Oh, Give Me a Break: Cleveland's Not That Bad

Come on people, where's the love?

According to a new study, no one wants to move to Cleveland (or to any cities in the Midwest in general.)

Yes, Clevelanders, 88 percent of people surveyed don't want to be one of us. Actually, people who rather be Clevelanders than Detroiters, but that's the only city that scored worse than Cleveland.

And I say eff y'all.

We don't want any of you Denver-loving fools here anyhow. Y'all suck.

I mean, Seattle was cited as one of the most popular cities people want to move to. Seattle?! Didn't that city lose its cool after the early 90s? It's all rain and gloom.

I hate how Cleveland has such a bad rep. We're a great city. We have potential. We're down-to-earth. We're accessible. Yet we cave in to these damn stereotypes about how our city is second-class. So what if some wackos want to move to Denver instead of Cleveland. We need to rise above all this negativity and be a little smug. We have plenty to offer at an affordable price. Sure, much needs to be changed (in fact, a lot needs to be changed) but our troubles simply reflect those of the nation. The Midwest just happens to be America's dumping grounds.

So, yeah, eff y'all haters. We don't need you. We'll just sit here in our foreclosed neighborhoods, guarding our copper pipes, freezing our ass off. Hey, it will be warm soon and beautiful. Go have your Rocky Mountains and pretentious baristas.

Hooray to Obama...

...for lifting the ban on abortion funds! Now foreign family planning programs around the world can receive US funding. These clinics aren't just about providing abortions--they're about family planning, ie the use of contraceptives, birth control, etc. You know, offering services that may prevent an unwanted pregnancy to begin with.

I don't want to get into a whole discussion about the morality of abortion. It's such a tricky issue. Basically, I hate how it's so two-sided. I find a lot wrong with abortion but that doesn't mean I judge people who've had one. Everyone's situation is different. I think abortions should be legal but we need to do as much as possible to prevent abortions from happening in the first place. Hand out those condoms! Make the morning-after pill easy to access! Talk (yes, talk) about sex!

I just don't understand why some pro-lifers want to restrict birth control AND make abortions illegal... Wouldn't they want to do anything to prevent abortions from happening in the first place?

Superstar

Let's commemorate this week with a run-down of last year's events...

I'm not a big fan of birth stories--it's not that I don't care about a baby's birth, it's just that for some reason I can never read a birth story in its entirety. Maybe I'm scorned. Maybe I'm just easily bored. Or maybe I'm not a birth-y person. Either way, here is an annotated version of what took place a year ago.

Jan. 18th
Cramps escalate into full-on waves of pain. I can't write. I can't sit. I shake. I throw up. I writhe in the corner in a nest of pillows. Day passes into night and I'm exhausted but the pain forces me UP can't lie down can't sleep can't eat can't even drink a goddamn sip of water. I rock on a birth ball. I cry. I throw up blood and can't stay still and time... passes... slowly... I want to go to the hospital but I don't want to be turned away and have to come back home. Moans, cries, wails. I become dehydrated. I call the midwife and leave. Bags are packed. I won't be back until I have a baby in my arms.

Jan. 19th
Five A.M. into the hospital. I rock and barely and talk and wait for the wheelchair to push me to the third floor. The woman who wheeled me upstairs said, “Are you in labor?”

“Yeah…,” I responded.

“Get ready. Your life’s never going to be the same.”

Bitchy nurses in triage yell at me for not coming in sooner (apparently my doula told them I was coming in earlier on the 18th... whatever. It's not a damn hotel.) IVs make it better. Doula arrives. I go into the waterbirth room, later dubbed the "pain room." Doula puts music on the radio. I feel better until those bastards administer pitocin because contractions are slowing down. It's either that or go home. I take the pit but don't take any medications. Nurse asks what my plan is for pain relief. I say, "doula." I actually laugh and enjoy music until the pit sets in. Then I rock back and forth. Concentrate.

Pit gets the contractions going and is taken off. Yay! I slide into the tub and my doula puts in aromatherapy and plays tribal drumming music. The water is paradise. I never want to get out. I sway to the beats and nothing else matters. I'm controlled, on top of it. This is beautiful. This is what I want. I'm active. I'm alive.

