Natural chilbirth. (it may sound like I'm bragging here, but that's only because I'm awesome.)

"This is gonna be fun." That's what your dad woke up to at 4 a.m. on the morning of baby Ginger's birth. I had been laboring for four hours by then and he knew the moment he rolled over and saw me smiling from ear to ear and heard me say those words that this would be the day. It was our 4th and final birth.  He thinks I'm a little crazy for enjoying labor so much. But I'm sure he takes some comfort in knowing that I have it all under control.

I don't know really know why I was so hell bent on natural childbirth. "Natural" just sort of implies that that's the way to do it. It's what we are built for. It's the single greatest claim which only we (women)can stake, and I wanted to embrace it as such. It's only natural, naturally. That being said, it hurts like hell. Seriously HELL. During each of my labors I questioned my stubborn insistence to do it "naturally". But that was always at that final and far too late moment when I knew the little (but seemingly GIGANTIC) head was about to rip through me. They call that moment the "ring of fire". Need I say more?  The key to my successful natural childbirths was trusting my body and listening to it every step of the way (though I did have some trouble hearing my body over the the screaming voices in my head cursing at me; "Seriously? Again? What the hell is wrong with you?")

And when it was over, it was truly over.  The very second I laid eyes on my babies, I forgot about the agony that only seconds ago, had me swearing I would never do this again (all FOUR times). I didn't need painkillers to shield me from the tears and burns that were still stinging; I had my baby in my arms. As I held and studied my firstborn, I felt such utopia that I didn't even notice my midwife's arm up inside of me and her fist pushing on my stomach trying to stop the hemorrhaging. In my new world, with my new family, and my new empowered self, everything was perfect.

I cherish each one of my birthing experiences. They were all strikingly similar with uniquely precious results; they all took about eight hours. All of my babies look like the same person when they come out, and yet they are nothing alike. My brother asks if I am in my "usual room" when he's coming to visit. Madeline does "this little piggy" as soon as she meets a new sibling. The staff feels like family and your dad makes his usual joke to them as we leave with our newest addition; "see ya next time." They used to chuckle. Now they just nod in agreement. And Dad handles his role with devotion, admiration and ease. A lesser woman may curse him for appearing so relaxed and calm while she is laboring tirelessly and painfully. I take great comfort in it. He has great faith in me.

With each of my childbirths, came the birth of a stronger, more confident woman. I want you all to know that I am willing to walk (or push) through (a ring of) fire for them. The agony I endured built me a suit of armor that will surely deflect every agonizing temper tantrum and painful adolescent "I hate you" that you will certainly pelt me with (though I do wish it had a thicker layer of patience). Sure, you will bruise me at times, but I will forever remember what I went through to bring you into this world. And while your attacks may be even more painful than labor, I will know I have the strength and will to survive it, and see us all through it.

four kids and seven days later...

Maybe it's too soon to declare this, but I do believe I've got this mother of four thing under control. It really hasn't felt much more challenging than having three kids. And not being pregnant anymore makes me feel like I could take on the world! I'm feeling new and improved, equipped with super powers that have enabled me to leave the house on two occasions, get kids off to school on time (and bathed), provide snack for Leo's pre-school class, help Madeline complete a 100 day of school project, cook a few meals for my family, continue waging the laundry war, squeeze in the occasional shower, get all the kids to nap at the same time everyday, spend hours on the floor playing (because I can finally get down to the floor comfortably) and still manage to feel pretty well rested. The crazy fat bitch has NOTHING on me!

I hated being pregnant(could you tell)? But all along, I kept reminding myself that one day it would be over; the crazy fat bitch would be gone and life would return to normal...with four kids. I anticipated labor more than a kid does Christmas. Darren tells the story about waking and finding me in labor. He rolled over and saw me laying there at 4:30 a.m. wide awake with a big smile on my face (between contractions)and all I could say was "this is gonna be fun!" I had just completed my fourth pregnancy. Childbirth and four kids would be a peice of cake.

