Get Snipped or Leave Me the Heck Alone!

I am not usually one to air my dirty laundry on the internet, or talk about my partner’s penis  for that matter, but I feel like it is important to discuss the subject of vasectomy.  Really, I am not only talking about vasectomy I am also talking about responsibility, accountability, and respect. 

Let me explain how the above mentioned things relate to the act of surgical sterilization on the part of my partner.  After the traumatic removal of my fourth child (cesarean), I under went a Tubal ligation. Thats right, I had a proceedure meant to prevent future pregnancies. While that may seem drastic I knew that I did not want anymore children. Apparently, what my doctor referred to as “permanent birth control” is not so permanent. Actually, that proceedure only bought me two years in between baby four and baby five.

The shock of finding out I was pregnant was nothing compared to the shock I experienced when my partner of five years refused to even discuss taking some responsibility for preventing future pregnancies.  That’s right, he refused to even discuss the idea.  What are his reasons? Well, that is a hard one because he has skirted around the issue for the past 16 months. 

So far we are preventing pregnancy with determination. I am determined to avoid sex until I have written proof that he is shooting blanks, and he is determined to avoid the subject in hopes that I will change my mind.

What kills me about this is that when my parents first had “the talk” with me they warned me to be prepared and always have protection if I planned to have sex. Their reason for this, boys/men can’t be expected to be responsible for birth control since  they don’t actually get pregnant. What? They don’t have to worry about birth control because they don’t get pregnant. I disagree.

Let’s break this down. My partner gets a passionate night of hot loving, and I get to worry about preventing a pregnancy. So, I guess if the method I have chosen to prevent myself from being knocked up fails that’s my fault.  Okay, I really thought the world had come further than this. Agreeing to be the only responsible partner is like agreeing with those people who call a knocked up 17 year old a white, but cheering for the boy who was lucky enough to get in her pants.

So, I get held accountable for preventing, mainataing, or ending a pregnancy and he gets hot lovin. Wrong.

I had a surgery meant to keep me from being impregnated. Said surgery failed (I am so glad it did), so its your turn Big Daddy. I am not pumping myself full of hormones, having strange objects implanted in my uterus, or risking condom failure. 

Men are capable of respecting a woman’s right to stop having babies. Men are accountable for their actions, and should be held accountable for their lack of actions as well. It is not only a woman’s responsibility to prevent pregnancy anymore than it is a man’s responsibility to carry that child in his womb.  Buck up big fellas from what I hear a vasectomy Is not that bad. Certainly, the recovery time is easier than adding another child to an already full house!

I know men don’t really understand what pregnancy does to a woman, but seeing a loved one so desperate to not repeat pregnancy as to have already have had a surgery to prevent it should be enough to merrit a conversation. 

I stand firm on this. I would rather suffer an excrutiatingly painful, slow death via gangreen of an infected in-grown toe nail than experience pregnancy again. Five is more than enough!


Has it Been 6 Months Already?

Lady Bug being weighed following her birth

As I sit here with my Lady Bug’s legs hanging off my lap and resting on the couch, I am forced to wonder where the time went.

It was not so long ago that she spent two months crying from 7pm to 2am every night. I don’t want to go back, but I am sad to think that the infancy of my last child (fingers crossed) is coming to and end.

Everyday she grows a bit more distracted. I offer her the breast, which used to be her sole interest, and she kindly refuses in favor of watching the antics of her older siblings.

To make up for her missed meals, she nurses through out the night. I cling to her during the quiet time. I am guilty of picking her up while she is sleeping, and offering her my breast while she is still sleeping. I used to want nothing more than a baby who slept through the night, but now I find comfort in the closeness of her warmth during those silent hours.

A few months ago I would look to the sky and wonder silently why this baby wouldn’t stop crying. Why wasn’t breastfeeding enough? Why wouldn’t she just let me sleep. I almost gave in to the people who tried to convince me to just give her formula because that would make her stop. Now I look to that same sky and hope that time passes slowly. Please, let me not miss a moment. I need to savor each milestone. I need to burn each image in to my brain.

Soon, I will not have a baby. Soon, I will have a toddler whose intrest in me will decline steadily as the months go by.

