sisters!

enjoying a bike ride

It's astonishing how different two beauties can be when they emerged from the same womb.

cuts like a knife

Momma:  Amandine who's your favorite momma?

Baby Squirrel:  Ah Daddy.

i am a person/this is my body

On Saturday, while my husband and baby squirrel cooked breakfast, I read a post that catapulted me back to my labor. The blog was shared with a trigger warning, which I now fully understand, because minutes after taking in what I had read, I was weeping in my husband's arms. I had a long, rough labor that was very painful. All of this is fine. It was hard, but I made it. There is one moment, though, that I haven't been able to move past, and until I read this article, I never felt validated in my feelings.

The entry was entitled Birthrape and the Doula. If you have a minute to read, I definitely recommend going straight to the source, but it explains what birth rape is and how doulas can help their clients who are experiencing it. Now I know that I mentioned the "R" word, which is a hard word to digest, and many of you will probably stop reading here. That's okay. It only means that you haven't been there, and I hope it never happens to you, but as a doula I witnessed this countless times and wish I had had the tools then to navigate those waters.

In her article, Amy Gilliland has this to say about using the word rape. "Some people feel that by using the term ‘rape’, I’m overdramatizing these situations or minimizing the experience of people who have been sexually violated. But I don’t think so. The patient has given over their trust, their body, their life, to a medical careprovider who has a sacred covenant to treat that person and honor them. When they act in a manner that is dismissive, painful or coercive, they violate that trust. The careprovider is touching the most intimate parts of the body – places that may only have been touched by one or two other people besides the careprovider! They have power over the patient and are treating their body like an object. The patient is often lying down and is unable to move or get away. When the patient says, “No” and “Stop”, to me, they are voluntarily retracting their consent."

"What I can tell you is that the careprovider has somehow forgotten they are treating a person, not just a body. The medical detachment they learned to protect themselves has gone haywire, and so much so that they’ve forgotten that a real person is inside the body, and it is the person, not simply a medical situation they are treating. There is no detachment for the patient – and everything is experienced wholistically, meaning it affects their psyche and their spirit as well as their physical selves. Maybe the medical careprovider never learned this or maybe this knowledge has gotten buried."

During one of my many visits with my midwife, I discussed with her how I had witnessed really rough vaginal exams, that not only left my clients screaming, crying, and begging for their doctors to stop, but also slowed down their labors, and in one case halted the labor for three days. I told her that I would need her to tell me what she intended to do before each exam and what I might feel. I can wrap my mind around something if I know what to expect. "This is going to be uncomfortable. There will be a sharp pain." This comes with exams, and I know the drill. At this time, I also told my midwife that if I asked her to stop doing something during an exam, I would need her to listen. My midwife reassured me that I had nothing to worry about.

Fast forward to my labor. My midwife and I have already had a few disagreements. She wanted me to continue to climb stairs to help get the baby into a better position, and I wanted to rest. I was beyond exhausted. I had been screaming at the top of my lungs for hours on end, and I couldn't do one more step. My midwife finally agreed to let me do my own thing while she went to take a nap, and I stayed with her assistant and slept completely naked (plus a diaper) on my bathroom floor in between contractions. It might not have seemed like the most productive use of time, but it was necessary, and shortly afterwards I was ready to push.

We also had a small tiff over the fact that I had to poop, and I wanted to sit on the toilet. She told me to poop in the lovely diaper I found myself in after my water broke. I then yelled, "No. I want to poop like a person poops. On the toilet!" This caused a lot of laughter from everyone. You never know what will come out of your mouth when you come face to face with your most primal self. I had labored sitting on the toilet earlier on in the day and she was trying to keep me away from there, because she felt like the position didn't help me progress. Which is understandable, but telling me, a grown adult, to poop in my pants was belittling. It's my toilet, and my poop. I can decide where to put it.

