Parenthood.1

People have transitioned from (when I was pregnant) warning us thoroughly that our lives are about to change, forever, for the worse (at least, all the things they warned us about seemed like bad things--lack of sleep, a screaming child, never being able to do the things we used to do) to oohing and aahing over our newborn and telling us that these are the best days of our lives and we should suck the marrow from every moment. Frankly, I'm a little confused, especially because I am just now, three weeks into this adventure, beginning to be able to enjoy it.

It's hard to enjoy having a newborn when there's so much anxiety associated with him: What if we choose the wrong sleeping situation and he gets SIDS? What if he stays awake all night screaming? What if breastfeeding continues to hurt as much as it does right at this moment? (Which is a lot, and I'll tell you what, I feel like I don't deserve any more pain.) What if I leak when I'm in public? What if I can't ever do my work again? What if we can't find/afford childcare? What if he is staying awake too much? What if my body doesn't heal? What if I have diastasis recti? What if we have 8 children? What if he forever refuses to nap unless he's in my arms? (As you can see, these worries range from big things to little things, from very real possibilities to things that are very unlikely. All the worries get jumbled up together.)

It helps me to get out of the house and be among people and enjoy them oohing and aahing over my son, reminding me that he is, indeed, adorable, and worth enjoying. (Of course, they also imply that later things become even more difficult as he grows up. Goodness, advice is exhausting.) But I also feel an expectation from most people to be unabashedly positive about my baby, which is hard when I bear the responsibility for keeping him alive and happy. It's much easier to be unabashedly positive about someone else's baby.

Quote

"You'll feel thin after you give birth, but you won't be." --Mama Leopard

Truth.

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There is a thin veneer of breast milk, spit-up, urine, and/or baby poop on nearly everything I own. The clean-freak in me is not happy.

Geel

I've been reading a book about Geel: Mental Patients in Town Life: Geel--Europe's First Therapeutic Community. It's old, published in 1979, but fascinating. Most references to Geel in contemporary literature are fleeting and un-nuanced. This is a more in-depth and honest account of life in Geel. I've linked to things about Geel on this blog before, but it's basically a town in Belgium in which there is a centuries-old tradition of caring for mentally ill patients in foster homes in the town.

What stuck out to me the most is this book's observation that the people who took in boarders in Geel were primarily middle or lower class. They spoke of their initial impulse to take in boarders in economic terms--for the money that it brought them. Although, as the book notes, their commitment to their boarders became something more than an economic relationship over time. This strikes me as a Tocquevillian insight: that people are guided by self-interest rightly understood--perhaps they initially act selfishly, because it's in their interests, but selfishness doesn't explain the whole of their actions. (This is counter the typical narrative about Geel--that people are guided by their society's tradition of taking in borders and by their Christian charity.)

This account of Geel is also attentive to the way in which changing economic realities affects peoples' willingness to take on boarders. A growing middle class means that not as many people are swayed by the extra money. An economic world in which work does not revolve around the home means that extra children and extra boarders are not as valuable of a contribution (whereas in the past at Geel, boarders were in many cases helpful, doing chores around the house and errands for the family).

The book also observes that the boarders are treated differently from the non-patients. The book states this in an almost pejorative way (although the book itself uses outdated language of "normal" and "non-normal"). I found this curious. My experience at L'Arche was always that the "community members" were treated differently from the "assistants." This wasn't a negative thing, in my opinion; it simply reflected the different strengths and weaknesses that each person brought to the community life.

A Random Assortment

~ A new mom's fashion observation: this looks a whole lot like a moby wrap.

~ "My Year as an Abortion Doula." I had no idea that there was such a thing. While firmly pro-choice, this (really painful to read) article is honest about some of the complications and difficulties and ethical issues with abortion.

~ Some very smart journalism from my favorite journalist: "The Best Urban Innovations Draw on Traditional Forms."

~ What we all need to avoid the horror that is surfing Netflix, looking for something to watch.

