Motherhood Changes You

Motherhood (and parenting) changes you.

One big difference I've noticed is, since the pregnancy, I crave chocolate. I know that this is nothing new, stereotypically; I've always had a sweet tooth (several, actually, and they match my collection of root canals), but I've always been much more into sweet, fruity candy (cherry Pull-n-Peel Twizzlers and gummy bears and Skittles and such) than into chocolate... but since the pregnancy, I've been in dire need of dark chocolate. And not so much the fruity candy.

The pregnancy somehow changed my genetic makeup.

But on a more serious note...

I've flow on planes loads of times. I like flying. I like turbulence -- it's like a little roller coaster during the flight. I love the way your stomach dips when the wheels of the plane lose contact with the ground, and the bump when they touch down again. I am not squeamish about flying AT ALL.

MonkeyBoy took his first ever plane ride last week.

On our last flight, the flight attendant came over and let us know the plane was equipped with an infant life vest, which was underneath the seat across the aisle on the row in front of us. The card with all the safety info had illustrations of an infant in said life vest, floating on the water -- ALONE -- in his glow-in-the-dark life vest.

I made Freddy put the card away, because looking at it made me feel nauseous. I hugged my chubby baby and tried really hard to ignore the flight attendant cheerily pantomiming the safety information.

A while back I went to see a play where the main character is a gay teen. On one scene, he calls him mom and tries to come out to her, but she won't let him say the words. Then she has a song about her baby boy growing up... can't remember what the song said exactly, but she was, obviously, sad (I haven't decided yet if she was upset that her son was gay because she thought it was a sin -- the poor guy was at a Catholic boarding school -- or because she knew how hard his life would be, the hate and discrimination he would face, because he was gay). I fine with all this until the stage behind the mom started showing a slideshow of the guy's baby and childhood photos. When I saw that first baby photo, I lost it. Gut? Wrenched. I wanted to be home, with my baby, hugging him, protecting him from all the hate and ignorance and bigotry out there.

I have a superhuman ability to survive and function on a ridiculously minuscule amount of sleep. And, most of the time, I manage to even be cheerful.

Motherhood changes you.

But you know what hasn't changed?

I still don't regret my abortion.

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A Kid's Reaction to a Gay Couple

As you can see, this poor child is permanently damaged. For life. He walks out of the room and falls straight into Hell.

"I'm going to play ping-pong now. You play if you want to."

See how horrified he is of seeing two men who love each other???

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Birth Control Injection For Men

OK, I admit I did not read the WHOLE article (it's long, and I have a baby stirring in his basket, he's about to wake up and my Internetz time will be up); I saw something on Twitter or Facebook about this the other day, but that article seemed wonky, and I couldn't tell if it was a joke or not. This article has, like, sciency-talk in it and stuff.

If this is for real, then... DUDE.

If it IS 100% effective, and reversible, then... DAMN. MonkeyBoy will be strongly encouraged to get this injection when he's 13. He can reverse it when he's ready to have kids, if he and his partner choose to make babies.

And speaking of, he's awake. So I'll leave you with the article: The Revolutionary New Birth Control Method For Men. Go read, be amazed, get excited, and find that doctor in San Francisco who wants to bring this to the FDA. Let's make this happen! Soon!!

"About half of all pregnancies in the US are unplanned. Come up with a better contraceptive and the likely results are all good: fewer unwanted kids, fewer single parents, and fewer abortions."

"Where your money is, there your heart will be also." Matthew 6:21

Hungerfast.org

I Hate Pumping

I hate pumping. I love breastfeeding, but I hate pumping.

Even when I get irritated because I'm trying to DO something (wash diapers, edit photos, defeat the evil demons of the overgrown inbox) and baby wants to eat AGAIN, I still love breastfeeding. I get to hold my baby, and give him something special. And he usually falls asleep at the boob, and I have a sleeping baby which is the sweetest sight in the world. Even if it means I can't get up to pee when I really, really have to go. (Who am I kidding? Not being able to pee is nothing. I have eight years of classroom-teaching training, my bladder doesn't even notice until it's gone a full 12 hours before being emptied.)

But pumping?

Ugh.

To breastfeed, all I have to do is lift up my shirt, unhook my bra, and attach baby.

To pump, I have to get my pumping bag, take out the cooler of baby milk bottles, attach the bottles to the pump shields, attach the shields to the pump tubing, plug in the pump, loop the rubber-band-dealies around my bra so they hold the pump shields, correctly position the shields on my nipples so my nipples aren't rubbing on the shields on the top, bottom, or sides, then start the machine. WEE-ooh-WEE-ooh-WEE-ooh... for twenty minutes.

