An author's collection of thoughts and stories
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. 🙂
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.
My most favoritest band EVER released a new song.
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.
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.
The best marriage advice I’ve ever been given wasn’t intended as such at all.
Actually, I overheard Some Old Guy warning my husband that being married to a woman was like having a live grenade in your pocket.
And I decided that I didn’t want to be the sort of wife who was remembered as the psychotic ex, turning her husband into a 60-year-old MGTOW and alienating her children.
Turns out, the simple resolve to not randomly explode has made me extremely atypical.
I’m really glad that I wrote Alice and the Warden.
Since I’m expecting #6, I’ve been ravenously hungry for stories about pregnancy and babies. Heck, I even watched Bridget Jones’s Baby, even though I don’t remotely care for the subgenre.
Unfortunately, the majority of stories love to revolve around the “pregnancy is shameful and/or dangerous!” trope. Either female characters are moaning about how their life is over, or it literally comes close to ending because of some pregnancy related complication.
Aaaand it doesn’t stop there. After the baby is born, there’s the constant complaining about how a helpless human needs someone to care for it — as if being depended on is the worst thing that can happen. “Woe is me! I can’t be selfish all the time anymore!”
It’s so sickening.
Especially because I know women who are like that in real life.
Me? I’m the sort of person that wears jewelry that depicts pregnancy. I firmly believe in honoring the Divine Feminine, and rant about how our Christian-normative society demonizes the most powerful magic women possess: the ability to create new life. Not everyone thinks that the very existence of humanity is something shameful.
While the homebirthing community has plenty of women similar to me, none of them are writing novels. Too many of them have gone off-grid, I guess.
I’ve spent the last several months trying to find decent stories about pregnancy and babies, but now I’ve given up. I’m reading my own novel.
Alice is so sweet and loves her family so much, it’s like a breath of fresh air. Finally, a character who is full of hope and doesn’t hate everything about life.
In a very literal sense, I wrote that novel for myself.
Happy St Patricks Day!
I’m skipping the Irish coffee this year, but we’re still making a hearty cabbage stew.
And pinches for anyone not wearing green!
Other people on the internet talk about turning woven bands into things like belts and dog leashes.
Me?
I cut mine up and used it to embellish a princess dress. XD
It actually went pretty smoothly. I did steam iron the woven band first to set the strings into place, and it didn’t unravel at all after I took the scissors to it.
It’s like a pretty custom ribbon!
Also, stencil+paint for the birds and flowers.
VERY princess-y.
By Autumn Rain 