womantalk.org

When somebody says they think I’m brave or gutsy or full of confidence, I have to snort. It’s nice that I can appear that way, but fear; fear of rejection, fear of the unknown, fear of pain, fear of unintentionally hurting somebody, fear is an emotion I battle with on a regular basis. Especially this past year which has been filled with dramatic life changes: I left my stable job as a public school teacher, I left Joshua Tree after having lived there for fifteen years, I got married for a second time (after a pretty devastating first marriage) – all of which meant brand-new starts in a new place.

Many of those changes though felt as if there was an order or logic to them: steps I could follow. Moving meant looking for a new house to rent, packing boxes, enrolling Bella in a new school – things that I couldn’t very well procrastinate or ignore.

On the other hand, deciding that I wanted to be a free-lance writer has felt much more arbitrary and formless, and therefore easier to procrastinate and ignore – so in some ways I have.

Yes, I’ve kept up with womantalk.org and written many, many daily posts. Yes, I got a job as a website manager/copywriter. Yes, I get paid to write press releases. But the real work I had intended for myself, that of writing about art, has remained hovering out of reach. I am embarrassed to admit that my first attempt at contacting an editor and “selling” myself didn’t happen until last month. Last month. That’s nearly a year of practically pooping my pants at the thought of being rejected as writer.

A month ago, I contacted the editor of ArtScene to let him know I was interested in writing art reviews.

And yesterday I found out that…

They’re going to give a me shot this month at writing a blurb for their “Continuing and Recommended” section, which neither pays well nor gives me by-line credit – but no matter – the most difficult part is past, I’m in!

It kills me that I could have done this a year ago and I didn’t. I’m going to see art and write about it for folks I don’t know. Good grief, I guess I am brave.

Once long ago, a little kid named Bella and her mother sometimes experienced such incredible coincidental thought patterns that it could practically be described as telepathic.

I could be sitting at the kitchen table idly wondering if I should make spaghetti or pork chops for dinner and Bella would say, “I’d rather have spaghetti Mom,” responding to me as if I had spoken out loud. This kind of psychic connection happened time and time again – and I suspect it happens to other mothers and their children too. It is perhaps a natural extension of knowing somebody extremely well. I think it is a kind of relationship that can develop between very close friends, roommates, and husbands and wives.

Of course these days, anything I say to Bella is hotly contested. I can’t seem to make a single statement without her denying that I know anything about her at all. But I do like to reflect on the past when she and I were so much more in rhythm.

I think it’s happening again, but not between me and the baby, but Chad and the baby. I can actually feel a relationship developing between our unborn child and Chad.

First of all, the baby reacts (by moving- sometimes very suddenly) as soon as Chad touches me. It’s like the baby recognizes not only his voice, but his presence. Of course that might be the baby reacting to my reaction to Chad, but it feels like the baby is reacting to Chad.

Then the other night, Chad was having a dream and his body was twitching the way a dreaming body does. I was half awake as I often am these nights, and I could feel his dreaming hand lying heavy on my belly. Suddenly there was a jolt of feeling passing from Chad’s hand to the baby and back again through the wall of my belly. The baby was kicking and moving about in relation to Chad’s hand and movement. Very clearly I had the sensation that the baby and Chad were participating in the same dream and that I was merely the conduit. I wonder what that bodes for Chad’s relationship with his future child? I look forward to observing…

I learned something alarming this weekend while talking to my mother. She says that she’s told me this a million times – that I was born two or three months prematurely! When I pressed her for details she thinks it was closer to three months…

but that I was so alert when I was born that her friend, who delivered the baby, abstained from putting me in the incubator. And that I was only 2.5 kg when I was born. At first I was horrified because I’ve entered the later part of my pregnancy, the last six weeks, when I’ve begun wondering at what point could I go into labor and still have a normal, healthy baby. In other words, how many days until I’m out of the woods? Never really, I know, but this is one marker for me.

Then my sister, who happened to have done her doctoral research in the field of pre-term birth, assured me that there was no way my mother’s story could be true. First of all, a 2.5 kg (5.5 lb) is an average birth weight in Asia, so that I was probably closer to term – perhaps two to three weeks before the due date, but definitely not two to three months. Furthermore, my sister insists that there was no way a baby born two to three months prematurely forty years ago would not have spent a considerably amount of time in intensive prenatal care.

Whew.

So where does the wacky story come from? Well, we believe that my mother and father concocted that story about my premature birth so it would not have appeared that they had had sex before getting married in late 1967 (I was born in May 1968 ) and that now – that now my mother has actually come to believe her own story.

