Not that you can see my feet.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Excuses, Excuses
I was going over my students' absences today, realizing how very many strange reasons they've given me for missing class throughout the semester. I don't know what it is about this batch of students, but as a group, they've dealt with some vivid and unique circumstances this spring. Here are some examples of ways they've finished the sentence
"I missed class today because..."
1. I have a hot tub business, and I had to meet with some potential buyers.
2. My inner ear burst last night.
3. I got kidney stones from eating too much Domino's Pizza.
4. My girlfriend and I were in a car accident on the Jersey Turnpike, and now she is in the hospital with brain damage, and she thinks it is last year.
5. It was raining, and my umbrella turned inside out, and I was too wet to come to class.
6. I was detained in New Orleans on a matter related to my hot tub business.
7. After staying up all night to write the paper, I was sleepy so I rested on the bench downstairs, and I fell asleep and slept through class.
8. My roommate accidentally ate peanuts, and he has a peanut allergy, so I took him to the emergency room.
9. My kidney stones are back.
10. I also own a small appliance business, and I needed to attend to a service issue.
"I missed class today because..."
1. I have a hot tub business, and I had to meet with some potential buyers.
2. My inner ear burst last night.
3. I got kidney stones from eating too much Domino's Pizza.
4. My girlfriend and I were in a car accident on the Jersey Turnpike, and now she is in the hospital with brain damage, and she thinks it is last year.
5. It was raining, and my umbrella turned inside out, and I was too wet to come to class.
6. I was detained in New Orleans on a matter related to my hot tub business.
7. After staying up all night to write the paper, I was sleepy so I rested on the bench downstairs, and I fell asleep and slept through class.
8. My roommate accidentally ate peanuts, and he has a peanut allergy, so I took him to the emergency room.
9. My kidney stones are back.
10. I also own a small appliance business, and I needed to attend to a service issue.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Good news comes in threes?
On another note, I thought I'd also quickly post another piece of good news: last night I got a letter saying that a poem of mine, "Three Months," has been accepted for publication in a brand new journal called Cloudbank!
"The dirty secret of higher education is that without underpaid graduate students to help in laboratories and with teaching,
universities couldn’t conduct research or even instruct their growing undergraduate populations." From Mark Taylor's "End the University As We Know It" in The New York Times, April 26, 2009.
With two notable exceptions, I haven't told anyone at school about my pregnancy. This was at first in part due to my pregnancy shock and my desire that my teachers not know anything about my "new creative project" until my other creative project, my thesis, was finished and done. But now it's mainly because I am in a state of indecision about what's going to happen next year. I've applied to teach part time in the fall, but being due October 5 means giving birth in the early-middle part of the semester, which would obviously be disruptive. I simply don't know what my options are going to be. If I were a public school teacher, I would get maternity leave, but as a TA-turned-lecturer I am a contract employee with few benefits, even though I have worked at UMD for three years. Since we have been receiving ominous emails about there being fewer teaching positions due to the economy, I was uncertain if I would even be offered any classes, so I figure it wold be stupid to tell anyone about my issue until I had been offered a position. If/when that happens, I can talk to them about what options I have, if any, for teaching part of next semester.
All of this is very frustrating. Being pregnant has brought up a lot of feminist-related issues. For awhile, I felt as though I had solved all problems in my life related to sexism and gender. I went to college, discovered feminist theories, worked through the appropriate stages: rage, sadness, acceptance of a sort, personal solutions to larger political problems, various forms of activism, especially in my writing and teaching. But now, being pregnant, I mostly feel helpless.
It's been pointed out to me, by wise woman such as my mother and mother-in-law, that the best thing would be to take the semester off anyway. Health-wise, they are likely right. Even so, as my wise friend Liz pointed out, there are many parts of the working equation to consider: physical and mental health, yes, but also finances, my career, and sanity. Maybe after six weeks I will be ready to have a five-hour-a-day, two-day-a-week break from the baby. I could also want nothing more but to stay home, but if I do feel as though I could go back, and if I am offered a job for next semester, I should be able to do it. However, the fact of the matter is that they might tell me that there is no way for me to take six weeks off in the middle of a fourteen-week semester.
That opens the question: could I take four weeks off? Three? Five? Would such time spans be enough? I have no idea. I've never had a baby. Even if I had, there's no way of knowing how this will work out. I could have the baby early, or late. It could go well, or I could have to have a c-section and thus a longer recovery time. There are a million possibilities.
It should be a given that if a women is going to have a baby, her job will be available when she is ready for it again, if she wants or needs it. But for many women, it isn't that way at all. (There's a particular story I want to tell her about a wonderful, hardworking woman who was basically pushed out of her job, which she'd had for about seven years, due to her pregnancy. It's not my story to tell, but it's awful and real.)
Sigh. There's more I want to say--about problems with the university labor market, and how the so-called ongoing "breastfeeding wars" play into all this--but I'm overwhelmed, and I have papers to grade later.
With two notable exceptions, I haven't told anyone at school about my pregnancy. This was at first in part due to my pregnancy shock and my desire that my teachers not know anything about my "new creative project" until my other creative project, my thesis, was finished and done. But now it's mainly because I am in a state of indecision about what's going to happen next year. I've applied to teach part time in the fall, but being due October 5 means giving birth in the early-middle part of the semester, which would obviously be disruptive. I simply don't know what my options are going to be. If I were a public school teacher, I would get maternity leave, but as a TA-turned-lecturer I am a contract employee with few benefits, even though I have worked at UMD for three years. Since we have been receiving ominous emails about there being fewer teaching positions due to the economy, I was uncertain if I would even be offered any classes, so I figure it wold be stupid to tell anyone about my issue until I had been offered a position. If/when that happens, I can talk to them about what options I have, if any, for teaching part of next semester.
All of this is very frustrating. Being pregnant has brought up a lot of feminist-related issues. For awhile, I felt as though I had solved all problems in my life related to sexism and gender. I went to college, discovered feminist theories, worked through the appropriate stages: rage, sadness, acceptance of a sort, personal solutions to larger political problems, various forms of activism, especially in my writing and teaching. But now, being pregnant, I mostly feel helpless.
