Estranged

I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains

2011-12-31T18:02:00.000-08:00

2011 brought unbelievable heartache for many of my friends. There are travelers who left the road this year and won't journey on with us. My grandfather was among them. I have to acknowledge that pain because it spun around me so often this year; I was very aware of it--the shadow--the shape of things to come. For us--I mean the tiny molecule of life that is Rachel + Jonny--we were given the gift of abundant life. We went wandering through the dawn of this new life together, open door by open door.

Here are the 2011 awards for the Brown-Strange household:

Favorite Child: J. Chai

Best New Artist (to us): Fleet Foxes

Drugs of Choice: Jolly Ranchers chews, Kombucha tea

New Skills: play therapy, growing kombucha, breastfeeding, birthzeal

Best Relationship Enhancement: re-creating famous dates of the past, walks and hikes, slow dancing, playing with baby, roadtrips

Noteworthy Vicios: facebook, birth stories, blogstalking, League of Legends, staying up until 4 most nights

Most crazymaking hellbeasts: the bedbugs that plagued us for most of the fall.

Most Embarrassing Moment: tied between lighting my bra on fire in my mother in law's microwave and accidentally alerting the neighbors by screaming for help when Jonny and I were playing around in the backyard

Unexpectedly Awesome: Closer friendships with siblings and their spouses. Law & Order SVU. The songs from Team America. Co-sleeping.

Joyful and Triumphant: The arrival of Chai! and his kick-a homebirth, graduating with my MSW, getting hired at the FSTC as a part-time therapist, Jonathan's acceptance to the Advanced Standing MSW program at the University of Utah (SO PROUD!)

During August, in the third level of interviews for my job, Stuart asked me what I'd learned about myself with having my first year of marriage+ being pregnant in grad school + having my first child all in the same few months. I said that I couldn't really say that it was some harrowing experience that I'd had to overcome, because it was mostly just a joy. What did I learn about myself? If I'd had my thoughts collected, I would have said, I learned that I could really be happy! That I'd found myself brightly delighted with marriage and my baby, not the drudgery and lost identity I feared. I have my "bright companion" to thank for that. I know I won't be lost as long as we are together.

This year will always be special because I brought my son into the world. It is the greatest thing I've ever done. I learned so much from the day I birthed him, it was a triumphant and overpowering moment of strength and vulnerability that quenched thousands of fearful moments of being lessthan. But I didn't know him then. I had no idea. I didn't understand. I loved him, I adored him and wept over him, but I didn't understand that he was Chai. I remember looking so bewildered at the grayish otherworldy frog in my arms. Now his smells and sweet sleepy motions are as natural to me as my own breathing, his hands that pat my face as he nurses and all his quick and slow smiles. I love that little boy so much. I love his daddy. I'm so glad for all the time we had together this year. Almost seven months together. This summer was so vibrantly beautiful. It wasn't that adjusting was never hard--I remember those evenings when Chai howled for hours and we white noised, sang, rocked, swaddled, endured--but at the same time, the rough patches were brief and we had these glowing magical hours where we just marveled at him and enjoyed each other. I learned from Chai's birth the same lesson I've been piecing together all my life--pain comes in stages, and in between there are moments to breathe and laugh and feel alive and excited by the great adventure that life is. To look around and fall in love with the people around you.

2011 was intense, but kind. I thank God for every beautiful moment we lived free and safe and happy. You never know when one of those things might be compromised. People always talk about not taking things for granted, but everyone always does--you can't fully appreciate the depth and breadth of anything while you have it in your arms. The meaning and power of it swells in its absence. Nevertheless, my "theme" for 2012 is three words that a wise sage once said are the secret to happiness (also a Mason Jennings song, very good Mason!):

BE HERE NOW.

And here to finish the year off are a thousand pictures!

January

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

Songs of 2011:

Team America Soundtrack

Hurt--Johnny Cash/Julia/Laura Lowe cover

The Cave, Mumford & Sons

Little Lion Man, Mumford & Sons

King & Queen, Okkervil River

New Friends, Yo Gabba Gabba

I Believe, Book of Mormon Musical

You and Me (but Mostly Me), Book of Mormon Musical

Turn it Off, Book of Mormon Musical

Balloons, Yo Gabba Gabba

The Boxer, Simon and Garfunkel

Somebody Loved, the Weepies

Autumn to May, Peter Paul & Mary

Battery Kinzie, Fleet Foxes

Helplessness Blues, Fleet Foxes

Tiger Mountain Peasant Song, Fleet Foxes

Take us to heaven to live with thee there

2011-12-25T23:10:00.000-08:00

I think the holidays can be so amazing, but they also throw into starker contrast the have-nots and what is broken and disjointed from the jubilant family party merrymaking time. Some have nowhere to go "home for the holidays." It’s not merry for so many. And it makes me hate the Santa myth even more, because if he (He?) were real why would there be children who get nothing, some who get fine gifts and some who get little crappy things? Sub for Santa programs because…if your parents can’t afford it or don’t care, he isn't coming. If you tell the truth, it doesn't seem as cruel, and you can learn some lovely things about human beings instead of ascribing that loveliness to something that doesn't exist. I loathe the Santa myth because it sounds so much like an allegory for God, (obedience is to blessings as good behavior is to presents) and I hate that at the end when they get wise you say “Santa isn’t real, but it’s fun to pretend to believe in him, so don’t tell the little ones and ruin the magic.” It gives me shudders.

Today I looked over while my husband was reading and saw this word: EMMANUEL: God with us. I can’t think of anything more beautiful. I hope it’s still true. If empathy is "feeling with" someone, putting yourself in their place and identifying with their experiences, Christ's life was the definition of empathy. That's why the story is so beautiful, it is one of mercy long before the garden and the cross or even the miracles. The mercy starts with the vulnerability of a baby being born in the cold, the vulnerability of a baby being hated by some before he was even born. He was unwelcome. He was innocent and came to know ugliness just like every single person in the world, had that jarring awakening to pain. It was so kind of him to come and walk our path. It makes me feel so much love for him. Just like us, God with us, even though no part of him ever belonged here (no one starts out belonging here, but most of us grow into it). I love the song "Oh Come oh Come Emmanuel" because I feel that plea for deliverance, and I need it.

I liked going to church today and singing and being able to draw Christmas out for as long as possible--Gift of the Heart last night and each person reading a scripture about light--sibling gifts this morning--"Mom's Christmas" afterwards. I wish we always just sang during church and stopped speaking as much. There is something about music that allows for endless depths of possibility and hope and sometimes words, as much as I love them, are too clipped and narrow to contain what my soul longs for. Today I found it in the Christmas hymns and in watching the people in the choir react to a little handicapped boy who was on the front row in his wheelchair. Several of them sang to him and were moved to tears. I counted the "marks of woe" in their faces--I know about their losses, even those I don't know well, I could tick them off on my fingers--lost child, lost husband, lost job, no grandchildren yet and time is running out--I thought about what they must be thinking as they were singing those words, what they were hoping for."the weary world rejoices," it really is a weary world for so many. "Risen with healing in his wings." I let my crusading banners of differentiation droop at my sides and I just thought of people and how they need to be loved, how humbled I felt by the glorious child in my arms, for all the good in the world, for the hope of healing I have in Christ. I am hoping, I am trusting in Him to be able to lift all of this with his healing wings.

For my gift to siblings and their spouses, I found out their favorite picture books from childhood and gave them back to them. It was so fun giving everyone the books this morning—some of the inscriptions made people tear up, which made me happy. I liked seeing my siblings as the children they used to be--the little boy who loved dinosaurs so much--the sister who fled with me from the orphanage and lived with me in the forest (in our games)--the little brother whose book I read to him thousands of times when he was 3. It’s miraculous and heartbreaking that we are grown up, that the “in-laws” are a regular fixture now instead of a novelty. Every moment of this present reality is so glorious and you never know when everything will change forever, and one day all of this will seem so far away and sweet. So I am loving it today.

Here is Lolly Business at our annual dinner at the Pope's table at Bucca de Beppo. I wish I had pictures of Christmas with the Stranges, but I didn't bring my camera. It was awesome though. Chai has a cousin who is about 9 months older than he is and so adorable. I can't wait until they are older and can play together. Chai's grandmother Strange was so kind to get him some beautiful books, toys, and clothes! I think everyone's favorite was the bear suit. I must eventually post a picture of that, maybe I will even write a whole post about it because it's the cutest thing I've ever SEEN!

Merry Christmas monkey boy!

Here we are on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day in the morning!

I love both of my Jonathans SO much.

This is from some weeks earlier. In the role of a lifetime, Chai played the Little Lord Jesus at a family party. He was brilliant and memorable for about 10 minutes, after which he hurled himself out of the manger and had to be rescued by my cousin (Mary and the shepherds were totally negligent) and was most unceremoniously replaced by a baby doll. My aunt started calling him "The artist formerly known as Baby Jesus."

Remember how before he was born we called him the Wondrous Little Stranger? And here he is, as the O.G Little Stranger! Check it! No crying he makes!

Christmas break really has been spectacular. There were many magnificents presents and magnificent persons present, but Emily, Abby and Mary get special shoutouts because I know they read my blog. Oh loyal my sisters! Here is Emily with Biscuit in the Santa suit she made him. Emily is a crafting genius, nay, a crafting savant. This Christmas alone, she made Jonathan a picture frame out of a computer motherboard (it's the most amazing thing we've ever laid eyes on, and we might start co-sleeping with it along with Chai) and she made this beauty for my father--out of a bike wheel!

The pictures are of races my father has won. It's incredible, and my Dad loved it so much!

And here is lovely Mary, who finally got what she always wanted--a "passionate bosom strap." I love Auntie Mahwah so much!

Here is Mahwah again with her GOTH present from Jonny--they had each other for Gift of the Heart. She gave him a kit with some hemp stuff and even finished some of the pieces he had made for himself years ago with his own beads (the picture was blurry!) and he made her a tree branch jewelry holder for all of her pretty pendants and feathers. I think it turned out really cool.
Abby made such a sweet present for Dit--a Japanese lantern, on which she painstakingly drew all of his favorite animals (no small task as Dit has exotic and particular tastes). Everyone was so touched when we saw this!

Here is Abby-yo-yo herself holding up the dress Cow made for her. It looked gorgeous on her and even matched perfectly with the shark stockings she got the next day:

These are all the presents I got for Chai. Just kidding! I actually got him no presents, because I knew he would get millions from his devoted grandmothers. He did. I feel kind of bad that this post is in no way comprehensive, but just trust me, it was super merry and introspective Christmas. :) I hope yours was, too.

I would be measured by the soul, the mind's the standard of the man.

2011-12-09T23:15:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago Jon and I saw The Elephant Man at BYU with some friends from my MSW cohort. It was an intense, intelligent production. The play was based on the life of Joseph Casey Merrick and I loved it not because it was pleasant, but because there was truth in it, truth that punched me right in the gut of my secret hypocrisies. My supervisor told me that being a therapist doesn't mean having perfect relationships--that's not possible, but it involves admitting your faults, acknowledging where you are lacking and that you are on a journey to figuring things out, overcoming your own darkness and becoming whole. We can know a lot about what would heal us, or just make us healthier, and still refrain from doing it. With that in mind, here is some of what I learned from The Elephant Man:

First, the play offered the conjecture that a deformity or malformation only becomes a flaw if we ascribe it that meaning. It also toys with the idea that many of the attributes that we admire in our culture are actually horrible deformities, we just don't label them as such, and even look on them as virtues. This idea made my thoughts take a very "Revelation" turn (the-first-shall-be-last-and-the-last-shall-be-first), and it occurred to me that even beauty can be a "deformity" if it makes you corrupt, shallow, and selfish, but society will support and applaud that deformity, whereas Joseph Merrick's left him friendless, cast out, and despised.

The play was written with the author's stated intent being to deliberately offend and "alienate" the audience. The actor who portrayed Merrick made the [brilliant] choice to demonstrate Merrick’s deformity by constantly drooling, hasta having strings of saliva swinging from his chin and spraying spit when he talked. One part of my brain was raining with compassion--when other characters recoiled at him, I felt hurt on his behalf and ranted in my mind--“I would have been kind to Merrick! I would have been his friend! How could those people be so awful?” while one was repulsed by the spit insomuch that I wanted to gag when I looked at him, so I found myself averting my eyes whenever the actor spoke. Oh. I get it now. I was amazed that the actor had found a way to stir in the audience a sense of revulsion for Merrick reminiscent of what his contemporaries surely experienced. It was a BYU audience, presumably more soft-hearted and primed to feel pity than most, but he made us recoil. So then I had to deal with that urge to recoil, and think about where else it shows up, how it conflicts with other facets of my character, and what it means.

One of the most interesting aspects of this play was that every character BUT Merrick and Treves, the doctor who arranged for him to live at the hospital, wears a mask throughout the play. The idea is that we all have something we desperately wish to hide--a "deformity" of our own--and that we are rarely truly genuine. At one point a woman removes her mask and this is symbolic of her actually being completely naked. Another character screams at her "Woman, clothe yourself!" Sometimes we don't wish to see each other as we really are--or to be seen. It's too frightening, too sad, it would make us too ashamed. Merrick couldn't hide the flaws on his skin; most of us have the ability to hide quite a bit about ourselves. I thought about the masks I have had throughout my life, for different people, and what I have hidden. How many masks flaked off like dead skin cells when I met my husband, and others that are part of my own skin it seems. I thought about the things I am still masking and what it would take to remove each one. (This is a good thing to journal about, if you want to go there).

There was an interesting constrast between the way the upper and lower classes responded to Merrick. The poor maltreated him, placed him in a freak show, beat him, robbed him, gawked at him and used him for their own pleasure (entertainment and voyeuristic interest). The rich paid for a permanent “home” for him, sent him gifts, visited him, and used him for their own pleasure (it was “in vogue” to look upon him and tell the tale, voyeuristic interest).

The play briefly touched on the idea that no one saw nothing innately “him” that they could love, only what they superimposed as their reflections in him. There was a scene where people proclaimed that Merrick had various qualities--pointing out that he was insecure, well-read, soft-spoken, etc. always ending with the statement: “He is so much like me.” This made me think about empathy, the idea of feeling with someone at the connecting joints of humanity: pain, rapture, grief. Is empathy selfish, because what we “feel with” is only a reverberation or extension of our own feelings? So pity for anyone is really self-pity, and love for anyone is really self-love?

Lastly: Wanting to be “like others” was what finally killed Merrick (in real life, and in the play). Because of the weight of his head, Merrick had to sleep sitting up, but was attempting to sleep lying down in order to be more like other people, whom he desperately wanted to be accepted by. In the scene of his death, the ghosts of women who were once his companions in the freak show sing to him: “Sleep like others you’ve learned to admire, sleep like your mother, sleep like your sire.” I thought about the idea that trying to be like others is what kills us, and I've determined that it is true, at the very least for a myriad of tiny deaths. The death of authenticity, the quelling of a free spirit, the quieting of so many words, "songs we never share." How has wanting to be like others killed parts of you?

I don't know that these thoughts have driven me towards any definite conclusion, just fragmented hope that I can move towards offering an authentic self and work to provide a safe place for anyone I meet to be accepted, to know that they are worthwhile.

Also, here is a sweet picture of Chai being an adorable love, to remind us that there are easy/lucky/free things in the world as well as heavy and complex things. Oh, my own Lolly!

If I had an orchard I'd work till I'm sore

2011-11-28T23:02:00.000-08:00

Since I wrote last I've written five thousand shadow posts in my head and submerged myself in the conundrum of whether I still want a blog at all. Certainly I don't have far away, or even near relatives who read it, I'm not deft enough in my opinions for it to be a useful philosophy or ideas blog, and I'm not daft enough in my opinions for it to be bereft of those things. Also I'm not crafty or foodie or crunchee or fashion-y, and if I'm not offering anything useful, aren't I just another empty bid for attention in the tumultuous sea of cyberspace? And is that good for me to put so much of my heart out for passive strangers to peruse? What's the point of that?

I started thinking about why Jonathan and I started this blog together; it was basically a mutual love letter we wrote back and forth in our frenzied dopamine-laced haze, our "obsession with each other" as the blog description states. In my sage wisdom and experience of a marriage nearly 16 months old, I can tell you my obsession with Darling Jonny is alive and well, but I feel trepidation in sharing the kinds of things I did at the beginning, and that makes me sad. Of course--some things are too meaningful to write about, they only belong to us, but it's not just that. At the beginning there seemed to be so much support for waving our love like a banner. Everyone was so excited about our relationship, our wedding, our choosing each other. Blogging was also a way for me to give voice to what had become the most significant thing in my life. I found truth! I found what Conor sang about longing for, “To be loved! And believed! In my soul!” I found that despite that I had thought before, I could be happy! For me, it felt like I couldn’t stop reeling that this miracle. I don’t think most people who know me only superficially could comprehend the thickness of the cynicism that was caked onto my soul. Dating Jonathan changed me so much, woke me up into who I really was. Maybe on some level everyone expects to feel that way, or hopes for it. But I really didn’t…for what felt like such a long time. All I wanted to do was tell that story and share what it meant to me. I wanted to document every little piece that fit together so beautifully. After we got married, it seemed that less was expected. Whenever I lifted that banner, it seemed to annoy people. One of my siblings called me out on writing lovesick sappy facebook statuses and asked me if I had a need to flaunt the idea that I have this great relationship. I felt wounded. “I’m just excited,” I said in a small voice. I wanted to celebrate my excitement just as—honestly—I like to celebrate songs I like or movies that touch me or ideas that resonate with me. I feel things very deeply and just as my sorrow is deep, my enthusiasm can be explosive. But I started to realize that when that enthusiasm had to do with a marriage, it could be threatening or hurtful to others. It could be perceived as arrogance and bragging and of course everyone hates that. I know there are some who equate being positive with being fake. And truthfully no, our relationship isn’t “perfect” in the sense that we never hurt each other or that we succeed in treating each other lovingly 100% of the time. But that was just as true (in some ways much more true) when we were dating. We are both real...we both bring our pain and insecurities to the table and sometimes we misunderstand. I wouldn't want to avoid those times though because the journey we take to resolve them is invaluable and I'm sure Jonathan would agree, has created some of the most humbling and beautiful moments we've experienced. I want to write about the joy I feel in our life together because it is still a miracle unfolding to me. I'm so crazy about my husband...he is brilliant and fascinating and he inspires me. But I feel that although expressing those thoughts was expected at a certain time, now it is considered obnoxious. And I feel self-conscious. I don't know if this is an appropriate medium for that anymore, because of course I can write about that as much as I like without sharing. If you have any feedback about this I would love to be fed that feedback :).

Someday soon I will write a post about how much I love my job (only slightly less than I love Star Wars), Christmas (much more than I love Thanksgiving), lessons I learned from The Elephant Man (at least three) and poetry (if I ever finish a poem). But now it is Chai time that I wrote about Chai. He is a delightful, delicious baby, and not just because his name lends himself to many puns and rhymes with almost everything. He is a gleeful squish. In the last 6 months since that glory drenched day in early June he has become my darling companion and friend. He is the soft movements by my side at night, the warbler bleating for my attention when my gaze turns away, the shrieking eel of excitement when either his Dad or I get home from work, the chunk of sunshine glowing in the morning.

In the month of November Chai has changed so much! His advancements have brought him the grave realization that at any given moment, he might not be having as much fun as he could be. When before he was content to lay sweetly and beautifully where he was placed, now he writhes, twists, and wrenches himself around, rolls under furniture and up against walls where, if stuck, he wails piteously until repositioned. He can support himself on his hands and knees mostly smartly and is just hours away from crawling. It hasn’t quite occurred to him yet that he could propel himself forward. Secretly I’m hoping he won’t get it for awhile…once he has means to flee what will keep him in my arms?

I remember talking to one of my friends while in Romania about how far we would go to make fools of ourselves so the orphans would laugh (far). I love to sing and dance for Chai because it brings him such joy. We have a myriad of little games that we play, secret sweet little games like the knock/beep on his forehead and nose, draw a magic circle, conducting an orchestra when music is on, peek-a-boo, blowing raspberries in his neck, the “my dad is awesome” speeches, pretending to look away and then jumping on him, he jumps every time and screams with laughter.

He reaches for things and is busily trying to fit the whole world into his mouth, one finger, tabletop, blanket, carpet, kitty tail at a time. He has realized that often what people are holding is food, delicious food being kept from him! He must have it! And he must taste everything, just in case something delectable is being kept from him. He will find it out and eat it.

It’s the most fun ever having a baby. He holds my hand now while he’s nursing. He is more hardy and firmer and quicker than he used to be. He goes to sleep NEVER. He’s been ranging from 12 to 1 AM lately and I don’t want to mess with him but I wouldn’t mind if he didn’t take after us so much quite yet. I've discovered that I have fantastic mother’s intuition that comes up with perfect names for him, like Lolly Friendship Applegum, business, Lolly-business, Little Man, Manimal, Bunny-one, Hermano Lipari (named after a man in our Spanish ward of whom we are fond).

Chai eats all manner of yogurt, smoothies, occasional baby food, sucks on fruit when I let him, and once famously chowed down on a lemon in a most matter-of-fact and businesslike manner. He has been known to pilfer food from plates with lightning speed. He looks fantastic in hats, just like his daddy. Chai loves to be around people and his heart breaks when he is taken away from a party. He is a party...he is a magical creature, like Jonny always says. We love him so much!

Pond scum. I want to cut Jonny's hair. He's been growing it out because I had a fantasy of him having a ponytail, like Lumiere, but it's taking too long.

Handsome Jonny on the dating scene.

Falling asleep being a CUTIE in his swing.

Feasting on the word.

Frog legs.

Frog face.

Making out with auntie Mahwey.

WWII Chai.

Oh sweet mah toes!

This was an important day. Chai meets his beloved for the first time. Beautiful Scarlet, who was 10 lbs and BORN AT HOME! Go Laurel! I'm so proud of my amazing friend.

Chai and this drink are both "Daddy's rockstar." Heh. I like this shirt although I really do despise the thick and obtuse genderizing of baby clothes.

Raking leaves to win favor with my husband :)

Chai and I practicing our smizing.

Oh how I love him. Darling, darling one!

