The Feminist Breeder

It Really Sucks When Somebody Else Claims Your Victory

Two months ago I opened my email to find a message from a mom who was being forced to have a repeat cesarean against her will.  This mother was full term, and the cesarean was scheduled.  I immediately responded and told her she had rights.

This mother had four previous vaginal births, and her fifth (last child) was a cesarean.  She did not want a cesarean, and she did not believe she needed to have one, but she felt that they could do it against her will.  She needed help, and I made it my personal mission to help her.  This is what I do.  I help.  And she needed a lot. 

I talked to her several times a day, almost every day for weeks.  Her case became hugely stressful.  I was up nights tracking down information for her.  I worried for her every time she wrote me with more awful things her OB said to her.  I agonized with her.  My husband watched me pacing the floor, racking my brain to try to come up with resources for her.  At a certain point I told my husband I wasn’t sure how much more help I could give her because it was taking up all my time and all the space in my head.  But then I pressed on, because she needed me.

And all the information I directed her to got her doctor more and more mad.  At her 40 week appointment, her doctor finally had enough of her sticking up for herself, and sent her a certified letter dropping her from care.  If you know me on Facebook or Twitter, you’ve heard me talk about her.

When the mother sent me the frantic email about being dropped by her OB, I dropped everything I was doing that day.  I was at work, my last week of work, and I was busy as hell. But nothing was more important to me than her crisis.  This was the most outrageously unethical thing I had witnessed from a provider, and this mother was scared out of her mind.  Here she was, 40+ weeks pregnant and without any care whatsoever. 

I immediately got on the phone with the National Advocates for Pregnant Women.  I wrote everyone from ICAN I could think of.  I talked to the Illinois ACLU.  I had half the reproductive justice community invested in her case.  I did everything I could to find help - everything I could do to get attention to her case so we could find her an emergency provider, and hopefully some peace of mind.

After all my hard work, I got a text message from this mother the morning after I left my job, announcing her beautiful baby girl born by VBAC.  It was one of the most triumphant feelings of my life.  I could place this up there next to my own VBAC.

And this mother described me as her “angel” in her VBAC story.  I was just glad I could help.  But admittedly, I was so very, very proud to be thought of that way.

After her VBAC, I directed her to some places to get media attention for her story.  She contacted the local news station, and they decided to do a piece on her.  I helped prep her for interview.  I sent her everything I could.  I helped calm her fears.  She told them (twice) in her interview that it was my ICAN chapter that helped her.  She mentioned us by name.

The reporter has been working on the story for the past month, and I’ve been waiting for a phone call or an email from her, if she wanted any information from us at all.

Instead, tonight, out of nowhere, I got an email announcement from another chapter stating that they had been interviewed about this mother, and that the piece would air on Tuesday.

Reading that email, I felt like I got punched in the gut.  I’m not sure why someone who doesn’t know anything about this case would be compelled to speak to a reporter doing a story on this mother.  Am I wrong in thinking that they should have directed that reporter to ME?  I can understand the reporter not realizing the difference between chapters, but I cannot understand another person speaking about any part of a situation they were not involved in. 

Especially not after all the work I did.  I feel so totally betrayed.  I feel like I did all the hard work, and somebody else just stepped in front of the media to take credit for it.

I’m not going to hide it.  I’m pissed. I could go on and drag up so many other issues I have with this particular person’s actions, but I am trying to be as professional I can about this, considering I feel the way I do.  I don’t want to be a drama llama.  And I don’t want to seem like I’m trying to martyr myself.  Maybe nobody cares that it was MY work that helped this woman.  Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Just. Goddammit.

*stomping feet on ground*

UGHGH!!!

The Girl is Crafty like Ice is Cold

A few years ago I wanted curtains but I couldn't find any that I liked, and none that I could afford either (window treatments are expensive, yo!)

So I told the Hyphenated Husband it would be cheaper to buy a sewing machine and some fabric and let me make my own.  It was a LOT of work and I really had no idea what I was doing.  I had to call my aunt and ask her how to thread the bobbin, then I read the directions that came with the sewing machine to figure out the rest.  But to this very day one of the first things people say when they come into my home is how cool my curtains are.  I get compliments on them all the time.  They are pretty cool... even if they are probably sewn all wrong.  A trained seamstress would probably laugh at my execution, but to the untrained eye they look just fine.

So since then I've taken on a little sewing project here and there when I get a wild hair up in the nether places.  This year I decided to make the kids' Halloween costumes, so I went looking for some online tutorials on how to make the pants I needed for Julesy's monster costume.  I found this AWESOME page from Rookie Moms that shows how to make baby pants from an old t-shirt!  I tried that a few nights ago and Hyphenated Husband was so impressed with my pant-making skills, he said I should make some other outfits for the kids too.  I decided to start out trying pajamas.  I figured it would be more forgiving, and if I screwed them up royally then nobody would ever see them outside the house.  So I went a-shoppin' at JoAnn Fabrics today and picked out some super cute prints.

What you're seeing here is my first ever attempt at making a complete pajama set.  I learned how to sew the shirt from a YouTube video tonight.  Overall I'm pretty pleased with myself.  I LOVE the fabric and applique I used, but the shirt came out looking very feminine (maybe it's the trim, or the cut, or both... I dunno, but I hope I can fix that next time.)  You can click on the photo to blow it up and see the detail.  The pants are a Rock N Roll guitar/radio print, and I put a "Rock N Roll" applique on the shirt.  I loved the concept, I just wish that damn shirt hadn't come out looking so girly.  That would be fine if I had a girl (or if I have a girl in the future) but it looks funny on Julesy since the kid is built like a teeny football player.

If you have any sewing tips, or links to favorite sites, please leave them in the comments.  I'm not going to get all serious about it, but my little craft projects are a nice stress reliever when I have time to do them, and I'd like to make something usable every time.

It's Possible That I'm Being Punk'd

So I’ve been invited to fly out to Philadelphia next week, courtesy of GlaxoSmithKline, to tour their vaccination facility. The trip is unbelievably terrible timing seeing as I have 5 (yes FIVE) cakes due the day after I come back, and two classes that will need to be skipped, making my professors none too happy.

