Things I will never add to my online signature if I were ever to post on a mom forums which I won't

• How long I've been breastfeeding. Ah! This info always goes right next to your name and age, as if... it's as important to your identity? Fuh realsies? And then you write GOLD for a year and PLATINUM for...three? Fifteen? No idea. Don't care. Please please find a non-boob-related hobby.
• What kind of diapers I use. Again. What I use to soak up my baby's bio fluids is going to be one of the top ways I introduce myself? Help! Minds are being lost here!
• How and where my kid sleeps. Is this because Dr. Sears told us all that cribs are like prisons? And so we're explaining to the peanut gallery how we don't condone babies in jail? (Prisons!) (He's never watched OITNB, clearly.)

All this self-worth-from-very-specific-parenting-choices is coming from a very weird place that did not exist 200 years ago. No one cared what the hell you did regarding NAPS back then.

In addition:

Almost without fail, the people who DO feel the urgent need to say they've nursed for 134 years and birthed their 9 children in a cabin without electricity or running water are the harshest people on these forums. Whenever someone, usually a first time mom, tentatively asks (first mistake, newbie! Don't ask random Internet strangers!) if maybe they could put their baby down for a nap so that they themselves might nap or drink hot coffee with both hands or just have their body to themselves for 20 minutes .... these moms come out in full force (do they have Google alerts set up for these sleep deprived searches?) saying:

It's unnatural to put baby down/they would have died in the caveman days/you can get ANYTHING done with baby attached to you/babies will become homeless if not carried/it's EASY to carry a baby all the time are you SURE you really wanted to be a mother?

How I wish I were kidding.

Guys. I've just had it with all this bizarre, militantly crunchy bragging followed by fear mongering. And listen! I do alllllllll the crunchy things (refuse to list them!) and still need this to go away yesterday. It's just a nuanced way to shame other women, another way to bring down someone who's fighting the good fight. Maybe I'm supposed to ignore the forum bullies, tell myself it's insecurity on their part and it's harmless. But I don't feel like it is.

I used to think all these details (breastfeeding vs formula vs cribs vs beds vs strollers vs woven wraps) were more important than they really are, so I get it. I get how identifying as an Attachment Parent Who Is Anti Crying It Out can feel like the only thing to hold onto in the nebulous web of motherhood. But let's be cooler than this, ladies. Let's show the world we've got much more on our minds than how we feed and diaper our kids. And hey, when that is what's on our minds -- because inevitably, sometimes it just is -- let's listen to each other and let's be a bit openminded and a lot bit kind. Because can't we all agree that's more important than the rest of it?

Kid things, lately

Part of the reason I wanted to blog again was to record kid details that might otherwise go unremembered. Probably a total snoozefest unless you're one of the grandmothers, but alas! Here I go.

1) Harper found this Sesame Street book from the 70s I bought years ago at Goodwill and has been toting it around. Yesterday she said "You know what Big Bird's saying is? 'Everyone else makes mistakes, so why can't I?" And then she smiled, a little embarrassed but also proud to have remembered the quote. It was so earnest and sweet and also funny. She's also been known to yell "YOLO!" after seeing it on a You Tube clip. Oops.

2) Bea is the snuggliest bug of all the bugs. She knows what "kiss" means and will give openmouthed drool-packed ones to Clay over and over again on request. She also gives real, two-armed hugs and will stay that way until she's good and ready to release. It can be awhile.

3) We've been splurging a bit on these "Heart Lake City" Lego kits because they buy us OODLES of time. Yesterday, when I desperately needed to nap alongside Bea, Clay presented Harper with "Stephanie's beach house" (369 pieces) and -- I am absolutely not exaggerating -- she sat down and did the entire thing by herself for 4.5 hours. I'm fairly certain I've never focused on anything, ever, for that long. I brought her snacks and encouraged bathroom breaks and outdoors breaks and, well, any kind of break but nope. She kept chugging until the very last piece was in and then she lifted her arms and yelled "DONE!" So intense. So not me. Not too worried about ADHD with that one.

4) It's so fun to watch Bea learn "sissy" and "dada" and her own name and such. Receptive language feels like magic when it starts happening. Her head whips around so quick and then she just beams with that gummy, gummy grin. Oh, look! Another corny nickname. I could call her Beam, since that's exactly what she does all day. (I won't, I won't. Shhh.)

