Half a Year

I sure come and I go, don’t I?  One moment I am here, clipping along, being all duktig and such, making posts and keeping up with everything, and the next, I go for three months without anything productive on the writing front.

Excuses?  The usual…homeschool, baby, thesis, classes, washing diapers.  Somehow I always seem to be caught up in something.  I forget that there is a whole future coming up quickly, and there will be someone in the future who might value this peek into the past…maybe even my own children.  And if it is not all for them, then who is it for?

I am mostly-content with life these days.  I enjoy my work, and for all the harassment it is sometimes to always be reachable and “on call” when a client or a developer wants/needs to speak with me, I am deeply appreciative of the freedom working from home gives me.  I like being challenged and learning new things about technology, and I feel like I am gaining valuable work experience, even if it comes at the cost of my thesis sometimes.

Occupying is one of the hardest things I have ever done.  It is complexly rewarding to be building a community with so many passionate, dedicated people, but it is quite challenging.  Some days I wonder why I bother, but most days I am just grateful that we are all waking up, however slowly.  Even as our oldest son is shaking the nest and challenging us, questioning our authority, he is growing to deeply appreciate the things we hold dear.  We are watching him become a man swiftly before our eyes, and I know I do not merely speak for myself when I say that my heart is bursting with pride whenever I see him hold conversations, understand the topics of discussion, or work hard on props for guerrilla street theatre.

We really, truly, have Occupied Our Lives.

Can you believe that this youngest son is almost 6 months old?  I took his 5 month pictures today finally (only a couple of weeks late, heh) and he was all over the place, wriggling this way and that, grabbing the “5 Months” sticker, his feet, the camera, my hair.  He was cordial, but very antsy.  He was just as could be expected.  Almost 6 months….half his first year!

Can you believe Occupy is that old?

Wearing My Open Letter On my Sleeve

Dear Fellow Members of the 99%,

On the evening of September 17th, the very first day that we occupied Zuccotti Park and renamed it to Liberty Park, I gave birth to my youngest son.  He emerged without much medical intervention, save the kind hand of the midwife who unwound a cord from his neck before I pulled him to my chest.  Taking his first breath, he drank in not only air, but the milk from my body and hazy first impressions of his surroundings.

We had been tossed up about his middle name for months, but as we read that the movement that had been given theoretical life on AdBusters was now a reality, we knew that we would name him for Nestor Makhno, a Ukrainian anarchist who led the Makhnovists, an organized peasant army that championed, among many things, autonomy and freedom.  He was one of hundreds of anarchists driven into exile after being betrayed by the same Bolsheviks who once stood shoulder-to-shoulder with them during the revolution and the resulting civil war.

As our son grew, so did the Occupation, spreading from Wall Street across the United States and then, across the globe, capturing the imagination of many and inspiring hope where there once seemed so very little.  In two weeks time, Occupy Wall Street was being discussed in nearly every corner of our daily lives, and many of us looked around ourselves, feeling an intense, spontaneous unity with people whom we had never even met before.  We had finally broken the spell of so many dominant paradigms, and it was exciting to watch a grassroots movement burst into existence, rising up to the surface of our social consciousness to take its own first breath of life.

Like any birth process, the labor was hard.  For some of us it has been a long, painful struggle to get to this point, for others, a modicum faster.  For all of us, it has been heart-rending, because how could it not be?  As we collectively wake up from the American Dream, we are becoming cognizant of our mutual suffering, our near-universal state of oppression, and our shared experiences of trying to survive in a world with few guarantees, no matter how insulated we thought we once were from economic tragedy.

Today, we are eight weeks in.  Although we have been well aware of the cracks in the surface of our economic and political constructs for some time, our Occupations are in their infancy, mere fledglings really.  Difficulties and obstacles are beginning to wear our nerves thin, and the stress of logistically supporting the Occupations as winter sets in is coupled with a widening media backlash.  Hope has been coupled with the reality of commitment and survival, and we are all beginning to show the strain.  In Occupations everywhere we are beset with infighting and ideological schisms that threaten to unravel all the work that we have done.  Our loyalties within our broader communities are as diverse as our supporters, and while this diversity is often strength, our differences are sometimes monumental to overcome.

I strongly believe that we are beginning to reach a turning point, or, if you will….a series of turning points.  As the mercury drops, our individual investments in the Occupations will become ever more strained, and we will rely heavily upon our community resources to maintain individual Occupations and help them to make it through the winter.  If we can bitterly divide ourselves through internal conflicts, there will not need to be a police presence to uproot us and scatter our resistance to the wind–we will do that to ourselves.  It seems that if we want to remain relevant, we must consider how we can be as inclusive as possible.  While factioning off and forging small fractional loyalties with those whom we most admire might seem to be the best idea, that is the very thing that threatens to make Occupations everywhere perish.  In essence, we are only as strong as our weakest link, and those who feel the most alienated are those who we should be seeking to incorporate.

