home
bio
babypage
academic work
personal stories
archive
contact me
In no particular order...
Enjoy your visit and come again soon...
Picking their nose and... you know the rest.
It's 4 a.m. and I can't sleep for thinking about my new little great-nephew who I met last night. He's six weeks old and his mother, Marlene, (a drug addict who I believe/hope is currently not using - Joel's and my nephew is the daddy and also a currently clean addict) takes him to a babysitter every day and on some weekends. She's already giving him cereal, too, which she says the doc approved. I'm so appalled. At least the sitter is my brother-in-law's girlfriend, a really lovely woman who I can see is giving little Julian a lot of love. It kills me, though, to think about that poor little boy in God knows what kind of home at night, with no real mothering. It's a classic case of people who don't want kids, aren't ready for kids and shouldn't have kids becoming parents.
I felt this way about my nephew's older child, Ariana, too. When she was born, Joel and I wanted to try to adopt her. Joel's brother told us to get in line. But back then I was working full-time and Joel was in school. It really wasn't feasible. But now I feel like we're all set up for a baby, why not two? I know this sounds totally crazy but I want to call up Julian's mom and just say, give him to me. I would be so happy to nurse, hold, love and raise him with Lil P.
But Marlene really dislikes me, I think. Once when I was playing with Ariana someone commented that I acted more like her mother than Marlene does - boy did that not go over well. And then there were the times she and our nephew tried to borrow money from us with which to buy drugs. Well, they didn't say it was for that, but when an addict asks to borrow money, that's what it's for. I kaiboshed that right away but did offer to help her work on her resume, look for a job, etc. She didn't take me up on it. Besides, what parent wants to hear they aren't doing a good job? I can imagine the kind of animosity that would generate. But I still can't help but wish I could go get him.
From last Sunday's Trib. BTW, this would get a Medill F for containing a factual error. One is obvious, the other you'd have to have been there to catch.
GATHERINGS
Bloggers exposed!
Online diarists try to out-reveal one another
By Chris McNamara
Special to the Tribune
March 21, 2004
Juliet Martinez (www.julietmartinez.com) is rocking. Literally. From foot to foot. It could be to pacify the newborn, Julia, strapped to her chest. But more likely it's anxiousness--she's the first reader in tonight's performance.
"Boy, this is really nerve-racking," she says as an introduction before launching into a memoir about her adolescent obsession with Duran Duran.
The crowd of young, artsy adults stuffed into every inch of this art gallery above Uncle Fun, 1338 W. Belmont Ave., has come to hear writers, such as Martinez, read their blogs, short for Web logs--online diaries that range from Duran Duran silliness to revelatory soul searching.
The Self Publishers Events Council of Chicago (SPEC), which organizes readings for independent writers, hosts the event. "Reading someone's blog is a window into their life," says SPEC's Aaron Lorence, who estimates that Chicago is home to 100 bloggers. "You get to know these people through their thoughts and words."
"Blogs are a way to communicate. They're an outlet," adds Evanston's Lauriean Davis (www.shastamacnasty.com), who has come to read selections from her blogs and to support her peers. "They allow your diary to be exposed to people."
The dozen writers who read passages from their blogs seem to be in competition to out-expose one another. Memoirs about angst, alcohol and awkwardness abound. It's a BYOB event with self-deprecation on tap. A frequent topic tonight is sex.
"This won't be too bad," says Davis. "But you might want to cover some ears. Some of my blogs are . . . raunchy." She goes on to discuss her fake hair and natural derriere.
When a blog reading works, it's like great stand-up comedy or gripping drama. The writers/readers, with their intensely personal tone, develop an immediate bond with the audience that makes their jokes funnier, their words weightier. Mimi Smartypants (http://smartypants.diaryland.com), who has written a blog since 1999 and is soon to be published in book form, reads a funny, fabricated piece about breaking her arm during sex.
"Blogs are the opposite of generic. With a personal Web site there is an actual person behind it," says Smartypants, who declines to give her actual name.