Yes, four kids seems a bit daunting in theory. In fact, it seems to be the point in which people seriously start to question your sanity. I'll never forget some of the priceless moments during my pregnancy when I would tell people about baby #4, like the oil man who came to fill our tank and upon realizing i was pregnant again, told me so (literally as if I didn't know) and looked at me with a fear in his eye that had me reassuring him that he was not the father. Or the priceless look of astonishment and speechlessness on my brother's face when he heard the news. Or my father's genuine concern after sharing our news "are you...ok?" Or our waitress who was about to offer us some parenting advice until she heard it was our fourth and quickly realized she could teach us nothing. Or the co-worker who told me that he thought I was the "hottest chick" there until he found out how many kids I had. Or the handfull of strangers who would politely ask if this was my first child and then rudely respond "why?" when hearing it was my fourth. (Why not?) And finally (for now) the lawyer who is drawing up our wills who told us that we're pretty "standard", other than having four children. Yes, the only person to take it all in stride was Darren...seriously, he didn't even flinch.

There have been only brief, fleeting moments of panic and adjustment so far. The day I got home from the hospital, I immedietly took a shower while the baby was sleeping and the other kids were still with their grandmother. While I was showering, the kids came home. Lennox went down for a nap before I could even see him. Hours later, we had a visitor. "Where's Lennox?" she asked? "Oh shit...!" Yes, after months of hearing his grandmother jokingly say that we were going to forget about little Lennox, and reassuring her that that could never happen, we forgot about him. I don't know how long he had been awake and crying in his crib, but he looked pretty pissed, so it could have been a while.

There have been only one or two moments when two or three kids are crying at once and I freeze, momentarily, and stammer "oh God, oh God, oh God!" Yes it's more of a state of panic, but it's also a sincere prayer for the strength to survive the moment.

I've only been nearly sufficated a few dozen times when all four children sworm me at once the moment I sit down, because if mommy is sitting down, they must know why I'm sitting and when I plan on getting up again to meet their every need.

There are daily pleas to the oldest children begging them to try their very best to listen, cooperate, try to get along, and try to do for themselves. An almost 4 year old Leo always offers his very best assurance that he will be the very best boy, but seems to forget about his good intentions the moment he walks away, and 7 year old Madeline insists that she will try, but cannot make any promises. Points for honesty.

She remains my biggest challenge. She is the one single factor that can make me channel the crazy fat bitch. I happen to know that she is far more capable than she prefers to let on, and I find it infuriating. I know this because she has slipped up a few times and proven herself. Last month, for example, she kept her room perfectly clean for nearly three weeks(I have never kept anything clean for that long). But there has to be something in it for her. Asking her to do something simply because it is her responsibility and she is perfectly capable and "I HAVE FOUR KIDS TO TAKE CARE OF NOW! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE HELP ME OUT A LITTLE!!!!!doesn't get me very far.

I suppose I should give credit to the calmest, most content baby I have ever given birth to, and they've all been pretty mellow babies. I know that a constantly screaming baby in the background of a house with four children would be a total game changer. I am lucky. Her guardian angel hasn't stopped hugging her since she was born. She is peaceful and angelic, always.

I have always, at the end of every single day of motherhood, thanked God for my children, even on those days when I had to shut them in their rooms two hours before bed just the get them away from me. I have added a special thanks this week, for knowing better than I did, that I was meant to be a mother of four.

I feel incredibly blessed. Sometimes I wonder how everything could feel so perfect when I just lost my mother (and yes, it still feels like I "just" lost her) and she isn't here to share all of this with me. But in the words of Charles "Pa" Ingalls, "how can you ever know true happiness if you've never known real sorrow?" I have known both, and one does indeed teach you to fully appreciate the other.

Leo: If Santa brings another baby brother or sister, can we keep it?
Me: Heck yeah! If Santa brings it, we can keep it.

