Wrap your head with this material...

When I was a kid, my parents had this policy that you could ask anything and get an honest answer. It went hand in hand with another policy of theirs, which was you could use any word as long as you knew what it meant. They'd quiz you occasionally too, just to make sure you were paying attention. "What's 'pissed off' mean, Karin?" "It means perturbed." I was a bit precocious. My parents rarely used the parental copout/freakout/I-don't-want-to-talk-about-this card of "I'll tell you when you're older." So I probably would have learned about sex pretty early no matter what. But as it turned out, I learned about sex from the movie Porky's. I was 4 or 5. In 1984, movies were a big treat. You couldn't just watch pop one in the DVD player at any time. You had to see it at the theater, or you had to wait for it to come out on network television. Most mommies reading this were probably born after 1984 so I'm giving a r...

I couldn't come out for National Coming Out Day. You know, because I'm not gay. I like ladies. Just not their lady parts. Well, boobs are nice. Everyone likes boobs. Anyway, I did get a pink triangle rattle, which we've dubbed the gay pride toy for Magnus. Oh and name him after his gay grandad. So I guess that was good. Anyone notice that National Coming Out Day was the same day as Columbus Day. That makes me happy. Because I think it would make him turn over in his angry whiteman grave to know that homosexuality is accepted and welcomed on his day. Because Columbus was a douche. Which reminds me of that time in Chile when my homework was about Christopher Columbus but I didn't know his name was Colon in Spanish so I wrote a sentence about the colon. Ha ha, what a douche. When you're on maternity leave, is it like vacation where if you want a beer at an odd time of day, say like 2 pm, you just have it? How about just because its Tuesday? I didn't ...

Today ChompSki, our boxer dog, was especially annoying. He just kept wanting to go outside. Our yard's not fenced. But ChompSki usually sticks close by. He stays to the back yard, does his business maybe visits the creek behind our house for some mountain spring water, then heads back to the sliding glass door. Today though, he kept going in front. He's not allowed to do that. He knows he's not allowed to do that. He normally behaves pretty well. Not today. So when I got the baby all packed up to go to a lunch date, I notice a skeleton on the driveway. I should mention that I've been watching way too much Bones. What? Its what I've been doing while breast feeding. You can't read while breast feeding. So when I see the carcass in the driveway, I think its a body. And then I realize what a spaz I am. And what a gross dog I have. No kisses for ChompSki today.

I still can't decide if I should write about this, what I should write about this, how I feel about this, how I should feel about this. But here it is. Magnus was a twin. Was. big WAS. Not for long. Maybe 5weeks. But still. Because I'd had the miscarriage, I called and made an appointment right away when I found out I was pregnant. They saw me at 5 weeks. Did and ultrasound and saw two little blobbies. I asked if it could be twins and they said yes. Could be. But not necessarily. So I came back at 7 weeks. Because they were hoping to see a heartbeat then. They did. It was Magnus's. By then there were dark spots on my ultrasound too though. They didn't like that. Doctors weren't sure what it meant. Could be another miscarriage in waiting. Could've been lots of things. So I waited another 2 weeks to go in for another ultrasound. At 9 weeks they were hoping they'd be able to tell but said it was possible they wouldn't. I counted daysho...

Destructive thoughts. Everyone has them. Or, at least, I choose to believe everyone has them. Who hasn't thought about driving their car into the concrete wall? Its not suicidal either. Its instinctual and destructive. Thinking about smashing computers into tiny bits. Or whatever your pleasure. Or anger. Or whatever. For me its not even an emotional thing. It seems to just exist. Like, mentally, I'm running through the grocery list, the to-do list, processing my day at work, and oh by the way I'm thinking of driving over the dam and what noise my car would make as it splashed into the lake. Now I've added horrible thoughts of things happening to my child to that same destructive list. As in, I no longer think of driving into or over things, but what would happen if we took Magnus on a boat and he somehow fell overboard. Like, if picturing myself diving into the cold water and how fast I could swim to catch him would protect him in some way, I would be prepar...

