WWDDD? (What Would Don Draper Do?)

I was supposed to go to a fellow beer enthusiast's place to send he and a buddy to the Great American Beer Festival with some extra cash. We were all to donate some money while they poured barbecue and their many homebrews directly down our throats. However, things got busy around our house and I stayed in.

Tonight, I had planned to hit an early show at the 'Tag in order to be back in time to help with Lu's bedtime routine. Friends of a friend are in The Rats and People Motion Picture Orchestra and they were playing the soundtrack to Buster Keaton's Go West. It sounded interesting. Once again, busy happened and I stayed home.

About the only thing I can do these days that doesn't get interrupted (most of the time) is watch TV. Of course, the last thing I've watched this week was Mad Men. And as I watch Mad Men, I wonder what Don Draper would do if he were in my shoes. Would he go out anyway? Would he even be at home in the evening? Which stewardess/heiress/secretary/talent agent/client would he bed?

I know he wouldn't be around in the afternoons when his year-old daughter gets home, hoping to just put in an extra 30-45 minutes in order to get fully caught up but never does because her needs come first.

I know he wouldn't give that daughter a bath or do the dishes while his partner nurses her to sleep.

I am certainly no Don Draper. Aside from the handsomeness, that's a good thing. My experiences are light years (or at least decades) away from Don Draper's.

This is what makes Mad Men so intriguing to me. Don Draper and I have nothing in common, but his emotions and condition are 100% human. I can relate to his humanity, no matter how despicable or lacking it can be. The difference is that I have civil rights and women's lib to steer clear of his ignorant, selfish behavior.

Of course, I bring up Don Draper mostly because he is a Mizzou alum (or the guy who plays him, Jon Hamm is - "I'm not a misogynist. I just play one on TV." ). In fact, he's a little on the creepy side of loyalty.

I do like the comedic and political turns Mr. Draper/Hamm has taken recently.

Protect Insurance Companies PSA from Will Ferrell

Between Two Ferns with Zach Galifianakis from Between Two Ferns

But I digress.

Life would be easier for a middle-class white dude for myself in the time of Don Draper. I could ignore my conscious or at least be told by the rest of society and culture that my womanizing, drinking, smoking, and absentee parenting were OK. All these things could make my life easier, but it wouldn't necessarily lift the misery.

So, I'll learn from Don Draper's mistakes. I'll scoff and criticize his poor example of manhood (or humanity for that matter). I will resist temptation as he will never be able to do. And I'll remember that Don Draper (not Jon Hamm) is just a fictional character, meant to entertain and not emulate. And I'll enjoy the rest of this season of Mad Men while looking forward to the next.

(Oh, and check out the footnotes.)

Date Night

Any new parent (and even a few old ones) will agree that it's hard to get out. I figure out a way to sneak out once in a while, but rarely do R and I do something together. Tonight, we went out on a date.

We planned to grab a bite to eat and catch a flick at the 'Tag...and buy some diapers on our night out. Thankfully, there was no time for diapers, so it was still like an actual date.

We hit a new place called Room 38 where Otto's used to lie on Walnut, across from the courthouse. The place is trying really hard with its open floor plan, modern booths, and VIP rooms to be something. The beer menu was weak and typical, so I skipped the drink and we shared some small dishes.

The food was a pleasant surprise. The blackened shrimp with peppers and Monterey jack were smokey. The Thai lettuce wraps were messy and hard to eat on the cubed table, but rather tasty. We finished off our light meal with dumplings and some delicious ginger sauce. I won't drink there, but I might eat at Room 38 again.

The quick bite to eat left us with just enough time to hit the 'Tag for Gigantic. Since I hadn't had my beer yet, I purchased 12 oz. of Chimay on tap for the feature. R opted for popcorn.

Gigantic was a gigantic letdown. Don't get me wrong. The performances were great. My crush Zoe Deschanel was as crush-worthy as ever. The music was right. Zach Galifianakis was creepy. There was a good story. The cinematography was nearly flawless. The film just sort of puzzled me. I understood it fine. I just didn't get the direction director Matt Aselton took this film. There were holes and questions. Maybe that makes it a good movie. I dunno.

We made it home to relieve our sitter - R's colleague D - from her duties. I shared a Dogfish Head Indian Brown Ale and some of my ice cream with D before she braved the weather. I should also make it known that D is more than a sitter and colleague. She is one of Lu's favorite people. So, she is more than just a sitter.

And it was done. I became our parents. I went out on a date consisting of dinner and a movie while the sitter watched the kid. The transformation is complete.

Take A Bath

When R was pregnant, my dad confided in me worries he had when my sister joined the family. He was scared to death of changing her diaper because she was a girl. Dad knew there was nothing wrong with changing his kids' diapers. He just felt uncomfortable with a girl.

Although I understood what Dad was saying, I never thought I'd feel the same. "I'm a modern daddy," I thought. Feminism has set me straight in matters of gender roles and understanding body politics and such. I could handle a daughter.

Then Lu was born.

Even then, I was fine. I have changed many a diaper without a second thought. I have done everything I can to be a caring and nurturing father.

Intimacy has been a struggle though. Lu certainly has that with her mother. Besides the special bond fostered through breastfeeding, R has a knack for engaging our daughter. They really do have a great relationship of which I'm envious.

The problem is that Lu's need for her mother's attention wears on her sometimes. R, like many mothers, needs a break once in a while. So, she gives Lu off to me to take on outings, play on the floor, feed her solid foods and bottles, and change diapers. All of this has helped to some degree.

However, there was one act with which I was not comfortable: bathing. Sure, I've given Lucia many baths. The difference is that I didn't take baths with her. R's done this many times. They have a lot of fun together. It's another one of those intimate moments they share.

R's been pushing me to take a bath with her in order to help build our bond. I resisted until tonight. But why did it take me so long?


I've thought about this a lot. Ever since I started working with kids at summer camp 16 years ago, I can remember being warned to never be alone and certainly not nude anywhere near a kid. This carried on into my years as an elementary teacher. It has been so ingrained in me that men should not be in such situations with children. This training has scared me to the point I didn't even want to bathe with my own seven-month-old daughter. How sad is that?

Luckily, R is a supportive partner. She wants Lucia and me to be close and to enjoy the same kind of intimacy they experience. However, she also wants me to be comfortable. It was even suggested that I could wear a bathing suit if that would make me feel more at ease.

