bearing blog


bear – ing n 1  the manner in which one comports oneself;  2  the act, power, or time of bringing forth offspring or fruit; 3 a machine part in which another part turns [a journal ~];  pl comprehension of one’s position, environment, or situation;   5  the act of moving while supporting the weight of something [the ~ of the cross].


  • Answering questions: How we chose home birth.

    I got an email in my box a little while ago from a reader who wanted to know how Mark and I decided to plan home births:

     I was really interested in finding out that you have homebirths. I was born at home, and would love to have my baby at home, but I have had no luck convincing my husband of it….He's a Navy guy with an engineering/risk assessment background, plus doctor & nurse family members.  But I'm more worried about being pushed into unnecessary interventions anda c-section in the typical hospital setting which is my only option where Ilive. … My question is basically, how did you and your husband come to decide on homebirth? Having your scientific/engineering background, Ithought maybe whatever convinced you might also be helpful…

    I wonder if maybe home birth types have a reputation for not being of scientific/engineering background?  Most of the home birth couples I know IRL include at least one engineer or scientist, although I admit there is a significant sampling bias in that, um, that is the kind of person we tend to hang out with.  Engineers and the people who marry them.

    It has been a long time since we were deciding whether to try a home birth or a hospital birth, and I had to go to Mark and ask him:  "Remind me again, back before I got pregnant with Oscar, when I brought up the idea of having a home birth, did you agree right away?"

    "Not right away, no.  I figured we would do the 'normal thing' and have the baby in the hospital.  And then you showed me what you'd been reading and I decided that home birth made sense."

    Here's a slightly edited version of what I emailed back to the reader.

    My first thought is that there isn't anything about BEING an expert in risk assessment (or statistics, or possibly even perinatal medicine!) that ought to make a person more or less likely to choose homebirth. I would hope it would make a person more likely to assess the risks accurately and dispassionately, but that doesn't mean he or she would come to a different conclusion. 

    I know that Mark and I, after gathering some information, came to agree that homebirth probably had a higher-than-hospital, but still small, risk of death or serious injury to myself to the baby; but that the hospital had a MUCH larger-than-home, and in fact, quite large risk of many, many comparatively less serious problems and not a few moderately serious ones. The research I've seen since then seems to have borne it out. 

    • In both homebirths and hospital births there is a small risk of neonatal death, and this small risk seems to be greater in homebirths.  (Some homebirth advocates deny this, but at least what I've seen over the past few years whenever I've looked has given me a strong impression that the evidence supports it.) 
    • There is a hugely increased risk, in hospitals, of many annoyances and lesser-to-moderately-severe complications.For example, hospital births carry higher risks of infection, and enforced policies like fetal monitoring and things can slow labor which can lead to induction which can lead to distress, yadda yadda yadda. None of these things are likely to be fatal, but they can and do create smaller problems.

     A more serious risk, to me, was the risk of winding up with an unnecessary Cesarean section. Giving birth in an American hospital, you're looking at a 20-40 percent chance of a C-section depending on the hospital. That to me is unacceptably high, because I do not take the complications and side effects of C-sections lightly, especially as a mother who hoped to (at the time) and now has gone on to have several pregnancies. VBACs are difficult to get, and the riskiness of C-sections increase exponentially after the second.   (A mother who expected to have only one or two children might rate the riskiness of Cesarean section lower, and be more willing to have one even if it were possibly unnecessary.)

    I also take very seriously the proper onset of the nursing relationship, which is more difficult to establish in the hospital environment, once you add up the effects of drugs, maternal discomfort in the environment, and hospital policies (and assuming that the homebirth team provides better lactation support than the hospital lactation support, an assumption which may or may not be true depending on the available options).  

    People brush these things off – Cesareans, nursing difficulties caused by hospital policies — because they're so common. But looked at objectively they are quite serious and it's sad that they are so common.

