Wild Man's Birth Story

I wrote this a few days after Wild Man was born, and I've decided to post it in honor of his upcoming birthday. I've added a few sections (marked with asterisks) recently. I remember this day so vividly. I still don't think I really know how close we came to a c-section. C and I have talked about it a few times, and he always tells me we were close. I asked him again last night, and he looked at me a moment before answering. Without giving me any details, he quietly said that he had never been so scared in his life. He said, "I was watching the monitors while helping you get through the contractions. I didn't like what I saw, and I know the doctor didn't. I think we had about 5 minutes before I got pulled out of the room to sign the paperwork for a c-section. I know one of nurses had brought a bunch of forms into the room. I was really scared." He never told me that before. Thankfully we avoided a c-section, and Wild Man and I were both fine. I would happily go through all of the stress and uncertainty again for my beautiful son. I am also very, very proud that, despite the numerous interventions we experienced, that we still had a positive birth experience. I am also proud that despite the fact that I was indeed given medication (to slow down my contractions and give the baby a chance to recover from the contractions) I did fulfill my wish to go without pain medication (although I did receive a local just as Wild Man crowned as I had already torn and needed an episiotomy).

On Friday, Oct. 20^th, C & I went to my regular check-up at 9:20 expecting to learn that I hadn't made any progress at all; after three weeks of contractions, I had yet to go into labor. We discovered I was dilated to 2 centimeters and 80% thinned out. When the doctor checked the baby's heart rate, it was in the 180s, which concerned her as it had been in the 130s for 4 weeks. So she put me on the fetal monitor in the office. After 20 minutes she checked me again and the baby's heart rate had not gotten more regular. It was fluctuating from 170s to 130s. She wanted to monitor me for 20 more minutes to see if the baby's heart rate would drop to the 150s for at least 5 minutes in a row. Unfortunately, his heart rate continued to fluctuate, dropping as low as 80 for over a minute. So my doctor decided I needed to be induced right away, and we headed to the hospital. We were both very concerned and nervous, as we weren't sure what to expect and the doctor made it clear that if necessary we would have a c-section, which neither of us wanted. We called our good friend, who was acting as our doula, and asked her to get out things from our house and meet us at the hospital. We told her to take her time because we expected the induction to take a while.

*I remember walking out the back entrance of my doctor's office. The sky was bright blue, and a cool breeze was blowing. I was trying so hard not to cry. I had done enough research that I knew what to expect from an induction and a c-section, but I wasn't emotionally prepared for either. C hugged me before we got in the car and reassured me everything would be ok. On the way to the hospital we each tried to contact our families; I was only able to get in touch with my sister who, like C, tried to reassure me. She volunteered to get in touch with our parents for me so that I could focus on myself and the baby. C called his mom and learned that they were taking his dad to the hospital as well. His dad, who had been diagnosed with lung cancer in April, was having trouble breathing, and his doctor wanted to monitor him for a few hours.

We got to the hospital at 11:00, and by 11:10 I was in an exam room being monitored. The baby's heart rate had steadied and was around 130s for about 20 minutes. The nurse reviewed our birth plan and told us what we would still be able to do and what we wouldn't, since we were having an emergency induction. She assured us that we would still be able to have an unmedicated birth, but that I would just need to be monitored more closely. During this time the nurse had started an IV, and I had to go to the bathroom really badly. Since the baby's heart rate seemed to have evened out, she let me get up to go to the bathroom. When I got back, she hooked me back up to the monitors, and the baby's heart rate had dropped again. By this time (about 11:45), my doctor was in the room, and things started happening very quickly. Before I really knew what was happening, my doctor was breaking my water and inserting a catheter to put saline around the baby, in an attempt to regulate the heart rate. Luckily both of these things worked, and I was moved to a delivery suite.

* Everything happened so fast in this 30 minute period. I went from calmly answering the nurse's questions to being told that they had to break my water immediately in an attempt to regulate the baby's heart rate. I still remember the warm rush of water and the look of extreme concern on my doctor's face when she told us that their was meconium in the amniotic fluid. I didn't have time to think about much else as my contractions started almost immediately. I experienced my first strong contraction as the nurse and C wheeled me from the exam room to a delivery room. During all of this C spoke to my sister who volunteered to fly in immediately to be there when we got home from the hospital. I realized how concerned C was when he asked her to come as soon as she could.

The contractions started immediately and became regular very fast. In fact, the contractions became regular so quickly that I was never given pitocin. My doctor came in about 45 minutes later to check me, and I had progressed from 2 centimeter to 5 centimeters in a little over 2 hours. By this time the contractions were very intense and very close together; my doula and C were doing all they could to keep me focused on my relaxation exercises, but I was having a hard time. I wanted to get up and move, but every time I changed positions the baby's heart rate changed. The nurse kept checking on me, and each time I would ask if I could move. She let me switch from my left side to my right side, but I couldn't get out of bed. As the contractions got more and more intense, I told C I couldn't do it and that I needed the medication. Luckily both he and my dola recognized that I was in transition and encouraged me, telling me that I could do it. He was so wonderful; he never wavered, despite his own concerns about the baby. All of a sudden I felt like I needed to push, so my dola got the nurse. She checked me and I was 8 centimeters, in a little over an hour. The nurse told me to get on all fours in the bed and encouraged me to gently push to bring the baby down further. The contractions got so intense and were right on top of each other. All of a sudden C wasn't beside me; my doula was still there, but C had moved away to talk to the nurse. I was vaguely aware of the conversation, I didn't really understand what was going on. I later learned that the baby's heart rate was not tolerating the contractions at all. My doctor was in the room by now, and she let the nurse and C run the show while she watched the monitors. I learned later that she told C that if the baby's heart rate didn't even out in the next few minutes we would need to do a c-section. The nurse suggested giving me a medication to slow down the contractions, and although my doctor didn't think it would work, she agreed. I reminded them all that I didn't want any kind of medication, but the nurse reassured me that this medication may enable us to have a vaginal birth. While the nurse gave me the medication, the doctor checked me again; I was 9 centimeters (only 3.5 hours from when the doctor had broken my water), but the baby had also turned posterior, which explained why the contractions in my back were so horrible and why the baby'sheart rate wouldn't stabilize. The medication made me shiver severely, but it slowed the contractions down enough to let the doctor turn the baby. Once she turned the baby, the heart rate stabilized. By this point, I was completely unaware of what was going on, as I was desperate to push. Everyone kept telling me not to push, which is the most difficult thing to do. I heard the doctor tell me "I'm going to try to turn the baby now," and all I really understood was how painful that was. She finally said I could push, and the baby tolerated the contractions from then on, with his heart rate staying in the 130s. I started pushing at 3:40, and Wild Man was born at 4:13, just about 5 hours after we had arrived at the hospital.

Deadlines

I just wanted to let the blogging world know I am still alive. I've been frantically working all week in an attempt to meet a self-imposed dissertation deadline. I haven't quite met it, but I'm close. I have a meeting with my director on Monday, and I want to send her a substantial portion of my Wharton chapter. Of course, with this deadline looming, Wild Man decided to have several meaningful conversations about life at 1:00 in the morning this week. He is moving classrooms at school, and while he loves the new room, he is a little stressed out by the changes, which has led to some sleeping difficulties. I'm proud that I've been able to get as much work as I have on so little sleep!

Legal Progress for Breastfeeding Mothers

I posted about Sophie Currier's attempts to get time off during her medical licensing exams to pump for her infant daughter. I am happy to say that a Massachusetts appeals court ruled that she be allowed the time away from her exam to pump.

Support the Jena 6

I've added a link to Color of Change's website in support of the Jena 6. Please click on the link and sign the on-line petition urging the Jena district attorney and the governor of Louisiana to free these young men.

Separate Space

It is 8:26 in the evening. Wild Man is sound asleep in his room, and I am sitting in my office getting organized for tomorrow. I don't think words can truly express how happy I am to have my own work space again. Granted, it is a space I share with C, but as we actually work quite well in the same space, I don't mind sharing it. The office is truly a Wild Man-free zone, as we keep a baby gate at the door at all times (this is primarily to keep Wild Man out of the cats' litter box, but it serves a variety of purposes!). I no longer have to worry about him tossing my books about everywhere, and I can actually leave paper on the floor. We're very happy in our new home, and I'm very happy with my office. I actually worked from home today rather than schlepping everything to my office at school, and I got more done than I do when I'm on campus. This is a separation of spheres I am in favor of!

Relief

I'm currently experiencing a strange sense of relief. Tonight for the first time in 11 months, Wild Man went to sleep without nursing and with what C described as a minimum of fuss. Tonight, for the first time in 11 months, I was out of the house past 7:30. I wasn't home to put Wild Man to sleep. I have been dreading today for weeks, ever since I found out there was a lecture that I really needed to attend tonight. Not only was it in one of my areas of interest, but one of my committee members organized it and specifically asked me to attend to meet the speaker. I couldn't--and didn't want to--say no. Knowing how worried I was about being away from home at bedtime, C volunteered to give up his weekly softball night so we didn't have to arrange for a babysitter (although Academama very kindly offered to watch Wild Man for us!).

When I left this evening, Wild Man was in the bathtub, and I essentially snuck out so he wouldn't miss me too much. I was a bit upset, but I needed to do this--as much for him as for me. He needs to know how to go to sleep without me. I called C as soon as I left the lecture, and for some reason, my cell phone was fading in and out. All I was able to determine from the phone call was that Wild Man was not upset but he also was not quite asleep. When I got home 15 minutes later, I found C in the kitchen unthawing breastmilk for Wild Man's bottles. Wild Man fell asleep sitting in C's lap about 5 minutes after I called, and C was able to transfer him to his crib without a problem. He did, indeed, fuss a bit earlier in the evening, and he drank all the milk I pumped earlier today. But he didn't scream himself to sleep, he didn't cry for me, and he wasn't traumatized. He's been asleep for over 2 hours now, which indicates that he'll be down for a while if not the whole night. I'm a little sad that I didn't see him right before he went to sleep, but mainly I'm relieved. This allows me a lot more freedom than I've experienced since Wild Man was born.

