I'd spend some time explaining why this article is fucking stupid, but we gotta bounce out of here for X-mas. Hopefully you're smart enough to recognize it for yourself. I've seen a lot of articles over the years lamenting how hiphop was so much better back in the good old days, I just figured the folks at Slate were smarter than that.
Part of my job, as I see it, is to shed a positive light on the potty, so that he might one day be interested in becoming better acquainted with it. This crusade for positivity can result in some ridiculous statements on my part. "No, Simon, the toilet is not yucky and gross. You would never want to put your toys in there, and you should never, ever put your mouth on any part of it. But it's not gross. It's normal and... and wonderful."
As I learned this morning, my campaign for positive potty talk can also be trumped by his young logic. Witness our conversation atop the changing table. He had just beckoned me to his room because of a poopy diaper, or so he said.
Me: This is not a poop. This is a pee pee.
Simon: Pee pee is yucky?
M: No, it's not yucky. Everyone does it.
S: It's stinky and gross?
M: No, it's normal to go pee pee.
S: It's very, very gross.
M: No, Simon, pee pee is normal. Everyone goes pee.
S: Everyone is gross.
Lately, her magic phrase has been popping into my mind, but not in its original context. When I look in a mirror, whether at my face or my body, I cannot believe the changes that are taking place --- already! Only 12 weeks down, and already my thighs are twice as Rueben-esque as before, and my chin is slowly but surely growing a twin. Looking at myself these days, I wonder, what am I going to look like after 6 more months of this? The answer is resoundingly clear:
You're going to get huge, Laura.
1. If you've ever met him, you already know.
2. There are far too many instances of profound cuteness to document.
3. You, our readers, may, possibly, I guess, if you happen to be completely callous, get sick of our blathering over his cuteness.
But sometimes a documentation of extreme sweetness cannot be avoided.
We are borrowing this book (and its corresponding audio-tape) from the library. We heard the following passage:
"Horace and Morris and Dolores were friends --- the greatest of friends, the truest of friends, the now-and-forever-I'm-yours sort of friends."
Simon immediately looked at me and said, "Mommy and Daddy sort of friends?" While I knew it was certainly one of the cutest things he's ever said, I couldn't be sure of its meaning. Did he mean Nate and I were good friends to each other, or good friends to him? Either way, goddamn, my kid is the cutest ever!
Then, later, after hearing the same passage, he said to Nate, "You the greatest of friends to Mommy?"
That cleared it up nicely.
How do you like that? My two year old can identify great friendship, and he sees it between his parents. This may well keep me feeling warm inside throughout the frigid winter.
Overall, the 30 minutes spent walking through the hospital corridors just reinforced my dream of having a homebirth. This dream will not be realized, however, because, in this country, such an option is only available to those with sufficient funds. Here in Chicago, the best known homebirth organization, Homefirst, accepts very few insurance plans. I called and requested that they send me a summary of costs if one wanted to pay out-of-pocket. They kindly and quickly complied. I received a 3 page list of figures, and stopped adding them up when I reached $6000. So I don't actually know how much it would cost, total. But it's a lot. Too much.
I also called The Farm to ask how much they charged. They used to invite women to come there to deliver for free, but with rising hospital costs, they've had to start charging $3000, to offset those rare instances when they do have to take a woman to the hospital.
Maybe because it was so much less than Homefirst, I thought $3000 sounded like a very manageable amount of money. I started scheming about how I could raise the money to have my Farm birth. I could get a job at Joann Fabric, now hiring! Or! I could solicit my church community to hire me to do odd jobs! I could charge $10/hour, and I would only have to find 300 hours of work, cleaning a house here, babysitting some rugrats there. And I was pretty much counting on people having pity on me, the round-bellied girl cooking their family dinner, and being moved to give donations above and beyond my hourly rate. Yes! I could raise this money! I was all set to send out a message on the Wellington listserv, drafting my plea in my head.
