As always, my reviews are not in any way compensated. It's just because I like the products.
So, I'm sitting here feeling frumpy and watching Motherhood, with my face slathered in the above named mask. I'm watching a movie about another frazzled mom and her absurd life, and waiting for my face to dry and turn me into a fat, caucasian version of a frumpy motherly terracotta soldier.
Now you can be one, too!
The pitch for the Mud Pack Masque boasts firmer skin and softened lines, but the draw for me is really the exfoliation and oil control it provides. Additionally, it's a lovely english rose scent, which is one of my relaxation triggers.
It's a standard masque - apply to skin, allow to dry and harden, wipe off with washcloth and warm water. Because it gently exfoliates, it definitely leaves a glow and eliminates the dull I've-been-up-for-36-hours-straight haze that one's skin can occasionally accumulate.
It has a very thick, creamy, muddy consistency making application very easy and even kinda fun if you're into the whole texture thing.
It takes approximately 20 minutes for it to dry, and it definitely dries firmly. (See above reference to terracotta soldiers.) Removal is somewhat messy, but that's a signature feature of any mud mask.
The ingredients for the Mud Pack Masque are minimal and delightful in their simplicity: Distilled Water, Kaolin, Bentonite, Glycerin, Zinc Oxide, Propylene Glycol, Iron Oxides, Fragrance, Methylparaben
The fragrance is a bit strong, so if you have a sensitive nose, this product isn't for you. Other than that, there's not much negative I can say about it. I also don't advise it for anyone with dry skin, simply because it is a beast when it comes to it's attack on excess oil.
Queen Helene is one of the few ethically responsible broad-scale companies out there, and their commitment to being decent doesn't stop at their ingredients - they're fairly priced. Another positive.
Sally's Beauty Supply carries Queen Helene products, and I've also seen them available in Albertson's grocery stores.
Go forth, defrump yourselves!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Getting it all together... in the all together?
So, there's been lots of tittering and tweeting over Erykah Badu very unabashedly going leafless at the site of the JFK assassination in order to film her new video.
Truth be told, I often forget how "not normal" nakedness is for most people. Admittedly, I've been known to swerve my car when I see a man jogging in the rain wearing nothing but a bright yellow poncho and silver jogging shoes, but generally speaking, nakedness doesn't make me bat an eye. I, myself am often found in some state of dishabille or another. (Pants... they are one of the bane of my existence! Just ask my neighbors, who can name of probably every pair of underwear I own due to me having run to the car or the mailbox in them at some point or another.)
It took me a long, long time to become comfortable enough with myself that I allowed anyone anywhere to see me in any state of undress. I would have happily worn knee socks, jeans, a turtleneck and a headscarf in the middle of summer, I was once so shy. Not anymore, though. Whoo, boy. I'd be hard pressed to find someone who knows me IRL that hasn't seen me in some sort of undress.
I don't wander around half-naked just for kicks, though. Nor do I do it to attract/frighten away potential suitors/stalkers. I do it because I generally don't pay much attention, or it's convenient to change wherever I stand, or I just straightup don't care what someone else is going to say (in the case of picking a snack of oranges in my yard in the middle of the night,) if they see me running around in my undies or bra (on the odd occasion I wear a bra.)
To me, Erykah Badu is not daring or progressive. She's comfortable. It's my wish that everyone out there become a little more comfortable. After all, many people won't even strip down in the privacy of their own homes, let alone a national monument. So here's to you, my friends. May you discover the delight that is not giving a fuck and letting it all hang out. :)
Truth be told, I often forget how "not normal" nakedness is for most people. Admittedly, I've been known to swerve my car when I see a man jogging in the rain wearing nothing but a bright yellow poncho and silver jogging shoes, but generally speaking, nakedness doesn't make me bat an eye. I, myself am often found in some state of dishabille or another. (Pants... they are one of the bane of my existence! Just ask my neighbors, who can name of probably every pair of underwear I own due to me having run to the car or the mailbox in them at some point or another.)
