I have very few phobias, but randomly, I have a huge phobia about chewing gum. I know, weird. When the day comes that my daughters are old enough to ask for gum, I will let them have it without shuddering even though I am crying on the inside. Most of my being would love to tell them that gum is disgusting and never let them even try it, but that isn't fair to them. They will find plenty of things in this world that are disgusting or scary, and they don't need me to put my opinions on them.
This morning, I walked to the park with the girls and my two dogs. Normally, I tie the dogs up to a nice shady tree outside of the fence because dogs are not allowed (rightfully so) into the playground area, but today they were mowing the lawn and I didn't want them to get run over. It was either go home, or break the rules and tie them up inside the fence. I found a corner and tied them up to the fence post, then blocked them into the corner using my giganto double stroller. They were pretty much invisible, and unless someone moved my stroller out of the way and unhooked their leashes, they were completely contained. I should also point out that these are two fairly small dogs who are quiet and well behaved. Even if someone were to set them free, the dogs might move to find a sunnier spot, and then would lie down and go to sleep. I didn't bring two monsters to the playground, in other words. Also, we were the only ones there, so this seemed like no big deal.
A mom came in with her toddler, and promptly began making a big deal. She kept swooping the little boy away from the corner any time he would go over to try to see the dogs, and loudly announcing that he was terrified of dogs, and that it was unfair of anyone to bring dogs to a place where scared children might be. If that little boy were actually afraid of the dogs, I would have immediately left with the dogs, because, she was right about that. But he wasn't afraid. Not even a smidge. She was.
Today, that little boy was intrigued by the dogs, and kept trying to move the stroller to get in and pat them. But how long will that last? At some point, his mom's shrieks of fear upon seeing a dog are going to burrow into his brain, and he is most likely going to develop the same fear of dogs.
That is so unfair to do. I assume if that mom were to put some thought into this, she would recognize that she would prefer NOT to be afraid of dogs. I know I would prefer not to be afraid of gum. It kind of stinks to spend an entire semester of class nauseated in advance thinking that my knee might accidentally touch the underside of my desk where there is sure to be a stray piece of gum. I don't want my kids to feel the same way, so I keep my feelings to myself. Does that woman not see the correlation to her behavior and her son's feelings? Or is she really so selfish that she prefers him to be afraid of dogs too? I'm sure it makes it easier on her to not have to be grabbing his hand away from passing dogs, if he is instead shrieking and scampering as far away as possible.
Children will develop plenty of fears on their own, they don't need our help. What they do need is reassurance that we hear their fears, but that we are not afraid. When a loud clap of thunder happens, my girls automatically look at me, I do nothing different, and we continue what we are doing with no comment. We have no night lights in the house, and I have never once made a comment about the dark being any different than the light, so they don't see a difference either.
Now, as long as I don't ever have to take a tour of a chewing gum factory, we should be good.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Monday, September 16, 2013
Hello Again
I apologize for my absence, but my friends, I have been so tired, and pretty much every scrap of energy has been going to keeping my little world chugging along. When it comes to family or blogging, family is going to win every time!
There is something that has been nagging at my brain for a little while now, and after a conversation with my sister this morning, I think it is finally a formed enough thought to discuss. We saw a poster for a Mom to Mom group, which, based on the description, was basically a group for moms to get together and complain about how hard it is to be a mom, and support each other through our "trials." I re-read the poster expecting to see something I had previously missed, like, "Moms of sick children" or "Moms with cancer," but, no, this was just plain old ordinary moms, needing support for plain old ordinary mom things.
Well, huh.
I did not realize that being a mom was quite so rough.
Sure, there are moments, but really? Why on earth do ordinary moms need a support group? As my sister and I spoke, it was clear that she didn't have the answer, but thought it just as silly as I did.
Here's what popped into my head as we were talking. Just this week, I have heard story after story about moms who LIVE for their children, and the rest of their life is seriously suffering for it. These are women I know both online and in real life. A mom whose toddler doesn't care for his car seat or stroller, so she doesn't make him go in either unless she can bribe him into agreeing to it. Another mom who "appreciates" bad behavior because it shows how unique her child is. I could go on, but my blood pressure is rising just thinking about it.
These are the moms who need support groups I guess. Their lives are so hassled and hectic because their kids are in charge.
