My newsfeed has been chock full of angry rants and disgusted opinions of Melissa Bachman - the girl who hunted a lion (among other animals) and then posted the image on twitter. I really don't want the photo on my blog so the link is all you're going to get.
Obviously because everyone knows I worked in Africa saving the lions I have been asked a million times (and sometimes given an unsolicited opinion) about how angry I must be toward the woman.
Actually. Because I've worked in Africa to save lions, I'm not mad at all.
Don't get me wrong - do I dream of waking up and seeing a dead lion or bear all over my newsfeed? Not a chance - I thought it was totally gross. I wasn't bothered in the slightest about the other animals. Hunting a zebra is like hunting a deer, same with the kangaroo. Although I don't see a photo of her with a Kangaroo, this is the perfect example because I know so many Americans think that eating Kangaroo meat is gross but Kangaroo are pests to Australians - much like deer are to us. As Americans it can be difficult to see a cute, exotic animal that we put in our zoos as a nuisance, but the simple fact is that they can be a nuisance and their population needs to be controlled.
Hunters are NOT the enemy of conservation. Hunters. Are. Not. The. Enemy. Say it with me now: hunters are not the enemy of conservation. Hunters have a deep understanding of animal populations and sustainability. They pay fees that (for the most part) go back to the area they are hunting in and are used toward conservation and preservation efforts. Shooting a lion ain't cheap. And that $15,000 (or so - some are higher, some are lower) legally paid fee goes back to the park in which the lion was shot and helps keep the place clean and safe for both animals and humans. The sheer cost of the license also acts as a preventative measure from keeping too many people hunting the big wildlife like lions and bears.
Now let's discuss what was done with the meat. As someone who has never been anti-hunting, I do firmly believe that the meat should not be wasted. Initial research into Melissa's story tells me that the meat from the animals she hunts goes to locals who need food. Think lion meat is gross? Remind yourself what a first world luxury it is to be picky about our food.
So just to recap: she hunted legally, with a paid license, and the meat was used for good and not evil.
A lot of complaints included an argument that she "didn't hunt the lion, she shot it with a bullet." I'm not really sure how to reply to that, so I will address stalking hunting versus canned hunting.
A true hunter stalks her prey. Just as a lion stalks a zebra or a bird stalks a bug. She waits for hours. She remains quiet. She endures a LOT of downtime. Anyone who knows me knows this is where I would have a serious problem. I just can't sit quietly for hours. :) But what you don't hear about is the countless times she did not end up with a kill or the countless hunters who return from Africa without a trophy. Not to mention the skill it takes to shoot a moving animal. Just because you have a gun does not mean you have an advantage over an animal. Seriously, people who shoot guns have skills. I tried to shoot a gun in Africa and not only did I miss the bottle targets, I'm pretty sure I missed the MOUNTAIN behind them. Would you say a cheetah who can outrun an impala and has sharp claws and teeth is cheating at the hunting game? So why is a skilled marksman who is willing to take the time and energy to hunt an animal cheating because she uses a gun?
Canned hunting is gross. Totally disgusting. Canned hunters are rich pricks who have no right to take home their trophies. BLECK. Canned hunting means the lion (or other wildlife) is kept in a cage or small enclosure and basically shot at near blank range. Gross. Livid. Unfortunately, canned hunting is still legal in many African countries. These people are losers.
And the biggest losers of all? POACHERS.
poach·er2
ˈpōCHər
noun
noun: poacher; plural noun: poachers
1.
a person who hunts or catches game or fish illegally.
A poacher pays no fee, has no sense of conservation, and wastes all part of the animal except that which will make him the big bucks. In other words, one poacher may kill more than a "fair" share of Rhino simply for the horn. The rest of the body is left to rot in the sun. Poachers are the reasons that animal populations have taken such hits. Poachers are the enemy of conservation. They don't follow rules, they don't care about number counts or population control. All of the anger directed at Melissa Bachman is totally misguided and totally misdirected. Instead, look into anti-poaching groups.
I wasn't going to comment on the change.org petition. I'm definitely not going to link you to it. But I had to laugh that in the body of the text it says "as a taxpayer" which is fine, except I can sign it. I definitely don't pay taxes in South Africa. In fact, I'm pretty sure most South Africans (and all of the ones I've talked to) understand that she brought a LOT of money into their country - between the fee for the hunt, hiring the personnel, staying and eating in the country, not to mention the publicity. In areas where there are animals to be hunted (this is true in the US and abroad), a huge amount of revenue and jobs are created by the legal hunting industry.
And all of the anti-animal cruelty people, I have total respect for you. But hunters don't torture animals. They don't force them to live in disgusting conditions and eat their own filth. They don't overfeed them in an effort to fatten them up. They allow them to live in their wild habitats and then kill them quickly and efficiently. Without hunters acting as population control, animals would actual suffer from more disease and incest and entire species would suffer greatly. I fully support your right to fight the meat industry, I really do. In my opinion, the meat industry has a long way to go to compete with the humane ways of the hunter.
10 October 2013
Why it is Ok to be a Princess
Over the years, I have observed one of the biggest trends in "feminism" (used loosely) is the idea that the only Disney* Princesses who are strong, independent, and worth emulating are Mulan and Pocahontas (more recently, Merida) because they are "rebellious," do their own thing, and aren't a "typical princess" (whatever that means - I've never actually heard the supporting facts). Otherwise parents who allow their daughters to indulge in Princess fantasies are perpetuating a standard that girls are nothing but objects, idly standing around, waiting for their Prince to come rescue them. First, the people who say this are convinced they are totally individualistic and snubbing the mainstream but instead are actually their own mass stereotype. Second, this conclusion simply isn't true.
