Uppercase Woman

Miscellany

Well, now that we've had our fun with poor Restie (who doesn't, apparently, live in Reston at all, she just happens to be an AOL user), time to discuss other stuff. Although I do have one other troll that's been saying some nasty stuff lately, and I know where s/he works (you work in a hospital in Texas, buddy!) but we won't go there. Today is a day to discuss other things.

First off, Charlie and I watched most of Spike Lee's new documentary, When The Levees Broke last night. I could only handle the first two acts before I needed to take a break (it has four acts) but I'll see the rest soon. Charlie watched more. All in all, I thought it was pretty fair. I mean, yeah, it's Spike Lee, so it has a slant. But I thought he really managed to keep his feet on the ground. The very, very wet ground.

It was so hard to see all that footage from Hurricane Katrina again. I was surprised; I remember how bad it was, but somehow my mind had tempered it down some, cleaned it up. Seeing the stark reality of it again was overwhelming, to say the least. Plus, of course, Spike got his hands on footage we didn't see--I know I didn't see all those bodies on CNN. I couldn't have.

Seeing it now from the perspective of being a parent almost causes another one of those panic attacks. I remember one woman at the convention center crying in a panic because her toddler won't wake up and oh...god. It's just so horrid. I believe that child later died from dehydration. Seeing that makes me want to breastfeed Tori until she's twelve so that won't happen to her (and I'm not saying that to make any mothers NOT able to breastfeed feel bad, I swear), you know, when disaster strikes. It makes me want to go back in time and do more. God. How awful.

So, anyway, with that glowing recommendation, watch the show if you can. I think it's important to remember how bad it was.

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On a different depressing note, but a subject dear to my heart, the UK is considering banning IVF for fat women. Well, banning free (state funded) IVF anyway (thanks, Astrid, for the heads up). Chubby women can get IVF but will have to diet and exercise first (and prove this how? but I digress). They are saying women with a BMI of 29-35 will have to do the diet and exercise routine, and women with BMIs over 36 shouldn't be allowed to get it at all.

It's hard to know how to feel about that. We don't have national health insurance here, so my first reaction is, wow, they pay for IVF? Even my private insurance doesn't do that.

But anyway. One issue is that the BMI is one of the worst ways to determine if someone is overweight (famously, Brad Pitt is overweight by BMI stats). So that's a huge problem to start with.

But the big issue is one of discrimination. As a fat woman, I have to say that it feels like the UK National Health Service would rather I didn't reproduce. Cause, you know, my kids could be fat. And that would be bad because fat people are bad, since they smell and take up too much space on airplanes and stuff. Sorry to be light about it, but I don't feel like getting angry at the moment, so I'll leave it at that.

Ironically, this proposal does say that same sex couples should be allowed to pursue treatment. But women over 40 should not. It's a mess of a proposal and takes with one hand while giving with the other.

Perhaps it would be better to just not pay for IVF at all. But then that sucks too.

Thoughts?

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Just wanted to take a moment to thank the fabulous thumbscre.ws for throwing an awesome blogger bash last Sunday (dudes, do you read her? She is seriously fucking funny). I've never been in a room with that many lactating women drinking alcohol before (oh, calm down, I wasn't. And most of the drinks were wimpy). If the carpet hadn't been new, there would have definitely been a how-far-can-you-squirt-breastmilk competition. It was a truly fabulous time and it was exciting to see old friends and make new ones (and of course Sarah was there, with her daughter, who got QUITE the earful).

So, THANKS, thumbscre.ws. You totally rock and so does your nifty apartment. And your food. See ya at your birthday!

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Lastly, you may have all noticed that I now have Blogads on the side. Yes, I am a whore (a whore who needs Firefly lubricant!). Click away!

Why I Love Comments

I love your comments. I really do. But some days you get comments like this one, from a bashful fan of mine located in Reston, Virginia (it must be bashfulness that made them be anonymous, right?) and they just make your day:

WOW I have just spent the past few hours reading all of this junk on your page.  I know how hard it is going through dificult times wether its battleing weight issues or pregnancy itself.  My daughter was born at 24 weeks...and is doing great right now at 3 years old.  But I do have to say this one thing you are the worst most foul mouthed woman I have ever read about in my entire life!! I feel sorry for your child being raised by you! You f this and f that I pray to the lord above that you change your horrible ways before you raise your miracle!  To think that there are women like you in this world that talk and act like what I have just read makes me sick.  You should be ashamed to call yourself  christian ( then again are you?)

Oh no! Someone call the authorities! All this time I thought it was the leg shackles and the cage we bought to discipline Tori when she's older that would make people think I was a bad mother. But no! It's my language! In my blog! That Tori can't read (and five points to anyone that gets why that sentence is mildly ironic)!

