New Norms

Four is old enough to grasp "President" and to recognize Obama's face in a storefront or on TV. She knows that he and his family live in the White House. She knows his job is very important.

I'm buried in the scraps of paper that collect in her cubby, and Stella's voice with excited recognition is behind me.

"Mama! These must be pictures of all the presidents!"

I turn to look high where she is pointing. "African-American Achievers" She is showing me pictures of Martin Luther King. Rosa Parks. Twenty influential black men and women.

Obama. Sotomayor. Preschool children. Maybe the world is changing.

A Boy

Walking past closed doors, I knew each room held its own pivotal event, and I felt like a voyeur. I had heard report at 7am: sorrow and joy about to happen behind every room, most likely on our shift. And then sitting at the foot of of the bed in 19, I was in the core, the axis around which every other event would unfold. The third child, the first son, was born with his hair pressed slick with vernix into a beam of light and the smiling sobs of his father. Everything outside our circle vanished. There were no walls, no rooms with sick babies, new babies, and mothers in pain. There was no hospital, no city, no time. We could have been anywhere, anyone.

This birth was the first I have attended in five years. I was anxious for months leading up to Tuesday. Amidst moving, selling our home, planning for the new house, my return to deliveries was never far from my thoughts. They say it's like riding a bike, and it is, in a way. Obstetric fads come and go, one research trumps another, and we go from VBAC to cesarean, obsessive fetal monitoring to broad strokes, cervidil to cytotec. But the central pieces of watching a woman's perineum bulge, checking for a cord, celebrating the child, waiting for the placenta- these hold true.

It's Ours!

 

We were number 2 on four houses. Each time we were out bid, we decided it was for a good reason (i.e. we had less money than someone else), and we decided to try again. This is in a down, buyer's, crashing market. And we were overbidding on major fixers, each time Augusto never letting on how excited he was- and then me crying over the defeat. Something was wrong.

Then we find this true dump of a home. The eye sore of the block. The one that makes most sensible people walk out saying, "Not for me." A bad smell. A peeling ceiling. Curling-edge oak floors. Missing elements like railings, floorboards, a driveway. And naturally, as with any house I WANT, other people are already making offers. I swear I could start a new service: Want to sell your home lickety-split? Then let me love it and there will be a dozen offers after just 17 days on the MLS! So we leap headlong into the abyss and offer full price on a home that needs gutting. Wait... not over asking, just asking price. And it disappears from the MLS--- because we won! We won!

We are motivated buyers, but we are not insane. The house's ultimate value is spectacular- just like the bay views. The layout is ideal for our family. The land is gigantic (by urban standards) and has some level parts. The street is quiet and walkable to a commercial area- and a great public elementary school.

 

 

Oh, and it comes with this sweet 1966 Beetle. If anybody is interested, we're selling.

 

Things That Make Me Happy Today

1.The dentist's office calling after I've left work to tell me that they're running behind, would I mind rescheduling? Would I? You bet! Time to stop at the grocery store and get a few things done before I need to get the kids- that's so much better than sitting in a hygenist's chair.

2.Multiple packs of size 4 diapers. There is a boom of babies my son's size. Ever since he was born the store is regularly out of the size he currently wears- and only that size.

3.Pupusas! Again, the Whole Foods is regularly out of them.

4.Coming home to scrubbed toilets, shiny floors, and fresh beds. Twice a month cleaning is being truly blessed.

5. MY POEMS PUBLISHED by mamazine! Woo Hoo!

This one is up there on the list of really shitty days

How can you not imagine the details of your new home when you offer fifty thousand dollars over asking price on a house your whole family genuinely loves? Who would think that when you offer to close in 21 days and say you won't even inspect the home that someone else would nab it from you?