Have you seen the movies?
Cinderella grew up in an abusive home. She was treated cruelly after suffering the deaths of both her parents. When the time came for the local ball, she thought for herself and made the decision to go to the ball even after being forbidden to do so. While there, she fell in love with a man, unknowing, at the time, he was a Prince. Then, against all odds, she fought for her right to try on the glass slipper and prove she was the mysterious maiden the Prince was seeking. Even after the way her stepmother abused her, Cinderella refused to seek revenge and, instead, followed her heart as she fulfilled her dream. (Are women allowed to have dreams?)
Belle, one of my favorites, was smart when it wasn't cool to be smart. Amidst the teasing, ridiculing, and bullying, Belle continued to read her books and love her somewhat kooky, largely misunderstood father. Gaston and his minions were the original "mean girls" don't you think? She selflessly saved her father from near certain death by agreeing to live with a Beast: yet another outsider, taunted for the way he looked. When the townsmen decided to execute mob mentality justice, Belle single handedly went against the grain in an effort to save the Beast, never stopping to think how it would look or what it would do to her image to be seen showing kindness to an untouchable.
Ariel, ever adventurous, spent much of her time dreaming of experiencing different cultures. When her father refused her request, she rebelled against him (aka made up her own mind) and went to meet with a sea witch. ON HER OWN. Then, after finally meeting her Prince, she continued to SAVE HIM from said sea witch, while risking her life. They eventually worked as a team to bring her to her demise. Then, even though marrying Eric would require her giving up her safe, secure home, and everything she knew to be true, she took a risk and joined him on a new adventure, in a new land. (Admittedly, Disney did themselves no favors by keeping her age to be 16 as was in the original tale. Hey, I can acknowledge imperfections.)
Snow White did nothing wrong other than be perceived as beautiful. Her step mother's jealousy caused her to run Snow White out of her home. Instead of falling down in front of the huntsman and accepting her fate, Snow White remained kind and classy, causing the huntsman to allow her to escape. Snow White eventually supported herself by working as a house keeper. Sure, she took care of seven men, but before you cast your stone, think about the millions of men and women who work in food service and hotel maintenance. They have dreams and are working hard for their living. Snow White's work ethic and personal conservation is hardly a negative influence. Not to mention, by slandering the concept of a Princess, one would be committing the same hate discrimination as the envious step mother. Women are not allowed to be pretty? Sounds like reverse discrimination to me. After all, aren't all women beautiful in their own way?
Jasmine has a tiger. 'Nuff said. But she also breaks the law (albeit in unfair, classist law) by choosing to marry a commoner and admits, out loud, that she is not some prize.
Not to mention - they all show kindness to animals.
Disney Princesses hold high values such as politeness, kindness, maturity, equality, diversity, passion and education. They defend the little guy. They refuse to bow to social pressures. They walk tall, speak softly while weighing their words, admit (and apologize) when they make a mistake, and treat others (even those different from them) with respect. I can think of worse role models for my daughter. When she slaps her sister, she remembers that Cinderella doesn't slap. The mean girls slap. When she uses mean words, she remembers that Gaston made fun of Belle, not the other way around.
How did the Princesses become the villains in today's culture? By clumping Disney Princesses with such disasters as drunken pop stars and meek bimbos, one is punishing the very traits with which they desire to be treated. That person is sustaining the idea that in order to get ahead in life a woman must be ruthless, classless, uncaring and manipulative. Am I to raise my daughter to hold those ill morals so high? We, as women, are to drag each other down in an effort to raise up the individual? Screw manners. Manners are for losers.
I would also like to add (a major pet peeve of mine), that Pocahontas (in the Disney version, not real life - I can't speak for her as I didn't know her in real life) actually didn't follow her heart, or her dreams. Nor did she take a risk and venture to a new land with John Smith. She stayed behind, where it was safe and where she felt she was supposed to stay. Not that I don't love her. But, still.
To reference another argument that women don't need a man to be happy, I completely agree. I never thought I would be married. However, I never begrudged my friends who did dream of happily ever after. The very thought of ridiculing someone for their desire (or lack of) for marriage is so preposterous I refuse to give it any more merit than these few sentences. If you think true feminism is anti-marriage, I challenge you to revisit the philosophy that has fought for maternity leave rights and against discrimination of women (of any kind).
So before you decide being a Disney Princess is the ultimate sin and call CPS on your neighbor whose daughter is dancing around in an Ariel Gown, or (my personal favorite as it has happened to my three year old with the huge heart), before you laugh at and mock a toddler who asks you your favorite princess, try examining these stories through a more open mind. Truly embrace the idea of "live and let live" and focus on nurturing confidence, joy, and a tender heart, all Princess traits, because your words are stronger than you realize. And no amount of Disney Junior will match the encouragement from an adult who that toddler admires.
*For purposes of this article, I have stuck to the strict Disney transcripts. While I have also read summaries (and, in some cases, entireties) of original tales, I have only seen Disney specifics criticized in the context I have rebutted here. You will see this mostly in my references to the endings of the stories as well as the classifications of the Princesses personalities. Because, let's not lie, Snow White forcing her step mother to dance until the burning in her feet killed her is probably not a good "moral of the story..."
Have you seen the movies?
Cinderella grew up in an abusive home. She was treated cruelly after suffering the deaths of both her parents. When the time came for the local ball, she thought for herself and made the decision to go to the ball even after being forbidden to do so. While there, she fell in love with a man, unknowing, at the time, he was a Prince. Then, against all odds, she fought for her right to try on the glass slipper and prove she was the mysterious maiden the Prince was seeking. Even after the way her stepmother abused her, Cinderella refused to seek revenge and, instead, followed her heart as she fulfilled her dream. (Are women allowed to have dreams?)