5) Best teether for babies = toddler toothbrushes. Oh, I'm sure they're pokier than they should be or filled with baby toxins or something, but damn if they don't keep Bea happy for ages. Mmm. Gum massage by Dora the Explorer.

6) Harper and I have been taking a lot of nature walks in our back pasture. (Field! It's a field. Clay and his southern jargon have leaked into my brain.) We run as fast as we can out to the path and then slow down and hold hands and pick flowers and take these crazy deep breaths. "Mother Nature is great!" And man, do I want to freeze time to a late September evening, next to my 4.5 year old, who can still yell exclamations about flowers with abandon and joy.

Sam

Clay and I like to watch Project Runway together. We're probably 2 of the 7 people who still do, actually. But never you mind that.

Last week's ep had the designers creating an outfit for real 9-year-old girls and their matching American Girl dolls. Ohhh, did this bring me back to my third grade self. I was not a baby doll girl or a Barbie girl or a (I can't even come up with another doll type), but oh ho ho did I love my Samantha. Now did I play with her? No. I distinctly remember staring at her and all those delightful tiny pencils and books and shoes and wondering...and I do what, exactly? Should I make her talk (in a strange Victorian accent, oh yes I tried)? Should I pretend I'm her, doing old fashioned homework in a notebook? It all seemed absurd and embarrassing; I was born jaded, yo.

But I loved just, well, having her. And collecting her tiny little accoutrements. And looking at the catalog and circling the next set of accoutrements I wanted. And looking at the other dolls and scorning them. (WHO WOULD CHOOSE MOLLY?! Now of course I think she's a fun little hipster, though nevermind! She doesn't even exist anymore! But back then... oh, I judged.)

So one of the designers (Kini!) had to modernize the vision for my homegirl Samantha. But he kept describing her so strangely. "Uh, she's an orphan who was adopted by her grandmother and had no friends and a lot of money and liked to buy things."

How dare you, Kini.

Samantha once helped a servant girl! She was a human rights activist! That's all I can remember. Sorry, Sam.

The best part of the American Girl franchise (to me) has always been the companion books. Each girl comes from a particular time period and along with miniature petticoats and butterfly nets, you can collect skinny volumes filled with drama and historical details and drama and some lovely illustrations. So while I didn't play probably ever with my doll, I looked at her lovingly from across the room while I nerded out over Victorian social activism.

And the point of all this is...Harper needs one, right? But who but who but who? (And do I really need to wait till Christmas?)

Sundee

So tomorrow Miss Bea will be a whopping 7 months old and tonight she's asleep in her own room for the first time. I'm past the nervous nell part of leaving her to sleep alone, I've just been keeping her in our room out of pure convenience. Girlfriend still eats, oh, all night long and it's just easier to have her close. But it's time to have a little more personal space (turning the light on to read at night will seem downright exotic) and hopefully having her in a different room will make me a little tougher on the all night buffet access.

Now, because this house is 3 million years old there are many ... oddities. One is that the three upstairs bedrooms are all in a row. The girls' rooms were the original two bedrooms and are connected by a small hallway -- but our room was added later and has its own stairway and hallway, which complicates things. The middle room is Bea's and can be reached by two different doors, connected to each of the two stairways. (I realize this probably makes no sense; this is where I skim/skip in every book I've ever read - when they start describing layouts of things I get a snack.)

Harper usually goes through the middle room to reach us on the other side, but I've put the nix on that for obvious reasons. So now she'll go out through her attached bathroom, walk alongside the back of the house through a crazy, long, hidden hallway that opens up to our attic and holds our laundry stuff, and deposits her at the master bedroom.

Should be an exciting journey for us all. *insert mouthless emoji face* *and maybe the flamenco dancer one*

Okay, part 3, last part

Clay and I pulled into the birthing center parking lot and I immediately hopped out and started crouching. My doula (who had just showed up with the midwife, who was unlocking the center door) ran over to me and started rubbing my back. Once the door was open, I hurried in. The lights were all off and the air felt chilly. So very strange to be showing up here with only a small posse instead of the bustle of a busy ER.

"Let's go downstairs to the office to check if you're at 5," said Lindsay (the midwife). I must have looked at her like she was bananas, because she quickly changed her tune. "Or we could just go into the birthing room and do it there..." 

I slid off my Uggs onto a pile of other shoes and then somehow ended up on the birthing room bed. (Set-up = A regular ol' bedroom with a queen size (I think?) bed and a rocking chair and some tastefully hidden medical equipment, then an en suite bathroom with a shower and birthing tub.) I squirmed as she checked me, desperate to get back in the shower.

