Been a long time since I've been involved in a flame war. This one's got me thinking…

Do wealthy people really believe that they are better, more responsible people than those who flirt with the poverty line? What do they base that upon?

On a higher level, does more wealth mean that you're more worthy as a human being? Because my friends out here are some of the best, most loyal, most generous people I've ever known, and we're all scraping right around the poverty line.

And does the person who suggested that I'm poor because of my own “irresponsible, instant-gratification choices” (and how dare he/she speak to me like I'm a WaMu mortgage broker) consider him/herself to be a Christian?

Perhaps…

But we'll probably never know, as that person was only brave enough to write as Anonymous. Which pretty much tells me everything I need to know; mainly that he/she may have more money than I do, but they aren't actually WORTH a blog posting from Motormouth. 🙂

Hey Monstro, is it time for me to invoke Godwin's Law yet? Let me know….

“Just again, the example of the eloquence of Sen. Obama. He's
'health for the mother.' You know, that's been stretched by the
pro-abortion movement in America to mean almost anything. That's
the extreme pro-abortion position, quote, 'health.'”
— Sen. John McCain, during presidential debate
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Since when did women's health become extreme?
Just a couple months back, McCain had the deer-in-the-headlights
look, and couldn't answer whether he thought it was fair that
insurance companies that cover Viagra should also cover birth
control.
And, remember the time when McCain was asked whether he thought
condoms helped stopped the spread of HIV? McCain's response,
“You've stumped me.”
And there's more. Let's count the ways that John McCain is out
of touch on women's health and women's rights
*He's voted 125 times against women's health.
*He wants to overturn Roe v. Wade.
*He opposes funding to prevent unintended and teen pregnancies.
*He opposes requiring health care plans to cover birth control.
*He opposes equal pay legislation, saying it wouldn't do
“anything to help the rights of women.”
*He's proposed a health care plan that will be worse for women.

And since when does women's health equal abortion? I've never had an abortion, and it would take a pretty serious situation to make me want one. Does that mean I have nothing to say about women's health? Apparently, John McCain thinks so.

My friend Lucille sent me that first “Letter from a Nobody.” I wrote an abbreviated version of the above blog post and did one of my only ever “reply to all”s. I received two emails in response. Here's the highlight of one of them and my response.

(This is from my own guiding principle since 1994: don't put anything in email that you wouldn't want on the front page of The New York Times, or Motormouth)

Mark wrote:

Wake up and smell the roses! If you think that Obama will give you a helping hand up, you are wrong. If you review the history of the mess we are in you'll see that it is from those very policies of the people that think that the government can do better for you than you can do for yourself! You are right that he will take from the rich and give to the poor…that is called socialism! It's awfully interesting that when Ronald Reagan became president we were in a mess from the Carter years. One of his main strategies was to reduce taxes for ALL not for the rich. It was called the trickle down theory. And guess what? It worked! If you review the history of the mess we are in you'll see that it is from those very policies of the people that think that the government can do better for you than you can do for yourself!

I'm struck nearly mute by the vitriol and condescension of your response… nearly.

First off, I too am a Christian and a Republican. And I don't think the government can do better for me than I do for myself. Well, *this* government hasn't, and John McCain votes with Bush, though he won't say so. That's why I have three jobs; I'm not getting help from anyone, and frankly, I don't expect any.

I'm not looking for a president who takes from the rich to give to the poor, but I do think that those with more should pay more to fund our government, its war, etc. Ten percent from someone who makes 300,000 is a whole lot more than 10% from someone who makes 30,000. It isn't socialism; it's math.

That economic stimulus check? The majority of people spent it on their debt, which didn't stimulate anything; actually, what's the opposite of stimulate? Yeah. That.

Oh, and even though I make about 30 grand a year, I tithe. So I'm used to sharing, and wouldn't mind sharing a little more if it means that kids get vaccinated and maybe a little help toward a college degree. It's good business to have a healthy, smart workforce.

