Happy Birthday, Sweet Baby Maeve!

My baby is one today. She was born by c-section at 9:40pm after a 15 hour trial of labor for VBAC.





This past year has gone really fast - but in a wonderful way.






She is a bright little ray of sunshine, very happy and calm.





Happy birthday, sweet girl. May the year ahead bring you joy.

Still Alive!

Yes, I still exist!

We're still adjusting to having two spawnlings around here, although Maeve is a delightfully mellow baby. I just haven't had much to write about beyond spawnlings, and although motherhood has been a big part of this blog I don't want it to be the only part. Other people have done it, and probably better than I.

I've been writing HP fanfiction as well, and getting up the gumption to redo the outline on the YA Sci-Fi novel I've had kicking around in my head.

If anybody's interested in reading the HP fanfiction I've written, I'm archived a couple of places:


http://community.livejournal.com/grangersnape100/tag/voxangelus

http://www.thepetulantpoetess.com/viewuser.php?uid=10622

Some of it is smut, if that tickles your fancy.

I hope to be back soon, with more interesting content!

Lo and Behold

Kerwin and I are going away for the night tomorrow.

That's right, we're going to go stay in a hotel. By ourselves. Wink, wink. With no three year old to wake up, wander in, or interrupt anything.

Freyja is going to Grandma's and is rather cross about the entire thing. Why do mommy and daddy get to go stay in the hotel and swim in the pool by themselves? It's not fair!

She should be happy we're letting her go out to dinner with us beforehand. My dad asked where I'd like to go for dinner (thanks for taking us all out, dad!) and I thought about it for two seconds in which I compared favorite food with food I am able to eat right now (boo, gestational diabetes) and said, "Mongolian BBQ!"

Ah yes. All you can eat stir-fry, then a night alone with my lovely hubby.

Turning 27 is going to be a good time.

Valentine's Day

It's not a day we go all out for.

I did buy Freyja an adorable Ariel hair bow, since she's just the tiniest bit obsessed with the Titian-haired mermaid.

DH is getting a more adult oriented treat - after all, the day after is the Lupercalia, an ancient Roman fertility festival (also commemorates the founding of Rome). Why not celebrate both?

As for me, DH is pretty good at buying presents that really communicate "I love you for who you are, not who the diamond ads say you should be."

That's right, chickadees. I get video games. Two years ago we got a crazy huge tax return and he came through with a Game Boy Advance SP. That was lovely. I still use it frequently. This year it was Kingdom Hearts II. I did ask for Lego Star Wars, but apparently it's nowhere to be found.

He could buy me jewelry, I suppose. And it'd just sit there unworn. Video games, however, get lots of use. As would lingerie, but I prefer to pick that out myself and consider that more a present for HIM than the other way around.

Holy Snowstorm, Batman!

My GOODNESS.

A drive that normally takes 20 minutes or so in good weather took about an hour tonight. That was on the highway. I can't begin to think how long it might have taken on the back roads.

You see, instead of sending the plows out the moment there's 2-3 inches of snow on the ground, the idiot road commissions in our area wait. I don't know how they decide, but I'd guess this is close:

"Wal now, Bert, d'ya think we should send the plows out now?"
"I dunno, Jim. I got that four-wheel drive and I'm not going to have any trouble getting through this snow."
"Whut about them folks with them tiny little economy cars?"
"Wal, shoot, Jim. That's their fault, ain't it, for not having the right kind of vee-hickle for this sort of a climate? Waste of time and gas sending these here plows out. Just not in the public innerest."

Then they wonder why there are so many slide-offs and accidents during the next morning's rush hour.

As someone with a tiny little economy car, the county road commissions can kiss my butt. We have to deal with 2-3 of them on a daily basis because of the odd location we live in.

The maintenance woman in our trailer park also thinks she doesn't have to plow in the park on the weekends. The crap we had to gun our little tiny Prism through this past weekend was just atrocious. Guess what, lady? You raised my lot rent AGAIN. You can get your ass out of bed and plow my road.

Oh, and Happy Birthday to my mom. Love you mom!

Our Trip Away

Kerwin works for a Marriott brand hotel (think the high-end, swanky one), and one of his "perks" is 2 free nights at a Marriott property at least 60 miles away from the one he works at in November or December.

We took advantage of this the past couple of days in the Ann Arbor, MI area. I had hoped to come back with pictures of Freyja jumping on the bed, but she refused to jump. It was a king bed, I was right there, I made sure her shoes were off. I said, "you can jump on the bed!"

