7. G is for Getting It Done

I apologise for not posting yesterday, but in all honesty I was out there getting shit done so that I would actually HAVE summat to blog about!

Little O and I spent yesterday and today getting up to and in to loads of stuff. First we went to a craniofacial appointment at CHOW on Monday morning, which is one of my least favourite clinics to visit because they have such appalling time-management. Once I was a there for nearly two hours, and saw the doc for about five or ten minutes of that. Yesterday was a little better though, and we were there for only about an hour or so, seeing the doc for about ten minutes. Doesn't mean I don't still hate them though.

After that went to see my friend up in Milwaukee for lunch, and she's lost loads of weight from having the stomach flu so she looked a bit gaunt. Still beautiful though. Then we went to buy Little O a new swimsuit and supplies for swimming in the afternoon. I LOVE buying clothes for my son, but shopping in Babies R Us is VERY dangerous. I seriously had to set myself a budget and only walk out of there with a new swimsuit and those fancy diapers that don't explode when your kid gets in the pool. I got so close, too! I walked out with diapers, swimsuit, and a new sheet for Little O's bed that cost $4.99. That's actually pretty amazing. His new shorts are rainbow-coloured and I bought a UV-protective t-shirt in orange to match. It says Beach Bum on it. It's awesome. :)

After that we went swimming! It was kinda rubbish, actually, because the pool was advertising that time as designated for special needs users only, but it was no different to any other time of day. It's a water park too, which meant there were loads of slides and cool shit for older children, but nothing that suitable for babies. Little O is trying to figure out to crawl, and when we were in the zero depth section he kept trying to put his face in the water and crawl into the deeper sections. I was terrified he'd inhale water and start drowning! I think if I go again I'll take my husband.

Today we've being doing chores, seeing therapists, and running errands. I even got something very special sent to Butterfly Charlie in the mail! (Shh... don't tell her...). My kitchen is finally tidy again, after a weekend of not doing any dishes AT ALL - I am disgusted at myself, but mature enough to blame my husband - and I am trying to get caught up on laundry. But, more importantly, I have been playing with my son. He is pulling himself to stand all the time now, and figuring out this crawling and walking malarky, and he's just so much FUN at the moment! It's been like having a 12-month-old in the house, when they learn all this new cool stuff suddenly, and I'm just enjoying it so much.

I'm also enjoying "An Idiot Abroad", which is currently airing over here. Sooo funny!

Happy 100th International Women's Day, everyone! May the next 100 years be even better than the last.

Tina.

Fuck me, that was good.

I'm not going to apologise for being absent for a few days, because I've spent that time being extremely productive: I've read the entire "The Girl..." series by Steig Larsson.  And fuck me, was it good.

I haven't read any reviews of the series deliberately, because I don't give a shit what other people think about it.  To me, those three books are some of the best literature to have been published in the last few years, and I think it's a Michael Jackson-esque tragedy that the author died before he could create anything else.  (By Michael Jackson-esque, I mean that they both died too young, but also that they probably died in their prime - before they could produce anything crap.)

Lisbeth Salander is one of the most well-written and outstandingly brilliant female characters I've ever come across.  I simply couldn't stop turning pages whenever she was active in the plot, and I've lost a fair bit of sleep because of it.  She's just so... so... feminist!  Ballsy isn't a very feminist term - I suppose it ought to be some reference to ovaries or breasts, but that seems a bit weird - but she really is ballsy.  The girl has guts, and I admire Larsson so much for being a male writer who has caught the mood of young ballsy women everywhere.  She stands up for herself, but when the world is out to destroy her (or the entire Swedish government, whatever), she just bides her time, takes the abuse, and stores away information to use against them in the future.  She's a complete legend.

I loved Mikael Blomkvist too, but not nearly as passionately.  He's smart, but he just couldn't have done anything without Salander.

I watched the film of the first book, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and I felt that Salander wasn't nearly as skinny, ass-kicking, or downright weird as she is in the book.  I realise that you cannot possibly ever translate an entire novel comfortably to the silver screen (look at Harry Potter, for God's sake), but they could definitely have done more with Salander.  I know The Girl Who Played With Fire is currently in cinemas, but I think they ought to ask me to direct the third movie: The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest.  I'd do a cracking job.

I want to know what happened to Camille though.  Maybe if they don't ask me to direct a movie I could write a fourth book instead, and we'd find out what happened to her.  Now there's an idea...

