K: "I don't know why you don't already. You're really good at it and you seemed to enjoy it"
I could say that to Joshua so easily yet here I am doing beautiful haircuts only for close friends and family because I let my license expire in 2013 and didn't feel like renewing it. Sometimes after doing a particularly great haircut I feel kind of guilty that here I am with a wonderful gift and I don't share it with anyone except my closest. Then when people stop them in the world and say "wow your hair looks great! Who did it?" They can only say "my friend" which translates into "someone you will never have access to because she is a grouchy recluse."
The reasons I didn't bother with renewing my license are numerous. Some more complex than others. The simplest being that at the time of the expiration it was very expensive to renew and I simply didn't have the money, but as of march 2015 the renewal price has been reduced by 20% and now may be reasonable. Besides, it takes money to make money and at this point I have spent more money on corsets that no longer fit. As a side note, as soon as they do fit I'm going back to waist training.
The most complex reason I didn't try to get back into the business is that, despite my knack for it, the whole industry goes against my beliefs and is, in fact, in conflict with my very being. Ok so you need a hair cut? Your hair is flopping all over, it's shaggy all in your eyes, hanging down your neck, making you hot and sweaty. It whips around in the wind and hits you in the face and it looks terrible unless you spend at least 20 minutes fighting it. Fighting like strangling with tight braids and elastics, impaling with bobby pins, and drowning in products. All in all, it has because a nuisance. Well for that I can and would love to help you.
You look in the mirror and just feel kind of blah. You feel like your name might as well be Ester. You feel as though your looks resemble a 50 year-old, librarian, mother of 6, but you actually are a vivacious 20 something year-old mother of 1 (or two or three, whatever, not 6.) You wanna do something fun with your hair to spice things up. Maybe shave the sides, maybe dye it purple. Whatever, I would love to!
Now....
your boyfriend dumped you and you want to become a new person by doing something drastic that you have never thought about before and you will seriously regret tomorrow all the while being hysterical and counting on a hairdresser to pretend to be your friend and care about your personal life. No.
You "NEED" to get your hair straightened and your nails done. No.
You sit around all day cramming cheetos in your mouth and watching celebrity gossip shows. When you're not doing that, you enjoy chain smoking marlboro 100's. You tell me you want a haircut that is slimming and makes you appear youthful and hot like Selena Gomez. No.
Your hair is breaking in the comb, like just ripping out in chunks. It's bleached platinum blonde and feels like straw. You tell me you want some more highlights because your boyfriend is getting out of jail. No.
You preface the haircut by saying that you've never liked any haircut you've ever gotten your entire life and you cry every single time because we all know that hair means everything, it will never grow back and it will be the end of you if it's not perfect. No.
You are a preteen girl who has dyed their hair with highlighters and kool-aid. Now you want me to bleach it white. No.
See this is what I mean.
I like normal people who view their hair as just hair and they want no nonsense cuts and colors. I don't like having to decode people who give requests like "you know shorter here, longer here, make this piece curl out like this, make me sideburns out of my hair because I don't have any sideburns."
I mean some people just... you know that's what it comes down to in these scenarios.
I don't like people and I don't like working with people.
Let me tell you a story.
I once cut Joshua's mother's hair. When I was done I thought it looked pretty good for wispy little old lady hair. A few days later he was talking to her on the phone and she said
"Kristine is just no good as a hairdresser."
"What do you mean mom? I thought you liked it?"
"No honey, the haircut was beautiful but she doesn't know how to talk to people."
Now let that sink in.
That's what I mean when I say it's "in conflict with my very being."
Last time I saw a psychiatrist I was diagnosed with 3 things. Depression, OCD, and Social Anxiety. One, helps me make perfect haircuts, even if they take a long time, another makes me not want to show up for work, and the last makes it impossible to be a good hairdresser despite being able to cut hair really well. I know these are considered mental illnesses, but they are a part of me. Just as someone who is physically disabled would accept that their disability doesn't define them, but it's an undeniable part. A key aspect of a great hairdresser is in direct conflict with a part of who I am. There's no way around that.
I know lately the media has been portraying socially awkward as "cute and funny" but when it's you and your life it can really cause problems and make normal tasks for functioning adults a real nerve wracking experience. In my case, it has caused my career to suffer.
My conflict of belief is less of a hurdle, it just narrows down the choices for what type of establishment I'll want to work in.
I don't believe looks are too important and really neither is hair so an upscale fancy pants salon is no place for me. I've already worked at one and a few days was all I could stand.
I don't know squat about celebrities so I can't join in the salon gossip. I'm not exactly high fashion so often times I would be teased about the way I dress. Working there was probably some of the worst few days of my life. If you want a small example of what it feels like to be an off color girl in a high fashion workplace just watch the first few episodes of Ugly Betty. To top it off most high end salons charge out the ass for everything and their system of advancement is all based on product sales. I'm a hairdresser, not a salesman. In all good conscience I won't convince someone to spend $50 on hair products they don't need. If I think one would legitimately be of service to you, sure I'll make a suggestion but I'm not pushing anything. It's just hair. There are more important things to spend $50 on, like electricity bills and food. That attitude keeps me at the bottom of the totem pole but that's how I honestly feel.
The beauty industry is a money making machine based off people's insecurities and low self esteem. You don't need anything to be beautiful, but if everyone found that out overnight all the high-end salons would be out of business. All the weave, all the dye, all the makeup, all the spray tans, all the nail polish and acrylics, gone. I just want to help people look good without all the attitude and snake oil pushing. Just good old fashioned haircuts.
The closest big name salon business model that nearly parallels my needs was great clips, but I quit via angry letter after having conflicts with management and, once again, not fitting in with the others. I also dislike the 15 minutes or less rule they have there. I mean, some people have a lot of thick hair and 15 minutes just wont cut it. Well it will cut it, but the result wont be that great and personally I don't like to half ass things. I should stick to booth rental or private business.
In conclusion, it is with some resignation that I will be renewing my license and going public. So yenno, look for me.
I won't talk to you very much while I'm doing your hair, but you can always read my blogs if you want to know what's on my mind.
Can't believe one month has already flown by and now I've taken so long to start on this entry that it's nearly been two months. I know a lot of mothers say things like "it's been too fast oh my god!" let me tell you no it wasn't. Dying of thirst while completely immobile under a sweaty baby, seconds have crawled like eons, sneaking by on tiptoes at witch's hour, your eyes bulge from your head as you choke back a cough that you just can't let escape; all lest you incur the man-cub's wrath. Something smells like poop, is it actually poop? Kicking and screaming, we take off the jammies. No poop just 1 million farts. Dixie turns to rigid wood as we attempt to put the jammies back on. Now thoroughly enraged, there will be no sleep tonight.