Both of these were very harmless disagreements, but what happened during my final exam before my daughter was born was not. I was lying flat on my back and my midwife determined that I was fully dilated. She said she wanted to keep her hand inside me through the next contraction to feel how I was pushing. All of this is acceptable and very routine, but it was excruciating for me to be on my back during my contractions. And by excruciating, it felt like my body was being sawed in half. As the contraction approached, my instinct was to move into a different position. Anything but flat on my back, but my midwife wanted to feel me push. I couldn't. Not in that position. It was impossible. Her hand hurt so much inside of me. I was launching my body backwards to get away. It was at this point that I pleaded with her to remove her hand, because it was too painful. My midwife refused, and decided instead to lecture me on running away from my labor. She also informed me that she wasn't going to remove her hand until I was able to push it out. I then screamed, "I feel like you're raping me!" She didn't budge. I was a frightened animal backed into a corner. I remember looking at my doula, and midwife's assistant, and then into my husband's terrified eyes. Why wasn't anyone helping me? Why were they letting this happen? That's the moment I shut off and went into survival mode. She wasn't going to get out of me until I pushed her out. So during the next contraction, I cried and screamed and pushed harder than I ever have in my life.

You would think that shouting, "I feel like you're raping me!" would cause someone to take a step back and think twice about what they are doing. There was no medical emergency. She wasn't saving my baby's life. She did want to make sure that I knew how to push, but this was not the way. My husband and I have spoken many times about this moment, and during our first conversation he said he saw a change in my face and felt like my midwife's words had motivated me and was what I needed to hear at the time. I told him it didn't motivate me. It forced me to survive, and I was doing everything in my power to get her to stop. It's all about perspective, though, and I can see and rationalize the situation from everyone's point of view including my midwife's, but isn't it the mother's perspective that should be protected and honored above all others?

Finally my midwife removed her hand, and I was broken. I collected myself and got into a different position. I was on my knees hanging my chest and arms over a yoga ball. It's where I stayed pushing for the next five and a half hours until we were able to have our final argument. She was placing a hot compress on my lady bits to keep me from tearing. "Oh that's way too hot," I said. "No it's not," she replied. "Yes it is!" I cried. Feeling the temperature of a wet rag with your hands is very different than feeling it with your sensitive perineum and stretching vaginal opening. My midwife's assistant came to my rescue, however, and said, "It's way too hot. I told you it was too hot." Thank you for listening. Thank you. The next thing I knew, I was holding my baby, and I was a mom, and I was busy, and I was recovering, and I had been raped in front of a group of people I trusted, and no one knew but me.

a girl after my own heart, again

Momma:  What do you want for breakfast?

Baby Squirrel:  Tomatoes and tacos.

how to own your labor in two easy steps

Ladies, now that it is 2016 we no longer have the luxury of remaining ignorant about our bodies and the birth of our babies. Burying our heads in the sand and hoping for the best is not an option. We are too smart, and beautiful, and important to put our health care decisions into someone else's hands. Labor has a way of taking us down roads we never expected, so it's important to have our proverbial ducks in a row ahead of time. My hope is for us to feel proud of our births and know that our voices and wishes are heard and honored. 

When it comes to labor, if we don't know what our options are, we simply don't have any. Let that sink in a minute. How scary is it to think that during the craziest, most primal adventure of our lives, we don't have a say in what's happening to our bodies? Terrifying! That's why I'm here to share two easy steps that will leave you feeling informed, prepared, and ready to face your labor.

1. Educate Yourself
2. Hire a Doula

Is that it? Yep. Super simple, right? And yet, many of you will skip both of these steps. Ladies, what you don't know can hurt you. You owe it to yourselves and your beautiful babes to be informed and armed with the best support team possible. It is your first real test as a mother. Here are some resources to get you started, but it is up to you to go the distance. Remember, Hell hath no fury like an educated laboring mother.

•  Here's a wonderful, comprehensive list to help you with your birth preferences. I love this, because it is eye-opening to see the plethora of options that are available during the different stages of labor, delivery, and the time right after.
• Watch The Business of Being Born. Unless you regularly work on the labor and delivery floor, it's important to know what you will be walking into. Also, it's a fantastic documentary!
• Take a childbirth education class. If you can't find one in your area, or you are strapped for time and cash, the Laugh and Learn series is a great alternative. 
• Read anything by Ina May Gaskin. She has spent her life gently welcoming babies into the world, and has seen it all.
• Watch Orgasmic Birth. Yes, it is possible to orgasim during your labor. Who knew? It's important to naturalize birth and see something other than the terrifying screams of television labors. Also, it gets your partners interested. You have to admit you're curious.  

Onto step 2. Hire a doula.