Belle, one of my favorites, was smart when it wasn't cool to be smart. Amidst the teasing, ridiculing, and bullying, Belle continued to read her books and love her somewhat kooky, largely misunderstood father. Gaston and his minions were the original "mean girls" don't you think? She selflessly saved her father from near certain death by agreeing to live with a Beast: yet another outsider, taunted for the way he looked. When the townsmen decided to execute mob mentality justice, Belle single handedly went against the grain in an effort to save the Beast, never stopping to think how it would look or what it would do to her image to be seen showing kindness to an untouchable.
Ariel, ever adventurous, spent much of her time dreaming of experiencing different cultures. When her father refused her request, she rebelled against him (aka made up her own mind) and went to meet with a sea witch. ON HER OWN. Then, after finally meeting her Prince, she continued to SAVE HIM from said sea witch, while risking her life. They eventually worked as a team to bring her to her demise. Then, even though marrying Eric would require her giving up her safe, secure home, and everything she knew to be true, she took a risk and joined him on a new adventure, in a new land. (Admittedly, Disney did themselves no favors by keeping her age to be 16 as was in the original tale. Hey, I can acknowledge imperfections.)
Snow White did nothing wrong other than be perceived as beautiful. Her step mother's jealousy caused her to run Snow White out of her home. Instead of falling down in front of the huntsman and accepting her fate, Snow White remained kind and classy, causing the huntsman to allow her to escape. Snow White eventually supported herself by working as a house keeper. Sure, she took care of seven men, but before you cast your stone, think about the millions of men and women who work in food service and hotel maintenance. They have dreams and are working hard for their living. Snow White's work ethic and personal conservation is hardly a negative influence. Not to mention, by slandering the concept of a Princess, one would be committing the same hate discrimination as the envious step mother. Women are not allowed to be pretty? Sounds like reverse discrimination to me. After all, aren't all women beautiful in their own way?
Jasmine has a tiger. 'Nuff said. But she also breaks the law (albeit in unfair, classist law) by choosing to marry a commoner and admits, out loud, that she is not some prize.
Not to mention - they all show kindness to animals.
Disney Princesses hold high values such as politeness, kindness, maturity, equality, diversity, passion and education. They defend the little guy. They refuse to bow to social pressures. They walk tall, speak softly while weighing their words, admit (and apologize) when they make a mistake, and treat others (even those different from them) with respect. I can think of worse role models for my daughter. When she slaps her sister, she remembers that Cinderella doesn't slap. The mean girls slap. When she uses mean words, she remembers that Gaston made fun of Belle, not the other way around.
How did the Princesses become the villains in today's culture? By clumping Disney Princesses with such disasters as drunken pop stars and meek bimbos, one is punishing the very traits with which they desire to be treated. That person is sustaining the idea that in order to get ahead in life a woman must be ruthless, classless, uncaring and manipulative. Am I to raise my daughter to hold those ill morals so high? We, as women, are to drag each other down in an effort to raise up the individual? Screw manners. Manners are for losers.
I would also like to add (a major pet peeve of mine), that Pocahontas (in the Disney version, not real life - I can't speak for her as I didn't know her in real life) actually didn't follow her heart, or her dreams. Nor did she take a risk and venture to a new land with John Smith. She stayed behind, where it was safe and where she felt she was supposed to stay. Not that I don't love her. But, still.
To reference another argument that women don't need a man to be happy, I completely agree. I never thought I would be married. However, I never begrudged my friends who did dream of happily ever after. The very thought of ridiculing someone for their desire (or lack of) for marriage is so preposterous I refuse to give it any more merit than these few sentences. If you think true feminism is anti-marriage, I challenge you to revisit the philosophy that has fought for maternity leave rights and against discrimination of women (of any kind).
So before you decide being a Disney Princess is the ultimate sin and call CPS on your neighbor whose daughter is dancing around in an Ariel Gown, or (my personal favorite as it has happened to my three year old with the huge heart), before you laugh at and mock a toddler who asks you your favorite princess, try examining these stories through a more open mind. Truly embrace the idea of "live and let live" and focus on nurturing confidence, joy, and a tender heart, all Princess traits, because your words are stronger than you realize. And no amount of Disney Junior will match the encouragement from an adult who that toddler admires.
*For purposes of this article, I have stuck to the strict Disney transcripts. While I have also read summaries (and, in some cases, entireties) of original tales, I have only seen Disney specifics criticized in the context I have rebutted here. You will see this mostly in my references to the endings of the stories as well as the classifications of the Princesses personalities. Because, let's not lie, Snow White forcing her step mother to dance until the burning in her feet killed her is probably not a good "moral of the story..."
21 March 2013
Farewell to the Land of the Gypsies
I put it off for SO LONG. I didn't want to do it. I kicked and screamed and cried. But the longer I stayed, the harder it was to leave.
So I got in my car and forced pedal to the metal, leaving the Land of the Gypsies behind me.
Looking back, I feel almost silly at how I reacted to the news we were moving to West Virginia. We had just moved from Maryland to Wisconsin three months earlier (don't worry, there was a plan) and I wasn't looking forward to being back in the area. Or, at least, if we could be in Maryland again maybe I'd survive.
But WEST VIRGINIA? I happen to LIKE my teeth, thankyouverymuch.