It's been pointed out to me, by wise woman such as my mother and mother-in-law, that the best thing would be to take the semester off anyway. Health-wise, they are likely right. Even so, as my wise friend Liz pointed out, there are many parts of the working equation to consider: physical and mental health, yes, but also finances, my career, and sanity. Maybe after six weeks I will be ready to have a five-hour-a-day, two-day-a-week break from the baby. I could also want nothing more but to stay home, but if I do feel as though I could go back, and if I am offered a job for next semester, I should be able to do it. However, the fact of the matter is that they might tell me that there is no way for me to take six weeks off in the middle of a fourteen-week semester.
That opens the question: could I take four weeks off? Three? Five? Would such time spans be enough? I have no idea. I've never had a baby. Even if I had, there's no way of knowing how this will work out. I could have the baby early, or late. It could go well, or I could have to have a c-section and thus a longer recovery time. There are a million possibilities.
It should be a given that if a women is going to have a baby, her job will be available when she is ready for it again, if she wants or needs it. But for many women, it isn't that way at all. (There's a particular story I want to tell her about a wonderful, hardworking woman who was basically pushed out of her job, which she'd had for about seven years, due to her pregnancy. It's not my story to tell, but it's awful and real.)
Sigh. There's more I want to say--about problems with the university labor market, and how the so-called ongoing "breastfeeding wars" play into all this--but I'm overwhelmed, and I have papers to grade later.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Antler
I defended my thesis on Thursday. Its title is Antler; it was The Window, but I've changed it (both are also titles of poems in the collection). Since it's a creative thesis, basically a manuscript of poetry, lots of people have asked how one "defends" such a piece. The answer is, you really don't "defend" anything. Like writing an abstract, the defense is one of the parts of a Masters degree that doesn't really fit with the Masters of Fine Arts. What really happened was that I sat with my professors for about an hour and talked about my work.
It was great fun. I got terribly nervous right before it happened, and was even mentally imploring the baby to kick or something for moral support. I was afraid that my professors would quote poetry at me and I would stare blankly back at them. But as soon as I went in, I could tell it was not going to be scary. Basically, they asked me questions about my writing process, talked about individual poems they liked, and commented on the thesis as a whole, how it cohered formally and thematically. My adviser spoke a lot about how she was impressed at how everything came together in the end, about how some of my poems had been "baggy" and how I'd in the end been able to do a lot of cutting and refining. Another of my teachers commented on the lyricism in some of my newer poems, and we discussed how I had moved in different directions with my work since I became a student three years ago.
I wanted very badly to write down everything they were saying, but I couldn't really do that AND participate in the conversation. I am sure I've forgotten a lot already, but some of the other highlights were such comments as, "We expect great things from you," "Not all theses are this mature," and just little moments here and there when one of them would read a line or bit from a poem and smile and say what they liked about it. One of the more amusing things, to me, is the way they focused a lot on my use of "idiom," which they discussed as "charming and authentic" while avoiding the "real potential to be cheeseball." This use of "idiom" goes along with my "southernness" and my "impulse to tell stories," especially family-related stories. What's funny to me is that what they pointed out as examples of idiom are just how I would normally talk, but I guess that's the point, and what saves it from coming across as affected or forceful.
Anyway, it was very fun to sit there and hear about my work from my teachers. It was interesting to have all four teachers all together in the same room. I sort of thought they might argue with each other more, with some of them liking certain poems and others disliking them--that's often what happens in individual conferences, one teacher will tell you to cut another teacher's favorite part of your poem. But it was a pretty happy event. At the end, they sent me out of the room, and called me back a few minutes later with a "Congratulations, you passed!"
And another happy event from last week was finding out that I won the yearly student prize. It's a school-wide contest sponsored by the Academy of American Poets. UM students submitted poems, which were then sent off to one of the poets who came to read at UM's "Writers Here and Now" reading series this year (it was Authur Sze). And I won first place! (Thanks, Arthur Sze!) So I get another $100, and I get to read at the last Writers Here and Now with the other winners (the fiction winner, plus two honorable mentions each for poetry and fiction). I am looking forward to that, because I've always wanted to be a Writer Here and Now, and many of my students, both present and past, come to the readings. It will be fun to have them as an audience, since they are often curious about my poems. It's a great end to a great three years of being in school and re-beginning my writing life.
It was great fun. I got terribly nervous right before it happened, and was even mentally imploring the baby to kick or something for moral support. I was afraid that my professors would quote poetry at me and I would stare blankly back at them. But as soon as I went in, I could tell it was not going to be scary. Basically, they asked me questions about my writing process, talked about individual poems they liked, and commented on the thesis as a whole, how it cohered formally and thematically. My adviser spoke a lot about how she was impressed at how everything came together in the end, about how some of my poems had been "baggy" and how I'd in the end been able to do a lot of cutting and refining. Another of my teachers commented on the lyricism in some of my newer poems, and we discussed how I had moved in different directions with my work since I became a student three years ago.
I wanted very badly to write down everything they were saying, but I couldn't really do that AND participate in the conversation. I am sure I've forgotten a lot already, but some of the other highlights were such comments as, "We expect great things from you," "Not all theses are this mature," and just little moments here and there when one of them would read a line or bit from a poem and smile and say what they liked about it. One of the more amusing things, to me, is the way they focused a lot on my use of "idiom," which they discussed as "charming and authentic" while avoiding the "real potential to be cheeseball." This use of "idiom" goes along with my "southernness" and my "impulse to tell stories," especially family-related stories. What's funny to me is that what they pointed out as examples of idiom are just how I would normally talk, but I guess that's the point, and what saves it from coming across as affected or forceful.
Anyway, it was very fun to sit there and hear about my work from my teachers. It was interesting to have all four teachers all together in the same room. I sort of thought they might argue with each other more, with some of them liking certain poems and others disliking them--that's often what happens in individual conferences, one teacher will tell you to cut another teacher's favorite part of your poem. But it was a pretty happy event. At the end, they sent me out of the room, and called me back a few minutes later with a "Congratulations, you passed!"