I think we've been raised in a society that frowns upon candid honesty. No one wants to be the monster who says "man I hate this whole baby thing" but I can guarantee there isn't a person alive who actually enjoys being yelled at for no apparent reason for 9 hours straight. I will be that monster. I do not like this whole baby phase. Make no mistake, this doesn't mean that I hate her or wish I never had her, actually I really love her a lot she means everything to me but I don't like not being able to soothe her when she's mad, I don't like having to hold her all day long or else she is mad, and I don't like that she wakes up from naps screaming at 100%. I love when she smiles. I love when she coos and I love watching her play. I love when her big dark eyes meet mine and she lays her little hands upon my chest. I love when we play in the morning and her eyes widen and arms flail. The thing is because she is so young all those sweet quiet moments account for 15% of the time and the rest is outright screaming or trying my best to keep her from screaming, like constantly walking on eggshells. I know it's just a phase, and it's this phase that I hate, not her. I will be honest with everyone, make the distinction clear, and say that. I have pretty much already decided I will probably get my tubes tied in the future as I now know that I do not like babies.
Now I can understand those who do say "oh I miss that! It was so fast!" They aren't psychos, but if they had my baby, they would be. All babies cry, but some cry more than others. Some babies are little dolls, quiet sleepy, you set em down wherever and they are content to kick it by themselves. Dixie is a volatile substance, on the verge of explosion every minute of everyday. Thank god for baby wearing because most days I am literally unable to put her down. I've actually developed tendinitis in my left hand from having to hold her all day. My mom tells me that's how I was as a baby so I suppose this is divine justice. Now that she is over a month old she plays by herself for small, but increasing amounts of time. This time is aggravating, but also precious and thankfully fleeting.
I know this can be hard to believe for some of you because every time I take her to someone's house she's a sleepy angel. That's part of the trick. To make everyone believe she is always so nice. Liar baby, putting up fronts before her friends.
Ok but she's not all bad though. She spends a little more time playing by herself everyday. I've even been able to put her in her bassinet semi-awake now and she can fall asleep on her own, sometimes. She's still prone to start screaming if put down too soon, but that too is getting better. She used to hate baths and scream like we were beating her the entire time, she actually really enjoys them and that's always a really fun time now. As crazy as she's been, there's really nothing she can do but get better. She really is sweet and has a lot of adorable moments as well but I guess at the time I'm writing this blog it really just seems like the angry outnumbers the happy, but this is week 7 and according to every shred of parental literature this is the hardest time so we just have to hang tight.
This entry seems really back and forth as I reread it. The reason for this is because I wrote it over the course of several days. One night she will be a demon and the next morning I'm angrily sitting here like "Man I'm tired on an astral level. Dumb old baby what's her problem? Getting on mah nerves. She need to stop all this bullshit." *squinty accusational glare towards baby* *angry typing* "haha yeah what a little turd!"
But then the next day I reread this while she is quietly hugging my chest, gazing up at me with the sweetest of looks, after making happy noises and playing with her toys and I'm like "omg I don't mean any of this. Why would I say that about my sweet baby? This is horrible and untrue. nooooo." *apologetic frown* *remorseful typing* "awww I never meant any of that!"
So now you know. It's back and forth because that's how it is. That's how she is.
So in summation of this entry: anyone who says it's all roses is a damned liar and they are going to straight to baby hell for that.
Baby hell is like regular hell except I imagine there are inconsolable babies there.
After reading and rereading my last blog and noticing various typos and areas that could've been improved, I also noticed I left something out that I'm sure a lot of people were wondering about. How did you feel when you first held her? I didn't include that because honestly the entire entry is just the retelling of what happened, to answer how I felt at such a monumental moment actually requires some pretty deep thought, not just recollection. However now at 6:44 AM with coffee at hand I think I might just be able to describe it, or get close enough.
When they first put her in my arms I felt a mixture of wonder, apprehension, heart break, love, and pure dread. Wonder because I had never made anything so perfect before. At the moment she was flawless; small, contained, and perfect in every way. Looking at her felt like I could've been gazing over a canyon, or feeling very small in a boat speeding over the ocean. Both of which also come with feelings of apprehension. Apprehension because, I've waited nine months, what now? I've read the books, surfed the websites, talked with moms and midwives, watched other women care for children out in the world and now suddenly I am completely unsure how to go about anything. Here is a little thing bawling in my arms and I have no means to make it stop except stick my boob in it's mouth, which is extremely effective! She latches on perfectly about the 3rd try or so and all goes quiet. Then my heart breaks because that was a small sample of a noise I will be hearing numerous times and I already know I won't be able to fix it every single time. My heart breaks because her heart will break. I already imagine every hardship she will face just as every girl has: bullies, snotty girls, lying boys, self-esteem issues, social anxiety, and worst of all grief. But as she's nursing she looks up at me with her big, dark eyes shining like black marbles and heartbreak is replaced with love. Despite what may happen in the future, right now all she knows is that she was hungry and she loves me. And I love her. With love comes dread because I love her so much I'm afraid to fail her. I'm afraid that I will be unsure, won't be able to step up, will fall short of the things she needs but just as it was introduced by love, my dread is quelled by love. Because I love her, I will never fail.
Since I had a c-section I ended up staying 3 days in the hospital, and nearly more. Every time I've visited someone staying at the hospital, for some reason, it always seemed kind of fun to stay (having never stayed myself). I mean you don't have to do anything, you get food brought to you, you can watch TV all day, chances are your room is pretty high up so you get to see killer sunrises, not to mention you're probably being fed painkillers. So what's not to like? Turns out a lot.
Turns out not doing anything makes me stir-crazy and restless, turns out that the hospital beds feel like napping mats on top of rocks, turns out that the food is decent at best, turns out that there's still never anything worth watching on TV, turns out that you don't give a crap about sunrises because your back and butt hurt from being in the dang bed all day, and it turns out that nurses and janitors and food service come in and out all hours of the day any night so you never get any dang privacy.
So in short, what I thought what might be kind of fun and relaxing was pretty boring and horrible. Not to mention the fact that my room was pretty small and with all the people filing in and the table on wheels, the big chair, and the clear box for the baby to sleep in the space was very cramped and no matter how many times I limped around trying to tidy up, it always appeared cluttered simply because there was nowhere to put anything. Yes, I was dying to leave with our new baby.
Out of all the bad though I gotta say that the staff was really nice and I enjoyed going on my shuffling little walks around the mother and baby unit. The food was actually OK for hospital stuff, I only had one meal that looked like vomit, smelled like vomit, tasted like vomit and probably was vomit.
Once we did get home things were pretty stressful. Not because of Dixie but because I had just barely been cleared to go home but I had really high blood pressure and had to monitor it constantly. If it stayed as high as it was I was heading right back into the hospital. I just really really didn't want to go back. Anyhow it caused all kinds of worry but ended up being ok.
The first few weeks weren't really too bad. Kind of funny because I wanted a natural and drug free birth but I ended up getting a c-section and staying zooted on percocets for the first 2 weeks of her life. Ain't that the way it goes sometimes? As I think most babies do (and if they don't, I don't want to know) she was either sleeping, nursing, or crying until well.....this week.
Now she is a little over a month and little fun things have started happening that make it all worthwhile. She smiles now, makes happy noises, and enjoys playing with toys. She hit 1 month and suddenly began to notice her environment. I guess it all gets better from here.
