You can mourn a loss while celebrating a gift -- Guest post

Okay, so I'm going to talk about something sad. You don't have to read it; I won't feel badly if you don't. But I deserve to be able to talk about it. I don't ever deserve to hear the words "why can't you take the feelings of the rest of us into consideration?" again when I am having a moment of mourning. I do take the feelings of other women - friends, family, acquaintances - into consideration. I invite them to talk and mourn with me. But I will never again sit quietly as I am told I am being selfish for hurting, for being sad, for grieving.

I came across www.donttalkaboutthebaby.com and ‪#‎aboutthebaby‬ a few mornings ago, and it got me thinking.

Late in August of 2014, my then-boyfriend Chris and I found out we were expecting. We were blown away and scared as fuck, and generally running around like chickens with our heads cut off, but we were excited. We were happy.

We spent the next weeks planning, talking about where our future should go. How we had put off a real relationship for 16 years, and how this was the sign we finally needed to move forward with that. How we would become a family with my two other children, and how this was what we had both longed for for such a great period of time. And, most importantly, how foolish we both were for thinking that we would find this happiness in others.

October 7th dawned bloody and crampy and devastating. I went home empty, when I was once a sacred vessel that housed what was supposed to go on to be a life that shared the best of both of us. The devastation was tremendous. I won't talk about how I coped --- or, rather, how I didn't cope. That's a side of myself many of you can guess at but have no confirmation of, and I'm not ready to provide it.

Chris was my rock, but his devastation was tremendous, as well. However, it is his own, and it is not mine to tell you about.

As my body recovered from the loss and my mind and heart cracked further, a sneaking suspicion overtook me. I woke up one morning and could smell the neighbor's breakfast.

Sure enough, there were two lines, there was a digital "pregnant," there was confirmation after confirmation. This was October 30th. Not a full month later. Not a period between the two. This wee bit of life was delivered on the wings of the one that left us far too soon.

Chris and I again mustered our combined faith and considered this a sign that things were truly meant to be. Our family was meant to soldier on through the hard times and the easy ones. We had finally come home to each other.

We weren't out of the woods yet. Another three weeks, another morning woken with blood and pain and heartache. Only, there was still hope. There was still a small miracle in there, fighting the entire time. Our son, born on June 24th, 2015, who we joyously named Felix, had a twin who was not meant to be. But Felix was strong enough to go on for both of them. He hung out through the thick and the thin of the perilous nine months to come.

I miss my angels, I won’t lie. I refer often to only one of them, but I never forget there are two. Someday, maybe I'll see them when this life comes to a close and a new chapter in our universal existence begins. Until then, my little loves, fly high and free for mommy. Fly on the currents of my love, and know that you will always be cherished. And for the other loss mothers out there reading my words, take heart. We will encounter them again either in this life, as they are brought back to us at a time when they are better suited for this world, or again in the next, when none of us are plagued by heartache and pain.

...

Jackie Monck-Homan is a happily married mother of three beautiful children. She blogs at accidentallymommy.blogspot.com

Language of labor

Women get pregnant.

They have contractions.

They're in labor.

They give birth.

In this long, 40-week process, women are in charge of growing and nurturing another being inside of them and the language we have to describe that process is...passive.

Why?

Mothers and mothers-to-be are an incredibly active sect of people. While terms like "laboring" and "birthing" are finally starting to come into the common vernacular, it has taken decades, nay, centuries for society to admit that a woman has an active role in the birth of her child. And women have had to fight for it.

The slow change in the language represents a large achievement in the way women are representing themselves--as autonomous beings. Finally no longer the passive receptor of a man or gestator of his baby.

My husband and I recently had a discussion about this because my children currently say "borned a baby". We simply thought it cute at the time, but the truth is, in the incredibly action-packed, very deliberate, very active "birthing" there is no commonly used active verb. In fact, women are given no verbs at all for the whole process. Let's take them one at a time.

You get pregnant.

This implies that you are receiving something. Sperm perhaps, or the embryo or fetus? But a man impregnates and a woman becomes impregnated. Passive.

When the baby is just about ready to come along, they say you're having contractions.

Now, I suppose you could say you're contracting, which would be just as accurate and more active in tone, but hardly anyone does. Instead, contractions become a condition foisted upon the yet again passive woman. Contractions happen to her, rather than her body contracting.

As those intensify, the phrasing turns to you're in labor. Again, laboring could be used and would be accurate, but it hardly ever is. Instead of a woman actively laboring, she goes into labor. A state of being. Passive. And there is nothing passive about labor.

Finally, you give birth. The emphasis here is on the baby. The woman is finally giving something, but it's the most passive form of action one can muster with the object receiving the attention. And, yes, birthing is used, and perhaps more commonly than contracting or laboring, but the main phrase is still 'giving birth'. Passing something on to something else.

In fact, the only common active verb in pregnancy/birth is delivering. Which at first I thought made this entire blog irrelevant. But then I realized that a doctor does that. A doctor delivers a baby.

Is this a big deal?

Not really.

But words carry intense meaning and the way in which they are used paint a picture of how our culture views its people. And women, particularly pregnant and birthing ones, are active.

My problem with the mommy wars

So, I have a problem with the mommy wars.

Ready?

...

...

They're BORING.

That's it.

I'm just, I mean, can we just not?

Now, I know I'm speaking from a place of privilege here because my girls are now six, and I remember, (oh, boy, do I remember) how super-duper important shit like whether I was classified as a stay at home mom or a work at home mom, or who loved their kids more or the most, or whether or not me calling my kids little jerks when they were meant I didn't love them, or breastfeeding vs. bottle feeding, or cloth diapering vs. disposables, or eating your placenta vs. painting with it or whatever the case, was.

I promise that I remember that this was important. At one time. For some weird reason.

I mean, look back in the archives of this blog to 2010/2011 and, like, half of it at least is made up of posts where I tell everyone that no matter what they do, they're probably still rad parents, and they don't need to worry about how long that dude's (aka the mom who just wrote whatever other blog) dick was. We were all dicks together, kwim?

So, yes, I get it. I get when some ahole publishes this piece on xojane that people are going to be hurt and upset and shout about it. Because she wrote it to be hurtful and upsetting so people would shout about something.

(Cue the whole, not uh! I was just stating my point of view to add to the discussion! I can't control people's reactions to my rightness! I'm just a writer doing what I do!)

Anyway, I'm not annoyed at that piece (well, I mean, I am, because it's hugely exclusionary to those mothers for whom staying at home is not a privilege, and trust me, lady, there are many!).

I'm annoyed that it got picked up by Time and various other outlets. I'm annoyed that then Salon and The Daily Beast and a bunch of others wrote a response.

Back in 2011, it would have annoyed me because people were getting their points of view across in major media outlets and I could not. That's no longer an issue for me (OH, MAN, CATCH THAT HUMBLEBRAG).

These days, I'm annoyed because it's taking up space in my news feeds, and forcing my attention to it when it's literally nothing. It's so incredibly boring, for real.

This is stuff my first-time mothers and I hashed over for hours on our own personal journals and forums and groups. We could spend days on this stuff. There is no drama like mama drama after all. And, there, at least it was in real time, and people could say to me, "oh, you work so hard and are such a good mom, so why are you still on here fighting with me?" and I could go, "NO U" and etc. It was glorious. It was relevant. It was where I knew where to find it.

It was not in Time or Salon or other national outlets. At most, a regular columnist would be empty that week and write a thing. But a freelancer? Hardly ever.

So, yeah. I'm annoyed. If you're going to complain about how being a stay at home mom isn't a job but a privilege in your opinion, for Christ's sake, have the decency to do it in your groups and forums where it belongs.