Today, Occupy Dayton’s general assembly will be meeting as usual, and one of the topics up for discussion will be whether or not to move the camp, as requested by the Downtown Dayton Partnership, for their yearly kick-off of Christmas festivities.  This issue has already been intensely divisive, and has brought to the forefront unspoken grudges, bitter resentments, and ideological schisms that were perhaps once masked by the brilliance of our hope for a better world.  Some are stomping away from Occupy Dayton in disgust, while others are pledging to remain, no matter what the outcome of our decision.

I cannot speak for any one person here, but I speak here today for my family, who met yesterday, all eight of us, to discuss how we would wish to vote.  After much debate and defining of terms for the younger members, we decided that we think that the Occupation should remain in Court House Square, regardless of the intentions to hold holiday celebrations here.  However, we offer up a caveat to that assertion, and that I wanted to share with you:

Our Occupation is only as strong as the support it receives.  If we burn our bridges and destroy important alliances in the community, we are not only disrupting potential support networks, but we are further isolating ourselves from the public eye and allowing the media to continue to paint us as the demons that some want us to be.  Because support is so critical to our survival, we need to find more ways to incorporate our broader community into our efforts, and more importantly…to give voice to the efforts of others.

There is talk of moderation, of tempering our anger with understanding, and of making small concessions to achieve bigger goals.  As a burgeoning political scientist I would tend to agree, as I know from my research that it is those who moderate that are the most successful in the long run.  While there is no reason why we should uproot ourselves for the temporary celebration of a holiday, there is every reason why we ought to make an attempt to include those who want to celebrate that holiday, just like we would include another person who wanted to come to the camp and lend support.

This is not about Moving or Not Moving.  This is about how we are going to manage issues that crop up like this without letting them break us into so many shards of glass, for we know, deep down….we are not that fragile.  We possess within ourselves–each and every one of us–something that we can contribute to a better world.  Instead of seeing the issue as black and white, a matter of bowing to the Downtown Dayton Partnership or of standing against it, why can we not regard it as a different issue altogether?  If this revolution is in part about looking at the world in alternate ways, then this is what we must do…see this in a different way.

There is no reason why we ought to move, but there is also no reason why we cannot be polite and civil about our desire to stay.  We cannot be like the Bolsheviks and command our compatriots to behave as we think they ought to, but we must be resolute in our desire to grow and continue to support each other through mutual aid and mutual affinity.  Whether we like it or not, and whether the Downtown Dayton Partnership likes it or not, we share this square with the City of Dayton, and while they have a right to erect a Christmas tree here, we also have the right to continue to occupy the square in solidarity with Occupations around the world.  How we choose to handle that sharing of space is up to us, but the fact that we must share it is a given variable.

Eight weeks, you see, is not really all that long a period of time.  In eight weeks time, our young son has discovered much about his world–he smiles when he sees a human face, is content when his needs are being met, and desperately upset when they are not.  There is still so far for him to go, so very much for him to learn, and many kinks to work out in the process of growth and development.  I do not expect him to be perfect, and I do not expect him to be what he is not–how could I?  Like any human being, or, to follow my simple analogy, any socio-political movement, he will be the sum of what is invested in him.  If I teach him kindness, patience, and tolerance, he will treat others in the same way.  If he learns that he can disobey with civility and challenge injustice without violence, he will exemplify this in his interactions with others.  Someday he may even spread this behavior to his fellow human beings, and in the process, he will be able to change the world.  Our Occupations are no different.

Lest I ramble on and bore you to tears, I will leave it at that, and I will add merely this small passage penned by Emma Goldman:

“But what about human nature? Can it be changed? And if not, will it endure under Anarchism?

Poor human nature, what horrible crimes have been committed in thy name! Every fool, from king to policeman, from the flatheaded parson to the visionless dabbler in science, presumes to speak authoritatively of human nature. The greater the mental charlatan, the more definite his insistence on the wickedness and weaknesses of human nature. Yet, how can any one speak of it today, with every soul in a prison, with every heart fettered, wounded, and maimed?

John Burroughs has stated that experimental study of animals in captivity is absolutely useless. Their character, their habits, their appetites undergo a complete transformation when torn from their soil in field and forest. With human nature caged in a narrow space, whipped daily into submission, how can we speak of its potentialities?

Freedom, expansion, opportunity, and, above all, peace and repose, alone can teach us the real dominant factors of human nature and all its wonderful possibilities. ”

Much Love,

One of the 99%

Its the little things

I do my fair share of complaining about things—annoyingly close-minded people, poorly-wrought governmental policies, humanity’s collective disregard for their own health or that of the planet they live on—but for a moment I would like to point out some of the things crossing my path that I am currently rather pleased about (in no particular order).

