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Baby very teethy, no sleepy. Husband worse off than me. Work picks THIS day, this ONE day when I am so tired I could sleep in the backseat of my tiny car, to be crazy. After weeks of boring. Bleh.

Matt’s at rehearsal tonight, so I was baby wrestling until about 20 minutes ago (See: Baby no sleepy). And when he gets home, he gets to do the wrestling the rest of the night.

But! The magnificent, marvelous, non-mustachioed Deanpence has sent me his old computer…a Mac mini + flatscreen! I take back every mean thing I ever said about him! I think that’s not enough though…I think I’m now required to go around threatening other people who say mean things about him. I don’t punch so well, but maybe I’ll give them one of those arm-twisty rope burns. That’ll show ‘em.

I wish I wasn’t too tired to hook the damn thing up. It’ll have to wait. For now it’s just hanging out at YouTube watching Stephen Colbert clips till I can turn in.

Sony Classics animation studio is doing an animated version of Persopolis…and they have stills online!

Courtesy Bookslut.

Hot damn.

With the Official Seal Generator!

yes I know my Latin is iffy to say the least. You get my meaning.

This morning I was laying in bed, postponing getting up as long as possible and letting your father deal with you. I heard you giggling, and then I heard “shh-shh-shh” as you dragged your fat little knees over the carpet, and then you crawled right up to my side of the bed. Grinning and drooling a little, you smoothly executed your newest move; grab the side of the bed, up on one knee, then all the way up on your sturdy legs, toes curled into the carpet. Then you made your “monkey face” and slapped the mattress like a demented Ricky Ricardo.

As mornings go, that was a pretty good one. You’ve been pulling up about 2 weeks now, and now you’re cruising too, all around the bed, between chairs and table and your father’s desk. You’ll be walking by Christmas or I’ll eat my hat. *

Your father has this odd sort of bird-wings motion he makes with his fingers to amuse you, and now you’ve decided it’s your version of a baby sign; the sign for “Daddy” is now your hand in the air, fingers opening and closing. I’ve thought about teaching you some other signs, since you don’t really talk much these days, but most days I’m just coming home, playing with you, putting you to bed, then flopping down for a few scant minutes of reading time. Like my ambition to buy a food processor so you can eat real food, it’s not going to happen until time and money manage to coincide. Which isn’t as often as I’d like.

Besides standing up and cruising, and eating more solids, and sprouting two new bottom teeth (why do you always cut two at a time?) not a lot has changed since last month. Except of course everything that’s changing all the time for you. You sleep better but don’t like Itsy Bitsy Spider songs as much. You now sit in the bathtub proper instead of the laundry basket, but are more interested in climbing out than splashing like a maniac. You notice things outside the car window now…and we can probably go ahead and face your baby seat forward, you’re more than big enough. Another thing we need to get moving on. I started thinking about buying you shoes, now that fall’s coming in, and according to the ones I held up to your feet at Target, you’re about a size 3 already. Maybe I’ll just buy you some warm socks.

Your dad is taking you to playdates all the time, which is a fabulous way to acquire social skills and new germs. You seem to like other children unless they take your toys. Although you did burst into tears when you saw a little girl who happened to be black, causing your parents no end of guilt and confusion. But then she was an older, loud and aggressive little girl…maybe her voice scared you. We just hope her mother doesn’t think we raised you to be that way. Though you may in fact have been surrounded by a bit too much whiteness, a common problem around here. We’re working on that, too.

There’s a lot ahead for you; your first birthday, more teeth, learning to talk, potty training, oh Lord, potty training. It’s all going so fast already, I have to squeeze you a hundred times a day because someday soon, you’ll be too old to pick up, too mature to squeeze, too busy to wake me up with a monkey face and an invisible bongo solo. So I have to get it all in now, all the baby sweetness that I can hold, before it’s gone for good.

*I do not actually own a hat.