There's nothing new in that piece. There is no research, no new trend, no numbers. Hell, there aren't even any anecdotes. Just a personal essay. Which is fine. It's great. I love personal essays. But it says absolutely nothing that hasn't been said 1,000 times before and argued over a million times before that.

This isn't a post bemoaning the existence of the mommy wars (there are plenty of those, too. But for all their flappery, really, they're also just contributing to the mommy wars. It's all just an excuse to talk about how other people shouldn't parent. Meta or not.).

This is a post asking that the mommy wars please return to their designated areas. Some of us have more important shit to do in our lives right now. NOT because those mommy wars are not important (believe it or not, they probably saved my sanity when I had two year olds). But because they do more for their audience when in the right space, and, also, they annoy the general population less.

Just saying.

One of the dangers of home birth--being judged by everyone you meet: Contributor Post

As the Big Day approaches, I’m finding that a lot of the things I used to think about childbirth and child-rearing have gone right out the window. For instance: never in a million years would I have imagined I’d be on board with cloth diapering. Not only did it seem like something for the granola and kefir set, I had this image in my head of a baby that looked like a heroin addict from all the safety pin pricks left by a dad with shaky hands. And then we got our first delivery of adorable cloth diapers with little buttons on them and I thought well, that won’t be so bad then.

Same thing with breastfeeding in public. There was a time when I thought it was kind of weird and mildly offensive for a woman to flop out a boob in public. Now I’m actually looking forward to our first “nurse-in.”

But when the subject of home delivery came up, I freaked out a little. OK. I freaked out a lot. My mom delivered my younger sister at home, and the stories that I grew up with (told mainly by my dad) about her being breech with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, and completely blue by the time they finally got her out, went a long way in shaping my opinions about home birth. I should mention that my sister is totally fine, and Mom has since gone on record that it wasn’t as bad as all that, but the thought of having a baby at home still terrified me.

The girl had a certainty about wanting to it at home this time around, though, and when she told me why, I couldn’t really argue. Her first delivery had been a nightmare experience of abuse by medical professionals in a hospital setting, and she didn’t want a repeat of that experience if it could be avoided. So when we started planning to make babies, we met with a midwife who came highly recommended and I got to begin the process of getting over my initial fear and getting comfortable with the idea of home delivery.

Then came the fateful ultrasound, and suddenly things got a little more complicated. Twins are a special case. The medical establishment would prefer that you not deliver multiples at home at all, ever, case closed; the State of California, though, says go for it, so long as one of your midwives is an OB. We were fortunate enough to have selected a midwifery practice with one of the only OB midwives in the state, so we were good to go. We opted to take a dual-care approach: continue to see the doctors in the big buildings with the fancy machinery and the schedules of tests, and also receive in-home care from our midwife doctor.

Now that I’ve had the opportunity to experience the American medical establishment’s approach to treating pregnancy as a disease firsthand, my terror has started to shift; I’m becoming increasingly worried that we might actually end up delivering in a hospital. It’s not that I think the doctors or nurses are incompetent (although a couple of the ultrasound techs have been); it’s that they seem to value competence to the exclusion of compassion.

Don’t get me wrong: If I had to choose between competence and compassion in a life-threatening emergency, of course I’d rather have a competent doctor. But pregnancy isn’t a life-threatening emergency, is it? So why treat it like it is?

Let me be clear: I’m not anti-science. I’m not anti-medicine. I don’t believe choosing home delivery makes us better parents or that folks who go the hospital route are doing something wrong. I understand that the amount of pregnant women seen by your average HMO-based OB practice is overwhelming, and that things like compassion and caring are often sacrificed at the altar of efficiency and standardization.

As a result, though, we seem to be approaching pregnancy from the position of what can go wrong; it doesn’t seem to leave any room for the beautiful, miraculous thing that’s unfolding along the way. The medical viewpoint, as summed up by Martha Reilly, chief of Women's and Children's Services at McKenzie-Willamette Medical Center near Eugene, Ore. is that, “Reproduction is very dysfunctional.” That quote, by the way came from an article in The Daily Beast title Home Birth: Increasingly Popular, But Dangerous (http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/06/25/home-birth-increasingly-popular-but-dangerous.html), one of several articles turned up by a quick Google search for “dangers of homebirth,” which all seem to boil down to the conclusion that hospital births are inherently safer because of the proximity of staff and equipment in the event of an emergency.

I can’t argue with that logic, but considering the fact that fully ⅓ of hospital deliveries in America end up in a C-section, I can’t vouch for the safety of a hospital in the event of a *non*-emergency delivery.

So what can you do? Like any decision in life, you do your research, weigh the options, take the risks into account, make the choice that seems right to you. In our case, the choice that seems right is to aim for a home delivery, have a solid backup plan if things get hinky, and let go of any attachment to certainty.

Oh, and be prepared for every armchair expert you meet to offer an opinion (and their judgement) on the subject, cuz that’s gonna happen no matter what you decide. Fuck ‘em.

Dear Other Parents, Can We Stop with the Horror Stories? -- Contributor post

Hey there, parenting pros. It’s me, the new guy. You know, the one with the twins coming in a couple of months. The one who looks nervous all the time. Yeah...that guy. I want to say I really appreciate how wonderfully pleasant and accepting you’ve been. When we meet, you make me feel like I’m one of you. No side-eye or making me feel like I’m not up to the task; just love and empathy. It’s super sweet.

That said, I do have one small favor to ask. If it’s not too much trouble, could you please dial the Tales of My Nightmare Children From Hell down a notch or two? I mean, I really appreciate your honesty and openness, I do. I know you’re just trying to help, to prepare me for the harsh reality of sleepless nights and being constantly covered in shit and puke. You want me to know that it’s not all sunshine and roses. I appreciate the reality check, but it sometimes feels like you’re taking a kind of sick delight in scaring the rookie. If that’s the case, let me assure you that it’s working.

You parents of twins, especially, with your tales of the conniving, collaboration, and conspiracy that your tiny terrors engage in on a daily basis. That, or fighting. I’m left to believe that when they’re not trying to kill each other, they’ll be plotting together to kill me and their mother. And that I’ll be getting half the sleep and covered in twice as much shit and puke as those slacker parents of singles. It’s as if you want me to start losing sleep now, just so I’m used to it when they get here. Mission accomplished, folks...congratulations?

While we’re on the subject, if you could also please stop telling The Cricket about everything that went wrong with your (or your sister’s/cousin’s/co-worker’s/best friend’s) pregnancy, that’d be awesome. It’s bad enough that the doctors treat her pregnancy like a potentially life-threatening disease; your armchair diagnoses of gestational diabetes and predictions of pre-term labor are less than helpful.

Look, I get it. I know that these horror stories are an attempt (albeit an awkward one) to bond, to share the camaraderie of the battlefield. All I’m asking is that you tone it down a little. We’ve been pretty much terrified from Day 1; when the doctor told us it was twins, one of us rocked back and forth repeating “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” and the other burst into tears. I’m not going to tell you which was which; all I’m saying is that we’ve got the “scared shitless” part down pat. So maybe we can bond over something else?

Here’s an idea: you know how you always conclude your stories by reassuring me that “there’s nothing quite like it” and that you “wouldn’t trade it for the world?” I don’t know whether you’re serious or just trying to make me feel better, but I find myself wanting to hear more about that part of it. That little ray of hope means the world to me. It makes me think that I might survive this after all. Could have a little more of that, please? I’d love to bond with you over that shit instead of, well, actual shit.