VBAC birth story

You HAVE to read this: http://thefeministbreeder.com/jules-michael-birth-story/#comment-5084

I've been reading The Feminist Breeder for a few weeks now, but I've never read her incredible story about the birth of her second son.  Even if you're not the slightest bit interested in birth and babies, I do recommend you take a peek.  What that woman faced from doctors and nurses while in the throws of advanced labour just makes my uterus shrivel up and refuse to bear another child.  But she stood her ground and point-blank REFUSED to give up her beliefs, and... well... read it and see...

Read it.  It's phenomenal.

My Feminist High Horse

Weight: ??

Who gives a toss?  It was Easter weekend!  Nom nom nom nom...

On to some more interesting stuff.  There was a very interesting article on The F Word last week called Fertile Feminism, all about being both a mother and a feminist.  It raises issues such as finding yourself excluded from demonstrations because they are un-child-friendly, or ending up being a stay-at-home parent (read: Mother) because someone's career had to give, and your's was the lesser-paid of the two.  Hmm.  I think I've felt that somewhere before...

Once again, let me say: I KNOW I am extremely fortunate to be able to stay at home with my son every day and watch him grow up.  I acknowledge that there must be millions of parents who want to have exactly what I have.  HOWEVER... the reality of raising him myself 80% of the time is something quite different to the rose-tinted image working parents have of staying at home. My life is basically all about nappies, sleep, appointments and the dreaded, ugly, frustrating feeds.  Yes, Owen makes me laugh, and yes, I love to watch him learn something new (currently it's bouncing in his exer-saucer... he's had it for the last six months and only just figured out the thing can mooooove), but at some point, every single flipping day for the last ten months, I have had a meltdown.  Usually it's crying, but it might also be some mild violence (doors are good for slamming and cushions just deserve to be thumped), or even me just putting my screaming baby in his cot and walking into another room for ten minutes to get a grip.  In short: staying at home for me every day has never been a choice; it's never felt like a choice; and I resent the "choice" my partner gets to make in my place.

Because I was made redundant when I was six months pregnant (once again: WHO DOES THAT?) and I wanted to pursue a different career anyway, it seemed logical that it should be my responsibility to take care of our child when he arrived.  Well, ten months down the line and nothing has changed.  Okay, my third book is being published at the end of the year, and I've been able to make a limited means doing something I enjoy, but essentially my career was over before it even began.  I've been trying to figure out how to get a part-time job in retail, but as Mike would have to look after Owen while I'm out, the only real hours I have free are evenings/nights and weekends, which mean I'd either get no sleep or have no free time with Mike.  Or both.  So once again, I am unable to bring in any sort of meaningful contribution to the household finances and I cannot tell you how much I HATE THAT.

I wish Owen were healthier for so many, many reasons.  I mourn the loss of the Owen I didn't get to know: the one who developed normally and is already starting to toddle around.  My Owen, my beautiful, sweet, stubborn Owen, has so many struggles and set-backs and yet he has the kindest, nicest temperament of any baby I currently know.  He only cries when he's very tired or if he's refluxing, and the rest of the time he's all smiles and cuddles and wriggly-bottoms.  I just wish that this lovely little boy were around all the time, because I know that in forty minutes I have to feed him again, and out will come the confused, in-pain baby I have to force to eat.  It's torture for both of us.  I wish he were healthier so he could enjoy his food and spend more time learning how to crawl, or stand, or play with blocks like other babies.  I also wish he were healthier so he didn't have to have his fourth surgery two days after his first birthday, and his fifth a month after that.  I wish he didn't have to adhere to such a tight schedule and he could just tell me when he was hungry, and again when he was full.  And I also wish he were healthier so I could let him play at a daycare centre once in a while and I could work.

I try so hard not to wish for things I cannot have, because it doesn't help me and it certainly doesn't help Owen, but...

I still do.

Tina.

Radical Parenting

Watched a very, very cool documentary on Discovery Health last night called Radical Parenting.  Check out The Feminist Breeder's blog (see sticker on the right) for more info.


Can't write much more right now as Owen has the stinkiest nappy you've every smelt, but I'll try and update more about why this show was so cool later.


Tina.

Part 1 of many

OK, I've finally found 5 minutes to sit down and write something on here for the first time in about 8 months!

The birth of my baby seems like as good a place to start as any.