    Nevertheless, it's still a judgment call that in my view is personal – whether to choose a small increased risk of something truly catastrophic and tragic, or  whether to choose a hugely increased risk of a whole lot of lesser but still significant problems. And that's just the "risk assessment" end of it, from statistical thinking.  There are many individual considerations — have you found a home birth attendant that is satisfactory to both of you?  how fast can you get to a hospital should an emergency occur? — that may change the calculation for your family.   Once you start considering your own feelings about the situation, it  gets even muddier. It isn't necessarily good to be in a place where the statistics say you are "safe" but where you don't FEEL safe — that could be hospital or it could be home — but FEELING safe, believing you are safe, is biochemically  important in giving birth. It's harder to do if you're stressed and fearful, which is at heart a hormonal response.

    (And of course both father and mother need to come to some kind of agreement.  Including discussing the possibility of your worst fears coming true, in either situation.  Because when you face birth, you face death, too.  Best to face it together.)

    OK, that aside.  I was also influenced and reassured by joining a mailing list — not sure if it still exists — about unassisted childbirth. Even though I didn't intend to "go UC," and have always opted to be well supported at home including with an experienced and compassionate midwife, I was inspired and given confidence by reading story  after story of births that happened at home, with no attendant at all, by choice. (Plus it made me feel less like an extremist by comparison!)  I was influenced by friends who had planned home births. 

    I was influenced by Henci Goer's book Obstetrical Myths versus Research Realities:  A Guide to the Medical Literature.  Another book, Active Birth by Janet Balaskas (the latest version, which I haven't read, is here), gave me confidence with regards to natural pain management.  

    I read other books, too, once we had made up our minds; and those tended to be the "crunchier" sort, which helped me understand what we were in for once we chose midwifery care.  Things like Heart and Hands:  A Midwife's Guide to Pregnancy and Birth by Elizabeth Davis.  When it came to general-info pregnancy and childbirth books, I tried to avoid those that took hospital birth for granted, and went for the ones that included homebirth as a birth choice.  Books by William and Martha Sears (The Pregnancy Book, The Birth Book –I didn't actually read that one– and  The Baby Book) and Sheila Kitzinger (The Complete Book of Pregnancy and Childbirth) are good examples.   

    As for breastfeeding books, my two favorite are the LLL one (The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding) and So That's What They're For by Janet Tamaro, which is a little more lighthearted and thus good for lending to people who think La Leche League is a club for fanatics.  

    Since I don't use contraception and want to get through lactational amenorrhea to regular cycles before becoming pregnant, I used Breastfeeding and Natural Child Spacing by Sheila Kippley (she has a couple other books on the same subject); the publisher, CCL, doesn't carry it anymore, and so these days the equivalent information is probably available in CCL's Art of Natural Planning:  Postpartum Student Guide (available here).  I continue to support CCL's work and one of these days I will have to sit in on the new NFP classes, which have been revised significantly since I took them years ago in marriage prep.

    (Perhaps my readers know of some more books I've missed, especially some that have come out in the last few years — I haven't done much "how to have a baby" reading since my second.)

    Natural family planning influenced us in another way  – we sort of were in a mindset of avoiding "interventions" in our intimate life, of generally trusting our bodies to tell us what we needed to know, and giving birth at home was a sort of natural outgrowth of that. There was a sort of weirdness to the idea that we should need medical assistance for something that ought to work fine if  we just left it alone. 

    That's sort of a combination of "gut feeling" and logic – truthfully, the species wouldn't have survived if it didn't work most of the time, and if you read a bit about the history of birth in America, you'll see that a lot (not all) of the improvements in maternal/neonatal outcomes are from simpler things like antibiotics, nutrition, and prenatal care/screening, not so much from medical attention surrounding the birth itself. Obviously this isn't true  for functionally impossible vaginal birth, e.g. with complete placenta previa, but it's possible to rule out that kind of thing before birth if you want to get an ultrasound.