Then I cooked an unusually ambitious dinner while my mom was visiting. Salmon, rice pilaf, carrots, and Brussels sprouts. It took maybe an hour. By the time I was done (even with Nate doing half of the work), my feet and my back were aching something fierce, and I was rethinking my plan for working my way toward a homebirth.
So, it's the hospital for me! What is so wrong with the hospital? I don't know... it's just so.... institutional, huge, unfriendly, wirey, machine-filled, and hospitally. I wasn't surprised by much last night, but here were the most disappointing discoveries:
- No eating allowed for the mother, even in the ABC. This is one of the dumbest, most frustrating hospital policies, based on the minute chance that you end up having a c-section under general anesthesia, then end up vomiting and aspirating. Even the nurse who gave our tour admitted that the risk of this happening is very low, and she even added that the evidence behind the practice is "not very scientific." Still, they enforce this starvation policy for every laboring woman, even those having normal births in the birthing center.
-The "home-like" ABC rooms? Pretty much exactly like the L&D rooms, just with a few colorful pictures thrown on the wall. Oh, and a queen size bed instead of a twin. Still, a lot of machines and wires everywhere, cold hard floors, and the chaos of the hospital just beyond a thin door. Not quite as relaxing as home, in my opinion. Also, a bit disappointed by the lack of a pool or large tub. There is a tub, but it looked smaller than the one in our apartment. I'm not sure if I could fit in there now, let alone when I am huge with child.
-There seemed to be a million reasons why they might need to transfer you from the birthing center to a labor and delivery room. Laboring too long? L&D! Any hint of meconium in your fluid? L&D! Not walking around enough while in labor? L&D! Whining too much? L&D! I asked the nurse if she could give me a ballpark estimate of how many women who start their labor in the ABC end up delivering in L&D. After waffling for a few seconds about how it is on an individual basis, and she couldn't really say, and it's different for everyone, she finally spit out the figure 50/50. My heart sank.
On the drive home I felt defeated. This alternative birthing center business is the best option I have, unless we go the unassisted route, which, let's face it, is just for crazy people. I may be a hippie when it comes to birthing philosophies, but I'm no crazy hippie. Still, I struggle to see the ABC as a good option, when, to me, it could clearly be so much better.
I know I have to get over this. I have to do some mental weight lifting so that I can be strong and push through this disappointment. I know the scars from my last experience may be casting an unnecessarily harsh light upon another birth in the hospital. Also, I have reason to believe that my caregiver this time will be more compassionate and reasonable than my last doctor. And not everything about the tour was gloomy. The nurse did explicitly say that I could labor and push in any position I wanted to, as long as I was in the ABC. That's a good sign, I guess. In the end, it will be up to me to stay positive, hopeful, and confident throughout my pregnancy and my labor. It's important to keep the 'reward' in mind.
Because, while I certainly don't want to minimize the importance of the labor experience, and while I think our medical system does a bang up job of fucking with the beautiful and holy affair that birth should be, in the end, I just want another forehead to rub.
Last night before we put Simon to bed, the three of us crawled into our big bed. Simon by the wall, Nate in the middle reading Beautiful Bananas, and me on the edge. I lay on my side, left arm resting on Nate's chest, right arm stretched out past him, reaching to Simon. He let me rub his forehead and play with his hair the whole time we read. This is all I want. Another forehead to rub. Another miniature hand to hold as we cross the street. Another little person to know and behold in the most intimate ways. In that moment, as I touched his soft skin and golden hair, I knew that to have him in my life, I would go through my hellish labor, and worse, a hundred times. When this baby comes, I know I'll feel the same, regardless of what happens in the hospital.
Interestingly, my sister seemed to have the hardest time understanding my story and my point. She tried valiantly to mask it, but her true feelings were pretty apparent, just as they were over two years ago, when the wounds from my complicated hospital birth were brand new and tender: essentially, she thinks I should stop complaining. I had a healthy baby, and what injustices done to me by medical professionals could possibly matter in light of that fact? I was, initially, surprised that I could meet such opposition from the only other person in the room who had given birth vaginally. In hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have been.
