Posts by bluebirdmama
Propane
It is 2:00 am. I am snuggled in bed. Down duvet. Down pillow. Aaron and Rain are cuddled next to me. It is raining outside and I can hear the steady drum of drops on the metal roof, lovely lullaby because I’m not out in it. Being January, the temperature outside is probably hovering around zero. A sound rouses me from deep sleep – the steady whirring of a fan blowing. The propane furnace runs periodically and we are used to it. But there is something different about it. With dread, I drop my hand over the edge of the bed to hang in front of the vent. Cold air blows over my warm fingers. Out of Propane. I slip out of the covers and walk to the fuse panel to turn off the furnace. No point letting the fan blow cold air all night. Returning to bed, I pull the blankets as tightly as I can and squirm close to Rain to warm up. The temperature in the bus has already started dropping and I want to stay warm as long as possible. I nudge Aaron “We’re out of propane.” Groan. There isn’t much that compares to the sinking feeling in that groan. The knowledge that all night the temperature inside will keep declining, until morning when we’ll be able to see our breath inside. It’ll likely mean hitting the snooze button many times because it takes an iron will to get out of the warm bed in the dark to get ready for work in a propane-less bus. It’s even worse because you’ll forget and think “At least a cup of tea to warm up while I eat my cereal,” only to remember an instant later (or when you try to light the burner under the kettle) that no propane means no furnce, no cooking, and no water heater. It means washing your already cold hands and face with frigid water and dressing quickly, making the space between getting out of bed and leaving for work as short as possible. For those who get to go to work. For me, it means sleeping in as long as Rain will let me, then bundling myself and my toddler to head out in the winter weather. Unhooking the small propane tanks in the rain, icy fingers slipping on the wet couplings, and driving down Grandview to have them filled at 8:30am as sleepy commuters shuttle past. The attendant filling the tanks in his regulation issue SuperSave Gas parka looks at me like “Great day for a bbq.” I don’t miss that one...
Read MoreShould You Write A Birth Plan?
I was doing some research for a page on Birth Plans (for the business which I founded and have now sold: www.sweethomebirth.com) and was surprised this past week when I went to get a haircut (gasp!) and read Modern times: Don’t be so pushy – Making a “birth plan” is about more than being prepared. It’s about being in control. Here’s why letting go of all that is way harder – and that much better by Katrina Onstad in Chatelaine at the salon. I couldn’t decide how I felt about the piece. On the one hand, here was a mainstream national magazine that was talking about midwifery in a very off-hand way, as if it is becoming the norm and I do agree with the main message which is that “sometimes the best plan is no plan at all.” It’s important to not get too caught up in the whole plan part of the birth plan because, well, we really can’t plan our births. She is right to say that when it comes to birth we have to expect the unexpected and not get overly attached to our vision of the ideal birth. But then again, something rubbed me the wrong way. I mean, it was easy for her to say that the best plan is no plan at all when she had lucked out with an unmedicated natural birth which left her feeling like she “had birthed the universe”. A beautiful way to put it, but not necessarily how other mothers feel when they end up with a horrifying intervention-filled birth. The author suggests that the reason these mothers feel disappointed is because they have too many expectations going into it. Plan or no plan, aren’t these mothers entitled to mourn unnecessary medical interventions? Perhaps Ms. Onstad would be writing a completely different article had she endured a 36 hour labour that ended in a cesarean birth while under general anesthetic. You can bet she’d be researching and making birth plans for her second birth. There is something hypocritical about this romanticization of her own birth when the article’s theme clearly seems to be that “the romanticization of the birth moment is not good for women” (as quoted by cesarean mom Judith). This statement erroneously puts the blame for all these disappointed women on the women themselves, for having plans and expectations. Despite mentioning the rising rates and risks of cesarean birth, Onstad neglects to suppose that labor mis-managment and the cascade of interventions could be the culprits for all the disappointment. Finally, Onstad makes a huge mistake by thinking that creating a birth plan to speak for you regarding your consent to medical procedures equates to an inability to submit to the forces of labour. She says: I was completely and totally out of control, but that moment of submission – totally without any expectation of anything – held the greatest power I’ve ever experienced. Is it not possible to still have that moment of submission while ensuring that your medical rights aren’t violated? What if Onstad’s birth had left her feeling that all her power had been stripped from her, that her body had been violated, or that she couldn’t protect her baby from painful or scary procedures? The difference in these two situations is that in one case the mother submits to the forces of labour, her birth and nature and in the other the mother must submit to the power of the medical system, which unfortunately isn’t omniscient. Having a birth plan is a way of exercising your right to informed consent in your most vulnerable moments, not a way to avoid submitting to the unknowable. I was divided over whether or not to post the article but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, particularly because I loved the dialogue between the article and a blog post I found from one of the commenters. Phd in Parenting wrote a lovely thoughtful (and a little irate) piece in response to the Chatelaine article. She makes an extremely valid point that when you trust your care...
Read MorePotty Humour
Potty humour is pretty big around here even without a three year old to join in but lately Rain is all over it too. The other night Rain was calling for me in his sleep. I stumbled into his room, likely annoyed that his night wakings always come right after Noa has finally gone back to sleep. He threw an arm around me and mumbled in his sleep “Mom, I love you as big as a can of tuna.” I’d love to know what was going on in THAT DREAM. The next day I told Aaron about this and asked Rain how much he loved dad? Rain’s reply: I love dad more than a toilet full of poop.
Read MoreThe best sushi
Rain is a sushi fiend. He adores miso, sashimi (eats it by the fistful), avocado rolls, california rolls. He knew the names of all the dishes as soon as he could talk and he often pretends to be a waiter. He gets a piece of paper and a pen and takes our order, asking if we’ll have sashimi or teriyaki or sunomono. Before we moved away from Vancouver, we had a parting meal with Auntie Mel. Her kids were at their dad’s so we had an opportunity to visit with only 1/2 the chaos (because Rain creates the same chaos as all 4 of Mel’s kids). We ordered Indian Food from Tandoori King on Main St. We served up our plates and dug in. After a few bites, Rain exclaimed “This is the best sushi I’ve ever had!” We laughed and explained that it was actually Indian food so Rain corrected himself and said “This is the best Indiana Jones food I’ve ever...
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