Why You Should Quit Calling Homebirth Moms Brave

If you're a mom, you've probably talked about childbirth with other moms.  Leading up to birth and for at least the first few months, if not years afterward, we're kind of obsessed with it.  That's because it is likely the single most powerful and life changing experience you will physically, and possibly emotionally, endure as a woman.  (Disclaimer: no, I did not just say you are not a real woman if you haven't given birth - seriously, I didn't.)  So, you're a mom and you're chatting with other moms and maybe you're pregnant or maybe they're pregnant, or maybe there is a new baby there...so what are you going to talk about?  Birth, of course!  Now, if you're a homebirth mom, you've almost certainly had this conversation:

Other Mom: Where did you deliver?

You: In my bedroom!

Other Mom: Oh...was it a planned homebirth?

You: Yes, we had a midwife and a birth tub and my husband caught the baby and it was wonderful!

Other Mom:  Well...homebirth sounds like a neat idea, but, well...I guess I'm just not brave enough.  You're so brave!  

Often this is followed by a tale of a minor, often intervention-caused complication that would have killed everyone had they been at home, but gee aren't you lucky that didn't happen to you. 

Okay, look.  I'm not anti-hospital birth at all.  I probably have no way to possibly vent my frustrations about these conversations without sounding judgy or anti-hospital birth.  But I promise I'm not.  I am VERY pro-birthing-in-the-environment-in-which-you-feel-safest-and-most-comfortable, or PBITEIWYFSAMC for short.  Do hospitals have a place in birthing?  Yes.  Are hospitals the safest place to be when you have a serious complication?  Of course!  

I'm not writing this to try to convince you that homebirth is safe.  Honestly, I've already devoted hours upon hours of my life to researching the safety of homebirth and I'm really just too lazy to provide all of that data for you right now.  And really, this information isn't new any more.  At this point with so much information on the topic it's kind of just a given - an easily knowable and confirmable fact - for low risk pregnancies homebirth is as safe or safer than hospital birth.  But just for kicks (and because it came up in my facebook newsfeed today) I'll throw this article out there for you as a starting point if you're really wondering:

Largest Home Birth Study

Spoiler - it turns out it's pretty darn safe.

So, back to the bravery thing.  The first time someone told me I was brave for having a homebirth, I was actually pretty confused.  I didn't *feel* brave in deciding to have a homebirth.  I couldn't really make sense of it in the moment of the conversation.  Granted, this happens to me a lot.  I frequently have conversations where I have no idea what's actually being said until I have time to think about it and process it later.  It's why I prefer to communicate in writing, so I have time to decipher what people are getting at before responding.  So particularly this first time someone told me I was brave, right there in the moment I was baffled.  My eyebrows probably looked like this:

It seemed like a completely unrelated quality was being attributed to my birth choices.  Like if they said, "Oh, a homebirth...wow, that's really...humble..."  

After the first conversation like this I don't think I gave it much thought, and probably not the second one either.  But by the third time, I realized what was actually being said. 

"You're so brave to have a home birth" is code for, "I could never risk my baby's life like that, but whatever works for you, you thrill seeker, you!" I realize that this is an attempt at tact. And sure, tact has a place. I've certainly received much harsher and more direct criticism for my birth choices. This story from when I ran away to Utah to give birth to twins is a satire based on heavy criticism for that birth plan. By the way, if you haven't read it yet, you should. It's hilarious. I'm hilarious.

And actually, *that* particular birth story might qualify as brave. Not the condescending, I-would-never-take-that-risk sort of brave. Actual, going to extraordinary measures to do what you feel is safest for your babies at great personal cost...sure, I'll concede that that might be brave (ha ha, don't worry, I know you probably have some other words for that one.) But staying home to labor and birth? Not so much. Certainly not any more bravery than is required from any mom at the moment of birth.

I'm thinking of turning it around. Next time a mom is telling me about her birth in the hospital I'm going to pull an astounded face and say, "Wow, you gave birth in a hospital...I guess I'm just not brave enough to do that!" *Sigh*...no, I probably won't really. I'm actually very nice.

So, next time you are talking to a mom who is telling you about a homebirth and you are thinking that your response needs to somehow let her know that you just aren't into that kind of danger, here are some ideas of what to say instead:

"Wow, that sounds wonderful!"