We took our bath tonight. It was nice. Lucia had a lot of fun. She likes to gather her numerous bath toys all at once, nearly dunking her own head every time. I bathed her as I normally would, except that I occupied the tub with her. As the temperature of the water dropped, Lu became uncomfortable. I picked her up and she calmed down. Her mother entered and took the girl away in a towel to prepare for bed.

I'm glad I overcame my fears. I won't be able to do such things with Lucia for much longer. I should take advantage of this time with her.

It's too bad I'm made to feel uneasy or guilty all the time for nurturing my own child. It bothers me. While mothers face unrealistic expectations of their own, it's sad that fathers have to contend with so many constraints to being a nurturing parent.

Daddy in Misery

Don't misinterpret this post's title. I love being a dad. Love it. However, I have a problem with how dads, moms, babies, and families are treated or expected to act.

Take Lu's and my trip to the doctor's office today as an example. Lu had a fever yesterday and hadn't been herself for the past 24-36 hours. R and I decided to get her an appointment ASAP. Since she had another commitment during the doctor's appointment, I had to take the baby to the clinic alone.

While going through the preliminary checks with the nurse, she commented on Lucia's attire. She said, "Ooh, you're wearing a lot of colors. Daddy must have dressed you today." I don't know if she was saying that Lu looked bad or mismatched or what. Whatever she meant, it sounded sort of insulting. I know how to dress my daughter. She happened to be wearing an outfit of mostly blues and greens (which she looks good in) with her pink plaid jacket.

After I explained that Mommy actually was the one to dress Lucia, the nurse explained that whenever her husband dressed her daughter he dressed her like a boy.

What the hell does that mean?

This is what she was wearing. Maybe she was giving me a hard time for putting those shoes on her. She hasn't quite grown into them yet. Either way, what did the nurse mean?


Another example of something that annoys me about parenthood is the lack of changing tables in public restrooms, especially men's restrooms. I don't know how many times I have been forced to change my daughter's diaper on the floor of a public restroom or had to pass her off to her mother because only the women's restrooms were suitable for changing.

Why is this a hard concept for stores and restaurants? Just put one of those Rubbermaid fold-away changing tables in every restroom or provide family restrooms in addition to those divided for the sexes.

Eventually, I plan to start one of those Google Maps that identifies all the businesses with changing tables for dads. That or I'll start changing diapers on restaurant tables and counters (after we eat).

People always assume R is solely responsible for Lucia's well-being. Sure, thanks to breastfeeding and whatnot, Lu is in a mommy stage and turns to her mother the most. However, that does not excuse me from my responsibilities as a parent. I can dress, feed, soothe, entertain, nurture, and teach my daughter as much as my partner. Granted, I don't do nearly enough, but I'm working on it. It doesn't help that so many people assume and accept that I do nothing. And it certainly isn't fair to R having to take so much responsibility. It's as if she has nothing else to do (like write a book) and I am incompetent because I'm a man.

This goes along with the double standard I felt during R's pregnancy. Sure, she was expected to take her maternity leave, but I was blatantly teased once about my paternity leave. My time off wasn't even a quarter of what R was given (although, she should have received more) and I was made to feel bad about taking my two measly weeks to help out.

R and I talked about this double standard as we negotiated our day. It was plenty acceptable for her to cancel a class this morning in order to be available for Lucia in her time of need. However, had I canceled my training session this evening, I'm sure someone would have questioned that decision, wondering why Lucia's mother couldn't handle it on her own.

I'm frustrated with how folks expect so little from dads. I'm even more frustrated that I fall into the trap of fulfilling those prophesies all the time. There's always more I could do, but it seems as if it's OK for me to flake. Default care always falls on R's shoulders. I'm doing what I can to right this wrong, but I've got a lot working against me.

Sometimes the expectations aren't just for the parents. People often have these preconceived ideas for what Lucia should be. I really get annoyed when folks try to pigeon-hole my 7-month old daughter.

First of all, Lucia is not "Daddy's little girl" or his "princess". She is Lucia. Lucia is my daughter. She is as much her mother's little girl as she is mine. And that princess crap...Don't even get me started. Lucia will be allowed to be herself, whether that's princess-like or a tomboy or whatever she wants to be. To me, the terms "Daddy's little girl" and "princess" are limiting no matter how well-meaning people intend it to be.

Secondly, Lucia does not have to constantly be identified as a girl. Sure, she is a female and has been given a feminine name. Yes, we periodically dress her in somewhat girly clothes, but this is not a prerequisite for her identity. Lucia does not lose who she is as a 7-month old because she's wearing blue or lacks a frilly dress. It's not a big deal if you confuse her for a boy. It doesn't offend me. We won't give her baby bangs or those headbands with bows just so you know she's a she. Lucia is Lucia and that's enough for me. (Sorry for rhyme. Too much Sesame Street.)

I could probably go on but I won't. I don't want to offend anyone for making comments or assumptions about my family and me that were only meant to be positive. Also, it's fine if you want to cling to traditional gender roles within your own family. I just have to vent about all this somewhere. It gets old and tiring to constantly have to combat with societal views that do not jive with my own.

So, when you see me with my kid, don't assume that I'm counting the minutes until Mommy returns. Try not to limit Lucia to a princess with no gumption or identity that stretches beyond traditional gender roles. Know that I love and try to take responsibility for my Lucia as much as her mother does. Know that this daddy thinks about these things and is trying to raise his child the best he can.

Babies and Blogging

Can I just be the first to say that babies leave very little time for blogging?

Things I've Learned in One Week of Parenting

A week isn't a long time to be a parent. From what I understand, it's a job that usually lasts a lifetime. I can only share what I've learned in one week. Lucia turned one week old yesterday, so she is the extent of my child-rearing.

Anyway, the following are lessons I've learned in the past week. I did not enter this parenting thing blind. I've taken care of kids and taught for ten years in public schools. So, I know a little something. I'm sure there is more to learn as I go, but this is where I am at this time.

Newborn poop isn't that bad. Don't get me wrong. Poop is poop, and meconium (the dark green, tar-like poop at the beginning) is as gross as it gets. However, the second stage of mustard-colored poop from breast-feeding actually has a sweet smell to it. Now, I'm not going to spread it on a sandwich or store it as a keepsake. I'm just saying that newborn poop isn't all that unpleasant with which to deal.

Newborn clothes are a scam. I realized that the newborn and 0-3 month stuff we had in the baby's dresser wouldn't last that long, but it never occurred to me what a scam this stuff really is. Lucia has been wearing these "newborn" pants in which she swims. Then there's the 0-3 month stuff. Does anyone out there realize the difference in size between a newborn baby and a three-month-old? There will only be a short window in which Lucia will fit into any of these clothes. The best stuff we have is meant for 3-6 and 6-12 months. My hope is she grows slowly during those months in order to keep up with baby fashions.