Hire a what? A doula. She provides physical, emotional, and informational support during your labor. She differs from a midwife because she does not provide medical support. You have no idea how important this woman will be to your labor. I know you're thinking, "I'll have my partner why do I need a doula?" Because chances are your partner has no idea what labor looks like and will freak out when you are experiencing all that labor has to offer. Also, your partner will have to pee and eat at some point, and you will not be willing to let him or her go. A doula has seen labor. She knows to expect the unexpected. She focuses your partner so he or she feels helpful and supportive. She guides you through all the tricks and positions to help you manage your labor. She will rub your back, hold ice or heat packs in place, squeeze your hips for hours on end, help you stay informed, tell you that you're brave, and strong, and capable, and she will be with you from start to finish. 

My doula was my saving grace. She believed in me when everyone, including myself, gave up on my birth. She guided my breathing, held me, helped me through many positions, took over while my husband had a psychological breakdown, knew my wishes and fought for them. I still look at her as a sweet sweet angel who I probably owe my first born to. She stayed with me for hours after the birth and made sure that I was feeling confident before she left my side.

Now many of you might be thinking, "I'm getting an epidural so I don't need a doula". Ladies, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you have to labor before getting an epidural. The hospital wants you in active labor before it's going to admit you, and sometimes there isn't a room available yet. So arm yourself with a support person who will get you to where you wish to be. The same can be said about a scheduled cesarian. I have yet to meet a mother who feels awesome right after major abdominal surgery. Have someone there who can help you care for your baby and who can also look after you and your needs. The focus tends to shift to the baby once he or she is born, and sometimes the mother is overlooked. 

"But I can't afford one." Yes you can. Doula's work on a variety of pay scales and most are willing to help out or to find someone who can. If you find a doula who is working on her certification, often times she will work for free. Another idea is to add your doula's fee to your gift registry. If you find yourself coming up with other excuses not to hire a doula, please feel free to email me at momfirsthumansecond@gmail.com and I will help you realize why your excuse is totally bogus. I'm serious. You matter. Your baby matters. Your labor and birth experience matters.

For more information on doulas and what they offer please click here.

How about you? Did you have a doula? Are you thinking of hiring one? Did you feel well informed before your labor? 

I'm practically Kim K

Growing a human is by far one of the most incredible experiences a woman can have. The butterflies of feeling your baby move for the first time. The tiny hands and feet that push your belly from the inside. The hiccups that make you giggle. It's all so sweet, and magical, and exciting, and exhausting, and sickening, and horrible. Oh wait. What just happened? That's right. Reality. Now I know women who honestly love every bit of pregnancy. I have a theory that there is something in these women's genes that is meant to be carried on. Pregnancy is delightful for them so they will continue to reproduce. According to my own theory, my genes are happy right where they are and would prefer not to be touched.

I was nauseous morning, noon and night for the first 19 weeks. I didn't vomit a single time, although I felt like I was on the verge all day long. In fact, I wished that I could vomit because I was convinced that it would bring some sort of temporary relief. My husband was recently sick and was very nauseous for about an hour. He turned to me and said, "You have no idea how debilitating this is." Oh, really? In his defense, he tried to swallow the words as they flew from his mouth. He knew he had barked up the wrong sympathy tree. That's the thing about nausea though. As an outsider you can't see it, so you think suck it up and get on with your day. It really is, in the words of my husband, "debilitating."

As if the nausea wasn't enough, add extreme fatigue to the table. I had to quit working and would feel accomplished if I could get my dog to the curb to pee. Getting dressed was an all day event and sometimes didn't happen. Why was it so exhausting to grow a baby when it was only the size of a pea? And then I remembered the placenta. Not only was I growing a human, I was growing a new organ to support that human. Apparently that took all my energy and then some. My husband would get home after a hard day of work and I would feel awful knowing that I hadn't moved from the couch since that morning. When he would ask what I did that I day, I would simply reply, "I grew a human."

Fatigue and nausea would be enough for any person to throw in the towel, but why not sprinkle the experience with hormone swings, sore breasts, constipation, a constant urge to pee, hating the smell of almost everything, only stomaching beige carbs, and bloating? Did I mention this is only the first trimester? No wonder Kim Kardashian called it the worst experience of her life. I feel you Kim. I feel you. It is so strange to feel imprisoned by your own body. Now don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful that I was able to get pregnant and carry a healthy beautiful baby. I am beyond blessed and I don't take any of that for granted, but it's also important to be honest about the experience so other women know that they are not alone.

