Ada Jane

Ada Jane

7/3/2011

7 lbs, 3 oz. 19.5 in.

This girl has completely captured my heart. I'm a lucky woman. So far, both my birthing experiences have been amazing, bordering on the surreal. Details to follow, but mostly these days the most accurate descriptive word is: blessed.

W

So... I'm way late on posting about W's birthday, which is too bad, because we had such a fun day! He was lucky enough to have lots of family in town for the occasion, and we had a great day doing things that W loves. We had lots of friends and family for a pizza party, and W loved running around with the other little kids and dancing to a playlist we made of his favorite music.

Birthday Cake

Some things that he's been up to lately:

*Dancing to the "hair show" (anything that has people performing on stage; he got the term "hair show" from when we went to my sister's show a few months ago. He was fascinated and now he loves performances, like So You Think You Can Dance)

*Singing into a rectangular block as a microphone

*Saying prayers all by himself (and dictating who will be saying it if he doesn't want to...)

*Sings and identifies his ABC's

*LOVES to identify numbers and letters as we drive around town ("Look! It's a 7.")

*Is really into vehicles. He's never more excited than when he's watching planes take off and land from the airport, which he can see from our back window. Or when he sees a helicopter flying by. Or hears a bus. Or sees a fire truck. And just brace yourself for if you see a construction vehicle around town. "LOOK! It's a digger!!! See it? It's RIGHT THERE!!!! See it?"

*Enjoys The Jungle Book, Pam ("The Office," of all things), Rory and Lorelai ("Gilmore Girls"), but especially enjoys going to the library to pick out Snoopy cartoons.

*Starting to identify shapes

Carcinogenic homemade penguin (another post for another time)

*Knows his colors

*Starting to do impressions of people

*Skinny, skinny, skinny. I believe at his 2 year appt he was 34" and 23 lbs.

*Seems to be fascinated but afraid of potty training, which I am not at all in a hurry to accomplish

*Loves strawberries, tacos, fries, root beer, and quesadillas ("quesa-dee-wees")

*One of his favorite things is playing Pirates with Daddy on the computer, and doing the pirate dance

*Such a good little friend. He loves having his friend Alli over to play, and gets so excited showing her his toys and explaining to her his favorite shows

*Terrified of haircuts

*Loves primary songs, and knows a good chunk of them, too!

*Can be rather bossy with me and Chris, often liking to tell us how to kneel or who will say the prayer, or which clothes he will/will not wear. Oy veh. Taking orders from a 2-year-old? No bueno.

*Knows that Grandma and Grandpa Tingey live in "Canifornee" and that Higg and Pop-Pop live in "Washton"

*When we asked him if his baby sister's name was Jane, he said, "No. No Jane. Put away Jane. Baby sister's name is Ada." So, there you have it.

party favors had the little dudes pics all over them

The Mom Club

I'm sharing this because this morning I had a conversation with my friend Melanie who lives down the hall. It's not really something I relish conversing about. But after some research this morning, I've decided--for the sake of other moms who may have had the same experience--that I ought to share what I found.

It felt like we had to admit it in almost hushed tones (though we were the only ones in my home this morning) that nursing was not our favorite thing in the world. I was so relieved to find a friend in this feeling, but after she left I was more than a little bothered by the fact that we both were hesitant to admit we wouldn't be fully breastfeeding our upcoming babies. It's a relief and a trouble at the same time to have conversations where you frequently exchange the expression, "Oh my gosh, I'm SO glad you said that!" It's awesome to find someone who relates to what you're going through--but usually, only because what you've been feeling all along is isolation and shame.

Without going into too much detail, I'll just say that my baby blues lasted exactly as long as I breastfed, about 7 months. Nursing was not an experience I enjoyed--at all. Almost nothing in my life has made me feel uglier, more subjected, more objectified, more tied down or immodest than breastfeeding. The only reason I did it was because of the overwhelming "breast is best" mantra you hear/read absolutely everywhere when you're a new mom. No one can say enough about how critical it is to breastfeed. And no one seems to feel any shame whatsoever in implying that mothers who use formula simply do not love their children enough to get breastfeeding right--as if nursing were a moral choice rather than a physical/physiological/psychological/financial/occupational/other personal factors decision.