Someone once looked at your little naked body and thought how perfect it was. Stared in utter awe at you as a miracle. I think that looking at Magnus and imagine that my parents probably did the same with me. And it reminds me to be kind as I try to lose the weight. Someone made this body and was proud of their work. I made Magnus (I guess Rob helped too) and I stare and think "One day he will have a scar. One day he will damage this body. This perfect body I've given him. One day he'll say 'I can't' but I'll know better because I know what I made."

my heart races awaiting to hear yours wanting to know its the right speed and rhythm wanting to hear in its future the cries that will one day come gritty and grainy like honey like truth that you swallow whole for sweet fortitude wanting to hear your mommy say she's waiting for the same hope above raw fear that peaks out from scar tissues we will rise above heal and grow and meet you at the apex

I think my kid has already learned to objectify women's boobs. Seriously. I bent over to put the pacifier back in his mouth for the thousandth time and I saw that look in his eyes. Ladies, you knwo the one. I'm pretty sure he looked straight at the boobs and his eyes glazed over and it was like seeing the future. In grosser baby news, I picked his nose this morning and holy shit! It was the biggest booger. Like, grown person sized. He must've been constructing that thing since birth. He seemed none too pleased that I removed his masterpiece either. And this is confirmation that I have become a mom. I pick noses. Other people's. And blog about it. Wow. What is this blog coming to?

You expect your life to go on. To change. To age in some capacity. You know, like the things they ask you to come up with your senior year of high school that you'll be doing in 10 years. So you have a concept of yourself and future times. But you don't necessarily accept that is what will happen to those around you. We all hear ourselves as the narrators of our own stories, and in our story don't we all expect to be the exception to the rules? We face our mortality, but don't we really just expect to make it through some loophole at the end? There's a part of me that expects that and more. That my husband will fit through the same loop hole and so will my parents and my children. That we'll all escape the inevitable death at the end of the story. I wonder if when you get to a certain age if you start to see the loop get smaller and smaller and suddenly disappear. If that is when you face and accept your mortality. I wonder this because in conversation w...

Something that everyone talks about is how hormonal you are during pregnancy. Its such a trite joke to make fun of how neurotic pregnant women supposedly are. I wasn't too bad. I won't say I didn't have some moments. But for the most part, it wasn't any worse than PMS and I was still rational the whole time. Something no one talks about is how hormonal you are after the kid's born. Its not baby blues either. Its just normal, cry-real-hard-over-nothing. As in, I'm not sad but am crying. Or I'm set off slightly by something and am crying real hard. And feel like I could cry all day. A cleansing cry, you know? Not a sad cry. I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life. One day I just got too tired and started bawling. One day I have no idea what set me off. One day Rob and I were talking and it was very slightly heated. I mean, very slightly. Not even elevated to the level of actual conflict. Bawling. But then one day, I found a diet book...

See how puffy my face was? I thought the swelling had gone DOWN. I forgot what my own face looked like. But who the hell cares when this is what you're holding. Rob and Swedish Magnificence. This is how the midwives weighed him. I had asked folks to send candles with positive thoughts/prayers/meditations/intentions/energy for the birth. I got candles from all over. So Saturday we had birthday cake with some friends and lit all the candles in celebration of Magnus's healthy and safe arrival. I can't thank everyone enough for all the support. It just doesn't get any sweeter than this.

On TV, the water breaks, the husband gets yelled at and blamed. In real life, that's fucking stupid. My water broke and I thought something exploded, had no idea what it was. Midwife got sprayed. That's just so gross. I can't imagine doing her job. Sooo, so gross. The same midwife got fucked at my birth multiple times. Like the time toward the end when I was pushing and she tried to check my cervix to be sure that there wasn't a little lip of cervix left and while she was doing it I yelled at the top of my lungs "Get your fucking finger out of my TWAT!" I heard the other midwife choke back a laugh. I also never yelled at Rob. This was at least partially due to the fact that he used the strategy of listening to what the midwives said, watching for my reaction, and repeating the things I responded favorably toward. It worked. And I would never have known that's all he did either. Smart. But I also never yelled at him because, I think that's st...

So the end of pregnancy is for the fuckin birds. I'm sure plenty of you out there know this. There's nothing to say but that you're sick of being pregnant. You're a little sick of the sweet smiles and knowing looks from strangers. You're just all over sick of it. You're spectacularly sick of the: when's your due date how far are you are you having a boy or a girl I bet you're sick of this what hospital are you going to, conversations. You miss when people used to ask about the soccer game you played or the book you're reading. You're sick of swollen handsfeetfaceneckanklesEVERYTHING. Oh and from the beginning of pregnancy until FRIDAY, I had NO stretch marks. Friday my entire lower abdomen erupted into one. giant. stretch mark. So all weekend, I thought, please let this be over soon. Every cramp I felt I welcomed and thought, "whatever work my body does now, it doesn't have to do during labor." Little did I know how much ...