"No, mumma. That is NOT safe."

"Yes, but I am here watching you, so it's OK. It's a big bed, and I doubt you'll fall."

"I will fawl and cwack my head open and you will have to take me to the 'mergency woom."

There you have it - my own personal safety patrol. We did have a good time using the pool and visiting with Kerwin's grandmother, whom we helped "decoration" her Christmas tree. The bed was cushy and huge - Freyja slept on the foldout couch the second night b/c she tossed and turned too much the first and kept us both awake. Last night, Kerwin was on one side and I was on the other, and I think you could have easily fit another fairly large adult in the middle. I don't, as a rule, snuggle.

A nice trip away, even if I didn't get any time to myself. I may look into having Kerwin just come and check me into the Courtyard or SpringHill Suites near us (we get a great rate there, something like $39/night) for a couple days of solo mommy R&R before the baby comes. I could read, take long baths, sleep, take more long baths...oh yeah.

Goodbye, GG.

The funeral was yesterday, and it was nice. Nice seems like a shallow descriptor, but it's the only one I can come up with right now.

I slipped the "Fuck Cancer" cross-stitch I made into the casket, because she loved it.

The homily had to do with faith and how Grandma lived hers by loving her family and taking care of the people around her. No altar calls, no come to Jesus if you loved Grandma talks, which I know Kerwin and I appreciated. My mom was amused by the two of us singing bass and alto on all the hymns without hymnals in our hands. She thought it was funny that the only people who knew all the words and harmony lines without the hymnals are, in fact, "godless heathens" (she DOES know about Paganism, she was just giving us crap).

Freyja did really well, she was quiet and she drew some pictures during the service.

It's over

My grandma passed on at 3:30 this afternoon.

The funeral is on Wednesday.

I'm doing OK, just weepy and upset. She was a wonderful lady and we are going to miss her a lot.

My Grandma is Dying

She had stomach cancer, had her whole stomach removed two years ago. Now it is back, and after an agressive chemo treatment a few weeks ago she has gotten steadily worse.

We spent the better part of the night at the hospital, then came to my folks about 5 am to try and get some sleep when nothing was changing. She's on oxygen, but is do not rescusitate in her orders.

My dad and his siblings, and some more of the family (who didn't have a cranky 3 yo to deal with) saw the internist this morning and they have said there is nothing more they can do for her, and all we can do is wait.

They may be moving her to hospice, but we don't know about that yet.

I'm the oldest grandchild and Grandma and I are pretty close. Freyja is beside herself and keeps telling us she doesn't want GG to die. I just tell her that sometimes our bodies become so broken that we can't live anymore, but if she loves GG, GG will never really leave her b/c she'll be in her heart. She seems satisifed with that, but it's so hard to watch your 3 yo cry b/c someone she loves is dying. There are seven other grandchildren and two more great grands, and lots of other family who will miss a funny, caring, loving lady.

Can I get a VBAC?

Who knows? There are at least 30 obstetrics practices in the area where we live. I am going to start calling them in a few minutes.

Let's hope I find someone with a good attitude, because I'm not going to listen to some jackass OB who thinks he's God's Gift to medicine tell me I'm too fat to have a vaginal delivery. But, if that's going to be the case, I'd like to find out now so I can just stick with my midwives that I see for well-woman care, and have their overseeing OB do a repeat c-section (he did Freyja's, which was the only thing well-done about her fiasco of a birth).

We've been tossing around the idea of a home birth, but there is just no way we'd be able to afford the midwife's fees, and as much as I know I might like a home birth, the idea of uterine rupture at home where I'm 20 minutes from a hospital and general anesthesia scares the shit out of me. After seeing uterine rupture AT a hospital, I'm not quite sure I can cope with that happening at home. VBAC'ing in the hospital I can handle, even though I know it will most likely be sterile, I'll be on my back, everything draped, bright lights and cold in an OR "just in case".

The statistics are on my side, it's just finding a provider that will "allow" me to "attempt a trial of labor". As soon as the phone finishes charging, I'll start calling and finding out.

The Visit

Freyja met her paternal grandparents for the first time yesterday. They live three states away.
It took her a bit to warm up, but it was a good visit all around.

