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I am wearing my only pair of shorts that fit me these days, and they still smell like beach. Sunblock and maybe saltwater, probably sweat. It’s a good smell, even though I’m happy to have washed all the sand out of my toes. Coney Island sand is tempermental; some places smooth and pretty, others mixed with what appear to be shells, and also, 100 year old trash; beach glass, broken plastic utensils, cigarette butts, and you hope, no hypodermic needles or other nasty things.

Coney Island is the People’s Beach, and it’s not glamorous. The water’s pretty cold most of the year, the entertainment is low-end, the food cheap. No Baywatch babes, lots of startlingly large people in swimsuits, and families with herds of children. There’s talk of gentrification on the way, a mall that will take out some of the seedy gift shops and clam stands, that might make the Mermaid Parade we saw this year the last one ever. Photoblogger eggrollboy has some pictures here.

That would be a shame. The Mermaid Parade has a very homemade feel to it…in fact it’s so informal on the bit where it goes over the boardwalk that people kept pressing in too close to the paraders..there weren’t any barricades. There were barricades and larger floats further down, where the parade hit the streets. We were on the boardwalk, so we didn’t see everything, but it was fun and nice, and strangely small-town for New York. We’ve been to the Macy’s parade, and what was funny to me is that even a parade that well-organized had many of the same problems small ones do; keeping a steady pace, keeping the crowd entertained, music getting off-sync, and floats drifting off course.

After about 2 hours it was over, which was a good thing for my tired legs. Also I was tired of the Frenchman who kept swinging his bent elbow into my boob then saying “Pardon.” Dude, it’s a crowd. Put your elbow down, instead of having to say Pardon all the damn time. Also, I wanted to step away from the man next to him, who was enormously fat, hairy, and shirtless. Even with his cowboy hat on, all he needed was some tusks to be identical to a walrus.

After the parade there were no benches left to sit on. We had to just commandeer a space on the boardwalk, and spread out some towels so we could sit down and eat our Nathan’s Famous hotdogs. We were doing all right, until the guy next to us brought out his butt-ugly hairless Chihuahua dog, and an amazing number of people crowded in to look at it, nearly stepping on us. There was nothing worth looking at, where I could see; just a Chihuahua without much hair. But then I think they are more rat than dog anyway, so I’ve never understood the appeal.

So we went down to the beach and walked in the water, and even so crowded, it was very peaceful. The ocean is such a large thing, and it can make crowds look small when you’re standing next to it. You forget about them altogether. Deanpence had apparently never been to what he considered an ocean…he doesn’t count outings to the Gulf of Mexico, but whatever. Now he has dipped his toes into the Atlantic and can mark that off his list.

It was hot, but the breeze made it glorious, and by evening, a little too chilly. We ate at some mediocre but overpriced Russian restaurant, stopped for ice cream from a Mr. Softee truck on the way to the train, and made our way back home without incident. I had been expecting heat and exhaustion and frustration, but it was, for once, just a nice day out.

Oh, and I have to mention my surprise at the cleanliness and efficiency of the public restrooms. You had to stand in line, but there were two Park Service attendants there to clean up any mess immediately and also to shout “Next!” when a stall opened up. It was not at all the nightmarish spectacle of clogged toilets and nasty floors that I was expecting. It was awesome, and amazingly civilized for a city that generally thinks, if you have to pee, that’s your problem buddy. Yay for someone, somewhere, understanding that a clean place to pee is the one thing everyone deserves.

Here’s what’s on my pregnancy/parenting bookshelf.

_[Spiritual Midwifery](http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=62-1570671044-0)_ and _[Ina May's Guide to Natural Childbirth](http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=62-0553381156-0)_ by Ina May Gaskin.