I guess now wouldn't be the time to tell you, my dear friend from Reston (shall we just call you Restie? I think we shall), that since Tori started making a "k" sound pretty regularly, we've been rooting for her first word to be "cocksucker". Or that we believe you can't keep a child from hearing or using bad language, you can only hope to teach a child to use it appropriately (as in, "No, honey, that car is not an asshole. The driver is an asshole!").

Darling Restie, I totally understand why, after several hours of reading this "junk" and visiting my blog FIFTY-FOUR motherfucking times, you are worried about a woman like me raising my daughter.

You're right to worry, Restie. I mean, just because we moved out of the city and into a great, family-friendly neighborhood with a playground a block away and a pretty decent school system doesn't mean our child is being raised correctly. Our beautiful house and her nice clothes certainly don't factor in. My working so hard to feed my daughter 100% breast milk so she gets the best start in life she can definitely doesn't matter. And, last but not least, two parents absolutely smitten with love for Tori is irrelevant. Just the other day my husband said, "Don't you just look at her sometimes and want to burst into tears of joy?" What an asshole. Oops! There goes that foul mouth again.

And how can I call myself a Christian? You can rest easy on that front, Restie: I don't. I'm a weird freak of nature--a church-going NON-Christian. I've always believed in God, and thought that God loves me AND my foul fucking mouth. But I could be wrong. A lot of folks from my church read this blog. Maybe they'll add my foul mouth to the prayer circle!

You should feel sorry for Tori, Restie. Her life just fucking sucks.

Photographic evidence here. 

That Mid-Week Stretch

It's finally Thursday. The weekend, with its hours and hours of time with Tori, is nearby. Blessedly, because Charlie needs to take care of stuff at his mom's apartment, I'm off on Monday (pending approval from my boss). So there are 72 glorious Tori-full hours ahead of me. AND the following week is Labor Day weekend, and then I'm off on September 11 again because that is the day that Charlie's mom's furniture is finally getting moved into her new single room at the Assisted Living place.

Speaking of Charlie's mother, I am thrilled to report that she has absolutely blossomed in the new place. You should have heard the relief in Charlie's voice when he called me after visiting her yesterday. Now that her medications are being distributed to her instead of by her (she was either not taking any or taking too much), her memory has improved. Not to mention eating good food (Charlie had to constantly monitor her food to make sure it wasn't going bad) regularly, and the routine of the place. She's already made friends! She must have been horribly lonely before, stuck in her apartment, unable to drive herself anywhere.

Best news of all, because she's stabilized so well, she does NOT (yet) have to live in the Dementia Ward. She has her own room now on the main floor. Which is great, since she's made friends and all. When Charlie called, I could hear her cooing over Tori. Between her cooing and Charlie's relief, it was a great phone call.

In other mom news, my mother's leg is healing slowly. She's doing physical therapy and it's going pretty well. She can even drive again! What a relief. She still needs more classes to teach (she is signed up to teach four this fall but needs more like seven to make ends meet--ah, the life of the adjunct professor), but things are looking a lot less bleak on her front.

Here at work, the students have all returned. Today is the first day of classes. Since this is a small college, there are only 500 students, so the new ones stand out. My favorite game this time of year is to guess majors based on outfits (it's an art college, so there are only a handful of majors to choose from). It's shockingly easy; even artists have a uniform of sorts. Only a few kids surprise me.

The weirdest thing, though, about meeting the new students is that this latest crop barely remembers the Clinton presidency. Seriously. They were too young to care when he was in office. Way to make a girl feel old, eh?

Can you tell I'm just killing time until the weekend is here? And that I'm completely strapped for ideas for blog entries? Sigh.

I'm thinking about doing a "day in my life" photo essay. Just for something to do. God, I'm boring. And narcissistic. Heh.

So did anyone go see some motherfucking snakes on a motherfucking plane last weekend? I am sooooooo jealous. I even considered taking Tori just so I could see it, but since I've already caught her watching the TV a few times now, I'm thinking no (I actually noticed her watching TV the week that a "pure blood" vampire--a little girl--was getting ready to eat a baby on Blade: The Series. Don't worry--I patted Tori on the head and said, "It's ok honey. I won't let any vampires eat you.").

God, I'm blogging not only about B movies but B fucking television. Goodbye.

Oops! I had to come back in here and post a link (via Bitch PhD): what rightwingers see when they read the New York Times (scroll over EVERYTHING).

Uncommon Bravery

I read Julia's latest post over at Uncommon Misconception with great interest. Julia and I are totally kindred spirits, both because of elements of our fertility history and because we're both writers and, of course, because I am so a skinny blond on the inside. Plus she is also the proud mama of an uncommonly beautiful little girl. Ahem.

Go on over and read it, and read her archives while you're at it. Done? Good.