The house was clean, but my mother in law still felt she needed to help in tidying Freyja's room. I know she meant well. Honestly, I really do. I still felt like a shit. I know I'm no domestic goddess, but I do the best I can.

They stayed with us last night, we had a nice breakfast of waffles and sausage, with "sparkly juice" and real organic maple syrup.

Freyja had a good time, and they loved her, so I suppose that's what really counts.

Swoon!!

It was a busy weekend for our little family.

Friday night, we stayed at my folks' house overnight so we could go to the renfaire on Saturday near their house. While we were there, we broke in my mom's new blender with frozen margaritas and BS-ing around the bonfire (no margaritas for Freyja, she was already in bed). Nice time. Glad I get along with my folks! I also did a little baking for the Midsummer ritual our group held on Saturday and the picnic afterward.

Saturday dawned hot and sunny, and we suited Freyja up in her garb (I didn't take any pictures, I know I'm a schmuck) to head over to Derbyshire. Kerwin and I, unforutnately, have grown too soft and large for our garb, but here's a picture from six or seven years ago of me at another festival:



I make a sexy wench, no? I still think my shirt is too high in that photo.

They had this nice little event called "Soak a Bloke/Drench a Wench" to raise funds for breast cancer research. Freyja and I both got in on this fun. We threw water soaked sponges at a group of blokes in garb - several knaves, a couple peasants, a few dirty pirates - and got kisses in return.

Freyja was apparently the only little girl all day who "permitted" herself to be kissed! My girl was trying to kiss all these guys on the lips - hilarious. I don't know if the Jack Sparrow lookalike was TRYING to kiss me on the lips or if he just missed, but da-hamn. Swoon! It is well known around these parts that I am a "kissing whore"- I'll kiss anyone, given half an excuse. This, thankfully, amuses Kerwin instead of infuriating him. Freyja got lots of attention in her little Irish dress - she got a rose from the wandering rose guy (he was cute, too) , a necklace from a merchant who said she was "too cute", and "jewels" from the Queen of the festival. Next year we plan to take her one weekend, and go by ourselves the other weekend. Next year I also plan to fit back into my garb. Rawr!

We had a nice Midsummer ritual on Saturday as well, and a picnic with friends at a local park.

Sunday was uneventful - we got a nice afternoon nap and Freyja and I hit the grocery store, where she proceeded to tell me how to choose a watermelon - "Daddy says you gotta THUMP it!"

I'm still thinking about Jack Sparrow's twin. . .swoon!

The times, they are a-changin'

Kerwin is graduating from community college tomorrow. Halle-frickin-lujah!

He wasn't going to walk and participate in the commencement exercises. I wanted him to - it's a milestone and he deserves to be recognized. He came around - I MAY have bribed him with cake and a party. I admit nothing. Nothing!

He's taking a year off. He's "burned out" on school and wants to wait before applying to 4-year institutions. This is probably academic suicide, but now he'll have time to spend with us instead of on homework. For the past four years (seven semesters of which he was in school) he's worked full time at a thankless job and gone to college. I'm proud of him. He graduates with his Associate's in Science and Arts, plus 30-some credits of electives that may or may not transfer.

I'm also very glad that for an entire 15 months, I won't have to hear him bitching about how stupid his homework is, how many papers he has to write, how his professors think their class is the only class he's taking. I never bitched about these things because I just feel that they're part of going to college. People think I can't live without bitching about things - ha! I get it from him!

It'll be nice to have my husband with no demands on his time except for work. We haven't had a time in our married life where one or both of us weren't taking classes or working or both. In the past two years, one of us was always doing both. That's what we get for marrying "young" and having a baby right away. Can't change that now, nor do I wish to. Before much longer it'll be "remember when. . ." and "I can't believe we survived those years"

I'm looking forward to it.

If they told you, you would cry.

For the April Pulsate Olympics, sponsored by GNM parents. Wow, that feels dirty. :D

Both of my parents are still living. This really should come as no surprise - I'm young (26) and they had me when they were in their early twenties. My dad just turned 50 this past year, my mom is 48.

My dad has some serious health issues. He's a type-2 diabetic and he has congestive heart failure. He's had one heart attack at 43, followed by a triple bypass. He has high cholesterol and high blood pressure. He works 40+ hours a week at a physical job (he's an electrician - does installs of radios on police cars, buses, ambulances, etc, and maintains equipment at various 911 call centers and law enforcement and dispatch facilities). He has a 15% chance of living until he's 60. I get my love of reading, my tendency to question everything, and my temper from him.

