This morning I am feeling hungover, blog-style. “Did I really write about…CHILDBIRTH CHOICES last night?,” I think to myself, holding my head and hoping the answer is no. “I didn’t use…excessive punctuation, did I? Oh god—-did I use CAPS LOCK? Tell me I didn’t use caps lock.”

Let’s talk about something else, fast. Let’s talk about something we can all agree on, which is the pain and misery of a new exercise program. I did three weeks of Couch to 5K, but the fourth week I went off-program to save myself from quitting: I went the same distance I was going on a typical Couch to 5K day, but I ran and walked at will.

This worked a lot better for me. When I was timing my jogging/walking, I was spending the jogging sessions thinking “Oh god! No more! I can’t do any more! I’m dying! HOW many more seconds??” and the walking sessions thinking, “Oh no, look how fast the time is going! Oh, that’s so unfair! Oh no, I have to run in just ten more seconds! Oh, I can’t face it!”

When I jogged and walked at will, I spent the jogging sessions thinking, “Look how long I’m jogging! I wonder if I can go a little farther? Look, I’m still going!” and the walking sessions thinking, “I’m still too wiped out to jog again yet, but I think I’ll be ready soon. Okay, I’m almost ready! Okay, I’m ready!” Big improvement, morale-wise.

But will I kick my own butt the way the Couch to 5K program was kicking it? This is the question.

I was reading today’s Purple is a Fruit, and it resonated with me so strongly that I went on to leave a Long and Impassioned Comment. Linda put her point so well, I got a little carried away. You know how you get that rush when you read something that is exactly what you feel but phrased so much better than you ever could have phrased it?

And now I keep THINKING about her post, and I want to talk about it more, but hitting “refresh” constantly in Linda’s comment section isn’t enough to satisfy me, and Paul is begging me not to talk about it anymore, so I will talk about it here. You’ll need to click the link to Purple is a Fruit first, so you know what we’re talking about, and also so you can read Linda’s delicious, delicious words. (I once read an interview with an actor who said his least favorite word was “delicious” used for anything other than food. Now I think of that every time I use the word. Well-played, Actor Whose Name I No Longer Remember But Who Has Eternally Affected My Vocabulary.)

Back now? Okay!

During my first c-section, a medical situation was discovered. The OB talked with me about it afterward, and said she was sorry to tell me that this meant I would need to have c-sections from now on, that I would not be a candidate for a VBAC, and that in fact for future pregnancies I would need to be carefully informed about what I should do if I went into labor unexpectedly so that I wouldn’t, for example, DIE. I don’t want to be all Dramatic about it, but I do want it clear that this medical situation is not something like, “Oooooogk, natural childbirth is ICKY!”

I would also like it clear that the precise nature of the medical situation is my Private Medical Information. It’s not that I won’t tell, it’s that I don’t have to if I don’t feel like it. I’m not required by law to disclose that medical situation to the general public as proof that I really do need to have c-sections. “All right, then,” I picture The General Public saying, after inspecting my Proof of Need certificate and satisfying themselves that I do in fact have what they’d consider a valid excuse. “We’ll let you have your c-section…THIS time.”

And yet I’ve noticed that if I say, “I’m having a scheduled c-section” without telling all about the medical situation that requires it, sometimes other people assume that I’m only having a c-section because I don’t understand my options. They think perhaps I have not considered the possibility of a VBAC, or that my OB is pressuring me into a repeat c-section because OBs just LOVE c-sections and want to strip women of their Natural Childbirth Powers. Or they think perhaps I am unaware that c-sections involve risks, unlike natural childbirth which is natural and risk-free and has been done for millions of years in complete safety. Or they want to tell me how if I have a c-section I’m basically saying I don’t care about my baby’s health. Perhaps I am unaware of the DRUGS the baby will be exposed to, both during and after the surgery! Drugs which no one has considered might affect the baby, and so have been prescribed with no thought for the baby’s well-being!

Listen: if I say, “I’m having a scheduled c-section,” I want it to be assumed that I am a mentally-fit adult capable of making decisions based on research I have ALREADY DONE and don’t need to be instructed to do. I especially dislike it when the “research” other people want me to do is only in the one particular area the other person thinks I should be agreeing with. My lack of agreement with their point of view must mean I’m IGNORANT OF THE FACTS, as opposed to having an EQUALLY VALID OPINION based on the SAME AVAILABLE INFORMATION.