And then I read an article in a parenting magazine that was celebrating messy houses. Not messy houses when doing a special art project, or on a rainy day when making a blanket fort. Messy houses in general. A messy house does not equal a happy child, nor does a clean house equal an ignored child. A good mom equals a happy child. And a happy child equals a mom who has earned the right to raise a glass of wine to herself in pride at what she has accomplished.
Again, I say, I'm not perfect, and neither are my kids. My daughters have certainly had tantrums in public. I have certainly caved because I was too tired to fight something insignificant. But in general, my kids are happy, respectful little people. They are NICE people. They think I'm nice too (best compliment ever.) I work really hard to keep my house clean because it sends a message to them that they need to respect their environment, and, the environment as a whole. They say "God bless you" when a stranger sneezes in public. They say "Good morning" when we walk by someone in the park. They say "Please" and "Thank you" to the waitress. They set the table, and clean up their toys when they are done playing. If they see a crayon on the ground, sure, they might color on the walls with it, but more likely than not, they will bring it to me and ask for paper, because they respect their home. They are not robots. Tonight they dumped out my folded laundry from the basket and were pushing each other around my bedroom in it, but A) they dumped it fairly neatly, and B) they had a blast, so I was laughing just as much as them.
It is pretty easy to get caught in the landslide of self pity, when it is a landslide of your creating. When you let your life be controlled by a diaper wearing tyrant, it probably sucks to be you. When you live in harmony with a sweet child who respects you and whom you respect, there is no need for a support group. Life doesn't get any better.
There is something that has been nagging at my brain for a little while now, and after a conversation with my sister this morning, I think it is finally a formed enough thought to discuss. We saw a poster for a Mom to Mom group, which, based on the description, was basically a group for moms to get together and complain about how hard it is to be a mom, and support each other through our "trials." I re-read the poster expecting to see something I had previously missed, like, "Moms of sick children" or "Moms with cancer," but, no, this was just plain old ordinary moms, needing support for plain old ordinary mom things.
Well, huh.
I did not realize that being a mom was quite so rough.
Sure, there are moments, but really? Why on earth do ordinary moms need a support group? As my sister and I spoke, it was clear that she didn't have the answer, but thought it just as silly as I did.
Here's what popped into my head as we were talking. Just this week, I have heard story after story about moms who LIVE for their children, and the rest of their life is seriously suffering for it. These are women I know both online and in real life. A mom whose toddler doesn't care for his car seat or stroller, so she doesn't make him go in either unless she can bribe him into agreeing to it. Another mom who "appreciates" bad behavior because it shows how unique her child is. I could go on, but my blood pressure is rising just thinking about it.
These are the moms who need support groups I guess. Their lives are so hassled and hectic because their kids are in charge.
And then I read an article in a parenting magazine that was celebrating messy houses. Not messy houses when doing a special art project, or on a rainy day when making a blanket fort. Messy houses in general. A messy house does not equal a happy child, nor does a clean house equal an ignored child. A good mom equals a happy child. And a happy child equals a mom who has earned the right to raise a glass of wine to herself in pride at what she has accomplished.
Again, I say, I'm not perfect, and neither are my kids. My daughters have certainly had tantrums in public. I have certainly caved because I was too tired to fight something insignificant. But in general, my kids are happy, respectful little people. They are NICE people. They think I'm nice too (best compliment ever.) I work really hard to keep my house clean because it sends a message to them that they need to respect their environment, and, the environment as a whole. They say "God bless you" when a stranger sneezes in public. They say "Good morning" when we walk by someone in the park. They say "Please" and "Thank you" to the waitress. They set the table, and clean up their toys when they are done playing. If they see a crayon on the ground, sure, they might color on the walls with it, but more likely than not, they will bring it to me and ask for paper, because they respect their home. They are not robots. Tonight they dumped out my folded laundry from the basket and were pushing each other around my bedroom in it, but A) they dumped it fairly neatly, and B) they had a blast, so I was laughing just as much as them.
It is pretty easy to get caught in the landslide of self pity, when it is a landslide of your creating. When you let your life be controlled by a diaper wearing tyrant, it probably sucks to be you. When you live in harmony with a sweet child who respects you and whom you respect, there is no need for a support group. Life doesn't get any better.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Discipline or a lesson?