He used to be a real asshole and probably could have been considered physically abusive - he and I are a lot alike and butted heads constantly, and instead of walking away like an adult should when faced with a mouthy child and teenager over something trivial, he let his temper get the best of him and he hit me, usually a slap across the face if he could reach, and whatever he could reach if not. And if he ever reads this (I have no idea if he does), I am going to get the biggest guilt trip in the universe. I'm not saying that I was completely innocent, because I was a mouthy little shit once I hit puberty (which is when he morphed into asshole dad). They should have disciplined me differently as a young child - I was indulged and allowed to get away with a lot. As far as I know he's never laid a hand on my mother, nor on my brother. I guess I was just special.

He's mellowed considerably. Now when he acts like a jackass (much less often) I just ignore him. If he hasn't learned any better, I have. He's so incredibly patient and gentle with Freyja that it's like a complete turnaround. She is grandpa's girl for sure. It's still really hard to trust that he won't lose his temper with her, though. He probably doesn't realize it, but I always brush off his offers to babysit if my mom won't be there. I just can't take that step and I don't know if I'll ever be able to. Again, Dad, if you're reading this - I really hope you understand. It's not you, it's me.

My mom has some health issues too. She has degenerative disk disease and arthritic knees, high cholesterol and triglycerides, and high blood pressure. She also works full time, on her feet. She's a pharmacy technician and as much as she bitches about it I know she loves her job. She's looking at her 20 year anniversary soon. The woman gets 6 weeks of paid time off every year, between vacation and personal time. She spends the majority of the time on home improvement projects or with Freyja (the only grandchild thus far). I get my artistic ability, my singing voice, my penchant for sarcasm and my compassion (I do have some, I swear!) from her.

That said, she's also passive-aggressive, overly sensitive, and easy to bait. She goes to church but I'm not really sure she believes, because anytime Kerwin or I mention Paganism, Heathenry, the Pagan roots of any given Christian celebration, you name it, she goes off like a roman candle. She doesn't get that me not attending church is not an insult to her or her parenting. Honestly, I think it's proof that she raised a child who can think for herself, which is a noble and excellent thing.

Growing up, we were lower-middle class until my parents divorced. Then we stayed with my mom, and we were poor. She refused to take any help (oh yeah, I get my overly prideful streak from her, too), and I'm sure there were nights when she didn't eat after working two part time jobs to make ends meet. I have to give my parents credit in that they never used my brother and I as pawns. They had a standard custody arrangement but any time my dad wanted to take us for an extra day or they needed to switch a weekend, they did. There was never any problem with my dad paying child support. He paid what was mandated and took care of other things we needed as well. There was very little, if any, playing one parent against the other.

My dad remarried, divorced, and then my parents got remarried. Yeah, I wonder the point of all of it too. Maybe they both had some growing up to do.

As much as any of that might make me hate my parents, I don't. Sure, I went through that phase when I was a teenager - I think most normal people do - but the real clincher in getting along with my parents and actually liking them was tied to my moving out. My mom and I can talk on the phone for hours and still have a hard time hanging up. My dad and I have bonded through our love of weird trivia and family nostalgia.

I'm terrified of losing my dad to his health conditions before Freyja is old enough to remember him. I'm terrified of my mom getting Alzheimer's like her mom, and not knowing us anymore. I don't want to think of the day when I can't call my dad on my lunch break just to say hi, or call my mom at night to tell her what Freyja did because I know she'll understand. Until then, I just make the memories as I can; for Freyja, and for me.

Sing, Sing A Song...

We like to sing, the family and I. Kerwin had excellent vocal training in school (small parochial school) and I had four years of private classical training, so we not only like to sing, we're pretty good at it. Freyja's sweet little voice as she pipes in is enough to bring tears to my eyes most days. We sing in the car, we sing at home, we sing in grocery stores. We're enjoying singing carols and other holiday songs right now, and since today's the Solstice, we had a special song to sing last night before bed:

I've been searching through the darkness
return to me, beloved
For the night's gone on too long
return to me, my love
I won't rest until I've found you
return to me, beloved
And you bring me back the dawn
return to me, my love

and one to sing this morning as we drove into town for work and daycare.

The Sun is born again today
We greet the sun's first morning ray
We sing and celebrate the light
The sun's born in the longest night!