All I ever need, in my soul.

LOLLY. FRIENDSHIP. APPLEGUM.

In the mother's lounge at church. Chai is irreligious and has not made it through sactown since his first one ever, when he was 5 days old.

I had some coupons for a photo shoot at Sears that turned out to be the biggest ripoff imaginable. I'm devastated that we never got to take REAL family pictures with the gorgeous leaves this fall. That's okay though. Chai will still be lovely next year, and I shall be skinner (please bless).

Most lolly EVER.

Eating the tablecloth. I love how everyone is so enchanted with him.

Jon thinks Chai looks like Darth Vader without the mask on.

Chai and his gorgeous grandmother. I mean really.

SQUISH!

Hasta ver!

How fleet the foxes

2011-10-31T23:08:00.000-07:00

NOTES ON HALLOWEEN:

*I'm proud of myself for creating these costumes 20 minutes before we left for a party. Jonny and I were gypsies and Chai was (who else?) Slim Shady. My 17 year old self would be so proud.

*The purple vest Jonathan is wearing is from an ACTUAL GYPSY I met at the hospital in Romania. Dangerously legit.

*My skirt is from an ACTUAL CHRISTMAS DANCE I went to in high school. Huh. That didn't sound as cool.

*I desperately wanted to take Chai trick or treating for the sole and shameful purpose of collecting free candy for myself. In the end I couldn't bring myself to do it. Luckily I got a lot of free candy anyway.

*Chai was a horrifically cute rapper and delighted all who saw him. He wears a beanie well, as does his handsome father.

*We had fun with the Lowes. I told Laura she should use Halloween as an opportunity to show how "scary" the medical paradigm of birth is, and she could dress up as Pitocin or this famous OB at UVRMC who gives famously terrible episiotomies.

*I'm so glad Halloween is over. Now I can freely begin celebrating Christmas, and the sooner we get to Christmas, the sooner summer can come again. I don't have much use for fall.

Oh, what I'd give for a hundred years, but the physical interferes...

2011-10-09T23:20:00.000-07:00

This may be a little bleak, but I feel the need to write about this. Most of the time this feels like an echo anyway.

My father's father died last month. I am sadder than I can say that I only met him a handful of times in my life. I think I mildly charmed him as a little girl; when I was older I grew more aware of the disconnect and more appalled at the way he and my grandmother gnawed at one another's lonely bones. It hurt me to hear about how his cancer caused him to suffer terrible pain and indignities. I was humiliated on his behalf, I longed for him to go out whole and confident, be spared the idea of his "frail deeds danc[ing] in a green bay". He worked so hard, slaved for his humble noble business well into his eighties and then sold it to a crook. The idea that he might have left my grandmother with nothing crushed him. My dad started flying back east, back in time, now there was so little time left. When he passed away, my heart ached for the memories I never had with him; for the relationship that never existed between us. It was too late now to get to know him, and I mourned for that. I grieved the dreadful truth that I didn't know him well enough to miss him. It seemed so wrong. That my "loss" at his death was just the final loss of my never knowing him at all.

I feel like death has been slamming its fist all around me lately. I've felt the tremors, but people I know have been knocked off their feet. I am so sorry, so helpless when I see their bleeding pain. There are so many souls I have known that have gone. So many of them younger than I am. By their own hand, seized by a treacherous illness, strangled in the clutch of addiction, struck by a cruel accident, withered and weakened by years. I don't understand! I don't understand how a personality could be extinguished from the earth so completely that so that they only go on existing in our memories, when we are gone what shadow will remain of them? How dare we ever say that anyone is better off? Out of their suffering? Wouldn't it have been better to be spared the suffering and to go on living? I know I am going to lose someone close to me, and if I live long enough I may lose nearly everyone close to me. What is this life that we can be so vulnerable to falling out of it? Like we're living upside down and lucky if we can stay in our shoes long enough for the 80 years we hope for.

This is a journal entry that explores the feeling I have right now better than I can do tonight :(*names have been changed*)

July 15 2011

I have to write down what I’m feeling tonight…I feel so glowing peaceful and happy but I also feel stifled with fear? Respect? Trepidation? For the fragility of existence and the fleetingness of time (yes surprise surprise!). The other night Jonny and I went to an MSW reunion bbq at Lindy’s house. Nate was there and I told him I was so sorry to hear about his son’s problems. He mentioned to me that it was nice to hear my baby cry since his baby can’t make any noise with the trach (in case I’m reading this years later, their son was due after mine but was born 6-7 weeks early. He has some seriously compromising health problems).Natalie’s and my old roommate had her twin boys at 20 weeks and they both died within a few days, but not before having tubes and wires wound through their little bodies, tearing their fragile skin. That kind of suffering—both for the babies and for the parents—makes me feel a cold sick secret dread. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to lose a child. Why was my baby born perfect and healthy and theirs were not? I talked with Jonny about that this morning. How cruel the world is to children! How ugly and beastly it is that there are people who torture and deliberately destroy little children’s bodies. I read blogs today of people whose lives are awash with loss—the woman whose husband is blind and her 2 year old brain damaged, another family whose little girl fell in a swimming pool and drowned. And Lindy the other night, when I remarked that her daughter had been so sweet with my baby, she said that Daisy loves babies, especially since she can’t have any of her own. That hurts so badly! Why? There is so much suffering, and even those losses one could argue are little more pale in light of children in Africa who starve, who are gang raped or watch their families murdered. The world is swarming with grief. I went on a little walk tonight and thought, what grief has really touched me? Pain for my family, my father’s loneliness. I worried all day that Dit was involved in some scam and was going to be either human trafficked or horrifically disappointed. And of course as you well know all my pain pain pain in the over all the lovestruck Romeos, but please. None of that is even in the same universe as holding your baby while its heart stops beating, or worse finding your child brutalized and murdered. Getting a call saying your husband passed away. I was walking and I saw the sunset and the mountains gently cradling this city, and I loved our rural street and was filled with joy at the beauty of what I was seeing, my happiness at my husband and son tucked away in my house with turquoise walls. I made dinner tonight and registered for the CSW exam, made plans to teach in young women’s and thought of ideas for Abby’s bridal shower. What lack I yet? Rather, I want for nothing! My life is SO good! And so part of me wonders, this searing finger of suffering, when is it going to touch us? I know I can do hard things, I’ve overcome anxiety and worked hard when I needed to, but I know I’ve never really felt it burn me as others have. But no one escapes life unscathed, right? So will it be my marriage? Will depression one day begin eating my brain and heart and turn me into a bitter marionette who makes my marriage sour? Who will I lose? Who will I NOT lose? Oh Lord, I know suffering hollows us out to be filled with good things, and I want those good things, but please protect my family! Please spare my children and my sweet husband. He is so dear to me. Let us not be part of the casualties scraped off the earth every day. I know there’s no guarantee of safety and protection—our bodies can turn on us at any time, or a car can turn into us, or we can be standing right at the wrong place. This last winter Jonathan and I would cuddle up together and admit that we were so happy, we were wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. But I’m not going to live in fear of fate. I’m not in charge of cutting the thread. So all I can do is appreciate what I have as much as I can, and try not to take it for granted. I want to stare at my beautiful son and love every day of his little life, for 6 weeks, 6 years, 16 years, as long as I am privileged to have him. Love my darling Jonny, the only only only one who required of me what I needed.

I love Chai, I want him to exist forever. Sometimes I worry that people made up the idea of heaven just to make themselves feel better. Despite people saying they “know” I hope it’s true, I’ve never hoped more that it’s true. I think of Robin telling Jason that people don’t come back to life and I think, how can she have a little boy and tell him that? How can she not WANT WITH ALL HER BEING for it to be real, at least for him? If it’s not true, he’s just dead in the ground and his body will rot away and he won’t Be anymore. I want my little boy to go on being forever. I was just looking at his perfect little fingers, miniatures of my own and I started to cry. Oh my darling! My darling! I cradle him over my shoulder and he snuggles his head by my neck and I rock him and his shifts his little arm around my neck and what could be sweeter than this? And I need to love it now and know it so deeply now because it will not always be this way. His little hand will get bigger like his father’s and it is so beautiful but so painful, too. He was made of love. Jonny says the Universe was made out of love, so we have nothing to be afraid of. I need to remember that every day I get a little bit closer.

Out of my deeper heart a bird rose and flew skyward.

2011-10-03T16:55:00.000-07:00

Out of my deeper heart a bird rose and flew skyward.

Higher and higher did it rise, yet larger and larger did it grow.

At first it was but like a swallow, then a lark, then an eagle, then as vast as a spring cloud, and then it filled the starry heavens.

Out of my heart a bird flew skyward. And it waxed larger as it flew. Yet it left not my heart.

~ Kahlil Gibran

One year ago this weekend was the first I heard of Chai...although I had no idea he would be Chai back then. I wanted a little boy so much, we were both sure it was a little girl (Houston really gave me a complex about things like that). It seems like a thousand years ago, was that really us? I remember looking in the mirror and wondering how anyone ever look at me and see their mother and just reeling with glee that science was actually real, I guess. ("Bingo! Dino DNA!") I never actually believed I would have children, even though for awhile I thought the yellow bird might be a baby. I made Jonathan a cute little presentation involving cereal and a scripture and an inside joke and put it all together like I was asking him to prom, and I got it all wrong. He wanted us to be alone, for me to just tell him clearly without all the fanfare. I regret that now, but I didn't understand. I always want everything to be a party. I felt impatient...I wanted to feel the baby kicking, I wanted a tight watermelon of a pregnant stomach right then. I remember also feeling a little alarmed..."boarded the train there's no getting off," that's it exactly, thank you Sylvia.

And now we're on the edge of another October and that little almost imaginary good-news salamander will be four months old this week! It’s incredible how much I love my Chai. When I hold him I have the softest feelings imaginable. This other afternoon I had him on my lap while we were watching Intervention and every time they showed the protagonist as a child and told their backstory my heart squeezed with pain and I thought—please no, not my baby. I’m so glad he will remain little for the next few years because I can’t think too far beyond that, of his suffering. No one makes it through this life without suffering, but I hope he will always know that his mama loves him, and that I can teach him things that will help him be resilient. That sword hasn't pierced my own soul yet; I fully understand that we’re existing in Neverland with our perfect, merry baby. He is SO beautiful and amazing! These are some thing I want to remember about my Chai:

*He is marvelously happy and content. When he was very tiny he used to wail in the evenings, but now he almost never cries. People always comment on that, "I forgot there was a baby here!" or "I didn't hear him make a sound the whole time!"

*When he does "cry" it's almost like a bird squawking--not a prolonged noise, but little short cries to let me know he is awake or needs something.

*Chai has become very verbal and talkative...he is always so excited to tell us things in the morning! Sometimes it really sounds like he is making words. I know he thinks he is. We'll have whole conversations with him where he'll make his sounds ("Gah! Ahhhahhyaaa!") and we'll make them back or say affirming things like "I know...I know! Tell me more, baby!" It's my favorite.thing.in.the.world.

*I love how Chai croons along with us when we sing to him, he makes a melodic noise like he is trying to sing, too.

*Chai is tall and slender. He weighs 13.14 lbs (50th percentile) and is 25 1/2 inches tall (80th percentile). He has a "big alien head" like his Dad. :)

*As you may have noticed in the pictures, Chai has become a baldie. I was excited that he had so much hair when he was born, but it's mostly gone now. It's okay though, he's still the handsomest ever.

*Chai is much more portable than I imagined a baby being. It's pretty easy to take him anywhere--I ditched keeping him in a car seat pretty early on--they are so heavy and unwieldy, and besides, I love holding him--I always think about him getting bigger and not being able to carry him everywhere. We can go out to dinner with friends and he just sits on my lap. I need to get a Moby wrap because he's getting heavier.

*Chai is not your regularly scheduled baby. He takes naps at random times, or not at all. I've never known a baby who seemed to need less sleep. Jonathan's mother told me that Jonny was like that, too. He usually falls asleep around 10 or 11; a couple of times he has stayed up until one--not upset or anything, just looking around very wide-eyed and interested in everything.

*When people ask if he's sleeping through the night and I tell them he sleeps with us, so waking up a couple of times or not at all doesn't really matter or make a difference, they look at me baffled/disgusted (disgaffled!) but that's okay. They have to decide what's right for their own lives. But for me, I LOOOVE co-sleeping. I think it's excellent for attachment. It's also super easy to move him briefly if we need the bed for anything--once he commits to going to sleep at night, he is out. I love how Chai gradually moves closer to me during the night and how his breathing matches mine; most of the time he likes to rest one arm on my chest. I also love knowing he's there and that he's safe.

*It's getting a little tougher since he's been rolling from side to side and sleeps kind of like an eggbeater. Lately since we're sleeping on an air mattress he winds up perpendicular to me and likes to kick me in the side (like back in the day when he was in utero!).

*We're still nursing on demand and going strong! (I pump for when I have to work and he does fine with a bottle too). I'm not planning on introducing other food until he gets a little older and shows interest. I LOVE nursing him and I wish I could explain the thoughts I have when I look at him laying so sweetly there with his eyes closed and making the dearest motions with his hands. I just tell him over and over again how beautiful he is and how much I love him. He often rests his arm on my chest and it melts my heart.

*Chai is not a winner at nursing in public ("Who told you you could cover up?") and is agitated if I try to nurse him under a blanket, etc. I think he resents the absurdity of the social stigma against BF in public. Good Chai!

*He is pure. It's humbling and healing to spend so much time with someone who is not capable of lying or deception. I want to be like him. He can't hide what he's experiencing and it's beautiful. Joy--fear--curiosity all flash on his face in the most innocent sincerity.

*Chai expresses himself a lot with his legs...kicking when he gets excited or anxious, or during Dancey-Dance time :). It always makes us laugh. He also tries to "run away" when he gets frustrated by kicking and pushing off against the wall or furniture.

*He loves to "stand" and has very strong legs. He also loves being "danced" or "jumped" around by us or my brothers (see picture second from the top). He also wants to be held facing outwards almost all the time, I say it's because he likes to think he's "driving."

*Chai is still a local fan favorite in Ogden. There are practically wars and bloodshed over who gets to hold him. Sometimes I start to miss him because no one wants to give him back! He interacts with everyone and is very charming and responsive. I think--I hope--he knows how very much he is loved. A typical scene is for someone to be holding him on their lap, while someone else plays with his feet, a third person holds his hand, and a fourth person strokes his head or face. All of them talking to him at once. It must be overstimulating, but Chai is very patient.

*I'm obsessed with how cute he is when he is sleeping. He either sleeps on his side with his hands tenderly clasped under his chin (adorable!) or on his back with his arms spread out wide and his legs drawn up like a little frog. I can't stand it.

*My little boy loves me, I think maybe! It means so much to me when I make eye contact with him and talk to him and he just bursts into sunbeams and smiles. I took Chai to a work retreat with me and we were talking/beaming at each other, and two of the therapists I work with commented, "That's relationship enhancement right there" (what they teach clients to do with their children to strengthen attachment.) I thought about that all day, it made me feel so good!

*His neck is the most ticklish and he loves it when Jonathan blows raspberries in his neck or stomach. And he laughs--this little grunty "heh" noise--and it's amazing and so exciting and beautiful, and sure that's cheesy but really what else could be more beautiful than the sound of your baby's laugh?

*During the last few days he discovered he could stick his tongue out and he seems to like the way it feels...he keeps poking it out and blowing spit bubbles. "Like a boss" as Jonny would say.

*I should mention that Jonathan is constantly saying Chai does things like a boss. "He holds his head up like a BOSS!" "He rolled over like a BOSS!"

*Chai likes most everyone and is generous with his smile. But he definitely loves his Dad the most. When he sees Jonathan his smile lights up the sky. They are very loving and attuned to each other. Jonathan has incredible instincts about what Chai is feeling and experiencing, it amazes me and I've learned a lot from him. I'm so, so happy they get to spend time together a few times a week when I go to work, even though it makes me jealous. I always feel a little left out when I drive away, but I'm happy for both of them that they get time together that they might not otherwise have. They love each other so much.

*I am so proud of my little buddy for being so adaptable and easy-going with all the troubles we've been having in our house. A more high-strung baby could contribute a lot of stress to this situation, but Chai continues to be patient, good and kind. Every baby deserves to feel adored, and I hope he can feel even a little bit of how very much we love him. He is my Happiness Boy.

...the earth is warmer when you laugh

2011-09-26T00:40:00.000-07:00

These last few weeks have been a healthy dose of misery of remind us of what buttery bliss we’re used to tasting. I should explain that we live in an old house, with the small inconveniences that accompany that, but since we are pretty chill and have no aspirations to interior design or meticulous cleanliness, we were more than happy to deal with double-paned windows that are never clean, no washer or dryer, and an abundance of bugs, for the super cheap rent. However, the night of Labor Day our house suddenly erupted into the epicenter of horror.

We came home from a fun weekend in Ogden to a kitchen full of boutilous gas. We’d been having some mysterious leaks in the basement and when we tried to drain the filthy mold water out of the sink we discovered that the pipes had wrenched completely apart exposing the fetid contents of the interior and the poison water flooded our floor. It was pretty gross, but Jonathan was more grossed out than I was, so I remained cheerful (at this point). We wore face masks while we cleaned up because he said the gas could be dangerous. We had to clean everything that had been under our sink and at that point it was completely unusable, and so was the dishwasher. I remember putting on a bright face and saying I could use the bathroom sink or the hose out in the yard to do dishes, and then I went in to check on baby Chai and (this part makes me want to scream even now) I found him asleep on our bed with BED BUGS crawling all over his body. It was horrible, so horrible! I'd never actually seen a bed bug before and they are awful flat, nasty brown bugs and they were biting my sweet baby! I can't explain the helpless rage that I felt; I lost it and cried and I wanted to kill someone/something, it just felt so vile and intrusive and dirty. We slept out in the living room that night and made plans to deal with the infestation. How did we not know we had an infestation? Bites only show up on 40% of people, which means you can get bitten and not know it..I thought I was crazy the few weeks before this since I would wake up with itchy bites but couldn't see any on Jonathan or Chai. I'll spare you the rest of the details, but basically the problem is more complicated than we thought. I have no idea how we got them...we must have brought a stowaway home during some of our travels. They can live up to 18 months without ever eating and hide in really sneaky places like inside your light sockets. I found one in a pair of shoes I had on the top shelf of our closet.

At first sleeping on the couch/floor was kind of exciting, like we were camping out, but the excitement started to wear off when I found a black widow a few feet away from us one morning (I have a very healthy respect for the formidable arachnid) and freaked out again (see? no longer cheerful). We finally left our house and started staying with friends and family until we could get the plumbing fixed and do something about the bedbugs. Around that time Chai and I had thrush and it was re-e-ally painful, plus I also had my annual eye infection from my contacts and was walking around blind most of the time. Also trying to get used to working and getting the rhythm down with pumping and exchanging the car...we are now back in our house with a functional sink again but haven't slept in our bedroom since before Labor Day. Honestly, it’s been rough.

The low point was probably the day I ruined my mother in law’s microwave by (this makes me want to die to even write it) setting a bra on fire inside it. I was reading about cures for thrush with a frantic desperation since nursing my wee one had suddenly become agonizing and someone suggested that heating up your underwear kills yeast. The article offered the sage reminder to make sure your bra was not underwire, so I stupidly thought I was safe. It was maybe the most humiliating moment of my life, including everything that happened on my mission and puking in line at the airport and my father in law finding some gifts from my bachelorette party in the glovebox of his truck some months later. Jonathan was delighted because now he could with veracity call me a “bra-burning feminist.” Heh. So it's been a tough month, emotionally. I've been spitting negativity more than I want to. There is something demoralizing about not having a functional "home" when you have a baby. I've certainly been "homeless," (probably disrespectful to use that term, but you know what I mean hopefully) many times before; transient and sleeping on people's couches, when I only belonged to myself and didn't have a little one clinging to me in the night. I have felt surprised with how protective I feel of Chai. There are so many things that I don't think would be a big deal for myself but when I think of them happening to Chai is just crushes me. We'll be okay, though. And I still know we haven't really been through anything. Sorrow is floating thick around people I know and I'm so sorry...What’s going to happen? I cuddle up to my little boy, he’s everything, his gracefully folded hands while he nurses, his dear powerful smiles. He sleeps early enough so that we have a lot of time together. Jonathan is handsome and funny and good. I still want to make him like me, hope he has a crush on me. I could stand forever holding him. He has tender hands and glances for me always. I love him and I know we'll be okay as long as we're together...I have so much more I wanted to share but this is a pretty good update for now. Hasta ver!

Life With Baby

2011-09-25T22:20:00.000-07:00

Rachel recently stated working as a part time therapist so now 4 days a week I get to spend 4 1/2 to 5 hours with Chai. I love spending so much time with him! On days where I go in and work the full day, I feel a huge pit in my life. It is amazing how much you can miss someone who just smiles at you and coos at you for interaction. My life has changed...for the better. I feel like sometimes we're having conversations, even though hes just saying a bunch of goos and crap. He'll just continue making sound for a long time. He especially will do this if you sing to him. I think hes trying to mimic the sound. He is a little person with a big personality.

I think our Chai is very very calm. I heard a lot of horror stories about babies crying and crying. Chai rarely cries and when he does it isn't prolonged. Perhaps this is why I love staying home with him! I feel like we lucked out because of how easy he is. I hope this doesn't mean he'll be harder as he grows up, though quite a few parents have told me that their experience was that if they were calm, then they stay calm. Who knows.

Rachel and I are still adjusting to the change. It is different having someone else included in our relationship. There are some adjustments that have been difficult. But there is a certain sweetness our relationship has now that it did not have before. For example, I never knew how beautiful Rachel really was till I saw her asleep feeding Chai. Seeing them together has meant everything to me lately. I'm sure she'd tell you the same thing. I know Rachel much better now than I did before.

This could all just be because we've only been married a little over a year now. But I'm sure most of it has to do with the situation we've chosen to be in. It was unpredictable. But it is very pretty. Though more difficult, I love the new life that we have. There are ups and down, just like before. Only now at the end of the day I can look at my little sleeping boy and just wonder at life and its power. I feel like I didn't know what life was until I looked into his eyes. He is full of possibility and light. That type of beauty grows on you.