It took me a long, long time to become comfortable enough with myself that I allowed anyone anywhere to see me in any state of undress. I would have happily worn knee socks, jeans, a turtleneck and a headscarf in the middle of summer, I was once so shy. Not anymore, though. Whoo, boy. I'd be hard pressed to find someone who knows me IRL that hasn't seen me in some sort of undress.
I don't wander around half-naked just for kicks, though. Nor do I do it to attract/frighten away potential suitors/stalkers. I do it because I generally don't pay much attention, or it's convenient to change wherever I stand, or I just straightup don't care what someone else is going to say (in the case of picking a snack of oranges in my yard in the middle of the night,) if they see me running around in my undies or bra (on the odd occasion I wear a bra.)
To me, Erykah Badu is not daring or progressive. She's comfortable. It's my wish that everyone out there become a little more comfortable. After all, many people won't even strip down in the privacy of their own homes, let alone a national monument. So here's to you, my friends. May you discover the delight that is not giving a fuck and letting it all hang out. :)
Monday, March 29, 2010
Welcome to the light, little Bug! (NSFW birth photo included.)
My pregnancy with Bug sucked. A lot. First trimester saw a placental abruption and restricted activity. Second trimester brought SEVERE SPD and blinding headaches, which resulted in off and on bed rest. Third trimester brought pre-term dilation and effacement (4 CM and 50% at 30 weeks,) and severe pre-eclampsia, with home bed-rest and in-patient bedrest.
I was already being followed by an obstetrician due to prior medical conditions that precluded anything but a hospital birth, so this was all taken in stride and quite well managed.
I was a week exactly into an in-patient session of bedrest and monitoring due to extremely high blood pressures and abnormal kidney functions, and 36w5d. We were desperately trying to hold off until at least 37w3d, but preferrably 38 weeks. My OB and I got along great - it wasn't uncommon for him to come in at 6 AM to drink his coffee and keep me company as I ate my breakfast. We had been chatting off and on all week about the potential for induction - my pressures were rising and the edema in my legs was becoming so severe that the skin was beginning to crack.
That morning, though, I woke up and something just wasn't... right. It wasn't something that was an emergency, just a gut feeling.
When my Doc came in, I told him that I had this feeling. He reviewed my BP readings from the night, and checked my cervix, which had dilated another cm and almost fully effaced overnight, bringing me to 6 cm and 80%. His reaction to this was to "Hmmm" and tell me he'd be right back.
When he came in again, he greeted me with the word "Waffles." I naturally replied "Belgian" and then arched an eyebrow, which produced the response of "You have a doctor that waffles." He then checked the BP strip again, checked my legs, and wandered back out. Bug was making his entrance that day.
The induction went well. My faithful birth companions were my mother and a dear friend of mine.
When my waters were ruptured, they were decently stained with meconium - that hunch was correct. SOMETHING was stressing my little man out. Not enough to show up on the CFM or Doppler, but enough to cause the staining.
After my waters were ruptured, the pit was hung. I had decided that I was going to push things a bit and see how long I could tolerate pit contractions. I did well - got a few hours worth in - before I asked for the epidural. I also had magnesium going at this point.
The atmosphere in my room (after some initial misunderstandings and a few tears from all parties,) was more like a slumber party than an induction. We laughed and joked around, the nurse and doctor joining in the fun when they came in to check or adjust. I was relaxed and content and joyous. Never once was the confidence in me and my body doubted, never once was a c/s even hinted at. I was informed that if my labor stalled, we'd simply wait it out, give my body time to work it's magic.
I requested my epidural mid-afternoon. I had been finding a lot of relief through centering myself and vocalizing through contractions, but pit contractions are evil. They make you want to push (and push hard,) when conditions are not ideal. Pushing at that stage (7 cm and 90%) would have been exhausting and fruitless, and I knew that. I knew my body, I knew my limits. Still, though, I was laughing going into contractions, and laughing coming out of them. I was still quite happy and content. No one looked at me askance when I made jokes in the middle of a contraction. No one was disparaging or disbelieving when I smiled through them, even though the pain was intense and fast.
