Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Blossom.

I have stumbled across quite a few birth stories around these parts of late. Not to mention hearing about totally and completely insane things like this:

"There are those among us who believe that if the baby can't survive a home labor, it is OK for it to pass peacefully," she writes. "I do not subscribe to this, but I know that some feel that … if a baby cannot make it through birth, it is not favored evolutionarily."

That quote is from the woman who played Blossom on that sitcom......Blossom. Myiam Blachic. Okay, I'm pretty sure that is not how you say or spell her name, but I already looked up the quote and I'm too lazy to go back and look up her name. You know who I'm talking about - that chick who wore all the hats and had that brother who would randomly appear in scenes to say, "Whoa!"

She fancies herself a 'holistic mom' now. And clearly needs a new group of friends.

Are you shitting me with that quote? Those people shouldn’t be allowed to be parents. Period.

“Hi baby! I’m your mom. Nice to finally meet you. I hope you’re feeling okay, because if it looks like you might need some medical intervention I’m not going to give you any. I’m just going to stand by and watch you die.

Yeah, I know it’s a drag, but my massive inferiority complex has made me wrap my entire identity up in this insane doctrine that states in order to be a real woman I need to have a successful home birth. And unfortunately for you, logic and reason haven’t knocked on my door in an extremely long time.”

I think those people are from the radical fundamentalist sect that sprung from all the moms who gave me those looks of utter contempt when they would see me bottle feeding one of my babies.

But here is the thing. I desperately wanted to have a midwife instead of a doctor, but that option wasn’t available to me. I live in a province that only has one option for birthing children, and that’s the hospital and a doctor.

I desperately wanted to breastfeed, but try as I might, no matter how many tips I tried, classes I went to, lactation consultants I hired or herbs I took, I just simply did not produce enough breast milk to feed my babies. Even though I had three healthy pregnancies that produced three healthy children, I felt like a complete failure as a mother because I was physiologically unable to feed them.

My feeling of utter failure was fueled by people who would say ridiculous things to me like, “All women produce enough milk to breastfeed twins or triplets” (read: you are not trying very hard) or “You aren’t eating enough healthy food or drinking enough water and milk” (read: you don’t care about yourself or your baby).

My feeling of utter failure got so bad that each time I had to reach for that bottle I launched into why I am bottle-feeding, including my entire family history (I later discovered that my grandmother couldn’t breastfeed either), all the different diets I have tried, the herbs I’ve taken, the lactation consultants I have hired…..the whole nine yards.

In reality, I was just SO worried about people judging me for not breastfeeding because I didn’t want them to think I was uneducated or unconcerned about the health of my baby.

I have been accused of being….uh…outspoken from time to time, so I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who think I’m a crazy bitch. And mostly, I’m okay with that. In fact, I don’t really mind having a crazy bitch alter ego I can trot out whenever I cross paths with someone who is just begging for a verbal smack-down.

But when a certain tribe of people, the ones who believe in home births, and midwives and breastfeeding and parenting their kids without all the trappings of technology and intervention, look at me with scorn when they see me walking by with that bottle sticking out of my diaper bag, it really hurts my feelings. And it hurts my feelings because in reality, I just wanted to be one of them.

Which brings me back to my original point. Those dipshits who sit back and watch their babies die because they couldn’t bring themselves to cross the imaginary picket line full of women who don’t want to have a doctor intervene when it’s NOT necessary, are really just scared of feeling like they won’t belong to the real-moms club so they refuse their babies medical intervention when it IS necessary.

Which is really just making it harder on the rest of us women. THOSE are the people doctors point to and say,

See? Women can’t possibly be trusted to have their babies without us! They are deluded, irrational creatures that serve no purpose during the birth process other than to shut-up and spread ‘em. WE know better. Not women, and certainly not midwives.

And now we don’t have the best of any world. Women have been told repeatedly that home births are dangerous, midwives are unqualified, and trust me, Dear, you really want a doctor and access to emergency equipment at the hospital. You shouldn't listen to your own insticts. They are wrong.