I saved this post as a draft because I got too busy to finish it.  It was that day that I found Lady Bug’s first tooth.  Those little ridges poking through her swollen, tender gums prove that she is growing up.  While that may seem dramatic, it marks the end of the only life I have known for 13 years.  I have raised one baby after another, each time swearing it was my last, for 13 years!  I have nurtured each the best I could.  I have tries to be the best mom I could be.

Lady Bug is growing up

Now, with a heavy heart I realize that my baby rearing days will soon come to an end.  I will still be a mother, but I won’t have any heads to smell in search of that sweet, innocence found only in newborn scalp, nor will I be searched out when things seem scary.

I am left to wonder what is next.  When she pushes me away for the last time, what will I do?

Grocery Shopping Fiasco

Big Man during a fit

I am no stranger to fits. After having five kids fits are part of my norm. Get up. Listen to fit. Get dressed. Listen to someone else throw a fit.  Make breakfast.  Listen to a fit about breakfast.

Fits are what I do.

But, I have to draw the line somewhere. After all, not every one is so used to the whining and crying that they barely even hear it anymore.

As a matter of fact, the act of a child hitting full-blown fit status can send many people in to such a bad mood that they feel it is his or her duty to approach the parent of the tiny ball of rage and offer advice, shoot dirty looks, or make comments about how his or her child would never behave that way in public! A reaction I may have has as well, before I had children and realized that there isn’t a darn thing I can do to prevent a fit.

I guess people think that makes it all better. You know, keeping your melt downs at home and out of the public eye.  Oh wait, perhaps these people have fit free children.  I have heard of those kinds of kids, but in all honesty I have never met one.  I have met people who, in reaction to a tantrum, say, “he never does this,” or, “oh my, she must be reacting to the other kids here because this is not her typical behaviour!”  Sure, I believe you. NOT!

Anyway. I do fits.

Apparently, taking two hungry children to the grocery store to help me pick out our dinner was an invitation for trouble. But, I am a sucker for those big blue eyes.  Every time I swear I will not take them to the store with me again, but in the moments before I leave they ask me and I agree. In retrospect, the trouble was a result of  the combination of children I decided to take. 

You see, with five children you have to expect a range of personalities. Just like adults, some children can adapt easily to any situation. Whereas, others seem to clash with most situations outside the home.

I took my eight year old drama queen, and I took my three-year old son.

Bad idea!

Upon entering the store my son took off for the exit on the opposite side of the building. I ran after him leaving my cart, purse, and daughter behind. Following me were worried associates shouting “grab him!” Great. Way to make an entrance.

Once I had my son safely on my hip, I start shopping. I didn’t count this as a total bad trip yet. Let me repeat, yet. As we go down the aisles my son decides to pick at my very sunburned shoulders probably knowing I would eventually give in to the combination of whining and pain and set him down. Set him down I did. He then decided to “help” me push the cart. He stopped when I went. He swerved at other patrons. He went when I stopped.

Back on the hip! My three-year old is pushing 40 pounds. He looks thin, but that’s when you think he is a four-year old. He is huge! He wears size 4/5 clothes and he just turned three in June. Carrying him is no picnic for either of us.

Struggling to push the cart toward the liquid coffee creamer I am irritated to find a man blocking the entire case housing my desired item. So I stand and wait. Unfortunately, I think the store set me up because they had a rack of books right there. My son starts freaking out wanting a book. He’s three so he doesn’t get that we are broke, and he is too destructive to be trusted with this book throughout the store. So, my daughter decides to “help” by pulling the books down so that he could see them better. Now my son is sobbing loudly. And this guy is still blocking the creamer.

Sure, I could have asked him if I could squeeze in to make m selection, but really how long does it take to pick out creamer? A long f-ing time apparently.

Finally, the guy moves and I push my cart toward the register. My son is still crying, and now my daughter is making a case for them getting gum out of the machines at the exit.


So, now I have my son in the cart playing with an app on my phone (I really don’t want to hear about how the phone is going to give him cancer right now) and I am waiting patiently in line. My daughter is now trying to get the phone from my son so she can have a try. You know, when I am at this point fair flies out the window. She didn’t need a turn, and I wasn’t about to listen to him again. I wanted out of the store.