Epidural in, we turned the mag sulfate down to see how I'd tolerate it. At this point, I was in that dreamy transition state, due in part to the relief of no longer feeling the pit contractions, and in part to being... well, in transition. ;)
I remember more joking and laughing, but the memories here are in watercolor instead of snapshots. I dozed off and rested, and when we turned the mag sulf back up, stripped down to minimal clothing and dozed and rested some more.
As evening approached, my faithful and awesome nurse was due to go off shift. By then I was nearly ten cm with just barely a lip of cervix left. I desperately wanted her to be there for Bug's entrance, so Doc and I agreed that a few trial pushes might just get me to ten and finish my effacement.
Totally didn't work. My pushing was self-directed with a little help from my cheerleading squad (we were rowdy and boisterous, I'm not gonna lie.) Since I was still feeling the epidural pretty well, I did request being informed when there were contractions starting, but I didn't need pushing counts and direction - it was in my hands.
A few pushes in, it was apparent that we weren't ready, and that was it. I tearfully bade my nurse goodnight, and welcomed her replacement.
I liked her replacement far, far less. Still, I didn't let her distract me. The party was still going. :) I requested that the anesthesiologist come in and top off my epidural, he teased me about not having had Bug yet. I grinned and told him that by 8 PM, we'd have a baby. (That was at about 7 PM.)
During this time, I took the opportunity to get myself into a better position. I moved the bed up, re-adjusted my legs (with help) into more of a squat, and decided it was time for another practice push. We didn't call Doc in right away - I still had that darn lip that hadn't effaced. I gave one push, and we went "Okay, time for the doc!"
He came in, complained a bit about things not being ready (did I mention I wasn't fond of the new nurse,) we made some snarky comments to each other about said new nurse, laughed quite a bit, and commenced with the pushing.
Push one, cheerleading squad rooting for me, stop. Bug's head cleared my cervix. I rested, re-adjusted again because I wasn't quite as squatty as I wanted to be and I was feeling it in my back, and we moved on to push two. Cue cheerleading squad, bug's head descended further. Push three, cheerleaders, brief laughter from me about a goofy comment made, and then I orgasmed as I continued my pushing efforts, which was when he crowned. Push four, I delivered his shoulder and Bug was born! At 8:16 PM on Wednesday, 11/11/2009, my beautiful (and BIG) boy was placed on my belly. (Photo below jump, NSFW birth photo.) I pulled him up to my breast and began stimulating him as he was suctioned.
He did need further suctioning and resuscitation, so they took him from me to weigh him and get him moving. We didn't get to delay cord clamping like I would have preferred, because...
...I ended up hemorrhaging again, which was no real surprise. My Doc handled it quickly and efficiently - I firmly believe that his pro-active approach to it saved me a whoooole lot of blood. I was in and out during that time - vagal responses are a bitch, really.
I was conscious and alert enough to catch his measurements as they were called out - 9 lbs. 8 oz (or 9 lbs. 7 oz, depending on who you ask.)
Yes folks, you read that right. My 36 weeks and change baby was nine and a half pounds. We were expecting it, though. We were expecting as high as 13 lbs had he been term. No, before you ask, I had no sugar concerns. I just have robust babies, with my first having been ten lbs. at term. (ALSO a vaginal birth.) Still, expecting it doesn't always mean you REALLY expect it, and Doc actually did a double take, pausing his efforts to stitch my mild perineal tear to check the scale himself. ;)
Bug spent a few days in the NICU lite, AKA the "Special Care Nursery" for continued respiratory issues and severe jaundice. During that time we did more mag sulf to bring my pressures back down to a safe level, and I convalesced.
We were released four days later.
I am living testimony that not all obstetricians are bad, and hospital births can be beautiful, laughing, orgasmic things. Be informed, be assertive, and be picky about your care providers.