And as a result many women (including myself) are left with horrific birth stories about doctors jamming unwanted IV’s into our arms, pumping us full of drugs we didn’t ask for, slicing up our lady parts when it’s just taking way too long for the baby to come out, or using machines to pull or suction our babies out of our bodies. And when all that doesn’t work? They slice our abdomens open and drag our babies out while we lay with gapping intestines on an operating table.

But guess what? There is a LOT of room between all that and letting your baby die on your living room floor because you are too proud to go to the hospital. Which, by the way, makes you a total fucking idiot who should be in prison.

The best thing anyone said to me when I was having so much trouble breastfeeding came from Politica, who happens to be a championship level breastfeeder. After talking to her endlessly about all the different ways I’ve tried to get my milk to produce she said, “Huh. Well, I guess it’s just not part of your biology”.

It was the ‘He’s just not that into you’ equivalent revelation to breastfeeding. Freeing, in fact. I wasn’t a total failure as a woman; my body just doesn’t produce breast milk!

So, to all of you expectant mothers….here is my gift to you.

Have your baby in whatever way feels right to you. Use a doctor, use a midwife, go to the hospital, stay at home.
Use drugs, stay unmediated, lie down or squat. Totally your call.

If some fuckhead doctor is doing something you don’t want or like, you are allowed to tell him to FUCK OFF.

If some patchouli smelling hippy chick in desperate need of an eyebrow wax starts giving you shit about giving birth in a hospital or using a doctor, you are allowed to tell her to FUCK OFF.

If you choose to bottlefeed, either by desire or necessity, you feel free to go right ahead and make that choice. It is yours alone to make.

I am officially leading the charge to stop judging one another. It’s not a contest, no one is right or wrong. Each individual woman knows best about what is right for her and her baby. Period.

Other than Blossom’s friends. They are still total fucking retards.

We're back! And alive! And wondering if your Baba needs a job.

Lena and I made it back in one piece from our little adventure west to visit Politica in British Columbia! It was a fabulous trip and Politica was a wonderful and gracious hostess that made sure I had all the comforts of home at my finger tips.

This, as luck would have it, meant the use of her full-time nanny.

At first I was a little skeptical about the whole nanny situation. I mean, really. How weird is it to have some woman come to your house to babysit your children? To have a whole other person show up at your house everyday and cook in your kitchen, and play with your kids, and fold the socks and shit like that? While I’m away at work? No thank you.

I would always come home assuming Rebecca DeMorney was going to turn up and bash me over the head with a shovel, seduce my husband and make my children call her mommy.

Then all of a sudden my house is clean, my husband is pluggin’ Rebecca DeMorney and my kids are all excited to tell their friends their mom is the hooker from Risky Business.

And me? I’ll be dead with a shovel stuck in my skull. No WAY am I going for that.

To make matters worse, it turns out Politica’s nanny is actually a blonde, leggy, 19 year-old girl with big blue eyes who smells like cinnamon heart candies and leaves a trail of sparkly pixie dust behind her everywhere she goes.

The minute I saw her I shot Politica the, “Are you out of your fucking mind?” look, but she didn’t even notice. She happily handed her little ones to Nanny and began her day quietly and immediately.

Hmm.

No crying, whining, or fighting about why you can’t wear your bathing suit to daycare?

No UN style- negotiation on what to pack for a snack or lunch?

No commute through five lanes of traffic trying to maneuver around that one asshole who stalled his shitty 1986 bitchin’ Camero right in the middle of the ONLY street that will get you to your destination?

That you’re already late for anyway because of all the shit that just happened while you were trying to get everyone ready and out the door by 7:00 am in the morning?

How about that. Maybe this nanny thing isn’t such a bad idea after all. I could totally see me getting used to it.

Although I would get a really ugly and fat one that smells like cabbage and doesn’t shave her legs.

Later Gaters

Hey Everybody! Lena and I are checkin' out for a few days to go hang with Politica and her Homies in beautiful North Delta, British Columbia.

North Delta is one of the burbs of Vancouver. Kind of near Richmond. Hey...... that is where Captain Dumbass lives! I wonder if I'll see him? There are only about two million people in Vancouver and surrounding area.......and I'm there for six days.......and I have no idea what he looks like.