Which reminds me that I ALSO hate when the other person assumes that I’m being some sort of spineless patsy and agreeing with my Medical Establishment Doctor when I should instead be insisting on my right to do things in an unsafe way–which the other person, without a medical degree of any sort, tells me IS safe, without knowing my reason for having c-sections. Oh! Okay! I’m SURE my doctor is wrong and YOU’RE right! I shouldn’t let my DOCTOR “push me around,” but I SHOULD let YOU do it! And perhaps you will also DELIVER THE BABY, since you are SUCH AN EXPERT!!

And here’s my final point. If I DIDN’T have a medical reason other people would consider “acceptable,” if my reason WERE “Oooooogk, natural childbirth is ICKY!,” it would STILL be my business to choose what method of giving birth was right for me, and I would STILL want other people to assume I was a mentally-fit adult capable of doing research and coming to my own conclusions.

The Tally

(I didn’t mean to advertise medication–that pen is stolen a souvenir from my pharmacy job)

1) Do you think I wear glasses? contacts? neither? About a fourth of you guessed correctly that I wear glasses; I wore them part-time until my early 20s, when I had to start wearing them all the time and switched to contacts. I wore contacts until my first pregnancy, when I kept falling asleep with the contacts in. After the baby was born, I appreciated the way glasses could be put on in one second and didn’t require enzyme treatments. I’ve never gone back to contacts, and now I feel weird without glasses on: glasses are part of “what I look like” and my face would be “wrong” if I went back to contacts. I have a restriction on my driver’s license and must wear them to drive: the tester said, “Read line 4” and I said, “There isn’t a line 4.” There was a line 4.

2) What color do you think my hair is? How long do you think is it? Bonus point to Bethany for being freakishly correct with this description: “Mousy brown, used to be chin length, but now it’s grown out to a little past shoulder length and you keep meaning to get a haircut.”

I gave one point to about 40% of you for any of these answers: dark blonde, sandy blonde, brownish blonde, dirty blonde, honey blonde, mousy brown, light brown–but I awarded an unofficial secret bonus half-point for words such as “honey,” and deducted an unofficial secret half-point for words such as “dirty.” About 30% of you thought I was a brunette. About 20% of you thought I was a blonde. The rest of you guessed redhead, or tried to cheat with double guesses.

My hair is a color my mother calls “wheat” and my mother-in-law calls “dishwater.” I myself prefer “amber waves of grain.” It is somewhere in the murky area between blonde and brown and couldn’t correctly be called either blonde or brown. I like to color it lighter and/or redder, but it is not currently dyed. I don’t have any grey hairs yet, though surely with five children it is only a matter of time.

About 70% of you guessed correctly that it is shoulder-length, and you each got an additional point. About 20% of you thought it was longer, and about 10% of you thought it was short. If I could figure out how to get to the salon it would be jawline-length and I would wear it tucked behind my ears. Since it’s longer, I wear it in a sloppy french twist.

3) Do you think I have bangs? 60% of you correctly guessed no and got another point. I had bangs for 30 years. I grew them out (is “growing out bangs” in one of the nine circles of hell? if it isn’t, we need ten circles) when I was pregnant with the twins, because I have a huge double cowlick and need to gel/blowdry/curl/hairspray bangs to keep them them from sticking up, and I thought I might not be up to that after a night with two newborns.

4) What color do you think my eyes are? Nearly 40% of you guessed green or hazel and got another point. They’re hazel, like an army green. About 25% of you thought I had blue eyes; about 30% of you thought I had brown eyes. Three of you got an unofficial secret bonus half-point for guessing grey, just because I like the sound of that.

5) How many times do you think my ears are pierced? Not even one single person guessed correctly that I have four piercings in each earlobe. I used to use all four, then just two, now just one. I wear earrings every day unless I’m, say, in the maternity ward. More than half of you thought I had one piercing in each ear; about a third of you thought two piercings in each ear; and the rest of you thought zero, three, seven (!), or an uneven number such as two in one ear and three in the other.

6) Do you think I have any non-ear piercings, or any tattoos? Over 55% of you guessed correctly that I have no other piercings and no tattoos. 35% of you thought I had a tattoo; I want a tattoo badly, but don’t know what to get or where to put it. Not even 1% thought I had other piercings; I’d like to get my eyebrow pierced now that I’ve grown out my bangs, but I’m not sure I want to gross out my mom.

7) How tall do you think I am? 15% of you guessed correctly that I’m 5 feet 9 inches tall. According to Wikipedia, the average U.S. female is 5 feet 4 inches tall, so over 90% of you guessed that I was taller than average–but only those of you who were on the exact inch get a point.