I am heartbroken tonight. It was honestly a shitty day from start to finish. I woke at 5:40am to a jealous, screaming Stella, who wailed "pick me UUUUP!" when I managed to get Otto to sleep again in bed. He was asleep on top of me, so I couldn't get out from under and Stella would not shut up. I finally moved him to grab her and put her in bed with us (Augusto left before 5 am for an overnight to LA). Naturally he woke, cranky again after I jostled him. So that's how it began. We fought over shoes and teeth and exactly how to get into the car, and I arrived late to work only to learn that a term pregnant patient's entire family and fiancee were killed in a political-religious fire bomb riot half a world away. And another woman's baby died. And a colleague's father murdered his mother when he was a kid. And then we were out bid by someone who offered a little bit more and could close on the house in 14 days. And then the kids were shitheads, so I chugged two glasses of wine and bickered with them until they finally went to bed at 9:45 pm.

Oh, but they wanted to sell the house to us. We've heard that twice now and it only makes me feel worse. We wrote a letter to the sellers, spilling our visions of the future. What if we do find another house to bid on? How can any other letter be genuine after that one?

Now it's night two, up too late, barely keeping my eyes open, and I am still imagining our now non-existent lives in the house on the hill, not getting out of my head the many children under age five who live a house or two away, where I would put the hook for the dog's leash, curl up to read the paper, or plug in my phone to charge. And I am totally unable to imagine how you undo the visions of your life with baby and husband and grandparents and suddenly a friend of the family calls long distance and it is all gone.

I wish I could offer some perky optimism, but I used up this week's hope already.

Here We Go Again

I always manage to post when I should be doing something else. Right now I should be sleeping, or taking a couple of Valium, at least. We singed another offer on a house tonight. Fearing a repeat of the nine-offer marathon that led to our current home, we decided to jump off the cliff. Many factors pushed us to the edge: school applications due in December, conforming loan stimulus package ends in December, the general thought that if we're going to sell our home, we should get it on the market soon, and most importantly WE LOVE A HOUSE! I know, I know, I said that about the one with the sword ferns. After 8 offers in 2002, our Realtor asked if we really loved the house we ended up buying, because it looked like we were going to get it. By then, we weren't even letting ourselves get to that point.

The truth is, I loved the house from last month. Augusto didn't. It was crazy to offer. Today when we sorted out our offer, the energy was great. We have seen many homes now. We BOTH love this house. "Just tell me one thing you love about it?" I asked. He usually holds his cards close, and never wants to get his hopes up about anything. "I love that it's all one level, so when you come home in the rain with a sleeping kid, you can drive right into the garage, go directly into the house, and it's not 13 steps up to the bedroom." It is a great house. A sleek mid century modern with an amazing open floor plan. This home will truly be fantastic for our family. I stomped around the neighboring streets and met a woman who raised her adult son there. She filled me in on all the young families who recently moved in and how hard the couple selling the house had worked to improve it.

It is right that we are here now, offering thousands of dollars more for this one than we did for the other one. It was meant to be.

C-C-C-Changes

I've been obsessing lately. I am known to obsess. Pick an important topic, and it can occupy every nook in my life. Lately, it's a house. I am in love with a house. I am in love with everything about it. The windows, the natural woods in which it sits (with native Sword Ferns!), the funky butcher block kitchen, the delicious blackberries, the great, flexible floor plan, the little property line creek, the excellent neighborhood elementary, the dead end street. I love the way the street gently climbs through a canyon of native oak and then the house sits happily in a little clearing of sun. Get the picture?

The problem is that it's not ours... yet. We offered. The sellers countered. We countered back. Now we've been waiting for 24 hours and I'm gonna flip out. I know there is a another counter offer. So what is going on?! Please oh please, people of the universe, send your vibes to these nice sellers and let them choose us. And let the other people who offered find the house of their dreams very, very soon.

We arrived at this new home by some accident. We like our current home a whole lot. It has inlaid wood floors. Updated kitchen and baths. Mostly, I like it for its location and more for its history. We married in our back yard. I gave birth to both kids less than 15 feet from where I now sit. But it never felt like a forever home. The kitchen doesn't look over the yard. There are only 2 bedrooms on one floor. And the local schools suck. Real bad. I've been trying to help our local elementary for 4 years now. But I am losing hope. Stella enrolls in kindergarten this December.

