I am so pleased and grateful to share that four of my poems will be featured on Mamazina.com’s blog over the course of the next three weeks. The series will be presented one piece at a time on Sundays, with yesterday being the first. Each piece will focus in some…
Broken Thought Process Thursday: On being a mom, seeing Mraz, and feeling like a sleepy cow
Thought I’d jump on the bandwagon with Jenn, Ginger, Bree, & whomever else that’s a sucker for trend…
I’ve been away from writing for too long. I have a dozen or so poems rattling around in my head, but I don’t know where to start. They’re tangled like last year’s strands of Christmas lights. And somewhere, a bulb is out. Or more. Probably more.
Life as a mom of 3 boys is off to a good start. For those who haven’t heard through other channels, I gave birth to our third little boy over a month ago. He was 5 1/2 weeks early and had to hang out at the hospital for a couple weeks, but really, overall, everything went well. And even given the fact that it was a preterm delivery, I have to say that it was the best labor experience I’ve had. Though there was some concern because he was early, I was not overcome by it like I was when our second made a surprise arrival (also at 34 1/2 weeks). We knew what to expect: he’d be swept away quickly because his lungs would likely be underdeveloped, he’d likely be jaundiced, he would be slow to learn to nurse, and he’d stay at the hospital for about two weeks. All were true in this case as they had been with our #2.
With the birth of a baby comes the hormonal roller coaster (just ask my husband, sister & mom). Call it “Baby Blues” if you want, but really, that sounds cuter than it is. Sometimes it hits like a blow to the gut and knocks the wind out of a girl. It’s as overwhelming as the factors it exaggerates. Does that make any sense? Let me try again: the physical reaction a “Blues Flash” can cause is as stressful in itself as are the stressful factors (from maintaining a household to reworking career plans to finances) that can trigger the “episode” itself.
I feel like my hours and energy are constantly being sucked away from me. The only time I feel like I have time is when I’m at work. That’s right, my baby is under 6 weeks old and I’ve been back to work for 2 weeks now. Granted it’s part-time, but still. But I knew that going into this. It’s a small company (that isn’t ruled by FMLA) and they don’t offer short term disability or maternity leave. I’m not holding that against them — I like the company, the people I work with, and the job I do — but when I’ve been there these past 2 weeks, I SO don’t want to be there. Time drags. I can’t help but think of the gazillion things I have to do here at home.
Since our little angel was born, it’s been busy here. The first 2 weeks involved visiting the hospital multiple times a day. The good thing is that we’re less than 10 minutes from the hospital. The bad thing is that being so close, a parent feels like s/he should commit to being there at every chance. That’s unreasonable. Especially when there are 2 other kids at home who aren’t allowed into the NICU. So it was good to get the little guy home. Of course, while he was at the hospital, we were guaranteed uninterrupted sleep at night!
Still, sleep hasn’t been so bad. Right around 5 weeks the little man started (sporadically) sleeping through the night. That coincided with him rolling over. That’s right, folks. This 1-month-old preemie has rolled over! Granted it was from belly to back (easier than the other) and in a fit of frustration, but he did it. He constantly scoots around if he’s on his tummy. We’ve got to watch out for this one! He’s determined to catch up to his big brothers!
Even with all the craziness that comes with a new baby, I managed to go to see Jason Mraz at the end of July. That was funny. So, the show was scheduled for an outdoor venue in Charlotte. The short of it is, it POURED. I’m talking, this storm was the lovechild of a Katrina & Hugo. Or not quite, but that’s how it seemed. The tickets stated “rain or shine” no one wanted to leave even though the weather was miserable.
But about 2 hours after the show was to have started, they officially gave up on the original plans. And lucky for us — all the soaking wet concert goers — because the storm knocked out the soundstage system, they offered a do-over. Not rainchecks, mind you, because they wouldn’t refund on behalf of the rain. We were given the option that night to (A) Leave & get a refund, (B) stick around and TRY to get into the limited audience show in the indoor venue they moved to (try fitting something like 8K into 1.5K space), or (C) use your ticket at a rescheduled show at a later date at the original outdoor venue. Because I was there alone (another story), and I couldn’t be sure if I’d be able to swing the “later date”, and I sure wasn’t going to give up on seeing Mraz, I stuck around.
The show was great, but by the time it was over after 1 am, my feet were really killing me (as were my engorged boobs). But I was glad I stayed. I was even more happy with my decision when musictoday decided to invite those of us who went to the soaking wet show back to the rescheduled show! So my ticket has turned out to be a 2 for 1 afterall! And I didn’t even have to have a baby at the show! 😉
I’ve been trying to nurse (see previously mentioned engorged boobs). Well, no, I’ve been nursing, but the little guy is an inefficient participant. He likes the snuggling aspect of it, but he doesn’t eat enough that way. He prefers the “big gulp” of a bottle. So I’ve been expressing milk. I feel like a cow. Moo. I’ve had to ask a friend to loan me some freezer space for the excess milk.
