Soapbox

I am hereby ascending my soapbox, only because I'm so irritated I can't stand to bite my tongue any longer.

Okay, I'm SOOOO disappointed that many of you out there (and you know who you are!) make the argument that Governor Sarah Palin should not be elected Vice President because she should be home with her children. I think any woman, including one with conservative values, is entitled the right to choose whether to work or not. Women are criticized for staying home to raise their children if they have college educations--remember that professor from ABC's Primetime special a couple years ago? Imagine little old me setting the woman's movement back 20 years all by myself! I thought I was just changing diapers and wiping noses. And now people, especially women, are criticizing Gov. Palin for having the audacity to accept a Vice Presidential nomination while she has (gasp!) children, and especially (shudder!) one with special needs.

Isn't the job of parenting in general, and mothering in particular, difficult enough without facing criticism from all sides? I believe that each woman tries to do what is best for her family and herself, even when some women make choices that I wouldn't. Wasn't that what the movement was all about, giving women the ability to choose what to do with their lives, professionally or domestically? Obviously, Gov. Palin's children, except the youngest, were all older when she began her skyrocketing political career. Ask yourself, those of you who know who you are, if you are as judgmental against other women who choose to work when they have school-age children. And to you in Mormondom (which is like 99% of my readers): Do you ever question whether the general Relief Society, YW, and Primary presidencies should serve in their full-time capacities when they have children?

As to the special needs baby, what if any indication is there that his special needs aren't being met? As the mother of two children with special, albeit different, needs and two needy, but apparently not special, children, the question I ask myself all the time is "Would I let him do this if he didn't have glaucoma?" I'm trying to be an equal opportunity parent: focusing on what my children can do, and not treating them differently, even though there are some obvious differences in capabilities. I'm not pretending to know the decision-making process involved--since it isn't any of my business--but I can imagine a mother asking herself, would I still work if my son was perfectly healthy? And I'd like to point out that, in many ways, special needs children are still perfectly healthy kids. Life throws you curves, you adapt, and "normal life" becomes whatever your life is now.

Also, I'm bugged by the attacks on Gov. Palin for having a soon-to-be-married pregnant daughter. Haven't we learned from all the pregnant bishop's daughters that you can't always judge the parent by the child's actions? I also find it disturbing that so many supporters of "a woman's right to choose" are so critical on this extraordinarily personal issue. Apparently for them, there's only ONE choice, and it isn't "keeping the baby." As a sidebar, I'm for choice and accountability--as my Dad used to say "You've made your bed, now lay in it." Indeed, I'm distressed by the tenuous distinction in the law which considers a fetus a person with rights for purposes of murder and wrongful death, but doesn't protect a fetus from it's own mother. Example, Scott Peterson is serving time for committing two murders. But if Lacey had opted for an abortion, she'd be free. How is that equal rights? But I digress, that's another issue altogether.

So back to my point. I'm seriously disappointed that personal issues regarding child care are being considered by some, again you know who you are, as factors in whether or not to vote for Gov. Palin. Such thought is sexism, pure and simple, regardless of whether a man or a woman is thinking it. If you're not convinced, ask yourself how many times you have wondered who is staying home taking care of the children of any male politician? Chances are, it's not his wife either. Or his second wife.

Please tell me you will consider the real issues and what's important to you: Do you want a bigger government? Do you want to pay more in taxes? Do you want a strong national defense? Do you want immigration regulations/control? Do you agree that government should increase it's spending on various programs? Because the issues are what it's all about, even if Gov. Palin is "cute" and Sen. Obama is "articulate."


P.S. Sorry to get fired up, but I'm really sick of the vitriol that is being spewed about Gov. Palin. I'm disgusted with the personal attacks on her (while still recognizing that's the political game), because I believe they've gone way beyond the attacks a pro-choice, left-leaning woman would be subjected to. Case in point: Did anyone question whether Elizabeth Edwards should have been staying home with her young children? Maybe if she had been around pleasing her man--instead of fighting breast cancer, writing books, and campaigning for him--he wouldn't have gone looking elsewhere.

P.P.S. I like what this guy had to say about it.

You Know Where I'll Be Tonight!

The Milkers

A little while ago we were eating a dinner salad which included fresh pineapple. Jacob loves pineapple. I explained to him that pineapples grow all over Hawaii and that when you are in Hawaii you eat a lot of pineapple and it is the best. So he declared he wanted to live in Hawaii when he grew up. Don't we all?

Thereupon, Gabe declared that he wanted to live in Texas. It's a common theme in his musings: When I grow up, I'm going to move to Texas. And get a wife. In Texas. And you can visit me. In Texas. Then Gabe wondered what they grow in Texas.

So I told him they grow steak in Texas. On the hoof.

Which led to a much more detailed discussion of the beef industry than I had intended. Yes Gabe, the delicious, juicy steak you love does indeed come from a cow. Yes, the steak is cut from sections from the cow's body. After which Jacob announced: "They just cut out the uvula and cook it up." How does he even know the word "uvula"?