(also , its=possessive. it's=it is. No “e” in judgment. Socialism=when banks get bailed out by the government. That's just off the top of my head)

Additionally, Obama is not a Muslim. Obama did not have anything to do with the Kenyan elections.

Obama's associations? The judge who convicted Ayers (when Obama was eight years old) has complimented Ayers on the way he's turned his life around into that of an upstanding citizen.

Last week John McCain himself said of Obama that “He's a decent family man, citizen.”

Is it Christian to hold people to the standard of who they were decades ago? I mean, in the '70s McCain was a tortured POW. Now he supports waterboarding. People change.

Monstro just came home. (I'm posting these posts in reverse chronological order so they read in proper format on the blog). I'd told him about Letter from a Nobody but he was surprised to hear that not only have I received two emails from my “reply to all,” but that I responded to both of them and blogged about it twice.

“Why do you bother?” he asked.

“Because I'm tired of people telling me I don't know shit about shit.”

Especially when they back up their arguments with information disproven by a nanosecond's search of Snopes.com. I mean really, people, please! And while I'm at it, Rush Limbaugh is an entertainer; NOT a journalist. He'll tell you that himself.

We went to Theo's three-week well-baby pediatrician appointment on Monday. In two weeks, he's gained two pounds. In three weeks, I've lost 25. The kid wakes up four times a night to eat. Oof.

Author David Foster Wallace, who wrote Infinite Jest, the best book I read last year, is dead. Hanged himself. 46 years old. Shit.

…and where has the time gone? Oh yeah. Nursing. It's going a lot better than it did with Alexander. Actually, so far, most of the baby stuff has gone better than it did with Son #1. Thank God.

Theo lost six ounces when he was in the hospital from Sunday – Tuesday. Then on Wednesday, the visiting nurse came to our house and said he'd gained two ounces. By Friday, he was back up to his birth weight.

His pediatrician was astonished. “That never happens. How'd you do that?”

“He eats every 20 minutes,” I said.

Oh yeah, the trip to the pediatrician. The building where he works had some extensive flood damage from the Great Rains of Massachusetts this summer, so the main entrance was blocked off and we had to go in through a 45-degree angled ramp at the ambulance bay. And before that, we'd had to hike (hike!) a quarter-mile from the “new” parking area because the old parking area? It's just a field of dirt now, complete with bulldozers.

“Glad I'm not here for a broken leg,” I puffed, 10 paces behind Monstro.

By the time we reached the ambulance bay, he was getting concerned. “How you holding up?”

“If I can get in the door without crying, I'll be fine. Whoops, too late.”

So we filled out the paperwork at one area of the health center and then, because the main entrance was blocked off from the inside, too, we had to go to the bank of elevators on the left-hand-side of the building, took the elevator up one floor, crossed through the entire health center to the elevators on the right-hand-side of the building, and then took those elevators down a floor to the pediatric clinic.

I set the tone for the doctor visit by hitting up baby's doc for 600 mg of Motrin, which he happily had somebody fetch for me. Then we spent the next 15 minutes bitching about floods, college students, and delivering babies. Our baby doc (not to be confused at all with Baby Doc) was the last person to deliver a baby at the university health center and he regaled us with the tale:

It was Super Bowl Sunday and around 12:00 so the other doc on call for urgent care went off for lunch. Right after that a young woman came in, complaining of belly pain. I checked between her legs and there was something furry. “Please let that be a prolapsed bladder. A prolapsed bladder I can deal with,” I thought. Because I *hate* delivering babies. It's why I didn't go into family practice. But then I thought, “bladders aren't furry.” Typical story, didn't know she was pregnant. So the two nurses — neither of them very good — went into action. One tried warming blankets in the microwave, while the other hooked a suction hose to the oxygen tank and couldn't understand why it wasn't suctioning. I did what any normal person would do and called 911. By 12:45 the ambulance had taken her away, but I'd already delivered the baby, cut the cord, and suctioned out the kid by sucking on each nostril and spitting. I did not deliver the placenta — let the hospital take care of that. And then, five minutes later, the other doc came back from lunch, picking his teeth, and asked, “Did I miss anything?”