"I don't know much about homebirth, but I'd like to learn more!"

"That's a great birth story!"

"Cute baby!"

It's really not a competition, and since you're definitely bright enough to realize with just a little bit of thought and effort that neither one of us is making some wildly dangerous birth choice here, we really don't need to make little comments to let each other know that if only we loved our babies a little less we might consider doing it your way.

And here you probably thought you were saying something nice...

Disclaimer: I only speak for myself. For all I know other homebirth moms love hearing how brave they are.

Edited to Add: I would be remiss if I didn't include Jim Gaffigan's thoughts on the matter:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rFnLBv46CHs&feature=youtu.be

How to Get Rid of the Schwan Man

Alternate title:  Reason #4,357 to Never Answer the Front Door

This post is dedicated to my husband, who like me, generally has an aversion to warm & fuzzy, emotional or inspirational things and therefore was a little bitter about being suckered into reading my terribly unfunny post yesterday.

It was Fall, 2006.  I was pregnant with the twins but I did not yet know that they were twins.  Therefore I was ginormously huge for no apparent reason.  I figured that's just what happens to one's body when pregnant with a fourth baby.  By the 48th time a stranger asked me, "Due soon?" and then went into utter shock when I told them not till January, I should have had a clue but I didn't.

It was a lovely fall day.  I was in the bedroom working and watching the kids through the window playing on the trampoline in the backyard.  Josh was home for two weeks from his job at the drilling camp and he was helpfully mopping the front room with his music blasting.  Then, several things happened at once.  The doorbell rang and just at that moment I glanced outside and saw the children fighting.  I actually don't remember who was killing who - Sebastian was pretty feisty back then and they were closer in size.  So lets say it was Sebastian, kneeling on top of Isaak with his hands around his neck.  I yelled for Josh but he was talking to someone at the front door.  I quickly hopped up - well as quickly as someone that large could hop...and it was probably more of a lurching motion than a hopping one - and ran, okay waddled with great urgency, out of the room to rescue my children from each other.  Now remember, Josh had been mopping.  So I got through the back hallway and hit the family room with all the speed I could muster when I slipped on the slick wet floor.  My feet went out from under me and I crashed on the ground in clear view of the front door.  I was fine, but I was still in a panic about the scene I had witnessed in the backyard so I was laying on the ground yelling, "Get the boys!  They're killing each other, go stop them!"

I'm not sure what was going on in my dear sweet husband's head at this time.  He is a people pleaser and was pleasantly chatting up the Schwan man who was trying to get us to try his services.  I can only assume that between the suddenness and the chaos and the guy at the front door and his people pleasing tendencies he became confused and just wanted to smooth everything over for the stranger on the door step and make him comfortable.  He glanced back and seeing his whale of a wife sprawled out behind him, furrowed his brow.  He turned back to the Schwan man and said, "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"  Mr. Schwan looked understandably alarmed and said, "Is she okay?"  The only thing on my mind was saving the children from each other.  Urgently I said again, "I'm fine, I'm totally fine, get the boys, stop the boys!"  Josh couldn't make sense of what I was saying about the boys but he took my word for it that I was fine.  He said, "I think she's okay.  What days did you say you deliver?"  Mr. Schwan, who was reacting to the situation like a far more normal person than either of us were clearly able to pretend to be, was not remotely assuaged by Josh's pleasant demeanor.  "Are you sure she's okay?  Her arm looks really bad."  Josh and I both glanced at my arm.  It did look really bad, bent at a completely unnatural angle.  Josh pleasantly replied, "Oh no, her arm goes that way, she does that all the time."  In Josh's defense, my arm does go that way and I do do it with some frequency, although "all the time" might be a bit of an over statement.  My arm is "double-jointed" and can appear to be horribly contorted if I turn it just so.  Here, I'll show you:

The Schwan man had had enough.  He said, "Maybe I should come back another time."  Josh smiled and said, "That'd be great!"  Mr. Schwan hurried away.  As soon as the door was closed, Josh's expression changed from the consoling, "You're okay, I'm okay she's okay," smile to a bewildered, "What the hell just happened?" sort of look.  He helped me up and I hobbled to the back door to rescue the children, who by this time were over whatever it was that was going on when I had first looked out the window and happily bouncing and playing again.

