What People Don't Tell You About Pregnancy: The Postpartum Edition

I'm officially a mom now, yay! The last two months have been a whirlwind of joy, exhaustion, fear and WTF-ness. Inspired by this post on Baby Sideburns, I've decided to make a list of things no one tells you about the first few weeks (and months for that matter) of your new life, postpartum.

1. You feel like you got hit by a truck. No, I didn't think that I'd skip out of the hospital, but I wasn't prepared for the inability to sit, anywhere, for a long period of time, or the infamous "spray bottle" for after you pee…for six freaking weeks. I also wasn't prepared for my diapers to be ten times the size of my new baby's:

2. You may wish you didn't jump on the procreation wagon. At all. One week after returning from the hospital my parents called me and, against my better judgement I answered. They asked how things were going and I held back tears. I said it was rough. They asked what they could do to help and in my head I said, "put her back in my belly". Taking care of a squirmy blob that does nothing but take from you is a total mind f*ck.

3. Newborns are boring. Even once they start doing heart-soaring things like smiling, they are still boring. I can only babble at/with her, shake a rattle, and read to her for so long. So, watch TV, play on your phone, respond to emails all while she sits there with zero guilt. She's dry, fed, and obviously loved. Parents need breaks too.

4. That heart-soaring smile I mentioned? One of those makes up for every 3 shitty things (blow-outs, 2 AM feedings, general pissy-ness, etc.) Truth.

5. Night and day do not exist for about the first 6 weeks. So, if your lucky enough to be at home that long: eat breakfast at midnight, shower at noon (or every three days), hit the sack at 11 AM. It seriously doesn't matter. Just survive.

6. Allow your support partner to help out in any way he or she can. Don't micromanage the assistance. Be grateful for it.

7. On that same note, accept the help/food/flowers/grocery shopping from your friends and family without fretting about writing thank-you's or keeping a log of who you need to "get back" one of these days. These people love you. And they know your completely out of commission at the moment. They do things for you out of the goodness in their hearts. Nothing more.

8. You are doing a GREAT job. Seriously. These early weeks are all about keeping you and that baby alive. So, if that is achieved, your winning!

Validating Dads at the Lesbians' Expense

Tonight at a Breastfeeding Basics class Jim and I endured 2 and 1/2 hours of extreme discomfort. But not for the reason your thinking. We held up plastic babies with little "oh" faces to our chests like proud parents, so, no sweat in that department. No, what made us uncomfortable was the way our instructor addressed all of the non-pregnant people in the room. She called them all dads. This sounds normal at first. Until you see the very obvious lesbian couple at the far end of the room. 

"What's the benefit of breastfeeding for dads?" she said. I couldn't even look up from the table. 

"How many dads do we have in the room?" she pointed at and counted three out of the four support partners, completely skipping over Lara. I picked at my hangnails.

And so this went. For 2 and 1/2 hours. 

At one point Jim raised his hand, "I think one of the benefits breastfeeding has for PARTNERS is that it forces us to find other things to do to help out, like household chores. That is something PARTNERS can do." She puts a tally mark under the "dad" column. 

As the class wraps up the instructor gives us "anonymous" feedback cards. I gesture to Jim, indicating that we should note the exclusive nature of how she addressed the support people in the group. "Oh no", he whispers, "I'm sticking around to talk to her." 

After everyone had left, Jim approached the instructor in a very professional manner, pointing out that out of the four couples, her constant use of the term "dad" excluded one. She responded very quickly that she knows this is a problem and that she is trying to work on it. She's been doing this for 27 years and only recently has she had to watch her terms more carefully. We are satisfied with this response until she adds, "but I do want to validate the dads in the room and so I try to use both 'dad' and 'support partners'." Seriously? If your a dad and your reading this, does the term "partner" offend you? Or do you see it as a modern, overarching term for one half of a committed relationship?

This week I talked with my sixth graders about discrimination. They bravely shared stories about times they felt discriminated against or witnessed discrimination. One part of the assignment that followed required them to write what they would do if they ever saw it or experienced it again. They all said they would stand up for themselves and others. 

And here I was, ready to "anonymously" tell on this outdated woman. 

But Jim did exactly what I would want to see my students do: approach the situation in a firm but respectful manner; let it be known that discriminatory behavior is uncomfortable for everyone. I'm so proud of my husband and cannot wait for him to show Olivia how to stand up to the injustices we see in our world. 

The First Pangs of a Love You've Never Known

Nearly all of the women in my life who are mothers (biological or otherwise) have told me that the love I will feel for my baby will be like no other love I can imagine. I've even been told that I will love my baby more than my husband.

While I knew this was most likely true (maybe not the 'more than my husband' part), I certainly didn't think I'd feel it while pregnant. Until last week.