When you were a kid, did you know a number of stupid boys in your neighborhood that would always try to get you to eat odd things? Like mud and glue and god-knows-what that they came from inside their houses with? I did. I never had any desire to taste grass or to drink mountain dew milk with chocolate sauce and ketchup. I couldn't be persuaded to swallow a worm whole no matter whose allowance was on the line. So I find it funny that as an adult, all it takes is these 2 tiny, sweet little midwives to tell me to drink a tincture of skullcap and I do it. What if they're not really midwives? Maybe they're secretly just the sisters of all those boys, all grown up and seeking revenge on those of us who said "no." Cuz if you've ever smelled skullcap, you'll understand that the mountain dew milk would've been cake comparatively. Man, if I find out they're just fucking with me, I'm going to hope this kid is a boy, cuz girls are better at getting...

The nesting has gotten a little out of control. I vacuumed the floor and made a wedding album tonight. I got married 3 years ago. We have framed pictures up in hallways and my husband has mulched the back yard. We are messy, fuck-it kinda people. Which isn't to say we're lazy. We're not. We're just half assed about some things. And more likely to let something slide in favor of having a conversation about anthropology or make sandwiches and go for a hike than finish that big project. But the nesting has hit Rob particularly hard. And my will's a little hidden in the fat folds so I bend to him. And our house is shaping up quite nicely for it. Still, I hope I won't look back and wish we would have just held hands and taken more walks.

"The base area for one of North America's best ski spots, Silverton Mtn. One chairlift, the "lodge" is an army-style tent, the "rental shop" is an old school bus wedged in the snow, and avalanche beacons are required. Suck on that fur coats and martinis." "If I have to pull up my big girl panties and deal with it one more time the elastic is going to break and I really will have to show my ass!" "Its groggy with a 70% chance of sleepies this afternoon... I think I just ate the sticker on my fruit" "So realized all my maternity clothes are black. Clearly being pregnant has made me a ninja." "now that's something i'd like to see, Look Out!! it's the Pregnant Panther!! she'll strangle you with the umbilical cord!!!" "A long time ago in a galaxy Favre, Favre away." "The last combat unit left Iraq today. I am officially no longer fighting a war. I'm not sure what I'm fighting, ...

I went to a training the other day about driver safety. I'd be lying if I said part of the reason I'm into a homebirth is how afraid I am of driving and death by vehicle. I detest the idea of putting a few moments old child into a car and driving anywhere. And you know what? I'm right. Statistically, you're more likely to die in a car than a fire. And people buy insurance and have fears of dying in fires and no one bothers them, so I'm perfectly within rational here. Right? Right? RIGHT? Anyway, there was this lunatic woman in the class who kept talking the whole time. I hate myself when I'm that person. It usually means the pace of the class is WAY too slow for me and I'm tangentially entertaining myself at everyone elses' expense. So if you've ever sat in a training with me where I talked too much, I'm sorry. Although no one's ever actually complained to me because I'm pretty sure I toss in enough smartass/clever/random that...

I have fat cabbage patch kid feet and look like I swallowed a water buffalo. Its charming really. Also charming is the fact that I now tear up listening to NPR on the way to work. NPR, people! Oh and most of the time I'm having a combination of shooting pains and tingling in my hands from my newly found carpal tunnel syndrome. So if my posts are even sparser than usual its because my hands hurt now.

Top 3 Labor songs: 3. "Mama's got a squeeze box" The Who 2. "Push It" Salt N Peppa 1. "Pussy Control" Prince

I really like most people. I'm not all "I'm not a people person." I'm an introvert but I like people. I'm friendly and smiley at them. There are 2 exceptions: 1. while driving, I'm a bee-atch. Grouchy as can be. 2. Once I don't like someone, I have a tough kind coming back. I just can't stand anything about them. There's a woman I work with from time to time that I have this problem with. Every time I hear her saying anything I think to myself "know-it-all bitch." It doesn't even matter what she's talking about or if I know the topic. She's finger nails on my whiteboard. Or whatever. Being an introvert doesn't mean you don't like people. The best description I've heard for it is that if you're an extrovert you get energy from being around people and if you're in an introvert it takes energy. I like it, but it takes energy. Running in the woods by myself gives me energy. I'm having ...