Make-up and Wild Man

Wild Man and I have a "grooming" routine every morning. He plays in our bedroom (rearranging books on a bookshelf or chasing the cats under the bed) while I get ready in the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. In the past few weeks, he has become seriously interested in watching me blow dry my hair and put on what little make-up I wear. The day he started reaching for the blow dryer while it sat on the sink was the day I started pretending to do his hair and make-up. I pretend to put mousse on his hair, and then I actually do blow-dry it. He loves feeling the warm air in his face, which totally cracks me up. A few days after we started this routine, I noticed he was intently watching me while I put on mascara and a bit of blush. So I broke out a spare (and make-up free) brush and swept it across his cheeks. Wild Man threw his head back and giggled. Now, every morning, I give him the full treatment--everything that I do to my face I pretend to do to his, and he loves it.

Yesterday morning, C witnessed this routine in its entirety for the first time; he'd seen me do Wild Man's hair, but not do his make-up. My normally liberal husband was a little taken aback. He point blank asked me if I thought the routine was a good idea. I point blank asked him why he asked that question. He said it seemed a little odd. When I asked him to elaborate on odd, he couldn't. I then pointed out that Wild Man has no idea what make-up is or why I wear it but C doesn't. I then reminded him that Wild Man has stared at C with the same intensity when C shaves. I think Wild Man is just trying to figure out what it is we're doing. I don't think it has any gender/sexuality implications. Wild Man doesn't even know he is a boy, for crying out loud. My dad used to cover my face in shaving cream and give me a razor (minus the blade) and let me shave my face while he shaved his; that didn't have any adverse affects on me (although I have no idea what such adverse affects this could have on a little kid). I said all of this as I mimed applying mascara to Wild Man. When I was finished, Wild Man toddled off to pick up his newest toy: a truck that he picked out himself.

The conversation made me realize something: my husband has some gender hang-ups. Although he didn't say it, he was clearly thinking "boys don't wear make-up." Wild Man has carried my purse around, played with dolls, and tried to put on my shoes. None of these activities bothered C. But he was troubled by me pretending to put make-up on Wild Man--or was he bothered because Wild Man clearly enjoyed it--although I think he enjoys my undivided attention more than anything.

Wild Man

I'm tired of referring to S as simply S. It isn't remotely descriptive, so from now own he will be "Wild Man," which is what C and I routinely call him. As he is now toddling around everywhere and into everything, the nickname fits him.

Family phone calls

And the chaos that will be my son's first birthday has already begun. Between the two of them, my mil and sil called us 8 times this weekend with questions about S's birthday. My mil wanted to know about: the theme, the decorations, the food, and potential gifts. My sil wanted to know if she could make the cake, the invitations, and the food. My mil has repeatedly asked if we need her to bring anything--mind you she and my sil are driving 1,400 miles to attend the party. What is my family doing, you might ask? My mom and brother are flying out to spend the week with us, and my brother has bought S a "birthday boy" shirt. My mom has started buying copies of my favorite childhood books to give S. As usual C's family wants to be overly involved, and my family is being low-key--which his mom interprets as uninterested. I have no idea how I'm going to survive their joint visits.

Bad Writing

I just spent the last hour and a half skimming a very poorly written critical work on Edith Wharton. I skimmed it because the topic of the book is relevant to my research, but it was incredibly hard to read and even harder to understand. I've been reading in my study carrel in the library, and I'm sure I've annoyed quite a few people each time I exclaimed about the poorly structured argument and awkwardly framed sentences. What intrigues me is that the book was published by the University of Alabama, which is a fairly reputable press. I can't help but think if this person can get published then surely I can get published.

Weaning

First I want to thank everyone who commented on Monday's post, "Unprepared." As many of you predicted, the lunch-time temper tantrum was an isolated incident. S happily nursed at lunch every other day last week, and two days he nursed himself to sleep. I placed my sleeping boy in his school crib, and he proceeded to take an hour and a half long nap both days. That makes me feel good because he rarely naps so long when his teachers rock him to sleep.

In a some what related topic, I've been asked by at least four people in the past week when I plan on weaning S. None of these people are good friends, none of them S's teachers, and none of them should really care how long I nurse my son. Why are people so fascinated with breastfeeding and pregnancy? Why do said people care so much what I do with my breasts?

Unprepared

I just returned to my office after having my daily lunch date with S. Every day I head over to his school to nurse him and to hang out with him for a while. Our ritual is simple; I arrive, and he is generally waiting for me anxiously. We get into our spot, and he nurses on one side. He generally gets distracted by all the activity in the room after 10 minutes or so, and we go play for a while. After a while, we head back to our spot, and he nurses on the other side, usually for about 5 minutes. We play for a few more minutes, while his teacher sets up his lunch. I place him in his high chair and watch him eat a few bites before I leave. It is a routine I have come to depend on. I really enjoy seeing him in the middle of the day, especially now that he is at school for 7 hours a day. Seeing him and spending this time with him assuages some of my guilt. It is difficult to manage sometimes because I often get into a working groove and have to interrupt it to go see him, but I am not ready to give that up.

I was completely unprepared for his reaction today. He was fussy all day yesterday, so I wasn't surprised to hear that he'd been fussy this morning. As I picked him up to walk to the rocking chair we generally sit in, he started to cry. The crying quickly escalated into a full scale temper tantrum. It was clear that he didn't want to nurse at all. I gave him a few puffs to get him to calm down, and then his teacher warmed up his lunch. I sat with him as he ate his lunch, and he was much, much happier eating leftover roast beef and diced tomatoes than trying to nurse. He even offered me some of his pineapple. I stayed as long as I usually do, and when I was leaving, his teacher asked if he nursed at all. When I said no, she said he may be starting to wean himself, at least off of the lunch-time nursing session. I suddenly realized as tired as I am of sore nipples (8 teeth make a difference), nursing bras, nursing pads, and pumping, I am not ready for him to day-wean himself. I left his school, returned to my office, and wanted to cry. I've been trying to think of all the reasons why he didn't want to nurse that I can--he was too hungry and wanted solid food, his teeth hurt and he wanted something hard to chew on, etc.--but none of them make me feel any better. My little boy is growing up fast, and some days that makes me very excited, especially when I witness his new accomplishments and watch him figuring out the world. Today, it makes me sad. I just want him to want to snuggle with me a while longer.

Jena Six

I want to know why the story of Jena Six isn't being broadcast on all the news networks. I'm somewhat ashamed that I haven't heard about it before. Thanks to kate at ak8 a cat a mission for posting a link to the story. The Group News Blog writes about it much better than I could. I've lived most of my life in the South, and I've witnessed some horrible examples of racism. I have, however, never seen anything like this. Unfortunately, I'm not surprised, and that is what really disappoints me. Why do our national leaders continue to ignorantly assume that race is no longer an issue in this country?

Mothers and Stress

British researchers have found that mothers who prefer to cradle their children to the right may be at risk of depression, according to this article. I haven't read the entire study, just the snippet on MSNBC, but I have to wonder about the validity of the findings. First, the study only included 79 women, and they weren't interviewed. Rather they were asked to hold their infants and then complete a survey. I tend to hold S with my left arm, but that is because I'm right-handed. Holding him in my left arm, allows me to use my right arm to get things done. Wouldn't it make more sense to find out what sort of help new mothers need when they feel stressed out?

First Female Beefeater

Finally, a female Beefeater! I so wish we could go to London to meet her!

They're back!

The crazy, wonderful, and always insightful bloggers at The Rhetorical Situation are back. These guys are always good for a laugh, and as odd as they are, they also always make me think.

Breastfeeding discrimination

This article is about 2 months old, but it made me so angry that I had to post it. Why do the powers that be, in this case the medical examiner's board of Massachusetts, make it so hard for mothers? I still think it is outrageous that there have to be laws to make it legal to breastfeed in public. Thanks to Lilian for posting the link to the article.

"The Last Kiss"

I recently watched a movie called "The Last Kiss," and I've been thinking about the implications of one's last kiss since. The title refers to the last kiss a person has—as in, the last person you'll ever kiss. The premise of the movie is fairly cliché: a couple, who've been together for 3 years, get pregnant unexpectedly; they decide to have the baby but not marry; the man begins to feel trapped and has a one night stand with a younger woman; his girlfriends find out and dumps him; he immediately realizes he's made a huge mistake and tries to get the girlfriend back. By the end of the film, he succeeds, but I didn't feel like that was much of a happy ending. So here's my question: do some men get so freaked out by the "permanence" of marriage that they would knowingly sabotage a relationship? Do some women? The films genders the answer, as it suggests that women are always ready to commit while men have to be dragged kicking and screaming down the aisle, which I certainly don't believe.

I realize the theme of the film is supposed to be that people get scared, but true love can conquer those fears. I also get that part of the theme is to forgive those we love. But the idea that one needs to have one last fling before committing to one person for life has never made any sense to me. I asked a friend about this one (admittedly a male friend, so I guess I gender the issue some what myself), and he equated it to a prisoner on death row having his last meal. As you can imagine, I didn't like that analogy—my friend equated marriage with a death sentence. I understand being scared about the lifelong commitment, but I don't understand responding to that fear by being unfaithful. But then, I don't get being unfaithful either. Unfaithfulness has affected my extended family a lot in the past 5 years, and C and I have talked about it a lot. Both of our siblings had affairs; my sister's affair ended her marriage (although the marriage had been in trouble for a long, long time), and she's now married to the man she with whom she had the affair. C's brother's affair lasted at least 2 years, and somehow he and his wife were able to work through it. They have a strong marriage now, and I’m happy they stayed together (and I believe my sister-in-law is a much better person than I am). While I think both of our siblings were wrong, I judge their actions very differently. I can forgive (not that I've been asked for forgiveness or that I believe that my feelings matter at all in the separate situations) my sister, but I found I much harder to forgive my brother-in-law. I think my sister treated her ex-husband horribly and that she should have found a different way out of her marriage, but she had the affair out of loneliness and desperation. C's brother had an affair because he felt trapped—that is precisely what he said to C. I've even heard him say that his wife "trapped" him. Well, I was at that wedding, I don’t remember anyone holding a gun to his head during the ceremony.