Sure I've "loved" the little bugger growing inside me. I've loved the thought of holding her, smelling her, caressing and feeding her. Once we found out we were having a girl, that love definitely intensified. But I wouldn't say it was a 'love I've never known'. But last week, while I was driving into work the song "Ho Hey" came on. I love this song and so I started singing it and dancing in my seat and playing my belly like a drum. I was telling Livie that the song was Bob and Steph's song and that one day she'll meet them. She started to move like she normally does when I play music (or play my belly like a drum). Then I noticed the words I was singing:

"I belong with you, you belong with me your my sweet-heart!"

Olivia literally belongs with me. She is inside my belly. I am housing her, feeding her, keeping her warm. When she arrives Jim will share those responsibilities with me. She will belong to us and we will belong to her in a manner that is different than the way we belong to each other. Was this the love?

Holy shit! What an amazing feeling.

Two days after this astonishing moment I had a terrifying one. Jim was in line for a movie on the sidewalk outside the theater. As I made my way toward him I hit some black ice and slipped. I landed hard on my knee and was on my back before I knew it. Jim came running over and lifted me off the ground. He kept asking if I was OK and all I could say was, "did I fall on my belly?" I knew I fell on my knee and ended up on my back but how did I get from knee to back?? Once we entered the theater Jim asked again if I was OK? Again I said, "did I fall on my belly?" He said he didn't think so. But I couldn't feel her moving! We stood at our seats for several moments as I held back tears and we both had our hands on my belly willing Olivia to move. We must have been a site. She finally moved. It wasn't until about half way into the film that I calmed down. Was this the love too?

I love my parents; I love them like I love no other parents because they are MY parents. I love my siblings; I love them like I love no other siblings. I love my husband in a manner that I love no one else. And here was this brand new love that I truly have never known before.

I am still so emotional about it.

I know I will be for the rest of my life.

What People Don't Tell you About Pregnancy: The NSFH (not safe for husbands) Edition

Still enjoying pregnancy. Still reserve the right to say it blows in a few weeks as I get bigger and bigger…

But, here are a few things that no one tells you about pregnancy that are, um, gross.

So Jim: don't keep reading…or you, dad.

1. People DO tell you that you are warmer when baking a baby. And in the summer, I am sure that translates quite literally. But in the winter, that translates to: you are piping hot in the 'areas' your baby occupies. Need me to spell it out? From your breasts to your groin you are h-o-t. So you are sweaty. So my no-showers-on-weekends policy is out the door. Get it? 

2. Big boobs aren't ALL they are cracked up to be. I love my larger chest. Really. In fact, for the first time in my adult life I have NO desire to get breast implants. But, see number 1 above. Big boobs sweat! Holy cow! 

3. Shaving is very, very hard to do. Ok, so people do tell you this one but, I never got the sense it was this hard. My legs are hopeless. Bending over is quite uncomfortable at this point so shaving is best done in the bath. Who has time for a bath? Shaving one's nether regions is also very difficult. You can't see down there, and that is kind of scary.

4. You pee when you laugh too hard! I heard that this is a symptom of the postpartum hoo-ha but I didn't know that it would happen while the child is still inside me!

5. You fart. Audibly. I've never been a very gassy person so musical farts and burps were never something that I could brag about. But out of nowhere I pass gas! Being a sixth grade teacher, I am rarely ever blamed so that has been great!

Ladies, what else am I missing?

Airport Travel Reminders From a Frustrated Pregnant Lady

I know it's the holiday season. I know I am nearly 7 months pregnant. I also know that because of the aforementioned, I have moved from the "speedy traveller" group to the "needs extra time" group. That said, I feel it is necessary (and perhaps will be entertaining to you) to mention a few general rules that most decent people follow when traveling...as I sit awaiting an indefinitely delayed flight to Little Rock:

1. If you are moving slowly, try, for the love of Pete, to walk in a straight line. I understand that seasoned, quick travelers (like I used to be) can weave in and out of the crowd and usually do so without annoying the hell out of everyone else. But slow movers, it would be great if we all walked in a straight line so that quicker folks can get passed us without having to guess which way we are going to veer next. Also, bonus points for staying to the right hand side.

2. If the check-in line is long, please take a look at your surroundings before you place yourself at the end of that line. If it is clear that you and your travel companions, or you and your ginormous luggage or just you are going to take up the last bit of space between the line and the WALL OF THE AIRPORT, please take a moment to bend the line. You know, pick right or left and have the line start snaking in that direction.

3. DO NOT GO THROUGH THE METAL DETECTOR UNTIL YOUR CRAP IS INSIDE THE X-RAY! This infuriates me. I am not going to push your stuff through for you.

