Repressed Memory

I have been in bed for the last 45 minutes, trying to fall asleep.  I was almost there, when suddenly, a memory which I seriously think I had been blocking out of my mind for the last four months came to surface.  I feel compelled to share it.

Four months ago, I took the kids to San Antonio, Texas, in the hopes of being present during the birth of my best friend's daughter.  She was born at a freestanding birth center run by midwives.  Unfortunately, her birthday was almost two weeks after we returned back to Switzerland.

Because I was potentially going to be present for the birth, the kids and I went with my friend Leta to one of her prenatal appointments at the birth center. 

A note on birth centers:  (I love birth centers, by the way)  They tend to be very minimalist, serene, silent, peaceful places, filled with the gentle smell of unscented candle wax moving through the three states of matter, and occasionally the sort of silence that comes right after someone stops writing on parchment with a quill.  They are a testament to the beauty and sacredness of birth. 

However, they should really have a disclaimer on the door, "Pregnant ladies:  Enjoy the minimalism, peacefullnes, serenitiy, and silence, because when you walk out of here with your baby, you will never experience these things again."

So you can imagine, taking my children into the birth center was sort of like releasing bulls in a China closet.  But we did our best, and at least 50% of my children remained calm and quiet, as usual for my kids.  During the more "intimate" parts of the exam, the kids and I stepped into the waiting area, where there was a basket of toys and children's books.  All was well and good, but... inevitably, somebody had to pee.  Ok, I admit, it was me.

Do you have small children?  So you are aware that peeing is a group activity.  The two kids and I all filed into the small bathroom in the birth center, and I tried to accomplish my task as quickly as possible.

Do you have small children?  So you are aware that obstetricians' and midwives' bathrooms always contain random cups full of other people's pee, just waiting for the appropriate member of the staff to analyze it. 

I really feel like I could end the post here, as I think you can all see where this is going, but I'll go ahead and finish it, for therapeutic reasons.

I was sitting on the potty, doing my thing.  I had a firm grip on Ivy, who was attempting to unlock the bathroom door and escape, mom's dignity be damned.  So far, par for the public bathroom course.

Normally well-behaved Eliot took a sudden interest in the neon red medical waste box hanging on the wall.  With visions of heroin laced hypodermic needles and HIV soaked cotton balls dancing in my imagination, I made a split-second decision.  I let go of Ivy to wrench his prying fingers away from the box.  There was almost certainly panicked yelling involved.

Ivy took her freedom, and, instead of making a run for it, she suddenly noticed the sample cup of some other pregnant woman's pee on a table specially provided just for sample-holding.

She grabbed the cup.  The cup began to tip.  She was knocking a cup of someone else's pee onto herself.

Time really seems to slow down in these moments, doesn't it?

I took advantage of the strange slow-time worm hole we had entered and snatched the tumbling cup from the air.  The time-space continuum snapped back into place.  A wrestling match ensued, during which Ivy and I were both copiously splashed with some random person's urine. 

Luckily, the random person in question had left a generous sample, and I was able to save a respectable quantity.  I seriously did not want to have to explain to the other woman in the waiting room why she needed to go pee again.  What is the social protocol in this situation?  Would I need to buy her a bottle of water?  Reassure her that her wonderful baby would never grow up to become a feral lab monkey like mine did?

Having some stranger's urine splashed all over you and your toddler is sort of awkward.

Having to discuss the situation with the stranger who produced the urine would be more awkward.

So I suppressed what was about to be a very high pitched scream followed by vomiting, and got to work instead.

I sterilized Ivy and I as best I could.  I think I pinned Eliot to the wall with my foot to keep him away from the medical waste box while I scrubbed Ivy and me down.  (Why don't midwives keep wire brushes in their bathrooms?)

I used about 30 paper towels to clean up all evidence, and then we tranquilly walked back into the waiting room and sat down. Personal hygiene standards were completely violated, but socially awkward crisis was averted.