P.S. In case you were wondering about the nurse that no one liked, an official complaint was lodged. The manner in which she treated the family I requested to have around me, as well as her ineptitude were simply inexcusable. I'm unaware as to what disciplinary actions were taken, but I did receive a formal apology from her.
I was already being followed by an obstetrician due to prior medical conditions that precluded anything but a hospital birth, so this was all taken in stride and quite well managed.
I was a week exactly into an in-patient session of bedrest and monitoring due to extremely high blood pressures and abnormal kidney functions, and 36w5d. We were desperately trying to hold off until at least 37w3d, but preferrably 38 weeks. My OB and I got along great - it wasn't uncommon for him to come in at 6 AM to drink his coffee and keep me company as I ate my breakfast. We had been chatting off and on all week about the potential for induction - my pressures were rising and the edema in my legs was becoming so severe that the skin was beginning to crack.
That morning, though, I woke up and something just wasn't... right. It wasn't something that was an emergency, just a gut feeling.
When my Doc came in, I told him that I had this feeling. He reviewed my BP readings from the night, and checked my cervix, which had dilated another cm and almost fully effaced overnight, bringing me to 6 cm and 80%. His reaction to this was to "Hmmm" and tell me he'd be right back.
When he came in again, he greeted me with the word "Waffles." I naturally replied "Belgian" and then arched an eyebrow, which produced the response of "You have a doctor that waffles." He then checked the BP strip again, checked my legs, and wandered back out. Bug was making his entrance that day.
The induction went well. My faithful birth companions were my mother and a dear friend of mine.
When my waters were ruptured, they were decently stained with meconium - that hunch was correct. SOMETHING was stressing my little man out. Not enough to show up on the CFM or Doppler, but enough to cause the staining.
After my waters were ruptured, the pit was hung. I had decided that I was going to push things a bit and see how long I could tolerate pit contractions. I did well - got a few hours worth in - before I asked for the epidural. I also had magnesium going at this point.
The atmosphere in my room (after some initial misunderstandings and a few tears from all parties,) was more like a slumber party than an induction. We laughed and joked around, the nurse and doctor joining in the fun when they came in to check or adjust. I was relaxed and content and joyous. Never once was the confidence in me and my body doubted, never once was a c/s even hinted at. I was informed that if my labor stalled, we'd simply wait it out, give my body time to work it's magic.
I requested my epidural mid-afternoon. I had been finding a lot of relief through centering myself and vocalizing through contractions, but pit contractions are evil. They make you want to push (and push hard,) when conditions are not ideal. Pushing at that stage (7 cm and 90%) would have been exhausting and fruitless, and I knew that. I knew my body, I knew my limits. Still, though, I was laughing going into contractions, and laughing coming out of them. I was still quite happy and content. No one looked at me askance when I made jokes in the middle of a contraction. No one was disparaging or disbelieving when I smiled through them, even though the pain was intense and fast.
Epidural in, we turned the mag sulfate down to see how I'd tolerate it. At this point, I was in that dreamy transition state, due in part to the relief of no longer feeling the pit contractions, and in part to being... well, in transition. ;)
I remember more joking and laughing, but the memories here are in watercolor instead of snapshots. I dozed off and rested, and when we turned the mag sulf back up, stripped down to minimal clothing and dozed and rested some more.
As evening approached, my faithful and awesome nurse was due to go off shift. By then I was nearly ten cm with just barely a lip of cervix left. I desperately wanted her to be there for Bug's entrance, so Doc and I agreed that a few trial pushes might just get me to ten and finish my effacement.
Totally didn't work. My pushing was self-directed with a little help from my cheerleading squad (we were rowdy and boisterous, I'm not gonna lie.) Since I was still feeling the epidural pretty well, I did request being informed when there were contractions starting, but I didn't need pushing counts and direction - it was in my hands.
A few pushes in, it was apparent that we weren't ready, and that was it. I tearfully bade my nurse goodnight, and welcomed her replacement.
I liked her replacement far, far less. Still, I didn't let her distract me. The party was still going. :) I requested that the anesthesiologist come in and top off my epidural, he teased me about not having had Bug yet. I grinned and told him that by 8 PM, we'd have a baby. (That was at about 7 PM.)