4. If you chose to wear a belt or thigh high boots or 500 pieces of jewelry, please collect your things and hobble over to a designated area to put your stuff back on.

5. Do not get all up in my space as soon as the seatbelt sign is off. I know the drill. I will stand up and move into the aisle once the few rows in front of me start to deplane. I am not into standing hunched over (pregnant or not) for 15 minutes just to make sure no one behind me gets off before me.

6. If you see an obviously pregnant woman who is obviously struggling to get her luggage into the overhead bin or, to bend down and pick up her boarding pass that fell out of her pocket, please help her! Zero people offered to help me. I understand that I should be able to do all of this myself (and I did!) but it would have been really, really nice if someone had offered a little push instead of staring at me.

Heterosexuals Use Homosexual Agenda to Look Cool

My goal with this title was to write an Onion-style post about Utah's recent lift on their constitutional ban on same-sex marriage and how heterosexuals state-wide got a piece of the equality pie. I was going to quote myself as an internet-ordained minister spewing some rainbow language about how I was honored to help the homos get married on Monday the 23rd before the expected emergency stay on the decision which would have prevented marriages until the Supreme Court heard the case. I was going to say that I had to elbow out other ministers in order to marry folks in front of the cameras of Fox news and CNN.

But I am not that witty. I am more of the sappy type.

I did get ordained on the internet after I heard there might be ministers needed onsite to quickly marry couples before the stay.

I did post all over Facebook spewing rainbow-worded equality love.

And then I felt so guilty about the responses I was getting because, well, this isn't about me at all.

But then I thought, it kind of is. It is kind of about all of us.

Homosexual rights is the major civil rights movement of today (not that the civil rights movement of the 50's and 60's is over, because it isn't). And civil rights issues effect everyone. I am a heterosexual white middle class female. So aside front the female part, I am a pretty privileged individual. But anyone with a family member or a friend who is denied basic human rights because of the way they look or who they love feels the pain of inequality. I have both of those things. And seeing people that I love, admire, respect and look up to treated differently than myself by the country we both live in is downright enraging.

So, on Monday Jim and I took our little fetus and joined the masses at the Salt Lake County Clerk's Office to first, witness and be a part of history and second, marry some folks if we were needed to do so. We were among many actual ministers (from actual churches) who took part in the day's affairs. We were not needed in any way, but we caught the major love-bug as we watched couples get married. Some couples had been together over 20 years, some had children, and some were newly engaged and giddy. We saw children crying with joy to see their moms or dads finally recognized as family in the state they call home.

I did have the incredible honor of marrying two men whom I knew through a friend and will now know forever. It was amazing to marry a couple that was so obviously in love, gay or straight. It made me think about how our friend Rick must have felt when he married us. With Jim's arm around me I pronounced them husband and husband and it made me the happiest I'd been since my own wedding day. To watch two previously denied people pledge their love to one another, hurting no one and no institution felt fucking amazing.

Proving that homosexual rights is one of the most polite, non-violent social fights in history, Monday night's rally was tranquil and humbling. While we recognized that the fight isn't over, we collectively and peacefully told those who think homosexuality is wrong (or otherwise less-than heterosexuality) that the people don't agree with them. That the country is moving in a different direction. And that if they want to progress with the rest of the nation, they better start readjusting their moral compass.

The Third Place

In college I read this book for a community building course. The Third Place is not your home, or your work but a place where you spend the third most of your time (behind work as the first and home as the second). Maybe it is a bar or a restaurant or a park or a coffee shop. These places are celebrated community gems "where everybody knows your name" and where you feel all warm and fuzzy and downright comfortable going.

For me and Jim, that place is the Jitterbug, a coffee shop just around the corner from our house run by a laid back Bruce who can play a mean guitar and has a heart of gold. When Jim and I first bought our home in  Sugarhouse we asked around about a cool coffee shop and unanimously we were told about the Bug. We were told that a few months earlier, Bruce had suffered a stroke and the entire neighborhood and beyond banded together and ran his shop, regular business hours until he was able to come back full time. For free. We knew we had struck Third Place gold.

While the main attraction for me is Bruce and his iced coffee that gets me so high it should be illegal, it would not be a solid Third Place if it weren't for it's other regular patrons. From my next door neighbor to across the valley, the Jitterbug has some loyal followers. On weekday mornings I know I will run into Art and he and Jim will talk about golf, or Francis who up until recently, would be most often found dozing off on one of Bruce's comfy chairs after his night shift as a baker. On the weekends my neighbor Mark brings his adorable girls and we just make the biggest deal out of "running into" them even though it is more likely we see them there than we don't.