At long last I am at the register and this ordeal is almost over when my son decides this app is “stupid” (thanks 13-year-old for the vocabulary word of the week) and throws my phone at the register parallel to ours where the battery cover flies in one direction, the battery goes another, and the phone another still. You’ve got to be kidding.

So after no less than 20 “I’m sorries” directed at all of those people unlucky enough to be in our wake I got out of the store. The kids did not get gum, and two children are banned from going to the grocery store with me ever again.

Or at least until next time.

Boob in the Mouth

Announcing a parenting innovation unmatched by any before it. ” Boob in the Mouth” solves many common childhood ailments!

  • Fussy baby? “Boob in the Mouth” will quiet your baby down quickly.
  • Tired Toddler?  Try a “Boob in the Mouth!”
  • Little one has a boo boo? It will be no more than a memory with a “Boob in the Mouth!”
  • Diaper rash?  Squirt a little miracle juice from the “Boob in the Mouth” on it and it will clear up in no time!


Boob in the Mouth 




  • Great for babies and toddlers!
  • No batteries required!
  • Great for daytime or nighttime use!
  • no need for bottles, pacifiers, or other baby soothers when you have a “Boob in the Mouth!”

No matter the problem simply insert “Boob in the Mouth” and watch it melt away!

Best of all “Boob in the Mouth” comes at no cost to you!


Get your “Boob in the Mouth” today!








Sizes may vary.  May cause drowsiness.  Not recommended for use while driving a motor vehicle.  Not available in stores! 


Let’s Talk Cloth

Diapers that is.

I started cloth diapering my son three years ago, and have continued the practice with my daughter who is six months old. Here are some cool things I learned about cloth diapers:

> You can spend as much or as little as you want to start out.
> After your initial investment you are done with paying for diapers.
> You can sell cloth diapers when you are done with them. Seriously, I would love to see you try that with a disposable diaper!
> Cloth diapers are CUTE! I know that one disposable diaper company makes those denim looking diapers, but come one I don’t want     my son in something that resembles daisy dukes! Do you?
> Cloth Diapers are good for the environment.
> They are good for your baby’s butt.  You get to avoid the chemicals used to make something so trim hold so much liquid.

Even with all these good things it can be hard to know where to start. Let me explain some of your options then I will tell you my preference.

Flats. These are a big square of flat fabric that you fold to fit in a diaper cover. They wash and dry quickly and are pretty inexpensive. You can find a ton of instructions for folding on the web!

Prefolds. The are flats already folded. Again, these wash and dry quickly, and they are also pretty cheap. Stick them in a cover and you are good to go.

Pocket diapers. These are pretty nice for dads, daycare, and other situations where people may not be amped about folding a diaper. No cover required just stick something absorbent in the pocket made in to the diaper and voila! Done. These cost a bit more, and require a bit more care in the wash. Pocket diapers dry quickly and come in a lot of colors.

AIO. ALL IN ONES. These are as they say. There is no folding, stuffing, pinning or covering. This is the most closely related to the disposable in terms of ease. Again, the price is much higher than flats or prefolds, but you are getting a lot of convenience with these. The dry time is pretty long. There are a tone of cute colors though.

Covers. Covers go over a flat, fitted, or prefold diaper. They can be cute or basic. Some are PUL,and some are fleece. They can have velcro or snaps. The choices go on and on, but I will warn you that more expensive is not always better!

Soakers. I have seen both wool and fleece soakers. However, I don’t feel like fleece is a soaker because fleece repels the liquid similarly to PUL. Therefore, while fleece is great, I think of fleece in all forms as a cover. A soaker to me is wool. Wool absorbs the liquid but does not allow it to wick on to clothing. You can find wool covers that snap or velcro, longies (pants), and shorties (shorts). They come in a ton of colors or all natural tan. The care involved in wool soakers is a lot more than the other options, but is well worth it.

Wee Man in a green pocket diaper at the beach (2008)

There are other options as far as cloth but these are the ones I have used myself. For night-time I used to only use wool, but now for my daughter, I am looking to go another route. I will update you as I figure out what I am going to use.

