Help a mom out

Life has been pretty stressful and exhausting lately. I've had no time to write, but I tried out blogging for a few minutes. I'd love any feedback or suggestions. Thanks! (And yes, I am as tired as I look.)

Ricki Lake replied to my tweet, and here's why that's important

     Ricki Lake replied to my tweet, and here's why that's important.

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     I was 19 and in an abusive relationship when I got pregnant. Though I was able to get away from my abuser while living in my college dorm, and while I did as much research as I could, I was so unprepared and unsupported when it came time to deliver.
     Thankfully, the semester ended when I was 37 weeks along, and I spent the last month of my pregnancy at home. My family decided to be supportive after the anger and shock wore off, but at my parents' suggestion coupled with my wacky pregnant hormones, I told the abuser about what was happening with the baby, my decisions toward naming and circumcision, and the like.
     The doctors said the baby was measuring large, but didn't want to induce early, which was a relief. But my due date came and went without so much as a contraction. I looked like I was smuggling a watermelon in my shirt. So, the Friday after my due date I went to the doctor, and they suggested inducing Monday night if labor didn't start on its own. So Monday night, my mom and I ordered a ton of Chinese food and went to the hospital. 
     The doctor did the routine cervix check and found that I was 1 centimeter dilated. I was excited because, in my then 20-year-old mind, that meant I could do this. They inserted cervadil, a little tape-like drug that is meant to soften and open the cervix. I went to sleep and started feeling little twinges in my lower abdomen at around 5:30 a.m. The nurse came in around 8 a.m. and told me that those twinges were contractions (the media always portrays contractions as much more dramatic; they don't tell you that contractions start out small!).
     And since it was morning, the nurses removed the cervadil and prepared to stick me for the pitocin. They tried both hands for my IV, and finally got a vein in my right wrist. Let me tell you how bad it hurts to get a needle in your hand! I asked a nurse when I got there if I really needed an IV if by some chance labor started on its own. She said it was hospital policy. 
     So, they started the pitocin and cranked it up. Then I got the contractions that you see on TV. But I was handling it. Every time the nurses checked on me and asked how the contractions were, I replied, "They're okay. I'm okay." And every time they cranked it up more. Around 4 p.m. it started getting really hard. I wanted to give birth without medication, but at that point I didn't know if I'd be able to. I asked the nurse if there was anything that would help a bit, but that wasn't an epidural. They gave me nubane. They told me it would take the edge off. What they didn't tell me was that it would make me feel super drugged- unable to stay awake in between contractions and unable to be a sane person during contractions. It made me sob uncontrollably and I was out of my mind.
     I called the nurse back between contractions, and I told her I couldn't handle it. Her reply: "Your only option is an epidural." Which made me sob even harder. So around 5:30 p.m. I signed the papers acknowledging all of the risks, and I got the epidural. I settled down and accepted that I got the epidural. I ate a grape popsicle and all was well. Until around 8 p.m. when a nurse said it was time to push. Then I threw up.
     I couldn't feel a thing from the waist down, so I had to rely on the nurse to tell me when to push and for how long. My nurse was pretty great; I have to say that much. When the doctor finally came in, she took one look and said, "She's going to need a c-section." And the nurse, "Just watch her push." Push, I did. And the doctor said, "Okay, we can do this."
     I pushed on command, then heard a lot of murmuring about, "She's losing a lot of blood..." My mom now calls the experience "traumatic." The doctor did an episiotome because apparently my son's head was very large. But he made his appearance at 9:09 p.m. Big and beautiful at 8 lbs 12 oz. I had a rough recovery and a ton of stitches. We had some trouble breastfeeding and he was very sleepy and lethargic the first day.

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     Fast forward about seven months, and we had breastfeeding mastered and I was managing going to school full time and being a mom. That's when I saw The Business of Being Born by Ricki Lake and Abby Epstein. I learned that giving birth didn't have to be the helpless experience I had.