1.  Seeing my cervix.  Today I went for my 6 week post-partum checkup at the midwifery where I did my prenatal care with El Gato, and after I had my uterus poked and my ovaries felt up, I was offered a mirror so that I could look at my own cervix.  This was pretty neat, since even though I had spent countless hours on my back with someone else peeking at it, I had never seen it myself.  This is even more astounding when you consider that I am familiar with the Boston Women’s Health Collective and I even own a few copies of Our Bodies, Ourselves.  That aside, my cervix is kind of pretty….in a dewy, futuristic landscape kind of way.

2.  Getting El Gato to nurse in a wrap carrier.  This was HUGE.  Since he is getting older and is sleeping less zombie-like for hours on end, I have had many moments recently where he wakes up before a task is completed, leaving me holding him with one aching arm while the other attempts to load the rest of the giant mound of groceries into the cart, throw the diapers into the dryer, type out a response to a developer at work, or finish cooking the food on the stove. Having him nurse relatively sanely in a carrier that leaves my hands both free is a big relief.

3.  Pulling O’s first tooth out for her.  She is kind of young (5) to be losing her first tooth, at least for our kids, and this one was only coming out because the tooth under it had pushed up and around the back of the baby one, causing a painful crowding that made it difficult for her to eat.  I have a semi-strict policy of not yanking teeth out until they are hanging by a thread, but I made an exception in this case.  It was all sweet and tiny, a really adorable tooth.  Now that damn tooth fairy just has to remember to come tonight….

4.  Hemp oil and hemp seeds.  I have been eating these constantly since giving birth to El Gato.  I drink hemp oil in my own version of Tibetan chai (they use clarified yak butter), put it in smoothies, in oatmeal, and on salad.  Hemp seeds go in just about everything.  If we could run away from academia and be hemp farmers, I would do it in an instant.

5.  Cloth diapers that really work.  Since I worked on a big project early in the year, I was able to use the slight rise in income to purchase some high-quality cloth diapers.  Even though I still got many of them second hand via online auction, I was able to invest properly in them this time around, and as a result, we have no rashes or leaks, and all the prefolds that El Gato just grew out of I have up on an auction site to sell right now.  We are making our money back already with the initial bids, which is also something that never happened before when we used cloth because we bought cheaper diapers and they went through more kids since the middle kids–Muse, Dream, Bean, and O–were all really close together.  In case you were wondering, we use mostly prefolds and wool covers, but mix it up with some poly snap and velcro covers, a few flat diapers, a whole bunch of tie-style knitted diapers, some fitted diapers that were gifts, and two pocket-styles that were hand-me-downs.  It might seem silly to get so excited or particular about cloth diapers, but since I spend a good portion of my existence changing them, folding them, washing them, or buying new ones, getting the right kind is incredibly important.  Since we co-sleep, not waking up wet is a really big deal too, which invests us further in making night-time leak free.  We have already spent way less than we would have on disposables as well, and you certainly can’t re-sell disposables when you are through.

6.  My exercise ball/birth ball office chair.  I bought this after much hemming and hawing and searching auction sites when I was pregnant with El Gato because I have to spend a significant amount of my day sitting, which caused unbearable back pain.  Sitting on it not only engaged El Gato in my pelvis and made birth really easy, it has strengthened my back and helped me to recover over the past 6 weeks.  I still use it, and since El Gato became accustomed to the bouncing motion while in utero, he now is soothed by being worn in a carrier while I bounce on it while working.

7.  Figuring out how to re-work my thesis.  This has been a huge thorn in my side, because I am running out of time.  In a few quarters, my funding dries up, and if I don’t have my thesis written by then, I have to start paying a lot of money out of pocket.  This millstone hanging around my neck had not spurred creativity yet, but somehow all the thoughts I have been having on the global Occupation movements have smushed into the Zapatistas and Engaged Buddhism, and while talking to the receptionist at the midwifery today who had the misfortune of asking a grad student what they were researching, I think I finally have found a way to articulate what I am looking at.

What are some of your favorite little things?

Our Last (and Best!) Birth Plan

I have these grand plans to write down all of the birth stories (or at least finish El Gato’s), but I am only sort of together with that.  While reading click clack gorilla recently, it struck me that I never shared our birth plan, which seems a shame since we put so much time and energy into writing it, and only 3 or 4 people ever saw it at all!  Not that it is a huge literary masterpiece or anything, but someone might find it useful.

A Birth Plan, by Mr. K and Ms. E

Before Labor Begins:

• As long as the baby and Ms. E are healthy, we would like to go at least 10 to 14 days over the baby’s due date (9/11/11) before inducing labor.
• As long as the baby and Ms. E are healthy, we would like to have no time restrictions on the length of our pregnancy.
• We will be laboring at home as long as possible.
• We trust that our practitioner or any other health care providers will seek out our opinion concerning all of the issues directly affecting our birth before deviating from our plan.