My preference for cloth diapers is prefolds and covers.  I use prefolds everyday. I usually use a Snappi (wich is s rubber grabby thing that holds the diapers with out pins) when they are little and then just fold the prefold in to thirds and stick it in the cover when they are bigger.  I wash diapers every other day, and with 24 newborn sized prefolds I have plenty to make it on that washing schedule.  Yes, at six months old my daughter can still use newborn sized prefolds.  They have a trim fit and are super absorbent.

When I used pocket diapers I spent a lot of money only to turn around and favor the prefolds.  I ended up selling most of my pockets and investing in more covers.  I just hated having to worry about them getting less absorbent if I used too much detergent or not the right type.  I also didn’t find them to be as trim as prefolds.  I am currently looking for a few pocket diapers because I think most of my problem was the brands I used.  I am thinking there are some wahms out the that have something that will work for my baby and me!

The only problem, as I see it, is that cloth diapering quickly becomes addictive!  I always want to buy more.  I love the softness of some, and I adore many of the new designs and colors.

Right now, as I stated earlier, I am looking for ideas on a night-time diaper for my daughter.  I want an AIO or a pocket diaper.  I am also thinking I want fleece.  I think it  would be lovely to cuddle up to my baby at night and have her bottom covered in warm and cozy fleece.  So, I would appreciate any opinions on night-time diapers.

My adventure in cloth diapers has been great.  My baby is happy, and avoiding the chemicals added to many disposable diapers.  She is spoiled I know breastfed, cloth diapered, and held all night. Lucky girl!

Will I Ever Sleep Again?

This is my sweet Lady Bug at a couple of weeks old sitting in my most prized baby holder, the swing.


Isn’t she cute?  It took exactly the same amount of time that it took my camera’s flash to go off for her to start screaming in that thing.  Day or night. Awake or sound asleep.  That swing did nothing to help her sleep.

This is baby number 5! I really thought I knew the game plan when it came to babies.  Baby is born. Baby is kind of hard for the few week or so, but then magic happens and baby starts sleeping in the swing or the play pen. WRONG.

 Lady Bug came out of my womb knowing exactly where she wanted to be and it’s in momma’s arms.

I have always shared my room with my babies.  Some were in the room longer than others but they all started out close to my bed.  Queen Sas was in my bed from age 1 to about age 6!  She was a different story though because of her terrible night terrors.  I thought I learned a lesson after her, however.  First, don’t do the “ten minute rule,” which is a nasty program that allows baby to CIO for ten minutes.  Second, don’t ever let them get in your bed!

Of course, those rules changed with my Wee Man.  After his hospitalization with RSV at 9 months old, severe reflux, and asthma Big Daddy and I were always sleeping with him.  He was so sick that we spent a lot of nights on the couch with him.  Note the on the couch part.  Not in the bed!

So, I thought I knew the road I was about to travel down.  Apparently not.  Lady Bug came in to this world peacefully.  After her birth Big Daddy held her and visited with grandparents while I napped, and that was the last bit of uninterrupted sleep I got!  She was colicky for the first 2 months. from 7pm to 4 am she cried.  This happened every night.  I slept on the couch with her during that stressful time period.  When the colic passed I was still on the couch with her because she wouldn’t let me put her down.  She didn’t let me put her down EVER!  Day and night she was in my arms, a sling, or a carrier. 

Everything changed one night when we went to sleep on the couch and I was ripped from my slumber by her screams coming from the floor!  My ming was racing as I jumped up and grabbed her.  She looked fine, and her screams lasted about a minute before she was nursing contentedly.  I woke up Big Daddy.  I was seriously panicking, and I was pretty sure that she was hurt.  She was fine.  But I knew that sleeping on the couch was not safe and this proved it.

So what am I doing now?  Bed sharing.  We side-carred her crib to our bed so we wouldn’t have to worry about her falling out, and to allow extra room since Wee Man ends up in our bed every night now.  I spend my nights waking every hour or so with Lady Bug.  She doesn’t wake up completely, mind you.  We usually switch sides and she latches to the other boob and we drift back in to dream land.  It is not so bad.  I know she is safe in my arms. She obviously knows she is safe in my arms since she has never slept a night not in them. 