And another happy event from last week was finding out that I won the yearly student prize. It's a school-wide contest sponsored by the Academy of American Poets. UM students submitted poems, which were then sent off to one of the poets who came to read at UM's "Writers Here and Now" reading series this year (it was Authur Sze). And I won first place! (Thanks, Arthur Sze!) So I get another $100, and I get to read at the last Writers Here and Now with the other winners (the fiction winner, plus two honorable mentions each for poetry and fiction). I am looking forward to that, because I've always wanted to be a Writer Here and Now, and many of my students, both present and past, come to the readings. It will be fun to have them as an audience, since they are often curious about my poems. It's a great end to a great three years of being in school and re-beginning my writing life.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Happy Hour
On Fridays I've been going to a class called "Happy Hour Yoga," so called because of the time it's held, from 5-6:15 PM. This class really does coincide with the many happy hours being held at the bars along Pennsylvania Ave, near the yoga studio. Now that it's warm, these happy hours have spilled into the outside seating, so when I go into yoga and when I come out, I walk past a block full of people happily sipping lovely glasses of white wine, with the sunlight shining though the liquid, and tall, dewy pints of cold beer.
I really miss white wine. I really miss beer.
P.S. I did have a delicious virgin pina colada at dinner last night--fresh coconut and pineapple juice. Although I DID note the irony of being pregnant and having to order the "virgin" anything. Ha. (Just as I noted the irony, last night as I was telling Meg about my yoga class, of me saying that I wanted the other women in the class to pay more attention to my pregnancy. It's not a prenatal class, and I am the only pregnant woman who goes. I secretly (well, not so secretly anymore) want them to ask me lots of questions, look admiringly at my belly, and such. I said, "They must be very self-centered.")
I really miss white wine. I really miss beer.
P.S. I did have a delicious virgin pina colada at dinner last night--fresh coconut and pineapple juice. Although I DID note the irony of being pregnant and having to order the "virgin" anything. Ha. (Just as I noted the irony, last night as I was telling Meg about my yoga class, of me saying that I wanted the other women in the class to pay more attention to my pregnancy. It's not a prenatal class, and I am the only pregnant woman who goes. I secretly (well, not so secretly anymore) want them to ask me lots of questions, look admiringly at my belly, and such. I said, "They must be very self-centered.")
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Three Pots of Water
On Friday, I had a tiring day and kept thinking about coming home and taking a bath. I even stopped on the way home to buy some new flower-scented Body Shop bubble bath. When I got home, I went upstairs and cleaned the tub with cold water, then switched to hot to rinse and begin filling. I waited for the water to get hot. And waited. And waited.
It didn't. So I went downstairs to check if the water from the sink would get hot. It wouldn't.
I got my phone and called the real estate place that "manages" our house for our landlord. As I called, I went down the basement to see if I could see any problem with the hot water heater.
As I opened the door, I saw that the basement had been transformed into a shallow swimming pool.
In the meantime, it was about 4:45 on a Friday afternoon, and I was getting no answer from the real state office. I called the emergency number, and found someone, who called a plumber, then called back to say the plumber would be there first thing in the morning. Then the plumber himself called to confirm. "How early can I call?" he said.
At 10:00 am Saturday morning, still no call from the plumber. I called him, left a message, and heard from him at about 11:00. He said he was caught up in another job and would be over in another hour. At 1:00, he arrived.
"Hi," I said as I answered the door.
"I'm not going to be able to fix this till Monday," he said in return.
As we went into the basement, he said he couldn't get his helper to work today, then that the place that sold hot water heaters was closed till Monday. (Apparently the Home Depot hot water heaters won't do.) He looked everything over, assured me he'd be here Monday, and left.
After some pregnancy-hormone-charged tears about our full dishwasher, the guests we were having over for dinner, and my intense desire for a bath, I sort of got over it, and Dean and I took a long walk in the 75 degree day, planning to get hot and come home and brave a cold shower. We did: it was COLD. It felt extra cold, like water dripping from ice cubes. Headache cold. But we did it.
Today, we'd planned the same, an evening cold shower to hold us over till tomorrow night, when everything SHOULD be fixed. But it is cloudy today, breezy, not nearly as warm. When we came in from another afternoon walk, we were both really dreading the cold water.
So, I filled three pots of water and put them on to boil. We didn't let them get quite to boiling, but they were still pretty hot. Dean went first, and almost burned his head with the first cupful he tried to pour. Then he got the idea of mixing some of the hot with the cold water from the tub. He reported a successful "shower."
I tried it too. I actually mixed some of the water in the pot so I didn't have to keep turning around to the faucet. It worked really well. Nice warm water, and plenty. Now I am clean and cozy in my pajamas.
We figure we could save a lot of water if we always just bathed by kneeling in the tub over a pot of hot water. Who knows, the way things are going, we may get another chance tomorrow.
It didn't. So I went downstairs to check if the water from the sink would get hot. It wouldn't.
I got my phone and called the real estate place that "manages" our house for our landlord. As I called, I went down the basement to see if I could see any problem with the hot water heater.
As I opened the door, I saw that the basement had been transformed into a shallow swimming pool.
In the meantime, it was about 4:45 on a Friday afternoon, and I was getting no answer from the real state office. I called the emergency number, and found someone, who called a plumber, then called back to say the plumber would be there first thing in the morning. Then the plumber himself called to confirm. "How early can I call?" he said.
At 10:00 am Saturday morning, still no call from the plumber. I called him, left a message, and heard from him at about 11:00. He said he was caught up in another job and would be over in another hour. At 1:00, he arrived.
"Hi," I said as I answered the door.
"I'm not going to be able to fix this till Monday," he said in return.
As we went into the basement, he said he couldn't get his helper to work today, then that the place that sold hot water heaters was closed till Monday. (Apparently the Home Depot hot water heaters won't do.) He looked everything over, assured me he'd be here Monday, and left.
After some pregnancy-hormone-charged tears about our full dishwasher, the guests we were having over for dinner, and my intense desire for a bath, I sort of got over it, and Dean and I took a long walk in the 75 degree day, planning to get hot and come home and brave a cold shower. We did: it was COLD. It felt extra cold, like water dripping from ice cubes. Headache cold. But we did it.
