Do Girls Fart?

The other day, B was playing with Animal. He lifted him up in the air, twirled him around, tickled him, etc. Just the way you play with a baby. Well, at one point, Animal’s butt was right in B’s face when Animal let loose a big ole baby fart. I started giggling. When I had recovered, I asked B, “Wouldn’t it be awesome if we just let loose every time we felt some gas coming on? No matter what we were doing, or where we were, or how inappropriate it might be???”

B gave me this weird look and said “Uh, I DO let loose like that.” LOL!

I was retelling the story to my mom later, and we were laughing about how true that is. Men will seriously fart anywhere at anytime.

But women…oh we are complete opposites. We will squeeze our buttcheeks as hard as we can, and tighten up our buttholes until the urge passes. If we’re walking, we’ll find an excuse, or a nonchalant way to stop, look natural, tighten, and wait. As a result, women everywhere are suffering from painful gas, bloating, indigestion, irritable bowel syndrome, and the list goes on and on.

Now I know you men are thinking “Do you *ever* let it out?” Well, of course we do. The appropriate time is when we’re on the toilet. So when we sit down to pee, we let out the air first, and then start the tinkle.

It’s the funniest thing in the world to be in a busy women’s restroom and hear every single woman open a stall door, unzip, sit down on the pot, fart, and then pee. Every time man, every time! LOL! And actually, a lot of us are self-conscious about anyone in the public restroom hearing our pre-pee farting. So we have learned to cough or simultaneously flush the toilet while we’re doing the deed. Come on ladies, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about!

The Anchor

This afternoon, B and I found ourselves in a familiar spot–my parents deck. From this vantage point, we can see the water and we watch the activity of the city below us.

It’s always the same lazy Sunday afternoon dance. We sit in wooden lounge chairs. The sun is warm, but there is a cool breeze blowing in from the ocean. Every once in awhile, you can smell the salt in the air. He is, as usual, sucking on a Marlboro red, flicking the ashes into a soda-can-turned-ashtray. I (as usual) am sucking down a rum and Coke.

We are arguing. Not a dramatic, heated passionate argument, but a laid back conversation about a topic that has been discussed hundreds of times during our 7 years together. It’s something that neither of us are willing to budge on. We’ve beaten this thing into the ground and now it has become apparent that it has come down to the wire. Someone will have to give, because our future and our happiness is at stake, and there is no obvious compromise.

And so, like always, I utter the same words I’ve said again and again. The words that always bring this argument to a close. The phrase he never knows how to respond to.

I say “I’m just a free spirit. I can’t help it.”

He looks over at me, takes a drag of his cigarette, and exhales. This time is different. This time he speaks.

He says, plain and simple, “And I am an anchor.”

I don’t know why, but his response really touched me. I repeated it back to him. “Yes, you’re right. You are an anchor.” I nodded and smiled and sat back in my chair and thought about it. I wonder what sort of life I would have lived, where I would be today, what kind of person I would have become, if it weren’t for that anchor. Holding me tight, refusing to let go, no matter how much I twisted and turned and fought against it.

Thank you B, for doing what you thought was best, and keeping me grounded in a crazy world.

Epidural Risks

The question has been asked, “What are the possible effects of an epidural on the baby?”

-Epidurals can slow labor, and as a result, oxytocin (Pitocin) will be administered through an IV. Pitocin brings on unnaturally strong contractions and almost always causes fetal distress. Pitocin also increases the chance of a forcep or vacuum assisted delivery, as well as cesarean section. (All of which can cause even more unpleasant side effects to the baby.)

-An epidural will also require electronic fetal monitoring, which I believe is highly inaccurate and prone to error. Inaccurate signs of fetal distress picked up through electronic fetal monitoring can lead to an obstetrician’s hasty decision for an unecessary c-section.

-An epidural requires that a precautionary IV be put in place. Any fluid overload from this IV can cause fluid in the baby’s lungs and/or blood chemistry disturbances.

-Epidurals can cause a considerable drop in maternal blood pressure, which may endanger the baby.

-Anesthetic is delivered into the cerebrospinal fluid, then passes into the maternal blood vessels, crosses into the placenta, and into the baby’s circulation. It may act directly to slow the fetal heartrate.

