Luke's Birth Story

So there we sat, my husband and I, in a field of poppies under the waning moon, when suddenly my water broke in a delicious gush. Delighted, we cuddled close until my rushes began. Smooth and effortless went my labor, with rushes coming on with more intensity - never pain - culminating in gentle pushes that brought my son into the world. Our midwife arrived at the field in time to catch our little one, while the doula wove a daisy chain for my hair. Then we all snacked on my placenta and danced a reel as the morning star rose in the sky.

If you wish to keep that picture of natural birth - maybe minus the placenta eating - in your head, then you are welcome to do so. If you want to read the details of Luciano's actual birth, read on.
Trigger Warnings: contractions, pain, vomit, screaming (there's good stuff too, but that's at the end).

12:30pm

So things actually begin with my water breaking, which surprises me because this"opening scene" for labor is statistically rather rare. Though looking at my other birth experiences, I should know that I tend to fall outside the norm. I didn't go off like a cannon or anything, just some gushes and trickles of clear fluid that were interesting enough to inform my midwife and husband about.

1pm

I take a walk with my mom and son to see if we can get some contractions going. My mom wanted to stick close to home, but I end up tricking her to walk farther and farther away with me. I want to sneak in one last "workout" before game time. Plus the weather is so amazing I just want to soak it in. 

2 - 4pm

Hanging out at home, getting things ready, some light contractions start with no definite pattern. My mom and I go to Whole Foods, where I have a "last meal" of sushi - salmon and tuna - and yes, they were raw and delicious. At some point I begin last-minute nesting, consisting of ordering my husband around to finish up the laundry and tidy up our room. Just in case Better Homes and Gardens arrives to take photographs or conduct an interview.

6pm

Around this time I decide it would be interesting to download a contraction timer app just to see if I am developing a pattern. The midwives tell me to wait for "5-1-1" (contractions that are strong and occur about 5 mins apart, each lasting 1+ mins in length, and maintaining this pattern for an hour), and at this time my contractions are fairly scattered in frequency, intensity, and duration. I clearly am in early labor, as I delight in experimenting with different positions, finding that standing and hanging onto my husband feels the best, i.e. the most progress is being made. Downward facing dog position, on the other hand, makes for a miserably painful contraction; stick to cat and cow.

8pm? 9pm?

I don't know. By this time I quit using the stupid app, because I need all my focus to cope with contractions and I don't have the patience to hit the "start" and "stop" button, let alone the emoticon which is supposed to represent my pain level. The beauty of a labor that is not augmented with drugs (as my others had been) is that you really do get to rest between "sets", like a workout. I find my body gives me about 3-5 mins between moderate contractions of about a minute in length, and almost 20 mins between the whoppers I have in the bathroom. Around this time I start having contractions that leave me questioning my decision to "go natural", that's for darn sure.

9?10?11pm?

Who's keeping track? Not I! I just want my husband present for every contraction and shout for him if he isn't nearby. I also getvery picky about what kind of counter-pressure I want on my back and find that I am becoming very vocal. Between cattle-like lowing noises and demands regarding back rubs, I'm pretty pushy. I don't recall being this way in the hospital....but you'd have to ask my family for their recollections...

Somewhere within this time frame I tell Matt we NEED to call the midwives to let them know that "ish is getting REAL!", but he makes me wait a few contractions like a good coach (I had some other names for him at the time). I start to feel like some kind of spooked farm animal at this point - pretty sure I look like a terrified cow, when you can see the whites all the way around their eyes. I start crying and telling my hubby that I can't do it anymore, that I didn't realize it would hurt this much. It is incredible and terrifying to feel EVERYTHING - to feel the strong muscles of my uterus opening me wider and wider. And since whining and moaning does not appear to impede the progress of my labor, I choose to continue my petulant behavior rather than stay on top of the contractions with breathing and relaxation techniques. Whatever.

I now demand to use the phone in a very scary voice.

I think my midwife can tell where I'm at by talking to me, and she is able to meet us at the birth center within an hour. After some last minute packing, we're ready. Then I am hit with a really strong contraction that drives me to my knees beside the bed. My mom comes to my aid, but I only want my husband. I have the presence of mind to grab a bag I see under the bed before emptying the contents of my stomach into it (pecan pie, in case you were interested). A couple contractions down the stairs later and....we're IN the car!