Both songs are from the Circle Round and Sing! CD. I love having Pagan songs to sing in addition to the carols and hymns of my childhood - and we're probably as annoying as scary fundies who sing praise anthems wherever they go - but we're not trying to convert anybody.

No, we're out to have a good time, and a good time to us is harmonizing, teaching Freyja to sing, and singing just for the joy of it - for the feeling in your gut when you sing something powerful, and the giggles when you sing something fun. I don't think people sing enough - or participate in music in general. Just listening doens't count, you have to involve yourself. So sing along.

I was really happy to see January's Real Simple had a peice on finding your theme song. I still don't know what my theme song is. Do you? Tell me about it.

Birth

For Thordora's contest - and my own personal therapy.

Freyja's Birth

32 Weeks.
“I think she’s breech, but I can’t tell because of all your padding!” The nurse-midwife said, in a good-natured teasing manner. We had a good relationship, and she knew how best to get through to me. “Let’s send you for an ultrasound to make sure, if she is, there are some exercises you’ll want to do before she gets too big to flip easily.”

The husband and I nodded; another look at our growing baby was okay by us. Little did I know that agreeing to that ultrasound would start a steep, slippery slope of myriad interventions that would end in what I truly believe, for me, was birth trauma. I’ve learned a lot about labor and birth in training to become a doula – and yes, it was my birth experience that pushed me in that direction – enough to know that what happened to me just shouldn’t have happened at all.

32 Weeks, 5 Days
Checking my voicemail on the way home from work, I found a message from the scheduler at the clinic. “Heather, this is Josi, from the midwives office. I need you to call me back as soon as possible!” Driving down the highway, I dialed the number, my hands shaking and my heart in my chest. I could feel Freyja moving around inside of me, but it didn’t reassure me.

“Your ultrasound showed Freyja as too small for dates. She’s not growing properly, and we need you to come in for a non-stress test as soon as you can.”

I drove straight there, after calling Kerwin at work to have him meet me at the clinic. I got hooked up to the machines and the sound of Freyja’s heartbeat filled the tiny monitoring room. The midwife came in, not MY midwife but one of her partners. “I’m afraid we have to diagnose the baby with IUGR. That means –“

I cut her off. “Intrauterine growth restriction. I know what it means.”

I had twice weekly NST’s leading up to my due date. Every one was fine. I had weekly Doppler ultrasounds to measure the blood flow from my placenta to the baby and how the blood moved through the umbilical cord. Every single one was normal, even the one on my estimated due date as I napped on the table while the tech phoned the results into my midwife. I was terrified at each ultrasound, most of which were scheduled while my husband worked, terrified that they would say “She’s not growing, she hasn’t grown. The blood flow is bad. We have to induce you now. We have to get her out now.”

40 weeks, 3 days.
I wanted to be done. I walked and walked. Miles, it seemed. The baby was still floating, her head not engaged in my pelvis. The midwife checked my cervix. A fingertip dilated. She wanted to sweep my membranes, but I hadn’t dilated enough.

“You know we can’t let IUGR moms go more than a week overdue.”

“I know.”

“Let’s schedule an induction for Friday morning. That’s my call day.”

Small comfort. I went home and read. I wondered if I was favorable for induction. They wouldn’t induce me otherwise, right?

How naïve I was. How foolish and naïve, and impatient and excited to meet my baby.

41 weeks
We arrived at the hospital at 7:30 am, having high hopes that we would be parents by the afternoon.

We got checked into our room, and they came to give me my IV. They couldn’t find a vein in my hand, and it went on the side of my arm. I should have realized that this was a sign of things to come. We were excited, happy. Our labor nurse was wonderful. She was kind, attentive, and funny. I really wanted to have the baby while she was there to help us.

The pitocin was turned up every hour, until I was having contractions every two minutes that kept increasing in intensity. I wanted to hold out. No drugs. My husband was no help. He sat and read, or listened to music on the CD player that was supposed to be for me, to help me cope with labor. He held my hand in an unattached fashion until I told him to put the book away and pay attention, then he was better. I had friends there, and they helped. They distracted me and kept my spirits up. I finally asked for a narcotic at 2 PM, after 7 hours and only dilated to three centimeters. They broke my water so they could install internal monitors, and then gave me the shot of Stadol. I drifted in and out of sleep, coloring in a My Little Pony coloring book that my best friend’s daughter had donated to the cause. I could feel the contractions, but they no longer hurt as badly as before. I could cope, even if I was singing "Tainted Love" along with the beeps of the equipment.