As Henci Goer states in her book “The Thinking Woman’s Guide to a Better Birth” :

“By the time you are hooked up to an IV, an oxytocin delivery pump, a fetal monitor, an automated blood pressure cuff, an epidural pump, and have a bladder catheter, what was a perfectly normal labor has been transformed into a high tech event.”

Congratulations, you have now pretty much sealed the deal on an “emergency” cesarean.

Ladies, there are REASONS why God created us to experience pain during labor, and it ain’t just because Eve ate the forbidden fruit.

Pain during labor tells your body what to do. Pain will drive you into the most comfortable position, and that position is the one which is perfectly suited to effectively bring your baby into the world. Your body responds to labor pain by secreting massive amounts of adrenaline and endorphins. Adrenaline gives you stamina, keeps you going, gives you strength to push through. Endorphin levels at the time of your baby’s birth will be THIRTY TIMES HIGHER than normal. Natural oxytocin secreted in your brain will elevate your mood and will cause amnisiac properties. (This is why we forget the pain of childbirth and want to do it again!) The pain also prepares your baby for life, readying his lungs to breathe, mobilizing glucose for energy, protecting your baby against lack of oxygen during labor, and pushing blood into the baby’s brain and heart. THE PAIN IS SUPPOSED TO BE THERE, IS HAS A PURPOSE!

As a young, uneducated mother, I birthed my first two babies with the aid of an epidural. I was completely paralyzed from my breastbone to the tips of my toes. I felt nothing, and I thought that was a good thing! I couldn’t walk until the following day, couldn’t go to the bathroom on my own, had extensive tearing and bleeding, was exhausted, and felt like shit. My babies were sleepy and jaundiced. I failed at breastfeeding both times.

My last baby was born at home, completely natural. My body felt strong and alive. I could feel my baby’s head as it crowned. I felt in control of my body. When he was born, I felt like I was on Cloud 9. I felt energized. I was able to get up right away and walk around. I had minimal bleeding. My baby was alert and healthy, and scored perfect on his Apgar’s. And maybe best of all…We are now into the 10th month of breastfeeding.

Suri Cruise to appear in Vanity Fair

So this morning, I opened up my good ole trusty Internet Explorer, and was greeted, as usual, by my MSN homepage. (My only source of current events, if you don’t count the Island local news, which you can’t really count.)

I see that Suri Cruise, daughter of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, has finally been photographed and is set to appear in the next Vanity Fair.

http://tinyurl.com/n7ab8

This whole Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes pregnancy/birth/newborn/baby saga has driven me crazy from the start. Here’s why.

#1 Give Katie a break, for God’s sake. If one day you found out that Tom Cruise had a crush on you, I’m willing to bet my life that you would drop everything and accept his advances. Even if that meant being followed around by crazy Scientologists, going through all sorts of creepy religious training, and putting up with Tom’s wild antics.

#2 Give Tom a break for the jumping-on-Oprah’s-couch episode. God forbid a man show any sort of unleashed emotion for the woman he loves. May all of you mean spirited, jealous hags die as old maids.

#3 Stop acting like Tom Cruise was a total nutcase for wanting Katie to have a natural, silent birth. As opposed to the gruesome, traumatizing, paralyzing, drug induced, surgical and/or narcotic laced births that the majority of you are having? Please.

#4 I won’t even mention the stupid rumor that Katie’s “baby bump” was staged, and then these conspiracy theories that Suri didn’t even exist. How painful those claims must be to a brand new mother.

#5 Kudos to Tom and Katie for keeping their baby in seclusion for the first few months of life. This is the way it should be done, and IS done throughout most world cultures.

#6 Also, bravo to them for getting Annie Lebowitz to take the first photos. I hope the jerks and paparazzi in the media that perpetuated all of this ugliness take one look at Suri’s beautiful little face and feel just a small inkling of remorse.

