuba.
We arrived in Cancun with a sealed envelope of cash with instructions to obtain our airline tickets to Cuba. They read: When you arrive in Cancun, tell the driver you are going to Cuba. He will leave you at the proper door. When you get there you will see a coffee shop on your left and small counters. In front of the counters, look for a man named Saul. He is around 40 years old, curly hair, obviously Mexican, and usually in a cream colored shirt. You must give him the sealed envelope of cash. He will in-turn give you your visas and your tickets. We managed to find Saul, who actually appeared 60 years old, had skim-to-none amount of hair even left on his head, and was in a red shirt. Either way, it worked out.
Cuba does not have any hostels, which is our typical accommodation choice. Instead, Cubans rent out rooms in their homes to tourists. These homes are called Casa Particulares and the government strictly controls them. In fact, within the first 24-48 hours, a government official arrives to verify their occupancy. Seventy percent of the $25/per night charge is turned over to the government. When considering that Cubans only make a mere equivalency of $12-20 US a month, those that own Casa Particulares make out like bandits. In order to rent out a room, it must first be inspected and approved by the government. As a result, all rooms offer a standard of clean rooms with warm water, bath towels, clean sheets and pillows (mostly stuffed with cotton balls), private bathroom, air conditioning, and refrigerators. Standards like these sure beat sleeping with bed bugs in India or rats in the Dominican Republic. Staying in the Casa Particulares also allows for a closer connection with the Cuban people. To be invited into their home allows you to directly observe their life. It also allows you to see what the homes look and feel like behind the delapitated facade they stand behind.
See that man with the table resting on his knees? We stayed with him. He was pleasant to wake up each morning. We left him a pair of shoes.
Because Cuba is a communist country, its citizens do not pay for things like housing, education, medicine, food is rationed, etc. Even things like sporting events and going to the movies are considered a right to the people. Considering the current state of the American economy, sounds dreamy right? Not so. The Cuban people receive far less than what they need. The buildings are ill maintained. Several were built in the early 1900’s.
Life in Cuba is difficult. Even when one has means to get what they need, one cannot always find what they need. We offered to bring the family we stayed with in Havana anything they might need from the US. The father was a Pediatrician and the mother ran the Casa Particular out of the house. Of all things, they needed a doorbell. Seems nowhere in Cuba sells doorbells. We traded for Cohiba cigars, which turned out to be fake. Not to worry, many legitimately Cuban cigars were consumed.
Aside from the struggles and the suppression, there is something very magical about Cuba. And while the US has so much of what Cuba lacks, there is a great deal we can learn from the Cuban people. The comparison, in my opinion, is like an organic apple to a genetically enhanced apple. While Cuba may appear a little rough around the edges and while you may expect the people to be moping around with their heads down, what the people possess on the inside is pure beauty and a spirit strengthened by survival. Though the streets are filled with potholes, dog shit, and dilapidated buildings, they are also full of life. As a photographer, you know you are in a special place when you can walk down the same street ten times and each time photograph ten different scenes.
Check out those pearly whites, those glasses, and an actual cane (no PVC pipe used there). Not to mention his friends leather shoes. Not too shabby.
Makes one question what it really means to live. The street we live on is full of empty cars and empty homes. Dogs and cats live behind fences. Walk down any street in Cuba and you’ll see people making ends meet. Many Cubans use a lever system, for example, to bring buckets of water or fruit up to their homes. The physical energy this takes is probably more than the majority many Americans exert in a day. You’ll find kids playing stickball because not only do they not have actual baseballs and bats, but they also do not have video games, iPods, or computers. While these kids know everyone on their block, I do not know the names of my own neighbors.
When you walk through a shopping center in the US, you are bombarded with advertisements attempting to sell you on a way some major corporation can profit on you living your life. Walk anywhere in Cuba and you will not find advertisements. Not even commercials on the TV. In fact, I’m told the commercials are instead educational tid-bits about how to breast-feed, for example. I walked through a local market and found nothing more than things sold to fix things: nuts and bolts, replacement roof tiles, and a watch repairman. Life in America is about consumption. Life in Cuba is about sustainability. I mean check out those cars they keep running after all these years.