Tell me how much you love your kids. Tell me how amazing and smart they are. Tell me about the clever thing they did last weekend that was so far ahead of their age. Tell me about first steps and first words and first discoveries of the world around them. Tell me about encounters with nature and days at the park and trips to the zoo.

I promise I won’t roll my eyes or accuse you of bragging. I’m one of you now, remember? And as for the shitty bits? I’ve got plenty of opportunities in the very near future to find out about all of those firsthand, and that’ll be soon enough for me. In the meantime, fill my head full of the wonder and amazement of watching a tiny human grow, if only because it helps me sleep better at night and, frankly, I have a sneaking suspicion that I need to bank a few extra hours before they get here.

...

Jerry Kennedy is (in no particular order) a husband, stepdad, writer, actor, director, singer, and web dude living in The Greatest City In the World, Sacramento, CA. His hobbies include reading, skateboarding, falling off his skateboard, drinking, karaoke (especially after drinking), and making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape. You'll find his irregular ramblings about life, the universe, and everything at http://jerrykennedy.com

Don’t stop progressing: Keeping in touch with your career during an extended leave -- Guest Post

I’m currently on my second year-long maternity leave, but even though most of the time I’m home changing diapers and washing barf out of things, I feel I’m more focused on my career than ever. 

Keeping up career momentum throughout a parental leave or other extended leave can be tough, but it’s worth the extra effort if you want to keep moving forward in your career. In many countries, maternity and parental leaves can be up to a year of time away from work, and in the US, where maternity leave is not specifically provided, parents of young children often take some time away from the workforce.  Regardless of whether you are returning to an existing position or taking some time out while your children are small, keeping a few tips in mind can help you keep your career life warm for when you are ready to return to it.

1.       Keep networking.  For parents with small children at home, going out to professional development events, conferences, and other networking opportunities can be difficult.  However, this doesn’t mean you have to slow down your networking, if you have internet access at home.  Use LinkedIn, professional association websites, Facebook, and email to connect with others who have similar work interests.  Discuss issues that are common to your field, swap book recommendations, or just talk about ideas.  This can help you keep your finger on the pulse of your field, and when the time comes for you to return, your knowledge will be much more up to date.  I have found it useful to schedule lunches with colleagues- we choose a restaurant where I can bring the baby, and he rocks out in his car seat while I chat with my colleague about how things are going at work.  It’s a great way to stay connected.

2.       Keep learning.  There’s tons of professional development that you can work on while you’re home with a little one.  I regularly attend webinars, read and review books, and work on online courses.  You might find great resources in podcasts (which you can listen to in the car or on transit) email lists, or online conferences.  In technology fields, this is particularly important- keeping abreast of current technology makes it much easier to return to work. Professional development can take a bit of a monetary investment, but consider it an investment that will return to you and then some by increasing your future earning power.

3.       Keep that resume or portfolio up to date!  You never know when opportunities are going to come your way.  Even if you’re not ready to return to work, you may want to use your skills through volunteer positions, or take on a part time position- and it’s so much easier to jump on those opportunities when your resume is ready to go.  As well, keep your Linkedin profile updated- recruiters are increasingly using the service to find talent, and they may be looking for someone like you! Likewise, keep in touch with some potential references, you never know when you’ll need them.

4.       Keep sharing your knowledge.  In many fields, there are publications, conferences, and symposiums where experts can share knowledge they have gained through their work.  Even if you’re not working currently, you likely still have some specialty knowledge to share- and a leave can be a great time to give a conference talk or write an article, since you won’t have full time work as well as kids and day-to-day tasks competing for your attention.  Likewise, volunteer work can be a great way to give back and keep sharing your skills.  Look into volunteer positions with local organizations. You can build your networks this way as well!

With some added effort, keeping your career aspirations alive while you’re away from work can make your return much smoother.  No matter how long you’re away, you will have relevant skills and knowledge to share, and it will be much easier to communicate your value to your employer and avoid losing out on potential earning power!

When she’s not making play-doh spaceships with her two young sons, Jenny Hill, CPLP creates engaging, accessible, and effective learning experiences, so learners can reach their potential and do their most meaningful work.  You can contact her on LinkedIn at https://www.linkedin.com/in/jenniferreneehill.

When did I become a daddy blogger? -- Contributor post

You could say that a lot has changed in my life over the past five years; if you did, I would counter by saying that you have a real knack for understatement. When I divorced, I was certain that I was never going to get into a serious relationship, let alone ever get married again. And kids? If you could have heard me talk about the prospect of having kids, you’d have realized that I just wasn’t cut out for fatherhood.

And yet, here I am, engaged to be married to the first girl I had a serious relationship with, and staring down the barrel of fatherhood. Times two. Twins. And instead of freaking out about it, I’m absolutely loving it. People have been telling me for years that as soon as you find out you’re going to be a parent, everything changes. I thought it was just a cliche, maybe a collective delusion. Well if so, I’ve joined the collective and I’m just as pleased as punch about it.

One thing I never expected to be, though, is a daddy blogger. Or is it Daddy Blogger? Either way, I wouldn’t have thought that I’d be one of them; suddenly, though, my future kids are all I can think about. I can’t stop myself from wondering what it’s going to be like to see their tiny smiles and hold their tiny hands and see their first steps and hear their first words. It’s sappy, I know, but there it is.

It even led me to start a comic strip of sorts, all about the babies. I’m not kidding. I was driving around one day and I imagined a conversation between the twins in utero; when I got to my office, I superimposed the conversation on ultrasound images of the babies and posted it on Facebook. And then I did it again. And again. Thus was born Teh Bebes. Here’s the first one (you can find the rest at https://www.facebook.com/tehbebes):




I know this single-minded obsession with the babies is Nature’s way of getting a self-centered human male to sit up and pay attention to an important shift in the winds of his fate. I tend not to be the most observant person in any given room, so I appreciate the evolutionary assist...but does it have to be all-consuming? I can’t seem to have a conversation anymore without slipping in a mention of my status as a father-to-be. I know it’s obnoxious, but I can’t help myself.

I worry that it’s only going to get worse from here on. I worry that I’m going to start writing articles where I discuss the benefits of cloth diapers and attachment parenting and how to make your own baby food from organic vegetables. I worry that I’m going to be the person at the party that everyone avoids unless they have a question about the best method for getting baby vomit off a silk tie. I worry that my corny jokes and odd sense of humor are only going to get more corny and odd.

Mostly, though, I worry that my newfound interest in all things baby is going to make me a less interesting person in general. I’m hoping that at least my kids will think I’m interesting. In the meantime, this is me: embracing fatherhood in my early forties, embarking on a new journey, and giving in to the compulsion to document and share it every step of the way.


...

Jerry Kennedy is (in no particular order) a fiance, stepdad, writer, actor, director, singer, and web dude living in The Greatest City In the World, Sacramento, CA. His hobbies include reading, skateboarding, falling off his skateboard, drinking, karaoke (especially after drinking), and making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape. You'll find his irregular ramblings about life, the universe, and everything at http://jerrykennedy.com

Grad students studying motherhood

In my graduate program, there is a woman studying mothering and the communication and media messages around it.

She's very interested in the portrayed roles of mothers versus fathers, who gets to keep more of their own identity in the media, if roles given by viewers create more or less sympathy for either the mother or the father.

Sounds interesting enough. Certainly she'll be studying a lot of the articles I've shared myself on social media, as she analyzes the content, puts little ones and zeros into excel spreadsheets and runs statistical analyses to flesh out answers to her research questions.

The paper she didn't present to the class was entitled:

"Don't be a boob: Bottles have nipples too"

She said the research looked at anti-breastfeeding campaigns.