Hmmm.

I'll just ask all the cute, dark-haired little boys I see if their dad is Captain Dumbass.

Yeah, that should work.

Hmmm.

Maybe not.

Some say 'Controlling', I say 'Proactive'

I decided when my children were born that I didn’t really want them to get married. I was not prepared to share any of them with some other random family who might eat mutton or open all their gifts on Christmas Eve.

I mean, what if my kids ended up with a skinny mother-in-law? She would be in the wedding photos all beautiful and thin and wearing a tasteful Marc Jacobs dress with open-toed sandals and a silk scarf just barely covering her arms because she’s so beautiful and skinny that she can go sleeveless and it’s July so it’s warm outside so she doesn’t even have to wear her scarf/wrap thing that much and then she’s on the dance floor with my son and everyone is smiling and clapping because it’s just such a beautiful wedding and “Wow, doesn’t she look great for her age!”?

That’s just not okay.

For obvious reasons.

But, the idea of grandchildren kind of appeals to me, and then there is that whole thinking around my kids being happy and in love and having a nice life with a partner who loves them and scratches their back before going to bed at night because it’s always easier to sleep after a good back-scratch.

So I’ve decided to arrange all my children’s marriages and force them to marry the children of my friends.

The only problem I see with this plan is that all my friends are really beautiful and shit so I would end up with the Marc Jacobs-sleeveless-dress-skinnier-than-me-in-the-pictures problem anyway.

But I could deal with it better if the skinny and beautiful MIL was one of my friends because then I would feel okay about sneaking my arm around their back and giving them bunny ears in every wedding picture.

No matter how gorgeous you are, no one can pull off bunny ears.

Problem solved.

So! Who to match up with whom? The first one is easy. My son Jake is betrothed to Politica’s daughter Mara. Mara is about four and a half years younger than Jake, but that’s only a problem now. I won’t make them start dating for another 20 years, which will make them 28 and 24 respectively which is far less creepy. They will date for three years and then they will get married.

I have only recently shared this news with Jake. He took it like a champ.

Me – You’re going to help me clean up the house today, okay Jake?

Jake – What!!? No way! Why do I have to help clean the house?

Me – You need to learn how to clean the house because I expect you to be a good husband to Mara.

Jake – I’m NOT getting married!!

Me – Well, not right now you’re not, but when you’re 28 and finished college and have a good job you’re going to start dating Mara. Then when you’re 31 and she’s 27 you’re going to get married and Aunt Politica is going to wear a really nice sleeveless Marc Jacobs dress to your wedding.

Jake – Okay. Whatever. I’ll marry Mara, but then you have to buy me a light saber.

Me – I’ll buy you a light saber, but only as a wedding present. You have to marry Mara first.

Jake – No, I need the light saber first.

Me – No deal. Marriage, then light saber.

Jake – Well MOM! I have to have the light saber first because I’ll need it to save Mara’s life because that’s how she’s going to fall in love with me!!

Good point, son.

I hadn’t thought of that.

I wonder what he’ll want when he finds out he’s going to have to convert to Judaism?

Run out and buy stock in A5-35 immediately

It looks like we are going to take a family ski trip to Banff this year in February! For those of you unfamiliar, Banff is a gorgeous little resort town at the foot of the Rocky Mountains in Alberta that specializes in soaking every red cent out of anyone who visits. The town is so beautiful that you literally gasp whenever you set foot outside – every single time. The Banff area businesses take full advantage of the tourist’s wonderment because the cost of doing anything in that town is at least three times higher than doing it anywhere else. I once ordered a club sandwich and a coke at a Banff restaurant and my bill was $32.

However, we found a pretty good deal on accommodations at a little condo/resort type place about 5 miles from town and last week we confirmed our reservation. We’ll also be able to drive there from here, so all and all it shouldn't be too bad on the ol’ pocket book.

We are going to go skiing.

