Four episodes of tears

Rose is four months and one day old. At 7.36 this morning I was woken by gurgling and cooing. I untangled myself from our new ugly striped flannel sheets and followed the noise. She was lying skewed in her crib, legs in the air, with an enormous gummy smile. It was, undoubtedly, the best way to wake up in the morning.

In a few hours, B will be home from New Zealand and my odyssey into single parenthood will be over for the time being. It has been quite a roller coaster. I have cried four times; one, writing a miss you email to Brent, two, Rose wouldn't go down (but I quickly realized because she needed to burp), three, top chef finale, and four, I can;t remember but I know there was another time. This emotion obviously means I've been living close to the edge these past nine days. But, I did it. I have been able to look after an infant, dog and house alone simultaneously without causing pain or destruction to any of them. Except the scorch mark on the coffee table that is currently hidden by a coaster.

Together is definitely better than alone. I'm ready for a weekend of the three of us and less nappy changing.

On Thursday, President Obama accepted his Nobel Peace Prize in Oslo. The speech reminded me that he is a leader worth following. His considered view of humanity rings true for me. Here'e one example from the speech that I would have highlighted:

"But we do not have to think that human nature is perfect for us to still believe that the human condition can be perfected. We do not have to live in an idealized world to still reach for those ideals that will make it a better place. The non-violence practiced by men like Gandhi and King may not have been practical or possible in every circumstance, but the love that they preached -- their fundamental faith in human progress -- that must always be the North Star that guides us on our journey."

Of course we will make mistakes. The important thing, as Obama is saying, is to not repeat then again and again, but to learn from them and become better. You can forgive yourself if you learn from your mistakes. You can't forgive yourself if you make mistakes and fail to change.

Many different hats

I'm pretty pleased with myself. Seven days of being a solo mum down, three more to go. So far I have stuck to my plan of at least one social interaction a day. I have been to breast-feeding group mum and dad group, book club, explored Whole Foods, had brunch, made wreaths at the biology department. Having Rose has really pushed me to get out and do stuff. I suppose I can't stay hidden inside anymore, she will become socially inept. No more backing out of invites. Thing is, I'm really enjoying myself. It is lovely to be with a group of new mums and it is lovely to go into school and be a teacher. I'm enjoying my different hats, but I still do like my alone time too.

Article about marriage that has me thinking these past few days

I miss you

I really miss you. My man is not here. There are no trident wrappers on tables or dishes in the sink. There are no warm hands reaching out to hug me when I get back into bed in the middle of the night. There are no lips asking for smooches or lips to give smooches to. There is no one to listen to Rose laugh or scream. There are no cheeky giggles after farts. There is no body for me to wrap my legs around. But, there are cashmere sweaters that I can get lost in and sock I can wear without you knowing. There is Skype and photographs. There is your smell. But you are not hear and I miss you.

Dear Santa

Today I learned about "Operation Santa Claus." It was started in the 1920s by workers in a New York post office. Every year the post office would receive hundreds of letters to Santa from poor children. The workers began to put their money together to send presents to the children. Now, members of the public are able to go to post offices and look through "Dear Santa" letters, choose up to ten and send gifts to the children described in them.
I went to the post office and chose two letters today. The first is from a single mother who lost her job this year; she has a four year old girl and a nine year old boy. The second is written by a friend of a single father with a one year old and a three year old; the father does not know the friend has written the letter for him. The cynical part of me wants to think that these folks may just be lobbying for some free stuff. But the Christmas loving sentimental side of me is thinking that buying these kids some gifts ($10 limit) and sending them with a note from "Santa" is a pretty simple and wonderful thing to do. So I am off to amazon to buy Rose some stuff and spend $40 on some kids I will never know, but may be able to make smile.

congo gold

Democratic Republic of Congo and its civil war was highighted on 60 minutes today. The country is rich in natural minerals such as copper, some metal needed for computer chips and gold. The gold is causing war. Men, women and children dig into mountains for less than two dollars a day to find minuscule nuggets of gold. They are managed by various militia that fund a war with the mined minerals. The gold is sent to Uganda, who sends it to Dubai where it becomes jewlery, is sent to the US and ends up packaged in plush boxes and opened on Christmas morning.
5 million people have died in the Congo.

STTN

She has done it twice. From 10.30pm until 7.00am. The first night I woke, looked at the clock and registered the red numbers - 6.47. "She's done it" "You didn't have to get up?" "No. she's done it." And there she was askew in her crib, sleepy grins with red rimmed eyes. I felt fantastic. She had been waking up once or twice a night. I would feed her and she would easily return to sleep, but the interrupted sleep had a greater effect on me than I thought. It was my first full nights sleep since August 9th. She is, without doubt, the greatest squidge. I don't know if it will continue, but I'm thrilled that it happened.