Grandmas have to hold their granddaughters at least 50% of the time. (The other 50% is for feeding and sleeping.) My mother-in-law has been here for the past few days. During that time, I have rarely held my own child, except to change the occasional diaper or relieve the spouse in bed, but that's it. My mom will be here in another day. That means there will be like4 or 5 day overlap of grandmothers. Lucia may not eat or sleep during those few days in order for the grandmas to get their time with her.

My dog has accepted Lucia as part of the pack. This one is surprising. Bodhi has a hard time when he is not the center of attention. We've also had some rather disturbing "humping" episodes with toddlers in the past. However, Bodhi has been more laid back than ever. He periodically takes stock of who is where then lies back down.

Sleep with a baby at your side or on your chest is both terrifying and super nice. The last thing any parent wants to do is to seriously injure their own child. Newborns seem to be the most fragile and they depend on you completely for their safety. When a baby sleeps with (or on) you, you are scared that you might roll over her or knock her off the bed. Otherwise, the warmth and comfort a baby receives from her parent is not exclusive. In fact, it's quite mutual.

You can mix a baby with certain interests. The baby will not mix well with my interest in craft beers. I've tried, but the beer stash has stayed pretty constant. I had a beer after we returned from the hospital and one during the OSU game, but I've only had one since. There's something about not wanting to get tipsy while one cares for a baby. I also have missed a couple of rock shows, several movie releases, and a football game. Of course, one hobby has been greatly enhanced by Lucia's arrival. Many of you saw my music video, and I have another in the works. Lucia's first CD arrived in the mail just before she did. Kimya Dawson's Alphabutt is an excellent album and will earn a review soon. (I know. It's been a while. The new website will be up soon.) Also, I have been singing songs by Pavement, Guided by Voices, and Built to Spill to Lucia at night. She seems to like the songs I sing. I mean, she always falls asleep.

Blogging for your kid is kinda hard. My goal is not to turn this blog into a parenting blog. I want to get back to stuff that's exciting and universally interesting to my readership. So, I created a new blog just for Lucia called Letters to Lucia in which I will attempt to write a couple of letters a week to my daughter. What about? What ya' got? So far, I've written about 9/11 and connections. we'll see how it goes. You can always check the feed to the right to see if I've written anything interesting at Letters.

I know it isn't much, but that's what I've learned this week. Hopefully, I will get back to the business of Misery.

Birthing Story, Part 2

Something changed on the way to the hospital. I don't know whether it was the fear of a medicine-induced C-section or the bumpy car ride, but something in R's condition changed. The contraction pattern and intensity we had been waiting for finally started to kick in.

We entered the hospital's birthing center when R fell to her hands and knees, moaning through the next contraction. Some alarmed folks in the waiting area tried to help by pointing her in the direction of the emergency room. Elizabeth, our doctor, politely informed them that R was in exactly the right place to birth.

After checking in, we hurried down the hall and up the elevator and down another hallway. They assigned us a room with two nurses already prepping the area. A gown was handed to R and she and Erica, the doula, entered the bathroom to change...and continue laboring on the toilet. Already, we were throwing the hospital staff out of their comfort zone.
Throughout the morning, the nurses tried their best to monitor R's vital signs and the baby's heartbeat. Everything was running along smoothly, but they had a hard time monitoring R since she barely spent any time laboring in the bed. Luckily, the nurses were good sports and even acknowledged that we all seemed to know what we were doing.

This happened throughout our time at the hospital. We were able to bend (and sometimes break) the rules at nearly every step. It became clearer and clearer that Elizabeth knew the right people and exactly how to schmooze in order to allow R to labor naturally and spontaneously.

At some point, it was suggested that something be done to move the contractions to the final stage of transition so that R could dilate from 8 centimeters to the necessary 10. The doctor on call suggested a series of interventions, starting from the least intrusive and eventually leading to a possible C-section. The first step was to break R's water and see what happened.

Almost immediately, R began transition. We were told she had two hours before more intrusive measures would be taken (ie drugs). So, to work we went. Erica, Elizabeth, and I did anything we could to assist R.R was the star, though. She had labored for 27 or so hours before coming to the hospital. Now she had to endure the toughest part of labor. Through constant breathing exercises and various positions on and off the bed, R worked through each increasingly intense contraction. She worked so hard that the IV popped from her hand.

Finally, the resident entered the room. If she found that R had progressed significantly (meaning the final 2 centimeters of dilation) then she could begin to push - an urge she had for the previous two hours of labor. If there was no change, the dreaded interventions would begin.

Thankfully, R dilated the final two centimeters. We made many, many adjustments to the bed. The nurse was sent out to look for the birthing bar. (Yes. The hospital only had one birthing bar.) Once she returned with the bar, the nurses put it in backwards. We fixed that, but found it to be wobbly, so Elizabeth somehow held the bar, the heart monitor for the baby, and R's perineum all at the same time.

The pushing began.

The best part of the early pushing was when R would rest her feet up on the bar. To this, the nurse said, "Well, I've never seen it used for that." I questioned whether she had ever seen the bar used at all, but whatever.

Luckily, Elizabeth was permitted to continue to help R through the pushing all the way up to the crowning. The resident stepped in at that moment. They had some "pleasantries" about what would be the best position to push. The resident won out and R laid back.

I have always seen my partner as one of the strongest, most competent people I've ever met. However, nothing she has ever done could ever compare to what she did next. She pushed with such great might, that I could see the muscles in her arms bulge. The amount of adrenaline R had running through her body was absolutely amazing. She is easily the strongest person I know. It was easily the most amazing feat of strength I have ever seen.

Anyway, the pushing continued. We were encouraged to feel the baby's head, which we did. R later told me that it was incentive to keep going. I thought it was a gooey, hairy piece of flesh, but I wasn't passing it through my vagina.

The biggest difference between a hospital birth and a natural/home birth became very apparent at this time. The resident wanted R to push with all her might, like a super woman or some macho crap like that. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Erica encouraged R to ease her baby out. It was a difference between harvesting the baby and bringing a child into a world where her mother was valued as much as she. Either way, the baby came out.

Lucia was promptly laid on a table. She screamed as soon as her little behind touched the table's surface. I was directed to cut the chord, which I did in a haze. Then, before the baby could be whisked away, R asked me to tell her the sex.

