This is part uno in my new series on The Ugly Politics of Parenting. Won’t this be a fun theme!?

Yesterday I sat down to type out the first draft of my birth plan, the culmination of lots of weeks worth of reading, researching, and talking to L/D nurses, midwives and doulas. A lot of my research wound up really turning me around positively on a number of issues. For instance, Matt and I think that next time around we’re going to attempt to have a home water birth if it’s not cost prohibitive (and if this first experience doesn’t change our minds); a type of labor and delivery I used to think was super crunchy crazy and quite possibly dangerous.

But just as I did more reading and learned more about how this natural process has always worked and how we have augmented it over the years, I became absolutely disgusted by parents. Yes, you heard me correctly. I had been forewarned, and had often seen with my own eyes that parents are the most judgmental self-destructive species alive. Mothers are made to feel inferior if they are unable to breastfeed. Women who experience drug-free births get off on thinking they’re Superwomen. Midwives are painted as tribal African medicine-men and OBs as heartless 9-5ers whose own nurses are frightened of them. And then there’s attachment parenting, and Ferbering, and stay at home moms versus working moms, and parents that wind up eating other parents alive at Chuck E Cheese playdates.

I don’t want to be a part of that. I don’t want that to be my identity. I don’t want to feel pressured to live up to a certain identity or label. I just want to do my research, make my decision, and have the freedom to change my mind. And I will change my mind. I haven’t even had the kid yet, and I’ve already changed my mind on a lot of things. And if that alienates me, then so be it. I’ll still have my best friend by my side who last night told me that he continues to be amazed at my maternal intuition about these things – quite possibly the greatest compliment he could ever give me.

So my plan has been written, and it’s a plan that I hope can be followed, but will not be devastated if it cannot. It’s based partially on my desire to allow my body the space to do what it was created to naturally do and feel the natural rush that goes along with that, and partially because I am more afraid of needles and surgery being inflicted upon me by people with multiple medical degrees and years of experience than I am of agonizing internal pain being inflicted upon me by wee little Penelope.

And I’m hoping that maybe, just maybe, I can be the tie that finally binds the two childbirthing philosophies together. Because the woman who will be saying “no” to interventions during labor as a way to experience the natural process will also say “HELL YEAH!” to general anesthesia in the event that she needs major abdominal surgery.

Call it hypocrisy, I choose to call it “reaching across the aisle.”

And with that I leave you this lovely video. Yes, I’m afraid our child will grow up with the entire Monty Python catalog if Matt has anything to do with it.

Something about how the doctors at the hospital would do their darndest to keep my baby alive if she were born today makes me feel equal parts affection for those in the medical field (look! I’m giving them shoutouts!) and equal parts total terror that this is all for real. She is going to be outside of my womb in give or take 16 weeks, and she’s going to have tiny hairs on her earlobes that are even cuter and more snookerable than the tiny hairs on Matt’s earlobes. I know. Hard to imagine.

She’s moving all the time now, and Matt regularly gets to feel her. Sometimes she makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, but I certainly wouldn’t classify any of it as pain at this point. I have had very, very little back pain which is SHOCKING for me. I’d go so far as to say I have very few negative side affects these days, just an undying need to be eating 24/7. I have no stretch marks on my belly… wait for it… but my butt looks like planet Earth from space.

Um, I really don’t know how to say this in an… appropriate… way, but I’ll try. I mean, it’s inevitable. You come to this blog and you know that sooner or later, me being a pregnant woman and all, I’m gonna talk about the girls. So here it is. It’s hard to know when one looks at me which is bigger right now, my uterus or the two gallons of half and half I’m carting around.

I’ve pretty much decided that I would be very happy having two kids, although Matt would like a couple more. We’ll see about how things go, and I might wind up pulling through for him cause he’s such a nice guy. But I tell you what, Matt, if you could somehow arrange for these girls to be sucked dry back to, maybe a B cup after a fourth or fifth kid, SIGN ME UP!!

I had one thing and one thing only that I needed to accomplish today. At 8am I needed to go to the midwife’s office for my regular checkup and get my swine flu vaccine on the way out. It was the failiest fail ever.