Thank god that 1rst month is over! I'll be stoked when the third gets here and she starts doing things like laughing and social smiling, but I'm sure part of me will be a little sad that my tiny little squeaky is already not so tiny.
As you've probably heard by now the birth didn't go as planned. Actually it was on the traumatic side, but since the outcome was good, how it happened just really doesn't matter anymore.
Everything started on Thanksgiving. You know how in movies and on T.V. anytime a woman is giving birth it's like she's sitting there peacefully doing nothing then she goes "OMG MY WATER BROKE!" Then she's carted off to the hospital, she's hooked up in a hospital bed and lays there grunting and pushing the baby out. Now there's a video floating around of a woman who gives birth in a car and she reaches down and says "I feel the baby's head! It's coming out right now!" and it all makes you think "holy crap when you're past your due date a baby just hightails it from between your legs!" Well that's called a precipitous labor and most of the time it's nothing like that. I was warned of this fact by the midwives but I really misunderstood the implications of that. On Thanksgiving day something else happened that paralleled my misunderstanding of the labor process.
I saw a caterpillar of a monarch butterfly, plump and wriggling from the underside of a leaf in it's telltale "J" shaped position. I read that the process of the caterpillar shedding it's skin and becoming a chrysalis took place over the course of a few minutes and I was intent on watching it happen. Past my due date, watching butterflies flit around my parents front yard with my own body about to go through a serious transformation nothing seemed more appropriate for viewing. I sat for around 30 minutes watching contentedly, nothing. I waddled in and out out of the house constantly, all day trying to catch this caterpillar in the act. Right as we were about to head home I caught glimpse of it doing it's thing and I was there when it's wrinkled skin fell from it's new green shell. Nice.
Although privy to this little show, it's lesson didn't occur to me until many hours later. Thanksgiving night had been pretty nice, Joshua had been playing Fallout 4 and I lay on the futon with my head on his hip enjoying watching him play, occasionally drifting off to sleep with a baby and turkey bloated belly. It had gotten pretty late and we went upstairs for bed, almost the second I laid down for some real rest I got some serious cramps. I thought maybe something I ate disagreed with me but after seeing a little bit of blood and something akin to strawberry jam (haha enjoy that visual!) it became clear that this was the main event and I was ready to fly down the street and meet our baby that very night!
For those of you who have never experienced contractions, at first the pain is comparable to the kind of cramps you get when you are 1 second away from shitting your pants with explosive diarrhea except there is no relief found from pooping, it just goes on and on intermittently so you lose your train of thought, Harrison Bergeron government transmitter style. If you want to experience something similar to contractions go eat at
The Jones, their food tastes great and the choices are awesome but out
of 5 visits or so I have gotten some form of food poisoning every time. (2017 edit update: you will have to get food poisoning elsewhere because The Jones was closed a year ago now due to having a dirty-ass kitchen and giving everyone food poisoning. Ain't that just the way? 😂) It twists your entire stomach and takes your breath away, you want to fall to your knees but the jarring sensation would just make it worse. You can't walk or talk through them, your natural response is going rigid and high-pitched whining. I coped by sitting on my yoga ball and trying my best to breathe deeply and relax. You would never think relaxing could be such a difficult thing to do!
I woke Joshua, we went to Wal-Mart (literally less than a block away from our apartment) and bought a fruit tray for me to snack on during labor (this ended up being a godsend.) As we were checking out our cashier asked when the baby was due, I told her 3 days ago but I wanted to shout "RIGHT FRIGGIN' NOW!"
Fruit tray acquired, we sped off down the street as soon as I timed my contractions at at 5 minutes apart although not exactly 1 minute in length, sometimes only 45 seconds, but god the pain was enough to warrant some action from my point of view! After 9 months of waiting I'm more than ready to take this show on the road. I notified my midwife and she told me "they are 5 minutes apart but not consistently 1 minute in length? Just try your best to rest and go back to sleep, you will need the energy for true labor." Needless to say this wasn't the response I wanted to hear but I trust my midwives and I'm sure she's right, as much as I'd like to pretend otherwise.
We turned the car around and went back home. I apologized to Josh for the false alarm and he headed upstairs to sleep, meanwhile I paced around the living room doing all I could to keep cool. Once I was told to relax, try to sleep, and not pace around all night, the best I could do was lay down and try to watch Netflix, staggering up every five minutes unable to be still through a contraction. I recalled relaxation techniques from the birthing classes and tried to put some to use mainly deep breathing, now in the moments of dire need deep breathing meant squat. The closest to deep breathing I could get was a deep inhale then a high pitched squeal. The best relief I found was our yoga ball, I either stayed glued to it or shot up every 5 minutes to plant my butt on it and squeal.
Time passes differently when you're caught up in waves of immaculate suffering. I watched so many things to try and ignore the contractions and fall asleep, when I say watched, I mean had playing on the computer while I glanced up occasionally. Time passed from 1am to 3am to 7am. Probably a dozen episodes of Archer, several episodes of Forensic Files, about half of some movie consisting of nothing but ocean footage and relaxing music, and in the early hours of the morning I topped it off with The Great Mouse Detective (a childhood favorite of mine.) Despite the searing pains I was able to notice a few things about The Great Mouse Detective that had gone over my head as a 5-year-old. 1: He is essentially Sherlock Holmes as a mouse. That realization made it a pretty good watch. I had no idea. 2: The bad guy Ratigan is a really bad guy, like maybe one of the darkest in cartoon movie history. He enslaves a father by threatening to kill his daughter and sings a little song which includes a chorus of his followers asking "even meaner? you mean it? Worse than those widows and orphans you drowned?" I mean wow. Just...really? The rest of his song is talking about heists and burglary and things of that nature but drowning widows and orphans? You're sick Ratigan. Sick.
Anyhow, this experience just goes to show that even in the midst of a sensation like a rusted kris digging around in your stomach every 5 minutes, if you're tired enough you will eventually be able to sleep.
(what is a kris?)
A dagger that's even shittier to be stabbed with than your garden variety dagger. Ouch.
Somehow in the early hours of the morning, I was able to drift into unconsciousness in 5 minute sessions of microsleeps. I guess coupled with the exhilaration and excitement of knowing the baby was nearly here it was enough to keep me "awake" through the next 12 hours.
Since I never actually had a large amount of sleep, I never "woke up" the next morning as much as I just gave up on trying to sleep. I figured daytime warranted a good reason to stop trying to rest and start trying to get things moving so I paced continually in the living room when not staggering to the yoga ball and sang along with Joanna Newsom songs until Josh woke up. From this point to the arrival at the birth center all I did was count the seconds, tell myself the pain would end, and wait for the right time to go. I also tried to listen to some soothing music to relax myself. As the song played I found my eyes watering and tears spilling over on my cheeks. I tried my best to wipe them away and hide them but they just kept coming so I blurted out "this song is too pretty."
(Was I crying because the song was pretty or because Life of Pi?)
I spent innumerable contractions counting those 45-60 seconds, even the last 10 seconds seeming to stretch an eternity. I had no idea just what was in store.