The Schwan man did NOT come back later.  In fact, a few other times he was in the neighborhood going door to door and yet, for some strange reason, never came knocking at our house again.  Which was fine, because Josh was never planning on ordering in the first place.

Take a Picture, It Will Last Longer

*

I have just finished up a full month of neglecting my family.  You see, I got a photo project for my scanning business.  A HUGE photo project.  Nearly 30,000 images.  The client knew it was "a lot" of pictures.  They guessed somewhere around 5,000.  I gave an estimated deadline based on that figure and got to work.  As I opened each new box of photo albums and began to realize that "a lot" was turning into a lot more than either of us would have ever guessed, I kept thinking, "Well, I'll just add a few more hours to my work day, I can still hit the deadline."  I added "a few more hours" to every work day and still needed an additional 2 weeks, but the client was very understanding.

What that meant for my family was a crazy, never available, constantly stressed out zombie mama.  Or, as someone who is not a fan of my choice to have all the babies recently put it, a "mombie" (apparently that's a specially designed insult for people who like to have children).  You may or may not know this about me, but I can be a bit obsessive.  It's not like I can set work hours and just work during those times and leave work at the computer desk and enjoy normal family life during my off time.  And if I did I never would have finished on time anyway.  So every day, from the moment I woke up to the moment I stumbled over to the couch and passed out for just a "quick nap" it was work work work all the time.  The children were great.  I promised them many awesome things for their patience and accommodation as they ferried babies back and forth to me for nursing, and (mostly) kept up on chores and watched an unholy amount of television.  The big ones were able to help a bit too, pulling photos from albums and some scanning.  Josh took over the grocery shopping and either made dinner from scratch or expedited meals that I had  in the freezer.  I was up all night most nights because that is when I could get the most done.

During this time I was completely immersed in the lives of a family I had never met.  With a project this size I can't help but get intimately familiar with the people in the pictures.  It's never my intention to nose into their lives and extrapolate stories and compile detailed life histories.  The goal is to move quickly and I don't waste time studying their pictures to see what I can glean.  Nevertheless, in any photo project I look at each photograph a minimum of 2 times and as many as 4 times.  Once when removing the photos from the album (if they are in albums), again when scanning, a third time when running through the scanned images to make sure they are properly oriented, and a fourth if they request labeling.

At some point in the process, while I never become a part of their lives, they become a part of mine.   I journey with them through the most notable and memorable points in their lives.  (You can tell they are the most notable and memorable points because it was important enough to them to take pictures.)  I get to see the old black and whites of little babies and the style of photography and film development from the thirties and forties.  I get to watch these little babies get older and have birthdays and go to prom and graduate.  I get to witness the changing fashions and hairstyles through the decades.  I get to virtually attend their weddings and see them having babies of their own and on and on it continues.  Eventually I get to see these people, who I've now known since birth, grow old.  In one project I did like this a couple of years ago, we returned the completed project on the day of the funeral of the patriarch of the family.  If that's not a poignant reminder of how quickly time goes, I don't know what is.

Did I mention that I'm obsessive?  Throughout this process, all I can think of is how to make the most of  my time with my family - all while not spending any time with them because I need to get the project done.  Look at all the life they have lived!  Look at all of the memories!  Look at everything they have accomplished!  Look what they have done that I haven't! I'm in my prime right now, still able to create new life and able to give so much time and so many experiences to my growing children.  I don't fear growing old in and of itself, but I do fear growing old and feeling like I wasted my life and that I didn't do enough or be enough for my children.  Because in the end, all that will be left of me here on earth are the memories that my children have of me and the stories and pictures that they pass on to their children.  Naturally I am now overwhelmed with guilt and panic.

But I am done!  And now I am freshly inspired to be awesome and to be loving and to let every moment be an opportunity for a positive memory for both me and my children.  So, new or renewed resolutions are as follows:

1. Take more pictures of myself and my husband.  I take plenty (more than plenty, you are probably thinking ,if you know me on facebook) of the children.  But no matter how I feel about my current appearance or weight, I know that my children and grandchildren will appreciate having a record of us when we are gone.