But this familiarity also weighs down the bad readings. Some of the blogs feel like unsolicited conversations with strangers--blathering and boring, revealing too much without finding a point. Tonight, that doesn't happen too often.
"There is something special about a literary reading with known talents," say SPEC's Kate Sandler. They may not be famous, but the readers tonight are known within the blog community. These writers include Jeremy Bushnell (www.imaginaryyear.com/raccoon), who describes his Wicker Park neighbors as "dogs . . . mean ones that walk upright." Alex Golub (http://alex.golub.name) likens Chicago winters to flagrant fouls from an angry, Shaquille O'Neal god.
And David Elfving (www.greasyskillet.org) reads a passage about his use of antidepressants: "Paxil has made our life far more livable. To be honest, it's helped us more than we thought possible." When he finishes, one audience member snaps her fingers in approval.
These are digital beatniks, using the Internet, rather than the page, as a public diary to silently communicate with others.
"Blogs are cathartic for the writers," says SPEC's Brent Ritzel. With some blogs attracting tens of thousands of visitors each day and events like this one packing a gallery, they're obviously appealing to their audience, whether in the vastness of cyberspace or a cramped room on the North Side.
The writers, of course, subsequently described the evening in their blogs. As Jason Pettus (www.geocities.com/jpettus. geo/) summed it up: "It was, in fact, much more lively, entertaining and just plain dirty than an evening of bloggers reading from their work has any right to be."
Copyright © 2004, Chicago Tribune
Lil P, Georgina and I had a great time last night at the Naw Ruz celebration. The Chicago Baha'is hosted it, but people came from all over. They had a great multimedia program with instrumental music, prayers, an original solo dance piece and a gorgeous slide show behind it all. Loverly. Well, to be honest I didn't see the whole thing because my overstimulated baby needed to be nursed and swayed outside the main room. It was cool, though. It makes me feel kind of proud to breastfeed in public, especially in the sling, standing up... It makes me chuckle, too. Standing is just not how people think of breastfeeding. (Aside: my friend Marylu actually preferred to breastfeed standing up, even walking around, because otherwise her kids would twist around, stick their arms, legs or butts up in the air, etc.)
Anyway, I think I've damaged my voice box after last night. The cold I got last weekend and that seemed to be on its way out has apparently taken up residence in my throat and I can't talk above a whisper. I told Geo that she would have to be my mouthpiece, but once we got to the shindig, I forced myself to talk at something like a reasonable volume. I didn't care at the time. I was having too much fun getting fussed and cooed over (well, Lil P was the real object of attention), seeing friends and dancing with Geo and a fabulous looking Grandma Joyce while the munchkin slept in the sling. By the end of the evening, Geo said I sounded just like Marge Simpson.
In the process of ruining my vocal chords, I saw my friend Nasim, who I first met when she was just a little girl in Belize, and who is now an MD/PhD student at Northwestern. She was Joel's and my guardian angel the day we went to the Northwestern Hospital ER because I was leaking amniotic fluid. It was a total coincidence that she was accompanying an OB resident on his rounds and found us in L and D triage. Nasim made sure the residents and attendings took good care of us that day - it really helps if they see the patient as an individual with a life outside the hospital. She checked in with us, comforted us, even brought us food and juice while we faced one of our darkest days ever. The docs told us, "A fetus at this stage with so little amniotic fluid has a very poor prognosis."
So seeing Nasim last night, with my little survivor bundled sleeping on my chest, gave me a real thrill of joy and gratitude. Nasim was so excited, too, to hear about the rest of my pregnancy and how the birth went. I told her about my 3rd tri oligo and being induced, how long it took and how Lil P had the cord around her neck twice. "You know," she said, "If you had been delivering at [Northwestern], they definitely would have done a cesarean. There's no way they would have let you deliver vaginally."