I'd be up for one or two more under those circumstances.

The Queen and the Crazy Fat Bitch

I've been trying to get my children to take it easy on me, just for these last few weeks of my pregnancy. It's for their own good, really. I don't want the crazy fat bitch terrorizing them anymore than they do. And while I can see the light at the end of this looooooooooong tunnel, I am also at the end of my rope.

Entirely unlike my usual self, I am impatient, intolerant, and irritable, to say the least. And while I am riddled with guilt over not having to super human strength it takes to be super mom to three little ones, I am done trying for the next few weeks.

A friend suggested that I ask my children to treat me like a queen now. I knew it wouldn't be quite that easy, but I make a heartfelt plea to my darling children:

Me: "I just need you to take it easy on me now, to be gentle with me. Try to remember that I am very big and uncomfortable and I have an actual little baby inside of me who often feels like she's trying to kick her way out of me. Keep in mind that it's very, very hard to bend down, and it would be very helpful if you would not leave a trail of your stuff everywhere you go. Try to pick up after yourselves so that I don't have to do it all day long. And then, if you pick up your own stuff, maybe you won't have to come to me a million times a day to ask me where everything you want or need is when you want or need it.

And when you do want or need something a millions times a day, perhaps you could ask your dad, rather than walking right past him and searching the entire house for me just to make me do it. He can do most things almost as well as I can.

Or, maybe you could even try doing some things for yourselves once in a blue moon. Perhaps you could move an item or two and look around a little when you can't find your mitten, boots, book, toy, shirt, homework, brother, sister...........!

It would be nice if you could try not to fight with each other too because the whining and blood curdling schreeches kind of make me feel like my head is going to explode.

Maybe, on the rare occasion that I ask you to do or get something for me, you could do it without the dreaded MOMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! and the angry foot stomping.

If you could try not to follow me into the bathroom every single time I have to hide, I mean use the bathroom, that would be nice. That twenty seconds of alone time would be very useful right now.

And finally (for now), if you could please remember that I am very fragile right now, and please not run at me full speed when I'm not looking and fling your little body into me just because you "love mommy sooooo much!", that would probably curb my urge to want to body slam you. A gentle hug would be very nice (if you insist on touching me at all).

Basically, just treat me like a Queen right now, ya know, like I've been doing for you every single day of your lives?"

Madeline: "But Mommy, I'm just going to look at you and see that you are CLEARLY
NOT a Queen."

CLEARLY, I'll just have to suck it up a bit longer.

Ma'am who?

I don't care for Ma'm. And I don't think it's the hormones talking. Don't get me wrong, I've used it plenty, on women my age i'm sure (when i was NOT my age). But now that I have become a Ma'am target, I would like to apologize to all those women.

Bottom line is, it implies "older". And who needs that implication thrown in their face. I'm well aware of it already, thanks. I have no problem being older. In fact I quite prefer it and wouldn't change a thing. But I am MISS Castle, and if you don't know my name, you can call me "miss" for short. It just makes more sense. As one fellow Facebooker pointed at in the midst of todays Great Facebook Debate "Ma'am or Miss", it's not "Driving Ma'am Daisy." That's just wrong. Just as calling me Ma'am is wrong.

Other Facebookers suggested that women are too sensitive about their age if Ma'am offends them (mostly men, obviously). While others claimed it is said out of respect. Trust me, no woman is going to be called "miss" and feel insulted. No woman is going say "excuse me, that's rude. It's MA"AM, not miss." No. In fact, they're going to walk away from that conversation thinking "Wow,what a sweet kid."

I can tell you that I do NOT feel like I have been granted some higher social status because some 17 year old kid called me ma'am. And to be honest, it wasn't THAT long ago that I could still make a kid like that nervous and tongue tied just ordering a cup of coffee from him. Now i'm ma'am? I certainly don't long for those days, but isn't there an in between that allows me go out into society and not be slapped in the face with the obvious? And why do men get the timeless "Sir"? Why don't they get a special title out of "respect", for their aging process.?