The pressure was on. I had one chance in my life to get this right. I looked, but was confused for a second. I remember that some of the birthing books I read described a baby's genitalia as swollen from all the hormones during birth. When one's bits are swollen the way they are at birth, everything looks like a sack of flesh. I finally snapped to and made the call."It's a girl!"

There was an eruption in the room as I realized several doctors, nurses, students, other community members seem to fill the room. As I turned to congratulate my partner, the nurse called me to follow her. Like a carrot tied to a stick, she led me our of the delivery room into a closet of med students.

Since Lucia was born with meconium in the sack, she had to be checked and cleaned by the pediatrician. So, she and her med students scrubbed the baby and sucked all the meconium from her nasal passages and lungs. She kicked at the students as they tried to get her foot print.

The doctor turned to me for her name. I couldn't speak. As those who were at my wedding could attest, I have a bit of a crying problem in such situations. Once I gathered myself, I was able to verbalize "Lucia."

They handed me my child and I whisked her off to her mother for some bonding and nursing.

Our birthing experience wasn't exactly what we had intended, but it was close. R was able to have a natural, spontaneous birth. The last four hours just took place at the hospital. There's more to the story, but that's the birth.

Now, we have the most beautiful and easy going baby we could have ever wished for in Lucia Caroline.

Birthing Story, Part 1

As mentioned before, Lucia has finally arrived. However, she took her sweet time doing so. She was born about nine days after her official due date. We have recently come to the realization that the process started way before that.

About two weeks before Lucia's arrival, R was feeling some serious contractions. We timed them, but they were erratic in intensity, length, and time between. Eventually, they subsided. So, we waited a little longer. About a week later, they started up again, but again, the contractions faded. R was extremely frustrated. We were ready, but Lucia was not.

In retrospect, these early episodes were actually early labor. We figure that R probably dilated 3-4 centimeters over that two week period.

Then it happened. Around 3:30 AM, Wednesday morning, R was complaining of contractions again. Remembering the two previous false starts, I slowly rolled out of bed to locate my watch and contractions record. R expressed that these contractions were different than the previous two times. So, we moved downstairs to the finished basement where we were planning to birth anyway.

As the contractions became more intense, I noticed that R changed her disposition dramatically. I was no longer able to distract her with simple chit-chat about the presidential race or work or whatever. This was the real deal. As my partner worked through the next contraction, I fought hard to hold back a smile. This was really happening. Cletus was to be a fetus no more.

We made the decision to call the doula, Erica, shortly after 4:00. At one point, she told me to be quiet so that she could listen to R's contraction. She was satisfied that things were in motion. Erica appeared in our basement within a half hour.

The laboring continued and I called the midwife, Kim, who called the doctor (Elizabeth) and the midwife's apprentice. By about 8:00, our team of four (including me) was assembled to help R through this labor. Somewhere around that time, it was established that R was about 8 centimeters dilated. It wouldn't be much longer...or so we thought.
There was a great system in place for this birth. The birthing tub (in a box) was inflated and slowly filling with hot water. Blankets, pillows, cushions, towels, and various other supplies were set up all over the basement to allow several options for laboring.

R labored on all fours, sitting on the birthing ball, lying in our spare bed, and mostly submerged in the tub. We moved her from spot to spot to encourage the contractions. All four of us rotated between running to get supplies, encouraging R, giving massages, or checking her vital signs.

This stage of labor went on for nearly 24 hours. However, R's dilation ceased to progress. Erica assured us that progression still could happen even without increased dilation, but that didn't make it any easier.

R became exhausted. It was increasingly harder to deal with the contractions when little seemed to be happening. The birthing team all had to take food and sleep breaks. All the while, R kept working through contractions.On top of this marathon labor, several concerns arose. First, R's blood pressure was disturbingly high. This was something we dealt with throughout pregnancy, but it seemed to be more a symptom of white coat syndrome than anything serious. As time wore on, it became noticeable that R's contractions slowed and were less intense. R's water hadn't broken, which wasn't strange, but it was getting late in the game. Upon one check by the doctor, Elizabeth discovered that the baby's head was tucked in a strange position. It was doubtful that it would be able to pass unless it was adjusted in time for full dilation. And that brings me to the scariest development: R actually went backwards in her dilation.

All this time, R had worked and worked through her labor with little or no sleep and a tiny amount of food and water. It was enormously frustrating that no progress had been made. I don't know how she kept it together. I was barely able to do so.

R worked hard to get her blood pressure numbers down, which she was able to accomplish. We tried various methods to move the contractions along. This worked to some degree. Elizabeth even made a major emotional and mental breakthrough with R. Additionally, the doctor had us try several different positions in order to move the baby's head. It seemed that we had done all we could. Why wouldn't this baby come out?

About hour 25 or 26 (I don't remember which.), there was talk of moving the labor to the hospital. Kim was concerned about the high blood pressure readings earlier in the process. Elizabeth discovered that the dilation had gone backwards and the baby's head had moved up instead of down.

Things looked bleak. Out worst nightmare of an overly medicalized birth with a possible emergency C-section was now a distinct possibility. R was scared. I was barely able to hold the tears in.

I hastily packed a bag and prepared the car. We were going to the hospital despite all our efforts. After 27 hours of blood, sweat, and tears, our worst fears were coming to fruition.

To be continued...

It's a girl!

Lucia (pronounced Loo-shah) Caroline was born on September 11th (I know, I know) at 10:51 AM. She weighed in at a whopping 8 lbs 1 oz and measured 19 inches in length. I'll share more on the birth once it gets by the "censors." Let's just say that R actively labored for over 31 hours, most of it at home as we had planned. We eventually moved to the hospital where R was able to deliver naturally.

Thanks for all the support and well wishes.

Besides the birthing story, there will be a blog dedicated to Lucia. More on that later. For now, here's picture...

Labor Day Came Late this Year

There isn't much to say...except that R went into labor about 3:30 this morning.

Cletus is finally set to arrive (and earn a new, more appropriate name).

Wish us luck.

Waiting Sorta Sucks

Cletus the Fetus seems to like his/her home in R's womb.

We have tried everything to get him/her to come out. And I mean everything. For me, it basically means that I will get a couple weeks off work, a chance to help care for a crying/eating/shitting being, and, most importantly, earn the title "Pops."

For R, it means so much more. I just wish for her sake that our baby joins us on the outside and soon. She's had it for some time, and I can't say that I blame her.