Recently the Jitterbug Tribe has run into some sad luck. Art was diagnosed with lung cancer and is most likely at home for now. Jitterbug regulars have been at his house taking care of him and his wife since the day he got back from the hospital. Rebecca takes him to his appointments and Francis sits with his wife while they are gone. I haven't yet visited Art but I know I have a tough act to follow.

Last Sunday one of the veteran Jitterbug regulars passed away unexpectedly. Warren, "the dog man" was a quirky guy who wrote poetry and drew interesting (creepy?) characters. He sometimes would speak in an accent and would ALWAYS make you laugh. He never went anywhere without "the boys", his dogs Skinny and Twerp. Tonight was his wake at his other Third Place, his nighttime Third Place, a bar called The Spot. I walked in and saw everyone I had ever seen at the Jitterbug. From everyday folks like Francis and Mark to those I had only seen once before. Mo and Jesse were there who I never get to see because they are afternooners while I am a first-thing-in-the-morning customer. Hell, even the famous Colorado Melissa who moved away before Jim and I started going to the Jitterbug flew in from Washington to be there for Warren and Bruce and the Tribe.

To see a group of people who started out having nothing in common other than their favorite coffee shop band together during a time of need is a very special, moving thing.

This is what makes a place a Third Place.

Pregnancy is Liberating

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

If You Don't Know, Now you Know!

While my world didn’t know I was with child, I was busy compiling a list of how much it sucks. Here are the things that no one tells you about pregnancy (first trimester addition):

1. You don’t have a “glow” at first. Your shit breaks out.

2. You’re not “showing” this early. You just have lost the ability to suck in your gut.

3. Your favorite perfume will smell like a garbage disposal.

4. Your gums are hella sensitive! I went to the dentist and thought my jaw was going to crumble out of my mouth the rest of the day.

5. This part goes SOOOOO slow!

6. You don’t feel ANYTHING besides a hangover. Yeah, your boobs swell, and your bloated, and constipated but, you have no other inclination that there is a tiny embryo, and then a fetus in your womb. None.

7. You will have a very serious concern that you are an alcoholic or other substance abuser because you feel very awkward at social functions sober (until the hangover feeling kicks in and then you will dry heave if you even think about hooch).

8. You will “crave” greasy food that isn’t good for you. You’ll go out and buy it. You will eat half of it. Then it becomes the grossest thing on the planet and you’ll throw it away.

9. When your hangover suddenly dissipates for a day (or an hour) you will freak the f*ck out that it didn’t stick.

 

10. When it all goes away and you realize this shitty phase was only a few weeks long...you realize your one lucky pregnant lady!

Swooning Over Love and Summer Rain

I love weddings. Moreover, I love being a part of weddings. Everyone is there to celebrate someone else's love and often ends up reflecting on their own love for others.

I recently got back from one of the most emotional weddings I've ever been a part of. I'm sure the beautiful scenery, the romantic summer rain and the whiskey had something to do with it; but mostly, it had to do with the immense love felt toward and between the bride and groom.

It also had to do with the fact that I have had a very, very emotional year. Losing two parents can really take it out of you. So, standing there, next to two people who have become some of my closest friends in record time; one who has also recently lost a parent, well, it made my heart fill with so much emotion that I cried like a baby well through dinner. So much emotion that I actually felt like blogging again.

My husband had the honor of marrying this fantastic couple and in my opinion, did a bang up job. Jim paid homage to Bob's deceased parents by quoting words they used in love letters to one another years before Bob was even born. I cried so hard that my contact fell out.

The wedding was a beautiful "destination" for not only those who had to travel across the country, but also those of us who only drove 45 miles up from the valley. Adorable accommodations, a breathtaking golf course view, and some intense, warm summer rain.

It poured as we ate burgers and mac 'n cheese at the rehearsal dinner, surrounded by open sliding glass. It poured as we danced the night away and smoked cigars underneath the saturated wedding tent. The thunder and lightening was unusual and intense and the cool water gave everyone a nice break from the triple digit temperatures. It was intoxicating.  

Thank you, Bob and Steph for sharing your special day with us. And thank you for providing me with an emotional outlet I've been needing for a long time now.

As a final, light note:

I measure the success of weddings via the below, and in my opinion, this wedding had high marks all around!

1. Tears. Who cried? Did the bride? Groom? EVERYONE IN THE ENTIRE AUDIENCE?
2. Friendship. Who is friends with who on FaceBook the morning after the wedding?
3. Hooch consumption. This particular wedding broke a record I am pretty sure.
4. Guests' photos. Much like my own wedding, there are little to no photos from the reception taken by any guest. They were too busy taking it in and experiencing it with their own, naked eyes:)

Tying their Figure 8 Knot

Bachelorettes!