My pessimism about this world is at an all time low. Chai's relationship with Rachel is its living refutation. As hard as being a parent can be occasionally (so far), it is undoubtedly worth it.

Be a little sheep learning who'll shear and who'll feed

2011-09-05T01:18:00.000-07:00

There is so much I don't understand and where I once felt isolated and bewildered in my doubts, I have now heard many voices who echo them. I have found validation in that, but I don't want to live my life defined by what has hurt me and by what is wrong. I am marked with biases and scarred with selfishness just like any other human being and what I realized tonight when I sent up a short, desperate prayer is that I have found happiness when I have put others' needs before my own, when I have had compassion, when I have been humble. These times have been embarrassingly few and far between in my life. Nevertheless, I know in whom I should place my trust. The truth I've found is that when I do anything to help lift the weight of the suffering of humanity I am filled with gladness and with the kind of sorrow that moves me to good works. I need to live a Christlike life whether or not He is who the Mormon church says He is. I believe in Him, I want to believe in Him. I want to believe that the falling sparrow matters and that children who die alone, cold, lonely and in terrible pain are encircled at last in loving arms, met with a warm smile by a bright face. I want to believe there is joy over the horizon. Maybe it is just an opiate for the masses and a nice story we tell ourselves when the wind is cold outside, but it's a story that matters, that causes man to aspire for greater things than the baseness that we default to when we don't replace it with anything else. I want to believe that people have the power to change, that I do. When I focus on negativity, inconsistencies, wrongness and abuse I feel a sort of energy brewing in me, but it does not move me towards anything good. I want to be a person who is moving. I know I have a lot to change. When I think of my husband praying for two hours every night on his mission, I think of how wrong we were then, how young and naive, but also how earnest and right. We can both do better. I want to utilize my time with him and with my tiny one who is next to me right now. I can say for certain tonight, even if I knew absolutely that there is nothing After, I would not want to live any differently, wouldn't snuff out my life with selfishness. Whether or not we are "earning a great reward," I want to keep peeling back my weaker shell to my pure self who is good, who is made of love. Jonathan told me, if the universe was made with Love, what do you have to be afraid of? I keep thinking of this quote from The Silver Chair:

“One word, Ma’am,” he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. “One word. All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things–trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we’re leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that’s a small loss if the world’s as dull a place as you say.”

These are just ghosts that broke my heart before I met you

2011-08-21T00:12:00.001-07:00

I’m typing on our warmly disheveled bed where the sheets have been washed more in the last few weeks than in the entire first year we were married (“perils” of co-sleeping). Beside me is the sweetest-smelling little frog sleeping kindly and intently with his arms outstretched and his legs bowed. You know? The universe did shift to make room. I will be honest that at moments (at first, and never longer than a few hours) it felt too tight. I worried a little that there might not be room for me. Happily, merrily I was wrong and I think that my life has always and will always be that way—new things can seem so overwhelming, but they shift to fit, and I go on living the altered life.

August always makes me feel poignant because oh no summer is ending and everyone insists on spoiling the rest of it by blathering about back to school. This has been an absolutely delicious summer. Somehow we’re still free of most adultish trappings (though terribly poor as a result) and we had so much time to play, hang out with my family and enjoy our lovely baby. I've done a poor job of chronicling what we've done, and I haven't written any of my baby's "stats" but that isn't that kind of blog anyway. If I had to pick a category for my blog I would put it in the Catharsis Spinning Thoughts Overshare Beauty section. There are so many things I feel passionately about, sometimes I want to be one of the clear bright voices writing about things I doubt and things I believe, like some of my beautiful friends, but others say things so much better than I can and my thoughts about those ideas would just be a weak echo. Sin embargo, no one can best me in my passion for my darling Jonny and Chai, they are the stars in my sky, so I'll keep writing about them.

Anyway, I am kind of going back to school this August...I got a job! I start the 29th and I will be working part-time as a therapist at the Family Support and Treatment Center. It was actually the first job I interviewed for after passing the CSW test, which feels nice now that the three-tiered interview process is over (it was a little like being on American Idol--lots of levels). It was fairly grueling and made me feel awfully introspective. After the first one I came home in tears because of a stateside Spanish nerve they touched, and at the other two I was convinced they were going to hire someone else from my class, so I was more relaxed and determined to use this as an experience, not expecting anything from it. We did some therapy role plays where they presented me with some uncomfortable situations (child client who curls up in a ball and won't look at you or speak, and a man seeing you for anxiety problems who is disturbed when you try to include him in treatment goals--see I can talk about this because they aren't real clients) and then afterwards they asked me how the situations made me feel. The purpose wasn't to critique the therapy techniques but to see how aware I was of what was going on with me and how the situations were affecting me. I'm obsessed with stuff like this...and VERY VERY excited to learn from the amazing therapists at this agency. They do great client-centered therapy, play therapy, work with trauma/abuse/attachment issues. It's a fantastic fit for me. It's also only 4 hours a day, 4 days a week and J&C will be able to have happy father-son bonding time and we won't even have to be much less Bohemian than usual.

I will admit I've been a little worried that while I'm trying to help kids with attachment issues my own baby will develop attachment issues. This summer I've had paradigms shifting like tectonic plates in my brain. I’m realizing how narcissistic I am, how often my decisions are at least partially based in “what people will think" (the imaginary audience). When Jonathan went back to work right after Chai was born there were times when I felt uncomfortable—oh no! I’m a stay at home mom all of a sudden! I’ve read the Feminine Mystique (and etc, and etc, and etc)—and that wasn’t going to happen to me, no way. I especially didn’t want the life my young women leaders insisted I would want. I dumped that gooey vat of fakery out the window because at the time I was convinced it was a lie, and it made me feel wildly panicked to think that they could see me as one of them. I’m not, I’m not! I don’t want your sappy helpmeet life! I am not like you. But then the shift in the universe occurred; then I was curled up on our bed with Jonny, singing made-up songs to a beaming little boy who chortles and squeals when our eyes first meet in the morning, and I was holding him in my lap on our porch watching thunderstorms and talking to him about the rain dripping off the trees and the walnuts growing, and I was nursing him as he clasped his little hands together politely, slurped and sighed; and I was finding myself glowing with joy every time I picked him up, and in addition to all that I found myself with more and better love for Darling Jonny, not less, so I started to think, “When do I start feeling unfulfilled?" X out everyone else and their ideas and their philosophies and their lives of quiet desperation, all the blogs I read that make me gasp for breath with their narrowness, all the people who flash one facet of self and are strangers in seven thousand hidden facets, and just exist for right now in this dreamy sweet world of my husband and Chai. Why does it matter what anyone else is doing? The world we created only belongs to us, and right now, right now it is "everything/which is natural which is infinite which is yes"! So, while I'm thrilled beyond belief to have this job, I guess I'm trying to say that I could have been very happy either way. After thinking through everything I've ever thought, read, dreaded, hoped for and experienced and dumping it all in a blender, pouring it out and poring over it, the place I have settled in is that my "potential" and my personal fulfillment in life has always been relationships. My professional goals and philosophies are based in creating healthy relationships and healing damaged ones. Those are the roots of all my loftiest dreams and always have been, and where I find deepest expression for my spirituality as well. When I focus on relationships in any way--I am creating the best possible place for my soul.

"My salvation lies in your love."

When we meet on a cloud, I'll be laughing out loud, I'll be laughing with everyone I see

2011-08-14T20:19:00.000-07:00

Remember how I look at you like this all the time?

Today has been one year since the glorious day! I am still so in love with him…still hoping he will like me, so thrilled when I make him laugh. I live off “How dare you”s and “Don’t sass me"s. Jonathan planned a cluster frak of sweet surprises for today! After church (cough sacrament out in the hall in the random ward) we drove up Hobblecreek canyon—which was EXPLODING WITH SUMMERTIME GORGEOUSNESS. I love that canyon and I love those mountains! I have such positive connections with them because of my beloved. He said we were going to be re-creating memories, and he’d brought our picnic blanket and a thermos of hot chocolate to re-create our tea date, which happened at the same park in Jolley’s Ranch. It was so fun and lovely and I started actually feeling jittery, just like I did on our real date. That was the one that turned the tide for me…actually it was more like getting drenched in a tidal wave of hope and the realization that something so good existed that I hadn't even been clever enough to wish for--and mejor, that I could be happy. Later that day (the day of the tea date in fall 2009) I wrote to him from my Dr. Roper's class: The more I listen to you the cooler I think you are. In research methods we call this a positive correlation.

The rest of the day we spent re-creating our honeymoon…with delicious food, ice cream, Battlestar and S (all the parts of the D.R we had at our disposal in Springville)! It was wonderful. We cuddled on the couch and laughed and goofed off and I know we do that every day, but it really did feel like a celebration today. Chai obligingly slept the whole time except for the picnic, during which he giggled adorably on the blanket as we loved on him.

We talked about the day we got married and how blindingly happy we were, how beautiful this year has been. I can see us laughing together, me chasing him around the Commune after he confiscated my skittles, crying heartsick over family stuff, him letting me listen to his heartbeat when I was freaking out at first about therapy, beaming at each other over feeling little Chai's insistent kicking when he was still a dentro, talking our souls inside out, him telling me he was proud of me after graduation, thousands of entangled inside jokes we couldn't explain to anyone, Jonpardy at his birthday party, our Les Miserables game, driving to Wyoming, sweet words like promises and a million fresh second chances I've needed a million times and he's needed about twice. I'm cognizant as I write this of how obnoxious and gushy I must seem, but I can't see it any other way. I've known sorrow in my life, I've been bitter and wounded and lonely, so I appreciate how whole this feels, to have a friend, confidant and kind companion in all I do. I hope I'm that for him as well. I'm still not convinced that marriage itself is awesomeness inherent, but I know my husband is. There is so much I could say about him and how good he is. He has all my admiration, all my heart. I hope he knows that.

You turn me into Somebody Loved

2011-07-31T20:39:00.001-07:00

One for my baby and one for me!

When a child is born, the entire universe has to shift to make room. Another entity capable of free will, and therefore capable of becoming God, has been born. In that way, every child’s birth is exactly like the birth of a world teacher. Every child born is a living Buddha. Some of them only get to be a living Buddha for a moment, because nobody believes it. Nobody knows it, and they get treated like they’re dumb. Babies are not dumb. Just because they don’t speak English doesn’t mean they’re dumb. A newborn infant is just as intelligent as you are. When you are relating with her, you should consider that you are relating with a very intelligent being who just doesn’t speak your language yet. And you shouldn’t do anything gross to her before she learns to speak with you. –Stephen Gaskin

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.

But the Skin Horse only smiled.

--Margery Williams (from the Velveteen Rabbit)

My Birthing Warrior

2011-07-18T21:04:00.000-07:00

I knew that having a child would change my life, but honestly I had never given much thought to the what the birth would mean to me. In fact, I always just had the idea that we would go to the hospital and the doctors would take care of it and I'd probably just hold Rachel's hand. Luckily I married an amazing girl who had thought about it much more than I had. I want to share something I wrote in my journal. I really wasn't prepared for what that experience would mean for me, partly because I never really considered that I would really have much of an active part in it. Given, Rachel did all of the work! But I got to observe her and support her when I could.

Here it is:

Jonathan Chai was born on 6/7/11! He is such a cutie. He has my lips and it's really sweet. He is a beautiful, mostly calm boy. I'm really writing to write about Rachel's home birth...It was so amazing! Her water broke at about 11 am. She called me to let me know. It was so exciting . I was at work correcting papers. Then she called me again around 4:30 and wanted me to come be with her, she had begun laboring. So I came home and watched her start to have contractions. It was so sweet and lovely! Soon enough laurel, wendy and laura were all at our house talking to rachel and affirming her. We had to wait for the contractions to get closer together so it quieted down and everyone went home. Rachel knelt by the couch and I put on a movie, which i really didn't watch, and gave her soft touch massage while she had contractions. at around 1200 we called the midwife and she came back. Then at around 130 rachel told me to call the girls. They all showed up! They were so affirming to Rachel. Rachel did this awesome birthsong that sounded somewhat like a whale call during each contraction! It was hypnotizing. I loved it! It was really cute. And everyone in the room seemed to follow it. It was mesmerizing. She labored through the night and then at about 4:00 she was at a 9! OH also, earlier on the baby had been posterior but the midwife had her do some lunges and other positions and then he flipped!

At this time Rachel got into the pool and started having almost non-stop contractions. I remember looking at her so calm in the pool, but yet in such pain. She has never appeared so beautiful to me, not ever! I was amazed! She looked infinitely strong and I suddenly had not a doubt that she could do this and do it well! She began pushing at about 450 AM and I was stunned! It was one of the most powerful things I've ever witnessed. She would let out these great powerful roar/bellows that made me want to flex my muscles and pretend I had power. It was intense! I was so proud of her and so much in awe of her. It is strange, but I think that I learned a lot about womanhood. I respect Rachel in a completely new way. I'm in awe of her in a way that I wasn't before. And I love her in a way that is new. She amazed me, and I will never be the same. I couldn't help but think about how much taking the significance out of birth from women (or making birth a medical phenomenon) takes them away from the power that is rightfully theirs. I could never think of Rachel as weak after that. She so obviously wasn't! She had done something so amazing, so magical, and she had done it herself. She had so much support, as she should have. But it was HER birth.

I wonder that maybe man was able to look at the female sex as weaker and "fairer" because they (men) weren't allowed to be involved with birth. If they had seen what I had seen, they could not consider women weak. I feel like every woman in the world should know of her power, a power I shall never have. It is rightfully theirs. It brings me sadness when people perceive that being powerful is to be more like a man. Clearly they have not seen what I have seen, or they would know there is no need for this, they have a power just as powerful inside of them. It isn't about being like someone or some group of people. This is something women are capable of. It is theirs! It belongs to them! Why we gave it wholly up to men, of all people, is beyond me. They are the people least likely to understand it as they couldn't possibly experience it themselves. The fact that anybody would ever allow shame to be associated with pregnancy and birth is beyond me! How could they! It should be a grand celebration of life and creation. It was a beautifully triumphant experience. I felt like everything was alive! For that moment I was untouched by decay. I am absolutely in awe!

It is amazing how some experiences change you. This was one of them. I feel so close to Rachel. It was a beautiful end to the sexual cycle. I told Rachel that its part of the cycle of just meeting her, and everything we have been through together! It is beautiful. It's crazy to think that for Chai to be created things needed to happen just as they did. If they hadn't, he probably would have been made out of some other different swimmer and some other different egg. Chai is the product of a wonderful relationship and a wonderful experience.

OK that was all I want to share from the journal, but I want to close with this:

When I saw my son for the first time, his eyes looked so interested. He cried for just a little bit and then started looking around! He was put directly into Rachels arms and she had the most beautiful, overwhelmed expression on her face as she was crying! There is a picture of it and it warms my heart every time I see it. But he was a beautiful boy. He just looked around and was so quiet. I felt like we had done something amazing, though admittedly it was mostly only racher. We were a family suddenly! I was very suddenly a father. It was crazy. Rachel and I were going to take care of little Chai. Wow...It was wonderful! It was beautiful and peaceful. I am so thankful to Rachel and EVERYONE, the many, who supported her directly or indirectly with the birth. It was the experience of a lifetime!

Ocean mother, ocean child, are you mine or are you wild?

2011-07-12T22:58:00.000-07:00

Whenever someone tells me to imagine a "happy place," I find myself on this beach in San Carlos Mexico. It has been part of my life since before I can remember (family reunions with my mother's family the Paces). We used to take a Mexico trip every 3 years and I loved that my age during the Mexico summers was always a multiple of 3 (6 9 12 15 21 24 27). I was 3 years old when someone caught little me in this picture, darting towards the sea. The landscape has changed a lot in the last 20+ years, but my beloved ocean and Las Tetas, the mountains in the background (so aptly named) greet me every time like old friends. They saw me grow up. Since I'm always drowning in syrupy nostalgia I'll spare you the memories of ancient times and write about the glory of this summer, of Now.

Mexico was a song and a relief and a sweet ocean breeze filling me with hope and memory. I felt restored to myself; at the same time it was very different from any Mexico before when I’ve been able to spend endless hours wandering the beach with my CD player/ipod in hand, letting the golden sun ooze over my skin and paint me dark so that when I finally stripped off my swimsuit, my skin was the colors of Neapolitan ice cream. This time I returned to this beloved place of my childhood with my own child—my 3 ½ week old child. I had a few doubts about taking him once he was born and the reality of the complete absorption of caring for him distilled upon me, but I’m so glad we did take him!

My sweet little boo was so patient and darling on the long car trip, (I think he only cried about 3 times, and never for long) and it felt so good for me to be around more people, all of whom were falling over each other to hold him and play with him.

Since Chai isn’t old enough to really enjoy any aspect of the beach or the town, and his conversational skills are limited, his vacation highlights included screams of indignation the first time he felt the humidity seep into the car when my Dad turned off the AC, nursing while I walked across an intersection in Nogales, nursing while tilted sideways in his snugli in front of a Walmart in Guaymas, taking a nap in his playpen which we set up on the beach, meeting thousands of relatives who commented on his swarthy size and enormous lips, being adored by the members of the Miramas ward (“esta bien rojo!” “tiene unas manos bien curiosas!”), and falling asleep on the dryer with me singing to him after a particularly potent meltdown. Ha. Those are probably actually the lowlights.

I do think he must have been a little aware of how obsessed my family is with him. Every morning when I brought him into the room we were greeted by a chorus of “It’s Chai!” “Let me hold him!” “Give him to me!” Even my parents squabble over who gets a turn with him next (“Do you want me to hold him, Ed?” “Just hang on, Lorena, he’s doing fine!”) My Dad makes clicking noises at him which do calm him down and claims he is teaching Chai Swahili. Doug and Emily were our roommates and always asking if they could help. Mary and Diana “danced” him by moving his arms and legs in time to humiliating OHS fight songs, which I thought was mortifying, but Chai actually seemed to love it. Cow told me, “You’re just jealous because this is the happiest he’s ever been in his life.” Ouch. It felt so good to be able to place him in loving hands, it eased the responsibility-anxiety knots that have been twisting my heart and my muscles. I guess they won't ever go away for good now that we have a child, but it was so nice to have little breaks. I love my adorable son...I want to squiiiish him. I love kissing him all over his male-pattern baldness head.

I learned to fit play into the brief little pockets of time allotted by long naps when my mother or one of my brothers or sisters was willing to keep an eye on Chai. Those little pockets of fun were more than enough for me. All I really wanted was to hang out with everyone, swim in the ocean every day and go on a couple of walks on the beach where I could listen to music—which I did twice, and it was so relaxing and fantastic! Those walks and the songs I listen to are like keeping an old, old promise to myself. I always feel like I can walk straight into the sun, they make me so happy. The beach was lovely, hardly anyone there besides our extended family and no jellyfish this year. We usually see dolphins swimming near the beach in the mornings; this year they came so close and we paddled out to see them (“swimming to China”). They were so close to us I got a little nervous, but oh, they were beautiful! Jonathan got even closer, so close that I think he learned their ways and they accepted him as one of them, even offering him a dolphin bride. Luckily he turned them down and came back to me.

Whenever Jonathan and I got a chance to do something alone together—even walking back and forth from other condos—I’d say, “Is this a date? Are we on a date?” One night right after Chai went to sleep we ran down the beach together for an impulsive night swim, and it felt so good splashing in the warm light water and kissing in the sea...it was amazing! I had so much fun talking with family; my parents, my siblings, my cousins and my tios. I watched the 25^th Les Mis anniversary concert with my grandparents. My grandmother wept all the way through; sometimes at the tragedies of the characters, other times surely at the wretched miscasting of Nick Jonas as Marius. It felt so good to be with everyone. On one of the last nights the twinners and I were conducting one of our Awkward Photo sessions and caught the interest of some of my aunts, who requested that awkward photos also be taken of them and their spouses. It was so fun!

>I'd been looking forward to Mexico ever since we got back last year, so it's been a little rough to come home, but gracias a Dios there is always more to look forward to. Up next...Scott's wedding, grad school applications, the cabin? every single one of these glorious sunny days that zip by way too quickly lately.

Also, living with Jonny Strange is always an adventure. I really do look forward to being with him every day, even just hanging out at home together, talking and admiring our baby. He's so fiduciary and makes life so good. I've been a little bit of a disaster sometimes lately and he is always so calm, loving and steady. Everlastingly patient. People say feelings fade with time but it hasn't worn off for me yet, I don't think it ever will. Jonny, I love you real bad!

Floriberto mi chulito. I'm obsessed with him.

View from the twinners' balcony

VIVA!

Postpartum Potpourri

2011-06-30T09:42:00.000-07:00

It’s absolutely amazing how much time has shifted and melted away since we had our milky buddy. These are a few sketchy memories of the first weeks before I forget them forever (everything is changing all the time):

**The first solid week I was verily reeling from birth high and existed in a very sweet high energy state of mania. Besides the agony of my stitches and the new bizarre inconvenience of using the bathroom, I felt fantastic! I remember barely sleeping for several nights (even when the buddy WAS sleeping) and having the thought, “This is fine! I don’t even need sleep! I’m not even tired!” even though Jonathan was crashing. It took me a long time to come back down but of course I did eventually succumb to fatigue. Sometimes I get so tired I tell Jonathan that I have a "white brain" (like a broken screen) and not to listen to me as most of the conclusions I arrive at in that state are veritably insane.

**Speaking of stitches. Of course no one talks about that for obvious reasons but that's really been kind of miserable. I think I may be mutilated and ruined forever. Maybe a good reason to complete your first year of marriage before having a baby after all. I can definitely see why women get depressed--you are sapped of energy when you need more energy than you ever have before, and on top of the exhaustion your body is partially destroyed. That is tough for anyone to deal with.

**I feel like I can't make a statement beginning "My baby is--" because his habits and ways change all the time. He barely cried the first week and now he typically has a few hours of being "infected with rage" in the evening when he gets exhausted and becomes indignant that he has to sleep (this is according to our best educated guess).