After two weeks of curries, 'romantic nights', long walks, membrane sweeps (if you have to ask...) and abject boredom, baby was showing no signs of making an appearance. In fact, the head was partly engaged and then went back up again! I had to be induced. I walked to the hospital on the Friday night and had prostoglandins (synthetic hormones) injected up me - nice. Normally, this method of induction takes about 6 hours to work and is not successful first time round for first time mothers, so the plan was that I would have it done at bedtime, sleep, and then they'd have another go in the morning which was much more likely to work.

So. My husband stayed with me while the induction took place, then got me settled and went home to get some sleep himself. Unbeknownst to him, the hormones took effect very quickly and my labour began at about 1.00am. It felt like back pain, but after a while a midwife confirmed that the pains were settling into fairly regular contractions. I was alone on the ward, in the dark, with a skeleton weekend staff whom I barely saw. Not how I'd pictured my labour. No-one asked me about my birth plan, I was too intimidated to ask for help with my TENS machine (so didn't use it in the end) and had no-one to rub my back or coach me through the pains. At 3.00am I decided I wanted to phone my husband and get him to come in so approached the front desk and informed the woman (don't know if she was a midwife, nurse or receptionist) that there would soon be a man arriving and she would need to let him in. "Why?" she asked (!!!???!) "Because I'm in pain and I want my husband to help me through it," I replied (!!!!!!!) "I'm afraid visiting hours are between 8.00am and 8.00pm," she informed me. Fucking hell. So I spent the rest of the night without pain relief (I wanted massage and the TENS machine), labouring alone in the dark, and fairly scared since this was my first time. I do plan to have another baby, and if the same thing happens again, I shall shout and scream and stamp my foot until I am allowed to have my husband with me. I mean, if we'd turned up at midnight with me having gone into labour spontaneously, would they have sent him away and told him to come back at 8.00am? I think not. The more I look back on this, the more outraged I am. I'm thinking of officially complaining. Any thoughts?

Anyway. I did take a bath after this in a huge double tub. I found it highly effective -  in fact, although I'm usually happier on dry land and a bit scared of water, I had really enjoyed baths and swimming throughout my pregnancy - in terms of pain relief and calming me down. At 7.00am I rang my husband. He answered the phone and apparently I sounded really down (not surprising, considering the night I'd had!). He took this to mean that I was annoyed that the induction hadn't worked, when it was quite the opposite! "See you in an hour," I said, but 15 minutes later I the pains were getting worse so I rang him and told him to come straight there, to hell with their visiting hours. At 7.30 he arrived and was again informed of the visiting hours. "Is that going to be a problem?" he demanded, and they grudgingly let him in.

From then until about lunchtime is a bit hazy now. I walked around for pain relief and vomited on another bed ("You must really stay near your bed!" I was curtly told - minutes before another midwife recommended I try walking around!). I used Entonox (gas and air) for pain relief, which I loved. My husband massaged my back for what seemed to him like hours on end. I can't really remember much more than this as I was quite high on Entonox and had had virtually no sleep during the night so kept dozing off between contractions.

Right, baby is now demanding milk so I will return shortly with the next instalment!

Anthea

Pinched

So, inspired by The Butterfly Rush and an old post on Blue Milk, I wanted to write an entry where I answer questions.  Mostly for myself, but feel free to read and comment if you so choose.



(Pinched from the What Does A Feminist Mother Look Like? entry at Blue Milk)

1.How would you describe your feminism in one sentence? When did you become a feminist? Was it before or after you became a mother?

To answer that in one sentence is really tricky.  I suppose I am a liberal-minded feminist with non-activist tendencies, although I practice what I preach every single day and try to persuade others to think about gender equality wherever possible.  I think I've always been a feminist underneath, having been brought up in a household where my mother ruled the roost and we were encouraged to play with both dolls and cars, but I really came to claim the label for myself when I lived by myself.  So around the age of 22.  This was several years before I became a mother.



2.What has surprised you most about motherhood?

The amount of stuff that just never ends.  My love and adoration for my son goes hand-in-hand with the sheer frustration I feel when he throws up for the twenty-third time in ten minutes, or the fact I never catch up on my sleep anymore.  The responsibility never ends, either.  From the moment you conceive you are completely responsible for someone else's life, particularly when that someone has special feeding requirements or medical appointments every day.  I am constantly surprised when people refer to me as "Mom" (or "Mummy", although I choose to go by "Mama") and it reminds me just how much responsibility I have to have.


