Observation 1: It has come to my attention that I’m a little bit crunchy. What is most interesting about this is that being a cheapskate was my gateway to ultimate hippie momhood. Believe me, it’s not something I have been striving for. There are no prizes for this type of behavior, and it’s my husband, not me who is the smug recycler, composter, bike commuter. I buy used things because they’re cheap–and I guess they have the side benefit of preventing waste. I want to cloth diaper because it’s way less expensive than disposable…and I suppose it’s a lot more Earth-friendly. Breastfeeding, no circumcision, home-made cleaning products. They all have their pros and cons, sure. But their common thread is that they’re allllll cheaper than the alternatives.
I suppose the exception for me is having a midwife. I always wanted a midwife, but the fact that I’m comfortable having a home birth midwife started because, you guessed it–it’s WAY cheaper. And they bring all the birth center stuff to your house, so it’s not a big difference to me. It’s true I like the idea for a million other reasons I realized later, but the fact that it was cheap was the initial thought that made me consider it. My latest and most ookey consideration? Placental encapsulation. Because if I can find any research indicating that it might help me avoid going to a therapist while suffering from PPD, it just may be worth it.
I know, you’re grossed out. But if it helps, my cheapness is also what makes me a fairly easy-to-get-along with hippie mom. I just figure people who make different decisions have different priorities and/or better insurance. No judgment from me.
Observation 2: Perineal massage sucks. Who was the asshole (ha) who labeled the painful act of stretching your woman-junk in anticipation of birth a perineal “massage”? Uncool. But two things keep me doing it: 1. I don’t want to tear, and 2. I don’t trust my ability to slow down pushing to prevent tearing. Hence, the “massage.” It’s a new type of horrible intimacy in our marriage on par in its embarrassing, horrible nature with not caring if your spouse sees you pick your nose or fart. “Hey hun, why don’t you stick your thumbs up in my business in an unsexy lateral fashion while I hang out being completely pissed off for 10 minutes. Cool. And no, we’re not having sex after.”
My husband is a trooper–he doesn’t want to do it any more than I want to have it done. Which is to say, we both want my vagina intact for future use, but we wish there was another magical way that didn’t involve removing the baby through my abdominal cavity. Ultimately, I recommend it for the pregnant ladies–if only once or twice so you, too can say “Holy shit. That’s uncomfortable” and thus get a taste of one of the wonderful sensations of birth. Here is a video (bonus British accent) which demonstrates perineal massage–and is mostly unhelpful unless your vagina is already gaping open. Enjoy.
Observation 3: There are way too many things to do. And that is why I must leave you, my precious readers.
Have you had any interesting observations about yourself lately?