These are supposed to be the great, fire-breathing debate topics in child-rearing, the ones that cause “mommy drive-bys”. And as usually happens for me, I end up on neither side.

1. Breastfeeding vs. bottle. I heart breastfeeding. It’s awesome and wonderful, yadda yadda. Alas, my equipment did not work properly this round due to illness, so I ended up a bottle feeder after six weeks of struggling. And Nathan is…just fine. So far. He got whatever I had in me for as long as I could give it to him, and I’m happy about that. If I had another, I would try just as hard and would hope to succeed at breastfeeding. But I don’t feel guilty for buying him formula. It’s not like I could find wet nurses to do the job, and he had to eat. So I’m glad formula exists.

2. Cosleeping vs. crib. Again, cosleeping sounded like a good idea, and I would have liked to have tried it. Nathan, on the other hand, hated it every single time. He is a cuddler, but only when awake. You never saw such grunting and flailing as when we tried to get him to sleep with us. Wasn’t happening. So we bought a crib. Which he likes just fine, especially since he has chewed on and scarred all the wood railings, marking his territory. He rolls around happily all night long, kicks and flails and puts his butt in the air. And doesn’t bruise my ribs in the process. Win-win.

3. Cry it out vs. some other method that will get a baby to sleep. Again, Nathan made the call here. There are nights when feeding, cuddling, singing, dancing (as much as one can dance with a 28-pounder) and yes, the sling, did nothing. Nothing at all. And so, you just have to put him in his crib and let him sort it out for himself. And yes, that includes crying. I check in at 10 minute intervals, try some different soothing technique, make sure he’s ok, and eventually, he wears out and sleeps. I don’t plop him in a dark room and walk away while he screams in fear, you understand. But sometimes, he has to holler his displeasure for a few minutes…and eventually, it turns into a grumble and then he passes out. I always try to soothe him to sleep, and sometimes that will happen. But mostly it doesn’t. He doesn’t seem to resent me for it, though, and mostly grins happily at me first thing in the morning.

I know I have some moms and dads that read my blog, so if you can, leave some comments about some things you thought were Big Deals before the baby came, but then turned out not so important.

I don’t know why exactly. Maybe because we’re coming up on Nathan’s birthday in a few months. And because thinking of becoming a midwife means dealing with the jealousy I feel, towards women who had good birth experiences. It’s hard not to feel shame about giving in to the pitocin,the epidural, the c/section. It’s hard not to want to go back and talk to myself, make myself fight for the birth I could have had, if I’d only known it. If I’d been stronger, and less trusting, and less passive.

I still have the beginning of the original birth story I was going to write, the one I wrote right before I went in to be induced. I can’t bear to read it, but I’m not going to throw it away. Maybe I’ll be able to face all my own naivete and hope, knowing what was going to happen to it, one day. Or maybe not.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stand thinking for long about how happy I was, how proud I was of my body and my healthy baby before I went into the hospital, how hopeful and eager to try birth. But I was afraid too, and that’s what did me in. That’s how they got me, and that’s why I carry this scar (physical and emotional) now. That’s why all that hope and courage is painful to remember, because it wasn’t enough. Fear was bigger, and the system that took advantage of that fear was bigger.

There’s no excuse for the people who exploited my fear, but to myself, there’s not much excuse for letting myself be exploited either. It’s hard not to despise the person who (I know now) was withdrawn and panicked inside, who wouldn’t read about c/sections because it was too unpleasant, who wouldn’t think that hospitals were really that bad because it made the world too scary a place. Who prided herself on her education and beliefs and was easy pickings all the same.

Poor thing. She didn’t have a clue.