A friend of mine is currently in the trenches, and she called me crying yesterday. She is so nauseas and so tired she can't even function. I cried with her. It triggered that first trimester for me. Why does it have to be so hard for some? I reassured her that feeling this sick is usually a good sign of a healthy baby, which does alleviate some of the worry that comes with being a mother, but it does nothing for the physical. So if you know someone who is pregnant and having a hard time, go to her house and clean it for her. Take her dog to the curb, and brush her teeth. Don't wear perfume, or bring food into the house unless it's a chocolate peanut butter shake. Offer to watch her other children for an afternoon, or binge watch her favorite show with her. Be a friend.

How about you? Are you one of the lucky women who is supposed to spread their genes far and wide, or are you on team Kim K with me? 

a tale of two titties: engorgement

The moment that took me most by surprise after giving birth, was when my milk came in. I laid down for a nap with my little love bug, and I woke up a porn star. It was absolutely terrifying. I had boulders for breasts. I honestly thought they were going to burst. They were hot, tender, and my skin was stretched to the max. Maybe I had accidentally signed up for breast augmentation and my filler of choice was concrete. Needless to say, I was uncomfortable and my poor sweet baby could not latch onto bowling balls.

I'm a certified lactation consultant, so you can imagine that I handled the situation in a calm and graceful manner, right? Wrong. I panicked and forgot every bit of information I had ever learned including my name and address. I then called my doula and all my friends who had recently given birth for advice. The reviews were mixed. You put them in a bowl of warm water, you ice them, you express the milk, you leave the milk in there (you don't want to produce more!). I was so confused but willing to try anything.

I started by massaging my breasts under warm water in the shower and hand expressing (just enough to relieve the pressure). I called my husband into the bathroom to witness the fact that I could shoot milk out of my breasts, and asked if he wanted to milk me (even though my breasts were throbbing). He resisted, but ultimately folded. I think he was willing to do anything to make the moment pass, so he milked his wife and said, "This is so messed up." I'm a firm believer in sneaking humor into every possible part of parenthood. It's the only way to survive.

At this point my breasts were feeling a little softer, so I decided my babe might actually be able to latch on. Success! My Milk Monster ate like a champ and did her best to regularly drain my breasts. It is crucial to feed often in the early days of motherhood. Through the day and night. Skipping feedings only makes the situation worse. So put your baby to work, find a television series that will entertain you during the night feedings, and help yourself in the long run. Engorgement can vary from person to person, so I highly recommend that you check out what KellyMom has to say about it. This is a record of my personal journey, but what worked for me might not work for you.

For my next step, I gathered frozen cabbage leaves (cleaned and individually frozen), cling wrap and my mother-in-law. I held the frozen cabbage to my breasts while my mother-in-law wrapped the cling wrap around me. Love at its finest. Now all of this might sound insane, but the cabbage leaves were a game changer. They helped so much with the swelling. The only downside is that they began to stink as they warmed up, and they warmed up fast, because my breasts were so hot. I later learned that you should remove the cabbage as soon as the swelling starts to go down, because it can mess with your milk supply, but luckily I didn't have an issue with that. For information on how to do this in a more professional way click here. 

My final and favorite solution was the simple use of ice packs. I held them to my chest and instantly felt some sort of relief. I would also take a scarf and tie the packs on so I could be hands-free. I preferred cooling methods to warming methods, but I'm happy I tried them both. Eventually my milk regulated itself, and the engorgement went away (hallelujah!). It was quite a wild ride, though, and took a ton of support from my friends and family. So here is a much overdue thank you to everyone who helped me through those early days, especially my mother-in-law, Francoise. I couldn't have done it without you.

How about you? How did you care for your cantaloups? 

the gift that keeps on giving

Yesterday marked my 33rd trip around the sun, and I received the most incredible gift from my little cheeseburger. No more diapers. Only undies. Completely potty trained. Thank you sweet baby girl.

the heart of our family

Me: Grandma do you have any advice for those of us who are not turning 97-years-old?

Grandma Ford: Take things as they come.

Me: I love you Grandma.