Ina May is the original Earth Mother, but although Spiritual Midwifery has a distinctly hippie vibe, she is a purveyor of truly useful information on natural childbirth. Through trial and error while living on her commune, [The Farm](http://www.thefarm.org/), in Tennessee, she has become an accomplished midwife–who has even had an [obstetric procedure](http://www.inamay.com/gaskin_maneuver.php) named after her. She travels quite a bit and lectures to open-minded and curious OB/Gyns and midwives around the world. Her success rate for healthy, unmedicated births by the midwives at The Farm is well-documented and exemplary, and she has done a lot to help challenge the high-tech tendencies of hospitals and OB/Gyns themselves. She is still, to my mind, not well-known enough; what she has accomplished is truly extraordinary.

Personally speaking, I take out her books every few weeks and re-read the birth stories (which aren’t all positive; she includes miscarriage and stillbirth stories, and stories of women with complications who did have to deliver in a hospital). She has an amusing bit in Natural Childbirth about “sphincter law,” which goes something like this:

The birth canal operates on many of the same principles–and uses many of the same muscles–as the digestive tract. And everyone has experienced difficulty in getting their digestive tract to work in fearful or stressful situations; we’ve all known people who cannot go to the bathroom in a strange place or with anyone else in the vicinity. So it is with women in labor; very often labor will stall or even regress when a woman feels intimidated, threatened, or uneasy. A brightly-lit hospital room, a painful IV, the lack of ability to move freely, and a stream of strange and sometimes brusque hospital staff constantly coming in and out create exactly that kind of stress. Like other animals, women prefer seclusion and privacy to give birth, someplace they feel safe and comfortable. Which is why so many otherwise healthy pregnancies in a traditional hospital setting “fail to progress” and end up requiring drugs, interventions, and c-sections.

Gaskin takes this further, relating stories of women who cannot finish labor until they tell whatever is weighing on their minds and making them tense, and of the power of touch and laughter to make them relax enough to let their bodies do the work. She doesn’t go off into psuedo-religion or recommend crystals and mystic rituals; her suggestions are very down-to-earth and common-sense ones.

And given her record and years of experience, I believe she knows what she’s talking about. I just wish I could go to The Farm myself and have one of her midwives deliver my baby, too. In the meantime I push her books to anyone who’s interested.

_[A Wise Birth](http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=63-0688109624-0)_ by Penny Armstrong and Sheryl Feldman. Published 1990, may be out of print. I got my copy through Powells.com.

Armstrong and Feldman use both their personal experiences (Armstrong is a midwife) and interviews with many different women to compile this examination of how birth came to be the way it is today–how it went from a private event to a medical procedure. Along the way, they are scrupulously honest about the hard truths; that women in the age before good nutrition, contraception, and antibiotics often died in childbirth. That when obstetrics became more medicalized, women at first greeted it with relief, believing that being knocked out with scopolamine was better than enduring the pain of childbirth, which had lately been so dangerous. The authors do not set up the obstetrics movement as bad guys trying to steal women’s heritage and personal control, but as a well-meaning but misguided attempt to save women from themselves.

As those who made decisions about what was and wasn’t normal and bearable during birth were largely male, it is not surprising that things began to take a wrong turn in the 20th century. Compounding the problem, prejudice against the old forms of midwifery and those who practiced it mean that a great deal of hands-on, practical knowledge of birth was lost. Now we have a system where OB/Gyns receive their training in the most extreme forms of surgery and invasive procedures, instead of being schooled in what a normal, uncomplicated birth is supposed to look like. Consequently, they tend to use their hard-won skills at any opportunity, even when they might not be needed. An insurance/malpractice industry that demands that all possible interventions be made increases the pressure on them, and subsequently, on women giving birth. On the other side are the midwives, doing their best to increase women’s choices and regain the knowledge that was lost, while still taking advantage of technology’s progress.

Anderson and Feldman don’t actually have a tremendous amount of practical advice to the pregnant woman, but do encourage her to understand that things haven’t always been this way and that she has the right to demand or refuse certain kinds of treatment. Their book is a good introduction to the ideas behind natural childbirth, and takes a lot of the mystery out of hospital procedures.