First off, I'd need to see a really specific definition of terms for anti-breastfeeding. Are we talking formula adverts or simply mothers advocating formula use in forums meant for support? Are we talking hospitals giving out free samples of formula or nurses pushing formula on new frazzled mothers?

Secondly, the debate is full of emotion, high-strung and deeply-felt ideology, self-image and self-deprecation, and post-partum hormones. Are you sure you want to go around calling these women boobs? Especially if you haven't been there?

I guess, mostly, I was just disappointed to see that the academics doing studies on things like "portrayals of breast and formula feeding in the media" are no different from the commenters on op-eds about the same issue, who read the whole article then type in CAPSRAGE: I WASTED TEN MINUTES OF MY LIFE READING THIS. THIS IS A NON-ISSUE. WHY DO MOTHERS MAKE SUCH A BIG DEAL OUT OF IT.

Like, I really hate to be all, 'don't talk about what you don't know about,' but if you lack the empathy to gauge the situation appropriately or even see all the key elements of what you should be studying...if you lack the ability to make the connections between media and science in a way that does not entirely drown out the very real struggles of very real people in the process...just, maybe go study something else, I guess?

When your lack of understanding of the issue at hand is so blatant and that's the issue you want to study as a PhD? And these are the papers that get published? These are the studies handed down in layman speak to breast and formula feeding moms everywhere, yearning for validation as their hormones swing them to Timbuktu and back?

No.

Everyone in the classroom laughed uproariously at her jokey title, and they spent a few minutes going back and forth about how ridiculous all the women's feelings were about this and how everyone should probably just calm down about it.

Honestly, I'm probably just curmudgeonly, but I really don't think the phrase 'don't be a boob' is all that funny to begin with--when that was added to the obvious lack of any type of understanding for a mom attempting to nurse, I just checked out and let the side-eye take over.

And this wasn't even the paper this particular woman presented.

No.

The one she presented was on mothers and fathers leaving their children in the back seat. She's trying to tie it to gender violence and is very interested in the roles society foists on mothers and fathers vs. their self-identities.  The first one is ... absolutely ridiculous, and the second one is ground broken so long ago I think my grandma was the academic working on it.

There's no point to this entry.

I'm just really suspicious now of studies coming out about parenthood. Apparently, very sound statistical studies can be run with no intuitive understanding of the topic being studied. And on the outside, that sounds fine. Because wouldn't being totally outside the topic being studied be ideal for objectivity? But in reality, if you are so removed from what you are talking about that basically 'you don't even go here', there are going to be very important correlations that you miss because you don't know to look for them. And there are going to be very tenuous connections you make too big a deal out of because you don't know they're actually not a big deal.

And a study can be presented any way the researcher wants. People say the numbers don't lie, but they can be emphasized or twisted any which way to make any point. May as well make legitimate points based in knowledge, right?







 

How to best prepare your babysitter -- Guest post

a baby sitter's dream come true - extra pacis in the utensil drawer!

So, the time has come. It's either your first time leaving your baby with a baby sitter or perhaps it is the first time with a new baby sitter. All of the families I have sat for over the course of my life have either been neighbors, people I worked with at the daycare center where I was a teen, or friends/coworkers of my parents. In that case, you and your child(ren) might be familiar with this person already. Even so, I highly recommend having a "get to know you" night BEFORE the night you're going out. Have your sitter come over, play some games, read some books, watch the bedtime routine, etc. 

Here are a few different categories and scenarios that should be talked about/made known between parent and sitter.

1) How to prepare their bottle. Whether you formula feed or breastfeed, show your sitter how you make the bottles. If you breastfeed, feel comfortable enough to leave frozen milk with the instructions to just hold the baggie of milk under hot water until it begins to thaw and warm up. I've found this is helpful for moms who feed directly from the source and only pump occasionally to have backup for when they do want to go out. The first baby I ever watched who was breastfed was like this - she rarely took bottles so mom rarely pumped. Since breast milk lasts upwards of six months in the freezer, it was easier for her to pump whenever she had time and freeze it rather than worry about having to pump that day. 

If you formula feed, either prepare a few bottles ahead of time to be left in the fridge or show your sitter how to make the formula. With my niece, they used room temperature nursery water mixed with formula so her bottles were made at every feeding as they didn't need to be warmed up. It's also a good idea for your sitter to know formula making instructions on the off chance they need to make a bottle or two should the need arise. 

2) Know what solids to feed. Under six months, babies usually aren't on any kind of solid schedule that a baby sitter would need to know, but if your child is on solids and will need them, jot down a quick set of instructions for your sitter to refer to when the time comes to heat it up!

3) Lovies. These. Are. Huge. If your child has a special blanket or animal-blanket head, make sure your sitter knows how important this is. Lovies will come in handy when baby is over tired or ready for bed or just wants a cuddle. If your baby uses a pacifier, do your best to make sure there are a couple of spare ones lying around. Trust me, I KNOW how hard this is. Especially when you get babies who like to participate in the Pacifier Throwing Olympics. As long as there is one spare paci that your sitter can lay their hand on in a moment of need, you're good. 

4) Bedtime routine. This one is important for a couple of reasons - sometimes, babies (and toddlers) don't want the same routine their parents use from someone who isn't mommy or daddy. I've run into this a few times. Any attempt to put them down the way mom or dad does results in fussing, back arching, arm waving annoyance. In my experience, the parents I sit for have always been lenient about this. With one little one, who didn't have a sitter until she was 7 months old, I used to have to lay on her parents' bed with her and snuggle her up close to me with her pacifier like she was side-lying to nurse (which is what she did with mama in the middle of the night). Her face had to be smushed into my arm or my chest while she sucked on her pacifier while I rocked her back and forth sideways on the bed. If I didn't do it this way, bedtime was a nightmare. Said child is now 3 and as long as I tuck her in tightly and give her lots of face kisses, she'll happily go down. Heck, she even ASKS for bed when she's tired now! However, at seven and eight months old, while dad could happily plop her in her crib with her favorite blanket and pacifier, she never accepted that from me. And I was okay with that, as was mom. 

If you are a proponent of any type of crying it out, understand that this might be unsettling for your sitter. It's not that your sitter doesn't trust you or is questioning your parenting abilities. Trust me. I'm all for parenting the best or most effective way for your child. After all, you know them best. But sometimes, depending on the cry, I physically get anxious listening to a child cry. It's like I'm not sure if this is how they sound for mom and dad and I'm worried that they're crying a different cry and I worry that I'm doing it wrong. In cases like these (and depending on how well I know the parents/how comfortable I am with knowing their boundaries) I'll either sit in the room and rock the crib or I'll sit next to their bed and sing quiet lullabies. I do my best to never take them out of their bed once they are in it if that's not what mom and dad do, but I also know that they might be feeling anxious because mom and dad didn't put them down and I want them to know that everything is okay and they are okay. If your child is older and this is an issue of terrible twos or threes and it's become something of a power struggle, make sure to let your sitter know. For me, personally, when I know this is a boundaries pushing issue on the part of the child, I'm more at ease with listening to them voice their displeasure. Sometimes, depending on their language skill, you hear some pretty hilarious things come out of their mouths!

