Batshit mental (as in, I am feeling...)

Well bloody hell. I haven't managed to birth a human yet, but I have listed some greeting cards on my etsy site. It's about the same isn't it?

Go to my Frauwerks site to see. There's a link on the right side of my blog too.

This song has been in my head for 2 weeks now. It's my current theme song.



So I may end up in the hospital monday, getting induced because we can't wait around forever. Sucks, but a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do.

Inhale...regroup. (strong language to follow)

So, here I am at 41 weeks. It's been an intense week of freaking out. Only today have I been able to rise to the surface long enough to start questioning where all this stress is coming from.

Two words: The medical community. Is that technically 3 words? I let them get to me either way.

I've had a really trouble-free pregnancy and here I am, toward the end, suddenly doubting my ability to have the sort of natural, normal birth I had been planning for. Why? Because by law, the midwives need to consult with the hospital at 41 weeks to make sure everything is "ok" and by 42 weeks? Oh my, all hell will break loose apparently. They will be forced to transfer my file over to the hospital, even if me and Leon are still doing fine. Never mind that a huge amount of first time mothers deliver after the 41st week. Never mind that the calculation of a birth date is a very approximate science and that although 30% of babies are born between the 39-40th week, 20% are born between weeks 37-39 and 40-42. That's a pretty high percentage for doctors to be butting in and telling you to start worrying. Why do they do this?

Even yours truly, a steadfast advocate of non-medicated, natural birth as a first option to all women, was tricked into panicking by this establishment attitude toward pregnancy as a crazy, drooling ape of a thing that must be harnessed, IV'ed and scheduled.

I've hit despair this week, by feeling that as I approached this magic brick wall time, devised by doctors, my visions of the sort of birth I could own and trust my own body with, was disintegrating before my eyes. I would be roped in and stalled up and monitored and robbed of my right to let my body and my son decide when the right time was.

Fuck that.

Seriously, it's only today, after an initial, extended, week long response of abject horror at the thought of my trust in the birth process being ripped out from under my feet by medical bureaucracy, that I snapped to my senses and said to myself: FUCK THAT!

Here is what occurred to me to get this new ball rolling. I realized that I would feel less conflicted if, for example, I started going into labour at the birthing house, with the midwife, but something went wrong, and I had to go to the hospital. That would be nature deciding that intervention was required. That I can accept. Things happen. Things can go wrong.

What I can NOT accept, is someone saying to me, well, it's the magic time that you should force this baby to come out because we say that it's taking too long. These are the same people who told me on my first ultrasound that my baby was a week older than we had calculated with the midwife because of a chart of averages of baby size and weeks. Forget that meant that I somehow got pregnant and then got my period after, according to their calculation.

I'm just saying. Doctors are not all knowing and err on the side of caution, even when that caution makes no sense and may even cause the patient more harm than help. They err on the side of caution to cover their own asses.

Now that's my rant on doctors. Yes, an inherent distrust of the medical community flavours the tea of my opinion on the topic. Will I be grateful if something goes wrong and they are able to intervene and help? Sure. There are some things doctors can be good at. Pathology. OB gyns are first and foremost surgeons, so if you need a c-section, heck, they are a good bet. If you just want to deliver you healthy baby in your own damn time without pressure, are they the best bet? No, not really.

I guess I'm blogging all this because this week, the thought of losing my belief in my right to a natural birth was a truly devastating, crushing, depressing thing. People say that what counts is bringing home a healthy baby. That sure is important. So is bringing home a healthy mom.

I know lots of women go to the hospital and are just fine with it. Lots of women even prefer having a doctor in charge and placing their trust in them. It would make these women feel more secure than taking it on themselves. I don't have any judgment on that. They would probably be scared and scarred even by being forced to go through a natural birth without the sense of security that a hospital and nurses and machines that go ping provide.

There's probably a whole big set of women that go to the hospital because it's just fine to them. No big deal. Feels natural. And that's great too.

But I'm neither of those. I haven't been able to, thus far, articulate how important it is to me to have birth that I feel connected to, that I own, that I experience fully and that I do as a team with my body and my son. It's like climbing Everest: The climb is important to the people going up, otherwise, they'd just take a helicopter.

What can I say? I'm intense about it, that's for sure. Ultimately, yes, I want a healthy child and I will do whatever it takes. I just know, that my own mental health and sense of self is deeply tied to this process. It's a big thing.

So where does that leave me now? Regrouped.

I'm brushing off the paranoia of schedules and dates. I'm brushing off the false impression that 41 weeks is late. I'm brushing off the bullshit idea that I don't have say in how this goes. Most importantly, I'm remembering that birth is a natural process that can be trusted. I can trust my body, I can trust my son's body and fuck anyone who tries to shake that out of me.

Ideally, I'll have the birth I'm hoping for. If I don't, it will be because something has gone wrong that I could not help. It won't be because I hand over my power and will. The first I can live with. The second, I can not.

So Leon, I inhale, I relax and I wait for you. I haven't feared the contractions I've had so far in preparation. I welcome them and look forward to labour starting. When you are ready, although I do hope it's soon, (I'm tired of having cocktail wieners for fingers), you and I will do this thing!

That's where it's at kitty cat.

STILL pregnant, and how!

