One of the shows the husband and I indulge in is Modern Family. It took till the start of the second season before we watched an episode and we've been hooked ever since. The Season Finale had the youngest family member, Lily on a backpack leash at DisneyLand. Her parents are overwhelmed because she has the tendency to run off and one of her fathers thinks a leash is the safest bet. In the end they find another equally laughable solution, but I'm going to focus on the leash here.
The whole "to leash" or "not to leash" debate is an ongoing argument between Moms, one Dads and Grandparents often engage in. I've had friends relay times when their parents begged them to never put their grandchildren on a leash. We've all looked a little sideways and passed judgement at the mom doing a good job of ignoring her leashed kid, and thought that if she paid more attention she wouldn't need that leash. On the other hand I know I've also judged the mom with the litter of kids she's allowing to run wild, and felt sorry for the mom who is clearly outmanned and knows it. That mom needs a leash, or a really strong super stroller.
But I digress, I'm writing to tell a story, one I've heard told to me affectionately over the years by my Grandparents. It's the story of how I earned the nickname Soap on a Rope. How it's affected me and made me who I am.
When I was a couple of years old my Grandparents took me on a camping trip with my sister and some of their friends. Think Glamping, glamourous camping, like four poster beds in tents and other wasteful things, but minus the four poster bed and tent. Stupid analogy, we had a fancy trailer, and lounge type camping chairs out front. I'm sure there was some green grass like rug to "define the camp site".
On one of the days a Ranger showed up with a little girl that they did not recognize and asked if she belonged to them. Later we found out she was from a campsite over and her parents were too drunk to notice she had wandered off. But ignore the drunk/drinking part, from the way my Grandparents tell this story she would have wandered off had they been sober. Anyway they tell the Ranger, No, and point to me informing him "that One's ours". The Ranger compliments them on how they're watching me, tells them how often kids disappear out there and is on his way.
As for me, I'm tied to a tree on a long "lead line"... yep I was on a lead line. Or a rope strung from a tree and the trailer, kind of like the one I set up or my Mother in Laws dog last time we went camping. Not just any one would do me though, this one my Grandparents proudly declare had enough slack to allow me to wander the campsite and go inside the trailer. Hence, Soap on a Rope. Shameful. Apparently this was the same trip my big sister took it upon herself to lead me around a tree till I couldn't go any further. She swears to this day I had fun following her, till I realized I couldn't go any further and started screaming.
My point? That story is hilarious. Seriously, I was tied to a tree with a lead line. This was no watered down cute fuzzy backpack leash or a little wrist leash, nope, they probably bought the supplies at a local pet store. They even realized how ridiculous it was and gave me an equally ridiculous nickname to commemorate the experience. But they did it, I survived to tell about it mostly trauma free (sister torture excluded) and it's just another reason why I have a good sense of humor. Will I do the same to baby El? Probably not, but I might tell her I did at some point. It's a great way to keep your kid humble, tell them at one point in their life you tethered them to a tree. But because you love them and are humane, gave them enough slack to be able to get shelter. You can't buy that kind of humble pie from any sort of Maury style bad teen boot camp.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
I shaved my legs for this... aka Baby El's birth story
Julie over at The Progressive Parent came up with this lovely idea she's dubbing #birthstrong. The idea is that through sharing the stories of our children's birth we can spread awareness of women's choices in birth, and feel the connection that all Mother's share.
Before I can tell Baby El's birth story I need to share with you my sister's, my mother's and her mother's birth stories. I'll be brief. My Grandmother was born in 1931, premature and very tiny, to a tiny woman. My Great-Grandmother Mercedes had the cards stacked against her, with PreEclampsia, Cephalopelvic Disproportion and Placenta Previa, my Grandmother entered this world through an incision on her mother's abdomen. Twenty one years later, my Mother made her entrance the same way. The reasoning? Cephalopelvic Disproportion, reportedly my Grandmother's pelvis was too narrow for any baby to be born through. I later learned that the doctor's never gave my Grandmother the chance to try, cut her open without a sign of a contraction on the horizon. Can't blame her, assuming you completely trust your doctors and they tell you a C-section was inevitable wouldn't you schedule it as well? Fast forward to 1981, my Mother a woman who inherited my Grandfather's tall and linebacker build, is in labor with my sister. The cards as slightly stacked against her, PreEclampsia, extra fluffy and high C-section rates. After sixteen hours of a labor by all accounts she managed well, the doctor's said it was time, baby's heart rate was dropping, she wasn't coming out the traditional way. She was wheeled to an OR and my sister, with her cord around her neck, was born shortly afterward. Three years later I was a repeat C-Section, complete with a cute story of my Dad's coworkers not believing I was going to be born that day.
Growing up I heard these stories of the three direct generations of Women before me delivering their children in the OR, constantly hearing that our "Pelvises are just too small". I accepted this as fact and repeated this to anyone when a conversation would come up about child birth. I was going to have a C-Section, my pelvis was too small. Fact.
