Sexy Hobbit Feet and Other Compliments for Pregnant Women

There is nothing more glorious and glamorous than a pregnant woman. Each protruding curve of her beautiful body evokes the image of an almighty mother goddess and Mother Earth herself. She is curvy, glowing and vibrating with life.

Of course, those curves can barely stay contained in the are-you-fucking-kidding-me-that-maternity-clothes-are-this-small -?-maternity shirt (TM). Her belly hangs well below the hem of her shirt and her breasts are spilling out from the nursing bra that she bought in 3 cup sizes bigger than normal and it still doesn't have the decency to contain her boobage. And no one ever told you that the beautiful curves of a pregnant woman included her swollen feet, did they? The glow is likely due to the immense amount of sweat pouring out of her pores because anything warmer than 38 degrees Fahrenheit is like standing in the middle of the Sahara for a pregnant woman. And vibrations? Dude! Her blood sugar is crashing - those are the I-need-food-NOW-shakes. She just spent twelve hours standing in line at Babies 'R' Us (it's corporate policy to have only one apathetic cashier available on their busiest of days) buying breast milk storage bags and baby booger suckers and now she is hypoglycemic! So grab her a chair so she can get her feet up, get her some ice water, heavy on the crushed ice, and bring her a damn sandwich! And make sure you tell her she's beautiful at least 4 times every 19 seconds. Clock is ticking.

I know. I just inspired millions of women to get pregnant right.this.minute. How can you resist my ultra glamorous portrayal of the maternal state? All joking aside, pregnant women are goddesses and we are all simply beautiful. It's just that we don't always feel that way about ourselves. Yeah, yeah, it's all a miracle. We know. We know that we are gestating the revolution, the next generation and whatever other hippie love phrase you want to put in there. We know it's sacred. We know we should be worshiped. However, there are times, when your maternity jeans keep slipping down your butt and your maternity shirt keeps hiking up, that you don't feel like much of a goddess supermodel. People can tell your feet are curvy because you're wearing flip flops - in Minnesota, in January, in 17 feet of snow. You have no choice because your feet have swollen to the size of a small toddler. Your legs have been shaved into an odd patchwork pattern because you just plain can't see them. You tried to sit down in the shower to shave them, but found you couldn't get back up - worse, your husband was still at work, so you spent two hours sitting in the bathtub, clutching your razor, while your not-very-helpful cat sat on the tub ledge and stared at you as you cried one of those pathetic, snot-bubbly cries until the husband finally walked in the door and rescued you. You ended up with a cold and suffer because you can't take anything useful and when you go to the store to buy tissues, you are standing in line when you feel a sneeze come on and you do one of those unfortunate sneeze-cough-burp-fart things and pee just a little thanks to the baby squeezing every noise and fluid producing organ and hope no one notices as you dig through your wallet for your store bonus card and some dignity. At some point, you're sitting in the library when you get a whiff of decomposing onions. You look around to see where the stench is coming from when you realize it's you and that the joyous hormones of pregnancy have added to your normal bodily odor and then you start to dry heave from your own scent because morning sickness still has not passed at 7 months of pregnancy. Yeah, we know this is a miraculous time, but we don't always feel it. And that's okay.

Here's what's not okay - telling us that we look bloated, crappy, tired, fat, whorish, smelly or hairy. Nope. You just can't do that. Sure, your pregnant friend might say, "I just feel so huge and nothing fits and I smell really weird," but you can't agree. No. She looks beautiful. And no comparing how big she is to how big you were.

Here is a helpful list of what to say:

Don't say: "Wow. You're tiny for 30 weeks. Are you sure you're really pregnant? Are you eating enough? Are you worried that the baby will be too small?"
 Do say: "Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess."

Don't say: "Wow. You're HUGE! Are you sure there is only one in there? Wow! I can't believe you're only twelve weeks. I didn't even look that big when I was 40 weeks. Are you worried your baby will be too big?"
Do say: "Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess."

Don't say: "Look at those huge feet! They look like Hobbit feet - are you from the Shire, Frodo? Man, I bet a guy with a foot fetish would love those. How can you even walk with feet that huge?"
Do say:  "Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess. Would you like to sit down. Here, have my seat. In fact, let me get you a gift certificate for a pedicure."

Don't say: "I've never seen a person eat so much. You're only eating for two, not seven. Aren't you worried you'll make your baby fat?"
Do say: "Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess. Can I get you another sandwich, with a side of steak?"


Don't say: "Girl, your hair is looking kinda greasy lately and your skin could use some love. Come to think of it, do you smell that? Is that you? Oh, you must be having a girl and she is stealing ALL of your beauty and then some." 
Do say: "Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess. Let's go get our hair and make-up done. My treat."

Don't say: "Holy shit -  you're carrying around a load of weight. Woo. That looks painful. You should get one of those belly slings so you can heave that beast around."
Do say: "Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess. Can I give you a back rub?"

I'm sure you get the point. It is a little hard to carry around an extra human strapped to your lower front half, defying some laws of physics. No matter how gorgeous we look, we can have times when we aren't feel the sexy glamor and it can be hard on us. We don't need someone extra reminding us that we are huge or blotchy or stinky or that we are eating a load. Even if you're thinking it, don't say it. We hear enough crap from the media telling us that we have to be sexy pregnant ladies, with petite bumps, globe-shaped perfect tits and NO STRETCH MARKS. We don't need to hear it from our friends, family and co-workers. So, remember, even if your pregnant best friend is weighing down the passenger side of your car and she's sprouted 4 extra chin hairs right in front of you and she keeps burping due to her acid reflux, please don't tell her anything other than she is the most beautiful person you've ever seen.

I'm Sorry, This Uterus Has Been Closed Until Further Notice

Copyright JSH 2011

"You're not having more kids? That's not right. Are you sure you know that's what you want?"

Those words came to me in an email after I had stated that I do not intend on having anymore kids. Am I sure that's what I want? No, I'm not sure. At this time, it's the right decision. Unless I have some life-altering epiphany or God personally chucks a dove through my window, I am done getting myself knocked up and pushing babies out of my body. When I tell people this, they think I must be insane. They think I must not know my own heart and my own body. It's not an easy decision to make.