I teased myself: If we find a 3 or 4 bedroom home within in a good school boundary that has a kitchen and living room that look to the back and a babbling brook- I'll move. Well, this house that hangs in the offer/counteroffer is exactly that house.

Both placentas are still in the freezer. I think I never planted them with a tree because I knew deep down we would move on. I've found where I want to make deep roots. But like those last weeks of pregnancy, never knowing when the labor will start, but seeing that child in my mind's eye... all we can do is obsess, and wait.

I Am Loved

 

I'm really feelin' the love these days.

First of all, I am the 1st runner up in the mamazine MAMAFOCUS contest! I am really honored because the entries and other winners are amazing. Not only do I get the feel good joy of winning and the numerous clicks over to my blog from mamazine and shutter sisters, but I also get a prize- a Metalsgirl Inspirational Bangle!!

Second, Augusto and I went to Tomales Bay for our first overnight ever... JUST US. It was really great. I mean, really, really great. We talked about things other than the kids, we flirted, we climbed up a rock, we kayaked, we had a delicious dinner. And we didn't bicker. Not even once. The kids behaved and enjoyed their night with our fantastic friends. So that means there is hope for more!

 

It's all just too cool. I love being loved.

News flash!

We got a dog at the pound today. A big orange Halloween dog! We’re still working on a name. Stella dressed as a cat wearing a tutu (she couldn’t decide), we had the big preschool parade (for which I gave my work shift to someone else), then I shored up the fence and cleared off the side porch. Then we got ______. He already seems at home.

 

Drunk Without the Buzz

I am Mama tired. Mononucleosis tired. Mt. Everest tired.

Otto is 7 months old today. He is still not sleeping longer than 4 hours at a time. I’m getting up 2, 3, 4 times a night and working 3 days a week. And I got whatever sniffly, coughing, raspy, achey virus the kids had. A nurse at work told me when her son was 5 months old she ran away for one night. Literally left with barely a warning. She pointed her husband to the frozen breastmilk and spent the night in a hotel.

I’ve never been a night away from the kids, but I have a screaming loud physical need to curl up in a bed for 24 hours. Any bed. I’d take even 8 hours if they could be free from baby coughs, nursing, Stella night-talking, husband farts, pee habits, and post nasal drip. I don’t have any more frozen milk, but we do have formula and a baby that needs night weaning anyway. Could I do it? Sneak away? I don’t know if I could, but I know I need it.

A local man forgot his 11-month-old son in the car and went to work all day (only realizing it too late when his wife called to ask why daycare said the son was never dropped off). In the wake of that tragedy, the paper published a you-think-it-couldn’t-happen-to-you piece- and convinced us that it could- with results from a UCSF sleep study. It found that people who are sleep deprived (only 4 or 5 hours a night for as little as a week or regularly interrupted sleep) perform on tests at the same level as a person who is legally drunk. I can’t imagine forgetting my children in a locked car, but I can relate to a busy, sleep-deprived life where a slight change in routine can throw off a whole day. And make you do something you’d regret forever.

Fortunately my offenses include putting cereal boxes back in the fridge and showing up at work in my flip-flops. I’m legally drunk without the buzz. Whoo hoo.


***

On a more positive note (strictly, oddly related the mouths), Otto cut his first tooth on Sunday. Stella chewed her first gum tonight.

***

I had so many other deep and clever things to write about, but like a drunkard, I can’t remember what they were. So I’ll just pass out now.

Midwives Misunderstod.... Again

Every time Augusto puts some midwife news from the SF Chronicle in my To Read pile by the toilet, I feel dread. Truthfully, the dread follows naïve excitement- ooh! Somebody is paying attention! Quickly I come to my senses. I remember that only a select group understands midwives. The mainstream media is not part of this group.

Glaring from the pile is the headline “Fewer options for those who seek natural births: Midwives becoming less popular as cesarean sections gain ground.” The empathetic (?) journalist covered the upcoming closure of Homestyle Midwifery. Homestyle is a popular, personalized in-hospital midwifery service. Contrary to the headline, I actually met two people in Hawaii who delivered with that service. After we passed on our homebirth practice, my former partner, Cynthia Banks, worked for Homestyle for a couple of years. She is an excellent midwife, and she loved that practice. Then California Pacific Medical Center came in, took over St. Luke’s Hospital, and the well-loved, extremely safe midwives are done.