8) Do you think I have siblings? Where do you think I am in the birth order? The only way to get a point for this question was to correctly guess that I am an oldest child, as nearly half of you did: for scoring purposes, I ignored information about how many siblings and whether they were sisters or brothers. I have one brother. He’s two years younger than I am. I was very interested to see that a third of you thought I was a middle child; just under 10% thought I was the youngest, and just under 10% thought I was an only. Let’s talk later about why you thought so, because birth order is a favorite topic of mine.

Jen gets a bonus point for thinking I’m British. I’m not, but I liked her thinking that I was.

Not including bonus and unofficial/secret points, there was a maximum score of nine points: one point for guessing glasses, one point for guessing hair color, one point for guessing hair length, one point for guessing no bangs, one point for guessing eye color, one point for guessing number of ear piercings, one point for guessing that I had no other piercings or tattoos, one point for guessing height, and one point for guessing I was an oldest child. Most people got three or four points.

1. Do you think I wear glasses? contacts? neither?
2. What color do you think my hair is? How long do you think is it?
3. Do you think I have bangs?
4. What color do you think my eyes are?
5. How many times do you think my ears are pierced?
6. Do you think I have any non-ear piercings, or any tattoos?
7. How tall do you think I am?
8. Do you think I have siblings? Where do you think I am in the birth order?
9. How old do you think I am?

So I was like, “Whine whine whine,” and you were all, “Don’t blow this, bitch You can do it, sweetie!” First I thought, “You know, I could say I ran, and they would not even know.” Then I tried to reason that I’d rent a workout video from Netflix to do instead of the running, and then of course I wouldn’t be able to do it until it arrived so I could relax tonight, and tomorrow, and the next night, and perhaps the rest of the week. Then I thought, with the grim stillness that descends on me when I realize a toddler has barfed in the car and there’s no one to handle it but me me me, that all of you who said I’d better just go and do it were probably right.

And so I pulled in strength from my two inspirations: some guy Tessie and I would like to hit in the face, who said that no one ever came back from a workout saying, “Gee, I wish I hadn’t done that” (perhaps some of you with sports injuries would like a word with him?); and Matthew McConaughey, who says “Every day I try to be photographed showing off my oiled muscles break a sweat,” and I went and I ran.

I didn’t try to follow a day in the program but instead just walked and jogged at will. I switched to walking whenever I started wondering which god was the one I should pray to for a Mercifully Fatal Bolt From Heaven. When I caught my breath and started thinking, “Hmeh, I’m an agnostic anyway,” I switched back to jogging.

I’m glad I went. People talk about endorphins, and I assume what they mean is the wave upon wave of smugness and relief.

I accidentally returned an $8.00 Old Navy t-shirt in a $4.80 Old Navy t-shirt wrapper, so I lost $3.20. Will you please tell me this is not the end of the world? Because I am having the kind of morning (two diaper disasters before breakfast, I should really sift the cat box, my hair is stupid) where such an error can FELL me.

Let’s talk about running. I don’t really want to, but let’s talk about it anyway. I should have run yesterday, and I did not. The last three weeks, when I’ve not-run on a running day, the result has been a frantic feeling of MUST RUN NEXT DAY. This time, no. This time, more of a furtive feeling. Like maybe I can look away and pretend I didn’t notice I didn’t run yesterday, and maybe I can pretend I don’t notice when I don’t run today either. I am curious to know what will happen this afternoon at Running Time.

On the bag of Raisinets, it says “Good to Remember: The USDA Dietary Guidelines recommend eating 2 cups of fruit every day. The raisins in each serving of Raisinets come from 1/2 cup of grapes.” Way to work the USDA system, Raisinets! I like the way you think!

shined
packed on
feasted
rocked
snapped up
canoodled
ballooned
splurged
gorged
gushed

1) If you think you see an ant disappear under the toilet seat as you go into the bathroom in the middle of the night, why not trust your eyes and check things out? There is nothing to be gained in this situation from doubting your own sanity.

2) I don’t use top sheets or mattress pads for children’s beds. I use a waterproof mattress cover, a fitted sheet, and a couple of blankets that wash easily (the vellux ones are nice because they dry quickly). This can make the difference between losing my mind with martyred despair when the sheets need changing again—and just going in and changing the sheets. Especially if the child in question sleeps on the top bunk.

3) I have a “crunchies bin.” It’s a plastic lidded container, and we put all the smidges of crunchy leftovers into it: someone’s five remaining goldfish crackers, someone else’s half-bowl of uneaten dry Cheerios, a broken-up half graham cracker, etc. We end up with an ever-changing mix of Cheerios, Chex, Kix, Kashi, goldfish crackers, graham crackers, etc. We sprinkle a little of it on the highchair trays as appetizers if the twins are impatient for a not-yet-ready dinner. I also use it as breakfast for the twins when they wake up starving but I have to nurse the baby to stop the terrible, terrible screaming: pour crunchies into bowls, put bowls on coffee table–easy as feeding a couple of cats.