During this time, I took the opportunity to get myself into a better position. I moved the bed up, re-adjusted my legs (with help) into more of a squat, and decided it was time for another practice push. We didn't call Doc in right away - I still had that darn lip that hadn't effaced. I gave one push, and we went "Okay, time for the doc!"
He came in, complained a bit about things not being ready (did I mention I wasn't fond of the new nurse,) we made some snarky comments to each other about said new nurse, laughed quite a bit, and commenced with the pushing.
Push one, cheerleading squad rooting for me, stop. Bug's head cleared my cervix. I rested, re-adjusted again because I wasn't quite as squatty as I wanted to be and I was feeling it in my back, and we moved on to push two. Cue cheerleading squad, bug's head descended further. Push three, cheerleaders, brief laughter from me about a goofy comment made, and then I orgasmed as I continued my pushing efforts, which was when he crowned. Push four, I delivered his shoulder and Bug was born! At 8:16 PM on Wednesday, 11/11/2009, my beautiful (and BIG) boy was placed on my belly. (Photo below jump, NSFW birth photo.) I pulled him up to my breast and began stimulating him as he was suctioned.
He did need further suctioning and resuscitation, so they took him from me to weigh him and get him moving. We didn't get to delay cord clamping like I would have preferred, because...
...I ended up hemorrhaging again, which was no real surprise. My Doc handled it quickly and efficiently - I firmly believe that his pro-active approach to it saved me a whoooole lot of blood. I was in and out during that time - vagal responses are a bitch, really.
I was conscious and alert enough to catch his measurements as they were called out - 9 lbs. 8 oz (or 9 lbs. 7 oz, depending on who you ask.)
Yes folks, you read that right. My 36 weeks and change baby was nine and a half pounds. We were expecting it, though. We were expecting as high as 13 lbs had he been term. No, before you ask, I had no sugar concerns. I just have robust babies, with my first having been ten lbs. at term. (ALSO a vaginal birth.) Still, expecting it doesn't always mean you REALLY expect it, and Doc actually did a double take, pausing his efforts to stitch my mild perineal tear to check the scale himself. ;)
Bug spent a few days in the NICU lite, AKA the "Special Care Nursery" for continued respiratory issues and severe jaundice. During that time we did more mag sulf to bring my pressures back down to a safe level, and I convalesced.
We were released four days later.
I am living testimony that not all obstetricians are bad, and hospital births can be beautiful, laughing, orgasmic things. Be informed, be assertive, and be picky about your care providers.
P.S. In case you were wondering about the nurse that no one liked, an official complaint was lodged. The manner in which she treated the family I requested to have around me, as well as her ineptitude were simply inexcusable. I'm unaware as to what disciplinary actions were taken, but I did receive a formal apology from her.
The one where she gets kinda pissed off.
I've ranted before how deeply angry I get at the snobbery that is running like a bandit through birth and mothering communities these days.
This time it's personal, you fuckingmothers. (Present company excluded, of course.)
While I hold dearly to the idea that one's intellectual property and any forum set up in affiliation is private property, with rules to be made by the owner, I DON'T hold that someone can be called a liar, or a troll, or an instigator when they're genuinely trying to participate and share something they're proud of. That's straight up rude, and I certainly hope their mamas would be ashamed of them.
See, I had the dreaded hospital births.
Meeting my beautiful Ella girl in the hospital. No awesome immediately after birth pics for this one, I held her for a split second before I started trying to bleed to death and all, so she was about 7 hours old before I was strong enough to say hello. I do have one shot (somewhere, on a cd, buried under about a million other cd's,) of the inept doc immediately as she caught her. Will dig that out when I'm more motivated.