This morning my daughter finished eating breakfast, and threw the remnants of her plum on the floor. This was the first time I've seen her do this, and it was blatantly disrespectful. As she was sliding off of her chair, I asked her politely to please pick up her plum and throw it away. She replied "Nope, you do it," as she ran off. My options at that point became limited. She is 2, and while I could have man handled her into physically throwing away that plum, that wouldn't have really taught her much of a lesson other than the fact that I am stronger than her. I could have ignored it, and simply thrown the plum away, but I don't ever tolerate disrespect, and believe that disrespect births disrespect.
I walked into the playroom where she had escaped to, and informed her that she would play with no toys, or watch no television until she threw her plum away. I quietly added that it was not nice of her to make an intentional mess for me to clean. She immediately went to the cabinet where the toys were, and I gently moved her away and sat in front of the cabinet so she couldn't open it.
She stood there for a minute, clearly heating up. "I watch tv?"
"No. No toys, no tv until you throw the plum away."
She stayed still for awhile, clearly debating this in her mind. Minutes ticked by and she didn't move. Then she started crying.
"I want Sofia The First."
I didn't say anything. She cried for a few more minutes and then went into the kitchen to throw the plum away. Before she came back into the playroom, I had Sofia The First booted up on the tv.
"Thank you for making a good decision. I'm proud of you," and I gave her a hug.
I don't feel as though she was punished, I feel as though she had a lesson. I hope it was a successful lesson, but I won't know that until it happens again. What I hope she took from this situation is that she has to clean up her mess, that if I ask her to do something, she is expected to do it, and most importantly I hope that she was reminded that she needs to respect me. That throwing something on the floor for me to clean up is not ok because it is unkind. I hope above all things that my children learn kindness and respect, and I hope this gentle lesson furthered her along the path of both kindness and respect.
I walked into the playroom where she had escaped to, and informed her that she would play with no toys, or watch no television until she threw her plum away. I quietly added that it was not nice of her to make an intentional mess for me to clean. She immediately went to the cabinet where the toys were, and I gently moved her away and sat in front of the cabinet so she couldn't open it.
She stood there for a minute, clearly heating up. "I watch tv?"
"No. No toys, no tv until you throw the plum away."
She stayed still for awhile, clearly debating this in her mind. Minutes ticked by and she didn't move. Then she started crying.
"I want Sofia The First."
I didn't say anything. She cried for a few more minutes and then went into the kitchen to throw the plum away. Before she came back into the playroom, I had Sofia The First booted up on the tv.
"Thank you for making a good decision. I'm proud of you," and I gave her a hug.
I don't feel as though she was punished, I feel as though she had a lesson. I hope it was a successful lesson, but I won't know that until it happens again. What I hope she took from this situation is that she has to clean up her mess, that if I ask her to do something, she is expected to do it, and most importantly I hope that she was reminded that she needs to respect me. That throwing something on the floor for me to clean up is not ok because it is unkind. I hope above all things that my children learn kindness and respect, and I hope this gentle lesson furthered her along the path of both kindness and respect.
Friday, July 26, 2013
The Long Game
One of the problems with my parenting method is that I tend to take a long game view of my children and their behaviors. This means that I hope I am instilling good behaviors into them through modeling, positive reinforcement, and gentle corrections before hand, rather than constantly admonishing them after the fact. This also means that you have no idea if what you are doing is actually working, until it works...or doesn't. I believe that behaviors that are created this way become more deeply engrained, and things such as a fuss-free bed time routine and good meal manners have certainly come about this way for us.
A key behavior that I constantly stress to my kids is being kind to each other. We talk about kindness all the time. Seriously. I don't think an hour goes by that I don't use the word "kind" to them. I praise the slightest little kindness as though it were huge. "That was SO nice of you to be careful when you were walking by your little sister so you didn't knock her over. You are such a KIND person." "Would you please put food in the dog bowls? That would be very kind of you." "I think you must be very tired, because yelling at the dog wasn't very kind, and isn't the way you usually behave." I just keep hoping that the concept of "kind" becomes so a part of them that we have a lot more of the praise and very little of the correcting.
I also stress sharing in the same way. Huge praise when it happens, and constant attempts to set them up for success, but you know how sharing goes with two toddlers. Yeah, right. Tonight, my older daughter was playing with a plastic fork. She set it down for a moment, and the baby made a beeline for it. The toddler turned around, saw the baby picking it up, and ran over to grab it away. I said nothing. I wanted to know how they would work it out.
