By: Allison Norris

I left Baylor at home with my mom over the weekend to attend a wedding in Los Angeles. The decision to leave him was harder than I had thought; but with much encouragement from other mamas who had “cut the cord” (again), I went.

I’d been planning and stressing for the past month. Pumping and freezing enough breast milk to hold Bay over until I got back was no easy feat. I did not have a supply beforehand (classic Allison), and really do hate cleaning all of the little parts of my super pump, so I rarely take the time to fill a bag with my precious liquid. I pumped and pumped and had just enough to feel like I was not leaving my child without, um, food.

I started a non-profit called Project Parachute with Jason Mesnick who was the bachelor on tv. We give child care scholarships to single mamas and dads who are working or going to school. We also are starting support groups across the country for single parents who need to vent about all the dynamic parts of single parenting. This process has been intense and I have learned more than any college class could have taught me. Anyone who has filed a tax-exemption application (or 501c3) with the IRS knows what a task this can be… It has also provided me with the opportunity to help some single parents out there!

It also meant that I was invited to Jason’s wedding, and to represent this project that I have become so passionate about.

I met Christina, the other executive director of Project Parachute. We’ve been talking on the phone for almost 6 months and started the foundation together – from across the country. She lives in Gainesville, Florida, and we met for the first time in LA. She is fabulous. Christina has followed another “famous single dad” and insisted that we meet up with him.

An absolute bonus about LA was meeting Matt Logelin. Matt’s wife just died after giving birth to their daughter, Maddie, while still in the hospital. Matt started a blog and a non-profit, and is in the process of finishing a book about his experience. After picking his brain about how to run a successful foundation, Matt disclosed that he digs sweets, good music, and dropping f-bombs. I obviously wanted to be his new bff.

Matt talked about his blog and what it did for him. He never considered himself a writer, but just started doing it to cope with his loss… and his new love, Maddie. His writing is raw and honest and to the point while still poetic. There is no beating around the bush or leaving you wondering about what he meant. He told me that he had to stop caring about what other people thought and just write exactly what he observed and felt.

Of course we have different writing styles – I am more into telling a story… with a splash of “funny” – and I’m too nervous about what everyone will say if I bare my soul to the world (ok, maybe not “the world”). It was inspiring and amazing and it broke my heart. All of it.

Meeting Matt, and then witnessing the behind-the-scenes of a televised wedding couldn’t have been more of a juxtaposition. Both famous daddios, and for entirely different reasons. Both working on helping single parents… and a few new loves.

Maybe I do need to be a little more “raw” with my writing. I guess for Matt, after losing the love of your life – in front of you – you realize that the small stuff doesn’t matter and who gives a shit about what people think. It’s making the most out of your life, and about being the best parent you can be to the little eyes that look up to you and trust each decision that you make. Right?

I gave Bay extra kisses today… Then, he peed on me and I loved every second of it.

[photo credit: Flickr- Viastula]

By: Jillian Lauren

We had a few days off before the Seattle show, so we decided to try to get away from it all and rent a house out on Bainbridge Island.

Here is what I learned:

1. Bainbridge Island is quaint and lovely and has a charming indie bookstore.
2. It is wonderful to sleep with the sound of waves breaking right outside your bedroom window.
3. There is no such thing as “getting away from it all” when you have an eighteen-month-old in tow.

I believe I expressed this sentiment in a less articulate way last night. It went something like the following (imagine this punctuated with desperate sobs): I am NOT going ANYWHERE EVER AGAIN. When we get home, I am staying there FOREVER.

What happened to your circus gal, your Gypsy pal? She was felled by a migraine and a wee lad. All I can say is that he’s small but he’s cunning.

I think the highlight of our island excursion was actually the ferry ride over. Bainbridge Island is about 35 minutes from downtown Seattle by ferry. It was T’s first time on a boat and it was so great to watch him screaming with delight and running headlong into the crazy wind. Here he is posing as the new Adam for the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

n-between bouts of panic and dread, I did take a moment or two to enjoy the clean sea air, the lush evergreens all around and the views of snow-covered Mt. Ranier from the beach outside our pad.