I feel that in America, we define ourselves by our possessions. People in Cuba, however, are too busy being, living, and surviving. An article in Adbusters addresses this notion, “social life becomes so completely dominated by accumulated products that it causes a shift from having to appearing, wherein all ‘having’ must now derive its immediate prestige from appearances”. We appear to have a lot, but in so many ways have nothing. Cubans, on the other hand, appear to have nothing, but in so many ways have more than we do. Not to say communism is the way or that Cuba is where this family will be re-locating… but there is something to be said for a country with no McDonalds.
So that was then and this is now. Memories packed away in backpacks in the garage and little stampering feet running the halls reminding us that we have transformed from husband and wife to family. And what a beautiful transformation it has been.
Emmerson
I had another date with Emmerson the other day and I’m smitten.
More Business of Being Born
Have you heard of the Ricki Lake and Abby Epstein’s Documentary, “The Business of being born”?
Well there is a sequel. I ordered it today. You can watch the trailer below and if you find the girl in the middle of the group at the end incredibly annoying, you’re not alone. Otherwise, can’t WAIT to see. Thank you to Ricki Lake and Abby Epstein for making such an important cause mainstream.
If you’ve seen either of these documentaries, what were your thoughts?
Infant Mortality Rate
Have you ever looked up infant mortality rate in the United States? The results are shocking. You’ll find yourself scrolling further than you think to find the US’s home on the list. According to the CIA’s world factbook, we are ranked 48th in 2011, behind Cuba. Behind Cuba, people!
Willy and I visited Cuba in 2010.
We travelled there legally with humanitarian licenses. Ironically enough, we were responsible for bringing medical supplies to a mission in Havana. Ironically, these supplies included things like prenatal vitamins. Yes, you are understanding me correctly. We, US citizens, supplied Cuba with prenatal vitamins. Yes, Cuba’s infant mortality rate is lower than the infant mortality rate in the US. Interesting, no?
The other day we met with a realtor to discuss the option of selling our home. We mentioned Zillow in the conversation and the guy rolled his eyes. This was the second realtor we talked to that rolled their eyes upon mentioning Zillow. So we questioned the eye roll and his response was something along the line of too much information being provided to people that are not educated enough to filter it correctly. Information overload.
Back to the infant mortality rate.
The rate of medical intervention in the US is presumably higher than the rate in Cuba. Would anyone argue against this? I think birth in the US has become too medical. I think there are more interventions because there is more monitoring. This sounds like a crazy statement, I know. But there’s been lots of research done to support this claim. The following excerpt was taken from an interview with Dr. Alex Friedman:
There are numerous reasons that one of three U.S. births now is by cesarean, but Dr. Alex Friedman blames some on an imprecise monitor strapped to laboring women. Too often, he has sliced open a mother’s abdomen fearing the worst, only to pull out a pink, screaming bundle.
“Everyone knows it’s a bad test,” said Friedman of the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. “You haven’t done the patient a big service by doing an unnecessary surgery.”
Electronic fetal monitors record changes in the baby’s heart rate, a possible sign of too little oxygen. They became a tradition — now used in 85 percent of births — years before research could prove how well they work.
Guidelines issued last summer, aiming to help doctors better interpret which tests are worrisome, acknowledge the monitors haven’t reduced deaths or cerebral palsy. But they do increase the chances of a C-section. While they should be used in high-risk women, the guidelines say the low-risk could fare as well if a nurse regularly checked the baby’s heart rate.
Information overload.
In looking at the US infant mortality rate versus Cuba, I do think it is only fair to look at the counter argument. Because we have more medical technology the number of high risk babies born is higher in the US. I found the following information here.
In the United States if an infant is born weighing only 400 grams and not breathing, a doctor will likely spend lot of time and money trying to revive that infant. If the infant does not survive — and the mortality rate for such infants is in excess of 50 percent — that sequence of events will be recorded as a live birth and then a death. In many countries, however, (including many European countries) such severe medical intervention would not be attempted and, moreover, regardless of whether or not it was, this would be recorded as a fetal death rather than a live birth. That unfortunate infant would never show up in infant mortality statistics.
