It was a beautiful day outside. Sunny, enough of a breeze to be comfortable, and good food. You and your wife were eating lunch with your friend. I had noticed your friend had lots of healing slashes on his leg. Appeared to be from a bypass operation and that was confirmed with hearing your conversation.
That didn't bother me at all. It's good that you had been through that before and could be there for your friend. You talked about how long parts of you hurt or tingled and how long it took you to heal. And your cell phone rang about every 2 minutes.
That didn't bother me at all.
However, I did not need to see your hairy 3rd trimester belly (and more) when you lifted your shirt to show your friend how well your scar had healed.
That I did bother me. Did you think before you lifted your shirt? I'm really a liberal person, but I would not feel the need to lower my pants in public and show another woman how well my c-section scar was healing. Though I bet that most men would not mind that so much.
Please, men with pot bellies, please do not lift your shirts in public.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Wonderful Jewelry Giveaway that Celebrates Women & Mothers
Check it out:
Wonderfully Made Bellies and Babies. She is highlighting an incredible artist and doula with a drawing for her jewelry. Visit her on Facebook and Etsy as well.
Celebrate womanhood and International Doula Month in May.
Wonderfully Made Bellies and Babies. She is highlighting an incredible artist and doula with a drawing for her jewelry. Visit her on Facebook and Etsy as well.
Celebrate womanhood and International Doula Month in May.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
C-Section: A Father's Perspective
As C-Section Awareness Month 2010 comes to a close, I thought I would offer a spin on this topic. Though the mother is the one that has the c-section, it took both parents to create the child and both parents (hopefully) are present for the birth. Both parents have emotions, rememberances and thoughts about that day. Very few people stop to ask the man how he feels about the birth of his child. I asked my husband to write up his side of our c-section birth story. In his own words:
As we started through the birth process, there were only a couple of things that I really felt strongly about. First, I did not want to know the gender of the child until delivery, and second I did not want to have a c-section. Why you ask? Not because I felt it would change the way I felt about the child or because I felt it was wrong in any way. It boiled down to a couple of things. First, I had heard from other fathers that from the dad’s perspective, there is just something that doesn’t feel natural about a c-section baby vs. a non-c-section baby. But second, and more importantly, this requires surgery and more healing time for the mom and I always try, at great length, to avoid sharp objects cutting skin.
But as the birth rolled around, and it began to linger, and nothing was really happening, it became apparent that options were running very slim. Poor Ian just was not going to come out without some type of outside help. The doctor sat down and ran through the options, and it surprised me how quickly the response “Cut me open” came out. In hind sight, this was the right decision, and the only option that would save both mother and child, but the fact that without even really getting into specifics on what could be done, it was as though there was a cheering squad for c-section.
For me, that was an upsetting decision at the time. I did not want to see a surgery when there could have been other options. But time was a critical factor and a quick decision was probably best. As we headed down to the operating room, they all went in and started prepping mom while I scrubbed up and donned the gown. I sat and peeked through the window as everything was prepared for the doctor to come in and do his thing. The time came, I walked in and found my stool to sit on, camera phone in hand.
As the surgery went on (and this one was a tough one), it quickly became apparent that this was a necessary surgery and it began to ease my tension on the decision as a whole. But then when Ian was born and I was able to see him for the first time, look face to face at the person I created, the person who would immediately be called my clone, I no longer cared how he was born. The fathers who said the moment wasn’t as magic were dead wrong!! That moment could not have been more magic!! Regardless of the original intentions of birth plans and preconceptions, the end goal was achieved in that mother and child were both healthy and on their way to recovering.
Now, there is a child and a scar that will forever commemorate that day, that decision. And at first, the scar was very nasty!! I never looked at it with disdain or contempt and I never will. I did look at it and it turned my stomach only because it was bloody and stapled and all around not pleasant to see for someone who does not do so well with medical things. But as the months go by, the scar continues to heal. My only hope is that it will one day no longer protrude from the body and will flatten out. But even if it doesn’t, who cares?