Baby Leopard

My favorite things: When he gets worked up and when he nurses he makes a tight little fist and holds it right up to his cheek. His little involuntary smiles, which come fast and furious after a good feeding. His fine eyelashes (I suspect he inherited Francisco's long eyelashes, because mine are nothing to write home about). The way he opens his mouth and throws his head back like a hungry baby robin whenever he sees me.

Also, our 80-something-year-old gardening neighbor met him yesterday. She said that she wants to plant a rose in his honor. She said, "I know you'll move and get a house, but you can bring him back here and show him where he was born."

JVS on Babies

In response to my comment that taking care of Baby Leopard is harder than reading Aristotle:

"ah the mysteries of life. you will learn more from baby than from Aristotle, and that is not to denigrate Aristotle's wisdom.

... new babies change you and the world, you know where you are supposed to be."

The Birth, Part 4

After the nurse and midwife spent time cleaning up the baby and taking our vital signs and putting us all back together, they left us for several hours so that we could sleep. After two hours, halfway through the time we were supposed to sleep, I woke up and felt like I was bleeding a lot. I asked Francisco to check and call the nurse. It turns out I was hemorrhaging. The nurse and midwife were on top of it quickly--giving me pitocin and cytotec to stop the bleeding, and catheterizing me (it turns out that the hemorrhage happened because my bladder filled up really full and didn't give my uterus room to contract). And then the midwife stuck her hand (twice) up into my uterus to get out the clots. I yelled again like I yelled when I was in labor. And the whole time, I was wondering (as was Francisco, poor man) if I was going to be ok. I've read enough romantic novels in which the woman dies of a hemorrhage after giving birth to know it was serious. I asked the midwife if I would be okay, and she said that I might have to go to the hospital next door for a D&C, which turned out not to be needed.

The next morning, I nearly passed out on the way to the bathroom from the blood loss (4 pounds). So then there was talk of discharging me from the birth center to the hospital, rather than to my home. But the nurse let me go home on the promise that I'd stay in bed for several days. The nurse and midwife said to each other, it's clear that this one will listen to us (they could see that I'm perfectly fine with being taken care of).

Thankfully, because my mother was staying with us after the birth, I could be essentially on bedrest for several days. I have no idea how people recover from the trauma of birth without being taken care of as completely as I was by both my mother and Francisco. (My mother was incredible--she put the baby to sleep and changed his diaper and cooked and cleaned and I, all over again, owe her everything--and, after going through childbirth, I am now aware of how much I really do owe her everything.)

The midwife who was there through the really hard stuff ever so nicely said that she noticed in my birth plan that I claimed that I didn't have a high pain tolerance, but she thought that I absolutely did. She also apologized later for hurting me when stopping the hemorrhage, the pain of which, of course, probably saved my life.

I spoke to my grandmother on the phone later, and she asked if I wished anything were different--if I wished for pain medicine or an epidural during the birth. The funny thing is, as much as I thought that the labor and delivery were hell, something I hope I never have to go through again, I never wished for any sort of medicine. Francisco and I were just overjoyed that we were able to deliver at the birth center, where we thought we received very good care.

I haven't mentioned much about Francisco: he was perfect. He supported me through every moment of labor and delivery, providing every comfort that he could. He was excellent, even though he was exhausted, too. I couldn't have done it without his encouragement, without the support he was whispering in my ear throughout the whole process. And now, seeing him be a father might just be the best part of having a child.

The Birth, Part 3

So I was out of the water and getting ready to push. The midwife I had for pushing I'd met before, and I thought she was my least favorite: she was very bossy in a way that felt slightly condescending. It turns out she was the perfect pushing coach: she was maternal and bossy, and I was in no position to ask questions or disagree. She coached me to my limits--always asking me to push one or two more times through a contraction than I thought I could. She was grunting and yelling right along with me. (I had a sore throat after the birth.) She suggested new positions every three or four contractions so that it didn't feel too monotonous. In the midst of pushing, she would teach me how to hang on Francisco for a supported squat or tell me about gorilla pushing. It was an education.

