I only recently discovered the "alchemy" section on Etsy; it's a part of the website where you can post an idea and people bid on creating it for you. So I jumped on the bandwagon and ordered four things; one is a christmas present for Renee that I can't detail here yet (sorry, Nay!) and the other three are woven & embroidered bracelets detailing my, Davey & Renee's Sun, Moon & Ascendant signs. I just got word that they're finished and was so excited by the pictures that I had to post about them.
Here is the general idea: each bracelet (made by the marvelous Kerry over at Pookietown) is made up of stripes of three colors, and each color is associated with each of the signs in our respective "Big Three's." For example:
My Sun, Moon & Ascendant are in Aries, Capricorn and Gemini. My bracelet (below) has stripes in crimson (Aries), navy (Capricorn) and pale yellow (Gemini). Within the bracelet, the symbols for each sign are hand embroidered in the SECOND color associated with those same signs: white (Aries), charcoal (Capricorn) and pale blue (Gemini)! I was actually sort of shocked by how well the colors all looked together since they (like my chart) sounded like sort of a mismatched mess.
I knew that Davey's bracelet was going to be especially beautiful when I sent Kerry the colors; he is a Sagittarius Sun (royal blue & purple), Cancer Moon (white & silver), and Gemini Ascendant (pale yellow & pale blue).
Renee is a Taurus sun (russet & turquoise), Scorpio Moon (red & black), and Capricorn Ascendant (charcoal and navy blue). Her colors mesh together surprisingly well too!
Beautiful, aren't they? And each bracelet cost less than ten bucks! Amazing!
(I actually wrote this in June of '08, and forgot about it until today.)
The lady, the legend
Cyndi Lauper is one of those songwriters that never seems to get half as much credit as she deserves. I had the LP of "She's So Unusual" growing up and, mirroring the experiences of lots of girls my age, it had a big effect on me. Cyndi Lauper represented something to girls that seemed real and tangible, unlike Madonna who was so hyper-sexualized and over the top that it was impossible to relate to her. As a kid I loved Madonna's music but I LOVED Cyndi Lauper the person, everything about her. She was scrappy, slightly strange, and just seemed to have something about her for quirky working class girls everywhere to look up to. I don't know about you guys but, at least in my neighborhood, we loved her for it. I even owned a VHS copy of her movie Vibes as a kid because I loved her so damned much.
Think about it: once you got older, did your breakups more resemble Cyndi's "ambivalently leaving my loving, slightly dirty boyfriend behind in our meager shared digs with only my sack full of records and hair dye in hand because I JUST HAVE TO BE FREE" in the video for "Time After Time" or Madonna's "things were going great until he became threatened by my budding modeling career and left me! So I quit, and then he taught me how to play pool!" in the video for "Borderline?" Case rested.
More and more often I find that my exceptions to my "sacred artists to never be covered" rule (which includes Prince, Diane Cluck, and Joni Mitchell, to name a few) are always found in covers that seem to highlight the emotions behind the songs' lyrics moreso than even the originals do. I once heard a completely mind blowing live cover of Mazzy Star's "Fade Into You," for example, that slowly built tension before exploding at the end with an uncomfortably earnest, screaming vocal. While the original is a classic, I felt like the cover sounded like what the lyrics suggest, you know? I was comfortable with it because it made sense to me.
Because of it's upbeat sound, and being the theme to the Goonies movie, not too many people paid attention to the lyrics of "Good Enough." Neither did I, for a long time, but once I did I fell in appropriate love, with an all new kind of yearning. Maybe it was because I had to be older to really understand what the song talks about? Those are my dragons to slay, I suppose.
Either way, bravo to the Acorn for doing my girl right. I wonder what Cyndi thinks?
To celebrate it's 10th anniversary, Google is opening it's oldest available archives. Here's some of the atrociously bad 16 year old me poetry I found when I googled my old web persona.
SUMMER IS OVER
i can't lay here next to you wrapped in your jacket and your arms knowing right well the dead end we've become because of you and your needs.. I am unwilling to be the understudy to your hopes of finding another (newer, better, easier)
so take your gifts, love take the things i gave you and memorize them tomorrow things will be different and I won't let you pretend anymore. seeing the love that once filled your eyes turn to pity underneath my tears and pleading.
summer is over my virginity and your vulnerability.. over, love, like all the promises; all the hoping.. take your gifts, angel and never let my stoic face and rough edges deceive you.
i hope you reach your greener grass. i hope you touch your bluer skies. i hope she fixes things in you i always tried but never could. i hope your find yourself, love in the void your absence leaves in me.
Naturally Glamorous
dressed in distress naturally glamorous glass at my lips and pride on my tounge there is not much left for me to say as there is not much left for me to feel now that the bed- my life- and my head are empty as bone. your pictures on the wall your music in the stereo your clothes on the floor you're under my skin
Artists
i dreamed we were painters surrealists, cubists, minimalists seeing our memories spread out to canvas messy and finger-painted child like and messy a jumble of color a condensation of experiences never making sense because good art never does.
You are enjoying an exceptionally easy relation. Whatever the situations, you manage without trouble to lead quickly to a strong harmony, even when misunderstandings occur. That gives neither an intensity nor a particular quality to the communication between you, but in any case it is without any effort that you love each other! Your index of compatibility is remarkable, out-of-standard, your relationship is extremely harmonious."
It is without any effort that we love each other, people! Without ANY effort!
So I did backflips through flaming hula hoops securing tickets, babysitters and mons to see Au with Dodos in Northampton on October 1st. This was exciting news!; "Verbs" is the best kind of crazy and Dodos are going to be super famous soon with the hip youngin's, I'd bet money. The tickets came in the mail, all was calm, all was bright. And then...
Parenthetical Girls in Boston touring for Entanglements!? (Which I got three days ago on my pre-order; it will pleasantly surprise you) On the SAME DAY?
Around the end of the summer I first fell in love with Sufjan Stevens, my friend Matt and I went to a beer bar in Amherst called the Moan and Dove, a place that plays Bob Dylan on it's jukebox and serves various snooty beers from all over the world, typically populated by pretentious, bearded male grad students. At the time I was big into what I was calling "Social Engineering," which basically just meant I would create elaborate and false back-stories about myself and get to know strangers as that person, seeing how they reacted to whatever facade I'd adopted at any given time. I can't remember if we were pretending to be brother and sister or married at the time, but regardless Matt and I were deeply entrenched in one of my experiments when we started talking to these two guys sitting at the bar. One of them was a forgettable, plastered bro-dude who was hitting on anything that moved and was too drunk to really articulate. The other, his friend, was a ginormously tall and eerily soft spoken boy whose name I can't remember. He turned out to be one of several random, amazingly magical people I've brushed shoulders with in my life and, even though I can't remember his name, I've never forgotten him.
Bear with me; this story and how it eventually tied back in to my life is a long and sappy one, but it's worth telling. And I don't tell it enough.
Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe he was just an incredibly open person, maybe he was making up stories just the way I was- but either way he opened up to me almost immediately. He told me a story about a time in his life, not too far in his past, where he'd been addicted to heroin for years and gotten his then-girlfriend pregnant. The two of them had nothing in common but drugs, he told me, and when he decided to get clean he had to make the difficult decision to leave both her and the child behind in order to do it. He lifted up his t-shirt and showed me a tattoo across his torso, his son's name in old English lettering. When it seemed like I was about to feel sorry for him, he waved his hand in the air and said that he'd started wandering, sleeping on couches, panhandling and hitchhiking. He was lonely, still going through withdrawals, and was overpowered by guilt about leaving his son behind when he thought he might give up and relapse. That was when he heard "Going to California" by Led Zeppelin on the radio in a mall and had a revelation at the words "find a queen without a king / they say she plays guitar and cries and sings." He told me he knew then that if he just kept moving eventually he would meet that girl in the song, and she would be the key to everything.
Now, I very, very rarely meet people who hear and regard music in the same way that I do- as having some mystical, universal property that can change anything at any given moment. Needless to say, I was intrigued. When I asked what happened, a light seemed to come across his face. "I found her here," he said. When he randomly and bizarrely ended up in Western Mass, he saw a girl playing her guitar on the street in Northampton, singing and crying. He brought her a cup of coffee from one of the nearby coffee shops and they started talking. After two months they moved in together, and he claimed to not have touched any drugs since. Once he was officially sober for a year, he told me, they planned to go back to get his son so they could raise him together.
So I did what anyone would do, I asked what she was like. But instead of telling me, he grabbed his drunk friends' cell phone and called her, right there in the middle of the bar. "Hi, baby, it's me," he said, "I was just thinking about you."
Yes, that really happened. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I was there, and it happened.
Years and thousands of miles later, I was on a plane flying back to Massachusetts from Oregon. I was in an especially frantic rush to leave for reasons I won't mention, and so ended up on a last minute flight (that my grandmother paid for) where I flew for 5 straight hours in the middle seat, between two strangers, without enough elbow room to write, read a book, or do anything other than sit there bone straight listening to music. I was completely bankrupt, financially and emotionally, and hadn't realized until I was on the plane that I didn't even have batteries for my walkman. The only options left for me were the various in-flight radio stations, most of which, oddly, were talk radio and christian music. I compromised on a classic rock station and settled in.
I feel weird saying that it was one of the worst days of my life; I know it sounds lamely melodramatic, but it really was. I was a basketcase, and totally lost. I was about to turn 25 and had absolutely nothing to show for it but a trail of fuck ups, stupid decisions and failures. I was ashamed, and it killed me to go home knowing what was in store for me there. Aside from hearing "I told you so" from everyone I'd left behind, I was moving back in with my parents because all of my money was gone. I knew that if I was lucky enough to find a job at all, I'd need to have my folks drive me to and from, since I'd sold my car before I moved. I felt unlovable and totally unremarkable, in ways I never had before. It wasn't at all where I imagined I'd be at 25, which is an understatement, and any changes I could possibly make seemed so far away from me then that something in me just broke. It's heavy to say so now, but I was seriously considering suicide at the time. I was suddenly so afraid of everything. I went so deeply inside my own head that, if I were going to be honest, I'd have to admit I haven't totally come out yet. Maybe I never will. Maybe that was the point.
You know where this is going, I'm sure. Somewhere over those mountains in Wyoming that go on for hours and hours, "Going To California" came on the station I was listening to. I really, really listened to it for the first time and this feeling of deja vu washed over me.
"I spent my days with a woman unkind, who smoked my stuff and drank all my wine. I made up my mind to make a new start, going to California with an aching in my heart.
Someone told me there's a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair. So I took my chances on a big jet plane, never let them tell you that they're all the same.
The sea was red and the sky was grey, I wondered how tomorrow could ever follow today. The mountains and the canyons started to tremble and shake as the children of the sun began to awake.
It seems like the wrath of the Gods got a punch on the nose and it's starting to flow; I think I might be sinking. Throw me a line, if I reach it in time I'll meet you up there where the path runs straight and high
to find a queen without a king, they say she plays guitar and cries and sings. I ride a white mare to the footsteps of dawn Tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born. Standing on a hill on my mountain of dreams, telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems."
I thought about that boy in the bar, and how he'd chosen to take the words to the song as some kind of prophecy during the darkest time in his life. I can't compare what happened to me with heroin addiction, obviously, but I still suddenly so related to the song that I decided to do exactly what he had done. I told myself I needed to keep moving until I found that person who was the last piece of my puzzle, until something made sense again. Laugh, whatever. It was the only thing that got me off that plane that day.
I did what I had to do, and it was just as difficult as I feared it would be. I was a ghost in my parent's house; just going back and forth to a crappy $10 an hour temp job, smoking a lot of pot, and never leaving my room. Once Renee finally convinced me to re-present myself to the outside world, she and her friend David came and picked me up from my parents house. The three of us just drove all day. With one incredibly ill-advised exception (which I also won't mention), it was literally the first time I'd left my room to do anything but work since my plane had landed. These are all pictures from that beautiful day.
I didn't know it, but that day I met the key to my new everything, the future father of my son, who plays guitar and cries and sings. Four months later we moved in together, and today I'm on the other side of all that darkness, living in love with my awesome little family. I hope that mysterious boy from the bar is too, somewhere.
Yes, I've gotten way off track blogging lately, for various reasons. But I was struck by all the negativity in my last few posts; not that awful music isn't funny (it is) but I don't think complaining about what's bad really gets across how much I love the things I love. So I'm going to start periodically writing about my honest to goodness, hands down, top 25 favorite songs of all songs, one at a time. Because I want to, and because it's so, so easy for me to be passionate about them.
The summer of 2005 was an interesting one for me. My grandfather had died at the end of May, which left me in a complete emotional tailspin. So I was (as usual?) mid-self revolution, only instead of the relentless crashes and booms I was used to accompanying change in my life, everything seemed to be falling away and evolving remarkably peacefully. I'd ended a relationship that I'd long been unhappy in, moved into a sublet off of Main Street in Amherst, and was having myself a (badly needed) charmingly carefree summer on the outside of the struggling I was doing underneath it.
At Quabbin, Summer '05
Renee and I had only just begun our legendary friendship the spring prior, and spent most of our time together drinking jugs of Berkshire Brewery beer, listening to bluegrass, and going on lots of long, aimless drives through all the old hill towns and farms. I had only just acquired my marvelous Betsy from the Hampshire Bike Exchange and rode her down to the center of town almost every day. The lot of us who stayed behind that summer when all the students went back home would creep into the woods near Hampshire College late at night and skinny dip in the lake there. When we weren't playing late night Scrabble, my roommates and I would have parties that almost always ended with everyone on the playground behind our apartment, playing Hide And Seek and running around like children, followed by a morning after breakfast at the Lone Wolf. I was lazily "seeing" an old friend of mine from early teenage-hood who had grown up to be a touring slam poet, and he'd take me to drag shows and hipster beer bars from time to time. He was a decent kisser and a heavenly hugger. Everything was beautiful and nothing was serious- an environment I badly needed in order to cope with my grandfather's death. And it was during this time that I really got into Sufjan Stevens' music, and first fell in love with "Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, IL."