5) Boundaries within the house. A friend pointed out, when I asked for ideas for this post, that her bedroom is off limits even to her own kids. This is important to know. As referenced back in the bedtime category, a lot of bedtime routines often take place on mom or dad's bed. Whether it's story reading or rocking a baby to sleep, sometimes mom and dad's room offers an extra level of comfort when they're not there. Same with animals. If you have animals that don't like random people in the house and are more comfortable being kept in a room by themselves, make sure to alert your sitter to the fact that the cats are in the bedroom and prefer to stay in there. Also, don't be afraid to add a pet task on to your sitter's list of tasks for an evening! If an animal needs to be fed or watered or let out, your sitter should have no issue with this. Especially if the kids can help and it turns into an activity that kills a few minutes in those "will it ever be time for bed?" moments when kids start to get overtired and cranky. Most parents give their sitters free reign of the kitchen and pantry. However, if there is something you have that is needed for the next night's dinner or lunch the next day, just stick a post it note on it or tell the sitter what it's for. This also helps when little fingers know what's in the green bowl in the fridge and try to get inside of it!

6) Electronics. This one can be tricky, at times. Especially if a child has misbehaved during the week and has lost privileges. If that happens (and you think your child might try and get the sitter to let him or her use the device), it's best to put it away before the sitter arrives. Even if it's something that the sitter might use after the children go to bed (like the Wii or the television remote controls), if it's put away before the sitter arrives, they can play dumb when asked to use said device. Often times, I've had parents text me to let me know where they've hidden things after they've left so the kids don't know that I know where it is. This way, it ends the tantrums of "Please please please? We don't have to tell mommy!". And yes, this has happened more times than I can count. In fact, I remember trying it with my own sitters! Being able to say "Mom put it away before I got here! I don't know where it is!" is a really easy way to diffuse the situation. 

If you have a limit on screen time for your children, make sure your sitter knows. Sometimes, allowances can be made on a Saturday night. During the holidays, I've often brought movies with me (like Charlie Brown, for example) for the kids and I to watch. I also usually bring popcorn and we snuggle on the couch and eat popcorn and watch the movie. But I always check with mom or dad first before I arrive with a treat. 

As an example of a treat, (and I realize that this only applies to sitters who have been with your family for years and love your kids like part of the family), two Christmases ago, I went to Target and got P and C (who were 5 and 3) each a set of Santa forks and spoons, a Christmas themed bowl, and a Christmas cup from the bargain bin. Then I got a blank card and wrote to them as their Elf on the Shelf. I had talked to their mom earlier in the week who had said that they'd been having great behaviors lately so when I arrived with the presents, I told the kids that I had woken up that morning and their Elf had left them presents at my house. Later, while I was changing the baby for bed, I hear P whispering to the Elf, thanking him for her presents and telling him how much she loved him. 

7) Illness & Medication. If your child is sick and needs antibiotics or pain relievers, write down the dosage on a piece of scrap paper for quick review. Also make sure your sitter knows the best way to get your child to take their medicine. From droppers, to spoons, to medicine pacis, to syringes ... each child has their own preference and it'll help your sitter out a lot to know each child's preference. While I never give medicine without permission, either before mom and dad leave or after they leave through text or call, it's good to know where things are in case the need arises. That way, when you're out, you don't have to try and remember where you left the Tylenol the last time somebody needed it. 

Also make sure that your sitter knows where your thermometer is and how to use it. Some, like the ear ones, can be tricky. Chances are your sitter won't need it, but it's a good thing to know and have on hand just in case, especially in the winter months. If you have a child who is teething, give your sitter instructions for medication if you medicate for teething pain. For example if the child is just fussy, a popsicle or a teething toy will more than likely suffice. However, if you have a child who teethes badly and ends up in hysterical tears, chewing on their fists or anything else they can get into their mouth, let your sitter know what parameters you follow for giving Tylenol or Advil. In most cases, I'll text mom and say "T's been crying for the last ten minutes and the teething ring isn't working and she won't take the popsicle. I'm going to give her the Advil." This way, mom is up to speed and she can check back with you in twenty or thirty minutes to make sure the meds have worked and your child is comfortable again. 

8) Communication. With the advent of cell phones, it's easier to keep in contact with your sitter. A quick text message and all is well. As a sitter, I try and remember to text mom or dad and let them know that I'm getting ready to put the kids to bed and my cell phone is downstairs on vibrate so if I don't reply right away, don't worry. Sometimes, though, if bedtime is hectic, I forget to text. If you text your sitter and don't hear back in about ten minutes, double check the time. If you know it's bedtime, you won't worry that you haven't heard back. 

The other thing is phone calls from the kids. For some kids, a quick "good night, mommy, I love you!" is enough for them to go to bed without issue. For others, sometimes a phone call does more harm than good. If you have found that it does more harm than good, make sure to let your sitter know. That way, when a child asks to call, the sitter can pretend to call and then tell the child that mommy or daddy couldn't hear their phone and that you can try calling again in a little bit. Nine times out of ten, they're asleep before they remember we never tried calling again. 

As a sitter who loves the children she sits for, know that I will do everything I can to make sure everyone is healthy and happy. Even if that means walking back and forth across the living room with a fussy four month old for an hour or more (been there, done that. Nick Carter helped me out of that jam!) or laying down in a teeny tiny toddler bed to rub a head or a back until they're calm enough for sleep ... if it's something they need to feel comfortable, and it's within reason, I'll do it for them. I've given nebulizer treatments, rocked sick babies for hours, patted backs and given sips of water, held hair while they've thrown up and cleaned up any sicked up mess ... I'm not mom, but I do everything I can the way I know mom would do it because I want them to enjoy their time with me. I want mom and dad to be able to go out and do things without worrying that the kids are freaking out or have tied the babysitter up. 

Oh. One last bit of advice. This is more for the sitter than the parents - no matter how hard they beg, DO NOT AGREE TO PLAY HIDE AND SEEK! They know their house better than you and their little brains will think of spaces you wouldn't even begin to imagine hiding in. Hide and Seek is a surefire way to give yourself a heart attack when 20 minutes have elapsed and you still can't find the three year old and the five year old is laughing her butt off because she knows where he is, but she's not telling you because it's funnier to watch you scramble around trying to find her brother. Not to mention, nobody wants to break out the butter or Crisco to get little heads and hands and feet out of places they really don't fit.

...

Bridget Frazier is a twenty-something young woman who, over the years, has come to realize that hopes and dreams don't always coincide with reality. Take a journey through what it means to accept what life has given you, to be happy with the blessing bestowed, all while mourning the loss of dreams once passed. Find her at A Sainted Sinner.

Moving on from National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day -- Guest Post

One week ago, I logged into Facebook to check on my friends for the day.  After spending only five seconds on the page, I logged out with the realization that I would be unable to cope with myself if I stayed online.  While that sounds a bit over the top, I had forgotten that it was a day of observance, and status messages and articles about the day took me by surprise.    It was either get off the computer, or begin flogging myself over events that were beyond my control. 

In the United States, October 15^th marks ‘National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day,’ and it’s the one-day that everyone is cordially required to come forward, and share their stories and feelings about it.  Last week, however, I had no interest in remembering, sharing, or even commiserating with anyone.   I have survived multiple miscarriages, an ectopic pregnancy, and a complicated pregnancy that resulted in a traumatic emergency cesarean section procedure- one that could have been prevented if my doctor hadn’t jumped the gun.   The whole ordeal of pregnancy and loss hits where it counts already.  I don’t want a designated day of observance to remind me of every detail yet again.

Don’t get me wrong.   Loss is a very serious issue that affects over 10% of women trying to conceive, or carry a pregnancy to term.  Miscarriage is more common than you think.  More, despite advances in medicine, thousands of babies die unexpectedly in the first year.  As for healthy babies, we are in the middle of a spectacular boom, and there’s no sign of it slowing any time soon.  So a day like October 15^th should be a call for solidarity to those celebrating life, those mourning a loss, and those undergoing fertility treatments. 