The drive at night is quiet and serene, punctuated by two or three contractions involving cow sounds and a new trick I obtain of lilting my voice to sound like a ghost, "oooOOOOOoooooOOOOH!". My husband chuckles a little. I tell him to shut up. There may have been curse words.

11:30pm - 1am
At the birth center I am checked for progress and found to be doing "well". The midwife wisely avoids telling me the exact number of centimeters I've dilated, as this can be a total head trip and doesn't always tell you about how much longer labor will last. I was overjoyed to find that she was filling the huge jacuzzi tub and found a degree of relief sliding into it. I actually cannot imagine continuing labor outside the water; it wasn't pain-free, but being able to float my body and legs up a little during contractions was better than contending with gravity. 

"Labor land" is sometimes used to describe this intense period where contractions come close, hard, and the mother loses track of time. I think this is an accurate description of my next hour in the tub. Contractions are honestly more than I can "stay on top of", even with an arsenal of Bradley Method relaxation techniques stored in my head, so I whine and weep and moan through each one. Between contractions I drift into such deep relaxation that I fall asleep several times. The only change during this time is the introduction of a green Otter Pop (delicious!!!) and a cold wash cloth for my head. I shunned all hippie relaxation music, physical touch, and use of fans. I keep a light hold on my husband's hand at all times - you can ask him, I did NOT squeeze his hand into a crumpled mass. I had too much to contend with as it was.

1am? 1:15am?
"PRESSURE!!!!!!! OH MY GOD, HELP ME, JESUS HELP ME, SO MUCH PRESSURE!!!!!!" The midwife checks me and we are nearly ready to push, but there is a little cervix in the way. She wisely has me spend a couple contractions on my left side, and I apparently go from 7-10cm in mere minutes. It feels like it, too. FREAKING CRAZY. I'm shaking with the pain and dreading the start of each contraction. I know one's coming because my darling baby kicks me hard, like he's triggering the darned things. Then it builds like a wave and crests, and double crests, and TRIPLE crests into deep, deep, mind blowing pain.

When I turn on my back again, it's pushing time. My husband is a little stunned; apparently he thought I was being a bit of a pansy and that we weren't anywhere near this point. Frankly, I thought the same thing.

So, I am a bit of a birth story junkie and have read that second stage can be "fun" or a "relief" because the act of pushing through these contractions minimizes the pain. Huh. Well, I can't say I have the same experience. In fact, the cow sounds turn to screaming, yes - pure, undignified screaming. I have never, ever screamed like this in my life. The sound of my own voice frightens me a little, but I cannot help it. Part of my brain that was able to remain lucid goofy told me that this is what it's like to become a vampire (Yes, I've read Twilight. A few times. Don't judge.), and afterwards I'll have super stunning good looks, unbelievable strength, and I'll get to live in Washington and eat bears every day.

Praise God that my second stage of labor is over in eight minutes. EIGHT MINUTES!

1:30am
And then this soft, slippery little person slides out of me into the water and is quickly placed on my chest and everything goes quiet. Probably because I've stopped screaming. But it feels like I'm buffeted by silence and wrapped in peace. The pain completely stops and I'm so relieved and grateful. I don't get a major rush of euphoria - at least, not the kind that involves happy weeping and goo goo eyes - just a quiet, deep calm. Luke pinks up quickly and breathes well after a little suctioning, and we just hold each other for a bit until my husband cuts the cord.

I deliver the placenta on the bed - just a little push, no major pain - and get to take a good look at it, too! Fascinating what my body made and nourished my baby with. By this time Luke has latched on and is nursing like a champ, just like his big brother did. After nearly an hour of uninterrupted snuggling and nursing, I get to take a leisurely shower and am lovingly handled by the midwife and her assistant as I head back to the birth room. Luke is weighed and measured and shortly thereafter we head home. We all sleep for nearly eight hours straight and wake around 9 or 10am to greet my son JP, who is happy and slightly awed by his little brother.

