Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Blueberry Baby

Almost from the beginning, I knew that this pregnancy was different. I can't say exactly how.
"Let's wait a while before we say anything to anyone", I told my husband.
What I really meant was, let's wait a while before we believe.

So I waited.

And there were signs.
"Spotting can be normal during pregnancy", the professionals all said. There was nothing I could do but wait.
So I waited.
And as I waited, my mind would wander.
And even as I tried not to, I would think, and hope.

"Your baby is the size of a sesame seed", the website I finally visited said, and I tried not to care.
"Your baby is the size of a lentil", I read the following week, and I tried in vain to keep my heart closed tight.

And still I waited.

"Your baby is the size of a blueberry", the next week said.
And something in me stirred.
I thought of my kids and our blueberry picking in the hot sun each June.
How we loved doing that. How they always ate more than they ever picked.
I thought of the sound the blueberries made as they fell into their always empty buckets, just the faintest little "tink".
I imagined holding one in my hand, felt how it weighed next to nothing, and I was suddenly struck by how fragile a blueberry is.

And how very much I wanted this baby to be.

And then the blood came.
And I knew that it was over.

I kept this pregnancy to myself because I thought that would keep it from hurting. I thought if I kept it from feeling real, then I wouldn't care when it was gone.
But I was wrong.
It still hurts.
It hurts a lot, actually.
And the only thing I avoided by keeping it to myself, by keeping it from myself really, was my joy. I still got all of the heartache, every bit of it, but I completely bypassed any of the joy. And all I'm left with is the heartbreaking realization that even while I tried to deny its existence, my baby lived.

And I completely missed it.

One of the sad truths about life is that heartbreak is going to find you. No matter what you do, you can't hide from it. Heartbreak is sneaky and sinister, and delights in surprise attacks. And if that were all there was to this life, we would never make it through.
But it's not.
Because there is also joy.
And joy is how we survive.
So go on and grab it. Grab the joy, wherever you can find it. Don't save it for special occasions, gathering dust like the good china. Don't wait to feel it.
Grab the joy.
Soak it all in. Then squeeze out every drop you can and spread it around. Share it.
Celebrate the joys, big or small, no matter when they come or how long they may be here for.
Celebrate them with all you've got.
Because those joys are what get you through the heartbreak. And when you're going through that heartbreak and you feel like it will never end, you need to know that there is another side.
You need to remember that once there was joy, sweet, sweet joy.
And that there will be again.

Most definitely, there will be again.

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Sunday, October 21, 2012

Circumcision: a question that should never have been asked

 Throughout the beginning of my first pregnancy, I firmly believed I was carrying a girl. I mean, I would have bet money on it. At our 20 week ultrasound we discovered that he was a boy. After my surprise wore off, it didn't take long until the question I had been hoping to avoid by having a girl came up: were we going to circumcise him?
   I’ll tell you that my initial reaction was “no way!”  How could I do that to my baby? And why? Why would I remove something he was born with as if it were a birth defect? If I would have just stuck with those initial feelings, I wouldn’t be writing this today. But sadly, I didn’t.

   I did what most new moms do when trying to make this decision: first, I asked my doctor. He wasn’t very helpful. He basically told us that the choice between doing it and not doing it was like six of one, and a half dozen of another. Looking back on it now, I cringe at how little information he gave us, and I can’t believe that he considered what little he did give us to be informed consent. Not one word about the functions of the foreskin. Not one word about the thousands of nerve endings we would be removing from our son’s most sensitive body part. Not one bit about how the procedure is done. I did ask him about the pain and he assured me that he uses an anesthetic. He implied that the baby would not feel any pain. This made me feel a little better.

   Then, I asked my friends. I hate to say it, but my friends were all from a pretty small bubble that really all thought the same thing. The consensus from pretty much everyone I talked to was that uncircumcised penises were dirty and looked “gross” and of course they were going to have it done. Some had sons and had already had it done to them. I tried to get more detailed information as to why they had chosen this for their sons, but really just got that they thought it was cleaner and looked nicer. And I have to admit, deep down, I thought the same thing.