    One thing we did the first time we went through it, is I doubled up on prenatal care — I had my homebirth midwife appointments, and I also had the full spectrum of prenatal appointments with a "standard" CNM practice.  (Except I declined the glucose tolerance test and the routine ultrasound). We felt  we were keeping our options open. But we never bothered with the regular doctor thing at the other births after that. With this my fourth pregnancy I chose to get a midterm ultrasound to rule out any musculoskeletal deformities or placental problems that might indicate I should consider a hospital birth.  I'm older now, and my babies tend to be large with sticky shoulders; it seems reasonable to me to check for extra problems that could exacerbate that.  I've already made up my mind based on my own birth history not to attempt a vaginal birth should the baby present breech.

    That illustrates another belief of mine, that it's important to keep an open mind about the appropriateness of medical interventions (taken individually) and be willing to adjust your approach as information comes in about your physical health, the baby's physical health, and your own tolerance for different kinds of risk. Sometimes a C-section is a good idea, sometimes it's not. Sometimes an ultrasound is a ridiculous, expensive, unnecessary intervention; sometimes it answers questions that need to be answered. Same thing goes for glucose tests, fetal heart monitoring, epidurals, GBS testing and IVs, all that stuff — they are powerful tools that can be used or misused, they're not good for every individual or bad for every individual either.

    If you're going to have a hospital birth, my standard two pieces of advice (especially to first-timers) are

    • consider hiring a doula for your hospital birth, or else bringing along a  knowledgeable friend who can help advocate for you, or at least bringing along a close female friend who's given birth before and isn't scared of it.  The mere presence of a female support person (not part of the medical staff) in the delivery room significantly lowers your chance of a section. See here, here, here, and lots of links here.
    • Do what you can to prepare yourself and your husband to advocate strongly against unnecessary cesarean section. This is, to my mind, the single greatest risk associated with giving birth in American hospitals. Understand why it's NOT a "no big deal" to have a cesarean, and why it's so important to try to avoid that "first" cesarean if you possibly can. Know the positive indications for a truly necessary section, know alternatives to non-necessary c-sections in advance, and know what you can do to avoid interventions that sometimes cause an apparent need for a c-section. 

    I think that covers it.  Comments from readers are welcome as usual.


  • The extraordinary ordinary.

    Jen's got a post with an excellent insight, one I hope I'll remember. 

    I try to "pray without ceasing," turning to God regularly as I go about my days, but lately I'd been increasingly apathetic about having any kind of set prayer time where I give God 100% of my attention. Even though I recognized that when I pray the Liturgy of the Hours it helps me on every level, even when I tried setting simpler goals like just focusing on freeform prayer for five minutes per day, it still wasn't happening. 

    I have a very similar problem.  I love the LOTH.  Every time I pick up the breviary and begin to pray an office, I am instantly happy and thankful that I am doing it.  It's like discovering thirst only at the moment that you begin to drink.  The reward is immediate.  But I seem to forget, in between, how much I enjoy it and am glad for it.  I put it off and put it off and never get around to it.  And my goal is only to pray one office — any office, whichever one is appropriate for the time I pick up the breviary — per DAY.  

    You pray before battle….

    If I were going into battle tomorrow — a real battle, facing bloodshed and mortal danger — I would pray. I wouldn't have to remind myself why it's important. I wouldn't whine about it. I wouldn't drag my feet. And I dang sure wouldn't forget.

    In fact, if I were doing anything of great importance, I would naturally turn to prayer. 


    This is a good insight, and something I have noticed before in myself. Anecdotally, I have heard many people who are not particularly religious or even some nonbelievers tell of impulses to pray that have bubbled up in times of great fear or stress. We look for help from anywhere, I suppose, at such times. It's the source of that old saying "There are no atheists in foxholes."

    But the key insight Jen went on to point out is, I think:

    A big problem with my prayer life is that I'd stopped feeling like I do anything important on a day-to-day basis. Now, I've always known that my job is the most important job in the world; I've never doubted that my role as a mother is critical in the grand scheme of things. But on the average day? Hmm. Not so much.