**Nothing ever works twice. It's a fun little dance trying to figure out the right combination of sounds, songs, vibration, white noise, touch, etc will finally work the magic and let out little buddy sleep. This can be tough sometimes but I think it's so good for us to go through it together. It makes us closer, it makes us love our sweet one even more when we work hard for him.

**I love how he smells and how holding him melts my heart. I would do absolutely anything for him.

**As I remember from when my mother was having babies, one of the most fun things about having a new little one is all the nicknames and songs that are born along with the baby--you can't plan them out beforehand, they spring into being while you are rocking or nursing. I like to call Chai my "wakeful flea" (from the Napping House) whenever he is awake. I also call him Little Lion Man, the milky buddy, Chai-li, Chai-love-you, Tiny Wee Boo, and lots of other names that are even more embarrassing. We also sing to honor our wee babe. I like replacing the word "I" in songs with "Chai," (ex--"Uh-oh, Chai wants some more, uh-oh, what are you waiting for?) and Jonathan extols our baby's virtues with a variety of kindly, if repetitive, rhymes (he knows what I mean.).

**For the first few days I kept marveling at the baby and if I looked at him long enough I would start to cry. I was so sensitive it was like I had all my skin peeled off. I still can’t believe he is real, that he is part of us, and that he wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for us. The first few days, although they felt so good, were also terribly heavy. I felt a desperate love for my baby, I also felt a little afraid of him. He seemed so fragile and otherworldly. I didn’t and still don’t feel completely capacitada to take care of him. When I thought of him growing older and all that would be required of us, I felt so overwhelmed.

**At around 10 PM every night (I started referring to it as the "witching hour") my mind started pelting me with thoughts of the suffering of all the children of the world. It was immense and consuming! I hurt and ached for those who are not wanted, who suffer cruelty starvation abandonment, lack of love and hideous abuse. I would think, they are out there tonight and always. I thought of all the babies I had known or read about who were injured and unloved and all the others who have endured similar pain. I wept and wept and told Jonny I wanted to collect those babies and bring them home and just hold them and cry with them. I would look at my own baby and feel so helpless, I thought about someone hurting him and his innocent pain and confusion and it hurt so much I wanted to die. I was so upset that I couldn't do anything for those babies. I pray for them. I beg God takes the edge off their wretchedness. I love them and I love my sweet son, I know I can’t protect him from everything, but I will keep him safe as much as I can and try to give him the skills he needs to be resilient when I can’t protect him anymore.

**I LOVED and felt so much better better when visitors came—especially my mother—and held Chai, I could relax, it placed all these wild and powerful feelings into a normal box, I would think, lots of people have done this…I can do this…having my mother take care of him with me is such an enormous comfort. I trust her so much. She has such a lovely soft voice and mad skillz when it comes to taking care of babies. She was not able to come stay with me right after Chai was born, but she brought my little brothers and stayed for a couple of weekends and it made such a difference. It made me feel safe, like I could pretend to be a little girl for a minute longer and be taken care of.

**No one appreciates their mother enough. Even though my eyes have been opened wider to my own mother's sacrifice, I know I still don't get it. I keep looking at the people around me and thinking, SOMEONE BIRTHED YOU...and that is a BIG DEAL! I'm ashamed for all the times I've rolled my eyes at my mom or sassed her or been annoyed at her. There's no way to repay all of it, it's just a gift like the Atonement you have to accept humbly and then try not to be a rotten person. But I am in awe of it all. Women are so strong, and it is so wrong when they and the world do not realize it.

**My family is obsessed with Chai, and that makes me so happy. My parents argue over who gets to hold him. My little brother Tanner, who as the youngest never got to welcome a new baby home, loves to hold him quietly on the couch and when someone else has the baby, Tan will sidle up to them and hold the baby's hand. My sisters are so good and helpful and fascinated by him. I love how having him around generates such good feelings. He is a blessing and harbinger of peace.

**One thing that surprised me is the trouble I have sleeping near my little boo because of all the noises he makes. He doesn't cry all that often; he usually wakes up about twice a night to eat, but he is a NOISY sleeper! He grunts and shuffles and snorts and whimpers out in his sleep and I cling to a fuzzy edge of consciousness, sure he is about to awaken. I've lost entire hours of sleep that way, but I'm not ready to put him in another room yet. He's too little to be all alone.

**I can fade completely out when Chai is in Jonathan’s arms. I have rarely seen anyone be so gentle and respectful of a baby…he sings and calms Chai down and places his hands on either side of Chai’s head when he gets scared “to let him know he’s not alone.” It’s so beautiful to see. Jonathan tells me things like “I can’t stop kissing him…I’m biologically programmed to kiss him!” and “He’s so beautiful! Isn’t baby wonderful?” Jonathan sleeps hard and is not affected by Chai's gyring and gymbaling in the night. Around 6 or 7 I wake him up (Jonny) and kindly invite him to change Chai's "good morning diaper." For some reason Chai prefers Jonathan to change his diapers and is aways sweetly content when he does it. I think he loves his father as much as he can love anyone right now. He calms down when Jonathan sings to him and holds him. I love it although I will admit it makes me a little jealous. I just want my baby to like me, too. Sometimes I tell Jonathan that he is the cloth mother and I am the wire mother in Harlow's study. :)

**We've gotten in the habit of praising our little guy for the contents of his diapers, for burping, for spitting up, etc. We say, GOOD JOB! I bet that felt so nice for your tummy! or This is a GREAT DIAPER! Good work babe! :) I know it doesn't take conscious effort on his part, but I think it's nice to compliment him for doing what is developmentally appropriate and it's more fun to do everything when we're really positive about it.

**We’ve been coping with our lifestyle change by going to bed around two or three. Everyone thinks this is insane, but for the moment it’s working for us. We watch something together and pass out, and he always wakes up twice—once around 4-5 and once around 6-7. He is great at nursing lying down which is a BLESSING!

**I love feeding my little one. I heard so many horrible and grotesque stories about nursing and was prepared to be a brave solider, but so far it's working out great for us. Chai is a skillful latcher and thanks to the placenta pills I got milk within 36 hours and abundantamente. I kept waiting for it to be painful, but maybe thanks to Chai's fantastically huge lips it really hasn't been. He's so cute and dear when he nurses, and I love the sweet feelings I have for him when I get to feed him. I feel so protective and loving towards him. I'm still marveling that this is ME doing this--it was always something everyone else did, never me, never my body. It's an amazing gift! and it seems like Chai gains weight every time I feed him, perhaps I am a stealth producer of chocolate milk? I keep thinking of the line from an old book we had about the 3 Billy Goats Gruff; they declared they wanted to cross the bridge "to eat and eat and eat and grow fat." That seems to be Chai-li's mission in life as well.

**My favorite thing in the world right now is having my baby sleep on my chest. It's so beautiful.

**We took Chai to the health department to do his PKU, and it was an AWFUL experience. The lady kept squeezing and squeezing his poor little foot and no blood was coming out. Chai was screaming this awful, bewildered wail and I felt like we were betraying him, and I couldn't explain to him why. Jonathan and I both had tears in our eyes. She ended up having to do the test over again in the other foot. It was ugly. I'm really glad we made the decision not to circumcise him, I can't imagine putting a baby through all that pain for purely cosmetic reasons.

**I feel more faithful since my son was born. I don't claim to know the heart of God, but I feel I have the better idea of the pain and wisdom that lay inside it. We took Chai to church at our Spanish word on his first Sunday because they had just split the branch and we wanted to be there to get all the new info. I walked in so carefully holding my sleeping babe and the opening hymn was "The Spirit of God." Everyone was singing "Cantemos, gritemos" as I walked up the aisle and it touched me so much, that old flickering flame of joy, knowing and being beloved of the Savior. I had tears running down my face and it felt so good. Chai has been so good for me in this way; shifting aside my cynicism. I'm remembering all the good that has come to my life because of the gospel.

**I want to have all my babies in the summer. I love looking outside at the golden glow. I remember the first time I emerged from the house a few days after Chai was born. I crept tentatively out the door and stood on the driveway with Jonathan holding Chai, I just felt the warmth wash over me and it made me feel so alive and deliciously happy. And when things get tough I shiver to imagine how hard it would be in the bleak midwinter. This is a good time of year to have these experiences.

**I've had some rough moments. They are difficult to reconcile because I never want to feel ungrateful for having such a beautiful, healthy boy who really is pretty easy to care for. But I feel them through to the end and then they are drowned out in a swarm of goodness. Engorgement combined with pain from my stitches created some low moments. We tried to go out to dinner one night and it was a colossal failure. I was so disappointed because Jonathan had wanted to do something nice for me and I felt his disappointment stacked on top of my own. Another night I was walking around with Chai and all I wanted to do was lay down and cuddle with my husband and I thought, "I'm never going to be able to do that again," and I cried. Then I think a half hour later I was right where I wanted to be. Haha. Nothing stays too hard for too long.

**Oh, how I adore my peque, and oh yes, life is different, but it is good for me, and even though I feel overwhelmed sometimes, there is a beauty about the new seriousness of this task. I’m still me and I still love making people laugh and doing all the things I did before, but what I do for Chai is better and greater. It’s a pure work although I know I can’t do it as well as I would like.

**One more thing—it’s a glorious thing to have a child with someone you love. It’s letting part of them exist forever through that new person, and what a glorious ability to create something that’s half of them. I love my little boy more because he is part of Jonathan. He is so beautiful, he breaks my heart, and I'm so glad and grateful for all of this!

The whole world whispering, "Born at the right time" (Birth Story Part II)

2011-06-18T11:41:00.001-07:00

This is the view from our front window on the evening before our baby came into the world. You can tell I wasn't in active labor yet because I was thinking about things like taking a picture of our front yard...also because I could still smile for the camera. :)

At around 5 PM I began listening to the rainbow relaxation CD (Hypnobirthing) and I was surprised at how melty-relaxed my body became. I verily oozed onto the birth ball. I was not the most diligent at practicing the techniques during the last two weeks, but my body must have learned something, because I felt myself sink so deep into somewhere as I tried to breathe in strength from all the colors. Violet, blue, and green were the ones I liked the best so I kept rewinding the track to those mists. I felt the need for greater focus. The breathing really helped because it reminded me to relax and go limp. If my muscles were tense at all, the surge was a lot tougher to get through. I’m trying to get back inside my mind to remember how I was thinking and feeling at this time—I knew I had a lot more work ahead of me and that I was going to need a lot of strength and energy. Part of me was wondering how much more intense it was going to get, and almost wishing I hadn’t been so eager to get this started. It was here, it was real and there was no going back. Jonathan stroked my hair and told me sweet things. I remember him asking what it felt like.

Cathy arrived at around the same time as Laurel, Wendy and Laura. I remember that part of the birth as a bright, happy time. I felt safe and cradled by their good cheer and reassurances. I think the intensity of the surges slowed down a little because we were giggly and laughing between them. I was so glad they were there…whenever a surge hit me I would flop over the ball or on the floor and instantly I was surrounded by a flurry of soothing words and delicate fingers. They stroked my forehead, placed firm pressure on my back right where I wanted it—how did they know?—and whispered, “Relax” and “Go deeper…totally loose, totally relaxed.” With their hands and their words it was easy to do it. They breathed with me during surges and laughed with me between them. Compared to what occurred later in the birth, I recognized that I was still very “present” during this time. Whenever I had a surge I felt just like those Russian women in the videos from class who were birthing on rocks near the sea. The women attending them were like wood nymphs or mermaids with gentle hands and flowing hair, giving the birthing women strength and keeping them peaceful. In between the surges it felt just like my bachelorette party. I remember feeling badly that Jonathan didn’t seem to have a lot to do at that time. The mood wasn’t right for him to become a wood nymph, too.

Cathy checked me and I was about a two. Since it was early on and there remained a very long way to go, we decided everyone would leave us alone for awhile and come back when I was in more active labor. I was very happy about this decision; not because I didn’t want everyone there, but I liked the idea of being alone with Jonathan as I progressed and slipped into deeper intensity. I knew this was going to require so much of me, I was still in control and managing well, but I could feel it coming closer and wanted to be able to relax with my husband.

Shortly after everyone left (I think around 9 PM?) I felt the need to begin humming during surges. With my eyes closed, I imagined making vertical zigzags with the noise as I kneeled over the birth ball and moved my hips, and it helped immensely. Each surge required about three or four breaths as it built, seized me right in the middle and then mercifully ebbed away. I began to look forward so much to those ebbing away times. They felt so good and then there was always a little break before the next surge began. I told Jonny at that time that so far I thought kidney stones were worse. We were still talking a little, but my end of the conversation drifted into mumbles with closed eyes. I can’t explain how vital it had become to make noise during surges—where I’d felt inhibited before, now I felt like the humming and swaying back and forth was the only thing tying me to the earth. Vocalizing was not something I had ever practiced or expected to do, but it was so instinctive. I wasn’t worried about how I sounded, it was necessary for my survival; my body demanded it of me. It focused me and pulled me deeper.

Jonathan sat with me and rubbed my back and my arms during every surge. He told me he loved me so much, that I was amazing, that I was a “birthing warrior” and once he said, “Racher, that’s a sweet noise.” I had such soft feelings for him. There was something so lovely and intimate about him holding me and being sweet to me while I was birthing our child. Evidence of our love around me with his arms and hands and kind kisses, and inside me, the child itself. Without an audience, without any fanfare, we were just together. I loved that time. It was so precious to me and I love that it wasn’t marred by rushing to leave somewhere or dealing with strangers coming in and out of our room. I can’t imagine feeling the way I felt then and having to deal with that. I will always be able to remember that during our last few hours alone together, we were calm and good to each other and not stressed out.

Cathy had told us to call her at midnight and she returned at about 1 am. I don’t remember how far apart my surges were at this point because I had floated away and was locked up inside myself. That must sound spacey, but that’s really how I felt; everything around me was hazy and dim and I felt more inside my body than I ever had before. I think I was at a 4 or a 5 then, and Cathy told us that the baby was posterior. I wasn’t greatly distressed by this news because I wasn’t experiencing very much back pain, and I needed all my energy to get through the surges, but Cathy felt it was important to try to turn the baby and break the rest of the water she felt in front of his head. She had me do a series of positions that I’d never heard of before. I spent a few surges doing lunges on top of a footstool (LUNGES!) while she and Jonathan held my shaking arms. Then I sat on the birth ball and held on to Jonathan’s arms while swinging my hips from side to side and moving my legs back and forth. That position exhausted me but I gamely tried to do it as hard as I could. After that was my least favorite ever—lying on my left side with one leg stretched out behind me and the other bent. It was so hard to relax in that position, but we were eventually successful in turning the baby! You must understand, Cathy does not mess around. Wendy described it well when she said, “Cathy is such a powerful person that she doesn’t need to let anyone know how powerful she is. You just see it.” I don’t know if many care providers would have worked with me on all those different positions, or even had the knowledge to do so! I loved, loved, loved working with her because I feel that she helped me utilize my body instead of shutting it down or helping me get away from my body. That was what I wanted.

Laura, Laurel, and Wendy blessedly came back while I was lying in that beloved position. I croaked a hello to them and once again there was a flurry of massaging, soft words, loving kindness. I was totally naïve about the immeasurable merits of having a doula. I was excited to have Laurel come to my birth and imagined her being sort of a cheerleader for me, encouraging me and rubbing my back. What she, Laura, and Wendy did for me was SO much more than that. I felt like they carried me through the surges, that we were all experiencing them together. I remember thinking about how all of them had had children and gone through this before, and wanting to cry with the beauty and pain of it. It was the most potent sisterhood I’ve ever felt. Whenever I started a surge, they pressed down on my shoulders and whispered for me to go deeper, and oh I did. They stroked my hair, smoothed my forehead, pressed on my back, and did acupressure on my feet and ankles. They held up water with a bendy straw for me to drink between surges. They spoke to me with such positive energy! All of this didn’t take away the intensity of the contractions, but it dulled the sharpness of them, smoothed the tightening. Even in the moment, as zoned out as I was, I wanted to sob with gratitude. I have rarely in my life been so vulnerable and raw as I was when I was birthing, and all that kindness and goodness pouring down on me touched me so much.

Around this time the humming noise I’d been making turned into what I referred to afterwards as the “whale song.” Behind my closed eyes, I started seeing a musical scale in colors. Higher notes were red, yellow, orange and pink—too bright and alarming for me then—and the low “whale” notes were calming blues, greens and grays. I realize that sounds absolutely insane, but I can’t describe it any better than that. I tried to hit those low blue and gray notes because they made me feel better. I know my mind was so suggestible during that time—Laura, Laurel and Wendy all happen to be professional singers as well as doulas (I know.) and they kept telling me, “Good! Go lower. Oh, beautiful.” Making vibrations with the lips can help dilate the cervix, and it just felt so much better to make those noises, I had to keep doing it. Having them be so affirming of the vocalizing felt so good. At times I was aware of them making the noises with me. Laura kept telling me, “You found your birth song! You are singing your baby down! He’s hearing you sing to him right now!” I remember thinking, right, and I’m probably terrifying him! I thought I was being so rough, wheezy and loud, but later when I saw the videos I realized the sound was actually very soothing and calming. Everyone told me later that they all felt dreamy and hypnotized whenever I did it. The next day I re-read a birth story where a woman was vocalizing, and the OB and the woman’s husband were both making fun of her, saying she sounded like a dying cat. When I read that I cried. I would have been so hurt and embarrassed if that had happened to me, and instead I had people telling me what I was doing was beautiful and honoring it. Everyone deserves that.

At the next check I was at a 7, and had a hot-tub flood of waters bursting again. I remember starting a surge right after that check and they rolled me over on my side and pulled my legs into that position I described above--that was rough and the only time during my labor that I really cried out. I caught myself and slipped right back into the whale song, though. Someone during this time turned off the lights (Wendy?) and my midwife’s two assistants arrived, as well as Katie and Sara (creative consultants. It was so nice of them to come!). They had started filling up the birthing tub and were having trouble with the archaic plumbing in our house. I was aware of people talking in hushed voices, filling up buckets and laying down tarps. Several times I got up to go to the bathroom and the surges I had alone in there were some of the hardest to get through. I’ve read that some women feel most comfortable laboring on the toilet, but I was miserable in there. Maybe I just needed my wood nymphs, and even during active labor I was too shy to let anyone come in there with me.

Once I came out of the bathroom right when I was starting a surge and felt a swelling of panic—I could not imagine dropping to the floor for the surge and standing through it seemed equally impossible. I bleated, “What do I do?” and Wendy stepped right in front of me and opened her arms and I just fell into her. She rocked with me as I moaned my way through that surge and Laurel stood behind me giving me counter pressure on my back. I heard Laura say, “That’s right, just put all your weight on Wendy.” That moment stands out so clearly against the haziness of that time and it seems so symbolic of the support and kindness they gave me that I needed so much.

We passed the rest of the night this way; surging and singing and preparing the pool and house for our baby’s arrival. I had no sense of time, but some of the thoughts I was having remain clear to me. I remember thinking about my sisters/sisters in law going through labor and I felt dismayed that they might ever follow my example and would have to experience something like this. I also thought, I could never judge anyone for getting an epidural…and I really admire women who have had unmedicated births in the hospital. I think being at home was absolutely essential for me to have a natural birth. If I had been lying in a hospital bed and someone stood there brandishing a needle and explained that it could all go away right then, I don’t know that I would have been able to say no. As it was, I never felt like I wanted to leave home for pain relief, and I never asked for drugs. Even when it was the most intense, I still felt it was better to keep moving through it.

Although I hadn’t really thought about it beforehand, it became very important to me not to make comments about pain or to say “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.” Saying those things wouldn’t make it go away, or cause someone to volunteer to do it for me. I felt that in the state I was in, doing so would make me lose energy and render me weaker. So I said things like, “Wow, that one was really intense! It’s so nice to have a break in between,” and as the surges continued to grow more powerful I would mutter, “I can do this, I know I can do this.” I think everyone liked it when I said that because they always chimed in a chorus, “You ARE doing this! You’re birthing beautifully!” Everyone said this to me, including sweet Jonathan who had disappeared for awhile helping fill up the pool and then was blessedly near my side for the rest of the birth, including the triumphant moment when I started puking up all the pineapple I ate earlier. I’d felt nauseous during several surges and warned everyone, so they were prepared with a bowl. I threw up pretty violently and then blearily became aware of Jonathan kneeling right next to me, arm around my shoulders, smiling fondly at me. I wailed, “I didn’t want you to see me this way!” and he laughed and exclaimed, “Only Racher, I love you!”

After I threw up, for a few minutes I felt absolutely fantastic, almost normal. I even came back into the room and beamed brilliantly at everyone. I remember bouncing on the birthing ball and making perky statements like “This is great! I can totally do this!” and cracking jokes. Every time they laughed I felt a blissful childlike happiness. Laura told me that I had insane amounts of endorphins in my system and I said I recommended vomiting to everyone, that it was fabulous. Then I felt another surge starting and said “Here we go again!” and we were all back in our positions. The house was buzzing with energy.

I sat on the birth ball and leaned into Jonathan’s shoulder while the doulas continued their merciful work. I felt a need for my husband so immense that my heart could have ripped apart, and every time I looked at him I felt like crying because I loved him so much. He was so calm and cheerful and steady. I realized later how different it all would have been if he had been anxious, fretting or even too enthusiastic. It would have impacted my own mood and focus. Just like I found my salvation through the whale song, he instinctively seemed to know the right things for him to do. He showed me tenderness without acting unduly concerned and reminded me that my body was getting it right. I should add here that my midwife’s assistants had started monitoring the baby’s heart rate every few minutes and they always withdrew exclaiming, “Baby is happy! [The heart rate]’s perfect.” This was encouraging to me, too. There were a couple of times that we all talked to the baby and told him we loved him and were so excited to see him.