2. Don't just take posed pictures, take pictures of experiences.  Even if we aren't doing anything that special, if we are happy enjoying life, take a picture.  This might not mean much for future generations, but when I am older I will be able to look back at those pictures and recall how I felt and the joy in that moment.

3.  DON'T take pictures of everything...this is a little contrary to what I just said, but I think there can be value in just enjoying life and enjoying the time together without pulling out the camera.  I've notice sometimes when the kids are having a spontaneous dance party or something and I have to run and get the camera to take pictures or video tape it can take away from the moment a little bit sometimes.

4. Work and chores and obligations and even time-wasting internet surfing (or blogging) all have to be done or have their own value.  But don't let them take up all of your time.  It's cliche, but time really does go so very very fast.  I mean, it only took me a month to go through a stranger's entire life.  Okay, yes just in photos, but still the photos and the memories are what are left when that life is over.  Take time, right now, today, just for laughing and loving and looking at each other.

To wrap up, I think I'd be remiss not to throw in a shameless business plug...

Make your memories last for generations to come!  Whether you have just inherited a lifetime of photo albums, need a picture for Throwback Thursday, or even just have a build up of paper you can't get rid of, Forever Photos and Files can meet all of your digitizing needs!  Find us on the web: Forever Photos and Files

*Disclaimer - this post is not terribly amusing and is full of somewhat morose introspection.  Should I have put this at the beginning of the post before I suckered you into reading the whole thing?  Nah...

The Worst 4th of July Ever!

I had no less than three children inform me that it was the "worst 4th of July ever" yesterday.  I believe it was all weather related.  We briefly had a torrential downpour, that meant they had to vacate the pool and the bounce house leading them to believe that the whole day was ruined.  I told them to quit being such pansies - if Isabella could deal, they could deal.  

Then I gave them all tickets to go buy cotton candy and they stood in line in the rain without another complaint.  Josh and Anastasia stayed cozy and dry under a sleeping bag while the rest of us got soaked.  Thankfully the rainstorm only lasted 10-15 minutes, so the day was salvaged.

I do not recommend living in my neighborhood.  Well, not unless you enjoy obsessive and constant yard work and don't own or have any visitors who drive a pick up truck and perhaps would like to be pen pals with the HOA.  However, I DO recommend coming to our annual 4th of July neighborhood party.  It *almost* makes the HOA tolerable.  Almost.

The day starts with the entire neighborhood (or at least many of  those with kids) congregating in front of my house with decorated bikes a scooters for a "parade".  A fire truck leads the way and we all follow along over to the club house and pool.  Then the fire men hook up the fire hose and everyone gets to play in the water.  This picture is from last year.

Then the grown ups hang out on the lawn sharing snacks we brought from home while the kids run wild, swimming and bouncing in the bounce house and generally having fun. For grown ups there is also all day beer and wine for just $5.  Hard to beat!  

The kids love how laid back mom and dad get on the 4th.  Typically they aren't really allowed to have sugary sodas or food dye.  But hey, it's the 4th of July...let's celebrate our freedom by messing with our body and brain chemistry...because we can! They don't even use food dyes in England.  We will show our independence by ingesting copious quantities of food-grade poison.  The kids certainly don't complain.

There are all kinds of contests.  Isaak won a $10 Target card in the watermelon eating contest.  He also won some prizes in the swimming relay.  Alexandra took first in the pie eating contest and Dominic got second.

There is also an event where they throw huge amounts of change into the pool and the kids dive for it.  Jane some how managed to bring back more change than all the other Tobin children combined.  All together they got about $10.  This is Jane:

She leads a charmed life.  Everything just falls into place for Jane.  Each of the kids took a dollar worth of their change to the concession stand to buy a treat.  Jane purchased a bag of chips and came back with 75 cents.  I was surprised that they were only a quarter.  Jane was dismayed to notice that the other kids used their money for cookies, she didn't think of that.  Since she had only spent a quarter, and because she's Jane, I gave her another dollar and let her go back for a cookie.  She came back with a cookie and 75 cents again.  Apparently, when you're Jane, you can get anything you want for a quarter.

When the festivities were over we came back to my house for BBQ pork for dinner and grandpa's delicious ice cream cake for desert.

