Rant

I haven't been posting as much because I just haven't felt the desire.  Counseling has been going well - we've been cleaning out cobwebs that have been rattling around my brain for 10+ years and I'm so glad to have found my counselor. Deciding to go was one of the best decisions I've made for sure.  But that stuff feels too personal for me to want to share here. Even if this is pretty much anonymous (I'm convinced that if someone tried hard enough they'd be able to figure out who I am).  It's been some pretty deep stuff and I'm not quite ready to blog about it; I may never be. Time will tell.

And I guess everything else must be going smoothly enough.  I feel like I used to use this space to rant a lot. These days? I just have less to rant about I suppose. Don't get me wrong, I know that's a good thing!  Well, good for me. Bad for this blog.

But, rest assured, I have new fodder! At least right now.

Riddle me this: WHY are pregnant women in such a hurry to yank their babies out into the world?

Maybe I should phrase the question differently, because I honestly want to know - but I can't seem to ask it politely because it goes against everything I felt/believed and continue to feel/believe regarding pregnancy and labor & delivery. 

I've a friend from high school - we're not super close or anything but we're friendly on the Facebook - who is a nurse by training. An RN, okay? So...she should know medical stuff, right? That's my assumption. She's married to a doctor. So he should know medical stuff, right? And...isn't it medical knowledge that babies take on average 40 weeks of baking? And that babies do better if left to cook and decide their own delivery date?

I have heard the notion that the placenta can deteriorate and so going too far past due is not good.  Plus you could run into the baby getting GARGANTUAN and not being able to come out. Okay. Sure.  but how long is too long in that case?  Just how long does it take for the baby to go from perfectly deliverable to GARGANTUAN? A day? A week? A month?

I just feel like so many women, like my friend, view the due date as an "expiration date" and feel like yanking the baby out the day after if the little one hasn't come on its own.

And it just....boggles my mind!  This particular friend went in for her regular check up - the day before her due date - and was excited because she'd felt some contractions the night before. These went away, but she was still hoping to go ahead and get induced following her appointment. The day before her due date!  WHY?!?

I don't feel close enough to her to ask - though she may have provided some insight when she said she feels fat and uncomfortable and can't wait to meet her baby. 

Okay.

So.  Because YOU are impatient you want to birth your baby before it's ready?  Really!?!

I guess that's it. It just seems selfish to me. But. I was fortunate and my baby chose to be born the day before his due date. I wasn't expecting that. All of my mom's babies were late, so I was fully planning to have to fight with my doctor to delay an induction. I wanted to wait 2 full weeks if possible. Because, it is only an estimated due date after all.

So please. While I do have strong opinions on the matter, I do also honestly want to know why women are so eager? Because it's not just this friend I've heard talk like this. I can understand excitement...but...you really can't wait 1-2 more weeks?

My Crazy

We all have our own brand of crazy, don't we?  I feel like new mom's are especially called out for their crazy.  Maybe that's just me.

Mr. Random told me the other day that I haven't been very crazy for a new mom, but the one thing I HAVE been crazy about is breastfeeding.

I'm a little miffed.  And irritated.  And annoyed.  Because, he really doesn't get it.  He knows he doesn't.  But despite that, felt comfortable telling me that I was a little batshit crazy about breastfeeding.

And I suppose I was.  I was very particular about Wiggles getting nursed on a schedule.  And when it was time to go back to work, I was very particular about making sure I pumped every 3-6 hours.  And while he thinks this made me "crazy" I think it was a perfectly normal response.

This was my baby's food!  This is what was keeping him alive!  Mr. Random, says now, that we could have supplemented with formula all along.  But you know what?  I felt a lot of pressure from him that "breast was best" and that I needed to make an honest go of it.  Not be like those "other women" who don't even try or give up early because it isn't convenient.  And now he turns around and says I was crazy about it?  Ugh.  Men.

This is coming up because I've stopped breastfeeding Wiggles.  And I'm pretty sad about it.  He was biting me with his razor sharp little teeth and it was getting worse, not better, so we pulled the plug.  I continued pumping and was actually pumping enough he could have half or more of his bottles every day as breastmilk instead of formula.  I'm lucky that I respond quite well to the pump.  But...pumping is time consuming.  Annoying.  And it started to really hurt!  I couldn't figure out why it hurts so much but it really hurt!  (turn down the suction genius...)

And then we went on vacation, and it was just a challenge to pump regularly.  And Mr. Random was not at ALL supportive.  He tells me later he thought my pumping was a hindrance and annoying.  Thanks...

So now I've stopped pumping entirely.  Truth be told, I didn't much want to.  It IS time consuming and annoying to me.  Breastfeeding was magical...pumping...eh.  Necessary evil.  But I'm a little mad about how it all went down and a little frustrated because I think I COULD have kept pumping until Wiggles' first birthday and...well, it seems like I SHOULD if I COULD, right?

The other thing, I've noticed, at least for me, about giving up breastfeeding is that...it's like giving up part of my identity.  Which is crazy!  I mean...I spent 99% of my life NOT breastfeeding.  But...it's like the last thing that made me "special".  I mean, for 40 weeks I was pregnant.  I was "special" and supporting this new little life that was growing.  Then I was supporting that little life with breastmilk.  Still "special".  My body was still doing something amazing.

Now?  Now I'm...just... me again.  Nothing special.

I know I'm not just me.  I know I'm a mom now too.  And I'll always have those memories and I have a very wonderful bond with my little guy.  But I do feel less "special".

Gun Safety

I was thinking about gun safety the other day.  And then I suppose safety in general.  A friend had asked me awhile ago what my opinion was on the matter.  It was kind of a deer-caught-in-headlights moment as she asked me in front of our husbands who both immediately stopped their conversation to hear my response.

The truth of the matter is I have conflicted feelings.  One of her arguments against having guns in the home is that they only serve one purpose: to kill.

I'm not sure if I agree 100% with that statement.  Her husband didn't either and offered the alternative use: Defense.  It's kind of like two sides of a coin...the difference is subtle and yes, ultimately, guns can cause injury and death.

But so can knives.  And most everyone I know has a block of very sharp ones in their kitchen.  What's the purpose of a knife really?  Well, I suppose it's to cut food.  But ultimately it's to cut.  Which can cause injury and death as well.  So what's the difference really between knives and guns?

I suspect a big difference is the way we view them.  I certainly recall being taught "knife saftey" while growing up.  You always walk with the point down.  They're not toys.  Etc.  But do we teach similar gun safety from a similarly young age?  Often not.  I wonder if guns were as ubiquitous as knives, and if we taught gun safety in a similar fashion...if they wouldn't be such a problem.

But for all that, I know full well that if we had a gun in the home and despite our best efforts at gun safety with Wiggles...he or a friend accidentally (or otherwise) shot themselves or each other, causing injury or death....well, I probably wouldn't be able to forgive myself.  Truth be told...I'd feel similarly if something awful happened with a knife.