I am quite certain that every woman who hears ma'am for the first time (or even the first fifty or so times, or is that just me?)is going to instinctively look around for some other "ma'am" And will, in turn be baffled that it's her.

Regardless of all of this, one thing is for certain, "ma'am" is entirely innapropriate for a 30 something,even if she is driving a mini-van with 3.5 kids in tow. In fact, especially if she is has 3.5 kids in tow. Clearly that woman does not need another reminder that she is no spring chicken.

Call me miss until the day i die. I won't think you rude or be the least bit offended by it, I promise.

Madeline and the Red Ryder BB gun (or Easy Bake Oven, same thing)

Madeline and her friend wanted to use her easy bake oven just as i was about to go take a shower while the boys are napping.

Me: Not right now. I'm going to shower and I don't want you doing it by yourselves.

Granted, the thing bakes by the light of a 100 watt light bulb. Seriously, that's all you need to cook your disgusting little cake. But they are still "baking" and I can't help imagining all of the things that could go wrong if i leave two seven year olds alone with a lightbuld powered "oven". I guess i better lock them all in a room with no lamps while i shower too.

The girls emphasize that it is called EASY BAKE because it is EASY and kids can do it all by themselves. I have no energy or desire to debate that kind of logic, so, I left them alone to" bake" so i could go enjoy a relaxing shower. I reminded them to just unplug it when they are done (and make sure all the lamps are off too, i guess) and walked away thinking "they're never going to remember to unplug it", and suddenly i could hear those wicked ladies from A Christmas Story, only instead of "you'll shoot your eye out" they were heckling "you'll burn the house down, you'll burn the house down." I couldn't relax in the shower because the whole time i kept listening for smoke detectors or screams from second degree burns, or a child trampling through the house screaming "fire!".

Madeline walks into the bathroom in tears.

Me: What? What happened? You burned yourself didn't you? See! I told you...

Madeline: NO MOMMY! I BENT DOWN TO UNPLUG IT AND WHEN I STOOD BACK UP I BUMPED MY HEAD REALLY HARD!

I felt so bad for immediatly assuming that, as usual, I was right, and she indeed could not handle cooking by lamp light. Not only did she handle it just fine, but the only injury that did occur was from her obeying my one request to unpulg it when she's done, so let's be honest, it's my fault.

But I am again reminded of the kid with the Red Ryder BB gun who did, in fact, nearly shoot his eye out with that thing, just as his mother had known he would, and then concoted the phony story about the icicle falling down from the house and smashing into his glasses. It would be just like Madeline to make up that story about hitting her head just to avoid confessing to my being right, again. And she is just clever enough to find that one version of the story that makes it all my fault.

But I have no proof yet. So I kiss her little head a few times and tell her that I'm sorry (because it's my fault and all), and send her on her way. I'll be on the lookout for burn marks. And if I find any, I guess I'll have to confinscate her lamps and the sconce in her room too. Oh, and her new lava lamp. Who knows what damage a seven year old can do with one of those things if she can't even handle an EASY bake oven.

Facebook Quitters

What’s with people quitting Facebook? I mean, personally, I find it to be the perfect social situation. I’m a stay at home mom who spends all my days socializing with my children. Having 3.5 children and being pregnant for the last ten years (give or take) means I haven’t had the time or energy to actually “go out” and be social. And when I do get out, it’s to take my children somewhere so that they can socialize.