Like me, Julia was faced with an unbearable decision to make about her son's life (read her testimony to the Texas State Legislature that tells the story here). Unlike me, her life wasn't at stake, other than her terribly broken heart. Like me, the prospect of delivering our children was unbearable--because they would have suffered unbearable pain and agony the entirety of their short lives. Mine because I was only 22 weeks pregnant and he was terribly, terribly small (being a twin) and hers because of a horrendous set of medical conditions.

She's been asked to tell her story again, this time in a book. And she's wondering if she should use her real name. Because a bunch of wingnuts in this country could consider harassing or even worse, killing her to be a rational and reasonable reaction to her having exercised her legal right to take the best care of her son she could.

And that makes me steaming, hopping mad.

I completely understand her fear. I've kept my last name and town a secret in this blog until very recently (Glamour blew my cover), at first because it seemed that everyone did, and then because after I lost the boys I was really afraid. Afraid that the people that sent me hate mail and left horrible comments here would show up to march outside my house, or to beat me senseless, or kill my dog.

Having an abortion is no longer something to just be ashamed of; it's something to keep secret for safety's sake. What if you employers find out? Your neighbors? The guy who sells you your coffee every day? No one wants to put themselves at risk, nor do we want to have to explain ourselves to outraged individuals who think they have some right to have a say in our lives.

If I were in Julia's shoes, I would use my real name. Because I believe that we need to rise above that fear and shame. Ms. Magazine is organizing a "We Had An Abortion" Campaign (you can sign the petition and put your name on the list here). I signed my name, not proudly, but honestly.

And most of all, we need to remind people that no one chooses an abortion easily. Every woman I know that has had one agonized over the decision the same way Julia and I did. And having Tori, now, I can see so much more clearly what I lost.

But I still know I made the right choice.

Julia will make whatever decision is right for her, and I will support her. I completely understand her motivation in keeping her name quiet (especially considering the redness of her state!). But she shouldn't have to worry about it, damn it. She did nothing wrong.

So, how was your weekend?

Charlie tells about ours.

Oh, and there are few new photos here.

Learning To Be Happy

Yesterday was such a lovely day; having Tori here at work with me (wish I'd brought the camera to document the event; ah well, next time) was so awesome. Charlie had some much needed time to do manly things like change the oil in the car and photograph trains, and I didn't have to miss Tori at all. And since today is Friday, I get to be with her the whole weekend (and we're going to the zoo with some awesome online buddies tomorrow! There are lion cubs! And Puma cubs!).

On Monday, all I could see in my future was day after fruitless day of being at the office away from Tori. But the truth is, I have a great job with lots of time off (I get six weeks of vacation a year, people, plus three personal days, plus sick time), and since I have mornings with her every day, I get lots of time. I have 13 vacation days saved up that I can use this fall to make my job more part time.

All is well.

It's still a difficult adjustment. Even though Charlie and I barely had two months to develop a routine--interrupted, of course, by all the drama with both our mothers this summer--we did have one, and it was lovely. I realize now that it's not only Tori I miss at work every day; I miss spending that much time with Charlie too.

So now we're learning a new routine, the "mommy-has-to-work-so-we-can-eat" routine. We've looked into things that will make our lives easier and more fulfilling. For instance, I just placed our first ever online grocery order that will be delivered tomorrow (so decadent--and only $10 for delivery!). I realized that I did not want to spend my weekend Tori time at the motherfucking grocery store (even if I bring her with me, it's not like it's fun--I'd much rather stay home and gaze at her adoringly). I've seen those Acme delivery trucks in my neighborhood, so I'm clearly not the only one thinking this way.

So now I don't have to shop, and I don't have to clean (remember, cleaning lady every two weeks, and yes, I'd give up delivered groceries and the cleaning woman if I could stay home with Tori, but those are fairly minor expenses and don't make up for my salary, sadly. And yes, I feel like I need to explain myself, since those things are all upper middle class things and we are decidely lower middle class people). Now I can spend my days making Tori smile (which she is doing! regularly!) and learning all the songs on all the cds I'm going to be getting for her from your suggestions (oh, and don't worry--Tori will continue to hear a wide range of music at home: stuff from the 1930's, opera, country, folk, punk and of course Johnny Cash. I just wanted some additional kids stuff to sing at her).

Wow. Do you think I could have used more parentheses in that paragraph?

Anyway. The most astonishing thing, of course, is that other than missing Tori like crazy, I am so goddamned happy. I find myself giggling and laughing on the train, as I picture Charlie singing one of Tori's songs he's made up for her (she has two):

To the Spiderman theme (you know, the one from the 70's tv show):

Tori Anne, Tori Anne
does everything a baby can
when she's wet
she gets pissed
but she's our
little miss

To her
life is a great big swaddle
whether it's breast or bottle
we love our Tori Anne!