_[Misconceptions](http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=7-0385497458-2)_
by Naomi Wolf.

Wolf is a problematic author; I tend to think of her as a gateway to feminism for readers who haven’t done a lot of reading in that field. She’s not always as deep a thinker or writer as I’d like, but she does have a way of making a subject interesting. I actually read Misconceptions several years ago while working my way through all her books. Having read a lot more in this field ever since, I can see that she has done some generous borrowing from other writers on the subject, including Gaskin and Armstrong and Feldman. She does have one new thing to add to Gaskin’s and other writers’ approaches to birth; she recommends teaching women that they will have to be “warriors” in regards to the pain, rather than only seeking to flow past it or avoid it. I liked that a lot, because acceptance and strength are both something I’m going to need a lot of in the delivery room.

_[The Pregnancy Book](http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=17-0316779059-10)_ and _[The Baby Book](http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=17-0316779059-10)_ by William and Martha Sears.

The Sears’ are two of the most famous propenents of [attachment parenting](http://www.attachmentparenting.org/), which focuses on understanding and responding to the baby’s needs, and emphasizes lots of touching and holding, carrying the baby in a sling, letting the baby sleep and eat on its own schedule, extended periods of breastfeeding, sleeping in the same bed (or same room) while very young, and potty-training later in toddlerhood. This is in contrast to a more disciplinarian approach (scheduled feedings, letting babies cry themselves to sleep) that is still popular but not as much as in our parents’ day. The Sears walk a pretty mild line on the controversial bits (co-sleeping, how long to breastfeed) but make a convincing case for treating the first three months of life as the “10th trimester” and easing the baby into the world with lots of touching and carrying. It’s kind of like treating babies as tiny agoraphobics, who need help dealing with a tremendous amount of new stimulation..and being close to mom or dad is the best way to make them feel safe while they do it.

This part appeals to me a great deal, because it makes sense to me–I can imagine how hard it must be to be a newborn after 9 months of warm dark comfort. And while I know I won’t have endless saintly patience when the baby’s cranky, I like that I won’t have to worry about “spoiling” them; one of the AP principles is that you simply can’t spoil an infant with too much love and attention. At the same time, they talk about ways to help the baby learn to “organize” himself with consistency and perserverence while you’re teaching them things like how to eat from a spoon or what their routine is at bedtime.

Most of this is addressed in *The Baby Book*, of course. *The Pregnancy Book* focuses more on helping the woman through her 9 months, and is a good basic source of information as far as that goes. It has helpful sections on drugs, and covers the stages of pregnancy well. However, I think they really need a new illustrator, because the woman in the diagrams seems all out of perspective, making it a bit harder to judge how well you’re growing. Even better, they should get photos of pregnant women of various body types, because how your baby sits and sticks out depends on how you’re built in the first place.

The only other thing that I don’t always care for is that the Sears tend to come off as a bit patronizing, and seem to gloss over their own problems (like the birth of their Down syndrome child) as well as over the difficulties faced by working parents getting leave and daycare. It was hard to pin down, but I kept getting the feeling they were about to pat my head and say “there there.”

There have been some other excellent books I’ve read that I’ll mention in passing, because they are more about politics and personal experiences than baby-makin’:

_[The Price of Motherhood](http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=1-0805066195-3)_ by Ann Crittenden.

_[Operating Instructions](http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=62-1400079098-0)_ by Anne Lamott.

Many many new links on your right there, categorized as best I could manage. Kind of an interesting glimpse into my obsessions, if you are a stalker. The comics/animation links are especially fun, lots of artwork to drool over. The comic at Drinkatwork.com is pretty darn good, also.

Obsessions not yet covered by my links list include:

Historical costumes (ancient to about 18th century, some 20th century).

Horse breeds (especially the draft breeds, like Percherons)

Educational/linguistic theories (most of the literature on this is over my head, so it is always strictly a laywoman’s interest. Still, a good whole-language debate can be very entertaining).