We also went to visit a little Norweigian-themed town called Poulsbo- kind of the Pacific Northwest’s equivalent to our Solvang. It was cute and touristy and had lots of viking dolls and lingonberry jam. I dubbed it “Little Ikea.” Here is the window of the town pirate store. Every town should have one.

And for those of you who saw the Vanity Fair blog I wrote from Japan, you’ll appreciate that I was somehow hypnotized into buying yet another faux-fur Doctor Zhivago hat. That one was grey and this one is off-white and brown, so they’re apples and oranges, really. Plus, it was made by a local artist and was called a muffette or a muffalette or something, so I had to buy it.

I have no pictures of it, since its purchase preceded a rather unpleasant exchange. Why don’t men understand that an LA girl simply can’t have enough faux-fur cossack hats?

By: Allison Norris

I’m watching The Bachelor on abc. Of course I am. It’s what stay-at-home-moms do, right? Watch young women throw themselves at a short guy with an “interesting” accent (is it Texan, or Dork? I can’t be sure). It’s what I wait all week for. I scream at my television and comment on the terrible decision making that went into a bathing suit choice or how bad her hair looks with curls.

“Nice baby talk… she doesn’t really talk that way, I know it.”

“Who does this girl think she is? Why is she telling him that she LOVES him? She doesn’t even know him, and he’s wearing grandpa shorts!”

“You are dancing? No. That’s called the 8th grade hump-grind.”

My neighbors must think that I am terrible, as I scream such horrible things about people that I do not know. I hope they can’t hear me.

It’s a fascination with love that I have and being able to watch it on tv is like a car wreck that you can’t take your eyes off of, no matter how gruesome it is. How does it work? Will it last? I watch the show and think about how much I didn’t know about real love prior to having Baylor. Putting every bit of energy I have into another human being – my needs are met last, if at all. Can someone find that in another adult? The desire to completely give, and care for someone seems impossible – especially when you have a child.

I look at these young women on this show kissing in a penthouse suite with a private pool off of the patio. Of course they are in love! I want to rub some poopy diaper on their shirt and then leave a little pureed banana in their hair to find totally hardened 3 hours later. I want them to smack their head on the side of the car because their leg gave out while hoisting up the car seat on the side of the car to open the door.

Do they ask this bachelor character if he leaves yogurt containers out when he’s done eating out of them? Does he pick up his underwear off of the floor? Does he pee in the shower? I’d like to know! I guess I am wondering how many peeves make up one big deal breaker. Do we reach a point where we stop being so picky and accept the little things that bug us because we are looking for a partnership, and realize that we aren’t exactly perfect either? It’s sort of like signing up for someone whose annoying habits bug you the least.

I think about the things that I will teach Baylor to make him… well… perfect. Napkin on his lap and waiting until everyone is seated to take the first bite. Details that will help him at his first dinner with future in-laws. But are there things programmed into him that I will have no control over?

Control. I remember that… I think I used to have it. Now, I get a thrill about what temperature the dryer is set to – it’s all my decision. It’s like I am God of Laundry. Nobody will tell me what setting to put it on! See, I am totally in control.

Relationship books and couples therapy can try to close the communication and expectation gap between couples, but it may be a whole lot easier to accept that nobody is perfect – not even on a tropical island with a camera crew filming you frolicking in the surf, awaiting your “final rose”.

[photo credit: Flickr- Vancityallie]

By: Tom Butts

It’s interesting, the other day I was watching an expose on Olympic athletes.  They do the typical biography, “from a small town in Nebraska…”  As they bring the athlete to their current status and sport we see their family and children and their home life, that is, unless they’re gay.

“Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” is a relic from the 90’s which we are hoping to do away with in the coming year.  I believe the attitude still exists in coverage of the Olympics, even in Vancouver, Canada (a country where gay marriage has been legal for years).  For some reason, social causes like gay rights are not as readily taken up by the Olympic movement. It’s too thorny.

There are no publicly gay athletes at the Winter Olympics that we know of (Johnny Weir is another subject).  I have heard rumors that a dozen gay Olympians will come out in Vancouver. Don’t hold your breath — there’s a better chance that Ann Coulter and Glenn Beck will win pairs skating.