Eventually around 2pm on Black Friday, the contractions became true contractions and we finally went to the birth center. There was a great deal of jokes made between Josh and I about Dixie being the big Black Friday bargain of the year. Turns out that horrendous pain only dampens my sense of humor a tiny bit. On the car ride there I squealed and whined out the open passenger window, wondering how onlookers perceived this sight. Could they see my large belly? Could they know what was happening? Or did I just look like some crazy lady on drugs? I guess it doesn't really matter.
When we got there, the midwife checked my dilation and the baby's heartbeat, only 3-4 centimeters dilated it would still be awhile before active labor set in so she told me she would wait to admit me but Josh and I could get comfy in the birthing room and hang out until we were ready. Dixie's heartbeat however was troubling, when I laid on my back it dropped to a dangerous 120 normally in the 150s or so, it was advised that I just keep off my back. At the moment it seemed the problem only existed when I was on my back so she guessed that it was some type of compression on the umbilical cord but as long as I stayed off my back it shouldn't be a problem. The midwife who was on call is named Sarah, she had been my midwife for the last few appointments so I was happy to see her, although I like the other midwife a lot too and I probably would have been equally happy to see her as well. Everyone is great at the birthing center and the place itself is beautiful and easy to get comfortable in.
Old picture of the Birth Center, they now have rocking chairs on the front porch where the ladies can relax.
Sarah helped me deal with my pain much better than I had managed alone. She agreed that my use of the yoga ball was a great choice because it opens the pelvic floor, but she advised me to make deep resounding vibrations instead of my high pitched squeals. Not sure why but these were astoundingly effective and every 5 minutes (or less!) I had my eyes closed and I was humming a low "ummmmm" as if I was debating something. She also advised me not to count the seconds and wait for an end to the pain as much as I should embrace the pain and see it as bringing me steps closer to meeting our daughter. I said "I kind of tried that but it seems to make it feel even worse" to which she replied kindly but somewhat curtly "yeah....it's gonna do that but the good news is it really doesn't get any worse." With no further explanation on that I figured this was the name of the game and I was gonna have to suck it up and deal. This is when it hit me. This is what I have been waiting for. This was the test. This was the exquisite pain that I had told myself I would endure and come out the other end as a woman champion, mother. I always had the choice to back out and ask to be whisked off the hospital but I was determined to do this the way I had imagined. In my mind there was no going back on my resolution and this pain was inevitable so her advice was sound (as always) and it was in my best interest to embrace it and ride the wave. It seemed like a daunting task, but any daunting task can be accomplished with enough practice time and as it turned out, I had a full 25 hours to get it perfect.
From 2pm to 5pm I walked a nearby park with Joshua pausing every contraction to lean on him slow dance style and hum/moan, I sat and bounced on the smaller-than-yoga-ball birthing ball available at the birthing center, I attempted another series of mircosleeps, and I snacked on the fruit tray and some cheese that Josh had brought for me. The next time I was checked around 5pm, I was dilated to 5-6 centimeters and I had begun to handle the pain pretty well. I was pretty discouraged that so little could have happened in such a long amount of time but Sarah said it was good that any progress was being made so I shouldn't feel let down. My contractions began to grow longer, sometimes lasting several minutes with only 3 or 4 minutes in between but with humming, birthing ball, and mental visualization I could ride the pain to an unbearable peak lasting only a few moments, then come back down to await the next. I was finally admitted as a patient and allowed to use the birthing tub.
Sarah suggested that I visualize something like a circle growing larger or a flower opening, this would help me recognize my pain as a positive growth and help my cervix dilate. It's cliche as hell but I imagined a soft pink lotus unfolding it's multitude of petals. Just like her last bit of advice, this technique really changed the sensation for me.
The birthing tub at the birth center is large enough for two people and sits before a very large window covered by lovely teal drapes. The color scheme for the birth room I was in is calming and tasteful shades of teal and chocolate brown. Besides the large tub, the room also contained a king sized four-post bed beside which was a nightstand with a cd player, lamp and matching teal and brown lampshade, a teal vanity where a baby scale sat by another lamp, a changing table, an ancient looking wooden birthing chair and my best friend- the birthing ball. The only hints that the room was for medical use was a small metal cart by the door leading to the bathroom and kitchen area where cord clamps, blood pressure cuff, doppler, and things I couldn't identify lay upon it's gleaming surface.
I was listening to a cd called Rasa Devotion that I had borrowed from a friend just for the occasion and I had some lavender essential oil diffusing in a nearby burner I purchased, also just for this very occasion. Between the relaxing decor and environment, the warmth of the tub, the comfort techniques, the soothing music, and Joshua sitting behind me rubbing my neck and shoulders I figured I was finally starting to cope pretty well. At this point the contractions were lasting much longer than a minute, sometimes dragging on to 3 minutes or so with only a minute or two of relief in between but in the tub, I was finally able to handle them. Breathing deeply, I would ride the gnawing sensation up to a peak where I would hum loudly and envision the opening lotus, I would continue humming until it was over, then inhale deeply and relax. This is when I belatedly understood the message of the caterpillar/chrysalis. Just as I did with the caterpillar at first signs of changing, I rushed for the next stage. I got so amped up, adrenaline coursing through my veins, wildly pacing the living room but here I was now, over 8 hours later not even fully dilated. I took this as a sign that I need to work on my patience in the face of great excitement, and I filed this in the corners of my mind. I shared my connection with the caterpillar to Joshua and I recalled another animal teacher, my only previous experience with birth, I called her Meatball.
At our last apartment complex, I befriended and became the caretaker of a small group of friendly stray cats. My favorite of these was Meatball. Meatball was an extremely skittish apple-headed Siamese cat with a consistently worried look and sapphire eyes. I gained her trust over the course of months, tossing small bits of cat food to her until she became familiar enough to let me pet her and hold her. I waited for the next Operation Catnip to start up so I could bring all my new friends for vaccinations and spays and neuters but by the time it rolled around Meatball was obviously pregnant and I didn't have the heart to take her for a cat abortion, I decided I would help her have kittens and find them good homes once they became old enough. The weather had gotten pretty chilly so I set up a nest for her in our sheltered fire escape stairwell. A few old sweaters thrown in a wooden crate with one side missing, she took to it immediately and could almost always be found there. I went to visit her many times a day, bringing food and water and spending time petting her and talking to her. It was a wet and icy St. Patrick's day when Meatball was noticeably different. She was needy, scared, meowing in a pained tone, and keeping her head pressed into my hand. I figured she was getting ready to have the kittens and she wanted me to comfort her. I stayed as long as I could in that cold stairwell, late into the night until I simply had to go back in.
Now in my own moment of scared neediness I remembered being there for her and I remembered although she was obviously frightened and crying out, she was calm and she knew exactly what to do. And, so would I.