   Then finally, I asked my husband. Being from a family that chose circumcision for their sons and growing up in the same culture that convinced me and my friends that uncut penises were gross, of course he wanted to have it done to our son. I think we kind of believed that ridiculous notion that a son’s penis should look like his father’s (I look back on that thinking now, and I can’t believe I bought in to that nonsense).
   My precious baby boy was born soon after in the middle of the night by emergency cesarean section after the monitors showed his heart rate dropping too low. I was very shaken by the whole thing. My doctor was not on call that night, so one of his partners performed the surgery. It was pretty bad. I was totally scared. I was vomiting from the drugs. No one said a word to me. They just talked amongst themselves about stupid stuff.

   I was so sick afterwards. I continued to vomit and feel horribly nauseous for another 12 hours. And I was in so much pain. I felt like I had been run over by a truck and then dragged for miles. I couldn’t believe it. But I was so excited to finally have my baby, and so excited to be a momma. I held him for the first time in the recovery room. I couldn’t open my eyes without throwing up, so I just held him and talked to him. I told him that I had been waiting for him for such a long time, and I loved him so much. I told him that I was his momma and that I would take care of him.

   I was feeling somewhat better by the next day. At least the room had stopped spinning. That’s when they came in to take him to be circumcised. I honestly don’t remember too much about it. I was probably still too drugged. I don’t remember anyone talking to me about it. I don’t remember signing anything. What I do remember, however was me handing him over to them. I remember it because right before I did, I had this feeling that it was wrong, that I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to give him to them. But I did. How I wish I could go back to that very moment and say “No! You cannot have him!” But I didn’t listen to that voice inside me.

   My husband and I waited anxiously in my room for what seemed like forever. Finally they brought him back. I will never forget what he looked like. I can’t even describe it. I asked the nurse what was wrong with him. “What happened? Was he crying?” I asked her. “Oh… yea, a little” she said sheepishly. I could tell it was way more than a little. “Well, why was he crying?” I asked. “My doctor said with the anesthetic, he wouldn’t feel it!“ I told her, getting pretty upset. She looked at me and said “Oh your doctor isn’t here today. The on-call doctor did it. He doesn’t use any anesthetic.”

   He doesn’t use any anesthetic.  
  I wanted to throw up. I couldn’t believe what I had just done to my boy. I can’t even express how horrible I felt. Here I was with my first baby, my first pregnancy. I had eaten everything healthy. I had given up caffeine and diet Cokes, sushi, margaritas and soft cheeses.  I held my breath as I walked by people who were smoking. I went to all of my prenatal appointments. I took all kinds of vitamins. I went to childbirth classes and did prenatal yoga. I planned for a natural, drug-free, peaceful birth. And none of it mattered now. In my very first test as a mom to this baby, I had failed him. He didn’t care about any of those other things. All he knew was that I had let them hurt him. 

   I can’t even tell you how much I wanted to hurt that doctor. I saw him pass by in the hall and I  wanted to jump on him and beat the crap out of him. (Thank goodness my ignorance kept me from knowing all that he had just done to him, or I might very well have) I couldn’t understand how anyone, much less a doctor who is supposed to help people, could do that to a defenseless baby. I couldn’t imagine how much my baby must have been hurting, and screaming for me. And I was sitting here in this room just waiting as they tortured him. It was horrible.

  Soon the time came for the nurse to show us how to care for the wound. Where his sweet little baby penis used to be was what looked like a red, raw stump. I saw it and the first thought that popped into my mind was that it looked like something that is not supposed to be exposed. It looked to me like an organ that needed to be covered. I had no idea that during babyhood and childhood, the foreskin is literally fused to the head of the penis, just like your fingernail is fused to your finger. This protects the penis from contamination from feces and urine and allows the penis to continue to grow and mature until the connection naturally separates on its own sometime before adolescence. This keeps it protected and safe until it is needed for sex. In order to circumcise a baby, they have to rip apart that connection, just like you would rip a fingernail off of a finger. This is what the doctor is doing when he sticks the metal probe down into the tip of the penile opening and forces it around to the other side. He is physically ripping apart that membrane.