Going could not be any more inconvenient or impossible.  But I’m trying to make it possible.  I think it will be hugely educational (how often does one get to visit a major pharmaceutical facility anyway?) and the fact that it’s fully paid for by them means I have no real financial excuse to skip it.

Plus, some of the cool kids will be there. 

They’ve invited a small group of “influential” mom bloggers (don’t ask me how I’m included in that), which means I’ll finally get to meet some of these gals you see banging around the interwebs.  It looks like Pundit Mom is making an appearance, as well as Kristen Chase.  Kristen is the person that inspired me to take The Feminist Breeder to the streets after I discovered her through a Podcast wayyyyy back in 2007.  I’m pretty sure she hates me ever since I called her white (oh, wait until she sees how white I am! The husband says I glow in the dark!) but maybe she’ll forgive me if I bring her a pair of high-heeled Crocs.  Isn't the gift of Crocs the universal way of saying "Sorry I was being a cunt that day"?

They haven’t sent me the plane tickets yet so we’ll see if this thing really pans out.  I’ll be skeptical until I’m actually sitting on the runway.  It almost feels like all the head cheerleaders devised a plan to invite me to the prom, only to have me show up at an empty warehouse while they lay waiting in the bushes, filming the whole thing as a YouTube prank.

Oh, there goes my self-loathing narcissism again.  I doubt the head cheerleaders even care enough about me to play a prank.

Anyhoo, if there really is a vaccination facility in Pennsylvania, and I'm really on the guest list, then I’ll write all about the experience – don’t you worry.

When Reporters Listen to Lactivists

Yesterday I complained to anyone who would listen about a Chicago reporter inaccurately stating Illinois breastfeeding laws in reference to a breastfeeding in public story.  I was up at 2 a.m. this morning writing email exchanges with the reporter on the story in an effort to talk her into realizing the gravity of her inaccuracies.  At first she felt that Illinois state law didn't apply here, but I explained how important it is that Illinois breastfeeding protection laws are accurately cited in any case of breastfeeding discrimination so those listening to the story know their boundaries, and realize that this issue is a matter of law, and should be treated with sensitivity.

Thankfully, she listened, and when CBS 2 covered the story again today, she changed her language to respect the protections afforded to nursing mothers in Illinois.

Today all of Chicago's major news outlets covered the Nurse-In organized by Lauren Trost, which was attended by 60 mothers as well as representatives of the Le Leche League.  I think this has to be one of the most positive outcomes from an otherwise negative experience that I have seen in years.  Perhaps the tide is turning - but I think we owe a lot of this to the power of strong legislation that grants freedom through protection.  This couldn't have happened in a state that doesn't protect a mother's right to nurse in public, and it would have been a whole lot more debatable in any state that only has weak language on the subject.

But watch the video on the story - it will make any lactivist's heart swell up with pride over what Lauren & the Lactivists (that should be a band name) were able to accomplish.  Take one breastfeeding bill, add one jerk who doesn't know their place, then multiply it times all the social media outlets who will make a rally cry go viral, and you have some serious social change.  This is why I keep trying.  Now let's get this Breastfeeding Promotion Act passed and we can really make some progress!

Man, I luvs me some law.

Forbes Magazine Interviews Yours Truly...

A few weeks ago I was interviewed by a journalist for Forbes Magazine on the plight of the Working & Pumping Mother.

This is a plight I know all too well.  It's not easy providing breastmilk to a baby you don't see 50 hours a week.  But I busted my butt, and made it through that full year of pumping at work without a drop of formula supplementation.  Luckily my employer didn't give me any hassles, and they never questioned a minute I needed to spend in the Mother's Room, but they didn't exactly provide me with all the resources I needed to be successful either.

They could do better, so I helped them do better, and it was a win/win for everyone.

The case that this article makes is that Employers can do more to assist nursing Mothers, and it only helps their bottom line.  Read the full Forbes.com article called "The Business of Breastfeeding."

Yay me!

PS. I'm the second Gina in the article (Gina Crosley-Corcoran), not the Gina from Lanisoh - but weird coincidence!

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UPDATED:

Upon request I have added the document I created for my company. 

Download Mothers Room Info-Breastfeeding (1.36 MB PDF)

Feel free to use these as a guide in creating your own Mother's Room materials.  It is also important to order some fee copies of The Business Case For Breastfeeding to have on hand as well.

Announcing my Big, Big News...

I quit my job.

No, let me rephrase that: I quit one of my jobs.

When I posted last Friday that I had a big announcement coming up, 46 people guessed I was pregnant (jeez, is getting pregnant all I ever do around here?!?), 2 people correctly guessed that I quit my job, 1 person thought I started a new band (you wish, RE!), and 1 person guessed that I got a book deal (that was my absolute favorite guess.)

I handed in my resignation letter at 9 am this morning, and I’m giving them until September 15th.  After that date, instead of working in an office all day, sitting in a classroom all night, baking cakes until 3 am, and seeing my kids whenever I can – I will no longer be sitting in the office all day.  The rest, I’ll still be doing.

I will be a full-time Student of law, Full-time Mom, and part-time cake business operator – never in that order.

Leaving my day-job means being able to finish my degree in half the time, which means spending less money on school, and a shorter time until I’m making money again.  It also means not paying out $2000 per month in daycare, which of course means being able to see my babies while they’re still babies.

People have been telling me for a long time that the amount of jobs/responsibilities I have on my plate is just crazy.  It is crazy.  People shouldn’t do this to themselves. My health and my family are suffering.

But giving up a $50,000 a year job is also crazy.  Especially in this economy. This has been the scariest decision of my entire life.  I’ve been with this company for 3 ½ years, and leaving anything you’ve done for that long can be an emotional struggle, even without the financial worry.  Additionally, I have to say, the idea of being technically unemployed is really, really hard on my Feminist conscious.  It puts me in a very unfamiliar, unsettling position of being reliant on my husband for financial support.  But this marriage is a partnership, and I went back to work 5 weeks after a cesarean so my husband could focus on school.  It’s my turn now.  I earned this, and He's the first person to say so.