Have I mentioned that I LOVE our pediatrician?

He deemed the baby hale and hearty and handsome. We're going back in a couple of weeks to make sure baby continues to thrive. So long as he keeps eating the way he has been, I'm not concerned. 🙂

The baby is a week old today. It's hard to believe that this time one week ago I was headed to the hospital, with a quick stop at the Chester-Fried Chicken gas station to buy a phone card (can't use cell phones in a maternity ward as it messes with their monitoring equipment).

This is usually a very family-friendly blog but I have a lot to say about labor, breastfeeding, etc, so some of the subsequent posts might have a summary first and then you can decide whether you want to click over to the whole story.

So, about the labor experience this time…

It's important to note that last time Monstro and I went through this, we'd happily sucked up the pablum that is Spiritual Midwifery and consequently, after 26 hours of medically enhanced, turn-my-birth-plan-upside-down labor, we refiled that book to the fiction section of our personal library. What a load of hooey. The much-needed epidural was a nightmare and I started freaking out early this time that I'd be stuck with the same anesthesiologist — so much so that I specifically named him as a “not to darken my door” doc in my this-time birth plan.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Last Sunday, August 24th, was my due date and I awoke with mild contractions around 4:15 a.m. Got up, had a bowl of cereal, went back to bed around 5:30 to see if these were real contractions or fake ones.

At 6:30 I felt Monstro put his hand on my belly. “Are you contracting?”

I woke up enough to realize that yes, I was. “How did you know?”

“You were panting in your sleep.”

I told him that things had been happening for the past couple of hours and we rested for another half-hour, timing contractions that seemed to be coming about every seven minutes. Around 7:00, we got up, made some coffee, said “hey” to Lex, and I made some breakfast and called the on-call doc.

I told her my symptoms and she thought this could be the real thing, and told me to call if things started really moving and shaking.

We had breakfast and around 8:00 I started calling the people who'd agreed to help watch Lex once the time came. Called my Mom and Monstro went to go get her from her apartment (she doesn't drive). My friend Katie said she'd come whenever needed, followed by Marian, followed by Slash and Añira, followed by Emily if we needed someone to spend the night, because I wasn't very hopeful about the timeliness of this baby.

As the morning went on, the contractions increased, and so Katie came over at 10:00 and we kissed Lex goodbye and drove to the hospital (with the aforementioned stop at Chester-Fried to buy a calling card). Got checked in, did some paperwork, got checked by the doc, who pronounced me somewhere between 3- centimeters. Good start! They monitored me electronically for a while and then took me off the monitors so I could walk the halls. There's a nice handrail everywhere you stroll in the maternity ward, and I made good use of them. Monstro quickly inferred that a low-back rub would feel good and man, was he good at it. After a while, he suggested we go back to the room, and then I suggested he go to the cafe and get something to eat, as he'd nearly mowed down all the trail mix I'd brought for him. So after asking “are you sure” about 30 times, he took off to eat the World's Fastest Sandwich.

At some point during all this, around 1:00 the one doctor went off-call and another came on. Truth be told, the new doc hadn't been my favorite in the practice, probably because she's so freaking skinny I felt like Jumbo the Elephant next to her. But she checked me and even though two hours and many increasingly strong contractions had passed, I was still at 3 centimeters (which didn't sound anywhere near as hopeful as the “3-4 centimeters” the friendly doc had proclaimed). She offered to break my water to help the contractions do their stuff a little more significantly and then drew out a knitting needle the likes of which you wouldn't want anyone to brandish at you in a darkened alleyway (or brandish at your darkened alleyway, tee hee). The waters didn't break but “I weakened the membrane,” she said (eew).

Well, at that point, the contractions really started coming on fast-and-furious. I was standing and rocking and holding on to Monstro (who probably ate that sandwich in two bites while running back to the maternity ward, I don't know) and cursing and moaning and imagining scull rowers with every exhale, which worked really well to keep my shoulders down.