Pregnancy kinda sucks. Waiting at the end of pregnancy kinda sucks.

Everybody should send good vibes...via Gmail or in the comments or with a witty greeting card from Hallmark. We can use all the good vibes we can get.

In the meantime, keep in mind that McSame got a bump in the polls and now leads Obama. After Ohio State loses to USC, my football season will be over...until we beat Michigan by four touchdowns. The only thing that can save us now is Cletus' arrival.

Fall Preview

Upon reading my Google Reader today, I realized that recent posts on this blog have ignored the local music scene and have neglected this place in which I live in order for me to get on my soapbox or remind you that I'll be a dad shortly. But most importantly, I haven't written any lists in a while.

There's a lot to do this fall in COMO. I won't have time for much of it, but there is still a lot to do. So, here's my list of top 10 events this fall. 

10. Roots 'N  Blues 'N BBQ Festival

I mostly found this event last year to be a major annoyance. The streets were overwhelmed with people. The stage was idiotically placed at th

e top of the hill on 8th Street, looking down from Broadway, instead of the more ideal and time-tested location on 9th. There was no use ge

tting in line for the BBQ. The lines were too long. Additionally, beer was hard to come by and usually swill (read "Budweiser"). If they fix half of these problems, the fest might be worth attending this year.

9. Broken Social Scene 

On October 17th, my father-in-law will travel all the way from Pittsburgh to babysit just so that R and I can head over to the Note and see a 23-piece rock supergroup from

 Toronto, better known as Feist's old band. Land of Talk opens.

8. The Ragtag Passport Series

The 'Tag features yet another edition of their Passport Series in which the little indie theater that could presents quality flicks from around the globe. The screenings include complimentary drinks that relate to the film and a "tour guide" to the locales and issues

 portrayed. Get out of COMO for two hours in the friendly confines of the Ragtag Theater. Most likely we'll miss most of these, but I get tired of 

7. Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks 

My hero (and crush) Stephen Malkmus visits COMO with his Jicks in order to rock your socks off. I have a ticket for this one, but it may cause me to miss #5. Either way, I'll see SM and Janet Weiss on the skins with Blitzen Trapper opening.

6. Columbia Beer Enthusiasts Beer Tastings

This is one of those events from which I may have to take a sabbatical. We've had three great beer tastings. Our numbers grow each time. The next tasting is on September 22 with Scotch, brown, and amber ales as the featured brews. More than likely, there will be another in October, November, and so on.

5. Wolf Parade 

I rated this show so high because I might not be able to attend. I have yet to see Wolf Parade live but have longed to catch their act since Apologies to the Que

en Mary was released the year we moved here. From videos I've seen online, they certainly put on a great show. Wish me luck as I try to negotiate a way out of the house to see Wolf Parade on November 7th at the Note.

4. College Football

Everyone in COMO is drinking the Mizzou Koolaid ever since the Tigers put together a 12-win season last year and started off this year with a win over a top-25 team from Illinois. Plus, last year was one of the craziest CFB seasons ever. Who knows what will happen this year? Of course, I'll be paying more attention to Beanie's toe than any of the 70+ points Mizzou scores this weekend. You all should join me and watch the game of the year next week in LA when The Ohio State University travels to LA to take on the USC Trojans.

3. The End of Twilight Fest

I never liked this festival or street fair or whatever it is. Mostly, stores stay open late and streets are overcrowded, blindly meandering through the District (of Columbia). I'm glad to see this "event" come to an end. The Note's Summer Stage will fill the void...as soon as they get better acts than Johnny Lang and Cracker. (To be fair, I've seen Wilco twice at this event and Death Cab for Cutie played in the spring.)

2. Indecision '08

Barack Obama and John McCain face off for the chance to clean up George W Bush's eight year mess. Despite the soap opera that is Sarah Palin's life, the vice-presidential candidates are actually quite boring. Whoever wins, hopefully there will be a change in how our government works and is perceived throughout the world. At least Jon Stewart will keep us all informed throughout. I won't miss this no matter how many children we birth this fall and neither should you.

1. The (eventual) Arrival of comoprozac Jr.

Yes, we're still waiting. The kid is now officially late, which is ironic since my last name is Early (no joke). We wait and try various strategies to move this birth along, but all we end up doing is waiting. Of course, I will be certain to let you all know once little Bristol or Levi arrives...I kid, I kid.

Enjoy your autumn.

Juno the governor of Alaska?

While brainstorming ideas of things we could do as we wait for mucus plugs and ruptured membranes, I suggested that we watch a humorous movie about birth. One of those films I suggested was Juno, the 2007 Oscar winner for best original screenplay. For the few of you who have yet to see this great film, it's about a pregnant teenager who opts to have her child in order to give it up for adoption to a yuppie couple in need of a baby.

There was some controversy over the movie's popularity and the image it portrayed of pregnant teens. Some fundies were troubled by the message being sent that teenage sex and, more importantly, pregnancy were socially acceptable. Of course, it is reality that teen pregnancy rates are on the rise. So, it really could just mean that Juno represents reality.

The big slip was that fundy pro-lifers (aka anti-choicers) could have pointed to Juno as an example of pro-life choices being hip. In the film, Juno visited an abortion clinic, was turned off by the clinic's dogmatic staff, and opted to have the child. She even made the selfless choice of agreeing to give the baby up for adoption. It doesn't get any more pro-life than that. Fundies missed the boat on that one. Of course, it could also be pointed out that the girl had enough agency to make a choice. She weighed her options and chose adoption. Pro-lifers are not interested in young women choosing to give birth; they'd rather strip women of their right to make up their own minds.

Now there's Sarah Palin, John McCain's hastily chosen VP candidate who, earlier today, announced that her 17-year-old daughter is pregnant. Supposedly, Bristol Palin made the "choice" to have the baby and marry the father. That's rich. The daughter of a super pro-lifer and Republican vice-presidential candidate had a "choice."

Feministing called attention to this very issue earlier today. They point out how ridiculous it is that politicians who intend to take away the reproductive rights of women are now claiming that this 17-year-old girl has a choice. As Feministing's Ann points out, the only folks capable of making such an important decision seem to be McCain and Palin.

Lost in all of this is the issue of abstinence only education. It doesn't work, and one would have to assume it didn't work for Bristol either. I don't want to demonize the young girl or her family for this pregnancy. It happens, which is the point. If you have sex, you run the risk of becoming pregnant. You lower your chances of pregnancy (and of contracting an STD) if you use a condom or some other form of birth control. However, it's doubtful that Bristol or her beau, Levi Johnston, were taught this lesson...well, in school anyway. Sarah Palin backed abstinence-only sex education in her 2006 run for governor. I wonder if this even has changed her mind?