Last visit to the midwife’s office was wonderful and exciting. We found out we were having a girl and got to watch Penny squirming on the ultrasound machine for a solid half hour. Matt was with me, and held my hand as I laid down and received my regular seasonal flu vaccine. At that visit I had planned on getting both vaccines, but after barely making it through the seasonal flu shot, I opted to get my H1N1 on my next visit which was scheduled well in advance so Matt could come with me.

Well, he wound up not being able to come today. February being a short month and Tennessee being snow-day happy, he had to squeeze in a couple extra hours today with a client, so I went alone. I’ve known for about a week and a half that I would be going alone and psyched myself up for it. As in, not sleeping a wink last night and walking into the office this morning shaking.

When I arrived Brandy took my blood pressure, and her eyes opened so wide I thought maybe SHE was going to pass out and suddenly I’d have to really pull myself together and give her mouth to mouth or something. She asked me to take the standard pee test to find out if I had preeclampsia. I told her I thought maybe my blood pressure was high because I was so nervous, but she wanted to opt on the safe side.

So I waited in the room for what felt like decades before the midwife and her midwife-in-training came in to see me. Before I could even say hello I blurted out, “Do I have preeclampsia?” Midwife Melissa smiled and assured me that I was fine, no preeclampsia, and that they’d try taking my blood pressure later in the appointment.

And that’s when I burst into tears and told her that I was so nervous about coming in and getting a shot by myself, that my husband couldn’t make it (and he’s the one who really wants me to get the swine flu vaccine anyways!), and that my car was in the shop so I’m driving this brand new loaner car from the dealer, and what if I passed out and crashed the loaner car on the way home?!

“You really don’t need to get the shot today. Why don’t you wait until your husband can come with you?”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’d like you to get the vaccine, but you’ll be fine if you put it off another four weeks. We have to do a blood draw at your next visit anyways, so we can get it all done at once. And you get another ultrasound at that visit, which will be fun! You’ll get to see your little girl again!”

This is where I kissed her on the mouth. We finished up all the routine stuff, and she re-took my blood pressure which wound up being perfectly fine, in fact a little on the low side of normal.

I really wanted to be brave enough to get that shot all by myself today. I’ve had my blood drawn before by myself, but the thing that freaks me out about the flu vaccine is that you can feel it in your arm long after you’ve had it done, unlike a blood draw. And for some reason, my physiological response to feeling that sting hours later is to get queasy all over again. But I wanted to overcome it. I wanted to make Matt proud of me, especially because he knows that despite what everyone says, I still don’t believe it’s necessary to have the silly vaccine, but I am willing to do it because it matters so much to him. I wanted to kick this fear in the crotch once and for all.

I have gone to so many midwife visits over the past few months, have been poked and prodded with needle after needle and haven’t passed out once. I have gotten so much better. But then days like today come along, and I feel like I’m back to square one with no improvements made.

I mean, what would you do if you were told you needed to go sky diving once a month to usher in world peace. You’d be scared spitless at the door of that plane, and the only thing stopping you from vomiting would be the sexy G.I. Joe character whose back you’d be strapped to for the free-fall. So you get a little less scared each month cause G.I. Joe makes you feel a wee mite safer. But then one day you have to jump alone. And you start crying and say to yourself, “WHY DO I NEED TO JUMP OUT OF A PLANE TO STOP ETHNIC CLEANSING?!” So the plane takes you safely back to the airport, and you drive home hating yourself because c’mon, what’s so scary about jumping out of a plane?! ALONE?! People do that all the time, right? A BABY COULD DO IT!

That’s basically what it feels like. And now, because of my big needle fail the whole world is going to die of swine flu.

You simply ought to cruise over to my sister’s blog to read her newest post. She’s spot on.

Next month Matt will be turning the big Three Oh. We were talking about it briefly last night and I asked him if he is where he thought he’d be at thirty. His response was, “I knew I didn’t want to have kids until I was thirty, and then I figured once I turned thirty I might as well bite the bullet and go whole hog.”

Well, Penny, know that at least I wanted you.

I was thinking about it all a bit more, this him turning thirty thing, and realized how jealous I am that he’s there now and I’m still two and a half years behind. Some people look at thirty as the end of all their fun, the time they need to settle down and get serious about life. I see it, at least from watching Matt draw nigh unto it, as the real beginning of your life.