Pigen, aka “Jesus”

Tonight, like every night, my children were ordered to the bathroom to brush their teeth. And of course, not surprisingly, an argument erupted. As usual, this argument stemmed from Einstein’s extreme selfishness. He refused to let Pigpen borrow his toothpaste. My mother finally cracked. She explained that she currently shares her house, her bed, her food, etc with Einstein. What would happen if she didn’t share? He would have nowhere to stay, nowhere to sleep, and nothing to eat. And very Einstein-like, he proclaimed that he didn’t need her stuff, he would find it somewhere else. “Well then!” my mom exclaimed, “You can sleep outside tonight. But you can’t bring your pillow or your blanket, because your mother bought those for you and she doesn’t feel like sharing either.” She then escorted him to the front door, scooted him out, and promptly locked the door and shut off the porch light.

Now, it does get EXTREMELY cold on the island at night. The wind whips up from the water and it’s just bitter, bitter cold. Nevertheless, I expected Einstein to stand out there in his underwear, shivering on the door step, teeth chattering and lips blue until one of us took pity and let him back in.

And yet, it took 4 minutes. 240 seconds and he was ringing the doorbell. But of course he still wasn’t admitting defeat. He said that he needed to find something he owned in his bedroom. And as he entered the room, sweet little Pigpen said “Here Einstein, you can use my pillow and my blanket.”

Now if that isn’t such a wonderful illustration of Jesus’s love, then I don’t know what is. It was Einstein that refused to share the toothpaste with Pigpen. And yet, Pigpen still felt such love for his brother that he was willing to give up his own comfort for the sake of someone else. Jesus was persecuted, beaten, tortured, and killed and still, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Amazing.

Now here’s the disturbing part. If I can see Jesus in Tristan’s sweet little soul, then who do I see in Aidan? I think I’d better get on my knees and start praying real hard that I’m not raising the Anti-christ. (Lol)

Alouette

Last night I had the longest, most bizarre dream in which B tried to convince me that the children’s song “Alouette” (“Alouette, gentille Alouette Alouette je te plumerai…” ) and the Chinese Folktale “Tikki Tikki Tembo” ( http://www.amazon.com/Tikki-Tembo-Arlene-Mosel/dp/0805006621/sr=8-1/qid=1157401455/ref=pd_bbs_1/104-1814031-6802308?ie=UTF8&s=books ) were one in the same.

Where do I come up with this shit???

The downside of chocolate

So this Fall marks the first year that I am so completely destitute that I was unable to purchase any new school clothes for the boys. My mother-in-law kindly gave me $200 to buy the absolute necessities. (Shoes, backpacks, lunchboxes, and a few t-shirts.)

I had grumpily resigned myself to putting the kids in their summer shorts for as long as I could, while the weather was still remotely warm, and then buying jeans and long sleeved shirts as the funds became available.

So yesterday, I went through their clothes, and separated the acceptable, soon-to-be school clothes from the trashed, play clothes. I selected each item carefully, checking for rips, stains, missing buttons, etc. I came up with 6 pairs of shorts and 8 t-shirts that would have to do. Then, I threw them into the washing machine so that they would be clean, fresh, and crisp for the first week at a brand new school.

This morning, I went to fold and hang up the clothes, and was horrified to find that literally every single piece of clothing was covered in small, dark brown stains. I scraped at the stains, smelled it, and to my utter dismay, realized the culprit. Chocolate! (Chocolate is probably 2nd to blood in it’s staining qualities.) I immediately knew what had happened. Pigpen had happened.

Pigpen, the only child that I have ever had to call Poison Control for. Twice. Before his second birthday.

Pigpen, the toddler I found at naptime, with a huge jar of Desitin diaper rash ointment, all of which had been rubbed into every square inch of his head. He had white hair and smelled of fish oil for a week.

Pigpen, the child who, at 3 years old, arrived at daycare with a pair of pliers hiding underneath his shirt. (Thank God I discovered the treasure while hugging him goodbye.)

And yes, Pigpen, who is notorious for storing blackberries, frogs, and yes, melted chocolate, in his pockets.

My mouth dropped open and I felt my blood begin to boil. The laundry basket was promptly kicked across the room, chocolate splattered clothes flying everywhere. I heard myself start wailing as I ran to my room, throwing myself on my bed and sobbing into my pillow while the entire family jumped quickly to come to my aid.

Anyway, I’m better now. The chocolate is being scrubbed with toothbrushes, each miserable speck at a time. Thank God for Oxiclean. Mothers of boys everywhere salute you.