Hey it's me....just wandering around.....

Hello,

Not sure anyone is here anymore, reading this, but I thought I'd start writing something once in a while, or more often. I've been reading lots of your blogs, though I find that my blogroll is pretty out of date.....and my template could use some designing or tweaking or some damn thing.

Anyway, this is that post you write when your last post was too heavy and you don't know what to write next.....so you fill in with something.

And now we carry on, pretending nothing happened in the meantime.

Pigs are flying

Since I got back from BlogHer, I have had swine flu, and now the baby has swine flu and we are trudging through. Mac had it last June, but now---oy. I thought I dodged a bullet, but apparently it's hard to catch, and he just didn't pass it on properly, bad child. Would have been much more convenient to get in June, you know.

I have been doing some commenting when possible. The only other things I have updated are Facebook rarely and twitter cause I can reach them on my blackberry, and I long ago mastered the art of balancing a cellphone while a small child screamed in agony and slapped the shit out of me at 4:00 am.

(If you aren't on twitter, you can read me and anyone there, by clicking on the sidebar link and reading them, or you can read any tweets on google reader or bloglines by clicking on the little orange button with the wavy lines that sits on a twitter profile. )

Piggy flu baby Julius looks pretty healthy during the day except for the runny pink eyes, runny nose, coughing, whining, diarrhea, cramps, intermittent fever and such. It's the all night screaming that kind does me in. But it's really not bad. Not as bad as RSV anyway.

Oh, about BlogHer? Best goddamn thing I've ever done. The keynote speeches? Rocked my world, I laughed, I cried, I saw whole worlds I never knew existed. I adore these women. I think I'd hurt anyone who tried to hurt them. Mostly because, as I told Mel (Stirrup Queens-Mel), you have all saved my life. When no one on earth cared about my pain, you were the women, and men, who stood by me and kept me going.

I can't forget that.

Which is why I have such an need to save you all right back.

And the rumoured, supposed bad behaviour of some women? I didn't see any negative things, but then again I'm used to Liberal Party conventions, and ummm, errr, let's just say that Liberals really are on a whole 'nother scale of rowdy, ok? I've seen fistfights, and near riots and pregnant women being almost crushed in crowds if it wasn't for the security details. I've seen things that would blow your mind, at Tory conventions, (literally, table full of blow) and Dipper conventions (don't ask...) too, so hey, maybe I'm jaded?

(And yes, they were male dominated conventions, and no one blinked an eye at their behaviour. Hmmmm, coincidence?)

I do think that some of the companies involved at BlogHer acted poorly. I won't get very detailed here, but I do think they misjudged their audience. They seemed rather self absorbed, and not very aware that people like me, consumers with large budgets, were there. In fact, I don't think it actually occurred to them that some of their company's stockholders might be there, watching them.

Little message I'd like to get across:

Hi Marketers, not everyone at BlogHer is poor, or lacking in connections. Some of us don't need ads or free swag, (Yes, we'll take it, for fun, but we don't need it, big difference). But we were so totally fucking unimpressed with your company's patronizing sales reps and marketers that we short sold your stock for kicks when we got home. In fact, some of us have friends, who manage mutual funds and pension funds, and we told them that you suck at customer service as well.

You know, like I would, if I was one of those not so poor not so connected types.......

Heh

I know--marketers think all mommybloggers are poor and grasping and desperate for ads and freebies. And some do need the cash and more power to them if they can feed their kids and make it. But whether we need the money or not, we all deserve respect and dignity. Cause you never know who is watching. And who has the back of her peeps.

Anyway, I just know that I have 1400 new friends, all fabulous, kind, and lovely women. We laughed and drank and learned about Google SEO and deep links and design and all sorts of cool stuff.

And then we all caught BlogHerebola from each other.....scuse me while I go take some cold meds and go to bed.

New faces, new look maybe?

Two blogger meets to describe; first, I hung out with Patti and Mark, Pam and V., and Gil and her hubs down from Ottawa, at Pam's house. It was great and we had loads of fun. I could not bring the boys, they were sick and teething and studying for exams. But maybe next time? Anyway, everyone was wonderful, and I can't wait to get together again.

I met some very lovely women at the Toronto BlogHer meetup this past Saturday and I enjoyed myself immensely. Thank you for taking me Lisa! (She was my beard. Just in case.) In fact, after chatting with Her Bad Mother and everyone else, and mentioning that story about CATSA and breastmilk on planes (is that like snakes on a plane...?) guess what I saw today? This! Awesome, thank you thank you to everyone who reads and tweets and does whatever to help fix our Canadian mess!

I think that BlogHer '09 might work out even if I will be hiding in the corner behind my computer. Mostly because it seems that everyone else is going to do that as well, so it will be a crowded corner. Heh.

One funny thing. Last year Mel had blogged about blogger cards and how they get handed out with all your info, and you know I've been dithering about what to put on my badge and tell people. Well, it turns out that at blogger get-togethers, everyone introduces themselves as their real name and then says their blog name. And if you don't say your blog name, or url or something, then there is a long weird silence. Like---well---who are you?

And everyone is nice and nobody cares about details, but, I have to wonder, they are also likely not as crazy as me or as much of a naked blogger as I am. Although, after reading Niobe's confessions posts and Julia's secrets post, that may not be true, turns out y'all are as interesting and fucked up as I am, but nobody admits it except me. Two weeks ago, I was convinced that I was the only nutbar in the blogosphere, but now it's fer sure, I am not alone. Which is awesome, right? I need company! Otherwise people will think I am just talking to myself.

But to get back to my point, I need cards people, and not just the goofy plain typed ones with my real name and address for playdates. I need one with a design! Which means my blog likely needs a damn design! Something it has never really had. I just picked a blogger template and changed a few colors and started typing. Since I never actually look at my own blog, but just read comments on email, it never occurred to me that we might need to put some lipstick on this pig.

Until now.

So what should I do? Where do I start? I have no ideas, beyond hating the color green. Also hate peach. And I need some one to do it all for me including installing, because I actually can't do any of it. I can pay someone? I can type, and I talk a good game, but I'm always afraid to fiddle with settings. Plus cards. I know there are local places that print them, but how? Do I email it? Email what for that matter? Or draw something with crayons? Chalk on sidewalk? Sanskrit on paper?

Anyway, if you have any ideas for facelifts or bloglifts or contacts, pass 'em on. I may not remember to put on face makeup at this thing, but I'd like it if my website looked good. And if I do it on my own, the only look I'll dream up will involve the theme, "Cheap 'n Crummy."

Help!

I'm here, just blocked

I'm not disappeared totally, just blocked on something big I need to write about. This week I have been hysterical and upset and freaking out and calmer and angry then strategizing. Sort of in that order.