When the baby just stood there looking sad, the toddler immediately put the fork back in her hand and said "Here, you can use this. I love you much," and the baby hugged her sister.
Be still my mama heart. It worked! I'm sure tomorrow they will have a set back or twenty, but I can see that something is clicking in the quest for kindness.
A key behavior that I constantly stress to my kids is being kind to each other. We talk about kindness all the time. Seriously. I don't think an hour goes by that I don't use the word "kind" to them. I praise the slightest little kindness as though it were huge. "That was SO nice of you to be careful when you were walking by your little sister so you didn't knock her over. You are such a KIND person." "Would you please put food in the dog bowls? That would be very kind of you." "I think you must be very tired, because yelling at the dog wasn't very kind, and isn't the way you usually behave." I just keep hoping that the concept of "kind" becomes so a part of them that we have a lot more of the praise and very little of the correcting.
I also stress sharing in the same way. Huge praise when it happens, and constant attempts to set them up for success, but you know how sharing goes with two toddlers. Yeah, right. Tonight, my older daughter was playing with a plastic fork. She set it down for a moment, and the baby made a beeline for it. The toddler turned around, saw the baby picking it up, and ran over to grab it away. I said nothing. I wanted to know how they would work it out.
When the baby just stood there looking sad, the toddler immediately put the fork back in her hand and said "Here, you can use this. I love you much," and the baby hugged her sister.
Be still my mama heart. It worked! I'm sure tomorrow they will have a set back or twenty, but I can see that something is clicking in the quest for kindness.
Monday, July 22, 2013
How did they do it?
It is 7:13, my babies are both sleeping peacefully in their beds, and I have zero gas left in the tank of life. I am sitting on the couch, and I just know that my arse is spreading as we speak because I just devoured a bagel with extra butter instead of the salad I had made for myself earlier. I am spent. And what do I have to show for it? Not much, truthfully.
The house is in a bit of a state, we had leftovers for lunch and dinner, and I haven't even showered yet today. The kids were happy and saw very little tv today, so that's a win, but here's the problem...getting my house in order tonight, if I manage to do so doesn't change anything. I will gather my energy, scrub the house down, prep a nutritious breakfast, lunch, and dinner for tomorrow. I will shower, and maybe even shave my legs. Maybe. And then tomorrow, it happens all over again. Tomorrow night I will put the kids to bed and look around the house which will again be in a bit of a state.
Depending on how old you are, you may remember your mother, or your grandmother, or perhaps even your great-grandmother's house. You may remember gleaming windows, a definitive lack of toilet bowl rings, clean shelves inside of the refrigerator, spotless baseboards. Or maybe you remember none of that specifically, and just recall a sense of perfection and peace when you entered her home. You surely remember the smell of the cookies she always baked for you, or that chicken dish that only she could make just so. You do remember that, right? Maybe it wasn't your mom, or grandma, but an elderly relative. Either way, I'm sure you knew a woman who was the mistress of her domain, and not a single stray carper fiber was going to defy her.
How the hell did those women do it?
Oh. Right. They were a whole lot less lazy than we are. They didn't spend time watching tv, or goofing around on Facebook. They woke up before their husband, made the coffee and breakfast, and once they got their families successfully out the door, they got to work. Real work, not the halfhearted we do aided by all of our gadgets and products. They cooked, cleaned, mended, and cared for the babies still at home. They made time for the things that were important, like their friends, and those friendships were more valuable than their breath.
They put their family first.
They are how I find the energy to get my heinie off of the couch and get on my knees to scrub the tub. Out of sheer respect for my forebears, I will not fall into the quagmire of laziness. I will stay off of Pinterest until behind the toilet has been sanitized. I will be a housewife that my grandmother would be proud of. I will say "I am a housewife" with pride, because it MEANS something. It means that I am a part of a long tradition of hard work and dedication to one's family.
The house is in a bit of a state, we had leftovers for lunch and dinner, and I haven't even showered yet today. The kids were happy and saw very little tv today, so that's a win, but here's the problem...getting my house in order tonight, if I manage to do so doesn't change anything. I will gather my energy, scrub the house down, prep a nutritious breakfast, lunch, and dinner for tomorrow. I will shower, and maybe even shave my legs. Maybe. And then tomorrow, it happens all over again. Tomorrow night I will put the kids to bed and look around the house which will again be in a bit of a state.