And a few days later, I somehow completely blocked the entire event from my memory.

I hate kids.

Well, not my own.  Not even all kids, just most of them.  Actually, I'm not really sure what percentage of kids I hate, but a significant portion fall into this category. 

Let me preface this by saying kids to mean, dumb things all the time, mine included.  This is not the first or last time one of my kids has gotten knocked down on the playground, though up until now it has been by accident or in an evenly matched scuffle.  However, my kids usually have the shame to hide, lie, or apologize immediately when they pull a stunt they know is wrong and are called on it.

Today at the playground, some little four year old hellion walked up to Ivy, grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her down to the ground, then started climbing up the slide like nothing had happened. 

I was on top of that kid before I realized I had stood up. 

I had hold of him by the arm while he tried to escape, and in my best French said something like, "What the hell are you doing???"

No answer, just continued trying to escape my grasp.  I was about to give him a good hard shake when I remembered that if you shake someone else's kid, that's technically assault.  (If you shake your own kid, it's just parenting)  So I asked "WHERE IS THIS CHILD'S MOTHER?"

A woman detached herself form the group of people busy not watching thier own kids and came running over.

At this point, I do have to admit that she apologized and tried hard to get her own kid to apologize.  Instead, he called me, Ivy, and his mom various colorful names, attempted to hit his mom, and did just about everything but spit in her face trying to escape.  She then told him they were going in, and started packing their things.

Eliot was apparently totally traumatized by the events, as he would no longer leave my side to go play, so we took off on a walk. 

We passed by the playground about 20 minutes later, and I can't say I was surprised to see that the little hellion was not inside, but still playing out in the playground while his mom talked with her friends. 

I'm guessing she was saying something like "Gee, I just can't do anything with him.  He never listens to me.  I try and try to discipline him, but he's just too strong willed."

If you can't see me right now, just know that I am rolling my eyes.

Going out to the playground after Eliot's preschool is great- there are a group of wonderful kids and moms who get along well together and who watch their kids.  But when we go out in the afternoons... it's rolling the dice.  I think we'll be going on nature walks from now on. 





 

And for a minute there, I actually thought about going to bed and dealing with it in the morning. Ha!

Butter knife. 

Scotch tape. 

Military training.

Physics degree.

I rock.

Merde.

Do you sometimes get the feeling that stupid, idiotic, preventable disasters only happen to you? Well, you’re wrong. Stupid, idiotic, preventable disasters only happen to me.

Let’s take just now, for instance. Are you wondering why this post has no pictures? Imagine me, in front of a computer, in a room whose sole source of light is a glowing monitor. Eliot is snoring to my left, blocked from the glow by a wall of pillows. Ivy is snoring to my right, blocked from the glow by a blanket thrown over her crib.

I am clutching in my hand the tiny memory card from my camera, with 8GB of photos stored on it. I approach the computer, which has a built-in card reader which accepts practically every sort of memory card in existence. I can’t see it because it’s too dark. But I know it’s there. I randomly jam the card against the hard drive box for a while, before being struck by a brilliant idea. The LCD monitor of my camera is huge and bright, so I turn on the camera. I pause to wonder if I have just invented the world’s most expensive flashlight. No matter. It’s all done in the noble pursuit of photo blogging.

I get the card inserted. Nothing happens. The disk doesn’t appear on the computer. I pull it halfway out and try again. Nothing. I pull the card all the way out and try again.

Except now I can’t find the appropriate hole in the card reader again. Rather than light up my Nikon flashlight, I just sort of randomly jam the card against the computer again… and find the card slot on the first try. Finally, some luck!

And here’s where neurobiology comes into play.

My fingers were issued the command to insert the card and then let it go. My brain simultaneously received an error message that read something like this:

The card inserted way too easily into the card reader, and our fingers are only grasping the bare edge of the card, whereas previously, over half the card remained outside the reader. DO NOT LET GO OF THE CARD! SOMETHING HAS GONE WRONG! ABORT!