Doctors suck, life sucks, and then----you just decide to forget about everything.

Political buddies--friends I met in Vancouver? It was lovely lovely wonderful and awesome meeting you, but FYI, this is more of a personal blog, and although I do write about politics sometimes, you might not find what you are looking for.

Oh, and Manuela and I did not end up meeting, darn. She is doing well, single, and enjoying her life in BC. (Psst, she is on Facebook if you ever want to say hi!)

My pumped breastmilk made it back, in my checked luggage, although it did get squished, and I lost about 1/3 of the bags to bursting or spoiling. Made me cry. All that work, down the drain. I still fail to understand why Stephen Harper is terrified of my breasts? They really aren't that scary dude! Even the Americans aren't scared of pumped breastmilk and Medela breastpumps. In fact, in every country around the world, they are just fine with women bringing breastmilk back after being separated from their babies. Meanwhile CATSA scanned me like I was a terrorist and ignored my letter from the breastfeeding clinic stating it was a real medical device.

Boobheads.

irritation

I am so crabby and irritated right now, you could likely do a study on me as an example of "what happens when you don't have enough hormones."

There are so many good things in my life but when I feel like this, I cannot see it.

I really sincerely utterly can't stand anyone. Everything everyone does is wrong and stupid and annoying and driving me crazy.

So until my doc calls me back and helps me fix my HRT and deal with these fibroids, I'm just laying low.

I've had a bunch of your tabs open for awhile and I intended on commenting, but that may not be such a great friggin idea. I keep waiting to be in a better mood, but I'm NEVER in a better mood. It's taking all my strength just to write something decent when I do comment.

And the stupid Doc is not calling me back. And everything I find online is depressing. I desperately do not want to lose any body parts, like my uterus, and the best treatments seem to be still under research, and I do NOT want to use drugs to put me in menopause because that is worse than anything.

I'm going to be in a good mood for my kids if it effin kills me, but I don't have anything left over for anyone else. Sorry.

Twitter

I'm on twitter, although I am still not one of the cool kids, but I'm getting there.

This is me, here. I've left it open for now, so if you want to follow me, go for it, but I can't promise anything profound. More likely lame. I have to say that the nicest feature of Twitter is that you can see exactly who is following you, unlike with blogs where anyone can subscribe or click and secretly lurk.

Which reminds me, it's De-Lurking week, so come on out people!!!

(Okay, that was last week or the week before, but so what, I'm a day late and a dollar short all the time...you expected fast on this?)

I have likely gained back a few pounds. My darling evil husband decided that if I had one beer, he should buy me a bottle of wine, and tempted me with many many sugary treats. So I cheated, and now I am getting back on the wagon sugar wise. A little is fine, but not this much.

I was very disturbed to read this story. I thought that things were getting better, but I guess not. This happens too often people, for women going through stillbirths and miscarriages. I remember telling some politicians and staff about this issue and they didn't believe me. They figured it was just more raving from the crazy dead baby lady. Not quite. At the end it talks about the laundry staff having to be treated for shock. Yeah, I'll bet. PTSD, nightmares, depression, flashbacks.

The trauma is overwhelming.

Trust me, I know.

Resolution update

So my diet/not really diet/healthful eating thing is going well. I've lost a few pounds, and my fancy new scale says that my bodyfat is going down and my water percentage is the same, so it isn't water I'm losing.

I was 138ish. That by the way means that with clothes and glasses on, I was 138.9 or 139, and with clothes off and contacts in like in the morning before I get dressed, I was 138. I'm trying to weigh myself in the morning, same time of day, and not dressed, because I have discovered that clothes, and watches and glasses and belts and shoes can really change your weight! So you know---you think, hey I lost weight, and then you weigh yourself at night with a bunch of clothes and bam, you think you gained....yeah, I know, you all knew this, but on behalf of the ignorant here, be generous.

I am 135 right now, a week later. I was 134, but I go up and down here and there, so it's not bad. My bodyfat is 32%, which is a hell of a lot lower than it was before. (I told you I had no muscles...if you check the web, that is baaad baby.)

So I've stuck with the no alcohol regime, (12,000 extra calories per month if you have a couple glasses a night, eeek!!) and I am eating smaller amounts of normal meals, but all the same things. I am not buying smarties and Reese's peanut butter cups which are my major weaknesses, and I am trying to eat some more veggies, but I already have enough diet restrictions as it is, since I am severely lactose intolerant, and have other health issues, so I can't do any of the fad diets out there, or detoxing, or protein diets.

I am stuck with moderation. Nuthin' fancy. I already eat pretty low fat as it is, since everything I touch is dairy free, but I have to make the kids meals with some dairy and higher levels of fat or they will not have the normal weight gain they need. We try to keep the transfats to a minimum cause they aren't good for anyone.

But in the end, I just eat a smaller portion of whatever I was eating before. Like, instead of 8 chocolate cookies, I only eat two. If I eat none, I just feel bitter and deprived, so I decided not to ban chocolate treats completely.

Okay, as for renovations, we have discovered more leaks in the roof above Kaz's bedroom. And a major crack in the bathtub/shower handle, and I think we have mold in the house again because I am continuously stuffy and it isn't possible to have allergies like this in winter, unless I have mold somewhere again. So my poor darling husband is slowly starting to accept that he has to renovate sooner as opposed to later. The only question is how much to spend and how far to go. Personally, I want to do it right, not luxuriously, but nicely, and live here until the kids grow up and then we can move into a condo. He wants to spend as little as possible (Cheep, cheep cheep says the birdie!) and live here until we can't stand it any longer and then beg on bended knee for someone to buy it off of us. And I'm like, umm, why would we beg? Why would we put in cheap, crappy materials and just have to redo it in a few years when everything breaks? And then he hyperventilates and starts muttering about the market and apocalypse and armageddon and the end of the world as we know it. And I laugh. Cause if he was really worried, he'd stop spending so much money. And honey, can he spend....

But at least he's talking about it, so I have to give him some credit. Now I just have to call our poor architect and have the embarassing conversation about starting up again and by the way he can't show the husband his face because every single time husband gets an email, the hyperventilating starts again.

I looked at the BlogHer registration page and I'm trying to figure out how to sign up, and then realized, holy shit, I'll have to use my real name. I can't just show up with a bag over my face, a wallet full of unmarked bills and a business card with Aurelia on it, can I? I know lots of people use pseudonyms and for them, it's no big deal, but for me---it's personal safety. This is going to take some figuring out. I mean, I'll need the damn passport, and credit cards. And what do they put on your conference badge? Your fake name? Your blog address? Whatever you want?

I'm already planning my wardrobe here...hoodies, a wig, colored contacts, and a set of fake buck teeth.