Early in our stay I still remember tuning into "My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding" - a show I had so been looking forward to watching. Ray was at work on night shift, so I was alone.
Snuggled on the couch, it was late at night as I tuned into TLC. The first image appeared on and I thought "weird, that looks like the sign up the road." Spitting out my drink, I was HORRIFIED to see the words "Martinsburg, West Virginia" appear on my screen!
Rushing to facebook, I immediately sought solace from anyone who was up at that hour. My new friend, Kristin (from Maryland), commented on my post that she, too, was awake and tuning in now. We continued to watch the show "together" on facebook in total shock. I believe at one point I even had real tears.* My husband did not live this down for a long time.
You want to know a secret, though?
Turns out I kind of like West Virginia.
Or at least I like my friends, my church, my stores, my restaurants and my house (kind of).
So, it is with great sadness, West Virginia, that I must bid adieu. At least for now.
Before I go, I would like to say thank you. Because of you I went to hell and back again and survived. Because of you I learned how to stand on my own without school creating a natural connection with others. Because of you I leaned on God and my husband for support and not an external source. Because of you I had to become a better mother.
So thank you. Thank you for solidifying my marriage; for healing me of my postpartum depression; for strengthening our faith through our INCREDIBLE church; for growing my daughter into the girl she is today; for teaching my daughter to love God.
Most importantly, thank you for giving my new baby girl. In fact, this area (Maryland and West Virginia) has given me BOTH my beautiful, incredible daughters. This area has doubled my heart.
As for the gypsies? Well, turns out they're kind of a hoot. Not to mention the fact I kind of enjoy watching the show and recognizing all of the places they have gone, including my favorite town of Shepherdstown, WV (as frequented in the spinoff series - Gypsy Sisters).
A certain song that has followed me through life from high school, to college, law school, Africa, and beyond, comes to mind.
"Save Tonight
Fight the Break of Dawn
Come tomorrow
Tomorrow I'll be gone
Save Tonight
Tomorrow comes with one desire
To take me away it's true
It ain't easy to say goodbye
Darling please don't start to cry"
Till we meet again, Wild and Wonderful. Till we meet again.... Now here's to all the friends I haven't met yet.
*I find it important to note that at that time Kristin falsely believed I lived in Hagerstown, MD, with the rest of the crew. So when the show showed Hagerstown we were also appalled but it wasn't until she was cutting my hair later that she said (and I quote) "You don't actually LIVE in West Virginia, though, right?... OH HONEY NO!"
So I got in my car and forced pedal to the metal, leaving the Land of the Gypsies behind me.
Looking back, I feel almost silly at how I reacted to the news we were moving to West Virginia. We had just moved from Maryland to Wisconsin three months earlier (don't worry, there was a plan) and I wasn't looking forward to being back in the area. Or, at least, if we could be in Maryland again maybe I'd survive.
But WEST VIRGINIA? I happen to LIKE my teeth, thankyouverymuch.
Early in our stay I still remember tuning into "My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding" - a show I had so been looking forward to watching. Ray was at work on night shift, so I was alone.
Snuggled on the couch, it was late at night as I tuned into TLC. The first image appeared on and I thought "weird, that looks like the sign up the road." Spitting out my drink, I was HORRIFIED to see the words "Martinsburg, West Virginia" appear on my screen!
Rushing to facebook, I immediately sought solace from anyone who was up at that hour. My new friend, Kristin (from Maryland), commented on my post that she, too, was awake and tuning in now. We continued to watch the show "together" on facebook in total shock. I believe at one point I even had real tears.* My husband did not live this down for a long time.
You want to know a secret, though?
Turns out I kind of like West Virginia.
Or at least I like my friends, my church, my stores, my restaurants and my house (kind of).
So, it is with great sadness, West Virginia, that I must bid adieu. At least for now.
Before I go, I would like to say thank you. Because of you I went to hell and back again and survived. Because of you I learned how to stand on my own without school creating a natural connection with others. Because of you I leaned on God and my husband for support and not an external source. Because of you I had to become a better mother.
So thank you. Thank you for solidifying my marriage; for healing me of my postpartum depression; for strengthening our faith through our INCREDIBLE church; for growing my daughter into the girl she is today; for teaching my daughter to love God.
Most importantly, thank you for giving my new baby girl. In fact, this area (Maryland and West Virginia) has given me BOTH my beautiful, incredible daughters. This area has doubled my heart.
As for the gypsies? Well, turns out they're kind of a hoot. Not to mention the fact I kind of enjoy watching the show and recognizing all of the places they have gone, including my favorite town of Shepherdstown, WV (as frequented in the spinoff series - Gypsy Sisters).
A certain song that has followed me through life from high school, to college, law school, Africa, and beyond, comes to mind.
"Save Tonight
Fight the Break of Dawn
Come tomorrow
Tomorrow I'll be gone
Save Tonight
Tomorrow comes with one desire
To take me away it's true
It ain't easy to say goodbye
Darling please don't start to cry"
Till we meet again, Wild and Wonderful. Till we meet again.... Now here's to all the friends I haven't met yet.
*I find it important to note that at that time Kristin falsely believed I lived in Hagerstown, MD, with the rest of the crew. So when the show showed Hagerstown we were also appalled but it wasn't until she was cutting my hair later that she said (and I quote) "You don't actually LIVE in West Virginia, though, right?... OH HONEY NO!"
18 March 2013
I *Should* be Packing, So...
...instead I will blog about having two kids.
I've heard it said a million times before, in one form or another: "you will do everything different with the second one, trust me."
I'm only 1 month in to my re-mommyhood (1 month, exactly! Happy Birth Anniversary, Little C!) but I've noticed some glaring differences. And some, not so differences.