But what happens on October 16^th?  Or January 1^st?  Or on the day your best friend gives birth to a healthy baby?  When your cousin’s son dies from SIDS? Or the fourth time you miscarry? If it’s not on October 15^th, or not during Infertility Awareness Week, which occurs in April, no one wants to discuss any of it. 

When I came to the conclusion that I would no longer try for another child a few months ago, I was saddened by the decision at first.  I felt angry at my infertility.  Then I realized that I was okay with that decision, and my heart felt lighter.   I was no longer angry when people announced pregnancies, but genuinely happy for them.   When I met my sister’s newborn last month, I was relaxed, because the baton had been passed to someone else.   I was happy about joining the “No more kids” club, and I began to remember that I am more than a parent, more than a statistic, and much more than what I represented to the medical establishment.   I felt empowered and ready to move on with life.

Yet when October 15^th arrived, I suddenly became reminded of the complete loser I was for suffering those many miscarriages.  Worse, I felt like a jerk for not wanting to feel like a loser anymore. I felt like a bad person for wanting to focus on parenting the child I have, rather than grieve the loss of the children I didn’t have.   Then it hit me.  What was supposed to be a day of solidarity and awareness had become a spectacle.  It was as if the world had decided to single us out to point out our shortcomings, our imperfections, our losses, and we were on parade.  Like it or not, it’s ‘Happy Look At Your Faults’ Day!  Step right up, and give us a show!

I get the idea that women everywhere should bond.  However, limiting that show of solidarity to one day, week or month can do more harm than good overall.   While the rest of the world moves on to observe other “National Days” without so much as a blink, the rest of us have to pick up the pieces and start the healing process again. 

My little epiphany from months earlier?  It’s actually somewhat in tact, but only because I decided that self-preservation was better than reopening old wounds.   Logging off and shutting my computer down was the best way for coping that day.   Because of that decision, things hurt a whole lot less on the 16^th, 17^th, and 18^th. 

Perhaps instead of remaining tacit about pregnancy, and infant loss, save for one day, we should consider moving beyond reserving that token day of observance in favor of just talking about it whenever we need to.   For those of us who have lost, let us commiserate when we’re sad, and let’s applaud when we move forward toward acceptance.  For those who celebrate their pregnancy?   Celebrate it daily!  Why not?  

Let’s talk about these things on October 16^th, January 1^st, whenever!   Let us be happy for those who have healed from their loss, and let us offer support to those who haven’t.  Let’s do it any day, any time.  Not just when we’re obliged to on October 15^th.

...

Jill Redding blogs at Pianissamma.

10 things sexier than breastfeeding

Oh Facebook. You again.

The other day, my friend at Fine and Fair wrote a great post on feminism and breastfeeding.

She used this picture:

 

Courtesy of Fine and Fair

Facebook denied her the oh-so-sweet privilege of paying a few dollars to "boost" the post (which, if you haven't noticed, they've changed their algorithms again so that if you do not "boost" your page's post, basically five people see it. Hello, ello).

ANYWAY, to commemorate this monumental occasion, here are 10 parenting occasions sexier than breastfeeding:

10) That time your toddler slipped you the tongue when you gave her a goodnight kiss and thought it was HILARIOUS. Okay, not all that sexy, but probably more french kissing than you usually get.

parent24.com

9) These slick drawings.

Reddit

Reddit

8) Laundry.

pgeveryday.com

I mean, if you really want to get dirty.


7) Movie night.

villians.wikia.com

Don't tempt us, Yzma.


6) These pajamas

polyvore.com

Because if you are wearing them, the kids are most likely in bed, which increases chances of
actual sex by, like, 23 percent.

5) Wine

goodhousekeeping.com

Literally the sexiest thing on the planet after a long day of rearing the next generation.


4) Grocery shopping

Where you buy the wine, duh.


3) Coffee.

It's sexy even though it never looks anything like the pictures.

2) The babysitter

This means a night out. Which increases chances of actual sex by 54 percent.

1) Grandparents

Because if you're really lucky, they might take the kids for the  whole  night. Which places chances of sex squarely at 82-87 percent.

...

So, in conclusion, Facebook should ban photos of grandparents. Because nothing turns people on like the possibility of eight or more hours to themselves.

   

You don't have to breastfeed to be AP -- Guest Post

Coincidental to this essay going up on the Washington Post today about formula feeding shaming, Joella over at Fine and Fair gave me a post affirming that formula feeders can, in fact, be attached parents. Thanks, Joella!

...


It's been a little over a year since I last attempted to do my part in helping to tear down the walls of exclusivity perceived to exist around the "Attachment Parent" (AP) label. My continued participation in a number of parenting related spaces has demonstrated that those perceptions, especially those surrounding breast feeding and AP, are entrenched in the parenting circles and related "Mommy Wars."

I see parents lamenting that they wish they could practice Attachment Parenting, but that they can't/don't/won't breast feed, and therefor, cannot call themselves "Attached" Parents.

Wrong! So wrong. So very wrong.

Before I proceed, here's some full disclosure. I breast feed. I breast fed my daughter well past her second birthday, and there is no end in sight to my nursing relationship with my 18 month old son. I, personally, have never given my children bottles (though my husband and other caregivers did). I try to help normalize breast feeding by talking about it, by confidently feeding my baby (now toddler) in public, and by offering my support and advice (when invited to do so) to friends who wish to breast feed. This is not coming from some sort of jaded formula feeder, if that's a thing. This is coming from a breastfeeding advocate, a, dare I say it? Lactivist.

There is really no room in this piece for the breast vs. formula debate. I'm not here to discuss the benefits or drawbacks of either. I'm not here to tout breast milk as superior. I'm certainly not here to shame anyone for not breast feeding, whether by choice or by circumstances. There are many reasons that people don't, can't, or choose not to breast feed. There are many reasons that babies receive their vital nutrition in a bottle, whether that's the mother's pumped milk, donor milk, commercial formula, or a homemade concoction that meets an infant's nutritional needs. This is not a place to list, or justify, or debate the legitimacy of, those reasons.

The bottom line is that one does not need to feed their babies with their breasts in order to practice attachment parenting. (See: attached fathers, attached adoptive parents, attached grandparents, attached nannies.)

I reviewed Attachment Parenting Internationals 8 Principles of Attachment Parenting in last year's "More AP than you Think".

The principle related to feeding states simply:

Feed with Love and Respect

There are, without question, ways to feed a baby with love and respect in the absence of a breast doing the job. Many aspects of on-demand exclusive breast-feeding are easily adapted to bottle-feeding, as follows:

1. Skin-to-Skin Contact

Skin-to-skin contact, especially with parents (yes, Dad too) has many proven benefits. Skin-to-skin contact can be had in many ways, (babywearing is an easy one), but breast feeding is largely associated with this integral piece of attached parenting. To achieve this while bottle feeding, the baby can be stripped down to a diaper, the feeder can remove, open, or lift their shirt during feeding, and bam! Skin-to-skin, sans breast. I'm not suggesting you do this in public (after all, my breast-fed babies did not get full skin-to-skin benefits when in public, either!) but if you can settle in at home for a nice skin-to-skin bottle feed, it will benefit both of you!

2. Following Baby's Cues

Learn your baby's hunger cues and feed according to them, rather than according to a schedule. (Obvious exceptions for babies who need to be fed on a schedule for medical reasons. Defer to your healthcare provider, not some random lady on the internet, in such cases.) Early hunger cues in newborns include licking or smacking their lips, opening and closing their mouth, and sucking on lips, tongue, clothing, fingers, toys, etc. Progressive hunger cues including fussing, attempting to maneuver into feeding position, and rooting around on the chest (or face, arm, ear, etc.) of the person holding them. Late hunger cues include quickly moving their head from side to side and crying.