Vaginal exams:

• Please obtain permission before stripping Ms. E’s membranes during a vaginal exam.  This needs to be discussed with us first.
• We prefer to have no vaginal exams until Ms. E goes into labor.
• During a vaginal exam, we prefer at no time to have the amniotic sac broken unless there is an emergency situation.
• We would like to have limited internal vaginal exams during labor.  Please ask first.

Induction:

• If induction becomes necessary, we would like to try natural induction techniques first:
  • Breast stimulation
  • Walking
  • Herbs
  • Enema
  • Castor oil
  • Chiropractic
  • Acupuncture
  • Sexual intercourse

• If medical induction becomes necessary, we prefer to try stripping/rupturing membranes first.
• If Ms. E’s water breaks spontaneously before she goes into labor, we would like to wait 24 or more hours before any induction techniques are introduced.  We understand the need to maintain a sterile vaginal environment and are prepared to take the needed measures to prevent infection (heating toilet paper, no baths, no sex, etc).

Environment:

• Upon arrival at the hospital, we prefer to have our family together at all times.  We expect that there will be both of us, our 5 children, a caregiver for the younger children, and various friends and support individuals.  Our children are as follows: Hershaw, who is 15, Muse, who is 11, Dream, who is 9, Bean, who is 7, and O, who is 5 years of age.
• Please, no residents or students attending the birth unless they take notes unobtrusively, as observers.  We reserve the right to show them the door if they become a problem.

Miscellaneous environment items:

• Dimmed lights.
• Music will be playing, probably continuously.
• Ms. E will be catching the baby herself, in whatever position feels comfortable.  Please respect this and do not suggest other positions.
• If loud talking and unneeded chatter could be conducted outside the room, this would be helpful.
• Ms. E will be wearing her own clothes during labor and delivery.
• There will probably be photography/video/etc.  Ms. E might even be working or at least checking in with work while in labor.
• Please keep the door closed and remind others to close it.

Pain Relief:

• Ms. E wishes to be offered NO external means of pain relief.  She is perfectly comfortable laboring on her own.  This is not negotiable.

Other Considerations:

• Ultimately, Ms. E wants to be able to walk around and move as she wishes while in labor.  She will probably wander out into the rotunda and walk in circles at some point.  Please respect her autonomy.
• Ms. E would like to feel unrestricted in accessing any sounds of chanting, grunting, or moaning during labor.  Judging by previous labors, she will probably be pretty quiet and solitary for much of the labor process, but every birth is different.
• It is preferred that health care providers bother Ms. E as little as possible.  She has no problem being on her own in a corner, laboring away….it is preferred.  Please trust that she will seek out the help she needs.

Monitoring:

• In general, Ms. E would not like to be monitored, but she will tolerate being intermittently monitored to allow for as much mobility and the least amount of bother as possible.  Please respect this and keep monitoring to an absolute minimum.
• PLEASE USE A LARGER SIZE BLOOD PRESSURE CUFF TO GET AN ACCURATE READING.  During prenatal visits, it was discovered that the larger cuff is preferred.

Second Stage Labor:

• Please keep in mind that Ms. E wants to catch the baby herself.  She has already delivered some of her children unassisted, and would like to do so again.
• As long as the baby and Ms. E are healthy, we prefer to have no time limits on pushing.
• Please do not tell Ms. E when to push, how to push, or to stop pushing.  She will follow her instincts on this.
• She may or may not try the following different positions for labor:
  • Squatting
  • Classic semi-recline
  • Hands and knees
  • On the toilet
  • Standing upright
  • Side Lying

Episiotomy:

• Ms. E prefers to have NO episiotomy and risk tearing.  If needed, she will apply warm compresses, oil, or use perineal massage.  She might ask for help with this.

The Delivery:

• Ms. E would like to catch the baby, guide him as he emerges, and pull him onto her abdomen after he is born.
• We prefer to have the lights dimmed for delivery or, if it is daylight, to access only natural light.
• It’s important to Ms. E to push instinctively.  She does not want to be told how or when to push.
• We would like the shoulders and body of the baby to be born spontaneously, on their own.

After Baby is Born:

• As long as our baby is healthy, Ms. E will place him immediately in skin-to-skin contact on her abdomen.   A warm blanket to put over him at this time would be appreciated.
• Please do not separate her and the baby until after he has successfully breastfed on both breasts.
• Please delay all essential routine procedures on our baby until after the bonding and breastfeeding period.  We will not be bathing our child at this time, but would prefer to rub the vernix into his skin.

