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I had to give a brief response when joining a local ICAN chapter about who I was and why I wanted to join. I thought what I ended up with was a nice succinct guide to my birth history and radicalization. Enjoy.

My name is emjaybee, my husband’s name is Matthew, and my son Nathan is nearly 2.

Birth story: water broke at 42 weeks. “Midwives” did not let me labor naturally, insisted on pitocin (because I was 42 weeks and it was “policy”)–and I didn’t know my rights, so I went along. Needed an epidural after 6 hours of pain, no shower allowed (because of monitor) no food allowed (because of stupidity). Progress halted at 8 cm for an hour, that was considered bad enough to c/sec.

Surgery was extremely traumatic. Hospital was filthy, cruel, and treated me like dirt, and I felt lucky to get out of there alive. I suffered with depression and trauma, and frequent thoughts of suicide, for a whole year and more. Breast milk never came in, and I had to formula feed.

I had a hemorrhage 10 days postpartum that no one could explain (because it’s “impossible” for a surgeon to leave any tissue inside; apparently the blood gushing between my legs was somehow imaginary), but I must have passed the tissue and only spent one night in the hospital before I felt like I wasn’t going to die. This did not help my recovery. I was a mess, because I trusted people in a system which did not care about me or my son.

Not surprisingly, I’m radicalized, and will homebirth if I ever birth again. I also finally found the courage to admit I want to be a CPM, and am planning towards that goal.

Nathan utterly surprised me today.

We’ve been reading Snuggle Puppy every night as part of our bedtime routine. This is harder than it sounds, as part of it is supposed to be sung, so I had to make up a tune out of my head, not one of my better skills. Still, he seems to love it.

Our routine is, I put him in the crib with his sippy cup (he’s not a lap-baby in any way) and he drinks it while I sit on the floor next to the crib and hold the book up while I sing/read it to him.

Last week, we noticed him picking up various random books and holding them up, gabbling some baby words and making kissing noises, like he was reading them to someone. We thought it was cute, but just a sort of random copying behavior.

Today, he showed us just how much he understands. Before bedtime, he picked up the Snuggle Puppy book and turned the pages, and gave me his version of it…down to the “oo’s” and kissy noises, which are part of the song you’re supposed to sing…and he made the noises on the right page! Seeing him go “Lalalala…oooo…” and then blow a kiss on cue is just amazing. He can read! Sort of! Or at least, knows the story cues and has figured out how to imitate some of them!

I know, other parents think this is routine, blah-de-blah. But what Nathan knows or doesn’t know is still so mysterious to us, since he doesn’t speak our language, and so we very seldom are sure that he’s understanding or absorbing what we say and do. Today, it feels like he really communicated with me for the first time, and it just blew me away.

I still wonder about his talking, and if therapy might be of some use, because he does get frustrated when he can’t communicate with us, and it’s clear he has a lot to say. He will probably figure out how in his own way, but if we can help him make it easier, I wouldn’t mind at all. I would love one day soon for him to correct me when I get a story wrong, or be able to tell me what comes next, to find out what he really likes or doesn’t like, or hear what he is thinking about when he stares solemnly out the window.

This stage feels a little like the weeks before he was born, when we knew so much about him yet longed to see his face, hear his voice, hold him, smell him, get to know him for real instead of in theory. Now it’s not his little face, but his little mind, that we’re eager to meet. Because that’s when the fun really starts, isn’t it?

I realized some things about Nathan today, the first day we’ve spent alone together for a while.

1. He’s not on track when it comes to talking. According to what charts I’ve been able to find, he should have more than the maybe 10 words we can make out by now, at 22 months. He doesn’t form sentences, or use his words to ask for things. He doesn’t imitate us when we point and tell him words for things. He doesn’t respond verbally or point to “where’s Daddy?” or other similar questions. He does talk, incessantly, in a conversational kind of pattern, but uses “nananana”, “dukadukadukaduka” and other syllables over and over. He never even had a word for “bottle” or “milk” or any kind of food, and well, I guess I just hadn’t let myself notice till today that this wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing. I don’t know how much to be worried, yet; you hear stories of “my kid never talked till he was 3!” and that might just be all it is. But if he’s having trouble and needs help, I want to get it for him, at least find out what could be causing it. He should at least have his hearing checked, though he seems to hear fine. Sometimes he does ignore us, but I can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t hear or just isn’t paying attention. Time to bring in the experts.

