Harry is first of all certainly not complaining that he has the monopoly on attention in the house, though he still looks for Sarel for a few minutes each day. That exclusivity ends in two months or so...
Harry has also adapted quite nicely to my frequent urination, the classic pregnancy symptom; whereas he used to get impatient if I did not fulfill his needs right away, day or night, he now knows that I will be running to the bathroom often, and all he has to do is wait a bit. I can barely remember the times that I used to worry, because I wasn't peeing at the drop of a hat.
I hope he can adapt just as easily when the baby comes. One of my fears is that his fear of crying children will cause him to run away, rather than stay and smell the baby and realize that she is simply a new addition, a new kitten in our house.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
You Know You're Pregnant When...
I met my friend Michal and her partner Yael for a birthday dinner tonight, it so happens that Michal and I share the same birth-day, which makes even more sense considering that we have become good friends and have supported each other during the fertility and pregnancy process.
It took three different attempts before we were able to find a table which accommodated mine and Michal's growing stomachs and low back pain, which sent us all into fits of laughter. And Michal kept asking the restaurant to turn up the air conditioner, as we hyper-hormoned women tend to produce inordinate amounts of body heat. Pregnancy might be the only time in my life when those little aches and pains are welcome as a sign of "normalcy."
Michal noted that I seem to be far less concerned about bringing the baby home and raising her, as opposed to my obsession to avoiding pain and complications during the birth itself. She is correct in her observation, right now my greatest fear involves the uncertainty of the birth, my pain threshold and most things related to my stay in the hospital. For the sake of my sanity and the ease of the labour, I need to get over that sooner rather than later.
It took three different attempts before we were able to find a table which accommodated mine and Michal's growing stomachs and low back pain, which sent us all into fits of laughter. And Michal kept asking the restaurant to turn up the air conditioner, as we hyper-hormoned women tend to produce inordinate amounts of body heat. Pregnancy might be the only time in my life when those little aches and pains are welcome as a sign of "normalcy."
Michal noted that I seem to be far less concerned about bringing the baby home and raising her, as opposed to my obsession to avoiding pain and complications during the birth itself. She is correct in her observation, right now my greatest fear involves the uncertainty of the birth, my pain threshold and most things related to my stay in the hospital. For the sake of my sanity and the ease of the labour, I need to get over that sooner rather than later.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Birthing Class, The Movie
Tonight, the second to last birth preparation class, we watched a movie about natural childbirth, dubbed from the original Austrian into Hebrew. Having been to several births myself, the blood and guts detail did not shock or scare me; if anything, it helped me come to an even greater understanding and appreciation as regards the miracle that is the human body, and specifically, birth.
The religious woman/child ran out of the room during the opening credits and refused to watch a single frame of the movie. Another woman in the class, the gum-smacking anti-Chiropractic nurse was the only one in the room who when asked, said that the movie frightened and disgusted her.
Two months to go, and I am not even sure if my parents will come from the States to help me after the birth, because the timing is "inconvenient."
The religious woman/child ran out of the room during the opening credits and refused to watch a single frame of the movie. Another woman in the class, the gum-smacking anti-Chiropractic nurse was the only one in the room who when asked, said that the movie frightened and disgusted her.
Two months to go, and I am not even sure if my parents will come from the States to help me after the birth, because the timing is "inconvenient."
Hanging with Bubby
I have a gift of prescient dreaming, though I cannot control when it appears. The last time I can remember having a dream with my grandmother, a dream that felt as real as waking reality, was eight years ago. She had died, quite suddenly in fact and at an early age, and I had certain regrets because I felt that we had not had the chance to say good-bye properly. She was like a surrogate mother to me, and her death had affected me deeply.
One month after her funeral (the Jewish Shloshim), I had a dream in which she and I were standing in the basement in their house in Providence; there were other family members in the scene but they faded into the background. I stood facing my grandmother, she was wearing her typical practical and yet fashionably layered New England/LL Bean look. We hugged, I told her how much I loved her and missed her, and I apologized for not speaking to her on a more regular basis before her death. I woke up the next morning feeling that we had truly bridged time and space, that place between the living and the deceased; I woke up feeling her love and a sense of closure.