So I don't get hurting someone you love because you're afraid. I've honestly never thought that C is the last person I'll ever kiss. I'm in love with my husband, and I fall in love with him over and over again all the time. But I'm the last person to romanticize marriage. Marriage is hard work, and I really don't think most people realize that. Despite my liberal views on most everything, I have to admit that I'm fairly conservative about marriage. I believe deeply in the vow I made to my husband—and not from any religious or moral sense either. I made a promise to him that we would be together for life, and I will do my very best to keep that promise. I'm not saying that I don't believe in divorce. My mother divorced my biological father (that's a story for another post) when I was 5, and I believe that was the best decision she could have made. My dad, who is technically my step-dad, is 1,000,000 times a better dad that my BF, whom I haven't seen n 19 years and have no desire to see. I also think my sister made a smart decision when she divorced her husband, but I also think (and she agrees as we've talked about this) that she would have been wiser not to have an affair.

So back to the movie. I'm still trying to figure out why it bothered me so much, and I think I've got it. The boyfriend confesses all to the girlfriend because he can't deal with the guilt (I hate that by the way—don't confess and destroy someone else because you can't deal with your own guilt, especially if your relationship is salvageable). He makes several grand gestures, and she ultimately forgives him. That she forgives him so easily is what bothers me. Despite everything I've just written—and do believe—about the commitment of marriage, I consider infidelity the one unforgivable thing. I do think it can be overcome and the relationship can become stronger; my brother and sister-in-law are evidence of that. But the movie makes it seem as though some flowers and groveling are enough to make everything all better, and that bothers me. But then, as I notice the post has become much longer than I intended, I have to remember it is a movie, and movies tend to do oversimplify it. But I do think the concept of "the last kiss" is odd and promotes the idea that women only want to get married and men never want to get married.

"Memed"

I've never "memed" before, but since Supadiscomama tagged me, I'll give it a shot!

4 Jobs I've had
--cashier at TJ Maxx
--underpaid and abused admin assistant for film production company
--slide room assistant (yes that is where I met my art historian husband)
--grant writer

4 places I've lived
--Military Base in western state (where I was born)
--Home State (where my parents still live)
--New England College Town
--College Town

4 favorite foods (I love to eat and to cook, so this is a tough one!)
--Sushi
--Crab Cakes from my favorite restaurant in Home State
--really good mozzarella sticks (I can't resist fried cheese!)
--tomatoes

4 places I'd rather be
--on the beach with S and C
--London
--Seville, Spain
--Home Town, but only if I can go there without having to deal with any of the typical familial obligations!

4 movies I can watch over and over (This is apt to change given my mood, but here's what I could watch right now.)
--Out of Africa
--Love Actually (Liam Neeson's character and his son make me smile.)
--Little Miss Sunshine (I love, love, love this movie!)
--To Kill a Mockingbird

4 TV shows I like to watch
--Sex and the City, Seasons 4 and 5 especially (I have them all on DVD I must confess.)
--Big Love
--What Not to Wear (I desperately want C to nominate me for the show, but he won't do it!)
--Little People, Big World

4 websites I view daily
--my blogroll
--msnbc
--For Better or For Worse strip fix (I've read it since I was a kid, so don't mock me too much.)
--The Edith Wharton Society (since I'm trying to write my Wharton chapter, I go here for inspiration)

4 computers I've owned
--the Compaq Presario I bought in 1998 when I started my MA
--the laptop I'm using at this moment
--that's it!

4 people to tag
--Lilian at Mama(e) in Translation
--kate at a k8, a cat, a mission
--Working Writing Wailing Mama
--Jennie at My Handful

Rejoining the Blog World

I just learned that my friend, Supadiscomama, has rejoined the blogging world! We're so happing to have you back!

Another Realization

Last night, C and I talked about my work for a change. Rather than discuss the job market for art historians, I said, "I want to talk about what I did today." So I started talking about two characters from two different novels that I'm writing on. One of my chapters is on Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth, but I also want to discuss The Age of Innocence. My discussion of The House of Mirth focuses on Lily's longing for home and how this longing conflicts with her refusal to marry. I argue that Lily places herself in an interstitial space as she is neither able to accept her societal position and marry for money nor is she able to reject her position and support herself. Lily wants both the financial security that marriage can provide and personal freedom, which marriage doesn't guarantee. Her only viable option to escape her interstitial existence is to make her own money, an endeavor at which she repeatedly fails. Her refusal to come to terms with the circumstances of her class and her life trap her in an interstitial existence. Unable to transgress the interstitial spaces (both physical and metaphoric) in which she lives, she is unable to achieve what she really wants: a home and an identity of her own.

I've thought for a long time that Lily and Ellen Olenska, of The Age of Innocence, are a lot a like. Both live in interstitial spaces, and like Lily, Ellen has the means to escape hers, but actively chooses not to. But Ellen is not as doomed as Lily, and it has taken me a while to figure out why. Last night as I was telling C that I wasn't sure I could discuss these two novels in the same chapter, which bothered me because I think it makes more sense to discuss both Wharton novels in the same chapter, I suddenly realized that Ellen has been married. She has experienced the life that Lily has so ardently avoided. Her knowledge of marriage and its failings allows her to support herself in a way that Lily cannot. Granted, Ellen supports herself by convincing her grandmother to give her an allowance not by working, but Ellen doesn't compromise herself in the ways that Lily does. I haven't completely figured it out, but my hunch is that Ellen's first hand knowledge of marriage and the fact that she's been rejected by New York society enable her to embrace her interstitiality rather than fight against it as Lily does.

So I'm feeling better about work, and I'm beginning to feel inspired again.

Getting Work Done

So after the week's earlier post, I'm getting more work done, although I'm not over my frustration and I don't know if I will be. I have finished rereading and taking copious notes on one of the primary texts I'm writing on though, which makes me feel better.

I had something of an epiphany last night, but as with most of my epiphanic moments, I'm not sure what to do with it. I suddenly realized that C is done with his dissertation--seems stupid I know, as I've been posting about his completion for weeks. But now that he's finished that means I actually have more time to work than I have had. Rather than trying to cram everything into the week, including teaching, grading, and writing, I can now work on the weekends. I haven't done much more than answer emails on the weekends since S was born primarily because C used every available minute to finish his dissertation. I've spent the weekends occupying S so that C could work--this, of course, wasn't true of every weekend, but it was true of a great many of them. That realization is equally liberating and frightening. I no longer have C's dissertation as an excuse for not getting my own work done.

I've also discovered that I've spent so much time talking about C's work that I'm out of practice talking about mine. In an attempt to correct that problem, I am not going to ask C about his day this evening at dinner as I typically do. We're just going to talk about what I did today. I have to get back into the habit of thinking of myself as an academic. I like being an academic. I want to be an academic. I just have to remember what being an academic feels like.

S's first birthday

I just learned that in addition to my mother and brother C's mother and sister will be visiting us the week of S's first birthday. Need I say more?

Annoying Parents

When I dropped S off at school this morning, I was told that one of his classmates had a fever of 101.5, and that the teachers were unable to get in touch with her parents--i.e., the parents weren't answering their cell phones and weren't returning class. These parents make me so angry because this isn't the first time they've done this. How can you take your child to school with a fever? And I could look at the little girl and tell she was sick. She had the glassy-eyed look babies get when they have a fever. I don't understand this model of parenting. Her parents often do this, and their excuse is that they can't take time off of work because they just bought a house. I understand the financial need to work, but I don't understand not wanting to care for your baby.

Dissertation Frustration

I'm experiencing Dissertation Frustration. Last night, after a great weekend (S & I threw C a surprise graduation party, and we truly surprised him), I had a long cry. I've been struggling with some feelings the past few weeks, and last night was the first night I let myself talk about them. Here's the issue: I'm not getting as much done as I'd like to be getting done. I have a million reasons why not: I taught a summer course; I haven't read enough and don't feel ready to write; we moved; and I could go on I'm sure. But I'm having doubts, not about my ability to complete the dissertation and to get a tenure-track job, but about my desire to do so. Every week day morning, I drop S off at school, and I feel miserable leaving him. It isn't the same visceral misery I felt when he first started going to school (yes, it is a total euphemism for daycare, but it makes me feel better), but it is there. I'd simply rather be with him. I get enough work done every day to justify having him in school, but I don't get as much done as I'd like. Altogether I've written about 20 pages, and it doesn't all go together and none of it is particularly good at this point. I find myself daydreaming about staying home with S all the time.

I expressed these fears to C, and he was a bit baffled, to say the least. I'm the ambitious one in the relationship; for a while, he actually thought I'd finish before he did. But somewhere in the past few months, I've lost my motivation, and I'm not sure how to get it back.

Pet peeves

Like everyone, I have lots of pet peeves, and I've just had to deal with two big ones this evening--both connected to my husband.

C had several make-up softball games tonight, so I was on dinner, bath, and bedtime duty by myself. The evening went smoothly until I started nursing S before his bedtime. As usual, he instantly fell asleep, although not soundly. After about 15 minutes of nursing on one side, I switched him to the other, as I typically do. For some reason, tonight he woke up screaming and screamed for 15 minutes. This in itself is not unheard of although it is somewhat unusual. I managed to get him calmed down and nursing again, but every 10 minutes or so he would thrash and cry for a few minutes. I tried walking him, I tried rocking him, and nothing worked. So after 45 minutes without any luck, I finally gave in and called C, as I knew both games were over and he was likely drinking beer in the parking lot of the softball field, and told him the situation, and asked him to come home and give me a hand. The first pet peeve: I do not like to ask for help. I especially do not like to ask for help when I know my husband is surrounded by a bunch of other beer-drinking men, many of whom do not have children. I know a lot of these guys--I used to play softball with them myself--so I can only imagine the hard time they gave C about being called home. I know that is all macho crap and doesn't really mean much, but I still hate that I had to call him to ask for help.