On my plate

On my plate today was:

Slices of organic chicken breast meat
An organic chicken leg
Three roast potatoes
Two brussel sprouts
Two roasted carrots
Hominy
Stuffin (Stuffing cooked in a muffin tin)
Green bean casserole (not so good)
Sweet potato mash
Cranberry sauce
Poultry gravy

All homemade over two days. It was followed a couple of hours later with a slice of apple pie and cream. A couple of hours after that I returned for another small plate of all the above and another slice of pie.

A quiet Thanksgiving

It is the day before Thanksgiving and we are not with family. It is just the three of us, at home in Philadelphia, thousands of miles from anyone who shares the same genes as us. We did go to Kansas a couple of weeks ago and shared turkey and Keith's incredibly sweet sweet potatoes with family. Now it is just us and it seems too quiet.

The Road

We finished reading the road tonight. It ended on an image of mountain trout. Fish that had the history of the world marked on their backs, including the tiny portion that included man. The boy does not represent God, he represents hope, innocent hope. That is why the man continued, to save the boy, to save hope. Without hope for something better or something more then life is extremely difficult to live. Everyone hopes for something more, something better, something to stay the same. The woman had lost hope and she couldn't continue living.

The writing was so beautifully raw. The dialogue consisted of one or two word mutterings back and forth - lots of "okay" and "i don't know". It was conversations of two real people, the bulk of the dialogue being left in the spaces around the words, the things not said. The image of the road - always present and always leading them on. The idea that they had to keep going as long as the road kept going, as long as hope kept going.

Winter walk

It felt like winter today. On the afternoon walk, I power walked through cold rain and nasty gusts of wind. But I was cosy. Rose was nestled against me in the carrier and we were both cocooned in B's enormous red raincoat. I probably look a little frightening; hooded and strangely obese. Occasionally I hear sweet sighs from my little girl and I cannot help but lay my hand on her back. Gus still tries to take advantage as I do not have a clear view down to him. He gets yanked more these days, our baby days. He manages to find morsels of god-knows-what in the decaying leaves. We return home quickly - the walks understandably shorter than their summer counterparts- and enter the artificial heat. A winter bonus.

Routines to make you go crazy

You have a baby and you receive a lot of advice about raising said baby. Breast is best. Formula feed babies sleep though the night earlier. Vaccinations lead to autism. Not vaccinating leads to outbeaks of long defeated diseases like whooping cough. Feed your baby when you baby demands to be fed. Put your baby on a routine from birth. On and on and on.

It's clear that there is advice out there for everyone and you choose to listen to the help that suits the type of person you are. The bottom line of it all is that the end-result is a happy and healthy baby - except from the crazy ass non-vaccination advice. I am very clearly someone who thrives on a schedule. We have, therefore, attempted to put Rose on a schedule. We have a book by a British child care author Gina Ford. Ford subscribes to a Nazi-like regime about the baby sleeping, feeding and playing times and also when Mum should eat, sleep, and "drink a large glass of water." Obviously there are a lot of people who would throw her in the bin immediately. I, however, am appreciating having my day organized - the stress is coming for Rose having not read the book.

As Rose is a baby she sleeps when she should be awake and is awake when she should sleep. It has made me crazy. But I have taken a deep breath and tried to gain some perspective. On the whole Rose is doing beautifully. She has one stretch of 5 - 6 hours each night. I get up for one feed and Brent does another so we both get a good chunk of sleep. I'll keep working with the routine because to me it makes sense - ensure that day is very different than night, feed when the baby wakes up (our biggest problem I think is that Rose doesn't seem to feed for long enough and need topping up before naps - a bad sleep association), start daily rituals early like bath and massage, make sure the baby isn't awake for too long.

I like the routine, but it leaves me little space to go on any real outings because she just falls asleep. As she gets older I'm sure she'll be able to stay awake for longer. We have visitors for the next three weeks so I am concerned the routine will be difficult to maintain. But she is our daughter and I need to make sure she is the priority and not entertaining guests by guiding them around the sights of Pennsylvania. Be strong Mummy!

The first month

This is my first day alone with Rose. I'm holding it together, but there is a simmering queasiness in my stomach. For the last six weeks I have had my Mum to help me with everything from endless cups of tea to burping duty. I have had it easy. Reality begins today. Not that it has been difficult so far, though it is only 12.48. She is down for her lunchtime nap, I have managed to take us all out for Gus's lunchtime walk and I've even emptied the dishwasher. I'm still just waiting for to all to crumble. Hopefully, I will become more confident as the time goes by.