In any event, when I research birth I look for information as it relates to me. If I happen to go into preterm labor at 20 weeks, my midwives will certainly not support or participate in a home birth. I would be in the hospital kissing the fetal monitor and thanking the doctor for any interventions that could potentially save my baby. But if my pregnancy remains low risk and if I remain healthy, I feel strongly that delivering at home is safest for me and, perhaps more importantly, for my baby.
An Ode to a Bed
Dear Handsome Place to Rest my Head,
Look how lovely that Arizona sun treats you. How happy you must be to have that always beaming window right next to you. A constant reminder you are loved and cherished.
I slept in you years ago. It was our first time, remember? You were there for me to rest my head after meeting the people I now refer to as my mother and father-in-law for the first time. And you were there when that sun first cracked through that window and the man next to me, my best friend at the time and now my husband and best friend, whispered he loved me. And I whispered the same thing back, burying my giddy face into your pillow.
It was another year or so later in the middle of the night with the smell of the cows lingering and the sound of grandfather clock chiming on the hour when I felt a hiccup. Not figuratively, literally. Hooper hiccuped and the little thump thump was palpable. Lying next to me with his hand over my belly, Willy and I marveled at this little life we created.
Exhausted after a short plane flight, albeit a short flight with a baby, you invited us in for rest once again. And again, in the middle of the night in the company of the farmland and the chiming grandfather clock, I felt something else. It was not the warmth in the words “I love you”, because love already filled the room to capacity. It was not Hooper hiccuping either, as he was fast asleep curled up with the safety of his blanket and warmed by the very love we created. It was a flutter I felt. Deep in my belly. Another reminder that life is good and the blessings great. Another memory you have given me.
Until I have the privilege to rest my head again,
Ashley
Moo
Me: “What does the cow say?”
Hooper: “Mooooo”
Just one of many things learned over the weekend in Arizona.
13 weeks
We had our first appointment with the midwives this week and I have mixed emotions about how it went. For me, it was great. It was a familiar environment with familiar faces with supportive people that see birth and the birthing process through the same lens as me. For Willy, it felt like torture. I felt like I had to drag him with me and reiterate all the reasons why I believe a home birth is the best option for me. We’ve had this argument, or conversation rather, many times and each time it seems to land us in the same place: You know, those silent car rides when more is said with an eye roll than with a single word. We both believe adamantly about what we believe and he says getting him to believe a home birth is the best choice is like getting me to believe a hospital birth is the best choice. And that ain’t happening. So where to go from here is the question? We talked some more on the long drive home and have come to a tentative place of agreement, but it feels empty without having full support behind it.
With that said, I’m hoping to hear from others that have had or contemplated having a home birth. Did your partner agree with your decision? How did you come to a decision as to what was best? I’d love to hear more about your experience… Especially from the father’s perspective.
Oh ya, and we heard that little pounding heart and in those few moments all was p e r f e c t.
Arizona, Part Three
The first time I went with Willy to Arizona, we had been dating for a few months and all I could concentrate on was the awful smell of cow shit. I wondered how I was going to fall asleep surrounded by what smelled like a giant porta potty.
When we arrived at my in-laws this time around, Willy took a big whiff in, looked to me and asked, “Don’t you just love that smell?”. I felt my nose curl up in disgust until I smelled something lingering beneath that porta potty stench. It’s nostalgia. Which is probably why Willy craves it under his nostrils. It’s not the smell of the cows excrement, it’s the smell of home. Of farm life, of blooming flowers, of hay, of trackers combing the fields, and the endless Arizona sun shining through the glass bringing the warmth that only a familiar home can bring.
Time spent with family is so much richer as a mother. The happiness it brings me to watch Hooper interact with those we love and who had a hand in raising us is simply not tangible.
Arizona, Part Two
My father-in-law is a dairy veterinarian. Engage with Willy in a 10 minute conversation and he’ll probably mention this fact. That’s how proud he is. And he has every right to be.
We tagged along last Saturday morning to watch Niles perform two eye operations: one to remove cancer on one of the layers of the eye and another to remove the entire eye that was also infected with cancer.
We saved the eyeball. Willy has plans to trade it for some more tattoo work.
Be forewarned, graphic images follow.