So he came home, and he was able to do what I couldn't--he successfully rocked S to sleep in about 15 minutes with minimal crying. For some reason, S refuses to let me rock him to sleep. It's nursing until he's asleep or nothing. Once C was done and fairly certain S wasn't going to wake up, I told him if he wanted to go back out that was ok with me. Second pet peeve: he said you don't want me to, do you? Well, dear husband, I wouldn't have said it was ok if it wasn't. He then proceeded to say he didn't want to go, and then he decided he did after finding out if one of his friends was still at the ball park. Then he asked me at least three more times if it was all right with me if he went, which increasingly irritated me. He eventually did go back out, but only after he had really annoyed me. I hate it when he doesn't take me at my word. When I asked him why he had to question me, he gave me a very lame answer: "I'm stupid." I hate that sort of response as much as his need to think I'm not telling him the truth.

I try very hard not to be the sort of wife who makes her husband figure out what she means. If I wanted him to stay home and hang out with me, I wouldn't have told him to go drink beer in a parking lot, and I would have asked him to stay home.

To be or not to be. . .

Yesterday while finalizing his fall syllabi, C faced a problem he's never faced before: what does he want his students to call him? Now that he has finished his doctorate he wasn't sure what he wanted to be called: Dr. C or Prof. C. I voted for Dr. C, but he is partial to Prof. C, as art historians are more often called Prof. While this isn't a serious dilemma, he is in an interesting position with his students. C is fairly casual in the classroom and has often let his students call him by his first name--something I never do. I love that we can have this conversation because it means he is FINISHED with his dissertation!!!!

A new semester

We're now officially moved, and surprisingly, most things are unpacked. S proved very helpful over the weekend; as long as he had his own box to unpack (which means he pulled things out of the box and put them right back in) he was happy. This activity enabled C and I to get quite a bit done.

Now I have to get ready for the upcoming semester. I'm teaching an on-line technical writing course again, so I'm beginning the annoying process of updating the course website. I haven't done this part of it before, so I'm hoping it doesn't prove too irritating.

On the blog front, I've been thinking about several posts, and I hope to have them up in the next few days.

Moving

I have moving, but I do love the prospect of having a completely organized house. Of course with S, I'm sure that organization will last all of a week--or less. Today is the big day, so I'm off to get moving.

"How Much Jail Time?"

In her most recent column in Newsweek, Anna Quindlen poses the compelling question: "How much jail time would we give a woman who had an abortion if abortion were criminalized?" I find the question compelling for the same reason Quindlen does--when ani-abortion activists are asked this question, they are wholly unable to answer the question. It seems they haven't thought beyond the act of criminalizing aboriton. As Quindlen rightly points out, if abortion is criminalized, then women who nonetheless seek abortions are criminals and should face jail time, yet the people arguing for criminalizing abortion miss this logical flaw.

Sleep Training: More Progress

Since my last post, C & I have continued with the "console and retreat" method, and we'd settled into a routine of sorts. S goes down for the night between 7:30 & 8:00, generally without incident. He wakes up at 12:30 or thereabouts, and after about 20 minutes, he puts himself back to sleep. He then wakes up at 4:30 or 5:00 to nurse and goes back to sleep until 7:00 or so. If he sleeps much past 7:00, one of us wakes him up by 7:30 to keep him on a schedule. It isn't an ideal schedule by any stretch, but it is much better than the 3 or 4 times he was waking up, and now, he will go back to sleep without nursing. I choose to nurse him when he wakes up the second time because by then he's gone almost 9 hours without nursing.

Last night he slept from 8:00 until 5:39 without waking up!!!! When he woke up, he didn't cry; he called "mamamamamama," which is as close to "Mama" as he has gotten. He nursed for 20 minutes and went back to sleep until 7:15. I, of course, woke up at 3:00 in a complete panic and lied in bed for 10 minutes trying to hear him breathe on the monitor! I really wanted to go into his room to check on him, but I didn't. I haven't felt this rested in a long time!

Mothers and Mothers-in-law

I have a fairly problematic relationship with my mother (but who doesn't, right?), which, in the past, I've discussed with my mother-in-law. My mother recently did something incredibly stupid and very unhealthy, which I'm still angry about (it is one of the few things I'm not comfortable blogging about, so forgive me if I don't go into a lot of detail). C briefly mentioned this to his mother as my mother's actions resulted in me asking her to delay a visit to see us. My mother-in-law, with whom I also have a problematic relationship, promptly called me to let me know she was there if I needed her. While I appreciate the sentiment, I no longer talk about my parents with C's mom--under any circumstances. It is simply too complicated and, quite frankly, comes back to bite me in the ass more often than not. I thanked her and changed the subject. A few days after that she lamented to C that she doesn't understand me, my relationship with my mother, or what I want from her (C's mom). C relayed this to me only because he was as flabbergasted as I was. She implied (and confirmed the implication when C questioned her) that because I have a difficult relationship with my mother that I should just see her as a replacement. I have no idea what to make of that or where she would get that idea from. I love my mother-in-law, but she isn't my mother. I don't want her to be my mother, nor do I, in spite of my problems with my own mother, want her to start thinking of herself as my mother. She's said things like this in the past about my sister-in-law--"J's mother is so terrible; I don't understand why she doesn't let me and our family do more for her. . ." Can she really expect her sons' wives to favor her over our own mothers?

Mothering an adult

I've been thinking a lot about the kind of mother I want to be to an adult child, and while I have a long way to go before S is an adult, I'm going to write a series of posts on this topic. I have various issues with my own mother (as well as my mother-in-law), and I want to avoid these issues if at all when S is an adult. I've been contemplating writing a list of things not to do when S is an adult, and that list would include:

• Do not be passive-aggressive; tell adult S how I feel directly.
• Do not expect adult S to parent me.
• Do not force adult S to be "my best friend."
• Do not make adult S feel guilty for living his own life.
• Take pride in the fact that adult S is happy and well-adjusted (I am, of course, assuming he will be).
• Do not expect adult S to put me before his own family.
• Do not expect adult S's life-partner (assuming he has a life-partner) to put me before his/her own family.
• Learn to like S's life-partner's family and get along with them to the best of my ability.
• If unable to do above, do not bad mouth S's life-partner's family to S.
• Offer help and advice to adult S, but do not be offended if he chooses not to take my help or advice.
• Do not ask S what his plans for holidays are some 6 months prior to those holidays.
• Above all, do be loving, kind, thoughtful, and supportive of adult S. Remember, adults often need their parents too.

I think that is a good start, and I may periodically add to it. I want to be the sort of parent that an adult enjoys being around. I want to have an open, pleasant, truthful relationship with my son, no matter what his age is. I definitely do not want to put him in the position of defending me or explaining my hurtful actions to someone he really loves.

Announcing Dr. C!

C successfully defended his dissertation! He now has to make some minor editing changes and file it! HOORAY!!!

Drive-by mastectomies

Academama brought this issue to my attention, so following suit, I thought I'd pass along the information. Several relatives of mine have survived breast cancer, and I can't imagine them being forced to undergo a mastectomy on an out-patient basis. Please take a minute to sign the petition against this bill.

I need a . . .

vacation. So I'm taking a virtual vacation. If I could be anywhere in the world today, I would be here, walking through one of my favorite parks in my favorite city in the world with C & S. Then we'd go here, so we could look at The Arnolfini Wedding Portrait by Jan Van Eyck, which is one of my favorite paintings. Well, at least I can dream about taking a London vacation.

One step closer

C leaves tomorrow for his defense, so we're one step closer to being a family with one doctorate rather than a family with two dissertations.

I'm actually glad it's Monday. . .

After a horrible weekend, I'm actually glad it's Monday. C came home Friday night, after a much needed night out with "the guys," to discover our cat Minnie was having trouble breathing. After waking me up to consult and making a few frantic phone calls, he took her to the university's vet school, which has emergency hours. On Saturday morning, we spoke with the vet who was treating her; the news was not good. Our sweet little girl has advanced heart disease, and while it is treatable, she isn't expected to live more than a year. She is only 2 1/2 years old. We're both devastated.

We adopted her long before we decided to have children, so in some ways, we think of her as our oldest child. She also has a genetic deformity in her front legs called "curvus radius," which makes her look like a bulldog. She has had a hard time walking since she was full grown, but she has always been an active, lovable cat. Truth be told, she hasn't responded well to S because she prefers to initiate playtime rather than to have an 8-month-old crawl after her, but she still sought C and I out for lots of attention. I feel confident that she will receive the best possible care with this vet (and I feel incredibly lucky to attend this university--we have access to some of the best veterinary care in the country), but I'm heartbroken. We both spent most of Saturday evening in a daze, and when we brought her home yesterday, we both kept checking on her incessantly. C even got up several times in the night to check on her.

On top of this, C leaves tomorrow for his dissertation defense, and his advisor has already told him he should expect to make substantial editorial changes (have I ever mentioned how much I hate this woman?). I have to handle teaching, taking care of S, and getting Minnie back to the vet on Thursday for a recheck. When I called to make her appointment with the cardiologist this morning, I was told that I was being worked in, so I should expect to be there all day long. The appointment time is in the morning, about an hour before I go and nurse S at school, so I have no idea what I'm going to do about that. I don't feel comfortable asking someone to take Minnie to the vet for me, but I don't want S to miss the nursing session either, as I'm afraid that may throw his entire day off. I've decided to cancel my class, so that is one less thing I have to worry about. I really just want to rewind and make Minnie better.

I know there are people who will disagree with me and those out there (my mother among them) who will question going this far for "an animal," but she is so much more than a pet to us. We refer to her and our other cat as S's "older sisters,." A bit weird, I know, but we constantly tell him to "play nice" with his sisters. I do think of these two girls as my babies. We adopted her at a time when we were both beginning to think about having children, and shortly after we got her, my biological clock went into overdrive. She became the baby we didn't have yet, and when we adopted a second cat, we felt like a family. I was antsy all day Saturday because I knew she was in a strange place being poked and prodded; we went to see her for a few minutes, and I felt horrible leaving her. I wanted to be with her, much like I would want to be with S if he was in the hospital. I just wish I could make her better.

