16 DAYS

 

Today is the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women. Did you know that? I didn’t. I am glad I do now. Please be sure to visit the website below and somehow get involved in the campaign for

16 Days of activism against gender violence , Nov 25-Dec 10.

Since 1991, the 16 Days Campaign has helped to raise awareness about gender violence and has highlighted its effects on women globally. Each year, thousands of activists from all over the world utilize the campaign to further their work to end violence against women. The campaign has celebrated victories gained by women’s rights movements, it has challenged policies and practices that allow women to be targeted for acts of violence, it has called for the protection of people who defend women’s human rights and it has demanded accountability from states, including a commitment to recognize and act upon all forms of violence against women as human rights abuses.

A list of orgs in the U.S. taking part in the campaign can be found here starting on page 11 (it’s a .pdf). It doesn’t link directly so you’ll have to do a bit of searching online to find specific info on activities near you. Just going to an event and listening is an important act.

Hey chaos, look who is hosting the activities near me: http://women-churchconvergence.org/home.htm Ever hear of them? I like, I like.

Thanks go to blue milk for making me aware of the campaign via this wrenching but graceful post.

tmi and just a leeeettle huz bashing

So here’s tmi: I got my period today and was really pissed me off because it keeps coming earlier and harder (heh, just like some of my ex-boyfriends). I was misinformed that periods magically get lighter and less taxing after giving birth. Chalk that up to one more pregnancy myth that is so not helpful. Is there an agency for procreation propaganda to ensure that semi-reluctant women go through with it? It’s not that I would change a thing because hullo, Bean is THE sunshine of my life, but dammit, that lighter period with lesser cramping sounded good, like an extra little bonus for all of my hard work.

Then I saw a friend with her young toddler at the park. She happened to look and sound a little off today. Actually, she is a gorgeous person inside and out but she was a hot mess. I was sure she had the flu, though I am so glad I didn’t ask, “Holy crap, are you okay?!” because she whispered to me that she is in the early stages of pregnancy(!!!).  Lawd knows I would never want to upset anyone about their appearance, especially someone who looks like she spent the morning trying to barf up her shoelaces, and oh-my-goodness most especially not an expectant momma. The happy announcement and her sweet, exhausted face certainly put the whole painful-period thing into perspective for me. I mean, here I am drinking wine and working on my book-with-no-beginning-or-ending while my beautiful toddler is beautifully asleep instead of wanting to throw up and die.

God/dess bless the peeps who are going through it all again. If I could be there for you I would. I would hold your hair back or sing songs to your firstborn if you needed to go vomit, nap or eat two whole bags of white cheddar pirate’s booty while your Sig Other worked late/had cocktails/pissed you off without mercy. Of course, you may be like that one frienemy of mine who was “never sick a single day” during any of her pregnancies, or maybe your Sig Other is a fabulously compassionate and intuitive caregiver who rubs your feet and holds your hair and you simply don’t need me. In either case, you can bite me. I mean, um, good for you! And I promise to stop whining about my period.

Thankful

I complain alot here. Well, it’s not empty complaining always; let’s say I often air grievances here (I should be a politician with semantic manipulation like that, huh?). But you know that, and still you visit me, so thank you. You people have gotten me through a hell of a lot and make me more able to laugh at myself. Although you may not always be able to tell by my posts, I am a very happy person who is extremely grateful for the way my life is unfolding, and even for most of the things I get the privilege to complain about.

This morning we got to watch Mexican folk dancers, donkeys dressed as elves, and about 100 Santas perform as a drill team while they rehearsed for the parade that is happening down State Street. It snowed lightly all around them while Bean yelled, “Dat! Dat!” Huz is in the kitchen now, cheffing away and making a quite the feast. I’ve been relegated to prep cook which means I get to drink Black Cat espressos and rose champagne all day while I tend to Bean and peel the occasional vegetable. Not a bad gig at all.

God/dess bless for a happy day, peeps! And here’s to blooming where you’re currently planted!

When “choices” clash

Ahoy.

I’ve been asked to look after the infant of a family friend,”for money, of course”. You know, because my current role as a layabout sahm has left me desperate for cash and something to do.

Seriously, the choices (if they can be called choices…more like coping mechanisms in an anti-family society) of some dear friends have always been very different than ours. The fella and Huz seem to have the same discussion of the pros and cons of daycare vs. one-income living every time they talk. The fella and his wife feel that I am wasting my education and ruining my career prospects, and not giving Bean proper socialization nor the opportunity to build up his immune system by my not working for pay outside the home and sending Bean to daycare. They are unaware of the circumstances surrounding my ”choice to opt-out” (ha! ha ha haaaaaaaa!) and I don’t particularly care to enlighten them on the specifics. No point. Their minds are already made up and I am not here to convert them to my way of thinking. It has been annoying to be judged like this, but I’ve just agreed to disagree and told Huz I don’t know why he gets sucked into the debate time and time again.