Whatever happens, it is interesting that the issue of rising teen pregnancy rates is not going away. Most likely, there will continue to be more Junos filmed and more girls like Bristol Palin will find themselves young and pregnant. It makes me glad that R and I had the agency and know-how to make the choices we have in becoming parents. It's too bad we're failing so many children with the unreachable reality of abstinence-only sex education. I look for this issue to be brought up this fall as we get closer and closer to election day.

And We Wait

The worst part of pregnancy (for the non-birthing partner) is waiting. Besides the 9+ months of gestating, I'm talking about those hints of contractions associated with early labor that have you on edge. And it doesn't help that the due date is now less than ten hours away.

Early labor set in sometime Thursday night/Friday morning. There was a storm that caused the power to go out. R felt contractions through the night. Neither of us could sleep. We both felt something was happening.

However, there was no mucus plug or ruptured membrane, hence no baby.

These light, erratic contractions continued through the weekend. As of today, R is still carrying Cletus.

Probably the worst part is that we have nearly completed every project we can think of while waiting around this weekend. R's now talking about painting rooms. There's not a lot left to do around here right now.

There's nothing to do in this town for those about to give birth either. There's no museum. There's only one downtown, and most of the stores are closed due to the holiday. A movie might be in our near future, but that's only 90 minutes of the day.

On top of it all, R's getting tired of me. I've informed her of all the latest Sarah Palin, hurricane, and blogosphere news of the day, including my opinion on all of it. She's sort of tied of my current event analysis. I can't say that I blame her. All she wants to do is unload 7-8 pounds of baby and get on with it.

So, we wait. I still think this is the week, but nothing's happening right now. Stay tuned.

Signs that We're Ready

Having a kid has taught me over anything else that reproduction really does keep the economy going. It makes me think that abstinence-only education really does work...for retail sales.

Anyway, we're in the middle of week 39. We're ready for this thing to happen. There's been research, tears, showers, and growth. To help demonstrate my point, I gathered some images to prove our readiness.

I've equipped both cars with window shades, mirrors and car seat bases. So, we're ready to make that trip to Ohio for a wedding at the end of September.


I've published a pic before of the kid's stuffed animal collection. As you can see, it's grown. Folks like to give stuffed animals. We're grateful.


Here's an updated pic of the nursery. The crib is fully assembled (replacement parts were sent promptly). Also, curtains and a mobile have been added.


Being a teacher for ten years and knowing a load of academics means that we're set on children's books...even though the kid won't be able to read for some time.


This next picture doesn't look like much, but that dresser used to be covered in bright red paint. My father-in-law and I stripped the paint and I finished it off with some stain and polyurethane.The entire room has been a family project really. My folks helped with the painting and all the grandparents helped supply the room.

Also, notice the Diaper Champ to the left. Apparently, babies poop a lot. And, the second pic shows how stocked we are in both new and borrowed clothing. This kid already has more clothes than I have in my closet.


Below are the two places our kid will most likely find him/herself the most...aside from our arms, the co-sleeper, or the crib.


Next is the ride-a-sheep my mom bought. This is the first grandchild on my side, so you can only imagine what's to come.


This is just a cute picture of the dog, Bodhi. I'm not sure he's ready, but he is cute.


Of course, the real sign that we're ready for pregnancy to be over is below. The rack is actually full and, for once, larger than my beer stash. We'll keep you all posted.

Week 38

Today marks week 38 of our pregnancy. For those of you who don't know, week 38 is the beginning of a 2-4 week window in which conditions for birth are optimal. In other words, we could be parents any day now. The moment of truth is nearly upon us.

What does that all mean?

One thing it means is that I won't be blogging as much. Even the past few weeks have kept me so busy that the posts on this blog have slowed. Of course, my blogging has been spread thin between I can't sing it strong enough and several reviews I've written for the as-of-yet-converted ComoMusic.com. (There are three record reviews and a show review waiting to see the light of day.) The crazy thing is that I'm planning a new blog for the kid as well. I think I need my own URL.

Another part of my life that will change is the time I have to go out. I've been out on the town and at shows way more often in the past several months than I've been in years. It's like my own rumspringa, the time in Amish adolescence when teens leave home to drink, do drugs, and have sex before returning to their families and a simple life of solitude and none of those sinful light bulbs. This period has not been nearly as wild for me as Amish teens gone wild, but I've been packing in the fun before the birth. Last Saturday's Evangelicals show will probably my last in a while. (It was reviewed and photographed here.) There will be no Oxford Collapse for me this fall or monthly beer tastings. A new kind of fun is ahead of me.

I'm not complaining, though. A friend of ours has taken an oath not to complain. Her goal is to go 21 straight days without a complaint. The best she's done so far is two. Either way, the idea of consciously not complaining is a good one. I'm looking at my impending parenthood as a change in my life. It's not the end of my life. So, there's no complaining here.

Besides the acknowledgement of the change we're facing, I have to wonder if we're ready. R's read 15-20 different books on pregnancy, childbirth, and parenting. I've read part of maybe three books, not counting my current reading material: Alternadad by Neal Pollack. So, I'm a little behind in that department.

The nursery is done. Besides the pics of the mural I posted on here a couple of months back, the crib is fully constructed; the once red dresser has been stripped of paint and refinished; enough 0-3 month outfits are clean and folded for maybe the entire three month period; and the car seat bases are installed in both cars. We're still in the process of cleaning some clutter and prepping the rest of the house, but the place is pretty ready for a baby.

So, to summarize, my lifestyle is slowing, we're very knowledgeable (or at least R is), and the environment is baby-ready. Now all we have left is the waiting.

And waiting is not a fun thing to look forward to. R placed an absorbent pad on the bed last night in preparation for the great water break. She hasn't started to nest. (Lord, help me when she does.) I'm creating a list of all the phone numbers she will need to reach me while I'm on the road for my job. In between all this, we wait.

So, week 38 mostly means that parenthood is upon you, but you still have some time to wait for it. When the magical day comes, you'll be the first to know. Some restrictions have been placed on what I can post here, but I'll keep you all as informed as allowed. Don't expect gory details or a video of the birth (although, I bet that would give me a huge bounce in my visitor numbers). Instead, I'll let you all know when it starts, give some updates, and provide the vitals (weight, name, sex).