While I was in the tub Joshua and I were able to keep small talk and crack jokes between contractions. The simple act of mundane conversation helped relax me and brought a sense of normalcy, like we could be sitting on the couch in our apartment having a regular chat on any old day, not gritting our teeth in anticipation, on the threshold of a long awaited moment. I stayed in the tub doing pretty well for a few hours occasionally nodding off, Joshua catching my head in his always icy hands as it lulled over to the side or drooped forward. Sweet little things like this always show that he cares. Things seemed to be going pretty alright until Sarah came back in to check baby's heart beat. What she found was disturbing and she let me know that we may be in for some unexpected trouble.
Typically a baby's heartbeat slows down during a contraction while the baby is being squeezed downwards to the cervix then it speeds up to make up for the deceleration. Dixie's heart was speeding up to unsafe levels during contractions, even while I was seated in the tub. From this point on I was monitored closely, every hour or so. The troubling news pretty much wrecked my peace of mind and from that point on I could no longer cope with the contractions as well I had, every one was more agonizing and seemed to last even longer. I wondered how I had ever dealt with them in the first place. I got out of the bath and stayed on the birthing ball. At this point I had pretty much stopped talking.
Joshua briefly left the birth center to go pick up more snacks and get a sandwich for himself, back at the Birth Center I tried to take a nap on my side. When I woke I once again planted myself on the birthing ball and Sarah came around to check my dilation and Dixie's heartbeat. Three hours from the last check and progress had stalled completely. To make matters worse Dixie's heartbeat read dangerously high through a contraction, even while seated on the birthing ball. Sarah told me to stand so she could listen to her heartbeat through a contraction while I was standing to see if it would be any better. She extended her hands and helped me up from the ball, as my weight shifted to my feet and my hands clasped firmly in hers, I felt a gush of liquid. "I think my water just broke." It was 8pm.
With the amniotic fluid now dwindling we were now on a time limit which posed serious problems since Dixie's heartbeats were getting scary off target and labor had come to a standstill. Sarah told me she would have to call the OB/GYN (Dr. Buchanan) the BirthCenter works with and consult with him over what was happening. She said there was now a serious possibility that I would have to be transferred to his care, but she reassured me that he was a very nice guy and he would still give me choices for the birth instead of just push drugs and uncalled for procedures on me. As much as I didn't want it to be this way, I knew in my heart that I would be going to the hospital. I paced up and down the stairs of the old house, the wood floor felt warm and worn under my feet. I wondered just how many other laboring women had walked this same track before me. There was a birthing ball on both the first and second floor so I used whichever one I was nearest to when a contraction struck.
When the contractions first began, the most announcing I did was a vague Doom Paul "it's happening!" post on the old Facebook. Now approaching 11:00pm I still had yet to tell my parents, although Josh had without my knowing. I held off on telling them because I knew they would want to show up at the birth center but from my point of view I really didn't want anyone except Josh and the midwife around, as I wasn't really in the mood to talk or be stared at. Birthing isn't exactly a spectator sport if you know what I mean. Well around this time they texted that they were already at the Birth Center and within seconds they were in the kitchen watching me nibble on fruits and asking me questions. Sarah was somewhat flustered by the sudden arrival of my parents and she could tell that I was uneasy as well so she pulled me into the birthing room to take my vitals again and ask how I felt about all this.
"I gotta ask you Kristine, who are these people that just showed up?"
"My parents"
"Did you invite them over?"
"No, not really. I didn't really want anyone here until maybe she was out already."
"Would you like me to ask them to leave?"
"No they will be upset but I don't really want them around talking to me."
"OK I can just have them sit in the other room"
This was a nerve wracking moment because I couldn't cope with the contractions anymore and I was getting more restless and anxious in my pain, I now had maybe a cumulative hour of sleep over a 12 hour period, I hadn't been able to eat anything other than fruits, I was worried about the baby and scared of going to the hospital, and I didn't really want my parents there but I didn't want to hurt their feelings. I no longer felt like the sure and powerful woman who had shown up at the Birth Center, I felt like a scared child unwillingly strapped on a roller coaster being whipped around turns and flipped upside down at unpredictable moments. Nothing was going how I planned it or wanted it but I knew I would have to make due. This was how things had to be.
I was so exhausted I really can't remember what happened until Sarah came back and told me that Dr. Buchanan did suggest that I be turned over to his care. So this was it. It was around 1:30AM and I was leaving the Birth Center, on my way to Shands hospital for some unknown interventions. Although I was disappointed that things should suddenly go so awry I was also relieved that my midwife was so professional and knew when it became necessary to change the game plan. I was sure that I was very close to meeting Dixie. I waddled down the steps of the birth center for the very last time, into the crisp night air with my parents and Sarah in tow.
Sarah drove ahead of us, leading us down the back streets of Gainesville en route to Shands hospital. There had been a gator game earlier that day and people were still stumbling around drunk in the night. I always hated seeing the football fans party wherever they pleased about town, completely unconcerned with who they inconvenienced in their joviality. It was a minor annoyance on top of fearful uncertainty.
When we arrived at Shands we parked right up front, once Sarah and Joshua had dropped me off at labor and delivery Sarah would leave and Joshua would have to move our car to the parking garage. Sarah urged me to ride in a wheelchair up to labor and delivery since Dixie's heart was not doing too well and my exhaustion was obvious. I was relieved because I honestly do not think I could've made the walk through my tiredness and the now mind numbing contractions. I began to not so much cope or fight or welcome the pain as much as resign to it. Pretty much everything at this point had turned into resignation.
Sarah wheeled my through the halls of the hospital up to labor and delivery. She checked me in at the nurses station then gave me a big hug and departed. A nurse wheeled me into a room and before I knew it I was in a hospital bed with 4 or 5 nurses rushing around me poking I.V.s into me and putting sticky things all over my body. They addressed and joked with each other, not me, I was only spoken to to answer medical questions. I felt more like a project than a person but I understood that I am 1 out of maybe 20 women they were caring for on that floor, whereas at the Birth Center Sarah was there just for me. We were at the hospital now, I had to accept things would be different but it was a little traumatic how different it was. I imagine the switch is comparable to a home-schooled child suddenly switching to public high school. Despite how I felt I was well taken care of. A nurse asked me if I wanted an epidural to which I quickly responded "YES!!" at this point I figured since it was already not going the way I had planned and I had already suffered contractions for over a full frickin' day I deserved some damn drugs. We're at the hospital, give me the western medicine! The nurse scurried off to get an anesthesiologist.
Joshua left to park the car in the parking garage and once all the nurses had done their jobs and disappeared it was just my parents and I. Despite how I felt earlier I was now happy they were here. Now that all the nurses were gone the fetal heart monitor starting making a horrible loud beeping noise, it really stressed me out because no medical professionals were around and I didn't know what the noise meant and I had no way to stop it. It beeped and beeped and really pushed me over the edge with worry, this went on for a good 5 minutes before someone came back in and turned it off. They didn't seem alarmed by it so I figured I had no reason for alarm myself, but while I was waiting for a nurse or anyone to come in and turn it off I was thinking "oh god Dixie's heart is giving out right now and no one is even in here with us!" In case you haven't noticed, worrying is a favorite pastime of mine.