As I write this, my news feed on Facebook is blowing up with news of a pregnancy announcement. I am happy for the person, but I will be honest and tell you that it stings my heart a little bit. I secretly have been jealous of people announcing pregnancies and having new babies. It's because I know those days are done for me. I'm done charting temperatures and obsessing over gobs of cervical mucus. I'm done peeing on sticks to determine fertility or pregnancy. I'm done carrying secrets for a few weeks before surprising everyone with a happy announcement. There are so many things I will miss about being pregnant. I see preggoids every day and jealously gaze upon their bellies knowing I won't ever experience a gloriously large belly with brand new stretch marks again. I will miss the feelings of my little baby kicking, rolling and dancing within me. I will miss keeping my hand on my belly and telling my little one - through my heart - that all will be well and mama loves him/her. There are so many joys in pregnancy and I will miss each one and I long for them when I see other women experiencing it.

I always wanted at least 6 kids for as long as I could remember. I didn't come from a large family - I have two older brothers and that's it - but I just loved the idea of large families. If you told my 20 year old self that her 33 year old self would be writing a blog about being done after three pregnancies she would have told you to fuck off because that's just dumb. And here I sit, writing about being done after three pregnancies that resulted in two live children. Me...the girl who has been so involved in birth activism since she was 16 years old. I was born to have lots of babies on my hip. That's what I always told myself. It wasn't just one thing that changed my cards and gave me a new deck entirely. It's been brewing. I've slowly had to realize that something I always dreamed of won't come to fruition for me.

My first pregnancy was relatively smooth. I had a hiccup here and there because a few things nearly risked me out of a birth center birth and my birth plan was eventually  fucked up by my own midwife, but things were pretty smooth overall and the birth could have been much worse. I had a glorious and giant belly. I was happy and secure and didn't worry much about pregnancy or birth. I started to show symptoms of pre-eclampsia in my final week of pregnancy, but my midwives helped me manage that with diet. I was able to give birth naturally. Breastfeeding came easily and so did mothering. I like to think I did a splendid job during the first three years of my son's life. I was the quintessential gentle mother and attachment parent. I was calm, happy and I loved my role as a mother above all else. 

I got pregnant again in 2010 and things rolled along perfectly fine until 8 weeks when I discovered that my baby, River,  died and I ended up miscarrying. I don't know why it happened. Maybe it was from low progesterone. Maybe my thyroid was wack. Maybe I was exposed to something scary at my job in a veterinary clinic. Maybe God hated me. I don't know why and I never will. That miscarriage kicked me down a giant negative hole from which I have barely escaped. Gone were my days as a gentle mother. My poor son was caught in the crossfire of my grief and my inability to control my emotions. I became depressed, withdrawn and enraged. My family, my friendships, my job and my sanity suffered big time. Horrible thoughts about the death of my baby would invade my mind at all hours of the day. I couldn't escape it and knew that, if I survived, I would never be able to get through something like that again. I was lucky to have the strength of my family and a few good friends to pull me through and push me back towards some passable semblance of sanity. I question whether I would ever be pregnant again. I ached to carry a child once more and to successfully bring that child into the world, but I was wrapped up in a fear of loss and ashamed that I had lost my sense of serenity in my parenting.

Despite my fears, I charted, temped and progesterone (Progest-E) supplemented my way into getting pregnant again in November of 2010. I told myself and my hubby that there was at least one little spirit who was still waiting to make her way into the world. I knew I was meant to have a little girl. When that line showed up I was excited and terrified. When I first got my positive preggo test with my son, I was terrified of becoming a new mom and being good enough. With my 2nd, I was terrified of having more than one kid and loving more than one. With this third pregnancy, I was terrified of loss. From the day I peed on that first stick (I probably took a wee on 10 in subsequent days, obsessing over the darkness of lines even though I know that it means nothing) to the moment she flew out of my vagina, I could not relax. That fear of loss was stuck right there in the back of my mind at every moment. It was completely palpable.  I was afraid to truly bond with my baby because I felt like I was always sitting on the edge of tragedy. The fact that my pregnancy wasn't as smooth as my first did not help matters. By the time I was 8 weeks I was experiencing a lot of pain in my tailbone. This left me in a panic because I experienced the same symptom just days before my miscarriage with River. After breathing some calm into my brain, I told myself it was likely due to the fact that I have a retroverted uterus and the weight of the growing baby was putting pressure on my tailbone. This does happen to some reason and it usually resolves itself by the 2nd trimester when the uterus is large enough to tip into a more forward position. From that time on, I had near debilitating pain in my tailbone and pelvis. I did yoga. I walked. I stretched. I belly danced. I whined. It didn't help. Granted, it would have been worse without all of that. There was constant pain on my pelvis' part and constant worry on my brain's part. There were many days where it felt like my vagina was being stabbed by at least a thousand knives. Now, that may sound kinky and perhaps it's in the pages of Fifty fucking Shades of Grey, but I assure you it isn't a walk in the park. Speaking of walks in the park, those became limited. I am a very active person and I like to be out and about. We take frequent walks and hikes, but those activities became limited when I was pregnant. I was not able to keep myself in the proper shape. By 20 weeks, I realized it was never an issue of my uterus dry humping my tailbone. I actually had symphasis pubis dysfunction (SPD). That's where the little bit of cartilage that holds your pelvis together (feel your pelvic bone right by your clitoris - that's where it is) just says, "fuck it," and gives up on it's job and makes you all out of whack and painful. I need to write a separate post on that one of these days. While it is agonizing for some women, including myself, it is not threatening. Doing my job became more difficult and I stupidly did my best to work through the issue and not complain about it. Because when you complain about it to women who have not suffered with SPD you are met with eyerolls and comments that, "of course your back and your crotch hurt when you're pregnant. Suck it up." So, that sucked. In the middle of my second trimester, I developed the flu from hell. I was sick for three weeks straight. It ended in a trip to the hospital where they diagnosed strep throat and Scarlett Fever on top of the flu. My mind was washed in anxiety over losing the baby due to my constant 102 degree fevers and the stupid illnesses. I recovered from the flu and started to feel more definite and regular baby movements. I was happy. Then, toward the end of my second trimester, I apparently decided to have high blood pressure one day. My BP spiked to 158/70 one day at work and continued with an erratic pattern for weeks. The initial fear was placental abruption, which wasn't the case. Then we ruled pre-eclampsia out. Turned out I had iatrogenic systolic hypertension - translation: we really don't have a fucking clue why your blood pressure is high, so take it easy. My midwife was frustrated for me. I managed the pressure with diet and acupuncture (it literally dropped the day I got my first treatment and never came back) and I faithfully check my pressures through the day, gave in to many blood and urine tests each week and was ordered to restrict my activity. I was placed on desk duty at work and had to keep my feet up at home. After my pressure got under control, my feet started to swell to the size of small toddlers. I had pitting edema and deep calf pain. Oh fabulous - now we had to worry about the possibility of deep vein thrombosis, which does run in my family. Another hospital trip. No DVT, but I was given more orders to stay the heck off my feet. Because that is easy with a 4-going-on-five year old. Wait, we're not done. I then ended up with a ruptured ear drum and was completely deaf for two weeks. So, my crotch hurt, I was worried about blood pressure, my feet were fat, I wasn't allowed to be up for more than 15 minutes at a time and I couldn't hear the people who were talking to me and asking me if it was normal for a human to have "ankles so big." Oh, and I was anemic. Geez. I was constantly worried that the other shoe would drop throughout the entire pregnancy. Here I am, some birth activist who tells other women to truth their bodies and I was unable to relax, exhale and truly trust in my own body. I was always scared.