    Somewhere along the way my attitude had become saturated with ennui, and I came to see my days as consisting of "make breakfast," "clean up after breakfast," "try to keep the house from getting destroyed between breakfast and lunch," "make lunch," and so on. Not very exciting. I'd made the dangerous mistake of forgetting that every day is a battle, a war of good against evil, that every time I choose love instead of sin it's a victory on a cosmic level that I can't imagine.

    This is a theme I keep coming back to again and again: Respecting the work you do — the work others do — in service of our vocations. And by "respect" I don't just mean "remembering not to look down on the menial tasks of our livelihoods." I mean standing in awe of these tasks, for what they accomplish, at least a little bit, all the time.

     There are plenty of other consequences of failing to appreciate the true nature of things like work, including misplaced shame and disrespect for other humans engaged in dignified labor, and societal problems too.  But what Jen's pointed out is something I hadn't noticed before, that it can lead directly to neglect of prayer life.


  • Freezing.

    I've been trying to cook double portions and set them aside, once or twice each week, for a while now.  A month to go, and I already have 18 Meal Nuclei in the freezer.  That's three weeks' worth and then some!  

    Meal Nuclei?  Well, I'd be lying if I said I had that many "meals" laid up.  In my mind, to have a "meal" means all the side dishes and trimmings ready to go, or at least what's made is a complete meal-in-a-pot.  A Meal Nucleus needs more stuff to make it a meal … but crucially, the added stuff is either not cooked or not complicated to add.

    This is what I have so far:

    • Cock-a-leekie soup kit for the crockpot (minus the water and the potatoes, which don't freeze well)
    • 9 calzones — which counts for two meal nuclei.  Just add sauce and salad.
    • Chicken piccata CORRECTION:  piccadillo [can't believe I made that mistake!] enchiladas (in a kit — thaw and assemble).  Just add some veg or a fruit salad
    • Two raw meatloaves with ketchup-(brown sugar)-(cider vinegar) glaze
    • Two spinach ricotta pies (kits again — thaw and assemble)
    • Two quarts veggie-rich spaghetti sauce
    • Unbaked spinach-cheese-red pepper-salami lasagna
    • Red-cooked beef, ready to be part of fried rice or possibly an Asian pizza topping
    • Two five-and-a-half-cup portions of homemade tomato soup (add grilled cheese sandwiches)
    • Italian pot roast kit for the crockpot (just add polenta or pasta and some salad)
    • Two quarts sloppy-joe filling (just add buns and cole slaw)
    • One par-baked sausage lasagna

    Tomorrow I plan to brown five pounds of ground beef with onion and freeze it in quantities appropriate for individual pots of Emergency Chili or Judy's Taco Soup.    Maybe next week I'll do it again with another five pounds.  That, plus a few key pantry staples, turns said chili and soup into twenty-minute one-pot meals.

    I also need to re-train my sons in the arts of coffee, bread-machine bread, pizza dough, biscuits, scrambled eggs, oatmeal, and cheese enchiladas.   A few of those skills, plus a giant bag of baby carrots and a well-stocked fruit bowl, can go a long way toward making sure that somebody gets some kind of breakfast or lunch even if Mom is nursing in a rocking chair all morning.


  • On driving past the Home Depot on the way to Target this morning.

    "Darn it!  If only I'd realized we'd be passing the hardware store today…"

    "Why?"

    "Because I need a small metric screw."

    "What, I'm not good enough for you?"

    "You're standard."


  • Laid off.

    The limited number of Saturdays left before giving birth decreed that yesterday I needed to go to the Mall of America, because Nordstrom is there, to be measured for new nursing bras.  One of the sizes I needed wasn't in stock in underwire-free form, so I went to the maternity store down the way to buy one.

    The mall was crowded but the maternity store was fairly quiet.  I asked the saleslady if, being a maternity store, they were fairly insulated from Christmas rush.  