Early (60s-70s) Christian rock music, before it was completely cheese-ified.

Scientologists and their sue-happy ways.

Germ theory and just anything to do with disease and germs in general. Again, mostly over my head, but I do find the deadly little buggers fascinating.

Geology/volcanology/tectonic plate stuff. Stuff blows up, makes mountains, glaciers carve the crap out of everything. Fascinating.

Tornados. But who doesn’t find them interesting?

Interesting baby-related posts I saw lately:

Dads are learning not to fear the diaper bag. Frankly, any movement that reduces the amount of Disney-themed anything in the world is ok by me.

(Oh, and the diaper bag I picked up recently is a stunning number in oh-so-manly orange, in a messenger-bag style. So matthew’s masculinity will stay intact as he schleps little Herkimer about town).

Also, a doctor in North Carolina got in trouble with her hospital for **not performing enough c-sections**. The fuh? It’s some kind of liability thing; basically hospitals and their lawyers think they will get sued less if they perform more c-sections. Well fine and dandy, doc, but it’s MY abdomen you’re cutting open unnecessarily. And um, no I’m not cool with doing that just to cover your ass.

One quote hints a slightly more sinister motive (emphasis added):

…the hospital charges **$4,700** on average for noncomplicated vaginal deliveries and **$14,200** for noncomplicated c-sections. Those amounts do not include doctor fees.

Consumer watch dog group Public Citizen has estimated that half of cesarean sections are unnecessary and result in 25,000 serious
infections, 1.1 million extra hospital days and cost more than $1 billion each year.

Meanwhile, the procedures **don’t seem to be making a difference,** noted Dr. Flamm, explaining that while the c-section rate continues to climb, **the number of fetal deaths remains steady.**

Legally it’s safer, he said, but not necessarily safer medically. He added that he and other physicians debate constantly and can’t come to
a conclusion of what the correct c-section rate should be.

Oh, the official link to the article is here, but registration is req’d.

My Canadian co-worker was recently horrified to discover a “large, black beetle-y bug” in her apartment. “What is it? I’ve never seen one before!” she exclaimed. I had to give her the bad news; it’s a roach. A huge, ugly, makes-noise-when-it-moves roach. Apparently, they don’t grow them that big in Canada. She didn’t believe me until she looked up pictures on the internet.

One of her neighbors said to her “Oh maybe it’s just a ‘water bug.’” Again, I had to tell her, don’t be fooled, this is a euphemism. Water bug=roach. Big, ugly, disease-carrying New York roach. Welcome to America, Canuck!

I have refrained from telling her my most comi-tragic roach story, but I’ll share it with you. When I was 5 or so, my father worked in Saudi Arabia, and during summer vacation, we would go stay with him. It was a very strange experience in many ways, but not bad. One time, we made a special trip to Riyadh and stayed in what was supposedly a very posh rental cottage in a resort area. It was nice, except that it was infested with large numbers of **giant roaches**. These were the big suckers, the kind that make clicking noises on linoleum. My five year old self, unprepared for this invasion of the insect kingdom, freaked the hell out. I leaped on top of an ottoman in the living room and refused to leave it. I was sure the shag carpeting was crawling with them, and they would jump me and crawl all over me with their grossness and maybe bite me (I wasn’t sure about this last part). I was mostly just icked out beyond my ability to bear. I screamed and cried when ordered to leave my ottoman to get ready for dinner. I finally had to be carried out.

My brother thought it was *hilarious*, of course, the jerk, but then he was big enough to stomp them and I wasn’t. Also, he was a jerk. So I decided during dinner that I needed some sort of weapon to even the score, and as we walked back, snagged a small branch from under a tree. I slept with it next to me, determined to wallop any roach that approached me in the night. I got made fun of for it too, but I didn’t care. If I couldn’t get away from the roaches, I was going to give them a fight.

I’m glad I didn’t know then about the kinds of roaches that can fly. I still try not to think about those. I don’t think I’ll tell my Canadian friend, either. Better not to know.