My sister and I are different in many ways, and our perceptions of birth are no exception. Here allow me to note, briefly, our birth stories.
With Simon, I was induced after being diagnosed with preeclampsia. I labored for about 24 hours and finally delivered after having an iv narcotic (at the insistence of my doctor) and an episiotomy (despite my very clear request, "Please do not cut me"). Because of my condition, I lost many of the options I wanted to exercise during labor. Losing options is one thing ---I can accept that the restrictions I endured were for the safety of me and my baby --- but losing dignity is quite another. Throughout my hospital stay, I felt routinely disrespected. One of many examples: I didn't see my doctor until it was time to push, but she did find time to call me at several points to reprimand me for being too difficult and to badger me into taking drugs.
Now, I lied about my story being brief, but my descriptions of my sister's really will be. They might look longer, but, remember, there are two! I wasn't there for either, but to the best of my knowledge, this is how they proceeded: With her first, my sis had a picture-perfect hospital birth. Halfway dilated before she got there, her labor proceeded so quickly that the nurses had to convince the doctor that she really was ready to push and he really should come NOW. No drugs, just an episiotomy, but no big deal according to my sister. Her second birth was a whole different thing, as she was carrying twins and went into labor several weeks early. One twin was ready to come out; my sister was fully dilated when she reached the hospital. After over an hour of trying not to push, she was wheeled in for an emergency cesarean, because the other twin was laying sideways, wedged up under her ribs. Only a miracle of modern science would've brought that baby out alive, and that's exactly what happened.
Perhaps our distinct birthing stories will shed a bit of light on our different views of birth...
I think birth is a natural process and a rite of passage for many women. I believe that under the right circumstances, most women, if they so desire, can give birth vaginally and without foreign substances. I believe that women in labor can experience strength, empowerment, and joy. I also believe that a woman's birth experience can have a significant impact on her spirit.
My sister believes that labor is but a means to an end, but not especially meaningful in and of itself. Good or bad, it can be easily forgotten as soon as a healthy baby is produced. She also believes it is a risky business, and that doctors only use interventions when necessary.
My sister believes that any woman who wants to give birth naturally should be able to do it in the hospital. Any woman who is strong enough, that is. Any discomforts, distractions, or disrespect dished out to her can be overlooked, powered through.
I believe that most hospitals are not conducive to natural birth. I don't have any on hand, but statistics support me on this. I think something like 30% of women in American hospitals deliver their babies drug-free. And while I agree with my sister that women can overcome the challenges presented by a hospital birth, I don't think they should have to. I think they should be supported by sensitive and competent individuals, made to feel powerful and capable, and allowed to move through their labor as they see fit.
I have to stop myself here, as I could go on and on. Also, I feel like the points I've already listed are unfairly vague. Each deserves further exploration, in my opinion, but I know not everyone is as passionate about this topic as I am.
Of all our disagreements and misunderstandings, the one that irritates me the most is that my sister thinks that because I have a lot of negativity about Simon's birth, I must be disappointed in myself. Not so, my friends! Honestly, I'm quite proud of how I handled it all, and certainly proud of what I accomplished. My negative feelings are in no way directed toward myself. My anger is toward the hospital system, which makes it so hard for women to give birth naturally, and, more specifically, toward my doctor. I've often had daydreams wherein I kick her in the face before she is able to slice open my perineum.
I only hope that, if I had the chance to do it, I would. Good and hard. A better birth experience is what I deserve this time, and a nice nosebleed was, at the least, what she deserved.
Me (as I'm getting out of the shower, and therefore shirtless): Hi, Simon.
Simon: Hi, Dad. Big belly? (points at my belly)
Me: Hmmm... yeah, I guess so.
Simon: Have a baby? (still pointing)
Me (to Laura): (doubles over laughing) Did you hear what he just said? I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
5. Computers/Internet: Yeah, I'm a geek. I believe that the internet has been a democratizing force in the world, and will only become more so in the future. A romantic geek, I guess.