2. He is such a sweet and funny kid, and so engaged; he flirts constantly, laughs all the time, and can be amazingly cuddly. And then sometimes he’s a monster grouch. But really, even his grouchiest mood is short-lived; even when he’s sick, or tired, you can usually make him giggle, or he’ll have little flashes of happiness in between the bitching. Today we worked on spoon feeding, which his father and I have neglected because he was so happy with finger foods. He did fine for a while with the yogurt, scooping, kinda, with his spoon and getting it mostly in his mouth. But then, in defiance of all the laws of physics, he decided he could eat yogurt better with his hands. And he did, although I didn’t appreciate him wiping his hands through his hair. Though he remembered to keep hold of his spoon, all the same.

Here are the key things you need to deal with a child’s meltdown:

1. The ability to remove the child from the environment they are melting down in;
2. The ability to provide the child with alternate/lesser/more comforting forms of stimulation.

How many of these do you think are available on your average overbooked, tarmac-parked, delayed, overheated, loud, uncomfortable airplane?

If you answered “none” then dingdingding! You win!

And you know, even before I had a toddler, I knew this! Because, being a person with a brain, I didn’t actually believe that 3-year-olds plotted how to torment adults with piercing screams. Having met some 3-year-olds, you see, and understanding that they have the attention span of a hummingbird. They are not capable of nefarious plots, other than trying to steal their brother’s cookie, which is strictly a crime of opportunity anyway.

What they are also not capable of is the kind of superhuman patience, endurance, and self-distraction it takes to get through an average hellish airplane flight without a lot of help from adults around them. Heck, I’m barely capable of it. It wouldn’t take much more to make me run screaming down the aisles, on many flights.

So when I read about people bitching about children misbehaving on flights, I wonder if they know any children, or have ever been one, shuttled around an airport with no chance to play and nothing to do. Personally, I find adults who have loud cellphone conversations, or take up all the elbow room with their laptops, or don’t shower, or leer at stewardesses, to be more odious than a bored child babbling at his mom or crying because his ears hurt. Because hey, my ears hurt too. Airplanes suck.

Which begs the question of why anyone flies with a child. And I have to assume the answer is “because it’s the only way they can get where they’re going in the time allotted.” Most Americans get maybe 2 weeks of vacation a year; if you’re going to take some time to see Grandma A at Christmas and some time with Grandma B in the summer, that means you can’t spend 3 days of each precious week driving to Tucson or Pennsylvania. If you want more parents to drive instead of fly with their children, agitate for more vacation time for American workers.

And anyway, as you’re shooting the stink eye at Mom and Dad while their child is flailing his arms and telling a loud story about dinosaurs, or stealing his brother’s cookie, you might remember that they do not want to be there. They not only have to endure the shrieking and misbehaving, they’re being judged and held responsible for dealing with it by an entire planeful of people. They’re the ones who have to convince the 2-year-old to take off his shoes and give up his sippy cup for the security guard, who have to pack a week’s worth of food and amusement into 3-ounce increments in carry on bags, who are, quite frankly, in hell. So really, they’re being punished much worse than you are…after all, when you get off the flight, the torture ends. They still have to get all the luggage and the kids to their destination.

So instead of bitching, you might, occasionally, show some compassion. Pick up a lost crayon, give a mom your unwanted bag of pretzels for Junior, talk to the 6 year old about Barbie while her mom’s in the can. Tell the apologetic dad with the unhappy baby about the time your kid cried for 3 days straight with an earache and drove you insane. Practice remembering that all human beings start out as annoying, screeching little heathens, yourself included, but most of them improve in time, so long as the adults around them make an effort to help. And then be one of those adults, if you have the chance.