As we started through the birth process, there were only a couple of things that I really felt strongly about. First, I did not want to know the gender of the child until delivery, and second I did not want to have a c-section. Why you ask? Not because I felt it would change the way I felt about the child or because I felt it was wrong in any way. It boiled down to a couple of things. First, I had heard from other fathers that from the dad’s perspective, there is just something that doesn’t feel natural about a c-section baby vs. a non-c-section baby. But second, and more importantly, this requires surgery and more healing time for the mom and I always try, at great length, to avoid sharp objects cutting skin.
But as the birth rolled around, and it began to linger, and nothing was really happening, it became apparent that options were running very slim. Poor Ian just was not going to come out without some type of outside help. The doctor sat down and ran through the options, and it surprised me how quickly the response “Cut me open” came out. In hind sight, this was the right decision, and the only option that would save both mother and child, but the fact that without even really getting into specifics on what could be done, it was as though there was a cheering squad for c-section.
For me, that was an upsetting decision at the time. I did not want to see a surgery when there could have been other options. But time was a critical factor and a quick decision was probably best. As we headed down to the operating room, they all went in and started prepping mom while I scrubbed up and donned the gown. I sat and peeked through the window as everything was prepared for the doctor to come in and do his thing. The time came, I walked in and found my stool to sit on, camera phone in hand.
As the surgery went on (and this one was a tough one), it quickly became apparent that this was a necessary surgery and it began to ease my tension on the decision as a whole. But then when Ian was born and I was able to see him for the first time, look face to face at the person I created, the person who would immediately be called my clone, I no longer cared how he was born. The fathers who said the moment wasn’t as magic were dead wrong!! That moment could not have been more magic!! Regardless of the original intentions of birth plans and preconceptions, the end goal was achieved in that mother and child were both healthy and on their way to recovering.
Now, there is a child and a scar that will forever commemorate that day, that decision. And at first, the scar was very nasty!! I never looked at it with disdain or contempt and I never will. I did look at it and it turned my stomach only because it was bloody and stapled and all around not pleasant to see for someone who does not do so well with medical things. But as the months go by, the scar continues to heal. My only hope is that it will one day no longer protrude from the body and will flatten out. But even if it doesn’t, who cares?
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
I Am A Runner
Gulp. Or at least, I hope to be. I am trying to start out with the right attitude about this.
I have a love/hate relationship with running. Unlike my husband, who really seems to enjoy it, I never seem to get a running high or even a running tingle. I do love what it does for my body and that it's good exercise and allows me to eat more desserts without gaining weight.
Here's the plan. I am going to run the Women's Half Marathon in Nashville, TN on Saturday, September 25, 2010. That means, as of today, I have 149 days or just over 21 weeks in order to prepare. All of the training schedules I have looked at are 12 weeks long. Since it's been a very long time since I did any real exercise, much less any running, I know that I will need a couple of weeks to get to the first week of training.
I'm trying to get some friends, family and colleagues to jump on this wagon with me. Stay tuned for updates on my successes, my setbacks and all the in-betweens as I embark on this running journey.
I have a love/hate relationship with running. Unlike my husband, who really seems to enjoy it, I never seem to get a running high or even a running tingle. I do love what it does for my body and that it's good exercise and allows me to eat more desserts without gaining weight.
Here's the plan. I am going to run the Women's Half Marathon in Nashville, TN on Saturday, September 25, 2010. That means, as of today, I have 149 days or just over 21 weeks in order to prepare. All of the training schedules I have looked at are 12 weeks long. Since it's been a very long time since I did any real exercise, much less any running, I know that I will need a couple of weeks to get to the first week of training.
I'm trying to get some friends, family and colleagues to jump on this wagon with me. Stay tuned for updates on my successes, my setbacks and all the in-betweens as I embark on this running journey.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Little Woman In A Big City
Dear New York City,
I used to be very frightened of you. Too many people, too large a city, too much crime. I visited you for the third time a few days ago. This trip was by myself. The other trips before had been with at least one other person.
I spent almost two full days in your arms. I walked your streets by myself. I took notice of the older couples walking peacefully and the mothers with their children. I took the subway by myself. I saw old men reading and young boys I would not have expected to see riding comfortably by themselves. I walked the streets again, back to my hotel from Carnegie Hall at 10:30 pm. At least 12 blocks in the dark. That was more daunting than in the daylight and I was amazed at how awake the world was on your streets at that time.
I came to no harm. I feel stronger. I feel a little silly saying that but I am proud of myself for doing things that made me uncomfortable.