4. Music: Bad, good, whatever people like, good for them. And if it sets you free in some way, well, that's the best.
3. Electronic musical instruments, including but not limited to: drum machines, software, synthesizers, little toy instruments, DJ equipment, amplifiers, effects boxes: Again with the democratization. To me cassette 4-tracks were just a stepping stone, since you still had to have multiple expensive instruments, and enough space to contain them all, to really get the job done. Now, all you need is a computer and some booted software (the latter being the mark of a true artiste), or a drum machine and a synth, or a sampler and a mic, or whatever weapons you choose. They won't take up more than a table top and you will be able to sound as professional as much of what you hear on the radio.
2. Friends: Can't really put this one into words. The people who I love give me what it takes to get by. Which leads to...
1. Laura and Simon: You knew this one was coming, right? Both count as members of the previous item, but of course they're more than that. Laura and Simon both challenge me every day to be a better person than I was the previous, and I'm trying to keep up. Thanks, guys.
Best rap album of 20051. Intro
2. Triumphant Horns of Victory (Prod. by Rocky VI)
3. After Which What? (Prod. by and feat. Mannie Fresh)
4. Let's Get Even More Blown (Feat. Snoop Dogg)
5. Euphemisms for Dealing (Feat. Young Jeezy and Juelz Santana)
6. Cars, Neat! (Feat. Someone from Swishahouse)
7. Pimping, Obviously (Prod. by and feat. Jazze Pha)
8. Heartfelt and Vaguely Caribbean (Prod. by and feat. Akon)
9. Get Laid (Feat. Trey Songz)
10. I Can't Believe We're Still Here, Either (Prod. by the Neptunes)
11. No really, Lil Wayne's Good Now (Feat. Lil Wayne)
12. Kinda Gangsta, but T.I. Sounds Bored (Feat. T.I.)
13. Lets Get This Rude Club Song on the Radio (Feat. Ying Yang Twins, prod. by Mr. Collipark)
14. I Have Bun's Phone Number (Feat. Bun-B)
15. Avant-Garde, Yo! (Feat. Cam'ron, prod. by NY No-Name and Axl Rose)
16. Yeah, OK, That'll Do Fine (Prod. by Lil Jon)
Disc Two: Screwed and Chopped
Today at lunch he dropped his sippy cup and then asked, "Can you get it?" I complied, and then in typical sing-songy, repetitive toddler fashion, he kept saying, "Can you get it? You got it." I swear, upon uttering the phrase, "You got it," he sounded JUST LIKE Gwen Stefani (minus the "like that").
It was funny, and then, after a while, freaky.
It was cancelled after the first season, so there are only 18 episodes, including the pilot. I thought I would be disappointed with the last episode, since when it was made they didn't know it was going to be the last epsiode ever. But it wasn't at all a letdown. It was a perfect ending actually.
Simon had his first haircut over the weekend, and as you can see it was quite a swanky affair. I know I've never gotten a sucker during my haircut. Even when Laura cuts it. No sucker.
It took a little while to get used to the reduction in curls, but it looks nice. That's a big boy bed and first haircut in the same week. Laura and I expect to be overthrown as leaders of the house before the year is out.
Also, it contains one precious gram of protein, and every little bit adds up to help me reach my goal of 100 grams a day. Holy God, 100 grams is sooooo much, especially for someone who seldom enjoys those protein-packed foods of the animal flesh variety. Today I kept a protein log, adding up my grams throughout the day, just like I used to write down my calories when I was trying to lose weight. It's a bit tedious, but I'm willing to try anything to avoid a rematch with my arch-rival, preeclampsia. Nothing is guaranteed, but both a woman at the Farm and my nurse-midwife said research suggests ample protein may help prevent that nasty condition.
So, except for the other day when I dreamt that my uterus fell out in the shower, I am very hopeful for a better, healthier pregnancy and delivery. And hope is beautiful.