    "Well, it's normally pretty steady," she said, "but I think we're in the middle of a baby boom right now, with the economy like it is."

    "Oh?"

    "My theory," she explained, "is when there isn't enough work, people stay home more, and when they stay home they get pregnant."


  • Problem (!): Overabundance of sourdough bread.

    Yeah, yeah, I know, some problem.

    Seriously, though, it IS a problem, because I am terribly prone to the "It's just going to go stale, so why don't I slather it in butter and sit hear and eat it while I read blogs" fallacy.

    Here's the deal.  I have finally figured out how to produce traditional sourdough sandwich bread (if not beautiful sourdough boules and baguettes) fairly reliably using my bread machine.  I love sourdough bread and want to always have some around for my own personal bread consumption.  But nobody else in the family wants to eat it, except that for some reason Milo periodically decides to gobble half a loaf plain.  (The rest of the time he claims not to like it, probably because it tastes weird with jelly.)

    So, who's got a great dinner recipe with sandwich-loaf-shaped sourdough bread (of the dense, rye or wheat variety) as an ingredient?  Stratas, bruschettas, and the like?  I already thought of "grilled cheese sandwiches."  I wonder if maybe I could do one of those spinach-dip things, only on a smaller scale.

    Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?  Christy?

    UPDATE:  Several suggestions in the comments, including this strata from Smitten Kitchen suggested by Jamie.  


  • Somersaults.

    When Milo was little — less and less often as he grew up — he used to substitute words to amusing effect.  Milopropisms, we called them (apologies to R. B. Sheridan).  Once he turned a somersault for the first time, popped up and declared proudly, "I did a spring roll!"

    Spring rolls or somersaults, there are a lot of them going on around here.  Mostly in my lower abdomen.  I remember Hannah telling me that one of the weirdest sensations she ever felt was her second son, Silas, doing a front somersault turning from breech to vertex in very late pregnancy.  I couldn't even imagine that.  But after a couple of days of on-and-off, irregular, painless, but very noticeable and tiring contractions, I woke up in the middle of the night and went "GAAAAHHH!" I had the mental image of the baby standing up inside me and tenting my abdomen with his HEAD.  I put my hand on my belly and felt something with corners poking up, and then it slid away downward under my hand and sort of went plop.

    My heart was kind of pounding when it was done, it was such a horribly fascinatingly weird sensation.  

    And then about forty-five minutes later it happened AGAIN.

    And again not long after I woke up.

    And a few more not-quite-so-amazingly-huge rolling movements since I've been up and around.

    I have no idea which end of the baby is up now.  I've never been very good at figuring that out.  Clearly there's still some room for that to change.  (35 weeks today)

    Impressive.  The two days of contractions were starting to get on my nerves, and I had already started pounding the glasses of water just in case they were due to dehydration or something, although I had the distinct feeling that they were normal sort of preparatory practice contractions.  Whatever — I realize that proximity doesn't necessarily imply causation here, but it's hard not to conclude that they had something to do with a major repositioning that appears not to be quite complete.  My belly had felt compact and firm and stuffed full; now, everything feels very soft and loose and yielding, as if my uterus has softened and stretched and made a little more room for the baby to move.  Maybe he's dropped a bit.


  • Before the storm.

    Last evening while I was driving to our midwife's house for my prenatal, my cell phone rang.  Mark, in the passenger seat, dug it out of my purse and answered; it was J., the midwife, calling from a birth.  No, we hadn't gotten her message — no, of course it was fine, we'd reschedule the appointment.  Babies take precedence.

    "Ask her if I should just meet with V. [the other midwife] this week, what with the snow and stuff," I interrupted Mark, as I checked blind spots and changed lanes to try to get off at the next exit.

    "How about we just meet with V.?  She's a lot closer," Mark said into the phone.  Then:  "Oh — oh, dear — okay, well, give us a call when you're home and rested, and we'll schedule.  Okay.  Bye.  Good luck."  He set my phone down on the console. 