Depending on how old you are, you may remember your mother, or your grandmother, or perhaps even your great-grandmother's house. You may remember gleaming windows, a definitive lack of toilet bowl rings, clean shelves inside of the refrigerator, spotless baseboards. Or maybe you remember none of that specifically, and just recall a sense of perfection and peace when you entered her home. You surely remember the smell of the cookies she always baked for you, or that chicken dish that only she could make just so. You do remember that, right? Maybe it wasn't your mom, or grandma, but an elderly relative. Either way, I'm sure you knew a woman who was the mistress of her domain, and not a single stray carper fiber was going to defy her.
How the hell did those women do it?
Oh. Right. They were a whole lot less lazy than we are. They didn't spend time watching tv, or goofing around on Facebook. They woke up before their husband, made the coffee and breakfast, and once they got their families successfully out the door, they got to work. Real work, not the halfhearted we do aided by all of our gadgets and products. They cooked, cleaned, mended, and cared for the babies still at home. They made time for the things that were important, like their friends, and those friendships were more valuable than their breath.
They put their family first.
They are how I find the energy to get my heinie off of the couch and get on my knees to scrub the tub. Out of sheer respect for my forebears, I will not fall into the quagmire of laziness. I will stay off of Pinterest until behind the toilet has been sanitized. I will be a housewife that my grandmother would be proud of. I will say "I am a housewife" with pride, because it MEANS something. It means that I am a part of a long tradition of hard work and dedication to one's family.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
I'm Falling Apart, But My Family Isn't. Or, How Mama Got Her Groove Back.
My husband likes to joke that I'm ALWAYS hurt or sick. It is starting to feel like he's right. But, there may be a coming explanation for my constant injuries.
This has been a pretty wild week. On Monday, I started having some chest pain, but thought nothing of it, because I often get chest pain and it goes away as mysteriously as it began. By Tuesday night, it had gotten worse, and I was getting dizzy, so my husband took me to the hospital. They couldn't find anything wrong, but based on my history of blood clots, they assumed that I had a blood clot in my lungs, and had me follow up with my hematologist.
My hematologist was on vacation, and the covering hematologist basically told me I was wasting his time, and that there was no way I had a clot if all of the tests were negative. I'm not entirely sure why he was such a jerk. I didn't just wander in off the streets looking for a Lovenox fix; I was sent by another doctor who was concerned about my history and didn't want to miss anything. Moving on (though still irritated) I was sent to my primary care doctor.
That was another huge cluster. The office had no power, but the amazing nurse practioner turned into a Jack Russell Terrier on the hunt for a rodent, and was figuring this out by flash light if she had to. She booked me appointments for an echocardiogram, as well as a cardiologist consult, and also recommended I start Prilosec just in case it was something silly like heart burn. Heart burn sounded pretty good to me, so I left with my fingers crossed that this was just really bad heart burn. Though, to be blunt, I knew it wasn't, because heart burn doesn't typically leave people dizzy and short of breath.
That night, she called me, and told me that she had a potential cause of this pain; I had a fracture on one of my vertebrae in roughly the same area. This sounded like great news at first, because fractures heal. But then I realized that with no recent falls, this fracture was probably caused by osteoporosis. And I'm only 34 years old.
That was a total bummer. And more so of a bummer when my well-meaning husband pointed out that I need to start doing the things I want to do before I end up in too much pain to function. But that statement shocked me into an epiphany. Maybe he's right, but I'm not going to live that way. I'm going to do all of the things I want because I want to share those experiences with my husband and babies, not out of fear of not being able to do them next year.
This morning, I brought my little ladies to a play date with two lovely women that I went to grade school with, and their charming little men. It was a blast. It hurt like a bastard, but it was worth every minute. And tonight, I told everyone that someone else was here helping me, and I did it myself. I can't remember the last time I've laughed so hard, or enjoyed life so much. Tonight was a blessing. Yes, it hurt, again, like a bastard, but I wouldn't trade it for all the healthy bones in the world.
There are some things I will do whether or not I have osteoporosis; I will continue to lose weight. I will do this because I want to set a healthy example for my girls, but also because I want every bite that goes into my mouth to be an opportunity for healing and nutrition. I will go back to Bikram yoga as soon as my knee and back permit, and the cardiologist clears me. I will start swimming again. I will start walking again. I will pursue a healthy body because I love my family, but also because I love myself. I will pursue a healthy mind for the same reason.