Tomorrow at sunset the Baha'i month of fasting ends and a new year begins. Lil P and I will ring in the new year with our fellow Chicago Baha'is at a shindig tomorrow evening instead of going to see Sones play. Turns out Georgina will come with us, too!
(This is a letter I wrote to a friend of mine who plans to become pregnant sometime soon.)
Hello, dear!
I just caught up on your blog and left you a probably too personal response for one of your postings. Oh well. I'm a married lady, so anybody who has a problem can, well... anyway :p
I've been thinking about you tons as I go through the first blush of new parenthood. It's something like the army, I think: not just a job - an adventure! These first few weeks are definitely boot camp. Lil P seems to be gradually overcoming her colic. I thought it would never end, but here it is 8:20 and she is peacefully asleep in my arms/the sling, has been since 6-ish. BTW, the sling is how I can type at the same time. Not only do I enjoy holding her and being close to her, but 1) I think it's better for her emotionally, and 2) this way she doesn't have to wake all the way up if she gets hungry or startled; I just feed or comfort her and she goes right back to sleep.
I was talking to a La Leche League leader this morning about how fixated I had been on my pregnancy and birth (for obvious reasons), but now I feel like I was so short sighted. She told me once another mom gave her a good piece of advice: focus on the baby, not on the birth. It's funny to think back on how little I thought ahead to this amazingly new and challenging time when I was pregnant (not to mention beforehand). Like the birth was going to be this final exam and then everything after that would somehow take care of itself. Now here I am with a beautiful little girl with a sensitive temperament (i.e. poor ability to screen out sensory input, highly interactive, light sleeper, frequent nurser), a totally overwhelmed hubby (3 jobs!), and nothing systematic in place to give me help with housework, meals, or adult interaction on a daily or weekly basis. Thank God for Joyce Olinga - you know her, right? - now dubbed "Grandma Joyce," who has cleaned my house, brought me groceries, massaged me, danced my crying daughter and just talked with me. I'm glad you have your mom nearby (and she's an angel), but I promise you at least one visit or meal or (God forbid) colic session when you are at home with your little one. Now I know what that "it takes a village" thing means.
That said, part of the reason this has been so demanding on me is that I chose to do attachment parenting with Lil P. It's definitely not the easy way out, but ultimately it is a style of parenting I can live with. It's not easy to keep my baby "in arms" at all times, and breastfeeding takes dedication to work out, but I will say that sleeping with Lil P tucked into the crook of my arm has allowed me to avoid the usual new-mommy sleep deprivation. She grunts, I feed her, and neither of us has to even really wake up. No crying, no trip to the kitchen, no warming of anything except the two of us under the blankets, next to daddy. Even with the harder stuff, I feel good knowing that I'm not suppressing my motherly intuition, distancing myself from my baby or undermining her trust in me. That's what matters to me. We have already recieved a lot of well-intentioned "cry it out," "baby's own bed," and "go ahead and supplement with formula" advice, but it just doesn't feel right to me (and in a pinch I can refer to the scientific arguments for the attachment style).
A good book I read on high-need babies (William Sears, MD, "The Fussy Baby: Bringing Out the Best in your High-Need Child") talked about experienced mothers who calmed their babies in utero, so already knew what music and moves the little one needed when it needed to be soothed post-partum. I was so amazed at the very concept. I just didn't put it together when I was pregnant.
Sorry for the avalanche of parenting thoughts. I really don't know what I would have done differently if I had known what this was going to be like, but I know you and P. are trying to be as prepared as you can and it's definitely going to help you. I can't help but at least try to give you an idea of what boot camp is like so you can try to plan accordingly :).
Joel's back and we're on our way into another gig-full weekend. The difference is that tomorrow night I'm planning on going to see the Sones play at Old Town School of Folk Music instead of staying home moping :). Yes, I'm taking Lil P. Georgina's supposed to go with me. She knows all the guys in the band from way back when she dated a guy who used to sing and play guitar for them. He was a rascal and all her friends told her he was, too. He's a fine-looking man with a beautiful singing voice and great stage presence. When she and he were getting to know each other, I went with her to see him play (maybe with Sones? I'm not sure). Well, he knew I was her friend, but he was hitting on me anyway. I told her he was a dog, but she had to find out for herself. I'm not pointing the finger, though. I certainly dated some loonies in my day.