Talking to my sister put my mind at ease, because Chad and I had our big hike planned for this weekend and I had no intention of going if indeed there was a history of premature birth in my family.

I don’t harbor any grudge against my mother because I’ve been telling people for years that Bella was six pounds at birth and when I found her birth document this weekend, I discovered that Bella had actually been a full seven pounds when she was born – a completely average respectable weight. Well, a pound’s difference is different than a complete invention, but it is funny how time changes and solidifies your stories.

My mother also tried to convince me to have this baby in a hospital (because of my age) but then conceded that she and all nine of her own siblings were born at home without any incident between eighty-seven and sixty-eight years ago. As was my father and all three of his siblings.

So it was an interesting, lively conversation with my mom, but it didn’t change any of Chad’s and my plans: We intend to have a home birth and Saturday Chad and I hiked the roundtrip 9.5 miles to Sitton Peak and back.

We hiked very slowly and brought plenty of food, but the distance still kicked both our butts. Or more accurately, the distance, plus the heat (today it was 97 degrees!), and the final .5 mile goat trail scramble to the actual peak kicked both of our butts. We have spent a very leisurely Sunday moving as little as possible and consuming lots of calories. It was no San Jacinto, which we hiked this time last year, but there was a decent 2150′ elevation gain and Sitton Peak is considered the highest peak in the Santa Ana Mountains south of the Ortega Highway. It was our third weekend in the same area and it was nice to see and smell the passage of different spring flowers on the trail. This weekend a mint/sage type bush was in papery white bloom all over the place driving the bumblebees crazy and filling the air with a sweet fragrance.

I think it was enough of a hike to assuage Chad’s fear about being limited by my pregnancy and the soon-to-arrive baby. It had better be.

Last month when I shot into Joshua Tree for the day, I crashed a friend’s brunch party and got to eat some very delicious brunch foods. One dish really hit the spot and I asked for the recipe. I plan to make these Homemade Cinnamon Rolls in the near future. I got the recipe from Juliet, but she credits her grandma, Sylvia Janike.
Basic dough recipe

(this recipe can be used for dinner rolls (good with fresh herbs mixed in or sesame
seeds on top), cinnamon rolls, kolaches (Czech pastry) …probably most any “roll recipe.”

1 pkg. of yeast

2 large eggs, plus enough milk to make 2 cups of
liquid

1/4 cup warm water

1/2 cup melted butter

1 1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup sugar (scant)

6 cups flour (or until dough is “right” – meaning it is sticky, but you can still work with it)

cinnamon to taste

Add yeast to warm water (a pinch of sugar activates the yeast.)

Warm milk without the eggs (1 3/4 cup milk).  Melt butter and add to warm milk to make 2 cups of liquid mixture).

Add sugar and salt to mixture of milk.

Put in well beaten eggs (make sure milk mixture is cool enough so it doesn’t “cook” the eggs).  Add the yeast.

Add 3 cups flour and gradually put in the rest until dough is smooth and doesn’t stick to the spoon (dough looks sticky, but just enough so you can work with it.)

Grease bowl, put dough in bowl, and let dough rise.

Punch dough down, and let it rise again.

For forming cinnamon rolls. . .
On floured surface, roll out dough mixture.
Spread melted butter and sugar mixture on dough (raisins or different kinds of nuts can be added if desired).  Sprinkle cinnamon liberally to taste. From edge of dough, roll into a long cylinder shape.  Slice dough into sections, giving cinnamon rolls their shape.

Place rolls in greased baking dish.  Cover, and let rolls rise again.

Bake at 350 degrees for 12-15 minutes.

Put frosting on rolls while they are still warm.

Frosting recipe.  Any is good.  I have used a mixture of powdered sugar, milk and melted butter (to the desired consistency).

Best eaten when they are freshly baked.

Just in case I’ve been complaining about Bella and not giving her enough kudos I wanted to take a minute and applaud her.

The night before her last two track meets she has gone to bed early with her lunch already packed and sitting on the kitchen counter top and her two water bottles already filled and sitting chilled in the fridge. Last week she told me she was definitely going to beat her Personal Record for the mile (6:09 min) and she did. She ran it in 6:07. Then today she smashed her old record and ran the mile in SIX MINUTES. Hurray!

And to top it off, she got her transcript yesterday and her GPA is 4.0 and she is ranked THIRD in her freshman class of 790 students.

Woo-hoo!