Awhile later Cathy told me the pool was ready if I still wanted to get in. I staggered to the pool and they helped me in…I had the most surreal and vibrant of feelings. Was I really doing this, was this really happening? The water always comes in at the end of the story…I knew my baby was coming so soon, but I couldn’t concentrate on that. The water felt amazing; although at that point I was secretly hoping it would take away the surges completely for awhile, but no such luck. The heat helped, though, and the lightness I felt in the water. I kept breathing and making the whale song and everyone took turns doing the shoulder press for me (we even have a nice photo montage of that). Later I flipped around to my knees and clasped arms with Jonathan, who was kneeling at the side of the pool. Around this time, the surges started becoming impossibly long. Of course they’d been lengthening the whole night, but I was still getting at least a 30-40 second space in between to recover and pull myself together for the next one. Sometime after I got in the pool, the ebb and flow of the surges merged together so that they began coming in on top of each other. The wave would barely edge away from the peak and then instantly there was another peak. There was no steady tide anymore, it was a deluge. It was exhausting! They kept rolling in harder and stronger and I was aching for a chance to catch my breath, but I had to keep making the whale song because it was the only way I could survive. I think I started to lose it here; a little…I was drowning during those surges. It felt like each one took an hour. Katie told me later, “I thought, ‘her body is about to break in half!’” I was begging God in my mind to just please give me a rest, and then I could go on. I thought of praying to Heavenly Mother or some pagan goddess (Artemis?) but I couldn’t gather my thoughts together. I said out loud, desperately, “I need a break, I need a break, PLEASE Heavenly Father!” Cathy told me (speaking, perhaps, for God) that I wasn’t going to get anymore breaks, the baby was close.

It was becoming more difficult to keep hitting my low notes, even with the doulas cooing next to me, because my energy was fading. The power song started to fizzle into disorganized moaning. I opened my eyes briefly and saw everyone clustered around the edges of the pool. I was floundering, starting to feel something close to despair. One of Cathy’s assistants leaned close to me and told me that I wasn’t “putting everything [I] had” into my noises anymore. She told me to try “letting it all out.” I realize that sounds extremely vague, and at no point did she or anyone else in the room ever say the word “push” to me, but somehow I gathered that was what she wanted me to do. But I didn’t understand how it could be time for that! I was expecting to feel what others described as “pushy,” where the urge to bear down is uncontrollable and the body “just takes over,” but my body wasn’t telling me to push at all. I was still just trying to hang on during the surges. I felt alone; I’d really expected my body to help me with this part.

I asked Jonathan what he remembers about the next part and he said, “That’s when Rachel became feral.” I locked into an even deeper place inside myself and told myself, the only way this is ever going to end is if I push the baby out. No one is going to step in and do it for me. This is mine. At that point I lost whatever inhibitions I’d still been hanging onto. I plunged my hands into the water so I could support myself, lowered my head and as I exhaled I began making these grunting, guttural sounds (“Bowser” noises). I pushed as hard as I could with the sound and I could feel the baby’s head moving into the birth canal, which was a little overwhelming. I heard Laura’s voice echoing what she’d told us in class: “Those are some big feelings…just let them be big.” I had to reach down into someplace primitive, dark and powerful to come up with those pushes--I was tearing the lining of the world. Each push was a gargantuan effort far beyond what I’d ever thought I had the capacity to do, and yet somehow I did it over and over again.

They kept checking his heartbeat every few minutes and it was always perfect. Soon the baby was far down enough that the sensation of him slowly emerging had overcome the pressure of the surges, and I was no longer aware of them. Wendy told me later that one of the assistants tried to give me a suggestion, and Cathy told her, “Let’s just leave her alone, she’s going to get this baby out.” I have no memory of that. I was on lockdown in an urgent quiet world with my baby’s head suddenly pressing up against my flesh. I reached down and felt it there; managed to push hard enough to keep it there, so it didn’t go back in. I felt burning and remembered that short pushes would help me stretch and not tear—and in the same instant I thought, I don’t have time for that! I don’t have the words to come close to what it took to keep going, down down down until that head popped out. I think the guttural noises turned into a roar at the end. I heard gasps and Laurel cried, “Oh, Rachel, your baby!”

I have zero memory of his body coming out; there was just this immense relief as my body stopped its restless heaving. I could hear splashing and I was already sobbing and frantic to turn around and see him. OH! My baby! He was already crying and snuffling by the time it took for me to move my legs around the cord and lean against the side of the pool. I couldn’t believe this grayish froggy body in my arms was my son, that I birthed him and it was over! We did it! He was so lovely! He was so new and sweet! I kissed him all over his vernixy head. Everyone kept exclaiming how much he looked like Jon, especially his sweet little lips—he has a huge top lip and a smaller bottom one, just like my husband. Within seconds this tidal wave of the most intense emotions smashed into me. The “cocktail of hormones” resulted in making me absolutely manic, and I was shaking and bawling, babbling a mess of lovingly blurred words. “Oh baby! You’re real! You’re alive! Are you scared? I’m so sorry, I was scared too, I’m so sorry. Oh, baby I love you, thank you for coming!” He was so floppy against my neck, I half-expected him to start talking to me. It already felt like a miracle was glowing in the room, I don’t think it would have even surprised me.

I looked around at the faces of the people around me; some of them were crying. They were all shining like angels to me. I think the oxytocin made me imprint on everyone in the room…I felt like I needed to make a speech from the birthing tub, but I was totally discombobulated. “Thank you so much for being here!...you don’t understand…” What can you say to the people who have just carried you through the most significant experience of your life? Any words of appreciation would be flat and stale; but looking back, I think we all felt a lot that day and I think they do understand.

Jonathan was leaning teary-eyed at my shoulder as they wrapped a towel around our little boy. I looked up at him and asked, “Do you love him?” "I love him!" he said. I think he was as dazed as I was; we couldn't believe what had just happened. Now that I was "back in the room" I wanted to process the experience with everyone, but there was more work I had to do. I was a little indignant when Cathy told me I had to birth the placenta. Obviously I knew about that beforehand, but part of me was like "Seriously? Do you know what I just did?" Haha. The placenta was birthed (it was heart shaped--#lovechild) and we tried to start breastfeeding but I think the baby and I were both too wired right then. I wanted time to look at him and get to know him, at the same time I wanted to talk to everyone in the room about what had just happened. I remembered to ask Jonathan to call my parents and let them know that their grandson was born. I was on this incredible high wave of triumph.

When I stood up to walk into the living room, Laurel said, "Can you believe you're not pregnant anymore?" It was surreal...I'd just had a baby...in my kitchen, with no drugs, and he was perfect! I will admit I had a sort of smug moment of glee when I thought of all the people who hated on me and said I couldn't do it, but mostly I just felt righteous humility for the joy of having a strong and healthy baby. We sat on the couch for awhile having some skin to skin contact and tried to get him to latch on. Then Cathy's assistants cleaned and weighed him while Cathy stitched up the carnage (you don't want to know). He was 8 lbs, 4 oz, and 21 inches. I was so proud of my sweet little one!

I'm not sure where to end the story...where we cut the cord, where Cathy kissed me on the forehead and told me "your birth was phenomenal," where I realized I didn't have any nursing bras, where everyone left and I passed out on the coach with the baby asleep on my chest, where I woke up freezing and Jonathan came and put his arms around both of us, where Laurel brought her whole family over a few hours later to clean our house (oh! thank you!). "The birth story" has kind of blended into our new life now. Jonathan and I both feel so changed by what happened...not just by the arrival of our little guy, but by the birth itself.

I absolutely don't think we could have had a better experience...I was privileged to have so many powerful women attend the birth, along with my husband. Everyone there had a vital work to do and they all labored along with me. There was no one in our home that night who didn't share our vision of what we wanted our birth to be; no one brought in any negativity or fear or a “spirit of emergency.” Everyone one of my birth attendants are mothers themselves; all of them view birth as a privilege and a normal physiological process. As much as I felt dependent on my midwife and doulas, they were so respectful and focused on letting my body do what it was meant to do. Never at any time did anyone make comments about me or my body that indicated I might not be able to do this. With kind hands and soft voices they told me over and over and over again that I was doing wonderfully and that could keep going. I knew I could, but it meant so much to be buoyed up by that much support when I was in the middle of the storm. It was the epitome of empowerment. They all believed in me and I never doubted myself.

I feel like my midwife “presided” over the birth and took action when she deemed it necessary (like the positions she had me take to turn my little guy when he was posterior), but otherwise she left me do what I needed to do. She did not feel the need to speed up or micromanage my labor and birth. I felt free to take my time, move how I felt like moving. Nothing was done to my body or my son’s body that had motive in someone else’s agenda. Although we received so much help, unquestionably this birth “belonged” to me, Jonathan and our son. That means so much to us!

I'm so grateful for the research I did during my pregnancy and especially for my decision to use Hypnobirthing. I am so glad we took the class--not only was Laura an amazing teacher, but the information covered in the class prepared me to give birth without fear. It separates cultural perceptions and traditions about birth from what women are and have always able to do when they are given support and no one interferes with them. It reinforced everything I had intuitively felt about pregnancy and birth. It taught me to relax during labor. The techniques I learned manifested themselves in a different way than I had expected, but they worked for me and while I don’t know if I would describe my birth as “comfortable,” it was manageable and I felt confident through most of it. It was HARD—definitely the hardest physical challenge I have ever endured—but oh, how grateful I am that I went through it! I had the ineffably powerful experience of surrendering in ways I never had, finding out I was stronger than I thought I could be. It’s incredible to think of now. The day before I went home from my mission, my mission president told us that we were about to walk through a door and once we were on the other side, what we had done as missionaries would not seem as hard or intense, because it was over. He said we’d be nostalgic for the good things but once the burden was lifted we would never remember it the same way. I think childbirth is probably like this…so I wanted to write this story while it is still as fresh as the pain from my stitches (haha). But I do hope I can do it again someday…and again and again and again! Thank you for reading and thank you everyone who honored this day by your presence. Now I am going to go enjoy my little Chai, who is a little Stranger no more.

JONATHAN CHAI STRANGE

Born at the instant the church bells chime (Birth Story Part 1)

2011-06-14T22:31:00.001-07:00

I have the most precious 7-day old son. This has been the sweetest, deepest week of my life. My son’s birth has been like an enormous purifier on my life. I feel stripped of my layers of cynicism, doubt, and annoyance. My heart is laid raw (the closest I remember feeling to Romania) and weeps for any pain I hear about. I have this absorbing feeling that all I am is my heart, and right now it’s all I want to be. I am reeling in the richest emotions of tenderness, gratitude, adoration, reverence.

I've waited so long to be able to write this story! I have to start with this (from my journal on June 3, 2011) as a preface because it explains my state of heart and mind when my birthing experience began.

Today was a heavy whipping cream emotional day for me. Yesterday I fell on the driveway (in a horribly undignified and humiliating way) and this morning I was seized with terror because I hadn’t felt the baby moving as much as usual. (Indoctrinated by Little House on the Prairie where all falls result in instant hemorrhage and a frantic rush to get Doc Baker) so I went to see my midwife again today. Before I met with her she had me do a "kick count" (you lie on your left side and write down how many times your baby moves in an hour). He didn't move at all in the first 30 minutes and I started crying hysterically, sure that he was dead. One of my thoughts was that people would blame my decision to have a homebirth, when really it was my own stupid fault for falling down the driveway! Then I had the idea to eat a power bar and drink some water, and he started moving like crazy. I was so relieved! I visited my midwife and she listened to his heartbeat and had me reenact the fall to show her how I landed and said he should be fine. My knees are bashed-in masses of scabs and still full of very small rocks, but my uterus is the shiz. I'm grateful to have a healthy body that has taken good care of our little guy and protected him from danger and jolly rancher chews. We can't wait to see his little face. He will be tremendously loved. I love him more for suffering his loss for 30 minutes today, as silly as that sounds.

Laura came over tonight to do a fear release and it was glorious—I had so much energy and felt so serene afterwards. She used a script she wrote herself and I learned so much from it and had the most incredible, ready visions. I wish church or the temple could be like that…it unlocks my mind and fills me with light and resolve. This week I’ve been complaining about my body a lot (the drive-through camera at Wells Fargo completely demoralized me, I asked Jonathan how he could even continue to live with me if I really looked like THAT) and feeling like a manatee/elephant seal/toad person. Part of the fear release script involves you looking inward and THANKING your body for the miracle of conception and carrying a healthy baby. When I opened myself to those ideas I felt so ashamed for my ugly thoughts. My body might not be as svelte and lithe as it [hopefully will be again one day] once was but it’s making a miracle possible. Also, when I think of the women who perceive their bodies as “broken” because of infertility or other problems I absolutely ache for them! I feel grateful that my body is alive and thriving and capable of giving life. It’s so beautiful, it really is! In another section, Laura talked to the baby and told him how much his parents love him and how welcome he is. She talked about his little face and his little hands and I was crying. He is more important than I can understand; he will mean everything to us! He will be the best of our lives, I know it.

The loveliest of all was the warm hallway full of light, I had to imagine all my fears, doubts, and limiting ideas hung on the wall as pictures. I looked at them with detachment. I imagined portraits illustrating the scenes where people had discouraged me and treated me with disdain. I saw the colors blur and drip from the page as the pictures shrank smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing. Then I got a new canvas and painted enormous depictions of the hopes for our birth. My favorite and the most vivid was just me and Jonathan and our little Stranger sitting in the pool and adoring each other, with light streaming in from the windows, from the water, from the baby. I titled the painting “Dar la Luz” and it filled me with such joy and confidence. I hung it with a most heavy frame and Laura said “It will be.” It was such a good day to do a fear release, and made me feel so alive! Laura has a perfect voice and cadence for doing the readings. She said she thinks of it kind of like giving a blessing. That’s exactly what it feels like to me, it feels like such a strengthening gift. It’s incredible. It was a spiritual readjustment and knocked me back into alignment where I want to be--in a place of respect for my body, faith in the birthing process and in my own strength, love and anticipation for my baby. I am ready for this! but I also feel a sweet peace about being pregnant for longer, if I need to be. My child is healthy and all will be well.

Lightening Crashes, and a Poem I Love!

Last Monday (June 6) I called my midwife because I suspected I was leaking amniotic fluid. This concerned me a little; did it count as my water breaking? Women in the birth stories I read always described it as a gush, but this was a barely noticeable trickle. Where was my GUSH?! I was feeling no contractions besides the occasional tightness I’d felt for months. Cathy confirmed that it was amniotic fluid and told me that if I were birthing at a hospital they would want to induce me, but she wasn’t worried about it, because it seemed to be a slow, high leak and it would be so much better for me and the baby if he would get started on his own. I was a little disappointed; I was just so eager to do this and I’d had so much positive energy since doing the fear release—I wanted to put it to good use. However, as I was driving home from Cathy’s home in Payson, I sneezed! And behold, the flood! This time the gush was unmistakable; it felt like water from a hot tub suddenly pouring around my legs. I grinned and I think I even said, “Yay!” I called Cathy to let her know and she said “Great job!” and to keep her informed if I started sometime that day. I love that my water broke with a sneeze because sneezing had rendered me marginally incontintent through an embarrassing duration of my pregnancy. Haha.

I came home joyously to the arms of my Jonny and informed him of my news. He was so excited; we were both so happy to know something should be happening soon. I called Laurel (my official doula) to tell her and explained that I was a little worried that I had my water broken but no contractions at all. I know it’s much better to begin with surges first and have the water break during labor. Laurel offered to come over and do some pressure points to try and get labor started. I agreed; not necessarily because I had the most faith in pressure points, but I love Laurel and wanted to hang out with her (also I will almost never object if someone wants to rub my back). She brought Zacky and Patrick over and we had a picnic lunch in my living room while we watched Pocahontas (“Savages” is my favorite part because of its overwhelming subtlety) and experimented with acupressure. A couple of times I thought I felt a tiny pang in my uterus, but maybe I imagined it.

After Laurel left, I decided to take a “long winter’s nap” with the hope that my birthing time was very close, so I curled up in bed with a book and some jolly ranchers chews. I never got my nap, because by the time I finished the box (*cough*) I was feeling some unfamiliar sensations in my abdomen. At first I thought I was just laying in an uncomfortable way, so I shifted my weight and redistributed my pillows, and then I felt a very distinct cramping sensation. It startled me with its power. I sat up in bed, almost holding my breath. “Oh, baby baby,” I whispered, “are you really coming?”

The wind was wailing outside and it was a grayish afternoon (this was around 3:30 PM) and because whenever the weather is bad (or it is night) I tend to think my house is haunted, I suddenly couldn’t bear to be alone. I called Jonny at work and asked him to please come home. I explained that I knew it could still be awhile, but I wanted to be with him for our last few hours alone. He is so steady and comforting to me always. He came home and hugged me. We were so excited to be doing this and there was a solemnity about it as well. I think we could sense that we were about to go through something powerful and difficult, and even though it wasn’t quite there yet, we were bracing ourselves.

We decided to eat some pineapple, watch SVU and start keeping track of the surges so when I called Cathy I could tell her how far apart they were. I leaned over my birthing ball and tracked the surges on contractionmaster.com. They were pretty irregular in length but all under 5 minutes apart. I remembered to do my slow breathing, but between surges I was chattering to Jonny about SVU, and how excited I was, and I don’t know what else. I couldn’t have fathomed sleeping, and walking didn’t feel too good, either. I felt nervous if I wasn’t close to the floor when the peak of the surge hit. The surges were very manageable at this point and felt more like pressure than anything else—but they were so strong, and seemed so separate from me that it was a little intimidating, like an unseen hand was clutching me in an iron grip and then releasing me. I kept humming the chorus of "Lightning Crashes:" "Oh, I feel it coming back again/like a rolling thunder chasing the wind/forces pulling from the center of the earth again..." describes it pretty well. :)

This is the end of Part I. During intermission, read this beautiful poem, that I have loved and read often with labor and imminent motherhood in mind (gracias Na!):

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

—from Rainer Maria Rilke’s Book of Hours (I, 59)

watermelon girl

2011-05-25T21:46:00.000-07:00

We were at the grocery store last night for one of Rachel's "cravings." Everybody says that pregnant women get all kinds of weird cravings, but Rachel seems to only want more candy. An elderly stocker approached Rachel and said, "I see what you're trying to do m'am, you'll need to take that watermelon out from underneath your shirt before you leave the store!" Then he laughed heartily. It was really cute.

Rachel being pregnant is the sweetest thing in the world! She has had such a great pregnancy and I feel really blessed as a result. I always pictured being around a really demanding person who I would sort of need to baby. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but Rachel isn't really like that! She mostly jokes with me about it. When she wants to eat more, she always blames the boy for it. Even when she wants to eat candy, she just says that the baby is asking for it. She's obviously a sassafrass.

It is a magical time with the baby so close. There is anticipation in the air! Sometimes it feels almost normal now. This is strange because I often suddenly realize I'm about to become a father! Its crazy!

My whole life I really have just wanted to be a father. It is my life's aspiration. It feels so surreal knowing that my dream is about to start. It feels like its imaginary....but that is a good feeling. I feel like Rachel brings this out in me, my creative imaginative side. She is the most creative and imaginative person I know and I fall in love with her every time she invents something hilarious or dramatic.

I guess I just feel with all of the stories I've heard and warnings I've received it all came to naught in my experience with Rachel's pregnancy. And that is reassuring. I'm not saying that what people said had no merit, just that sometimes I think that people don't acknowledge just how diverse human experience can be. I hope all of Rachel's pregnancies are so wondrous!

When I think about the pregnancy, one of my favorite memories is of a time when we were at our friends house and Rachel was chasing me around and around....I realized then what a spry pregnant girl Rachel was. I'm so impressed with her.

These are the days of miracle and wonder (the boy in the bubble!)

2011-05-12T10:25:00.000-07:00

Missed Time

My notebook has remained blank for months
thanks to the light you shower
around me. I have no use
for my pen, which lies
languorously without grief.

Nothing is better than to live
a storyless life that needs
no writing for meaning--
when I am gone, let others say
they lost a happy man,
though no one can tell how happy I was.

--Ha Jin

I love this poem! I relate, not to the "storyless" life, but to leaving my proverbial notebooks blank when my days are most joyful--of course the dire and dour moments are chronicled with painful detail. The last few weeks have been like ingesting some colossal serotonin reuptake inhibitor...dizzyingly, sickeningly happy. Maybe it's just hormones, (which I resent and like to pretend I'm not affected by) but even so, it's the good stuff.

My sister Batkinson is in town and I’ve spent lots of time hanging out with her. It feels like summer here, the breathing space between duties. We went to see Cow's band at Avalon last night, the Paces had a lovely Dr. Seuss themed baby shower for the Stranger (I have to write later about a beautiful moment with my grandfather), we made a Jeopardy style game honoring my mother on Mother's Day, every night we all stand around in the kitchen for hours talking about Family Drama and Current Events, and of course we've been watching copious amounts of SVU (as a law student Natalie is eager to pick up useful tips from the ADAs). I love my sister! She's been away for so long that it feels so good to just be humble friends, reconnect and laugh and tease each other. I feel like I know her again and she really is the companion of my youth….I sat with her and laughed while she cleaned out the closet of her high school days.

We each have a closet sort of like a sarcophagus in the room we shared for years, where all of our ancient treasures and writings are stored. I always plan to go through the relics and clean it out, but in the past I've felt overwhelmed by all the ghosts rising up. I pulled one of my own boxes out, but only managed to throw away some EFY pictures and a geometry test on which I scored a 75%. My own angst scours my skin when I look through those things, but it’s not the wild and horrible longing that I used to feel sifting through the remains. It felt good to recognize that…for years I thought I held the lifelessness of the life I was supposed to have in my hands. Now, even when I look at the pictures of a fresher, lovelier face, I’m glad to be in this year, in this almost-mother body, belonging with Jonathan Strange. Not just glad, a sheer heart-pounding relief and joy! I do feel some pangs when I read certain old letters, but I know and understand that so much of what I perceived as depth was silliness and selfishness, and that my relationships back then were not healthy. It wouldn't be, wouldn't breathe in the light of day. For the rest of that day, every time I looked at Jonathan I could feel my heart swelling and I couldn't explain to him how much—how grateful I am.