Oh, before I do all that, I have to lock my office door, put a sign outside the door, cover the window with paper -- and that's because my boss is nice enough to let me pump in my office, instead of trekking all the way to the Student Health Center in the other building (which cuts into my pumping time, especially since I have to pack everything up each time; in my office I can leave the machine plugged in, at least, and I leave the tubing sort of draped over the bag, instead of stuffing it all back into its compartment each time).

If I don't pump every 3-4 hours, I tend to get clogged ducts. WHICH ARE NOT FUN. Especially when they don't want to unclog.

Even when I have to stop what I'm doing to breastfeed, I can still DO stuff while breastfeeding. I can still participate in a conversation. Or watch TV. Or even edit photos, or follow Twitter, or chip away at the frighteningly overgrown weedfest I like to call my email inbox. I have to do these things mostly one-handed, but I can still do them.

Pumping at work, on the other hand?

Everything has to come to a screeching halt. While I'm connected to my dairy-farm equipment I can't move freely, because the tubes are only so long and they're always in the way anyway and the bottles may spill and, well, I'm basically topless.

And there's no "reward." When you breastfeed, you are feeding a baby. A sweet, beautiful baby who looks at you and smiles and is happy to be there. When you pump? WEE-ooh-WEE-ooh-WEE-ooh... (After a while, it starts talking to you. Seriously. But it's just the same word, over and over... and it's usually a word that doesn't make any sense, but it keeps repeating it... and you can't NOT hear it...)

I know my coworkers talk about me. About all the time I'm not working because I'm in my office pumping. (I know because I hear them. And because they tell me to my face. How I'm "weird" because I do "all that stuff" that "regular" moms don't do. I'm not entirely sure what "all that stuff" exactly means, but there you go. Regular, normal moms, even ones who breastfeed, don't do "all that stuff" that I do when I pump. I'm just special, I guess. Or asking for special treatment. Or something.)

So not only do I not want to stop what I'm doing to pump, because it's a pain, but I also don't want to close my door to pump because I know that's right when someone is going to want to ask me something, and I'm going to be half-naked with my dairy-farm equipment strapped on, and I'm going to inconvenience that person by not being available. And, you know, because I'm lazy.

The worst part is that we take the kids on trips and things. And we have one of those trips coming up this week. We're going to be out with the kids all day -- from very early in the morning until very late at night.

And I have to go, as a chaperone, because it's part of my job and because they need lots of chaperones.

And I want to go, because it'll be a fun trip. I haven't seen the kids much lately, and I miss them. I like hanging out with them.

But guess what! I'm going to have to pump, every 3-4 hours, while on the road. Do you have any clue just how royally THAT is going to suck? (Er... no bad pun intended...)

I don't even know exactly how it's going to work: where I'm going to pump. I guess that'll depend on where we are, where we can stop, where there's a sink... There isn't a way to plan, really, so we'll just see when we get there.

But if it sucks this much to step away and "hide" in my little office to pump when we're just sitting around doing paperwork, how much is it going to suck when I have to leave the group of students I'm supposed to be chaperoning to find a hidey-hole where I can pump when we're traipsing across a college campus with our herd of high schoolers?

I guess this is one of the reasons so many moms quit breastfeeding early, huh?

The power of words and the definition of marriage

Look it up: Dictionaries recognized same-sex unions under 'marriage' years before states - WHO

The first year I taught third grade, a colleague lent me the book Frindle, to read to the kids. I had nothing else to read to them during SSR (Sustained Silent Reading time, after lunch), so I gladly accepted the book. Little did I know what I was in for...

The story is about this kid who butts heads with his English teacher. She's super mean and has this huge dictionary on this almost-shrine at the front of the room, because she practically worships words and language (and makes her students do tons of homework every night).

So the kid comes up with an idea, just to tick the teacher off. Instead of using the word "pen" for pen, he calls the pen a "frindle."

The kids in the class all jump on the bandwagon (at least until they all get detention, but that's secondary). The feud becomes so huge (because both characters are too pig-headed to back down) and soon the whole city is involved. People start making t-shirts with the word "frindle" on them. The local news, then the state news, then the national news start talking about this. It became a huge thing, and people all over the country started using the word "frindle."

Spoiler to follow, so skip the next paragraph if you're planning on reading this book.

At the end of the book, years after the kid has graduated (middle school and high school) and the teacher has long retired, the kid gets a package in the mail. From the teacher. It's the newest edition of the dictionary, with a note to turn to page so-and-so. Where the word "frindle" is listed, meaning "pen." Because the word became part of the general lexicon.

Will you think less of me if I tell you that ending made me cry?

Merriam-Webster said in a statement Wednesday that the edited entry merely reflected the frequency with which the term "same-sex marriage" had popped up in print and become part of the general lexicon.

This is what I love about languages. They are alive. And we control them.