New York City, you still intimidate me, you always will, but now I think I will feel less trepidation if I return.
I used to be very frightened of you. Too many people, too large a city, too much crime. I visited you for the third time a few days ago. This trip was by myself. The other trips before had been with at least one other person.
I spent almost two full days in your arms. I walked your streets by myself. I took notice of the older couples walking peacefully and the mothers with their children. I took the subway by myself. I saw old men reading and young boys I would not have expected to see riding comfortably by themselves. I walked the streets again, back to my hotel from Carnegie Hall at 10:30 pm. At least 12 blocks in the dark. That was more daunting than in the daylight and I was amazed at how awake the world was on your streets at that time.
I came to no harm. I feel stronger. I feel a little silly saying that but I am proud of myself for doing things that made me uncomfortable.
New York City, you still intimidate me, you always will, but now I think I will feel less trepidation if I return.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Get a Grip People!
Alright, so sex on tv is ok. The general masses swarm all over oops pictures of celebrity body parts. Mmm-hmm. Girls walks around with skirts up to their beavers and see through shirts. Not a problem.
So why does a woman breastfeeding in public make people uncomfortable? Most of the time you aren't even seeing the woman's breast. I honestly think it is much more disgusting when someone blows their nose at the table in a public restaurant. (Insert shiver with revulsion as I even type those words.)
And why would a picture of a child with breast milk on his chin gross people out? How is it different than if he had cow's milk on his face or pudding or popsicle?
Baby Drools Breast Milk Ohio Residents Freak Out
Seriously people. Let's focus on things that are important in life. I'd much rather see a baby breastfeeding in public than to see a picture of Britney Spears' girly parts. Honestly, which really is the more disgusting?
*Thanks to my friend over at Musings for using her trusty Google reader to bring this article to my attention. You may thank her or throw rotten veggies at her as is your preference. :)
So why does a woman breastfeeding in public make people uncomfortable? Most of the time you aren't even seeing the woman's breast. I honestly think it is much more disgusting when someone blows their nose at the table in a public restaurant. (Insert shiver with revulsion as I even type those words.)
And why would a picture of a child with breast milk on his chin gross people out? How is it different than if he had cow's milk on his face or pudding or popsicle?
Baby Drools Breast Milk Ohio Residents Freak Out
Seriously people. Let's focus on things that are important in life. I'd much rather see a baby breastfeeding in public than to see a picture of Britney Spears' girly parts. Honestly, which really is the more disgusting?
*Thanks to my friend over at Musings for using her trusty Google reader to bring this article to my attention. You may thank her or throw rotten veggies at her as is your preference. :)
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Today I Don't Want To Be a Mom
Today my son is trying my patience. Really he has been trying it all week long. He has been clinging to my leg for dear life in the mornings and I can barely get a shower, get dressed, get him ready for school.
Today I have 3 new books calling my name. I can feel their words, their laughter, their very real paper dimenstons beneath my fingers. I can feel the woody paper sucking the oil from my skin as I rapidly turn the pages as I devour someone else's story.
Today I want to ignore the fact there is a little person that wants me and needs me. I want to close the door, pour a glass of wine and read. I want to get lost in someone else's words. I want to lose myself in their thoughts, their whimsy and their lust.
I want to feel alive for some other reason than baby soft skin, wet kisses and raspberries. I want to be a woman this evening and read and drink wine and have raunchy thoughts.
I want to be me tonight. A complete me. Tomorrow I can be someone's mother and someone's wife. Tonight, I just want to be, for me.
Today I have 3 new books calling my name. I can feel their words, their laughter, their very real paper dimenstons beneath my fingers. I can feel the woody paper sucking the oil from my skin as I rapidly turn the pages as I devour someone else's story.
Today I want to ignore the fact there is a little person that wants me and needs me. I want to close the door, pour a glass of wine and read. I want to get lost in someone else's words. I want to lose myself in their thoughts, their whimsy and their lust.
I want to feel alive for some other reason than baby soft skin, wet kisses and raspberries. I want to be a woman this evening and read and drink wine and have raunchy thoughts.
I want to be me tonight. A complete me. Tomorrow I can be someone's mother and someone's wife. Tonight, I just want to be, for me.
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