"Come On Feel the Illinoise" isn't my favorite Sufjan album by far, but this song stuck out to me immediately and has effectively nested itself in my heart forever. Not only because of the memories surrounding the particular time in my life where this song took a front seat, but also because it's beautifully crafted and downright genius. The Philip Glass-y piano throughout is mystical, sparce and beautiful, but it's the lyrics (as usual) that really took me over.
"When the revenant came down we couldn't imagine what it was. In the spirit of three stars, the alien thing that took its form. Then to Lebanon, oh God! The flashing at night, the sirens grow and grow. Oh, history involved itself! Mysterious shade that took its form... or what it was, incarnation? Three stars delivering signs and dusting from their eyes."
There's a passage in the Bible that talks about an incarnation sent from God that will come down from the sky as a sign to the faithful, surrounded by three stars and the faces of lions, and I've always assumed that Sufjan was invoking that with this song. The idea that what contemporary humans regard as alien (UFO's, moving lights in the sky) could actually be an incarnation of faith meant for a faithless world is mind blowing and something I could think about for hours. How many times have we explained away our miracles as science fiction, in our heated rush to seem intellectual and impossible to fool? Is the price of seeming gullible and simple to the world worth the gifts that faith can give?
That summer, underneath all the easy, child-like days and the warm, simple nights, I wrestled with the loss of my grandfather every single moment. His faith was the current that kept him moving and alive his entire life. Every night I looked to the sky and hoped I'd see him; in the spirit of three stars or in any way he'd come back to me.
This is much, much easier than narrowing down my favorites, and given these honorable positions based on amount of outrage I feel at their existence when I hear them in the grocery store/mall/car.
I really am the sort of person who tries to find at least one thing to like about everything and everyone. But there is literally nothing appealing about Smash Mouth, is there? If there is, let me know, because I haven't found it yet.
Nevermind that this song has absolutely no soul to speak of, or that it reminds me of the years I worked at CVS in high school and it always came on and ruined my day while I was pricing Tylenol or therapeutic shoe insoles, but is anyone else COMPLETELY creeped out by all the weird flower opening/white gloves/virginity/vagina/sex innuendo in this video? Grossssssss.
I'm pretty sure this song would be on everybody's list, everywhere, except for maybe a few drunk townies from my hometown, sitting down at Maximum Capacity getting all fuzzy inside thinking about when they were the man in high school and constantly quoted the American Pie movies.
Fuck this song, fuck Cher, fuck her vocoder, fuck the trend she started in mainstream music where no one has a human voice anymore, and lastly just fuck. Ugh. Fuck.
Again we go back to the "no soul" issue. Is it really that hard to write a song that actually means something to you? Or to anyone? I'd rather listening to a recording of her signing all of her many, many checks- at least that'd feel a little bit more honest.
This is, hands down, my least favorite song of all time. I find something to throw every time it somehow leaks it's way into my atmosphere. No song is worse than Margaritaville, period. This is not open for debate. As a matter of fact, as I was looking for this video on youtube and played it, the baby woke up and immediately started crying. I hope someone closes Jimmy Buffett inside a steel drum and tosses him overboard somewhere in the Caribbean.
How many people do you think chose this song as their wedding song the year it came out? The year after that? THIS year? You'd think it would have gone away by now, but oh no- it's the new "Celebrate."
For the first time in a long, long time I'm starting to get ideas again. It seems really plain, the idea of idea-having, but honestly it's been so long since I've had any ideas, good or bad, that I feel kind of like a little girl right now.
When I was much younger, I had this electric green 80's psychedelic binder (the kind that came empty and with big metal rings, that you filled with paper yourself as needed) that I kept all my writing in. The first half was a journal, the second half was for my poetry, and the third half was reserved entirely for IDEAS. I had so many, for poetry, novels, clubs, games, that I needed to devote an entire section for them in my binder so that I wouldn't forget them later. Isn't that wonderful? I'm so in love with Little Me, when I look back. I wish I'd loved Little Me as much back then as I do now. Who knows what I could have accomplished with a bit more self love?
Anyways, my first order of business is trying to work out a better, less blogger-like space for my writing/blogging/etc etc. Does anyone know of any good hosts? Any good scripts for passcoding/privatizing sections of websites? I'm serious about this, too; blogger makes me feel weird and I can't organize topics in any way that I like at all. I'm going to be working on and around this for the a good chunk of the near future future; in the meantime, I'm link dumping on tumblr, at least for a little while.
Here are some other ideas I've been kicking around:
X Starting a small, self-run press in which I'd bind all the books by hand as they're ordered. I've been tossing this possibility around in my head for almost ten* years now and I don't see any reason why it hasn't been done**.
X Starting a webmagazine to coincide with aforementioned self-run physical press. It would thrill me to no end to be able to reject all the masturbatory, blowhard poetry that so many webmags constantly publish and actually put GOOD*** stuff out there.
X A children's book, the plot of which I don't want to reveal yet.
X A Young Adult book series, the plot of which I don't want to reveal yet. (I am STUPID excited about this)
So yes, I will be busy. I'll keep you guys updated on the progress of my busy-ness. Love!
*Yes, I'm really that old. **Except that I'm lazy, flighty and creepy. ***Good to me
Then it was off to 1960, which is abundant in both sweet glasses' frames and Kennedy's.
I don't remember much about 1966, actually; acid tests and all that.
Since you all know the only reason I went ahead and invented time travel at all was to sleep with Stevie Nicks and Mick Fleetwood, 1978 was all in all it pretty fulfilling.
I wanted to stop by 1982 to see how the world was the year I was born. I booked it out pretty quickly, though; there's just way too much John Cougar Mellencamp in 1982 for my liking.
Last stop, 1994! Although I'm not sure why I bothered, since I actually did have this haircut in 1994, and it was just as terrifying and time consuming then as it was the second time around.
The other night David and I both made a list of five people that we could each make out with without punishment, in the unlikely event that the opportunity ever arises. Doesn't every couple have a list like this or are Davey and I just bizarre? Predictably, my list is also contingent upon my creating the technology for time travel.
Well, I received my package from her the other day and thusly wanted to update you all on the current status of my opinion of humanity. (Hint: It has much improved)
If you can't make out the note, here's what it says:
"Caitlin- Here you go! One more piece in your puzzle. As promised, I've included a few frimps: Dove's Heart (To help put the past in the past), #20 Love Oil (for any future possibilities! wink, wink!) and a few others just for the halibut. Very best of luck to you! Cheers! Jennifer"
Needless to say, my nose has been firmly and blissfully buried in my new bottle of Beltane '06 since the moment I unwrapped it. I'm also now the proud owner of two bags of tea and 5 other BPAL imps. Jennifer from Rockford, if you're out there somewhere- thank you, thank you, thank you!