Arizona, Part One
We spent this past weekend in Arizona, visiting Willy’s family. It was a beautiful weekend with warm weather, great company, and even some Goodwill and consignment shop hunting. What more could a girl ask for? Oh ya, the flight wasn’t full going or coming so Hooper was able to have his own seat. Score! He also fell asleep for most of the flight home. Double score! I have loads of pics, but here’s what I captured with my iPhone.
A Trinket, A Tasket
Happy Pickin’.
Good Morning, America
Nothing better than waking up in the morning to this little boy reaching for his mama. Gosh I love him.
12 Weeks
I feel pretty close to normal this week. I’m eating good, sleeping good, and by golly if I didn’t glance down at this growing belly of mine, I just may forget all together I’m even pregnant. Cheers to the last few weeks of the first trimester. Second trimester, I like you better already.
Then & Now, A Vintage Teddy
For Christmas, I unwrapped the most special gift. I’ve been eyeing this teddy bear since I was pregnant with Hooper. It was my moms as a baby and she’s held on to it all these years. Thus, she was reluctant to hand it over. It took a special holiday for this beauty to land in my lap and I’m oh so glad it has. It will either go in Hooper’s new room or in the new nursery. I haven’t decided yet. Thanks mom, I’ll treat er’ good.
New Years Resolutions
…In no particular order.
1. Start a stretch/workout routine. And by routine I mean stretching and working out routinely. Not a today I have the energy but tomorrow I won’t kinda thing… I mean a real dedicated I don’t feel like it but I’m do it anyway kinda routine. When I was pregnant with Hooper I started a prenatal yoga class at 9 weeks and went all the way through to 38 weeks or so, until I was just humiliated that I hadn’t given birth yet and had no ounce of desire to show up with a still pregnant belly week after week. Now I have Hooper and no way of making it to a class with this little rascal running around. So yes, perhaps a stretching and working out routine during nap time.
2. Eat healthier. Are these already sounding like cliche resolutions? I mean doesn’t 24 hour fitness make like 80% of their years profit in January. Okay, I’m making things up, but yes, I am fully aware that these first two resolutions are probably 90% of the general populations goals. With the absence of nausea and the days of food aversions behind me, I really have no excuse to hold on to. In fact, I have the best excuse to fully commit myself: I’m growing a human. What better reason than that to trade in french fries for some whole wheat something or other?
3. Buy a new home. A bigger one. With room to grow. To raise kids and live happily ever after. We’re constantly working toward and saving for and figuring out some way to make this a reality. I hope this year it comes to fruition. There’s actually one home in particular we’ve been eyeing… But it relies on many things falling in place.
4. Visualize a healthy home birth and seek support from positive, educated, and encouraging individuals.
5. Keep the house cleaner. I swear I try. I swear I clean constantly. I also swear because this place is always messy. I should also resolve to swear less. Hooper is quite the mimic these days.
6. Continue blogging. I love documentation in all forms. I have a couple old journals and thousands of photographs that tell a broken story and I have a detailed baby book documenting Hooper’s first year. I want something that continues the story without collecting dust in a cluttered closet.
7. Take more small trips. This kinda contradicts #3, right? I’ve thrown out propositions for impromptu trips to Nicaragua or another vacation to Hawaii. Then we think of resolution #3. And I put my backpack back in the closet. But that’s not to say we can’t take a weekend drive and stop along the way or pull that tent out of the garage. We camped a lot before Hooper was born and have yet to return to the woods for fear it’ll be more work than play. But I think Hooper’s just getting to the age where he will enjoy frolicking about. Better squeeze in as much as we can until July, when our camping days will once again be numbered.
8. Find new recipes for dinners. Mostly because Willy will love the fact that this requires me to try something new. I’m a picky eater, you see. And I hate things mixed. I was that kid that whined when my chicken touched my potato. I try harder each year to resolve this. And I am better. I swear.
9. Do something different with my hair. Dye it? New style? Bangs? Anyone have any ideas? I’m bored to all hell with these strands hanging from my head.
10. I saved my most cliche resolution for last. To love and live as much as possible because in the whole scheme of things, life is pretty short. I had the privilege of caring for a patient yesterday that reminded me of this.