3. Feeding on demand

This follows naturally with learning hunger cues. Feed babies when they are hungry, and stop when they are full. Don't try to force the baby to finish a bottle when he or she has lost interest; feed again the next time hunger cues are displayed. If you're concerned about wasting formula/pumped or donor milk/etc., offer smaller amounts to start with and then offer more if baby is still hungry.

4. Natural Feeding Position

When feeding by bottle, always hold both the baby and the bottle. Snuggle the baby close to your chest and hold the bottle against your breast (or where your breast would be if you don't have them). Switch positions from one side to the other to allow baby a different vantage point and mimic breast feeding.  "Bottle propping," in addition to posing a choking hazard, doesn't allow for our next and final aspect, bonding.

5. Bonding

During a feeding, make eye contact with the baby. Speak in soft and gentle tones, sing a soothing tune, or just quietly take each other in. Smile and vary your facial expressions. Stroke baby's cheek with your free hand; bend down to kiss baby's forehead. Even pacifier use can mimic comfort nursing by holding the baby when the pacifier is used, so baby associates their suckling reflex with being held, loved, and comforted by their caregiver.

Bottle feeding, without question, has a place in Attachment Parenting. These tips can be shared with grandparents, babysitters, older siblings, nannies, and anyone else who may be responsible for feeding your baby by bottle. Whether bottles are used exclusively or only when the mother is unavailable, following these suggestions can ensure that feeding times contribute to the development of a strong, secure, healthy attachment between baby and caregiver.

 

Bonding with Newborns Across the Ocean -- Guest Post

Today, Rhyannon Morrigan from Welcoming a Heartbeat talks about bonding with your baby. Many of us want that first touch, hug, carry to magical. But what if your children are not being born near you? What do you do?


...


I can’t tell you how many pages were in the birth plan for my first child. To give you an idea, it had a table of contents and subheadings.

A huge percentage of the things in that plan were related to my fears about bonding. While I knew logically that the hospital wasn’t TRYING to sabotage the critical bond with my newborn, I was convinced that medical professionals were completely oblivious to the utterly catastrophic implications of interfering with me “naturally” bonding to my newborn. I was positive that if my son did not get an intervention free birth, skin to skin contact and exclusive breastfeeding that our ability to bond would be irrevocably damaged.

While I knew that being a parent would be a huge adjustment for my husband and myself, I confidently explained to people that by insuring that there were no impediments to bonding we’d make the transition to parenting and being a family with relative ease.

When post partum depression crashed into me with the force of a mach truck, I found myself worrying constantly about whether or not Z and I were bonded “enough” or if perhaps merely being in the hospital had interfered with the hormones necessary for the kind of blissful mothering I’d spent nine months reading about. This fear was a large factor in my subsequent decision to have a home birth. Unfortunately, home birth didn't protect me from postpartum depression, something that made me feel even more like a failure. What if there was something fundamentally wrong with me that made it impossible to feel the immediate rush of euphoria all my mommy friends assured me was guaranteed if you did things right.

The idea that instantaneous bond as the foundation of a healthy relationship with my children pervaded my understanding of parenting for almost twenty years. During that time, as my children grew, and my experience with them unfolded, I began to question those assumptions.

For something deemed so critical to human development, there isn’t an objective way to measure bonding. We know that children who have experienced extremes of neglect and abuse showed characteristic psychosocial problems- but extrapolating from those severe traumatic situations doesn't make a lot of sense to me. We don’t have a scale which says “You’ve are now bonded xyz. Way to go! You’ve unlocked the gold bonding achievement!"

The best part about spacing your kids out over a period of almost thirty years is that you get to see how parenting fads come and go. The more years that I had under my belt, the more I began to question my own thinking about mothering. I watched one friend bond with her adopted daughter… a child she didn’t meet until she was seven years old. I watched my own children and those of my friends and family grow from infants to children to teenagers and noticed that in the same way that you couldn’t tell who in the kindergarten class potty trained first, you also couldn't tell who had skin to skin contact with their moms in the first five minutes of life and who met their mom the next day.

One of my dearest friends did not meet her children until they were ten days old. She did not hold them until they were almost two weeks old…Her love for her children is no better or worse than the love I have for my children, two of whom were born at home and held against me until well after their umbilical cords stopped pulsing and were cut.

Theo and Cally are an ocean away from me. My body hasn’t changed one iota since the day I was informed that “we” were pregnant. Unlike their brothers and sister, when I first meet them, it’s not going to be after spending months feeling little jabs and kicks.

Despite the fact that I’m not carrying them in my belly, they are in my heart every moment of every day. They are my first thought as I roll out of bed and check my email before I make my first cup of coffee.

I didn’t fall in love with Drew immediately. We fell in love with a continent between us. It was emails and texts and messages and phone calls which stretched from minutes to hours. After eight years, I love him more than I did in that first infatuation stage, because we’ve spent thousands of moments learning about one another.

So when people ask me if I’m worried about “bonding” with the twins, I have to laugh. By the standards I had twenty years ago, I should be terrified. I will be lucky if I’m in the same hemisphere as they are when they are born. I’m quite sure that if I attempted kangaroo care in the nursery the nurses would very quickly explain to me that I am a mammal and that my babies speak hindi and have no need for me to pretend that I’m a marsupial. Our goal is that they meet Daddy before they turn six weeks old.

So this time as I await the births of my children, I’m not afraid about bonding with them immediately. I love my children already and we will have a lifetime to “bond” with one another. We’ll bond over midnight feedings and stories and moments of shared joy and tears.



 

One Man's Journey Through Labor -- Guest Post

 As feminism continues to fight against the misogynistic tendencies of our current culture, my friend Mike has graciously agreed to post about the labor process, from the male perspective. Enjoy it. I know he did.

               

My wife’s water broke just as I was sitting down to masturbate, which was sort of annoying. Or at least that’s what she said. Neither of us had ever gone through the labor process before, and as it turns out it’s not as obvious as TV makes it out to be. So, while she was in the bathroom, I turned to Dr. Google and…still had no idea. Eventually she went back to bed and I joined her. A few hours later she was in so much pain she insisted on going to the hospital, and, despite still not having any idea if she was actually in labor, we were off.

Once Amber was hooked up to the machines at the hospital they told us, definitively, that it was possible she was in labor. She asked if she should call out of work, and was told, “Not yet. But maybe shortly.” Admittedly I was pretty exhausted (I work until 1:30 am and go to bed at 7 am normally, so I had slept about two out of 26 hours at this point) but I was pretty sure I was done with this whole ‘labor’ thing already. Just under an hour later we were told that she was going to be moved into a delivery room, and Amber gave me the okay to tell people this was actually happening. A statement she would soon regret.

“Wow, delivery room chairs are REALLY comfortable” I posted to Facebook at 11:15 am on February 15th. “I’m not being sarcastic, this chair is nice. They told me to take a nap, but then they keep coming in like they expect something to happen and waking me up. It’s like they have no regard for my comfort. Oh, Amber is in labor on the other side of the room.” 

“What color is it? The chair, I mean.” Comes the reply from one of my best friends. I let him know it was a nice dark blue, and he says, “Nice. Soothing. Tranquil. Sounds like a good chair. You two should be happy together, seeing as how they gave Amber a while bed.”