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[photo credit: Flickr- US Consulate General Vancouver]

By: Tom Butts

It’s unfortunate, but airlines aren’t the only thing affected by a big snow storm.  The so called “Snow Storm of the Century” could also delay Congress weighing in on DC’s decision to make gay marriage legal.  How do these two topics even relate you ask??

Well, by law Congress has 30 legislative days to review all laws signed by the DC Mayor (Adrian Fenty – in case you’re thinking it’s still “cracked-out” Mayor Marion Berry).  If the Capitol shuts down, so does the clock that counts down the 30 days.

What this means is that gay marriage may not become law until mid-March.  Fortunately, even with all the talk about the devastating defeat the Democrats had in the Senate in Massachusetts, we still have 59 votes and a much larger margin in the House.  Gay marriage hasn’t been legal or recognized in the 233 years we’ve been a country, so what’s another week or two…right?!

By:  Allison Norris

A whale jumps completely vertical out of the water and leaves a huge splash behind. The tip of his tail disappears into the ocean and we watch to see if it will show its massive body again.

Bay took his first trip on the airplane. His first terrible cold came along for the ride as well. I thought Bay would leave “cold” behind, but he decided to have him come along to Maui to test my skills as a mother – I am sure. Green snot slid into his mouth faster than I could grab the tissues from my purse, and then he squealed at the sight of his mucousy relief. I was nervous to bring him onto the plane because of his cough and runny nose… and I also couldn’t get the thought of our plane crashing into a mountainside out of my mind. What is wrong with me?

Morbid thoughts have become a daily occurrence. I had never thought about dying, or getting into a serious crash until I became a mother. I actually had a case of immortality. My thoughts take me to horrible places where I play out a situation and consider the worst possible outcome.

If I take Baylor into the ocean, he could be slippery, and then I would drop him, and then the waves would take him under, and then he could be taken out for miles into the ocean.

If I step too close to the edge of the bluff (like 20 feet away), I could trip on a root (there are no roots), and then I would fall, do a backwards roll, and then Bay would fly off of the cliff and land and I wouldn’t be able to get to him in time.

If I sit in the back of the plane, I won’t be able to get to an exit fast enough and Bay could be ripped from my arms and he doesn’t have wings, so he probably couldn’t fly, and then the beverage cart would fly backwards and he could be there… sooooo…

I am not joking when I say I want Bay to wear a helmet until he is 35 years old. The thought of something happening to him can become daunting and too much to think about. As he is becoming mobile, and my ability to zone out in front of the tv is becoming a thing of the past, and as I was once a warrior, I have now become a worrier.

The thought of him driving a car drives me mad, and I could pass out at the thought of him skinning his knee and walking into the house with blood running down his leg. I don’t want him to get hurt is all. I remember when my mom would make me call to check in and I thought it was ridiculous… now I get it. Sorry, mom.

The whale sees light and leaps with full force into another world of wind and waves. He crashes back into his home and is safe, leaving a splash behind.

To Doula

By: Heidi Biddle

I have been blessed with three babies.  Well, I say ”babies”, but they are nearly 17, 14, and 9.  I remember each one of their births like it was yesterday. Without saying I was naive, when it came to the births of my children, I thought I had it all planned out.

For my first birth, I wrote out a birth plan and looked forward to going through this with my support people.  I assumed the doctor would not only explain everything to us, but would also assist me through my whole labor and birth, all the while talking to me in a soothing voice, and urging me to go on. I thought the nurses would be there to support me and help me through this wonderful time. I knew that I wanted my husband, my sister, and my mom in the room when I had my baby-they would help me, too.  My birth plan was simple: “no drugs unless I am in pain and ask for some.” I prepared myself and my husband for what was surely going to be the most beautiful, sweet, peaceful, and incredible birth ever.

Then, I went into labor. I had an epidural at 3 cm. (as early as you can), but it didn’t work.  I felt it all, including the vacuum that was used to get him out.  My beautiful, perfect, cone-headed baby.

With my second, I got to the hospital at 8 cm. Then she just fell out! There was no doctor, no nurse – just my husband (who was freaking out and saying “is this supposed to be happening?”). Papers flying, husband holding baby in with his hand, my mom looking for help, and my sister -my poor sister -her jaw was on the floor and she looked as if she’d seen a ghost. Where were my support people?