Ok, TMI alert. Now I know this one is weird, and some might be grossed out by this: on occasion I’ve instinctively licked a stray drop or two of my milk off of my hand. This has led me to a surprise realization: my milk tastes a lot like Silk original flavor soy milk. Ok. Like I said, TMI, I’m sure, but it’s not like I’m asking anyone to do a taste test. Note, the consistencies are way different.
Also note, not that I’ve tried or ever wanted to, but apparently it’s not possible to make cheese out of breastmilk. Just sayin.
Considering that I really should accomplish something before the boys wake from their naps, I’m wrapping this up now before my lack of filter loses me another reader.
Talk about Ugly part 1: Terms of Life
As I had expected, my previous post struck some nerves, apparently. And also as I had expected, it has raised more questions and debate than it laid to rest. At this point, I intend to elaborate on my previous “Big Ugly” abortion post in three additional posts focusing on specific angles: a primer of terms (this post), misconceptions, and the law of it. Of course, I encourage and welcome discussion. (Just forgive me if I am slow to respond since the next couple days (and weeks) will be pretty busy for me.)
Terms of Life
In order to help minimize arguments based on semantics, I would like to clarify some of the terms generally tossed around relating to the abortion debate.
Abortion – Wikipedia defines abortion as “the termination of a pregnancy by the removal or expulsion of an embryo or fetus from the uterus, resulting in or caused by its death.” Though an abortion can occur naturally due to complications, I will use it solely to refer to induced abortions. Should the subject of a natural or spontaneous abortion arise, I will refer to it as a “miscarriage.”
Pro-Life – Generally used interchangeably with anti-abortion, pro-life traditionally refers specifically to human life. Wikipedia states: “The term describes the political and ethical view which maintains that fetuses and embryos are human beings, and therefore have a right to live.” I have heard arguments that individuals are personally concurrently pro-life and pro-choice; for the sake of clarity, let’s limit “pro-life” to the belief that all human life, from conception to natural death, should be protected by law.
Pro-Choice – According to Wikipedia, pro-choice as the “view that a woman should have complete control over her fertility and the choice to continue or terminate a pregnancy.” As I state above, some people claim to be pro-life and pro-choice concurrently; for the sake of clarity, I will limit “pro-choice” to refer to those who believe a woman’s productive “rights” should be protected over the rights of an unborn child.
Pro-Abortion – In favor of abortion. Generally, this term is used interchangeably with pro-choice. I have found, however, that most pro-choice people are not actually in favor of abortion itself, just the “right” for “someone else” to have one. In the event that it comes up in this or subsequent blogs, it will refer specifically to proponents of abortion. Like maybe this guy.
Types of Abortion
Please note this is by no means comprehensive!
Medical Abortion – Abortion by means of drugs or a combination of drugs.
Surgical Abortion – This is the ending of a pregnancy by surgical means, such as MVA, D&C, Saline Abortion or Partial Birth Abortion.
Late-Term Abortion – As the term suggests, a Late-Term Abortion is an abortion performed late in the pregnancy. Sources differ in what “late” refers to, with some stating “after 12 weeks,” others saying “after 16 weeks,” and the majority stating it refers to “after 20 weeks.” Should the issue come up, I will consider it to mean “after 20 weeks gestation.”
Partial Birth Abortion – Formally known as intact dilation and extraction or IDX, partial birth abortion has been used for late-term abortions.
Saline Abortion – Saline Abortion is a term occasionally used to refer to the broader term “Instillation abortion.” Instillation abortion is a method used during the second and third trimesters, by injecting a chemical (such as saline) solution into the amniotic fluid to cause uterine contractions. The chemical solution burns the baby before causing the mother to expel the child.
Manual Vacuum aspiration (MVA) – Abortion by means of a vacuum used to literally suck the baby from the mother’s womb. This is the most common type of abortion and is generally used in the first 12 weeks of pregnancy.
Dilation and curettage (D&C) – According to Wikipedia, D&C is “the second most common method of abortion, is a standard gynecological procedure performed for a variety of reasons, including examination of the uterine lining for possible malignancy, investigation of abnormal bleeding, and abortion.” This is generally limited to the first trimester or approximately 13 weeks of pregnancy.
Selected Related Law and Legislation
Roe V. Wade – The landmark Supreme Court decision of January 22, 1973, which has shaped debate about abortion in America ever since. Google it for the details if you’re not familiar with it, or click the term for the Wikipedia entry.
Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA) – Wikipedia sums up the FOCA as “a bill in the United States Congress which, if enacted, would abolish all restrictions and limitations on the right of women in the United States to have an abortion, whether at the State or Federal level.” By eliminating all restrictions and limitations, the FOCA would also “nullify the types of abortion laws that the Supreme Court has said are permitted under Roe v. Wade.” (Johnson)
Born Alive Infants Protection Act – An act of Congress to protect infants who were born alive as a result of an induced abortion.
Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act (PBA Ban) – A United States law prohibiting abortion by means of IDX.
Stay tuned for “Talk about Ugly pt. 2: misConceptions.”
and just as easily carried away…
When a child is born, parents are as well. The parents — no matter how many books they’ve read or how many classes they’ve attended — are still just as new as the baby. Daddy may be awkward about holding his little girl, supporting her head; mommy might not be quick enough with her little automatic sprinkler’s diaper changes. Still, there are some things that come instinctively. Some things are simply given. The job of “parent” is really quite straightforward: protect the child.
That is where we start.
But as time goes by and the child grows up, the parent realizes there’s not enough bubble wrap in the world…
And then, one day, as quietly as a feather, the plain truth slips in: bubble wrap, an infinite supply, will do nothing to soften a blow to the heart.
Especially when you, the parent, let the strike slip.
* * *
Two days ago, as I was preparing dinner, our 4-year-old pulled a grimy feather from his pocket.
“Mommy, look what I got!”
“Oh, Sweetie, that’s dirty. Put it in the trash and go wash your hands for dinner.”
Whoa. Who said that? Me? The woman-once-girl who collected robins’ egg shells, nests, feathers, who played with toads and tried to nurse abandoned baby birds back to health, who once carried a tiny iridescent lonely dragonfly wing back to camp for bonus points in a scavenger hunt? How could that same person tell her son to throw out a feather because it was dirty?
Still. It was, and it was dinner time. I’d flinched but given it little more thought. That is, until I noticed my son curled up on the couch, lip quivering, eyes welling.
I knew immediately that I had played the hand wrong. I put down my dish rag from wiping off the table and ran over to give him a hug and apologize.
“Oh, Sweetie, I’m sorry. I know that feather was a treasure and that it was special. But, really, they need to stay outside. They can have a lot of germs on them, and I don’t want you to get sick from playing with them.” (What I didn’t say was, “I’m sorry, sweetie, your mother’s a borderline hypochondriac and doesn’t want you to catch some kind of avian flu…”)
He looked at me with his big eyes, still welling.
“But Mommy, I was going to give it to you. What am I going to give you now?”
Oh! Rip my heart out and stomp on it a few times!
I don’t remember exactly what came next besides tighter hugs and more apologies on my part. I physically ached and felt sick to my stomach. I had never seen my son so emotionally hurt.
And I had been the one to cause it.
I know this may have been the first time, but it definitely won’t be the last. Knowing this heartbreak is only one of many within his lifetime doesn’t make the incident any less painful. Even if he’s moved on– he’s on the quest for the perfect “special stone” to give me — I still feel that ache.
Bubble wrap can’t protect either of us from these growing pains; no band-aid will hide these bumps and bruises.
Here’s hoping the scars give him — and me — character.
Joy on a stick, in a puddle
Before summer jobs and two-month-short semesters, before “grown-up” commitments and working straight through from Memorial to Labor Day with the mere hiccup of Independence, there was a time of riding bikes past nightfall and playing “Ghost in the Graveyard” after that. There were Kool-Aid stands to man and dusty games of run-down. There were toads and lightning bugs to catch and creeks to stomp through. A day at the pool meant a stop at the candy stand too. And of course, summer meant banana popsicles.
It’s easy to get wrapped up in being an adult and to miss summertime altogether. We go from air-conditioned homes to air-conditioned cars to AC at work, the height of the mercury but a footnote of our small talk. If we take a summer vacation, it is typically eaten by travels, nothing like the long, sprawling summers of our grade-school years.
I was fortunate enough growing up that my mom chose to stay home with us, granting us kids the full summer experience, complete with, “If you’re so bored, I’ll GIVE you something to do!” Now as a mother myself, I sometimes worry that because of my working, my boys will miss out on the Norman Rockwell summers I remember. Like my husband and I, our boys have year-round, full-time schedules. Summer, to them, means hot, sweaty playtime at daycare with an occasional “water day.” I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to budget even tighter, to stay home with them, to give them what I had.
I wonder if they’re missing out.
Then, like yesterday, it rains.
They spent the dreary, stormy hours at daycare. By the time I picked them up, the clouds were breaking. By the time we got home, the pavement was dry. Save for one puddle.
Now, when it comes to puddles, a parent’s first instinct is typically to tell her child, “don’t.” And I did, at first. But then when the little one did anyhow, his face glowed with pure joy. In that moment I was as happy as my child. And he was having more fun than on Halloween and Christmas morning together — how could I deny him that for the silly sake of wet clothes?
Today was a beautiful day, and not too hot. After picking the kids up and eating a dinner of the four-year-old’s choosing (dinosaur chicken nuggets, Disney-shaped whole grain pasta leftovers, blackeyed peas), I joined the boys and some neighborhood kids on the front stoop for a dessert of banana popsicles. Once again, summer found me — this time in sticky grins.
I guess as the responsibilities pile on and vacations grow thin, joy reveals itself through moments — for me, most clearly through my children.