This is going to be worse than that crime victims conference I went to a few years back, where the person running it decided to have the entire thing filmed and didn't tell anyone before. Then she announced that 80% of the non-police attendees were crime victims. Every single cop, judge, and lawyer in the place was walking up to the civilians on the coffee breaks and asking, "So, what kind of crime happened to you?", cause they had no idea what the hell else to ask. They were horribly uncomfortable and we were all ducking and hiding everytime a camera swung our way. (I mean, duh, we were all the victims of personal crimes, not corporate fraud. Sensitivity--not so much.) It was total utter hell. Most of us didn't want to walk up to the microphones to talk, so there was almost no participation.

But last years BlogHer seemed by all accounts to be very well-attended and lots of participation, so they must be better at it, yet there were pictures everywhere?

Okey-dokey people, I know some of you attended last year and didn't come out completely, soooo, how did you do it? Real Name? Blog Name? Did you tell some people some things, and say nothing to others? Did you have two cards with different stuff on them? Or is everyone magically completely cool?

As for the lasers and health stuff? I am going to call my GP and ask her for some referrals this week. I've been researching and the price and quality varies pretty dramatically. And who knows if they correspond? It's my eyesight at minimum, so I don't want to go cheap, but I don't want to spend stupidly.

Meanwhile, my period will not end, and my hormones are not acting pleasantly. So I'm going to have to get that under control. It's still not good, months later. I'm getting an ultrasound next week to check if the damn Fibroid ever shrank and left.

I have to know. Am I the only person in the blogosphere who still has IF-related health problems after finishing having kids? Cause none of you ever seem to talk about it, unless you are trying for another baby. And I have no intention of spending the rest of my natural life having my period 2 weeks out of 4. It sucks people. Really.

So help? Anyone? BlogHer questions and cooter questions?

Heroes with clay feet

So some of you may not have ever really read anything by my heroes. You know how much I admire Dr.Suess, aka Theodore Geisel. Well, he is lovely, but he isn't the subject today.

Today we're going to talk about the funny ladies of the world. Specifically the moms. Erma Bombeck is a woman I have always deeply admired. She and her compatriots in comedy, made it okay to laugh about being a mom and a wife, and not just a stepford clone. We could tell the world about yelling at our kids and chill about it, and no one minded. Hell, most of them got journalism awards and Emmies. I am pretty damn sure that when Erma wrote,"Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation. If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you," that no one called the police. In fact, I'll bet that was published in her weekly column and repeated on network television on Good Morning America, and guess what? No one even freaked on her and called Children's Aid. Like twenty years before blogs were invented, and everything!

What's that you say? Oh, that she wasn't infertile, she didn't realize how preshuuss her kids were and that's why she made fun of them?! Yeah, except that she was infertile, and her first child, a daughter, was adopted after they got the news, and her next two boys came as a surprise to her fertility doctor. And her I'm betting.

And she still wrote, "Children should be judged on what they are - a punishment for an early marriage."

But she was sane, right? She didn't have ADD like me, or bipolar illness like certain other moms, or post-partum depression. Weeeellll, except that actually she did have post-partum depression, and way back in the seventies, when nobody on earth was talking about it, she wrote a book on it. Here are some more bits of her writing I like. You should definitely read page 18. Honestly, it's like a manual for mommyblogging. Frankly, that exact column, "Motherhood - Love and Laughter" is the reason I blog. Because if I wasn't making fun of them, I would lose my fucking mind as I flush yet another toilet full of shit, that some mysterious almost teenage boy forgot to dispose of on his own. (You know how you think that when they are toilet trained, you are done dealing with their poop? Nope... every.damn.day.)

(Did I mention that I like to swear?)

(Fuckin A alright baby!)

It really does make me sad that we just don't seem to have that kind of humour nowadays. Everyone seems just so determined to be the perfect professional parent that no one is allowed to make a joke unless it involves puppies or kittens, or muffin recipes. I tried to talk about how I gave ground up adult food to the baby and was just being a whatever mom about feeding the kid, and I discover that you overanxious new mommies have given it a bloody name? And there are books, to take all the slacker fun out of it? Helllooo? What's next? I'm afraid to even guess.... Someday Sarah Silverman will have babies, and please God I pray that she makes fun of her kids and makes videos ridiculing them! Please? Please God?

I love Carol Burnett, and Lucille Ball, and Lily Tomlin, Bette Midler, Roseanne Barr, Gilda Radner, Brett Butler, Jennifer Saunders, and Dawn French. And lots of them made jokes about wanting to strangle their children and yell at them, and guess what? Not only did they rarely get scolded, and certainly no one on the planet ever accused them of abuse, but surprise, they got PAID for it.

Just like a lot of mommybloggers do.

Gee whiz.

In all seriousness, if there is anyone in the blogosphere who does not know what I am referring to, just go here and here. I agree with Tertia and Cecily on this one as you might have guessed. I am not linking to the original woman involved, because she wants the linking to end, but I do support her and hope she is okay. And I wrote this, because I wanted her to know that she didn't need to apologize to me or anyone else, IMHO. Erma never did, so fuck em all.

As a former abuse victim, I get why some people think they need to act, but guess what asshole, you need to act when you see a child actually being abused, not when you see a random writer on the net making a joke.

But I know what you are thinking, better safe than sorry, cause hey, what about the children?

Actually they do better if they stay with their parents, even abusive ones. Concern trolling is not helpful.

Yes, yes, you are not convinced, well, let's link to The Goudge Inquiry Report. There was yet another case filed today for yet another wrongful conviction of an innocent man who disgraced pathologist Charles Smith sent to jail. The man was grieving, in total agony, and he was arrested and told that he must have killed the baby, since well, you know, babies hardly ever die on their own. Dr. Charles Smith was kind of a concern troll in a way. He assumed that if a baby died, someone must be to blame, and he was going to punish them. Any and all off-handed remarks were evidence of a killer's heart. He made up the rest from there. No, that isn't a misprint. He made up all the forensic evidence, and hid anything that would exonerate the parents.

(Did I ever mention that he tesitified all over the US? And that he admitted to making up that stuff as well? And that all over the US there are likely innocent people in jail? Maybe some of the lawyers/prosecutors reading my post might want to do a search on their records. Just in case.)

In too many cases to count, on little more than the say so of gossip, with very little forensic evidence, the grieving innocent parents were sent to jail, and their remaining children adopted out, and never ever told that their parents were forced to give them up. When the parents got out of jail, their fertility was monitored, and if they got pregnant, they were forced to either have an abortion or give the new baby up at birth.

These children's lives have been destroyed, and their parents lives were destroyed, because no one cared about actual evidence of abuse. Instead, they felt like being, you know, "better safe than sorry."