At some point, it seemed to me that the pushing wasn't going anywhere, because I remember asking, "Is he stuck?" Her response was, there's no such thing as a stuck baby, which convinced me that he was indeed a little stuck. And he was--he was in the posterior position and wasn't making his way out that way (and had quite a bulge to prove it when he finally did emerge). After lots of squatting and wiggling my hips to help him turn, he finally did turn, and my pushes started to move him down.

The feeling of him coming out was unlike anything I'd anticipated. Everyone said that the baby comes down so gradually that everything is numb; this wasn't exactly how I felt. I felt like I was going to split in half, like there was no room at all for him to come out, like I wasn't sure I wanted to keep pushing because I might just break open. Francisco agreed: the midwife had him look at the head emerging in order to encourage me and get me to keep pushing, but later he said that he only saw a tiny part of the head, and even as that part emerged, he wondered how in the world the whole head would fit out.

When Baby Leopard was born, they put him on me for a moment, although they were worried because there was meconium in the amniotic fluid, so they whisked him off to suck it out of his lungs. My mom and Francisco were pretty worried at this point, but I remember not being worried at all: I think I had no emotions or energy left. When they finished, they brought him back and he crawled up my chest (they're supposed to crawl right up to the breast and start nursing, but he was a little mad and just kept crawling up me). I was surprised (and continue to be) at how strong he was.

When the baby was born, I looked at Francisco and saw tears in his eyes. I was surprised that I didn't feel more emotions--I'm probably too selfish and concerned about my own physical trauma. I remember thinking that everyone says that you don't feel the stitches afterward, because you're so happy that the baby has arrived. I had to intentionally focus on the baby because I was annoyed at the stitches.

The Birth, Part 2

When we returned to the birth center, we learned a new midwife would be taking over (I think we had four midwives during the time we were there, not to mention four nurses). She wanted me to take castor oil. We also made me a reflexology appointment, since we were willing to try just about anything, and that had given me contractions the last time I'd used it. And at that point, my mom arrived to be with us. We were so grateful for her presence and that she was relatively fresh, since we were both tired out. My mother drove me to McDonald's to buy a milk shake to drink with the castor oil (I'd heard drinking castor oil was terrible, but found it to be just about the most innocuous part of this whole process), and then drove me to my reflexology appointment at a pedicure place. This reflexology person wasn't very good and that was probably a waste. When we returned to the birth center, I was anxious to walk around to get things going, but the midwife insisted that Francisco and I sleep--she said with great confidence that we need to rest now because I'll be getting down to hard work later (she was right). So we napped for an hour and a half or so.

When we woke up we had only a couple of hours left until 5 p.m. I didn't think there was any way I could be in active labor by then. The midwife gave me my first internal exam and said that I was 4 and a half or 5 cm dilated, and we were encouraged by that. At that point, the castor oil, a strong laxative, was really kicking in. And it was ramping up my contractions. 5 p.m. came and went, so I figured that they were happy enough with my labor and they were letting me stay. And I wasn't going to ask any questions about that. Around 6 or 7, they asked me if I'd like to use the Jacuzzi, which they offer during transition. I was really excited to try it. I didn't like laboring laying down (my favorite position was standing up, leaning against the wall in the door frame), but the Jacuzzi was quite relaxing in between contractions, although it didn't really help too much with the pain of the contraction itself (and it was harder for Francisco to reach my back to give me counterpressure for the pain). So I stayed in there. At that point, the contractions were very strong and I wasn't with it very much at all (before that point, there were always points between contractions in which I was myself and could talk and joke, but in the Jacuzzi, my eyes were closed and I was moaning or yelling, and I couldn't even always catch my breath).