I will not permit my family to fall apart again, even if my body disintegrates bit by bit. This is MY family, and MY life.
This has been a pretty wild week. On Monday, I started having some chest pain, but thought nothing of it, because I often get chest pain and it goes away as mysteriously as it began. By Tuesday night, it had gotten worse, and I was getting dizzy, so my husband took me to the hospital. They couldn't find anything wrong, but based on my history of blood clots, they assumed that I had a blood clot in my lungs, and had me follow up with my hematologist.
My hematologist was on vacation, and the covering hematologist basically told me I was wasting his time, and that there was no way I had a clot if all of the tests were negative. I'm not entirely sure why he was such a jerk. I didn't just wander in off the streets looking for a Lovenox fix; I was sent by another doctor who was concerned about my history and didn't want to miss anything. Moving on (though still irritated) I was sent to my primary care doctor.
That was another huge cluster. The office had no power, but the amazing nurse practioner turned into a Jack Russell Terrier on the hunt for a rodent, and was figuring this out by flash light if she had to. She booked me appointments for an echocardiogram, as well as a cardiologist consult, and also recommended I start Prilosec just in case it was something silly like heart burn. Heart burn sounded pretty good to me, so I left with my fingers crossed that this was just really bad heart burn. Though, to be blunt, I knew it wasn't, because heart burn doesn't typically leave people dizzy and short of breath.
That night, she called me, and told me that she had a potential cause of this pain; I had a fracture on one of my vertebrae in roughly the same area. This sounded like great news at first, because fractures heal. But then I realized that with no recent falls, this fracture was probably caused by osteoporosis. And I'm only 34 years old.
That was a total bummer. And more so of a bummer when my well-meaning husband pointed out that I need to start doing the things I want to do before I end up in too much pain to function. But that statement shocked me into an epiphany. Maybe he's right, but I'm not going to live that way. I'm going to do all of the things I want because I want to share those experiences with my husband and babies, not out of fear of not being able to do them next year.
This morning, I brought my little ladies to a play date with two lovely women that I went to grade school with, and their charming little men. It was a blast. It hurt like a bastard, but it was worth every minute. And tonight, I told everyone that someone else was here helping me, and I did it myself. I can't remember the last time I've laughed so hard, or enjoyed life so much. Tonight was a blessing. Yes, it hurt, again, like a bastard, but I wouldn't trade it for all the healthy bones in the world.
There are some things I will do whether or not I have osteoporosis; I will continue to lose weight. I will do this because I want to set a healthy example for my girls, but also because I want every bite that goes into my mouth to be an opportunity for healing and nutrition. I will go back to Bikram yoga as soon as my knee and back permit, and the cardiologist clears me. I will start swimming again. I will start walking again. I will pursue a healthy body because I love my family, but also because I love myself. I will pursue a healthy mind for the same reason.
I will not permit my family to fall apart again, even if my body disintegrates bit by bit. This is MY family, and MY life.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Birth is birth.
http://shine.yahoo.com/parenting/why-love-c-section-scar-150400581.html
^ YES!
I have had two c sections, and I am DAMN proud of it. I am so sick of the guilt and guilting that goes along with c section births. To begin with, the way I gave birth does NOT affect you, unlike, say, the decision whether or not to vaccinate a child. That decision happens to affect everyone in our society, so therefore, everyone is entitled to an opinion on your decision not to vaccinate. Accept that, and move on.
Not that it matters, but both of my sections were life saving; the first was to save my daughter's life, and the second was because the doctor felt very strongly that I was a high risk for uterine rupture based on many factors, and according to the surgeon who did the procedure, he was absolutely right. I would probably have blown like a geyser.
I will admit, I do regret not having had that moment of "Oh! I'm in labor!" Or that moment of "Push! Push!" But I am alive, and I have two healthy, beautiful little girls to show for it, so when women give me the pity face when they hear I had a couple of c sections, I just don't get it.
There are websites upon websites that are dedicated to helping women to "fight" against medical intervention during birth, and particularly against c sections. They see c sections as unnecessary interventions performed by doctors who lose patience with the poor, long-laboring woman, and just haul off and slice that kid right out, to the eternal detriment of child and mother. That DOES sound bad! Oh my. Either that, or they accuse women who've had c sections as lazy quitters who did it for vanity reasons. Unless I am considering a career change, far more people are likely to see my stomach than my vagina, so there's that.