Joshua came back from the parking garage shortly after the OB/GYN came in. His name is Dr. Buchanan and at first I was a little confused by his appearance as he comes in wearing scrubs but with a grey and red hoodie over it and some old basketball shoes. Before I see the the scrub pants I imagine he looks more like a sports coach than a doctor. Later on he asks me for my birth date and immediately responds with "oh very good, Aquarius. Me too" This was such an Aquarian thing to say and notice. After he shared that with me his appearance and funny mannerisms made sense.
Just as Sarah had promised, Dr. Buchanan gave me a choice. He said since my labor was stalled we could either induce it with pitocin, get an epidural, and try to delivery vaginally or get a spinal and go ahead and do a c section. Although earlier I had said I wanted an epidural I didn't realize that different drugs went with different procedures and I just wanted some dang drugs. The room fell silent for a minute or two while I thought about it until my mom broke the silence by suggesting I choose the c section. I had seen and read enough birth scenarios to realize that pitocin often put the baby in fetal distress and since her heartbeat was already wavering, much to my dismay, I had to agree with her and choose the c section. I was terrified. Despite c sections being common and relatively safe, I was 90% sure that I was going to frickin' die. This had now literally become the exact opposite of what I wanted and what I imagined, this had nearly become a nightmare. After opting for a natural birth I read a lot of stories about the benefits of natural birth, which as a foil, often share the negatives of interventions; the least of which missing out on the natural chemical rush of post birth bliss and instant skin to skin contact, the most like Game of Thrones- everyone dies. I'm thinking I'm going to die of amniotic embolism, possibly infection, hemorrhaging, anything. Dixie would more than likely be fine but I was toast, I had to make the choice for her. Since she is new and I am old and my life doesn't really seem to be going anywhere anyway I tell myself that even if I did die it's better than her dying all because I was too scared to be cut open. (spoiler alert: no one died!! :D ) I became as dramatic as possible and had Josh stand near me so I could hold his hand. I told him I was scared, it was an understatement.
Shortly after I told Dr. Buchanan that I wanted the c section I was wheeled away from everyone into the operating room. My gown was opened in the back and I was sat up on the operating table getting prepped for the spinal. I was really dreading everything about this part because I knew a needle would soon be going into my spine and I would be feeling every millimeter of it until the anesthesia was injected. Getting the spinal was probably the most horrifying part. I was told to scoot to the edge of the table and arch my back, really letting my spine stick out. My face was placed in a head rest thing and I was poked in the back and they asked "does this feel like the middle of your back?" This kind of upset me and I wanted to say "how the hell should I know ya'll are the medical professionals who are able to see it, don't ask me what the hell?!" but I ended up saying "yes." even though I was so nervous that I suddenly wasn't even sure what constituted as the middle of my back. I began to worry that maybe it wasn't the middle and now the anesthesia wouldn't work properly and I would feel myself get sliced open and blah blah, but you know, I worry a lot and none of that happened.
In the moments between getting the spinal and having Dixie pulled from my insides I reflected on the differences between this situation and how things were at the Birth Center. Instead of a tastefully decorated relaxing room I was now propped up on a hard cot like thing in a blazing bright and sterile white cube. I thought of Sarah, who spoke gently and firmly, but would always go quiet and let me focus through my contractions, now as I hummed and breathed through a particularly bad contraction I was ordered to sit still while a needle pierced my spine. Righteous. As my arms were strapped down to my sides in crucifix position I longed for the freedom of mobility given at the Birth Center, and I remembered the comforting warmth of the birthing tub as the anesthesia took effect and I began to shiver uncontrollably. The anesthesiologist was a really nice guy who talked me calm through the shaking and strange sensations. He poked me with a small wooden stick and asked if I felt it. "yes, yes, yes, and no" once the stick poked me below the waist. Ok it was time.
Joshua was invited in and he quickly sat beside me and held my hand, he didn't dare take a peek beyond the drape, although he was invited. Dr. Buchanan and nurses stood on the other side of the drape and began working away. I didn't feel a single thing but I was fully conscious and clear headed (apart from the fear) and listening to their conversations. They joked and conversed and talked through it lightheartedly, it really calmed me down as I realized they have done this millions of times. Conversation so ordinary and comforting, it could've been exchanged over an office water fountain instead of my trembling body. I waited to feel the first cut, at least the pressure of it, something. I looked at the lamp above hoping to catch a reflection of the carnage on the other side of the drape but it was fogged plastic and the light didn't refract well enough to form any real images on the metal behind it, I'm sure these lamps were designed like that on purpose. I waited and waited and waited to feel the first cut, I wondered what they had to do for prep that was taking so long until I felt a spatter across my ribs. I was already open! And had been for I don't even know how long!
It was only a matter of minutes now until I heard a cry!
A nurse held the crying and flailing baby before us for a second before they took her to the corner to get cleaned up. I was expecting something a little horrifying, let's be honest newborns look kind of crazy like frozen chickens, but she was already beautiful. Red skin, a round little potato head, eyes shut tight and a gaping screaming big mouth. When she did open her eyes they looked darkest blue, like hematite. I loved her! She had a loud droning cry ending in a pitched squeak. She was so squeaky! She
sounded exactly like a dog toy! I couldn't believe it! I squeezed Josh's
hand and smiled. I don't remember but we probably said something to
each other along the lines of "we did it!"
Once she was cleaned up a nurse handed her to Joshua and asked me if I wanted him and the baby to wait for me in the recovery room where only one visitor is allowed at a time or go meet the grandparents back in my hospital room. I figured I would be right behind them so I said just go to the recovery room, I didn't realize that my abdomen was still filleted open and the closing process would take about 30 minutes more. Joshua, the first person in the world to hold and comfort her (apart from the nurse but that was a business hold not a love hold) got to spend some good alone time with his daughter. The doors closed behind him as he entered the recovery room, beyond their limits he could hear grandma protesting her denied entry. "That's bullshit!" she said.
Dixie is due any damn day now. I'm officially tired of being pregnant and ready for her to come out. My general "doneness" with pregnancy now far outweighs any fear of death and pain, besides what is life without chilled, raw escolar and runny eggs?
I find myself perpetually angry lately. Maybe it's all the extra mom hormones getting me ready to be a mamabear, maybe it's just society in general pissing me off as per usual.
We went to the Micanopy fall festival on Halloween. It was great fun! We walked around, said "wow this stuff is hokey", ate gyros, and bought some kettle corn. It was hilarious to see the dead little town filled with so many people. On that particular day Josh and I were just another set of heads down the bustling street, where every other day for many months before we had been the only souls in sight- apart from a few wandering elderlys drifing in and out of the equally elderly antique stores.
One thing made me endlessly upset that day that continues to make me upset. Pregnancy is a vulnerable time, leading up to a lifetime of expected infallible strength. If there was ever a time to help a woman out it would be during her pregnancy or shortly after. Apparently everyone at the Micanopy church is so decrepit they can't remember their childbearing years and thus they denied a pregnant woman use of their restroom. I'm sure Jesus up in heaven winced and put his palm to his face when those old folks on the front porch told me "there are plenty of porto-potties up the street and we only let church members use our bathroom, it's an old thing." That doesn't even make any sense. Also I guess you didn't know that pregnant women have a stronger sense of smell than normal people and you have basically told me to go piss myself and banished me to an hour long vomit-fiesta by denying me use of your facilities. That's very kind and christian-like of you to turn away someone in need. Oh wait it's not.