"Hey! 5! You can stay!"

We all did a little cheer and I immediately booked it to the bathroom. 

My doula, Shannon, turned on the shower while I stripped down to my undies and bra. (Or maybe I took my underwear off. I guess I did.) 

"So things are probably going to get a bit more intense from here on out," she warned. "And faster, too." This was all around 6:30, I think.

I felt a touch of panic shoot through when she said that, but didn't have a ton of time to dwell on it, as the contractions were coming right on top of each other. The shower was small and the water didn't feel hot enough and I couldn't get my positioning right. Shannon sat outside the shower and held the shower wand, moving it around my lower back while I crouched in the corner. She was getting soaking wet and we couldn't really hear each other. My shower at home was much roomier and the water much hotter and I felt frustrated by the downgrade. 

I didn't know whether to stand up or sit down because nothing was relieving either the pressure or pain or intensity. The only thing that helped was getting loud.

Clay had teased me through the pregnancy that I'd be screaming through it all, while everyone politely watched from their stations in the room -- but I was certain that wouldn't happen. "I'm more of the get-silent-during-serious-pain type..." Because sure, when I stub my toe or have a terrible headache, I retreat and get quiet. But this was a whole new planet of sensation. 

My loose plan had been to labor in the tub and then give birth on the bed. I didn't want a water birth because it weirded me out, quite honestly. I pictured laboring in the water for hours and hours and it being filled with all kinds of junk and then pushing my innocent little bub into all that. No.

After awhile in the shower (20 minutes maybe? 20 years?) I asked if the tub was ready. "It's not quite filled, but you can get in if you want..." 

I scooted from the shower to the tub and sank in. Or, rather, I wanted to feel like I was sinking in, but it probably was only halfway filled and the temperature felt tepid. I didn't feel any pain relief, but I did like having more freedom to move and the water did feel comforting. Like I was a little more hidden from everyone else in the room. 

As soon as I got in, a contraction hit me that lasted about 2 minutes. It was so unbelievably intense and crushing, I remember literally dropping my jaw afterward and staring at the midwife, who was kneeling by the tub. 

"Why is this happening? Why am I having no break? I'm only at 5! It's not supposed to go like this! Is it going to feel like this for SIX MORE HOURS?!"

She smiled, all Mona Lisa, and said, "Maybe." I hated her forever and the rest of my life after that. I wanted someone to say "It could, it could. But probably not if it's this intense already. You're probably in transition! You're doing such a good job! You're right! This is so painful!" But yeah, she just smiled and said "Maybe." 

By now, whenever a contraction would hit, I'd spring up to my knees, take a cold washcloth offered by my doula (another very placid and Mona Lisa type) and gnash it back and forth across my forehead while I counted. Or moaned. Or yelled. The midwife and doula stayed kneeling, saintly, by the tub.

"I really, really, really feel like I should get checked." We're probably at....6:45 now. 

"Okay. We only checked you a half hour ago, but we can do it again."

I laid very awkwardly on my back and she checked me. "7!" 

"Is that good? That's good, right?"

"Yes! That's good."

"So it probably won't be 6 more hours..."

"Right." A chuckle. (Don't chuckle at me!) "In fact, I need to get the nurse here." (Who showed up quickly. And I liked her! She was really nice.) 

Throughout this, I was a total and complete b about letting them check the fetal heart rate. Which in retrospect really freaks me out, since that's not my way at all. (Me, who rented a doppler for the first 6 months of pregnancy and checked her heartbeat everyday!) They'd try to get near me with it and I'm all "No! Stop! She's fine!" Right on, Amy. They were pushier than I was, because they had to be, so she did get checked frequently, but I did not make it easy.

Most of my labor I felt like a weird, sad whale alone in a small pool. With people staring at me like "Huh? Why'd this whale show up? I thought this was free swim..." It didn't feel great.

15 or 20 minutes after I was at a 7, I felt like I had to go to the bathroom in a very, very intense way. "I think I have to go! I mean, I feel like I have to go, but I don't!" 

"You can go, and we'll clean it up..."

"Ah! No! No. I know that's not it, I'm just saying it feels different!!!!"

"I think we need to check you again..."

And now I was at a 9.5 with just the tiniest bit left to go. Just two or three more contractions, they said. 