Last night, I had a dream with a similar feeling. I was standing in the kitchen in the house in Providence, telling my grandmother about my pregnancy. My grandmother said, "I don't know why your mother was so afraid to tell me. I am so happy for you!" Then she had me pick up my shirt so she could put her hands on my belly, and I tried to encourage the baby to accommodate the moment and kick a little. After than, my grandmother and I decided to get into pajamas and watch a movie together. I didn't tell her, though I remember thinking this in the dream, that in fact she had passed on, and that some part of my child's name would reflect her legacy and her memory. I didn't want to spoil the moment, I was having too much fun.
Even in the after-life, she is one of the coolest women I know.
I woke up this morning knowing that she knew about this baby, that I had told her myself even if she already knew in a higher existence, and that for the first time since she died, she and I had done something together, just like old times. I woke up happy.
One month after her funeral (the Jewish Shloshim), I had a dream in which she and I were standing in the basement in their house in Providence; there were other family members in the scene but they faded into the background. I stood facing my grandmother, she was wearing her typical practical and yet fashionably layered New England/LL Bean look. We hugged, I told her how much I loved her and missed her, and I apologized for not speaking to her on a more regular basis before her death. I woke up the next morning feeling that we had truly bridged time and space, that place between the living and the deceased; I woke up feeling her love and a sense of closure.
Last night, I had a dream with a similar feeling. I was standing in the kitchen in the house in Providence, telling my grandmother about my pregnancy. My grandmother said, "I don't know why your mother was so afraid to tell me. I am so happy for you!" Then she had me pick up my shirt so she could put her hands on my belly, and I tried to encourage the baby to accommodate the moment and kick a little. After than, my grandmother and I decided to get into pajamas and watch a movie together. I didn't tell her, though I remember thinking this in the dream, that in fact she had passed on, and that some part of my child's name would reflect her legacy and her memory. I didn't want to spoil the moment, I was having too much fun.
Even in the after-life, she is one of the coolest women I know.
I woke up this morning knowing that she knew about this baby, that I had told her myself even if she already knew in a higher existence, and that for the first time since she died, she and I had done something together, just like old times. I woke up happy.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Guy Magnet
Yesterday, I bumped into an old friend from Boston who was at the gym with his wife, I hadn't seen either of them for at least a year. Dave (the husband) asked me, "What's going on, anything new and exciting?" I pointed to my stomach, which at this point is certainly looking like a baby bump, and told him that I was pregnant and due to give birth in approximately two months, G-d Willing.
Men. He looked at my stomach, and at me, and said, "You're pregnant?" And then his first reaction was wonderful, unlike any I have received until now: "You realize that puts you in a whole different category, a baby is a guy magnet. They will be banging down the door for you."
It felt nice to not get overly personal questions like "Who's the father?", or sanctimonious and judgemental lectures about how hard it is to be a single mother in a Jewish world of couples and "real" families.
In the changing room, there was a woman in shower stall next to mine, clearly pregnant, she told me she was in her fifth to sixth month. Bigger stomach than me, but these amazing perky breasts. Since the first month my breast have become so much larger, I sometimes don't know what to do with them.
The rest of the day, however, I felt rather pathetic, running downstairs to mail box every hour on the hour to see if by some chance, any one of my relatives in the States had planned ahead and sent me a birthday card, so it would arrive in time, before Friday. Here I am, turning 41 years old and about to become a mother, and it is still important to me to get birthday cards, to feel valued by my family, which has for the most part ignored my needs most of my life.
A friend of mine told me that my problem is one of expectations. Just because I program my Palm Pilot to remind me of my second cousin's (once removed) birthday, just because I send out birthday cards two weeks in advance to be sure that my relatives in America will receive them on time; doesn't mean that anyone else will hold themselves to the same standard, proven by their track record in the past. It could also mean that I am way more obsessive than most of known Western civilization.
This morning I woke up and noticed discharge, and with my due date two months from my birthday, I am starting to get more and more paranoid about all the things that could possibly happen, for better or for worse. Seven months since I have gotten pregnant, and yet every time I go to the bathroom I check for spotting or bleeding, a part of me that cannot be 100% sure that I really have a baby kicking inside me, that I am not going to get my period any day now.
I will monitor the discharge situation for today, and just may set up a gynecological appointment, for peace of mind.
Men. He looked at my stomach, and at me, and said, "You're pregnant?" And then his first reaction was wonderful, unlike any I have received until now: "You realize that puts you in a whole different category, a baby is a guy magnet. They will be banging down the door for you."
It felt nice to not get overly personal questions like "Who's the father?", or sanctimonious and judgemental lectures about how hard it is to be a single mother in a Jewish world of couples and "real" families.