I am so exquisitely excited about my pregnancy right now. I still feel so good physically. My hips hurt when I wake up from the relentless rolling from side to side, but I am able to sleep easily despite that, and after I shake them for a few minutes (haha!) the pain goes away. I’m still free from swelling, heartburn, backache, what else ache? Everyone complains about being so uncomfortable; I am a little like a turtle if I ever get stuck on my back, but it’s fun to be this way and I know I will miss it! I’ll be 37 weeks this weekend and my midwife said that he is locked into position near my pubic bone and that he could come anytime now ("the sooner the better"). She said, "Doesn't it hurt to feel him so low?" It really doesn't, it just feels like pressure. I love how my hips feel like they are walking in different directions--it makes me feel hopeful, that my body is getting ready to do what it needs to. Jonathan was there at my last appointment and felt the baby's head—his feet are twisted up into my ribs and around my right side. Baby, baby, are you okay in there baby? I can’t wait to see you! I don’t know how to explain, I really do feel ecstatic that he is so near and apparently so gigantic, I can feel him low low low and high at the same time when he stretches (don’t worry though, he is the perfect size for my body). It seems now like my belly is molding around him. I hope he has felt love from me and my hands constantly pressing on his tiny feet when he flings them out. He will be so sweet and dear. I know we can’t begin to imagine all that will come into our lives when he bursts out of the tank, but I feel eager to begin. I love my little boy! I feel so lucky and grateful to have had this time to carry him with me in my own body. It is truly a privilege and more hopeful and wonderful than almost anything I have ever known.

I need to flesh out a conversation I had with Tile about children—what I remember most is discovering that CREATION CAN NEVER BE A LOSS—children and the effort taken to raise them is creating, it is an extension of you, another dimension of self-hood, not the absence or erosion of self-hood. I know others must have realized this thousands of times, but it clicked with me and I feel it must be true. If I feel that I am disappearing, I need to create and engage creatively. That will save me I think.

We're off to Island Park for the weekend, "in the merry month of May."

36.5 weeks

So come out of your cave walking on your hands

2011-04-23T00:04:00.001-07:00

Last night I had a most hideous dream. Instead of the kindly field liaison visit which takes place IRL, I was being evaluated at my internship by a stern panel of judges (no doubt inspired by Law & Order SVU of which I watch at least two episodes nightly). During the evaluation I made a series of bizarre and inexplicable mistakes that I would never make in real life. I arrived late and didn't explain myself. Instead of running a process group, I had the kids watch Mean Girls. I laughed inanely at things that weren't funny as the judges stared at me, somber and dour, dripping with disapproval. I sat close to a fan that drowned out my voice and also, at one point, blew open my shirt. All of this was filmed and showed to my cohort during a class as my professor berated me and announced that my colossal disaster was the quintessential example of what not to do and said this proved beyond a doubt that I should never under any circumstances practice clinical work, because I was incompetent, and an embarrassment to the profession. As a little stinging P.S I also had a client reject me for my deplorable Spanish (this has never happened in real life--yet). I was given the evaluation forms that the judges had filled out, and all I remember was the word FAIL, FAIL, FAIL dark and unforgiving on every line. I felt cold shame all over my body and I wanted to cry even as soft light crept into our room and I began to be aware I was dreaming...and I was graduating that day. So cute of my subconscious to dredge up a little extra anxiety even after I'd finished my internship.

Here are the mujeres of Vantage Point on my last day! Scott and Darren were on spring break with their families.

Jen is a wonderful case manager! She and I had fun being pregnant together all this year. The day after this picture was taken she birthed her baby girl!

I'm DONE with school and work! I don't miss it quite yet. :) Oh such a beautiful liberated life I’m suddenly living! It feels so good knowing I don’t have to go to work tomorrow. Summer has arrived. I spent all last week working on the slideshow for the graduation reception. It was fantastic and all of the graduation events were triumphant and relieving…the most fun was seeing Melanie and going out to eat at “Barabbas” after I walked and Jonathan telling me he was proud of me. I loved the finality of all the little honoring events because it’s over, over, over! I have such good things to move on to! I’m so glad to be finished with school before my little guy arrives, now I can pour my life into a different bottle and I’m so excited. I love staying up late and later and hanging out with Jonny without the anxiety of having to be somewhere at 8 AM, finish an essay, plan an activity...I’m in love with that delirious exhaustion and freedom of knowing I don’t have to be anywhere until later…I want to incorporate my little guy right into that. Oh, I can’t wait to see him! What sort of child will he be and what kind of mother and father will we find in ourselves?

I feel less hesitant than before to say I love being pregnant, I really have loved this experience. Since I'm through the majority of it, the doomsday choir chanting "Just you wait" has less affect on me. The worst part for me was the “thickening” in the fall that makes me want to gag when I remember it—before I was showing and people were always clutching my stomach. I also experienced that stage in the soggy fall when everything was dying, the days shut out into darkness too early and I had prickling anxiety about doing therapy almost every night, so I believe that made it worse. It seems fitting to do the third trimester in lovely spring (just like OHS) so I and the world entire are “blooming” together. We are the new day, the little green lives shooting up from the soil. Someone said to me yesterday, “Don’t you find it just gets worse and worse every day?” Why, no. No I don’t!I have had a couple of less-than comfortable nights in the last few weeks, mostly after being in the car for long hours and not able to move my body around in ways that are comfortable (getting on hands and knees). Sometimes my hips ache from the pressure of turning from side to side at night, but they feel good and strong again in the morning. Most days I marvel at how healthy I feel. I’m not stricken with the mysterious aches or heartburn or swelling (still time for that to happen later, I guess). I tell Jonny, “I feel good! I feel really good!” I’m not really uncomfortable. Is this a miracle, or like my grandmother said, “Your lucky day”? People don’t believe me and assume I must be suffering. I’ve had some body image issues but at other times I find my pregnant body lovely. When have I been more useful or more giving? Sharing this clay with a new little being should be more beautiful than when I was tinier, less sincere, and attracting flitting shallow guys. And I want to value it more. I don’t want to honor decay.

We listened to the Bubble of Peace script this weekend and I LOVED the idea of a glossy, ivory white impenetrable bubble floating around me keeping the black cuttlefish fears away. I painted strength on it and filled it with books; Jonathan was the only one I brought in. (His bubble was black and armored with spikes). My mind is powerful and I want to learn to be more disciplined and utilize it more. I love the fear-clearing sessions where they ask you to bring one worry about parenthood or birthing to the top. Most of my fears have to do with things I've heard people say about how having children was traumatic/cumbersome/depressing. I’ve occasionally looked for comfort in the wrong places—anyone else will just tell me what their own experience tasted like, flavored with their own expectations and perspectives, spiced with their individual disappointments. No one else is going to come to me and tell me that my life will be the way I want it—I’m the one writing the book and I’m the one who gets to interpret the story. (Although this is so lovely and hopeful!) That’s what I want to use the Bubble of Peace for—not to immerse myself in naiveté but to choose beautiful interpretations and to reject blackened and bitter views of the life I’m going to be living. The other day I spoke with someone who advised me to enjoy the weeks of freedom I have left "before [your] life is over." She told me of her misery since having her baby and all the things that made it difficult and hard. Nothing beyond the typical realm of caring for an infant has occurred, but her experiences have brought her such sorrow. This unsettled me! Why are so many young mothers so unhappy?

Jonathan and I talk a lot lately about not “borrowing trouble”—not fretting about something that "might" go wrong or awry. I know life will stir up its own heartache and pain—but I want to escape the trap of perceiving things that should be joyful as troubles. Like the capacity to have children—when I think of having a terminally ill or emotionally disturbed child, or having someone take or harm your child--I can see why those things make people feel broken. Having a healthy infant is not something I need to feel broken over and I don’t want to fall into that frame of mind as I have seen others do. It's okay to feel discomfort, it's okay to feel discouraged. I expect to have as many of those moments as I always have, with varying intensities. I accept that. I just don't want to find myself describing my life to someone and indicating the birth of my child as the time when all good things ended. I can do hard things, I have done so in the past and know I can be strong and stronger in the future. This is the day we are making; I want to rejoice and be glad in it.

Sometimes I think about the tension and resentment that some people close to me have seething between them, it breathes like poison and pollutes beautiful moments, keeps them from moving on. How would they feel if someone beloved disappeared or was murdered? That would suddenly become the focal point of all their grief. Suffering over the former hurts would suddenly seem like a light and pale thing in comparison. So why waste that time? I want to make it right in my own life. I don’t want to waste my energy by taking offense. I want to be such a good mother…I want to “strive to be like [my children] but strive not to make them like [me].” I want to say “I don’t know” instead of feeding them insistent, restrictive answers; I want to help them understand that the world can be so ugly and so beautiful, I want them to feel the openness of their own possibility and potential and the myriad ways there are to learn and expand the universe, I want to fill their lives with creativity. I want to run and play with them in the park and jump on their father when he comes home to greet us, I want them to feel the peace of us loving each other so much. As they get older I want to teach them how to remember they are worthwhile even when others challenge that, how to feel and learn from pain without it destroying them, how to be at peace with failure and to accept uncomfortable emotions. Before all of that I want to make of my life a lovely safe place for a sweet little being. He is so wanted and so welcome. I want to make his new life on dry land as comfortable as possible. I love the idea that he knows my voice and will recognize me! I hope he does! (Perhaps he is already a little embarrassed to have such a shrill mother.) It’s miraculous that my husband and I will have a little person who is equal parts both of us. Jonathan always tells me, “I can’t wait to be a father!" The other day I asked him if he ever wished we'd waited longer, and he told me, "No!...Then we would have had a different baby!" That made me laugh and then made me think. Jonathan is the light of my life and probably the secret real reason that this pregnancy has been so wonderful. Because of him I always feel empowered and full of hope--and he treats me like I am strong, which is what I want. I love his delight in baby kicking, baby dreaming, baby planning. I feel so together with him. It feels so good to know this is a dream of his that I'm helping make come true, as well as my own.

I just finished talking to my own Dad about his trip back to CT to see his very ill father. He told me about taking the train and passing all of the places of his former life—the house he grew up in, the beach his aunt and uncle took him to. He could see himself at all the different ages. He told me how his mother ripped up the crab grass and made a lot of food no one ate—how his father still barks at her and reached out to my dad to hug him when he left, which thing he had never done before. It crushed him. He said that he doesn't feel at all like what he expected 60 to feel like, that he could be 30 or 20 and "it all goes so fast…don’t take it for granted"…nostalgia swallows me whole most of the time but I know I haven’t done the very most important works of my life yet. I’m going to work hard and make the most out of this until I get down to the very bottom of everything. And then we'll see it--we'll see it, we'll see it.

This is 34 weeks. Ay mi hijo, tan pronto al verte la cara!

Graduation reception at the Marriott--We we we so excited!

Con mis papas

Con mi amor, que sonrisa tan linda

Con bellas Teri y Celeste

Little Lion Man

2011-04-04T10:00:00.000-07:00

It was a heavy weekend; 3 types of chill and frozen wind where I hoped there would have been sunshine. Those expectations were so cruelly buried under snow like the poor star violets on our lawn. It's okay though, I feel a glowing hearth/heart where it is most needed. The little Stranger is trying to escape with determined lurchings. I love it when I see Laurel (fetus whisperer!) and she can decode the frenzied spasms because sometimes I can feel him in 3 places at once and he shifts so radically that I don't understand how he can possibly still be head down, but so far, so good! He is so active and alive these days! I always want everyone else to feel his bumping and thrashing; I'm constantly pulling Jonathan's hands to my belly. Yesterday sitting on the couch during conference we felt him backin' that thing up with gusto and Jonathan asked, what does that feel like? I said, "Sweet, it just feels really sweet." I love him and I love feeling him, my little boy in the bubble. I have no idea who he is! When I try to imagine our interactions on the Other Side they seem pixelated in mystery. I talk out loud to him in the car and tell him not to be afraid, I ask, will you be my friend? Sometimes working at Vantage Point gives me a little jolts of despair from the inevitability of adolesence; I hope we will have some sweet years when he will trust and believe in us, want us around. I hope those years feel very long. :)

Two poems for Monday morning:

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
--Kahlil Gibran

Metaphors
I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.
--Sylvia Plath

31 Weeks!

Perspective

2011-03-29T21:18:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about what people consider to be attractive. I've had a lot of conversations with my friends about "society" and how we are all influenced by those around us. Any of my friends reading this will probably already have thought of several. I'm a little too obsessed with how much of what we think and feel comes as a direct result of what others think and feel, or at least our perception of what others think and feel. There is a trend in our society that feels very counterintuitive: the depreciation of maternity.

I often wonder how other generations would feel if they heard our talk about deciding whether or not we want to have children. Most would have considered it absurd, as having children assured that you would be taken care of. For most, not having children probably just meant late age poverty and toil. I'm in no way saying that this is a better motive for having children, I just find it interesting.

When did we separate ourselves from our biology? Why did we separate ourselves from our biology? I suppose the problems of modern man were too complex for the use of our instincts. Is that why we suppressed them all?

I guess it's a double edged sword. I feel that we all have instincts that are good and bad. Perhaps in trying to take the worst instincts out of us, we also lost the good.

Primitive people worshiped goddesses with all the biological signs of fertility; they were thick, wide hipped, big breasted women. Many of the statuettes of that time are of women who are pregnant. Primitive man understood that survival depended upon fertility. It was an understanding of the world that modern man, at least in our country, has forgotten. Everything in his life depended upon fertility. The food he ate depended upon the ability of animal life and vegetation procreating, and doing so successfully. They worshiped the fertility of women because it was a symbol of everything good they had in life. Without fertility their lives were not possible.

This is as true now as it was since man first showed up here, however you believe we showed up at first. But there are trends in our world that show that we are steadily forgetting this. Most of us are so far disconnected from the fertility of the land and of the animals that it makes sense.

I'm not a big fan of Nietzsche, but there is one idea that I really liked of his, though I don't agree with it fully. In twilight of the idols he writes about how we hate things that denote decay and love things that denote progress and life. What does it say about our world if we admire signs of decay and despise the signs of life and fertility?

There are many examples of this, but I want to talk about what is portrayed as attractive and just how much we just go along with what they tell us to be attracted to. This subject has been beaten to death, but look at the models of our times! Our symbols of sexuality are symbols of decay. Many, specifically the women, are underweight and gaunt. What does this say about our sexuality? What has happened to biological man? Where have his instincts gone?

I hear a lot of stories about people not being attracted to their wives once they are pregnant. "I hope she loses the weight fast so things can go back to 'normal" Ever heard that? How about "Once I got pregnant my husband wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole" Things like this should be disturbing, not normal. Have you stopped to think about why we might feel this way? I firmly believe that this has everything to do with what our society has taught us is beautiful and not what our biology and instincts would teach us is beautiful. Your ancestors, at one point, worshiped that body form. It was the epitome of beauty.

When women are pregnant they appear as goddesses. As superstitious as they may seem, I think they were right. Science has possibly demystified the experience, but in my mind it is ever more miraculous. We should be humbled by creation.

I think we men, in particular, need to reevaluate why we find women attractive or unattractive. I remember when I was young, I sometimes liked girls that I was to afraid to admit I liked. Why was this? I've thought about it a lot, and I realize now that the reason I did not want anyone to know about these girls is that they were unconventionally attractive. Why should I have cared about what my peers thought was attractive? I was insecure.

People perpetuate this idea all the time. They talk about how hes not good looking enough for her, she's not good looking enough for him etc. Sometimes our elders, with wisdom you would think, perpetuate this silliness by expressing these exact feelings to their children about prospective partners for their children. What message does this send? In conversations of men among men we find the perpetuation of strict social controls on what should and should not be considered attractive and the acceptable expression of male sexuality. I have more than once felt the need of my approval from friends asking about someone they are thinking of dating or are currently dating. "Do you think she is cute?" Why should it matter? It only matters if you think she is cute. I can feel their need for their male peers' stamp of approval on their sexuality. The fact that the approval of our peers about the appearance of a potential partner influences our decision to enter into or remain in a relationship could perhaps explain, at least partially, the high divorce rate in our society. To use a colloquialism, we men need to grow a pair when it comes to our own sexuality.

We need to come back to certain instincts that we all have in at least this one respect. Man's instinctual sexuality is "forgiving" by our worlds standards. I don't like using that, because it implies there is something to forgive where there isn't, as I hope I've explained. People shouldn't be changing the way they feel to fit societies idea of beauty, we should have our own. And we should express it despite any censure or reprimand we might receive from those around us. Frankly, if a man is not attracted to biological signs of fertility, I fail to see why he does not see that as his own personal problem.

My only Racher is SOOO beautiful now that she is pregnant! She is so alive and is a wonderful symbol of life and progress in my life. Creation is wondrous! I feel inclined to bow before it, and I do so in a cosmic sense. I believe God created us and this world. I am humbled to be able to create something so beautiful with my Racher.

Mother, remember the blink of an eye when I breathed through your body?

2011-03-20T23:05:00.000-07:00

(Reflections on graduation and pregnancy)

Today is allegedly the first day of spring even though it was wearing its bare-bones November costume. All my dreams are on their way. There are only four weeks left of class and work--if you could hear all my neurons screeching as they fire and pop, they'd be shouting a jubilant YES!!!! and also FREEEEEEDOM!!!!! Braveheart style. At the beginning of January I couldn't see how I was possibly going to make it through another semester, so weary was I of school and the numb, dreary world. I'm so glad to have the worst of winter behind me, and now that the days are fairer, I'm almost giddy with delight that the end is so pleasingly nigh. All things considered, it really has been fantastic. BYU started to taste stale to me around 2005, and being yanked back from ASU was devastating, but I've loved my cohort and I've had some amazing experiences. My internship at Vantage Point has been exactly what I was hoping for--Spanish clients, a brilliant supervisor, room for creative expression, camraderie with staff, variety, notoriety. :) I felt stretched and dunked in overwhelmedness often enough to help me examine the places where I'm weak, but Good has come from my works and my words—-ill too, but the good has existed, has stilled the air, has lasted in some cases. I'm so thankful to know that!

I remember when I graduated with my bachelor's I felt endlessly light, all the burdens associated with projects papers deadlines "memorize 9 numbers and deny we have a soul" had floated away. It was a glorious feeling to be finished. And then a few weeks later I started missing school. It was the safe branch I always returned to rest on at night, it was my lifestyle, my unfinished student-ness has defined me for a long time. It will be interesting to see what happens now, being done (probably, maybe?) forever. After graduation, I'll have the last 5-7 most "carefree" weeks of my life, with no school, work, or baby.

Right now, there are 10 to 13 weeks left until the Little Stranger decides he wants out of the fishbowl (I imagine it like the scene where Ponyo bursts out of her aquarium). Most of the time I think about being able to hold him and can't wait for him to come--other days I'm a little nervous about how drastically the shape of our lives will change and I want more time to think about it and stay here in the neverland we have together. There are so many things you can't ever really be "ready" for--and despite all the bits of wisdom and experience everyone offers you clotted together in a cup, no one can know what living it will be like for you. I feel this mystery/adventure swelling up before me with flickers of sorrow and joy, and it's so intruiging to have it right in front of me but not to have stepped into it yet. I keep thinking about the verses of Vienna Teng's "Shasta:"
"you put your hand to the belly that's foreign more with every day like an oversize load...but then again maybe this life is like a sleeping mountain/waking up to shape the land..." That's how it feels.
The other day we were in Walmart and I pressed my hand to my stomach in response to some powerful kicks, and to my surprise I could feel the top and bottom of what I determined to be a little foot. "He has FEET!" I cried in adoration. I know these tiny discoveries have been made over and over in awe for centuries, but this is my first time with my baby, my body. It is wonderful, it is tremendous. I keep thinking, how am I allowed to make a human? I can't even cook, but I (we) made a little human being. I LOVE LOVE feeling him move around! He's big enough now that the outside of my belly shakes with his motion. It makes me so happy when Jonathan can feel it too. He always says, "Good baby...I love you, baby!" On Sunday I was getting ready with my mother and sister and the little guy was joyously bounding around.
I said, "Sometimes I feel like he is going to walk right out the side!" and my mother told me, "You'll miss that once he's born." She said she always felt a little lonely once the baby was on the outside, and that she "missed her little friend"--that the unborn baby was a companion she would always have with her. I'd never heard anyone describe it that way before, and I thought it was so sweet! It reminded me to treasure these weeks I have left; even if I do get really uncomfortable towards the end--this has got to be the easiest part, at least emotionally.

With the exception of a painful Friday last week (I think I was on my feet too much, making dinner for Dit's party, and I had some dizziness and swelling I hadn't felt before), I have been feeling so good, normal and strong. I sleep beautifully, except when Jonny sneaks off to play Starcraft. I was joking with my classmates that I have reverse body dysmorphic disorder; I always forget how huge I am until I look in a mirror or see my reflection somewhere; it's bizarre that this enormous abdomen is attached to me. It's not the way I see myself in my mind. I Might Be a Giant. Jonathan is always so sweet with me and tells me I'm beautiful all the time. Because I am vanidosa, I never believe him and struggle to accept those kind words graciously. He says he's MORE attracted to me the more pregnant I get--which again, I find suspicious, but I can't lie that having his face light up whenever I come in the room, and having him greet both me and the Little Stranger bump with kisses, makes me feel so loved and appreciated.

Besides becoming ever more corpulent, I have the shallowest dip remaining of my belly button (I showed it to Cow and she said it made her feel "woozy"--haha!), some stretch marks that look like scars from a lion mauling (not on my stomach, though), and an increasing frustration with sitting in desks in the late afternoon. Sometimes if I eat too much it's a little hard to breathe, and it seems like I have to go to the bathroom every 20 minutes, but I'll gladly take that over what some women go through!
I went to see my midwife on Monday and she told me the Little Stranger is perfectly positioned, he just needs to engage in the next few weeks. I was surprised that I'd only gained 3 lbs last month...sounds good to me! My father told me yesterday that he'd love to come up and do the baby's first checkup. (My father has been surprisingly supportive of our homebirth plans.) Oh, that meant so much to me! It melted my heart! Whenever I think about my family interacting with my son I feel so happy. Last night we were planning our trip to Mexico this summer, and since our van is overfull as usual (that's part of the magic) we made a seating chart that included a place for our little Stranger. There is so much to look forward to!

Now, here are some inspiring images of fertility and corporal immensity.

These are from 27 weeks:

And here we are today at 29 weeks, at 1:30 AM and ready for bed. :)

"Leia...Leia is my sister!"