I don't even consider that pregnancy to have been complicated. It was just colored with a lot of ups and downs, and the downs really affected my psyche. I knew by the end of that pregnancy that I will likely never have another baby. It's been almost a year since I gave birth to my daughter and my feelings are pretty much the same. I don't think I can do it again. It's not just the physical things that worry me, the fear is incredibly overwhelming. I've had constant anxiety about terrible things happening to my children since my miscarriage and to have that heightened during pregnancy is rough. I don't want to put a sweet, developing little baby under so much stress in what's supposed to be the warm and nurturing environment of my womb.

I also think I'm a crappy mother. My emotional life has changed drastically since my miscarriage. I have been working hard to rid myself of so many negative feelings and rage. It's a constant battle on some days. I miss the super gentle and laid back person...mother that I was before losing my baby. I yell way too much. I get overwhelmed too easily. Perhaps I can't emotionally handle another child. I feel weak to admit that.

Maybe I'm a wimp. Maybe I should suck it up. Maybe I wasn't truly meant to be a mother. Whatever it is, I think I'm done with the pregnancy and birthing phase of my life. It makes me so sad to type those words out. There is a large part of me that feels like I failed myself. I won't ever be that glorious fertile Goddess, always beautifully pregnant. My dream of a large, happy family is dashed by my own emotional, physical and even financial short-comings. It's not an easy decision to make. My husband is saddened by this. He wants one more and he feels a bit bummed when I tell him that I feel like we are done. He is very understanding of my reasoning, though, so it's not an issue that causes a rift in our relationship.

It's other people. I constantly get, "oh come on! You love preggos and babies. You can squeeze out one more!" As if it were really as simple as "squeezing out one more." I've also gotten, "you can't let a couple of bad experiences get you down." Really? A dead baby isn't a bad enough experience? Really? I know people aren't trying to tell me what to do and they don't intend harm when they make comments. It sends a bit of a pang through my heart when I am constantly reminding folks that, yes, the uterus is closed for business.

It goes without saying that we must always be careful when we advise other people on their reproductive happenings. We never know what is really going on inside a woman's heart. For many reason, the decision to have more children is not at all easy and takes a lot of thought. It's definitely not always an easy decision to stop having more kids, especially when you have always planned on having a big houseful of them. Of course, the moment you change you mind and say, "sign me up for 6 more kids," the world will then accuse you of being a "breeder" with too many kids and ask if you realize that your vagina is not a clown car. Sometimes, you just can't win.

What about you? Did you originally intend on a gaggle of babies, but ended up scaling back on those dreams? Has the decision whether or not to have more children been hard on you and your family?

P.S. looking through some pregnancy photos of mine to choose for this blog was sad. Just sad. I will miss that part of my life.

The Knowledge Within

Copyright JSH 2010

 I want to share a conversation I recently had with an acquaintance and her friend. We'll call them Josie and Charlotte. Those names are pretty. This is an actual online conversation and is used with permission. I just copy and pasted and changed names. Grammatical errors are, hopefully, not mine.

Josie - Women have a hard time getting pregnant because you bleed the egg out. It's hard to catch it.
Funky - Bleed it out?
Josie - Yeah, the egg comes out when ur having ur period.
Funky - That's not how it works. You release the egg when you ovulate. That's before your period starts.
Charlotte - funky is right because ovulation tells your body it's time to start your period. the egg comes out and you get your period the next day.
Josie - Not quite. You ovulate while ur having ur period. The bleeding is what gets the egg out.
Funky - Wait. Do you guys know when you ovulate?
Josie - With ur period. And thats why they tell you u can still get pregnant even on ur period.
Funky - Umm...nooooo. You ovulate somewhere around the middle of your cycle...between periods.
Charlotte - i think i do the day b4 my period bc i get cramping on one side. not in the middle.
Josie - You don't get pregnant in between ur periods. What's the point?
Funky - This is why we have so many unplanned pregnancies. Ladies, I'm begging you to check out a few websites or read, Taking Charge of Your Fertility. I'll send you links. You'll thank me.

  That's not the first time I've had conversations like that. I have found that many women do not understand their cycles at all. The menstrual cycle is a pretty big deal. In general, we bleed once a month. Our bodies are devoting time to the waxing and waning of fertility every single month. We bleed. We get discharge. We don't get discharge. Our boobs hurt. Our bellies bloat. Our heads ache. We get moody. Our skin breaks out. We get super horny. We get super not-so-horny. You would think with having such a big deal process happen in our bodies that we would be more in tune with them. I don't mean to imply that you need to be a midwife or a doctor and know every intricate detail of every hormone and when it surges and when it declines. But, many women I talk to lack a basic understand of how and when ovulation happens and what causes menstruation and how all of it relates to getting pregnant or avoiding pregnancy. I know plenty of women who don't know how long their cycles are, who don't know when their last period was or when to expect the next one. I'm not putting women down at all. I don't want you to think that I'm calling anyone stupid if she doesn't understand how her body works. That's not what I'm saying. In fact, I think women have been forced to become out of touch with their bodies. We're meant to be in touch with our bodies, but we've lost that connection over the last century.