This message traveled from my fingertips up to my brain. My brain immediately sent the abort message to my fingertips, cancelling out the let-go command. I felt the synapses firing all the way down my neck, across my shoulder and into my arm, then down my index finger and thumb. I actually felt them. At the second joint of my left index finger, this message was met by a sensory message headed for my brain, reporting a successful let-go operation. When the two messages collided, for some reason this actually caused my gut to clench.

I don’t know how interested you are in neurobiology, but personally, I found the gut reaction to the fingertip message collision fascinating.

As it turns out, the card got inserted into some random slot in the card reader not at all corresponging to its size… and when I let go, it dropped far down into the recesses of the card reader. Or a tiny black hole. For all practical purposes, the two are equivalent.

I turned on my Nikon flashlight and peered around. I turned the computer over and shook it as hard as I was willing to shake another person’s computer. No luck yet.

I can only assume that if my brain were located in my left index finger, none of this would have happened. This entire disaster could have been averted with a minor evolutionary course correction 486,000 years ago.

But no. I’m stuck with a center-weighted nervous system and a lost memory card.

Why do bad things only happen to me?

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

I disagree with this old adage.


Frederic returned to Switzerland early yesterday morning. We will spend another 2.5 weeks in California before returning home. At 4am, I woke up to Frederic gently kissing me on the cheek, wanting to say goodbye, but not quite willing to wake me up for it. We hugged, but did not quite manage to let go until being late for the flight began to be a real possibility. And then we hugged for a little bit longer. And then we whispered goodbye, and I love you, and then we went through the whole process another few times. And then he left for the airport.

It isn’t absence, but the bittersweet goodbye that precedes it, that makes the heart grow fonder.

2 Quotes I like...

"Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day, I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return."  - Mary Jean Iron

We have a secret in our culture, and it's not that birth is painful, it's that women are strong. - Laura Satvoe Harm

My to-do list ate my *incongrously funny object*!

I've been thinking about the title to this post since last night, when I threw aside my to-do list and decided to do nothing but think about blogging about my to-do list. 

"Should the title read, Ate my firstborn?  baby? sandwich? left arm? keyboard?"  Each possibility gave me a little giggle, and so I just couldn't choose. 

If you are wondering about the definition of procrastination, please reread the above paragraph.  But first, make yourself a cosmo and take a nap.  And then get back to my blog, you know... whenever.

So, a friend of mine on facebook recommended adding an "approximate length of task" to each task on my to-do list, as a way of helping organize myself.  As it turns out, this is more of a way of panicking myself.  Different folks, different strokes, I suppose.

Luckily, of my four to-do lists (To Do Before Trip, To Do(ula), To Do To My Website, and To Do (General)) only the first needs to get done this week. 

Additional lists floating around the house include my grocery list from this weekend which has my meal plan on it, and my packing lists for each family member except Frederic who, as a grown-up, will (hopefully) be packing for himself, my lists of clothes to buy for the kids in CA, kitchen staples to buy in CA, photo ideas for Haf's birthing day...  And let's not forget my shopping list at amazon, to order just as soon as I put a bit of money in my US bank account, to add to my doula studies.  I also have a "To Think About" list, which just goes to show, things are perpetually backed up around here.

And what did I do while the kids quietly self-entertained for an hour this morning? 

I laid on the ground and sketched out the floor plan for a dollhouse I might want to build them while I have access to power tools.  And then I realized I could probably buy one for way less than I could make it.  And then I had a mental argument about the value of homemade versus the fact that it would cost more to make it than to buy it, and who was I to think I was competent as an architect to go around designing houses that open on a hinge and can accommodate dolls and furniture built on  grossly varying scales of miniaturization.  And then I figured Ivy would probably just eat some miniature doll chair and end up in the hospital.  So I decided I'd better just set aside my blueprints and get to work on trip preparation. 

And that's when the kids decided they were done self-entertaining.