In the meantime, you'll wait with me. Welcome to week 38!

My hope is to lose who I am just because

Daddy Rights

As we get closer and closer to our due date (like three weeks), I have learned a lot about people's expectations for parenthood and gender roles. Something that has become very apparent to me has been the expectations for fathers. I'm not suggesting that expectations are too high. It's the subtle sexism of low expectations that's got me bothered.

Take my paternity leave, for example. Since we both work for the same university, only one of us can take an extended leave for this birth. It only makes sense that R takes the leave since she is physically having the baby. I've got no complaints there. However, when I've mentioned my own abbreviated paternity leave (about two weeks to start), I get some snickers and subtle ridicule. It's as if my time and efforts are not as valuable as my partner's. I would never begrudge a woman for taking all the time she wants to be with her child. Why can't I get that same consideration?

This got me thinking about the fathers I know and have known over the years working in summer camps and schools and elsewhere. For the most part, fathers seem to be more and more involved than in generations past. However, the time and effort most fathers put into raising their children still pales in comparison with the mothers. Why is this? I get that only women can breast-feed and they do have a certain bond with their children we non-birthing partners can't truly understand, but there has to be another reason for the disparity.

Then it occurred to me to consider the paternity/maternity leave situation. Women physically have to take time from work, but men don't suffer as much, aside from sleep deprivation. Men are expected to work and bring home the bacon and all of that. This is sort of silly in my house since R brings home more bacon than I do, just like my mom made more than my dad. Either way, dads are expected to keep working while the moms are to stay at home with their babies. Women are judged for not staying home to care for their children, while men are allowed (and expected) to work no matter their child's needs.

I wonder if the time after the dads return to work has an adverse effect on their roles as parents. Do they lose some connection with their kid? Do they automatically defer to the mother when the child needs attention because she does it all the time anyway? Are they less involved in the daily care for the baby?

While I think a dad's disconnect from his kid does happen when he goes back to work and the mom stays home, I don't think this is the only reason most of the childcare falls on the mother. There are some deep-seeded gender roles (or rules) to which most sets of parents succumb. No matter how progressive or enlightened couples may be, the brunt of the child-rearing falls on the mother every time.

Aside from a few exceptions to the rule, I have noticed two kinds of couples that balance childcare responsibilities: couples with a stay-at-home dad and gay parents.

In the instances where the dad stays at home, traditional gender roles have been subverted enough that Mom is no longer doing the bulk of the child-rearing. However, even though the father takes on way more responsibility with the kids, the actual split is still usually 50/50, which is pretty ideal. It's not like childcare is always assumed to be the dad's responsibility when both parents are around, the way it often is for mothers in more traditional dynamics. It's as if the only way to get a dad to do his fair share of the childcare is to make him stay at home. Besides, if the mother was not to do her share or if the kid is poorly raised, she will get the majority of the blame. All a dad has to do to be a model parent is show up, play catch a little, and dole out the weekly allowance.

In gay households, there does tend to be more of a sense of equality. Of course, this is in my limited perspective of the lesbian couples with kids that I've known over the years. I think of the couple we're friends with in COMO. They are absolutely awesome at splitting the childcare duties and at taking care of each other. (And their kid is pretty awesome!) I'm sure there are bad examples (check The L Word), but from my perspective, a family of two female parents might be the most equitable example for me to follow.

This all gets back to my point of a daddy's rights. Dads are not allowed to take significant amounts of time from work and generally care for their children in the same ways mothers are expected, sometimes causing both to become disillusioned with their parental roles and their relationships with their kids. Another way to look at it is to say that fathers seem to be let off the hook when it comes to raising their kids. Mothers, on the other hand, are expected and held accountable for how that kid grows up.

I don't want to be that traditional father who defers all childcare to my partner. I want to do my share (and more when I can) to raise this kid. It's not OK for people to give me a hard time about my paternity leave. If I need to take time off to care for our child, that's certainly my right.

Either way, I'm going to get my chance to try out my brand of parenting, whatever that is. Luckily, I had a good role-model in my own dad. He might not have split the parenting the way I want to do with R, but he raised me in a way that I can only hope emulate when Cletus (the fetus) arrives in approximately three weeks.

My dad hiking the ball to my sister.

An Open Letter to Sweet Juniper!

Dear author and father of Sweet Juniper!,

I think that I may have offended you this past week. I was spreading the word on an important blogging issue to which you had called my attention: plagiarism. In my post, I may have referred to you as a "yuppie" and implied that you are a gentrifying SNAG (sensitive new age guy). (The actual phrase I used to describe your blog was "white yuppie moves to Detroit to be a stay-at-home dad and take pictures of book warehouses", I believe.) Your response was simply "ouch." I regret my choice of words. For this, I am sorry.

You yourself had used the term "yuppie" as a reclaimed label. So, I figured it would be OK to call you "yuppie" as well, but I was wrong. I too could be considered a yuppie and shouldn't throw stones in my suburban, glass house. I actually respect you too much to really consider you a yuppie. The insights you share through your words and photography prove that you are no yuppie.

If I had heroes in the blogosphere, you would be one of them. When I announced that we were pregnant, a friend directed me to your blog. What I found was a smart and well-written story of the struggle to maintain one's sense of self while raising a family. Your blog gave me hope that I could raise my kid the way I wanted without changing who I am.

You then impressed me over and over. You took those beautiful pictures of the Detroit Public Schools book depository that encapsulated both the struggle of public schools and the deterioration of a great city. I cheered for you as you fought the negative influence gender held over your daughter. You made me think about my own future as a father as you described the daily struggles of raising a newborn and toddler while your partner returned to work.

Of course, you seem like a cool guy. I was super jealous when you described your time spent in Athens and regularly seeing indie rock legends, particularly Jeff Magnum. You live in the kind of city we yearn to inhabit: a Great Lakes-region, industrialized urban center. Oh, and you somehow have figured out a way to make your blog relevant. I mean, you get more comments a day than I get visitors.

Anyways, I apologize if I have offended you in any way. I am a big fan of Sweet Juniper! and plan to continue to support your blog. As I used to tell my fourth graders, one can only leave an apology on a person's doorstep. They don't have to accept it.

Good luck with the new kid, getting the old one to wear something besides her pink dress, and with your other ventures.

Sincerely,
comoprozac

The Baby Harvest

During our many preparations for birth, I have had this post brewing about what I call "the baby harvest." There seems to be this overemphasis of bringing children into the world with little or no regard for the mother. It's as if the only thing that matters is to get that baby out.