Sleep Training: Progress

After a rough few weeks, which included an ear infection, a sinus infection, a stomach bug, and a trip to my grandparents, S's sleep was becoming difficult to deal with. On a good night, he would wake up 3 times, and wouldn't go back to sleep unless he nursed--largely because I wasn't willing to let him cry it out for more than 20 minutes. Then one night last week after he had nursed for over an hour and a half, C picked took S from me, walked downstairs, and a battle of wills ensued. I actually slept, although C and S slept downstairs. C and I had a long heart to heart the next day, and we both began doing some research on sleep training, since nothing we'd tried previously seemed to work (although now I would argue it didn't work for us, rather than it didn't work for S). I discovered the "console and retreat method." With this method, the parent puts the baby down drowsy yet awake (which I have to say is virtually impossible with my kid because as soon as he settles in for his final nursing session he is out, but he does wake up almost as soon as I put him in his crib), stays with the child for 5 minutes (if the child wakes up) and soothes without picking the child up, then the parent leaves for 5 minutes. If the baby isn't asleep in 5 minutes, the parent returns for another 5 minutes, and then leaves for 10. Each time the parent leaves s/he stays out for 5 minutes longer. The theory is that the baby will eventually realize that he isn't going to be picked up, and he will decide to go to sleep on his own.

C and I talked it over, and we felt like this was a method we could live with, although I wasn't sure I could go as long as 45 minutes of hearing S cry. I was, of course, imagining the worst possible scenario. So we put this plan into action on Monday night. I nursed as usual and when S was asleep, I took him upstairs and put him in his crib. He immediately woke up and cried. I stayed with him for 5 minutes, and he didn't cry as long as I was there. But at the end of the 5 minutes, he was still awake, so I walked out of his room and closed the door. He cried the entire 5 minutes; then C went in for his 5 minutes. S calmed down, but still cried and wouldn't sleep. C left, and we both braced ourselves for a long evening. Amazingly, S went silent after 7 minutes. We looked at each other without saying anything. I simply couldn't believe it! I waited 5 minutes, and then I slowly opened the door to S's room and crawled (literally on my hands and knees) far enough into the room to make sure he was ok. He was sound asleep, and he slept for 5 hours. He woke up twice that night, nursed for about 5 minutes each time, and then went right back to sleep in his crib. Last night was the best! He slept from 7:30 until 12:30, then C went in and soothed him for 5 minutes, after crying for 3 minutes he went back to sleep. He woke up at 4:15, and I nursed him for about 20 minutes. He was sound asleep when I put him back into his crib. I had to wake him up at 7 to get him ready for our day. He went without nursing from 7:30 until 4, which is the longest he's ever gone! I'm so proud of our entire family. With a little persistence and consistency, I think he may be sleeping from 7:30 until 4 or 5 without waking up to nurse, which is a schedule I can live with!

Being a feminist mother

"Personally, becoming a mother has enabled me to be much more clear and efficient about what I want and who I want to be. And that feels feminist to me, because it empowers me. I'm not as wishy washy as I used to be. I don't fake things as much. I'm more aware of the realities of what can hurt me in some ways, because I'm painfully aware now of the things that can hurt my daughter, but at the same time, I'm less willing to waste my time or energy or let someone walk over me just to avoid a conflict. My mothering has taught me to see myself as the same sort of precious entity that I see in my daughter. So it has helped me achieve the kind of self-respect and love for myself and others that feminism, no matter how you define it, should be aiming to bring to all women."

I'm still not certain I can articulate why I am a feminist and, therefore, why I am a feminist mother. WWWmama posted the above comment on my previous post on feminism, and I trust that she'll forgive me for reposting it. I am reposting it because wwwmama artfully expressed a lot of the feelings I have about being a feminist, a mother, and a feminist mother. I too feel less passive, less willing to put up with crap than I was before I became a mother (not that I've ever had a high tolerance for crap). I simply don't have the time to waste energy beating around the bush. I've always been direct, but I've become more so now that I'm a mother. Now that I have a child, I don't want to waste time figuring things out; I'd much rather know what is going on, which I too find empowering. I'm not as afraid to ask questions or as willing to let things unfold. I want to avoid passing on my less than wonderful qualities to my son, so I've tried to become more aware of myself. I also want him to be an empathetic and sympathetic human being, so I'm trying to be more empathetic and sympathetic myself. I think awareness, especially self-awareness, is empowering. I hope S will develop a similar level of self-awareness, and that like his father, he too will call himself a feminist one day.

I just had to . . .

put up the link to "Got what it takes to be a condom tester?" I'm sure I could offer a fairly insightful commentary on this article, but frankly, I just found it plain funny.

What does it mean to be a feminist?

Further, what does it mean to be a feminist and a mother? I want to pose these questions to those of you who read my humble blog because it is a question I have been contemplating myself.

I've recently heard feminism described as a term with "a lot of baggage," and I'm not altogether certain what that means. I proudly proclaim myself to be a feminist, and I've been called upon to explain why I consider myself a feminist more times than I can count. I haven't completely formulated what I want to say about feminism, myself, space, and motherhood, so I think this will turn into a series of posts. I do want to say, however, that I don't think feminism and motherhood are incompatible. I wouldn't have even considered that notion if someone hadn't posed that issue to me. For me, being a feminist unconsciously informs most decisions I make, including many of the ones I make regarding my son. I think being a feminist or not being a feminist is very similar to the idea of competitive mothering I wrote about a few weeks ago. As women, we feel compelled to defend our choices, and a lot of that defense takes the form of judging other people's choices. Isn't the purpose of feminism to give women (and by extension men) choices?

Countdown to defense

C leaves in two weeks to defend his dissertation! HOORAY!!!!!

No more traveling

S and I have returned from our visit to my grandparents. The entire family, including my mom, dad, and brother, was there, and it was wonderful to see everyone. S was a dream on the plane, but I added it up. My little boy has been on 6 plane trips since he was born. We're done traveling for a while.

Some Good News!

I recently proposed a panel at a major conference, and it was accepted! The panel is on a topic very similar to the one of the current chapter I'm working on. Now I have definite motivation to get that chapter finished, so I can turn it into a conference paper fairly easily. I'm working on getting motivated as well. Despite all the stress of last week, I did manage to get three more books read and my syllabus for my summer course, which I start teaching next week, finished. I haven't gotten much writing done, but I am putting myself on a strict time schedule when S and I get back from our trip to visit my grandparents. I want to have 20 pages written by the end of July, which I think is manageable. I know I still have a lot to read before I can finish the chapter I'm working on, but I want to start writing more.

New Plan for the Day

In an attempt to salvage the day (and my sanity), I have decided to take the day off. I am going to go pick S up early and meet C for lunch. After S's afternoon nap, I think we'll go to the pool so he can practice the skills he acquired at Water Babies last week.

A family update for those who are interested: C's mother did not have a heart attack, but she will have a heart catheratization tomorrow to clear up a minor blockage.

And a special thanks to Supadiscomama who took time out of her day to help make mine a little better.

It never ends. . .

C's mother is in the hospital, and we're not sure why. She may have had a minor heart attack, but we won't know until later today. She does have pulmonary fibrosis, which is a lung disease, and she is getting over a very bad chest cold. Her lungs and heart may be responding to the cold. We're both upset. C's mom isn't in great health, but most of her health problems could be improved if she lost weight, exercised, and ate better. Needless to say, she doesn't do these things.

And despite my worry over my mother-in-law, I am left feeling like it never ends. C mailed his dissertation to his committee on Tuesday; we were looking forward to a few quiet weeks before he had to start gearing up for his defense. We were excited because he wasn't going to be in front of the computer almost all day every day, and then we got the phone call telling us about this. Since we're so far away, we spent most of yesterday on the phone with C's brother, and now we have to determine if we need to make another emergency trip to see them. Is it wrong of me to feel like we can't catch our breath?

And this morning I called my sister to have someone to talk to about my frustration, worry, and emotional exhaustion. I didn't get the comfort I was hoping for; instead, I got a lecture on how C's mom didn't get sick to inconvenience me. So on top of the guilt I already feel for my frustration with this particular family situation, I got chastised like I am a child by my older sister, who then yelled at me when I tried to explain that I only wanted her to listen. Now I am in my office crying, and my relatively good mood is shot.

I'm still feeling sorry for myself.

Firefighters

My father is a firefighter in South Carolina, so this story has been on my mind a lot. Thankfully, my father was not involved, and no one he knows was hurt. I don't often use the word tragic, but I think events like this one are tragic.

Ungrateful

In the past few months, I've been called "ungrateful" at least twice by my mother-in-law. In all fairness, she hasn't used that precise word, but that is the sentiment she expressed. My feelings are hurt. I'm not ungrateful; I appreciate the things she does for me. I even send her thank you notes for every gift she sends S. I try to call her at least once a week (even though C talks with her at least three times a week). And despite the complaints I've made about my in-laws here and elsewhere, I do care for my mother-in-law. But I'm tired. I'm tired of being judged, of being told I don't appreciate family the way she does, of being treated like a bad parent when S get sick, and, most of all, of being blamed for the fact that we live 1,200 miles away. I want from my mother-in-law what I want, but rarely get, from my own mother: love and acceptance.

It sucks that we live so far away. There I said it, and I mean it. It sucks that my father has only met my son once because his work schedule hasn't allowed him to take time off to travel. It sucks that C's dad never met our son. It sucks that we only get to see our families two or three times a year. It sucks that I haven't seen my niece and nephew for over two years. It sucks that my brother, sister, and I haven't been in the same city together in as many years. But that is the reality of our lives. I wish that C's mom could just accept this and make the most of the times we are together. I'm tired of her assuming that I'm perfectly happy to only make occasional visits to my hometown (a city I truly, truly love).