But now: their second child, at three months, is not coping well with daycare. He’s got a bad belly, it seems; loose poops, problems with formula, ongoing minor illnesses, etc etc. The daycare keeps sending him home. The center doesn’t want the liability of dealing with what I guess they feel is a less-than-hearty infant. So in seeking a solution, their thoughts have turned to me. If I am already hanging around at home, I should be happy to have the opportunity to make a little money, right?

Nah. It is already unnatural for a person to be alone all the time with one baby, let alone two, especially with them being so close in age. I told Huz to say I wish them the best but have my hands full with Bean and my writing projects. I suppose there is no polite way to tell them I would be happy to donate a few ounces of breastmilk every day for the baby. I’m still nursing Bean so it would be no trouble. The fella can easily pick it up on his way home from work each night. 

They would probably stop talking to us if I offered.

I’m not trying to be political with the suggestion. I just believe that breastmilk could help. Of course, I also believe that they should not have bought more house than they could afford, requiring them to put both kids in daycare full-time and almost negating the salary one of them is making, and that if I were them I would sell the place, move in with their nearby family and have one spouse quit working to be with the kids at least until the baby gets better, but I’m not going to say that, either. I know how much it sucks to be judged based on incomplete information. It also sucks to feel like I am letting down people by refusing to help them in a time of need. I simply believe it would cause more problems than it would solve if I looked after an infant in addition to Bean, no matter how well I was compensated (although it’s likely that the compensation would be quite low).

Here I am once again, with new revelations brought on by parenthood. Who knew I would ever consider it a great idea to essentially be a volunteer wet nurse for friends? Who knew I would ever feel so strongly about any of these things? I am surprising myself daily.

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In another parenting “choice” convo today, I was told by someone who had two healthy deliveries and uninterrupted nursing during both of her minimal hospitals stays that she “wished she could have had a c-section” like me. She wishes that her child’s life were in such danger that it required major emergency surgery to extract him quickly so he could be saved? She went on to say how common c-sections were in her mother’s group. That’s right, they are rilly, rilly popular. It’s the in thing to do, the top-notch choice of the weak and the too-posh-to-push. I’m sure that all of those women were pleased to death that they ”got to be taken care of for so long afterward”. Never mind the mind-numbing terror of it all, the catheter, and the physical and emotional pain that lingers for months. Just think of those fabulous 3 extra days you get in the hospital before they kick you out! Hell, some babies like Bean even have to stay behind! What a great break for the parents!

I know she was just trying to say that she wish she had been able to rest more after her deliveries, but damn, what a misguided way of saying so.

I am having one hell of a time trying to maintain my friendships with other parents during these past few days. I won’t even get into the guns-in-the-house-with-kids debate I recently found myself carefully navigating through. 

I seem to be allowing myself to feel very defensive for some reason, too. I need to stop that. They can all bite me. Bring on The Beavers.

I am feeling an inordinate amount of excitement right now

Yes, it’s true, I am positively giddy about this thing:

It’s a pan that allows one to make giant cupcakes. Giant cupcakes! Is that not one of the happiest things you can imagine? Whoever created this is a genius who can somehow see inside my mind.

I’m in love again

I went out alone today. Bean stayed home with Huz and I went walking. I walked and walked and walked until my clothes felt hot and my boots felt heavy. I walked into areas with bad pavement and worse sidewalks, where alleyways were dark and I was at times the sole pedestrian. I walked with an open coat, bare chested into the wind and rain with my scarf loose and blowing behind me. Someone ran a light that had long been red while I was in the middle of a crosswalk and I just stared her down, unimpressed, and kept walking. It felt fabulous.

Maybe the things that have been bothering me lately about being here are the things that bother every parent in the first year. Every parent feels like the cars are going by too fast, that the drivers are all reckless. Every parent feels like the world is full of threats to their young. It’s probably hard to relax no matter where you live.

Maybe this is all I need to do sometimes, to walk untethered, where it doesn’t matter if there is wind and rain and construction and traffic and odd people randomly reaching out from where they lay huddled on the sidewalk as I walk by. Maybe I just needed to feel that beneath this tight suiting of phobias and restrictions I’ve let myself get wrapped up in as a new parent, I am still wild inside.

I’ve fallen in love with this city again. It really wasn’t hard to do.

photo credit

P.S. Did I ever tell you that much of Chicago smells like chocolate? It does. The Blommer Chocolate Company emits a strong scent that on rainy days such as this gets carried throughout downtown. It smells delicious. The EPA is all over them to fix it but I hope they never do.

I’m reluctant to give up my superpowers

At least one of them, anyway.

Now let me tell you, breastfeeding was never about me. God/dess knows, I had to pray my way through it for many, many months before it felt natural, and it only had stopped being painful a few months before that. Nope, breastfeeding was for Bean and Bean only. I committed my brain and body to the act because I knew it was the best thing for him. I felt so damn bad that his birth and first 10 days outside of me were so awful and highly medicalized that I told myself the kid just had to have something natural, he just had to. So I stuck with it despite many obstacles and little help (am I the only one who felt like every LC she encountered was half-looney?) and to my great pride, we succeeded. We succeeded so well that I do not know how to stop.