Today, we'd planned the same, an evening cold shower to hold us over till tomorrow night, when everything SHOULD be fixed. But it is cloudy today, breezy, not nearly as warm. When we came in from another afternoon walk, we were both really dreading the cold water.
So, I filled three pots of water and put them on to boil. We didn't let them get quite to boiling, but they were still pretty hot. Dean went first, and almost burned his head with the first cupful he tried to pour. Then he got the idea of mixing some of the hot with the cold water from the tub. He reported a successful "shower."
I tried it too. I actually mixed some of the water in the pot so I didn't have to keep turning around to the faucet. It worked really well. Nice warm water, and plenty. Now I am clean and cozy in my pajamas.
We figure we could save a lot of water if we always just bathed by kneeling in the tub over a pot of hot water. Who knows, the way things are going, we may get another chance tomorrow.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Diaper Math
My friend Liz recently wrote to me relating her experience with cloth diapers.
I figured we’d likely go with cloth diapers anyway, or do what Meg does, using cloth diapers when possible but having a backup of disposables. (Let’s be realistic—sometimes we’re probably just going to need them.) However, today I started thinking about it even more.
Liz says they have 24 diapers to last for 3 days. (The laundry is another story, yes.)
That’s 8 diapers a day. (Is that realistic? Correct me if I’m wrong, mothers.)
Liz likes the Bun Genius diaper because it works well for her baby, Oliver, and a single, adjustable size fits babies from 7-35 pounds.
24 Bun Genius diapers cost about $408 (they’re $17 apiece).
According to babysrus.com, you can get a box of 216 Pampers for $41. That’s about 19 cents a diaper. (And a pretty good deal: for example, and 84-count box costs $24, or 29 cents apiece.)
8 diapers a day for a year, at 19 cents a diaper, is $555.
How long are babies in diapers? Two years? So that’d be a little over a thousand dollars.
Of course, one could also buy much cheaper cloth diapers.
For more on this fascinating subject (including the alarming statistic than one baby using disposable diapers sends about one ton of waste to the landfills) you can view the “Cotton Babies” link to the right.
P.S. If I use cloth diapers, I definitely want one of those diaper shower things that connect to the toilet with a hose so you can spray the diaper off. Seems like a must-have to me.
P.P.S. Dean pointed out that 8 diapers a day is a new diaper every 3 hours. Comment, mothers, on whether this is true.
I figured we’d likely go with cloth diapers anyway, or do what Meg does, using cloth diapers when possible but having a backup of disposables. (Let’s be realistic—sometimes we’re probably just going to need them.) However, today I started thinking about it even more.
Liz says they have 24 diapers to last for 3 days. (The laundry is another story, yes.)
That’s 8 diapers a day. (Is that realistic? Correct me if I’m wrong, mothers.)
Liz likes the Bun Genius diaper because it works well for her baby, Oliver, and a single, adjustable size fits babies from 7-35 pounds.
24 Bun Genius diapers cost about $408 (they’re $17 apiece).
According to babysrus.com, you can get a box of 216 Pampers for $41. That’s about 19 cents a diaper. (And a pretty good deal: for example, and 84-count box costs $24, or 29 cents apiece.)
8 diapers a day for a year, at 19 cents a diaper, is $555.
How long are babies in diapers? Two years? So that’d be a little over a thousand dollars.
Of course, one could also buy much cheaper cloth diapers.
For more on this fascinating subject (including the alarming statistic than one baby using disposable diapers sends about one ton of waste to the landfills) you can view the “Cotton Babies” link to the right.
P.S. If I use cloth diapers, I definitely want one of those diaper shower things that connect to the toilet with a hose so you can spray the diaper off. Seems like a must-have to me.
P.P.S. Dean pointed out that 8 diapers a day is a new diaper every 3 hours. Comment, mothers, on whether this is true.
Rainy Day Ramblings
So... I'm 15 weeks pregnant. A few random thoughts and events:
-I volunteer at a street newspaper called Street Sense here in DC once a week (or so). If you don't know, a street newspaper is basically a non-profit newspaper that focuses on issues of poverty and homelessness, often sold by vendors who are or were homeless. The New York Times did an article on a variety of street newspapers. And they posted an audio slide show that is entirely about Street Sense--I can't make a link work for it, but it's great if you have a few minutes to watch it.
I started volunteering at Street Sense about a year and a half ago. I'd wanted to somehow get more involved in homelessness since we moved to DC. When faced with homeless people asking me for money on the street, or seeing people sleeping in doorways or on benches, I felt very overwhelmed. It was hard to know what to do. Some homeless advocates tell you not to give money in the event that your handout might inadvertently support someone's drug or alcohol habits. Then again, I always thought, Walt Whitman tells us, give alms to all who ask. And I remember the Bible story/verse about "doing unto the least of these." I also felt a lot of guilt: should I really be eating out at a restaurant when others haven't eaten all day? I've worked through a lot of that by now, through thought processes and, I guess, spiritual introspection that I'm too hungry to go into right this second, but in any case, I did find Street Sense. They needed office volunteers on Friday afternoons just at a time when I was spending every Friday afternoon in a funk, being bored and lonely. I still go (now on Thursdays, since I teach on Fridays this semester). Sometimes I feel too busy to go, but I'm always glad I'm there. It's a busy, crazy place, and kind of like a busy, crazy family.
If you can, read the article and watch the slide show.
-I turned in my thesis yesterday! Finally. It was both exciting, for obvious reasons, and anti-climactic. I walked to my four professors' office, alone, through dim hallways, and dropped of a copy of the thesis in their boxes. No trumpets, whistles, bells or flowers. Then I went to teach a class. Still, even though there is still one problem poem, it's a triumph and a relief. Now I have the thesis defense on April 23, and then till May 4 to make any changes I need to make and electronically submit the thing and be totally done with it. (If you're wondering, it WILL eventually be available to download through the UMD library.)