Perhaps this makes me ungrateful, but I fantasize about making a secret visit to my hometown so that C and I can visit our friends who still live there and can eat at our favorite restaurant without having to plan around the myriad of family events we have to attend when we're there. I want to show S the beach, the harbor, the beautiful parks. I want to not feel guilty for having a life of my own.

I'm tired of being treated like my life is a personal affront to my mother-in-law. And if you haven't already noticed, I'm feeling a little sorry for myself today.

Another Disappointment for C

The unexpected job I wrote about has been cancelled (but it will be relisted in the fall), and C is understandably disappointed. I feel like my wonderful husband can't catch a break lately. As ambivalent as I was about this potential move, I really wanted him to get the job because, frankly, he has had an unbelievably tough year. On top of all of his dad's death, the job and dissertation stress, he also feels guilty about how little work I've been able to get done this year because I've taken over almost all of the household responsibilities and S's care so he can get this dissertation finished. I don't want him to feel guilty. I want him to understand that this is what a spouse does. I know he will return the favor when I am in the final stage of my dissertation. He told me the other night that he feels like he has to pay me back, and I told him that is ridiculous. I do wish he has had more time to spend with us recently, but I don't feel like he has missed out on any important events. I know this is a means to an end, and frankly, I get a lot more support from my stressed out husband than a lot of wives. It kills me that he doesn't realize what a great husband and father he is. I'm left feeling partially responsible as I was so ambivalent about the job.

On a more positive note, C has scheduled his dissertation defense. As of July 18, he will officially be Dr. C, and we are so excited about that.

Another Potential Move

I haven't completely wrapped my head around this yet, so I think this will be a short post. C didn't get the job he interviewed for in April, so we had reconciled ourselves (fairly happily, actually) to the reality that he would adjunct another year and go back on the market next fall. We both think he'll be much more successful with his degree in hand. A few weeks ago, three jobs came open in his area, and he put in for two of them, assuming he wouldn't hear anything. Friday morning he got a call from one of the universities, and he has an on-campus interview at the end of the month. I'm excited and anxious. I've come to the realization that I kind of like where we live--not necessarily the area (although we could and have lived in worse places), but the community of friends we have. The first job seemed managable b/c it was about an 8 hour drive from our friends. The new job is scarier to me b/c we will be across the country from our friends. Admittedly, we will be closer to our families, which is a plus. But I have lived away from my family for 9 years. My friends, particularly this group of friends, have become my family.

Competitive Mothering

Before I became a mother, I never gave this idea much thought. If someone had said this to me before I was pregnant, I don't think I would have given it much thought, except to think "how can one mother competitively?" My friend Mommy, Ph.D. and I discussed the idea while I was pregnant with S. She said that once she became a mother she began asking other mothers what seemed to be harmless questions: how long does your baby nurse? How much does s/he weigh? Has s/he rolled over/sat up/crawled/smiled/laughed yet? How long does s/he sleep at night? She began asking these sorts of questions to get information, but then she began comparing her and her baby to the other mothers and babies. She said (and I'm paraphrasing her as the conversation was well over a year ago) that she began to observe that mothering was a competition. Mothers want to know how their children are progressing compared to other babies, which seems harmless enough to me. But, as Sarah pointed out, and as I have begun to observe on my own, mothers become disappointed when they realize their children aren't doing something at the same time as other babies, and they become proud when they realize their children have accomplished something before other babies. Mothering becomes a competition.

I have kept Sarah's observations in the back of my mind since then, and I think she is absolutely right. Mothers are competitive about their children, and I am no exception. I attend functions and go out to lunch with my friends who have children on a fairly regular basis, and we all ask about each other's children. I do believe our primary purpose is to find out how each other is doing and what is going on in our lives. But I have to say that when I hear that a friend's 5-month-old is sleeping through the night, I wonder "what is wrong with my child? What is wrong with my as a parent?" I then happily report that although S is not sleeping through the night he is eating, crawling, standing up, and any other new thing he has accomplished. I know how silly I sound, but I really want these other mothers to know that while I can't get my child to sleep through the night I can get him to do all these other things ahead of schedule. I then go home and wonder why I feel the need to compete. I know my son is unique and he will progress at his own rate. I know from personal experience that it does no good to compare children. My sister and I were compared to one another at every point in our childhoods. Those comparisons achieved nothing but making us hate one another until we were adults. We now have a close relationship, but there are still vestiges of competition in our relationship.

So here is yet another unanswerable question: why do mothers feel the need to compete with other mothers? The only answer I can come up with is a big one: insecurity. As my friend Sarah also predicted, I have never felt more defensive or more insecure about anything I've ever done in my life. Admittedly, I've never dealt with criticism well—a hang up from being a perfectionist—but I do not like to have my parenting skills criticized at all. I'll happily take any advice that I've asked for, but I don't like to have my decisions and my choices questioned. I know exactly why too: I'm relatively sure I’m a good mother, but I also question just about every decision I make as a mother—even the ones made instinctually. I think mothers compete because we want some sense of reassurance that we're doing something right. And what better way to do that than to know that our child has done something before another child?

Is it healthy? I certainly don't think so. I fully realize the pitfalls of comparing S to other children, as I have left several gatherings and cried because my child still isn't sleeping through the night. I blame myself for S's struggles, and he is struggling to sleep through the night. Our whole family is struggling to sleep through the night. I know that he will eventually master this skill, but I also know that there will always be something that another child does better than he does, just as there will always be something that he does better than other children. These realizations don't necessarily make me feel any better because I know I will continue to compare my child to other children and my mothering skills to other mothers. I only hope awareness counts for something.

New Look

I've decided I needed a change! Here is my new look, so to speak!

Competitve Parenting

I've been thinking about the idea of competitive parenting a lot, and I've actually been formulating a post in my head for a while, which I rarely do. I tend to blog in the moment, so to speak. I'm not quite ready to post yet, but I want to get the idea out there so I'm committed to writing about it.

Moving, Ethically

So it seems my previous post on "Moving and Ethics" was for naught. We have decided to go with the duplex, as it is the nicer of the two places. Now I feel like I can let myself get excited. As much as I hate moving (haven't I said that before?), I know this is the right choice. Our lovely condo is increasingly dangerous for S, who is now into everything! We don't have enough storage space, which means there is stuff he can get into everywhere. We've baby-proofed as best as we can, but we're still spending a lot of time saying, "No! Put that down!" In the new place, he will have his own room, and we will have our own office. We will be able to shut the door on the office and keep him out of wires, papers, cords, etc. Plus, he will have a backyard too!

Traveling with Family

Processing family time is often difficult for me. Actually, family time is often difficult for me. We live approximately 1200 miles away from our families, so we see them about twice a year or so. We've seen them more since S was born and C's dad died though, which has been both nice and frustrating. After almost 7 years of marriage and over 10 years as a couple, C and I still have trouble dealing with each other's families. I keep expecting it to get easier, but just when I think it has, I am once again reminded how different not only I am from his family but how different our family is from both our natal families.

C's mother and sister flew to the Northeast and joined us on our travels. Part of the trip had originally been planned for them to attend C's graduation, but as his graduation was postponed, the trip became solely about visiting old friends and me doing research. His mom and sister decided to join us as they "didn't know when they'd see any of us again" or be able to travel to that part of the country again. All in all the trip was fine, if occasionally tense. My mother-in-law made several pointed comments about us moving east of the Mississippi, and my sister-in-law, who has no children, repeatedly offered parenting advice. I am not great at ignoring such pointed comments, so rather than ignoring them, I find it necessary to explain the obvious over and over again. Here is a typical conversation between my mil and me regarding her desires for us to move closer.

MIL: I wish you all would just move closer, preferably east of the Mississippi.

Me: C applied for numerous jobs that were on the East Coast, including several in our home state. Unfortunately, he only interviewed at schools in the Midwest and Southwest. That is just the nature of academia; we really don't have much control over where we will end up.

MIL: I just don't understand why he can't get a job at Hometown College.

Me: Well, if there are ever any openings in either of our fields at Hometown College, we will definitely apply. But there is no guarantee that we would get those positions.

MIL: I'm sure the fact that you all are from Hometown and went to Hometown College would be of some benefit.

Me: Not really . . .

And we have this conversation over and over again. Sometimes I get irritated and snippy and ask if she knows something about the process I don't. Then she says something like "I know people at Hometown College (which she doesn't). I could speak to them about you all." Or she reminds C of all her friends who have all their children living spitting distance from their front doors.

To be fair, my mom isn't much better. She just passively says "I wish you all lived closer," completely forgetting that she and my dad moved to California to get away from their families when they were first married. My dad's career brought them back to the East Coast, not a real desire to be close to family.

Traveling together makes these conversations more annoying because we can't escape one another. Add to this my need to have people understand things and my inability not to respond to comments like the ones described above. I like things to be very clear and straightforward. No matter how many times we explain the reality of academic jobs to our families they never seem to get that we may live in the Pacific Northwest or Hometown. Somehow that all means that I don't want to live in the same town as our families--at least it means that for C's mom--and that I am not as committed to family as I should be.

Moving and Ethics

Let me state the obvious: I hate moving. That said, we need to move. Our 2 bedroom, 1 1/2 bath, 2 story condo is too small for us, especially now that S is mobile. S and I currently share space--the largest bedroom is half-nursery, half-office; however, as C acutely observed the other day, I am rarely able to get work done at home. I am occasionaly able to grade, answer student emails, and request articles from the library. I do read a fair amount while S nurses and naps, but I haven't been able to get any writing done at home for months. (*Aside: C made this observation as though he had a huge epiphany, completely forgetting that I've been telling him this for months. . .) C's office is in the dining room, which has worked really well until S got mobile. Now S is trying to climb into C's filing cabinets and rearranging his papers for him.