Me and skiing have somewhat of a sorted past. Unlike many of my friends who grew up in this country, my parents never took me anywhere so I never learned how to ski. I’m also not exactly the most naturally athletic or graceful person you’ve ever met, so at first glance skiing shouldn’t really be my thing. But, much like interior decorating and penning the next literary masterpiece, I have the desire to be good at it, but I’m not really.

I have baby pink plastic venetians hanging in my living room. And, you have clearly all read this blog.

Just call me Solieri. No, I don’t think that is entirely accurate. Solieri was good just not great. Call me Solieri’s nerdy little cousin who sucks at stuff.

The last time I went skiing in Banff was when I was sent there for a work conference about two years ago. When the conference was over, Politika flew in from Vancouver and joined me in Banff for a weekend getaway that did not include any husbands or children. Not knowing what do to with ourselves under such circumstances, we considered trying to get some of our Banff-jacked money back by hitting the bar to get hammered and dance topless for rich Japanese business men. But, good judgment and a fear of leaked facebook pictures managed to prevail and we decided to go skiing instead.

Politika can ski quite well (of course she can), and I…..I had a new jacket. So, after a lovely breakfast buffet at the hotel we loaded our stuff onto the bus and headed out to the gigantic mountain prepared and contented to strap skinny boards to our feet and hurl ourselves down the slopes at lightening speeds with little precision.

I like to take a ‘ski a little’ ‘drink a little’ approach to skiing. Since I’m not that great at it, the entire time I am on the mountain every muscle in my body is so rigid I’m bordering on rigamortis.

And don’t try talking to me because my mind is singular in its focus and determination to stay alive.

As you can appreciate that gets a little tiring, so after a few runs I like to have a beer or two. And no, it doesn’t matter if it’s only 10 am.

Politika is very nice and humoured me by slumming it at the green runs now and again, but mostly she was swooshing down the quadruple black double mogul plummet-to-your-death-at-any-moment runs. Of course she was.

All in all it was a lovely day and I only had one near death experience, but I was saved by a charming and handsome Aussie who rescued me from the clutches of my extremely uncooperative ski bindings and helped me limp by tired ass down the mountain. I was seriously considering resurrecting the dancing topless plan to express my gratitude, but alas, he just wanted to continue skiing. It was a little cold out for that kind of thing anyway.

We made it back to the room alive and I think we even ventured out that night for a bite to eat. Everything was just fine until the next morning.

OH MY GOD. My legs have never, ever, ever hurt that much in my whole life. I felt like the ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ lady. I was pretty sure that while I was sleeping someone had drugged me, split my legs open and practiced tying intricate boy scout knots with my leg muscles.

For the next solid week, whenever I was confronted with a flight of stairs I would retreat and decide that wherever I was originally intending to go could live without me. My two kids who have bedrooms in the basement? They could have been hosting raves and Texas hold ‘em tournaments down there and there was nothing I could have done about it.

It was way bad.

So! Skiing again for me in February!

I’m bringing some morphine and a flask of weed-laced moonshine this time.

Just da facts, Ma'am

I know I have been largely absent lately, and when I do show up I seem to be toting an agenda, but hey – it’s my blog so lump it.

There has been quite the lively debate on this continent lately about the H1N1 virus, specifically regarding the ol’ chestnut of whether or not to vaccinate. I am a largely suspicious person. I don’t just blindly take at face value what the medical community tells me. I learned that lesson when I helped my father die of cancer three years ago. If I didn’t ask the right questions or push for a real answer or make them show me the fucking DATA, they were perfectly happy to just let him croak because they needed the bed for the next poor sop they were keen to ignore. It’s not like I THINK they are out to get me, I KNOW they are out to get me.

Luckily for me, I have Politika. She is a masters degree educated research epidemiologist (gnarly contagious disease enthusiast) who has spent the last 10 years researching infectious disease, specifically influenza. Besides the impressive credentials, I have known Politika for 20 years, and she is nothing if not a critical thinker. Putting the science stuff away for a second, she is also a tree-huggin’ organic food eating vegetarian who doesn’t let her kids watch violent cartoons (raising a kid without hotdogs or batman seems just plain wrong to me, but whateva). Let me put it this way – when I was pregnant the second I went into labour I drove immediately to the hospital and ordered a double epidural on the rocks with a twist of morphine. Politika delivered her babies in her living room with a midwife. Then they all ate a tofu salad and started folding cloth diapers made out of hemp. She is far from a ‘western medicine’ flag waver.