According to this link, Public Advocate for NYC Betsy Gotbaum is giving local hospitals heat for their lack of transparency:

The Maternity Information Act requires that hospitals provide site-specific statistics on delivery procedures to all incoming maternity patients and all members of the public upon request. In 2005, the Office of the Public Advocate determined that none of the 44 hospitals providing labor and delivery services in New York City were in compliance with the MIA; most did not provide any information, and the one hospital that did attempt to comply provided a pamphlet containing information that was eight years old.

Well isn’t that interesting. I birthed in Brooklyn, and I can assure you, they didn’t give me any of those stats either. Here’s something that also surprises me not at all:

The Office of the Public Advocate further determined that the cesarean section rates among hospitals in New York City were striking. Overall, public hospitals had lower cesarean rates than privately operated facilities; however, with the exception of New York University Downtown Hospital, all hospitals had cesarean rates well above the 15 percent maximum rate recommended by the World Health Organization….The report also noted, In 2004, the average cesarean rate in New York City was 28.6 percent, a 2 percent increase over 2003, when the rate was 26.6 percent. Many New York City hospitals now have a c-section rate over 30 percent.

I’ll bet it’s closer to 35% by now.

Transparency is a huge issue in all aspects of healthcare. It can be impossible to find out how different hospitals compare in terms of outcomes and quality of care, and the hospitals themselves do everything in their power to resist giving out that info. Which is especially galling under an American system that constantly tells us we are “consumers” with the right to choose how we get our healthcare. Right to choose is meaningless if you don’t have accurate information about what you have to choose from.

Thankfully, the Lamaze organization is partnering with the Coalition for Improving Maternity Services to try to create some more transparency for pregnant women seeking maternity care:

An incredible group of grassroots advocates with leadership from Sandra Bitonti Stewart and Elan McAllister (under the umbrella of and with the accolades of the Coalition for Improving Maternity Services and with support from Lamaze International among others) will officially launch the Transparency in Maternity Care Project in New York City on July 21, 2007. In the meantime the Grassroots Advocacy Committee has been collecting hospital data on hospital care practices and interventions and have developed a birth survey that will be used to gather women’s personal stories of their birth experiences. In the future women will be able to go to the website and find information about hospitals and providers…not just intervention rates but, just as important (if not more so), women’s personal experiences.

Oh man. I can’t WAIT to add my personal experiences at Brooklyn Methodist. Whoo doggie. That’s going to be a fun entry on their website. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the mom.

Nathan is working so hard on his talking and gesturing lately. He says “Bath!” and “Baba” (while also slapping his mouth). He sings along, in his own way, to certain songs. He always says “AAaaay!” at the end of any song I sing or his daddy sings. He says bye-bye, but hesitantly, so it comes out as a soft “bah”, a pause, then another “bah” with possibly a hand wave. He knows “no” though it’s usally “nonononono.” He imitates the way Teletubbies say “What’s that?” by saying “Wha da?”, and then he looks pleased when we tell him what it is, even though he usually doesn’t repeat it.

And he has his own funny noises. A way of wrinkling up his upper lip and blowing air through his mouth to make a hissy sound…making him look kind of like someone doing a Jimmy Cagney impression. A “GRRRR!” noise he makes in frustration.

And he babbles, constantly. He reads to himself, in his own way, usually in front of a mirror, so he can stop to make faces at himself. Actually, he doesn’t really like us to read to him at all…he prefers his version, and doing it on his own. I don’t know if he’s telling himself stories or just making sounds. But it’s incredibly cute, so who cares.

He says “Mama” a lot, but not usually when he’s looking at me or when I’m in the room. Same for “Dada”. I’m not sure why…maybe he thinks it’s rude, somehow.

His learning cycle seems to be pretty consistent, in that he doesn’t move fast, but he grasps it well once he does. He seemed to take forever to learn to crawl and walk, but now it’s no big deal. I’m sure talking will be the same. Lots of kids younger than him talk more than he does, but he’s just going at his own pace, and so his dad and I are learning not to worry about it. He’s obviously storing it all up in there somewhere.

