the beholder

Could be: wrinkled skin, quivery never-plucked too-dark eyebrows, funnel shaped sticking-straight-out ears, awkward closed-mouth smile with lips squinched creating shadows mimicking a moustache, ever-lengthening snarly nostriled hook nose, mismatched odd-shaped eyes, stringy thinning hair pulled back tight causing the appearance of a crew cut, deep dark pits of under-eye circles, shiny spots, desert-dry splotches, absent eyelashes, and moles like pebbles scattered across the pavement.

Or, it could be an attractive woman.

Depends who’s beholding.

I don’t support legalizing gay marriage

No marriage should be “legal.”

I support marriage equality. Adults who love each other and want to commit their lives to each other in the form of a marriage should be able to make such a commitment. All adults should be able to publicly celebrate their love. Marriage, however, should have nothing to do with legality.

Where does it say in the Constitution that the government should decide what kind of marriage is okay and what isn’t? Isn’t marriage a cultural or religious institution? Or, rather, marriage should be a cultural and/or religious institution.

I suspect marriage fell under government regulation when laws were required to control men’s property (a wife and her property)…? I haven’t researched the history of it, but that strikes me as likely.

The government should have no say in what counts as a marriage.

I support marriage equality.

our moon

In astronomical terminology, the phrase new moon is the lunar phase that occurs when the Moon, in its monthly orbital motion around Earth, lies between Earth and the Sun, and is therefore in conjunction with the Sun as seen from Earth. At this time, the dark (unilluminated) portion of the Moon faces almost directly toward Earth, so that the Moon is not visible to the naked eye. (wiki)

This post is scheduled to publish on October 7. The calendar tells me there is a new moon that day. After finishing Gift from the Sea just moments ago then diving immediately into The Age of Entanglement, I’m considering such lofty topics as birth, celebration, death, and meaning. In the last couple years, the moon has become important to me. Starting with the ebb and flow of my own biological cycles the moon’s meanings morphed and grew. Most significantly it has become a symbol of the constancy of change. On the day of the new moon, I will celebrate:

  • continuous change
  • omnipresence
  • moving into darkness
  • shape that’s constant no matter what we think we see
  • the connection it creates as a shared vision
  • the interconnectedness of the earth, moon, sun, planets, universe, multi-verse, and the unknown
  • birth
  • death
  • rebirth
  • a steady companion
  • light flooding the darkest night
  • perspective making all the difference in how I see things.

My life is ruled by my emotions, but I have never felt “romantic.” That may be changing. The moon has meaning for me. I’m celebrating today the birth of a new phase. Just like love inside my heart, I don’t have to see it to know it’s there. Through all the change, it will remain.

 

my friend Paula

Weeks ago I saw on Facebook that my friend Paula had a birthday. I’ve been off of Facebook for a couple months now, so I didn’t have its handy-dandy little notice that her day was coming up. Turns out she fibbed about her birthday, but it was right around that time. I got to thinking about how I could really wish her a happy birthday. Not just an email (she’s an online-only friend). Not an e-card. Not just “glad you were born!”

For days I constructed a brilliant essay about her. About her and me, of course. It was in my mind for days, then I started writing. Everything I wrote was crap. For weeks, it wasn’t enough. Or it was too gushy. Or it was… well, screw it, I’m going to just tell you now. I wrote about how we met in the newsgroup misc.writing and how she scared the crap out of me. How she was so totally mean that I cried a few times after reading her posts directed at me. How even then I was struck by her open mindedness, her willingness to accept people with very overt and often offensive flaws.

I missed the blogging hey day (hay day?) that happened in the early 2000’s, so I never got to know her in that way. Then, as misc.writing finally and totally collapsed Facebook revived our online world in a new way. That’s when I started to really know her.