Facebook is my lifeline to the outside world. The beauty of it is that you only have to participate when you damn well please, and talk to only whomever you choose. It doesn’t require any awkward or “polite” conversation. It even offers a second chance to get to know the people who, for whatever immature or superficial reason, did not make it into your social click back in high school (and if any high schoolers are reading this, you’re gonna feel like an idiot for this in a few years. I missed out on some obviously awesome people). And, it seems to me, that giving people the option of seeing their words in writing and having a chance to THINK before they speak, or type, is a far more effective form of communication. For the most part, in my Facebook world anyway, people are kinder and gentler, have a fantastic sense of humor, and show a genuine interest in people other than themselves. (Have a birthday as a Facebooker and you will feel like the luckiest person in the world from all the people who took five seconds to acknowledge your special day.) And if they are not these things, they can (and will) be gone with the push of a button. I have vanished only two people from my Facebook world, and it was simply because they were HUGE downers. I have no tolerance for whiny grown-ups. I can listen to and politely engage in differing views and opinions with others. I can brush off the frequent incredibly boring and unnecessary status updates from some. I can certainly sympathize with the person going through a rough time and looking for some support or just needing to throw their woes out into the Facebook universe. But that bitchy drama queen who is certain that we are all here to listen to her saga and feed her egocentric paranoia while she broadcasts her drama all over Facebook, or that whiny man bitch who’s hourly status updates consist only of road rage rants, assholes out to ruin his day everywhere he goes and all the idiots who are idiots because they don’t think exactly like him about everything, they don’t stand a chance in my Facebook land. They’re like aliens on the wrong planet.

My status updates are typically inspired by my family (and I’m quite sure that there are people out there who have or have considered axing me for that reason, to each his own). It may sound, at times, like whining, but by the time I post it, I have usually found the humor in it. When i find out I was pregnant with baby # 4 just nine months after baby #3 came along, I didn’t have time to panic, I was too busy composing my Facebook status update to share the news. Or when I saw the scale tip towards a devastating number at my last OB appointment and Darren told me I would cry when I inevitable hit that number, a lesser woman would have sobbed with fear, depression and resentment. Not me, I chuckled with thoughts of sharing his gentle response with my Facebook friends. Overall, it helps me laugh at any potential nervous breakdown triggering situation. My hope is that it may bring smiles and chuckles to others, some of whom (parents) will surely relate. My misery is not looking for company, it’s just looking on the bright side.

So why do some suddenly feel compelled to disconnect with a declaration of independence from some sort of Facebook stigma? What is it about this social environment that makes it feel so taboo? Are people actually unable to function and be productive human beings because they are so busy posting on Facebook and stalking their friends? How long can that take? What is it about cutting themselves off from all of their long lost friends that feels so liberating? My best friend led her own mini-revolution away from Facebook a few months ago, with the typical valiant final Facebook sign off. Shortly after, she sent me a text asking me why she was the last to know that baby #4 was a girl. “Sorry, I posted it on Facebook, I guess I forgot about your boycott.” This is what makes Facebook so convenient. The great thing about best friends is that you can go months without speaking (because life happens) and still pick up right where you left off when you do finally have the time. But Facebook kept us connected during that down time. It was perfect. And then she ditched me, for no good reason.

A few weeks ago, I watched the Facebook CEO on 60 Minutes. Granted, there was something a little off about the guy. He has a slimy edge. But it’s not like we pay him to keep us connected. And while I know that the people behind Facebook occasionally have the gall to rearrange our Facebook layout sending our comfortable cyber world into a tailspin, the shock seems to wear off after a few venting status updates expressing our disgust.

When I turn on my computer, I am eagerly anticipating a few positive thoughts, some silly sarcasm, an interesting point to ponder, a few smiles, the chance for a little high school reunion, and always the possibility of a good laugh or an enthralling conversation. And I can keep the opportunity for any of the above close by. It takes the mundane edge off of folding clothes, doing dishes, sweeping floors, making dinner, etc, knowing my computer is on just a few feet away. And while I devote my time and energy of each and every day attempting to entertain, negotiate and reason with my children, I maintain my sanity knowing that an adult conversation or even a grown-up random thought is just a click away in my carefully crafted Facebook land. And if anyone thinks I must be ignoring my children to sit on my computer Facebooking all day, their name has obviously never been “mommy” and they have clearly never tried ignoring three little people with rights to that name. It’s simply not an option. Sitting is rarely an option.