__________________________________________________________________________________

During this first day I start to process my experience. My first thought is that this was a nice experiment but NOT worth the pain. I would have happily accepted an epidural had it been available. Then I start making a mental checklist of my post birth sensations.......and I change my mind. IT IS WORTH IT. And here is why:

- I did not tear. I had a third degree tear with my older son in the hospital, and trying to recover from a serious wound, taking narcotics for the pain, AND caring for a newborn is no picnic. Plus the pain of this injury lingered with me for nearly a year. This was my BIGGEST fear going into this experience with Luke. My husband and I actually high-fived when the midwife delivered the good news!
- I have almost no back pain. Just some mild stuff I expected from my body going back into place. That epidural was so nice at my last birth, but the resulting back pain was prolonged and intense.
- I am not swollen. I was puffy and swollen from all the drugs and the IV fluids pumped into me for over 30 hours at my hospital birth. When I looked in the mirror the day after Luke's birth, I looked like.....myself!
- I have energy. Almost too much, because I've been out and about a little more than I should. I actually have to reel myself in and remind myself I'm still in recovery!
- My mind is whole. At least, as whole as it ever is. I had feelings of anger and confusion regarding my last birth experience. We were constantly being interrupted during and after my oldest son's birth, so we never got to rest properly. I had recurrent, irrational, and angry thoughts for months after his birth, and in hindsight I probably needed some professional help. I am still on my guard, and pray daily for a healthy mind and body so I can care for my family. I know PPD can strike any time, but I feel I've gotten a much healthier start this go-round.
- My digestive system is in perfect working order. Just what you wanted to hear, right? But if you've had babies, you probably remember that first trip to the bathroom - especially for #2 - being pretty scary. Let's just say I'm not imploring all the angels and saints in Heaven to pray for God's mercy on me when I'm in the loo.

So yeah, it hurt like crazy. I don't feel "empowered" by my natural birth necessarily, because my mind was fighting my body most of the time. My hormones and muscles carried me along for an insane ride and I just managed to hang on. I'm no hero; I would have taken pain relieving drugs if they were there, and I completely empathize with and respect women who do. But I won't take drugs or go to a hospital - not ever again if I can help it. Because I feel amazing in body, mind and spirit. My baby is getting fatter each day and my toddler is getting more wily, and I'm possibly up to the challenge of wrangling them both. I'm amazed and grateful to my support team (especially my husband) every time I reflect on Luke's birth, and rather in awe of the way my body is healing. I should go step outside real quick and see if my skin sparkles......

Compassion

I just read through the mid-term report for the Synod on the family, and was pleased to find that the constant teachings of the Catholic Church on the sacrament of marriage are being upheld while recognizing that people on are different steps of their journey and need to be shown mercy. God knows that without the mercy of priests, my family, and our NFP and marriage prep teachers, that I would have opposed the further formation of my conscience and may have never accepted the fullness of Church teaching regarding human sexuality and the freedom that accompanies it.

That being said, I know that there is confusion and disagreement regarding this report; some claim Pope Francis is changing Church teaching to openly accept cohabiting and gay couples, and others assert that while this report does not represent revolutionary ideas, it is full of fuzzy double speak and loopholes that give people too much license. I do not doubt these two sides will be involved in some embittered arguments, and unfortunately many will abandon compassion in their righteous zeal.

This lack of compassion and sympathy could keep us butting heads with our brothers and sisters in Christ in perpetuity - and that's just what Satan wants, eh?

Let’s look at the abortion debate in this light. Abortion was not a topic directly addressed by the Synod, but it will illustrate my main point, if I can ever get around to it! I can feel compassion and pity for the women who walk through the doors of abortion clinics. I can do more than sympathize with them – I can empathize because I have been inside, contemplating my own future.

Pro life advocates  - some, not all- can come across as snarky, self-righteous zealots, making blanket statements about women who would choose to abort as callous, selfish feminazis at best, and murderous fiends at worst. Some pro choicers, such as Katha Pollitt on last week’s Diane Rehm show, agree that abortion is mainly a religious issue that is pushed by ancient, patriarchal religions and has nothing to do with the real choices women must make. As if embryology, social science, philosophy, and psychology do not in some part contribute to this debate. Her condescending tone was extremely vexing and made me feel she believes pro lifers are ignorant yokels. But if we are honest, we make them feel the same way.

I don’t know how others will come to have compassionate dialogue, or at least feel deeply for one another, without walking a mile in their shoes. I wish I hadn’t experienced a flirtation with the abortion clinic, but at least I have gained a frightening knowledge of myself and an empathy that prevents me from denouncing all pro-choicers as inherently evil.