   I left the hospital the next day. I was so happy to finally be a mom, so excited to be bringing my baby home. But deep inside, I already doubted my abilities.

   Over the next few days I continued to care for the wound like the nurse showed us. I did everything I was supposed to, but I could tell it still hurt him. Every time he peed or pooped in his diaper, he would cry. Every time I had to change him I would have to mess with it some more. I had to clean it off, and clean off any poop that had gotten onto it. This was not an easy thing to do because after a circumcision is done, a “ring” of foreskin is left (to allow for growth and because when they are so little, it’s hard to tell how much their adult penis will need to expand comfortably. Babies who have every bit taken off, called a tight circumcision, can grow to have very painful erections). The space between this “ring” and the head (glans) would collect anything and everything it came into contact with; stray clothing strings, stray hair, poop. It would get stuck in all the tiny folds and behind the head. This is partly due to the fact that this area of the penis is similar to a mucus membrane, like the inside of your mouth or eyelids. It is meant to be moist and lubricated. It is meant to be covered and protected by the foreskin. This is nature’s way of ensuring the sensitivity is preserved, and helps to keep any foreign matter away. When it’s not covered and is exposed, it seems to actually attract stuff. I had to pull back all his little bits and clean out every part. This was not easy to do on an open wound. He cried at every diaper change. It obviously hurt him. Looking back now, I don’t know why we thought it wouldn’t.  Almost his entire penis was an open, raw wound.

   After a few days, I started to notice that it didn’t look quite right. It looked crooked or something. I had a follow up scheduled with my OB a few days later, so I decided to mention it to him. At the end of my appointment at his office, I asked him to take a look. I mentioned how it didn’t look quite right to me, like they had left some of the foreskin attached to his glans still.  Apparently, what happened was when they did his circumcision, they left a larger amount of foreskin on the left side than on the right. This part of foreskin had reattached to the side and top of his glans. I learned this later, however. As soon as my OB saw my baby’s penis, without telling me anything, explaining anything, or much less asking if he could, and without so much as a thought to the pain that it would cause my little guy, he grabbed hold of the area and physically ripped the separation apart. AGAIN. My son screamed like I had never heard him before. It immediately started bleeding. During all of this crying and bleeding, was when my doctor decided to tell us what he had just done and why. I just stood there in shock. I could not believe I had just let them hurt him for a second time. I was speechless. I stared at him in disbelief at what he had just done. We left that appointment and I never went back there again.

   By this point I was just sick with regret. I worried that it was done wrong. I worried that it would never look right. I worried that he would have to have it done again.  I wished I had never messed with it. I mean, my God, it was his penis! And I was doing all kinds of stuff to it. This is not a body part you want to mess up.  I told myself right then and there as we drove home that I was done messing with my son’s penis. I never should have started. Whatever else needed to be done to it, would be his decision to make.

    I felt worse than ever now.  I had the usual new mom anxieties, but to know that I had disfigured my son, whom I had just barely met, was horrible. Every time I changed his diaper, I wanted to cry. Sometimes I did. I felt like a total failure as a mom. It hurt our relationship as well. I had difficulties bonding with him. I loved him and adored being a mom, but I felt like he should have gotten a better one.

   Soon afterward, I began to research circumcision. I mean, real research, not just silly fluff pieces in parenting magazines. I read studies. I read medical journal articles. I learned that the U.S. is the only country (besides Israel and small parts of Africa) that circumcises. I was shocked. I thought everybody did it. I learned that the claim that circumcision prevents penile cancer is such a  falsehood that the American Cancer Society had even released a statement asking everyone to quit saying it was true. I learned how painful the procedure actually is by watching a YouTube video of an actual circumcision being performed.  I was absolutely sickened by that baby’s screams, and even more so by the doctor’s complete and utter lack of concern at the torture he was inflicting. His callousness was what really stuck with me. I just didn’t understand how they could do it. Doctors spend years studying the human body. They know how painful it must be. They take oaths to “First, do no harm.”, and here they were, cutting off fully functioning, healthy body parts, apparently oblivious to the person screaming in pain right in front of them.

