A Surprisingly Sane Blog

Question: Is Subject J capable of doing his own laundry without being told?

Background: Subject J complains when he has no clean underwear, socks, or shirts.  Does not care if jeans are dirty.  Probably doesn’t notice the difference.  But dammit, the manties need to be fresh or else it’s a sure ticket to a bad day.

Subject J will fold the laundry if nagged.  He will also wash clothing and be careful to hang dry all his wife’s delicates if asked.

Hypothesis: Subject J will do his own laundry if clothes are left in a pile in front of his side of the bed.

Experiment Procedures:

1. Allow Subject J’s laundry to pile up on his side of the bed.
2. Wash white load for him to avoid catastrophic bad-luck-dirty-panty-days and hearing the panicked words, “Underwear is a family emergency,” uttered from Subject J’s mouth.  Heaven fucking forbid.
3. Leave dark load (aka all of Subject J’s shirts) on floor in a pile on his side of the bed so that he is forced to acknowledge his dirty laundry’s existence every time he want to lay down.
4. Wash all the other laundry in the house and request that Subject J helps to fold and hang the clothes to dry.
5. Watch Subject J stumble over pile of dirty clothes.
6. Smile as Subject J parades the house topless in search of a clean shirt.
7. Roll over in bed and sleepily tell him that the only clean shirts he has are the button-up ones.
8. Cover face before Subject J can see the smug smile.
9. Wait to see if Subject J throws his own damn clothes in the washer.
10. Keep waiting.

Results/Data Analysis: The experiment was a complete flop.  Subject J seemed to have no clue that not having a single clean shirt means he is going to end up either A) showing up to work in his pajamas; or B) going to work naked.  Subject J did not seem to find this to be a problem when approached.  Probably because he has the option of working from home.  Stumbling over the massive pile of clothing was not obstacle enough to make him notice that all his freaking shirts were dirty and patiently waiting for him to wash them.

Conclusion: Subject J is lacking a brain cell labeled “wash laundry when dirty”.  Either that, or he doesn’t care if people at work see him in his birthday suit.

How to Cope: Verbally tell him to clean his own fucking clothes.

And then write a blog about your experiment gone horribly wrong.

Current Mood: Alarmed

Yes, I am a home-birthing hippie.  I look fat and sweaty and I’m wearing an adult diaper in some of those pictures, so click on that link at your own risk.

Probably the number one thing I hear when I tell people that I gave birth at home is, “On purpose?”.  Those two words are almost always accompanied by wide eyes and a tone of shock, as if no one could possibly imagine someone being stupid enough to pop a baby out of their vagina at home.  Atrocious.

Yes, it was on purpose.  Yes, the home birth was planned.  Yes, I did it with a midwife instead of a doctor.  Yes, that means I did it without any pain medication whatsoever.

And you know what?  I wouldn’t choose to do it any other way.

The next question that usually follows is the baffled, “Why?”.  As in, why on earth would you choose to do something like that?  Don’t you know that giving birth is dangerous?  Don’t you know you and the baby could both die if something were to go wrong?  Don’t you know the safest place to give birth is in a hospital with an IV stuck in your arm and a doctor ready to rip the kid out of your belly in case of an emergency?

And you know what my answer to that is?

YES, I know all the risks.  But more importantly, I made the safest decision for my baby and I that I could.  Because a little known fact here in America is that the majority of “problems” that arise during labor and birth are actually caused by medical interventions in the first place.  Your chances of avoiding at least some kind of intervention at a hospital are next to none unless you show up as the baby’s head is crowning.  And it works like a domino effect… once one is introduced, another one usually follows, and another, and another… which explains why nearly 1/3 of births in our country end as a cesarean section these days.  Oh, and by the way, did you know that a c-section is actually major abdominal surgery with all kinds of risks involved?  Just because it happens more times a day than we can count doesn’t mean it’s a fool-proof kind of procedure.  I am *not* saying that your personal c-section wasn’t necessary, so don’t get bent out of shape over that, okay? What I *am* saying is that in most cases, an emergency c-section happens as a result of medical interventions in the first place.  You don’t believe me, do a little research.