     I learned that one intervention begets another and another. I learned that I could have opted out of the pitocin and let my contractions build on their own. I learned that birthing flat on your back is no way to birth. I learned that pitocin makes contractions build much faster and stronger than they normally would, which leads moms to the epidural. I still have numbness in my leg from it. I learned that when you can't feel the contractions, you don't know how hard to push or when to back off, which would help prevent tears. 

     When you have an epidural, clearly you can't birth upright, so it's much harder to get the baby past the pelvis, so you push harder. And then you need to be cut to get the baby out. I learned that when you have an epidural, it can affect the baby and make it lethargic.

     Ricki's series of Business of Being Born films opened my eyes to all of the ways women are getting the short end of the stick when it comes to birthing. Hospital and insurance policies dictate maternity and obstetric care, taking away the power and autonomy from mothers. Mothers have been birthing for thousands of years, yet once birth moved into hospitals and away from homes and midwife care, the maternal death rate in the U.S. began climbing.

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     Upon learning these things, along with taking women's studies courses in college, I came to feminism. I got this incredible urge to help other women, other moms. I want to spread knowledge and encourage women to be their own biggest advocates. I want women to know how strong they are, and I want to help them through the toughest challenges in their lives. I want to be that voice for the women and girls who cannot speak up for themselves. 
     So when I saw that Ricki and Abby were making another documentary (this time on birth control), Sweetening the Pill, I knew I had to be a part of it in any way I could. I became a backer for the Kickstarter for it and tweeted to Ricki that I had. When she favorited my tweet and replied, I was so excited because the work she has done has influenced me so profoundly that it has completely changed my goals in life.
     So thank you, Ricki and Abby, for doing such amazing work. You've changed my life and inspired me to help other women in the same way.

Yes, Racism is Still a Problem

     On the heels of the long-overdue Supreme Court decision on marriage equality, and more than a week after the murder of nine black people in a church prayer group by a white supremacist, I have witnessed so much hate on social media.
     The kind of hate I'm seeing is most surprising coming from young people. We have greater access to information than any generation past: reputable sources flash on our screens within seconds of executing a search. And yet, the hate and ignorance abound. Somewhere along the road to equality, we made a wrong turn and have gone back in the opposite direction.
     The police brutality on black Americans is shown almost daily, and it feels frighteningly reminiscent of the Civil Rights Movement. I recently read "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett which explores the lives of black maids in 1962 Mississippi. We really haven't come that far as a society. The bizarre outrage over the removal of the confederate flag is a prime example. I just don't understand. Unless we so strongly want to hold on to the racist history of America that we must preserve and display the symbols of it, what is the problem with sticking it in a museum?
     The simple unwillingness to put away the confederate battle flag is evidence enough that there are those who wish to keep things the way they are; too much white privilege at stake if we let racism and slavery actually be a part of history and not current affairs.        To say we don't have a racism problem in this country is to just accept that a 12-year-old black boy can be shot and killed by police for having an Airsoft gun. A toy. A little boy, at the playground, with a toy. 
     And then there are those who say, "Don't want to be harassed by police? Don't break the law." So, having a tail-light out on your car and then running away from police is reason enough to be killed? Racism is so institutionalized in this country, that we don't even question those who make racist remarks or who try to rationalize hate crimes (for example, the photo making its rounds on Facebook with the Charleston church shooter burning a flag with a caption saying that he didn't hate black people- he hated Americans).
     I am not saying white people need to have white guilt over slavery.
     I am saying white people need to recognize their privilege, and accept the role they must play in eradicating racism.
     I have also seen the argument, "Why are white people the only racist ones? How come we can't have 'white pride,' but 'black pride' or 'Mexican pride' is okay?" Because white people have, in this country, always been the oppressors, not the oppressed. Here's an illustration that might help those having trouble with the concept.
     A woman finally escapes her abuser, receives counseling, and goes on to become a successful speaker who educates other women about domestic violence. She proclaims that she is not a victim, but a survivor. Then the abuser comes out and says that the woman is exaggerating, he is proud of the husband he was, and that she would be nothing without him. 
     It's the same as the evil Chardon High School shooter wearing a shirt reading "Killer" to court. It's not something to be proud of. It's spitting in the face of those you have wronged/ hurt/ abused/ killed. 
     Pride and greed are the root of all evil, and racism is made up of the two. The wealthiest families had slaves- exploiting people as commodities to get free labor and childcare- along with the status that came along with having "help." Fast-forward to now. Employers are 50% less likely to call back someone with a "black-sounding name" than someone with a "white-sounding name" even when the credentials are identical. Low-paying jobs, substandard housing, and underfunded schools create a vicious cycle of poverty, drugs and violence that is all too familiar here.
     Something has to change, and it starts with our attitudes. It starts with us and our children.
     My five-year-old son is now in a preschool with more black and Hispanic children. He said to me last week, "Mommy, some of my friends are dark brown, and some of them are light brown." I said, "Yep. People all have different skin colors. Even me and you. You are much darker than I am." And we compared our arms. That's all it takes. Children don't know racism. They aren't born with ingrained hate. They learn it. Teach them better. You know better.