We reassured Jacob that the steak we eat does not include the uvula. We conscientiously omitted the Basque restaurant that serves tongue stew.

Gabe is suspicious by nature when it comes to food. Not entirely convinced his parents knew what they were talking about, Gabe then cautiously asked "They don't eat the milkers, do they?"

Has that thought ever entered any other kid's mind before?

Gratitude

After that last whiner's post, I need to balance the chi with a reflection of my recent blessings.

1. This baby. He may be big, but he is perfect.

2. This guy. Love him more than anything.

3. These guys. The only shot I've got with all four. Yep, it's going to be fun rounding them all up.

4. An on-call OB who resembled this guy. He was a soft-spoken, gentle giant who was patient enough to let me labor without rushing into an unnecessary C-section. And he was calm enough during delivery to only let a moment of concern flash across his face and only sternly said "Don't quit on me now!" while he wrestled Pete's shoulders loose.

5. A labor and delivery nurse who literally skipped into my room to inform me of my baby's weight--how he was the biggest they've had in a long time and how I was the talk of the hallway. And that my baby's head measured 15 inches. In my fatigued stupor, I told her, "I think you mean centimeters." "Nope," said she, "Fifteen inches." And she told me they all thought I needed some more fentanyl. I hoped she was as generous with my dose of narcotics. (It's only a week and a half later that I discovered head circumferences are indeed measured in inches. Who knew? Geometry, smeometry.)


6. My mom who showed up bearing chocolates--a custom box of only Milk Bordeauxs and Milk Butterchews (they're new, and they're spectacular!). Absolutely deserved.


7. This shade of pink. I'm thinking of redecorating my entire house in it. Or maybe at least my whole wardrobe.

8. Clear eyes. A drive home from the hospital without having to plan the trip to Sacramento and the first surgeries, and hoping and praying that we'd be able to save some degree of sight. And an all clear report from the pediatric ophthalmologist. We know we aren't out of the woods, since congenital glaucoma can present at any time in the first year, but we are keeping our fingers crossed and celebrating the good news. (Note the bruise from attempted forearm IV.)

9. A husband who arrived at the hospital without delay (after my urgent pleading to please get me away from the roommate from hell), carrying a Diet Pepsi, and having stopped to buy a new carseat since he rushed off without ours. He even remembered to get a gift receipt so we can return it.

10. This product. Big baby = big sucka. There were times in a sleep-deprived state that I actually believed I was nursing a vampire baby (Thank you, Stephenie Meyers). Upside, big sucka = big sleeper. Last night Pete slept nearly 6 hours straight. Yes, I do realize I've just cursed myself.

11. This magic snooze button. None of my other kids wanted anything to do with them. Pete loves his. I can see why it's so hard for some parents, I mean kids, to give them up.

12. Moments like these.

13. Little smiles. I swear it's not just gas. And even if it is, I don't care.

I'll Have Some Cheese with This. . .

A short list of the trials I've recently endured:

1. 41 weeks, 6 days of pregnancy.

2. A triage nurse who thought the forearm would be a good place to start an IV. Seriously? (And what's more insulting than being asked, "What makes you think you are in labor?")

3. 24 hours of labor. The first 15 weren't so bad; it was the last 6 that nearly killed me. Well, at least they made me alternatively cry and laugh hysterically. And say some bad words, only a few of which I regret.

4. Two epidurals. The first (a necessity after 16 hours of labor) only numbed the sides of my hips and my legs. Not exactly where the main pain was located.

5. 6 hours of "transition" labor. I kept saying "This is NOT the way it's supposed to go with my FOURTH!" Nobody was listening. There was speculation that baby was "OP," and there was speculation that the cord was holding him up (but there were no dips in his heart rate). The truth is it doesn't matter whether he turned at the last or whether the cord was wrapped around his neck twice (it wasn't tight), because I believe the real culprit was his 15 inch head.

6. An epidural which decided to wear off when it came time to push. And did I mention his head was 15 inches?

7. A few scary moments of "shoulder dystocia." When I was bent and pushed like a Chinese contortionist and tried not to panic. Let's just say there was a whole lotta yanking going on.

8. The delivery of a 10 pound, 10 ounce, 22 1/2 inch long beautiful baby boy. Well, beautiful considering his face was pretty squished up at first. My doctor had kept saying, "I don't think this is a big baby in here," as my due date came and went. I understand he was berated by the labor and delivery nurses the next time they saw him.

9. The most annoying roommate in the history of the world. It should be a law that every woman is entitled to a private room after giving birth. I understand if I have to listen to my own husband snore, but it is an exquisite form of torture to listen to some stranger's boyfriend/significant other. Nor should I be forced to listen to her television all night long, nor her loud (LOUD) cell phone conversations, nor her obnoxious and endless stream of visitors. After the five minute argument about where the RNC was located ("It's in the Twin Cities, that means it's in Missouri! No, I'm pretty sure that's in Michigan."), I exercised saintly restraint by refraining from screaming "IT'S IN MINNESOTA YOU BLEEPING IDIOTS!"

Now, will somebody please pass me some brie?