“Breaking news!” I post at 5:26 PM, “I just slept in the chair for a little over an hour. I feel pretty rested, all things considered. I had to use my hoodie instead of a pillow, but that isn’t the chair’s fault. Amber is also good.” My boss responds, letting me know that she thinks I’m probably focused on the wrong thing. Amber checks her phone for the first time and realizes what’s happening, and the first threat against my life is made.

Around 6:30 I got hungry and took a trip down to the hospital cafeteria, where I made the biggest mistake of the day. “Did I opt for the hospital cafeteria fish? You’re damn right I did. #Neverscared.” Less than ten minutes later I was singing a different tune, “Did I opt for the hospital cafeteria fish? Damn…you’re right. I did. #alittlescared.” I feel queasy, but I push down the fish with some amazingly delicious chicken fingers and solder on.

It’s almost 7 pm and I know Jeopardy! Is on, but my sister and I can’t seem to find it on the hospital TV. “The biggest pain of the day has been trying to find Jeopardy! On the TV in the delivery room. The TV has a ‘guide’ button, but it does nothing. How can they expect me to deal with these 1990’s conditions? Giving birth is hard.” A friend of mine feels my pain and tells me so, “Man, that’s rough. And I bet Amber is just lying in bed while you deal with all that, huh?” A second threat against my life is made verbally, as Amber posts that she hates both me and my friend. Someone else asks if Amber has hit me yet, and I point out that she’s both drugged up and out of reach. Not for the last time.

It’s now 11:28 pm. “Just over 14 hours in the hospital and my lower back is starting to hurt slightly. Probably a 2 on the pain scale of 10. Annoying, but not bad. Despite this, I’m finding this labor thing much less painful than everyone claims.” After some responses I have to point out, once again, that Amber is drugged up and out of punching distance. I do admit, however, that it may be possible that this is worse on Amber than it is on me. A friend from work posts, “You’re really taking this like a champ, Mike. I’m impressed,” but I don’t want people getting the wrong idea about me. “I’m no hero. I’m just a guy trying to make his way through this crazy, mixed up world…” Someone wonders why Amber hasn’t killed me yet, and she responds, “Don’t worry, I know where he eats and sleeps.” I get a little uneasy until I realize that there’s no way she remembers saying that once she’s off the drugs. Probably.

Hours pass. I fall in and out of sleep in my comfortable delivery chair, and I think Amber even falls asleep for a bit. My mother agreed to stay with us for the night and she manages to stay awake while doing some knitting. Around 3 am the nurse declares that our baby is ready. She calls the doctor, and while we wait the nurse asks about my job and we have a nice twenty minute conversation about StubHub. Eventually the doctor arrives and everything changes. They start to monitor the baby’s heartbeat and two hours into the actual pushing the doctor remarks that his heart rate has been steady this entire time in a way she’s never really seen before. “He’s the most calm baby I have ever delivered.” Amber smiles and remarks that he takes after his father.

My next, and second to last, Facebook post goes up. “At 5:15 am on February 16th, my amazing wife gave birth to our son, Owen Enrique-Osmun Provencher. He is 6lbs and 8ozs. There is no joke here. Don’t get used to it.” He cries a little, but true to the doctor’s word he’s not bothered by the whole birthing process for long and quickly calms down. I post one more time to Facebook before we move to the room we’ll all be spending the next few days in. “I think my wife is in love with another man…”

Congratulations to Mike and his wife, Amber.

 

Day In The Life - 2014 Edition

Since I've had this blog, I've done a DITL every Valentine's Day. Looking back at one photoed day, in its entirety, for each year, is a trip and a half, to be sure. My days have changed so much since the girls were babies / toddlers. And I, for one, am so grateful. Phew!

This year, a bunch of my guest and contributing posters came together and captured a full day of their own this past week. And looking at each one, our days are so varied, and yet all of them so spectacular!

This is my day. And at the end of it, links to everyone else's day, and also links to my February 14ths from each year. It's a really interesting project. And I love it.

6:30 a.m. Wake up, buttercup. Time to get the kids ready.

6:45 a.m. They're obviously not feeling it.

Oh, well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Time to make the beds.

I'm supposed to be getting their breakfasts ready, but, oh look, a full dishwasher, and more dirties in the sink. Grand. I do that first, then the breakfasts.

7:40 a.m. I don't know why we always leave ourselves 30 seconds to get to school, but it is what it is.

Welp, they'll be safe here for a few hours. Off I go.

8 a.m. - I post my blog (an easy one this day, just the 365 feminist selfies update). Then I edit this manuscript. (I'm a romance novel content editor in my free time, true story.) Thankfully, I've already read through this one once, and now I'm just looking for typos and such.

Welcome to my break room.

9:30 a.m. I've made our breakfasts and his lunch. My husband will leave for work in about 20 minutes.

As soon as he leaves, I do, too. I'd promised the girls I'd "eat lunch" with them that day. They're so cute when they see me show up at school.

10:30 a.m. and I run back home to print out some paperwork for the Internal Review Board for a research paper I have to do this semester. Of course, then I'm late to yoga.

11 a.m. And who is snapping photos when class is already in session? I'm so very zen. I'm sure none of these people minded the distraction at all.

On my way back from yoga I stop at the Publix to pick up some SweetHearts (for my sweethearts. HAH).

12:30 p.m and I am STARVING. Thank God for leftover lasagna.

1 p.m. - I've only got a few minutes before I have to pick up the girls, so I try to update Don't Need an Excuse, and good news! I got paid (peanuts) for my blog that day! Perhaps I won't overdraw my account this month after all! Huzzah!

1:45 p.m. - These are the happy faces I can't wait to pick up each and every day.

Feed them! QUICK.

Phew. Now they're feeling better. Maybe they'll even take off their coats (I swear they don't live in their coats!!)

Now that they're settled and playing, I suppose I should take care of this bad boy.

But not yet. First I'll lay down because I CAN.

15 minutes of lay-down time, and the girls wanted to ride their bikes. It's just as well. I have shit to do, and it's a beautiful FL day out there. Peace out, kids!

Lookie! All clean. Now I can...oh wait.

I forgot today was bathroom day. Ugh.

Okay! Now we're done time for...oh wait.

How does this happen, dishes?

Living room? What do you have to say for yourself?

FINE.

YOU'RE CLEAN NOW, TOO. Are you happy? Damn, I hate housework.

5 p.m. Kids are back and I'm starving again. So I get pretzel chips and brie cheese.

And the girls get pizza bites, blueberries and banana for dinner, because did you see all the cleaning I just did? The mom shop is closed, for real. (Also, I was their BFF for this dinner. Dulce actually said, as she hugged me, "I will never forget this, mom." LOL

Okay, Cinderella, this will never do. That ball ain't going to attend itself.

I clean up pretty nicely. I'm excited because my husband and I are going out for Valentine's Day for the first time in seven years. Yup. Also, it's our first date night since August. We are so glamorous.

Didn't get a shot of the tapas place where we ate, but here's the outside area of one of the bars we went to after our meal. V classy. I had a "mint juliep". Haha.

Here's a selfie at the next and final bar we stopped at, to prove I actually did get out of the house. (Carlos isn't much one for taking pictures while you're supposed to be out on a romantic date. So you all just get me. You'll just have to take my word for it that he was there.)

And home again, home again. Time to get into bed and do it all again the next day.

Not enough of me? We've got 2013, 2012, and 2011 all cued up. LOL

Had way too much of me already? Check out some AWESOME days from other people: (These are seriously worth your time.)

Joella at Fine and Fair

Tracey at Inside the Mommy Van

Jackie at Accidentally Mommy

Kate at Life, Love, Liturgy

C.A. from Smibbo