Cesarean:

• If a C-Section is not an emergency, please give us time alone to think about it before asking for our written consent.
• Mr. K is to be present at all times during the c-section.  Our two oldest children are welcome to be present as well, but the three youngest should join their caregiver outside of the room.
• Ideally, Ms. E would like to remain conscious during the procedure.
• Ms. E would like the baby to be shown to her immediately after he is born.
• Ms. E would like to have contact with the baby as soon as it is possible in the delivery room.
• Ms. E prefers to have a hand free to touch the baby.
• We would like to photograph or film the operation as the baby comes out.
• We would like to film or photograph only the baby after delivery.
• If possible, please discuss anesthesia options with us (including morphine options).
• Ms. E prefers a low transverse incision on her abdomen and uterus.
• Please respect our wishes to be quiet during the operation (e.g., avoiding “small talk” with other practitioners in the room).
• Recovery (check all that apply)
  • If our baby is healthy, Ms. E would like to hold him and nurse him immediately in recovery.
  • We would like to sign any waivers necessary to permit us to be with our baby in recovery.
  • As long as our baby is healthy, Ms. E would like Mr. K to be the baby’s constant source of attention until she is free to bond with him (i.e., holding, skin-to-skin contact, etc.).
  • Please pay special attention to our nursing needs in recovery.  Ms. E may need some “extra help” nursing after the operation.
  • Ms. E would like to have her catheter and IV removed ASAP after our recovery period.
  • Please discuss what Ms. E can expect to feel immediately following the procedure.

Third Stage Labor:

• Please wait for the umbilical cord to stop pulsating before it is clamped and cut.  We will be holding a lottery amongst our kids, friends, and family as to who gets to cut the cord (probably from names in a jar)
• We would prefer for the placenta to be born spontaneously, without the use of chemical/hormonal augmentation, and/or controlled traction on the umbilical cord.
• We would like to take home the placenta.

Newborn Procedures:

• If the baby has any problems, we would like Mr. K to be present with the baby at all times, if possible.
• We would like to have routine newborn procedures delayed until bonding and breastfeeding have occurred.
• We would like all newborn routine procedures to be performed in our presence.

• Administration of Eye drops
  • Please do not administer prophylactic eye drops to our baby, as there is no identified need to do so.  We will use colostrum in the place of antibiotics if there is a problem with this.
  • Vitamin K
    • Please do not administer vitamin K to our baby.
    • Immunizations
      • We will not be immunizing our infant at this time.  There is a waiver with our FB paperwork and also with our pediatrician’s office.
      • Bathing, Clothing, and Diapering Baby
        • Please do not bathe our baby or use lotions on him.  We have our own.
        • We will be bringing our own cloth diapers/cloth wipes and using them.  Please save any plastic diaper samples for another family.
        • Our baby has his own clothing and blankets that we will be using.
        • Circumcision:
          • Please do not offer to circumcise him.
          • PKU/Metabolic Disorders Testing:
            • We would like to wait and delay the PKU testing until we are ready to leave the hospital.  We are willing to make arrangements to return to the hospital to have this done if we are discharged early.
            • Feedings:
              • Our baby is to be exclusively breastfed.
              • We are not interested in formula samples; please save these for another family.
              • Do not offer our baby the following without our consent:
                • Formula
                • Pacifiers
                • Any artificial nipples
                • Sugar water

In Case of Problems/Emergencies:

• If our baby’s health is in jeopardy, we would like to be transported with our baby if possible.  If Ms. E cannot be moved, Mr. K is to go with the baby.
• Ms. E would like to breastfeed or express our milk for our baby.
• We would like to have as much bodily contact with our baby as possible.

Other hospital preferences:

• We would like our in-hospital routine to be full rooming in, no separation, no exceptions, unless our baby is sick.
• We prefer to have Mr. K stay with Ms. E  for the duration of our hospital stay.  If he needs to attend to our other children, one of our friends or family members might take on this role temporarily.
• We would like our other children (regardless of age) and guests to be allowed to visit for as long as they wish or as long as hospital policy permits.

Thanks again for taking the time to read our birth plan.  We realize that some of our approaches may be uncommon, and we hope that you will work with us to have the birth we want while navigating the minefield of hospital policies.

At First Sight

Over 12 years ago, I saw him when I walked into the rehearsal for “Emma.” I was semi-anxious to meet him since I was a latecomer to the cast, and I would be playing opposite him as the title role in Jane Austen’s novel set to the stage.

My first impression informed me that he was charming and well-spoken, and so mannerly and exuberant that I vaguely suspected he was gay….this was theatre after all.  We worked well together, and soon became great friends.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but my need for a friend was quite intense, as I had recently moved from a large city to a smaller one and was estranged from my husband, who I realized four months into the marriage I had married in (huge, unmistakable) error.

At this point I was also newly and unexpectedly pregnant, which complicated the situation further and pushed me beyond the pale of relationship blunders as far as polite society was concerned.  You can imagine my horror to discover that I was a once-single mother, finally married off and settled as cultural mores ordained, only to realize that a huge mistake has been made….but I would have been untrue to my own self had I not decided to leave the alcohol-soaked bridegroom who thought it quaint to shove his fist into my face.  Society, I decided, could suck it.