-Dean broke his arm last week. It was a bike accident: someone getting out of a taxi opened his/her door in his path, so he slammed on his brakes and flipped over the handlebars. He can't do much with his arm, obviously. It's sad for him; he's very active and now he can't play his guitar, cook, do much in the garden, or about a million other things. As for me, let's just say I have come to realize how much I take for granted all the dinners he cooks. If it had happened a few weeks earlier, we would have had to hire a nurse to take care of us.
-I go to the doctor again on Friday! I look forward to hearing the heartbeat again.
Oh, and it turns out I am Rh negative. Basically that means if my baby is Rh positive and our blood mixes, I make antibodies that could harm the baby. (Interestingly, my and the baby's blood doesn't actually mix unless there is some trauma. Isn't that wild?) If you're Rh negative, you have to get some shot at 28 weeks and then again at the birth to prevent the antibodies from forming.
It's fairly common--my mom was Rh negative--but I found out because a pharmacy called asking me to approve the co-pay for the shot to be sent to my doctor's office. It was upsetting, because I didn't really understand what it was for at first and thought something was wrong. Personally, I think the doctor should have called me to explain before ordering the medicine. It led me back to the question I've had since I became pregnant: am I going to the best doctor possible? I already switched doctors once. I just don't know. This doctor gets good recommendations, but he's a bit brisk, and I'm afraid we don't see eye to eye on issues of labor. I really need to talk to him more about labor. I've been reading this book called Pushed; it makes me want a home birth. But then again, what if something goes wrong?
Sigh. It's a rainy day here, and the rain is making me lazy. I'm starving, so I'm going to eat.
-I volunteer at a street newspaper called Street Sense here in DC once a week (or so). If you don't know, a street newspaper is basically a non-profit newspaper that focuses on issues of poverty and homelessness, often sold by vendors who are or were homeless. The New York Times did an article on a variety of street newspapers. And they posted an audio slide show that is entirely about Street Sense--I can't make a link work for it, but it's great if you have a few minutes to watch it.
I started volunteering at Street Sense about a year and a half ago. I'd wanted to somehow get more involved in homelessness since we moved to DC. When faced with homeless people asking me for money on the street, or seeing people sleeping in doorways or on benches, I felt very overwhelmed. It was hard to know what to do. Some homeless advocates tell you not to give money in the event that your handout might inadvertently support someone's drug or alcohol habits. Then again, I always thought, Walt Whitman tells us, give alms to all who ask. And I remember the Bible story/verse about "doing unto the least of these." I also felt a lot of guilt: should I really be eating out at a restaurant when others haven't eaten all day? I've worked through a lot of that by now, through thought processes and, I guess, spiritual introspection that I'm too hungry to go into right this second, but in any case, I did find Street Sense. They needed office volunteers on Friday afternoons just at a time when I was spending every Friday afternoon in a funk, being bored and lonely. I still go (now on Thursdays, since I teach on Fridays this semester). Sometimes I feel too busy to go, but I'm always glad I'm there. It's a busy, crazy place, and kind of like a busy, crazy family.
If you can, read the article and watch the slide show.
-I turned in my thesis yesterday! Finally. It was both exciting, for obvious reasons, and anti-climactic. I walked to my four professors' office, alone, through dim hallways, and dropped of a copy of the thesis in their boxes. No trumpets, whistles, bells or flowers. Then I went to teach a class. Still, even though there is still one problem poem, it's a triumph and a relief. Now I have the thesis defense on April 23, and then till May 4 to make any changes I need to make and electronically submit the thing and be totally done with it. (If you're wondering, it WILL eventually be available to download through the UMD library.)
-Dean broke his arm last week. It was a bike accident: someone getting out of a taxi opened his/her door in his path, so he slammed on his brakes and flipped over the handlebars. He can't do much with his arm, obviously. It's sad for him; he's very active and now he can't play his guitar, cook, do much in the garden, or about a million other things. As for me, let's just say I have come to realize how much I take for granted all the dinners he cooks. If it had happened a few weeks earlier, we would have had to hire a nurse to take care of us.
-I go to the doctor again on Friday! I look forward to hearing the heartbeat again.
Oh, and it turns out I am Rh negative. Basically that means if my baby is Rh positive and our blood mixes, I make antibodies that could harm the baby. (Interestingly, my and the baby's blood doesn't actually mix unless there is some trauma. Isn't that wild?) If you're Rh negative, you have to get some shot at 28 weeks and then again at the birth to prevent the antibodies from forming.
It's fairly common--my mom was Rh negative--but I found out because a pharmacy called asking me to approve the co-pay for the shot to be sent to my doctor's office. It was upsetting, because I didn't really understand what it was for at first and thought something was wrong. Personally, I think the doctor should have called me to explain before ordering the medicine. It led me back to the question I've had since I became pregnant: am I going to the best doctor possible? I already switched doctors once. I just don't know. This doctor gets good recommendations, but he's a bit brisk, and I'm afraid we don't see eye to eye on issues of labor. I really need to talk to him more about labor. I've been reading this book called Pushed; it makes me want a home birth. But then again, what if something goes wrong?
Sigh. It's a rainy day here, and the rain is making me lazy. I'm starving, so I'm going to eat.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Don't worry, I have the baby.
I've been entertaining myself to no end with that thought. Like I'll want to call Dean or send an email: "Don't worry, the baby's with me." It's hilarious, in my view. And when I'm doing something, I'll think about the baby and I doing it. "The baby and I are driving to College Park." "The baby and I are at a poetry reading." "The baby and I are amused that this student, who does not know that his teacher is pregnant and thus has the sense of smell of a bloodhound with superpowers, has come to his conference having just smoked weed." Etc.
It came about the other day when I was looking in the mirror at my belly. I was thinking about all the people who are so excited about the baby-- grandparents-to-be, our friends, other family members-- and it occurred to me that I have the baby. The baby that everyone is so excited about is with me. It felt like an honor.
Yes, folks, I think I've officially entered the second trimester, complete with LACK OF NAUSEA, a supposed "glow" (as reported by Laura), and happy, happy thoughts about the pregnancy. This video, sent to me by a friend, made me cry. I was afraid the second trimester was a myth, but it's true! (I'm having "chicken or the egg" thoughts about the coincidence of the feeling better with the happiness. Do you feel better because you're happy, or vice versa?)