I am just so tired.  Even a partial waking every hour or so seems to be enough to drain me.  Oh well, at least I am not having to get up and mix formula.

Why I breastfeed: From Unapologetic Formula Feeder to Educated Nurser and it Only Took 13 Years!

Let me start this post by explaining that while I wish I had been able to breastfeed each of my children for at least the first year, I was not always as educated about the advantages of breastfeeding. I am not blaming anyone for my decision.  Not even the nurses that tried to help me in the hospital with Queen Sas.  I honestly feel like breastfeeding is a wonderful experience, and if more women felt supported, educated, and assisted through the early stages of a nursing relationship there would be more breastfeeding mothers!

Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty.

Why I did not breastfeed baby number 1 (1998)
I gave birth and planned to breastfeed my Queen Sas. I tried to get her to latch on when they gave her to me 2 hours after her birth. How kind of the hospital staff to take my new infant and scrub all of the vag germs off of her before I got to spend any real time with her. Latching wasn’t going well so a nurse tried to help me. This nurse was not educated about breastfeeding, but surely grabbing my breast in one hand and the baby’s head in the other and ramming the two together like you are squashing a pb&j will make the baby eat correctly, right? Wrong. As the hours passed the frustration for both Queen Sas and me. She was hungry and screaming. I was tired and crying. At a loss for a solution I demanded they bring me formula so I could soothe my starving infant. She ate and was content. I left the hospital the next morning with my new bundle of joy and a cart full of formula.

Why I did not breastfeed baby number 2 (2001)
I started out strong with my Big Man. I was going to make sure my son got breast milk! I had even figured out how I would avoid the whole idea of any grabby nurses with cold hands ramming my boob in to the baby’s unwilling mouth. I was going to exclusively pump milk for him. I had a good pump and a plan nothing could stop me now. After a quick labor, which was a pitocin induced, scheduled induction, I was the proud mommy of a bouncing baby boy. This time was different though because I left the hospital with a breast pump, a baby, and the best of intentions. Unfortunately, I didn’t leave with any more information about feeding my baby breast milk than I had when I birthed my daughter. I quickly got a plugged duct or an infection who knows as I never knew who to ask, and stopped pumping for Big Man after only a few days. I thought you had to stop feeding the baby if you had an infection. How wrong I was!

Why I did not breastfeed baby number 3 (2003)
I gave up. I had decided that I was just not cut out for breastfeeding. Not once did I attempt to nurse my Princess. Princess was born in March. By the time she was 12 days old she was admitted to the hospital with RSV. She was losing weight due to poor feeding. She has a spinal tap and antibiotics. The next three years were filled with illness for Princess. The poor kid caught every single bug that went around. Her immune system was shot probably because of the early use of antibiotics. Now at 8 she is allergic to amoxicillin. I will always wonder if my colostrum could have protected her.

Why I did not breastfeed baby number 4 (2008)

I had a great start with Wee Man. I separated from the father of my first three children over a year before the pregnancy with Wee Man. I had a great support system at home. Big Daddy and I knew the importance of breast milk for the health of the baby. I think Princess’ early illnesses scared me straight! I was breastfeeding this kid if it killed me. Well, as it turned out after a stressful birth experience (read my birth story for more info) all it took to make me quit nursing him was hives at let down! I had never experienced hives. Wow! That is excruciating! At the time I thought I was having an allergic reaction to the hormones my body was releasing during milk ejection. I tried allergy meds but I am awful with medicine, and the kids were tired of mommy passing out on the couch in a Benadryl coma. Well, I think it was the fact that usually my boobs were hanging out and leaking all over the place because I was passing out while nursing the Wee Man. I was very sad when I decided the itching had won. Defeated and broken I gave my boy formula. I was glad that I had my tubes tied and would never have to revisit my failure to nurse a baby.

Why I breastfeed baby number 5 (2011)

I think my choice to have a homebirth had a lot to do with the success of my nursing relationship with Lady Bug.  First, when you are planning a homebirth with a midwife there is NEVER a question about how you will feed your baby.  The words; “are you planning to bottle feed or breastfeed?” were never spoken.  It is assumed that you will be breastfeeding.  Second the minute your baby is born he or she is placed on your chest!  There is no time lost with needless baths as in the hospital.  Your nursing relationship begins at the very moment of birth.

