So having a boy should be cooler than I previously expected. After all, adventure, science, wit, strength… all these things are naturally appealing to little boys, right? It’s girls who fall privy to makeup, romance, tea parties, and rather boring things if you ask me.
Well, so much for that myth. Now I supposed that with the scores of various styles and fashions today that looking at bottles and toys would be, maybe even fun. Turns out it’s a little challenging. Babies, who we claim are very receptive to their surroundings, only seem to need to come into contact with the lamest of the lame. Swings have large blob-like, atrocious colorings, bassinets are frilly and lacey (even the boy ones!) and the blues are always a soft pastel. Oh, but for a little masculinity, paw prints are added.
Of course, at this point I’m complaining just for the sake of complaining. I don’t actually intend to run out and buy a six dollar washcloth for the sake of a print versus a four dollar set that all have the same boring puppies. It’s just a little surprising. Not to mention, I am certainly not one to sacrifice the style and atmosphere of the home for the sake of despicable baby colors that clash with everything.
Oh, and people can feed me that nonsense about “stimulation” all they want. Children across the world, in tribes even, get plenty of stimulation from the outside world, from “bland” things such as rocks and trees. I can appreciate my own mother’s advice, as she explained to me that as a baby, she would take my brother and I outside, let us feel the bark and leaves as she said, “tree.” Touching the outside world, I believe, does wonders.
Of course, every parent has their own beliefs, all over the globe. The truth is, unless a parent is blatantly sabotaging their child’s growth, most of us turn out alright. We are resilient, and able to adapt. It is how human beings have managed to survive through the worst of times. I won’t pretend that Cesar will turn out without flaws. At some point, I expect I will say something hurtful, or will do something unintentionally that will “scar” him, or add an odd quirk to his personality. It’s inevitable, and any parent that pretends they have it right is in for disappointment.
So, as I attempt to sort all of this out, I find myself becoming increasingly annoyed with other mothers. Not all. Understand, if a fellow mother tells me, “Well, you will probably be really hungry after labor. They starve you in the hospital. I know I was,” I am not only provided with experience, but with a reasonable explanation of why and how this might occur. Not to mention, such a statement is very general, and doesn’t assure me that I will have the experience.
However, I find that mothers everywhere like to tell you that regardless of your personality, you are an unfortunate victim of pregnancy, and no matter who you are or what morals you have, you will fall prey to its terrors exactly as they did. For example, my coworker, when discussing due dates, told me, “Oh no! You can’t go even two days past your due date. If you do, your baby will get too big.”
Really? She honestly expects me to buy into that myth? I couldn’t help myself. I said, “Are you kidding? You know a due date is an estimated date. To get the most accurate date, you’d have to have a sonogram done in the very beginning to get the gestational age, and that accuracy decreases over time.” Of course, I think by then she was annoyed and tuning me out. But seriously, are people honestly going to expect me to buy into these scares? So, my question is, in nature.. what happens when the pregnant monkey goes past her due date? If such a myth were, in fact, true, then would this big beast burst forth like a cheap rip off from the movie Alien? Would the poor mama monkey just be stuck for the rest of her days raising an oversized baby from the inside out until it ripped her open? Women have gone up to two weeks after their due date without complication. I am not saying being that big is comfortable, or that I want to be that big for an extra period of time. But it’s not impossible and shouldn’t be treated as scary.
Experienced mothers have no place trying to throw nonsense information the way of new mothers. I especially hate when they tell you how you are going to feel, and have no basis for their facts beyond the trusted phrase, “It happened to me.”
Another case in point. My coworker tells me, “Oh, you’ll be so tired. You won’t want to leave the hospital.” Again, I can’t help myself. I say, “Really? Because I can’t even go on vacation and relax for very long in a foreign hotel room. I hate doctors and hospitals, so I can’t imagine that being tired is going to override that anxiety.” I have literally thrown fits if on vacation too long, in a foreign place. Call it a disorder or whatever you want to, I like my environment. To tell me that being in labor is suddenly going to alter my psyche is somewhat unnerving. Luckily, another friend came to my rescue upon mentioning it to her, and reminded me, “Well everyone is different. I hated being in the hospital. I wanted out as soon as it was over with.”
Do I seem like a stubborn person? I can be, but within reason. I like to think that I have a good mind for things. I may be skeptical before I’ve had time to process the information, but truthfully, I do bend if the sense is there.
At my last doctor’s check-up (1-5-10), I told my nurse I was ready to start asking questions about labor. Of course, she wants me to take an annoying child birth class. “You’ll learn how to ask for medication there.” Again, “Really?” (I thought this to myself politely), “Really? I can’t just say, ‘Hey, I might vomit, do you have anything I can take before I puke?’ I really need to go and learn how to say that?” I smiled and nodded, absorbing this info. Then the shocker. Oh, about a week before I’m due (May, 15th), we are going to pick a date for me to go in and get induced. The nurse describes it as a convenience, which I suppose it is.