P.S. What you can’t see in those pictures are her ear plugs… she happens to be very scared of gunshots and had been starting her races with her fingers plugging both ears.

Me: So, now you can’t call me a wimp anymore.

Chad: I never called you a wimp. You hiked 22 miles to the top of San Jacinto this time last year. You’re not a wimp.

M: You did so call me a wimp in so many words!

C: Well, we could’ve have hiked a little faster….[punctuated by a punch to the upper arm]

Hmmph.

Chad and I spent another lovely day in the Cleveland National Forest this past weekend hiking the Upper Bear Canyon Trail to Four Corners. No water in the creek bed but lots and lots of pale green spiky paw-paw and flowers of every variety. We parked across from the Candy Store again – although this hike is on the same side as the Candy Store. We found the hike in a little book called Best Easy Day Hikes: Orange County by Randy Vogel. We discovered once we got to the Four Corners that it was only another 1.3 miles to Sitton Peak, which we plan to bag next weekend before we head over to the CSA Members Day Potluck at South Coast Farms in San Juan Capistrano.

In the meantime, Chad’s come across a plethora of south OC hiking guides – several of which have many pages available online. For example, Afoot and Afield Orange County and 101 Hikes in Southern California. Now we just need to find a good one on swimming holes and hot springs!

And no need to worry – I’m not planning on having a Ben-from-Lost style labor and birth in the woods – we are hiking very slowly, taking lots of rests, and I’m not carrying anything (besides the baby). I had my 32-week prenatal appointment today and everything is tip-top: I’ve gained 25.5 pounds; my blood pressure is good; and the baby is as active as ever. (Also his or her head is firmly engaged in my pelvis, which is the position you want in the last month.) Next visit is a home visit, meaning our midwife comes to us mid-May.

This Saturday was good day for seeing art. My friend and I made it up to mid-town, lightly considering giving the Miracle Mile Art Walk (monthly, every third Saturday) Holly trolley a spin, but then couldn’t give up our southern Cali addiction to our separate $4-a-gallon-gas-guzzling vehicles. We hit Richard Telles, 6150, and Circus, with lunch at El Coyote inbetween.

The art prize of the day, and maybe even so far this year goes to Andy Collins at Marc Foxx.

The biggest surprise was walking into Marc Foxx and seeing a dozen large PASTEL paintings hanging on the wall. Then I started looking and looking – and realized with delight that these paintings by a Brooklyn-based 32-year old guy could withstand a tremendous amount of looking. Part of that comes from the fact that my eyes couldn’t get get a handle on what they were seeing, and my mind kept insisting that there was something missing. The large amorphous shapes in pale greens and flesh tones were sometimes edged with vibrant colored lines that were shaded just enough to appear purposeful; however, the shapes themselves didn’t hold still and indeed often faded almost imperceptibly into negative space.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that there were large portions of the painting missing and that though the paintings were full of paint that they were somehow about absence… and sex. And as my friend pointed out, the lines themselves had a kind of crackling lightening energy that was holding the painting together. The lines too, quivered towards representation, but then went nowhere – and sometimes not even to the edge of the canvas. But strangely, the overall mood was not a nervous one, but more of a slow afternoon delight without caffeine.

On closer inspection, it seemed that entire canvas was painted with meticulous brushstrokes. Collins had gone to great length to convey an airbrushed smoothness, which was heightened with his use of car-paint- smooth alkyds. It was then that we discovered that Collins had also gone to great lengths to conceal the origins of his paintings. The gallery attendant informed us that Collins typically begins by making a collage from magazines – “Porno mags?” I interrupted.

“Well, yes, sometimes. And fashion magazines too. But he doesn’t feel that comes across in his work.”

Ah, I thought. Now that made more sense. The absence of shape was coming from the negative space of collaged images that had been manipulated – and I started to see taut pink plasticized flesh, but to reduce these paintings to abstract sex would take away the pleasure of the technique. I can’t wait to see what this guy can do when he comes to terms with how much erotica comes through in his work.

I have to admit that I had been dreading the nearly hour long birth rehearsal that our Bradley teacher had been promising us was in store for our last class, but it turns out that the combination of low lighting, relaxation techniques, and a whispering husband can make time pass very pleasurably.

Our teacher had a pre-recorded tape cassette of silence interspersed with increasingly frequent minute-long snippets of music, which were to represent our labor contractions. It was a surprisingly effective way to get into laboring mode – and to not only to practice all of our positions and techniques, but to talk about our expectations and hopes for the birth. I thought I might use my book and notes to remember everything more clearly, but I think it would be a better test for me to see what I can recall on my own.