My experience was this: I became intimate with a high school boyfriend and continued in this relationship into my freshman year of college. I had exercise-induced amenorrhea during this time, which may have prevented ovulation and accounted for my not conceiving for so long. However, as I gained a healthy weight in college (the freshman 30 for me – I weighed about 96lbs at the end of my senior year of high school), I started noticing what I thought were signs of pregnancy: sore breasts, bloating, and moodiness. I was terrified. I had earned a prestigious academic scholarship that covered my tuition and provided me funds for purchasing books and other materials. If I were to have a baby and take time off from school, I would lose my scholarship. I would have to get a job to support myself and my baby (the nature of which would depend on the response of my family – would I be kicked out?), and likely not return to complete my studies. I had been an upstanding, “A” student since junior high, a member of the National Honor Society, was a musician in my parish’s choir, and an active member of the youth group. But my need for affection and intimacy with a guy – and its natural consequences – was going to shatter everything. Worst of all, my family and friends would be shocked and disappointed. I walked around campus in a panic for a few days, not very capable of rational thought. I think I presented a collected front to everyone, but I don’t quite remember. Perhaps I was so good at pretending to be a good girl (I knew my actions were sinful and considered myself almost beyond God’s grace at this point) that I managed to save face while I contemplated what to do next.

I finally went to the computers in the school library and looked up the directions to the nearest Planned Parenthood. I was fuzzy on the entire extent of their operation, but I knew they offered free pregnancy tests. What I would do with the results of the test was a huge question mark shrouded in fog. You may wonder why I didn’t seek out a Catholic women’s center or some related resource. The reason is simple: I didn’t think of it! Planned Parenthood stood out in my mind like McDonald’s: You go to the former to get a pregnancy test, and you visit the latter to get a burger and fries. Powerful branding, huh?

So I made an appointment and drove in that afternoon. I filled out some paperwork and peed in a cup, and then I put the cup behind the little metal door and shuffled out to the waiting room. I sat there in a cold sweat, trying to look collected. I could not meet eyes with the other women in the room. I wonder how they felt – were they frightened children (I was not yet 18), too? I picked up some literature about – gulp – abortion. The pamphlets were in pastels and soothing fonts, not unlike our NFP guides, full of stock photos of happy-looking women who had made their “choice” and were very happy with the results. My head was spinning – if the test came back positive, if I were pregnant with a baby I did not want and could not support by a boy I knew I didn’t love – what would I do? It shames me deeply to this day to answer, “I don’t know”. At that moment I was called to the window where the lady told me my test was negative. Negative! Never had I known such relief. Nor such deep confusion and remorse for what I had been contemplating. I never, never, never at any point reasoned that I could be carrying life inside me, a life with inherent dignity and an immortal soul. My swirling thoughts were directed entirely inward but stopped at my uterus. It wasn’t something I consciously did; in my panic I could only think of all the choices I was shutting off by making the choice to be sexually active before marriage. I wanted to make things “right”, which to me, more than anything else, meant saving face.

A few days later I got my first period in over a year. That’s what the symptoms meant – the bloating, tenderness and moodiness. Never had I welcomed this event with such happy tears. The whole experience had been so stressful and traumatic that I knew I could no longer persist in relations with this young man. I also saw how I had likely warped his view of women and relationships, something I will be culpable for in this life and the next. Here is where I differ from some of my peers – rather than seek a method of contraception that would allow me to have “safe” sex (AS IF! Have you seen the failure rates with some of this stuff? Even Katha Pollitt in that interview admits birth control is not 100% effective), I was determined to NOT do the thing that gets you pregnant in the first place. I broke off the relationship with my boyfriend for good and shunned his acquaintance and that of our mutual friends. It was painful to go cold turkey from sex and from the companionship of all our friends, but I knew I was too weak to admit the company of anyone related to the situation. I had fallen so many times before.

My best friend and now husband listened to an abridged version of my story and directed me toward a priest he had been seeing for the sacrament of Confession. I was afraid to confess to our own parish priest, who knew I worked with youth and was a big part of the music group. So I drove to another church and met with a new priest. I immediately burst into tears upon walking into his office, and he folded me in his arms and spoke to me with such compassion and love that I was able to make a full confession and leave with a spark of hope. I had not been able to attend Mass without anxiety (where I committed the sin of sacrilege by receiving Communion unworthily), nor had I been able to have any kind of quality prayer life, thinking I was unable to return to Him with all the sins I had heaped on my head.