So not only am I officially a mother, I am also officially a stay-at-home mother (until February anyway.) After a summer of complaining about being bored, I now feel very comfortable with my lack of work responsibility. There is not one ounce of me that misses working. The social side definitely, but the graft absolutely not! Time, however, is flying. February will be here before I know it so I'm making an attempt to record the best bits.

The six weeks with Mum allowed me to watch and learn an expert. I have gleaned so many indispensable bits of advice. The bath and massage was a highlight. They recommend that you give newborns only one or two baths a week as their skin can dry out very easily. Rose's first bath was unforgettably fantastic. We filled the kitchen with the essential bath time equipment - bath, infant insert, baby wash, wash clothes - two for body, one for face, two hooded towels, changing mat, clean onesie, two nappies, massage lotion and baby. It amazes me how much stuff is needed. We strip Rose down. I'm completely clueless about how it is going to work, Brent is armed with camera and staying out of the way and Mum takes control. We all hold our breath as Mum lowers a pink naked Rose into the bubbles. We wait for the wail. And wait. She absolutely loves it. Sitting like a queen, she takes everything in as Mum confidently and I nervously pour water over her little legs, tummy and arms. The crying starts when we take her out. It has been the same for every bath time since. We now pour jugs of water on her head and she just looks at us with her huge eyes. She's a superstar and we're are getting more confident thanks to Mum.

A review of the first month has to unfortunately include our hospital stay. I don't really want to write about it. Rose came home on day three and was straight back in the hospital on day four because of bad jaundice. We were in CHOP NICU for five days and it sucked. The care was too good - the jaundice was cleared up in two days, but we were kept in because of a concern with her blood oxygen level. She was connected to beeping machines, pricked and prodded constantly, covered in wires so each time I looked at her I wanted to cry. She was absolutely fine, but the last thing I wanted to see was my brand new daughter in a ICU. A tough week. We were finally sent home with a heart rate monitor that has been a royal pain. We are meant to have it on constantly, but that means more wires. We now only put the thing on at night and Rose is wire free during the day. It makes cuddling so much easier and we are convinced that the whole thing is unnecessary anyway. Hopefully, they will free us from the monitor and it's wires soon!

Rose is now almost 10 pounds and looks chubby. Her cheeks and chin are downright flabby! She is giving Dad the occasional smile - none for Mum yet. I think that means that she doesn't love me. I'm feel content and a little smug that my beautiful little girl is asleep upstairs and I get to look after her. But we'll see how the rest of today goes.

Birth Story

Sixteen day old Rose is asleep in her bassinet and life has completely changed for the best possible reason. Being a mother is an absolute joy, but before I get too caught up in it I wanted to record the birth story before it all becomes a blur.

Sixteen days ago (Sunday August 9th) I had spent the morning tidying and feeling very pregnant. My bump was making it difficult to sleep and I kept waking myself up because I was on my back. On the Saturday, we had enjoyed a walk along the river and spent the evening clearing and organizing the basement. I apparently wasn't happy to just sit on the couch. (I was planing to do that in the last two weeks of my pregnancy!) Sunday rolled around. Lunchtime rolled around and I saw an afternoon was lazing ahead of me, lay down on the couch and felt liquid coming out of me - liquid I apparently couldn't control. I sprang up. Running up the stairs, desperately clenching my pelvic floor, Brent called out "there's some on the couch." I immediately thought - or wanted to believe - that it was just pee. More kept coming and I made a hilarious attempt to collect it in a new contact lens case.

We both sat in the bedroom and nervously discussed our choices. Both of us were sure it was just pee - though I was pretty sue it was coming out of the wrong hole. The doc also was sure it was just pee, but sent us to the hospital anyway. Just in case. Cue some desperate bag packing and deep breathes. At the hospital, I was examined and immediately told I was in labour. What. My mind just kept repeating oh shit oh shit oh shit. There's no way you can be ready, but I certainly wasn't ready.

Because my water had broken, or membrane had ruptured in doctor speak, it was important to get things moving quickly. My doc gave me three options for induction which I couldn't really take in. I ended up with the drug pitocin and a catheter I was sure they were calling a volleyball - turned out to be a Folley Bulb. Five hours in and nothing was hurting too badly. My doc arrived andchecked me - I think I was three cm. He upped the pitocin and removed the bulb, things began to hurt. They kept asking me one scale of 1 - 10 where is your pain. I had no idea as I hadn't really experienced much pain before. The contractions felt like period pain intensified. I found bending over, warm rice on my lower back and my darling husband counting one thousand and one one thousand and two, one thousand and three helped a lot. It got pretty bad - I wanted to get a taste of what it could feel like - and I asked for the epidural. That magical thing came and for the next 10 hours I read and slept. Nobody had told me that was possible. Our calm nurse, Vanessa, kept coming in and checking vitals, moving the monitors, asking if I wanted anything. I was calm and happy, something I really did not expect.