Child 1: DO NOT put ANY article of clothing on said child until it has been appropriately washed in Dreft.
Child 2: I don't own Dreft - so just rip the tags off that sucker and let's go to church!
Child 1: Video Camera is on at all times while said child is sleeping. Parents are up multiple times a night "just to check."
Child 2: Video Camera IS really bright, after all....
Child 1: Must. Be. Swaddled. Seriously, until about 8 months. Honestly, we'd still be swaddling her if we could.
Child 2: Falls asleep on the couch, floor, wherever. Anywhere but a photo shoot.
Child 1: Cries. Parents shoot over to the room - "We're COMING!! Don't DIE! Don't CRY! What do we do!?!?!?!" Parents then join in crying.
Child 2: Cries. "Yea, yea, I'm coming kid. Let me pee first." (ok I'm not THAT bad, but you get the idea)
Child 1: Mom rests for full 6 weeks. People dote on her. She doesn't leave the house during that time except for important doctor visits.
Child 2: I wanted to go leave the hospital minutes after giving birth. I still got doted on, but by Day 2 I was talking about my new dream of running a marathon. Day after birth we were driving 3 hours to NICU and I haven't sat down since.
Child 1: Mom refuses to leave the house looking anything other than pristinely put together.
Child 2: These yoga pants don't have THAT much breastmilk on them...*
Child 1: Gets sprayed off with the sink sprayer for a bath.
Child 2: Ditto.**
Child 1: MY daughter will NEVER wear tutus and ridiculous hair bows. Honestly. The Nerve.
Child 1 & 2: Tinker Bell has spewed all over my house.
I'm sure I'll be noticing more and more differences and similarities, but one thing is for sure: I seriously and for real LOVE my girls.
*I still shower and put makeup on, though. Most of the time. When I leave the house.
**Ok total "Dad move" right there - Mamas and Mamies use washcloths and gently make sure infant is warm at all times.
I've heard it said a million times before, in one form or another: "you will do everything different with the second one, trust me."
I'm only 1 month in to my re-mommyhood (1 month, exactly! Happy Birth Anniversary, Little C!) but I've noticed some glaring differences. And some, not so differences.
Child 1: DO NOT put ANY article of clothing on said child until it has been appropriately washed in Dreft.
Child 2: I don't own Dreft - so just rip the tags off that sucker and let's go to church!
Child 1: Video Camera is on at all times while said child is sleeping. Parents are up multiple times a night "just to check."
Child 2: Video Camera IS really bright, after all....
Child 1: Must. Be. Swaddled. Seriously, until about 8 months. Honestly, we'd still be swaddling her if we could.
Child 2: Falls asleep on the couch, floor, wherever. Anywhere but a photo shoot.
Child 1: Cries. Parents shoot over to the room - "We're COMING!! Don't DIE! Don't CRY! What do we do!?!?!?!" Parents then join in crying.
Child 2: Cries. "Yea, yea, I'm coming kid. Let me pee first." (ok I'm not THAT bad, but you get the idea)
Child 1: Mom rests for full 6 weeks. People dote on her. She doesn't leave the house during that time except for important doctor visits.
Child 2: I wanted to go leave the hospital minutes after giving birth. I still got doted on, but by Day 2 I was talking about my new dream of running a marathon. Day after birth we were driving 3 hours to NICU and I haven't sat down since.
Child 1: Mom refuses to leave the house looking anything other than pristinely put together.
Child 2: These yoga pants don't have THAT much breastmilk on them...*
Child 1: Gets sprayed off with the sink sprayer for a bath.
Child 2: Ditto.**
Child 1: MY daughter will NEVER wear tutus and ridiculous hair bows. Honestly. The Nerve.
Child 1 & 2: Tinker Bell has spewed all over my house.
I'm sure I'll be noticing more and more differences and similarities, but one thing is for sure: I seriously and for real LOVE my girls.
*I still shower and put makeup on, though. Most of the time. When I leave the house.
**Ok total "Dad move" right there - Mamas and Mamies use washcloths and gently make sure infant is warm at all times.
11 March 2013
If you would just let me do your hair, you wouldn't have butter in it...
Imagine, I found myself saying those actual words to my daughter at dinner one night as she had a chunk (a CHUNK) of butter swinging from a curl.*
Alas, having an almost 3 year old with crazy hair like mine leads to many a frustration when she won't allow it to be combed/pony tailed/ect.. In an effort to encourage her to expect her body to be respected, however, I refuse to force her to do something with her hair she doesn't want to do, even if it drives me nuts. Occasionally she will allow "dancey hair" so she can swing it around like a go-go dancer, but that is only for dancing time and only for a minute. You would think with her princess obsession she would want her hair done just like a princess. Nope. Wrong.
Even if I have spent a gajillion dollars on hair ties, headbands, ribbons, and bows adorned in minnie mouse, princesses, sparkles, and jewels. Even if her cute little face is so much better showcased with her hair out of her eyes.
Even if, at the end of a meal, we find her missing straw wrapped up in another curl.**
*doesn't help that this came about from her eating butter with her fingers. gag.
**true story
Alas, having an almost 3 year old with crazy hair like mine leads to many a frustration when she won't allow it to be combed/pony tailed/ect.. In an effort to encourage her to expect her body to be respected, however, I refuse to force her to do something with her hair she doesn't want to do, even if it drives me nuts. Occasionally she will allow "dancey hair" so she can swing it around like a go-go dancer, but that is only for dancing time and only for a minute. You would think with her princess obsession she would want her hair done just like a princess. Nope. Wrong.