What's the definition of "marriage"? Whatever we want it to be. However we use the word, that's how it's going to be used. Whatever meaning we give it, that's what it's going to mean.

Marriage is a union between two people who love each other and have made a commitment to love and cherish one another til death do them part. Whatever color, or sex, or size, or religious belief, or whatever they may be, whether a totally irrelevant third party thinks they "match" or not.

Same-sex, different-sex, it's still marriage. The dictionary has been saying so for years -- because we have.

... the "RIGHT" to bear children (part 1.5): Biology does not a mother make.

I was going to hit the Big One today ("defining" life and all that), but yesterday morning I received this Direct Message on Twitter:

I'm really troubled by the idea that you need a "right" to be a mother. You are a mother, it's a biological fact.

When I replied with "Biology does not a mother make," the Twitterer wrote:

Yes it does. Check you biology text.

I think some of the links on yesterday's post (which was not up yet when this exchange took place) kind of prove my point.

But I see the root of the problem: we use one word to talk about two things that can be entirely different.

In Spanish, the word "aborto" refers to both an (elective) abortion and a miscarriage (spontaneous abortion). This infuriates me, because the two are ENTIRELY DIFFERENT THINGS. (If this is not inherently obvious to you, then I'll go into the details when I write about when "life" begins.) We have the same problem here, with the word "mother."

Having the necessary working parts and possessing the ability to pop a baby out doesn't make you a mother. Yes, it makes you a biological mother, but it doesn't make you a mother.

Loving and nurturing that baby makes you a mother.

The girls in those links had the necessary biology. Would you call them "mothers"?

Limiting "motherhood" to something as simple and vacant as biology is also horrendously insulting to mothers who adopt. I'd like to see anyone go up to an adoptive mother and tell her she's not a mother simply because the child didn't come out of her own vagina.

Motherhood is a huge undertaking. It is the most important job in the world. Seriously. It is the beginning of everything.

And, unfortunately, too many people out there are doing an amazing job of screwing it up.

The influence a parent has over her child is immeasurable. (And, in my opinion, underestimated.) I seriously believe we could solve all the problems of the world if we found a way to give everyone caring, loving, nurturing parents.

Motherhood (and fatherhood; don't want to leave them out) is a huge undertaking. It is a huge responsibility. One that should be entered into when one is ready to do so.

Not something that you're stuck with because the condom broke or you missed your pill one day. Because that's just not fair to the child.

9 Goals for 2009

"New Year's Resolutions" has become a bad word. If you say you're making "resolutions," you're not saying you're resolving to do things in the new year; the modern connotation of the word is that you are making a list of things at which you will FAIL this year, probably within the first week.

It's much trendier to say you're setting "goals" for the new year. So that's what I'm doing. Because I am hip and trendy.

Earlier in 2008, my sister started talking about this Dave Ramsey guy and about making budgets and getting out of debt. She lured my mom and stepdad to the Dark Side and they've gone all gung-ho on this debt-free life; when they were in town to see Freddy's last show, my stepdad was reading Dave Ramsey's Total Money Makeover, with all these nifty worksheets to get yourself on a budget and pay off your debt. I expressed interest, in that, "Yes, when I cross everything else off my list I'll look into it" way. He left the book with me.

I need to write a post dedicated just to the book, because it does kind of throw your financial belief system into a tizzy. But in a good way. Because our current financial belief system, here in the Grand Ol' US of A, is really screwed up.

But, for now: Goal #1 for 2009: Get out of debt. We can get everything except for student loans and the mortgage paid off probably by summer, of not spring break, and then start saving up and buying things (with cash) and finally having a savings account worthy of being called that. (Freddy is mostly on board with this plan... he hasn't read The Book yet, and I don't know how much he's buying of what I'm relaying to him, but I trust he'll come around. He is a smart guy, after all, and this stuff makes sense.)

On Monday we got a storage shed (just a little one; paid cash for it, thankyou, did not open a Home Depot credit account), for all the crap that's been cluttering up "the office." You see, we have this extra bedroom. This room was supposed to be an office, for all the writing and translating and so on that I should be doing. Instead? The "office" is a black hole for anything and everything I don't want to find a place for right now. My laptop lives in the living room, where we actually have added a desk. Now, the main reason the desk is in the living room is because it was too much hassle for the two of us to try to maneuver that thing into the "office," which is at the end of the twisty hall, but another reason was because there was no room in the "office" to put this desk. The saddest thing? No, I don't even use the desk out in the living room. Because it's cluttered with more crap. I write to you now, dear readers, from the couch. Where I do most of my computer work. (And we wonder why I have back and neck pain issues?)