I mean think about it, so maybe you’re expected to be married, have a real job, maybe some kids and own a house? That’s hardly a heavy weight when you realize that you’re no longer expected to go out for ridiculous cocktails after work with slutty people who are just trying to score. You’re no longer expected to wear a bikini, or even come close to thinking about looking good in any type of bathing attire whatsoever. And you can completely forgo listening to pop music in exchange for the 80s rock you know and love so well. In other words, you can just be your regular old ordinary self, and suddenly all your attempts to seem “hip” really just make you look like a person who is not aging gracefully.

Take all of that into consideration, and frankly I’ve been waiting to be 42 my whole life.

I can’t speak for him, but from what I see Matt is happier now in his approach to his thirties than he ever was way back when he married me at age 24. He’s found so many things that he loves completely independent of me or anyone else. He plays music regularly with talented musicians, has found rock climbing and a passionate love for the food and drinks of the Spanish people. He is in his element both in his job and also on the weekends when he meticulously creates things out of wood. And soon he’s going to have a motorcycle of his own to tinker around with.

All around thirty seems like an age where you can be unabashedly genuine. If so, sign me up.

From Daily Daguerreotype

I have been dreading this day, February 18th, 2010 since July 7th, 2009. Today was my original due date.

I envisioned having to write a title for this post along the lines of “Priscilla and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.” But so far it hasn’t been like that. What in the name of Desmond David Hume?

I woke up this morning to the sun beating in through the windows, Matt fast asleep beside me, Berlin curled up at our feet, and Mojo sitting on my face meowing for his breakfast. It was perfect aside from that last part. Matt got to sleep in because he didn’t have to leave for work until noon, so I lay in bed a while longer daydreaming about what I would eat for breakfast if I were on a cruise ship and had that huge buffet sprawled out in front of me. Scrambled eggs laden with salt and pepper, bacon, sausage, croissants, cheese, a grapefruit half, strawberries, cantaloupe, orange juice and a bottomless cup of coffee. Sweet gastronomical bliss!

Then I couldn’t take it any longer. I woke up Matt to find out what he would eat for his cruise breakfast. It was basically all of the above but replacing the coffee with tea. He would hit the poolside burger grill for lunch and a margarita and would finish the day with surf and turf for dinner. We climbed out of bed and I whipped up some banana bread, coffee and tea which was ready by the time Matt got out of the shower. Then we meandered outside to the back deck and ate our breakfast while I threw the tennis ball for Berlin. It’s 44 degrees outside, or such saith Accuweather, but it felt more like the high 50s.

We sat outside for a solid hour soaking in the beautiful weather, the sun, the fresh hot morning drinks, and a puppy playing in the grass. We chatted about the summer, how each night when he gets home from work we’ll grill out on the deck, take a walk around the neighborhood, put Penny to bed, then settle in with books and iced tea in our Adirondack chairs until it’s dark out. Isn’t the best part of summer the fact that the sun doesn’t set until 9 pm? I think so.

On the list of things to accomplish today is a trip to Home Depot (of course) and a trip to Target. I think I’ll treat myself to the greatest indulgence in the world – a leisurely stroll through every single aisle of Target. It’s the equivalent of chocolate cake. I have more work to do on our taxes this afternoon, and I think I’m going to make something delicious for dinner. Like homemade BBQ chicken pizza and a big ole salad. And we’ll watch The Office and Matt will chortle loudly.

I wish I could be meeting my first child today. But I can honestly say I no longer fear death because I have somebody to meet on the other side. I’m a changed person, but the biggest change is an overwhelming feeling that I am insanely blessed. I have everything in the world that a girl could ever want. I spent such a long time chasing and working for the things I wanted in life, and here they are. All right here in my hands, and I am insanely content. I want to think that if it were all taken away tomorrow, I would still be grateful for the time I’ve had married to my best friend, laughing with friends and family, being surrounded by adorable four-legged animals, cooking and eating great food, traveling the world, and experiencing the crazy miracle of pregnancy.

After Matt left for work, I checked my email and saw a sweet note from a dear friend who remembered that today was the day. It made my heart really really warm. I know there are people looking out for me, thinking and praying for me today. Life is what you make it, and I think that today we should make it an absolutely perfectly lovely day.