I can’t say I didn’t have issues after this; my spiritual life has been a series of fits and starts, backtracking and sometimes resentment. Resentment and anger that I can’t do whatever the bleep I want, especially when it comes to the Church’s teachings on sexual morality. Frustration at my own weakness, but most of all some compassion and empathy for other women who have been there in that clinic contemplating a frightening choice. How are we to approach these dear ones? With name calling and judgement? I know that without the love of my mother (whom I told at least part of this to), my best friend, and a holy and dear priest, that I may have taken a totally different path. Mother Church opened her arms to me and let me weep on her mantle. She took me back in while I was still broken, and she waits for me patiently when I continue to stray.

The message of the synod warmed the cockles of my stony heart because it speaks to my own experience as a wounded woman deep in sin. While I do not wish this experience on others, I want to share it because I think it is hard for some of my holy and righteous peers to feel merciful  – those who remained chaste before marriage, who never practiced contraception, who speak and write with a power that comes from purity unsullied by dark experiences. Not merciful to the repentant, but merciful to the sinner before they have come back in full communion with the Church.

I thank God every day that He sent compassionate people to deal with me gently in my weakness. This treatment, rather than encouraging further sin, elevated my thoughts and helped me to strive for better, if only an inch at a time. Praise God for Holy Mother Church and for Pope Francis!

My Top 5 Exercise Visualization Techniques

I'm going to take a hiatus from heavy topics and let the personal trainer in me get a little fresh air. Since I currently have no one on whom to exercise my sadism, I must fling my wisdom on the web and hope it sticks somewhere.


Below are my favorite visualization techniques for resistance exercise. I use these to keep my mind focused on the task at hand, to enhance the effectiveness of my workout, and to prevent injury. For example, I might mentally focus in on my glutes (butt muscles - best muscle group ever) to avoid over-taxing my knees in a squat exercise. I hope you find some of these helpful as you pump iron!

1. Gatorade Commercial
I've always fancied orange Gatorade was my favorite flavor, but in my commercial, the color inside me is gold.  
Let's say I'm performing a barbell bench press exercise. I imagine that liquid gold is illuminating my pectoral muscles whilst pressing some obscene amount of weight toward the ceiling. Just the act of "coloring" the primary muscle involved in the exercise will assist focus. In the chest press, it takes the exercise from simply bending and extending one's elbows to a focused movement for the pecs. 

 
2. Tension/Pull/"Energy"
The technique of imagining lines of tension or pull comes from my limited experience with ballet. I love the cues ballet instructors give students regarding "lines", and this has helped immensely with more complex exercises. But let's start with a simple move like the abdominal plank. You want to imagine lines of pull going right through your body forward through your forehead and backward out your heels. These cables pull you equally in both directions,"lengthening" your spine in a beautiful line. To add complexity, I "wrap" my midsection in a candy wrapper in 360 degrees, so that my core is wrapped up and lifted from all sides.

For a more complex movement like the squat, I keep my "energy" or "tension" in my feet, so that the emphasis is down toward the ground as I extend my hips and push to standing. If you want to get fancy, you can refer to the diagram (left) for proper squat angles. Notice the back and the shins are in near parallel lines (image source: http://www.edancescience.org/ref/nextlevel.htmlhttp://www.dotraining.co.uk/if-youre-going-to-squat-then-deep-squat/)
This is a great technique for solidifying technique in the learning phase of complex movements.

3. Animal
An accomplished, competitive power lifter and good friend of mine likes to imagine she is a small but powerful gorilla before she performs her lifts. This taps into the "animal brain" and lets a well-trained body do its thing during exercise. It also channels any adrenaline one might feel in a competitive setting, or when facing an intimidating, heavy lift.

My animal is the tiger. I love how they look so relaxed when they move, but you can see the power of their muscles rippling beneath the surface. I also like the fierceness of their eyes, even when they are at rest. I think of a tiger's powerful hindquarters when I perform the deadlift to give a boost to my set.

This technique plays more into emotions and can help enhance or channel adrenaline during heavy lifts. It is best to have thorough knowledge of correct technique, and ideally to have perfected an exercise before going into "animal mode".

4. Fitness Model
When I'm trying to get back into pre-pregnancy shape, I like to imagine my body as it will appear in the future. If I look at those dimples in my thighs or see my belly jiggling in the mirror, I'm likely to lose my mojo. Rather than admiring my postpartum bod in the gym mirror, I close my eyes (safety first! I usually close my eyes with Pilates or Yoga only!) and picture the body that will be. I AM that body underneath this fluff, and I am an artist chiseling away the excess until I reach that solid marble interior. Or something like that.