And, it turns out, it's mostly for nothing, after all. It turns out that the benefits we're told of in nursing are negligible at best. SOME studies do show that breastfed babies have higher IQ's, decreased risk of obesity, diabetes, etc. But, it turns out, some studies also show that there is actually no difference between breastfed and formula fed babies. Furthermore, when you break down the studies that DO show breast is best, it turns out there are much stronger correlations between the mother's lifestyle effect on her child--that her decision to breastfeed was not actually the determining factor, but rather her example. What's even more critical is the nature of research itself--there are too many other variables to take into consideration when examining how kids turn out. Some studies show that the group most likely to breastfeed is upper-middleclass, white, and highly educated females. And the children of these families are already shown to have advantages over other groups, the same kinds of advantages touted by pro-nursing groups--so it's really impossible to say whether these advantages come from being a breastfed infant or just being born into a more "privileged" situation, or any number of other factors, for that matter.

I'm not bringing this up because I want to start a debate. I'm bringing this up because moms face enough pressure to be good moms without us judging one another for our personal choices. Being a successful parent means learning to figure out what works well in your own dynamic. Keeping up with the Joneses is counterproductive to family happiness.

It's really time we start supporting each other on our most divisive issues. Whether we breastfeed or not, stay home with our kids or not, whatever. You really never know how important someone's decision might be to their family's overall happiness. And in the end, it's about making our families thrive, right? So, why judge? Why do our decisions all have to be the same?

Here is the article I read that got me thinking about these things critically. I encourage all my mom friends and mom-to-be friends to read not only this article, but the other articles referenced. It really opened my eyes to what some mothers face--and how lucky I am to make the decisions I do. I encourage you to read it, not because I'm trying to convince you that breastfeeding is bad--or even that it's just really hard for some people. I just think these articles are great about talking about the need for mothers to support each other. So that if we're having a hard time with something, we don't feel like we can only talk about it in hushed tones.

Vicki Macy, MD

I love my OB. I tell every pregnant and non-pregnant woman I know fairly well (and now all of you) just how much I love my doc. Her office is within walking distance. Sometimes she gets behind on time, but like my dad says: Doctors are like restaurants. If there isn't a wait, maybe you should wonder why. And when I do get my turn to see her, she's always attentive and willing to answer questions. She always, always comes through the exam room door with a huge smile on her face. She is always positive, always complimentary, nothing but a can-do attitude. When I was miserable beyond belief last pregnancy, my doc appointments were what I looked forward to most because Dr. Macy always makes me feel better. She'd walk through the door with an infectious smile, and miserable as I was, I couldn't help but smile back and forget for 15 minutes or so that I was nauseated/bulky/seeing spots/enduring migraines/etc.

During labor, she was the perfect person to have on the receiving end of things. Between her and my husband's positivity and cheerleading-type skills, labor was an amazing experience for me. I felt so lifted up and supported. Weak and tired as I felt, I knew these two people were going to get me through.

But, today, what I love her for the most is this:

Induction date: July 1

Just because I said I didn't want to run the risk of a 4th of July baby. The light is shining at the end of the tunnel, my friends. The light IS shining.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Ah, The Clash. Yet another group I can credit my husband for introducing me to. That was a poorly written sentence. Am I going to fix it? No! The Clash wouldn't, and neither will I! I did not grow up knowing The Clash. My parents were listening to Pink Floyd in a big way in the 70's and 80's, not Brit punk. And, as the story goes, The Clash got together because Mick Jones was working in a London record shop wearing an "I hate Pink Floyd" t-shirt when Joe Strummer came walking in. Apparently they bonded over the mutual dislike of the Pink Floyd sound (nerd alert!), and The Clash was born therefrom. Clearly, they were in a different vein from what my parents were a part of--and subsequently, what I was introduced to as a child.

But this post actually has little to do with The Clash or my appreciation of them. The topical question has to do with (dum, dum, DUM!!!) my high school reunion. Should I stay or should I go?