I managed to score tickets to Independence Day Strikes back at Fiddlers Green.  The Colorado Symphony Orchestra played music from Star Wars, patriotic music and other awesome songs followed by a fireworks show.  It's a great venue for kids, with big grassy areas to hang out and play.

 When it got dark, grandpa gave out glow sticks.  Sebastian's glow stick broke - through no fault of his, he assures me.

If you've never gone to a fireworks show accompanied by a symphony orchestra, I highly recommend it.  I don't know how I'll go back to regular fireworks shows after last night.

Not bad at all for the worst 4th of July ever.

My Children Are Like Pets to Me

When my 6th child was a baby I decided I needed a playpen for her to nap in so she wouldn't fall off the bed.  I'm actually somewhat confused remembering this because I know that I had TWO playpens for the twins that apparently weren't available.  Maybe they were still using them?  I also never used a playpen at all for my first three children, but I don't recall a major issue with falling off the bed.  Regardless, sweet baby Jane was becoming more mobile and I felt better about the idea of putting her in a playpen for naps than on the bed.

I had never purchased a playpen before, we had acquired the other two from friends and relatives who weren't using them any more.  I had no idea how much they cost new, but I had no intention of paying full price so I went to a consignment store for children's and baby items.  That was my first mistake.  I should have just cruised the thrift shops.

I'm not an expert shopper by any means so I don't know if all consignment shops or consignment shopkeepers are like this, but she seemed to want to make sure I knew that this was a VERY classy place. They carried nothing but the finest second-hand baby paraphernalia and clothing that had been very gently used by the most prim and proper babies.

The nice, if not somewhat pretentious shop keeper asked if she could help me.  I told her that I was looking for a playpen.  Second mistake.  She was visibly taken aback (not for the last time in this short visit).  Apparently we don't call them "playpens" anymore.  The idea of PENNING a baby!  My goodness, how crass!  How careless!  What loving parent would "pen" a child!  She corrected me - "Oh...you must mean a Pack n' Play?"  Lady, you're older than me, I know you've heard the term "playpen" before, but, "Yes, of course, a Pack n' Play."

She began showing me their very finest Pack n' Play.  Plush padding on the top bars, a bassinet insert that could also be used for diaper changing and a mobile (you know, those things that hang over cribs to entertain babies).  All mine for just over $50.  It was my turn to be taken aback.  I had no intention of spending anywhere near that much.  I told her I didn't need anything so fancy and I was just looking for something inexpensive.  she showed me another model for around $40...maybe because it didn't have the mobile?

At this point I began pondering how big the largest moving box from our recent move was.  A couple of blankets in the bottom for padding and baby would never know she'd been cheaply boxed instead of expensively penned for her naps.  Certainly I could find a box tall enough but did it have enough space to stretch out in the bottom?  As I was turning this all over in my head something caught my eye in the back corner of the store.

Right there, folded up and tucked away was a bare bones play pen.  It had no attachments, no plush padding or even any cloth (it was more of a tent-like material) and it was the most unfashionable shade of blue.  I perked up.  "How about that one?"  As she looked to where I was pointing her eyebrows furrowed in consternation.  She gave a little laugh and said, "Oh, you don't want that one!"  Not to be swayed I went to have a look.  The price tag said $15.  That I could handle.  "No, this one is perfect!  Exactly what I was looking for!"  She was skeptical.  She said, "This one would really be more appropriate for a pet."  I had already picked it up and began carrying it to the front.  She hurried behind me trying to convince me - "Is this for a puppy?  It would be perfect for a puppy!"

For just a moment I considered playing along with this ridiculous notion that I had come to a snooty consignment store to purchase an overpriced Pack n' Play for a puppy.  I decided to try honesty and humor instead.  "Ha ha, this is for my 6th child.  If I couldn't find something for cheap enough I was considering using a moving box!"  *hardy har har, slaps knee*  She was not amused.  She was more than taken aback...she looked aghast.  For a moment I feared that she was going to refuse to sell me the darn thing and put me out of the shop or call CPS.  Finally she begrudgingly rung me up and I managed to get out of there with what I now knew to be a glorified pet cage.

As far as I can tell my daughter has not been harmed in any way by sleeping in the thing.  She barks from time to time, but surely that's not related, right?  Needless to say, I don't shop consignment anymore.