On a sidenote, I feel so grateful to be married to a man who makes the world's tastiest stove-top popcorn. Thank you, God.
Two groups opposed to Republican governor candidate Jim Oberweis' ardent stance against illegal immigration said Tuesday they helped two illegal immigrants file a state labor complaint alleging the dairy owner hired a cleaning firm that paid sub-minimum wages.
Oberweis initially called the complaint part of a "smear campaign" against his candidacy for governor, but he later backed away from that description and said he hoped to meet with immigrant advocates to hear their concerns. He also said his Oberweis Dairy would investigate the matter but would never knowingly employ illegal immigrants.
Me: Hello Mr. _____, I'm calling today to remind you to vote on Tuesday the 8th. We need your support for Tim Kaine and the entire Democratic ticket. Kaine is endorsed by governor Mark Warner, who...
Potential Voter #1: I don't like Kaine (the Democratic candidate for gov.) and I don't like anyone who votes for him. But thanks anyway.
Me: Hello Mr. _____, I'm calling today to remind you to vote on Tuesday the 8th...
Potential Voter #2: I don't need you to call and remind me to vote, man. I'm a living, breathing human being.
Me: Hello Mr. _____, I'm calling today to remind you to vote on Tuesday the 8th.
Potential Voter #3: Vote?!?! Vote for what?
Me: Umm... there's an election on Tuesday.
Potential Voter #3: What election?
Me: The gubernatorial election is on Tuesday.
Potential Voter #3: I'm sorry, we don't mess with voting. Sorry.
I've been known to make music from time to time. Yesterday I posted a bunch of said music here. Please give a listen and let me know what you think at jitneypop @ gmail.com. All of the songs are at least 3 years old. All of my new musical efforts have been directed towards the great R&B Noise band Jitney, whose Audiri page should be coming soon.
And now the link works.
Keep America Free
I really was taken aback by this sticker, probably because of the images it conjured up. I pictured the male, white-bearded vengeful God (bound to be the object of faith of the person who would slap such a sticker on their vehicle). I saw the guns of America, millions strong and enjoying their heyday. Then I imagined guts. Bloody, shredded intestinal bits strewn over a battlefield. This was the most shocking image induced by the sticker, and I was amazed that someone so blatantly patriotic would embrace gory violence in this way. I mean, I know the God Bless America crowd doesn't shy away from war, but the assertion that GUTS keep America free seemed especially harsh and senseless.
Then I remembered that guts has a figurative meaning. This sticker wasn't referring to a person's innards, but rather their testicular virility, in the famous sexist words of our governor. I guess that makes more sense, but doesn't make this sentiment any less disturbing for me.
I don't want to launch into stereotypes about my hometown. All I'm going to say is that I've never seen this sticker in Chicago.
Today I went to the Sprint store downtown for reasons related to the fact that Laura's phone has been busted for a few weeks now. At this Sprint store, there's a phone store hostess, who takes your name and your reason for being there. The lady in front of me at the hostess' kiosk, let's call her J. Doe, shook her perfectly normal looking phone in the air and sighed, "I just HAVE to get a new phone. This one is not working for me." The hostess took her name and almost immediately an employee called her name and took her to the wall of phones for her to choose from. I was not so lucky, and had a fifteen minute or so wait.
As I was killing time pretending to be interested in the phones on the wall, I managed to overhear Ms. Doe telling the person showing her phones that her old phone was "cramping her style". "It's all about your phone," she then informed him.
Later, after wandering over to the other wall, where they keep the Nextel i530 that "Adheres to Military 810F Spec", I saw J. holding her prospective new phone and asking the Sprint salesman if he liked it. She then opened it up (flip phone), held it up to her head and started talking into it, and asked the salesman, "So it looks good?" HELD IT UP TO HER HEAD AND PRETENDED TO TALK ON THE PHONE. Is this normal? If it looks good in your hand, won't it probably look good when you're talking on it? And don't all phones look almost exactly the same, save for the different basic types: candy bar, flip, and Blackberry/Trio? Someone please help me understand.