No, I haven't given birth yet. Please everyone stop asking, I'll let you know as soon as it happens. It's just that it's getting really stressful for me right now as time ticks away. I had my heart set on a natural birth experience with the midwife. I've got 10 more days to accomplish that or else the hospital has to take over. Nothing is wrong at the moment, he's in the right position, good heartbeat etc etc...we're just waiting for labour to start. Each day I feel more pressure of losing time. I assure you that everyone will know promptly when we have news to give. Thanks very much for your concern and caring about the matter. I appreciate your excitement. Right now, I just need to stop feeling pressure about it.

2010. Year of the future...until next year.

So I realized I haven't really summed up 2009. There's a blog I read, Que Sera Sera, and the woman who writes it met a boyfriend a while ago and is now engaged. Since she met him, I've been finding the blog less interesting. She's very happy, but it doesn't always make for good reading. How unfair of me though, isn't it? My blog was much more interesting when I was slogging away in a bank, so bored and unhappy, that I was forced to observe the life going on around me and document it as an escape. Now? Pregnancy, pregnancy, pregnancy, blah, blah, blah right?

From a personal perspective, getting wrapped up in your own life is usually a good sign. Getting wrapped up in the person you love or your child...your life as a family; It's why couples with children are so intolerable often times, to people without. There's a closing in of your world. I don't think it has to mean you become a simpering idiot with nothing left in life to think about except your child's poop or your husband's favourite sandwich. I do think it makes you look around less to find external meaning or entertainment though.

When all I did was work, I had to scour through every tiny event to propel me from moment to moment. Noticing all the details, got me through the day and telling you about it made these bits of life seem more funny or more interesting than they probably were.

Documenting something while it's happening has always made the present more...well, present for me. The more photos I take during a trip, the more I remember and experience it. The act of framing and contextualizing life makes it feel more vivid and memorable. That's what this blog is for. I'd love to be altruistic and think only of the audience and ensure my posts were well-crafted and memorable each time...however, mostly, I'm just telling you how I feel, for real.

Pregnancy has been an overwhelmingly present thing for me the past 9 months. Waiting at the end of it like this is a complex mix of impatience, excitement, fear and a great deal of the ineffable.

Behind it though, still remains my individual self. Most would agree that one of the great challenges of parenting is embracing the all encompassing love and concern and focus you have on your children while retaining your sense of self and your relationship with your partner, family and friends. Your former self is a wire from the past, stretching through the present, holding you to yourself. Sometimes, people stretch it too far or maybe find it a nuisance and cut it. I won't presume to judge one way or the other. People do this even without families or children. We all know someone who has changed in way that is so distanced from how you knew them, that they might as well be a different person all together.

In a way, that even sounds appealing. There are parts of me that I would love to rise above and leave behind in the ashes. Parts that maybe some of the people I know, would find to be the main reason they relate to me.

Other parts, I'm sure, will tenaciously endure. I hope those are the parts that allow you and I to continue to relate, despite changes in circumstance between either of us.

Right now, the stretch of the near future seems like such unknown territory. It's hard to envision myself (as I currently know myself) in this future. Perhaps it will come and be as mysterious as it seems. On the other hand, maybe it will come and seem as natural as today or yesterday.

I really haven't a clue. I do intend to continue documenting it and cloistered as it may seem, I hope you continue enjoying reading about it and sharing it with me.

So 2009? Not a whole lot to list. Marriage and pregnancy. Two really big things that filled the year up like an infinitely, inflating balloon. That's an accurate description of how I physically feel right now too. Even trying to think of other things, that may have occurred this year, makes my brain jump around erratically like I'm asking it to find a pin I dropped in the grass when all my brain wants to do is go running across the field, into the horizon to see what's up ahead.

So good-bye 2009. You were eventful and flew by as much as crawled past at times. Certainly, your legacy moves me forward into 2010. Which, by the way, sounds like the most ridiculously made-up year ever. 2010? It's a joke year of science fiction movies. Are we really there? I guess we are. For at least another year, anyway. So let's see what happens. Let's see how it all turns out.

Thanks to Que Sera Sera, though, I discovered this blog today which is pretty much exactly what I'm talking about. Check this out here. (myparentswereawesome.tumblr.com)

38 Weeks, 5 days...

Well Happy New Year then people.

I realized I haven't really given the full-on, straight up, no effing around view of my state. I included a skin version also because I find it doesn't really register until I see myself without a shirt on and then I say: Holy mother crapper! With clothes on, it's easy to sort of abstract the bump and just think it's a pillow.



I'm starting to feel the contractions and discomfort that are preparing me for the zero hour. So far: Bearable. So long as you relax and can move around and get in the right position. Although to say I was feeling a little grumpy might be a severe understatement. T pointed out that most of my sentances today contain a high ratio of swear words.

On a completely other topic, (thank christ, monsterteeth! You are getting hell boring!) a few people now, have mentioned not being able to leave a comment without having a blogger ID. Just to let y'all know, you can. Just select anonymous instead of any of the other options. Comments are good! They let me know you are out there.

I also wanted to renew the offer that if you would like to be updated by email, each time I post, let me know, and I can add you. That way, you don't have to check to see if it's updated. My new posts will be sent to you as soon as I publish.

Conversely, if you are on that list already and want to be removed, don't be shy to say so. Ye are not beholden to me, I do declare!

Finally, more proof that I have the cutest kitty cat in the universe.

Now excuse me, while I go hang off of the exercise ball to relieve the pressure of a human being trying to make his way very slowly through my pelvis.