   It was during this research that I finally found out about the functions of the foreskin. I had no idea that the part of the penis that everyone was cutting off actually has very important purposes. And it was most definitely not just a flap of extra skin. It had so many different specialized functions, 20,000 nerve endings, specialized cells that actually fought infection… and much more. There was a part of me that didn’t want to know. I wanted to stop reading. 

    I remember when it all finally came to me; the realization of all that I had actually taken from my son. I was sitting in front of the computer holding him in my arms. I just remember thinking how badly I wanted a do-over; how badly I wished I could go back and change things. I had spent more time researching which stroller to buy than I had spent researching whether or not to circumcise my son. I had relied on the opinions of people who knew little more about circumcision than I did, which I now realized, was next to nothing. I was absolutely sick with regret. We all know how strong a mother’s love for her child is. Mothers will easily give their lives to save their child. Well, at that moment I would have easily traded a body part of my own to get his back. I literally would have.

   I had so many emotions. I was shocked. I was speechless. I was hurt, and hurting. I was angry. Why did I not know all of this information before? Why did no one tell me? Why did my own doctor not tell me, especially when I had asked him? Why on Earth did I listen to other people, who knew nothing about circumcision other than the fact that they liked the look of it better? It was unbelievable. I was so angry with myself. I thought I was smarter than that, but still, I fell for it.

  Soon afterward, I learned I was expecting another boy.  And there it was again, THE question: Would we circumcise him? It may seem after all you’ve read that my decision was easy, but I will not lie to you, it wasn’t. I knew in my heart that it was an unnecessary, harmful procedure, but there were so many other things to consider now. I had one son that was circumcised; did the other one have to be as well? I mean, didn’t they have to “match”? If we decided not to circumcise him, would my second son feel out of place as the only intact male in the house? Would my husband feel differently toward either of them? Would either one feel like an outsider? Or be traumatized and scarred for life? What if I had a third son, or a fourth? Would I just keep circumcising and circumcising just to make sure I had a matching set? 

  I thought and thought about the future ramifications. How would I explain to my boys why they looked different from each other? And there it was- the thought that deep down had been worrying me the most: How would I explain? How would I tell my grown baby, my precious son, what I let them do to him? In leaving my second son whole, I would have to address their difference; I would be saying “I chose differently this time because what I did to you was wrong”. That thought killed me. Could I admit to myself, to my son, to the world, that I had made such a mistake?

  It would be so easy to avoid all of these questions. It would be so easy to just have my second son circumcised as well. I wouldn’t have to confront any of it. Except, now I knew better. I knew what I had done to him. I knew I was wrong. And I knew I couldn’t pretend I was right just to make myself feel better.

  Oh, how I wrestled and wrestled with this decision. Then, one day, I suddenly realized that I was struggling to answer this question that should have never been asked. His penis was healthy. His foreskin was not diseased. It was not harming him, or threatening his life. It was a normal, healthy, functioning part of his body, and it was not my place to decide whether to cut it off or not; it was his.
  And that was it for me. I was done. I decided that when they were old enough to decide for themselves what they wanted to do with their bodies, I would be there to support them. But it needed to be their decision. I didn’t have to say I was wrong, or this is right; I didn’t have to prove to anyone that one way was better than the other. I had to simply say, "It’s not my decision to make". And that’s it. It was amazing how simple and logical and freeing this realization was.