And then I was surprised--after not very long I started to feel my body contort and push. I asked the midwife what I was supposed to do when I had that feeling and she said I was doing just the right thing--not pushing at all, but not resisting, either. It wasn't every contraction at the beginning, but some of the stronger ones. She said when every contractions made me feel that way, it would probably be time to push. The contractions made my body involuntarily bend and move, wanting to get that baby out of there.

Soon, she suggested that she examine me and that if it were time, we would push and if not, I could return to the Jacuzzi. At that point, she said I was fully dilated and effaced and that we were ready to push. I had only been in the Jacuzzi for an hour or two: that was the one part of the whole process at which I felt like I'd caught a lucky break; it didn't drag on forever.

The Cross

On the Feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross

We found out last night, on Baby Leopard's one-week birthday, that a dear friend of ours lost her baby in childbirth. I read the email with my son in my arms, and I don't think I've ever reacted so immediately and so strongly to an email or to a death--I couldn't breath and couldn't keep myself from crying. And I wouldn't let Francisco take the baby.

This sad news came in the midst of feeling overwhelmed myself, wondering what I'd gotten myself into with this baby, and wondering how I was going to make it through his infancy, not to mention the rest of his childhood. It made me realize that our baby is a gift, to which the only right response ever, even during the really hard parts, is thankfulness.

My friend went through the troubles of pregnancy, of labor, and even of an emergency C-section before losing her daughter. I can't think of any more difficult cross to bear. At mass today, which was offered for our friend's baby, the priest spoke about the cross--that Christ promises us neither health nor wealth nor success, but only that He will accompany us through our sufferings.

Please pray for our friends in their grief and for the repose of their daughter's soul.

The Birth, Part 1

Our baby was born on September 6th at 10:56 p.m., but the story begins on September 4th. That night, in the middle of the night, I started to wake up with contractions and slept the rest of the night on the couch on and off, so that I could make myself comfortable in the middle of the contractions without bothering Francisco, who I knew would need his sleep so he could help me out for the really hard work to come (little did I know how good the advice of our birth classes was on this point).

I slept myself, with long interruptions. But from the get go, the contractions were very painful in my back. In fact, I experienced them almost exclusively as back pain. I think this happens for one in four births and means that the baby is posterior (coming out facing up, rather than facing down like he should), and back labor is generally longer than average. I remember wondering during those first contractions how this was early labor and not late labor, as it was quite painful--I wondered how the contractions could get even more painful than they already were.

The contractions got regular sometime late morning on September 5th. I wasn't even sure I was in labor as I was just feeling back pain, back pain that required me to focus on it on the birth ball or on my hands and knees or in some other laboring position. But we called the midwives and they said it was probably labor, that I should take some Tylenol for my back and a bath. I ate a meal that morning, as they recommended, to keep my strength up, but from that point on I wasn't too hungry for much. Francisco did some errands for me and beginning early that evening started to support me and try to make me as comfortable as possible--providing counterpressure on my back, walking with me, slow dancing--all the things that they taught us for early labor. Around 5 p.m. I noticed amniotic fluid leaking during my contractions. We were eager for the contractions to progress and get to the point when they were coming every 4 minutes, were one minute long, and had been like that for an hour. That is the magic point at which you can go to the birth center and at which things generally really get going. After walking for 45 minutes, and then sleeping for an hour (in between the contractions), we were at that point. It was 2 a.m. and we thought we were really getting to business.

We went to the birth center to meet the midwife and later learned that she thought that the contractions at that point were mild and we probably came in too early. I guess she's right--she knows what she's talking about, but the back pain never ever felt mild to me. Over the night we continued laboring together--Francisco supporting me excellently through each contraction. But from our arrival at the birth center, rather than continuing to ramp up, it seemed that the contractions were getting more and more infrequent. By the time it was morning, they were noticeably slowed and we started to worry: if I wasn't in active labor (contractions that were 2-3 minutes apart) by 5 p.m., I would have to leave the birth center and be induced at the hospital. This active labor goal seemed impossible to us--my body seemed to be slowing everything down rather than speeding everything up. And induction and our hoped-for natural birth seemed incredibly incompatible: I've heard laboring after being induced with pitocin is very painful.