We’ve managed to work out a plan that will help us survive until I’m finished with school - HOPEFULLY.  A month ago this wouldn’t have been possible, but Husband’s mom (seeing what we were going through) stepped in and offered to help us lower some of our bills.  Without her help, we’d never have been able to do this.  I also applied for a “Loss of Income” adjustment on my school loans so I should be able to take out some more money for us to live on until I’m through with my degree.  And of course I’ll make more cakes... anything I can do to keep us afloat.

Now, please send me all the love and support and well-wishes you can because I am quietly freaking the fuck out over here.  I know in my heart I made the right choice, but my head is a little harder to convince.

~TFB Out.

TFB Won't Be a Victim - You're Not Worth It (The Stalker Confirmed.)

I've talked before about the fact that I've been in some high-profile situations that left me bloodied and bruised by hateful gossip.

Well, I'm once again the subject of some internet hate- but this time I'm not bruised at all. I couldn't care less.  I'm surprisingly zen about the whole thing actually.  I think with age comes wisdom.  8 years ago I defended myself the way a 22 year old would.  Today, I prefer to let people rot in their own egregious idiocy.  This guy is begging for a virtual hand-job from me, and I'm not giving it to him. I already feel like I need one of those "Silkwood" showers to burn his stupidity off my flesh.  Just like when I played with Ms. Love, being in proximity to this makes me feel... icky.

I also know who this "source" of theirs was, and she is a psycho-stalker who we had to block from our band's Myspace page yeeeeeears ago because we were sensing a very "John Lennon/Mark David Chapman" vibe.  Veruca Salt also banned her from their forums because she was clearly totally mentally unstable, and I've also recently had to block her IP address from blog from and my Twitter account. She was desperate for attention, and this dude gave it to her.  Good for them.  Let them all rot in each other's insanity.

I do appreciate those who visited their bullshit and stuck up for me though.  Thanks guys.

UPDATE: The psycho-stalker has been confirmed as the source of the email to TheBlockFM.  I knew from the second I saw that email that it was her, she's been doing this kind of thing for 6-7 years, and when she realized I was onto her, she emailed them again and copied me.  She's Kathy Bates, yo.  She's "trying to help" me and just wants to "be a friend." Holy total insanity.  She must have gone off her medication today, and I'm really not kidding. If anyone knows whether I can file a restraining order on her because cyber-stalking, please let me know.  I know that she knows where I live, and claims to have family here (though she lives in Seattle.)  I also want to know if I can name TheBlockFM in any legal proceedings since they are aiding her behavior.  If she loses it and hurts my family, I want the courts to know they were involved.  Please make with the free legal advice peeps.

Breeding With the Enemy: My Story of Feminist Conversion

This is the story of how I went from being a decidedly childless feminist, to a Feminist Breeder, and what that change meant for my conflicted views of the Modern Woman.

I inherited my early feminist views from my non-traditional family.  I had no mom or dad around, so I was raised by grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and sometimes lived on my own for months at a time while the guardians went off to find work in other areas.  I find that horrifying these days; that a child not more than 10 yrs old could be left in another state to feed themselves and get themselves off to school in the morning, but such was my life, and it all seemed normal at the time.  This helped me develop an independence that lays a fertile soil for feminist ideology.

My maternal grandfather was the type of man who wanted his girls to be able to take care of themselves.  Though terribly physically and emotionally abusive (which I now attribute to a lifetime of undiagnosed anxiety and clinical depression), there was a part of him that treated women with far more respect and dignity than most men of his generation.  Women were complex and mysterious creatures to him, though I believe he was sometimes so intimidated he lashed out, and those were the days I got my ass kicked.  My grandmother handled everything of importance, and whatever she wanted she got.  He wanted his daughters (of which I was always considered to be one) to excel and succeed.  He taught me to change the oil in my car so I wouldn’t have to depend on a man to do it.   He tried (in his own way) to raise me with common sense and a good work ethic, so I could make my way in the world.  He raised me like a man raises his son, while still entertaining my need to be a girl sometimes.  I suppose if anyone “taught” me to be a feminist, it was him. 

There were no Stay-At-Home-Moms in my family.  The women in my family worked; not as a matter of politics or choice, but as a matter of survival.  My grandmother worked as a roofer right alongside my grandfather, every day for nearly 40 years.  She didn’t get to stay home with me, even when I would beg her.  Not working meant not eating, though there were many days I went hungry anyway.  We were poverty-stricken, a fact I did not fully realize until I became an adult.

My aunt liked to tell me that “Every woman is only one man away from welfare” – meaning don’t rely on anybody.  My aunt helped raise me when my grandparents couldn’t and she’s as Feminist as a woman can be.  Well, any woman who’s never been a mother, that is. It’s not that she didn’t want babies, she did, desperately, but she was not able conceive, and then re-married to a man who didn’t want them anyway.  She’s Pro-Choice in terms of reproductive freedom yet often refers to pregnant women as “a buncha whiners.”  She has little tolerance for anyone unlike herself, and even less tolerance for women complaining about their girly bits.  She also helped convince me during my first pregnancy that childbirth was "deadly" and “thank god” for that birth rape cesarean or I’d have ended up just like Great-Great Aunt Mable from the old black & white pictures who died during childbirth in the 1910’s.  I had never spent any time around women who discussed birth, and only knew what I saw from shows like "A Baby Story" or "Maternity Ward" so I didn't question any of this.

After the trauma of being gutted like a fish in an operating room with my arms strapped out at my side like Jesus on the cross, convulsing and throwing up all over myself while my husband watched in horror, I started to question my Aunt’s understanding of feminism and politics in general.  If being a feminist meant allowing masked Med-Pros to violate my body, I don’t know if I’m cut out for her feminism after all.

Because of my upbringing, I saw children as a punishment.  I had never seen a planned pregnancy in my family.  The children all seemed to be consequences of a loose, irresponsible woman looking for love in the wrong place.  Nine months later, a welfare case was born.  I decided very early on that I would not be one of those women.  I did not want children.  I didn’t want to be punished.  But if I there ever was a day when I wanted a child, they would be born into a stable family – into wedlock at least – unlike any other child in my family’s sordid history. 

To me, feminism meant avoiding anything and everything that was exclusive to women.  Childbirth seemed oppressive, as did my biology in general, and I wanted no part of it.  As far as I was concerned, it could all be removed and I'd be better off.