In other words, giving birth at home with a skilled certified nurse midwife is actually safer than having a baby in a hospital in a lot of cases.   Sadly, we are brainwashed into believing otherwise.  You want some kind of proof?  Check out the literature, statistics, and watch the movie, “The Business Of Being Born”.

Now, I know that what I just said sounds awfully one-sided.  You’re probably thinking, “Geez, Tamra, for someone who preaches open-mindedness, you’re being kind of a close-minded twat about this”.

So here’s the rest of what I was going to say, because you’re right.

I am not an extreme crunchy-granola girl by any stretch of the imagination.  I do NOT believe by any means that home birth or natural birth is right for everyone.  Water birth worked for me, but not everyone is comfortable sitting in a bath of their own bodily fluids while a human being bulges like a scene out of hell from their delicate woman parts.

However, I do believe that the beautifully natural process that is birth has become nothing short of a over-analyzed, over-sensationalized, over-cover-the-doctor’s-ass-ilized medical procedure.  If you look at the USA’s statistics versus other countries’ birth outcomes, it’s downright scary.

So why on earth am I preaching about this?  It’s because I get so upset when I hear about friends of mine wishing for a natural birth only to be told no simply because their labors or pregnancies don’t follow some sort of artificial expectation or generalized timeline.

Who on earth set the standard for one centimeter of dilation per hour?  Or that the bag of waters needs to be broken at a certain time to “speed things up”?  Why is 40 weeks the magic number when, in fact, the natural, un-induced pregnancy actually averages at 41 weeks and 1 day gestation?

One size doesn’t fit all.

Someone needs to retrain the doctors here.  Send them to Sweden for education on when certain procedures are actually necessary and not merely a convenience.

You wanna know why I chose natural birth?  It’s because I wasn’t afraid of letting my body do something that is a natural occurence… and a certain jackass of a doctor pretty much told me I wouldn’t be able to handle it.  So I showed him.  I switched to a midwife at a birthing center at the very end of my pregnancy and begged everyone in the room to kill me while experiencing the most ungodly pain imaginable called back labor.  But dammit, I did it.  Just as nature intended it.  I would have sent that jackass doctor a gloating I told you so if my stubborn butt hadn’t been passing out from the pain afterward.

The second time, I decided to do it at home because the birthing center was under different management with tighter restrictions.  In case my water broke abnormally early like it did the first time, I didn’t want the new protocol to force me into the hospital.

My choice to to do a home birth was a smart one.  Everything happened so fast that by the time I realized I really was in labor, I was at the end.  And by the time the contractions got painful enough for me to consider heading off to my birthing place, April was on her way out.

If I’d planned another birth center birth, I would have made it as far as my front porch.

Would I do it again?  Absolutely.  Would I tell you that you should do it, too?  Not necessarily.  Everyone is different, and a home birth will only work if it’s within your comfort zone.  However, if you’re interested and considering it, I say go for it.

But at any rate, I say choose what you’re comfortable with.  Educate yourself on the pros and cons of home birth, hospital birth, and all the risks of the different kinds of interventions available.  Don’t take “no” or “it’s standard procedure” for an answer if you want something a little unusual like *gasp* natural birth.  I know I didn’t take “you can’t do that” for an answer.

Who cares if it’s a little off the beaten path?

Current Mood: Cool

Yes, my daughter has a crooked head.

She has something called Positional Plagiocephaly, which was most likely a result of the torticollis she had a birth.  Why did she have torticollis?  The orthotic specialist said it was probably because someone almost 9 pounds should never have had to take residence in my uterus for 39 weeks.  Translation:  I had to carry and birth a baby a bit too big for my body to handle.  The tight fetal living quarters and squeeze through my va-jay-jay were a little traumatic for the muscles in her neck, which protested by tensing and made it difficult for her to turn her little head.  After months of therapy, she was finally able look both ways, but by that point, she had developed a nice flat spot on the back of her skull.