OMG TEH HORRORZ U GUIZE!!!!! I'm a strong supporter of non-hospital births in many cases, but for various reasons (including bleeding disorder, severe asthma, kidney issues, the list goes on...) it's not a reality for me. That doesn't mean my births were some sort of evil, institutional, abusive, wretched experiences that left my newborn permanently scarred and disfigured. Yes, my first birth was less than ideal in that I didn't know the delivering physician and she was completely inept, but I'm quite happy with the birth itself. It was orgasmic and spiritual, and my beautiful baby girl was born into a dimly lit, silent and comfortable birthing suite. My birth with Bug was much, much better. I had a provider I clicked well with that I understood and who understood me, and my entire labor was a dreamy event, filled with laughter from alll parties. My birth attendants, my nurses, my doctor - there was so much laughter and love that tales of it made the rounds and I later became known as the laughing woman. (Original, right?)
I had an IV. I had an epidural. I had an O2 sat monitor on. I had CFM. I ALSO had a very easy labor, and an even easier delivery. Laughter, four pushes, orgasm, baby on my chest. ALL KINDS OF AWESOME. The room was dimly lit, the birthing suite was comfortable and occupied by my mother and a dear friend. This time there wasn't silence, there was laughter and happy sounds.
I wanted to share a photograph of my beautiful son on my chest seconds after he greeted the world, in the hospital, as I still smiled, and I was told no.
That would have been okay if it had stopped there.
Instead, I was called names. I was told that I must certainly be lying, that I must certainly be there only to taunt mothers who had bad experiences and to defile the ideologies of those who disagreed with medical births.
My feelings aren't hurt. Ho no, my friends. I'm fucking PISSED.
Jesus god, people. Who are they to say that it's IMPOSSIBLE to have a happy and fulfilling birth in a medical setting? I don't sit and tell them that they're fruit loops for holding hands, singing kumbaya, and applying crystals to their chakras for pain relief, do I? No, I acknowledge that they feel it worked for them, and I rejoice in the end product!
THIS. THIS RIGHT HERE. This is why I'm considering abandoning my path to becoming a pregnancy and birth care provider. Quite frankly, the bullshit is piling up, and it's becoming less and less apparent why I want to dive head first into it. I can't help other mothers who need a more traditional and transparent care provider that are otherwise denied the opportunity if I'm so frustrated by the verbal barbs and open disdain that I'm miserable.
It's not just the internet, either. You'd think I was putting babies on spikes. (cue to 00:40, NSFW humor) Seriously, talking to these people when I try to network IRL is excruciating. Apparently, the idea of someone going to midwifery school to become a midwife, and then WORKING WITH A DOCTOR (never mind that it's to challenge the system from the inside, be a voice for change, provide high-risk mothers with options that are considerably unheard of, and generally do good,) is apparently the most appalling thing these people have ever heard.
Insert giant *headdesk* here.
Bah. You know what? Fuck those shrews right in the ear. I'm going to share my awesome picture. I'm going to share it with you. Under the jump for those who may be at work or what have you, since there's OMG naked. (Oh yeah! That's the other thing! I got to labor and deliver nigh on naked, and had the option of being completely naked if I wanted! I spent my last two hours of labor with my button down shirt buttoned down, my bare breasts and belly viewable for all the world! The ONLY reason I kept the shirt on was because I was concerned I'd get chilly at some point!) Ahem. Anyways. Here ya go! My VERY proud moment, holding my beautiful little blue bug, before the bleeding started.
This time it's personal, you fuckingmothers. (Present company excluded, of course.)
While I hold dearly to the idea that one's intellectual property and any forum set up in affiliation is private property, with rules to be made by the owner, I DON'T hold that someone can be called a liar, or a troll, or an instigator when they're genuinely trying to participate and share something they're proud of. That's straight up rude, and I certainly hope their mamas would be ashamed of them.
See, I had the dreaded hospital births.