My dad and grandma showed up around 5 pm as the narcotic was wearing off. My husband went to call some friends and family. My friends left to get dinner. My dad went to go to the bathroom, leaving me alone with my grandmother as the contractions came back with such a vengeance. I wanted to sit up, straddle the bed. The nurses kept scolding me, that they couldn’t get the baby’s heartbeat. I knew she was OK. I wanted to sit up, sitting up helped. My grandmother, bless her heart, patted my back and sat with me as I struggled through the contractions on my own.

I have never forgiven my husband for what I see as abandoning me, and I don’t know if I ever will. I don't think that he realizes even now how I feel about this. I am terrified that he'll do the same thing should I attempt a VBAC - I wouldn't give birth again without a doula, no matter what it cost me - because of my fear of my otherwise very thoughtful, attentive, and loving husband leaving me to go yack on the phone.

My midwife came back to check my dilation at around 7:30pm. My cervix had swollen shut. 12 hours of pitocin induced labor, broken waters, antibiotics for Group B strep, all for nothing.

“The baby is fine, her heart rate is great. She's tolerating labor just fine, but we’re going to have to do a c-section because of the Group B Strep and your water being broken.”

I was so tired by that point that I just wanted her out. “Can we turn the pitocin off, then?” I asked.

We sat around for another two hours, waiting for the obstetrician who would do my c-section. I called my mom, who left work early. My dad and grandma stayed around, which was nice of them. My friends came back, but they wouldn't allow Angie in the operating room – she was my photographer. The anesthesiologist came in and explained the spinal procedure to me, and I signed away my right to sue if I became paralyzed. I had a catheter inserted. I met the OB, and I trusted him immediately. I can’t explain why, I just did. My midwife would assist with the surgery.



I walked to the operating room under my own power, and clambered up onto the operating table. They gave my spinal in that forward leaning position I had wanted to spend my entire labor in while the nurse held my hand. She was a good nurse, too. The OR was so cold, and I was so tired. I just wanted to meet my baby. Kerwin came in, wearing scrubs, a hair cap, and shoe covers, and was allowed to sit by my head.

I don’t remember a lot about the surgery. I wanted to watch, but they wouldn’t let me. I didn’t feel anything, tugging or pain. I heard the OB say, “Heather, your baby is a stinker; she has her head right where I need to cut!”

I knew the moment they had pulled her out, because she started to scream. She was indignant, angry. I could feel her emotions flooding over me. It was 10:50 pm on August 27th. Happy birthday, baby.

“It’s a girl, right?” I said. Nothing about fingers and toes, just needed to know if it was a girl.

“Yes, it’s a girl!” my midwife called. “Wow, she’s chubby.”

“Wow, she’s chubby.” What? Wasn’t she supposed to be SMALL? IUGR and all that? TINY? We were expecting a five or six pounder. They sewed me up after I sent Kerwin off to the nursery with Freyja. It’s all a blur, that part.




I didn’t see her until an hour and a half later, all cleaned up and smelling like baby wash. She was beautiful. She was eight pounds, one ounce. She had a 34 cm head! One faulty ultrasound measurement screwed up my birth experience. One faulty ultrasound measurement marked me as high-risk, still marks me as high-risk. Intervention after intervention followed, just to “see if she was breech”.



I could probably pay for years of therapy, and it wouldn’t help. I felt cheated, robbed. I still do. I was so consumed by feelings of guilt and anger that I had a hard time bonding with my newborn. I wanted to bond with her so, so badly, and I didn’t. I had to fall in love with her over time. It wasn’t immediate, and I still wonder if I’m a bad mother because of it. Breastfeeding was an utter failure, and I still don’t know why. Was it because of the excess amounts of fluid pumped into me during 12 hours of induction and 36 hours of recovery? Was it because the ill-educated nurse came into my room at four AM and convinced a morphine-doped post-surgery me that my baby was hungry and I needed to use formula to feed her until my milk came in? Will it happen with another baby?



The postpartum period was incredibly difficult. My husband went right back to work and a new semester of college classes. I had little help at home. I still don’t know how I coped, just that I did because I had to.

We’re thinking about a second baby. I have the “right” kind of incision, and I’m hoping for a home VBAC. Birth should be fulfilling. It’s such an incredible, life changing event. It shouldn’t be managed and medicalized. It should take place with those you love, in a secure and comfortable environment where one can surrender to it. At least, that’s what I believe.