Even if I have spent a gajillion dollars on hair ties, headbands, ribbons, and bows adorned in minnie mouse, princesses, sparkles, and jewels. Even if her cute little face is so much better showcased with her hair out of her eyes.
Even if, at the end of a meal, we find her missing straw wrapped up in another curl.**
*doesn't help that this came about from her eating butter with her fingers. gag.
**true story
06 March 2013
What Really Happened...
...to the blog? You might ask. Yea, well, that, too.
But, really, I am talking about Little C and our stay in the NICU. So many of you offered prayers and well wishes during our crazy stay and I promised an update of what actually happened.
My labor and delivery with Little C was great. For those of you who love a good birth story, I will be writing up both of mine in the next few days so I won't elaborate here. However, when Little C came out the doctors noticed a sack attached to her umbilical cord. They had heard of such sacks, but because they are extremely rare they were not entirely sure what to make of it and I was told we would find out more when the pediatrician visited her in the morning. All of the doctors proceeded to take photos of the sack (with my permission) in order to document it, if needed.
My OB came to see me the next morning and assumed I was antsy to be discharged (he knows me all too well). He assured me we'd leave that afternoon as long as Little C was cleared by the pediatrician.
That is when everything started to go wrong. The ped came in (and goodness I love her but she's a bit hectic) and said she had some concerns and was sending the photo off to WVU Children's Hospital in Morgantown. Her many explanations left me feeling a little confused and unsure how to process exactly what was happening. Honestly, I assumed we'd have to take Little C to the hospital *at some point* in the future.
Wrong.
Within hours they were calling for an ambulance to come and I was told she needed to be transferred to the NICU 3 HOURS AWAY from us. I couldn't even cry. What was supposed to be a funny little sack was now being referred to as an abnormal umbilical cord cyst and I started to hear the words "surgery," "organs," "IV" being thrown around like candy. Now, as an exclusively breastfeeding mom my first concern was whether I'd be able to nurse her during the 3 hour ride. Ok, listen, I get that should NOT have been my main concern, but that was the ONLY thing I had any control over at that moment. I was told no, that I could choose to give the ambulance personnel formula or they could hook her up to an IV. The thought of an 8 hour old infant on IV made me sick, so we packed formula. I was also told I couldn't ride in the ambulance with her, so I went into crazy mode - calling my mom to pack bags for us so we could just swing by, pick up the bags, give O a kiss, and head to Morgantown.
When the personnel arrived they did offer me a seat.
I turned it down.
No, I don't know why I did that. I will struggle with that until the day I die. I just couldn't sit by and watch all this unfold - I couldn't watch them give her formula when I was right there; I couldn't watch them give her an IV if she needed. I needed Ray beside me. I just...failed.
Fast forward a few hours and we're on our way to Morgantown. For those who don't know the area, there is a black hole of a place in the mountains called "Frostburg" whose name could not be a better fit. I left the hospital in yoga pants, a short sleeve shirt and sneakers. Less than 90 minutes later we were stuck in the pitch black darkness in a BLIZZARD. Going down windy roads, covered in pure ice, at 35 miles per hour behind the only truck on the road. I exaggerate not.
Cue hysteria.
Of course, as a mother, I could only think about the ambulance ahead of us carrying my hours old daughter in this terrible blizzard.
And how I chose not to go with her.
Calling the hospital, I prayed they had already made it - but, no, they weren't there. We continued on.
Eventually we did make it to the NICU (God blessed my husband's hands as he steered the car), shortly behind the ambulance. A doctor came out to talk to us, finally explaining why the need for the emergency transfer - they believed the sack could be omphalocele or a bladder extrophy. The moment I heard my baby's organs could be on the outside of her body the blood started pumping in my ears and I am completely shocked I held it together. At this point she turned exactly 24 hours old.
Basically the sack was 1 of two things - harmless Wharton's jelly, or her bowels/intestines. The surgery would either removed the sack easily and we would call it a day; OR the surgeon would have to go in, reconstruct her organs (sewing them back together) and then would later have to check out her heart and brain, which consequently may not have developed properly based on the timing of the development in the fetus in utero.
Choosing to focus on all the wrong things, I immediately asked how I could have access to a pump (the one thing I forgot to pack) and they said they would work with me (all the while thinking I was overreacting to the breastfeeding thing, I'm sure). They took us back to see her and I saw she was, in fact, hooked up to an IV. They explained that they needed her to be ready at a moment's notice for surgery. 24 hours old and she'd eaten maybe 4 times. Ray found our carseat (they used it to transport her on the gurney) and inside was the bag of supplies - including unopened formula. I hated that she was on an IV, but the fact that they did not give her formula was a weird comfort to me. I would have hated for her to have both.
That night we slept on cots in the hospital while I woke up every 2 hours to pump.
Lots of blurry things happened the next 24 hours. The staff was phenomenal - they made sure we had full access to her and that we knew everything that was going on every minute. The most heartbreaking thing for us was the other babies. Here was our full term, 7 pound baby in a room with all of these preemies who were struggling for their lives. Ray and I had a really hard time processing all of it.
At some point my dad showed up. Then she was ready for surgery. The anesthesiologist and his nurse made sure we knew every detail of what they were going to do. They allowed us to walk to the prep room with her, before taking her through the doors.
Less than an hour later we received the call: her surgery was done. I finally sobbed. They allowed us to see her even though she was still asleep. She was SO CUTE. The surgeon spoke with Ray and explained that the sack and the skin around it were removed easily and THEY WERE NOT CONNECTED TO HER INTERNAL ORGANS. He simply removed the umbilical cord and the sack, made her a cute little belly button (which he joked we won't know for 15 years or so whether his work is satisfactory to her) and all is done.