Stay, I think. Definitely stay. Most of the time I have made my peace with this particularly turbulent period of my history. But every now and then some un-dead demon arises to remind me of just how difficult this time was for me. Certainly the most difficult period of my life to date. Let's put it this way:

One summer I drove to Montana to visit my best friend, Whitney. On my way home, I got in a terrible accident--rolled my car a few times. I walked out with a single teeny tiny scratch on my shoulder, but even now I am a cautious and frightened driver. Even now, the memory of the crash comes back and paralyzes me. Many, many years later, you probably could not pay me enough to get me to revisit that stretch of road. It's the same with high school. Just because it's behind me doesn't mean I take any pleasure in revisiting it. As a matter of fact, the fact that it's all dealt with and put away in my memory is a good reason to not go--no use stirring the pot, digging it up, whatever.

I'm happy as a grown-up. Grown-up stuff is a cakewalk in comparison.

There IS a part of me that still wants to go. Just sheer curiosity. I want to see some people and find out what they've been up to, how life has treated them, etc. But I have not actually kept in touch with a single person. At least, not beyond a Facebook sort of connection. It will probably come as a surprise to her, but this girl is the only person out of the 500 or so I graduated with that I actually feel connected to. I keep tabs on other friends' blogs and stuff, but when I stumbled on hers, I thought, "Ah. Kindred spirit. Too bad we didn't know each other better in high school. Maybe we could have helped each other survive." Although, truly, we didn't know each other that well in high school--maybe her experience was just fine.

What was so very awful, you ask? Oh, I'm not even sure I could pinpoint it anymore, to tell the truth.

Academically, high school was great. Socially, it was a nightmare. Not just because of the cliques, but because I am not a socially savvy person. I'm still not. I lack the ability to process social cues quickly--in a crowd, I am totally overwhelmed. I get quiet and contemplative trying to keep up with all the dynamics--it takes so much brain power to analyze what's happening that I don't have any left over to actually jump in and participate. By the end of my junior year, things were getting better--I met some friends in my history class, and hung out with them, but even then I felt that half the group was clearly communicating to me that I wasn't good enough to be one of them.

I suppose, in the end, that's really where most of the bad associations come from--ever since I moved into that school system in the 5th grade, it seemed there were more of my peers communicating a "you're not good enough for us" vibe than a tone of acceptance and friendliness. For a long time, I felt pretty picked on and sorry for myself. This turned into bitterness and hostility by the time college came around. These days, for all I know, everyone else felt the same way I did. Maybe no one feels secure. I have a feeling that while maybe some people enjoy adolescence, not a single person comes out of the experience without some scars that stick around for a long, long time. And that makes me feel better.

Something happened after high school--I found out that a girl I spent the greater part of my life hating was going through some pretty awful family troubles that were threatening to tear her family apart. I remember thinking how awful it was--and really learning that my hatred of her stemmed from jealousy based on a faulty assumption that this girl had it all. Clearly, she didn't. Her parents, frankly, are moral disappointments and social climbers--and these were the people teaching her how to navigate the world. No wonder she treated people the way she did. And what was more, she was not immune from deep heartache. Ugliness just begets more ugliness, and I think it's a tall order to ask a teenager to figure out how to break that cycle. I didn't figure it out until well into college--and I KNOW my feeling soul-sick in high school caused me to do and say some things I wish I never had.

I guess what I'm saying is... it's all water under the bridge. But that doesn't mean I feel like going swimming.

It also helps that the date of the reunion is very close to my due date. I do not want to remember myself 37 weeks pregnant for the next ten years--I do not want these people remembering me that way, either. And I definitely, DEFINITELY do not want them remembering me going into labor at the reunion. Unlikely, sure, but still possible and the thought is a little more than I can handle. Never mind that I might also just be a little more cranky and unsociable than usual these days. God bless my husband for his forbearance.

There is just one friend I've lost touch with completely, who I'd like to catch up with. But since I am fairly certain he is actually a spy in the middle east right now, I'm guessing his presence at the reunion is questionable anyway. The last I heard from him over a year ago was that he was off to Afghanistan for either the state or defense department. He has since disappeared from social media sites, so who knows what has happened to him. If he is a spy, I probably shouldn't be publishing this, but I'm guessing both al-Qaeda and the US govt have bigger problems right now, what with Osama dead and Obama still in office.

Should I stay or should I go? Stay, definitely stay. But I will say that anyone out there from high school who might be reading this and who wants to get together is more than welcome to get in touch with me and we can make that happen some other time.