At 4. 45am on August 10th 2009, the beautiful resident came in checked me. She could not feel my cervix, my doc came to double check and confirmed. It was time to push. I started to shake. This was real. There were some tears. The pushing scared me, with the epidural I could feel a growing sensation of the contraction, but struggled to know exactly when to push. Pushing itself was hard because I really wasn't sure where I was pushing. I felt relieved when I was told that was an "awesome push, whatever you did there do it again" or "great job". I was lying there clueless. Unfortunately this experience went on for three hours. About two hours in I was told another 15 minutes. That gave me a goal that quickly went and I started to get frustrated and tired. Turns out that the baby was the wrong way up and had got stuck on my pelvic bone. I don;t know how close I was to being taken for a C Section. There was a lot of discussions happening out in the hallway. Finally, however, a few huge pushes and some help from the vacuum, Rose popped out.

She was immediately laid out on my stomach. She was slimy with white and red liquid, but I started stroking and talking to my little girl. She started to cry and for a few moments the whole family was crying. At the moment of her birth four or five extra people entered the room and she was whisked away for her tests and tidy. She came back bundled and beautiful. We had a perfect, healthy daughter.

I look back on my labour with fond memories! The pushing was, without doubt, the most uncomfortable, frustrating part, but I certainly didn't hate any moment of the nineteen hour epic. The following two days were spent on the post-partum floor. Breastfeeding was tough, but we had a super nurse who got us going - at least while in the hospital. It is clear that labour is really not the difficult part - the hard stuff comes after. You have a baby to look after.

Health-care La La Land

The Obama administration is attempting to reform America's health care system. How they plan to do this is highly complex and downright confusing. No matter how many articles, charts, and graphics I attempt to understand, I still emerged perplexed. I'm pretty sure that the bottom line is to provide insurance to all Americans though a number of convoluted programs. This costs money and threatens the health insurance tsars in charge of the current ridiculous system. An elderly lady was turned away because the doctor's office this week because the practice did not accept her insurance. If she has insurance, she should to have access to see a doctor at any office - isn't that a fundamental right?

Now, however, the debate has gone completely into la-la land. Instead of focusing on getting the reform passed, the media is filled with stories and videos of protesters heckling politicians in health-care reform town hall meetings. The protesters appear to be republican-backed citizens focused on stopping any kind of reform. Why they don't want the reform is very difficult to determine. The news paper articles don't seem to be explaining the protesters motives, instead they detail the shouting and fighting. Great. Many people are claiming that the protesters are being controlled by republican lobbying firms. So it is all, again, political bullshit and the media is playing into there hands. Why give these people any press? Why can't we focus on what is important - educating people on what the reform is actually trying to do and not sensationalize the actions of a few emotionally charged republicans? It would be a depressing if the reform fails because of these dirty tactics. Surely the Obama administration and the politicians driving the reform is strong enough to resist these attacks. Why are the important bottom lines always lost in the bullshit and why do people listen to the bullshit?

Some commentators are saying the motives driving the protesters is racism. The protesters are predominantly white and the people set to gain the most from the reform (the uninsured) are not white. If this is true then the whole situation dives even deeper into la-la land. Who, in their right mind, would begrudge anyone having access to medical care whatever color their skin happens to be? But again this gets back to the fact that it is so difficult to actually discover the real motives of these folks in the media. Maybe I just need to look harder - but why should I have to do that? Shouldn't their motives be clear?

Back to things I can actually control. Our interaction with the health care system has been equally as complex this week. I have seen my doctor twice this week and had my fifth ultrasound. On Monday, my check-up showed me to be measuring slightly small again (but my sneaking suspicion is my doctors had the wrong dates in his head) and I was advised to have 5 - 6 hours of rest a day and avoid unnecessary activity. I had planned to go to the zoo the next day and stupidly told him so. He advised me not to go. I went anyway - I think my doctor is being a little too careful. On Thursday, I went to the ultrasound. It showed her to be in the 57% percentile for size (7 pounds and 1 ounce for 37 weeks and 5 days). She is absolutely fine.

