Pregnancy, birth, and gardens.

For anyone who knows me well, you know that I get antsy about January-February when the first seed catalogs come out for the year. I spend hours poring over them and dreaming about how the plants will grow in the garden, how the garden will have to expand to allow for one more variety or how the weird heirloom varieties will taste. I dream of planting. I begin planting indoors three months before it's warm enough to put them in the ground outdoors. I plan and plan and plan. It's a sacred thing.

In years past I believed that you had to apply pesticides to every plant to keep the bugs and such off of them. I bought broad spectrum sprays to kill aphids and probably (shamefully, I admit) did my share of damage to the local bee population because I didn't know there was anything different. This is what I knew, and it worked, and I was okay with that. I had a friend who shared a book with me on companion planting after seeing my arsenal of chemical warfare, and I began to see not only a natural way of increasing my yields, but it gave me a way of fitting more and healthier plants into the garden bed by letting them work the way they were made to work with one another, complementing one another's weaknesses with a strength. They protected each other, and brought beautiful fruit into my garden, and I left them alone to do it. It was magical in many ways.

This year, in keeping with the new and natural (normal) way of gardening, I planned, I planted, and let the plants be. They weathered storms with their companions and I waited in childlike anticipation for the first fruits to be ready to share with my family... then came mice from the vacant house next door. They nibbled on each partially ripe tomato one night, making the first dozen or so ripe ones inedible for humans. I was sad, but still determined to do nothing because gardens are a gift from God and surely I couldn't have eaten all those tomatoes myself... so for a week it went that as a tomato became ripe, just slightly ripe, the mice would chew holes. I was frustrated, and decided to do something I rarely do. I started plucking every mildly pinkish-orange tomato off the vines before the mice could get to it. We bought mousetraps and placed them between each plant, then resumed the picking schedule to get to them before the mice could... even after the mice stopped nibbling. I slowed down though when I realized that I was essentially doing to my garden what Western medicine is doing to pregnant women, that line of thinking I nearly accepted back in the day.

Four years ago I was content to believe that babies were born in hospitals. I had spent hours watching "A Baby Story" on TLC with my dorm-mates in college, I had four hospital-born siblings, and the one homebirth I had ever heard of was horribly tragic- the little boy's heart wasn't working properly and he had ended up with a severe case of cerebral palsy. I was secure in the belief that babies were born in hospitals, and that's how it was done. Birth was terrifying and filled with doctors and emergencies, because that's what the TV showed me. (Perhaps this is why I had to wait as long as I did to conceive a baby with the tenacity to go full-term... I do believe things happen for a reason.) Then I got to know K, a vibrant, snarky, weird, wonderful, earth-mama hippie-type, who was going to have a home birth. My goodness. HOME BIRTH!! She wasn't going to see the doctors. She wasn't going to be part of the machines. No needles. No prohibited activities. Her midwife looked at her as a human, not a collection of possible calamities. Unheard of. I thought she was crazy... at first.

Then she had a beautiful, healthy baby girl at home. Safely. No interference. She was fine. Her baby was fine. Nobody had to release her to do anything, she just laid down in her own bed to rest afterwards and her family was already there to be with her. Hmmmm... then I read her birth story and I was hooked. I already had a pretty healthy fascination for birth in general (though I have no idea why, I just naturally stalked pregnant people, maybe in hopes their fertility would rub off on me, maybe it's just because they're doing one of the coolest things on the planet), but then I began to read the birth stories out there and learn about the REAL normal. I understood that there was a time and place for the hospital, but that for every woman the hospital was neither the place nor even a good idea... and that for me, I was not a hospital woman.

The problem I see with the hospital is that the doctors treat women not with the honor, respect, and normalcy that they deserve in birth. Instead, they are treated like my tomato field- they must be plucked early- get them in out of the field before *something* happens. So, women are bullied into inductions or C-sections they neither need or want because they *could* have a big baby. They are told that their bodies aren't going to work for them as designed because there's just so much at stake... what if you go to term and something bad happens, but you could have avoided that bad thing by just doing what you're told now?

I hear from these women later that their babies are just fine, and for the most part they are. If you discount any bonding, breastfeeding, or emotional issues mother and child may experience from this method of birthing, yes, everyone is fine. Everyone has a pulse, that's fine. Everyone came home, that's fine. The doctor saved the day he or she helped create, and that's sorta fine.

My tomatoes ripening in the windowsill are fine, too... but I wonder as I stare at them sitting there, could they maybe have been better than fine if I'd left them alone and let them decide when they were going to be ready? If I had just accepted that nature happens and that not every tomato makes it out of the garden unscathed, maybe those tomatoes could have not only been fine, but outstanding, awesome, amazing, or other great adjective.