Paula is unique in this world. Of course everyone is, but Paula’s unexpected. I kept trying to classify her as… well, you name it, I tried labels on

her and none of them fit. She’s strong, funny, a great writer, a dependable friend, and beautifully honest. She’s gorgeous inside and out, too. She is one of my first friends who doesn’t come from where I’ve been. Our backgrounds are different, our values are frequently different (besides valuing honesty and there are a few other key shared values), our politics are often different (don’t even get me started on how misguided she is about Palestinians!), and she somehow understands the world that is shoe-lust. Shooz, that is. Or has it become sh00z? I think so.

She is herself. It’s what I admire most about her. She may sometimes slide into trying to be something or someway for others, but more than

most people, she stays true to being her. She’s an incredible friend, a solid shoulder when I’ve needed it, and always (did I mention?) honest.

She’s amazing. And, yes, I am very glad she was born.

Happy birthday my dear, sweet friend. Here’s some buttercream just for you.

 

Althea’s birth (part 1)

“Of course, since she’s pre-term, we’ll take your baby to the NICU for 24 to 48 hours after she’s born,” said the nurse.

“No. You will not,” I said.

“Well, she could have breathing problems, and I’m sure you want the best for your baby,” he continued.

“Yes, I want the best for my baby. She’ll be staying with me or we’ll go to a different hospital,” I said, but did not shout.

“But you see, when babies are born early, there are all sorts of problems that can happen,” he insisted, clearly insulted and flustered.

“That’s fine. If she’s not well, I want you to take her and care for her. If she is well, she’s staying with me. This is not up for discussion.”

“But, we have to monitor her.”

“You’ll monitor her while she’s with me.”

“But she’ll have to be in the NICU.”

“She can go to the NICU if she’s not well, otherwise, she’ll be with me.”

“Your husband can be with her.”

“My husband can’t nurse her. She needs to be with me if she’s fine.”

“I’m going to go talk to someone.”

So began the ridiculous several hour argument with… I lost count… hospital staff members. Hospital protocol. Fine, if she’s got problems. But she might have problems. Fine, take care of her if she has problems. But she’s going to be 4 weeks early, she might need assistance. Fine, give her all the assistance she needs, but only if she needs it. Otherwise, she’s staying with me.

Hours and hours. At least 5 different people, doctors and nurses. I’m pretty sure it was more.

Earlier that morning, at 9:45am on Wednesday April 8 I was waking from a nap. There was a POP feeling in my vagina, a bit of a shock or sting feeling, and some liquid trickling out of me. I thought, how weird! That’s just like it was with Maya (with Maya I had a dream that her feet switched position and POP went the bag o’). I stood up, and, yes, indeed was flooded by warm water. I touched it, smelled it, not stinky like I’m told you’d find with pee. Waddled to the bathroom, leaking all the way, checked the toilet paper, clear. Amniotic fluid for sure. Waddled back to the bedroom. Flooding. Grabbed a pair of sweat pants to be my diaper. Waddled into the hall, told feverish Maya “my water broke.” She said, “what does that mean?” (She knows what it means, but I’m sure she didn’t at that moment.) I said, “Althea’s coming today. She’s coming now.” Maya squealed. We went, me waddling, to Josh’s office. He was clearly on a work call, but I still interrupted. “My water broke.” I waited for this to sink in. He interrupted his work call, explained he had to go, apologized again and again, and hung up.

We had nothing packed. We had no plan. The night before I had decided, finally, to give up with trying to get her to turn and just schedule a c-section. That evening (Tuesday) I actually thought I might be in labor (see comments I’ve made on Facebook and emails). But, having never been in labor before I assumed it was a bad case of intestinal troubles. I was thinking it was labor enough that I timed the experience (about 4 minutes at 10:35 and again at 11:40ish). We called the midwives, called my parents to come for Maya, planned on meeting at Maine Medical Center (best choice for early babies).

All was going well until the idiot nurse decided to try and tell me they were going to take my baby from me for 24-48 hours. What a time for me to have to go into hard ass mode. I do it fine when it’s something I care about, but, it was exhausting. Knowing when to kiss someone’s ass, knowing when to be so firm it’s scary to some people, knowing when to say “I need to talk to your supervisor,” etc. Knowing the staff out there will be talking about the drama, the difficult patient, etc. It’s very, very exhausting. I just wanted to meet my new daughter.