Our sweet midwife, Jane, suggested that Francisco and I walk to a bagel place a couple of blocks from the birth center and have breakfast together, and then come back and have a rest, and then we would talk about our options for helping my body move along toward birth. At that point we were exhausted and unsure of ourselves and I broke down crying to Francisco as soon as we left the birth center. It seemed that my hope for our delivery was slipping away, and I was imagining a C-section. Even though I'm generally a worst-caser, before our labor slowed, I'd been optimistic that I would have a 16-hour labor or something like that, and that was turning out to be nowhere near the case.

A Random Assortment

~ A 4-part series by Pete Dexter on a 1982 heavyweight championship fight:

So in boxing, like anyplace else, gifts aren't everything, and the kind you give yourself are the ones that matter most, at least at this level.

~ I love Bill Cunningham.

~ Wow: the Sendak collection will be leaving one of my favorite museums, the Rosenbach (sorry--it's behind a paywall and I don't know how to get around it).

~ An Eliot family summer home for sale. We've been wanting a place in New England... (Via Hopkins.)

Best Response to Baby Leopard's Birth

"He's awesome. I heard all the other little baby girls are trying to get his number. I hope you're doing well. I can't wait to meet the little guy." --text from #1tomatolover

A Diary of Pregnancy: The End

Baby Leopard has arrived, but I'll give you the last bits of my pregnancy diary for completion's sake. You can bet I'll write all about the birth in due time (hopefully before I forget about it--it's already seeming a bit rosier than it was, which is to say, not rosy at all, aside from him arriving). We're all getting to know each other now, and I guess I'm still tired, since I tried to put deodorant on my lips instead of chapstick this morning. 

Still 40 weeks:

~ This made my day: While complaining to the department secretary about being overdue, she wrote:

Hope the time goes fast you little setting hen!

~ I called the midwives today to ask them if I should start using Evening Primrose Oil to hurry this baby up. A nurse called back with a message from a midwife--she said it was fine to use Evening Primrose Oil and also to tell me that she promises that I won't be pregnant forever. She knew exactly what was on my mind.

~ Eating pineapple, which is supposedly a labor-inducer.

When I got home after the birth, my mother tried to feed me pineapple, which just brought back lots of bad memories of contractions. I think I'll stay away from it for a while. The same goes for Evening Primrose Oil. 

Into Great Silence

Into Great Silence is a nearly three-hour, mostly silent documentary that follows the Carthusian monks who make Chartreuse (more on that later). It documents the asceticism of their order and the beauty of their surroundings. It's quite a film--there isn't much sound at all, and there are hardly any words, although the few that are there are very moving (a blind monk talks about God seeing the whole of our lives whenever He looks at us, and only permitting what works for our good--the monk said he thanks God for making him blind, because he knows it's for his good).

The other words that punctuate the film are lines written on a black background--"Oh Lord, you have seduced me and I was seduced" and "Anyone who does not give up all he has cannot be my disciple."

The filmmaker, Philip Groning, doesn't use artificial light in his shots, so there are lots and lots of vintage-looking grainy shots (Francisco says the technical term is "noise"). Plus, the lives of the monks themselves are stark: they take most of their meals in their cells, like prisoners, coming together on Sundays and solemnities for meals in common. They take a walk once a week. He gives you long video photos of the monks, as they stare at the camera--they seem almost uncomfortable in front of the camera: it's clear they aren't used to being filmed or photographed. In fact, when the filmmaker asked to come and film them, it took them 16 years to agree to it.

One delightful scene is of the monks sledding down a hill. It's amazing to see them being playful in the midst of so much sobriety and ritual.