"Just picture your cervix is a tight turtleneck being pulled over your baby's head!"

I think the look I gave Shannon after that gem shut her up pretty good.

Oh, dude, did I want this done. But I couldn't push yet, so I turned my back to everybody and faced the window. I put my arms over my head and kneeled in the W position and screamed. And screamed. I visualized my body splitting apart and I imagined some kind of benevolent force was helping it split. I was in such shock that a body could feel like this and not be dead that the me who was definitely living outside of my body right then giggled a little. I screamed and roared and imagined that the baby was helping me. At the end of the third contraction, I felt very very frantic kicking in my abdomen and, what I can only describe as... swirling? Like when the very last bit of water is going down the bathtub drain...

And then suddenly I yelled "Something's happening! I'm not doing this!" 

My whole body seized up and bore down. Sort of like how you contract and heave when you throw up, but this was throwing...down. I wasn't doing it, but then again I guess I was.

"I'm not in control, I'M NOT DOING THIS!"

"Yes, you are! You're in total control! It's your body, it's the baby!" 

Uh.

Okay, I guess? But I always thought you reached a certain level of pain, felt immense pressure, and then pushed against it. Not that your baby would handle that whole process for you? I mean, thanks Bea, but mama's got this. I felt super scared and weirded out. The sad whale now felt like she was in Alien. But the pain was ever so slightly lessening, so I tried to focus on that.

Every minute or so, my stomach would squeeze into a cone shape and that bizarre sensation would hit again. I still hadn't been checked again, but I knew I had to be at 10. I finally let them check me and yup, at a 10 and baby girl was mostly down and through the canal already. I think this was 7:30. I was definitely about to birth in this tub because no way no way was I getting out. The idea of walking or moving or doing anything but staying rooted to aliveness was laughable.

Baby had pushed herself to the edge and now I had to do the rest. This was much harder than I thought it would be, but only because it just really hurt. Oh and because she was a tank. So I would push, but not my hardest, and then my foot would slip or I couldn't get in the right angle and I'd have a tiny break from the pain and pressure and it would be so wonderful. Then it was time again and that crazy, searing pain returned, and I just couldn't believe I'd have to go fully into that after what I'd already been through. At one point, I could fully feel her entire head and everything just rightright there and I didn't even care. Like, maybe I could just enjoy my second child in this manner? 

After 15 minutes or so, I could tell the room was getting frustrated. "We need to move to the bed if we can't make progress here..." That did it for me. No can do. I finally found a good position and gave myself a pep talk. This was going to singlehandedly be the most insane thing ever ever that would happen to me, but then it would be done. And I'd have her. I took a deep breath and pushed and pushed and pushed. 

And then woop! Searing over. The midwife brought her hands up out of the water and with them a huge, pink, slippery, beautiful baby girl was on my chest. With a true knot in her long umbilical cord and a perfectly round head from coming out so fast. 9 pounds, 2.5 ounces and a loud loud loud cry. 7:58 PM. I was in shock and in love and couldn't believe it had already happened.

She was so soft and squishy and I squeezed her tight. I really felt like we'd just done all that together. I kept kissing her little nose and closing my eyes. I'd waited so, so very long. 

Oh, oh. My Beanut! My new person. She was here. 

It was therapeutic to write this all out and apologies if it seemed super random to throw it up without much explanation. I'm glad to have a record now of sweet Bea's birth story in addition to Harper's much (much!) different one. I'm glad I waited till now, too, as some of the extreme rawness has faded and I can tell it without interjecting too much emoting. 

There was some real weirdness with midwife and doula and such, but that stuff doesn't matter in the end and I hope I kept that side of the experience to a minimum, while still saying honest. Natural birth is, for sure, empowering and powerful and primal. I recovered faster and I loved how alert Bea was so shortly afterward. I'm still pondering whether all that pain was "worth it" (whatever that even means!), though, and why we hold unmedicated birth as some supreme and superior way to bring our babies into this world. I don't think I agree. But! Maybe more on that at another time. For now...back to our regularly scheduled programming! 

Berf story, part 2

The weather up until Saturday, February 22, had been all very February-like. Which is to say terrible. But that morning was sunny and warm, almost balmy.

We all kept saying: "Good day to have a birthday!" Or was it "Good day to have a baby!" ... Something like that.