 Think about it. In my experience talking to other women, we seem to know about the bodies of celebrities more than we know about our own. We spend more time studying whether or not Kim Kardashian or the celebrity du jour has a baby bump, fake boobs or a flabby ass than we do learning about our own bodies. Many women can adequately name what cosmetic surgery procedure each Real Housewife has had, but they cannot adequately name the parts of their own reproductive system. They can tell the difference between each Kardashian sister, but they don't know the difference between a vulva and a vagina.

  From a young age girls are taught to be ashamed of all that makes them a woman. Let's hope you don't end up flat-chested. Guys won't want you. Let's hope you don't end up with big boobs. People will think you're a slut. Tone that belly. Firm your thighs and your ass. Don't let anything jiggle. No softness to your curves allowed. Don't say the word vagina or vulva. Those are dirty words. And by the way, you've been cursed. Mother Nature hates you. God hates you. For whatever reason, the person in control of creating humans hated women sooooooooooooo much that he or she makes us bleed once a month. Oh, it's horrible. The blood. The cramps. The zits. The tears. The constant craving for chocolate-covered potato chips. Why, it's enough to drive you crazy. Oh yes, you're a crazy bitch when you have your period. You and your PMS. Now, go shove a wad of highly processed and bleached cotton up your vagina, pop a few meds and be sure to tell other women how much you hate your body during this time of the month. Spread the word. And make sure you tell men they're stupid because they don't have periods.

 Yuck. Is it any wonder? We have had millenia of negative viewpoints on our bodies and our cycles. A certain book tells us that we bleed once a month because Eve sinned. All womankind carries her curse. Our menstrual cycle and our pain in childbirth is there to remind us that it was a woman who tempted man and got our asses kicked out of paradise. That's a lot to saddle on a young girl. The same book said we were dirty when we bled so we must be separated during and purified after menstruation. Even people who touch us while we menstruate are "unclean." A woman's body was and still is something to be fear. It contains the curse of menstruation. It's curves and it's beauty are tempting and can cause others to sin. Cultures and religions where women were worshiped and their menstrual cycle was seen as a mirror to the cycle of the planet have been stomped out for thousands of years. We have spent centuries telling women to be ashamed of what is so natural in them. Yet, women in the past centuries were likely to be better connected to their cycles. They would have been more in tune with the natural flow and changes of energy during different points of that cycle. They would have known how their rhythm was tied to the Moon. Where did we go wrong?

 Despite the shaming of our bodies, women's issues were left to women. Mothers instructed daughters about their periods and fertility. Sisters shared secrets about their budding breasts and newly curved hips. Women attended women in childbirth. New mothers learned to breastfeed from her mothers, sisters and other women around them. A woman would walk into a church and see images of Jesus being suckled at His mother's breast and not blink an eye. While the function of a woman's body was the devil's work, the look was celebrated in art. That changed centuries ago. Religious reformation once again reminded us that we are dirty. Nudes in art needed to be covered up. Women's bodies needed to be ... managed. As our race made scientific advancements at a quick rate, men became more involved in the affairs of the uterus. The childbirth bed was no longer surrounded by other women. It became one more thing to be dominated by men. Women were no longer trusted to care for their own bodies. They needed science and the management of doctors. Men who knew better. We began to lose touch with ourselves.

  Fast forward to the last 100 years. Conquering our femininity, rather than embracing it, has been the gold standard. It's best to be disconnected from your body. Your period? Don't talk about it, unless it's to tell other women it's disgusting and torturous. Pregnant? Better hope you don't get too fat, too stretch-marked and you better lose that baby weight ASAP. Giving birth? You won't be able to do it. It's too painful and you are too weak. You don't know anything about your own body, so let a doctor tell you what to do. I had a horrible birth so you will, too. Breastfeeding? Well, you will most likely fail. Who wants to have a kid stuck to their tit all day anyway? Well, if you're going to do it make sure you cover up and sit in a bathroom or something because no one wants to see that.  It's in the media. I cannot tell you how much I HATE the tampon commercials that depict Mother Nature as some bitch who is out to get you and ruin your day with your period. Everything around us tells us to be ashamed and annoyed with our bodies. Oh, it's no longer because we're being oppressed by the man. No, now it's done in the name of being a feminist. Conquer all that makes you a woman. Hate it. Despise it. You'll be better off for it. It's not the men holding us down anymore. It was centuries ago, but now women are doing a disservice to other women. We are judging one another. We are tearing each other down rather than empowering one another. We are hating ourselves. No wonder we are so lost in our own bodies.

 How many books are out there devoted solely to helping women achieve orgasm? A LOT. Do we ever stop and think that it's a bit messed up? That's a very primal and basic function, but we've been taught to be so ashamed of ourselves that we don't even remember how to make ourselves feel good.

  Knowing your cycle and knowing your body isn't gross. It isn't vain or sinful to look at yourself naked and smile at your curves or lack of curves. There is nothing wrong with knowing what your body feels like. Your period isn't gross. Trust me, I get that it comes at inconvenient times and that cramps suck. I'm not denying that. I don't throw a period party every time it shows up, but I don't hate it, either. However, I can't stand it when people learn that I use a menstrual cup instead of the standard pads they recoil in horror as if I told them I just ate a sandwich made of dead puppy and kitten testicles. It's not just dealing with blood that grosses them out, it's having to touch yourself. A menstrual cup means you are likely going to have to make contact with both your vulva and your vagina - more so than if you were using a tampon with an applicator. I've listened to many women who are repulsed by the idea of having to actually touch their "down there bits" (remember, the parts are so shameful that we can't even name them properly). To me, letting companies make products that are chock full of bleach, dioxin, plastic, petroleum and that unknown blue gel to keep so close or inside our bodies is what's disgusting. Having more than 1 billion feminine hygiene products end up in landfills each year is what's truly gross. Spending a few seconds inserting a menstrual cup into my vagina is preferable to the bodily and environmental damage caused  by "mainstream" menstrual products.