Finally, yesterday we met with the doctor again to discuss labour and delivery. He is a proponent of early induction to reduce the risk of C-section. A wonderful idea that means a very long, painful and highly medicated labour. We talked it though and our bottom line is not before Mum arrives. I would not be forgiven if we scheduled the birth before her arrival. We did, however, discuss August 25th as a potential induction date if she is still hanging out in there. I would be happy for that to happen. However, for the past 24 hours my BH contractions have been increasingly more frequent and powerful. I have had some cramping and a definite increase in discomfort. I don't know whether she is going to be happy to stay put until the 25th! Whatever happens I can't wait - though considering the tiny level of discomfort I'm feeling right now, this birth thing is going to hurt like a mother f****r.

The Male is Away

My husband left this morning for a three day trip to New Mexico. A few weeks ago I flipped at the thought of him leaving this close to D-day, which was incredibly unfair as I was supportive when he booked it. You have to love these hormones. Chances of my going into labour in the next two days are minimal. I am, however, feeling incredibly big and increasingly uncomfortable and doing normal things like walking the dog is like being asked to run 5K without training. I have a bowling ball in my belly. My swollen feet are doing an excellent impersonation of two flat-fish. My rings are stuck. Emotionally, though, I am still pretty upbeat.

Against doctor's orders, I went to the zoo this morning. They supply teachers with free passes in the summer months - apparently 34,000 teachers signed up for the program. Somehow I don't think the zoo will be getting 34,000 field trip bookings. I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it and felt a particular connection to the pregnant/new mother animals. Firstly, the female orangutan had decided she was not coming out today - they believe she may be pregnant. I know how she feels. Also, the natural instinct to keep the little ones free from germs was on view at the otter enclosure. A new sea otter Mum was furiously cleaning the bums of her four newborns as we went passed. That will be me, but with nappy cream and not my tongue!

I got home, though, and crashed out. There was a half-hour nap on one couch, a move to another room, and then a half-hour nap on the other couch. Pregnant women are just like the animals at the zoo, an average of 20 hours of sleep is needed for us to function. I'm embracing my inner animal, especially while the male is away.

Skyping and big reading

Skype is something I am not yet comfortable with yet. Today, there have been two grandmother-to-be sykpe conversations. Well, less conversations and more belly showings. There is something very off putting at going from the comfortable faceless world of phone calls to the all-out-there-to-view Skype call. You really shouldn't feel you have to brush your hair before you ring your brother, should you? I find it hard to talk to the person while there I am staring back at me on a little screen. The conversation is always so stilted and frequently comes to a complete standstill as the monitor is adjusted and heads are centered. Also, my family haven't quite been able to get the sound to work on their end so we both have mobile phones to our ears anyway, or have been known to resort to writing notes to each other, some of them backwards, and holding them up to the screen. But, I'm sure as I use it I will learn to love it. There is something lovely about being able to see my familia - I haven;t been home since Christmas so I'm feeling a little England-homesick. Plus, with the baby coming it will be perfect we can stick her up to the camera and everyone can coo. I don't have to be on screen at all.

I have taken it upon myself to read the BBC's list of top 100 books by the time I am 35. I have read 27 of them so far and about 8 of those are Roald Dahl books. (It is a very British list.) I'm quite disappointed at my starting number, though I guess I got into this reading game late. I am currently in the final act of The Woman in White. Who killed Anne Catherick? What is Glyde's secret? Will Laura survive? I'm wallowing in the intricateness nature of the plot and the differing narrative voices. Mr. Fairlie is the most poisonous character I've come across in a long time. It is refreshing to be taken on such a convuluted, lengthy story. It is also perfect for my pining for all things British. I'm going to get back to it right now, while my dearest husband fixes a decidedly non-British dinner of ribs, corn bread, corn and beans.

Midday musing

The neighborhood in the middle of the day is a quiet place. It's almost spooky. People walk the streets on their own. Plumbers and Fed-Ex vans populate the road. Where are all the kids? Surely they can't all be at camp, can they? I wonder how many people are actually home. You have pregnant women who are cleaning everything in preparation for their babies. Mums at home with babies. People working from home. I'm impressed that those folks get anything done. Maybe they are the folks walking the pavement alone at the middle of the day - going to a cafe for coffee and company. People who are sick. People who are on vacation. People who do not have a job. People who work at night. There must be a surprising amount of people home right now at 12.27 on a Friday afternoon.

I imagine that most of the at home people are on their own. Lots of houses with one lone person working, thinking. Is the TV on in these houses? These are the people buying those small soap magazines you find at the supermarket checkout. The ones that are dedicated to one soap. How many people are napping? Why does a nap always happen on the days that you are not really doing much, instead of the crazy busy work days. I guess because you have time to nap. Naps always make me feel worse. I wake up disorientated and annoyed. I'd love to master the 10 minute power nap - mine always seem to stretch to 30 minutes or more. If you add that to the 9 hours I get every night, I'm a lazy bones. Oh, sleep how I will miss thee.