Last night Joel was telling me about a Los Lobos* song he's learning on guitar - dude amazes me with how fast he's picked up that instrument. Then I was telling him about a La Leche League meeting I wanted to check out. We were laughing about calling them "The Los Lobos," or "The La Leche League," (since, of course, "los" and "la" both mean "the") when we had a total chocolate and peanut butter moment: The Los Lobos League! It's either a group of mutant, crime-fighting wolves or a rock-en-tu-idioma version of eighties sensation, The Human League. "No me quieres baby? No me quieres ya?" Or the Lobo League, comprising fans of Joel's childhood dog, Lobo. Then, instead of La Leche League, there's La Leche de Loba League, dedicated to promoting either breastfeeding among wolf bitches or the feeding of wolf milk to human babies.
Getting out of the house yesterday was a life-saver. I stayed at Nilufar's until about 7:00, just hanging out with her, Laura and their respective kids. Nilu and Laura (and later Shadan) vied for the chance to hold Little P, so I got to go to the bathroom alone several times. I swear I had almost forgotten how. Seriously, though, when the baby was fussy they walked with her or helped her go to sleep. Nilu held her while I ate lunch! It was such a relief to have grown-ups to talk to about life, our kids, the universe.
Today the combination of a fussy baby and a coming weekend without Joel is weighing on me. Last weekend went pretty well, but even in the best situation it's hard to be without the one person I rely on most. I had a good time at my sister's, even though Little P was having a growth spurt that made her cycle through sleeping, nursing and crying with startling frequency. I called my sister-in-law in California for some midday mental health outreach on Friday. She took a good chunk of time out of her day to keep me from losing my head and it worked.
Joel got home Saturday night so I tried to stay out of his way Sunday and let him unwind a little bit. By Sunday evening both the munchkin and I were at wits end: she was still nursing like mad and my breasts were looking and feeling like flat tires, except more bruised. Monday started out okay, but again, by the afternoon Little P was sleepy and fussy. I took her into the bath and she calmed down, but I started to notice my nerves getting decidedly frayed. Joel had rehearsal that night so I was on my own again with her. Yesterday morning I awoke dreading the likely afternoon fussiness, and was on the phone with my mom, crying alongside the screaming baby by 3:00. Last night Joel and I spent some time cuddling and talking after getting the munchkin to sleep, and I thought I was doing better. But this morning I woke up weepy and feeling disconnected from my daughter.
Little P's middle name is Celeste, after an old friend of Joel's and mine who encouraged him to make it work with me when we were broken up post-engagement but pre-marriage. She had gone to school for chemical engineering, then gotten brain cancer, probably from working with too many of said chemicals. She beat the cancer, became an artist and community organizer, and beat the cancer again. She was from Florida, and her dad was what Annie and I, um, affectionately call a guero (like Annie and I), and her mom was Mexican, a.k.a. raza. I don't think her Spanish was terrific, but when she introduced herself in groups, she always said, "My name is Maria Celeste Morua Bedard," complete with the Spanish pronunciation. The Bedard always dropped like a rock at the end of all those soft, rolling syllables.
Celeste often lived with her identical twin sister, also a community organizer. Ana was, and probably still is, a passionate but very businesslike activist. She had a direct way of speaking and a delightfully sharp sense of humor. Next to her, Celeste was even more of the free spirit. Her laugh issued forth from her belly, her brown eyes danced, canopied by whatever colorful scarf she had tied around her head. A burn had left a bald spot on the top of her head, and her black hair grew long, but she never seemed to be trying to hide anything. She danced spontaneously to any music available, or to no music. She practiced chi-gung, and got friends to practice it with her.