Since I LOVE lists I am going to break this down in to bulleted points that explain why I am breastfeeding my baby.

  • After 3 of my children having RSV and two of them being hospitalized with it, I wanted to give my baby’s immune system a fighting chance against respiratory infection.
  • I am broke.  Time, patience, and love I have in plentiful amounts. Money, not so much.  Breastfeeding is NOT free.  The things I mentioned before, my time and what not, are not worthless.  Breastfeeding is PRICELESS.  No one else can make the milk I am making for my baby. My budget does not have to suffer for my child te receive the perfect nutrition for her.
  • I really hate the smell of formula poop and spit up.  I also hate the stains. 
  • I am lazy!  I do not like washing and sterilizing bottles, nipples, and pacifiers.  I don’t feel like waking up in the middle of the night to mix formula or warm up my baby’s midnight snack.  I just roll over and pop a boob in her mouth and we are back in dreamland!
  • I CAN do this. 
  • I wanted to protect my daughter from questionable ingredients and potentially harmful additives.  I don’t trust what is being done to our foods these days.  My breast milk is organic and wonderful.  I guarantee there are no GMO’s in this stuff. 
  • I love myself enough to not accept my previous defeats as the end of the story.

I do wish I could have nursed all of my children.  I feel like education is the biggest ingredient I was lacking in my plan to feed them.  I just didn’t know what I was doing.  Breastfeeding my child has been the most rewarding experience of my life.  My chubby Lady Bug is a home-grown work of art.  Her skin is perfect.  Her poop doesn’t stink.  She is happy and secure.  I never have to worry about what she needs because I know that all she needs is me.  It is truly a beautiful thing!

I breastfeed because I can.  It is the right and normal thing to do.

My obstetrician made me have a home birth!

The birth story for baby number five (a.k.a. Lady Bug) started with baby number four (a.k.a Wee Man). At 36 weeks I asked my doctor why my baby’s butt felt so high. I had a lump on my rib cage, which I was assuming was his bottom, that concerned me. The doctor started feeling around only to discover that my baby was breech. Well, up until this point I had experienced three totally normal births, and never questioned anything the doctor told me to do. So when my doctor said the safest way to delivery my upside down bundle was to do a cesarean, I believed him. He had, after all, informed me of the dangers of a vaginal birth and trying to turn the baby. Either of those options was a death sentence for one or both of us!

The day of the csection brought up many feelings of dread. I hated the idea of being cut open, but really believed that I had no choice. I was relieved that I had decided to have a tubal ligation performed after my baby was out. After all, four kids is enough! Not to mention the fact that our society typically thinks that once you have undergone a csection you are doomed to repeat the procedure in subsequent pregnancies. Oh well, no need to worry!

During the surgery I felt alone, naked , and helpless. The room was full of people. Big Daddy was next to me the whole time. His surgical mask and hat made me smile, but I was scared to death. I felt the pressure and tugs of the instruments as they cut their way through me to take my baby out of his fluid filled cocoon. Within minutes I heard my son crying. He was taken to a table where he was suction and cleaned, but I had not yet seen him. Big Daddy went over to check out his boy while my tubes were being tied. All of the sudden I felt as if my lungs were being crushed and I had a terrible sensation of panick and pain. I knew it, I was going to die and I had not even seen my baby! Finally, Big Daddy brought my Wee Man over to see me. Unfortunately, this was the same moment that the anesthesiologist was administering the morphine to knock me out because I was in pain. I fell asleep only remembering my boy’s nose. It looked like Big Daddy’s nose. I did wake up. I did not die! I was happy for being alive, albeit a bit itchy from the morphine, in pain, and wondering why the nursery would not let us have our baby. I wanted him to nurse. The first hour was long over and I felt it important to get him at the breast as quickly as possible. Luckily, I was able to nurse him. With great relief I held my boy and knew that he was the last child I would ever have. Over the next few weeks the pain of surgery subsided, but the damage was done. I was scarred both inside and out. I ended up having to stop nursing my son due to hives, which occurred each time my let down happened. After weeks of itching with no relief I started formula. Again, I was broken. At least I was done with pregnancy and childbirth.