By my third time around, I found a new doctor. I explained that I was a natural at this, and I knew how I wanted it. I wanted no drugs. My babies came fast!  My husband was going to catch this one, he was going to cut the cord, and I would have a mirror so I could watch my baby be born. I wanted my precious baby placed immediately on my chest – skin to skin – and I wanted to breastfeed right away. Period. I reminded my doctor of my plan at every single visit; this is how it was going to be. I explained that my husband was my coach, and we wanted to labor alone. It was going to be beautiful (in hindsight, I was my own doula!).  I wanted NO intervention.

At 43 weeks pregnant (yes, that’s right, world’s longest pregnancy), I had to be induced. The doctor was afraid my baby would be 10 pounds. I cried all the way to the hospital…I didn’t want to be induced! I knew my baby would come when he was ready. I didn’t understand why they wanted me to get him out if he wasn’t ready. So what if he was 10 pounds?  I was sure my body could do it! I sulked all the way through the pitocin drip. I labored away with no pain meds. I was offered drugs frequently, and turned them down every time.  I owed this to my baby. I was 9 cm. dilated and ready to push when my doctor came in and recommended an epidural; he thought it would slow things down a bit and give me some energy for pushing (it turned out he was delivering twins right next door, and they were coming fast). I rolled over to my side, ready to do what he asked, because he recommended it.  Before they had time to administer anything, out came my baby’s head!  The doctor ran back into the room, caught my baby, cut the cord himself, handed him to a nurse to clean him up, dumped my placenta, then left to deliver the twins next door.

My husband missed the whole thing. My husband – who couldn’t wait to catch our baby -missed the whole thing. I missed the whole thing. There was no mirror, no control, no husband cutting the cord, no respect, no birth plan, no empathy, no baby placed skin-to-skin on my chest, and most of all, no 10 pound baby.  He was 7 lbs, 6 oz.

I can’t help but wonder how different these births -especially my third -would have been if I’d had someone knowledgeable in my corner who understood both the medical lingo and the process of labor and birth, someone who knew exactly what I wanted and would help me to achieve that.  Someone not emotionally tied to me, who would have stood up for me -my very own advocate. I vowed immediately after my third and final birth that I was going to do something about that.

When I meet with clients, they are usually only entertaining the thought of a doula.  They mostly want to know why they should hire another person to assist them when they already have a support person – whether it’s a spouse, a friend or a partner.  Furthermore, most couples believe that the doctor (whom they have grown extremely close to), midwife, and nurses will be in the room, by their side, supporting them through their entire labor and explaining everything as it is going on.  Experience has shown me that this is not always the case.  Next to the partner, a doula is the only person looking out for the mother’s best interests 100% of the time.  Whether it is a precipitous (very fast ) labor, or a 70-hour labor, a doula is there the entire time to help the mother achieve the birth experience she wants to have. While the nurses (and I have seen many good ones) do offer support, their primary job is to chart, document, and monitor both mom and baby at all times.

I help my clients come up with a birthing plan.  The parents outline their perfect birth and together we address the “what-ifs” (”should you end up having a C-section, let’s make the environment as pleasant as we can”).  Most people don’t think about these things on their own.  A doula also helps to remind the parents of the birth plan. When the unforeseen happens, or if chaos arises, the doula is an advocate -the ONLY advocate –for the parents. At a time when women are the most vulnerable, usually in pain, and the oxytocin (often called the ”trust drug”) levels are high, a woman will typically do whatEVER the healthcare providers say is best, which can often veer away (sometimes unnecessarily) from the original plan.

I explain to the partners that one of the many benefits of having a doula is it allows them to do their job –to love and support the mother.  Partners (men in particular) do not realize how hard it is to see the mother in pain;  they want to fix it, take the pain away. With a doula, the partner can focus solely on the mother and be reassured that everything else is being handled.  I remind the support person to eat, drink, and take care of themselves, which is the only way they will be able to take care of a laboring mom.

My most important job as a doula is to remind parents that this is their birth journey. You will never get a do-over on the birth of your baby. Doulas do not speak for the parents – doulas explain the parents’ options as well as the actions of the doctors, midwives, or nurses. We remind the parents to ask all the questions….what are the benefits? What are the risks?  My favorite question to remind my clients to ask: “What happens if I just do nothing?”