3.How has your feminism changed over time? What is the impact of motherhood on your feminism?

I am both far more relaxed and far more militant.  I care less about certain aspects of feminism (what books I "ought" to be reading, for example, or things I cannot change in other cultures) and far more about things that directly affect my family.  Motherhood and marriage have done this.  I will defend to the death a woman's right to choose: her name, anything to do with her children, her ability to speak out, her safety and anything else she might need.  However, I condemn those women who do nothing for our rights and are involved in showing off their bodies for money (I'm looking at YOU, Jordan-esque types), buy oodles of pink crap for their daughters and toy guns for their sons, and who do anything else that generally irritates me.


4.What makes your mothering feminist? How does your approach differ from a non-feminist mother’s? How does feminism impact upon your parenting?

My mothering started out differently the minute I knew I was pregnant.  Mike and I decided that although we wanted to know the sex of our baby (no excuse, just sheer curiosity), we felt it was no-one else's business. So we kept it a secret and everyone bought us neutral baby gifts.  Now we all know Owen is a boy, it pisses me off that we receive things in blue or with a sports motif, simply because he has a willy.  I wish people would listen to me more when I tell them how much I hate that stuff.  I think my approach has yet to be fully defined, but I think that refusing to buy gendered baby stuff makes me different to a non-feminist mother.  I will also educate Owen on how boys and girls are the same as he gets older; and how he, as a white, middle-class male, needs to think about his impact on women's rights more than most.


5.Do you ever feel compromised as a feminist mother? Do you ever feel you’ve failed as a feminist mother?

The only time I feel compromised is when I buy things for other parents.  I hate myself sometimes when I buy something pink or blue because they've specifically asked for it or I know they'll really like it.  I always try to pick out something neutral instead.  The very worst times are when there's no option: I was looking at buying plasters today, but all the children's Band-Aids were either girl characters or boy.  There was no in between.  You got either Barbie, Dora or Littlest Pet Shop; or Transformers, Spider-man or Star Wars.  In the end I went with Toy Story, but I couldn't fathom why it was in the boys' section.  I rarely feel I've failed as a feminist mother because for me, that isn't an option.  I'm a feminist and I'm a mother.  I live my life according to both principles.
6.Has identifying as a feminist mother ever been difficult? Why?

Sometimes yes.  Other people Just.  Don't.  Get.  It.  They think you're being deliberately antagonistic or that you think your parenting skills are better than theirs.  (But that's usually because they are, if you're not a feminist parent.)  I am getting better about speaking up though, and I'm learning that speaking my mind calmly and logically will often help other women to come around to my way of thinking of their own accord.


7.Motherhood involves sacrifice, how do you reconcile that with being a feminist?

I cannot believe I'm a stay-at-home-mom.  God, I hate that.  I'm so glad I'm also in the publishing industry, because I don't believe women should be confined to the home with children.  It's so boring!  I've sacrificed a lot for my child, starting with my job and ending with my sanity, but the way I reconcile it is to remember it's not his fault.  It is whatever I make of it, and I choose to be a feminist mother, even while I'm engaged in a non-feminist role.


8.If you have a partner, how does your partner feel about your feminist motherhood? What is the impact of your feminism on your partner?

Mike is also a feminist, if we've finally made up our minds that men can be feminists too.  Therefore he supports all my decisions and even though it sometimes takes him longer to get there, he also recognises feminist issues and helps us resolve them in our parenting.  The biggest impact I've had on him was our decision to keep my surname as our family name, losing his.  It was so important to me, and it has become very important to him too.

9.If you’re an attachment parenting mother, what challenges if any does this pose for your feminism and how have you resolved them?

I don't know what that means!


10.Do you feel feminism has failed mothers and if so how? Personally, what do you think feminism has given mothers?
 
Feminism has only failed mothers in one way: motherhood is not as valued as it could be.  Feminism is started to lean back this way though, which is remarkable to see.  I love a world where women can REALLY choose to have a career OR stay at home and to not feel guilty for either choice.  And in terms of what it's given mothers... well... the list is endless.  Breastfeeding in public, having a career, enabled fatherhood, the pill... brilliant, brilliant stuff.
 
So there you go!  What an easy post.
 
Tina.

A few new ideas

We went away to Minnesota for Thanksgiving last week and it was really nice for Owen to spend time with his extended American family (the fact they can occasionally drive me bananas is neither here nor there).