Grandma Ford: I love you too honey.

technical difficulties

When I wanted to start this blog every piece of technology in my home went on strike. So I did what every logical/sane person does in my situation, and I rubbed a magic lamp. Much to my surprise, a genie appeared who shared a striking resemblance to my father-in-law. He had a MacBook that he deeply regretted purchasing (he uses and knows how to operate whatever that brand is that isn't Apple), and would love for me to take it off his hands. Um... Did this just happen? Blink. Blink.

Sometimes all you have to do is put what you want into the universe, and on very rare and incredible occasions your father-in-law will pop up with all the answers. A huge thank you to Grand-pi (Gabriel) for making my creative pursuits a possibility. Love you.

words from another mother / the feeding wars

This post was written by my friend and super mom, Emma Giffen. It is the first in the "words from another mother" series. I'm so grateful for her honesty and point of view. If you would like to be a part of this series, please email me at momfirsthumansecond@gmail.com. Help me grow our village one story, one mother at a time.

It begins immediately. As soon as anyone knows you're growing another human in your body, the advice starts coming. You don't ask for it, and it's not really advice (I personally would call it "finite opinions")... but nonetheless, you get it, like it or not, from almost everyone you meet. It could be about a myriad of things, and spans from a belly bump to small children: the delivery itself (vaginal vs C vs meds vs not), exercising when pregnant, how to sleep with your baby, to swaddle or not to swaddle, bed times, age of TV introduction, discipline, to cry it out or not to cry it out, when to potty train, pacifier allowance or not and when to cut it off, to work outside the home or be a stay-at-home parent... you get my drift. Endless. In a perfect world, we as women do what feels right for us and our babies; after all, we're the ones that brought them into this world. Beyond initial self-doubt, we should have confidence that "we got this." And yet, it doesn't seem to work that way, and instead of the village and sisterhood other women and society as a whole should provide, we get harsh judgement and animosity on so many levels.

Let's be real - parenthood is HARD. Especially for the mom. I'm not in this field for martyrdom, that's for damn sure. I freely admit that, no matter how much i adore my kids, I miss my life before ("B.C.", as the hubs and I like to call it). How can you not?? Being "on" 24/7 is rough work! Sometimes I feel like, as my dear friend and fellow mom once said, I need a full body transplant. Women face enough in their multi-tasking lives, but nothing so all-encompassing as motherhood. And one issue in general seems to really get a reaction: breastfeeding.

Let's go back before we go forward - my experience was that of an unexpectedly fast pregnancy with my beloved hubby who had been my partner for a decade. I decided pretty early on that one thing i wouldn't be doing was breastfeeding. I wanted to have control back over my body postpartum as soon as humanly possible, and not to sacrifice anymore than I was already giving in the pregnancy phase; I also wanted to share nighttime feedings with my husband, and have more general freedom throughout the first year than it seemed breastfeeding could afford. To be clear, I think breastfeeding is a BEAUTIFUL gift a woman can give her children; however, there are a lot of gifts we give our kids, and in my humble opinion, if you're loving, feeding and sheltering your child, you win. Period, end of story. But, unfortunately, this is not the end of story for some people. My decision brought to light a very dark view of what I thought was a feminist, forward-looking society that we live in.

I saw it in the news. On TV, in the newspaper, and in magazines, particularly the controversial TIME "Are you Mom Enough?" cover with a woman breastfeeding her 3-year-old child. I was so confused - I didn't judge this woman on the cover giving her older child her breast for comfort, and yet I was going to be judged for deciding what to do with MY body? This article was supposed to be on attachment parenting (in which breastfeeding is a key factor), however, it caused a media storm solely about the issue of breastfeeding itself. Why would the media add fuel to the already embarrassing female dilemma in this country people like to call "The Mommy Wars"? There was no real war, but clearly some wanted there to be, to pit women against each other as had been done throughout time. In the same vain, there was the magazine article which featured a spread of the model Giselle with a baby attached to her airbrushed, tastefully covered breast, while getting her hair and make-up done (including a quote saying women who didn't breastfeed should be punished by the law). Super realistic, right? And very relevant in a society where the focus could be on the environment, education, or, I don't know, maybe ending childhood hunger?