Seriously, to the grieving moms out there, if, after your baby was stillborn, or died of SIDS, or pneumonia, or heart failure, you were arrested, and called a murderer, and sent to jail, and your older kids were taken away and adopted out to possibly abusive foster parents, and you were never allowed to have another living child again; what would you do?

And if it was because of a nosy neighbour, or a tweet, or bit of gossip, or a blog, would that make it okay, cause it was better to be judgemental and safe than sorry?

I don't think so.

I'm letting Erma have the last word.

There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.

Woo-hoo

I have been feeling mightily ashamed at my technical incompetence on the blogroll front. So I buckled down today and fixed it the bit in my account that prevented me from getting blogroll code. Somehow or other I have managed to add my blogroll from bloglines, bit by bit.

Only one wee problem, I have not kept up to date with moving most of you around into different categories, so this may look a little goofy until I figure out that yes, you did have a baby and should be in the mom category, etc...frankly, I'm just amazed I didn't blow up the blog at this point, that having you all in proper categories would be too much for my puny brain!

So check out if I have a link to you and if you are in the right place. If not, leave a comment or email me, and I will add you or change you. FYI, a number of blogs have been moved to my "old outdated blogs" section because you haven't updated for a dog's age, but I still keep your feed, even though you can't see it right now and if you ever update or come back, I'll put you in the current area.

I think that may be the saddest part of this exercise, counting all the old friends who just haven't updated, or who shut down their blogs completely. Manuela at Thin Pink Line and 'Nilla, who are only on Facebook now, Meg at the Paragraph who I miss every single day, Thrice who I hope will come back, JJ who I hope will have good news, Casey my old bud....honestly, I really miss you all, even I know you had good reasons for no longer blogging. Sigh....

Onward and upward though, can't think about that now, too sad. Need happy.

So go visit Angry Aliens - where the movies redone in 30 second with bunnies troupe lives! Cartoon bunnies galore! Hot Bun on bun action!

I am also ramping up my annual holiday obsession of acquiring any and all DVDs and tapes of Rankin Bass animated specials, toys, and what have you. (I own some, but not ALL. Must acquire ALL.) Rudolph and all his animagic friends make me so happy, I can barely think. There is supposed to be a new animated special this year all about the Heat Miser and Snow Miser, and it sort of looks like the right artwork, but I can't tell from the tiny screen?

Future post---more about the helmet and boys and my now calmer hormones, etc. etc., not to mention my glee and hilarity about the current government crisis here in Canada. Harper seems to be unable to count seats or remember the rules of a parliamentary govt. Heh.

Yawn, off to dreamland toots, baby will be up soon to eat.

After the last post

Just a little message to the new political readers I seem to have picked up lately.

This is not solely a political blog like Liblogs and other aggregators and like many personal bloggers I do not just look at things from an objective point of view. So, when I post about a policy issue that the government needs to fix, it's not because I'm searching for something to say and found a news story, it's because in my own life, I have encountered a particular situation and perhaps have been dealing with it publicly or privately possibly for months. Even if I don't link to precise proof in a post, it doesn't matter, because I'm simply reporting what I as Jane average citizen have witnessed and my reaction to it. If you don't believe what I type, then google your own damn fingers away and find links, or fuck off. Real life is not a university essay, complete with credits and footnotes and bibliographies, and leaving comments asking for proof is high school. This is the real world, complete with dead babies, and live kids, and vaginas, and hot flashes, and discrimination and ridiculous encounters with government and business and neighbours and messy family situations.

So to the commenter, "Fact checker", I left you a comment afterwards with the links you so desperately desired. I assume that you will still doubt me. Your comment wasn't the thing that pissed me off, by they way, it was your name. Oh well, guess who doesn't give a flying fuck about what you think?

As to the subject at hand, the issue still remains and it needs to be said, that if Passport Canada really cared about protecting children from kidnapping and other custodial disputes, then they would require ALL children to present long form birth certificates, and then print those names in the passport of the child. That way a happily married dad could not simply sneakily pack up the kids and flee on a plane with those normal passports to say, the Middle East, and refuse to return the kids. As it is, he could just forge a letter from the "supposed" mom saying he has permission to go and without proof of who the mom is, they would just let the kids go. Poor mom comes home from work, and voila, too late.

No, this is about treating certain children like lower class citizens. If you disagree and wish to be an anonymous tithead, feel free to go back to LibLogs or the Blogging Tories and have fun there. They tolerate that shit. I do not.

Ok, done with that for today. Next.

My Doc called with my hormone levels from yesterdays blood test. Sigh....

FSH 19
LH 11
E2 683
Progesterone 2

I had a sort of AF a few days back. Not much. So this might be early in a cycle. Or not. I have been taking some estrace here and there to help with the hot flashes, but not much else. Debating lower doses of DHEA to help my hormones work nice, without making any eggies. I want to feel normal, but never ever ever ever ever ever get pregnant again. That delivery scared the shit out of me. I'm terrified of dying from another abruption, one that might not get caught in time. And of course, guess who doesn't feel like getting a vasectomy?

Yah

So looking at those numbers, no wonder I feel menopausal. Sooo, I'm going to try to take some progesterone with the estrogen and we scheduled an ultrasound to check on my fibroid. Hopefully it shrank after the c-section, but since it was all done so fast, no one noted it on the surgical report. Also, during surgery no one could find my ovaries. Apparently, they are missing. Should I send out an APB?

Seriously, I love advice from fellow infertiles. Any thoughts on what might be happening?

Is it the fibroid? The breastfeeding? The ovarian failure returning?

Where do you think my ovaries are? On vacation?

I bet they got a passport no problem.

Baby pixels

Such a struggle for Julius....poor thing. Tummy time is very very hard. Feel sad. Weep for him. gnash your teeth. rent your clothes.

For more cute political babies, see here. Courtesy Miss Cellania. All you Obama lovers will squee. I spontaneously ovulated as I clicked.

Heh

Thank you to Aunt Jenny for the quilt! It does help him to rollover, because he has something to grab on to and get some traction. And it's nice and warm when I feed him at night!

I swear to god he does smile and laugh. When he isn't being forced to get rid of his flathead.

Really.

P.S. I cannot figure out how to move the pictures around the post, how do I do it, all of mine seem to be on the left of the blog, and on top? Why am I the most dipshitted person on earth when it comes to digital photos?

Run run run

This week, I have been running my ass off, and haven't been able to post much consequently.

Julia has had her baby btw, and I am filled with joie de vivre!! She is probably one of the kindest loveliest women I have ever met, and I am so very happy that all went well, and her son is here. Hugs, hugs, and more hugs honey!