So, I guess there's a parallel between my love of green and growing things and my fascination with birth and pregnancy. If we learn to just leave things alone, maybe we'll come to expect that the unexpected is amazing, and amazing is better than fine.

-L.

Circumcision, or "your son's going to hate you when he's older."

So, being a new parent is fun. I've heard it said that veteran parents view a new parent as a dangerous idiot with a small person who needs to be protected by their advice. I've already been subjected to the clucking of tongues and shaking of heads for some parenting decisions I've made out of sheer research and being a part of the counterculture of birth and child rearing.

If I were to give myself a grade thus far, I'd give myself at least a B+ for being able to weed through the BS and smile and nod through the conversations with older, experienced (read: my children were born 30 years ago and this is how it should go) veteran parents try to give 'time honored advice'. I realize the accessibility of information was not as high a generation ago as it is today, but some advice is just plain awful.

From my mental reject pile: "oh, you should have been giving him rice cereal at two weeks to help him sleep! (random stranger)" "don't hold him too much, babies shouldn't be too dependent. You'll spoil him. (my birth mom)" "you gotta let them cry until they stop, my doctor told me so and you turned out fine (mom)." "you can't let them sleep with you, that's just wrong (random stranger)" "formula is so much more convenient than breast feeding (coworker)" "you HAVE to get a boy circumcised. Have to. He'll give his wife yeast infections and other problems... (co worker)" "If you don't get your boy cut, he'll hate you when he's older and the other boys laugh at him.(from several people, actually.)" I could do a post on each of these, and who knows- if I'm feeling frisky I just might. The one that concerns me most right now is that last one.

See, a few days ago I was having a light-hearted conversation with my dad (something I really need to find a way to do more often) on the phone. He wanted to know how E was doing and whether or not he'd peed on either of us yet. Unless you consider the couple of overflowing diapers we've had in the morning, nope. So, innocently I said, "He's uncircumcised so that's not a problem. It slows the flow and points it down instead of everywhere." Quite pleased with my own answer and not realizing that this was about to spiral into something, I smiled at my son wiggling around on the floor.

Dad: "What? Why the hell not?"

Me: "well, it makes sense. It's not MY penis. It's his."

Dad: "You really should have gotten that taken care of. He's going to hate you when he's older."

Me: "If he wants it when he's older, he can get it when he's older. Where I gave birth, it's not

part of the package and insurance feels that's cosmetic."

Dad: "your insurance sucks. Maybe you should look for better insurance."

Me: "they repaid me 60% of my birth cost. I think I'll keep them."

Dad: "You still should have gotten it done when he was little and he couldn't feel it."

Me: "Seriously? Yes, he would have felt it."

Dad: "Maybe. He wouldn't remember it though. Later he'll remember it and it'll hurt more."

Me: "So, I should have had a third of my son's penis removed so he wouldn't have remembered

it and couldn't have pain meds to deal with it other than tylenol or motrin?"

Dad: "He'll be embarrassed about it later."

Me: "aaaaaanyway... he's doing good. Growing. He's a happy kid."

Originally, I was leaving the decision up to my husband. I figured that the other person in the house with a penis would ultimately make the best decision on what to do with a penis. I don't have one. Well, technically I could say I had one for the better part of nine months while I was baking a boy, but generally speaking, the other twenty eight years of my life I have not had one and don't know what to do with one in terms of ownership and maintenance. I didn't put much research into it other than to read a few posts at peaceful parenting halfheartedly, I just figured I'd squirrel away the money for the procedure (what it would cost outside of insurance) since he wanted to have it done so his son would not have to worry about women or other guys laughing about his intact penis later on.

Then he was born. Things changed.

Suddenly I cared very much about what happened to this little guy's parts. Suddenly it didn't matter that I didn't have one of my own to maintain, but it DID matter to me that he did. It was his, and he should have a say in what happens to it. Also, I couldn't afford it since I was taking extra time off work, and most of our tax refund was going into house repairs and debt repayment. So, I never made an appointment with the good doctor. Time passed, our son grew, and grew, and grew. At no time in the last eight months has he requested that we remove that skin. He's not had a single infection, he's not hosed an entire room, he doesn't know that daddy's penis is different, but he does seem to know that it is his and that he likes having it attached as diaper change and bath time usually involves me repeating over and over "please let go of your penis." Can we interpret it as gratefulness for having it still there? Perhaps.

So, in eight months of learning about my son and his intactness, here's what I have to say on the matter.