And though the contractions were very irregular, they weren't ever completely stopping and there was a different quality to them that had been missing, a sensation I remembered from my last labor. Instead of just pain, there was very strong pressure, a vice-like squeezing in my lower abdomen. There was also some pink...product coming out, which had only ever happened right after the sweeps.

I started stressing over Harper being around with the pain escalating, so she and Clay headed off to their happy place (the mall) for awhile. My mom and I found a plowed street to walk on and headed out for some exercise. I was feeling well-rested and generally okay, just crampy and squeezed. A few minutes into our walk, we passed a couple walking the other way.

"Woah! Big belly there. When're you due?"

"Last week actually..."

"Ohhh yes. I know the feeling! I was very overdue with my son 20 years ago. Today is his birthday!"

"No way!"

"Yep. It's a great day to have a birthday." (They actually said this!)

Of course I took this as a great sign from the universe/God/Buddha and smiled to myself. We walked on a bit longer before turning around. I was hungry and if this thing was happening, I had to get some real food in me before the party really started.

I knew I needed something healthy and organic to fuel the baby for her big journey, so we drove the 20 minutes to McDonald's and I ordered a Big Mac, fries, and a Coke. Mmmm. As we were eating, the squeezing and cramps started noticeably picking up, but I was able to fill up and still laugh (a little) in between focusing -- it felt like my last hurrah as a mom of one. The only problem was, I really felt like I needed to go. But I couldn't. But I was obsessed with the thought that if I could just make that happen, my body could do a better job with all this. It didn't occur to me even once that that feeling was baby's head pushing down...

We got back in the car and headed home.

"Can we make a quick stop at the grocery store to grab some milk?" my mom asked.
"I actually don't think so. No."

In the past ten minutes, things had gotten real. I called both the midwife on duty and my doula and told them my status. They won't admit you to the center until you're 5 centimeters, so I was still a little confused about how I'd know when I was ready. It's a little clearer when you're probably around 3, but 5 felt like... would I wait too long or not long enough? And because it was a Saturday and the office was closed, there was the added pressure of knowing I was calling in the midwife from her home and she'd have to open the center just for me. If I wasn't really ready, she'd have to go home and so would I and then rinse/repeat.

She explained that there were notches and upticks in intensity and that it sounded like I was on my way to 3 centimeters. And then after the next uptick it would be time to come in. That sounded confusing, but by now we were home and I needed to use the bathroom (but not really) and hop in the shower, so I said sure yup makes sense.

Without thinking, I walked up to my bedroom and collapsed at the edge of the bed into the fetal position. I immediately fell into a deep sleep for 20 minutes at which point I was woken up by a very, very strong contraction. I fell to the ground and counted to 30, focusing intently on each number as I said it under my breath. When I sat back up I felt incredibly and ridiculously nauseated. Okay, one uptick complete. I was probably at 3. I looked at the clock and it was 2:30.

The next three hours I spent almost entirely in the shower and/or trying to go to the bathroom. It felt good to sit down on the toilet (I now know that helped take some of the pressure off baby's big ol head pressing down), but nothing happened and ultimately I'd feel frustrated and the pain would be too much and I'd run back into the shower. The contractions were strong and pretty regular, though I wasn't timing them (from what I remember?!). About once an hour I checked in with my doula, but I'd have to hurry off the phone within 2 minutes because life outside of the shower was intolerable.

I wasn't panicked at all through this part and felt really proud of myself for staying so focused and calm. With Harper, I was literally flapping my hands and arms, trying to find my way out of the pain. This time I went into it and just surrendered for each 30-60 second contraction. BUT. This time I didn't have back labor and I finally understood what people were talking about when they said they'd "gather their strength" or have a little break to feel pretty normal in between contractions. I literally had no break with Harper's labor. There were times I couldn't even tell what was a contraction and what wasn't! This round it felt like it was supposed to: Things were intense and building, but each contraction had a clear beginning and ending and I could use my resources to get through it and then enjoy ("enjoy") the short rest period.

Though I'd done some solid prep with Hypnobabies and also practiced with other techniques during my pregnancy, now that I was in it full swing all I wanted to do was sit in the shower and work with the counting. Because I knew that each contraction was a discrete event, it brought me comfort to live inside the numbers. You never know quite what will work ahead of time, I s'pose. I also started making low moaning noises. At first it felt unnatural because I was literally doing it just because I'd read it in a book, but once I realized how much it helped, I couldn't be stopped.