The next morning we were released, drove through another terrible ice storm on the way home, an collapsed as soon as we entered our house. Finally, a mere 4 days after giving birth, my family was all together.
Ray reminded me more than once that I wanted a good birth story to tell people. Be careful what you wish for!
But, really, I am talking about Little C and our stay in the NICU. So many of you offered prayers and well wishes during our crazy stay and I promised an update of what actually happened.
My labor and delivery with Little C was great. For those of you who love a good birth story, I will be writing up both of mine in the next few days so I won't elaborate here. However, when Little C came out the doctors noticed a sack attached to her umbilical cord. They had heard of such sacks, but because they are extremely rare they were not entirely sure what to make of it and I was told we would find out more when the pediatrician visited her in the morning. All of the doctors proceeded to take photos of the sack (with my permission) in order to document it, if needed.
My OB came to see me the next morning and assumed I was antsy to be discharged (he knows me all too well). He assured me we'd leave that afternoon as long as Little C was cleared by the pediatrician.
That is when everything started to go wrong. The ped came in (and goodness I love her but she's a bit hectic) and said she had some concerns and was sending the photo off to WVU Children's Hospital in Morgantown. Her many explanations left me feeling a little confused and unsure how to process exactly what was happening. Honestly, I assumed we'd have to take Little C to the hospital *at some point* in the future.
Wrong.
Within hours they were calling for an ambulance to come and I was told she needed to be transferred to the NICU 3 HOURS AWAY from us. I couldn't even cry. What was supposed to be a funny little sack was now being referred to as an abnormal umbilical cord cyst and I started to hear the words "surgery," "organs," "IV" being thrown around like candy. Now, as an exclusively breastfeeding mom my first concern was whether I'd be able to nurse her during the 3 hour ride. Ok, listen, I get that should NOT have been my main concern, but that was the ONLY thing I had any control over at that moment. I was told no, that I could choose to give the ambulance personnel formula or they could hook her up to an IV. The thought of an 8 hour old infant on IV made me sick, so we packed formula. I was also told I couldn't ride in the ambulance with her, so I went into crazy mode - calling my mom to pack bags for us so we could just swing by, pick up the bags, give O a kiss, and head to Morgantown.
When the personnel arrived they did offer me a seat.
I turned it down.
No, I don't know why I did that. I will struggle with that until the day I die. I just couldn't sit by and watch all this unfold - I couldn't watch them give her formula when I was right there; I couldn't watch them give her an IV if she needed. I needed Ray beside me. I just...failed.
Fast forward a few hours and we're on our way to Morgantown. For those who don't know the area, there is a black hole of a place in the mountains called "Frostburg" whose name could not be a better fit. I left the hospital in yoga pants, a short sleeve shirt and sneakers. Less than 90 minutes later we were stuck in the pitch black darkness in a BLIZZARD. Going down windy roads, covered in pure ice, at 35 miles per hour behind the only truck on the road. I exaggerate not.
Cue hysteria.
Of course, as a mother, I could only think about the ambulance ahead of us carrying my hours old daughter in this terrible blizzard.
And how I chose not to go with her.
Calling the hospital, I prayed they had already made it - but, no, they weren't there. We continued on.
Eventually we did make it to the NICU (God blessed my husband's hands as he steered the car), shortly behind the ambulance. A doctor came out to talk to us, finally explaining why the need for the emergency transfer - they believed the sack could be omphalocele or a bladder extrophy. The moment I heard my baby's organs could be on the outside of her body the blood started pumping in my ears and I am completely shocked I held it together. At this point she turned exactly 24 hours old.
Basically the sack was 1 of two things - harmless Wharton's jelly, or her bowels/intestines. The surgery would either removed the sack easily and we would call it a day; OR the surgeon would have to go in, reconstruct her organs (sewing them back together) and then would later have to check out her heart and brain, which consequently may not have developed properly based on the timing of the development in the fetus in utero.
Choosing to focus on all the wrong things, I immediately asked how I could have access to a pump (the one thing I forgot to pack) and they said they would work with me (all the while thinking I was overreacting to the breastfeeding thing, I'm sure). They took us back to see her and I saw she was, in fact, hooked up to an IV. They explained that they needed her to be ready at a moment's notice for surgery. 24 hours old and she'd eaten maybe 4 times. Ray found our carseat (they used it to transport her on the gurney) and inside was the bag of supplies - including unopened formula. I hated that she was on an IV, but the fact that they did not give her formula was a weird comfort to me. I would have hated for her to have both.
That night we slept on cots in the hospital while I woke up every 2 hours to pump.
Lots of blurry things happened the next 24 hours. The staff was phenomenal - they made sure we had full access to her and that we knew everything that was going on every minute. The most heartbreaking thing for us was the other babies. Here was our full term, 7 pound baby in a room with all of these preemies who were struggling for their lives. Ray and I had a really hard time processing all of it.
At some point my dad showed up. Then she was ready for surgery. The anesthesiologist and his nurse made sure we knew every detail of what they were going to do. They allowed us to walk to the prep room with her, before taking her through the doors.
Less than an hour later we received the call: her surgery was done. I finally sobbed. They allowed us to see her even though she was still asleep. She was SO CUTE. The surgeon spoke with Ray and explained that the sack and the skin around it were removed easily and THEY WERE NOT CONNECTED TO HER INTERNAL ORGANS. He simply removed the umbilical cord and the sack, made her a cute little belly button (which he joked we won't know for 15 years or so whether his work is satisfactory to her) and all is done.