Selfish writing

I am thinking about how I want my classroom and lessons to improve and doing a lot of teacher book reading for inspiration. I just started a book about keeping a writing notebook. The premise seems to be regular writing nurtures a love and comfort of the craft that in turn leads to deeper, more significant final pieces. Certainly, after a year of painful five paragraph essays this sounds highly appealing. The book starts out by explaining how to launch a notebook and how to stop the inevitable comment "I have nothing to write about." This hit home with me. I think about this blog and that thought goes through my head each and every time. What about me and my life is important enough to write down here - a place where anyone can access it? But, as the book explains, just the process of writing helps you to see significance where you couldn't see it before. The more you do it, the more worthwhile an activity it becomes for you, and maybe at some point, for your reader as well. Writing is a selfish activity, in whatever form it describes something about the author.

So, back to thinking about teaching, a major motivation for me is to join the students in the activities I assign them. If daily free writing is one of those activities then I need to start keeping my own writing notebook. I think I already have right here. And it feels good.

July is slipping away and the baby is growing. I just updated the whiteboard and we have 28 days until D-Day. Four weeks left of being a young woman. Four weeks until I become a young mother. I'm spending my days waiting - filling in time with lovely activities like reading 19th Century British literature (I'm halfway through A Woman in White"), starting a book club at school, pre-natal yoga, seeing friends for lunch, watching TV shows via Netflix online streaming, walking Gus in the humid Philly weather, napping, watching my belly shake and stretch with each little movement. There is no pressure on me right now. It still makes me feel guilty and I list things I could be doing in my head, but then I stop myself with the thought that in a few weeks this freedom is going to be gone. I should enjoy it while it lasts.

It's fascinating how my brain works with all this freedom. I may have a day with nothing specific planned, but in my head I have to break the hours up into various activities - if it is just going to the store or cleaning. I obviously need a routine. I think free time scares me, doing nothing scares me. I need a schedule - almost so if anyone asked how I filled my day I would never have to say "I did nothing".

Wow, this is a lot of rambling free thoughts. I have already gone to delete a lot of it. But I'm not going to want my students to delete, so I can't delete either.

Who's in control?

I was walking Gus in the park yesterday. I hear the jingling of a collar coming up behind us and I brace myself for what happens next. A medium boxer attempts to sniff Gus. Gus's hackles are up immediately, he yanks on the lead and lets out three low growling barks and goes for the boxer's throat. I pull on the lead, desperately try to move Gus away. End up being under low lying branches of a tree, bending down and trying to get Gus under some kind of control, saying "sit". All is pointless, because the boxer keeps coming back for more and Gus repeats his growling and lunging. I walk away and I assume the boxer's owner eventually collected his/her dog. I have no idea, I didn't look round, just walked away and burst into tears. I cried all the way home.

Being 8 months pregnant and having to deal with dog aggression is not really how I wanted my Sunday morning to go. It really shook me up and made me think about how safe I'd feel with Gus and baby out walking. Something that will happen in a few weeks time. I don't want to give Gus up, but I really don't think it will take many more experiences like that before B takes him back to the pound. So, I've launched a take back control project with our little dog. All the books, TV shows, advice websites say again and again you have to be the leader. So my mantra with Gus is "I am the leader". I've started to be a Nazi on walks with him and we are doing leadership activities at home (he lies next to me without moving for 30 minutes, every time he pops up, I put him down without saying anything). He is being a little stubborn - which tells me I am not the leader in his eyes - but we will get there.

I've been too soft and it is not good for him or me. It is the same way with teaching - and I assume going to be exactly the same way with parenting. With all three I have to be a leader - firm and consistent. However, there is always a little voice that is prone to bending the rules. I need to stop that little voice. I think of how often I have done it in the classroom and it has resulted in so much pain and stress for me dealing with the negative consequences.

I have four weeks to develop my leader persona to help me be a dog owner, teacher and a parent! I am the leader. I am the leader. I am the leader.

Crazy in the Summertime

Two experiences over the past week have made me question where I live.

First, I was doing my normal lunchtime dog walk and my dog was doing his usual act of peeing on any other dog pee laden leaf, bush or plant. I stopped at one unkempt garden to wait for his territory marking to finish, quietly munching on an apple and thinking about going for a swim. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure stand up on the front porch of the house we were standing at. It was an African American man in his 40s - 50s with messy hair and he started yelling at me. "Hey lady, are you going to clean that up?" I gave him a quizzical look and started to explain that my dog had just peed. I didn't get out two words before he got louder. "You need to pick that up, this is my property, you think you can come by here and leave it. Bitch. You think your dog can crap. Bitch." I tried to take a deep breath and again explain his misunderstanding. My talking angered him more and he got louder. "Bitch. Fuck you. Bitch." I told the man to have a nice day and walked away. I had to hold back the tears.
I have walked past the house another two times and find myself crossing the street. The man has been sitting on the porch both times.