When I got accidentally pregnant, I was angry.  Angry at myself for being so stupid, and angry at my (now) husband for wanting me to keep it.  I always assumed two pink lines on pregnancy test would have me out the door to Planned Parenthood for my quickie abortion before the urine dried.  But until I was in that situation, I never could have known how I would end up handling it.

As it turns out, abortion wasn’t an option for me.   Not at that time.  Not in this relationship.  I felt that I just didn’t “qualify.”  While our circumstances at the time were less than ideal for starting a family, I wasn’t a crackhead or a scared teen either.  I had the things I felt were required for accepting the responsibility of a positive pregnancy test: a responsible mate who already asked me to marry him, a place to live, help from our family, a good head on my shoulders, and a healthy body.  And most importantly, I couldn’t do that to him.  He wanted the baby, and I knew that aborting it would kill a part of him that would never recover.  I couldn’t justify terminating a pregnancy simply because I got sloppy one night.  I had made a bed, and the grown-up thing to do was lie in it.  And the fact was, ladies and gentlemen, I wasn’t getting any younger anyway.  Every woman in my family had already finished having babies by the time she was the age I was when I got knocked up.  People in the family had actually begun to assume I was infertile.

Now, people often ask me when I “knew” I wanted to be a mother.  I always have the same answer: “At 7:27 pm, August 1st 2006 – the moment my son was born, and not a minute sooner.”  Even through those nine months of pregnancy, I wasn’t sure I was cut out for this.  I was a feminist, dammit!  I couldn’t be tied down with a child.  I had school to finish and places to travel to.  There were times during the pregnancy that I told my new husband I wanted out, and that I’d give the baby to him and his mother after it was born and they could raise it.  Why not?  That’s what my mother did with me. She wasn’t up for the motherhood stuff, so she left me on doorsteps and took off.  Why would I – should I – be any different?  Well, my mother was/is also a horrible human being and ought to have been chemically castrated before she went on to ruin three more childrens' lives – but that’s a whole other story.

Instead, on that date 3 years ago, I was transformed.  Physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally – all of it.  The moment I heard my child cry, my brain chemistry changed, and suddenly I realized that being this person’s mother was not a punishment.  On the contrary, it was a gift I probably didn’t deserve, but I would spend the rest of my life trying to deserve it.  Though I was overjoyed by this perfect little miracle I had just produced, I felt sad and robbed that he was cut from my womb, instead of being birthed by me.  I never knew how much that would matter until it was taken from me.  I vowed that my next child would be birthed by his mother – not by a man in a mask.

I started that pregnancy thinking breastfeeding was gross.  I’d never seen it done, but it seemed like it was something white trash women did.  I was clueless.  Then I had my baby, and nurturing him from my breast seemed right.  After all, I had made this little baby in my body - it made sense for me to keep feeding him with the same body that had done such a good job making him.  Unfortunately, thanks to a cesarean and a period of separation, along with little support from my doctors, breastfeeding wasn’t successful for me with my first son.  Once I had to switch to formula feeding, I realized just how oppressive and sexist formula feeding, and formula companies, truly are.  Here you are born with two sources of perfect nutrition right there on your body, and our patriarchal society convinces you that custom-made milk isn’t good enough.  Your body isn’t good enough, and what you’re providing for your baby – without their help – isn’t good enough.  They convince you to enslave yourself (and your wallet) to the formula manufacturer - the buying, mixing, heating, and washing of bottles - all while their product undermines your health and your baby's health.  And they do all this while convincing the vast majority of women that it’s somehow liberating them.  *headshake*

Right then, my feminism changed.  That cesarean, and that formula feeding, taught me that the most feminist thing I could do for myself was to take back my body and my autonomy.  I birthed my second baby through my vagina, and it was the most important thing I’ve ever done in my life.  I made breastfeeding work that second time, and am still nursing my son 15 months later.  I wanted to be an excellent mother and raise my children up to be good people who will become the next generation of feminist freedom fighters. 

Having a uterus and breasts wasn’t oppressive anymore.  My feminine biology was a gift that no man will ever get to experience, and it is my duty to protect the sacred gift which mother nature provided to me – not to shame myself for having it.  

And so, I fight the system, along with all my feminist mothering sisters. 

• I fight for a women’s right to give birth naturally, without the medical community descending on her and compromising her health or autonomy with their (often unnecessary) drugs, instruments, and surgical deliveries.
  
• I fight for women to breastfeed when and where they want without a Puritan, patriarchal society shaming her for her womanly ability to nurture her young.
  
• And I fight for women’s right to be both a mother and a worker, without having to sacrifice her family just to keep a job or get ahead.

This is what feminism means to me now.  And I have my children to thank for this.  They opened my eyes to a world beyond anything I had imagined, while forcing me to eat many of my words.

Thank you children.  Life wouldn't be the same without you.  And knowing what I know now, I would never want it to be.

The One Year Anniversary of My VBAC

Today, May 16th 2009, is the one year anniversary of my successful VBAC.  For those of you who went on that journey with me, you’re probably just as surprised as I am that it has been an entire year since those events.  It seems like just yesterday.  Many of you have had your own successful VBAC stories in that time, and for that I am so proud and thankful.

Last year, on this day, I was hooked to machines, screaming at doctors, and begging not to be gutted like a fish for the second time.  Though that day started out being the worst day of my life, at 10:01 pm, it became one of the 3 best and most important days of my life -- because at that moment, I pushed my son out of my body.  Nothing in the world can describe how important that moment is, and most people will never understand why that moment meant so much to me.  I birthed a baby.  Finally.  And no matter what I do for the rest of my life, that will forever be the moment I am most proud of.  That will go down in my history as the All-Time Most Mind-Blowing Moment of all.

So my VBAC baby is One today.  Happy Birthday Jules.  Thank you for everything that you have been to me.  Your Father, Brother, and Mommy love you more than words can ever say.

Because Sometimes You Just Need to Brag

 
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There are my final grades for the Spring '09 Semester at Loyola University Chicago.