Now when you're all sitting up in the church on Sunday morning spouting hallelujahs and amens, the whole world, the good Lord, the Blessed Virgin, the Holy Son, Buddha, Shiva, Vishnu, Krishna, Rama, Kali, Muhammed, Abraham, Moses, Joseph Smith, Yahweh, The Great Mother and the Horned God, Tom Cruise, and the Pastafarian deity the Flying Spaghetti Monster (in his name we pray) all know that you ARE WASTING YOUR TIME AND LYING THROUGH YOUR TEETH.
Ugh. You guys are so rude.
Anyway now that I got some of that anger off my chest I suppose I can give you a real update.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I don't remember where I left you all hanging when it comes to the goings-on of our general life. But we have moved out of Bruce's house and into our own apartment. I am finally the stay at home woman of the house and I think I do a pretty good job of making a mess and generally hanging out all day until the last 30 minutes before I have to go pick up Joshua when I clean really really well then go "ohhh myyy god I was tidying all dayyyy" :(
My belly hurts a lot from being giant. Most everyone I meet says "wow you look so tiny to be that far into pregnancy" what they don't understand is that I am a petite and typically semi-athletic person so comparatively, on my frame, yes this is HUGE. If I'm only in my underwear and turn sideways I can see where the curve of my incubation chamber ends and my normal body shape begins. Under this layer of baby, I'm mostly the same.
I still get around quite well and have small trouble getting up and down and bending over. I'm also still quite active (when I want to be) occasionally walking to the park, doing quick squats and workouts on my yoga ball, and cleaning and tidying up like crazy. The biggest drawback is that I am often tired in the middle of the day and wide awake late at night after only an hour of sleep. Luckily for me as little as a 30 minute nap quickly remedies this.
I'm gonna take a nap right now actually. ~12:55 PM Ok now I'll finish typing ~3:27
Guess it was more than 30 minutes....
It's really nice to have our own place again, we're really finally mostly set up. We still need a couple of large or semi pricey items to have things just right but it's functional thanks to my parents who bought us a nice futon which is surprisingly super comfy as a couch and a bed. My parents justified this gift as claiming they were tired of sitting on the floor when they came over, ha ha. I have one piece of furniture still in Micanopy, my beautiful display clock, one of my most favorite things, but we will need to borrow a truck to get it over here and things are functional without it. However I sure do miss seeing my favorite trinkets.
If you've ever been to any of my apartments you know that they usually resemble something between a zoo and a museum. Things hang on the wall and line the shelves and tables that have no real relation to anything else int he room save that they represent a time or place. A couple of antiques or old mugs and glasses given as gifts or saved from childhood, numerous paintings done by me or family, arrowheads, wooden boxes, strings of fake flowers, photos, wine bottles, clay figurines, vending machine toys, and several mementos from our time living on the road; all things that remind me of a certain moment in time. Small moments which would have vanished entirely if not for the solid reminders that house them, all coming out of boxes once again to be places lovingly in view.
While the museum aspect beckons us (I'm sure it only creates a sense of "wtf is all this shit" to strangers and visitors) into the past, the zoo parts urge you to be mindful of the present as all over this house small lifeforms are living their small lives day to day. Water burbles from 4 tanks housing fish or amphibians, crickets chirp from their box unknowing their only purpose here is a nutritional one, cats creep along the furniture, small eyes watch your movements, and tiny lungs pump or filter air.
Have you ever been in an empty house? A house with no other humans and no pets? It feels awful to be the only living thing in an enclosed area, like a literal dead zone, no chirping, no burbling, and no other lifeforms around to justify any sudden thump or creak. To me, it's really scary and I'm likely to rather stand outside than be there alone. At my house, there is always something watching, something living, something moving and breathing, something crawling, creeping, or swimming, something to talk to, and something to make you laugh. Most importantly, at my house you are never alone. Even if you were to wake up at an ungodly hour and creep down the stairs for a drink of water, when you turn on the living room light you'll find some small soul awake and sharing the lonely hour.
Our newest addition is a siren that we have names Simon. I'm really unsure if it's a greater or lesser siren because he didn't come with any identification or care guides. Actually, like many of my pets Simon came by chance.
I've always firmly believed that if you are bored you should go outside as often as possible because it's the only way to increase your odds of something interesting happening. Your house is for the most part (not counting freak accidents) a neutral ground where nothing will happen unless you let it happen, nothing comes in unless you open the door, and nothing changes unless by aging or your hand. By going outside you put yourself in an uncontrolled environment and anything could happen. By increasing our probability of something unexpected happening, we found Simon.
What we needed was a large piece of driftwood for the fast-paced aquarium upstairs. Something to provide a hiding place for the couple of speedy, nocturnal pictus catfish. Yes you can buy pre-treated sinkable driftwood at aquarium stores but usually it's very expensive like around $60. For a soggy old branch? No thanks. Instead we find our own driftwood and treat it at home by boiling it for several hours to kill any harmful microorganisms and leech out any remaining tannins that may turn your water into a shade of dark tea. It costs nothing but a little bit of time. We found and treated the driftwood in our gourami tank so we set out to Newnan's lake to find another. After a quick walk around the lake shore we were able to find 2 nice pieces of wood. One more of a long branch we plan to mount bromeliads on and the other a wet, partially decomposed bit of log. Joshua being the clever guy he is brought a trash bag to put wet wood in so we wouldn't have to just let it soak into the trunk. We bagged up our prize and headed out to run some errands. When we returned home we opened the trunk and found something black and slimy resembling an eel squiggling around in my trunk. At first it appeared like it could've been a snake, but it was slimy and my careful noting of animals at pet stores helped me identify it as some type of siren. Gills, no back legs, eel like tail. Somehow this little thing was up inside the wood (which really didn't seem to have any holes in it) and managed to make it's way out of the wood and out of the trash bag into clear view. Since we had been driving around for awhile and sirens, though capable of being out of water for quite awhile, are fully aquatic amphibians we put him into a little bucket of treated water.
Here's where having lots of tiny pets came into play. We already have everything to safely house him temporarily. Water treatment for amphibians, amphibian food, reverse osmosis water, a small tank, large river stones, and a chunk broken off the wood we found him in. We set him in a little betta tank and watch him curiously, soon discovering he is missing a front leg. You know how it goes when you find a hurt animal, you can't just release it now. Well we could because sirens, like other critters in the newt and salamander family, can regrow missing limbs buuuut being that I have seen sirens in reptiles stores and read up a little about them, finding them to be hardy and interesting pets we decide we will just keep him. Besides we already have aquarium sand and a 10 gallon tank! So we make a few small purchases, a filter, a light, and some $1.00 anacharis and he is swimming about comfortably and eating salmon pellets. We also learn that he would enjoy a cricket every now and then and we have plenty of those. So now Simon is here.