Until I lie. I want it to be over with.

"Are you feeling the urge to push?"

"Yes! Yes!" That's a lie.

I have to get out of the tub and onto the bed until I progress with pushing. Little did I know I'd never get back into the tub. Pushing lasts three hours. Soon I feel the real, uncontrollable, raw urge to push. Everyone is yelling. Random people in scrubs hold me down, and push on my legs so I won't clench up.

"You have to push! You either do this or they're going to cut you! You've worked too hard to give up! If you don't cooperate, they will get the knife!"

Yelling. A fist shoves into me. This is the most painful sensation I ever experienced and I have to bear it. Accept it, even. I think, "OK, either I work with this and get it over with or I'm stuck here forever."

Anger. Stupid nurses enter and ask when I would be done. How do I effing know?! Push! Scream! Blood. Guts. I'm losing my zen. No medication and yet I'm put on more pitocin. I pull on a rebozo and push. I push sitting on the toilet. I walk attached to an IV. Classical music plays. Get that shit outta here--I hate classical music! Stomp! Push! Wait... Push! Wait... Push! Doula pours energizing Goop in my mouth. It dribbles onto my chin. Another packet is poured in. So tired. And nothing. I know nothing is happening when I ask my midwife if she feels the baby and she mumbles. Silence.

OB enters. Blabblab medical jargon. "C-section." The dreaded words. I don't even care. Cut me open, blast this baby out, just help me. The baby is coming down. He isn't even properly aligned and I keep banging his head on my pelvis. Acynclitic. Too much blood is coming out. It's too much. All too much.

"Do whatever. Do what needs to be done."

I don't want a c-section but I want what's best for my baby. It's not all about me any more. If he's getting hurt then I'm not going to sacrifice his safety so I can have my desired natural birth.

We decide to do a cesarean. I wait for the anesthesiologist, who is taking forever. I thought this was an emergency... Where is he? I keep asking people. "Get him!"

I push to no avail. No one bothers to stand there in hopes of catching the baby. I push harder. I push and can't suppress it. But no one cares anymore. My pushing is not important. Bring out the knife! My doula hugs me and we cry. "You are so strong..."

I'm wheeled to a cold operating room. I shake. I push. They put a needle in my back and suddenly I'm wrapped in an electric blanket--so warm, so relieved. "I don't feel good..." They clamp my hands down like a crucifix. I lift my hand and the surgeon promptly pushes it back. I lift it again and he pushes it back. It's hard to remain calm when you know your stomach is being split open. I feel my organs pull and shift. I cringe. "Are you done yet?" I think the OB got annoyed--jerk.

And then, "Oh there was no way you would have pushed this baby out."

10:22 p.m. (22:22) And I hear a cry. I smile. My baby! Five minutes later and I actually get to see him. My first view of my son was from a picture Jesse took. Jesse carries Milo back and he's all bloody with a bad bruise on his head. My baby...

I'm wrapped up and can't move an inch yet somehow I'm supposed to care for this baby. They wheel me into the room and I think, "How the hell am I going to feed this baby?" I'm exhausted and I have to learn how to breastfeed him. Luckily, he nursed like a pro.

We spent four days in the hospital. Those were days of cracked, sore nipples, anxiety, annoying nursing staff (and some extremely helpful nurses and LCs!), and walks down the hall. My exercise was to walk down a hall!

My baby. My Milo. Your birth wasn't all roses, but isn't that how a birth is supposed to be?

It's Almost One Year...

...Since I had my baby boy! I'm in shock. I will try to post his birth story when I find it.

In the mean time, here is a little Milo update. He will be one year old on Monday, January 19th. He's been walking lately. He can walk completely on his own from the living room to the kitchen, but he still likes to walk pushing his truck through the house. He can be a little demon, though--I often catch him aiming his truck at me, the dog, or Jesse's head when lying on the floor. Easy, child!