Luckily, I have a plan to get this all done.  Mostly, it involves Friday night, from 7:30pm until midnight.   

I put up my to-do(ula) lists on my doula blog, which is linked from www.lausannedoula.com.

Did I mention I'm still in my pajamas? 

Lots of things...

Me: attended first birth!
Ivy: stomach flu, but already on the mend
Car: Dead battery

Details to come.

Funny story-
Eliot watched, fascinated, as I grated cheese.  He especially loved the big ta-da moment at the end, when I lifted the box grater to reveal the cheese, magically transformed into shreds.  He then practiced covering up the cheese with the grater and then lifting it up, saying the cheese was "peeking-a-boo".  And then he did another peek-a-boo, and said, "Look, all the sharp things (holes in the grater) are laughing!"

He's so cute.

Dueling Doulas

I'm pasting below a post I put on my doula forum, in response to another post, which was a slam against DHA enhanced formula, but which contained no factual evidence for the opinion.  The reason I'm posting it to this blog is because I think it helps delineate my views on my job, and because, I still have not decided if I want to start a blog specifically about my work, or continue to post my doula stuff on my "family" blog.  In the mean time, I don't want to lose my ideas, so they are getting shuffled into this blog until further notice. 

I agree with what has already been said.  As doulas, educators, and counselors trained through CBI, our job is to provide information so that mothers (and fathers) can make informed decisions about the way they choose to birth and feed their babies.  Using capital letters implies yelling in any internet correspondence, and this is part of the reason why your post was seen as inflammatory. 

As we have learned in our coursework (and as anyone who has studied statistics understands) anecdotal “evidence” is an oxymoron and essentially useless.  In the same way our own birth experience is irrelevant to our client’s experience, so one (or even several) babies getting sick from any particular type of formula is meaningless.  I am sure that better evidence is available than one nurse’s opinion.  Otherwise, we should always specify that our information source is only anecdotal.  “No studies have been done yet, but several hospitals have recommended against this formula because they have seen sick babies from it”.  This is a neutral statement, giving the information necessary, with no opinion thrown in.  At that point, a mother has the information she needs to decide. 

Every woman participating in this forum knows that breast is best.  Every woman here knows that formula industry has acted and will continue to act unethically in its marketing if not controlled.  You are preaching to the choir here.  And so I know for me personally, I come to this forum to read the following:

-          Personal accounts and appeals for advice from doulas/educators/counselors, which allows us all to benefit and share experience

-          Summaries and links to new information that someone has found relevant to our work

It seems unnecessary to vent about the horrors of formula, c-sections, etc, when we are all of the same basic opinion on these matters. 

As for DHA enhanced formula, of course it is a gimmick to sell more formula.  HOWEVER, the formula industry’s attempts to match formula more closely to human milk, whatever their motivation, is a GOOD THING for babies.  There will always be babies who are formula fed, whether by mother’s choice, or because mom had no choice.  The closer artificial formula comes to mother’s milk, the better off the baby will be.  Perhaps the current formula with DHA is not the right one, but finding a way to add DHA to formula is a good idea in and of itself, and when the formula is perfected, it will be beneficial to artificially fed babies that DHA has been added.

My most recent realization about being a doula and breastfeeding consultant is that it is totally unnecessary for me to understand my client’s decisions and choices.  My job is to present evidence based information, encourage moms to use it when making decisions, and even to give gentle nudges when a mom is wavering on a decision.  After that, it is my job to stand back and be supportive and compassionate.  I would never attempt to discriminate my clientele based on whether or not she has the same beliefs on these issues as I do, though it is every doula’s prerogative to choose her clientele.  I do prefer working with clients who are on the same wavelength as me, but I learn much more from those who are not. 

2010

other year, another set of resolutions. I kind of enjoy New Year's Resolutions, as it allows me to reflect on what I have accomplished and what I'd like to accomplish. It's not really about keeping them or breaking them, but about reflecting and hopefully implementing some minor course corrections on my life.