But now that I'm not IN it, I have some things to say about the morning sickness. First, we should stop calling it morning sickness. It's criminal. All of these innocent women, considering having a baby: sure, we've heard of morning sickness. We've seen the women on TV throwing up in the morning. They finish, wipe their mouths, and move on with their days. We can handle "morning sickness." I thought (when I thought about it at all, which was not very much) that I'd maybe feel a little sick sometimes, and then feel okay, and bop about my merry way for the first few months until I started to show and plan baby showers.
To all of my non-mother friends out there, who might one day be pregnant, this is important: The Pregnancy Starts To Change Your Life Immediately. If/when you become pregnant, you might be lucky and not feel sick, and I fervently hope that's the case, because I wouldn't wish "morning sickness" on anyone, but you might very well feel like death warmed over for up to and over 2 and a half months.
For the record, I felt TERRIBLE from about 6 weeks to about 13 and a half weeks (about last Thursday). I threw up at least once a day for about 70% of that time (actually, usually in the morning, but sometimes randomly in the afternoon). I felt simultaneously queasy and hungry for most of the day and night. A myriad of smells made me gag, including coffee and cooking garlic, both scents I usually love. Sometimes I gagged for no apparent reason, such as when I was walking down the street. I wanted to eat, but the thought of most food was revolting. Sometimes I had very bad headaches. Sometimes I was so tired I literally thought I would not be able to get up off the Metro to change trains. I imagined just sitting there on the Red Line all day, going back and forth between Glenmont and Shady Grove, till someone kicked me off. There were good days, days when I gardened or did something fun with Dean or a friend, and good hours even on bad days, but for the most part, I felt awful.
I was also worried. I was worried about the baby, because other that the (many) pregnancy tests I took, I had no other sign besides the sickness that I was pregnant till about 10 weeks, when I heard the heartbeat. I wondered if it was okay, if I had somehow hurt it before I knew I was pregnant, if it was getting enough nutrients. I worried about not doing a good enough job on teaching when I was so distracted by feeling bad. I worried about not writing enough. I worried that we had ruined our lives, and spent almost every Friday night sobbing on the couch in exhaustion. (It was a lot of fun for Dean.)
I know, those last 2 paragraphs are a real downer. But I really, really want to record how I felt, because I am quickly forgetting, and it was real. I think what happens is, for women who do feel sick or sicker than I did, that once you get over it, you're so incredibly HAPPY. And it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Maybe it doesn't matter, but it still happened, and I want to record it. I think the first trimester of pregnancy doesn't get enough attention. But it's an extremely important time for the baby, and it can, in my experience, be a very difficult time for the mother. It's a lonely time. You might not be sharing your pregnancy with many people yet, no one can SEE that you're pregnant, and for the most part, no one can see how you feel. You're adjusting to the idea of being a mother. If you're like me, you have a very wonderful partner to make you grits and eggs when you're starving but the refrigerator smells make you gag, but even if you're that lucky (and some women aren't, like a certain single mother I know, who deserves a medal), even your partner doesn't really know how you feel, and can't do much else to help. I just think we should better acknowledge that the first trimester can be a difficult time, even if you're thrilled to be pregnant. I don't know if reading something like I've just written would have made me better prepared for the first part of pregnancy, but it might have.
And I'm not saying I would have postponed the pregnancy had I known all this. I might have, considering that I ended up spending a lot of prime writing hours huddled on the couch under a big brown blanket. But I don't think I would have. And I'm not saying, either, that it totally sucked and nothing good came out of it. The nausea DID totally suck, but at the same time, I learned a lot about myself. I learned that I can make a gag sound like a sneeze. I learned that I can do a LOT even when I don't feel good. For the most part, I managed to teach, keep up with grading, meet with my adviser, volunteer once a week, and do my usual household stuff even through the tiredness and queasiness. I even wrote a new poem. On the other hand, I also learned what can be let go of when necessary--I can skip vacuuming, get a sub for Street Sense, cancel a class if I have to, let the writing go. It will be there when I get back. I think these are going to be very important lessons for the future, such as, perhaps, the third trimester, which gets mixed reviews, or the time right after the baby is born, which I am terrified about, or, oh, say, THE REST OF MY LIFE, in which I will have a child to take care of.
Anyway--and anyone who's read the blog since I started it, or read this far in this post for that matter, is probably glad to hear this-- I don't expect to write or think about "morning sickness" much anymore, and I am very, very glad to be rid of it. But it was important to me to record a reflection on the last few months.
Now, I am very much looking forward to the fun things about pregnancy, such as planning a shower, finding out if the baby's a boy or a girl, picking out a name, arranging a nursery (or turning the hallway into a nursery), and walking around with a smug "I'm pregnant and blissful" expression. And it's spring! My favorite season. I love the warmth.
In the meantime, don't worry: I have the baby. And we need to go work on my thesis, which is officially due Monday!
It came about the other day when I was looking in the mirror at my belly. I was thinking about all the people who are so excited about the baby-- grandparents-to-be, our friends, other family members-- and it occurred to me that I have the baby. The baby that everyone is so excited about is with me. It felt like an honor.
Yes, folks, I think I've officially entered the second trimester, complete with LACK OF NAUSEA, a supposed "glow" (as reported by Laura), and happy, happy thoughts about the pregnancy. This video, sent to me by a friend, made me cry. I was afraid the second trimester was a myth, but it's true! (I'm having "chicken or the egg" thoughts about the coincidence of the feeling better with the happiness. Do you feel better because you're happy, or vice versa?)
But now that I'm not IN it, I have some things to say about the morning sickness. First, we should stop calling it morning sickness. It's criminal. All of these innocent women, considering having a baby: sure, we've heard of morning sickness. We've seen the women on TV throwing up in the morning. They finish, wipe their mouths, and move on with their days. We can handle "morning sickness." I thought (when I thought about it at all, which was not very much) that I'd maybe feel a little sick sometimes, and then feel okay, and bop about my merry way for the first few months until I started to show and plan baby showers.