When I became pregnant, I asked my original OB about my pelvis during the initial exam at my very first appointment. Maybe I thought it was a good follow up to my usual ice breaker "You know I normally make someone buy me dinner first..."? To be completely fair to her she did tell me it was narrow but that the relaxin hormone can and does widen the pelvis up. She made a big point about not counting out vaginal birth without having a Trial of Labor. I noted this and basically brushed her off mentally, here was my proof. My pelvis is too small, I'm broken. Much like needing artificial implements to see I would need doctor's to deliver my child(ren).
At seven months pregnant, while on a trip with my extended family to New Orleans, my cousin says something that resonated with me. Summed up it was "Don't count yourself out, you could have a vaginal birth. You never know.". Fueled with this revelation, I researched, read books on natural Childbirth (another post) and in a hormone craze did a 180 on my birthing stance. They had been wrong before, given the right support and time I could do this. I wasn't broken.
With the exception of one high blood sugar level during a Glucose Test, and nausea in months three through six I had an easy pregnancy. Finally after what felt like an eternity my due date came, and I met it with grumpiness. I'd been into L&D two days earlier and was barely one centimeter dilated, so I was sure I was going over that date. I walked, I hopped, I squatted while telling baby to "GET OUT", I asked for the spiciest meal at a Chinese restaurant and I bitched. Oh how I bitched. On roughly four occasions that I night I had what I felt was a cross between a Braxton Hicks contraction and my baby kicking the crap out of my cervix, they didn't take my breath away but they forced me to sit up perfectly erect. Awkward while driving and didn't improve my mood. It was further proof I was in for a long two weeks. I still somewhat hopefully informed my husband "Maybe we'll have a baby tomorrow." He might have rolled his eyes at me. Sometime that night I went to bed, and woke up around 2 in the morning to pee like usual.
Friday, 4:30 am
I'm suddenly awake, and I know I'm in labor. My contractions feel like menstrual cramps, icky and deep inside of my uterus. I get up, as each contraction hits I have to walk, I have to move. I can't sit still, I can't go back to sleep, I tried to on the couch and couldn't. Anyone who knows me knows I'm a zombie in the mornings and I hate be awake at a ungodly hour (aka any time before 10). Going back to sleep sounds delicious to me at this moment but it's not working, I try to lay back down in bed and hop out with a whine during a contraction. Not from the pain, I'm pissed that I can't go back to sleep. I had been rolling my hips in figure eights and swaying side to side for months prior to this day as it was the only way to relieve pressure. I can't honestly remember if I continued to do so in the moments between contractions or during, I mainly remember my desire to walk away from myself. Sometime after the start of labor I start timing my contractions, just for shits and giggles. I have my 40 week appointment at 2:30 pm and I know I'll go in for that and only be 3 centimeters dilated. It's going to be a long weekend I tell myself over and over.
5:00 or 5:30 am
I'm in the guest bathroom, letting my husband sleep, and relieving myself (TMI?). While engaging in that and between contractions I'm googling on my cell phone "contractions under five minutes apart but less then a minute in length". Lovely Google confirms my suspicions, I was likely in Early Labor and it could be hours if not days of this. Bastards I mutter.
Before I can tell Baby El's birth story I need to share with you my sister's, my mother's and her mother's birth stories. I'll be brief. My Grandmother was born in 1931, premature and very tiny, to a tiny woman. My Great-Grandmother Mercedes had the cards stacked against her, with PreEclampsia, Cephalopelvic Disproportion and Placenta Previa, my Grandmother entered this world through an incision on her mother's abdomen. Twenty one years later, my Mother made her entrance the same way. The reasoning? Cephalopelvic Disproportion, reportedly my Grandmother's pelvis was too narrow for any baby to be born through. I later learned that the doctor's never gave my Grandmother the chance to try, cut her open without a sign of a contraction on the horizon. Can't blame her, assuming you completely trust your doctors and they tell you a C-section was inevitable wouldn't you schedule it as well? Fast forward to 1981, my Mother a woman who inherited my Grandfather's tall and linebacker build, is in labor with my sister. The cards as slightly stacked against her, PreEclampsia, extra fluffy and high C-section rates. After sixteen hours of a labor by all accounts she managed well, the doctor's said it was time, baby's heart rate was dropping, she wasn't coming out the traditional way. She was wheeled to an OR and my sister, with her cord around her neck, was born shortly afterward. Three years later I was a repeat C-Section, complete with a cute story of my Dad's coworkers not believing I was going to be born that day.
Growing up I heard these stories of the three direct generations of Women before me delivering their children in the OR, constantly hearing that our "Pelvises are just too small". I accepted this as fact and repeated this to anyone when a conversation would come up about child birth. I was going to have a C-Section, my pelvis was too small. Fact.