Dixie will have a lot of interesting friends once she gets here and I hope being exposed to so many small pets gives her a great curiosity for the world and a deep love and sense of compassion for all lives.
Except ants and mosquitoes and cockroaches, fuck them, they can die.
I finally accept this.
It's so real now with my giant stomach and the baby gifts rolling in that it seems harder to imagine a mishap than a smooth birth. While I was worried before I've seen it and heard about it over and over again; the natural process, the baby shower, the early labor, the stages of labor, the transition phase where you say you won't be able to do it, and ultimately baby being here with a few great pushes. There was never any reason to doubt and now time will take it's course and she'll be here with all of us.
9 weeks to go. Gosh.
Looking back I'm pretty happy I made this blog, even if I didn't use it all that much and I haven't able to make any money off of it, it really helped me relax to put all of my fears out into the world and out of my head. Should you ever get pregnant I hope you do the same.
Now in the third trimester I can give you a run-down of how every trimester went.
1rst: feel disgusting 24/7, all foods make you barf, worry you lose more weight than you gain because you are barfing and not eating but don't worry you will gain weight later. Everything smells like rotten garbage, everything makes you throw up and you wanna punch people in the face for dousing themselves in perfume and cologne or not wearing deodorant. Diet consisting of plain ass bread maybe some cheese slices and grapes.
I spent this trimester:
worrying about miscarriage and genetic defects,
watching crime documentaries and worrying about the safety of the child once it's born,
vomiting,
heaving,
having really sore boobs,
being angry at the police for giving me a bullshit ticket when I dindu nuffin',
getting food poisoning and going to the E.R.,
moving from one apartment to the next,
oil painting,
and laying around with bad migraines.
2nd trimester: feel amazing, mostly forget you are pregnant, feel proud that you haven't really gained a massive amount of weight, be proud of tiny baby bump, be relieved because all the genetic testing is over and all signs point to a real baby and not a potato. Pee your pants when you sneeze or laugh. Find out the gender and get super excited, watch "The Business of Being Born" and switch to midwives at the birthing center instead of OBs at the hospital. Diet consisting of hot sauce on everything (get lit Dixie!), a lot of eggs and cookies, grapes, ranch dressing and vegetables, and banana smoothies.
I spent this trimester:
Moving from apartment to Bruce's house
doing yoga
worrying about my anatomy class
worrying that I will be a shitty worthless welfare mom
hanging out with friends
playing frisbee
gardening
starting to sew
enjoying getting kicked from the insides
worrying about complications during labor and still birth.
3rd trimester: It's only one week in so I can't really say too much yet but so far, headaches are back, feel tired a lot, feel large and heavy. Have magically gained a shit ton of weight and feel sad cause I had just achieved a flat stomach before I got pregnant now I'm back in the fat-suit. Blood tests show my iron and vitamin D levels are shit so have to take a lot of supplements. Midwife says I have gained all the weight I am supposed to already and anymore would just make me a fat-fat so have to watch what I'm eating. Oh and become really emotional over anything, like crying because "puff the magic dragon" came on the radio.
Diet consisting of hot sauce on everything still (she doesn't even flinch and I don't get heartburn, [this is a bald baby]), many eggs, grapes, whatever I can get my hands on. Supposed to be protein snacks but quick and ready to eat proteins are not in easy supply.
So far I have been:
skating through an easy but annoying bio class
watching american dad
feeling generally fatigued and a little unwell
sewing many cloth diapers and a few tiny dresses
receiving lots of nice gifts from friends and family
watching my garden grow
perpetually uncomfortable
So that's a nice quick run-down of how things have been. For a summary of a pregnancy blog, I have stayed pretty realistic. Despite my crunchy tendencies like choosing midwives over OBs and making cloth diapers, and intending to breast feed for several years, this blog is relatively devoid of that wishy-washy hippy mom stuff. Not once did I say anything was "magical" or mention "divine feminine energy" or refer to myself as a "fertile goddess."
I hate that stuff and I'm really glad this blog didn't turn out that way. Seems as time has gone by I have answered my own question asked by a previous entry. "Will I still be the same?"
The answer is yes, and no.
Just because I cried when "Puff the Magic Dragon" came on, doesn't mean I didn't laugh about it right after because I recognized that I was being a sappy pussy.
Yes, I'm sewing a lot of baby dresses and diapers, but they are black and grey with dragon silhouettes or made of Joshua's heavy metal band t-shirts, not pink frills.
Sure, I spent money on newborn clothes when I said I wouldn't, but I take special pride in picking out outfits fit for young ladies and not clothing for "baby tramps" with glitter hearts all over.
So yes I have changed, as was inevitable, but it's not as bad as I feared. All in all, I'd say I'm still my salty self.
My last entries have been culminations of my fear of living. Fear of being a shit mother with no real career or purpose, fear of having my daughter recognize me as a nobody, and fear of being chastised for my lack of contribution to society. Apart from all that, as the due date gets closer I now deal with the very real fear of death during childbirth.
In little over 2 months I will be faced with the very "psychedelic" experience of childbirth. There's no real reason to suspect that this should bring about my demise, yet there is also no guarantee that it won't. I suppose I could also reason that realistically I could die at any moment, for any reason, and there's small proof that childbirth should up the ante at all. As a matter of fact I nearly died the other day when a large branch snapped overhead and crashed a few feet away while I was taking out the trash, but this occurrence doesn't keep me curled up in fetal position in the corner of my room.
I once said I wasn't afraid of dying because it's easy to do and everyone does it, but when faced with the possibility (even at a chance of 1 out of 8,000 to 30,000) it's not so easy to believe. It's not fear exactly like you get afraid of bugs or being alone in the dark, but a deep sadness to think you could be prematurely separated from those you love. There was several times where I had wanted to die. Looking before me, I faced nothing but endless obligations with no joys in sight, but now there is a lot on the horizons and I would be an incredibly angry ghost to be taken out of the game at this time. So should I win any kind of raffle, let it be the one at Hogtown reptiles for the $50 store credit, not the death during childbirth lotto.
Anyhow, no mortal can cure my anxiety so there is no point in reassuring me unless you have personally called up God and Jesus in George W. Bush style and they straight up told you that Dixie and I would be 100% ok.
If I should die let me know in advance so I can stop doing my homework and go to the beach instead. I'd hate to spend the last few months of my life scrawling away about photosynthesis.
Alright it's done. With this extraction of my fears from my head to the internet, it's pushed away and locked into a deep dark corner with all my other fears of failures and shortcomings and unexpected negativeness.
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Annie is helping me plan my pre-halloween baby shower. Please show up so it's not just a bunch of older family members sitting around and tittering about my giant belly. I'd really like to have fun. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So what else can I update the world on? Not much. Time unravels into the distance and the due date draws ever nearer. I am beginning to imagine that this is actually going to happen. Everything will probably actually be ok.
I feel sore a lot, tired a lot, and a little bit mopey. When I feel good I clean like crazy.