It’s all very sad, but what is worse is that the media can’t get it right, so the general public doesn’t understand, and with the pressure of OBs who are threatened midwives will steal their normal birth- big business, i.e. medical systems like CPMC, follows suit. Let me state two facts:1.Midwives are autonomous providers. 2. Birth with midwives is safe. The article gets it wrong on both accounts. It’s a common misconception, as follows:

1. “For doctors, the decision to allow a midwife to handle the birth or to intervene medically is often a matter of weighing the potential risks against a woman's wishes during labor. The vast majority of births are trouble-free, but few doctors want to risk complications just because a woman would prefer to avoid a medical procedure, physicians say.” Doctors don’t decide to ALLOW a midwife to do anything. We have our own patients. If they meet set criteria for having a low-risk pregnancy, they choose us. When there is a concern of complication with a woman’s health, we consult with a doctor. That means we ask for their opinion, consultation, guidance, or to take over care of the patient- whatever is appropriate.

2. "Some women may say, 'I'm willing to risk a little in terms of safety to have the birth I want.'” Dr. Elaine Gates, vice chair of the obstetrics and gynecology department at UCSF made that statement. Birth with midwives has been shown over and over again to be as safe as or safer than birth with OB-GYNs when you match women of similar risk in similar settings.

It’s really a shame that midwifery is so misunderstood- since the research also shows that patients of midwives are overall more satisfied with their experiences than patents of doctors.

Celebrity Watch

Britney Spears shaved her head and checked into (and out of) rehab. I have no doubt about it. Her two kids are HOW close in age? And she went from famous kid with a kick-ass play life to divorcing mother. You can’t get out of being mother no matter how famous you are (unless you check into rehab, I guess). Britney’s youngest is right at the point where all of my luxurious pregnancy hair started falling out. That nearly threw me over the edge (without the second kid and crash into reality life). Our cleaning lady mentioned it, “Your hair is everywhere.” “I know, it’s all over the bathroom,” I said. “No, it’s all over the house!” she replied. I think she thought it was cancer. I wanted to shave my head every morning. I was a little less drastic and got a short mommy-do. But I considered it when I couldn’t shower and/or stand the sight of myself. Actually, I couldn’t stand the feel of myself- leaky breasts, sweaty pits, tangled, dirty hair. Shaving seemed the quickest way to sustained cleanliness and a sense of style. Yeah for Britney for doing what I was too weak (or sober) to manage.

I hope as I approach the next hair-falling out phase, I hope I will get through it drug-free. I also hope the pop star gets better soon.

Put to Death

Finally someone has a fresh perspective on the death penalty. Joan Ryan wrote her column just for me today. When I heard that the anesthesiologists refused to participate in the most recently planned San Quentin execution, I thought if we just went back to hanging, this wouldn’t be an issue. I oppose the death penalty, but I find interest in the nuances of the argument. We have reduced legalized murder to a sterile spectator sport. If more people could witness the raw death of a hanging or beheading perhaps they would rethink that vote. Photos of meat processing farms made me give up meat. 19 years later those images of sad cow eyes are still effective.

This man will be put to death. (Does that come from “put to sleep,” what we tell children when the dog is euthanized? Are we children who need some buffer from the truth?) Like Ryan, I don’t care too much about his pain. I think there was some merit in eye-for-an-eye punishments, I just don’t think we should go so far as murder-for-murder. But what about the family of Terri Winchell, mourning her for 25 years? And the murderer’s family, what of them? The survivors know raw pain and can’t hide their realities behind sterile sheets, simple phrases, or legal arguments. Ever since I could find the outline of Stella's foot inside my womb, I have had her brutal murder, her tragic accident, her kidnapping- in multiple forms -play out in my untamed imagination. These waking nighmares stike at any time, raise my heart rate, embarrass me. If they were real, I would want someone other than me or her to suffer.