 We are doing a serviced to our girls by giving them a sterilized and watered-down version of the cycles of their bodies. It's perfectly acceptable and common to just throw and pamphlet or two at them along with a copy of Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret and hope that they don't actually come to you with questions and want to start a dialog about their bodily functions. We're living in a country, a world, where it's deemed unacceptable to teach young women about fertility awareness. I'm sorry if I offend some, but I think it's bullshit that there is a lot of legislation proposed that would ban teaching anything but abstinence in schools. There are people out there who don't want young women to learn anything about fertility awareness because they think it's going to turn them into slutty devil-worshiping heathens. I'm sorry, but that is pure bullshit. We owe it to our girls to empower them with knowledge and respect for their bodies. Keeping them in the dark about their natural cycles will not stop them from having sex and getting pregnant. In fact, they may be more likely to have sex and end up with an unintended pregnancy because they are lacking knowledge. Without that empowerment, it will be much easier for others to take advantage of them. If they don't have a strong knowledge base about their own bodies it will be much easier for them to fall for the lies of others. We are harming our daughters and our sons more by withholding this information.

 You don't need to finish reading this blog and immediately run to the bathroom to poke and prod yourself and have a self-love orgy. I won't blame you if you do - I have that effect on people. However, I strongly encourage you to learn about your body. Get to know what makes it work. Give it a little nudge. It's not dirty and it's not shameful. You are the result of millions of years of evolution that precisely picked out which part goes where and how it works in conjunction with other parts, if you believe in that. Or, you are the result of a Divine hand that worked to create the perfection that is you. Any way you slice it, whatever you believe, it's all completely beautiful and sacred. Do your daughters and your sons a favor and teach them how their bodies work. Teach them how the bodies of the opposite sex work. This knowledge will only empower them and make them better able to advocate for themselves. Give them the gift of respect for their bodies. Give yourself that gift, too.

Labor of Laughter

There is a question I am asked quite often. It's also a question that I see online almost every day. It usually goes something like this, "Hi! I'm overdue and I need to get this baby out. How do I get this baby out of me?" A lot of women want to avoid medical induction since Pitocin can be nasty stuff when it's given out like candy (common in many hospitals) and carries a heavy set of risk, such as stress to the baby and eventual C-Section. So, you end up with a ton of advice on how to get that baby out without using the hospitals P-Juice. Some examples:

• Walk. Walk. Walk. Now walk it out, walk it out, walk it out (obscure rap reference).
• Sex. Lots of sex. Lots of sex that involves semen. Sperm it out.
• Cohosh: Black and Blue to bring your baby to you. 
• Red Raspberry Leaf Tea to help the uterus feel sassy and toned so it's in shape for it's most important marathon ever. 
• Nipple Stimulation - twist those little boob nubs to stimulate contraction that you'll hopefully be shouting your way through soon. 
• Acupuncture - if the other kind of poking I mentioned up there doesn't work, then these pokes might.
• Chiropractic - a well-adjusted mom will have a well-adjusted timely labor.
• Castor oil - because after you take the biggest and most foul poo of your life, that baby is not going to want to be anywhere near those intestines. 

 Those are just a few options that women have for helping labor start. There are plenty more. I have never tried to make labor happen. Now, I did drink Red Raspberry Leaf tea and I alternated homeopathic black and blue cohosh for a few weeks prior to my due date in order to get my uterus and her cervix in fantastic shape. Other than that, I am perfectly happy to allow labor to start on it's own prior to forty two weeks. Now, I have never gone more than 4 days over my due date. I may sing a different tune if I were to ever get close to 42. As it stands, I didn't want to rush things, mainly because I procrastinate, but also because I kinda hate pushing. It Hurts. 

 With my son, I went into labor on my own. I knew it was coming overnight, but getting up at 5:30am to clean up diarrhea from my differently-abled kitty (thanks for feeding her cheese, Dad!) kicked everything into gear. My miscarriage started on it's own. My third birth may have been helped along. I may have done things to get the ball rolling, so I want to share it with you. This may give you an alternative to other induction methods. I may start a worldwide trend.

 It was Thursday, August 11. I was due August 8th, but I was in no rush to evict my little girl. I had a pretty normal day, but got hit with the nesting bug later in the afternoon. I had insanely bad SPD (symphasis pubis dysfunction) and was kinda limited when it came to moving around. I couldn't clean as much as I wanted, but I could vacuum. I love vacuuming. It's easy and it produces instant results and makes you feel good. On that day, my nesting took it further. I went all He-Man and picked up my Queen mattress. I vacuumed the box spring. I vacuumed both sides of the mattress. I even put a fitted sheet around the box spring to make it look prettier. Nesting done, I played mini-golf with my husband and son. I almost cried on the golf course, somewhere around the big fake mountain with the big fake unnaturally blue waterfall, because I was an utter mini-golf failure. I couldn't get my balls in the holes. So, I cried. Then I got mad at my husband. This has something to do with pregnancy hormones. After mini-golf, I yelled at my husband in the CVS parking lot and cried some more. I mention all of this because it may be part of the labor induction puzzle. It may be something you want to try.

 When we got home, I sat my giant self in my computer chair and read the posts on my August Due Date Club message board. There were plenty of announcements about new baby as well as lamentations that babies were never coming and  that pregnancy would continue forever. One post stood out. A friend posted a link to a website that included different ways to check the progression of labor without an internal cervical exam. Sweet.  One of the things mentioned was called "The Bottom Line." It's a line that runs from your crackus buttus upward toward your lower back. It's length corresponds with cervical dilation. Here is an excerpt from the site:

"There is something called the ‘bottom line’, which is shadow that extends from the anus up towards the back along the crease of the buttocks. It begins as 1cm and lengthens to 10cm, and it’s length correlates with cervical dilation. Why not look down there before inviting a stranger to put their fingers up inside you? It makes sense to me. Here is current research verifying the existence of the bottom line, and in their trial it was measurable and had acceptable accuracy for 76% of women checked."

