Baby
Disposition: Happy
Warm. Soft. Cuddly.
It’s funny, really, that the quiet purity of a newborn sleeping against my chest is the reason why I’m drifting farther and farther into becoming a fetish author.
The Shining
For my cheerful, light-hearted, postpartum reading, I decided on The Shining by Stephen King.
As my husband and I like to joke with each other, compared to the existential horrors we now call reality, nothing is scary anymore. LOL
In fact, the weird part is how open and honest the characters are about their dysfunctions, and no one calls social services on them or prescribes anti-psychotics. WTF?
This is the second Stephen King novel I’ve ever read (the other being Misery, which is also set in snowy Colorado), and I have to say that he knows how to suck the reader in; I don’t have to force myself to pick up the book. On top of that, he uses enough run-on sentences, interrupted paragraphs, and other random grammatical weirdness that I don’t find myself spacing out and skimming over the words without really understanding them.
The dialogue is corny at times, but since the book was written in the 1970’s, I think it’s more a reflection on that particular decade than anything else. It also annoys me that none of the characters seem to have any sense of self-preservation. It’s hard to feel bad for them when they were very much asking for it.
I know enough about violence that the climax is too unrealistic to be remotely scary.
Because of those existential horrors we now call reality.
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May Day
Baby #6 is a boy, healthy and perfect.
Labor didn’t go as smoothly as I had hoped it would, but after some tears, determination, and the skilled assistance of my midwife, it ended well with a story to tell. I’m thoroughly enjoying my “baby-cation”, and everyone in our family is madly smitten with our tiny little man.
Basking in the warmth of a new life is the perfect way to celebrate May Day. 🙂
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Silly Pinterest
Apparently Pinterest has decided that I’m a lonely cat lady?
Yeah … I’m not a loser.
I’m ashamed of you, Pinterest. I thought you tracked people more invasively than that.
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The secret trick to make a baby stop crying
They’re called titties.
Babies love ’em.
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Fiber of the Month – March
Through Paradise Fibers
I’m moving pretty slow these days for some strange reason … XD
For March, Paradise Fibers sent out neon merino wool. All of my kids were just as excited about this one as I was, and we agreed that the colors were delicious enough to eat, lol.
So rainbowy and beautiful. 🙂
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Home Birth
I have a much easier time telling when cats are going to go into labor than I do with myself, lmao. XD
I’ve been musing about which topic I should complain about in an effort to keep myself distracted, and I figure that I might as well keep with the theme: home birth.
It’s actually been a few years since I’ve had anything to do with the organized home birth community. While I fully support the idea that society needs to stop treating women like our bodies are defective, the per se group itself has been becoming increasingly “yuppie-fied.”
I stopped associating with them because of the pressure to include doulas and birth photographers, and they frowned heavily on my preferred setting of having just my husband and midwife present. If there’s anything I hate, it’s having a stranger tell me how to live my life, and I sure as hell don’t want to be surrounded by a crowd while I’m in labor.
Besides, hiring someone to take nudie pics of me is really not a lifestyle choice I want to make. I’m too private for that.
The problem with groups is that they all eventually devolve into “group think.” Women like me, who are seeking empowerment and personal choice, get pushed out of the way by those who want to flaunt themselves on Facebook, and they expect everyone else to be the same way. Giving birth should not be about who can shell out the most $$$ while getting ready for your close up, but a lot of people treat it that way now.
There is no right or wrong way to give birth. It’s okay to scream. It’s okay to feel terrified. You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to. You can move around, or curl up in bed. It’s one of the biggest experiences of your life, and it’s okay to claim it as being 100% your own — don’t surrender to someone else’s expectations of how you should behave. Don’t try to look good on camera. Just be you.
Thankfully, I have an old-school midwife who understands me.
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Poets of the Fall – Requiem for My Harlequin
My most favoritest band EVER released a new song.
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Nearing the end
I’m officially nine months pregnant. I know from experience that waiting for the baby to come is the worst way to spend that final stretch … which is why I’m doing exactly that. XD
Given the number of viruses going around, we’ve opted to seclude ourselves already for the sake of being extra careful — don’t want a tiny newborn getting exposed to anything. Of course, with being so heavy and tired, it’s hard to keep up with my regular daily activities, and I’ve gotten to the point of deciding that if I haven’t deep cleaned it yet, I don’t need to. Heck, sometimes I wish that I was more in the habit of mindlessly killing time, but I just don’t have the stomach for too much internet.
So I’m waiting.
One of the things that I dislike about the homebirth community is that, like all groups, most of the members put up a front to make everything seem better than it is. Personally, I think that the very last part of pregnancy is supposed to be miserable, with hormonal changes and the overwhelming feeling of being so done that you can’t even … basically, it’s nature’s way of motivating you to embrace labor and the pain of pushing a human being through your *ahem*. I often feel like I’m the only one who openly says, “This part sucks.”
There’s nothing wrong with hating something — the pleasant and unpleasant are of equal value, and life is best spent honoring both.
Not that I expect anyone to understand.
Personally, I think that it’s a very small price to pay for the sake of gaining a lifetime friend.
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Forbidden Chronicles – 3
I keep a photo on the fridge from a family reunion that happened several years ago, back when we only had two babies. Everyone is neatly lined up with smiles plastered on their faces, until you get to where my husband and I were standing near the end of the row … Both of our children were throwing gigantic tantrums at having to pause the fun and games to pose for a picture. There was no bribing them, no calming them down, and both my husband and I were laughing at how hilarious the situation was.
I don’t keep that photo on the fridge because it was a happy memory or because I like my family.
I keep it there to remind myself of how I fit in with them.
I didn’t care that my babies were ruining the picture. Heck, in the years since, I’ve decorated our house with all sorts of chaotic and candid photos, because they make me laugh whenever I look at them — they’re way better than posed pictures. I like that my daughters refused to obediently stand still and fake a smile.
I keep that photo so I never forget how different I am now from the background that I was raised in.
By Autumn Rain 