To all of my non-mother friends out there, who might one day be pregnant, this is important: The Pregnancy Starts To Change Your Life Immediately. If/when you become pregnant, you might be lucky and not feel sick, and I fervently hope that's the case, because I wouldn't wish "morning sickness" on anyone, but you might very well feel like death warmed over for up to and over 2 and a half months.
For the record, I felt TERRIBLE from about 6 weeks to about 13 and a half weeks (about last Thursday). I threw up at least once a day for about 70% of that time (actually, usually in the morning, but sometimes randomly in the afternoon). I felt simultaneously queasy and hungry for most of the day and night. A myriad of smells made me gag, including coffee and cooking garlic, both scents I usually love. Sometimes I gagged for no apparent reason, such as when I was walking down the street. I wanted to eat, but the thought of most food was revolting. Sometimes I had very bad headaches. Sometimes I was so tired I literally thought I would not be able to get up off the Metro to change trains. I imagined just sitting there on the Red Line all day, going back and forth between Glenmont and Shady Grove, till someone kicked me off. There were good days, days when I gardened or did something fun with Dean or a friend, and good hours even on bad days, but for the most part, I felt awful.
I was also worried. I was worried about the baby, because other that the (many) pregnancy tests I took, I had no other sign besides the sickness that I was pregnant till about 10 weeks, when I heard the heartbeat. I wondered if it was okay, if I had somehow hurt it before I knew I was pregnant, if it was getting enough nutrients. I worried about not doing a good enough job on teaching when I was so distracted by feeling bad. I worried about not writing enough. I worried that we had ruined our lives, and spent almost every Friday night sobbing on the couch in exhaustion. (It was a lot of fun for Dean.)
I know, those last 2 paragraphs are a real downer. But I really, really want to record how I felt, because I am quickly forgetting, and it was real. I think what happens is, for women who do feel sick or sicker than I did, that once you get over it, you're so incredibly HAPPY. And it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Maybe it doesn't matter, but it still happened, and I want to record it. I think the first trimester of pregnancy doesn't get enough attention. But it's an extremely important time for the baby, and it can, in my experience, be a very difficult time for the mother. It's a lonely time. You might not be sharing your pregnancy with many people yet, no one can SEE that you're pregnant, and for the most part, no one can see how you feel. You're adjusting to the idea of being a mother. If you're like me, you have a very wonderful partner to make you grits and eggs when you're starving but the refrigerator smells make you gag, but even if you're that lucky (and some women aren't, like a certain single mother I know, who deserves a medal), even your partner doesn't really know how you feel, and can't do much else to help. I just think we should better acknowledge that the first trimester can be a difficult time, even if you're thrilled to be pregnant. I don't know if reading something like I've just written would have made me better prepared for the first part of pregnancy, but it might have.
And I'm not saying I would have postponed the pregnancy had I known all this. I might have, considering that I ended up spending a lot of prime writing hours huddled on the couch under a big brown blanket. But I don't think I would have. And I'm not saying, either, that it totally sucked and nothing good came out of it. The nausea DID totally suck, but at the same time, I learned a lot about myself. I learned that I can make a gag sound like a sneeze. I learned that I can do a LOT even when I don't feel good. For the most part, I managed to teach, keep up with grading, meet with my adviser, volunteer once a week, and do my usual household stuff even through the tiredness and queasiness. I even wrote a new poem. On the other hand, I also learned what can be let go of when necessary--I can skip vacuuming, get a sub for Street Sense, cancel a class if I have to, let the writing go. It will be there when I get back. I think these are going to be very important lessons for the future, such as, perhaps, the third trimester, which gets mixed reviews, or the time right after the baby is born, which I am terrified about, or, oh, say, THE REST OF MY LIFE, in which I will have a child to take care of.
Anyway--and anyone who's read the blog since I started it, or read this far in this post for that matter, is probably glad to hear this-- I don't expect to write or think about "morning sickness" much anymore, and I am very, very glad to be rid of it. But it was important to me to record a reflection on the last few months.
Now, I am very much looking forward to the fun things about pregnancy, such as planning a shower, finding out if the baby's a boy or a girl, picking out a name, arranging a nursery (or turning the hallway into a nursery), and walking around with a smug "I'm pregnant and blissful" expression. And it's spring! My favorite season. I love the warmth.
In the meantime, don't worry: I have the baby. And we need to go work on my thesis, which is officially due Monday!
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Baby Belly; Baby Broccoli
I don't love this picture, but you can kind of see the change. The shirt is too loose, maybe.
Also, these are the broccoli plants that we've been photographing along with my belly. It occurred to me that eventually, long before the baby is born, we'll be eating this broccoli and I'll have to take pictures of something else. But for now, here's the baby broccoli, just transplanted into their boxes outside.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
"Congratulations!
I am writing to inform you that your poem, "Thrush," is a winner in this year's Intro Journals Contest and will be published in Colorado Review."
Thus began the letter I pulled out the mailbox about an hour ago as I left the house to go get something for lunch.
In November, my poem was one of three poems sent by poets from my school to the AWP Intro Journals contest. Creative writing programs throughout the country send in poems from their writers. I was very excited to be nominated from my school, and didn't think there was much chance at all that I would win in the larger pool. Today I saw the return address on the envelope, and I thought, "Oh, this is a letter saying how I didn't win that contest."
About a year ago, I began submitting my poems to literary journals. If you want to publish a book of poetry, it's good to have some poems in journals first. And if you want to teach creative writing with your MFA degree, it's good to have published a book of poetry. (I would love to be able to teach poetry in a college, because teaching poetry is the best job I've ever had, and because the college professor life is, in my opinion, super-cushy: good hours, fun things to teach, long summers in which you can write.) Every poet I've ever read who's written about the publication process tells you to expect rejection after rejection. That's been the case with my stuff so far. In fact, I got a rejection email from a journal just today. Every now and then I will get a kind note from the journal's poetry editor saying something like, "Thanks anyway! Good luck!" It's the kind of thing that makes you feel like your work maybe at least got past the first round of editors. So I wasn't bitterly thinking how I didn't win the contest or anything, just matter-of-factly.