Don't get me wrong. I do realize that the main reason in being pregnant is to bring a new human being into the world. No woman would put herself through the trial and error of pregnancy for nothing. A child is the main reason we do this. We want a chance to put someone good in this world. We want to extend our family tree. We want someone like ourselves in the community. I get that.

What I don't get is the cost to women, physically and emotionally. In what is already a daunting task for any woman and/or couple to undertake, we have systems in place that only make it harder. The mother and her experience are forgotten in all of this.

Since moving to COMO, land of the baby, many of our friends and co-workers have given birth. Additionally, one cannot go to the grocery or the mall or downtown without crossing paths with a very young, very pregnant woman. There really seems to be something in the water here.

Plus, I've had friends elsewhere experience their own difficulties with pregnancy. Some have overcome great obstacles to be on the verge of a life-altering event. Others have had their lives altered tragically at the hands of a cruel joke by mother nature.

In all of these instances, intentional or not, quite a bit of worth has been put on the women simply because they're expecting with little or no regard to their value before fertilization. It's as if their lives or accomplishments meant nothing once they were to become moms. Never mind that they were someone's sister or best friend or had published a book. Their real value was in the life they could grow, little else.

Conversely, I've known women who feel downright worthless due to their own failed pregnancies. These women are not without value because their pregnancy did not work out. It's not their fault it didn't come to fruition. They still have plenty of value to their partners, family, and community.

Take R for instance. She is a rather accomplished academic for someone so new to her field. R completed a master's in woman's studies and a doctorate in rhetoric and composition at one of the premier universities for both of those fields. She was relatively well-published and well-connected upon leaving school and nailed a research-1 job right out of the gate. Plus, she is an amazing aunt, sister, daughter, and friend. Of course, she's been a better partner than I could have ever hoped.

Although R is a very valuable person to her employer, field, family and friends, nothing can compare to the attention she receives now that she is pregnant. Most of the attention is well-intentioned. People want to support and celebrate as we take on parenthood. For that, I am grateful. It just seems there is more focus on the life inside R than the one she's been living. The person none of us knows yet is garnering more attention than the woman we've all known and loved for days, months, or years.

R deserves to feel love and supported during this pregnancy, but it shouldn't only be because of this pregnancy.

Even though I have my issues with my partner's new found attention, my real issue is the actual harvest. For whatever reason, our medical industry has made it increasingly difficult for us to have the birthing experience we want. Hence, the devaluation of my partner continues with the hospitals and doctors in this town (and I suspect all over the country).

Let's take the cesarean section rate in COMO. The World Health Organization figures that c-sections should happen about 5-10% of the time. Anything above 15% seem to do more harm than good. In 1965, the US was under 5%. As you can imagine, we've talked to many health care providers and couples who have recently given birth. Their estimates of the C-section rate in COMO range anywhere from 20% to 40%, depending on the hospital and doctor. That's at least double what the WHO recommends and near the top of the entire country (about 23% according to WHO).

Even though it seems to be the trendy thing to do, we wanted to do all we could to avoid a cesarean section birth. Of course, many hospital practices make this difficult to accomplish rather than supporting a mother's ability to have a natural, vaginal birth. From the position R wanted to be in to the avoidance of all chemical pain relief to catching her own baby, we have met opposition every step of the way.

We originally tried to get in at the only birthing center in town since home births with just a midwife, at the time, were illegal. We did the tour and met with a representative. She informed us that the doctor and midwife only met with patients on Thursday mornings. R was teaching at that time. She couldn't get out of it. What should have been something we all could have worked around, became our first obstacle to having the birth we desired.

The second obstacle happened when finances were involved. The doctor was new and out of network, meaning we would have to pay a handsome price for our child. On top of all that, the representative gave us that look that says, "If you really cared for your baby, you'd make this work." We didn't need to feel guilty that we actually have to work for a living and want to save money for our retirement.

So, we went the medical route. Some friends had somewhat successful births in hospitals, so we thought it would work for us. We even found a doctor who seemed willing to work with us.

Days, weeks, and months passed as we educated ourselves about pregnancy, birth, and child-rearing in preparation for our new roles as parents. The information we discovered on birth was the most disheartening. It seems that when mothers experience a highly medicalized birth, which means they get the pitocin to induce birth triggering many other interventions, it often ends in an "emergency" c-section. The pitocin speeds things along while the epidural slows and numbs. You end up taking one to counteract the other. It can turn into a vicious cycle. Of course, it should be noted that I am not an expert in any way, but taking all those drugs only to encourage more intervention doesn't seem right to me.

Then there's the whole monitoring thing. People will come in and out of the hallway to check a mother's progress. In other words, everybody and their brother will have their hands inside a mother just to see if they'll make that 3:30 tee time. This leaves the mother open to all sorts of infection. Much of this monitoring is unnecessary, not to mention that the more they monitor, the more they'll surely find something to worry about.

Anyway, it was starting to look like it was all we could do to fight hospital staff and even our own doctor to keep the birth as natural as possible. Most of our time meeting with a doula was spent on her coaching me as to the best methods to fight off pesky doctors and nurses. I didn't want to fight anybody. I wanted to support R and coach her through the birth.

Eventually, we wrote up a birthing plan to share with our doctor in hopes of making our birth as intervention-free as possible. She fought us on several points, destroying any confidence we had in her as our advocate. So, R looked at the birthing center again.

It turned out that the birthing center doctor was finally added to our network. So, we will have an opportunity to have a natural birth without a fight. R may even try catching the child while having a water birth. I will get a chance to actually assist my partner as opposed to warding off nurses and interns at every moment.

The birth may still not go as planned, but at least we'll have a chance to try.

My attitude towards baby harvesting has softened a bit, but I still have problems with our society's values toward birth and motherhood. We do all we can to birth more babies. We provide abstinence-only education in our schools, make it difficult for women to access safe and affordable abortions, and we regularly schedule c-sections all in an effort to get those babies out in the world.

And for what? We allow schools to decline. We constantly cut welfare programs. Day care is not easily accessible or affordable. All the focus is on a child before he or she is born. After birth, good luck.

I don't mean to sound so negative when we have a pretty exciting time ahead of us, but this experience has brought many of these issues to light. It is possible to look at a part of one's life and see both hope and problems. It doesn't mean that it's bad or good. It just is.

So, the baby harvest will continue. Many more teenage girls will give birth this year. Other women will be forced to have unnecessary c-sections. And we will join them in hopes that maybe things will change.