Being the sane and rational person I am, I grabbed my floor length mirror and took it into my bathroom. I dropped my pants and bent over in front of the mirror and strained my neck and every possible muscle in my body in an attempt to view my own ass crack. That is damn near impossible when you are gigantically with child. I couldn't see my crack. I spent a half hour contorting myself into different positions and finally trying to squat over a hand mirror to see if I could see a line. Obviously, the baby belly was in the way and it was a no go. I may have blocked it out of my memory, but I can't remember how I finally saw the purple line. I was twisted into the most unnatural position for a human, let alone an enormous pregnant human, and all I could do was see this damn line. Oh no! Seeing it isn't enough. I needed to measure it to see how dilated I was. I opened the bathroom door and called out for my husband. It was just past midnight at this point and my husband was dozing off. I yelled for him to come help me in the bathroom and he came running, white as ghost because he probably figured I had dropped the baby in the toilet like they do in TV shows. I asked him to grab my tape measure from my sewing kit and meet me in the kitchen because we'd need better lighting. Not questioning me, he grabbed the tape measure and found me in the kitchen, butt to world. "See that purple line in my crack? Can you measure that? I need to see if I'm dilated." It's a testament to our marriage that he measure my butt crack line without even questioning me. He said it was 5 to 7 centimeters - "but closer to 7."  He couldn't get a great measurement because I was laughing so hard .Wow! 7 cms. That means I was almost fully dilated and I didn't even feel a thing! OMG! My baby is going to drop out of me after a 10 minute labor...when I finally go into labor. I then did the next most sane and rational thing - I got back online and reported my findings to my August due date club AND everyone on my personal Facebook. My best friend, who also happens to be my midwife, even commented on my status. She thought it was cool.

 I went about Facebooking, smug with the knowledge that my baby was practically crowning and I wasn't even in labor. I figured that I would post in a few days about how my baby just glided out while I giggled. I continued conversations on Facebook and posted a Journey video to a friend's wall. This is important. My friend and I had some weird inside joke involving Journey. Before I left for maternity leave, we would watch the video for "Separate Ways" (otherwise known as "Someday love will find you, break this chains that bind you) in the pharmacy at work and we would laugh our asses off. No offense to Journey fans, but I find the video hilarious. The way Steve Perry over emotes every single word. The sleeveless t-shirts. The super drama. The 80's super model. Bulging denim. The mustaches! And the guy playing his keyboard up against the wall with such bravado - as if playing his keyboard that way was going to save the world from annihilation by some alien race (it's the 80's - think A.L.F.). It's just full of early 80's music video awesome. Totally rad. So, there I was, watching the video I posted to her Wall and just cracking up. I felt a pop in my pelvis and I figured it was just my SPD causing more chaos. I got up to get my husband so he, too, could enjoy the laughter at this Journey video (the lead singer, Steve Perry, makes faces that remind me of my hubby - that was part of the funny).

I opened the door to the bedroom and whoosh! amniotic fluid was splashing onto the carpet. There it was. I was officially beginning labor. That was at 1am. I gave birth at 7:27 pm the next day. Obviously, not the 20 minute breezy labor I had anticipated and I definitely didn't giggle her out. Oh, my midwife checked me later that afternoon. Honestly, the only reason she checked me was to see if I was right about the bottom line. My labor had not been painful up until that moment and I had this fear that I was never going to have strong contractions and that my baby would fall out of my vagina while I was outside walking around. I was...wait for it....3 cms. WHAT!?! Obviously, the bottom line may not be that accurate OR my hubby didn't get a good measurement. I now know that the bottom line is really only accurate further into active labor, not when you are randomly checking your crack at midnight.

I present this all to you to share my experience. I believe that nature should be allowed to take her course in most cases. There are definitely times when inductions are warranted. I also understand the desire to get things moving because you are so uncomfortable or because inching close to 42 weeks means your midwife won't attend your birth center or home birth. So, I wanted to add these two natural methods to the repertoire.  If you find yourself wanting to naturally give the labor ball a little nudge give these two things a try:

• Bend over in front of a mirror to check your butt crack for the magic bottom line. Bonus points for breaking into giggle fits while you post about it on Facebook.
• Watch a Journey video. For added enjoyment, watch it with the sound off. Trust me. 

I hope you have found this helpful. I realize I will most likely start a trend. This will be known as the EarthChild method of labor induction. Books will probably be written. I promise, I will not let the fame get to my head.

Toxoplasmosis: Don't Pussyfoot Around the Kitties

  Who doesn't love a good pussy? Get your minds out of the gutter! I'm talking about kitty cats. God's four-footed furry feline friends. They're sweet (ha!). They are loveable (ha!). They are excellent companions (ha!). I'm allowed to be sarcastic about cats - I have five of them. We'll do a psychological evaluation of me in the future so we can determine why, In God's name, I would ever think 5 cats were a good idea.

Cats are all fine and good...until you're pregnant. If you've been a preggo who also harbors felines, then no doubt you've heard the constant warnings about how bad cats are for pregnant women. A lot of the fuss centers around a little parasite called toxoplasma gondii, which causes toxoplasmosis. Women are told many different things about handling cats during pregnancy - most of which are incorrect. The top "advice" is usually this:

• Don't ever touch your cat or breathe the same air as your cat when pregnant.
• Don't ever, ever change a litter box when you're pregnant. 
• Get rid of all cats now that you're pregnant. 

 It's hogwash. Now, there is definite reason to fear toxoplasmosis.  It can cause miscarriage or stillbirth or it can cause birth abnormalities such as hydrocephalus or blindness. It is certainly dangerous if a pregnant woman is exposed. My issue is with the perceived risk and method of exposure when it concerns cats. If you listen to the mainstream advice, you would think that cats are the only way that you can become infected and that it's nearly certain that all cats carry this. Simply.Not.True.

 Before I get into some parasite particulars, I want to give you some background so you don't think I'm just someone with a bug up her butt about, well, butt bugs. In my real life, I am a Certified Veterinary Technician. No, I don't hold and cuddle puppies and kittens all day. I went through a 2.5 year college program, completed 15 weeks of externships, earned my Associates in Veterinary Technology, sat for a national board exam and passed and earned my license as a veterinary technician. I complete 16 hours of continuing education every two years in order to keep my license legal and up to date. I have twelve years of experience in veterinary medicine - 10 of those years licensed. I do get to pet puppies and kitties now and then, but I also take radiographs, draw blood, place IV catheters, administer medications and treatments, educate clients and the community, run laboratory tests such as routine and non-routine chemistries, urinalysis and other bloodwork such as CBCs. I administer and monitor anesthesia as well as assist doctors in surgery. Oh, there is so much more that we do.  Veterinary technicians are unsung heroes of the veterinary world. Anyway, one of my specialties is laboratory medicine. That is, I'm a wiz with things involving blood, pee, poop and other goodies from the body. I'm great friends with the microscope. Parasitology is one of my favorite things and, ahem, I'm dang good at it. What is it? It's the study of parasites. In my day to day life in the vet tech world, I obtain fecal samples, prepare them and look at them under the microscope where I identify all sorts of little buggers that shouldn't be there. Toxoplasma gondii is just one of those little bastards.