Milo is such a good-natured, fun-loving boy. He loves to make mommy and daddy laugh. Lately he squints his eyes and makes this goofy face to get us cracking up. Once he sees us laughing, he does it again and again and again. I take him to a baby-and-me class at the library where we sing songs and listen to music. Milo loves this and he especially likes when the teacher blows bubbles throughout the room. (We're trying to find little bottles of bubbles for his birthday party!) He dances now. Usually I play 80s music for him. H's favorite song is still "Devil Town" by Tony Lucca, though it has lost some of the sedative effect it initially had.

Milo is just such a happy kid, though he is starting to throw little tantrums if I move him away from something he wants. Yes, tantrums already. But overall he is just a joy. And that's exactly why, among other reasons, I don't want anymore kids--I will never have a baby who is this easy-going. The next baby would be the baby-from-hell. I know it. So don't try to tell me otherwise!

Dogs, cats, and kids are Milo's favorite at the moment. He knows what a dog is and how a dog goes "woof, woof, woof." He says "dog," and "Da-Da." Still no "mama" yet...


This summer will be so much fun. We'll actually be able to leave the house! I have big plans for this summer... can't wait!

I'm Not Crunchy

What's the deal with this "crunchy" label that alternative moms like to bestow upon themselves? I never heard of moms calling themselves crunchy until I joined the MotheringDotCom (MDC) forum. MDC is the online community of Mothering magazine that's centered around alternative parenting, natural birthing, etc. Nearly of the moms call themselves crunchy in some point in time and list all their attachment parenting (AP) credentials.

[Hey, you aren't the #1 mom! That isn't even an organic stuffed animal!]

For example, "I'm a crunchy, babywearing, non-vaxing, non-circ'ing, homebirthing, organic food growing, breastfeeding, no TV watching, unschooling, radical mama of three."

Well, okay then.

I made up that example but I'm sure you could find many signatures on MDC just like this.

How did natural parenting become a list of actions (bling) to flash into other people's eyes? It's been reduced to a bunch of labels to strive for just to be more AP/natural than anyone else. I mean, I do many of those things (breastfeed, non-circ) and I like to tell people my stances on these issues, but I don't want to do these things just to do them. I don't want to be an AP perfectionist. I want to be the mom who makes the best choices for my family based on the circumstances that we're in.

Does that make sense?

And, if that's crunchy, can I be smooth?

Breastfeeding Advocacy Shirts Give-Away!

Attention all lactivists (and little lactivists)! A Mother's Boutique is giving away free baby breastfeeding advocacy shirts every day in January. Check out their Mommy News Blog post for contest details. I especially like the shirts that say "Mama's Milk: Often Imitated, Never Duplicated" and "Cows Milk is for baby cows, soy milk is for baby beans, Mama's milk is for me!"

Now's the time to show your breastfeeding pride, especially in wake of the recent Facebook scandal.

Hello, I'm Awkward (Or How I Made Today Suck)

You're not supposed to have ambivalent feelings about being a mom. You're supposed to love every minute of it. You may complain at times, but you tell people you wouldn't have it any other way.

I love being a mom--don't get me wrong--but some days are just so dull.

Today Milo and I did nothing. We stayed in, as usual, and played with the same old toys. You see, I don't always have access to a car during the day. Couple this with the fact that it's cold outside and you have two house-bound people. It sucks.

And today he would not nap until three hours past his normal naptime. Spare me, child!

Most of all, what I think was worst about today was that we missed play group. Play group is our time to socialize with other babies and mamas. It's a much-needed thing, especially for someone like me who tends to be antisocial. (I'm not always, but sometimes I am.)

And we missed that today. Blah. I've come to the realization that to escape these doldrums I need to do the thing I dread--pick up the damn phone and call someone. I loathe the phone. It's just so awkward and I always feel that I'm annoying people. Email is better for convenience but then you risk not getting a response. Even though I often forget to respond to people, I hate when it happens to me. The only way to get a real-time response is to make that call. So here I go. Like a little kid I have to work up the nerve to dial the right number and sheepishly ask, "Hey... ummm... Do you want to, like, hang out or something?"

But if I don't do this, we'll be stuck in this same boring situation and it will suck ass because I'll know it's all my fault for not being assertive enough to change things. And both Milo and I will suffer the consequences.
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Disclaimer: OK, so I'm not nearly this bad with the phone, but I hate it nonetheless. See, I actually pick it up once in a while.