Goal #2 for 2009: De-clutter the house. This includes taking the bikes out of the "office" and into the storage shed, taking all the masses of boxes and storage tubs other junk out of the "office" and into the shed or out to Goodwill, and finding a place for the junk we actually use. Which is probably going to be a very small percentage of the junk we currently own. There should be another blog post about de-cluttering in general, big and little things, with some tips that hopefully you will find helpful. (Though, really? Not so likely. Because the only person that reads this blog is Marcy, and I got the one big tip I'm super excited about sharing? I got from her. So she already knows it.)

Goal #3 for 2009: Submit my dissertation and claim my Master's degree. It's written, but needs read-throughs and edits. (But, instead of doing that, I'm blogging. Because I'm smart and productive and disciplined like that.)

Goal #4 for 2009: Edit LIFE CHOICES and begin querying agents. Now that the dissertation's not hanging over my head, and I've finished the one big freelance assignment I'd been working on forever, I can work on my fun writing guilt-free. Also, I have written three full novels, two plays, and have one novel that's desperately wanting me to finish it. I really need to start doing something with all those works.

Goal #5 for 2009: Blog more regularly. Both on this blog and my teaching one. I want to say I'll post once a week, but who knows if that'll work. We'll try. (NO! Do or do not -- there is no try!!!)

Goal #6 for 2009: Start a compost pile. When I shared this with Freddy, he got all practical and asked me what I was planning on doing with the compost. My first answer was "keep it out of landfills," but somehow that didn't seem to be a good enough answer. This leads me to Goal #7 for 2009: Plant a vegetable garden. Probably a very small one. But it's a start. Baby steps, people!

Goal #8 for 2009: Figure out the job thing. Do I still want to teach? Do I want to stay where I am, or do I want to move up to college-level? Do I want to move into some sort of admin position? Do I want to be an IT? Could I quit teaching and do the translating/editing this full-time? It's all up in the air right now. I'll keep you posted.

Goal #9 for 2009: Be a better wife. Help out around the house more -- right now Freddy does pretty much all the housework. He works less hours than I do, most of the time, so I rationalize the guilt away with that thought, but still. Spend less time on the computer when I am home; spend more time with him. Do things together (we spend a lot of time just sitting, watching TV. Good TV, but still.) Not let work and other stuff overwhelm me, to the point where I don't have anything left for him.

I know lists usually have 10 items, but I like 9 for 2009. And I can't think of a 10th item that's worthy. So there you are. What are your "goals" for the New Year?

Happeh noo yeer from I Can Has Cheezburger? (In case you need some more ideas.)

"Hello! And welcome to my pity party."

I've been playing by The Rules this year. I've been working hard to be good. I've stayed on top of it - as much as I've been able to.

Even during NaNo, I made sure to put in my time for school stuff before going off to write-ins or doing NaNo-related stuff.

And it's still not working.

I like teaching. I discovered that the first time I quit it. It's all the other crap I can't handle.

I wish I could do my job part-time: that would give me enough time to get my job done well in a regular, 8-hour work day. If I could teach four, maybe five classes a day, all the same subject/level, I would have time to do everything that is expected of me without ignoring certain aspects or cutting corners or giving up my life.

Because that's the part that's killing me. I like teaching, but I like my life. I have other stuff going on. I refuse to give up my self in order to feel successful at my job. It's a day job, really. And it's not the only thing I have, or want, in my life.

Right now, doing this well and having a life outside the school are mutually exclusive. And that's not going to work for me.

Today, I had a half-give up day. This afternoon, I've spent a lot of it wasting time. I have not done this so far this year. I do not check my home email or browse my Google Reader subscriptions until I get home. Today? Nah.

Now, part of the reason for popping on over to the home email inbox was because we were discussing crucial matters (the who, what, when, where of Christmas - when you're family is as big and complicated as mine, this is a serious issue that demands time and your full attention. Trust me). But, before today - before last Friday, when the penny dropped - even that kind of discussion would have waited until later.

I had a conversation Friday that made me realize this job is stressing me out. And it's stressing me out more than normal, because this time I'm doing everything the way I am supposed to be doing it. Before, when I was behind on grading and overwhelmed by the endless to-do list and harrassed by parents, I knew part of it was my fault. I wasted my time instead of focusing on grading stuff early. I didn't plan out my lessons ahead of time. I didn't do X and Y and Z the way I should.

But now I'm doing all those things, and getting the same results. Actually, getting worse results than people who do a much crappier job than I do. So how the heck does that work out?

So, here's me. Here's the towel.

Here's me, contemplating throwing it.

Do I suck at my job?
Am I too angry and inflexible to be in this kind of job?
Is this just the December blues, and everybody's feeling it?
Do I need to get back on medication?
Or start doing yoga again?
Cut out sodas and other sugars?
Or maybe I should go the other direction, and start drinking heavily?

We'll think about it.

"Lemme out! Lemme out!!!"

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