Moving in our smallish college town isn't easy. We tried to move last year--we even put a bid on a house, which wasn't accepted--but had no luck. This year we've decided to rent again since C will be back on the job market next year; it seems silly to buy a house if we'll may have to sell it in less than a year. So for about 3 months we've been looking for a 3 bedroom, 2 bath apartment/duplex/house to rent. The problem: we really like our current condo. We have a fenced in courtyard with a small shed. I can have all my plants, and C can have a grill. Our cats can get outside with little risk of escaping. In essence we have a yard without really having a yard. Plus our rent is incredibly reasonable, and we love our neighbors. Bigger places in our town are either geared toward undergraduates (3 bedroom, 3 bath homes with a rent that is perfectly reasonable when you divide it by 3, but not affordable for a graduate student and an adjunct instructor) or over-priced to keep undergraduates out of the neighborhood. The affordable places are in not-so-great=neighborhoods or in nice neighborhoods that would add to much time to C's current commute. And we're picky, plain and simple. We need to move, but we don't have to move. We really like our current place, as I said, so that doesn't really induce us to move.

Yesterday we found a duplex we both liked that was in our price range and fit most of our other needs. It has a large, fenced yard with lots of trees (the trees are a plus), a patio, a bigger kitchen, big closets (our current place lacks sufficient closet space), 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, with a convenient location. We put down a deposit, but we didn't sign any paperwork as the leasing agent was booked for the rest of the day. Practically as soon as we got home, some good friends called us to let us know a house in their neighborhood just went up for rent. It is slightly more expensive, but it is a house. C really likes this neighborhood. It would take a lot of time off of his commute, and we'd be right across the street to really close friends. Is it unethical to go see this place, providing we can see it today? And if we like it better than the other place is it unethical to withdraw our deposit and try to rent it? We haven't signed anything, so I won't feel too badly if we decide on the house versus the duplex. Plus, I know the leasing company will be able to lease the duplex without a problem. We're only the third family who has looked at it. I've decided to let C handle this one, which oddly seems fair to me since I've done all the work for the other place. I just wish the house had come available a few days sooner. . .

Travels, Research, and More Sickness

Just a quick post to let everyone know I'm still alive.

We've returned from our marathon trip to the Northeast, where we visited old friends and met C's mom and sister. I'll write more about the family aspect of the trip later as I still have to process that part myself. Seeing our old friends was good, if a bit surreal. We left Northeast College Town over 4 years ago to move to Southern College Town so I work on my doctorate while C finished his from distance. Most of his friends in NCT were affiliated with his program, and most of mine were through the museum where I worked. I made some great friends, probably the only friends I've ever had whom I didn't meet through school. As nice as that was, it made life complicated when we moved. Visiting 4 years post-move was odd. We now all have babies, and I have little to talk about with them except babies. I love these ladies, 2 in particular, but we just don't have a lot in common. They politely asked me about my work, but it is very far outside their realm of experience as are their lives to me.

When we left NCT, we traveled to The Berkshires--BEAUTIFUL! We spent several days in Lenox, MA, and I got in three lengthy visits to The Mount, including a 2 hour chat with the librarian. They had nothing in the way of archival materials, but seeing the space was so helpful for my topic. I was also able to see copies of the architectural plans, which included some changes that Edith Wharton ordered. I now have to finish reading several books, go through all my notes, get familiar with the Beinecke's website, and figure out if I need to make another research trip to Indiana. I arrived home feeling energized and ready to do some real work.

But S arrived home with an awful ear infection, which made him miserable, which made C and me miserable. Luckily he is feeling much, much better. He can go back to school on Tuesday, which means I can get back into the groove of work.

(Rethinking) Gender . . .

. . . is the title of a compelling article in this week's Newsweek. Gender is something I think about a lot, both professionally and privately. Professionally, my dissertation focuses on the way American women writers of the 19th century approached space, both literally and metaphorically. Implicit in my argument is the idea that men and women approach space differently. I argue (or I will argue) that the differences are largely due to cultural and, thus, learned differences. I firmly believe that most aspects of gender are learned, although I am beginning to think that some are biological.

Privately, I think about gender mainly as it pertains to my son. Although many of my family members disagree with me, I don't believe S's gender is fixed. Sure, he is a boy, and he has a penis. But aside from that, S has no idea what that means. What he learns about gender he will learn from C and me. We've spent a lot of time talking about gender construction and what we want to teach him about gender. After reading this article, I started considering some of our more unconscious decisions. Does he have a lot of "boy" toys, for example? He has a few, and some, like his hammer that lights up, are his favorite. But as I thought about this, I also realized that rather unconsciously, C and I have only bought S toys that are gender-neutral. He has blocks, an activity center, lots of books, a few stuffed animals, and that is about it. He does have a few trucks and some "tools," but all of those things were purchased by relatives and friends. We both play fairly rough with S--he loves to jump and to be tickled. He throws himself at C and tries to wrestle. But I do think we would have treated a girl the same way as we both played this way with our niece. I will admit that we dress S in "boy" clothes. He has lots of blue, and there are not dresses in his closet (although I've thought more than once that dresses must make for easier diaper changes).

I want to raise my child in an environment that is welcoming of all genders--and, as Anne Fausto-Sterling among others suggests, I do think there are more than two genders. I want S to choose his own way and to understand that he doesn't have to do things the way his parents have. I want him to have the freedom to explore his body and his sexuality and his gender. But in all honesty, I am not entirely sure how to accomplish that. And as much as I want him to make his own way, I'm also wary of the real world. What is acceptable in our home won't necessarily be acceptable in the real world. And as progressive and liberal as I like to think myself, I have no idea how I'll react if my little boy announces one day that he wants to be a girl.

Happy Belated Mother's Day

Since most of the people who read my blog are mothers, I wanted to extend a Happy, albeit belated, Mother's Day to all the mothers in the blogosphere.

My first Mother's Day was mellow and low-key, which is exactly what I needed and had requested. C took care of everything all day, which was so fabulous. I plan to return the favor next month on his first Father's Day. That said, I feel blessed to have a husband who thinks Mother's Day is silly (although he happily celebrated it with me) and does wonderful things for me on a regular basis.

Doctor Frustration

S has had a relapse, and I find myself somewhat frustrated with his doctor, whom I actually like a lot. Yesterday afternoon, he started running a fever again, and then he developed a rash. After a phone call to the nurse on-call (who was actually helpful for a change!) and one to my sister-in-law, who has 2 boys of her own, I determined that S likely had a sinus infection and could even have strep throat. I resigned myself to the fact that I couldn't do anything about it until this morning as the doctor's office was already closed.

Skip ahead to 1:00 am. My baby boy wakes up screaming and is on fire. He had a temp of 104.2. I realize that isn't so high for a baby, but fevers scare me. My older brother had viral meningitis at 5 months old. He had a fever of 105 for over 24 hours before doctors were able to bring it down, and as a result, he is profoundly deaf. He leads a happy, productive life, but his "disability" (I hate that word, but I digress) is a result of a fever. Needless to say, I wanted to take S straight to the emergency room. Luckily C's cooler head prevailed. He convinced me to give S a dose of Motrin and wait 20 minutes; if the fever hadn't come down, he promised we would take him. The fever came down in 20 minutes, and S finally went back to sleep. We got him to the doctor first thing this morning, and he has a sinus infection. It seems his nasty cold (which he has had for almost 3 weeks) turned into a sinus infection.

I am frustrated with his doctor and my health insurance for several reasons. First, I don't feel like she listened to my concerns at his original appointment for the cold 3 weeks ago. That said, I know I am likely responding to my irritation and frustration at his being sick for so long. Lack of sleep probably doesn't help anyway. I'm irritated with my health insurance because I can only go to one clinic in town; none of the doctors in the practice (and they are all good doctors; I have few complaints about them) are on call after hours. If I have a question I have to call a nurse on-call. In the past, said nurse (it isn't always the same nurse) has been less than helpful and not at all reassuring. There are times I long for a practice that relies on an answering service. I want to leave a message and have a doctor call me back, especially if I think it is an emergency. My vet uses this method, but not my pediatrician. As I said, I was able to talk to a helpful nurse last night (only because I located a different phone number for the nurse on-call), and C was even able to get this nurse back on the phone when we had another question about an hour later. I could launch into a tirade about the poor health insurance graduate students have to put up with, but that isn't the case. I like my insurance, and I like our doctors. I hate the nurse on-call system. I'm hanging onto the "good" number and calling that one from now on. I'm so glad I've gotten into the habit of asking people their name because I plan to ask for the helpful nurse the next time I have to use the nurse on-call system.

Now S is happily playing, and I feel better knowing he feels better.

Final Drafts, Illness, and Travels

C mailed what we both hope will be the final draft of his dissertation off to his advisor on Friday. He will most likely be unable to make the deadline for a May graduation, so we're settling for an August graduation. The act of mailing it has relaxed C considerably; we even allowed ourselves some real fun on Saturday. We're in the market for a glider, so we drove to a nearby city and went shopping. Of course, all day shopping excursions are no longer as much fun as they once were now that we have S, but he was a trooper.

We had our first experience with an extended illness last week. S ran a fever from Monday until early Thursday morning, and he threw up a few times as well. I took him to the pediatrician to make sure everything was ok, and it seems to have only been a virus. After two sleepless nights, I'm glad my little guy started feeling better by Thursday. He is back to his old self already, and it is a wonderful thing to have a happy baby again.

The end of the semester is approaching, and we're making plans for another trip. We've traveled more in the past year than in the past four. This time the trip is for me and about me, with a short side trip to meet Cody's dissertation advisor. We're going to Lenox, MA so I can do research at Edith Wharton's home, The Mount. I've spoken to the curator there, and while they don't have a lot in the way of archival documents, I will be able to photograph the house extensively and look at some architectural plans, which is important for my dissertation. I can't express how excited I am to finally have the opportunity to get to do some of my own work. C is assuming all responsibility for S, so I will be able to get some real work done. On top of that, C will be assuming the primary responsibility for S over the summer so I can continue to get work done! In his words, he is returning the favor for all the time I've sacrificed on my own work in the past year so he could finish his dissertation. I'm hoping to get a draft of my Wharton chapter done by August, so I can move on to a different chapter this fall.