I cannot explain the warm, intense feeling that rushes through my veins when I see my straight "A's" all lined up like this.  This, ladies and gentlefolks, is what a 4.0 GPA looks like.  I've maintained straight A's through 3 different schools, and 18 different classes so far.  And these "A's" aren't just 90% and above.  No folks, a 90%, 92%, even a 94% is NOT an "A" at the private universities I've attended.  No Ma'am, at these particular schools, I must finish each class with a 95% or above to be granted an "A" and 4 points for my transcript.  An "A-" is only 3.87 points at these crazy schools.

And the really incredible feeling is that I'm far enough into my career now that even if something catastrophic happened, and my grades fell to "B's" for the rest of my academic career, it would be almost impossible for me not to graduate with at least a 3.5 GPA, which is good enough to graduate on the Dean's List and with honors.  And it's certainly good enough to get into a Tier 1 law school.  I can't tell you how much pressure that relieves.  But I don't plan on my grades falling.  I don't plan on doing anything less than what I've managed to do thus far.

You might think "who gives a crap about grades?"  But these grades are important to me.  They mean scholarships so I don't have to take out loans for school.  They are important because I am the first person in my entire family to go to college.  Heck, I'm the first person in my family to have a high school diploma - and actually, I only have a G.E.D. - but neither of my parents even got that.  I am the first in my entire family lineage, on both my maternal and paternal sides, to attend a university.  I came from absolutely nothing, and have done something that even people with the very easiest start in life often cannot accomplish.  I've even managed to do this while working a full time job and raising two baby boys.  My upbringing cannot - will not - weigh my down.

I'm sure I'm bound to see an "A-" or a "B" at some point before I graduate.  I live in fear of that day.  But I am stopping for a moment to enjoy what I've accomplished so far.  It just feels too good not to bask in the comfort and joy of this academic perfection - at least until the summer semester starts.  Every new class is a new opportunity to lose my perfect grade, but until then, I have a 4.0 GPA, and no one can take that away from me.  No one.

Sometimes you just have to think to yourself, "Holy shit, I f*cking rule."

*Exhale*

Thank You Right Back

I want to take the time to highlight an email I recently received, because the contents of this email had me in tears.

Background:  In the fall of 2007, I joined one of those silly Ivillage Expecting Clubs about ten minutes after I got the positive results on my pregnancy test.  I had been in one with Jonas, so why not with Jules.  The beginning of those clubs always start out the same.  Everyone’s giving each other cyber {{hugs}} and high fives over each other’s “BFP” (big fat positive) and discussing symptoms and HCG levels.  Then, someone inevitably asks the question about breastfeeding.  And boy, oh boy, do the gloves come off. 

I was pregnant with my second baby, and by that time I felt like I had a fair amount of knowledge and experience under my belt so I felt compelled to talk about the “issues.”  Even though the issues on every expecting club are exactly the same, the tone of the board is set by the first women to visit it, or even by majority rule.  In my last expecting club with Jonas, the board was super breastfeeding heavy.  So, without thinking it would be that much of an issue, I offered my trademark honest, frank, and caring opinion about the subject on the new board.  Almost immediately, I became the Town A-Hole.    Had it been another board, on another day, my comments probably would have gone completely unchallenged.  As it was – I was The First Lactivist in the May 08 expecting club.  That set the tone for my entire existence on that board.  Gina The A-Hole.  When I wanted a VBAC, I was an A-Hole.  When I posted a funny picture (however subjectively appropriate or inappropriate), I was the A-Hole.  It was inescapable.  Sometimes I really was an A-Hole.  But how much of it was me living up the title, and how much of it was me being misunderstood?  I’ll never know.

But then something miraculous happened.  A few of the gals, who I originally annoyed the piss out of with my lactivism, had a change of heart.  They themselves became breastfeeders.  One of them had formula-fed her first son, and had every intention to do the same with the next baby, but changed her mind after a particularly intense debate with me.

18 months later, that mom sent me the following email this week:

My little (baby) will be One tomorrow and I felt compelled to write you an email.  I felt I needed to write to you so I could thank you.  Thank you for encouraging me to share the deepest bond unimaginable with my child.  Thank you for pointing out the benefits of breastmilk, my son has not had an ear infection, and we can count the colds he has had on one hand.  Thank you for lowering my risk of cancer as well as so many other health problems.  Thank you for opening my eyes to life outside of what I know and to take a chance and tell others to mind their own business because I do what is best for my child.  Thank you for making me a lactivist.  Thank you.  Tomorrow marks one wonderful year of breastfeeding.  I started with the short goal of 6 weeks and made it this far.  He is even tipping the scales at almost 25 pounds.  Clogged ducts, vasospasms, bleeding, engorgement... nothing could make me stop this one perfect thing I could do for my son.  I don't plan on stopping either.  He can choose.  Your guidance, wisdom, and knowledge are so greatly appreciated.  I hope you have a wonderful day.

Now for those of you who don’t know me, this entire post may seem like an exercise in narcissism. 

In bravado. 

In the “tooting-of-one’s-own-horn,” you might say. 

But those who do know me know just how habitually insecure I am.  When I am called the bad guy, or made to feel hurtful and mean with my candor, I take it all very, very personally.  I feel like I’m a despicable excuse for a human being whose mouth simply brings pain to those who’ve had the bad fortune of being caught in my path.

So this email is important to me.  I’m happy for her.  I’m happy for her baby.  And I’m happy for myself because without this email, I may have second-guessed my comments on that board for the rest of my life - cause Lord knows I never forget anything.  But at least one person was positively impacted by my comments.  And that’s enough for me.

The Glass Half Full

Monday nights I sit in my Interpersonal Communication course.  The course is actually one of the most fun and most inspiring I’ve ever taken.  The instructor is a joyous woman who’s insightful and hilarious, and helps us all be better communicators just one step at a time.  Lord knows Mama could use a little improvement in the area of interpersonal communication.  For one of our many exercises last night, the instructor had us all tape blank pieces of paper to our backs so we couldn’t see it.  Then, we each had to go around the room and write something positive about our each of our classmates on his or her sheet of paper.  The exercise was designed to reveal how other people saw you.