Those who know me know that I am very passionate about what I do.  I feel very strongly about women and the healthy function of our bodies.  We were meant to birth.  And I have no regrets about the way I birthed my babies.  The only regret I have is not educating myself about pregnancy, labor, and childbirth. If I could have ten more babies, I would, and I would have a doula every time.   Now, as a doula myself, I am the liaison between parents and their perfect birth. You dream the dream, and I help make it come true.
More on Heidi Biddle at Your Birth Journey

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Not To Doula

By: Ernessa Carter

Here’s the thing about being a woman who knows she wants an epidural, taking pre-natal yoga classes in Silver Lake: You’re the only one.

So here’s me having to listen to a zen-ruining running monologue from every single prenatal yoga teacher about how certain exercises could help you through the worst of the birthing pain and prevent epidurals. And how yoga helped you to really BE in the experience of giving birth, even though I saw no reason at all to really BE one with the pain, just because that’s how my ancestors did it. At a few points I wanted to ask the prenatal yoga instructor to just shut up, so that I could get my stretch on in peace, but that wouldn’t have been very yogi of me, would it?

After class was even worse. I wanted to make friends. I didn’t know any other moms in Silver Lake, and this seemed like a great place to strike up friendships with like-minded people — only they weren’t like-minded. In fact, it was hard for me to join the conversation when it so often went like this:

“How are your doula interviews going?”

“Great! I found this really wonderful woman named so-and-so, but she doesn’t know if she’s going to have my due date open yet.”

“Oh, I’ve heard great stuff about so-and-so. Doesn’t she use a tub?”

“Yes, and she also chants out these primal rhythms…”

“Oh, she sounds nice. Mine does massage, but she doesn’t chant.”

Okay, obviously I can’t join this conversation, because just the idea of a stranger in the room giving me gentle encouragement while I’m in tons of pain makes me want to rip her head off.

Also, deep down inside, I’m just too nice. I would feel bad about snapping at someone who wasn’t married or related to me. Even if they were getting paid to get snapped at.

But most of all, I didn’t want a doula because there was absolutely nothing a doula could do that my husband couldn’t. Also, my husband wouldn’t insist that I do breathing exercises when I didn’t want to. My husband would rub my back just like a doula would — even better: he wouldn’t rub my back, because I don’t like to be touched when I’m in pain. See, he already knows that, whereas a doula doesn’t. No matter how nice she is, she would try to help me when I didn’t want to be helped and push me when I didn’t want to be pushed. And quite frankly, that’s my husband’s job. He already sorta said he would do everything a doula would in his vows, and I wanted him to make good on his promise.

He did everything right. He retreated when he was supposed to and though we had attended birthing classes, unlike my first charge nurse, he didn’t try to force me to do the stupid breathing exercises, when I told him I didn’t want to.  He didn’t question my need to blog through my contractions, but he did forcibly take the iPhone away after my epidural, so that I could get some sleep. He didn’t sleep, though. And he was by my side as soon as I woke up. He held my hand and changed the TV station and fed me ice chips and promised me Fig Newtons as soon as I was done with the labor. “You’re doing so well, honey” he answered, when I told him “I can’t! I can’t!” And then he cried when our daughter Betty finally came bursting into this world. Now would a doula have done that?

I watched him over at the scale, giving Betty soothing words as she screamed about getting weighed. And though I did most of the heavy lifting, I knew he was just as happy as I to finally meet her. That’s when I realized something for the first time in nine months: It was his pregnancy, too. And his support during my labor had created a bond that would never be undone. Be it Death or Divorce or Disaster, we would always have these hours holding us together, a forever memory. And I’m so happy I didn’t let a doula cheat me out of that.

Ernessa T. Carter is the author of the novel, 32 CANDLES, which will be released by HarperCollins/Amistad on June 22, 2010. Pre-order your copy on Amazon here.