This technique also works on an emotional level to boost self-perception, halt negative self-talk, and exercise the imagination. It is a good idea to speak with a fitness professional about realistic goals as well. I know I'm never going to be capable of carrying the amount of muscle on my little frame that I would like, but I can do my personal best and take pride in the process.

5. Trigger Words
I use special phrases or words in tandem with other visualization techniques. The words should trigger a response in your body by improving mechanics or enhancing energy needed to complete a set. One of my faves for squat and deadlift is, "find your glutes!". This comes from a friendly and super-buff dude at a gym I used to frequent, who would kindly stop his workout to spot little ol' met. I always got stuck at the bottom of the squat, and having this giant yell, "FIND YOUR GLUTES" made me engage my body's most powerful muscle group and stand the heck back up!

Another favorite for squat and deadlift is "feet through the floor". I imagine pushing through my feet - not my heels or toes, but evenly through all points of my feet - so powerfully that the floor cracks under the pressure. This has helped me develop explosiveness with these tough-but-effective leg exercises. It also has a similar feel to "find your glutes" and takes focus off the knee joints and back, which are involved but NOT primary movers in these exercises.

Finally, my go-to phrase for doing a full squat (butt-to-heels squat) is "find your lats!". This refers to the lattisimus dorsi, or the back muscles running like ropes from your armpits, alongside your back, and into your hips. This is a posture reminder for me - it prevents my back bowing forward at the end of the squat, which really hurts my lumbar spine. "Find your lats!" also implies a slight contraction back and down to prevent excess rounding at the tailbone. Your back won't be perfectly upright at the end of the squat - nor should it be - but you will be engaging your core more effectively and protecting your knees and back in the process.

Next time I'll share my top ways to keep cardio exercise from being so painfully boring - hint: it's all about playing mind games!

Is Over-The-Counter Birth Control in Our Future?

I recently heard about how some Republicans are trying to make nice with lady voters by claiming they support the availability of over-the-counter birth control. This also looks like a way to separate the controversy of birth control from insurance companies and employers, leaving the burden of cost entirely to the consumer. I'm not sure that I disagree with that.

Those of you who know me know that I am Catholic and do not use birth control for a multitude of reasons, which I won't wax eloquent upon in this post - well, I'll make an effort. I also pay out of pocket for a lot of my health expenses, like midwifery care, prenatal massage, and costs associated with using Natural Family Planning. I do not expect anyone to pick up my tab, though it would be pretty nice if they did ;)

Here are some thoughts and questions that popped into my head after hearing the over-the-counter birth control story on NPR:

1. Hormonal contraception is different from other over-the-counter drugs.

The mechanism of action of most pills, patches, and vaginal rings is to suppress the function of the reproductive system by introducing synthetic versions of the hormones estrogen and progestin in high levels, thereby tricking the body into believing it is pregnant and suppressing further ovulation. Most of the time. The secondary action is to thin the lining of the uterine wall, making it unlikely a fertilized egg (a unique human person) could implant even if conception occurred. This sounds a little more serious than getting Sudafed, yes? We are talking about altering the function of an entire bodily system, and as much as I am into minimal government and medical intervention in my life, I think a little counseling before acquiring access to this stuff might be a good idea. I mean, I can't even get new contact lenses until I've seen my eye doctor (and let me tell you, I think that is a conspiracy to squeeze out a copay).

2. In what way(s) would access be regulated?

Would it be regulated at all? Many feminists see any type of restriction or rule regarding birth control as warfare on women and a violation of privacy, so perhaps they would be indignant if they had to show an I.D. to purchase the pill. But why restrict the age of the buyer? After all, the pill is touted as being "medicinal" for real and imagined reasons, so why shouldn't a twelve year old girl be able to pick up her supply without mom in tow?

I know for a FACT that my 16 year old self would have jumped on the opportunity to purchase the pill without my parents' or doctors' knowledge. I also know that this path would have tempted me to make an impulsive decision without reading too much about the mechanism of action or side effects.  Maybe that's just me.

What about drug interactions? We know that hormonal contraception can interact with other drugs (see the list associated with Nuvaring here), and lessen their effectiveness among other things, but who is going to help guide these women through the myriad consequences of ingesting these hormones? As independent as I am, I think I might want some professional guidance with this stuff.