In addition to taking on the role in “Emma,” my theatre internship and teaching position there were the only bright lights streaking through the clouds other than my oldest son, who was then a mere two and a half years of age.  Landing a role in this play was a great distraction from all the turmoil, and surprisingly, when I was in the theatre I felt less fragile, less impacted by the realization that I had failed at the grand scheme of marital bliss.  In the theatre I could just let myself sink into the story, becoming someone else who did not even exist.  It was quite cathartic just to let all of the sludge of failure go, even if I had to confront it again when I walked out the theatre doors.

As time went on, I not only grew closer to Mr. K, but I also started to reflect on just how I might want to be treated in a relationship, something I had not seriously given thought to before.  Steeped in Emma’s world of Regency-era mannerisms and her own rebellion against what was expected of her, I started to realize that I had behaved a good deal as Emma had, blundering around and making choices that were ill-thought out, but seemed like great ideas at the time.  I thought I knew everything about relationships and the world, when in fact I knew about as much as you could fit on a grain of rice, nestled right next to a teeny reproduction of an impressionist painting.

It even became readily apparent that my stabbing attempts at being an adult were a subaltern’s version of “Emma” itself (herself?).  While believing that I knew what was right for everyone and that I was such a wizened old soul that I could always make the best decisions, I lacked the foresight to find my own happiness.  But, just as Emma discovered…..the person who could make me most happy was there all along, politely waiting until I realized on my own.

It is only after the passage of all these years that I can see things so clearly.  The day to day rigors of life tend to grind you down, occupy your time, and keep you from reflecting on the bigger picture, a situation of shortsightedness where frustrations and sweating the small stuff can whip the brain into a fever pitch over nothing at all.  Mr. K has told me countless times that he has learned so much from me, but I think it is the other way around….in his own wise way, he showed me how to bring out the best in myself.

 

“I do want you to be honest. So tell me, have I no chance of succeeding? My dearest Emma, for that is what you always have been, and you always will be. My most beloved Emma. I cannot make speeches, for if I loved you less, I may be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. I have lectured you, and scolded you, and you have borne it as no other woman would have. You will get nothing but the truth from me. So tell me what you think.”

Mr. Knightly, “Emma”

And now, for something totally serious.

Over the years I have picked up a rather strange habit of reading infertility blogs.  I am not entirely sure why (considering that the vast majority of infertility bloggers and blog-readers are infertile themselves), but I think it has a lot to do with my mother’s experiences, for which I have tried to find a measure of bodhisattva-esque understanding—-being with her suffering, I suppose.  I started from the perspective of being a child during her miscarriages, thinking back to what I remember of how she dealt with the grief.  Most poignantly, I recall the baby she lost in the fifth month, the one she blamed me for because I refused to go to the store and get her prenatal vitamins.  Perhaps in this process I am recalling my own suffering as well, which brings me to where my brain is, in situ.

It should come as no surprise that recognizing how my mother’s infertility negatively affected her parenting skills seriously disrupts any burgeoning compassion that I have for her.  When I was a child, my mother turned into a broken shell of a human being right when I needed her the most; when I became an adult, she sabotaged my nursing relationship with my firstborn son by giving him formula behind my back when I left him in her care.  Upon arriving home about three years ago while my mother was visiting, I was asked, in front of my horrified children, if my husband had caused my miscarriage that had happened in 2005.  When I finally recovered enough to incredulously ask just why she had come to that mistaken conclusion, she passed the blame on to my children, saying they had told her that he had.  That was the last time I allowed her in my home.

I realize that I have a certain level of intolerance for the way (some!) people suffering from infertility seem to think the world at large should be modified to accommodate them, an aim that seems to be achieved by limiting their saturation with all things pregnancy and child related.  I also have a hard time dealing with the sense of entitlement that (again, some!) infertile people seem to feel–that if you have been lucky enough to be fertile, you somehow are supposed to be humble, forgiving the slags that are made against you for the fertility you happen to have.

This presents a conundrum, because I want to feel compassionate.  I understand that all of these women, including my mother, are suffering.  There is no way that I could fathom the depth of their pain, but somehow, I wish I could impart to them that they sometimes stir up problems for women who have done nothing more than possess a functional reproductive system.  I have had difficulties dealing with infertile women I have worked for, who turned into completely different (volatile? monstrous?) people when they found out I was pregnant, and Mr. K has suffered in the workplace for bringing news of his wife’s pregnancy to his infertile female employer.  I should note here that is incredibly depressing that infertility is so widespread, that in our lifetime we could have this many interactions affected by the undertow of how infertility changes worldviews.