“We’re just shaving off the time you would be spent having random labor contractions. You won’t have to run around in the middle of the night or anything,” the nurse tells us. I had never heard of this before! Immediately I called my mother, who was amazed. Her own labor with me had involved Pitocin (the drug used to induce labor) and had turned disastrous (they pulled me out with forceps). My mother referred to my suggested labor method as “cattle-herding” done by the medical profession. Sounds about right. I mean, let’s face it, for the doctor who wants his Saturday off, it’s much more convenient to spend your weekdays doing multiple inductions, a process guaranteed (provided there are limited complications) to get the patient in and out in a set amount of time. And, just to be fair (I can’t always fault the medical field alone), we have to place some of the blame on “modern” American mothers. The mothers who want to let their friends and family know exactly which day to request off from work to be around, to inform their job exactly when maternity leave will be starting. And hell, America is the land of convenience, after all. We love fast food, predictable movies, painkillers, credit cards. Why not lump child birth in with all that instant gratification as well? No more wondering when those pesky contractions will start. Here in America, we can have our greasy burgers and take a pill at the same time we eat them to lower cholesterol!
So, thinking this was the oddest practice I’d ever heard of, I started asking around. Turns out it is not uncommon. In fact, lots of moms are proud and even encourage me to have it. “Well, why wouldn’t I?” they wonder. Of course, it’s an entirely different story when talking with someone from say, Europe. My friend in England was mortified. She claimed any woman who has an induction simply for convenience or because you’re, “tired of being pregnant” is incredibly irresponsible. And I have to agree. Yet again, we here in America tend to run on the irresponsible side of things!
So, having established that it’s more of cultural opinion, I decided to do some research to see exactly what the risks are and whether or not such a procedure should be denied for logical reasons. The results? Well, nothing terrible, but there are risks, most of which a lot of these happily induced moms are not likely aware of. While most in the medical profession would agree that it’s not really necessary, it is offered and if, done properly, can turn out without incident. The truth is, enough babies are born without problems that I don’t need to turn my nose up at the thought of induction either. What I do need to be, is informed. Doctors usually utilize the Bishop’s score, which is a system designed to determine if a woman can successfully have a vaginal birth. It takes into account several factors concerning the uterus, cervix, and placement of the baby’s head, ect. Modifications to the scoring are added depending on if the woman has given birth before or to include other factors. The goal, as I understand, is to score as high as possible to be considered for induction. The lower the score, the less likely a successful birth.
Of course, this is a lot of planning ahead, but it’s nice to be informed. I might go into labor early, after all. However, it’s nice to know, and when the time comes I trust that Vincent and I will make the most responsible decision. If that means saying, “I’m sorry, I don’t feel comfortable with this,” well that’s my right. However, having the information at hand, I also feel confident that if it is done properly I have nothing to worry about. So no, I’m not always stubborn.
I think Vincent was happy to hear that, though. I sometimes wonder if he tires of my need for information, at my blatant skepticism of just about anything. He’s much more relaxed, and I have to give him credit, it probably attributes to him having a lot less stress than I do. I like to brag about him on occasion, that I am very lucky I have someone who will allow me to have a bad mood. I was in a rough spot the other day, and while I apologized and roared, I couldn’t get over it. He sat by, waiting it out, making occasional kind remarks. So that was much appreciated.
For now, Vincent has turned most of his attention to his car. I wonder if this isn’t some form of his own nesting experience. As if, he wants to prioritize something as well, but since I’ve unwittingly taken over the house, he has decided to express his urges elsewhere. Certainly I can’t blame him, and it’s not as though the car doesn’t deserve the attention. I only hope it’s not something a forced on him because he doesn’t feel included enough in the house arrangements.
He had the engine worked on, replaced a broken door handle, replaced the shocks for his trunk, and has recently ordered new door panels. It’s a marvelous thing really. I don’t think I’ve seen him so devoted to any project before. Perhaps, it’s a method of expression, but also an outlet for his own anxieties. He certainly does not vocalize his irritations, his upsets, or even his minor concerns with anyone else as far as I can decipher. Then again, perhaps I am reading too far into it. I overanalyze quite a bit.
And Cesar hasn’t been moving about as much. Or maybe I’ve been too busy to notice, which worries me some. Supposedly, here in the next few weeks Vincent should be able to feel him move! That day excites me. I keep wondering how it must be from his perspective. Living in a world beyond of which you have no knowledge of anything. You have no visual beyond light perception, can’t speak, and this tiny world, this womb… you don’t know that you’ll be leaving it one day, or that you aren’t fully grown yet, or that there are deadlines and other little houses (bodies) moving all around your own. No concepts, no realizations… just, there. And yet, there are things from the outside leaking in. Music, sounds, the rumble of a tummy. How do these things register to this being? Maybe the way a storm does for us… just the passing of the weather.
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