3. What other drugs might we see OTC as a result of this [hypothetical] decision?

The first thing I would demand is to be able to PLEASE replenish my stock of contact lenses without seeing the eye doctor every year, because the $70+ visit to Costco, plus $150+ in contact lenses never happens at a good time for me financially. Just let me get them online without a new prescription. I can see just fiiiiine.

Seriously, though - are we going to see Zoloft next to the Motrin, or Adderall alongside Tylenol Cold? This ain't candy, people! It is medicine that is used to help fix or heal a system that isn't functioning properly.

Oh wait, birth control doesn't fix something that's broken........

I'm Doing Everything Wrong

I'm doing everything wrong when it comes to parenting. And it is working for my boy and I.

Let me preface this by saying that I believe parenting styles are extremely personal things, and each mother-child unit is completely unique. I also believe that there are no strict doctrines regarding every situation one will encounter while raising kids, so if I claim to be an adherent of "Attachment Parenting", I can still make choices that fall outside that category if my instinct or logic (hopefully both!) dictate otherwise. I give this disclaimer because I don't wish to be misunderstood as criticizing mamas who don't do what I do. You have a unique, private, special relationship with each of your kids which cannot be replicated.

As I get ready to welcome baby boy #2 into our home, I have taken to perusing the pregnancy and "What to Expect" type books whenever my toddler and I hit up the bookstore. These are full of great information and amazing pictures showing how my little one is developing inside me. I enjoy sharing these pictures with my son, who usually smiles coyly and goes back to playing with the train set that is cleverly placed in Barnes and Noble next to all kinds of fascinating and expensive toys. Some of these books touch on the things I'll need to "train" my baby to do after he is born. Most of the suggestions make me giggle.

I really thought I was going to be the mom with rules and a clever schedule, since I'm notoriously A-type and choleric in every other aspect of life. Sleep training, spaced out feedings, and pacifiers were all part of the deal. So how did I go from thinking babies need to be "trained like puppies" - a statement that was bandied about by my husband and I during my pregnancy with the superiority of those with zero experience - to believing in my heart that my baby was equal to me in dignity and sometimes superior in intelligence?

It began with the crunchy indoctrination that I experienced taking natural childbirth classes. Allusions to attachment parenting and early bonding were made, wherein babies get fed on demand, sleep with their parents in the bed, and do all manner of other strange things. It sounded like a great way to lose a lot of sleep and raise a spoiled brat, so at first I wasn't on board. And then my baby came along and taught me otherwise.

When my son was born, he was immediately put on my belly and I called his name. He raised his head (strong neck!) and looked right at me. And that was it - I was his willing slave. I slept with him in the crook of my arm during the remaining 48 hours of my hospital stay, and there was no putting him into a crib after that. From the beginning, he wanted to nurse constantly, so I did because: 1) what the heck else did I have to do? and 2) it was easier than not nursing him. I let him fall asleep at the breast because, again, it was easy - AND it knocked me out, too! I have had trouble sleeping for many years, and the best sleep I've ever gotten came after having a baby.

What other weirdness have I indulged in? Let's see - I carried my son everywhere in my arms or in a soft carrier, and declined letting others hold him as much as politeness would allow. For about a year. I didn't have a desire to leave him and go out alone for "me time" (ok, I admit that has changed a bit, haha!), and I don't think my husband and I really went on a date until he was around 9 months old. I still like to hold him while he naps.

I continue to break rules. My son isn't potty trained yet, though he is making strides naturally, and I applaud his every effort to keep clean and be aware of his body. We still nurse, though the frequency has diminished (mixed feelings there). I may tandem nurse when the new baby arrives, depending on the vibes I get from my older son. He still sleeps in our bedroom, and I can't imagine a night without a little nursing or a few cuddles (or ninja kicks to the face). When he takes a fall or gets hurt, I run to him, usually shouting, "Oh my darling, are you alright? Can mommy kiss you?" instead of remaining aloof and saying, "you're okay, get up". He usually responds with a shrug and resumes playing, unless he's very badly hurt. I can't imagine falling on my face in a public place and not having someone show concern, even if it's just a scrape!