    "What's wrong with V.?"  We have hired two midwives this time, for peace of mind, as the first one lives some distance away and Minnesota Januaries are unpredictable and I really don't wish to have an unintentionally unassisted birth.

    "Some kind of infection that's not responding well to antibiotics."

    "Oh — yuck.  I hope she's doing better soon.  I guess I really don't want to be anywhere near that…"

    So we turned around, and went out for pizza with the family instead, and headed back to Mark's office to pick up his car.  Mark took Oscar home to get ready for the next morning's outing to the ski slope, and MJ went with them; I took Milo to the grocery store to pick up a few things to tide us through the coming snowstorm, fruit and lettuce and cereal and cheese.  When I got home I checked the weather online:  it looks like there's potential to be a big one, maybe 20 inches that will start falling this afternoon and continue off and on through Christmas and into the next day.

    The pre-empted appointment with J. — V. sick and unable to fill in — the threatened Christmas blizzard — all of that reminded me last night that the unexpected can crop up and change your plans.  I was uneasy the rest of the evening, thinking about my late-January due date.  A snowstorm could come in late January too.  Even though we hired two midwives, they theoretically could both get sick, couldn't they?  And my friends might not be able to come over either?  I fretted aloud to Mark. 

    (Truth is, anytime my plans get changed for me I fret about SOMETHING.  Oh sweet rigidity, never depart from me.)

    "I'm worried.  I hate waiting for labor.  Oh, it'll be better when I get closer," I added, "because by then I'll really WANT to go into labor, I'll be so tired of pregnancy.  But right now when it isn't quite intolerable yet, it just scares me."

    I added to Mark,  "Sorry to keep going on about this — it's not like you can do anything about it.  Except maybe remind me of more rational modes of thinking."

    "Like this:" said Mark, "'Just keep on distracting yourself and put it out of your mind.'"

    "Don't you think I should try to work through my fears?  You know, so I can make that jump when it's time?"

    He laughed at me.  "You don't have to jump," he said, "you're going to be dropped.   This thing is going to happen whether you're ready or not.  It's one thing to view yourself as the paratrooper.  It's quite another to be the bomb."  He chuckled again.  "You da bomb, honey," he said.  Clearly amused.

    Yippee-yi-yay.


  • Double helix cable-knit.

    GeekLady knitted a DNA scarf.   Isn't it cool?

    (Looks like there's a link to the pattern, for anyone who wants the perfect gift for a stylish geneticist.)


  • “Becoming atheists to their gospels is a necessary step…”

    A neat post at Mere Comments by S. M. Hutchens.

    Every year I enjoy receiving Christmas greetings in the mail, but this year an atheist friend sent me something new: an Anti-Christmas card in which he gave us felicitations of the winter solstice, inviting us to join our pre-Christian forebears in celebrating its prospects.  He takes a Nietzschean view of Christianity: it is a myth in which the spiritually and mentally weak take refuge, a platform from which to make cowardly and self-righteous assaults on those who have the courage to deny the truth of these fairy-stories and live in a demystified reality.

    I am sympathetic to his charges, since I find them true from a perspective I understand, and do not find unreasonable, but have chosen not to adopt because I do not myself wish to be judged on my worst points.  It is by no means difficult, however, to find representatives of Christianity against whom they are perfectly plausible.  If someone concentrates his sight on these, defining the faith by its worst professors–who loom exceedingly large in the view of many through no fault of their own–then it is indeed every bad thing that so many wounded freethinkers accuse it of being.  

    I rarely find these people unlovely–in fact, the contrary has usually been true.  Many of them seem full of love, not only for people, but for God’s other handiwork–and they are lovers of truth so far as they are able to perceive it as unconnected to orthodox religion.  Are they really atheists?  God knows, but I am not willing to affirm it. 

    The post comes up for some thoughtful criticism in the comments, and thoughtful defense too — the whole thread is worth reading. 