The next morning we were released, drove through another terrible ice storm on the way home, an collapsed as soon as we entered our house. Finally, a mere 4 days after giving birth, my family was all together.
Ray reminded me more than once that I wanted a good birth story to tell people. Be careful what you wish for!
04 March 2013
Finally! An opinion on the breastfeeding doll...
I want to start off by saying - I don't know how to feed a baby using a bottle! The NICU nurses all had a good laugh at that when they handed me my breastmilk in a bottle to feed Little C and I sat there in a totally confused state. Here I have an almost 3 year old and haven't the slightest clue how to give a baby a bottle. But why would I? Bottles were for DH or my mom to use when I wasn't available to feed. If I was there, I didn't need a bottle.
That being said, when the drama over the breastfeeding doll first hit the internet waves, I really had no opinion. (Shocking, I know) I guess I really didn't see why we needed a doll specific for breastfeeding since a girl could just mock breastfeed any doll, but I also though people who were infuriated by it had too much time on their hands. I really didn't think anything had to be said - the doll was what it was.
That has all changed since having my second daughter.
You see, traditional baby dolls all come with bottles. You can even buy extra bottles on their own as accessories. I have never pitched a fit or marched on my high horse about people buying Miss O bottles to go with her baby dolls. As someone who never played with baby dolls myself, I simply accepted it as part of the business.
Once Little C came along, however, I found myself at odds with Miss O over feeding time. The poor kid could not understand why I wouldn't feed the baby. The baby was going to starve. Why couldn't she, Miss O, help feed the baby? I was a TERRIBLE mother. Hence, I ended up in the middle of a largely one-sided conversation about breastfeeding with a rather irrational 2 year old. Thankfully, Miss O is quite wise and, upon close observation, finally accepted I was, in fact, feeding the baby and the baby would not starve due to my lack of parenting skills.
Suddenly, I realized why a breastfeeding doll wasn't all that bad an idea. In fact, if I have to accept society's passive aggressive attempts at showing my daughter how "natural" bottle feeding is, then I think the rest of society should have to accept a doll that encourages something MORE natural. I now appreciate that there is a product out there that demonstrates the other side of the feeding-fence and would eliminate the need for me to explain away the bottle. Why am I explaining away a bottle anyway? Why am I forced to explain to my daughter why I don't use bottles? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't we have to explain the situations for using a bottle? Or, at the very least, live in an equal-opportunity world?
For those who think a breastfeeding doll is sexualizing young girls, I challenge them to consider how they feel about bikinis for babies. Heck, they should consider how they feel about giving young girls dolls with bottles. If the act of caring for a baby doll is not sexualizing a little girl (and I think most rational people would agree it is not) then the act of feeding a baby is not sexualizing either. Pardon me, but I firmly believe if you support baby dolls with bottles you MUST support baby dolls who breastfeed, especially if, as a nursing mother, I am to support your right to choose bottles.
Basically, what this all boils down to is that we've now included our daughters in our "mommy wars." Don't we have anything better to do?
As a proud mama, I would like to add that this morning, Miss O nursed her baby C doll, "just like mama." Well done, kid, well done.
That being said, when the drama over the breastfeeding doll first hit the internet waves, I really had no opinion. (Shocking, I know) I guess I really didn't see why we needed a doll specific for breastfeeding since a girl could just mock breastfeed any doll, but I also though people who were infuriated by it had too much time on their hands. I really didn't think anything had to be said - the doll was what it was.
That has all changed since having my second daughter.
You see, traditional baby dolls all come with bottles. You can even buy extra bottles on their own as accessories. I have never pitched a fit or marched on my high horse about people buying Miss O bottles to go with her baby dolls. As someone who never played with baby dolls myself, I simply accepted it as part of the business.
Once Little C came along, however, I found myself at odds with Miss O over feeding time. The poor kid could not understand why I wouldn't feed the baby. The baby was going to starve. Why couldn't she, Miss O, help feed the baby? I was a TERRIBLE mother. Hence, I ended up in the middle of a largely one-sided conversation about breastfeeding with a rather irrational 2 year old. Thankfully, Miss O is quite wise and, upon close observation, finally accepted I was, in fact, feeding the baby and the baby would not starve due to my lack of parenting skills.
Suddenly, I realized why a breastfeeding doll wasn't all that bad an idea. In fact, if I have to accept society's passive aggressive attempts at showing my daughter how "natural" bottle feeding is, then I think the rest of society should have to accept a doll that encourages something MORE natural. I now appreciate that there is a product out there that demonstrates the other side of the feeding-fence and would eliminate the need for me to explain away the bottle. Why am I explaining away a bottle anyway? Why am I forced to explain to my daughter why I don't use bottles? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't we have to explain the situations for using a bottle? Or, at the very least, live in an equal-opportunity world?
For those who think a breastfeeding doll is sexualizing young girls, I challenge them to consider how they feel about bikinis for babies. Heck, they should consider how they feel about giving young girls dolls with bottles. If the act of caring for a baby doll is not sexualizing a little girl (and I think most rational people would agree it is not) then the act of feeding a baby is not sexualizing either. Pardon me, but I firmly believe if you support baby dolls with bottles you MUST support baby dolls who breastfeed, especially if, as a nursing mother, I am to support your right to choose bottles.
Basically, what this all boils down to is that we've now included our daughters in our "mommy wars." Don't we have anything better to do?
As a proud mama, I would like to add that this morning, Miss O nursed her baby C doll, "just like mama." Well done, kid, well done.
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