Or so I thought…..

While attending my second semester at the local community college, I started to feel really run down. I was having a hard time sleeping, even though I was exhausted, because of terrible night sweats. I had not gone to the doctor since my son was born, and these night sweats were telling my something was really wrong with my body. I googled night sweats, and had myself pretty sure that I was dying of cancer. Google and I have a love hate relationship. I love to look up every ailment any one in my family has, but I hate finding out that we are all dying of cancer! Anyway, I went to the doctor where they did a pregnancy test as part of the routine work up, and the doctor announced cheerily that I didn’t have cancer I was pregnant. The cheer was quickly replaced with worry when I reminded her that I had my tubes tied two years before. I was sent for an ultrasound with the knowledge that this pregnancy was likely a tubal pregnancy. In that case, the pregnancy would have to be terminated to save my life.

Great! I am not supposed to be pregnant, but now I am going to have to face an abortion. Yikes! This is too much. However, this was not the case as soon to be baby number five was safely in the uterus where she belonged (but didn’t really belong ha ha).

My first course of action was to make an appointment with the doctor that did my tubal for a pregnancy work up. I wasn’t mad at him for the tubal not working, stuff happens. At the appointment, my first appointment with him, he calculated my due date, which was january 2, 2011, and wanted to schedule my csection. Whoa there, easy, easy! “I am not doing that again,” I told him. “Oh, well we don’t do vbac,” he replied. He followed with a very condescending, “why don’t you keep seeing me and see if your mind changes as you get more uncomfortable in your pregnancy. A lot of women are ready to just get the baby out around 38 weeks!” Those words are burned in to my memory. Thos words changed me from “the good patient” to the ” you are an asshole and I am not having a surgery to get my baby out” kind of patient.

I did not know what my options were. My best friend had a homebirth with her son around the same time I had my csection. I asked her for the number to her midwife. I am so glad I did! I enlisted that midwife as the leader if my birthing army. She was experienced with hbac (homebirth after csection), and had even had one herself. I was very nervous, but excited as well.

Don’t let me lead you to believe that everyone I knew was all for me having this baby at home. Big Daddy was a great support but our family and friends were telling me to prepare my will, and asking how far the nearest hospital was. I educated myself through out the pregnancy, and I knew that the risk of uterine rupture (the big fear during vbac) was about the same as a first time mom. I was going to do this!

January 1, 2011

Okay, I must admit that I thought baby number five would come early. I wondered id she was ever coming. I had no contractions that day. I decided around 9 pm to have a glass of red wine. My midwife said I was allowed a glass, and it just sounded good. I remember drinking the wine slowly while Big Daddy drank two glasses. Neither of us drank during my pregnancy so I think he wished he had stopped after one glass. I started to have some small contractions. I told Big Daddy that we should go to bed just in case. My first child was born on her due date, and knowing that the 2nd of January was this baby’s due date I figured that the law of averages probably was not on my side and there was no real chance of the baby coming. I figured that once I went to sleep the contractions would stop. Wrong! I got out of bed shortly after I got in it. The contractions were pretty uncomfortable, but they were not increasing in frequency or duration. I figured I was in early labor so I hung out in the living room breathing through contractions and sleeping when I could. I knew the minute my contractions got regular I would need to call my midwife because I didn’t have the birth tub at my house. I really wanted a water birth. Sometime during the night I realized that I kept having to pee. I must have gone to the bathroom 20 times. My water hadn’t broken, my contractions were still varying in frequency, so I waited for something to happen. Finally, I had enough. I was done dealing with this process on my own and I tried to wake up Big Daddy. Ahhh but he drank those two glasses of wine so he wasn’t budging. I decided to would just go back to the living room and try to sleep. Instead of sleeping I tried to sit on the birthing ball. Ouch! It hurt like crazy so I decided that I was going to go pee one more time then get Big Daddy up for real this time. Well, finally there was progress my mucous plug came out! I was so happy but a little nervous as well. I figured this meant my water would break soon, and some where deep in my mind I wondered when things would take the inevitable turn for the worse that every one tried to convince me was going to happen. When would I have to make the 12.2 minute trip to the nearest emergency room. I had to block out those thought because as I was going to wake Big Daddy this time, I realized something was happening. I shook Big Daddy and told him that I thought it was time to call the midwife. He asked if I was sure and I said to hold on I had to pee again really badly. When I came out we called Jeni (the midwife) and she was sounding like she was going to wait to come until the heard the groan I let out as a contraction hit me. She told me she was on her way. She called her assistants, which were closer to my house, and had them rushing my way. It was 4:00 in the morning on January 2, 2011 my due date. Immediately after we hung up the phone I had to pee again, but this time when I went in to the bathroom my body started pushing. I say it that way because it was as if I had no control over my body! This baby was coming out! I made my way to the couch and told Big Daddy that she was on her way and I was scared because my water hadn’t broken yet. He could see the intact membranes coming out, and as I was pushing they ruptured. With a large whoosh out came my Lady Bug’s head. With one more push the rest of her was out. She was beautiful and pink. We left the cord intact and waited for the assistants or Jeni to show up. My little LadyBug was perfect. I didn’t die and neither did she.