Around 5:30 things were getting very intense. I had been alone in the bathroom for a long time and had started planning the rest of my life in there. I still felt in control, but I couldn't step out of the shower for more than 30 seconds, and I could barely hold a conversation. I called my doula.

"How would you feel about getting in the car now?"
"Terrible."
"Okay. So...how do you think you might feel about getting in the car an hour from now?"
"Solid point."

It seemed crazy that after all these months and weeks and false alarms, it was really time to get in the car and do this thing. I felt almost embarrassed about announcing it. Clay and Harper were back from the mall now (with a new Build-a-Bear in tow) and everyone was chatting in the kitchen.

"I think we need to go."
"Really?" Clay looked surprised.
"Really."
"Okay. I have time to head up a quick dinner, right?"
"No. I don't think so. No." (Did he grab something before we left? No idea.)

By now, I was crouched way down low and swaying back and forth. It relieved a lot of pressure and if I could count and focus and moan while doing it, I felt like I could bear it. I couldn't believe I was about to get in the car where there was no crouching or hot shower for 20+ minutes. But my doula was right -- we had to go now, because this was only getting worse. I couldn't believe how well this timing was lining up -- I'd spent a ton of time visualizing this exact scenario: Saying goodbye to Harper right around her dinner and bedtime, so I'd have the baby late at night/early early morning and see her again when she woke up.

I said my calmest goodbye to her "I think it's time for Mommy to have the baby and for you to have dinner and go to bed! You'll have so much fun with Grammy..." But I had to scram before another contraction hit. I don't think I even felt or got teary, I just wasn't in the headspace for that. A few minutes before 6 we loaded up and pulled out of the driveway.

I immediately put on the Rent soundtrack (I know...) and started moaning/singing/counting. Clay seemed alarmed by how close the contractions were to each other (there was about 30 seconds between each one) and kept saying "Really? Another one?" I was crouched in the front seat, rubbing my fist against my forehead and singing Santa Fe. I felt like a legitimately crazy person. I guess I was.

Berf story, part 1

A 2 minute backstory: I got pregnant very quickly with Harper and had a pukey, but largely uneventful pregnancy. She was born in the hospital, in San Francisco, and the whole experience was, how you say...fine. I experienced killer, killer back labor and after 12 hours at home, I signed up for the epidural and felt pretty good about it. After pushing for 4 longlong hours and then leaving with a section of residual numbness, I thought I might try unmedicated the next time.

It took me a lot longer to get pregnant the second time and that definitely stressed me out. No one quite knows what to say when you're going through those murky waters, so I felt isolated and weird. It was rough, but it passed. I'm not sure what my bod was doing, but Bea came out of it all, so -- good. Anyway. I got KU again (naturally) and committed to the idea of a birthing center and no drugs. I liked that Harper wouldn't have to see me in the hospital (I still remember some fun things I saw when my brother was born, including my mom's OB covered in blood...? Of course that was 1986 and things have tightened up considerably... ) and I liked that I'd immediately be mobile and I guess I also wanted to try it from a pure experiential standpoint. Oh, self. *pats head*

Because Harper came "early" (not by much, but a few days before her due date) and because my belly was so big and so low, I was convinced I'd go early again. I told this to everyone and even got the midwives in agreement. "You know best!" ...do I? So when I started having painful contractions around 39 weeks, it was obvious this! was! it! I texted my mom, who was going to be on Harper duty, and my poor cousin, who was going to help me during labor, and let it be known they had to get here now, from Maine, because baby was EN ROUTE.

Only, yeah, she wasn't.

I really can't even handle discussing the following twoish weeks because they were equal parts boring/stressful/painful and exhausting. It snowed and snowed and snowed and we celebrated Harper's birthday and then of course it would be baby's next! But then no, it was mine. (I hadn't even considered that she might come after mine. No, no, Kimpossible.) (Harper and my mom and cousin made me a cake that said "WHERE BABY?" in sugar letters. T'will go down as my favorite birthday cake of all time.) We watched a lot of Olympics. We walked around dirty snow covered parking lots.

Every other night or so, I'd be up for hours with painful but unprogressing contractions. I told my midwives I'd pretty much accepted that I wasn't going to get a baby out of this, that it wasn't going to end and I guess I'd be okay eventually. I wasn't joking. They laughed nervously.