I will tell all more about my activities this week coming I promise, truly. In the meantime, a list of what I've been up to:

- we bought a car, after arguing strenuously about it for days. A Buick Enclave actually. Yayyy!

- the boys gave me a lovely necklace with many sparkly teeny diamonds in it for my Big Girl Birthday. Yayyy!

- we bought a new camera, a Sony Cybershot to replace the broken one. Fresh pictures of Julius coming up ASAP!! Yayyy!

- street party at our house, many neighbours chatted and laughed, and yes we started speaking to the next door neighbour again, the one who doesn't like us. She started it. Quite shocking, but pleasant. Weird....

- We are still talking to the architects and engineers about house options. And getting the money to do it. Boo.

- the eye goo thing has stopped on Julius. Yayyy!

- it is possible for me to do laser eye surgery, but not until I am finished with the hormonal shifts of child-rearing and breastfeeding. So my laser eye fantasy isn't possible next year. Boo.

Until later my dears....must run to get the baby!

Hi honeybear!

Yes, that is my affectionate name for Mr.Cotta, and yes he now knows that this blog exists....oh good lord this could be a rollercoaster.

I had been having a difficult time with my life for a long long time, not knowing what to do with myself, feeling like a failure at a career, (Thank you ADD!) feeling like a failure at school (ADD, how you stalk me!) and feeling like a failure as a woman, since my fucked up body couldn't seem to maintain a pregnancy or an estrogen level. And yes, certainly a failure as a wife and mother, since I was struggling so much with the basics....I'd rather throw dishes away than wash them, for instance. Not a winning strategy....

Then I discovered blogging, and it seemed like such a wonderful thing---a support group that I could hang out in 24/7 and maybe even contribute to in some way.

Thing is, I knew that I would likely fuck it up in some way at some point, because of course that is the pattern of my life. So I never told my very accomplished, brilliant successful husband that I had a blog, because I assumed that it was going to go down in flames instantly. Why start a problem when it could all be over so fast? And the blog did get fucked up. Two years ago, I started this thing, and only a month or so later deleted everything, and abandoned it, then started all over again.

I figured after that I'd last a month, maybe two. But it kept going, and going, and going.

And here I am tonight, having a heartfelt talk with my husband telling him that I have a blog and I never told him because it was such a stupid little thing at first, and then it was bigger, and then it was amazing, and it has really really helped my self-esteem, and mostly I never told him because I figured that he might think that what I wrote wasn't good enough.

And that would crush me if it was so.

Because even when he exasperates me to no end, I still admire his opinion more than anyone else's.

Funny thing is, he is very happy that I have been doing something creative with my time and not just commenting on other blogs. He told me that he is glad that I do have a blog since he views that as pursuing my passion to help other women who have been through pregnancy and loss. But then again, he *might* just think this blogging thing sucks.

Monday morning he will be reading this I guess, or he may just not. We'll see.

Meantime, say Hi to my Honeybear!

slammed-one handed typing

i no longer can type with two hands mostly because i am nursing or holding a baby or burping one....plus life has become nutty on top of that.

nicole at just crazy enough to try had her baby, a little girl! yayyyyyy Her blog feed did not send the news to my bloglines so i didn't know for a few days. go say congrats.

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my bil P has returned to europe secretly after we advised him not to just yet. he has no support network or doctors or family over there and as we predicted things are going very very badly. he can't see his kids until he is stable and since he is acting well---manic? psychotic? he will likely not see them for awhile except from a distance mandated by a court. his emails and phone calls to them are sometimes normal and sometimes terrifying.

we think he missed his meds as soon as he left the hospital and got confused and started self-medicating again. worst part is that the whole family is fighting over him and whether or not he's okay. some people think he's sane but 'misunderstood', others think he is batshit crazy. all i know is that he is writing some unreal stuff in his emails about our family and anyone else who thinks he is still unwell. apparently we are the crazy ones, and have committed numerous criminal and immoral acts while engaged in a vast conspiracy against him. he seems to cast himself as the white knight in all these tales, rescuing me and my poor children among others from my evil husband.

paranoid and out of touch with reality perhaps?

sigh...we keep wondering if we'll get a call that he has been found dead somewhere. it all makes me want to cry.

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As for immediate concerns, I am overwhelmed with dirty diapers, and breastfeeding and we are about to start the three week growth spurt. Lilypadz rock for protecting blistered nipples from irritation. frozen lilypadz are like heaven on these poor injured bodyparts. just remember to wash the padz with soap and water in between uses or you'll get bacteria growing and you will hurt and the baby will get indigestion and gas.

julius is healthy and cute, i wish i could show you more photos but our camera seems to have broken and i need to get my hubby to take it in for repair. if my cameraphone can do it i'll post something from that. he does have some goopy stuff coming out of his left eye and i think he has a blocked tear duct but otherwise he is alright.

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nanny is a godsend. she is happily willing to do housekeeping and mow the lawn and deal with laundry but the cultural differences are wild. she just came over from the phillipines in the last month or so and explaining things like the toronto green bin have resulted in some funny moments. we keep our green bin (organic waste) in the basement because of racoons. our dry garbage and recycling go outside. well, we showed her everything but i guess she thought her new employers were very odd people for putting our garbage in our basement and she kept trying to take it outside for us. i found it hidden in the bottom of the garbage bins later. when we finally explained it to her with pictures from the website and some translation---she was very embarassed and we all had a good laugh.

also i keep trying to make her take a lunch break but she refuses. i figure she deserves one and keep encouraging her to leave and get a coffee once a day or go for a walk or at least eat lunch upstairs with us but she never does. i think she eats in the basement actually. I'm thinking that i may have to force her to take breaks upstairs because i'm still a mess and the boys are done school so with three kids and a weak lady to take care of she will have her hands full and if she gets overworked we're sunk, you know?

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actually i am feeling a bit more energy every day. i went for a walk around the block today with the baby in the stroller. took me an hour to prepare to go, but i did go!

the boys are very funny with the baby. Kaz is very very responsible and is like a little adult with the baby. he's able to carry him and rock him and knows how to support his head. it's a little surreal actually. mac on the other hand is still poking the baby and trying to pet him like a dog. he doesn't quite get how to be gentle. We're working on it.

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there is nothing on tv and nothing left on my dvr. thank god for the internet and my ipod or my brain would turn to mush while i breastfeed at 3 am. i'm about to break into my box set of buffy videos and watch them until my eyeballs fall out.

oh and i bought a medela swing breastpump and used it to start pumping once a day. i want to build up a frozen stock just in case i ever need it. that thing is amazing btw. much better and much gentler than my old crappy one. another reason to buy new instead of using my 13 year old junk.

ok ttyl dudes....tired.

