H1N1 vaccine

I’ve been largely undecided about the H1N1 vaccine. I’m not an anti-vax mama, but I’m not all that into voluntary jabs. At first, I was absolutely against injecting the vaccine into myself, my husband, and my daughter. There’s been some quiet talk that the mock vaccine rushed to the FDA for approval was not identical to the vaccine being injected into people. It’s a bit frightening to think people are lining up by the thousands for a truly experimental concoction. The CDC is adamant that the H1N1 vaccine is produced in the exact same way as the seasonal flu vax, and that may be the case; however, identical production does not equal identical vaccine.

Now that I know several people who’ve been infected with H1N1–some of whom say they would not have gotten the vaccine–I’m wavering. This change is fueled by the sensationalization of the H1N1 flu by local media. Kentucky is an H1N1 hotspot–18 people have died so far in our state, and a couple in our city. And, almost twice as many children have died nationwide as do during the regular season of human flu. The fear being spread is contagious.

I take natural precautions year round against illness, like washing our hands, washing hands before we eat, eating as healthfully as possible, and not over-cleaning to ensure our immune systems don’t get too lax. (Some germ exposure is GOOD!)

But, I wonder how much natural precaution can protect us from a new virus to which we have zero immunity. Is what I’m doing actually doing much good?

My thoughts on the H1N1 vaccine right now is that eventually, we’re going to get it, unless we get the vaccine. If we get the vaccine, at least we’ll have some immunity as the H1N1 virus mutates. In the event that we do get it later on, we won’t get as sick, so it may not be as dangerous.

My gut still says, No, it’s the flu. But, I have a basic maternal instinct to protect my kids, and I don’t want them to get sick. I definitely don’t want them to get as ill as is possible from H1N1. The thought of taking my kids to the hospital, or seeing them on respirators, or possibly fighting for their lives threatens to paralyze me.

The baby is at most risk since he’s not even 2 months old, but if I’m able to get the vaccine, he’ll get my antibodies through my milk. For him, at the very least, I think I should get the jab. I’m leery of the new vaccine, but I think I’ve gotta take one for the team.

Louisville is finally holding its first H1N1 clinic next week, handing out a sad 15,000 doses. At first glance, it seems adequate to start, but if all families who show up need three vaccines as we would, the supply will only protect 5,000 families in the Metro.

I’m not sure I’m willing to stand in line shoulder-to-shoulder with thousands of people for hours hoping to be one of the lucky. How do I know I won’t be standing next to someone already infected and shedding virus?

Needless to say, I won’t be standing in line at Cardinal Stadium next week in the cold with my kids. We’re going to stay at home, stay warm, and keep washing our hands.

here she runs again!

It’s been nearly 10 months to the day since I had to stop running for my pregnancy. Now, I’m back! I started up the Couch to 5k on Monday, and I’m so excited for my second workout today that I can hardly stand the wait until my husband comes home.

Intermixed with some blah blah blah about postpartum weight loss, you can read about my return to running here at my blog on WhatToExpect.com.

what happens in a year

It’s funny how much can happen in a year. Tomorrow is a big day, and one that I wish I wouldn’t remember. I’ve just passed all the anniversaries of all the events surrounding my miscarriage last year, except for one–the anniversary of my 1-week post-D&C checkup. Normally, I wouldn’t have remembered this, except today was my 6-week postpartum checkup. One day away.

A year ago I wanted nothing more than to be as far away from the loss of our baby as humanly possible. But, since it happened to my body, I can’t escape it; time is the only distance I’m allowed.

From the day I learned of our loss, until the 1-week checkup, a month passed. It was an entire month of loss. At least, it felt like it. And yet, I have a new baby I wouldn’t have had otherwise. My brain is still working to understand that.

I love our new baby boy in an impossibly intense way, I think because of that loss, not that I love my daughter any less. It’s just different somehow. When Punky was born, it was the wonder of the life my body created. With Snuffy (his new nickname), I might not have had him, yet I do because of loss, each incredibly sad to me, yet I’m filled with a pained joy that overwhelms me.

It’s been difficult to understand the emotions I’ve experienced in this last year. It’s been almost too much. With my miscarriage safely behind me, I have a new baby, and my mind wanders into 2010…

What’s next? (Go easy on me.)

a message about violence against women

As an obsessive reader of news, it’s impossible not to notice the stories of crimes against women. And, if the statistic is still correct that one out of three women will be sexually assaulted at some time in her life, well, it happens more often than we even hear about.

I just read a horrific story of a girl gang raped by at least 4 boys/men outside of her high school homecoming dance. Up to 15 others, all male, stood around watching, and some actually ended up participating in the 2 1/2 hour assault, leaving the girl in critical condition lying under a bench.