We looked at two daycares today, one I was meh on, the other…I was less meh on, though it will lose some of its charm if the utterly charming teacher who would be taking Nathan leaves. She was a trip…super hyped up on all she’s going to do with the 2 year olds, and even going into detail on how she was going to work with them on potty training(!) and utensils(!) and I was smitten.

Nathan, meanwhile, was clingy until he saw other toys and other kids, and then we were forgotten. Until we had to leave…then it was Tantrum Time.

I think we have entered the Terrible Twos a few months ahead of schedule. The Piercing Dolphin Scream of Rage has become his weapon du choice several times a day now. Also the Rigid Resistance Posture, the Going Limp Escape, and your more mundane kicking and screaming.

In between, there is incredible little moments of sweetness, giggles, hugs, and amazing amounts of mugging to get attention.

I am sympathetic, some of the time. It must be hard to know how to do things, but not be allowed to do them. Why can’t he taste the Drano, eat pillbugs, stand in front of the open fridge and play with the mustard? Why are we so gosh darn mean to him? From his perspective, it’s all inexplicable and out of his control and frustrating. I can understand that.

But still, I have to keep him from playing with broken glass and moving cars, whether he understands or not, so we fight, and I win because I’m bigger and smarter. For now. And by the time that’s reversed, hopefully he’ll be able to figure the rest out for himself.

Simpler times.

Nathan seems to love his bottle less all of a sudden. Considering that his bottle has basically been his lovey, and Too Much Bottle seemed, well, impossible until this week, it’s a shock. The Magic may indeed, be Gone.

I’m not sure Matt and I are ready for that, though. Mostly because Nathan loves pouring out his sippy cups as much or more than drinking from them. He doesn’t like the straw-kind, because you can’t pour them out. Oh, and those little anti-pour stoppers don’t deter him; he will mouth and suck at the top until he makes it drop out, and then…start pouring.

With a bottle, we just give it to him and let him go to town. With a cup, it’s going to be a constant-monitoring situation, and towels will be needed. And maybe Windex for the sticky applejuice and whatever. Ugh.

But, he has to move on. And not cleaning nipples out anymore would be fine with me. It’s just…ugh. I hate the mess, and the screaming. Hate hate hate.

And that makes me Bad Mommy, because a Good Mommy would be lovingly committed to Helping Him Learn. She’d patiently show him how to grasp the cup, keep him from pouring it, wipe up the spills, and sing him a happy little song, nevermind that she will never get a chance to eat dinner herself.

I am not the Good Mommy.

sigh.

We have the same problem with utensils. He should be starting to use them. He probably should be eating applesauce and other things requiring spoons, not just raw fruit and veggies and Cheerios. But…he flings his finger food as it is. A bowl of applesauce and a spoon would be a loaded weapon in his hands. At this point, I’m willing to let him eat with his fingers till kindergarten, because I do not want to clean applesauce out of the crevices of my already bug-infested kitchen.

Yep. Bad Mommy, all the way.

My only salvation may be daycare…I can put the cup and spoon-learning off on the daycare ladies, and hope he does his initial pouring and flinging in a place with a janitorial staff. It’s a Bad Mommy thing to do, but…you know, who cares? I wipe this kid’s butt every day, and let him drool on me. If I can get someone else to let him pour apple juice on their head, I say, hells yeah!

His mouth is full of teeth. Where is he putting the new ones? Maybe he’s getting his wisdom teeth early too. I can’t tell, because putting your finger in there is a good way to lose it. I need some sort of dental pry-thingie and a flashlight if I want to find out, and I just haven’t bought the proper ropes with which to hog-tie him first.

But….drooling? Check. Not eating much? Check. Extra poop? Check. Sometimes fevery? Check. Waking up from a deep sleep wailing? Check. Fingers in the mouth? Check.

Either he’s contracted some rare disease that has all those exact symptoms, or it’s another &^$$#*&^$#! tooth. Making this the 8,00th Complaining About Teething entry. Sorrry ya’ll. At least I didn’t write a whole entry about how relieved I am that he is an extremely regular pooper and hardly ever gets diarrhea, knock on wood. So thank your lucky stars for that.