Random bits

Mac had his birthday party today and it was a blast. We had it at a children's party centre in town that resembled a disco and invited his entire class and they entertained the kids and served pizza and pop and ice cream cake, and lordy I had nothing to do and it was great for that reason alone. I've done parties at my house before, but this year, I couldn't face it. Requires too much energy. So I outsourced it.

I am surrounded by wrapping paper. It looks like a toy store threw up in my living room.

I almost cancelled the party by the way. Turns out Mac lost his temper today at school and punched another kid square in the face after being teased. He got sent to the principal's office. We decided that he got punished enough at school, and we're just going to practice some more on how to control our anger. Sigh...

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Oh, on the last post, what I meant by live blogging labour was that I could update with my blackberry by using the mail to blogger address function. (Under settings for those of you who use Blogger.) It works from cellphones as well, but I've never been able to use the tiny keypads very well, so I thank God I've got the qwerty keyboard.

Why? Mostly because I tend to get easily distracted and am unable to focus on contractions or my loving husband's face or whatever all the granola people say you should do. I can't take ADD meds during labour due to the interactions with various meds they might have to put me on, and possibly my blood pressure going up, so basically I need something to do while I'm lying there painfree from the epidural and yet---so bored. (Note: I can't focus much before the epidural either. I just get panicked from the adrenaline.)

Yoga is out. So is sex, and getting drunk. All the staff and my husband all seem endlessly quiet and shushing or they want me to try to do things I am neurologically incapable of, like focus on my body or the stupid monitor. Meanwhile, every passing noise, every passing visual has me thinking up new ideas I want to talk about, but no one to talk to. So maybe it will work, maybe it won't. Who the hell knows? I just want to try to talk with people who get it.

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I have found some stuff on various blogs/websites that I thought I'd mention.

True Mom Confessions - hilarious. Me written a hundred times over.

NYTimes article on preemie survival rates - very nicely explained.

Dr.Joanne Cacciatore's personal blog - founder of the MISS foundation - amazing what she has accomplished. I admire her so much.

Yes, you are - a great post about how simple it is to be a feminist, even for imperfect, leg-shaving, makeup wearing SAHM breeders like me. I count to, yes I do. And to anyone who says I don't--well fuck you and the halo you rode in on.

A great list of stuff you need after you have a live baby - Alexa asked and the blogosphere answered, 200+ comments later, probably the most comprehensive list ever. I thought my comment to her might interest you, so I'm reprinting it here on my blog, and yeah it's bizarre, but so am I, so I figure it fits, and thought you might want to read it and get a laugh.

"Hmm, everyone has mentioned some great things, and I haven’t read every comment, but things I needed the most were not baby stuff.

I needed many many frozen meals in my freezer, snacks, bottles of water and juice boxes, and protein bars. Remote controls on everything, a DVR or Tivo, a wireless headset for the tv/stereo so I could watch something at 3 am while nursing but not disturb the baby, and a wireless headset/earpiece for the phone plus a beltclip for it.

Batteries-rechargeable, a zillion of every size and shape.

Extremely comfortable shoes and clothes that layer so you don’t have to change constantly when you have no time to.

Extra underwear when you have no time to wash clean stuff.

A nice leg wax and mani/pedi before she leaves the NICU and comes home so that you can feel okay wearing shorts in the summer when you go for walks. (I'm getting a mani-pedi and wax before labour provided I don't get an early surprise. I know that I'll never ever get to shave my legs after Dinkypie is here.)

Secret Platinum Soft solid antiperspirant white, not clear, so that you can skip showers for a few days and never ever smell. (I swear to God, I’ve gone three days in the woods with no BO when there were no showers available.)

Sign up for online banking, and get all your bills delivered electronically. Sign up for as many online services as possible so that if you can’t go out on a certain day, you don’t have to. Start stocking up on basics like paper towels, toilet paper, and toothpaste.

Earplugs, only to be used when you can see the baby, to prevent insanity.

Yes, unconventional, but what I needed.

Final assvice: Remember, when the plane is going down, the pilot puts their own oxygen mask on first, then helps everyone else. If the pilot doesn’t take care of themselves, the plane crashes."

I forgot to mention actually that all new parents should stock up on vodka, wine, and scotch, plus cleaning ladies and/or nannies, plus a carload of valium. Take the nannies liberally and the chemicals sparsely, whether you are breastfeeding or not, because baby needs a relaxed mom, but not a drunk one. A little bit of Mother's little helper never hurt. Use in moderation.

Assume that your husband has died or moved to Taiwan. That way, if he helps as much as you want you will be grateful to God for the miracle of true participatory fatherhood, and if he (more likely) hides at work all day and night and never helps at all, you will not be hurt, surprised, or full of resentment, because after all, he is either dead or has moved to Taiwan.

Toss all your pride overboard, learn to ask for help, and accept that you will fuck-up in ways you never ever imagined possible. You will drop the kid on their head, they will get horrendous diaper rash, you will forget doses of medicine, and you will forget to strap in the carseat properly one day. The lower your expectations are from the start, the better you will feel when you don't actually kill your own baby. If you start out trying to be The Perfect Mother, then you are only giving yourself a higher height to fall from and you will break your legs along the way.

Only God is perfect, moms are human.

That said, I will forget all this soon, and need generous reminders as I tear myself to pieces for all my fuck-ups-to-be. In a few months, when I start to beat myself up, do remind me.....

Cervical adventures at 33 weekish

So going by the mantra that nothing is ever boring in my life, I started to feel more cervical tingling/pain/movement Friday night, and just because I think that I'm crazy and paranoid, I scrub like a surgeon, and figure out the geometrics of getting my hand up my vagina to feel my cervix and figure out what the hell is going on. After TTC for the last 10 years or so, I'm an expert at figuring out the state of it quite easily and even discretely, but at 8 months pregnant, I look like a cross between a fetish film porn star and a Cirque Du Soleil gymnast.

Eventually I figure out how to grow my arms longer and find it, and it feels mushier than it did before, and I can even get a fingertip in a bit.

So freakin' panic sets in. I warn my husband to put his glass of wine down and be prepared to drive. (He's been dreading this part of the pregnancy since it means he can't drink more than a drop. So far I've been his designated driver, but now it may be time to switch, haha, since I can barely fit behind the wheel anymore and I need him to be able to make decisions without falling down even if it IS a special night with clients, yadda, yadda bullshit.)

Anyway, shortly afterwards the weird feeling stops completely and I decided to try and sleep and think about something else.

At 7 am I wake up with cramps, not contractions, but a crampy kind of pain, very low. I get my husband awake, and talk to him about going to the hospital. His first question? "Can we wait until after the kids' swim lesson?" upon which I promptly burst into tears. I mean, HELLO? I held off until morning for pete's sake. I think he clued in right then that we weren't waiting until after swimming.