More on Ernessa Carter at Fierce and Nerdy

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Email us your birth story and we may post it the week of Mother’s Day

momsday@thenextfamily.com

By: Brandy Black

I’m reading a book “Lesbian and Gay Parents and their Children” by Abbie Goldberg and it got me thinking about my passion for marriage or as some prefer to call it- commitment ceremony.  I will occasionally get into this debate with gay friends who don’t understand why it was so important for me to marry Susan.  At the time we had a ceremony, I didn’t even realize what it would mean to me.  Frankly, my mother talked me into it right after I “came out” to her.

The days leading up to my coming out were torturous and I was prepared for the absolute worst case scenario.  I was ready for my parents to be angry and hurt and quite possibly disown me.  I made myself sick night after night worrying about telling them the truth.  In my case it was the dishonesty and lies that were the worst of it all, because once I actually told my parents that I was in love with a woman, all of the baggage and pain I had been carrying around suddenly dissipated and I was able to love Susan to my fullest for the first time.

But in that conversation with my mom, me weeping and my mother accusing me of being homophobic as she couldn’t understand why I was the one so upset, she asked me if we were going to get married and have kids.  It had never occurred to me that this might be an option – this was 10 years ago when conversations about gay marriage were barely stirring in the media.   She then went on to explain to me the importance of committing to each other in front of friends and family.  “It’s not just for you but for the people around you who don’t understand the blurry lines of gay relationships, it’s a way to tell everyone that you are pledging to one another for the long haul.”

I thought about it a lot, what it would mean to “marry” Susan.  It seemed as if it was a dream come true, we were the renegades in my eyes, the naughty girls that were doing what we shouldn’t, even though it felt so right.  After talking to my mother, she disarmed me and made me realize we weren’t rebels, or bad girls, we were following our hearts and allowing ourselves the life that we deserved.  After getting “permission” to feel proud of my relationship from two of the people closest to me, I wanted a wedding more than ever.

Once we had the ceremony in front of 80 of our closest friends and family -when it wasn’t legal- life was different.  Something changed after we made those vows to each other.  We opened our hearts and let the other in, we were partners with a flood of trust and love for one another.  I can’t explain the meaning of it all but she shifted from my girlfriend to my life, I mean wife.

Now having gone through all that a wedding encompasses, a shower, a ceremony, registering and a honeymoon- it was all worth it.  The constant validation from all of the people in our lives was amazing.  We needed support, we wanted it and it came gushing our way. The speeches, the notes in our guest book, the tears that poured from our friends’ eyes as Susan and I walked through the sea of people to find each other, Susan standing beautifully before me in all her glory, my best friend becoming my wife.  That day was life changing.

So when people tell me that they are against marriage because of the fact that we are trying to “be like” heterosexual people- I say call it what you will but find a way to share your love publicly with your family because it will make all the difference in the world.

Why did Abbie’s book make me think to write this wordy blog…

“Qualitative research by Alderson (2004) provides evidence of some of the perceived effects of civil marriage among lesbians and gay men.  Alderson interviewed married lesbians and gay men in Canada and found that, for many participants, getting married created an added sense of security that was deeply felt and greatly appreciated.  Consistent with the findings of Solomon et al. (2005), Alderson also found that many participants felt that marriage brought greater depth and completion to their relationships, cementing them in both financial and emotional ways.  They also understood their marriage as symbolizing monogamy and as providing recognition for them as a family.”

This was true for me.

By: Allison Norris

As 2009 came to an end, I took a moment to reflect on what a wild ride the year had been. I remember sitting on my girlfriend’s couch on New Year’s Eve 2008, 10 weeks pregnant, scared to death, and absolutely not going out on the town to celebrate the New Year. I was depressed. I had gotten into some fight with baby daddy and had decided to dramatically exit the relationship the final morning of 2008. I was asleep by 10 after wishing my friends in their tiny dresses a farewell and a confident “oh no, don’t worry about me, I’m fiiiiiine!”

We really put pressure on New Year’s Eve. So many facebook status updates reading “goodbye 2009! I am so excited for 2010… it’s going to be way better!” Sort of like a grown up, bonus Santa visit – here, take this new life and forget your old, shitty one! People think that the way they welcome the new year will dictate how the rest of the year will be. Sad and lonely? You’re screwed. Fabulous midnight kiss from the man of your dreams? It’s going to be a wonderful year! I suppose I technically should have had the worst year of my life…

Looking back, 2009 brought me some of the most challenging times that I have ever experienced. It also brought me more joy than I know what to do with.