Bean only nurses 2 or 3 times a day for short intervals. He did this mostly-weaned thing with little trouble and very early at around 9.5 months. I thought for sure we’d be done by now, but when I try to distract him from the few times he nurses, he howls like someone’s slapped him. He claws at my shirt and cries a cry that would break the hardest of hearts, most of all his dear ol’ mama’s. So I’ve relented. It’s not that big of a deal, I’ve said, it’s just a few minutes a day. But it was bugging me, just a little, because it didn’t feel like I had any say in the matter. Then Bean got his first cold.

Now that I am seeing how greatly it comforts him to nurse while he’s all snarffly and sweaty, and how nursing seems to help him clear his nose and relax when he’s tossing and turning, I am no longer feeling impatient. There are approximately one million macrophages in a single drop of breastmilk. I had to look that up to see exactly what it means but it seems that I’ve got the goods, peeps, and I am all of a sudden not in a very big hurry to give that up, even if it means dealing with the inevitable eyerolls and scrunched up expressions that I am sure to encounter from family and friends when we travel down south.

Who knew? I am o-fficially an extended breastfeeder. I can hardly believe it. Sure, I’ll want to stop again when he gets better and will be researching ways to do so with minimal screeching, but it’s amazing where your life can take you if you leave your brain just a leeeeeetle bit open to things.

P.S. To the person who came here with the search term “breastfeeding ruins boobs?” the answer is an emphatic nope. Pregnancy is what changes boobs, not breastfeeding. And anyway, they are not ruined. They are absolutely gorgeous, shug, just in a whole new way.

It’s not even Thanksgiving

and I think I may yak at the next of the gajillion commercials that tries to coerce men into orchestrating surprises that will “show her how much you care with something that lasts forever” or whatever the farg the party line is. That’s right, women can be mezmerized into submission with jewels and precious metals. Never mind acting with respect and thoughtful decency year ’round, just bedazzle us with some sparklies around holiday time and you’ll remain in our good graces forever, especially if we get to brag about it to friends and family.  

He picked me, Mama! He picked me!

Baaaaaaaarf.

Today I almost got us killed

I am still shaking. I never, ever, ever cross against traffic lights. Today I did. It was on a slightly familiar street that I had to use due to neverending construction on the sidewalk we normally use. I entered the street early in anticipation of a very short WALK sign that I was sure would catch us in the cross-hairs of oncoming traffic. I jumped the gun and started moving us across the street. Major problem: we never got the WALK sign we needed. Horns blared as two cars shot out of a new underpass and flew by. I felt my life whoosh past me with Bean’s trailing behind like a swift little ghost. That’s right, Parent of the Year goes to Yours Truly. He was tucked in his stroller, oblivious. My mistake almost killed us. All for some fucking lip gloss and socks. All because of me over-thinking. I am freaked out. This is certainly not the first time we have almost been hit, as traffic in the area has grown exponentially, but it was the closest call and this time it was my fault. One wrong move. Lightening fast.

Fuck, I want to get out of here. We had no idea the area was going to boom like this. No wait, we had heard that it might and we were excited at the prospect, but we had no idea what we were getting into.

The remedy for restlessness and some other things, too

We are leeeeeeaving on a jet plane. I’m feeling pretty excited about getting out of the city for a while. It’s not something we can easily afford but I do believe taking a break from being downtown is just the thing I need to regain an appreciation for it.

I bought one of those wheeled carts for Bean to ride in through the terminal whilst snuggled in his car seat. Hopefully it will make the normally hellish experience of the nearest Chicago airport a bit easier on us all. The kid is a sweetheart so I am hoping for the best with his plane behavior. Even if he is a screamer, it’s only for a few hours, and anyway don’t I get some sort of parental merit badge with a little airplane on it (or maybe just a battle scar) for getting us through it? I should. We all should. I want merit badges and a sash, just like Brownies. Something like that could provide the little boost a parent needs in trying times.

Come to think of it, I should have earned a merit badge for the c-section, NICU, breastfeeding/thrush, colic, geographic isolation, “opting out” (haaaa! ha ha!), sahp discrimination, extended sleep deprivation, city navigation with an infant, and now my wings, too! I freaking rock! Oooooo, I’m going to make some badge graphics for my bloggity-blog. Maybe I’ll even make myself a real sash with patches. Sure, I’ll look like a lunatic, but someone’s got to pat me on the back for weathering these parenting experiences with a grin; society sure as hell isn’t going to do it. Might as well be me!

What should your merit badges be? I’m serious, apply them liberally, for things large and small. Maybe getting your hair AND teeth brushed by noon almost every day? Labor with no meds? Resisting the urge to choke the shit out of your significant other in the middle of the night? Maintaining your composure at work or the grocery store when you are dying just a little inside? Make a few up for yourself. They feel good and I am certain you deserve some.

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Looky here! Great minds think alike. Naturally, mine will be far less G-rated :)