Why did we decide to get pregnant again? Oh yeah, because after these nine months of potential hell, we will have one of those great little pink bodies to wrap up and gaze at for hours on end. We will meet a brand new person. I, for one, plan on liking that person a lot.
I promise that if I continue to have morning sickness during this pregnancy, I may mention it in passing, but will not describe it in such detail as I did today. It was the first time ever, so give me some grace, please.
Plamegate: 86% important 12% not important
Clinton-Lewinsky: 62% important, 37% not important
Whitewater: 49% important, 45% not important
Iran-Contra: 81% important, 19% not important
Watergate: 78% important, 22% not important
Wow. Didn't expect that. Clearly this has a lot to do with why Bush registered his deliciously low 35% approval rating. Damn it feels good to be a lefty.
He's written more than a few interesting opinions over the years, but, as all the newspapers and blogs have written already, the most controversial is Planned Parenthood v. Casey, where, in dissent with the rest of his fellow judges, he defended a provision of a Pennsylvania law that required women to notify their spouses before getting an abortion.
While I would disagree with any argument (at least that I can think of) that reached Alito's conclusion regarding the spousal notification requirement, the argument he used was particularly bothersome. He said that spousal notification was not an "undue burden" on the process of getting an abortion. Or, in other words, he asked, "How can being required to notify your spouse possibly interfere with your plan to get an abortion?" and his answer was, "It can't."
This, my friends, is fucked up. And the Supreme Court agreed. BUT, I think the sad fact is, most of America won't care enough to stop the confirmation. And, of course, many folks don't care at all, because they'd probably be happy if the spouse stopped the abortion at all costs. Damn it.
Thankfully, after this idiot, Nina Totenburg (sp?) was asked to comment, and she said the only intelligent thing I've heard anyone say about the indictment all day. To paraphrase, she said that there are two possibilities as to how this will play out:
1. Libby cops a plea and incriminates more people in the White House. Ms. Totenburg didn't take this any further, but obviously, if this happens it will most likely be a MAJOR shitstorm for the White House.
2. It goes to court. Unless Libby pleads guilty and is comfortable with going to jail for his scumbag bosses, I would assume that he will try to portray himself as carrying out the will of others. Again, shitstorm.
Not a big deal for the Bush administration? Who are these people and can someone please explain to them that an indictment doesn't mean everything is over and we can all go home and sing Kum Ba Yah. Five counts folks. Shit is not even close to over.
Did I mention I love random playlist listening? Because I do.
We are in week 3, wherein we leave Simon's pants and diaper off for a period of time every day. I have stretched it each day. First 45 minutes, then 1.5 hours, and today over 2 hours. The idea is that you will tell him to go in the potty if he has to go, then leave him to play. Accidents are expected, and can be helpful incentive for him to go to the potty next time, as most people do not enjoy the feeling of their own urine running down their legs.
After only 3 days, I'm starting to grow doubtful of this method. We haven't had any successes, and we haven't had any accidents. I was all ready to be sopping up piss with a towel..... but, no. Nothing.
Simon, I think, must have an astoundingly strong bladder. I know he had to pee for at least an hour this morning. How do I know, you ask? Well, he downed two sippy cups full of soymilk. Later, he started frantically begging me to put a diaper on him. I encouraged him to sit on the potty instead. (He cooperated with this suggestion, but retained an iron-grip on his bladder.) Another clue that he he needed to pee was.... well, not to get too personal, but there is a physiological clue to mommies of boys. Basically, his little penis sticks out like a miniature balloon animal, looking painfully full and ready to burst. But Simon would not let it go.
So... I don't know about this method. I don't think he's ever going to go as long as he is pantless. Maybe we'll move to undies. If he could feel something next to the skin of his nether regions, he could relax enough to go. But he could feel the yucky wetness too. I swear, this potty training business seems so cruel sometimes.