Politika strongly believes I should get my whole family vaccinated.

We all have been bombarded with information, some true and some not on this issue. We’ve all heard the stories or watched a you tube video about people having bad reactions to vaccines or getting really sick from them or even dying. Has that happened? Probably. But I look at it this way – not getting immunized is like refusing to wear a seatbelt because you once heard a story about a car wreck where someone died because they were trapped by a seatbelt that wouldn’t release. Has that happened too? Probably. But I think we can all agree that the risk of dying because you’re NOT wearing a seatbelt is WAY higher than the risk of dying because you ARE wearing a seatbelt if you happen to crash. There is a chance that you could go your whole life without ever having a car accident. You might get into a few fender benders and live to tell the tale about how you don’t wear a seatbelt and still just walked away when some asshole rear-ended you. Or, you could roll your car when it was raining one night and die because you went flying through the windshield. Smell what I’m steppin’ in?

Therefore – I urge you to read the below. Politika has written this. This is factual information from a trustworthy source. This source is not trying make money, or pass a health care bill or kill your grandma. It’s long and sciencey, but this disease could kill you and your children, so it’s important you have the correct facts when making a decision.

H1N1 Vaccine Information - The vaccine is an adjuvanted inactivated influenza vaccine. The adjuvant basically gives the immune system a 'boost', which means that the vaccine itself can use less antigen (the influenza part). So whereas a normal, seasonal influenza vaccine shot contains 15ug (micrograms) of antigen per strain, this vaccine uses only 3.8ug of antigen. The antigen is an inactivated virus; the virus has been killed, then smashed into tiny pieces (the myth that you can get influenza from the vaccine is like expecting to get an egg from ground chicken).

The adjuvant is called AS03. It's a squalene-based adjuvant; squalene is a naturally-occuring oil, it's mixed with water and tocopherol (vitamin E). We are not entirely sure why adjuvants work, only that they do. The research indicates that with this adjuvant, it works only if it is delivered in the same area as the vaccine. Ie, if you were given the antigen in one arm and the adjuvant in another, the adjuvant wouldn't have the desired effect. This speaks to the fact that it is not a systemic reaction, but is more of a local reaction (which should allay any concerns that it's going to wreak havoc in other parts of the body or with other body systems).

The vaccine comes in multi-dose vials, which means that it does have thimerosal as a preservative. Thimerosal is considered the best preservative we have when it comes to vaccines. The amount is very small (5ug thimerosal per dose). It is a mercury derivative (2.5ug mercury per dose), but it is worth pointing out that (a) the amount of mercury is less than what you'd get in a tuna sandwich, and (b) it's ethyl mercurcy - which is metabolized quickly by the body (half-life of <1>

There has been much attempt to determine whether thimerosal causes any neurological damage (eg, autism), and there have been NO studies that have found any link. The authors of the one study that started all the concern, because it did find a link, have since recanted and have acknowledged that they should never have drawn the conclusions they did from the data they had. Thimerosal is considered safe by all public health bodies that have examined it (including the WHO, CDC Atlanta, Health Canada, EMEA in Europe, etc.), and they have all examined it thoroughly. The adjuvant, while relatively new, has been part of a research program for a few years now. Over 40,000 people have been exposed to it in clinical trials, and the safety profile is considered acceptable (which, in science-speak, means there are no safety concerns).

People may find that they experience slightly more injection-site pain than with other vaccinations, maybe even a bit more fever/feeling a bit lousy for a day, but this is to be expected, because of the 'boost' being given. We are trying to induce a stronger immune response. These side effects are WAY more mild than even mild influenza infection. The potential bad systemic side effects (serious infection-site swelling, high fevers, anaphylactic reactions, etc., etc.) seem to be no different from with any other vaccine, which are extremely minimal. The occurence of very rare side effects won't be known for sure until mass vaccinations are happening (e.g., Guillan-Barre Syndrome, which is a concern because of the experience in 1977, has a background rate of 1/million, which means that we won't know if the vaccine causes more until a million or more people have been immunized. That being said, among the 40,000+ people, there is so far no indication that any such severe side effects are going to be a problem).