Recently, I caught an episode of Dr. Phil. His show was about three women captured and raped by men, including Jacee Duggard and Elizabeth Smart. (I apologize for not remembering the other woman’s name.) The point? How we can look to these women for coping skills to overcome challenging times in our own lives, essentially.

Dr. Phil had a unique opportunity to talk about something that no one has the balls to say, and unfortunately, he missed the mark, big time.

Misogyny is the real root to the problem of violence against women, not power, not video games, not TV, not the absence of a father, or mom working late to support the family. We are raising our boys to hate women! How? We’re not giving them COPING SKILLS (Are you listening ‘Dr.’ Phil?) to deal with the inadequacy they feel from dad not being there, or mom working late and unable to help with the homework, or some bullshit inability to discern fantasy from reality in their video games and TV.

We need coping skills for life for our boys so they stop taking their issues out on women with their fists and penises.

remembering & wondering

This very early morning, as I’ve now been awake since 2am, I’ve given up on sleep and am now thinking back to September 11, 2001. While I’ll never forget where I was, the emotions of that day, the solidarity of Americans that was born from that day, nor the year I spent holding my breath when my brother fought in Afghanistan, I find myself in a place of allowing those who died that day rest.

I just read an article on CNN about troops in Afghanistan running 9.11k to honor those who died that day, and the solders who’ve died in Afghanistan in the last 8 years. With purported public support for the war waning, and the target of Osama Bin Laden seemingly forgotten, it occurred to me that we have 18-year-old solders fighting against militant insurgency who were merely 10-year-old 4th graders the day of the attacks.

I wonder if they have a concept of pre-9/11 America, or a pre-9/11 world. I wonder if they remember how free we used to be. I wonder if they know there was a time when our government didn’t sell fear. I wonder if they understand what they’re really fighting for.

Today, as our nation mourns and remembers, I will think about all the military fighting in Afghanistan, not just Americans. Soldiers are still dying, essentially becoming the newest victims of 9/11.

Don’t forget them.

one-hundred percent of nothing

Last night I was perusing online and found this headline on Yahoo!:

“Top-Paying Jobs for Women“

I was curious, so I clicked. Here’s what I discovered were women’s top-paying jobs:

No. 1: Pharmacists
Women’s median weekly earnings: $1,647
Women’s median yearly earnings: $85,644
Percentage of men’s earnings: 84.9%
Education required: PCAT; Pharm.D. degree; six to seven years of collegiate study
What they do: Distribute pharmaceutical drugs

No. 2: Chief Executives
Women’s median weekly earnings: $1,603
Women’s median yearly earnings: $83,356
Percentage of men’s earnings: 80.1%
Education required: Varies; many hold a bachelor’s or graduate degree in business administration or more specialized discipline
What they do: Hold overall responsibility for the operation of an organization, including corporate and small businesses

No. 3: Lawyers
Women’s median weekly earnings: $1,509
Women’s median yearly earnings: $78,468
Percentage of men’s earnings: 77.5%
Education required: LSAT; J.D. degree; about seven years of collegiate study
What they do: Advocate in criminal and civil courts and provide legal counsel to clients on business and personal matters

No. 4: Computer Software Engineers
Women’s median weekly earnings: $1,351
Women’s median yearly earnings: $70,252
Percentage of men’s earnings: 87.3%
Education required: Bachelor of computer science or software engineering
What they do: Design, develop, test and evaluate computer systems and software

No. 5: Computer and Information Systems Managers
Women’s median weekly earnings: $1,260
Women’s median yearly earnings: $65,520
Percentage of men’s earnings: 85.4%
Education required: Bachelor’s degree; often a technology-specific MBA
What they do: Implement technology into an organization, often overseeing network security and IT operations

I’ve never seen a blatant display of men’s vs. women’s earnings like this before, and I have to say while I was optimistic before I clicked on the link, I’ve been a bit sickened ever since. Is roughly 80% of men’s earnings supposed to entice me to a high paying field? If I were remotely interested in heading back to school to pursue one of these lines of work, I’d be utterly dismayed to be paying 100% of the tuition my male classmates are paying, yet knowing they will always make more simply because their reproductive organs dangle between their legs.

We all know this disparity exists, but to see it listed as if women have arrived… I’m just sad. So this is what our foremothers fought for? Eighty percent?

Eighty-percent of something equals 100% of nothing, if you ask me.

Why is this still happening? Tell me what you think!

jon & kate plus who the hell cares?

Message boards, at least the ones I frequent, are lit up with discussions about Jon & Kate divorcing. Fans of the show are practically devastated, saying the show should stop so they can work on their marriage. I’ve even read a comment about a fan of the show crying over the apparent sadness of the situation.

But, seriously, why does anyone care about these people?