If you need me, I'll be having a nice warm cup of chai spice black tea courtesy of loving, compassionate strangers everywhere.
For the past week or so, every few times I go outside to have a cigarette (yes, I'm smoking again- sort of. Let's not talk about it.), there's been a bunny on our front lawn. I'm not sure where s/he's living and have yet to see any other rabbits, but s/he pops up fairly frequently and seems to enjoy scarfing the out of control crab grass that's slowly strangling what used to be my grandmother's lawn.
Little Buddy
I never try to get too close to it or hold it or anything, obviously- I don't want it to stop coming around. If I'm outside smoking in the first place, chances are I'm having a pretty rough time inside (what up colic, holla), so seeing the bunny is like a surprise joy supplement exactly when I need it.
This week's POTW is brought to you by my pesky exalted Venus in H10 Pisces.
"Sometimes what you remember is their voices again, coming on inside you like strung lights in your blood, certain words they'd tongue differently from anyone else, or your own name and its surprisingly infinite nuances. And sometimes you remember their hands, not touching you but draped over a steering wheel or cupped briefly around a cigarette, anywhere you could watch them in their life apart from you, knowing how they'd find you later, blind but sure, and come to rest where you needed them. You remember the hardness of their bellies, the soft line of hair that swirls down toward the cock, the look of each one that entered you and then withdrew, or lay quietly inside awhile longer before slipping away like a girl sneaking out in the middle of the night, high heels dangling from one hand as her stockinged feet drew sparks from the rug. Sometimes you wander the house all day, the fog outside stalled at the tops of trees, refusing to rise higher and reveal the world you hope is still there, the one in which you're still a woman some beautiful man might helplessly move toward. And you remember how one looked at you the first time you undressed, how another didn't mind that you cried. Sometimes it's enough just to say their names like a rosary, ordinary names linked by nothing but the fact that they belong to men who loved you. And finally you depend on that, you pray it's enough to last, if it has to, the rest of your life."
Can you tell we're having a relatively quiet day in the Lord/Morrow household? Also I'm in a much better mood today than I have been in.. oh, 6 months?
Some of you might remember that a little bit before the baby was born Davey and I got tickets to All Tomorrow's Parties NY, which seems destined to be one of the most memorable experiences of my life. They've been periodically adding more and more artists/bands to each days' lineup, and I just took a peek at the current list for the first time in a while and I am SO JAZZED!!!!!!!!!!!!! (This isn't all the bands- just the ones I'm most excited for; the full lineup is here)
When he first started having lots of colic problems, I read online that "bicyciling" Quinn's legs might help to ease his stomach. When we finally tried it, though, we quickly found out that it's basically his favorite thing ever. He smiles and laughs every time we do it, especially when I sing Queen's "Bicycle Race" while I do it. I've been meaning to catch one of our races on video for a while, and I finally got a good one this morning. Sorry for my voice and my ugly mug interfering with the music- I'd just do anything to make this little dude laugh!
A totally amazing stranger is giving up a limited edition Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab oil she just won in an Ebay auction for me, so that I can add it to my list of things I've replaced after they were stolen from me by an especially douche-y ex. I sent her a short but heartfelt email explaining my situation, figuring my chances were slim to virtually none (considering the rarity of the oil), but she wrote back and said she'd be happy to sell it to me for just as much as she paid for it (even though I offered double)!
"hey, no need to apologize. i've got to respect someone willing to take a little risk. =) anyway, hearing your story, i'd be the last person to deny someone such a little thing to reclaim themselves from a selfish and inconsiderate ex. i would be happy to sell it for the same price i paid, but i've never put anything up on ebay before? what would work best for you? i can figure it out, i'm sure. let me know! cheers!"
I'm so ridiculously pumped; Beltane '06 was a limited edition BPAL scent that they only sold for three days two years ago, that ended up being my favorite. Possibly my favorite scent of all time? I thought it smelled like childhood, sort of like bug spray and fresh air and grass. I'd mostly given up hope of ever replacing it, since I'd regularly trolled Ebay for it all year and it'd never come up. The auction in question popped up while I was in the hospital with Quinn (figures), so when I got home and saw that it had come and gone my heart sank. But apparently I'm cashing in some good karma, and I sent my new friend a paypal payment this morning (!!).
My question is: I'd like to send her a little something as a thank you, since it means so much to me that she did what she did. Do any of you have any suggestions for something small but wonderful that I could send her way? I thought about baking some awesome cupcakes, but I'm not sure how well they'd ship in all this heat. I appreciate it!
Thank you for Elizabeth Mitchell, and every single one of her albums of folk songs for children. They're a virtual guaranteed savior when Quinn is otherwise too colic-y to sleep (especially "You Are My Sunshine"). His colic is ROUGH, and I seriously don't think I'd have my sanity right now if it weren't for these magical, magical records.
I've lost track of the amount of times I've sung "The Ladybug Picnic" (his favorite) this past week. The songs are all beautiful, but even if they weren't- whatever calms his little heart is a-okay by me.
Nellie McKay was born exactly 3 days before me in 1982, making her yet another awesome person I can add to my "practical soul twin" roster.
Feminists don't have a sense of humor. Feminists just want to be alone. (Boo hoo) Feminists spread vicious lies and rumor, They have a tumor on their funny bone.
They say Child molestation isn't funny (Ha ha ha ha) Rape and degradation's just a crime (Lighten up, ladies!) Rampant prostitution sex for money (What's wrong with that?) Can't these chicks do anything but whine?
Dance break (Yeah, take it off!)
They say: Cheap objectification isn't witty (it's hot) Equal work and wages worth the fight (sing us a new one) On demand abortion every city (okay, but no gun control) Won't these women ever get a life?
Feminists don't have a sense of humor (Poor Hillary) Feminists and vegetarians (Hehehe) Feminists spread vicious lies and rumor They're far too sensitive to ever be a ham That's why these feminists just need to find a man.
"We'll tell you how your mom worked at the hospital, "treating" people like the tattered, gray-faced man who shoves his shopping cart down Verdugo, muttering to the Tsar. How, between bouts at my desk, I'd bumble barefoot through the house, feeding our fish, or patting Marvin, the cat.
Mom will tell how, at her first job, age 16, she found a dead mouse in Baskin-Robbin's hot fudge, called the manager at home, and when he didn't believe her, dropped the chocolate-covered Mickey on his big desk-blotter, and never returned. I'll tell about playing The Catacombs, and resurrect
my sunburst Stratocaster from its coffin-case. I might even tell how I clubbed a Bandido with a mike- stand when he rushed the stage, and how I'd pull away from girlfriends in Portland, Billings, Coeur d'Alene, my red pickup sagging with band gear, and barely see the road for tears until, in a few miles, the clouds lifted,
a surge of freedom picked me up, and surfing on its crest, I'd start to sing. You'll hear the way you heard "Jack the Giant-Killer", and "Snow White", as if our lives are fairy tales from "olden days". Your world will be about your friends, your baseball, your Tickle Me Elmo, or whatever the fad is.