2011-03-18T13:26:00.000-07:00

I don't mean to make anyone feel uncomfortable, but I felt it was time for me to address this publicly. If you didn't know better, and I told you these were all pictures of me and my twin brother, wouldn't you believe me?

As far as I can tell, we're not REALLY related por sangre--at least all the parties involved vehemently deny it--but you have to admit it's a little suspicious. The first time I noticed it was last summer when we went on a hike--the sunburn pattern on Jonathan's skin looked eerily familiar--like it was my own skin. Then I put together our wedding slideshow and if it weren't for the boy/girl outfits it would have looked like a documentary of the same little blond kid.

There's no mystery as to what our little Stranger will look like--the poor little guy doesn't have a very genetically diverse pool to choose from. I was really hoping my children would turn out like the Ambler kids (since Benny and Jonathan look alike) but we'll probably end up with an army of clones. There's your second Star Wars reference for this post. :)

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning: born of the one Light Eden saw play

2011-03-09T12:38:00.001-08:00

There is some serious long wind in this post. I've been writing out pieces of it in the margins of my notes in my mind for awhile now. I wanted to put together a comprehensive history of how I'm feeling about birth and motherhood, and how I arrived in this place. I have a mother who in my estimation is one of the toughest and kindest women in the world. Her babies were treasures to her. She rejoiced in their coming and mourned their departure from infancy. Despite our family's awkwardness with affection, all the new babies were met with gleeful adoration by us older kids. I wanted to hold them and smell their heads with that intoxicating new baby smell. Sometimes I would secretly wake them up from a nap so that my mom (my poor mother) would get them up and I could just watch them. They are fascinating and have always inspired a sort of reverence in me. I also have tender memories of sitting on the floor at my mother's feet while she rocked and nursed one of the babies. I would tell her about my day and I loved the quiet feeling in the room all glowing with love.

And no one babied my mother. She did not "play the pregnancy card," as someone told me I would learn to do "regardless" of whether I really felt sick or not. What I learned from her about birthing was that bringing a child into the world was "euphoric"--in spite of the accompanying pain. I remember her saying "Sure it hurts, but it's one day in your life that you're in pain. And you don't think about it once you have your baby." There are other thoughts maybe too private so share here, but I'm grateful to my mother for the way she helped shape the way I thought about birth--that it came from a place of strength, not helplessness.

When I first heard about water birth (probably in high school), I remember thinking I'd love to do something like that--but for many years and for many reasons (mostly having to do with pride and disillusionment) I was convinced I was going to fill my days and my arms by loving other people's kids, that no babies of my own were on their way. Once that door opened (it was really hard for me not to make a euphemism here!) I became obsessed with studying childbirth, specifically natural or un-medicated birth. I read books and blogs, birth stories and watched birth videos. I have Katrina to thank for the excellent reading list that got me started, and the Lowe girls for their "paradigm shift" that caused a tidal wave of "birth keeping" passion starting with Asher's carbirth. Although at certain times in my life I NEVER would have believed it was possible, I was actually deliriously excited to get pregnant (it helped that I had a partner I knew would be a most excellent father! I'd never trusted anyone that much before). Jonny and I both felt good about getting started right away (lots of reasons for this, mostly because we're elderly and want a big family) and I guess the Little Stranger did, too. We're so glad he did! The first month we investigated a couple of birth centers (Bella Natal and Feels like Home Birth Suites). They were beautiful, peaceful, and welcoming. I knew I didn't want to birth in the hospital unless necessity demanded it, but I still had the idea that I had to "go somewhere" to have my baby--that if we got in the car and drove somewhere we'd be better off somehow and "safer." It dawned on me slowly that a birth center doesn't really offer much that your own home can't--you still need to transfer to the hospital in case of an emergency, but the midwife really can bring everything you need to your home. The facility fee gave me pause as well, so we left without signing anything.

Since we’d paid for the BYU health plan, I made an appointment with an OB-GYN when I was 10 weeks along. I didn’t have any evidence of my pregnancy beyond a double pink line; I wanted authentication from The Authorities that it was real; also, I was starving for information about the salamander. I met with a doctor that I really quite liked, Dr. Bean. He was friendly and approachable and asked about my father’s residency (Dr. Bean also happens to be the doctor who delivered Christine’s baby on TLC’s “Sister Wives,” so he is famous as well as congenial!). He complimented me on my uncomplicated medical history and told me, “You’re going to have a great pregnancy and a beautiful, healthy baby.” He told me about their policy that patients see a different OB for each pre-natal visit so they can get to know all the doctors, because “you never know who will be there the day you actually have your baby.” He said it can be distressing for patients to get attached to one particular doctor and then have another one they’ve never met before be on shift when they deliver. I told him about my insurance ending upon my graduation (5-7 weeks before baby) and asked if it would be possible to use their practice for pre-natal care but deliver elsewhere. When I told him about my plans to birth in a birthing center, his face fell. “I’m going to have to try to talk you out of that, if you don’t mind.” He warned me that “the stats just don’t hold up” for the safety of home/birth center birth and that “most midwives really don’t know what they’re doing—this is just some kind of hobby for them.” WTF! Take that, midwives everywhere! As they say in Tarkhaan, “the sun became dark in my eyes.” Dr. Bean showed me an article from a pediatric magazine that denounced the practice of birthing out of the hospital. I asked if he was positing that midwives falsify their own statistics, which are really quite positive, and he said, “Well, obviously everyone has their own agenda. Everyone will tell you something different.” I told him that’s why I find statistics confusing and not all that useful—it’s easy to use data mining to tell whatever story you want to with your numbers. Other studies are withheld when the results don’t suit the political purposes of the researchers. He agreed with me, and then we just sort of blinked at each other. I shared with him a few of the reasons I was loath to birth in a hospital—TBOBB kind of stuff, “cascade of interventions,” etc. Nothing you haven’t heard before. He nodded “Absolutely. There is absolutely a correlation between pitocin and epidural, epidural and C-Section. If you get the pit, you are way more likely to end up with a section. But on the other hand, you’d rather go through that than have a dead baby.” Of course! But what about all the choices in between? This is not a binary thing, at least in my mind. I said, “If you put it that way, I’m VERY likely to have an experience I don’t want if I birth in the hospital—my chances of that are much HIGHER than my chances of having ‘something go wrong’ with my baby. Because most low-risk, healthy births don’t require medical intervention, right?” I don’t remember the words he used, but in essence he agreed with me but emphasized the “just in case” part of the scenario.

Despite what you might think, this conversation didn’t really frustrate me. I felt listened to and validated, even though the doctor didn’t agree with me. I thought his assessment of midwives very unfair and somewhat sexist, but overall I felt like it was a fair exchange of perspectives—especially considering that he comes from a medical paradigm and I have no experiential knowledge about birth. Dr. Bean invited me to come hear him speak at BYU’s birthing conference that Friday, and then whisked me through my first ultrasound, which was tremendously exciting! I got to see the little pulsating bead of the Little Stranger’s heartbeat and carry the black and white photos home to my husband to show him that we were, in reality, going to be parents of a mysterious blurry mass of some sort. Friday came and Jonny and I went to the birth conference. Dr. Bean delivered a charismatic discourse about hospital birth. Really the only thing I felt troubled by was at the end when he was lauding vacuum extractors and forceps as life-saving devices: “many of you in here will owe your babies’ lives to these things.” He went on to describe several scenarios in which the baby could become lodged in the birth path. I raised my hand and asked if those scenarios couldn’t be alleviated by the mother changing position and letting gravity work the baby down. He acknowledged that yes, typically they could, but that it was difficult and usually impossible for the mother to do so if she’d had an epidural… A homebirth midwife was the speaker after Dr. Bean. He came back and introduced himself to Jonathan and said he’d been hoping we could make it to the conference. He had brought us a copy of his article on homebirth and we had a friendly exchange; he told us to let him know if we had any questions. Before leaving, he gestured towards the midwife, who was explaining about licensure and why she had chosen to practice as an unlicensed midwife, and whispered, “She’s the worst kind. If you go through with this, stay away from types like her. She thinks this is some kind of fun pastime, but she’s dangerous. She’ll kill your baby and have you believe it was just God’s will.” We smiled and murmured our thanks, but as I sat back I felt sick inside. I didn’t know who to trust. I felt sincerely touched by the doctor’s concern for us; he’d been thoughtful to remember me and to go to the effort of procuring the article for us—I only met with him once. But his comments about midwifery were incredibly troubling to me, and seemed so unprofessional and even degrading. The midwife had sat quietly during Dr. Bean’s lecture, she didn’t act as an antagonist. By calling her “dangerous” and reducing her experiences to a “hobby or pastime,” he dismissed her as a silly woman with no important skills, nothing to offer. I was so disturbed by that. Only the man in the white coat knows best? Midwifery, “with woman,” intuition, nurturing, principles of empowerment, all of that was completely worthless compared to man’s medicine, man’s Western conceptualization of birth?

Even though I’m positive this wasn’t his intention, I felt that my sweet secret hopes and dreams for the birth of my baby were belittled as well. Maybe I was an idiot to want to experience the pinnacle moment of what my body had the capacity to do, to surround myself with individuals who believed in my strength, to seek introspection and self-discovery in the birth of my baby. Maybe the whole process really wasn’t any more valuable than elimination or the removal of a tumor, and by getting caught up in ideas that made it seem so, I was only endangering my baby’s life. On the drive home, I told Jonathan I felt deflated, and foolish for considering my choices with emotional reasoning. I tried to read some of the article Dr. Bean gave us and couldn’t make any sense of it. I complained to my husband about my doubts with statistics, and my tendency to make decisions based on principles rather than odds. I wailed, “I just don’t know who to believe!” Jonathan was quiet for a moment and then he said, “I think it has less to do with stats and more to do with whether or not you want to live your life in fear of what might happen.” He said that things can always go wrong, anywhere or at any time. So do you make your choices out of fear? He asked me to think about my life, and whether I’d made choices because I was worried about what might happen. I thought of choosing to leave on a mission although at the time I was dating someone I didn’t want to lose. I thought of all of the dire warnings I received before I moved to Mexico for 6 months, all the stories of kidnapping and drug runners and beheadings. Even running for student government in high school--which I was terrified to do--the odds were ever NOT in my favor, but I survived all those things and my life was made more abundant for taking the risks. I decided that since I'd felt unsettled about the birth centers I wanted to just talk to someone about home birth and see how I felt. I contacted Cathy O'Bryant and set up an appointment with her. I heard her speak at the birth conference in spring 2010 specifically about home birth and waterbirth. She'd had her last 3 (of 10!) children at home and labored with many of the others in the parking lot of the hospital, so she could spend as little time there as possible. I wanted to filter my ideas and thoughts through the mind of someone who knew these things well. I found Cathy's beautiful home in Payson and soon I was on her couch pouring out my soul to her. I told her about my mother and what she had told me about euphoria and not wanting anyone to take the experience away from her. I talked about my fascination with water birth and how I was re-thinking the notion that "going somewhere" to birth my baby was in any way safer than not, since either way all of the action would be going on inside my body. I explained my confusion after the encounter with Dr. Bean. Cathy listened without interrupting and when I had finished my impassioned speech, she said, "It sounds to me like you already know what you want. You don't need me to tell you what to do." It was so simple, but tears stung my eyes when she told me that. I felt like light was blazing into my mind. I did know what I wanted! She did not try to convince me of anything at all. She didn't deride OBs or the medical profession or sprinkle happy numbers over me to pacify my worries. She just reaffirmed that I was capable and worthy of making this choice, and that it belonged to me. This was such an empowering moment for me, I felt like I had reached up and seized the moon. Since that day I have felt such peace and confidence about preparing for a homebirth. I think about birthing in a pool with genuine sunlight streaming in on a May day, or sweat on my skin and candles lit on a June night. I think about breathing through it, cradled in water like the water in me has cradled our little guy. When I do visualizations it's so beautiful and exciting! Igniting my brain to fill the walls of my consciousness with vibrant and powerful images. Those things I've witnessed and felt will never be lost to me. I think of how my husband's eyes welled up the night I was holding Alex and told him “Someday I'll be like this with our baby!” I think about holding my sweet baby in my arms after and feeling like I moved the earth. Being able to fall asleep in the same bed where we sparked his existence. I do understand that birth is not something you can control, and I am also trying to prepare for the letting go and the surrender that is part of the gift and the lesson of birth. Whatever turn my birthing does take, I feel blessed preparing for it this way, for the feelings and visions I've had. I have gained so much strength in the process of preparing for this birth; delving into the dark parts of my fear and releasing it. Those things will not be lost to me, whatever happens. My favorite Spanish verb is "dar la luz," a way to say giving birth or "to give the light." I'm not afraid; if things don't work out the way we hope they will, I've still given and been given the light.

These are my philosophies about my own home birth. I don't intend to generalize, disrespect or to impugn anyone else's experience. I know everyone walks a different road with their perceptions about birthing; these are just the things that are guiding my way. It's okay if they sound crazy to others--they are powerful and meaningful to me.

I'm not broken unless something breaks. My body is strong and instinctively knows what to do. I am the descendant of thousands of mothers who were successful birth-givers. My body knew how to grow my beautiful baby and it knows how to bring it into the world. If something "breaks" I will go to the hospital, just like I would if I became sick or injured in any other context. But normal, healthy birth is not a medical emergency and I don't need to be hospitalized and wrestling with staff and doctors just like I wouldn't on any other day with my normal, healthy body. I don't drop by there every day “just in case” something goes wrong. I'm not a patient unless I need to become a patient because something abnormal is occurring. My midwife is perfectly qualified to handle ANYTHING that could occur in the process of normal birth. She has delivered over 800 babies; only 7 have resulted in a transfer for a C-section. I trust her implicitly that if I do need to leave home she will know and know quickly. Many of the common "what if" concerns can be handled just as well at home as they could in the hospital. Cathy has experience with breech, hemorrhage, baby in respiratory distress, shoulder dystocia, tight nuchal cord, compound presentation, bradycardia, 1st, 2nd, 3rd degree tears, hypertension, woman going in to shock, baby needing CPR, meconium staining, retained placenta, prolapsed cord. There are a few things midwives can't do, like give you a C-section or a blood transfusion. So should those things become necessary in the case of emergency transfer we'd call ahead and get there speedy gonzalez. Remember even if you are already IN the hospital and an emergency occurs, they still have to prep the O.R and wait for doctor to arrive, scrub in, etc. The kind of care we'd be transferring for would not come any faster if we were already on the premises. Remember all this is IF and ONLY if something breaks.

Pain! Right? That's practically the first thing you ever learn about birth growing up, either from the war stories the women around you tell or from the screaming ladies on TV. I'm not expecting my experiences to be free of discomfort, but I don't see avoiding pain as a good enough reason to subject myself to someone else's policies and agenda which could jeopardize bonding with my baby or him coming into the world in a peaceful way. It's just not worth it to me. I'm trying to work with the idea that the pain of surges/waves/contractions is productive pain and is a natural, purposeful part of me. Unlike other pain I've felt, it is not indicative of injury, it's just sweeping my baby out into the world. And if I'm not injured, there is no reason to be afraid of that pain. I'm used to responding to pain with fear because usually it is a signal that something is wrong, but this isn't so in the case of birth. I want to fight through my conditioning to wake up my dulled biological responses, see and comprehend and live this as it really is. It's not the jellyfish tendrils I screamed and writhed to get away from, not the unrelenting agony of kidney stones. It's not an alarm bell or a warning of danger or the curse of Eve. It's the muscles in my body doing what they are trained to do. I want to trust them and trust the natural part of myself that exists free from our cultural paradigm of birth. Basically I think it is unacceptable for any of my decisions with this to be motivated by wanting to avoid pain. I think I can do better than that. It may be frightfully hard, but it WILL end eventually and as far as I know I can't die from it.

This is the most important. And I know I haven't been through this yet, but I have given it some thought and the thoughts I have had have distilled over me like golden glaze, belonging there. I at least want to approach it with this attitude. A lot of people make derogatory comments about lack of sleep, the disruption an infant causes in one's life, the grand inconvenience of it all that causes such suffering as new mothers are adjusting. I always feel so sad when people tell me about that, and then I tried to examine what I was really sad about. Was I really despairing that I might not ever sleep again? Did I think my husband and I would really never have time for each other again, that we would become strangers instantly? Was I worried that I might not have as much free time as I wanted, to read blogs and look at facebook? What was so precious to me that the idea of having it jarred or poured into a different shape made me so unhappy? My mantra for this is, taking care of my baby doesn't prevent me from doing what I want to do, taking care of my baby IS what I want to do. I'm really not afraid of what it will take to care for an infant. I'm luckier than so many—I have support, I have access to resources, I have a partner who wants to be involved and will work hard by my side, and I'll be released from my school and work responsibilities about a month before my baby's birth. I know it will likely be different from what I am expecting, I know it won't be intellectually stimulating (unless I work very hard to make it that way), I'll likely struggle with the “girl” thing and imagine I'm Betty Draper, etc. But (assuming I have a healthy newborn) for a very brief time in my child's life, I can actually fulfill all of his needs. If he is fussy and wants to be held, I have arms that were made to cradle. If he's hungry I can feed him amazing food from my own body. If he's uncomfortable I can change him or walk with him. I can make everything all right again! What a gift! and how fleeting it will be gone! I look at the kids at Vantage Point and feel a sense of despair when I think about having teenagers, when I talk to parents who are mortified and devastated by their surly, disaffected, “grosero” adolescents. I can't protect my little boy from coming home hurt and frightened because some mean kids made fun of him. I can't answer all his questions, I can't take away the rage and shame that he will experience as he grows. When he suffers heartache, when he is disappointed, I can't erase the bitterness of those feelings. When he makes mistakes, I can't inoculate him from unpleasant consequences. All I can do is love him and empower him, but there must be a point when everyone realizes that their babes in arms have rough roads to travel in life, and you can't run ahead and pave every possible road with foam and pillows and bubble wrap. Painted wings and giants' rings make way for other toys. “A sword shall pierce thine own soul also.” Knowing this, how can I begrudge that hazy infant time? Wouldn't any parent of an older child, wracked with heartache, gladly wake up 14 times a night and willingly accept sore and cracked nipples if it meant they could have their child safe and whole again? Good-hearted parents would do it without thinking. So I'm going to try to do it now, with a good heart. I want to cherish the time that the catastrophes are minimal and the solutions simple. It won't be that way for long.

Full of broken thoughts I cannot repair

2011-02-24T18:05:00.000-08:00

This is the choice everyone makes, when something has them trapped and hurting. I feel so much pain today for those that I love who are struggling caught and bewildered. I see all of that pain connected in a spiral: humiliation betrayal abandonment shame loss disappointment despair. I want to let them out, I want to let everyone out. At the expense of squelching the strength that could fill them if they decided to free themselves, I just want the pain and fear to stop. Because what if they are the ones who can't make it out? I torment myself with the idea that I could have painted a picture of the trap with words, to warn them, but that's impossible. I don't know enough. Don't I have my own scars, from my own lies? I'd like to believe I've left them all behind, but every now and then I look down and see the truth biting into my skin.
You can be free again, but you won't emerge whole. Not in the same way. And I am so, so sorry.

An Emblem of Two Foxes (Barry Spacks)

simply to breathe
can make him bleed,
the fox whose leg
is trapped, whose will
awaits the kill.
why should he flail?
moving hurts,
so he lies still.

around him walks
a prouder fox,
his severed leg
a homily
on going free.
as if to say
it hurts - it hurts
either way.

And after he's been hooked I'll play the one that's on his heart

2011-02-17T08:34:00.000-08:00

Here are a bunch of pictures which represent only a fraction of the fun we've been having. Speaking of fun, we are leaving for Sac-town to see the Pid's wedding in 5 hours, so this will be fast.

Last weekend was the birthday of KB-Toys and we had a casino night party. The official theme was "Luck be a Loveless" and the party's theme song was (of course) Poker Face. I was in charge of decorating the Commune. I felt super edgy doing so because I was taught growing up that face cards were of the devil. But Caleb is a veritable card shark, so a poker-themed party he had to have!

Sometimes when I'm feeling particularly incompetent and untalented, I remind myself that I want to make birthdays my hedgehog concept (don't ask. It has to do with my leadership and organization class, and trust me, no one wants to hear about that). I like to commemorate them with vigor and zeal.

Fabulous snacks and the poker table Jonny kindly procured by means of KSL.
Los Boys!

I don't really have casino style clothing (although what I lack in casino gear I make up for in brown downeast basic shirts) but I wore red (the blood of angry men) and black (the dark of ages past) so I could at least match the cards.

"The Jordans" are always so fabulous. Of course they had casino night costumes at the ready. I am going to miss them badly--they're such fantastically creative people and always so inquisitive and fascinated by things. The last Shady Chapel show last week broke my heart.

Under "fabulous" see also "Laurel Asay Lowe."
Birthday cake, in keeping with Caleb's Jewish tradition but also in line with the theme of the party :)

This was a poker game full of merriment. See how Star Wars is on in the background?

Sunday was so lovely...every time I can go outside and feel sun on my skin I feel like I've come back to life again. Jonny and I went on a walk in Hobblecreek canyon and then to the park with the Lowes.

Amish Father and Mother Lowe.

Bradley! Magical as always with his cute velcro ball and glove.

Under "magical," see also: "The Little Stranger" and "Racher's ability to walk around so disproportionately shaped and not topple over face forward."

I finally have another symptom of pregnancy to report. My belly button is disappearing! When I first discovered it I freaked out. I'm not supposed to be able to see the bottom of it! I'm okay with it now, though.

I swear I was born right in the doorway

2011-02-14T22:31:00.000-08:00

Naomi gave me such a lovely poem on my wedding day: "Lucky Life" by Gerald Stern. I read it for the first time the day after, when we came home from the haunted bed and breakfast and were joyously opening gifts with my brothers and sisters (they clapped for every gift for awhile, until they got tired of it) . It was the sweetest afternoon, I remember the sun streaming in through the windows and the kitchen cluttered with flowers and fruit left over from the reception. I read the poem to everyone; it made me weep then and it still does when I read it out loud. Not many of my words are worth anything but when I feel that bittersweetness wash over me I wish so much I could write. I wish I were humble and smart enough to appreciate how much glory is in each day; even these gray ones that I'm wishing away in a graduation-obsessed frenzy, and even though it's probably blasphemous for me to think I understand anything about that poem at age 26. I wanted to say that the last lines are a constant refrain in my mind, in anguish and in triumph. What a lucky miracle life we have right now. So often I feel like pain sweeps around us and through us but never between us. It has been a beautiful 6 months.