I don't make him share. Just because he arrived at the Lego table at some store does not mean the other kids have to relinquish their toys to him. We can take a walk and come back when they've had their fun, which teaches my son about delayed gratification. I don't expect him to give up his personal toys when we are at the pool or playground just because someone else wants to play. Sometimes an item will get snatched out of his hands and then I wait to see what he'll do, which is usually to pick up a different toy until the grabber drops the original item he desired. I don't share my things with strangers, so if I'm not modeling a behavior, why would I demand that he do so?

It's funny how these things don't seem "fringe" or "extreme" to me any longer. I just listened to my son, and he told me what he needed. He probably took a little longer than some babies to sleep through the night, or let me go out on a date, but I feel like I'm starting to reap some of the fruits of this relationship we've created. He certainly isn't impervious to age-appropriate behaviors like occasional tantrums and picky eating habits, but I feel like there is a lot of love, mutual respect and trust between us - and that's all I ever needed.

I don't know what I'll be doing with baby #2 in terms of sleep arrangements, nursing "schedule", or discipline yet. What I've learned is that no amount of planning will prepare me for the task of mothering this new, unique child, and I'm hoping to fret less and just listen to my baby.

A Love Letter to My Husband

Dear Husband Mine,

I have a terrible penchant for developing amnesia about our great relationship whenever a grievance arises. I’m sure this tendency is magnified by pregnancy hormones that sometimes leave me questioning my sanity, but there is never a time where I am truly out of control. I always have the ability to rein in my emotions, but I choose not to because I choose not to practice self-control and like to indulge in reopening wounds. But I love you more than these petty things, so I’m going to do better, with the grace of God.

It would be easy to create a Hallmark card listing the generalities of your stellar character (such as your  modesty, economy, and other…amiable qualities*), but in the heat of an angry moment,the hated amnesia hits. Thinking about how “great” you have always been is too abstract for me to grasp. I need something firm to hang on to when I am in the midst of an internal storm, lest I fall overboard and you come home to wife who is in pain and wet and hysterical*. So I am making a list of all the little kindnesses you showed me just this weekend, so I can reach out and grab them when another storm hits.

-          You brought home dinner at my request after you had worked a very long, tiring day Friday.

-          You made an amazing pasta dinner on Saturday, and I’m still enjoying leftovers!

-          You cleaned the kitchen until the laminate sparkled ;) and took out our notoriously foul trash.

-          You gave me time to talk a long walk in nature, take a nap, and later sip iced coffee while listening to snarky, hilarious weekend shows on NPR. Alone. Such a gift.

-          You listened to me talk about thoughts and feelings with patience and offered insight and wisdom.

-          You worked over the weekend, but managed to balance time at home with work so we didn’t feel deprived. This means you probably didn’t get much rest or relaxation for yourself!

-          You gave our son all the rough play he needed so my big ol’ pregnant self could have a break from head butting, body slams, and being treated like a jungle gym in general.

-          You let me sleep in on Sunday and go to a later Mass!

-          You stayed up late with me to clean on Sunday night so I could have an easy Monday. I doubt you are having an easy Monday with your workload.

-          You watched “Say Yes to the Dress” with me after we finished cleaning and together we made biting commentary about the state of bridal fashion.

-          There’s more, no doubt, that I’m already forgetting, but these sweet offerings to our marriage are not lost on me, and I will hug them tight whenever I experience frustration or doubt. Whenever I think I’ve got the heavier load to carry. Whenever I forget that this is a Sacrament and not a competition.

I love you so much and am very, very grateful that God called me to marriage with you. There’s no one I’d rather share my twisted brain with. And now the rest of the internet knows, and you have permanent written proof that can be used as evidence against me in a court of law :)

Lots of squishy cuddles,

            Your Wife

A note to readers who aren’t my husband:

I’ve read parenting-type magazines where a writer will actually advise a woman to neither thank nor acknowledge her husband’s contributions around the house, since he should be “doing these things anyway”,  and no one is handing out prizes to mothers who do what is necessary to keep the home clean and welcoming. I could take this attitude…..and live in constant bitterness, or I could be appreciative that my man, who works long hours at a tough job that is mentally and emotionally grueling, comes home with a smile on his face and basically takes care of anything I need him to do. A little alone time so I can exercise? Done. An I.O.U. on dinner because I was at the zoo all day with our son? No biggie. A listening ear when I talk about my struggles – before I’ve heard how his day went? Yep. All of these things deserve my thankfulness.

* Name the movies these lines are from and I will mentally shake hands with you.