You won't know for many years that the musk of narcissus on a March day made us feel sexy, just as it will you. You'd never guess that, when you were a neural tube, an ember trying to make a flame, your mom felt sick, so we went walking on the street we were leaving
to find a better place for you. A north wind gnawed our lips, but as we walked, holding hands inside my parka pocket, your mom's nausea lifted, and my grief to feel you stealing her from me. Inventing songs about our turtles - Mr. Cow, Peg Webb, Trout-Boy, and Tammy Faye -
we started laughing, and stopped on the sidewalk (cracked by the last earthquake), and kissed as long and desperately as if we were saying goodbye - kissed the way our parents may have (since we're both eldest children) - kissed as if we didn't need you, one last time."
To spare you all constant baby updates, I started a blog specifically about Quinn. It's not so much a blog as a project- I'm taking a picture of him every day for the first year of his life and posting it here with little day by day notations. For the time being, until he's a little bit older and not in need of my constant 24/7 attention, his page will probably be updated more than this one.
Finally, after 9 months and three days of waiting, the planet earth welcomed Quinn Bernard Morrow to itself. As I mentioned before, the c-section was planned for 7:30am on Wednesday, but (as is the case with most "plans") it didn't quite happen that way. I went into active labor at 1am Wednesday morning and Davey and I had to rush to the hospital in the middle of the night. Apparently he just couldn't wait even a few hours longer to make his entrance, and was born at 4:34am. This, of course, changed his astrology entirely but I'll go into that another day. Right now I just want to try and describe the adventure of his birth, although there's so much to tell I'm not sure I can say it all in one post.
Contractions BLOW. I know that's sort of one of those things that everybody "knows," but I really didn't know exactly how bad it was until it happened to me. I also understand now why no one could tell me what they feel like- there's no way to really describe it. It's somewhere between the worst menstrual cramps you can possibly imagine and your body trying to turn itself inside out. In other words- contractions BLOW.
When we first got to the hospital they tried with all their might to slow my contractions down until my scheduled c-section time. First they made me drink 8 big cups of cranberry juice, I guess because hydration slows contractions? Maybe in a normal person, but apparently all that moisture just sped mine up. So they moved me upstairs to a labor room, hooked me up to some IV's and gave me two Ambien, thinking it could slow my contractions down AND help me sleep. But the baby had made up his mind, and no amount of drugs were going to slow his roll. A half hour or so after they gave me the pills, they checked my cervix and rushed me to surgery to do the c-section early. By then, of course, I was so loopy on the Ambien that I'd mostly left the planet. While I was floating somewhere out around Neptune, the doctors gave Davey some scrubs to wear and an anesthesiologist gave me spinal anesthesia.
Me (in mask), Davey (in scrubs), Quinn (breathing oxygen for the first time)
Here's what I remember about the actual c-section: a really cool surgical lamp over my head that looked like a spaceship that I couldn't stop staring at- Davey holding my hand- hearing Quinn cry for the first time and then seeing his little face all miserable and covered in goop when someone held him over the tent around my belly for me. That's literally it- I never felt a thing. I was really paranoid that I would be able to feel the pressure and KNOW they were cutting into my body but I didn't feel anything, thankfully. After that they closed me up and wheeled me into a recovery room, and then I didn't see Quinn again until way, way later.
Why, you ask? Tremors. David, hottie and love of my life that he is, suffers from genetic tremors that his father, sister, and grandfather all also have. Their hands all shake, barely enough to notice. It looks as though Quinn's inherited the trait, but since none of the doctors knew they assumed he must have some sort of serious medical problem. That assumption would continue to haunt us for the next four days that I was in the hospital recovering, as well meaning but totally annoying nurses kept doing test after test after test after test on him trying to find what was "wrong."
I'm not going to lie. I wasn't very nice to aforementioned nurses. I was snarky, sarcastic and outright petulant because they kept TAKING HIM AWAY FROM ME. Eventually, they found that he was slightly jaundiced and put him in a baby incubator, under some ultraviolet lights, and I literally had a breakdown in the hospital. I almost made a hospital volunteer cry, even (sorry, hospital volunteer). Even with all the free room service (with so many veg options!!) and Law & Order SVU I could possibly consume at my fingertips, nothing comforted me when I couldn't be with him. It was excruciating not being able to see him or know what was going on. I waddled down the hallway to the nurses station more than once to demand answers and explainations. Apparently I am an even bigger and scarier Momma Lion than I ever suspected.
The hospital stay was, as you can imagine, good and bad. I needed the recovery time, but there was a huge part of me that just wanted to be at home with David and Quinn the entire time. David stayed with me in the hospital every night and there was a constant current of visitors in and out. For a few of those days I only got to see the baby when they'd bring him in to breastfeed, and needless to say I got over any lingering modesty I may have once had about whipping my boob out in front of anyone pretty quickly. I cherished those times so much that I was totally unwilling to postpone them because of guests. I also had a totally creepy hospital bed that adjusted itself to the position my body was in, and sounded like it was breathing all the time. I say creepy now but I really miss it. Or, really, my achy back misses it. A lot.
I'm not sure exactly how to describe what it feels like to be a mother. I've been thinking about how to do that for a while, and I still haven't come up with the right words. Except maybe to say that I had no idea the capacity for love that really existed inside of me until now, as corny as that sounds. I've honestly never loved anyone or anything in this world as much as I love this little baby. It terrifying and exhilarating loving something so much, especially something as helpless and needy as a newborn baby. As awkward as we were afraid we'd be, I think Davey and I are taking to parenthood pretty well. The baby seems to like us, at least. And that's a good start.
Quinn has been home for three days now, and has experienced a lot of firsts. He had his first at-home bath this morning, and had his first doctor's appointment. My mother comes over almost every day and reads to him, and we're already planning all the different museums, aquariums and other fun places we want to take him. David plays his guitar and sings for him, which the baby seems to completely adore. He sleeps in a little bassinet next to our bed so that when he's hungry at night I can easily pull him into bed with me and feed him in the dark. I'm so in love.
Things are so hectic lately that I haven't had too much time to just to chill out and update here. I went in for my additional ultrasound last Thursday and discovered that I am, in fact, carrying a barbarian around in my abdomen.
Current Barbarian-esque facts about Quinn:
- Ginormously ginormous, with an estimated weight somewhere between 8.15 - 9.15 pounds. I typed "weighs nine pounds" into google image search, and found this basis for comparison.
- Exceptionally long femur bones, suggesting that on top of being heavier, he's also longer than normal.
- Enough hair that it can be seen FLOWING during ultrasounds; enough hair to cause the ultrasound technician to cry out, "Wait, is that HAIR? Oh my god, that's HAIR!" My family, so far, hasn't been very appreciative of my numerous Fedor Jefticheive jokes.