OMG TEH HORRORZ U GUIZE!!!!! I'm a strong supporter of non-hospital births in many cases, but for various reasons (including bleeding disorder, severe asthma, kidney issues, the list goes on...) it's not a reality for me. That doesn't mean my births were some sort of evil, institutional, abusive, wretched experiences that left my newborn permanently scarred and disfigured. Yes, my first birth was less than ideal in that I didn't know the delivering physician and she was completely inept, but I'm quite happy with the birth itself. It was orgasmic and spiritual, and my beautiful baby girl was born into a dimly lit, silent and comfortable birthing suite. My birth with Bug was much, much better. I had a provider I clicked well with that I understood and who understood me, and my entire labor was a dreamy event, filled with laughter from alll parties. My birth attendants, my nurses, my doctor - there was so much laughter and love that tales of it made the rounds and I later became known as the laughing woman. (Original, right?)
I had an IV. I had an epidural. I had an O2 sat monitor on. I had CFM. I ALSO had a very easy labor, and an even easier delivery. Laughter, four pushes, orgasm, baby on my chest. ALL KINDS OF AWESOME. The room was dimly lit, the birthing suite was comfortable and occupied by my mother and a dear friend. This time there wasn't silence, there was laughter and happy sounds.
I wanted to share a photograph of my beautiful son on my chest seconds after he greeted the world, in the hospital, as I still smiled, and I was told no.
That would have been okay if it had stopped there.
Instead, I was called names. I was told that I must certainly be lying, that I must certainly be there only to taunt mothers who had bad experiences and to defile the ideologies of those who disagreed with medical births.
My feelings aren't hurt. Ho no, my friends. I'm fucking PISSED.
Jesus god, people. Who are they to say that it's IMPOSSIBLE to have a happy and fulfilling birth in a medical setting? I don't sit and tell them that they're fruit loops for holding hands, singing kumbaya, and applying crystals to their chakras for pain relief, do I? No, I acknowledge that they feel it worked for them, and I rejoice in the end product!
THIS. THIS RIGHT HERE. This is why I'm considering abandoning my path to becoming a pregnancy and birth care provider. Quite frankly, the bullshit is piling up, and it's becoming less and less apparent why I want to dive head first into it. I can't help other mothers who need a more traditional and transparent care provider that are otherwise denied the opportunity if I'm so frustrated by the verbal barbs and open disdain that I'm miserable.
It's not just the internet, either. You'd think I was putting babies on spikes. (cue to 00:40, NSFW humor) Seriously, talking to these people when I try to network IRL is excruciating. Apparently, the idea of someone going to midwifery school to become a midwife, and then WORKING WITH A DOCTOR (never mind that it's to challenge the system from the inside, be a voice for change, provide high-risk mothers with options that are considerably unheard of, and generally do good,) is apparently the most appalling thing these people have ever heard.
Insert giant *headdesk* here.
Bah. You know what? Fuck those shrews right in the ear. I'm going to share my awesome picture. I'm going to share it with you. Under the jump for those who may be at work or what have you, since there's OMG naked. (Oh yeah! That's the other thing! I got to labor and deliver nigh on naked, and had the option of being completely naked if I wanted! I spent my last two hours of labor with my button down shirt buttoned down, my bare breasts and belly viewable for all the world! The ONLY reason I kept the shirt on was because I was concerned I'd get chilly at some point!) Ahem. Anyways. Here ya go! My VERY proud moment, holding my beautiful little blue bug, before the bleeding started.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Nightmare on Lover's Lane.
Dating. It is the bane of my single parent existence. In fact, I don't think I know of any single parent with a child under the age of 18 that doesn't dread the idea of it, in spite of our desires and needs.
So, what's an awesome, off-beat, witty and well rounded single mama like myself to do?
I'll give it to you straight: I have No. Freaking. Idea.
Seriously. There are hundreds of dating sites dedicated to the specifically single parent demographic, and hundreds more on top of that dedicated to dating in general. LBGQT single parents, career single parents, Goth single parents, poly-minded single parents - there's something out there for everyone.
I've done the internet dating site thing. Bug's existence may or may not be directly attributed to a brief relationship with aprime specimen of the psychotic loser that hides it well that your mother always warned you about person met via an online dating site. Quite frankly, these sites are time consuming and unreliable. There's far too much room for misrepresentation, especially with the double-edged anonymity the internet affords.