Well? Guess what? In all of those hours, through all of those people, it turns out no one — not ONE person — thought to mention that as soon as I was well enough to move around (wheelchair or whatever) I could go be with her in the NICU. That I’d be able to hold her and nurse her. No one mentioned that. No one thought it important to say that while Josh could be with her every second, I could, too, as soon as I was able.

What the freaking fucking holy hell stupid ass miscommunication. Our room full of people (Josh, Maya, Brenda (midwife), Maureen (midwife), my parents) all heard it the same way I did. Not one of us ever got the sense that they were saying anything but, “The baby will go to the NICU no matter what and you will not see her until she’s out.” It sounded crazy at the time, but the staff were so dreadfully committed to hospital protocol the idea that anything about this was reasonable didn’t seem possible.

Before I went in for the surgery we had it agreed that the NICU nurse who was responsible for deciding how well Althea was after she was born would not *assume* she’d go to the NICU, but instead would evaluate her and consider a lower level of monitoring for this late-pre-term baby. We all knew it was likely she’d find something that would require the NICU stay, but there was something reassuring in knowing that she understood how important it was that she make the decision based on the case, not on protocol. I’m sorry to say the hospital visit was full of frustrations involving miscommunications or staff obsessed with protocol despite our particular circumstances.

The surgery was easy enough. I didn’t puke from the anesthesia which was nice. They also actually showed her to me as soon as she was out which they didn’t for Maya. I was hit with my love for her on that first look. She was covered in blood and goo, and I loved her. Of course, it takes a few days for the love to sink in, but this was a nice surprise.

When Althea was born, at 5lbs 15oz (why does everyone always ask about and report a baby’s weight?), she did have some troubles. Josh was with her for every second of the evaluation and beyond. I don’t remember what the troubles were, but they involved not breathing right and something else. They brought her to me and I held her, though I didn’t try to nurse her (my decision, I wanted her to be tended to).

Josh went with her to the NICU where they attached her to heart, oxygen, and breathing monitors and put her in an isolette (I think that’s what they are called). After they finished with me (placenta out, given to the midwives, though I’m still not sure what of several options I’ll be doing with it), they took me to the room to recover. It’s a bit hazy. But, when they were going to transfer me to the “Mother and Baby” floor, the nurse who was helping me into the wheelchair told me we’d be going to the NICU immediately. Yay!

Flash forward to Friday evening and she was with us in our room at the hospital. Once she was with us, my milk really came in. Her nursing strength quadrupled. She gained back weight she’d lost since birth (even though it’s typical for babies to lose weight in the first few days after they’re born). And, mostly, we started to get to know her. When she was attached to all those tubes and wires, it was hard to bond with her. The nurses often made it awkward to be with her as much as we wanted, too. More on that later, though.

Maya has surprised us with the fascination she clearly feels for her baby sister. Always wants to hold her, admire her, be near her. In fact, as I write this, Althea is sleeping in my lap and Maya’s arm is flung across my thigh acting as a sort of pillow for Althea’s snorting little face. I am so proud of Maya — we’d never been away from each other for so long, she and I. Of course she visited during the days, but nothing is the same as being together at night.

We’ve got pictures of Althea, of course… she’s tiny… she was about 4 weeks early, but now on day 5 of life (that’s how they say it in the hospital), she’s a nursing fiend. She sleeps most of the time, wakes to nurse, and has a few alert and awake sessions each day. She’s also a pooping fiend. Every diaper and then some. Some day I’ll detail the rest of the experience in the hospital, but, for now, I wanted to give friends and family an account of the highlights of her birth. Our whole family is resting comfortably. Happy but still a bit in shock, I think, from what we’ve just been through. This week (with a lot of my parents’ continued help) will be able finding our centers again, getting grounded. All those things we need to do to have a strong foundation. Above all else, though, we are all so grateful that Althea has joined our family. She just squeaked in her sleep her agreement she’s glad she’s here. Eeep!