Regardless, I stood firm in my decision. I thankfully experienced no issues from any doctors, nurses, family or close friends. I had a precious, healthy little girl who is now 3 1/2 and thriving, the youngest in her class and seemingly very smart and adjusted (as adjusted as you can be as a tyrannical toddler, that is). I felt bonded to her from the beginning, and don't feel I love her any less than breastfeeding moms love their little ones, or that the adoration I get in return is lacking. I loved the freedom of being physically separate from the sacrificial pregnancy aspect, and was beyond grateful to get sleep relatively quickly as my husband and I switched night shifts. The type A part of me also enjoyed knowing how many ounces per day the little one was consuming, not to mention I was happy to have the dietary restrictions of pregnancy suddenly gone. In a new life of chaos, this choice was my solace. It was right for our family - for me, my body, my children and my husband - and I never ever apologized. When asked about it for whatever reason, I'd say "No, it's ok, I'm not breastfeeding" or "I actually didn't breastfeed" and when the response undoubtedly would be "Oh, you weren't able to?", I would simply say "Nope, I never tried or wanted to, we decided to formula feed." Most people moved on, some questioned it. I was happy to discuss it, though once again was taken off guard by the need to discuss my body and what I chose to do with it. But by that point, I was so exposed to the world (or at least felt that way) because of motherhood in general, I didn't mind a bit. And this choice worked so well for me that I did it without question for my second daughter (who also is lovely and bright and seems to be doing just fine in her development), and will do it for any other babies who may come in the future. 

The craziest thing is that I've had a quite a few women come to me in emails, Facebook messages or hushed tones asking how I made my decision, and how they could do the same. Some of these moms had a horrible time trying with the first baby; some were going back to work early and didn't have access to pumping; one because she had a history with sexual assault and didn't feel comfortable breastfeeding; another was just like me, and wanted to make her own choice. The list goes on and on. To be clear, these women weren't asking me the logistics of formula feeding or how to do it - they wanted reassurance that it was ok. That made me sad, though I was happy to provide it to them. I even read an article in The New York Times about a woman who'd battled breast cancer and had a double mastectomy, yet was pressured to breastfeed at the hospital and finally had to tell the nurses why she was choosing not to, a subject she initially preferred not to share. How nuts is that? I wouldn't judge the woman on the TIME cover feeding her 3-year-old from her breast, and expect that same non-judgement from other moms. It's bizarre that it's even an issue. 

In the end, we as women have enough to worry about - we take care of everyone around us (most of the time to the detriment of our own personal welfare), and are in a constant state of worry over being the best mothers possible. It is 2016! What we choose to do with our bodies is OUR OWN CHOICE! I see that theme everywhere lately - the media, the election, etc. - and I stand proudly by every choice I've made regarding myself and my kids up to this point. Life is too short to tear each other down in a fake war that no one wants to be a part of... let's focus on being positive for each other, and more importantly for our children's sakes. After all, kids go on many more years without breast milk or formula in the grand scheme of their lives. In the beginning years, instead of where the milk is coming from, I chose to (in between the exhaustion and diaper blowouts) try and focus on the snuggles and tiny feet and smiles and sweet-smelling baby skin. Our goal as moms and parents should be to raise smart, loving, functioning, human beings - it's our gift for posterity. From where I stand, the war is over - and ALL moms are "mom enough".

Charlotte and Evelyn

push it - push it real good

Why didn't I think to have Salt-N-Pepa on my labor playlist!?! Ah, regrets. Actually, no. I had zero humor left when it came time to push, and I'm sure I would have been angry had this gem been playing.  

Pushing is very misrepresented (like everything dealing with labor) in our world. The mother works so hard to fully dilate and then the baby is supposed to make its grand entrance after one or two hearty pushes. Now don't get me wrong, there are some women who basically sneeze their babes out, and I'm very happy for them. They are not the norm, however. 

Pushing, also known as the third stage of labor, can take anywhere from one to two hours or more for first time moms. If you give birth in a hospital, the doctors start to get pretty antsy at the two hour mark. I did witness a hospital birth where the doctor gave the mother three hours to push.  Every person and every baby are very different, so the time can vary greatly. 

My daughter decided she was going to Vogue her way down the birth canal, so I was blessed with pushing for five hours and thirty minutes. Yes you read that right. She wanted to have both her hands on her cheeks with her elbows out. She was in absolutely no hurry to join the outside world and would probably crawl back into the womb if she could.