4) When a baby has a blow-out I can’t face rinsing out in the sink as I usually would, I immediately put the clothes all by themselves in the washing machine on “low” and “pre-wash.” After the cycle finishes, I spritz on stain treatment (if it’s even still necessary, which it often isn’t) and put them in the laundry basket for the next load. I file this under “Keeps Me From Losing My Mind” rather than under “Does My Part for the Planet.” What? She’s a mother, she’ll understand.

5) I only like coffee when it’s nice and hot, and it always gets icky and cold before I’ve had more than 1/4th mug of it. So now what I do is pour 1/4th mug and drink it down. A little later, I get another 1/4th mug. It feels a little lame to do it this way, but it also feels NICE AND HOT.

6) When someone gives me clothes as a baby gift, I like to take a picture of the baby wearing the outfit and send it to the person who gave us the outfit. If you want to do the same, it’s a good idea to take the photo as soon as the child is dressed, rather than waiting for a better time, better light, or a better mood. For lo, the child is about to cover the outfit in barf and poop, and then you will have to start all over with remembering to dress the child in the outfit and take a picture.

7) People don’t notice how cluttered your house is if it smells like cookies baking. And they don’t say anything about how cluttered your house is if their mouths are stuffed full of cookie.

Elizabeth is having one of her “Bad Sleep” stages. She goes through one of these periodically. And no matter how fine and handleable they seem to be when we’re looking back on them from one of her Good Sleep stages, and no matter how reasonable we feel about them during the day, they always seem crazy and unmanageable at night.

Here is our daytime philosophy: These things pass regardless of how we handle them, so let’s aim for what keeps us calmest/happiest and gets us the most sleep.

Here is how we feel at night: NOTHING IS WORKING! EVERYTHING WE DO IS WRONG AND WILL HAVE SERIOUS LONG-TERM CONSEQUENCES! WHY CAN’T WE AT LEAST CHOOSE ONE METHOD AND BE CONSISTENT, RATHER THAN DOING WHATEVER OUR NIGHT-ADDLED BRAINS RANDOMLY SELECT FROM OPTIONS WE HAVE NOT DISCUSSED OR APPROVED??

In one of Elizabeth’s previous Bad Sleep stages, I ended up rocking her to sleep in the recliner for about an hour each late-evening (she would go to bed at 7:00 as usual, but wake crying at 10:00 or 11:00). I worried I’d form bad habits, rocking her like that, but it worked to put her to sleep so I did it, and a couple of weeks later she stopped waking up in the night and I thought, “What was the big deal about rocking her to sleep for a few nights, if that’s what she wanted and needed?” Did I feel that way while I was rocking her? No.

This time the problem is that she’s waking repeatedly in the night and crying. Sometimes, as Paul and I lie in bed pretending to be asleep so the other one will have to deal with her, she will go back to sleep after a minute or two. Sometimes she will not, and will escalate into frantic screams. Sometimes if I go in and snuggle her and reassure her and put her back in her crib, she will cry for only a minute or two and then go back to sleep; sometimes she will go into the frantic screams. Sometimes we bring her to our bed, where she lies quietly but doesn’t go to sleep but can’t be put back in her crib either (see: frantic screams). Sometimes she goes to sleep in our bed beautifully, but then gets up at 5:30 a.m. when Paul does. Sometimes SHE sleeps great in our bed, but I can’t, because I’m lying awake wondering if we’re handling her sleep problems ALL WRONG.

I do what makes me feel least like screaming and sobbing. Sleep with child in recliner? Sure! Rock child to sleep while watching trashy television? Sure! Allow child to sleep in our bed despite our usual preference for non-co-sleeping? Sure! Put child in crib and close door, then sit in living room writing resentful entries in my journal while she cries? Sure! When one method starts making me feel fed-up, I try something else. I wouldn’t say that any method “works,” exactly–it’s more like what passes the time until the situation resolves itself.

This time, though–NOTHING IS WORKING! EVERYTHING WE DO IS WRONG AND WILL HAVE SERIOUS LONG-TERM CONSEQUENCES! WHY CAN’T WE AT LEAST CHOOSE ONE METHOD AND BE CONSISTENT, RATHER THAN DOING WHATEVER OUR NIGHT-ADDLED BRAINS RANDOMLY SELECT FROM OPTIONS WE HAVE NOT DISCUSSED OR APPROVED??