For more information on institutionalized racism, see this informative video, and learn more about racism in hiring practices here.

Note: I didn't even get to address the hate toward LGBTQA+ folks that I have been seeing. #LoveWins. If you have a problem with others being afforded the same rights and liberties you already enjoy, there is something fundamentally wrong with you.

What I'm Supposed to Say...

     The other night, Baby Man, Boyfriend and I were watching an Eddie Izzard video and cracking up, when Baby Man asked, "Is he a boy or a girl?"
     I said, "He's a boy."
     "But he looks like a girl."
     "Well that's because he's wearing makeup."
     "Makeup is for girls!"
     "Makeup is for anyone who wants to wear it."
     "I don't wear makeup.."
     This is where Boyfriend steps in, "That's because only grown-ups wear makeup. If you want to wear makeup when you're 20, you can."
     He then turned to me and quietly said, "I think that's what I'm supposed to say.." Yes, my dear, that's what you're supposed to say.
     I'm determined to beat down societal prescriptions and expectations surrounding sex and gender, and hopefully raise accepting, compassionate children. I think we're on the right track.

Consent is key

Studies have proven that comprehensive, science-based sex education lowers teenage pregnancy and sexual activity rates. Perhaps consent-education will, likewise, help children discern what is appropriate or inappropriate behavior, and when they should seek help.

Regardless of personal beliefs, it is important for all children and teens to understand consent: What is consent; why is consent important; how do you give consent; and when is it impossible to give consent?

What is consent?

Consent is saying that you would like to do something. It could be as simple as holding hands or kissing, but consent is an active and enthusiastic, “Yes, I want to do that,” or “Yes, you may.”

Consent is not: “I guess so...”; “Maybe...”; “Uhh, sure...”; or silence. Any sign of doubt or uncertainty is NOT consent. And just because someone doesn't say, “no” does not mean they have given consent.

Why is consent important?

Consent gives each individual power and authority over their own body. Many children and teens don’t realize that they have the power to say, “no,” especially to those they care about, those they are in a relationship with, or those in authority positions.

This is why is it important to teach children from a young age that we must respect each others’ bodies and personal space. If your child is not comfortable hugging an acquaintance or relative, do not force them. Instead, use the situation as a teaching moment: “If you are uncomfortable with it, you don’t have to. You never have to do anything with your body that you don’t want to do. It is your body and you are in control of it.”

Knowing what consent is, and how to give consent, allows kids (and adults) to both take care of themselves and respect others.

How do you give consent (or not)?

Again, consent is an active and enthusiastic “yes!” and it can be retracted at any time. This is why it is important to check in often to see if you and your partner are on the same page.

Not giving consent can be, “I’m not comfortable with that,” “Let’s slow down,” silence, or just a plain, “No.”

When is it impossible to give consent?

People cannot give consent if:

• One is underage

• One is in a position of authority, regardless of age (for example: teachers and students; coaches and players; supervisors and employees; parents and children)

• There is a power imbalance (for example: a celebrity and a fan)

• One or both people are impaired by alcohol or drugs (if you are unable to drive, you are unable to give consent)

If any of these circumstances are present, consent cannot be given.


Check out Laci Green's video on consent for more information.