If it’s a mild amount, no fixing is necessary.  However, April’s plagiocephaly is moderate-to-severe, and the neurosurgeon was concerned that it could cause problems later on if not treated now.  Problems such as dental abnormalities, TMJ, vision issues, and frequent ear infections.

Plus, while her hair covers the flat spot on her head, as she grows, the asymmetry will most likely affect her cute little face.

We have enough issues in our life that amount to self-consciousness and reasons to hate ourselves.  I don’t want to leave her with one that could be fixed as a baby.

She is just too precious to say no to, so we had already decided a month ago when this all started that we were going to go through with the treatment, even if we have to pay out of pocket.

Well, after an entire freaking month of waiting for it to go through, we got a phone call today informing us that our insurance accepted the claim! Meaning, they are going to cover all the costs, thank goodness.

While it’s kind of sad that her plagiocephaly is bad enough for insurance to actually pay for it, it’s a huge relief at the same time.  I felt like maybe I was stressed about nothing at all and my fears that it could be a problem weren’t warranted.  This flat spot is something that I have been worrying about since she was about two months old.  Her pediatrician was reluctant to give us a referral to the neurosurgeon and tried to assure us it was “just cosmetic”.  But cosmetic or not, I am so glad we pushed for that second opinion.  Turns out, it wasn’t just me being a worrywart mom.

We start the helmet-fitting process on Friday, whatever that means.  I assume something that has to do with fitting a helmet to her head, but hey, what do I know? Stay tuned for cute pictures of my crooked-headed munchkin in a helmet.

Current Mood: Esctatic

Dear Brain,

Look, unless you are willing to abide by my needs, I think we’re going to have to break up.  It’s been nice, really.  You’ve done good for me.  But seriously?  You need to learn when to shut up.

Let’s get one thing straight:  I need sleep to survive.  Being well-rested gives me the ability to resist the urge to strangle my in-laws and not beat the crap out of the bitch who forgot to take her happy pills in the supermarket.  It gives me the capability to swallow my pride and wear baby vomit on my new top with my head held high.

Sleep is also a vital part of my attempts to start a routine for this family.  I am trying to teach by example.

Now, please explain to me how the hell this is possible if you are unwilling to cooperate?  Don’t you realize that we are in this together, Brain?  If you sleep, I sleep.  Surely, you must be as exhausted as I always am.  Can we just find a way to work together?  Please?

I feel like I’ve done what I can to help you.  You need to reciprocate.  Relationships don’t work if only one of us is getting what we want, okay? It’s all about compromise.  You have all day to run like a maniac.  All I am asking is that you can shut the manic thoughts off so that I can fall asleep before the sun rises.  Look, this will be good for both of us.

And while we’re having this talk, I’d like to mention something that has always bothered me about you.  Why didn’t you make the necessary neuron connections (or whatever the hell is supposed to happen to make this possible) to help me pass Calculus without flirting with my math teacher?  Don’t you know how unethical it was for me to have to resort to push-up bras and smiling at him after class?  That guy had a crush on me, and I felt kind of bad playing his heartstrings like that.  Especially since there was never a chance in hell that anything was going to come of it.  Don’t think for a second that I wasn’t smart enough to average all my grades and figure out that there is really no chance in hell that I *actually* passed that class, even though he did give me a passing grade.  Wouldn’t it just have been easier to do your job and make it possible for me to understand derivatives and all that other bullshit?  It’s not like I didn’t stare at that hideous freak-of-nature calculus book until heinous hours of the night on a regular basis trying to make sense of that boring crap.  Why did you abandon me in my time of mathematical need like that?  It wasn’t fair.

But back to the point.

I would greatly appreciate it if you would at least try a little.  Please, let’s work this out.  Sleep equals happier Tamra.  Easy enough equation.  We can both understand it.

However, if you are unwilling to oblige, don’t put it past me to seek out a replacement.

Kindest Regards,

me

Current Mood: Mischievous