And yet….I keep reading.  At first I thought it was just an absurd way to absolve my feelings of guilt over my own fertility, by penitently poring over stories of hope, grief, and loss.  I uncomfortably considered whether I was subconsciously gloating at my own luck, or perhaps if I was finding a justification for having had children in my late teens and early twenties when I was at the peak of my fertility, as if children were a consolation prize for having skipped out on all those years of clubbing.  Presumably, it is a mixture of all of the above….I might not have a fantastic career and lots of money, but I became the mother to six beautiful and healthy children–something I know that the writers of the blogs I read would trade all of their degrees, investments, and nest eggs for.

In retrospect, I guess it is the reflection that is the most important.  I might not always be able to articulate how I feel to other people, but I certainly should be able to be honest with myself, right?  I am not proud for the moments where I have read about a woman in her 40′s trying to have kids and I have shook my head, clucking to myself as I mentally patted myself on the back for having been sensible enough to produce children when I was most fertile and had the healthiest eggs instead of pounding chemical birth control or having abortions because the “time wasn’t right.”  Intellectually and emotionally, I understand that I never really had a grand plan for childbearing, and my good luck was just that–luck.  I happened to meet a dedicated life partner of equally fertile stock, who has been as laissez-faire as I about the number of children we produced.

But ultimately?  I am not thrilled with the way some infertile women have affected my life.  I also wish there was more dialogue between fertile people and infertile people, instead of all the spiteful responses coming out of online infertile communities like STFU Fertiles.  At the risk of sounding all touchy-feely about the whole thing, I wish we could all just get along, sans the chorus round of kumbaya.  I appreciate the obstacles placed in the way of my compassion, because I know it makes me work harder, but I wish it didn’t have to be this way…with the fertile/infertile divide.

Makhno

“Theoretically, anarchism in our day is still regarded as weak, badly developed and even – some would say – often interpreted wrongly in many respects. However, its exponents – they say – have plenty to say about it: many are constantly prattling about it, militating actively and sometimes complaining of its lack of success (I imagine, in this last instance, that this attitude is prompted by the failure to devise, through research, the social wherewithal vital to anarchism if it is to gain a foothold in contemporary society…). 

In reality, wherever human life is to be found, anarchism is alive. On the other hand, it becomes accessible to the individual only where it boasts propagandists and militants, who have honestly and entirely severed their connections with the slave mentality of our age, something, by the way, that brings savage persecution down upon their heads. Such militants aspire to serve their beliefs unselfishly, without fear of uncovering unsuspected aspects in the course of their development, the better to digest them as they proceed, if need be, and in this way they pave the way for the success of the anarchist spirit over the spirit of submission.”

Nestor Makhno, Delo Truda, N°4, September 1925, pp. 7-8.

A Decade and a Half

Upon reflection, I realized today that I have been bearing and raising children for over 15 years now.  With the birth of every child in our family, I have thought to myself “this baby is probably my last…I should do everything I can to enjoy them,” and that is just what I have done, with every fleeting moment of their growth.  Even the worst parts of pregnancy have been relished, and many times I have wearily leaned forward to kiss a little downy head nuzzled against my breast, knowing that the first three years of life would be like blinking, and the babe who once cuddled and nursed would soon be going to play at their friend’s house.

This time, it feels different.  I am in my thirties now, and my eggs and I are not getting any younger.  While my fertility has been rather….erm…..robust.….I know that nothing lasts forever, and our days of fervently trying to not conceive are not as likely in the future to end in surprise! you are having another baaaaaaaby!  When I look down at wee El Gato and inhale his delightfully addictive newborn scent, I have the nagging sensation that this is the last time I will be smelling it on a child who I have birthed myself.  There is something bittersweet about realizing this now, right when I am smack dab in the middle of ohmygawshthebabysolittleandwow! time, but in a way, it feels like I have come full circle.

Back to the Beginning

My commitment to blogging is somewhat questionable, I realize.

The shorty-short of it….work got intense and I flagged on my thesis prospectus for awhile.  Mr. K left his job and began to focus more on his degree, which was more kismet than we thought, since the restaurant closed down all the high-profit shifts of operation for servers.  Sometime in December of 2010 I fell pregnant (a term which I kind of feel squeamish about since it sounds like I plunked into a hole or something) and we welcomed El Gato into our family this month.  This fall, Hershaw left the brick and mortar world to return to our classroom for high school, and O started kindergarten, with both of them acclimating nicely.  Through some eagle-eyed hunting and gathering combined with home-grown ingenuity, we were able to get all the baby needs taken care of well in advance, so that when wee El Gato opened his eyes for the first time, he did it in a house stocked with everything needed.