Welcome, all you Michael Jackson commenters that I have never seen before. Did I come up on a search or something? I’m still figuring out site moderation for this blog, so sorry it took me so long to approve your comments.

By the way, the only ones I didn’t approve were the ALL CAPS ones. Guys, if you’re on the Internet, you should know that’s like shouting. Don’t shout, kay? I will delete you.

Too hot. So hot you look forward to work, because it’s got central air conditioning, and you are confined to one or two rooms in your window-unit-cooled home. And because after you get out of the concrete sweatbox of the train station and walk crankily past your fellow sweaty citizens, work feels like an air-cooled heaven. Ahhh. You debate not going to lunch, just to avoid the sidewalks and dog-breath air.

I would say I miss driving to work, except listening to my old Honda wheeze and rattle as it tried to both run the a/c and get me through 2 hours of stop and go traffic wasn’t fun either. Subways have their problems, but at least they keep moving, most of the time.

The news this morning was that Mayor Bloomberg, being thwarted in his ambition to build a stadium in Manhattan that nobody wanted but him, is now going to convert the Mets stadium for the Olympics. Which nobody cares about but him. When I first heard about the NY Olympics bid, I was kind of excited, but the more I thought about it, the less fun it seemed. First of all, we don’t need more tourists here, and the traffic–holy cow. The city would shut down.

Secondly, I don’t remember the last time I watched the Olympics. I mean, I don’t care which country has the best shot-putters. I don’t need to shout “USA!” I think the fun went out of it when the USSR disbanded. Now we can’t wonder if a controversial swim meet would spark a nuclear war.

I feel for the athletes, and I’m glad they’ve got the venue and all, but it’s just too much to watch and too repetitive, and even if it’s in my hometown, I probably wouldn’t go.

I really wish Mayor Mike would lobby the state to improve the subways instead of fiddling around with stadiums. The other day a man collapsed on the platform, and it took myself and another passenger 10 minutes to find someone–anyone–from the station to help him, and then they were surly about it. Thankfully he was all right, but he could have been dead just as easily. That’s not right, people. And now they’re talking about automating the trains, which, great. So if I get mugged on a train, there’s even fewer people around to call the cops. This can only end in a needless death of a pretty white woman (that’s what it always takes) followed by lawsuits and finally reinstatment of train conductors. Why not skip all those steps and just keep them now?

If anyone besides the few of you on my notify list (and my friend Tina, whose refuses to dump the aol email that keeps her off my notify list) has come here from my old site: I’m back. Oh, and pregnant. Oh, and maybe moving back to Texas next year.

Anyway, this is a test entry. Below it you will find the notify list letters I sent out over the past…um…Jeebus…8 months. 8 months, ya’ll. My stats are in the crapper, and it’s all my own fault. I just couldn’t make the mental space to redesign my site, no matter how much it was needed. So I’m basically starting from scratch, here. So go read my About page if you’ve wandered over from the matthew show or deanpence. If you’ve actually been fruitlessly checking my site for 8 months but not signing up for the notify list, well that’s kind of strange, but I’m glad to have you anyway. If on the other hand you’ve gotten here from a weird Google porn search involving apples, well, you might want to join a Yahoo group for that or something.

You will notice that I do not in fact have a fancy design, because I wanted the luxury of updating from wherever the heck I may be, and not being Dreamweaver’s bitch. Thus, this WordPress template. I will be able to customize it, eventually. At least it has ever-changing random photos at the top, none of which are mine, but they beat a sharp stick in the eye.

Muchas thankas to deanpence for doing the legwork on this and putting in plug-ins that do magical things and generally being my free tech support person. Hey, being my roommate has its privileges.

I am really digging having comments, although I know they also lead to sorrow. Because one day I will be asking myself, “WHY is no one commenting on the brilliant, well-researched, heartfelt entry about the day I lost my cat Mr. Mittens? WHY?” But into every life a little pigeon poop must fall, so my mama told me.