  My son was born soon after and we kept him whole. The questions I spent so many months agonizing over have been a complete non-issue. Honestly, the biggest thing I’ve noticed was how easy it was to take care of him. There is no special cleaning of an intact baby required. At birth and for many years afterward, the foreskin is fused to the head of the penis. It does not retract. This means that there is nothing extra you as a parent will have to do to clean or take care of your intact son. Nothing. All you do is wipe it off like you would a finger. My intact son was easier to clean than my circumcised son. Seriously. And he was far easier to clean than my daughter.
  My boys see each others' bodies all the time and have never mentioned a difference. I think they just don't expect each other to look the same; their hair is different, their faces are different; and both look different from their sister. Neither one of them looks like their dad. And frankly, I'd be pretty creeped out if they did. They are little boys. And they look like little boys, and think like little boys and don't expect (or want) to "match" anyone. They are perfectly happy just to be who they are. When the time comes that they are old enough to understand, or if they start asking questions, I will explain. I will apologize to my son, and I will pray that he forgives me.

  If you are considering circumcision, I urge you; please do your research first. Please take the time to learn about what it is you would be removing from your son. I have links to some really great articles below. 

 The question of whether or not to circumcise your son is a question that is, unfortunately, posed to the parents of most newborn boys. But it is a question that should never have been asked. And remember, you can always just refuse to answer it.

Click  here for some great info:

 Are you fully informed?  Tons of great info.
A brief history of circumcision-do you know why circumcision was started in the U.S? It's probably not what you think!

Circumcision myths -see if you've been told to circumcise for these reasons.

Myths about circumcision you likely believe - a great series from Psychology Today

Looking like dad 

How do I talk to my husband about circumcision? 

The Whole Network -lots of great info

Question Circumcision- a great informative site 

Circumcision and the Christian Parent 

Biblical Circumcision Information 

Many other stories of circumcision regret 

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Monday, October 8, 2012

10 ways Camping is like Childbirth

  1. You have to pack, prepare, and stock up on provisions.
  2. You work way too hard.
  3. You're dirty and sweaty.
  4. It can be guaranteed that someone will be swearing.
  5. No one gets any sleep.
  6. There's awkward pooping involved.
  7. You wonder how you ever thought this would be a good idea.
  8. That first shower afterwards is heavenly!
  9. You vow to never, ever do this again...
  10. But eventually, you forget all of that and start to plan the next one.
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Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Crazed Pooping Monkeys

Hubby and I were driving in the car the other day with all the kiddos while trying to hold down a conversation amid all the random shrieking and howling from the backseat. People without kids have no idea what they're missing, we mused aloud.

It was then that I thought of the perfect way to give them some practice. Everyone contemplating having children should buy a very large, loud bird that will perch on their shoulder day and night. Then, they must go about their daily business while enduring the incessant squawking in their ear and pecking at their head.

Hubby concurred, but replied that he felt a monkey would be a better representation.

I have to say that after some thought I have to agree, for two reasons. One, a monkey will periodically jump down just long enough to completely trash your house, and two, it can be pretty much guaranteed that it will poop on your floor at least once.
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39 years old. Where I stand.

There's nothing like the 39th birthday to really send the message home that you're getting old. Well, here I am. 39. One year left until I'm officially in my forties. Wow. What a trip.

I don't know, I don't really mind too much. I actually like getting older in a way. I look back at my twenties and think "wow , was I dumb!" Hell, I was pretty stupid in my thirties too if I want to be honest about it. 

I just read a quote from Muhammed Ali, I believe. He said "Someone who thinks the same at 50 as he did at 20 has just wasted thirty years of his life." So true. 

I've made many mistakes. I have lots of regrets. Lots. But I truly believe that you learn from your mistakes more than your successes. I am who I am today because of my past. And ultimately, I really like who I am. Does that mean that if I had the chance I wouldn't change a thing? No. I would. There are a few things that I desperately wish I could change, even though they are probably the things I learned the most from. But what can you do? You grow older. You grow wiser. You realize that there are lots of things in life that you have yet to learn, but also, that there are some things that without a doubt you are sure of.