Speaking of cruel, here is a potty training pic which someday Simon might hate me for showing to the world. But I include it to demonstrate my efforts to make the process less cruel. See, in the pants-off method we were using, I worried about his little legs being cold. A pair of daddy's tube socks, pulled up mid-thigh, and presto! Instant leg-warmers. Someone could market them for this purpose, I swear.
Painfully obvious conclusion: When it comes to pregnancy, a committed relationship, a stable home, and a faith based on love rather than guilt can make a pretty significant difference.
P.S. I find it really funny that Sudoku books are on the bestseller shelves at Border's. Seeing 100 People Who Are Screwing Up America up there gave me a chuckle too, but in a sorta depressing way. Al Franken is number 37, you know.
1. The whole altruistic, beautiful, noble aspect of it. We have love and stability, and could give those things to a child in need.
2. The whole non-childbearing aspect of it. Labor was amazing in some ways, but awful in many others. Yeah, and not just labor, but pregnancy. Pregnancy, people. It does crazy things to your body.
So, adoption had been foremost in my mind, especially for the past 2 or 3 months, as I felt increasing pressure to somehow obtain a sibling for my son. I made phone calls to agencies. I had tea with a virtual stranger from my church so she could tell me about her experience adopting. I felt so sure of this course that I was willing to share our plans with many of our friends and family.
Still, I had a nagging voice( both psychological and biological, it seemed) telling me I might want to have another baby. I was so fixated on adoption, though, that I ignored this voice. Or, more accurately, I snapped at it to 'shut up!' The process of adoption is not without its own difficulties, and I believed that wanting to procreate again was sheer selfishness on my part. Too lazy to do all the paper work and jump through all the hoops, too impatient to wait an unspecified period of time before another child would live with us.
It took a conversation with a friend to see the error in my thinking. I guess in what was a throwback to my days as an evangelical, I had taken on a little too much responsibility to, you know, save the world. Just because I had considered adoption did not obligate me to pursue it right now. And wanting to carry another baby did not make me selfish, lazy, or impatient. After several months of single-mindedly focusing on adoption, I slowly became comfortable with changing my mind. I decided to listen to my heart and my body. I still think adoption is an amazing possibility, one I hope to explore with my family a few years down the road.
But, right now, I want to be pregnant again. So I talked with Nate. We discussed it shortly. We decided to try. Then we tried. And now we are........
WAITING. I am single-handedly keeping Scantibodies Laboratory, makers of First Response preggers test in business, I think. I keep taking these damn tests even though it is too early to tell. So, maybe not selfish and lazy, but impatient... yes. Certainly impatient.
The hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church has published a teaching document instructing the faithful that some parts of the Bible are not actually true.
DJ Shadow/Miles Davis
Kid 606/Ornette Coleman
Dr. Dre/Louis Armstrong
How about more, including non-jazz musicians? Who's the new Beatles? New Minor Threat? New Electric Light Orchestra? I dare you to say. Dare you!
1. When Simon woke up, I announced, a little self-consciously, "It's mommy's birthday!" And I think he understood on some level. He has been much more lovey than usual, displaying affection of his own volition, but also not complaining as I've smothered him in an inordinate amount of hugs, kisses, and embarrassing compliments.
I'm sure Garrison would agree.duck duck goose,pump pump shootshoot, let's get down, downit may seem pettybut we all turn mean deadly for green feddymy whole team ready
SM (runs into room): Daddy, does a zebra graze in the meadow?
Me: No, a zebra lives on the plains of Africa. (I think that's right, right?)
SM: Does a zebra live on the farm?
Me: No, a zebra lives on the plains of Africa.
SM: A zebra is not a goose.
Me: That's right.
Can these guys be serious? If the media has this new spirit of journalism that I mentioned before, this will be a fucking scandal. We'll see.
West says hip-hop was always about "speaking your mind and about breaking down barriers, but everyone in hip-hop discriminates against gay people."...
Kanye's message: "Not just hip-hop, but America just discriminates. And I wanna just, to come on TV and just tell my rappers, just tell my friends, `Yo, stop it.'"