Second, I was running some errands and leaving a car park. Another man, African-American late 40s - 50s, came up to the car gesturing for me to wind down the window. I drove on. In the rea view mirror I saw him get money from another woman. Ten minutes later, I'm reversing out of another car-park, looking over my shoulder and then out of my side mirror and take a big gasp. The window is filled with the same man. Again his is gesturing for me to stop and open the window. I wait for him to move around the side of the car so I can drive away.

I live in a huge city and I have felt safe. Moments like these burst the bubble that I have created. Am I safe? Is it safe to bring a baby into this neighborhood? I walk around the streets and there are clearly two worlds existing side by side. The slow gentrification of the neighborhood means richer white people are moving into traditionally black blocks. There is a new "fair-trade" cafe or sushi restaurant opening up pretty much every week. On the surface the neighborhood looks like a wonderful, up and coming place to live. But it's not real. Take two more blocks west and people are living much poorer lives. The two worlds don't often mix, so the bubble of safety is created. This week those two encounters burst my bubble. I felt unsafe here this week and it has shaken me. I realize that a lot worse can/could have happened to me and I may be over-reacting. But just those tiny glimpses of what could happen make me question our choice of home.

The joys and woes of pregnancy

Before this moment in my life spins past and I'm consumed with being a mother, I want to remember some of the high and low points of having this baby growing inside of me.

Joy #1

There is a growing baby in my belly. It amazes me each time I look down at my ever-expanding mid-section. Only a few layers of skin and muscles and there is a little girl who has grown from nothing into a person complete with fingernails, eyelashes and taste buds. I imagine her enjoying rocking from side to side as I walk the dog and listening to me talk to her during the day. I cannot wait for her to arrive, but having her in-utero is consistently wonderful and while she is in there she is all mine!

Woe #1

I can no longer find a comfortable position. Sitting up can last for about 20 minutes and then it feels like someone has lodged a brick underneath my ribs and keeps moving it further and further up. Shifting position can help for a little while and then the brick-layer returns. Last week's road trip to North Carolina was not much fun. Standing up isn't so hot either. When I stand the magic comfortable 20 minutes passes quickly and then the skin over my stomach begins to feel like an elastic band that's been stretched and is about to be twanged.

Joy #2

The first homework assignment from the birthing class was to count kicks. You are meant to feel 10 kicks in a 2 hour period. I have been counting kicks for about two weeks and each night I have counted 10 in about 5 minutes. She is one active bambino and I love it. I place my hand on my belly and I get a welcome kick/punch/hip bump who knows. Some people have said they can tell what body part is making which movement but I have no idea. I'd like to think that the "bricks" in my ribs are her feet - but that might be me wishful thinking on my part. When I'm on my side in bed, my belly can resemble a bag of popping corn. There are moments were she makes me flinch her movements are so intense.

Woe # 2
The noises from my bottom that I now produce are unbelievable. Juicy, loud, full-bodied. I have to laugh at myself everytime a new one makes its debut. Amazingly and thankfully there is no smell. I'm hoping that this lady-like attribute stops after she is born.

Joy #3
My stupidly thin hair tends to be incredibly greasy. I have to wash it daily to avoid the fried chip look. But now, thanks to this baby, my hair is looking great. It is thicker and I don;t look like I'm drowning after 24 hours. I realize that this is defnitely not going to continue, but I am loving every dry, glossy folicled minute of it.

Woe #3
In the first trimester, I would be in bed at 7.00pm. There was no choice, I was done and needed every minute of sleep I could get. Now in third trimester, the tiredness is back and I'm not giving in to it so easily. I am annoyed at how little I seem to be able to do without needing to sit or lie down. Walking the dog can be a struggle! But I'm trying to stay active so when I step on the scale at the doctor's office I don't have to gasp at my weight gain. I have gained 22 pounds so far...right on track, but it needs to be managed. My doctors has said that I won't be a member of the 80 pound club! But I do have to see a line graph that tracks my weight gain and get a mild scolding if it is too steep. The problem is that food is just tasting too good right now - especially the dreaded crisp.