While we were out there I basically stopped wearing make-up.  For Friday, which was when Owen got baptised, I put on some warrior paint again and I actually enjoyed it.  It's made me stop wearing it since we got back (except for a touch of concealer, because I'm still vain and embarrased about my teenage-style spots) and I'm determined to keep it up.  I like to think that while I may be plain under my eyeliner, actually it doesn't matter to anyone but me.  And then, when I do put some slap on again for a special occasion, it feels like a treat and I'm happy to devote some time to it.

I think the thing that bugs me the most about make-up is taking it off again at the end of the day.  I absolutely HATE getting ready for bed because I have to use the loo, take off my make-up, take out my contact lenses and clean them, brush my teeth, put on lip salve because the teeth-cleaning dries them out, put on hand lotion because washing my hands after everything else dries them out, and finally get into my pyjamas.  This all usually takes place shortly before midnight because I forget to do everything before Owen's last feed of the day... SO... if I can skip taking off the make-up because I didn't put any on in the first place, all the better.

It's incredibly emancipating and I reckon I'm going to save a few pennies too.  :)

In other news, I spent many an hour talking to my brother-in-law last week and we got into a very interesting discussion one night about Catholicism.  As we were talking about the concept of Original Sin (it having been Owen's baptism earlier that day), a theory occured to me.  Forgive me if someone else has already come up with this, but it really did enter my head entirely on its own.

Before women's reproductive systems were really understood, women were considered "dirty" and "the other" because they bled once a month.  (Misogynists still believe this today, but that's because they're idiotic trolls and not necessarily because they're uneducated.)  Now, the process of childbirth is also very messy.  It's often primal and the experience reaches into the very core of a woman in labour in a way that no other experience can.  It's animalistic and private, and when your child emerges they are covered in white goo, or blood, or even their own bowel movements.  They snort and they drool and they cry, and if you've never watched a birth before you'd probably be very surprised that babies don't emerge all clean and dry and swaddled in a receiving blanket.

So it occured to me that because children come from a place that is traditionally misunderstood and unclean - being the inside of a woman - the founders of Catholicism decided that not only did the outside of the baby have to be washed when it was born, but also the inside needed cleansing too.  Hence the idea of Original Sin.  Seeing as humans cannot reach the inside, or the soul, baptism serves that purpose.  Yes, Jesus may have been baptised by John, but the concept of Original Sin didn't emerge until hundreds of years later, when the women of the Bible had been all but erased (see the virgin/whore dichotomy throughout) and men could really get to twist its words.

Well, that's what I think, anyway.  Original Sin is essentially misogynistic and I'm not buying into it.  Owen's baptism was NOT Catholic and it had no mention of such nonsense.  My beautiful baby boy would have gone to Heaven whether he'd been sprinkled with holy water or not, but now he gets to embrace his faith fully and celebrate it with his family.

Original Sin can kiss my arse.

Tina.

Soft and cuddly wimmin things

I'm the first to dismiss the notion that women are 'naturally' more caring and in touch with our emotions, and that we are 'naturally' less scientific than men. However, I'm also the first to agree that we can be so as a result of our social conditioning. This has a few implications for pregnancy.

I had my first antenatal appointment last week, and was intrigued that, along with certain medical questions and tests, I was asked whether I required a social worker or any help with personal issues, and my responses (no thanks!) were logged on the system with my medical details. Although I have virtually no other experience of hospital procedures, I'm pretty sure that that's not a standard question. It made me think that since maternity care is a service provided, by-and-large, by women for women, social and emotional considerations are more likely to arise. And I think that's great. The whole flippin world could do with taking people's social and emotional circumstances into account.

On the other hand, I was chatting to my father-in-law the other day and he said that the whole thing (by which I suppose he meant maternity care) was the least scientific thing he'd ever come across. I'm inclined to agree - when I was learning about reproduction at school, I read that 'nobody really knows' how the ovum gets from the ovary into the fallopian tube. I was reminded of this on reading Tina's post about the lack of research carried out into mornig sickness. The reasons, I suspect, are manifold: there's a 'mystery' about women, femaleness and pregancy that the patriarchy, for reasons best known to itself, would like to maintain. Not only that, science is led by men, whose interests are the subject of research whilst women's are left in obscurity. I'm not sure that 'nobody really knows' is the correct expression. I would surmise that 'nobody really cares' is a bit more accurate.

Anthea