To the tune of This Old Man (I helped some with this one):

Tori Anne
She's our girl
She's the cutest in the world
Who's the cutest babe in all the land?
Why it's our little Tori Anne

Or I'll find myself picturing that little toothless grin that she gives to her book each morning. Or the way she always raises her right eyebrow when she sees her reflection. Or even better, the smile I get from her when we're sleeping together and I have my back to her and I turn around and she's awake staring at me and then sees my face and smiles biiiiiiiig...

The last time I had a hint of this kind of happiness, I was in the early days of my relationship with Charlie. The only thing that's made me happier than Charlie is having a baby with Charlie.

How did I get so lucky?

It's new to me, this level of happiness. There is so much to look forward to! No matter what happens, I know that each day ahead of me will bring me at least one shining moment of joy, courtesy of my daughter and her father.

This is bliss, people. It really is.

How To Have A Good Day At Work

Bring your daughter with you.

We had a bit of a crisis this morning; I overslept and would have had to rush for the train, plus Charlie needed to take care of some stuff with his mom, so--Tori is a work with me!

And it's totally awesome.

On a different subject, I could use your help. Anyone recommend some good music for kids? You know, music that doesn't suck (i.e., no Wiggles or anything remotely Wiggle-like). I've been singing folk songs from my childhood to Tori, plus the songs I know from musicals. But the folks songs are all tragic and sad (I mean, "Where Have All The Flowers Gone" and "Puff The Magic Dragon" are DEPRESSING), and the musicals I know best are Hair and Rocky Horror... so I've been singing songs with lyrics like "Black boys are delicious/black boys fill me up/black boys are so damn yummy/they satisfy my tummy" and "I'm just a sweet transvestite/from transsexual/Transylvania".

Ahem.

So. Recommendations?

Addicted

I'm telling you, I jonesed for heroin less than I jonesed for Tori yesterday. By the time I got off the train, I was shaking. I actually physically hurt with the need to touch her and kiss her. I'm not sure I fully understood the term "smothered with kisses" before I got in the back of the car and began kissing her.

God, it was awful.

I spent the whole evening with her. I have sworn off home computer use for the time being so that I can spend all my time touching and holding Tori. By the time I went to bed, I felt normal again. And then I got in bed with her after I did my 5 am pumping session so I'd have just that much more physical contact with her (usually, Charlie gets up with her around 4am and feeds her, and then they go to the guest bedroom so that I can get more sleep; Charlie is gifted with near narcolepsy and I am a bad, bad sleeper so this arrangement works very well). It was heavenly.

And, oddly enough, today isn't nearly as bad. I still miss her, but the day is half over and the ache isn't physical yet. I think I might survive. Yesterday, I wasn't so sure. Plus, Charlie says she's less cranky today, so I think she'll adjust. And how awesome is it that they get to bond in that way? She's already deeply bonded to me, so I think it will be good. Right?

Right.

Thanks for all your supportive words. It helped. It also helped that Charlie sent me this photo yesterday in the middle of the day (captioned "WE MISS YA"):

The only thing that still plagues me is the whole global balance of the universe; just a small thing, really. Heh. I'm not sure if I'll be able to say what I mean here, but hopefully you'll understand...

The fact is, even though I love my job and I work for a great place (an art college) doing a great thing (selling student and alumnae artwork), working here isn't the way I can contribute the most to the world. I see that now. I mean, I'm glad I have a job where I do some good--and certainly one where I don't do any harm--but it is hardly the best use of me. The best use of me would be parenting my daughter. What I do at my job is nothing--a drop of beauty in a sea of indifference--but raising Tori is where I can really impact the world, truly make a difference. How is it that I couldn't see that until now? I always have believed that parenting is the most important job in the world, but very few of us are in a position where we really get to do it full time.

And that makes me immensely sad.

While I was pregnant, and even while I was trying to get pregnant (all four years), I always believed that I was not full-time parenting material. But now I know that I am--that the idea of raising my daughter myself and yes, even homeschooling her, sounds exactly right. It's what I want to do with my life. All these years of drifting from job to job, I finally have found the career I want.

But it doesn't have a paycheck. There are no health benefits. It simply isn't possible for me, for my family, right now--as our financial situation stands. And I do like my job and enjoy it, and the folks I work for and with like me (you'd think I was a missing heir to the throne, the way my co-workers and bosses have embraced my return).

So, like so many other Americans, I will continue to work the job I have instead of the one I love. And I'll keep playing the lottery so that maybe that can change.

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I haven't mentioned this here yet, but since many of you have posted about it in the comments I guess I should just say that I am quoted in an article in this month's issue of Glamour Magazine. Suddenly, I feel pretty.

And WHY don't I own any waterproof mascara?

Being back at work SUCKS ASS.

But it IS possible to save up the tears for the breastpumping sessions.

Charlie says she misses me. How am I going to survive?

As promised...

Photos.