Here is what my sheet said about me:

• “Hardworking”
• “Dedicated”
• “Intelligent”
• “Strong”
• “Smart & Deep”
• “Muy Inteligente!”
• “Honest”
• “Driven”
• “Wise”
• “Purposeful”
• “Strong”
• “Insightful”
• “Courageous”
• “Awesome”

Now, the whole point of the exercise was to show us our positive traits so we can build on them.  We were asked to spend a few minutes soaking in the words on the paper and acknowledge the nice things that were said about us.  However, instead of seeing what was written there, all I noticed is what wasn’t written there.

Did anyone else notice it?  Sure, those are lots of wonderful compliments.  Those are certainly nice things to hear about yourself.  But not a single one of those words was “kind” or “nice” or “friendly” or “helpful.”  I couldn’t help but notice the theme – not a single person in my class thought of me (in this exercise) as a “kind” person.  Sure, I may be a smarty pants.  I may be motivated.  But am I a nice person?  I may be, but that is certainly not the first thing that comes into the mind of my classmates when they think of me.  I'm the smart one.  Not the kind one.

I’m not totally sure how I feel about this.  But I do think it’s important to take note of it.  I do recognize that this is one more glaring example of me being hard on myself, and also of me being negative.  But when my husband asked me if this is something I wanted to change, I didn’t have a good answer.  I’m not sure I do necessarily want to change perception of me.  I guess I just wish that I was all these things AND someone who people found friendly, kind, or helpful.

Eh….. I’ll figure this out another day.

Another Session Down; a Million More To Go

This week was rough.  I had finals, a huge project at work, and had a cake due on Friday.  On Thursday, I was at work all day, got home from class at 11 pm, and had to stay up until 2 am finishing a cake order that was due on Friday at noon.  I should mention that I finished this session with my 4.0 gpa intact - which is only safe until next session, which starts a week from tomorrow.  I dont know how I survived this week, with perfect grades, being as tired as I am.  I was up until around 2 am every night this week working on one thing or another, which turned today into 'catch-up-on-sleep' day.

Thankfully the husband and I are fighting again which means he hides in the basement all day and night and leaves me alone.  It also means that we trade the kids off, so instead of being with him and the kids all day long (like I would be if we were getting along), instead we angrily pass them back and forth so they're him in the basement for a few hours at a time, leaving me alone upstairs to do whatever I please, which translates into naptime, since napping is all I ever want to do when I'm alone.

It's times like this that I think being a single parent would be sooooo much easier.  Sure, I wouldn't have help part of the time, but part of the time I wouldn't have them at all.  Not that I don't want my kids... of course being around them is pretty much all I ever want to do, but goddamn I need to sleep some time too. 

I think of this girl I used to know, and she's basically a part-time parent since she's divorced.  She has her daughter half the week, and then the other half of the week she basically has a free babysitter (her ex) so she can go out and do whatever she wants with her new husband.  This sounds like a pretty sweet deal if you ask me.

I mean seriously.... I don't see the kids 2 nights a week as it is since I'm in school.  Those could be the two nights a week that they're at Daddy's house, and I could come home to an empty, peaceful house where I wouldn't have to deal with somebody else's shit.

I'm just exhausted.  And I have a million more semesters of school left.  But right now it's time to take my first shower of the day.  I'll figure out the rest later.

Another semester down, 4.0 intact.

I just came home from my last final of the semester and I'm pleased to say that I ended this challenging semester with the same 4.0 GPA I started it with.

It's not always easy, but where there is a will, there is a way.

Dig it.

Well, of course they are...

C-sections tied to higher asthma risk for babies
Natural birth helps prime infant’s immune system, researchers explain

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/28005600/

LONDON - Babies born by Caesarean section are more likely to develop asthma than children delivered naturally, Swiss researchers said on Tuesday.

There has been conflicting evidence on the link between asthma and C-sections but the researchers said the number of children involved in their study and a long monitoring period strengthened their results.

The findings also underscore the potential risks of elective C-sections as more women in Western countries choose to avoid a natural birth, the researchers said in the medical journal, Thorax.

"The increased rate of Caesarean section is partly due to maternal demand without medical reason," Caroline Roduit of Kinderspital Zurich medical institution and colleagues wrote.

"In this situation the mother should be informed of the risk of asthma for her child, especially when the parents have a history of allergy or asthma."

Asthma, which affects more than 300 million people worldwide, is the most common pediatric chronic illness. Symptoms include wheezing, shortness of breath, coughing and chest tightness.

Babies born by C-section are not exposed to their mother's bacteria when they pass through the birth canal -- something that helps prime the immune system and could explain the increased risk, the researchers said.

The Swiss findings are based on nearly 3,000 children whose respiratory health was monitored until age eight. By this time, about 12 percent, or 362 children, had been diagnosed with asthma for which a doctor had prescribed inhaled steroids.

About 9 percent of the children were born by C-section but these babies were nearly 80 percent more likely to develop asthma compared to those born vaginally, the researchers said.

Flexing My Advocacy Muscles

Flex #1 - I have an incredibly exciting project to do in my Human Reproduction course this session.  The instructor (who's clearly a bit of a hippy, apropos nothing) assigned a "Final Project" that can consist literally of anything in the whole world we can think of that expresses a thought related to human reproduction.  It can be a paper, a presentation, a poem, a drawing, a sculpture.... literally anything.

So guess what I'll be doing my project on?  Oh yes... Unnecesareans.  I figure this is an excellent opportunity for me to put together some sort of visual aid, like I planned on doing months ago before I got ridiculously busy with other things.  But, instead of doing your standard PowerPoint presentation, I think I should do a video. 

Flex #2 - My other course this session is Public Speaking, and my first graded assignment is a 3 minute speech about something I consider myself an expert in.  Well, can you guess what that might be?  This is getting predictable.  On one hand this should be a piece of cake.  I have only spent the last couple of years obsessing about this stuff.  But it does get a little nerve wracking when I think about needing to condense it into a 3 minute speech that I'll A.) be giving in front of a live audience (thus far my tirades have been quarantined on the internet or in like-minded discussion groups) and B.) I'll be graded on this.  Now, I do have a bit of a gift in the oratory department.  I'm no stranger to public speaking and I've been told I'm a natural.... but thinking you did a good job, and actually seeing the job you did written in letters "A, B, C, D or F" is an entirely different can of worms, especially when speaking about something so important to you.