Third year done

On Thursday, I taught my last class for six months. The excitement is yet to hit me, instead I feel a little lost. Last Monday, I had four different lesson plans to prepare and sixty essays to grade. Today, I am trying to decide between picking up a book or watching another re-run of The Office. This is not a terrible situation, there is just a lot of nothing. So far I have filled the nothing with this blog, sketching, cleaning, cooking for four hours, reading, ordering stuff on Amazon. I wouldn't switch this week for last week - not having to deal with 801 ever again is delicious - I just obviously need to keep myself busy.

Also, I have only nine weeks until female A makes her entrance. The doctor told me today that my "safe date" is July 21st, meaning if I was to go into that labour after that we are good to go. Maybe that is why I am finding it a little difficult to celebrate the end of the school year. Summer equals baby. Baby equals scared mummy to be and the end of my life as I know it. I've found that I am even avoiding reading all the baby books, thinking in some way if I don't read them then I am somehow delaying the inevitable. Daddy A is a little further along the road to accepting our young married couple life is ending and being responsible for a child is beginning. I will get there, and as Daddy A has just reminded me, I don't really do that much now anyway. This is true, but I like just hanging out and worry female A will not.

The Calm Before the Storm

Apart from the 60 essays to grade and the materials to make for next week, I have a day of nothing stretching ahead of me. Thank God. It has been a hectic week; field trip, exhibition night, dinner dance, spring cleaning. I'm the tired that bring tears to your eyes and my feet have started to swell.

Five more days of school and then I will not stand infront of a classroom of students for 6 months. The prospect of having to go through a "first year" again is terrifying, so I'm going to continue creating "The System part deux" this summer just like I was going back as normal. I fear that if I don't I'll repeat some of the hell of this year again. For example, for some reason it took me until January to implement a really successful bathroom policy I had started the year before. I found myself having to play the bathroom game with kids for a few months. Why? I think I lost my mind a little at the beginning.

I'm excited to think about school and a little sad to not be going back full time and starting all over again. Amazing what a little time and an easier last couple of months can do. These thoughts go through my head and I feel guilty - remind myself I have a baby coming and should be thinking about her. But school seems more real right now. Also, when she arrives I doubt I'll have time to think about hallway procedures and assessment reflection forms.

Welcome to thrid trimester

I think I'm having one of those sickeningly perfect pregnancies. Yes, for the first three months I struggled to keep my eyes open past 7.00pm and I was a little trying to live with at times, but overall, the experience has been wonderfully warm and fuzzy. I have spent the last three months feeling invincible; not even needy 8th graders have managed to tear down my glowing demeanor. Most of the time, I have wandered around with my hand on my miniscule bump imagining the little girl growing inside. 

Sunday was my baby shower. The experience was lovely, but I'm a little concerned my pregnancy perfection is beginning to crack. I have spent the past two days fighting to stop tears. Emotions are rocketing out of nowhere and I have little if any control. I was leaving Kansas yesterday and struggled to get into the car in time for the floodgates to open. I'm starting to find myself cursing our choice to live so far from family...the thought of it brings instant tears. I'm terrified how close the due date is looming, espeically whe I peek my head around the door of the empty, unfurnished, half-painted nursery. I'm scared about my general ability to do this thing. And I keep having vivid frightening nightmares, last night my brother had no face. 

I feel I am being welcomed into the third trimester. I'm taking a deep breath. 

Two and a half years later

A short summary of the events of the last two and a half years (in chronological order): survived my first year of teaching, bought a house, bought a dog, completed a second year of teaching at the Philadelphia public school, got a job at charter school in Philadelphia, went to Mongolia for a month, started at the charter school and felt like I was right back in first year again, got pregnant, bought maternity clothes, started to see success at charter school, revisited blog, began new post on blog called "two and a half years later"....

Discovering this blog again has been like an surprise gift. I think I have blocked a lot of the trauma from the first year out of my mind; to reread just the few snippets I managed to put on here have been humbling and motivational. I am now nearing the end of my third year of teaching in Philadelphia. Each and everyday I complain about the sheer amount of work required to feel marginally prepared, but deep down, deep deep down, there is an element of enjoyment to the job. Needless to say, this year has had it's moments of uncontrollable crying, mental health days and the desire to quit and beg at the door of Barnes and Noble for a quiet booksellers life. I'm proud of myself; I am now a teacher. I even have a student teacher in my classroom for two weeks. If they are sending students to me something must to going right.

So as one thing starts to become more manageable, a whole other side of my life erupts. Around August 25th this year, our little girl will be arriving. Each time she moves, I smile and my hand automatically goes to my growing belly. She's coming and she is coming soon. I cannot wait. I am in KCK for my baby shower tomorrow. An American tradition that I am fascinated by; an all female affair (B is heading to the bar with his brothers and friends) celebrating this little baby and probably scaring me to death with painful labour stories and tales of colic.