Receiving my very first Value Village valued customer punch card.
Writing.
Peeing every hour.
Detesting chicken.
Growing a human.
Living in my zero gravity patio chair.
So many walks.
Birthing a human.
Fitting into my skinny jeans once again.
A lot of blurriness (thank you, sleep deprivation).
Starting a non-profit.
Sleepless nights.
Giggles in the morning.
BLOWOUTS.
Strollers and car seats.
Talking to myself.
Remembering Barney songs and singing them all day… out loud.
Love.
A healing vagina and cracked nipples. OUCH.
Amazing support.
Reconciliation.
Growth.
Breakfasts on the weekends.
A new vocab… pack n plays, the snap n go, exersaucers, nipple shields and PEPS!

I am realizing that everything on my list has to do with my baby. The year of the baby. That’s what I’ll call it.

By: Allison Norris

I can always tell when I say something annoying. I wonder why people who are actually very annoying don’t catch on… especially after the fourth eye roll in a row or another “mmm-hmm” from the listener while glancing around the room. I feel the words choking me as I sputter them out, not sure why I am saying them as I am sure they are… annoying.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that baby talk is my new first language and that I can’t remember what stories I’ve already told. I’m sure my friends dread playing along like they’ve never heard what I’m about to say and then quickly change the subject so that they don’t have to hear the “repeat tangent” like it’s the first time I’ve thought of it. This is kindness at its best. Not having a husband or roommate walk through the door each evening to exercise my witty bantering skills with has become obvious. I’ve taken up “one upping” to make myself feel like I know what I’m doing and actually talking about.

A friend of mine just had a baby… well, not just, as she has a nine year old and now a 2 month old. We went to lunch and I was so excited to see her, to have someone else to commiserate with and to show off what a hunk my little guy is. Her son was peacefully sleeping in his carseat and woke up hungry. As she started to unbuckle him, words began coming out of my mouth. It reminded me of science class when we we made volcanoes out of vinegar and baking soda. I had my own science experience happening… the words were foaming up and pouring out all over our lunch.

“oh yeah, you should probably feed him here. There aren’t too many places around this shopping center that are good for breastfeeding…”

“Great. I was actually getting him out to feed him.” She politely informed me.

“So… are you planning on joining PEPS, the mommy group?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll join in the next few weeks…”

“Well I signed up when I was four months pregnant and barely got on a waiting list. It’s a miracle I’m even in a group – so I would sign up, like, yesterday.”

Who was this know-it-all inhabiting my body? It was as if all self control and social etiquette had become a thing of the past and I was this savage of a girlfriend with primitive communication skills.

She fed her son and we finished feeding ourselves. We packed our things and I caught sight of her $1200 stroller. It was like someone was inside of my brain pushing the buttons and torquing the levers as I started comparing our strollers – out loud.

“Yeah, the thing I like about my stroller is that it has an undercarriage so that I can put all my stuff underneath. I’d be totally lost without it. Like, how do you even leave the house without one?”

“Umm…”

“And another thing, my diaper bag is so small that it leave me tons of room for other stuff. Have you seen this diaper bag brand? Mmm hmm. It’s the best.”

She got very quiet and it was unfortunately time for me to go home. I drove the 5 miles home replaying every awkward comment that I had made. It was like a drunken hook up that you can’t get out of your head the entire next day – that one scene that makes you go ohhh nooooo. I had experienced my first know-it-all drunken hook up… or whatever.

I blame it on sleep deprivation, making up songs about birdies and puppies that I end up humming because I can’t think of more words that rhyme, and eating too many Christmas cookies because I am home all day alone with them. It’s a bad combination and one that led me down a very dark social path, leaving me feeling like Penelope from snl… with a baby. I am just banking on my friend being equally as sleep deprived and too tired to notice. It feels like I have no idea what I’m doing on a daily basis and when that opportunity arises to sound like I am in control and actually have a grasp on things – it’s too awesome to pass up!

If you run into “Allison-the-expert”, I apologize. Right here, right now, I apologize.