So without further ado, 

I am 39 years old. And this is where I stand:

  • What goes around comes around.
  • The only thing better than a sleeping baby curled up on your chest is when you get to nap too.
  • If Heaven has a smell, it must be that of an orange tree in bloom.
  • I am blessed to live in the best country on the planet. And those that put their lives on the line to defend our freedoms are better people than I will ever be.
  • There is absolutely a God, and I have seen him at least three times.
  • Killing is killing-whether it's an old man, a baby yet to be born, or a death row inmate; or whether it's carried out by a thug in the street, a doctor in a clinic or a court of law.
  • Motherhood is hands down the hardest job I have ever had. And still I would not trade it for anything.
  • Birth is safest when it is not messed with.
  • A day that begins and ends with me lying next to my husband and little ones is a great one.
  • Breastmilk is not just "best" but is the normal and natural food for a human. And my child has a right to eat the food that is designed for her without having to hide in the bathroom or under a blanket.
  • No one should have the right to remove or alter another person's genitals without their consent. No one. Not even parents.
  • When in doubt, love MORE.
  • Stairs and I just do not get along.
  • There is no better sound on Earth than your baby's first giggles.
  • I will never be as good of a wife or mom as I want to be. But, I will wake up to each new day trying.
  • Even though I don't have all of the answers, that doesn't mean that I don't have some of them.
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Thursday, May 26, 2011


My cousin passed away a few weeks ago, and she's been on my mind. She was young, beautiful and had her whole life ahead of her. But it was taken from her because of one stupid choice.

I've been thinking about choices and what they mean in our lives.
We are faced with choices everyday of our lives. Some are easy. Some are hard. Some seem easy on the surface, but turn out to be life changing.
We make choices everywhere- where we go, what we do. Each time we drive a car we make countless choices. Do we run that red light, ignore that stop sign or cut off that driver? Any one of these choices could end our lives.
I shudder to think of all the bad choices I made as a young person; so many things that could have brought me great harm, but for some reason, didn't.

I thought about calling her a few months ago, but worried about what I'd say and how it would be perceived. We weren't too close lately. Our differences in age and place in life separated us in the way it seems to for too many people. I prayed for her. She was on my mind a lot. But I didn't call. And however unintentional, that was my choice.

Her death was a total shock. I still can't really believe it. And I think at least in part because of it, I'm realizing that there are some things in life that are too important to worry about what people will think of you. Some things are much bigger than your fear of embarrassment, or your pride, or your desire to be liked. Some things just need to be said.

So here, for my little cousin, this is what I wish I would have told you.
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Friday, November 12, 2010

Life is short, hurry to be kind.

I visited a friend this weekend that has recently lost her little boy. And I am sitting here right now thinking about her and crying terribly. The pain that she is feeling is just indescribable. She misses that little guy so much.

We dress our kids in the morning and just assume that we will tuck them into bed that night. Most days follow that predictable pattern. But the scary thing is, some don't. Some days that start out quite innocently, can turn into nightmares right before our eyes. We think (hope) it only happens to other people. But it doesn't. It happens to anyone. It happened to her. It happened to my own parents.

There is no horror that I can think of that would be worse for me than to hold my child and watch helplessly as he died. I don't know how I would survive that. I don't know how she will survive it. I don't know how my parents survived it.

There was a park bench near where we used to live that was inscribed with the words "life is short, hurry to be kind". I have always loved that. And it's not just "be kind", but "hurry to be kind". Hurry. We hurry so much in our days doing ( in the grand scheme of things) meaningless stuff. We hurry to work, and then hurry home. We hurry to the grocery store, to make dinner, to bathe the kids and get them in bed. All so that we'll have a little more time to do some more stuff we're in such a hurry to do. What we ought to be doing is hurrying to do the truly important stuff.

Hurry to hug your kids. Hurry to show them every day over and over again how much they are loved, and enjoyed, and cherished. Hurry to speak kindly to them. Hurry to touch them only gently and with love. Hurry to kiss your spouse. Hurry to ignore his dirty socks on the floor next to the hamper. Hurry to call your dad. Hurry to go to lunch with your mom. Hurry to stop and talk to a neighbor before you close the garage door. Hurry to ask for forgiveness. Hurry to forgive.
We don't know how long any of these people will be in our lives.
Or how long we will be in theirs.

And if you get a minute, please say a prayer for my friend and her sweet little boy. And for his brother and sisters who miss him and don't understand why he left.
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