Flex #3 - I have recently discovered there are no chapters of The Birth Network in Illinois.  A woman in my Homebirth meetup group has considered starting a Chicago chapter, but I'd like to see a Suburban chapter as well, now that I'm no longer a city-dweller.  It would be relatively simple to set up this group, and it seems like something I am born to lead.  However, how could I possibly add one more thing into my already psychotic life?  I mean seriously.  At a certain point, it just becomes ridiculous.  I know being a chapter leader would require a lot of commitment and attention, and I wouldn't want to start something I didn't have the time to attend to, especially when I think it's this important.  However, how can I NOT be a part of it?  This is what I truly want to do with my life.  My law degree will be devoted to this type of legislation.  Besides making a difference in these women's lives, I would be adding a critical component to my advocacy resume.  Oh, I don't know.... you all have to help me decide.

So this week is a busy week for thinking about my VBACtivism.  It's nice to finally have a real outlet for it, even if two of them are only temporary, and one is probably something I won't do.

FB Out.

Your Next President

The first real threat to the Obama campaign.

http://www.tsgnet.com/pres.php?id=379346&altf=Hjob&altl=Dsptmfz-Dpsdpsbo

The 14 pound 2 month old

It's hard to believe that just 7 weeks ago the doctor was "concerned" about Jules's slow weight gain, and suggested that we supplement with formula.  At his 2 month appointment today, this child weighs 14 lbs, 2 oz - All without any supplementing whatsoever.  This is his weight on a growth chart.  Does this look worrisome?  I don't think so.

He has officially outgrown all his 0-3 and 3-6 month clothes.  He is comfortably in 6-9 month clothing now and it fits him like a glove.  It's funny how having a growing baby makes you feel like you've personally accomplished something.

Thanks to everyone who gave me great advice and encouraged me to follow my instinct and not fall back on formula. 

I have to say, I'm immensely proud of myself for making it this far with breastfeeding.  I told myself before Jules came that this time I was not going to give up, no matter what happened.  I told John that we needed to do everything possible to ensure that I was successful because I did not want to give myself any easy outs.  And even when the "all knowing" medpro gave me an excuse to quit, I stuck it out.  And here we are.  I've got a gigantic healthy baby, and breastfeeding has become totally second nature.  This is all I could have hoped for. 

Jules is the baby that helped me finally realize my own womanhood.  I got to have him the right way, and feed him the right way - the way that my womanhood intended.  This is all very important to a self proclaimed feminist.  Jonas is important to me for a billion other reasons, but this is what Jules gave to me.

Speaking of Jules... he's up.

I'm Psychotic.

I have felt completely brain dead every moment of the day for the last several months.  It's gotten to the point that I don't even try to say words to John.  I just point and stutter until I give up and start flailing my arms around while he spits out random words like we're playing charades.  "Keys?..Movie?..Ice Cream?..Bib?...Oh diaper!  that's what you want me to hand you?!?!"

Despite my terminal mommy-related-stupidity, I'll be back at work full time in 4 weeks, and back at school full time in 5 weeks.  And school is no joke for me.  For those who forgot, my ass has a 4.0 GPA, and I intend to keep it.  I'm crazy like that.  They don't give scholarship money to shitty students, and I'z broke, so I have no choice but to bust my ass and get perfect grades.  Mama needs free money.

I was able to keep my grades while being pregnant both times, but given the 5 minutes of sleep a night I'm currently getting, and the fact that I cannot complete simple sentences most days, I'm pretty dang nervous about school this semester.  I mean.. who does this?  Who works full time and goes to school full time, all while having 2 under 2 in the house?  One of my BFF's cannot understand why I do this to myself.  I tell her "I have no choice... nobody is going to finish school for me, I have to work, and I have to be a mom.  Nothing can give."  But I realize, I'm probably just a special breed of crazy.  I believe they call it "Manic."

The one amazing bit of luck I came into this week is that when I went to register for classes, I discovered that for the first time ever, Loyola is offering classes at the Loyola University Medical Center campus which is TEN MINUTES from our house.  Otherwise my classes would be at the downtown campus which is at least an hour commute on the train, if not more, depending on the train schedule.  So fate smiled upon me and gave me my first two classes at the campus just ten minutes away, which ought to ease at least a tiny bit of strain on my already over-strained brain.  John couldn't believe my luck.  That was like a little gift from baby Jesus.  My second two classes are at the downtown campus though, so I didn't get off completely scott-free.

Transmission ended.  Must reserve brain function for things like walking and chewing.

Well I’ll Be Darned

So, the pills are working. Not only are they working to make me less cuh-razy, they are also melting the baby weight right off of me! I've lost 7 pounds in the last 14 days. I have no appetite. Righteous! As Ryan said "Thin AND Sane." Wooo hoo!

They've also helped me find some clarity over the things that happened within the last year. Yes, I shed some friends. That's for sure. People were just really pissing me off. I'm not saying I was totally in the right or totally in the wrong. But, yes, if not for the pregnancy and related hormones, I'd probably still be friends with them. And that may not necessarily have been such a good thing.

So, like a twelve-stepper, I wrote apology notes to a few of the people I managed to alienate in 2006. Not a "please-forgive-me" note.. just a "I-know-I-was-being-kind-of-a-dick-and-I'm-sorry" note.

And in keeping with the natural order of things, both these people acted like children about it.

So, what can you do? Nothing. And that's just fine. I've found peace with the breakups now.

One person I have successfully reconnected with is my old friend Kelly V. We've been doing the reconnection dance off and on since Jaylee's wedding and this time I think/hope it will really stick. We never should have broken up to begin with.

Gotta hit it... it's time for Big Love/Entourage/Flight of The Conchords. Gina Out.

TGIF....

Today is Friday... and I like today for many reasons.

A.) Tonight is my scholarship awards banquet.  My parents and husband are coming.  I'm proud of myself today.

B.) I came in to work early and drove, so I made it here in half the time, and I was able to get breakfast and everything.

C.) My grandparents are staying with us for the weekend.  I'm excited to spend time with them, especially because we just did so much with the condo and it looks super awesome now.

D.) I got my kick-fucking-ass condenser mic from John this morning, so I'm gonna be recording super-hits in no time.