Joel spent a lot of time driving to Andersonville to do chi-gung with Celeste the spring before we got married, once her good counsel had helped us get back together. Early that year, after I had visited her apartment, she walked me to the bus stop and told me her cancer had come back. We started laughing about it, actually, calling it personal growth and development - a joke one could only enjoy with a close friend in dire circumstances. In addition to chemo, the chi-gung was Celeste's way of being the master, or disciple, of her own healing. That spring her seizures became more frequent and eventually her lively voice slowed to a slur, her sparkling eyes still smiled, but with only dim comprehension.
Celeste died two weeks before Joel and I got married.
I'm going to my sister's tomorrow, while Joel's out of town. Where the hell is the diaper bag? Can't forget to take actual diapers, too. Okay, got the diapers. The munchkin is asleep - I tried keeping her awake in the afternoon, then noticed her yawning around 4:30, so that's when we hit the hay. I got up a little bit ago after feeding her. She's wrapped in the lamb's wool my mother gave her, and that seems to keep her feeling warm, cushioned and comfy while I'm up. Can't forget to take the camera. Okay, I've got the camera. I still run in every time she makes the littlest moan or squeak, but so far she's been quite unconscious. Could it be that at some point in the not-too-distant future I'll be able to get up while she naps? I know I'm supposed to sleep when she sleeps (and don't get me wrong - I love to), but I like to have options.
Tomorrow morning we have to get up super early for our appointment with the lactation consultant. Little Paula has developed some kind of awful latching problem in which she doesn't get good suction, slurps a lot of air and ends up dripping lots of milk (more than she's drinking? I hope not) down her cheek. It's funny that for the first two weeks everything was so golden with the nursing: no problems of any kind. Then things started to fall apart. I wish we could afford to have a lactation consultant come to the house, because then we would have taken care of this a couple of weeks ago. But no.
Paula and I are doing well, for the most part. She has a little bit of colic, for which we're giving her a homeopathic remedy that seems to help, though not quite as quickly as I'd like. But it's much better than before we got it. Joel and I are definitely in the thick of working out our new roles. We finally had a big talk about his apparent reluctance to help with the housework and made some good progress (after which he did the dishes). Then last night he was helping his brother move and told me he couldn't get away to come home and help with Paula while she was crying and colicky. After he got home we discussed it and I realized he just doesn't realize how difficult it is to be "on the job" with her - even though I adore her - 24/7. That conversation turned out well, too, because we realized I need to start pumping breast milk, storing it up and leaving Joel alone with her occasionally. It will be better for both of us, even though it's not the same as all day and all night, it would give him a taste. And the fact is that I would definitely benefit from some breaks. I just don't want to leave her too much - she's really not developmentally ready.
Our big upcoming challenge is that Joel has two out-of-town tours coming up, this weekend and next. He'll be gone for three and four days at a time! I'm begging everyone I know to come visit me or stay over as much as possible, but I have a feeling that with everyone's busy schedules I'll be taking at least a couple of day and night shifts with nobody else here. That scares me. At least my parents-in-law and our friends Julio and Marylu are close by, in case I'm losing it. This totally sucks, but there's not much we can do about it. If Joel doesn't go on these gigs, they might find another drummer. It's like babysitting, you know? If once you can't do it, they never call you again. Well, the band wouldn't drop him quite that quickly, but we don't want to invite any doubt about Joel's commitment. Of course if music were just a hobby, it would be different, but it's his career. I signed on when I married him. But to be honest, I don't think I ever admitted to myself that this might be part of the deal.
I still feel like there is so much I could be writing about, if only I could a) keep a thought in my head for more than five minutes, and b) get to my computer to write every day or two. But it's just not happening. My sister-in-law Adele just had something published in the latest issue of Mothering Magazine, and she assures me that this stage is only temporary.
This site hosted by DreamHost.com and powered by Blog.