Still, I decided to go ahead and open it because it looked sort of thick for a rejection letter. (I thought maybe they were trying to get me to join something.) Then I opened it, and saw the word Congratulations!
It's very exciting! My poem will be published in Colorado Review AND I get $100! You can see the announcement of the contest winners here.
Thus began the letter I pulled out the mailbox about an hour ago as I left the house to go get something for lunch.
In November, my poem was one of three poems sent by poets from my school to the AWP Intro Journals contest. Creative writing programs throughout the country send in poems from their writers. I was very excited to be nominated from my school, and didn't think there was much chance at all that I would win in the larger pool. Today I saw the return address on the envelope, and I thought, "Oh, this is a letter saying how I didn't win that contest."
About a year ago, I began submitting my poems to literary journals. If you want to publish a book of poetry, it's good to have some poems in journals first. And if you want to teach creative writing with your MFA degree, it's good to have published a book of poetry. (I would love to be able to teach poetry in a college, because teaching poetry is the best job I've ever had, and because the college professor life is, in my opinion, super-cushy: good hours, fun things to teach, long summers in which you can write.) Every poet I've ever read who's written about the publication process tells you to expect rejection after rejection. That's been the case with my stuff so far. In fact, I got a rejection email from a journal just today. Every now and then I will get a kind note from the journal's poetry editor saying something like, "Thanks anyway! Good luck!" It's the kind of thing that makes you feel like your work maybe at least got past the first round of editors. So I wasn't bitterly thinking how I didn't win the contest or anything, just matter-of-factly.
Still, I decided to go ahead and open it because it looked sort of thick for a rejection letter. (I thought maybe they were trying to get me to join something.) Then I opened it, and saw the word Congratulations!
It's very exciting! My poem will be published in Colorado Review AND I get $100! You can see the announcement of the contest winners here.
Are you expecting?
That's what the woman who cut my hair said to me on Tuesday as I was paying.
"Yes!"I replied.
Then she said something like, "no wonder." She sort of murmured it and I am not sure what she meant. I was kind of nauseous during the haircut (shocking, I know) because I had just eaten and taken prenatal vitamins, and it got kind of hot under the cape as she dried my hair, so maybe she meant, "no wonder you looked so miserable during the haircut." Or maybe she meant, "no wonder you look a little fat under your t-shirt." In any case, I think it's a little dangerous for strangers to be asking me if I am expecting at this point in the pregnancy, but since I AM, I found it very exciting.
Then she said she though it was a boy. So, that's one vote for boy. My mom and Luli, my mother-in-law, think it's a girl. So girl is winning. (Feel free to cast your own vote in the "comments" box.)
Here are a few other thoughts/moments from the past few days.
*In case you are wondering if my morning sickness is gone, NO, it is not. I actually feel pretty good right now, but I've had several yucky days in the past week. It is really wearing me down. I'm so tired of it I can't even complain about it anymore. I hope it goes away soon.
*I am a slow-moving vehicle. When I was walking to Union Station yesterday, people who had started out 2 blocks behind me passed me halfway there. Then when I got off the train in College Park, I was plodding along the sidewalk, eating a chocolate croissant, and this crazy runner in a Marines t-shirt sprinted past. Then he sprinted past again, going back where he'd come from. Then past again the first way. He did this 4 or 5 times , for about the length of 2 blocks, in the time I took me to walk about 3/4 of the block. As I finally turned the corner, he stopped to rest, huffing and puffing, watching me wipe the chocolate off my face.(I was really tired yesterday. Still.)
*Through an interesting chain of events, my dear friend Meg has secured a crib voucher for me to get a new crib. So, I can officially check "crib" off of my (currently non-existent) list of baby things we need. That's a big one! (Thank you Meg!)
*I wore my maternity pants for the first time yesterday. They are green cargo pants. They are much more comfortable than my other pants--I can still button them, but they get uncomfortable by the end of the day, and make angry-tight-pants marks on my stomach. Maternity pants have an unbelievable large belly panel.
"Yes!"I replied.
Then she said something like, "no wonder." She sort of murmured it and I am not sure what she meant. I was kind of nauseous during the haircut (shocking, I know) because I had just eaten and taken prenatal vitamins, and it got kind of hot under the cape as she dried my hair, so maybe she meant, "no wonder you looked so miserable during the haircut." Or maybe she meant, "no wonder you look a little fat under your t-shirt." In any case, I think it's a little dangerous for strangers to be asking me if I am expecting at this point in the pregnancy, but since I AM, I found it very exciting.
Then she said she though it was a boy. So, that's one vote for boy. My mom and Luli, my mother-in-law, think it's a girl. So girl is winning. (Feel free to cast your own vote in the "comments" box.)
Here are a few other thoughts/moments from the past few days.
*In case you are wondering if my morning sickness is gone, NO, it is not. I actually feel pretty good right now, but I've had several yucky days in the past week. It is really wearing me down. I'm so tired of it I can't even complain about it anymore. I hope it goes away soon.
*I am a slow-moving vehicle. When I was walking to Union Station yesterday, people who had started out 2 blocks behind me passed me halfway there. Then when I got off the train in College Park, I was plodding along the sidewalk, eating a chocolate croissant, and this crazy runner in a Marines t-shirt sprinted past. Then he sprinted past again, going back where he'd come from. Then past again the first way. He did this 4 or 5 times , for about the length of 2 blocks, in the time I took me to walk about 3/4 of the block. As I finally turned the corner, he stopped to rest, huffing and puffing, watching me wipe the chocolate off my face.(I was really tired yesterday. Still.)
*Through an interesting chain of events, my dear friend Meg has secured a crib voucher for me to get a new crib. So, I can officially check "crib" off of my (currently non-existent) list of baby things we need. That's a big one! (Thank you Meg!)
*I wore my maternity pants for the first time yesterday. They are green cargo pants. They are much more comfortable than my other pants--I can still button them, but they get uncomfortable by the end of the day, and make angry-tight-pants marks on my stomach. Maternity pants have an unbelievable large belly panel.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)