So his cousin took the kids to swimming and we drove off to labour & delivery triage and we walked up there hand in hand, super tense, but at least together. We found the nurse, gave her the skinny, and she promptly hooked me up to the monitors and went for a Doctor. She didn't have any of my history, since my records hadn't been transferred over yet, so I had to recite it all, and the pages I'd written up were waaayyyy too long. (I've decided to edit that to one page or less--previous pg history, this pregnancy history, current meds, and any current medical conditions. Even after my records are transferred, my doc has the world's worst handwriting and I'm not sure what anyone will make of that scribble, meanwhile I can type some acronyms legibly, right?)

Turns out that the twelve year old resident doesn't think my cervix is shorter, but since her arm isn't an ultrasound machine she can't be sure, and my last measurement was 3-3.5 cm and meanwhile I'm wondering what the reason is for the pain if it isn't pre-term labour, but she has no clue and no answers. Nurses at the hospital are Goddesses by the way....I seriously worship them.

Nice part? We get to leave for one reason and one reason only, simply because I had already had the steroid shots (Celestone) to mature the baby's lungs at 25 weeks. And therefore, she has no concerns about the pain...in fact, I'm fine and can just come back if it gets worse. I'm finding this to be ironic since my Doc was not concerned about me getting it. He wrote the prescription and it was only $40 to fill, and covered by my insurance, and the shots turned out to be not so painful after all----so why don't more women get them? Not everyone obviously, but hey, if there are no side effects and it saves preemie lives and money, well, I'm wondering why they don't give them to anyone with even a teeny complication? Plus, the province just saved some money because I didn't have to be admitted over the weekend for 48 hours. Short-sighted health care system in my opinion.

Oh yeah, I forgot, they only try to prevent BIG diseases like cancer, fuck maternal-fetal-infant health. Cheap, and easy to fix and makes good photo-ops, never mind the moral implications, but instead they just run around throwing money at hospital presidents and VPs and other wasteful administrative crap. Actual direct patient care? A distant second as long as we fund hospitals on a lump sum basis.....

Yes, I'm happy the baby is fine, the most important thing, but I'm mentioning politics for a reason by the way---my friend Warren had a post today where he again tried to say that there are too few women in the Canadian blogosphere---meanwhile I read close to a hundred female Canadian bloggers. Man must not look very hard. Blind as a bat in fact. Go give him your opinion if you feel like it!

Meanwhile the last few days, I've been sorting old baby clothes by size and figuring out what needs to be washed and what needs to be tossed, and today I went shopping for furniture and stuff. I've already checked out one store, but this time I did some serious looking at cribs, etc at Moms to be...and More . And of course, anything decent quality takes weeks to arrive and I'm late because I didn't want to order anything to early. I'm sorry but even the most optimistic naive person can't really order baby furniture 16 weeks early, can they? I finally found one company that can get me stuff in 6-8 weeks. And it's Canadian! And they use real wood instead of glue and cardboard and shit!

College Woodwork is apparently in Oshawa, and makes some nice stuff from what I've seen...we'll see how it looks once I pick something. Yeah, I could go for the glue and cardboard stuff at Ikea again, but that stuff breaks so easily, I have to confess, I've pretty sick of it. Twenty years of crappy furniture; I'm ready to upgrade to something not made of chemicals and sawdust, thanks.

Anyway, I've suddenly realized that all this setting up the room & shopping is giving me some more Braxton-Hicks, which are painful, and therefore may actually be contractions and the irony is that I cannot type while in pain, in fact, I had planned on live blogging my labour, but I don't know if this will work so well now. Very distracted, maybe that's why it has taken 4 days to write this post.

My last thing of note. I heard this quote on the West Wing just this past couple of days and thought it might explain a few things in my life. Any of the other dead baby mamas reading agree? In fact, this scene might explain my entire personality.....

Josh and Leo are talking on the phone about a problem and a rescue plan Josh wants to implement to save Leo from political disaster.

Leo: "Cause you're walking around with so much guilt about everybody you love dying that you're a compulsive fixer?"

Josh: "No Leo, no, it's because there's this guy walking down the street and he falls in a hole...."

Dudes, I would never have made it through this pregnancy without you all. I thought I was supposed to be fixing you, and then, you fixed me right back.

My room of requirement

The paint turned out okay, and the guys had to fix it....4 coats later to cover the messy edges, I think they learned their lesson...I made my kids clean up some of the dust and junk they left behind. I'll post some pictures tomorrow or maybe the next day. The master bedroom ended up grey, with white trim, specifically a trendy new shade from Benjamin Moore called Escarpment, with Cloud White trim and ceilings.

The baby room has ended up a bright sunny yellow called Golden Crust from Para. (No longer made, had to be custom mixed.) The trim, door, and chair rail is a bright blue, a blue very similar to Thomas the Tank's engine. I got it from a movie poster of a movie called Thomas and the Magic Railroad. (First one pictured at the top of the link) The movie was filmed here in TO and I knew some of the people who worked on it. We had the movie poster mounted on a wooden backing, and it was always meant to go either in the playroom, or in the room of the new baby.

You know, the room that never got to be---until now.

We bought this house in 2003 when I was pregnant with Miranda. It had 4 bedrooms, perfect for us, including a lovely little room that was perfect for a baby. We knew we would have to renovate the house at some point, but for now, it was just what we needed. We got into a bidding war, paid over asking price, and won the right to mortgage ourselves to the hilt.

All for that room. Our boys could've kept sharing their one bedroom at the old house, and we could've stayed there for a few more years. But the fact that I stayed pregnant past 6 weeks, then made it to 12 weeks, all meant that we could no longer put it off. The spring market was the best way to sell our house, and find another one.

By the time we moved in, the baby was dead, and every time I looked at that room, I felt sick. It was covered in an animal print border, but I did not have the mental energy to rip it off. We put our computer there, and our files and papers and junk. Mostly, I just closed the door, and tried not to think about what should be there instead.

I muddled through that year, and in 2004, we were going to use it for the next baby we were expecting, but as you know, that ended at 16 weeks....I'd finally got the energy to start ripping off the wall border, since I wanted to decorate differently, but I never got any further, and I closed the door and walked away again.

When my husband started his new business, he needed a home office, and we couldn't ignore the room, but I could not do it alone either, and my husband and I could only argue over the room. We'd be getting along just fine---and we walked in that room and tensed up. It was like a poison place to us. So I hired my organizer and she and I, over two days, rearranged the room, purged the papers, put up shelves and a desk, and made it into a workspace for him. Nothing like an impersonal third party to help carry you through the painful parts of life when you can't walk that walk.....