Overall, our transition back to the baby years has been relatively easy.  The birth was swift and wreaked little havoc on my body (pregnancy is another story), and over the past couple of weeks I have grown stronger every day.  In some ways, it feels like we have earned such a breezy baby parenting, what with all the days of tandem nursing, dual diapering, and grueling naptimes we struggled through over the past decade.  However, since I am not willing to be too blissed-out over our good luck lest we invoke some sort of leveling from the broader universe, lets just leave it at “we are grateful, we are happy, we are really effing enjoying ourselves–even if some more lost sleep is involved.”

If you had asked me when I was a young adolescent if I every could conceive of such a life some twenty odd years on, I would think you were batty.  Me?  Become the mother of six kids, married to an amazing man, pursuing an advanced degree in a field I can really see potential for myself in?  I could hardly think of anyone else but myself before Hershaw was born, much less be an anchor to a household of eight.

And here I am.

El Gato’s birth seemed to bring my life full circle.  The long process of bringing new life into the world threw all the other things that ever dragged me downward into high relief–my weight issues, the tension over trying to find time to write my thesis, the current state of the US economy and my chances of finding a real job some day–nudging me to consider whether all the stress over unknowns was worth it.  How can you deal with unknowns when a newborn babe has his warm little head nuzzled into your neck while you rock him to sleep?

Life is good.  In many ways it always was….it just took a little time to see it.

Workflows

What a crazy, convoluted night I had recently.  I remember it all the more fondly/irritably now because I am taking massive doses of vitamin C to avoid falling actually ill (I am not ill yet.  I just think I am, could be, might become. *sigh*).  Kind of a parable for the comedy of errors that is my existence, I suppose.

I was asked by my boss to print, sign, scan, and return an NDA related to an upcoming project/potential client.  Great, I said.  No problem.  Until I realized I had no ink in my printer, and whoa, it was 2 AM.  Lacking the immediate funds to purchase an insanely overpriced print cartridge, I decided to head to my university and print it there instead, which would have been a simple and easily accomplished task….if the billing system on the printers had not been down at the wee hours of the morning, despite the fact that their computer labs are open 24 hours.  Computing but no printing?  What kind of stupid is that?

While still on the university wi-fi (our mobile telephone machines are still not connected to data or phone service because we cannot afford their bill/reconnect fee until my paycheck arrives) I texted my husband to let him know I would have to drive to the only 24 hour printing facility in the area….20 minutes away.  In the rain.  He said that was great, and he would like to sleep now.

And so…I was off, armed with my memory stick and my useless mobile telephone machine, which I had downloaded the directions to the printing place onto while I still was skimming the wi-fi my tuition pays for.  The rain was coming down so heavy that it made the road look like one big expanse of blackish, and I thought (for the second time this week) that our van headlights were looking a bit dim.

Then, when I was almost to my exit, the “check tire” light came on, which indicated that I a) was about to have a flat tire b) rain had soaked the logic board of the vehicle, or c) I needed air in one or more tires.  Hoping for c), I gritted my teeth and took my exit, driving into a strip of shopping areas and gas stations, pulling into the first one.  After circling the parking lot and the building twice and not seeing an air machine (the kind you pump quarters into and get tire air), I decided to stop possibly freaking out the late-night workers who thought a mom in a minivan was there to pull off a heist and decided to just drive to the print shop, whose beacon-lights I could see from across the street.

The print shop worker who was on call must have seen quite a sight–a half-crazed, rains-soaked 30-something lady clutching her keys and useless phone in one hand and an empty folder in the other, which she held over her head while running inside.  Thankfully, he did not treat me like the wild-eyed half asleep person I felt I looked like, and in fact, he was really quite nice.  After I explained to him that I needed one NDA and two documents for my teenage son printed (he had attempted to print them with the last of the ink, and it went badly), he brought them up on the screen, printed them off, and gave them to me for free.  I felt like hugging him with delirious joy, but luckily I was able to restrain my exuberance.  Now….the tire.  The print shop worker helpfully pointed out when I inquired that there was another gas station down the street that might actually have air.

Upon parking in front of the air machine, I realized that I had given all of my quarters to one of the Salvation Army bell ringers the last time I went grocery shopping.  This meant I needed change, so I went to the gas station building and…found it locked, with a sign that indicated it would be closed for 15 minutes.  Wait…what?  Why?  Were they taking a bathroom break?  Having a quickie in the back room?  Just sick of dealing with all the traffic at (checking my expensive clock/former telephone) almost 4 AM?  Perturbed, I waited.  In the pouring rain.  Because I am obviously not all that smart.

End of story…they never opened the door.  I decided that I would have to just drive home, on the highway (since I had no other directions and could not get any more with out a wi-fi) and that was that.  I survived, and the van survived.  The NDA was sent (after much more exciting hullabaloo with the scanner, who refused to make a multi-page PDF unless I found the single obscure disk that had its software update on it), the documents for my son were shoved awkwardly into a folder in his bag, and I got to sleep.

And woke up with a sore throat.