We as parents are put here to teach, look after the best interests, and to protect our offspring from trauma and danger until they are old enough to go off on their own to do things their way. God delivers them to us in one piece and we're supposed to try to keep them that way even when they seem bent on self destruction once they learn to move on their own. It's counterintuitive to accept the responsibility of parenthood, then to reject it completely by handing over your new and confused baby boy to your trusted doctor of choice and saying, "just a little off the end there, doc!" How are we to build trust and security for our babies by doing this?

While some religious sects advocate for the removal of a boy's foreskin, not all do. Now it is done routinely and 33% of all US newborns are circumcised (down from 50% a few years ago)... but how often are parents fully informed about the risks of such a surgery or even have a good reason to do it? It is a fallacy to believe that a newborn can feel no pain, yet many people still believe that they cannot (http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/09/090927130048.htm). It's a fallacy to believe that circumcision prevents STDs- no, proper precautions such as condoms or simply abstaining does (www.intactamerica.org). It's a fallacy to believe that a son should resemble his father in that respect, because no two circumcisions look the same. It's not going to protect him from bladder infections, ridicule, or anything else. It's not going to be any easier to 'keep clean' if you have it removed.

Removing it is however going to put your son at risk for permanent damage which CAN make him hate you later. A botched circumcision can affect his sexual performance later in life or ability to urinate (infocirc.org). It can damage nerves and sensitivity which will affect his level of enjoyment... that may not matter to a mom or dad right now- it's hard to imagine your sweet, innocent infant as a grown man with desires and 'needs' right now, but you might want to consider it. The worst possible outcome is a life-threatening hemorrhage. There are very important blood vessels in that area, and snipping one could very well bring your new parenting bliss to a screeching halt. Yes, death is a possible outcome of circumcision as with any major surgery, because newborns are tiny and it doesn't take much. What would be a mere flesh wound to his mommy or daddy is dangerous for him, but we risk it anyway for reasons that make no sense (http://www.drmomma.org/2010/05/death-from-circumcision.html).

For parents who have already made this decision, I know it can't be undone and I also know that you likely didn't have access to the information at the time. I almost decided to do it despite my midwife cautioning against it and an awesome birth instructor having a very open discussion about it. For those expecting a boy, or recently blessed with a boy, please consider before you do it. If you need a little extra help, take a gander at this- prepared by doctors. http://www.doctorsopposingcircumcision.org/pdf/shortguide03-04.pdf

-L.

International Breastfeeding Week.

I had one of those oddly awesome encounters this evening with one of my neighbor ladies. We were out for a little family walk, husband, son, and myself. One of the long-time residents was out enjoying the mosquitoes and early lightning bugs and came over to the sidewalk to say hello to the boy and to us. This is pretty common, really. The ladies love my son, and my son, in turn, loves the ladies. Anyway, she recognized us as the 'folks who live in that big stone house on the corner over there' and launched into the tale of how her husband had wanted to buy this house when it was for sale, but she'd lived long enough in their current house that if she was going to move it would have to be MUCH farther... and hey, how old is that there baby? He reminded her of her first born, a whopper who came home from the hospital at over 10 lbs. The other three were little nine-pounders like our guy, but that first one, boy. Big. (This is the part where my husband the home birth activist chimes in with "Our kid was born in our HOUSE!! It was awesome!") Upon hearing about our homebirth adventures she brightened up and said "Well, you know what? What's gone around is coming back around. That's something. Would you believe that when I brought home my first boy and was breastfeeding it was taboo. Now women out and about just flip 'em out anywhere and pop their kids on. And you guys. At home? Now that's something." I grinned. I don't even know her name yet, she was more excited to talk than to learn names tonight, but I love her spirit. I love that I was talking to another fellow renegade who just said 'no' to formula, despite its popularity and social acceptability and gave a great gift to all four of her kids. She did this before there were lactation consultants and La Leche League. She did it before it was okay to nurse kids wherever and whenever they wanted to be nursed, and against the approval of her mother. That's big.

It's totally different than the climate I enjoy today. When I went home to visit my family in December, two weeks after E came into the world- my whole family embraced that the boy would not be receiving anything but breastmilk until he's ready for something more. My grandma even told me stories about nursing all four of her boys, and said "you don't need to worry about a cover here, just keep talking, he'll keep eating." My own mother nursed me, my paternal grandmother nursed four healthy boys, and I get to pass that gift down to my own child. I don't even have to stay home to do it like my neighbor likely had to do. I have a nifty little battery powered pump to take to work with me so I can still provide for my child. I also have laws to protect my rights out in the world as I feed my boy. I have women like my neighbor to thank for that.

L.