(I do feel I have to mention that my husband now knows the error of his ways and has been a marvelous and excellent father since he first laid eyes on Freyja in that operating room. The picture below is from her second day of life.)

"Isn't this Burger Bell?"

Song of the day:



It's just been stuck in my head all morning. The spawn wanted to watch the Ultimate Silly Song Countdown yesterday, and His Cheeseburger is number four, I think.

"Waaaaiiiit" I hear you saying. "Wait just a minute. Heather, you're Pagan. Why do you even have Veggietales in the house?"

The answer to that isn't short nor is it easy. I'd like to just blame it on Kerwin, but that wouldn't be quite fair. I was introduced to Veggietales back in high school when a friend brought a Silly Songs singalong to a party I hosted. We all watched it and laughed so hard we cried. Kerwin had been introduced to Veggietales through his nephews, and he was Christian at the time so the "message" of the actual shows didn't bother him. They bugged me, though, so to appease him I said I'd allow Silly Songs in the house for Freyja. Now we preview new Veggie DVDs on Netflix for God and Jesus messages. If there are none, and we're suitably amused (take Lord of the Beans - no overt Christian message, just one about using your gifts to help others which we feel is a good value, not to mention we both were cracking up the entire time) we buy them. It seems simple, but you would NOT beleive the amount of grief we get from our friends, no matter what religion they subscribe to.

Besides, it buys me 45 minutes of peace and maybe a shower without "Mumma? Whachoo doin? You takin a sower? I take a sower too! You usin your soap? And your sampoo? Washin you haiw?"

Spaghetti Sauce

I can cook. I mean, I can really COOK. I make all sorts of weird-ass obscure Indian and Mediterranean dishes from scratch. I make things up, rarely use a recipe, and you should see my spice drawer. I make what DH calls "Quick and Dirty"* meals 5 nights a week. Rachael Ray has nothing on me (after all, I can bake. And my "Quick and Dirty" meals are way cheaper).

Why is it that I can't bring myself to make spaghetti sauce (bolognese, to be technical) from scratch? Every time I just open a jar or a can of "chunky garden vegetable" and dump it into a pan of browned, drained hamburger cooked with onion and garlic. Granted, I do doctor it up a bit, add a little pinch of this or that, a little brown sugar to take the acid edge off. I watch Giada make it from scratch, and I just want to throw things at her overlarge head, with her little carrots and celery and roma tomatoes. Who in hell has time for that(Ok, who in hell that works full time, shares a car with her husband who works full time and attends college full time, and runs around after a two year old)?!

I know it's not that hard. I keep all the requisite canned tomatoes on hand for chili (which I do make from scratch). I just don't know why I should bother, other than the sodium level, to go away from jarred pasta sauce. My mother sneers at me when I tell her we had spaghetti. "From a JAR?!" she gasps. My mother makes two things from scratch - spaghetti sauce, and sloppy joes. This gives her the right, apparently, to sneer and condescend.

I still don't know why my from a jar spaghetti bothers me. It just seems that I should do better, since I know how.

*"Quick and Dirty" came to pass when it was 6pm, I sent him outside to play with the spawn, and called him back in 15 minutes later with a piping hot from scratch "gourmet" meal on the table (Spice Blackened Chicken and reduction suace over lemon-mint couscous with sauteed asparagus spears). He then started raving about me going on "I Want To Be a Food Network Star". Pft.

Amazing Weekend

I think the title says it all. This was a great, if busy, weekend. I worked an outreach event on Saturday morning. Saturday afternoon, we took Freyja to Trick or Treat at my Grandma's nursing home. She was a cute little witch! On Saturday evening, Kerwin helped our friends Ron and Lori fix their brakes. Well, he helped Ron. Lori and I stayed inside, ate Red Lentil Soup, and wrangled our respective spawn. We played a few hands of cutthroat cribbage spiked with tequila after the kids went to bed and that was a lot of fun. I'd been thinking for a long time that DH and I needed couple friends.

Sunday, Freyja and I just lolled around the house during the day, and in the evening we had our Samhain ritual with Pagan Familes and Friends of West Michigan (and saw Ron, Lori, and the kids again).

Life is okay, considering it's getting to be winter. I'm still struggling with SAD and wishing I knew how to better cope with it.