And let's just say I became very... close with my midwives. I had 5 intense membrane sweeps over a 10 day period and many emotional phone calls in the middle of the night and teary non-stress tests where I'd make them promise me she wasn't slowly being eaten by the umbilical cord. They made me get an acupressure massage and I did visualization and bounced constantly on the blue ball and I ate pineapple and did Evening Primrose Oil and jogged on the treadmill. Nada.

We finally decided we would induce at 41 + 1, a Sunday evening. I just didn't feel comfortable going over 41 weeks for a few reasons, the major one being this babe was clearly big. Harper had been 8 lb 8 oz and everyone was guessing bug 2 would be even chunkier.

My cousin had to go back home and I felt so terrible she was going to miss the actual birth after all the time she put in. And after two weeks here, my mom was due back at work on Monday. I was frustrated and emotional and kept waffling between letting her cook till Sunday and inducing rightthisminutenow. I definitely felt disappointed and surprised that it was going down like this after all my prep and focus, but admittedly, a small piece of me felt relieved. I'd be in a hospital and I'd probably get an epidural and it would all be very familiar.

On Friday, two days before induction, I got yet another membrane sweep and my midwife told me I must go get acupuncture and take an Ambien at bedtime. That this would do it. Yep sure I'm a shell of a human, whatever, pass the jelly. I got an appointment with my acupuncturist ( har har "my acunpuncturist" ... who am I? ... I'll write another post on how this lady is pretty much a magician, though) and filled the Ambien scrip. The theory on the latter being because I wasn't sleeping at night and suffering through "false" contractions, my body couldn't fully relax and push me that one final step into real labor.

I had my acupuncture session and it was terrible. I pretty much hate lying on that table always, but this time was just ridiculous. So many parts of me had needles (probably 30-40) and then she started doing electric shocks on my feet...? I was so miserable and grumpy and probably inappropriately mean to her. Drove home in the cold and fog and rain, popped half an Ambien (#hardcore) and hit the hay.

I could tell I was having contractions all night, but I was able to keep sleeping through them. I would come to the surface, feel very intense pressure, breathe deeply and then...nitey nite. I didn't feel drugged or queasy or bad, I just felt pleasantly sleepy and like my body was working it out on its own. I can see being reluctant to try this because what if you're drugged and suddenly in full out labor? But I could tell I was in control and this was helping and for once for once for once, I was really sleeping.

When I woke up in the morning (we're now at 41 weeks exactly, the day before my scheduled induction), I pretty much knew it would happen that day -- but had a hard time saying it out loud after all the many false alarms. #girlwhocriedbaby #tobecontinued

Mondee

(Got clued in that my commenting set-up thingamajig was all jacked. Fixed now!)

School haz begun. A thousand cheers! She woke me up early this morning, fully dressed and ready to party/get educated. "I was worried you'd sleep through circle time!" Dear heart.

We kissed goodbye and she walked right up to her teacher who was sitting at the picnic table chopping veggies (it's a labor camp for the most part, but a nice one). They had their special hello moment, where they clasp hands and chat for a bit, and then off she went and off I went (with Bea, falling asleep in my arms because uh hey mom, nap time?) So different from last year when I'd sneak around the corner with my big belly and watch her sit alone on a rock for awhile and look around plaintively. 

And now I'm here alone with Drooly McPhee. It's quieter, but not exactly quiet, as this one is the chattiest/screamiest/laughiest kid. And today whinywhiny as she learned to scoot this weekend, but...backward. George is pacing and a little confused, but he'll settle down. (She hoped.) And now. I have lukewarm coffee to sip, piles of laundry to do and hopefully some exercise/organizing/writing. As for Bea, she's dialing a very convincing looking number on the phone. If it's you, I wouldn't pick up.

School

When we moved towns within our county a couple years ago, I needed a new preschool for Harper. I checked out 4 or 5 and the only one that made me wish I could go there was a Waldorf school. Her classroom looked like a unicorn cave and everything smelled like tea and apple crisp and she immediately bonded with her teacher. (A mystical woman I want to adopt.)

Sigh. How did it come to this, self.

Honestly, the only time I remember hearing much about Waldorf was in an Early Ed class in San Francisco where they spent a thousand hours on Montessori and then breezed over the Waldorf deal, like uh er not sure -- next! A girl in the back raised her hand and said: "I went to 10 years of Waldorf and learned nothing except how to draw and sculpt. I'm really good at those, though." Neat.

All things considered, we had a good year livin the Rudolph Steiner life (at a 30-35% commitment level) and we're going again since HJ is in her groove and we've got just one more year to sweet, sweet public school.