Lots been happening lately, but most of it in my head. Which has always been a busy place, what with the incipient paranoia that I’m somehow doing it all wrong,^ cravings for diet Coke (which we call “the crack” around the house), worries that my boss will realize how much time I spend noodling online,^^ and wondering if I will ever get a haircut that makes me happy.^^^

Anyway, I may have mentioned that I was thinking of becoming a lawyer. And I was! Really! But then I realized: I don’t have 80k+ lying around! (over 20k/year for the cheapest nearby school for four years, plus fees, etc.) So that seemed like maybe not so much a thing to do. Yes, there are loans, but I am violently opposed to collecting any more large debt. I can barely handle the debt I have now, and it’s a lot less than it used to be. My straight-B undergrad scores won’t be nabbing me any scholarship rides, either. I wasn’t scared of the homework, but I can’t say I was looking forward to learning about real estate law. All I really wanted was to work to change our sucky healthcare system, but doing so by being a lawyer began to look more and more like the long way around.

Still, I want a change in my career, and I still have a passion for fighting the birth-industrial complex and its army of knife-happy OBs. Despite my own sorry experience, and because of it, I’m still a huge believer in sane, natural, healthy birth that respects the woman’s strength and dignity instead of infantilizing her.

So…I’m thinking of becoming a Certified Professional Midwife. I had thought of midwifing before, but had no real interest in going through nursing school to be a Certified Nurse Midwife. And CNMs are (as mine were) highly dependent on OBs and the hospital system, which means I’d have more risk of my clients having the same experience I did.

CPMs on the other hand, operate independently where they are legal (Texas is one state, but there are many others) and tend to concentrate on homebirths, though of course they have to be able to handle transfers to hospitals if needed. Certification is done by several routes, including an apprenticeship and clinical component:

“…All candidates must demonstrate successful completion of 1350 contact hours of clinical experience. The clinical component must be at least one year in duration and must include 75 prenatals, 20 intrapartals, 40 postpartals and 20 newborn care by a student midwife acting as a primary midwife under the supervision of one or more perceptions. Ten of the 20 births must occur in out-of-hospital settings, and a minimum of three must be with women for whom the student has provided care during at least four prenatal visits, birth, newborn exam and one postpartum exam.”

It’s self-paced; you can attend an accredited college course, learn via distance programs, or learn everything on the job.Once you get the hours in, and pass the exams and skills assessments, you can be certified and begin practicing. You don’t have to have another college degree or shell out huge amounts of cash to get licensed, though of course being self-employed will not be the road to riches. You have to recertify every three years, and there are endless numbers of continuing ed courses you can take to sharpen your skills and learn new techniques.

Most importantly, you make an immediate difference in the lives of women in your area, by giving them a choice they might not otherwise have. There still aren’t enough CPMs to go around, and many women don’t even know they’re an option. Some insurance plans cover them, or they bill directly. I still haven’t been able to find out about liability insurance, but that’s something I’m researching. It must exist, or there wouldn’t be any CPMs practicing, but it’s hard to find that info without talking to the CPMs themselves.

I don’t know that I’ve actually decided to do this, but it feels like a definite maybe. I can at least say that body fluids don’t make me squeamish, and I have been told that I am good at soothing and relaxing people. I don’t get hyper or panic easily. I’m good at feeling and helping to smooth out the tension in other people, at finding ways to dial down stress when it starts to escalate.

I love babies, and pregnancy (well I didn’t always enjoy my own, but the experience as a whole) and the miraculousness of birth. I love the idea of giving other women the help I could not get, of helping them find their own confidence and strength. Even if they have to transfer and have c/sections, as some will, I love the idea that I can help them fight for a good c/section, for their rights as patients and mothers.

Speaking of bodily fluids, Nathan ralphed all over me tonight and while I cleaned us up the carpet still needs some work. Off I go.

^it being whatever; my career, my kid, my marriage, my wardrobe, you name it. Some part of my brain thinks there is a correct way to “do” these things, but it is certainly not the way I’m doing it now. I don’t like that part of my brain.
^^an amazing amount. And still they say “you finish things so fast!” Either I am a superhero or they really have no idea how easy my job is.
^^^no.