There was cause for mild panic during the ultrasound because at first he wasn't moving as much as they wanted, which I guess is a sign of distress. He's pretty cramped in there, so they gave me a bunch of soda to drink and tried prodding him to move around a little more. While I was watching him on the ultrasound screen, the technician and I started talking to him, asking him to move. Although he didn't move at first, we could CLEARLY see his EYES darting back and forth while we spoke, to which the technician exclaimed, "Look, he's listening to us!" It figures I could be counted on to conceive a creepily inquisitive gladiator wolf child, right? Eventually he did start moving, although he absolutely refused (as usual) to take his thumb out of his mouth.
So on account of the baby being a moose, and the fact that he's growing at such a dangerously rapid rate (a pound and a half in two weeks! My poor body just cannot physically make any more room!), they scheduled me for a C-Section this Wednesday. I'm going in at 6am for prepping and they're taking the baby out at 7:30am. I'll probably be in the hospital until the weekend. It's definitely not as magical and spontaneous as I'd hoped for, but it's the safest thing for both of us. Honestly at this point I'm just glad to see an end in sight, I've been so miserable. I can't wait to be all healed up and lighter so I can just GO FOR A WALK! I feel like a rolling pile of mush.
Totally me, soon!
Seeing as this is a child of mine, the first thing I did (of course) when I got the news of his scheduled birth time was do his natal chart. One of the most interesting things about astrology, as far as I'm concerned, are the patterns that reoccur in the charts of family members. Honestly guys, it's creepy. So of course, in addition to having his sun conjunct David's moon and my north node, he also has the same house positions for the Sun (12th), Jupiter (6th), Neptune (7th), and Pluto (5th) as I do. Also in the tradition of his proud momma, he has retrograde energy up his wazoo. We'll work through it together, little baby!
Also: his rising sign (Leo) combined with his sun sign (Cancer) has in the past produced this fine fellow:
Sometimes, when I'm sad, I like to look at pictures of people dancing at Anna Oxygen's live shows. For those of you unfamiliar, Anna Oxygen is an electronic audio/visual artist who is known for inventing "psychedelic aerobics," and for leading her audiences in synchronized exercise routines while she performs in front of giant video screens.
Seriously. I have an entire folder on my computer dedicated specifically to photos of Anna Oxygen fans getting their jazzercise on. Basically, every single one is pure joy personified. Here are some of my favorite examples (none of these were taken by me, sadly):
In addition to her performance art group Cloud Eye Control, it seems like she's been doing some pretty wonderful stuff translating old folk music from the acoustic to the electronic, as well as the project "Conversations That Never Happened" which "explores relationships and intimacy developed during the ritual of eating." Love? So, so much love.
at the future Prince Quinn Bernard Morrow (from the 3D Ultrasound at 37 weeks), whose full name (thanks to Renee for letting me know!) roughly means "Wise, Brave Bear."
eh? ehhhh?
I have another (additional, because of all my pelvic issues) ultrasound tomorrow, which may or may not lead to having my c-section scheduled for soon after depending on what they find. Fingers crossed!
Also, roughly how much hell do you all think Davey and I will get from our families for giving the baby a unisex, gender neutral name? We've already gotten a few faces and "but that sounds like a GIRLS name" from his sister and mother, who don't know yet that we've made up our minds. I mean, I *suppose* we could have named him Brutus Testicular Titanium Optimus, but it just doesn't really roll off the tongue in the same way, you know?
Last week my OBGYN recommended that I stay off my feet fearing I may have developed toxemia, a recommendation I decided not to take seriously. I come from a long line (Hi Mom! I know you read this!) of folks distrustful of doctors and medicine in general. So I decided it would be fine to waddle out into the oppressive heat and walk all around with David buying cat food and an answering machine and all this other stuff. Needless to say, it was a pretty big mistake. My feet and my hands swelled up all gigantic and balloonishly and I almost passed out in public, something I try to avoid whenever possible. So I'm essentially an indoor kid now. The baby, now officially Quinn Bernard Morrow, could come any day now (but I hope he waits for the new moon, at least). I'm in my 40th week and honestly can't wait for my body to go back to being MINE. Pregnancy and I clearly do NOT get along, at least not biologically.
David and I have started buying bruised fruit for me to bake with, which I love. I made a giant loaf of yummy blueberry banana bread this morning, and I also have mangos (!!) and strawberries to work with later as well. I *think* I'm going to try making a bunch of mango cobbler soon, provided I don't go into labor first.
Does anyone have any excellent cookbook recommendations? Baking AND cooking, except that the cooking should be vegetarian/vegan in nature. I've been particularly interested in interesting veggie crockpot recipes. I've been scourging etsy.com for cooking zines and the like, thinking I might start a little cooking library to go beneath my poetry one. Who knew, right?
Things I've started to write about lately but haven't finished:
1.) A discussion of my top 5 favorite covers, which basically turned into a discussion about all the reasons I love CocoRosie's cover of Kevin Lyttle's "Turn Me On."
2.) A Last.fm survey all about my top 50 most listened to artists, with questions of the "what was the first song you heard by..." "how did you discover..." and "what is your favorite song by.." variety.
3.) A return the covers entry, talking about sacred artists no one should ever cover, Cyndi Lauper & working class girls in the 80s, and The Acorn's cover of "Good Enough."
4.) Reasons I wish Michelle Obama would run for president.
5.) An entry about big transits and retrograde periods we're entering into astrologically, and how they may affect everyone.
So see, it's not like I've forgotten you guys or am short on ideas- I just seem to have an incredibly low tolerance for "hearing" myself talk and always stop before I finish.
What sort of things do you guys want to read about here, anyway? Anything in particular? I've got a lot of time on my hands, being all pregnant and immobile and whatnot.
There are so, so many things to be annoyed with here that I couldn't possibly write them all in one swoop. Do you notice how the lyrics constantly confirm her straightness, over and over? It's important to be clear about that, just in case a woman actually being attracted to another might threaten collective dudehood or make *any* dicks *anywhere* soft in *any* way. God forbid. Thanks for being a relentless advocate for bro dudes and their erections everywhere, Katy Perry (and the two men who helped you write your masterpiece)! What would boners do without you?
Oh, and ps: Being anything other than heterosexual is not what "good girls do," in case you forgot.
A dude from my hometown is the rock, paper scissors champion of the United States.
"A Chicopee man rocked the competition over the weekend in Las Vegas, beating more than 300 of the nation's finest "Rock Paper Scissors" players to earn a $50,000 first prize.
Sean Sears, 23, of Leo Drive threw a winning rock to conquer his opponent's scissors to win the 2008 Bud Light/USA Rock Paper Scissors League Championship.
"We were absolutely amazed he won. It was on a whim he did this," said his mother, Catherine A. Sears.
Sean, a graduate of Chicopee Comprehensive High School and Worcester Polytechnic Institute, was en route to Chicopee from Las Vegas tonight and could not be reached." - from masslive.com
For today's adventure in baking, I chose the Sweet Corn & Maple Cupcakes. I skipped any and all references to bacon.