In the changing room, there was a woman in shower stall next to mine, clearly pregnant, she told me she was in her fifth to sixth month. Bigger stomach than me, but these amazing perky breasts. Since the first month my breast have become so much larger, I sometimes don't know what to do with them.
The rest of the day, however, I felt rather pathetic, running downstairs to mail box every hour on the hour to see if by some chance, any one of my relatives in the States had planned ahead and sent me a birthday card, so it would arrive in time, before Friday. Here I am, turning 41 years old and about to become a mother, and it is still important to me to get birthday cards, to feel valued by my family, which has for the most part ignored my needs most of my life.
A friend of mine told me that my problem is one of expectations. Just because I program my Palm Pilot to remind me of my second cousin's (once removed) birthday, just because I send out birthday cards two weeks in advance to be sure that my relatives in America will receive them on time; doesn't mean that anyone else will hold themselves to the same standard, proven by their track record in the past. It could also mean that I am way more obsessive than most of known Western civilization.
This morning I woke up and noticed discharge, and with my due date two months from my birthday, I am starting to get more and more paranoid about all the things that could possibly happen, for better or for worse. Seven months since I have gotten pregnant, and yet every time I go to the bathroom I check for spotting or bleeding, a part of me that cannot be 100% sure that I really have a baby kicking inside me, that I am not going to get my period any day now.
I will monitor the discharge situation for today, and just may set up a gynecological appointment, for peace of mind.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
The Man On the Moon
Forty years since "mankind" landed on the moon, and today also happens to be my Hebrew birthday. My English birthday occurs on Friday, July 24th, and it also happens to be the exact two month mark before my due date. While I am not one to celebrate my birthday - Hebrew, English or otherwise - in particular, this year has special meaning to me, as the end-goal of this pregnancy becomes more and more clear.
My commitment to this child has become all the more entrenched, as the recent news has been full of stories of children being abused or actually killed by their parents. "Child Left in Car, Dies of Heat Exhaustion," "Mother Starves Three of Her Children, Ultra Orthodox Community Rallies to Her Support," "Child Drowns, Unsupervised By Parents," etc. For a country in which families are actively supported, I wonder where we went wrong, when over one million and a half children live in poverty, and seem to be in constant danger from the very people meant to take care of them.
At last night's birthing class, she managed to get through the entire process of active labour to birth, without mentioning any breathing techniques. When I asked the instructor why she had skipped over the famous Lamaze system, she replied that her philosophy this entire course had not been to teach anything that would make a woman's thinking become rigid or too intellectual; she wants a woman to come into the Hadassah Hospital with her mind open to every possibility of birth, and to presumably take direction from the staff there, without having her own ideas of a birth plan or preferences. "Shut off the brain, turn on the instinct." Whatever.
What did in fact encourage me was the onslaught of questions from other women in the class, who themselves had become somewhat discouraged by the lack of useful and complete information in the five sessions we had had thus far. Every time the instructor tried to gloss over a topic, at least two people raised their hand and forced her to discuss the details; for example, how the staff communicates with the birthing mother regarding invasive procedures such as epidural or episiotomy; or the potential side-effects of a vacuum birth or a Ceasarian section.
The session ended with a free-association game, in which all the men in the room kept coming back to their child being a symbol and culmination of their manhood and the focus of their fears, and the women in the room kept trying to assure them that pregnancy is in fact about faith, and letting go of that need to control. That the whole process is a miracle happening inside the body even as we women go about our day, and while we can do our best to take care of the vessel in which this miracle takes place, it all works out the way it works out.
Big surprise, the religious woman/child who cries every time the instructor holds up a model of the pelvis, when asked how she felt about her pregnancy, said that she didn't. She didn't have any feelings associated with it, either in a positive or negative way. Let's hope she notices the baby when he/she is born.
I was exhausted by that point and put my head down to nap, and having five minutes to "shut off my brain," managed to think about all the loss I have experienced in the recent month, from my grandfather to my cat, Sarel. Which of course started me crying and of course I could easily blame on hormones, given the context of the class.
My commitment to this child has become all the more entrenched, as the recent news has been full of stories of children being abused or actually killed by their parents. "Child Left in Car, Dies of Heat Exhaustion," "Mother Starves Three of Her Children, Ultra Orthodox Community Rallies to Her Support," "Child Drowns, Unsupervised By Parents," etc. For a country in which families are actively supported, I wonder where we went wrong, when over one million and a half children live in poverty, and seem to be in constant danger from the very people meant to take care of them.