In the words of Cube: Today is a good day.

Further Evidence That I Rule The Universe....

Last semester, my Eng. 102 professor nominated me for a writing scholarship, and I got the call yesterday that I won!!!!  It's the Weingarten Award for Excellence in Writing.

There's money involved, and an awards ceremony and everything.  If I were any more proud of myself, my head would be bigger than my pregnant belly.

My plans for winning a Pulizer are slowly coming to fruition...... hot damn it feels good to be recognized for something.  This is so much better than any stupid review I ever got for my dumb band.   This is real.  I don't know why I didn't go back to school sooner.  I don't think anything I ever did with the band feels as good as this.

gcc out.

4 weeks and 1 day.....

On May 3rd, I will be 28.  I'm really very happy to be turning a year older this year.  Many of you know that in the past I've had issues with getting older.  However this year, I welcome the higher number.  There's something (in my own warped head) more respectable about having a child at 28 rather than 27.  At least I'm closer to 30 than to 25.  I never wanted to have kids too young, and on my birthday every year since I was 14 I've secretly thought to myself "cool, one more year passed without me gettin' knocked up!"  In my family, this is a major victory.
 
I am older now than anyone else in my family has ever been when they gave birth.  As a matter of fact, all the women in my family had 4 or 5 kids by the time they were my age.  And despite the fact that my father was 14 when I was born, I've managed to keep him from becoming a grandfather until the age of 43.  I'm very proud of myself for that.

I'm also married and own my own home, which, again, is alot more than anybody else in my family can say.  As a matter of fact, I think I can honestly say that no one else in my family has ever been married and owned a home when they had their first child.  Most of them didn't even end up marrying the father.  These are the things I have to tell myself to avoid feeling like white trash for having a baby before the age of 30 (a.k.a the age I thought I would be when I started to consider having kids.) 

So I find peace with being a parent at 28.  I'll be young enough to enjoy my children, but old enough to actually take care of them.

I guess I haven't done so bad after all.  Bring on the birthday.  Now I just have to figure out how to celebrate it this year.

In a couple of years they have built a home sweet home....

It's official! We're about to be homeowners!

After alot of disappointing searches, we found a gorgeous, brand new, gut rehabbed 3 bedroom condo in Rogers Park about a block from the Lake. Great street, great building, and we got a GREAT deal on it. We'll basically be moving in with $60,000 worth of equity already in it. It's got amazing upgrades; granite, marble, fancy lighting, etc. PLUS parking!!! I'll never get another stupid fucking street cleaning ticket again!

So, we did the bidding dance. We place an offer, they counter it, we counter that, and so on until we come to a fair compromise. They've signed our offer and now it's official!

All we have to do is get our inspection, have the attorney approve the paperwork, settle on the terms of our mortage, do a mountain of paperwork, and that's it! We're Homeowners!

This is the coolest feeling ever! I never, ever, ever thought I would own property.

Buying a House!

John and I are buying a house.... man, we are growing up!  We got approved for a mortgage and now we're house-shopping.  How cool!  I never though in a billion years that I would own a home, but look at me now.

Originally we were going to try to be out of here by February 28th (when our lease expires) but fuck this place... we want out ASAP.  Our landlord is scum.  Plus, the dogs need a yard, desperately, and if they don't get one soon they're going to drive me out of my frickin' mind.  Plus, it would be really nice if we could do the closing and the moving on our X-mas break from school, so now we're shooting for December.

So yippee!  I know buying a house is going to be kind of a nightmare, but I don't give a shit... I think owning something is going to be the greatest feeling ever. 

And btw, I haven't gotten all my midterm scores back yet but I do know that I got an A on my Philosophy midterm.... I rule.

Feel free to give me kudos.

Hot Damn! I'm teachers pet again!

Class is going MUCH better today.  After I kicked ass in my Philosophy class, I had the confidence to approach my instructor and tell him about my intentions.   He was very impressed, and offered to let me assist him on some of his cases!  The guy actually has a case that's in the Supreme Court right now!  He's a very impressive person.

The other guy in the class that got his attention on Tuesday stayed after as well, and we all chatted.  My fellow student is a Phi Theta Kappa officer, and told me that he thinks I should be a Phi Theta Kappa officer, then said "we need some smart chicks like you in the PTK"..... Awesome.  He said the positions are wide open right now and he'd help vote me in.  He also, coincidentally, went to high school with John. 

So this is all VERY VERY good.  Being a Phi Theta Kappa officer would look GREAT on my transcript, and assisting an attorney on a Supreme Court case will be invaluable.

I realize that the first day of class is the hardest; the instructors don't know you and they don't have any real expectations, and you're just one of many new faces.  But it only took me two days to find my niche.

I'm on cloud 9 right now.  This is fucking great. 

Holy Crap, I Rule.

I am extremely excited to go back to school, especially since I did so well last semester.  I got straight A's.... yes, that's a 4.0 GPA.  I Rule.

So based on how much I rule, I am eligible for the Phi Theta Kappa, which I just found out is the "largest honor society in American higher education with more than 1.5 million members and 1,200 chapters located in all 50 of the United States, U.S. territories, Canada, and Germany."

John just explained to me how awesome this is.  I had no idea.  This means colleges are going to try to recruit me, I'll be eligible for a lot more scholarships, and I'll have a fancy gold seal on my diploma.  Apparently it will open all kinds of doors for me.

I can't explain how proud I am of myself.  For the first time in my whole life, I'm seeing the fruit of my labor.

See, when you're in a band (or in any sort of art) it doesn't matter how hard you work.  You could be the world's greatest vocalist/songwriter/painter/whatever and you may never make enough money to pay your rent.  Why?  Because art is subjective and extremely competitive.  Even if you make it one day, the next day you could fall out of favor and be broke again.

HOWEVER.... In this situation, I worked hard, expressed my intelligence, and was paid accordingly with good grades and opportunities.  If I keep this up, I'll get into any school I want, probably with a scholarship.  Then, I will get into a great law school, then I will be offered a good job, then I will make good money, then I'll be able to have things, and then I'll be able to send my kids to good schools and repeat the whole process for generations down the line.

So basically, I am changing the Crosley legacy.  No longer hillbillies.... from now on, we are college scholars!