I chose this recipe as my first adventure for two reasons:
1.) We had ONE small ear of corn left in the fridge. It definitely wasn't big enough to make any sort of dinner for the two of us, but we left it hanging in food limbo because we didn't want to waste it.
2.) David is a big fan of bartering; in the spring he did some computer work for a family of farmers & maple syrup producers (love living in Western Massachusetts!) and they gave him a GIANT jug of 100% natural maple syrup as payment. We've been trying to use it as often as possible, but neither of us is big on "heavy" breakfasts with pancakes or waffles, you know? (Cake for breakfast?)
Ingreeds, in general.
I deviated from the recipe a little, mostly for the sake of convenience. Sugar is listed twice in the recipe, once for 3/4 of a cup and then again towards the end for another 1/4 of a cup (??). I cut out that last 1/4, and when I tasted the batter it was DEFINITELY sweet enough without it. Holy cow, trust me.
Also, there was less than a cup of corn after I got done shaving the ear that we had- it was more like half a cup. Other than that, though, I stuck to the recipe's guns. Well. Sort of.
Now look, I like to bake, alright? But no one ever said I was this expert who knew all the tricks. I get that you mix the dry and wet ingredients separately and I get that you pour the wet in to the dry SLOWLY while mixing the two together. That's basically the extent of my "technique." Accordingly, I had a few fumbles with this recipe, all having to do with the egg yolks and the egg whites.
Eggs creep me out, I'm going to be honest. I wanted the "egg" portion of this recipe to be as quick and painless as possible and didn't even read that part of the recipe very closely. I saw that it called for 4 egg yolks and 5 egg whites, and that was enough for me. Apparently I was supposed to separate all whites from all yolks, and then "whip" the egg whites on their own before adding them to the batter. What I actually did, though, was dump them all in at once and not whip shit.
Me, not whipping shit.
Adding the corn felt *wrong* somehow, which was awesome. I have to admit I was a little skeptical of how the corn would adapt to everything else (namely all the sugar and cream cheese), but went forth faithfully and with trust. Once it was all mixed, I used a soup ladle to get it from the bowl into the baking cups. It just seemed more logical to me somehow, since I was spooning out all this corn and stuff. Wooden spoons be damned, I am not ashamed.
Ladle, ladle, ladle
After I stuck the cupcake pan in the oven, I did the dishes and started on the frosting. Oh, the frosting.
Yes, it's delicious, but dudes- frosting is GROSS. I don't think I've ever made frosting from scratch before (just canned, or the "add water only" kind) and I honestly had no idea that frosting is essentially just butter and sugar. Lots and lots and LOTS of butter and sugar. Nevermind that I picked the recipe with the CREAM CHEESE frosting, right? I swear every step of the way I felt like I was sinning- hands down, good old fashioned, raised catholic SINNING. Just when I thought I might lose my mind entirely, the timer went off letting me know the cupcakes were done.
My surprisingly well adjusted domes
I'm really disappointed that technology has not yet been invented which would have allowed me to share the AMAZING SMELL of these cupcakes coming out of the oven with you all. Considering I only used half a cup of corn instead of a whole one, I was surprised at how distinct the corn smell was. And it smelled GOOD, holy-cow-good. It was exactly what I needed after the shell shock of the frosting.
After cooling and whatnot, I frosted them and tried one. !!!!! Success! Success! Sweet, sweet success. As you can imagine they're a little on the heavy side with the frosting and all, but they're delicious and I can't wait to share them! Anyone wanna come over and have one?
Since I've been pregnant, David and I have amassed a whole new appreciation for eating. During my first trimester, I was so sick all the time that I couldn't keep anything down but lukewarm water (not cold, or I'd throw it up), saltines and Lipton's noodle soup. During my second trimester, I was CONSTANTLY hungry. And it wasn't just "hunger"- it would feel like I was starving even though I obviously wasn't, and I'd get debilitating stomach pains and headaches if I didn't eat every 2 hours. Because of the sheer FREQUENCY of my needing to eat, we ate a lot of greasy, fast nonsense. It's only really been over the last two or so months that I've been able to eat like a "regular" human being, so we've been trying in that time to get ourselves back on track.
My Second Trimester
We know that very, VERY soon things are going to have to change. Not just for just the two of us, but as a "family unit" in general. (By the way; yes, equating everything in our lives to how it will affect a "family" has been challenging, if you were wondering.) I would ideally like to have the little boy see us eat lots of healthy, fresh food and let him witness us trying new recipes and new ingredients as often as possible. Growing up, my family ate pretty much nothing but ground beef, chicken, and cube steak. So when I decided I didn't LIKE meat, I was pretty much doomed. I very quickly became a "sides only" vegetarian, which I think happens a lot to young veg's. When my family had meat with a side, I'd have double to rice/noodles/pasta to "make up" for the lack of food on my plate. Eating fresh, varied foods is something I still struggle with, since I've always been really, really good at limiting myself. I want to get myself back into non-pregnancy shape in better ways then only eating Lean Cuisine frozen pizzas for three years, which I will totally do if I don't at least make an effort to attempt otherwise.
Speaking of which, I really, really want us all three of us to have a healthy relationship with food, especially since all of our genes have a predisposition for both extreme self-denial and relentless chubbiness. I was never as overweight as some of my relatives but I tortured myself with food in my adolescence. Not by starving myself outright or purging, but by putting myself on ill-advised "diets" that usually consisted of limiting the food I ate to only one item in the morning, afternoon, and at night. I once ate nothing but baby food for a month and a half, for example. I'm hoping that if we teach our son how to eat healthily right off the bat he won't struggle with the how-to's later on. Fingers crossed, anyway. But where do you even start, right?
Naturally, we were PUMPED when Davey discovered "Twenty for Twenty: Vegetarian Edition" on allrecipes.com- a list of twenty mostly fresh ingredients to stock up on in order to make twenty different healthy, vegetarian dinners? So far we've tried the Mediterranean Chickpea Salad, the Hot and Spicy Tofu and the Homemade Black Bean Veggie Burgers. WOW! They're all so delicious and don't leave us feeling heavy later on; I love, love it. It helps, of course, that David is an amazing cook. He does 98% of the cooking around here because he is just so, so much better at it than I am.
Homemade Black Bean Burgers <3
It's true, I can't actually COOK for the life of me, but! Amazingly, I seem to have a natural talent for baking. I used to get a secret kick out of bringing in home-made spice cakes and blueberry coffee cake made with hand picked blueberries to parties and pot lucks when I worked at Mass Mutual, because it was so contrary to my personality that I would bake, and everyone was always really surprised and impressed. Like a lot of things I used to enjoy, though, I put baking on the back burner a year or so ago when I scraped my entire foundation down the drain and started rebuilding it from the ground up. Getting pregnant slowed that process down even more, but now that I'm at the (very, very) tail end of it I'm starting to get back into baking.