To do so, I turned to a well-respected and loved philosophical source: Cooking Light Magazine. Now, bear with me here.

You see, I actually had some resolutions in mind before I reached Resolution Nirvana, as defined by Cooking Light. (Ok, they don't actually define (or even use) the word Nirvana, but we all know that's what they meant) Little matter that the Cooking Light Magazine in question is from January 2007, and is actually chez moi because of my mother's new year's resolution to pass off her junk to other people. The point is, if you are going to take advice from anyone about finding direction in your life, it should be from a Cooking Light editor. I think we can all agree on that, at least. Those chicks can whip up Pasta Putanesca in 30 minutes or less, which is a pretty good sign they have their lives in order. And Pasta Putanesca is, by the way, Italian for Whore Noodles. No joke. So as I was saying, my first resolution is to stop rambling. Oh no wait, my first resolution is actually to ramble more. I need to write these down...

Anyway, so Cooking Light advises its readers to make goals in three areas: Eat Smarter, Get Fit, and Live Better.

Dude. Is that not the best 3 resolutions ever? I told you the CL editors have got it together. As it so happens, I am as (and where I wrote "as" you should actually imagine a greaterthanorequalto symbol) smart as a Cooking Light editor, because I already had a goal in mind in each of these areas! Talk about validation.

Eat better- I want to try a new recipe each week, and I now have about 417 to try, all dutifully torn out of the huge stack of CLs my mom "donated" to my library. AND I threw away the part of the magazine with all the yucky recipes (seared brussels sprouts, steamed mussels, and such), so I also count this as a clutter reduction! Score!

Get Fit- I will start running. This time I swear. In my own blood. Or at least in ball point ink. Or nebulous hard drive space. I ought to be able to do four times a week. Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday. There is no reason that I can't do this. Being woken up 1-2x a night by a 15 pound cuddle monkey is no longer such a daunting task, veteran mother that I am. Or so I keep telling myself.

Live Better- In this category, I put the butlding of my doula business. This is an activity that is intellectually and emotionally stimulating, and has a clear goal in mind- trying out a career, midwifery, before investing the time and energy in further training. Learning an important and timeless skill, which I truly believe is meaningful for me, the women I work with, and their babies. Helping moms have peaceful, healthy births and successful breast feeding experiences... I think it may just be my niche in life. It challenges me mentally, physically, and emotionally, and such a vocation is hard to come by.

As a bonus resolution, I've decided to write more on my blog. I'll try not to get all mushy on you guys, but I make no guarantees. Keep in mind I've got a three year old birthday and a one year old birthday coming up, so things may get a little emotional for a bit over here.
---------------------------
I realize however, that the reason you all come here is to see pictures of my adorable children. So I'll keep that coming too. Here are my two book worms. I didn't even pose this picture, though I assume Eliot gave Ivy the board book to keep her from chewing on the corners of the Curious George he was looking at.And now, I can assume I've left my readers with two important questions:

Does Monica ever wash Ivy's hair? Yes, I do.
How often? Not quite often enough.

27

Yesterday, I entered my late twenties. And all I have to show for it is an adoring husband, two wonderful children, incredible family and friends, a fledgling business, and ambition.

Thanks to all of you who make my life great!

And since I know you're just stopping by to see pictures of the kids...I've got lots more pictures to share from my dad and Debbie's visit, I just need to sort them a pick some out. Stay tuned.

Ouchy ice cream

This afternoon, we had the spur-of-the-moment idea to head down to the waterfront at Ouchy and get an ice cream cone from Movenpik. We forgot that today is the Lausanne triathalon, but luckily they were removing road barriers by the time we got down there, as the last few runner finished up. The ice cream was a great success, as you can tell from the photos.
The other "big" event of the day was that Eliot went there in big boy underwear! We took his potty chair in the car but didn't bring it on our walk. When he had finished his ice cream, he claimed he needed to go, but was not interested in the manly art of peeing on trees in the park, so he walked the 20 minutes back to the car with no incidents or accidents. We took out the potty, he did his business, and then we went home! Yes! Tomorrow he will be going to school in big boy undies, as I think we can officially claim he's potty trained. Still in a diaper for naps and at night, but I think I'll be getting rid of the nap diaper as well this week.