 T.gondii can infect any warm-blooded animal - including us humanfolk - and birds. The big fuss about cats comes from the fact that they are the only primary hosts. That is, they are the only animal that sheds the oocysts (zygotes wrapped in a comfy and protective shell) in their feces. Any mammal or bird can carry the oocysts, but those oocysts will only bump uglies with one another in the intestines of cats. It's a fun cycle. Little oocysts are hanging out in the soil or nature. An animal comes in contact with the oocyst and ingests it. Kitty eats the animal that ingested the oocyst. Or, baby kitty gets it from mama's milk. From there, the oocysts "hatch" in the kitty's intestine. They proceed to make love sweet parasite love and give birth to, you guessed it, more oocysts that are then passed into the cats poop. These little bastards are resilient. Cats will only pass them in their feces for a few weeks after their initial infection. In most cases, their bodies eventually get rid of the T. gondii invaders after those first few weeks. However, the oocysts can survive in soil for an average of 18 months, with many making it for several years. This brings us to the methods of infection for people...

It is understandable to assume that cats are your biggest risk since they are the primary host. This is incorrect. More than half of toxoplasmosis infection occur after handling raw meat. As I said, any mammal or bird can acquire toxoplasmosis. This includes the wide variety of animals that end up on our plates at the dinner table, especially lamb, venison and pork. Handling or consuming raw or undercooked meat is the biggest culprit in toxoplasmosis infections. To be safe, all meat should be cooked to 160 degrees (180 in poultry). I like jerky and I'm an advocate for raw milk, but both should be avoided during pregnancy due to the risk of transmission. Jerky is a risk because of the low heat typically used to create it. Raw milk, especially goat, is a risk as T. gondii is passed through mama milk. Most people won't even notice if they've become infected. Symptoms resemble a mild flu or even mononucleosis. Those most at risk are people with immuno-compromising conditions, including pregnancy. In those folks, the oocysts eventually settle in the tissues, especially the eyes and the brain in humans and the muscles in animals. In pregnant women, the oocysts can be transmitted to the baby via the placenta.

 Another method of transmission is contaminated soil. This is where the oocysts hang out after being passed through the cat's feces. Adults and children who dig around, garden or play in the dirt are susceptible. T. gondii can survive the harshest weather conditions, so the risk is still present even during a snowy winter. Their presence in the soil can also lead to contaminated water (more of an issue in developing countries) or fruits and vegetables. Thoroughly washing any fruits and vegetables is key to preventing transmission this way. It can also be present in children's sandboxes - your friendly neighborhood stray may enjoy using the sandbox as a litter box. Sandboxes - oh, having a parasitology background can just skeeve you - are a prime habitat for parasites like T. gondii and it's friends - roundworm and hookworm.

 Now it's time to talk about kitties. I've heard it all - I've heard people telling pregnant women that you can get it from petting cats, getting bit or being scratched. This is false. The primary source of infection is the cat's feces. You can't get it from bites, scratches or handling their urine or blood. This is the part where people tell you that if you're pregnant and you scoop litter you will just die right there on the spot. Seriously, I heard that once. Again, this is incorrect. When an infected cat poops, the oocysts are present in the poop. However, it takes anywhere from 24 hours to 5 days for those oocysts to sporulate - that is, they become infective to humans. If you're practicing proper kitty hygiene and scooping the litter box at least once a day then your chances of acquiring toxoplasmosis are about nil. If you let the poop sit in their for a few days until it gets to the point of being a bit dry then you up your chances of infection. Even then, you practically have to lick the poop to get it. There's no definitive research stating that you can get it through litter dust as you're scooping, so wearing a mask would be fine if it makes you comfortable.

But wait, is your cat even at risk? Cats at highest risk of carrying T. gondii are outdoor cats (that is, any cat who goes outside for any period of time - even if it's just to sit outside on the porch for 10 minutes)  as they hunt and eat little rodents and birds and they come in contact with infested soil. New kittens are also high risk as they could have gotten it from mama. Most of the time, new kittens come to us from shelters or rescues, so we don't know if mom was a street cat. Cats who spend all of their time indoors are at the lowest risk. Very low. Now, if you have little mice sharing your home and your cat eats them, his risk increases slightly. There is also a slight risk that you could track T. gondii into your home on your shoes and kitty could become infected if he licks your shoes or the carpet where you walked. This is so rare, but I'm putting it out there as many people assume their indoor only cats aren't at risk for anything (you can also track in coccidia, giardia, roundworm, whipworm and hookworm - in case you already weren't feeling icky. Tell that to Flylady next time she insists you wear your shoes in the house from sun up to sun down).

How do you know if your cat has toxoplasmosis? In general, you don't. If your cat is healthy, he or she likely won't show any signs and will eventually rid their body of the toxoplasma. Young kittens and those with weaker immune systems are more susceptible. The most common signs would be a lack of appetite, lethargy and a fever. In severe cases, cats will show neurologic signs (changes in personality, dizziness, blindness, seizures...). You can test for toxoplasmosis. It takes from 3 days up to 2 weeks for it to show up in fecal and blood tests. Fecal tests are okay, but not preferred. While the cat sheds millions of the oocysts in their feces, they are often missed during fecal examinations. The oocysts look a lot like little air bubbles and even coccidia or giardia. Staff that isn't adequately trained or those using poor equipment may miss these little guys on the microscope. In addition, cats only shed the oocysts for a brief time during the infection, so they may not be present in the feces. The best test is a blood test that looks for antibodies - IgG and IgM. This test will indicate if your kitty has acquired toxoplasmosis and if he or she has an active infection or was exposed in the past and is now immune. If your kitty has it, the vet may tell you that he doesn't need treatment as most cats get through it just fine. However, as a preggo, you may opt for treatment. Treatment can include a few different drugs, the most common being the antibiotic Clindamycin, which acts as an anti-protozoan in this case.

So, to recap, you are most likely - here in America and in other developed nations - to acquire toxoplasmosis via the handling or consumption of raw and undercooked meats. Gardening or handling soil also puts you at risk. The hype about cats being a giant risk is just one big overinflated myth that has led to the unnecessary deaths of many cats (being put in shelters and then euthanized after owners become pregnant). Good hygiene is key to keeping yourself safe.