My fire was re-lit the instant I laid eyes on the (no longer updated, sadly) Cupcake Bakeshop blog and egged on by my subsequent discovery of Cookie Madness; two websites all about unique baking. How absolutely amazing do lavender cream filled cupcakes with citrus cream cheese frosting sound!? I've decided it will be an awesome challenge to see how I can make these recipes a little healthier without compromising too much of the taste and I'm pumped to start experimenting. Wish me luck!
The nursery has been finished for a few weeks, actually, but I wanted to wait until after my baby shower when it was full of things to show it in it's completion. Considering our incredibly limited budget, I'm pretty proud of how it came out. Thanks to my family and teamwork in general, we pulled off a dream nursery way, way beyond my expectations.
Overall; it's hard to get a picture of the entire room at once, but this is the general gist.
The baby's bookcase- he has two additional BOXES of books in the closet because he comes from a long, long line of enthusiastic bookworms who've all bought him book upon book. We're also classic children's book appreciators- note the Very Hungry Caterpillar book with stuffed caterpillar, the first of what will soon be an extensive Dr. Seuss collection, and the Madeline hand puppet.
Close-up of the mural my father painted, shooting off into unknown realms from Changing Table Rocket Base.
Now all we need is the final touch- an actual human baby! At my appointment today I was informed that I'm dilating at a healthy pace and, now that I'm 37 weeks along, could potentially and safely go in to labor at any time. It's really happening!! Can you even believe it?
Phyllis Lyon, 83, and Del Martin, 87, will finally be legally married in San Francisco today after being together for over half a century.
"They write together and work together and have been in love for 51 years. And tonight, after the state Supreme Court decision kicks in at 5:00, they are going to be the first same-sex couple to get married in San Francisco, in what will be another historic moment in their lives together." -CANOW
How can anyone say that a love like this could possibly negate their own? Congratulations, Phyllis & Del!
I'd been working on a mix for a while that's sort of about maturing. Acknowledging that I was really going to be someone's mother was eye opening to me. I had a lot of demons I'd ignored facing for a long time, but knew I'd have to put them all behind me if I was ever going to be the sort of partner and mother I needed to be for my new family. This little mix is just a little peek into my journey.
I saw my doctor today and she gave me the low down. I was apparently mistaken all these years in thinking the problem had something to do with my cervix, because what's actually going to prevent me from having my baby naturally is my NARROW PELVIC ARCH.
Big babies and narrow pelvic arches apparently do not mix well. According to my doctor there is a slim chance that natural birth could be possible, but she's strongly advising me against trying. She says the risk is too great that complications during birth will cause brain damage, cerebral palsy, and shoulder dystocia. If the baby were smaller or comes early, she said, it would be less of a big deal. But he isn't, so it is. Pretty scary stuff.
My pelvis is shaped like this:
but the baby would prefer if it were shaped like this:
Just a few months ago, a woman with a narrow pelvic arch who's child suffered severe brain damage from an attempted natural birth won a 21 million dollar lawsuit against her doctors. What I'm wondering is, how come no one has ever been straight with me about this until now? Why has it always been this murky thing my gyno's have mentioned in passing?
I'm not sure why, but this is making me feel all sorts of funny things.
There's so much that needs to be done around the house, but it's seriously just WAY too hot for me to leave the (mildly) air conditioned living room for too long. The heat makes my PUPPP ridiculously excruciating! About a week ago my doctor prescribed me these prescription stregnth Benadryl-type pills to ward off some of the itch. They work really well, but now because of the heat I'm taking them as often as possible and they make me sleepy and woozy. As a result, I've been pretty checked out for a better part of the last four days. As an example, I JUST woke up from a "nap" 15 minutes ago (2:15) that I went in for at 10am. Rumor has it the heat is supposed to break a little tonight- fingers crossed.
I rarely just talk about what I've been up to here, mostly because there's got to be SOME sort of limit on how many times I write "the baby kicked/punched/attack me today, I made a new mix, growing up is strange," which is most certainly what I'd write every day if I let myself.
I went for my final ultrasound last week as I mentioned before, and it was enlightening. My mother came with me and soon became witness to the fact that this little boy is SO FAR from little. In addition to having long femur bones (no wonder he's been able to KICK my DIAPHRAGM), I found out that he's already 6 pounds, 10 ounces. To put things into perspective, I was only 7 pounds, 3 ounces when I was BORN, never mind still growing, with 4 weeks to go. The baby is supposed to gain a half a pound every week from now until birth, which means I'm easily looking at a 9 pound baby here. And for me, that most likely equals C-Section, something I really, really wanted to avoid.
Gyno's have been telling me varying folk tales about my small lady parts since I first started going to them, and depending on who was talking I heard everything from "no natural birth ever" to "natural birth to small babies only" to "natural birth as long as the baby is average sized." Big babies, though, have never, ever been on the menu for me. Just watching my body grow to the size it is should have been a big neon sign to me that this baby was so much bigger than average sized, but I've been really, really good at making excuses. I already had brought up the possibility with my OBGYN, and she told me to wait and see before I start worrying about surgery. Unfortunately it's looking pretty inevitable now, which is making me really anxious.
This weekend, Davey and I went to a BBQ at his Aunt's in Sturbridge. His sister Krishna and his brother's wife Melissa were there too, along with their kids. Talking to Melissa has been pretty eye opening for me, as far as babies go. They have a 2 year old daughter, Avery, who apparently was ALSO around 9 pounds at birth. I found out David was almost 9 pounds at birth, too. Apparently Morrow's just make big babies- lucky me! David apparently also has inherited most of the more dominant Morrow genes, since Avery looks a lot more like him than her own father.
See little Davey in the right hand corner? I rest my case.
All the worrying I was doing, though, was pretty much put to rest at the 3D Ultrasound. My mother, after seeing something about it on tv, paid for me to go and get a special, elective ultrasound that would allow us to see the baby pretty much exactly as he is (as opposed to a shadow, like in regular ultrasounds). I WISH I could put the video up that we got, because it was eerie and magical. I got to see him yawn, open his eyes, stretch, suck his thumb- amazing! We also have a pretty good idea of what he really looks like now, and that is basically ALL CHEEKS. He apparently has enough hair that it is FLOWING, big eyes, and really, REALLY likes putting things in his little bow mouth (feet, wrists, fingers, thumb, whatever's close). I think it's safe to say that David and I were both a little overwhelmed. I've been pregnant for so long that sometimes it's easy to forget how CLOSE we are to the due date.
Keep your fingers crossed for me! I have another appointment tomorrow and hopefully I'll get a little more clarification about what's in store for me as far as the actual birth. Also I've been encouraged to bring music to play during labor and birth, and so far have put aside Joanna Newsom's "Y's," TJO's "Peregrine," and the Dirty Three's "Ocean Songs." Any other suggestions? The baby is used to and clearly prefers my stuff over lullabies, and clearly I am unconcerned with unnerving the doctor, but I want it to at least be calming, haha.
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