  • Anti-aging.

    Christy P asked me in a comment to my post about this our first Christmas in our own home:  "Do you feel like a grownup yet?   I am starting to."

    Funny.  Here I am, 35 years old and the mother of four, and you would think I would feel like a grownup by now.  Truth is, I am also just starting to.  I have felt like an impostor of a grown-up most of my technically-adult life, assuming that all my peers are really grownups and I am not.

    Interesting that Christy's comment came up in the context of celebrating holidays at home, leading one's own family, and not some other context.  I assumed for years that the biggest reason I didn't feel like a grownup was because I didn't have a so-called "real job."  First I was in school, and then I was in school some more, and then I was in school SOME MORE, and then I became a mother (while I was still in school), and then I was a mother at home with small children, um, running their schooling.  I am, it seems, still in school.    The fact that I rather enjoy the situation has seemed almost to confirm my non-grownup status.  

    For a long time I thought that another source of my feeling as if I were impersonating a grownup was a sense of a stunted appearance.  I think this is a vestige from childhood, as I was a very short child, slow to mature and socially backward, who perpetually looked (and sometimes behaved) at least two years younger than my peers, never quite able to catch up.  Until quite recently the face in the mirror always looked "too young" — I don't mean that in a good way, like "youthfully attractive," but rather "childish."    Losing a third of my body weight last year did away with that — as everything deflated and dropped and relaxed over that year, I saw something new in the mirror, lines that had been slowly forming over the past years, but masked and camouflaged by that infantilizing plumpness that has dominated.   I like looking my age, and feel I've put on a much more convincing disguise.

    Family life hasn't done it either, and I shouldn't have been surprised by that either.  Look around:  there's plenty of evidence that adulthood is neither a prerequisite for, nor a result of, making babies.   Nor does getting married automatically signify a transition in responsibility.  Once it might have, but it's well obscured now.  I concede that I haven't had to endure much hardship, and that perhaps it's an easy, happy adulthood that has given me the impression of no adulthood at all.   Or perhaps it's that I was free and clear for such a relatively short period, so that I've had a sense of being cared for for most of my life; sometimes, when Mark's doing the taxes or putting snow tires on the van, or sometimes when I'm awake in bed doing crossword puzzles and glance over to see him fallen asleep with the light on, curled around a sleeping child who asked for Daddy at bedtime, I am startled to realize that I am married to a 36-year-old man.  I'm pretty sure I am technically of marriageable age, so this ought not to shock me, but nevertheless it still does.

    Perhaps the feeling of masquerade is a quirk of my probably disordered personality.  Perhaps it is  just one long dress rehearsal for age-related dementia ("No, Mrs. A., I'm not your mass transport TA, I'm just here to change your bedpan.")  Or maybe it's more common than I think, this disguise, and I am no more or less special, no younger or older inside than anyone else.


  • Dooce and the continuum concept.

    I smiled at this. She and her husband have two girls, by the way.

    We just read some great advice somewhere that said to treat every kid as if they are the sixth of eighteen children. You'll get to them sometime, but right now the fifteenth kid is burning down the kitchen, so whoever is fussing right now will have to suck it.

    The context is "getting the baby to sleep through the night in a crib," which is something I've never actually done, being the co-sleeping type, but I still found it refreshing.  I have been heavily influenced by the "continuum concept"* in family life applications, but I eventually quit most of my subscriptions to continuum-type mailing lists in part because they lacked many participants who understood that applying it was going to look differently in families with more than one or two kids.  

    ____

    *Continuum concept in a nutshell:  "in order to achieve optimal physical, mental and emotional development, human beings — especially babies — require the kind of experience to which our species adapted during the long process of our evolution."   Feel free to substitute "the kind of experience that our species was designed for" if you prefer, it still works.   Anyway, I figure that our species should be WELL adapted to children having several siblings, and therefore occasionally having to wait for something.