By around 1:45 I was pretty adamant that it was time for the drugs. I'd told the new doc that I'd be ready to try some Fentanol (sp?) first so she went to check the dosage of that. They would have to hook me to an IV of saline first, so my nurse (strangely enough, the same nurse who gave me crappy breastfeeding advice with Lex that left me with hamburger nipple) tried to start the IV. Tried. Granted, after my eight-tries-and-still-improperly-placed epidural experience of last time, I am now a “one-stick” patient: if you can't get it on your first try, you're out. No second chances. Though I really did think I gave the nurse two tries. Apparently I miscounted. So I demanded that the anesthesiologist, a very nice, calm-demeanored man who could not have been more different from the Dr. Doom of last time, start the IV. He came in sometime during the 2:00 hour and yeah, the first time *he* tried it, he blew through my vein and had to start over. At this point I was more than ready for the rubber tourniquet to be off. my. body and though I apologized for being “a nuisance” and “a hard stick,” he did finally place the IV.

That's when things got interesting.

He placed the IV and was readying his epidural tray-of-horrors while I was freaking out about the epidural and then the nurse looked over at me and my change in physicality.

“Uh,” she asked, “are you pushing?”

“I think so,” I replied.

My doctor came in and checked. I'd gone from 4-9 centimeters in 45 minutes. No wonder I was off-the-hook with shaking and freaking out. There was just a “little lip” that had to get pushed out of the way and I was rarin' to go. The anesthesiologist seemed a bit pissy that after all he went through to place the IV, he wasn't going to get to do that voodoo that he do so well and yeah, well, I was kind of pissy about that, too. A drug-free birth was *not* in my birth plan.

So my doctor is screaming for gloves and because it's 3:00 and change-of-shift, there are two nurses in the room, plus Monstro, me, my doc, and the gas-passer, who had been relegated to spotlight holder because I bitched about the room being too bright. Had to blow through a couple of contractions (to make way for that errant lip) and then it was off to the races. Monstro had one of my legs (after being shifted around by the 400 people in the room) and Hamburger Nipple Nurse had the other one and the doc was furiously trying to get gloves on to catch the baby before he made his entrance into the world.

Baby was born at 3:15 after three drug-free pushes.

Once he was out, I earned the respect of the new shift nurse by proclaiming, “I fucking did it!”

Hell yeah I did.

The cord was around his neck once so the doc dealt with that, and then he came out pooping so there was another doctor in the room to make sure he hadn't aspirated any meconium (he hadn't) and by this time, with the new baby and all, we were pushing maximum occupancy — I'm surprised the fire marshal didn't shut us down.

It took the doc a minute to get the baby going and that was about the longest minute of my life, but then he started crying and wailing and they put him on the baby-warmer tray to pink him up, and Monstro went over and introduced himself to his son, and then they pushed the baby warmer to me so my new son could hold my finger and he held on fast, this one.

We named him Theodore Edward and he looks a lot like his brother looked as a baby, though about a pound lighter and an inch shorter than Lex was. We're calling him Theo, which will remind some people (hi Becky) of “The Cosby Show” and some people (hi Dean-o) of “Die Hard” — “Theo, it's Christmas. It's a season of miracles.” — and some people (hi Nicki) of the Red Sox, and some people (hi me) of Teddy Roosevelt and my dad.

Monstro and I hung around and stared at the baby and took some pictures and then they used the otherwise-useless IV to push some pitocin and then the placenta came out and I didn't need any stitches and everything was groovy, so after a short time the “fuckin' did it” nurse took me to my recovery room, where I stayed for just under 48 hours. Monstro went home around 6:00 to hang out with Lex and tell him all about his baby brother. And I reveled in the knowledge that I somehow managed to endure without a complete spinal block. Though the after-birthing percoset was much appreciated.

All is well and the baby is fine and quite cute. We left the hospital yesterday.

Whoops, someone needs to eat. More soon!