Not much to report here at the ole baby farm. I can't bend over anymore without feeling like I'm laying on top of a boulder, which I guess I sort of am. My back sings Ave Maria at around 2:30 pm every day, so I take little jaunts around the office to see how my co-workers are doing. I got Gwen's clothes (we've accumulated quite a bit already, and my shower is still to come!) mostly sorted out last weekend- I lined her dresser drawers in uber-cute hot pink Fleur De Lis paper and started separating her clothes into age groups.
OK, I must say, Oh Mighty Baby Industry, your sizing standards suck right out loud. Some are 'Newborn', some are '0-3', some are just '3', and some are '3-6'. And none of them seem to conform to any standards within any of these groups. And how is "Newborn" different than "0"?? Stupid. I say they should just go by weight. Cause like if my newborn is ginormous, she's still a newborn, but she sure as heck aint fittin in newborn clothes for more than a week. Ah well, I think it will all just end up a giant tangle of onesies by the end of the first month anyway.
Class last night- all about the coaches. Gavin got all sorts of cheat sheets for his little "Binder O' Birth", and we did 2 new breathing techniques for when the poop hits the proverbial fan. And then, as usual, we ended with a video.
In most of these, the women are very crunchy, birth pooling, rocking-on-a-ball-while-moaning in-a-"visceral and guttural way" types- I mean, this is largely a class of natural pain coping techniques, so it makes sense. But in every video, there is what I think of as "The Moment of Real". This is when the smoke of the incense clears, and the rain forest sounds fade away, and the woman in question loses her everloving mind for a brief moment. The first night, it was when this chick was told to feel between her legs for her babies head, and her reaction upon touching it was "You've got to be kidding me! He's still THAT FAR up there???!!!". Another was when this woman who had been born in Guatemala was in so much pain that she literally could no longer understand English and had to have her husband translate the doc's instructions. Last night's was another winner: "Why don't you people HELP ME??? JESUS!!!!!". Then their coach or doula or whoever talks them back off the ledge, and usually the baby comes in the next 20 minutes. But I think it's that moment, the Moment Of Real, that truly unites us all as women for a brief span of time. I can't say I'm looking forward to it, as it seems to come during the deepest, most painful trough of child bearing, but I hope I recognize it for what it was after the fact. And I mostly hope I don't harm my husband physically or emotionally as a result of it...
Does it seem that all I write about is the baby? There are other things in my life- the usual little triumphs and disappointments, etc. I'm obviously not doing any auditioning right now (though I'm tempted to show up to a few just to see the expression on the casting directors faces) but Gavin and I are working on a really fun project together (outside of the project of Gwendy making, I mean)- I'll disclose more once it's fleshed out a bit, but it's letting me write and him draw, so we both are having a blast. I don't know, I don't want it to seem that I've misplaced my identity outside of motherhood or something- but the reality of this new person, who reminds me of her existence every chance she gets with her rolls and kicks- is truly pretty all-consuming and blows my mind on a daily basis, so it's what ends up on this blog. So there.
6 comments:
I hope you don't forget how to speak English! Srsly!
You know, of all the friends I've had who've given birth, you stand out in my mind as the one who needs to write a memoir about it. I would read that. Twice.
Just let me take care of the punctuation, K?
Feh. Punctuation. Bah.
First off, I hear ya on the sizing. What the hell. Like there needs to be MORE confusion for us first-timers!
And the crunchy visceral moaning chicks in the videos - yes, they were in ours too. I found that listening to other women moan (in any circumstance) makes me feel gross. One of the women in the videos we watched said upon looking at her newly emerged and white gooey baby exclaimed, "It doesn't even look like a baby!"
And I think it perfectly fine and quite normal that most of your time and energy is focused on "the baby". I mean you're housing and soon to be birthing then raising one for the first time so it's okay. :)
I saw that video! That baby was like Mr. Vernix. Is it wrong that I hope my baby doesn't come out covered in cheesy grossness?
No it is not wrong. In fact I'm not sure that thing was actually a baby either.
P.S. Forgot to say that I'm very intrigued about yours and Gavin's secret project!
I remember two very distinct and coherant thoughts immediately after giving birth to Lucy:
1. "Why can't I focus my eyes? What's wrong with my vision?!" (I guess running a marathon or several hours of ineffective hard labor can render one's eyes a bit loopy.)
and, more importantly:
2. "Any woman who has ever pushed out a baby is a hero. Seriously. ANY woman. Even the ones who turn out to be shitty moms, they're still super-women, just for actually pushing that baby out in the very beginning."
And with the sizing, even at 8.5+ pounds when she was born, Lulu still worn NB and 0 size stuff for at least a month or two.
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