A word about the Chartreuse: there are extra scenes on the second dvd with the Chartreuse-making, which I was sad that they left out of the main film until I watched them: they don't fit with Into Great Silence at all. The Chartreuse-making was loud and mechanized (probably far less than any other liquor-manufacturing, but still), and not quiet and peaceful. Plus, it's pretty hard to understand a manufacturing process without any words.

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Kronuts made it all the way to little old Philly. Aren't we cutting edge?

A Diary of Pregnancy

40 weeks:

~ To celebrate my due date, Francisco and I went to Cape May, the cutest town on the Jersey Shore (also very family-friendly, so we're excited to bring Baby Leopard back once he's born).

~ It is so so weird for it to be the beginning of fall and me not to be preparing for classes, whether as a student or as a teacher. That's what I've done for as long as I can remember, and I don't know what to do with myself now that it's not happening. I'm not entirely comfortable with it.

~ This is a tortuously long ending to pregnancy: my body keeps giving me more and more signs that labor is getting closer, then pulls back and everything is normal for a while. And sleep is getting more and more difficult--it's hard to sleep when you're having contractions and wondering if tonight is the night!

~ I cleaned the house once again from top to bottom--this is the ugly cycle of nesting. I'm pretty sure this is the third time I've done this while hoping the baby would arrive. (This is the downside of having my mother come for the birth: having the consummate housekeeper staying with you means that you can't just live like you normally do.)

~ Just had a birth center appointment. The news was not good. It appears to be the case that I will be pregnant forever. Let's just say, they didn't think I was particularly close to giving birth, which is not the news that I was hoping to hear. My husband had to take me out for milkshakes afterward to console me. As my friend wrote,

Going post-due is THE WORST, I totally feel for you, it messes with your head so much and just wears you down. All I did was eat and feel sorry for myself when my first two babies were each 11 days post-due.

I'm committed to just eating and feeling sorry for myself at the moment. Also: the pool closed and I'm pretty sure this is the hottest week of the summer.

Calvary

As a last-minute before the baby date, I let Francisco take me to the movies. (A particularly good pre-baby date because going to the movies doesn't require me to be delightful and make nice conversation: I basically just have to sit there in the very nice cool air conditioning. I mean, it's still hard to get me out of the house, especially when we have our own movie-theater-like set-up, but it's not impossible.)

We're quite fortunate to have a little independent theater two miles from our apartment, an independent theater in a lovely old building.

One description of Calvary that compared it to a murder mystery was what sold me. And Francisco and I were pretty impressed with the film overall.

The set-up is this: In the confessional one disaffected parishioner declares his intention to murder the good parish priest, to whom he's confessing, in one week's time in retribution for his abuse by a now-dead priest as a child. Throughout the film, the viewers get to know the rather dysfunctional characters in the small town, and get to see the priest's difficult decisions while pastoring them. And he is, indeed, a good priest, although with demons of his own (Francisco aptly compared it to a Graham Greene novel).

One of the things that you see the priest suffer is always being called to defend the Catholic Church as a whole and to explain the sexual abuse. The priest is never not a priest--he can never just mix and mingle into the town; he's called upon at any moment to listen to the characters' complaints and difficulties, and doesn't really have anyone with whom he can share his own (more pressing) difficulties.

Somehow, even with that set-up, the ending managed to surprise me a little. The film moved slowly, but with such good characters and dialogue that was interesting without being stiltingly philosophical (like Whit Stillman's) that it was a pleasure to watch.

A Random Assortment

~ PAL on disability and abortion and the ability to love and be loved.

~ APSA drama (not sorry to have missed that part).

~ One of my students sent me this article about a Herland-esque town.

~ "Why Did Crowd Flee Shanghai Subway After Foreigner Fainted?" #1tomatolover told us about this phenomenon when he came back from China; this piece offers no answer, but some theories (I'm very curious about this and nearly always bring it up when I teach Tocqueville).