Not only was it a long third stage, it was very hard work. I was on my hands and knees with my chest over a yoga ball. I would squeeze my husband's hands with every push basically cutting off the circulation to his thumbs. Somewhere around hour five of pushing, he told me he was going to have nerve damage and offered me a rolled up dish towel instead. As you can imagine, this did not go over well. Never offer your wife a dish towel at hour 29 of her labor. I do believe my response was, "Take one for the fucking team Sebastien!" Sorry honey. I love you.

Another little perk of pushing harder than you've ever pushed in your life, is that you get to poop in front of your husband and every other person in the room. Over and over again. As I'm writing this, I realize that I need to send my midwife's assistant a bottle of wine and flowers. She was bestowed with the task of keeping things "tidy". I know this sounds horrific, but trust me, you will not care. My doula even hypothesized that pooping a little each time you push might keep you from getting hemorrhoids. Worked for me. How about you?

The last little nugget I want to address today is the ring of fire. This is the burning sensation that comes when your baby's head is crowning and you think your vagina is literally on fire. For some women, this is the worst part of the entire labor. For me, it was my favorite moment. You see until that point I thought I was going to be in labor for the rest of eternity. Time is very strange when you are in labor. It's hard to tell the difference between one minute and one hour. When I finally felt the heat I embraced it like a long lost friend. It only took a few more pushes, and like the simple flip of a switch, all the pain in the world was gone.

How about you? How long did you push? What position were you in? Most importantly, did you poop?

a girl after my own heart

Momma:  What do you want for breakfast?

Baby Squirrel:  Cookies.

Momma:  You can't have cookies for breakfast. You need to eat something healthy.

Baby Squirrel:  Dessert.

get off my uterus

"So when is number two coming?" -everyone in the entire world.

When I hear this question my first reaction is to vomit. I don't of course, but that is how strongly I feel about not having another child at this point (or maybe ever). My mother likes to remind me that I'm only getting older. Really? I had no idea, because having a toddler that I chase after every moment of the day makes me feel so young and rejuvenated.

The truth is, I have not slept in almost two years. My daughter is what the books call a "high needs" sleeper. Translated into English, this means that my daughter still wakes up every one to two hours, and when she's sick she really loves the every 20-30 minutes schedule. May I please note that I'm not asking for sleep advice. I'm only offering some insight into why I can't handle the idea of procreating again.

My brother-in-law keeps joking about the twin boys that are coming my way once my daughter is in school full-time. Which is fine, but he has a reputation for predicting the future, so I would like him to take his fortunetelling elsewhere. To add to his claims, my brother, Kevin, had a dream that I gave birth to twin boys at home and it was "terrifying." Thanks guys. I'm good. Have children of your own now.

I have a million other reasons for not wanting to add to my family, and they run the gamut from: I'm still breastfeeding to I want to reconnect with my husband. The bottom line, though, is that I feel complete. My daughter is everything I could have dreamed of and more. She's full of life, curious and funny as hell. She loves fiercely, and snuggles with every fiber of her being. She's healthy and really happy. Why mess with a good thing, right?

Now maybe it's a little selfish, but I like to think of all the perks that come with having an only child. 

• She can have my undivided attention when she needs it.
• We can travel more and with greater ease.
• I will not be playing referee.
• We can afford the education we wish to give her, and so on...

I have two half brothers that I grew up with, but I am my dad's only child. I kind of feel like I had the best of both worlds. I have siblings, but I also have a parent who is solely mine. The relationship I have with my dad is one that I hope to have with my daughter. He has always been there and will support and love me always. What's wrong with wanting to recreate that?

Now I may change my mind in the next ten minutes, but as of right now, what I do with my uterus is no one's business. The decision to add to my family is not one that I take lightly. After all, the stranger who is concerned about my daughter being deprived of a playmate will not be there to help me through the sleepless nights, or to kiss the boo boos, or to wipe the tears. It will be me.

How about you? Do you feel pressure from others to grow your family? How do you deal with it?

*Please know that I will probably be the first person to ask if you want more children. I know. I know.

i bore a bulldog

A French one to be exact.  The family resemblance is uncanny.  This was a once in a lifetime experience, so please don't ask when my next litter is due (borderline rude) or if I'm accepting down payments.  Congratulations are always welcome.