Since then, he worked in the room, but I couldn't. I just closed the door and walked away.

This is why the last week has been so stressful for me. The room that has never properly fit in our house, will finally have it's purpose fulfilled, I hope. Just seeing it empty and painted and starting to be furnished is......

I can't finish that sentence.

I want to write "healing", but every step is so painful, how can this be it? I want this sore spot to be gone. If I can't change the memories, then I know we'll either have to sell the house, or tear it down with a wrecking ball. I can't just sit here, year after year, with it left hanging like this.

My friend Warren Kinsella has a post about the kind of time that grief takes. He normally writes political or punk rock posts, but every once in a while, he writes about his family and his grief over the loss of his father, and then, he writes such breathtakingly beautiful things, I wonder why he ever writes about any other subject. To quote him,"I cannot tell this friend that the world ever seems the same, afterwards. It doesn't. If you are fortunate, however, it starts to feel less sad. It takes a long time."

He's right. It has taken a long time, too long. Five years is enough. I don't want to keep closing doors and walking away. It's time to feel less sad now.

How to catch up

We seem to found detente in the house, and kid's have apologized and life is getting slightly happier. We rehearsed some ways of doing things differently so we don't blow up....and we're going to keep rehearsing. Mr.Cotta is more onside than he was. I think the size of the blow-up convinced him.

Also, he moves into his new room next week, which has no door, and we've decided he has to earn that door. It will not be automatic. I was going to take the door off his current room right away but we're moving into that room monday and he is moving out----and I am tired. Akeeyu's idea about the sheet is brilliant. He may earn a sheet first, then a door.

Speaking of moving rooms and painting and stuff....I am 1200 feeds behind, so the plan is this. For the next few days, no comments from me until I have clicked through and read all your news. And updated my blogroll, which so out-of date, it's a joke. I will comment if it's critical, but I sometimes get so stuck on what to write that I get behind and ---you all know? It's useless then! Cause I'm up to date with some of you and so far behind it's a joke with the rest of you. Very embarassing.

I need to catch up on my life!

To good egg days

*Belly picture at the bottom--warning to those of you feeling sensitive--read my words and skip the pic if you can't take seeing it. Love to you anyway*

I feel so lucky this Easter, yes even when I am momentarily gripped with terror---I know how incredibly lucky I am to have ever been able to have my living children, and to be pregnant again now.

I often worry that when I comment on the blogs of women who are still in the struggle that they will take offense at my presence, that they will feel angry that a woman who has what they want should dare to tell them to hope.

I hope and pray that instead they will read my blog and know that when a Doctor tells them that nothing will ever work, that they will never get pregnant with their own eggs, that they will never have a living child---the Doctor might just be wrong. Technology can change, new drugs can be invented, new research can prove that it isn't always their bodies' fault, a diagnosis and a new treatment is possible. Even the best Doctors can be wrong.

There is always hope.

The baby I am carrying is living proof that sometimes a good egg can still be found, and drugs like heparin and progesterone can keep us pregnant, and I pray that my pregnancy inspires the people who read me to find a second opinion, to question the Doctors, to know that they and they alone should be the ones to make choices about their bodies and keep trying if they really want to. No doctor has the right to destroy our hope and take our dreams.

And if, after every attempt, after every option is explored, an individual couple makes the choice that they will never raise living children, then I want them to know that it is possible to go on, to live life with joy and happiness and peace. Loribeth and Pamela Jeanne are living proof of that. Women like them kept me sane during the lowest periods, when I was sure that I was never going to find a good egg.

To those of you who have been told to give up? That what you want is an impossible dream? Witness the proof. Feel free to send this to your gutless soul-crushing REs, the ones who want nothing more than to suck the joy from the very marrow of your bones....add your own subtitles, just for fun.

The 7 1/2 month pregnant belly of a recurrent miscarrier.

The soon to be born genetic child of a woman with premature ovarian failure.

The pregnant belly of woman who sincerely believes that Doctors aren't Gods.

So here I am in all my glory, a far shot, then a close up:

Take what you will from this

You know how I was going to write about Juno? Well, Cecily did it better, and so did Kateri and I'm sure a dozen others. I wrote in both their comments, feel free to read. I once again spent all my time writing 1000's of words there instead of writing it my own blog.

I wanted to see Juno first, but I already have PTSD and I'm in the middle of a high-risk pregnancy, so after much internal debate---I'm not seeing until long after this pregnancy is over and even then only with a handful of ADs and some beta blockers, just in case. I just can't risk flooding my uterus with adrenaline. Commenting on Cecily's and Kateri's blog took enough shit out of me today. I'm basing my opinion on the dozens of reviews and online synopsis I've read about it.

FWIW, Adoption is not well represented in this movie, and now that it's nominated for Best Picture the world is going to think that it is an accurate picture of how adoption works. This movie has a lot of stereotypes, which wouldn't matter if TV and movies ever showed more complex adoption storylines. Trouble is, this is the sole representation of adoption in the media--desperate nice prospective adoptive parents, self-sacrificing first mother who skips off into the sunset, and of course, the adoptee, who grows up utterly grateful and no one ever wonders if the baby is okay with it. (Yeah, the bio father in the movie was scarcely consulted. sigh....)

Stereotypes make for universally shitty writing, bad TV and bad movies, and I always hold that opinion regardless of the subject. So yes, a little complexity would help. How about an adoptee point-of-view in an open adoption? How about an adoptive mother who helps her daughter adoptee find their first mom information years later and is totally supportive? How about a movie about adoptive parents who return the kid they adopted because they don't like them? (You know like 20% of all adoptions?) How about a movie about a mom who is falsely convicted of murdering her baby, forced to give her older child up for adoption, and after it is discovered that the evidence was faked by an incompetent pathologist and she is innocent and the conviction is reversed, it turns out that she can never ever get her child back because adoption cannot ever be undone unless the adoptive parents return the kid. The result is that her son will never ever know directly from her that his mom isn't a murderer. Even if by some chance they can be reunited, they can never be legally related again. The bell can never be unrung.

Nahhhhhh, that would be complex and interesting and true to life without a Hollywood happy ending, and we can't have that now can we?

This video is a real life relinquishment. A first mom saying good-bye. The reason I find it so heartwrenching is because it reminds me of the terrible grief I felt when the nurse took Matthew away to the morgue. The difference? I knew he was going to be buried in a cemetary and I didn't have to spend the rest of my life wondering where he was, if he was safe. If he was loved. First parents who relinquish can never know for sure, even if they get extensive checks done on the PAPs, even in an open adoption, even in the movie version.



After watching this, what more is there to write?