So, where the hell do we go, then? I'm told that for the religious types that churches often hold socials and mixers aimed at the singles in the congregation, and there have been rumored successes in that venue. Another one I hear of quite often is the "support group." Yeah, a little too touchy-feely-playing-nice for me, but hey - if you dig it, it IS a support group for whatever you choose (and some of them are AIMED at single parents!) so theoretically anyone you meet and hit it off with should be totally cool with your maternal/paternal status.
For the rest of us, I suppose we leave it to chance. Well, chance and self-fulfillment of our needs and desires, self fulfillment from a company (NSFW) that offers a free fulfillment method every few weeks. (NO affiliation or sponsorship from them, just total devotion to their awesomeness.)
Tell me, readers: Do you have other suggestions? Hit by a meteorite or hit by a meteorong methods? Sage advice, adages or anecdotal examples? Leave 'em here. :)
So, what's an awesome, off-beat, witty and well rounded single mama like myself to do?
I'll give it to you straight: I have No. Freaking. Idea.
Seriously. There are hundreds of dating sites dedicated to the specifically single parent demographic, and hundreds more on top of that dedicated to dating in general. LBGQT single parents, career single parents, Goth single parents, poly-minded single parents - there's something out there for everyone.
I've done the internet dating site thing. Bug's existence may or may not be directly attributed to a brief relationship with a
So, where the hell do we go, then? I'm told that for the religious types that churches often hold socials and mixers aimed at the singles in the congregation, and there have been rumored successes in that venue. Another one I hear of quite often is the "support group." Yeah, a little too touchy-feely-playing-nice for me, but hey - if you dig it, it IS a support group for whatever you choose (and some of them are AIMED at single parents!) so theoretically anyone you meet and hit it off with should be totally cool with your maternal/paternal status.
For the rest of us, I suppose we leave it to chance. Well, chance and self-fulfillment of our needs and desires, self fulfillment from a company (NSFW) that offers a free fulfillment method every few weeks. (NO affiliation or sponsorship from them, just total devotion to their awesomeness.)
Tell me, readers: Do you have other suggestions? Hit by a meteorite or hit by a meteorong methods? Sage advice, adages or anecdotal examples? Leave 'em here. :)
Insert David Bowie Lyrics here.
So, AccidentallyMommy will be undergoing a serious overhaul here in the near future. The business logo is almost complete. ANYWAY, my point is, that there's changes afoot everywhere else, so I decided to make them here, too.
Anyways. Before I create these catastrophic changes that will screw with your every-day aesthetic, I wanted to let you know so you weren't thrown for a loop, and let you know that content will remain the same. Hell, content might just improve and become more regular, if I can compose it in an environment that is more suited to me.
There will still be Things-that-are-Awesome-Thursdays and FlogYoBlog Fridays, as well as product reviews and rants and rhetoric and audience participation. I'm also considering implementing a weekly giveaway, as well. There probably won't be a FB fan page, unless readership booms. We'll see about that. There will ALWAYS be cute pictures of my monster children, and there may even be a few more personal posts from/about me that don't have any real purpose behind them. Like this one.
Sooo, yeah. Rock on with yo' bad selves, and more to come very very soon!
Anyways. Before I create these catastrophic changes that will screw with your every-day aesthetic, I wanted to let you know so you weren't thrown for a loop, and let you know that content will remain the same. Hell, content might just improve and become more regular, if I can compose it in an environment that is more suited to me.
There will still be Things-that-are-Awesome-Thursdays and FlogYoBlog Fridays, as well as product reviews and rants and rhetoric and audience participation. I'm also considering implementing a weekly giveaway, as well. There probably won't be a FB fan page, unless readership booms. We'll see about that. There will ALWAYS be cute pictures of my monster children, and there may even be a few more personal posts from/about me that don't have any real purpose behind them. Like this one.
Sooo, yeah. Rock on with yo' bad selves, and more to come very very soon!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)