The Return of Wetnurses

"Would you pay someone to nurse your baby?" was the title of a segment on the Today Show this morning. As open minded as I am about breastfeeding, I'm not sure my open mind extends to the return of wet nurses. As a breastfeeding mother, I am completely supportive of all mothers and fathers who want their children to experience the benefits of breastfeeding, even when they aren't able to provide their children with breast milk themselves. As I have more than enough milk for S, I even contemplated donating to a local mother's milk bank, the one mentioned in this article in fact; I could not, however, imagine nursing another woman's baby, and I certainly would not want another woman to nurse my child. That said, I'm not sure how I feel about this. I want to be able to say that if a woman wants to nurse other children, why shouldn't she do it and get paid well for it? Unfortunately, I know too much about the history of wet nurses in this country to be comfortable with seeing a return of this practice. I think there is a slippery slope between women like the one described in the article who do this willingly to a mother who is struggling to make ends meet and decides to become a wet nurse out of desperation. I think women can be taken advantage of too easily, and what happens to the wet nurse's child?

Baby Showers

Warning: this is a random thought.

I'm tired of baby showers! In the past 9 months, I've attended and help plan at least 8 baby showers (two of which were my own), and I'm simply tired of them. I don't mean to sound like a grouch, as I am actually happy to attend the shower and give my friends a gift for their new babies. I do wish, however, we could reinvent the baby shower, as they are all the same--even the ones I plan. I do not excuse myself from the boredom. I fully realize I am just as guilty--I cannot throw a creative baby shower to save my life. The ones I help plan end up like all the other ones--we eat cutsie finger foods, we play an annoying game or two, and then we open gifts, uttering the requiste oohs and aahs over them. The showers vary somewhat, mostly over the hosts' willingness or unwillingness to play the annoying games. One of my best friends is expecting her first child in October, and I am determined to make that baby shower different. How, you ask? I don't know--I presume a stripper and tequila shooters are out of the question.

Audience(s)

I've been thinking a lot about audiences lately, particularly the audience for my blog. I've been rereading past posts and thinking a lot about blogging and my audience. I began this blog ostensibly as a way to work out ideas about my dissertation, and it quickly became more of a journal about my adventures in new motherhood. Occasionally my blog has touched on political issues, and I have continued to blog about my work. But more often than not, I have written about my concerns, anxieties, and triumphs as a new mom. That said, I've been thinking a lot about audience lately.

In all honesty, I don't pay that much attention to how many people look at my blog, although I do try to read most of the comments and reply to them when I feel called to do so. If I was concerned about a large audience, I might experience a similar bloggy depression to the one Lilian at Mama(e) in Translation describes. Like Lilian, I enjoy the feedback, but I still think of this blog as mour of a journal--I don't always know if I want people to respond--or even to read--what I write. Several close friends read my blog on a fairly regular basis, and that make for other audience issues. Unlike my more traditional journals (which I've kept off and on for over 20 years, more off than on lately!), I'm very aware of audience when I blog. Sometimes that is a good thing, like when I write about a political issue that has moved or upset me; in that case I am writing to make my readers (that seems like such a weird thing to say) aware of something that is important to me and that I think may interest them. Sometimes when I want to write about something personal, having an audience, particularly an audience of people I see on a fairly regular basis, isn't a good thing.

From the beginning I've been fairly ambivalent about blogging. I like it and I don't like it; it has its positives and its negatives. But I keep doing it, and I'm not quite sure why. It is an avenue for me to "talk" about things that I don't normally get the opportunity to talk about, and I like that I've met other women who are at a similar place in their lives as I am. But sometimes it is darn annoying to have to think about who will read my blog before I write. That statement begs the question: why don't I blog completely anonymously? For the most part, I am anonymous; if you don't know me, it would be difficult for you to figure out who I am. But, as I said, several good friends know I blog and read my blog with some regularity--at my invitation, I have to admit.

So what is my point? I'm not altogether certain. I'm learning (or perhaps I'm relearning) that it is ok to be ambivalent about something that I generally enjoy doing. I'm also realizing that as much as I claim I would continue to blog if no one read my blog I am not so sure I would. Having an audience makes "journalling" more difficult, but it also makes it more rewarding.

But insurance companies still pay for viagra. . .

So I don't understand why it is such an issue to cover the cost of birth control pills, especially for young women who are clearly not ready to be mothers. "Birth control prices soar on campuses" is another example of how women are penalized for being women. Isn't it more cost-effective for Medicaid and insurance companies to pay for birth control pills than for them to insure children or pay for uninsured children?

I think most of us knew this. . .

"Painful sex common after giving birth": didn't most of us know this already? I think a more important thing to study is why don't more women talk to their doctors (heck, or even each other!) about this. Why is it still taboo for women to discuss sex?

Unmedicated Childbirth

A good friend of mine is expecting her first child in October, and we were recently chatting about unmedicated childbirth. She asked me if I would have another unmedicated birth and if I would use the Bradley method again. I immediately answered yes; I would try for a very similar birth experience, as both C and I were very happy with S's birth. That said, my feelings about our birth experience are very complicated, and while I've happily shared the birth story with most good friends, I haven't really gone into much detail regarding my feelings of the birth. As with most of my mothering decisions, I feel very protective and almost defensive about my experience. My need to write about my protective feelings is more about me thinking through why I'm so protective of the experience rather than feeling attacked by people who disagree with my choice.

I know precisely why I am protective of my birth experience (and I say my rather than our because C and I have very different perspectives on the experience). For me the experience was completely about my family; I wanted to do what was best suited for us. While on some minute level, I did feel committed to having an unmedicated birth to prove all the people who questioned my desire and ability to do it wrong. But all of those feelings went away the minute I went into labor. I've discussed my experience with other women who've had unmedicated childbirth and women who elected to have medication. Most of these women describe the contractions as painful, and while I wholeheartedly agree contractions hurt, I'm unhappy with the word "painful." Since S was born I've been searching for a word to describe what I experienced with my contractions. Painful seems too negative, too harsh. Intense is a good word because I think intense can refer to positive and negative experiences, but painful has too many negative connotations associated with it. Perhaps I'm overly sentimental about S's birth (which is entirely possible considering the difficult days and weeks that followed not only due to having a colicky newborn but due to the death of C's dad the day after S was born), but I'm unhappy calling that experience painful. That day was anything but painful. So now I discover that I've become one of those women who wax poetic about the "pain" associated with childbirth, and I don't feel that accurately describes my experience either. It was a tense and intense day; we came dangerously close to an emergency c-section because S's heart rate was not stable. To this day, I'm not even certain how close we came as I was busy coping with contractions; C, my doula, and my doctor have all told me we were within minutes. Luckily, my doctor was able to turn S while he was inside of me (I will associate pain with that particular experience!), and he quickly stabilized. Forty-five minutes after that, my beautiful son was born. So when people ask me if I would choose another method of childbirth, I have to say no. Our method (I hesitate to say we used the Bradley method because I really believe the Bradley method encourages you to develop your own method of relaxation techniques to get you through childbirth) worked for us once, and I would happily do it again.

Writing this, I find that almost six months later, I still haven't processed that day completely. My life was profoundly changed that day in October. I also know that C and I haven't discussed it as much as either one of us would like to because S's birth is forever connected with his grandfather's death. To me death is painful; birth is not.

Welcome!

My good friend Sarah, who blogs at Mommy, Ph.D., welcomed her baby girl into the world on Sunday. Baby AB, as I believe Sarah is calling her in the blogging world, is a beauty, with long, graceful fingers and a head full of dark hair. Welcome to the world, little girl!

The Decoration of Houses

Warning: I'm using today's post as a free-write to work out some ideas for my dissertation.

I'm reading Edith Wharton's The Decoration of Houses, which she co-wrote with Ogden Codman, in preparation for my trip to her home, The Mount. I'm going there in May to do some research on Wharton's architectural and design ideas. As I was reading, this quotation struck me: "The very dangers and barbarities of feudalism had fostered and preserved the idea of home as something private, shut off from intrusion."

I've been thinking about this sentence since I read it yesterday. The idea that danger and uncertainty promotes privacy of the home interests me. Wharton (and Codman, although I'm much less interested in him) presents very clear ideas of home or the desire for home in many of her works; in fact, my dissertation a chapter on Lily Bart's desire for a home of her own (hence, my interest in Wharton's own home). That struggle and uncertainty promotes privacy seems integral to her fiction, especially The House of Mirth. Lily clearly doesn't experience the same kind of danger Wharton is referring to in this passage from The Decoration of Houses, but Lily does experience a sort of societal danger. But the danger Lily experiences has the opposite affect; it degrades rather than promotes her privacy. I would argue (and I think Wharton would agree) that Lily lacks privacy because of her position in society and because she has no space of her own. Even at the end of the novel, when she is living in a rented room, Lily still does not possess any space that is truly her own. She is excluded from society, and to an extent that exclusion affords her a certain amount of privacy. She is, however, still the talk of her social set, although they have discarded her. Everyone knows where she is and what she is doing, yet none of her "friends" or "family" knows the truth about Lily. How then does her lack of space affect her sense of privacy and her sense of her self? Lily carefully constructs herself to appear one way in front of her friends, and she rarely lets that mask fall, even when she is alone. How closely are space and privacy connected then? Lily has no space, and the only privacy she has is what her social set allows her. Clearly, I'm not sure where I'm going with this yet . . .

Waiting Game

C's on campus interview was earlier this week, so now we're waiting.

New tooth, sitting up, and chunky thighs

It has been an exciting week for S--he is sitting up on his own, he got a new tooth, and his chunky, chunky thighs make it impossible for me to put pants on him. We went to a state park today to admire the wildflowers, and I wanted to dress him in his very cute blue jeans. The blue jeans went on easily, but when I sat him down on the floor to play while I finished getting ready, he toppled over. His jeans were too tight on his chunky thighs for him to bend his legs properly so he couldn't sit up. I laughed so hard I cried, and then I changed my chunky baby's clothes.