I'd like to know what fantasy-land these women are living in. This is almost as bad as those wackadoos who talk about "birth rape." Get over yourselves. If you think you were "raped" by your birthing experience, I'd like to ask you quite seriously if you have ever really had anything bad happen to you, because it seems as though your definition of trauma is pretty fucked up.
I'd also like to point out that anything that happens to a woman in that birthing room is done with her consent. They may feel like they were "bullied" into a section or an epidural, but nonetheless, it was done with their consent unless they were quite literally dying and the doctor did what needed to be done whether they liked it or not. And even still, he probably tried damn hard to explain it to them and get consent before deciding that they were too addled from the dying and getting the consent from the father or partner.
But I digress. Two c sections, a healthy mama and two healthy babies. Why would anyone judge that? Why am I to be pitied? I really want to know. Why would anyone tell me that my daughter's near death experience was CAUSED by medicine, not solved by it? Here's what I know. Had I been stubborn and refused the section, my daughter would be dead. She was blue and it took about 5 minutes for them to get her breathing on her own. Had I refused the second section, I'd probably be dead, likely along with my daughter unless someone was able to rush me to an OR and get her cut out in time.
Do I think that there are too many sections happening in this country? Yes, probably. But I also think that it is none of my business. It doesn't affect me. We can play the trickle down game and say that it affects me because of insurance deductibles and blah blah blah, but that money all ends up back in the economy in one way or another, so I don't buy that argument. If, at the end of each birth, there is a healthy mama and baby, it isn't my business.
^ YES!
I have had two c sections, and I am DAMN proud of it. I am so sick of the guilt and guilting that goes along with c section births. To begin with, the way I gave birth does NOT affect you, unlike, say, the decision whether or not to vaccinate a child. That decision happens to affect everyone in our society, so therefore, everyone is entitled to an opinion on your decision not to vaccinate. Accept that, and move on.
Not that it matters, but both of my sections were life saving; the first was to save my daughter's life, and the second was because the doctor felt very strongly that I was a high risk for uterine rupture based on many factors, and according to the surgeon who did the procedure, he was absolutely right. I would probably have blown like a geyser.
I will admit, I do regret not having had that moment of "Oh! I'm in labor!" Or that moment of "Push! Push!" But I am alive, and I have two healthy, beautiful little girls to show for it, so when women give me the pity face when they hear I had a couple of c sections, I just don't get it.
There are websites upon websites that are dedicated to helping women to "fight" against medical intervention during birth, and particularly against c sections. They see c sections as unnecessary interventions performed by doctors who lose patience with the poor, long-laboring woman, and just haul off and slice that kid right out, to the eternal detriment of child and mother. That DOES sound bad! Oh my. Either that, or they accuse women who've had c sections as lazy quitters who did it for vanity reasons. Unless I am considering a career change, far more people are likely to see my stomach than my vagina, so there's that.
I'd like to know what fantasy-land these women are living in. This is almost as bad as those wackadoos who talk about "birth rape." Get over yourselves. If you think you were "raped" by your birthing experience, I'd like to ask you quite seriously if you have ever really had anything bad happen to you, because it seems as though your definition of trauma is pretty fucked up.
I'd also like to point out that anything that happens to a woman in that birthing room is done with her consent. They may feel like they were "bullied" into a section or an epidural, but nonetheless, it was done with their consent unless they were quite literally dying and the doctor did what needed to be done whether they liked it or not. And even still, he probably tried damn hard to explain it to them and get consent before deciding that they were too addled from the dying and getting the consent from the father or partner.
But I digress. Two c sections, a healthy mama and two healthy babies. Why would anyone judge that? Why am I to be pitied? I really want to know. Why would anyone tell me that my daughter's near death experience was CAUSED by medicine, not solved by it? Here's what I know. Had I been stubborn and refused the section, my daughter would be dead. She was blue and it took about 5 minutes for them to get her breathing on her own. Had I refused the second section, I'd probably be dead, likely along with my daughter unless someone was able to rush me to an OR and get her cut out in time.
Do I think that there are too many sections happening in this country? Yes, probably. But I also think that it is none of my business. It doesn't affect me. We can play the trickle down game and say that it affects me because of insurance deductibles and blah blah blah, but that money all ends up back in the economy in one way or another, so I don't buy that argument. If, at the end of each birth, there is a healthy mama and baby, it isn't my business.
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