Blahg

I've got lots to say, and pictures too, but am just a bit blah right now on the blog.

My mom is here in Switzerland with my step-dad, but she has been hospitalized now since Saturday for viral meningitis. It's not dangerous, and she'll be fine, but it's long and extremely painful. She will hopefully be coming home to my place in a few more days, where she'll rest up before making the long trip back to California. What a terrible way to spend a vacation!!!

Exterior Fun

My mom and Mike arrived safely, and have are catching up on quality time with the kids.Frederic beating me in a game of PIG. How embarassing. And Ivy, sporting her first pig tail.

You heard it here first!

Let it be known that I want to run the Lausanne 20k next spring.

There, now I will feel obligated to start running again. That, and I bought new running shorts.
........................
In other news, Ivy laughed for the first time on Saturday, and my best friend Leta got to witness it! Ivy also slept for an 8 hour stretch two nights ago. And to think I once thought she was the difficult baby.

Walk-through tour

Hi all!
We are back online finally. After the shakes and dizziness wore off from the internet withdrawal, I was able to make this video of our apartment. Originally, I had planned to clean the apartment, put away dinner dishes, etc, but then suddenly it was bedtime for Eliot and I still had to pack and give Ivy a bath and... you get the idea. So ignore the mess.

Also, this was going to be a lot funnier. I had spent countless hours lying awake at night, thinking up witty commentary for the video to the effect that Frederic and I are responsible for a significant percentage of the clear cutting of Sweden's native particle board forests... that only a 5'2'' female with a degree in physics could assemble our computer desk in the closet (or a very well-trained monkey)... but alas, I got stage fright once the camera was rolling. Or maybe I was just too tired.

Anyway, wish me luck as I will be flying solo with the two kids tomorrow. Frederic's doctor is still not 100% on board with him flying after his recent asthma attack, so he's going to do the prudent thing and stay here. No Chipotle for him, poor guy.

To all my California people, see you soon!!!

We have keys!!!

Front door, and pantry on the left

Kichen. The closed door opens to the entryway. I think we'll take if off the hinges and put it in the basement.Huge (for Europe) fridge and freezerView from the balconySmall bathroomBig bathroom(Probably) Monica and Frederic's room(Probably) Ivy's room. I'm hesitating because I love the giant window here and want it for myself.Eliot's roomThe living room (The goofy guy pulling his pants up came free with the apartment. The toddler cost extra.)

Boxes, boxes, boxes...

We are on the home stretch for packing. I got rid of another bag full of junk today... always a nice feeling! I am HOME ALONE right now... first time since Ivy was born that she's been away from me. Crazy! I hope Frederic survives his walk...

I didn't even pose this picture. Just stumbled across Eliot chilling with his pals.
Life father, like son, gotta love those smiles!
Here's looking at you, kid.
STOP WITH THE PICTURES ALREADY!!!
Mommy and Ivy
And now, off to pack up the non essentials of the kitchen! Dude!

Change of Plans!

We are going to move at the end of May instead of the end of June! It looks like we'll arrive in California already moved, which should reduce our stress levels enormously! (In the long run, that is. In the short run, my stress level just skyrocketed...)

Pictures from this weekend

Frederic and Eliot went out to the park and to the lake to give me some rest.Then, we went for a walk in a newly discovered park on Sunday.And here's Ivy wearing her Bum Genius cloth diapers, which I started putting her in a couple of weeks ago. Can you believe how chunky she is compared to when she was born? For anyone considering cloth, these diapers are the way to go! They will fit her from now through potty training.