It is a shame that it took my obstetrician taking away my choice (and right) to birth my baby in a way that was comfortable to me. I am glad that he told me I needed another csection. I am glad he talked to me like I was an idiot! Had he not been that way, I never would have looked for a better way. I never would have learned that childbirth is neither an illness or an emergency (in my case) and did not need intervention!

Can I have your attention, please?

Hi and welcome.  You have stumbled across my blog, and I bet you are  now wondering what I am here to do.  I have a purpose here.  I plan to write about life, family, cloth diapering, and breastfeeding.  Yes, another one of those.  let me go ahead and answer some of the questions that pop in to my mind when I happen upon a new blog. Am I a lactavist? No.  While I wish I was a great defender of a woman’s right to feed her child, I am simply a woman with the right to feed her child.  I rarely if ever become confrontational.  So, I will let the hard-working, and more forth right women defend our rights and I will simply try to spread my own opinion and dispel some myths about “natural parenting.” Am I a hippie? No, again.  although, I do enjoy peace, love, and happiness, I am not going all kumbaya on anyone! I really don’t fit in to any categories.

I am a mom.  My name is Kim. I do my best.  I have formula fed, and I have used disposable diapers.  I have given birth 5 times.  I have had epidurals, inductions, and a cesarean.  I have also had a home birth.  I will post the wonderful birth story later.  My opinions of parenting evolved over the years.  I have gone from an 18-year-old mother doing her best to raise my children in a way that pleases everyone she knows to a 31-year-old mother who follows her instincts to please herself and her children.

Let me now introduce the small people who have made me what I am today. 

First, my eldest Queen Sas.  She is a 13-year-old full of attitude.  I love her dearly, but have grown to wonder how she got so mean.  I am blaming it on hormones. I hear the words, “I hate you,” quite often, and hope that she is simply expressing herself. I often worry that she will hate me as she grows older, but I am doing my best to connect with her on the important things, and battle with her only as a last resort. She was my first born, and there is a lot of mommy guilt hidden in my mind over this one!

Next, my Big Man.  My first boy is 10 years old , and such an amazing creature.  He is good at everything he does, but he rarely tries anything new because of a fear of failing.

My third child, Princess, is as her nickname suggests.  She expects nothing less than being treated like royalty. Princess is 8 years old.

Number four is my Wee Man.  He is full of life.  His intelligence and imagination amaze me. At 3 years old he is in to everything! I hade been finding it hard to figure out new ways of redirecting his behaviour, as he tends to get out of control quickly and often!

Finally, my sweet Lady Bug.  My 6 month old attention hog.  She is always with me day and night. She has really been a new source of confidence for me. She is the result of a failed tubal ligation, and the baby I never knew I needed. But need her I did! She has given me the stregnth to stand up to a few people that feel like babies should cry sometimes. Be bottle fed for the mothers convenience, and left to sleep alone in dark rooms. She is like my side kick these days. 

So, that is us.  I look forward to sharing more with you, but as it is I have typed much of this with one hand because Lady Bug is demanding my attention.