Today we had the welcome back (but not really! not really for 3 more days...) picnic and before I could blink I was sending Harper off to watch a puppet show while I crunched my millet salad and discussed why yes, I vaccinate my kids and no thank you on the spirulina brownies. Ah, yes. We meet again, granola bars.

Is this the year I throw my television/iPad/iPhone/microwave out the window and commit 100% to the Waldorf principles? Stay tuned, friends!!!*

*No. I would be nothing.

Wednesday

Because Harper's school starts a few years (a week) after everyone else's, we're basically losing our noods over here. We've been out of regularly scheduled programming for 3 full months and that's not safe. We wake up, do the breakfast and nursing and dog routine and then all stare at each other.

"I want to go to school."
"And I want you to go to school."

Twiddle our thumbs, pick some flowers in the garden and make "perfume" (mash petals in tiny dixie cups and then scatter said cups all around the house), cut very very very tiny shapes out of construction paper and scatter them under all the things, take off our clothes, trip over the dog, scream back and forth with Bea because that's her favorite, eat our 12,000th snack, put on PBS Kids.

I try and do one real thing a day. Either go to a playdate or host a playdate or visit the library or get froyo or go to the lake or. This is difficult to maneuver because Bea takes 3 naps a day and you really need to move it move it to stay on a loose schedule. She definitely gets her fair share of car naps and carrier naps, but I try and keep those to a minimum for a few boring reasons.

Anyway. Today we went to the beach. ("No! It's the ocean!") Okay. Today we went to the ocean. There's also a massive, massive playground there and a crazy snack bar with things like lobster rolls and gold flaked ice cream sandwiches. I was semi-insane for taking this on, since it's a 40 minute drive both ways and it was blazing hot and I don't have a beach umbrella and it's 30 dolla to park and all the stuff one must bring on such a journey is ludicrous. But Harper loves the beach so much and she's only gone a few times this year, so off we went.

Good things:

• Bea didn't make a peep other than sweet coos on our drive there.
• The credit card machine was broken, so we gots in for free.
• Bea took a carrier nap while Harper did up the playground first.
• Both girls let me slather on sunscreen without their brains leaking out.
• The water was so warm and felt amazing on my brutalbrutal yellow jacket sting. #itswarnow
• We got ice cream and sat under a roofed pavilion with picnic tables and we shared with Bea.
• Neither girl konked on the way home.

Bad things:

• SWEET MARY AND JOSEPH THE BLAZING SUN WHAT WHY?
• The mom at the snack bar who let her kid take 45 minutes to pick an ice cream. He only wanted Spongebob "with the eyes of gum" but she "couldn't approve" of the artificial coloring. But would approve of every single other ice cream novelty available. Oh, she got death eyes of gum from me.
• Bea screaming for the last 10 minutes home and Harper frantically yelling "you're ok you're ok you're ok you're ok you're ok!!!"... Pretty much a peace mantra. 

I felt like a superhero, though, and damn if Harper didn't think that whole trip was just the greatest. I got both kids bathed and in clean jams and fed (Harper may or may not have had cinnamon toast for supper high five) and read to without tantrums from any source. Okay yes fine I might have yelled at the dog. 

Four more days!

Anyway

It's been two years since I blogged and the other night I spent all night ("all night") (which means 8-10, the special hours when both girls are asleep) reading my archives and feeling delighted those six years were memorexed. So I'll try again. Probably less kid pictures this time.

1. Harper starts 80% of her sentences with "Anyway..." It's great. And now I can't stop doing it either.
"Hey, Shem, you gotta turn the TV off."
*long pause*
"Anyway...I think I'll keep watching."
"Anyway. No. It's bedtime."

2. Yesterday she and I were sitting on the steps together and she picked up my foot and stared at the bottom of my big toe.
"Ew. Is that skin peeling?"
"Yep. It hurts, too."
"Anyway. Well. I had that once. I just ate the skin."

3. I cannot rest or die until I've tasted every flavor of La Croix.

4. Am I supposed to not let H watch Strawberry Shortcake because they say things are "berry, berry delicious?" I've heard that theory, but I'm too tired to give it much thought.

5. Today I was sitting on the couch with both girls and after reading a couple emails on my phone, I looked over (2 inches) and Bea was chewing on a pair of scissors.

Anyway. Glad I'm back.