The effectiveness of this vaccine so far seems to be in the high-90% range, compared to 70-90% for seasonal influenza vaccine.

Dem da facts, Jack.

And then we turned 30....

There are four main peeps in my posse. You have already met Keely, of course, and I believe I have mentioned Valentina and Politica a time or two around these parts. It’s really too bad Keely started blogging first and didn’t feel it necessary to hide behind the veil of a trumped up nick-name because now we all have cool aliases and she is still just Keely. When I put us all together in print like that it sounds like she hangs around a bunch of strippers and superheroes. Anyway….

The four of us went to high school together and have remained pretty close for the last (mumble mumble) years. We’re pretty much the same age, with all of us having birthdays within about 13 months of each other. Valentina is the oldest with Keely bring up the rear 13 months later. This if course means Valentina was the first one to turn 30.

Feeling it necessary to celebrate in a big way we planned a surprise party that included bringing Politica in from BC. She jumped at the chance since it was April and a trip to Saskatchewan would give her the opportunity to turn her nose up at our lack of adequate foliage. Keely was traipsing around New Zealand somewhere at the time, but we weren’t going to let that stop Politica and I from partying with our newly minted cougar.

We shelved the husbands and kids and took off to our neighbouring city about 3 hours away for a weekend of shopping, eating, drinking, laughing, pillow fights in our underwear and tickle parties (that last bit was just for all you male readers). We had a great time and definitely ushered Valentina into her 30’s in style.

Then it was my turn. Again, the girls planned a SURPRISE! party. Now I figured they would do something, but I was actually surprised when Politica arrived since she had just been here 6 months earlier. Keely had finally brought her Ozzy lovin’ ass home and was able to join us for a weekend trip to the spa. Off the four of us went and again, and it was awesome. We ate, we drank, we marinated ourselves in giant dry-cleaning bags stuffed with in seaweed, swam in some salty water and they even treated me to my very first manicure. I’m pretty sure that was strategic ‘cause if anyone needs a manicure it’s me. I have a nervous energy cuticle biting problem. But I digress…..

Then it was Politica’s turn! Clearly we had no choice but to head out to BC to celebrate her arrival into Club-30, right? Well, that was the position I was taking with the Hubby who was starting to raise an eyebrow about it all. I think the quote was,

“Holy shit, you guys are just turning 30. Why do you each need your own fucking Bat Mitzvah?”

Because we just DO, okay? Turning 30 to women is a big deal. Turning 30 to women is akin to a mans first incident of flaccidness. You want to be drunk when it happens.

So off we went to the bountiful blooming British Columbia so the three of us could be standing by with a warm dry towel when Politica was shoved out of the fountain of youth. You know the drill....we shopped, we ate we drank, blah, blah, blah… It was wonderful.

Then it was Keely's birthday. Holy shit, again? Alrighty....... Politica schlepped her ass back to Saskatchewan so we could have another weekend of indulgences. We rented a limo and went bar hopping. If you haven’t ever done that before, I highly recommend it because we had a blast. Keely refers to it fondly as the weekend we tried to kill her, and I’m pretty sure she hasn’t had more than three drinks in a row since. Her liver still sends me a Christmas card each year.

So, all in all it was a full year of partying our assess off. Looking back now I have no idea how we managed to afford to do all that, but we made it work somehow. I probably just fed my family KD for two straight months or something. KIDDING! Mr. Noodle is way cheaper.

So, we are now a stone’s throw from forty. But, like a really small stone you can throw really far. While the year of quarterly drunken madness was certainly fun, I think I might advocate just one group trip somewhere for the big 4-0. I think the four of us in Vegas would be pretty awesome. I better start sweet talking Keely's liver now.