I am grateful for Facebook. I can’t help thinking that the outside world would forget all about me if it wasn’t for this social network. And I’m also pretty sure my family, and even myself, would not seem as cute and funny if I didn’t have the chance to reflect on and share all of our quirky little idiosyncrasies. It is very introspective and never fails to remind me how very, very lucky I am.

My name is Kristin, and I genuinely enjoy Facebook. There are worse things.

Payback is a Grandchild

12/6/10

I’ve learned so much about my mom since becoming a mother. Like, despite my certain belief that she was crazy, she was actually pretty damn patient. But I’ve learned even more about what a pain in the ass little bitch I was to her. Every time Madeline does something infuriating and I hear myself nag or lecture her, I think to myself “this speech sounds very familiar”. (I find my own nagging just as annoying as I did my mother’s and the voices in my head often tell me to shut up.) The similarities are so striking that I can’t help thinking my mom is up there pulling some strings making it all happen; An angelic little puppeteer just watching and chuckling her ass off.

Because I’m especially “lucky” to be raising a child EXACTLY like me, I have an even greater understanding of how fortunate I am to still be alive and unscathed. If she were still here now, I would thank my mother for not shaving my head or ripping my hair out when I was little and I turned grooming into a war zone.  I would thank her for not killing me after I didn't call or come home on time and left her worrying that I was dead.  And I would acknowledge a few of the millions and millions of things she did for me, daily,  that I know I know went unnoticed. I would apologize for being such a scatterbrained child who constantly lost things an couldn't find things things that were right in front of my face  and had a room so messy we had to leave the door shut. The other I actually I asked Madelind to shut her bedroom door becuase "your brother could crawl in there and die in that disaster", and I wasn't even being over dramatic.

Yes, my little clone is already pretty challenging at times. She is as sweet as she can be to the rest of the world. Her teachers have always used words like “cooperative, polite, kind and considerate.” (I’ve begged her to bring that child home from school some day because I would love to meet her.) So clearly, she saves all of her strong willed, stubborn seven year old frustrations for her mom. Rightfully so, I suppose. I mean, it only makes sense she takes it all out on the one who’s world revolves around her; the one who spends 90% of her time trying to make her life as wonderful as possible. I guess it’s only fair that if something is amiss in her world, it is all my fault.

But I can take it. It helps to know that, since she is me, she too, will one day be really awesome and wise enough to be grateful for what I’ve done for her and sorry for what she put me through. And she will also have a daughter and continue the “payback is an ungrateful little bitch” cycle.

I want her to know that I too was so selfish and self-centered, that I could not understand why my parents couldn’t just BACK OFF and let me live my life MY WAY. It never occurred to me that it hurt them to watch me make such bad and destructive decisions because they are the very people who’s world as they know it would end if something terrible had ever happened to me. I too, never thought about the fact that when I stay out all night and don’t bother calling, my mother was praying that I was not dead, even more than she was plotting my death IF and when I finally did stroll in the door and inevitably and infuriatingly asked “what’s the big deal?”

I want her to know that I know, just as my mother did, that when she says “I HATE YOU!” and MEANS IT, she doesn’t mean it. And despite her attempt at choosing the right words to cut me as deeply as possible, I will heal, and love her still. I will wish for her to understand that unconditional love is something only her parents can give her, and is NOT the love she has for her future teenage boyfriend who is a inevitbaly a dick and cheats on her (but she loves him and he loves her and that’s all that matters). Spare me.

I am eternally grateful to my mother, not only for loving me unconditionally, but for teaching me to love this way. I’m even grateful to her for wishing a child “just like me” on me. It makes me feel like I am repenting for all of my ungrateful -little-bitch sins against her. I deserve it, and I will do so willingly and whole-heartedly. And I pray that she will rest in peace, knowing that every day of motherhood gives me a greater understanding of how magnificent she was.