• Always wash anything that comes into contact with raw and undercooked meats - your hands, all utensils and cookware, cutting surfaces and counters. 
• Freezing your meats for 2 to 3 days before use can reduce, but not eliminate, your risk of toxoplasmosis.
• Cook meats thoroughly to 160 F (180 F if it's poultry). Experts recommend letting the meat sit for three minutes after cooking to insure proper temperature distribution.
• Wash your hands. Wash your hands. Wash your hands. 
• Wear gloves when working in the garden. Wash hands afterwards.
• Wash hands after handling soil.
• Thoroughly wash all fruits and vegetables, including those that you grown on your own.
• Use caution when handling kiddie sandboxes. If you own it, keep it covered when not in use in order to prevent neighborhood kitties from using it as a litter box.
• Scoop cat litter daily. <------will also help eliminate kitty bathroom behavior problems.
• Be careful not to touch your face while scooping the litter. Wash your hands after scooping the litter.
• Wash your hands. Wash your hands. Wash your hands.
• Do not lick the cat poop.
• It's fine to wear gloves and/or a mask while scooping cat litter if that makes you feel more comfortable.
• Keep your kitties indoors to lower their risk of infection. Be mindful of tracking soil through the house on your shoes.
• Don't feed kitty an raw or undercooked meat.
• Make sure kitty has a check up once a year at the veterinarian and ask for a fecal test. If you are extra concerned about toxoplasmosis, request an antibody test. 
• Your midwife, family doctor, or OB can perform an antibody blood test for toxoplasmosis when you go in for your first check up. This will let you know if you've been exposed and if it's an older exposure or if it's an active infection. And older exposure would mean, in most cases, that you are immune.
• Wash your hands. Wash your hands. Wash your hands. (with NON antibacterial soap)

 Finally, take my experience. I have worked in veterinary medicine for 12 years and have had 6 kitties in that time - 5 of whom are living today. I have changed and cleaned thousands of litter boxes. I have handled thousands of kitty poop samples. I have only seen toxoplasmosis (and I do know how to distinguish it from other parasites) three times in 12 years. Twice in cats and once in a monkey (yeah, monkey shit it the most vile substance on the planet, fyi). I get myself tested for toxoplasmosis during pregnancy and in between. I've never tested positive for it. That's been the experience of many of my fellow veterinary colleagues.

  I hope this takes away some of the fear regarding cats in pregnancy. I mean it when I say that a lot of cats have been given up and/or just plain euthanized when an owner becomes pregnant because there is so much misinformation out there. Now go hug your kitty.

The Fossils of My Fertility

Those are my abs. Well, they used to be my abs. They're still under there, somewhere. That photo was taken over a year ago.

Do I miss them? Yeah, they were cute. I miss the strength more than the looks. My muscles just give up the moment the sperm hits the egg and I'm left with an weakening core as pregnancy progresses. My baby was born in August and I am still very weak in the core, which isn't cool because I typically do a lot of walking and I find myself having a harder time due to the muscle weakness there and the lingering effects of the SPD I had during pregnancy. I had a few issues - SPD and high blood pressure - that kept me from keeping as fit as I would have wanted during my pregnancy. I do want to re-build that strength, again. I work as a veterinary technician and you definitely need strength when it comes to restraining animals. I haven't done much in the way of actual exercise since giving birth, but that will change soon.

This isn't just about those glorious abs. It's about skin. It's about loving that integumentary glove that I'm in. There are days when I look at myself in the mirror and my heart nearly sinks. I'm still wearing maternity jeans (the Heidi Klum super skinny jeans from Motherhood - they look like "real" jeans as they don't have a panel). I have a pretty good pooch hanging over the waistband of my jeans. I still look pregnant. Sigh. It does get to me from time to time, I won't lie. The other reason it gets to me is that I want to fit into my old clothes. Not just for superficial reasons, but financial. I really don't want to have to buy new clothes to fit my body this winter. Most of my pre-preggo sweaters and winter clothes can't handle the pooch. And I only have one single pair of jeans that fit. They get washed a lot. Back to the skin. There are plenty o' stretch marks there. It's like my son took a maroon crayon and just scribbled on my belly. My belly kinda looks like my living room walls. I got them when I was pregnant with my son. I probably would have gotten them with my second pregnancy, but miscarrying at 8 weeks means I didn't have a chance. I got them with this last pregnancy. They all crept up, like little glistening worms crawling out of the ground after a rainstorm. I never did anything to "prevent" them. I'm not sure you really can prevent them. I did moisturize my belly with coconut oil (not cocoa butter) simply because it's damn good for your skin.



I remember seeing my first stretch marks when I was pregnant with my son back in 2006. They appeared in the very last weeks of my pregnancy, along with the PUPPS rash. My first thought was, "boo-hoo, I thought I could escape them." I was sad for a moment, but I quickly got over it. I couldn't understand why I had a minor mental fuss about them. Then I realized it's because everyone makes a major fuss about them. Think about it - it's seen as some sort of badge of honor not to get stretch marks. You get high fives from fellow smooth and unmarked-skinned mothers. You earn the right to expose your bump in public without fear of scaring small children with those shiny red tummy tire tracks. Heck, you could even be a bump model. See, I would have been voted off of America's Next Top Bump Model because my my stretch marks. Just like birthing quietly and without pain, you get extra cred for having your abdomen expand to extraordinary lengths without a single bit of crime scene evidence left on your skin.

I get it. They're not the most attractive things in the world. It can be a little startling to see all those red lines scribbled across your belly. I understand that most women in this world country have issues about their bodies and appearances. I get that. It's just that these little lines are reminders that we've done something awesome. Heck, these stretch marks aren't my first. I got them on my boobs and my hips after puberty - a reminder that I was growing, curving in all those Goddess places and becoming a woman. The new marks from my pregnancy remind me of the awesomeness that is a woman's body doing the most remarkable thing in the world.

There will be a day in the future where my boobs are less full and my abs are back to their usual firm state. The dark red lines will have faded to a whisper. My body will look like it did, for the most part, before I had children. I'll have my stretch marks forever, like fossils on stone, that remind me of my fertility and the fact that my body grew, carried and nourished little lives. So when I look at myself in the mirror now, I'll have to remind myself not to roll my eyes at the muffin-top under my ill-fitting sweater. I'll remember my skin and Mother Nature's tattooed reminders of the miracle of life.