When I became pregnant, I asked my original OB about my pelvis during the initial exam at my very first appointment. Maybe I thought it was a good follow up to my usual ice breaker "You know I normally make someone buy me dinner first..."? To be completely fair to her she did tell me it was narrow but that the relaxin hormone can and does widen the pelvis up. She made a big point about not counting out vaginal birth without having a Trial of Labor. I noted this and basically brushed her off mentally, here was my proof. My pelvis is too small, I'm broken. Much like needing artificial implements to see I would need doctor's to deliver my child(ren).
At seven months pregnant, while on a trip with my extended family to New Orleans, my cousin says something that resonated with me. Summed up it was "Don't count yourself out, you could have a vaginal birth. You never know.". Fueled with this revelation, I researched, read books on natural Childbirth (another post) and in a hormone craze did a 180 on my birthing stance. They had been wrong before, given the right support and time I could do this. I wasn't broken.
With the exception of one high blood sugar level during a Glucose Test, and nausea in months three through six I had an easy pregnancy. Finally after what felt like an eternity my due date came, and I met it with grumpiness. I'd been into L&D two days earlier and was barely one centimeter dilated, so I was sure I was going over that date. I walked, I hopped, I squatted while telling baby to "GET OUT", I asked for the spiciest meal at a Chinese restaurant and I bitched. Oh how I bitched. On roughly four occasions that I night I had what I felt was a cross between a Braxton Hicks contraction and my baby kicking the crap out of my cervix, they didn't take my breath away but they forced me to sit up perfectly erect. Awkward while driving and didn't improve my mood. It was further proof I was in for a long two weeks. I still somewhat hopefully informed my husband "Maybe we'll have a baby tomorrow." He might have rolled his eyes at me. Sometime that night I went to bed, and woke up around 2 in the morning to pee like usual.
Friday, 4:30 am
I'm suddenly awake, and I know I'm in labor. My contractions feel like menstrual cramps, icky and deep inside of my uterus. I get up, as each contraction hits I have to walk, I have to move. I can't sit still, I can't go back to sleep, I tried to on the couch and couldn't. Anyone who knows me knows I'm a zombie in the mornings and I hate be awake at a ungodly hour (aka any time before 10). Going back to sleep sounds delicious to me at this moment but it's not working, I try to lay back down in bed and hop out with a whine during a contraction. Not from the pain, I'm pissed that I can't go back to sleep. I had been rolling my hips in figure eights and swaying side to side for months prior to this day as it was the only way to relieve pressure. I can't honestly remember if I continued to do so in the moments between contractions or during, I mainly remember my desire to walk away from myself. Sometime after the start of labor I start timing my contractions, just for shits and giggles. I have my 40 week appointment at 2:30 pm and I know I'll go in for that and only be 3 centimeters dilated. It's going to be a long weekend I tell myself over and over.
5:00 or 5:30 am
I'm in the guest bathroom, letting my husband sleep, and relieving myself (TMI?). While engaging in that and between contractions I'm googling on my cell phone "contractions under five minutes apart but less then a minute in length". Lovely Google confirms my suspicions, I was likely in Early Labor and it could be hours if not days of this. Bastards I mutter.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Snot nosed kid
Dear baby,
I love it when you nurse yourself to sleep and then reach your little hand up, up, up to touch my bare skin. You settle into my warmth, finding comfort in human contact, and start snoring. Even when you sound like your Great Grandpa, or a lawn mower on the loose, and your face is covered in snot, you are so beautiful. Watching you sleep can wash clean the hardest moments with you. You know the ones, where you want to crawl into my lap and don't understand why I push you away. Those moments are generally when I'm yelling "hot! Hot, oven! No!" or "Mommy needs to wipe!", and it's ok I think we both know that you've forgiven me for my cruelty by nap time.
You are beautiful and a true vessel for all the hope and love I have to give to this world. Be safe, wear clean underwear and always know someone loves you. Also, keep in mind that I have photographic evidence of some embarrassing moments and I'm really not afraid to use them.
I love it when you nurse yourself to sleep and then reach your little hand up, up, up to touch my bare skin. You settle into my warmth, finding comfort in human contact, and start snoring. Even when you sound like your Great Grandpa, or a lawn mower on the loose, and your face is covered in snot, you are so beautiful. Watching you sleep can wash clean the hardest moments with you. You know the ones, where you want to crawl into my lap and don't understand why I push you away. Those moments are generally when I'm yelling "hot! Hot, oven! No!" or "Mommy needs to wipe!", and it's ok I think we both know that you've forgiven me for my cruelty by nap time.
You are beautiful and a true vessel for all the hope and love I have to give to this world. Be safe, wear clean underwear and always know someone loves you. Also, keep in mind that I have photographic evidence of some embarrassing moments and I'm really not afraid to use them.
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