At last night's birthing class, she managed to get through the entire process of active labour to birth, without mentioning any breathing techniques. When I asked the instructor why she had skipped over the famous Lamaze system, she replied that her philosophy this entire course had not been to teach anything that would make a woman's thinking become rigid or too intellectual; she wants a woman to come into the Hadassah Hospital with her mind open to every possibility of birth, and to presumably take direction from the staff there, without having her own ideas of a birth plan or preferences. "Shut off the brain, turn on the instinct." Whatever.
What did in fact encourage me was the onslaught of questions from other women in the class, who themselves had become somewhat discouraged by the lack of useful and complete information in the five sessions we had had thus far. Every time the instructor tried to gloss over a topic, at least two people raised their hand and forced her to discuss the details; for example, how the staff communicates with the birthing mother regarding invasive procedures such as epidural or episiotomy; or the potential side-effects of a vacuum birth or a Ceasarian section.
The session ended with a free-association game, in which all the men in the room kept coming back to their child being a symbol and culmination of their manhood and the focus of their fears, and the women in the room kept trying to assure them that pregnancy is in fact about faith, and letting go of that need to control. That the whole process is a miracle happening inside the body even as we women go about our day, and while we can do our best to take care of the vessel in which this miracle takes place, it all works out the way it works out.
Big surprise, the religious woman/child who cries every time the instructor holds up a model of the pelvis, when asked how she felt about her pregnancy, said that she didn't. She didn't have any feelings associated with it, either in a positive or negative way. Let's hope she notices the baby when he/she is born.
I was exhausted by that point and put my head down to nap, and having five minutes to "shut off my brain," managed to think about all the loss I have experienced in the recent month, from my grandfather to my cat, Sarel. Which of course started me crying and of course I could easily blame on hormones, given the context of the class.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Birth Class...Boring
I would qualify the last two birth preparation classes as five hours of my life that I will never get back.
The instructor, a trained and experienced midwife at Hadassah Hospital, has a teaching style which caters to the lowest common denominator; she assumes that women not only don't know anything about their body, but that - as health consumers - don't want to know all the important details. In the last class, she glossed over the potential harmful side-effects of an epidural, and then incorrectly taught stretches to help with back pain during pregnancy. When I pointed out (as a Chiropractor) possible alternative directions in her approach, she glared at me, and seems to forget on a regular basis that this is what I have been doing for a living for the last 13 years. In fact there are several women in the class with medical backgrounds, and we don't need the fifth repetition of the basic anatomy of the female pelvis.
Throughout my life, I have never appreciated teachers who took the easy way out, who dumbed down material because the students were deemed to be "stupid" or "uninterested." I have always believed that if you respect an individual and assume that they have a natural human curiosity and interest in learning, they will rise to the challenge. At one point at the class this week a woman, who had been meek about speaking up until now, asked a legitimate question: she asked if it was true that as we get close to the birth, the baby will naturally have less movements, as there is less space inside and the body is saving energy for the contractions. (True and true.) The midwife's response? "We don't tell people that." Not acceptable ladies and gentlemen.
With three classes to go, and me learning less and less each week, I can only hope for some breakthrough as the practical aspects of the birth itself have yet to be addressed.
The instructor, a trained and experienced midwife at Hadassah Hospital, has a teaching style which caters to the lowest common denominator; she assumes that women not only don't know anything about their body, but that - as health consumers - don't want to know all the important details. In the last class, she glossed over the potential harmful side-effects of an epidural, and then incorrectly taught stretches to help with back pain during pregnancy. When I pointed out (as a Chiropractor) possible alternative directions in her approach, she glared at me, and seems to forget on a regular basis that this is what I have been doing for a living for the last 13 years. In fact there are several women in the class with medical backgrounds, and we don't need the fifth repetition of the basic anatomy of the female pelvis.
Throughout my life, I have never appreciated teachers who took the easy way out, who dumbed down material because the students were deemed to be "stupid" or "uninterested." I have always believed that if you respect an individual and assume that they have a natural human curiosity and interest in learning, they will rise to the challenge. At one point at the class this week a woman, who had been meek about speaking up until now, asked a legitimate question: she asked if it was true that as we get close to the birth, the baby will naturally have less movements, as there is less space inside and the body is saving energy for the contractions. (True and true.) The midwife's response? "We don't tell people that." Not acceptable ladies and gentlemen.
With three classes to go, and me learning less and less each week, I can only hope for some breakthrough as the practical aspects of the birth itself have yet to be addressed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)