Here are some cheesy pictures to accompany this somewhat solemn post. Here you have the portrayal of environmental neglect that is our living room, and a creepy glowy-eyed kitten. (I was trying to show you the balloons.) You can also see some of our pictures from the Dominican Republic, and my sister's Christmas gift to Jonathan, which was a portrait of him slaughtering zombies. Thank you Jonny for surprising me after such a wearisome day! I love you so much.

TOREADAS!!!! Benditos sean!!!!!

Lucky life isn't one long string of horrors
and there are moments of peace, and pleasure, as I lie in between the blows.
Lucky I don't have to wake up in Phillipsburg, New Jersey,
on the hill overlooking Union Square or the hill overlooking
Kuebler Brewery or the hill overlooking SS. Philip and James
but have my own hills and my own vistas to come back to.

Each year I go down to the island I add
one more year to the darkness;
and though I sit up with my dear friends
trying to separate the one year from the other,
this one from the last, that one from the former,
another from another,
after a while they all get lumped together,
the year we walked to Holgate,
the year our shoes got washed away,
the year it rained,
the year my tooth brought misery to us all.

This year was a crisis. I knew it when we pulled
the car onto the sand and looked for the key.
I knew it when we walked up the outside steps
and opened the hot icebox and began the struggle
with swollen drawers and I knew it when we laid out
the sheets and separated the clothes into piles
and I knew it when we made our first rush onto
the beach and I knew it when we finally sat
on the porch with coffee cups shaking in our hands.

My dream is I'm walking through Phillipsburg, New Jersey,
and I'm lost on South Main Street. I am trying to tell,
by memory, which statue of Christopher Columbus
I have to look for, the one with him slumped over
and lost in weariness or the one with him
vaguely guiding the way with a cross and globe in
one hand and a compass in the other.
My dream is I'm in the Eagle Hotel on Chamber Street
sitting at the oak bar, listening to two
obese veterans discussing Hawaii in 1942,
and reading the funny signs over the bottles.
My dream is I sleep upstairs over the honey locust
and sit on the side porch overlooking the stone culvert
with a whole new set of friends, mostly old and humorless.

Dear waves, what will you do for me this year?
Will you drown out my scream?
Will you let me rise through the fog?
Will you fill me with that old salt feeling?
Will you let me take my long steps in the cold sand?
Will you let me lie on the white bedspread and study
the black clouds with the blue holes in them?
Will you let me see the rusty trees and the old monoplanes one more year?
Will you still let me draw my sacred figures
and move the kites and the birds around with my dark mind?

Lucky life is like this. Lucky there is an ocean to come to.
Lucky you can judge yourself in this water.
Lucky you can be purified over and over again.
Lucky there is the same cleanliness for everyone.
Lucky life is like that. Lucky life. Oh lucky life.
Oh lucky lucky life. Lucky life.

And we share a name, and some picturesque grace

2011-02-06T21:52:00.000-08:00

This is hilarious, also horrifying: The Utah Baby Namer. Don't worry, the Little Stranger's name is found nowhere in that fascinating/dreadful index. Neither shall he have a name with a suffix of "aden," nor shall his name sport superfluous 'y's.'

What do you think the ramifications are for a gringa using Spanish names? I know I don't have an obvious reason to do so (like a husband de la raza or raices) but I think so many of them are so beautiful, especially ones with the short "i" sound, like Israel, Isai, Isaías, Sarai. When I told my family about one of these names I liked over Christmas, they hated on me so profoundly, so scathingly, that it sort of soured me against it.

Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be

2011-02-02T20:22:00.000-08:00

This is my Jonathan. Today I love him for the sweet email he wrote me, for doing the dishes before he went to work, for comforting me when I was wailing about hating Utah, playing cards and watching SVU with me, for singing to our fetus, loving stories about my childhood, being so gentle with the zies, for wanting to do a homebirth not just because I want to but because he understands, and it's important to him, too, and for forgiving me in the same instant that I offend.

Here are our sweet Christmas zies! (Short for kittenzies). They are adorable. My little brother Tanner suggested we name them Amber and Sage, for their respective brown and green eyes. I love those names because they sound like teenager names to me. Amber and Sage are sisters, and horribly delightful. I never thought I could like a cat so much. I have almost entirely vanquished my phobia. Sometimes when the kitties make prolonged eye contact with me I get nervous, but most of the time I love cuddling them and watching them play. It makes me so happy how much Jonathan loves them. He is a sweetheart about all animals.

Birthday boy, breakfast, balloon. Brilliant. :)

With the winners of the Jonathan Birthday Style contest! Jordan won best style (which is his birthright as a hipster) by drawing his own hair on Jonathan, and Crystal won the novelty prize with this lovely creation inspired by Adam Lambert.

David won Jonpardy with an impressive 6400 points! He even got the final Jonpardy question right (which was "Who is John Galt?"). Here Jonathan is awarding him a box of chocolates. Sorry the pictures are blurry. I need to find someone to teach me how to take/edit good pictures before I have an adorable Stranger to photograph.

Tribal Gathering

Look! People really came to visit us IN OUR HOUSE! (I couldn't be in any of the pictures because I had body dysmorphic disorder due to the disaster which befell the Miami Beach Cake).

For Celeste! Who is the best! This is the tile, before it was finished, but you can kind of see how it turned out.

This is the most fantastically artistic picture I have ever taken. Haha. Look at cute blurry Jonny coming in the door next to me.

I struggle with these pictures. I never know what to do with my arms, or my face. I'm short, fat, proud of that. It really is okay. Sometimes I get stressed out about gaining weight, but the other day I read about someone I knew in high school who had to have a total hysterectomy (at age 24!) and it both horrified and humbled me. It must seem so indecent and revolting to complain about something really as trivial as weight gain to women who would give anything to be pregnant. I don't want to take this for granted. It really is a marvelous thing. I hurt so much for those who would have it be and it's not so. I know I can't comprehend that kind of pain, but I can at least be careful about my words and my thoughts, and recognize that this is a gift.
I was talking during this one, but it's kind of still my favorite.
I can feel the Little Stranger moving now and then throughout the day. It's nothing dramatic like Alien vs. Predator (which is what Toot asks me) but it feels like a gentle pop or blip against the side of the goldfish tank. It makes me feel so happy, like I have a sweet secret. I love knowing I can keep him completely safe for now (except from the flaws in my diet...I hope you enjoyed those hot cheetos today little guy!) There are only 4 months left! (Although I don't really believe in June. At this point, it's difficult for me even to believe in April.) If every pregnancy is this easy, I will probably have a thousand kids. The only adversity I've really suffered so far (I am 22 1/2 weeks as of today) is having to pee more often. And insensitive comments. Which really give me a lot to think about. Maybe I'll write more about that later. Hasta ver!

Birthday!

2011-01-31T22:29:00.000-08:00

On saturday I celebrated my first birthday as a married man. It was amazing! It started out great with my favorite meal: Breakfast. Rachel made the BEST french toast I've ever eaten. I was so happy! We had tons of bacon and she cooked me eggs also. I was so happy after that. Then I loafed around for several hours and researched a keyboard I've been looking to purchasing. Anybody who knows me knows my love for tech. Needless to say I bought the keyboard and am typing on it right now.

Rachel had planned dinner at Carabba's, one of my favorite restaurants. She informed me that my local friends wouldn't be able to make it to dinner. I was sad, but I was still looking forward to dinner with my racher. When we arrived at Carabba's, they were all there! It was awesome. Absurdly in my mind I at first thought it was a coincidence. We had a lovely dinner, but the best was yet to come.

Everyone came to my house afterwards and Rachel had a coloring project for them! IT was pictures of me with the hair whited out! People had to invent a new birthday hairstyle for me and then I got to judge 2 of the best. Best done and most novel. It was amazingly silly and fun! We were all laughing our butts off.

Unfortunately the cake the Rachel made for me went awry. You see, I told her that we could leave the 2 cakes (double layer cake) in the pans while we went to dinner. I told her all the pros wait for the cakes to cool before doing there things...which was totally stupid. SO it turned out really crumbly. On top of that, I forgot to buy some key ingredients for the cake and so it was double trouble. I felt so bad. Rachel felt insanely bad too, but it was absurd as you will soon see.

Then came the best part: Jonpardy! Rachel had made a powerpoint that looked like jeopardy only with categories having to do with me! There were tons of questions about girls I had dated, legends of long time friends, and my quirks! I've never had so much fun on my birthday! Just watching everybody have so much fun and laugh. It was so special!

I'm not that big of a birthday guy really, I usually just like simple birthdays. But I have to admit, this was the best birthday ever. It literally couldn't have been better. I love Rachel! She made me feel so special and loved. Everybody should have someone like Rachel planning their birthday. It really inspired me. It makes me want to plan things for people, I had never really realized just how amazing things can be. I hope I can make her birthday half as special as she made mine. Thank you Racher!

How wonderful life is, now you're in the world

2011-01-29T10:45:00.000-08:00

Happy birthday to my sweet Jonathan!
I thought I could write a post extolling his virtues, but all my posts are like that.
So in commemoration of this most special day, I wrote a rhyme. Not a poem, but a rhyme. If I had a different voice and more street cred, it would be a rap :).

I love you Jonny!

ODE TO JON

HBSE was our first scene,
I sat in front, you sassed the Dean
2 years later had our start
Jamba juice, my bleeding heart.
Though bonded by our altruism,
you dumped me for my feminism
The Curses date your plan did thwart
You brought me as a last resort.
Evergreen then saved the day
(Bruce Hafen, Luca era gay)
A song of hope now strikes a chord
And bright light all around us poured!
Canyon drives and cupcakes brought
I told you all I'd ever thought.
Tea and Seinfeld, love took root
The cabin and "you're so damn cute."
November kisses and detox
Kate, Jack Shepherd and John Locke
Thanksgiving, paralyzed by fear
But you were strong, my choice was clear
Your life and mine now intertwined
Besandonos to Iron and Wine
Poetry and Christmas schemes
Sorrow in parting, wedding dreams.
My doubts were slain at last, rejoice!
You saw our future bright with choice.
Sweet hours together, hearts attuned
Loving words and the Commune
Fraught with school and foul weather
Sheer dopamine when we're together.
Arizona, gozo unremitting
South Park, good deeds and babysitting
cada dia mas fuertes los lazos
y mas amada yo entre tus brazos
Oh sweet May morning, at last the words
Jubilation, yellow bird!
Golden summer hand in hand
Playing, laughing, making plans
Fe, esperanza, caridad
Confianza, ansiedad
Florida and Mexico
Topaz Mountain, Oh Wyo.
Pizza Pie, Subway, Bombay
August longing, count the days.
Sang our didn't, danced our did,
Shady dealings with Jon's Id.
August 14 bright and blue
You promise me, I promise you
Human love and heavenly glory
Join to honor our love story
Then, at last, the Island! (Minus
persecution from Ben Linus).
Mission memories, waterfall
paraíso tropical
Zapote, chimis, pica pollos
Hermosas playas y arroyos.
Shores of freedom, honey and the moon
School's starting, back too soon!
Vantage Point and County jail
Work and duty tip the scale,
But joyful are the hours sweet
When faithful friends and lovers meet...

I know you can't believe how hood your wife is
And I can't believe how good our life is
You are my sweetest heart! IT'S TRUE!
Therefore the least that I could do
Was write a birthday rhyme for you :).

Dinner with the Lowes

2011-01-25T20:56:00.001-08:00

Tonight David and Laurel, my best friend and his wife, came over for dinner! Aside from being a little stressed out because dinner was a little late, it was so fun. Rachel is so good about inviting people over for dinner. They brought their wonderful children and they were both so funny and unique! Zacky is there oldest and he says and does really funny things. He was very curious about our kitties. Unfortunately they are very xenophobic and as a result they hide when strangers come. If they only knew that they are not strangers to us! We couldn't coax them from out from under the bed the whole time they were here. Patrick, as David says, is a destroyer. He walks around getting into EVERYTHING he can! He's a curious kid and he always seems to have an objective in mind. He had an accident and they realized it when he was climbing on our coffee table. As soon as they were done taking care of it, he came right back in in just his diaper and climbed right back onto the coffee table! I thought it was so funny and so entertaining. I love their kids, they're the greatest. David was telling me that his children aren't very much alike at all and they're also so unlike other kids. I hadn't thought of it before, but I've known quite a lot of children and he's right: they are very unique! I hope my children are unique that way too. I'm sure however they are I will love them.

Interacting with his kids and seeing them climbing all over everything, I got excited about having my own kids. As everyone knows, we have a boy on the way and I just can't wait to meet him. Its crazy that I'm finally going to be a father. I've waited so long and wished so much...I'm just really happy.

I had a sad thought today about all the children in the world who don't have anyone to affirm them. Abandoned or with uninvolved parents, my heart nearly broke. I looked at David's kids and just imagined how little they know about how lucky they are. They have loving parents who will do anything for them. Rarer and rarer that becomes. I realized that I mostly am ignorant of how lucky I am as well. My family wasn't perfect, but they were good to me. Kindness was the rule at my house and unkindness was the exception. Why? I'm just really lucky. David was blessed as was laurel and I think it shows in their parenting.

I looked at all the effort David and Laurel put into their kids and it is really inspiring. When they arrived I could tell they had had a hard time getting them to our house. I thought about how absurd it was that we always want to take credit for who we are. Don't get me wrong, I'm about as strong of a supporter of agency as you will ever meet. I truly believe that people can decide how they feel and treat people. But I know that the amount of effort people have put into our lives can show in our comportment. There are exceptions, but when people put genuine effort into us, its good for our souls.

David has put a lot of effort into me. He's a really good friend and I love him. Who I am was/is directly influenced by who he was/is. I am so glad that he found someone as great as laurel. I always wanted David to marry someone who really appreciated him, and I think Laurel does.

Thinking about this, I think how different I am because of the effort Rachel has put into me. I have so many idiosyncrasies that its hardly worth getting into their details. But Rachel bears most of them so patiently. I couldn't ask for a better partner. She loves who I am. I am lucky to be hers. It takes a special girl to love a man as strange as I. You should see.

As we start our family, I can't wait to see what is created when we both put intense effort into our son and then hopefully more to come. I don't know how things will turn out, but I can bet they'll be beautiful.

The Man-Child

2011-01-19T20:56:00.000-08:00

It's a boy! Isn't that crazy! I guess I never understood why everyone was so surprised or excited when they found it was either or, but I guess I've just realized that it was probably all about beginning to define your baby. I think it's amazing! Last time we went for an ultrasound, the baby only looked sort of like a baby. But this time it looked like baby! I couldn't have predicted how I would feel! I was so happy-nervous! It is beautiful! I can't wait to be a father and I just know that Rachel will be an amazing mother. She is so sweet and tender. She'll be kind to our children. I'm so excited I can barely stand it. I hope that I can be a good dad.

Rachel and I have talked a lot about how we want to be. One thing that is important to me is that I want to teach my kids about forgiveness. I want them to know that they can be/are forgiven of the mistakes they make. I think that is pivotal. I don't want my kids to feel bad for the things they do, I want them to figure out how to be accountable for the things they do and then move on. I remember as a child being racked with guilt occasionally, and my parents didn't even know it. I'm sure I won't be able to teach it as well as I would like, but its very important to me. My parents did a great job, I just wasn't very expressive about my emotions.

I love to think about what he'll be like! What will he prefer? What will he dislike? Will he think I'm funny or roll his eyes. Probably both, in that order. But I'm really excited. I can't wait to meet him!

Make sure you read rach's post below, we posted on the same day for the first time.

Someday we both will walk where a baby made tomorrow is again

2011-01-19T19:06:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was the highly anticipated gender-discerning ultrasound for our Little Stranger. I’ve been so eager to find out for awhile now; sometimes in my office at work I would look down and say out loud, “Sweet baby, what ARE you?” It seemed like the mystery of mysteries!

The ultrasound appointment was right between two of my classes, so Jonathan met me after Dr. Limb’s class and we went over to the student health center where we behaved very demurely in the waiting room, and definitely were not picking at each other’s blackheads, because sick, who would do that, especially in public.

“Jonathan,” I said fretfully as I was not holding still for him to work on one in my cheek, “I have to be honest, I’m going to be a little disappointed if it’s not a boy.” (I have always really wanted a boy first; at the same time I recognize the arbitrary nature of ascribing certain attributes to an unknown personality based solely on gender. Just so you know.)

“I think it’s a girl,” he told me, based on my midwife’s conjecture from the previous day.

“I hope,” I continued, “that when they say it out loud, I have this bursting feeling of rightness, and suddenly I’ll be really happy no matter what they say. But that’s what people said would happen with my mission call.”

“Only Racher,” Jonathan said fondly, not showing me the results of his digging.

“That’s pretty good,” I said, not admiring his work. “I wish we could hire DOLHPINS to do people’s ultrasounds. Since they’re so good at sonography. You could just wade into the ocean, and they could assess the gender with a bunch of little clicks and then they could bounce either a pink beach ball in the air, or a blue one.”

Soon enough I was clambering onto the table and Jodee the bendita ultrasound tech was squirting that goo onto my ever more prominent panzcita. I was surprised how much bigger the Little Stranger was since the last ultrasound at 14 weeks (I’m almost 21 now)! It looks like a real baby now and not a seahorse or salamander. It was such a sweet thing to see, especially that little heartbeat pulsating in the middle. Jonathan and I veritably beamed at each other.

Jodee was very thorough and showed us all of the limbs, the stomach, the spine, the bladder, and the kidneys. “Kidneys!” I exclaimed. “I FORGOT about those! Good thing the baby remembered to make some!” I told Jonathan last week that it’s amazing how all I do is eat, (for better or for worse…mostly for better) and the baby basically constructs its own bones, tissues and organs, “like Starcraft, only in my uterus.”
Jodee measured the baby’s brain and said it was perfect. “Does it look really intelligent?” I said hopefully. “Oh, very,” she replied. “Biggest brain I’ve ever seen.” :)

Then she asked if we were ready to find out the gender. I wailed, “This is what I’m nervous for!” “Really,” said Jodee. “Most people are just nervous to find out if their baby is healthy.” (Pwned!). We laughed and I said I really was happy and grateful and overjoyed that the baby is healthy, but there’s just a finality with knowing either way…

“Well, it’s a boy!” she said brightly.

I screamed a little, “Oh my gosh! Really!” I looked at Jonny and asked, “Is that okay? Are you sad?” He was grinning so broadly, I didn’t need to ask. I told him I’d “make a girl next time,” which is anatomically impossible but sort of a politician’s promise I extended to show him my goodwill.
Anyway!

I am so very happy to be having a little guy! Or a man-child, as my Grandfather would say. My mind is teeming with thoughts but I just wanted to record the experience of finding out, for now. Ya lo quiero mucho a mi'hijo precioso, que bendicion tan agradable poder averiguar antes del nacimiento que va a ser hombre.

P.S: I'm not posting ultrasound pictures because I think they all look the same. I'm trying to be realistic about when my baby's cuteness will be emergent, which I am predicting will be around two months of age. :)

I walked home smiling; I finally had a story to tell.

2010-12-31T14:02:00.000-08:00

I'm very sorry to see 2010 go. I know I'm going to miss this time in my life. It was 12 deep sweet joyful quickly-spiraling months with my dearest friend. Despite being so obsessed with each other that we were practically inebriated with love, we still managed to accomplish quite a lot! Jonathan graduated from the BSW program and I finished my first year of grad school (and my thesis!!). We both interned with DCFS, although not at the same time. Jonathan started working at the jail and I started working at Wasatch Mental Health. We played HARD--we went on cabin trips with the Urban Tribe to Milburn and Wyoming, camping with the Lowes, Arizona for my companion's wedding/visiting my cousins, Florida with the Stranges, Mexico and Bear Lake with the Browns. I moved to the Commune in January which resulted in exponential amounts of fun. I donated gallons of plasma and Jonathan built and fixed computers and engaged in both merchantry and piracy :). I read about birthing and the DSM-IV and Jonathan read Bruce Perry and Ayn Rand. I taught Relief Society and Jonathan brilliantly slew numberless concourses of aliens, zombies, locusts, prairie animals, and Collectors...and was generally a hero in every absolutely every regard. He is a survivor and he is ripped like Jean Valjean. He planned our trip to the D.R and made it the most incredible honeymoon I could have imagined...it was so perfect for us. We still marvel to this day at how lucky we were to be able to go there. We listened to incredible music together and with our friends, carried out deeds of goodness, plotted birthday surprises and cheering-up activities, watched some great movies...mostly at the Commune...and loved each other and enjoyed our dear friends and family. It was a fantastic year.

I should also mention that 2010 was the year we got engaged, married, and pregnant...hopefully we have some momentous occasions still saved up for the years ahead. Happy, happy new year!

I know I'm a better version of myself than I was at the beginning of 2010--not in every aspect, but I am a better social worker, so I am using more of myself and my talents, and I am more aware of my choices and the power I have over my preferences and emotions. For the next year, I want to focus on improving my relationships with God, family, my fellowman, and myself. I want to let mindfulness and authenticity have a fuller place in my being and eliminate guile (which I believe translates into being too concerned with how others see me). I want a more pure heart for when I meet my baby. :) "My boy, my boy--you have my whole heart!...You always have." (from The Road).

Songs from 2010
Upward Over the Mountain, Iron and Wine (Live at Messiah College version)
Fever Dream, Iron and Wine
Diamonds on the Souls of her Shoes, Paul Simon
Use Somebody, Kings of Leon
How to Disappear Completely, Radiohead
Wonderwall, Ryan Adams (this was the song we danced to at our wedding!)
Ara Batur, Sigur Ros
Alejandro, Lady Gaga (even though Jonathan HATES this song he can't deny that it will always remind him of last summer. Haha).
Your Love is My Drug, Ke$ha (same!)

Here we are adoring our Little Stranger. 18 weeks, almost halfway through!