First stage is the beginning part of labor that is often characterized by restlessness and lighter or irregular contractions. The Bradley Method recommends walking and having some activities planned in advance for this early stage. I would probably call my midwife, Karen, but wouldn’t expect her to come until my contractions were “3-1-1” or three minutes apart, one minute in duration, for about one hour. This stage lasted a long time for me when I had Bella, and I plan to follow my Bradley teachers advice and try to rest (and let Chad sleep) if the contractions start in the middle of the night as they are wont to do. More specifically, Chad’s okay with me waking him and telling him when contractions start and I’m okay with lying in bed next to him sleeping during the early part of labor.

If we’re awake and out of bed during first stage, here are some things we’ve thought of doing (remember, with Bella my water broke on a Friday night and she was born Monday morning, so we potentially have lots of time here):

• Light our birthing candle (I bought a 90-hour one so I wouldn’t feel any pressure or rush! It’s been in our bathroom since our San Fransisco trip.)
• Clean our bathroom. (Many women like to labor in the bathroom because it’s a natural place to feel less inhibited about pushing and leaking. I’ll feel less inhibited if it’s CLEAN.)
• Bake cookies. (I figure we may as well have snacks around)
• Watch a movie together. I’m thinking about watching Tampopo again.
• Reading a book out loud together – but I haven’t found one that would seem appropriate yet.
• Tidy up the bedroom in preparation.
• Walk around the neighborhood.
• Take a warm shower.

Late second stage is characterized by seriousness, lack of modesty, and regular, more intense contractions. During this stage I think I will be more internalized and depend on Chad to help me relax and remember that all the contractions are about getting my cervix to OPEN. The main thing for me will be to work on giving in to the contractions. We may or may not try all of these relaxation techniques:

• Rainbow (where Chad leads me through visualizing all the colors of the rainbow, starting with the brilliant red of rising sun bursting up over the horizon)
• Progressive (where Chad runs his hands from the top of my body to the bottom)
• Tense and relax (where Chad leads me through tensing and relaxing each muscle group in the body)
• Massage and Gentle Stroking
• Sensory (where Chad leads me through imagining one of our recent hikes)
• Wet Washcloths
• Heated Bed Buddies (long socks filled with barley or rice heated in the microwave)
• Deep Breathing or Meditation

In any of the following positions:

• Runner’s Pose (a modified side lie with pillows)
• Sitting up with Chad behind me
• Spooning
• Kneeling on the ground with my head resting on the bed
• Standing and leaning, resting my head on a table or bureau
• Standing, supported by Chad
• Squatting, supported by Chad
• Leaning against the wall
• Sitting on the toilet (with a pillow on the water tank)
• Hands and Knees

Transition is generally considered the toughest time of labor; it’s the time just before pushing; the time when women are most likely to ask for pain medication. It can be characterized by self-doubt, fear, and sometimes doubled, very intense contractions. As a coach, Chad’s supposed to get right up to my face and ask if this might be transition when I show these signs. I’ve asked Chad to tell me how glad he is that I am having his baby when he thinks I’m in transition. I think that I will want him very close so I can feel his warmth and smell him when the contractions are that strong.

Second stage is characterized by pushing, which many women find very satisfying. I was scared of pushing with Bella because I felt like I was going to rip in half. I didn’t. In fact I didn’t really tear at all – I needed only two stitches for a minor medial tear. But this time I know that I am capable of pushing a baby through to the outside world. And I know that it’s okay to take it slowly. I’m thinking that it would be nice to have Chad “catch” the baby, but he likes the idea of being behind me and letting the midwife “catch.”

Third stage! Is when the baby is out and up on my belly skin-to-skin. We’ll all be talking in hushed tones, with dimmed lights, and the blanket will be over me and the baby. The baby will not be bathed, poked or prodded, but he or she will be able to transition to the outside world in the warmth of my belly and breasts. Nursing and bonding! Lots of gazing. And floods of loving hormones. A Chad and Jeannie baby!! Bella will love this baby.

!!!

Now I really am getting excited.

So far, it looks like it will be me, Chad, Bella (??), Karen the midwife, and her assistant. My parents are going to be in town too, arriving from a trip to Korea on the due date June 3. At first, the thought my parents were going to be around threw me off-kilter, but now I think that as long as Chad and I have the space and quiet in our bedroom to labor peacefully on our own, they are welcome to attend the actual birth part.