I’ll admit I’ve seen the show a couple times, but there has never been any substance to the show that would entice me to keep watching. They’re a giant family that gets a lot of money and free crap to be on TV.

Woo. I’m not impressed.

To every fan of this ridiculous show, to the admirers of Kate’s backward chick mullet, and to those who pine to lick the wounds of Jon the Doormat, I say this: By watching (and boosting ratings) every fan of this show has had a hand in ruining their marriage. So, before you run off for another tissue because you’re so incredibly sad, remember who made the monsters.

the challenge to be present

Yesterday, after a long day out designed specifically to wear out our toddler daughter, my husband ran into one more store quick as Punky and I waited in the car resting our tired feet. To my left was a woman in her mid-sized SUV mindlessly playing with her cell phone as her husband attempted to pile a large purchase into the back of the vehicle – by himself. I played Shifty-Eyed Voyeur so I could spy on her, hoping she wouldn’t see me.

I don’t know why I bothered spying. It’s not like she was doing anything. The whole point is that she was mindlessly engaged in a non-activity. That’s what I was watching. In my rear view mirror, I watched a man walk behind my car in the parking lot playing with his phone, too. Then, I remembered the woman violently texting on her iPhone instead of watching her daughter play in the mall’s play area. My mind turned inward, thinking of the moments I’ve tuned out to literally nothing.

I thought back to a time – practically yesterday – when we all roamed around with nothing to occupy us but an oversized portable CD player, which happened to be so cumbersome that nary a college student bothered. We picked up a book, wrote poetry free-hand, wrote letters requiring lickable stamps, or took a walk.

To remember that only fifteen years ago life was slower, calmer, and we were all more present in our own lives is something I’m having some difficulty wrapping my head around. Do you remember hopping into your car and being completely alone and unreachable? What freedom we had!

So, where did we all go? Why are so many people wandering around without presence, fiddling with electronic gadgets that transport them elsewhere? If we don’t want to be where we are, then what exactly is the point of being here?

I watched the woman in her SUV; I wondered why she wasn’t helping her husband. I wondered what was so exciting on her cell phone that she was unable to sit and just be – to smell the humidity in the air, rather than just breathe it.

Life is passing us by, and frankly, I’m tired of being so connected to nothing – I aim to be more connected to myself and to the people in front of my own eyes. So, I’m considering a month of unplugging. While I’ll continue writing (and for once getting more writing done), I’ll only be reachable by email and cell phone. These are sad times when even that sounds old school.

the wonderful twos.

The “terrible twos” are just as wonderful as they are challenging. While many moments leave me practicing breathing exercises to reintroduce sanity and decrease blood pressure, just as many moments have sent me into hearty belly laughs, or throaty cackles.

Saturday was a day full of challenging toddler demands, screaming, and bold disobedience. Learning to deal with these issues is adding a whole new dimension to the experience of my pregnancy. When I was pregnant with Punky, it didn’t matter which one of my three jobs I was working, or where I was, who I was with, what I was doing… I thought of her and bonded with her constantly; however, this pregnancy is more of a struggle. Punky is still on the forefront on my mind, every moment of the day, and I often find myself forgetting I’m pregnant.

Now that it’s finally sinking in that my third pregnancy will be a successful one, I’ve been looking forward to the big ultrasound to provide a catalyst for bonding, because there’s just little time for this baby and me to be alone.

Saturday night my husband and I had had it with the challenges of toddler-hood for the day, and I initiated bedtime a bit early. In our accelerated version of bedtime, which we use on the occasion of Punky-insanity (where we often fantasize of installing our child with a straight-jacket), hubby is in charge of the top half, and I the bottom. While I was changing her diaper, hubby was poised with Cookie Monster, who brushes Punky’s teeth every night. Punky belts out in full performance, “Lady aaaand Gentlemans!” I laughed so hard, I had to stumble away for a moment. Like her mama, she loves to make people laugh. She kept announcing, “Lady aaaand Gentlemans”, only this time with with vigor, her head wobbled right and left, and her eyes flitted up behind her eyelids. She was so proud of herself, she laughed, and let “Cookie Monster” brush her teeth without incident.

We managed to calm down and finish readying her for bed. Since she was still a bit too awake, I took the time to gently rock her in my arms, her head resting on my left arm, and my right wrapped around her. I swayed her gently in the slight figure-8 motion that would finally put her to sleep in the late nights of infant feedings.

I noticed her weight in my arms; her astonishing length; her thumb in her mouth; her eyes locked onto mine. My little girl. As I looked at her, I realized there will be a day when she’s too big for me to rock her this way. There will be a last time. I was sad, and mourned it as I continued to rock her.

At the end of a very challenging day, I discovered something. While I may be limited in bonding with the new baby before it arrives, I have a very special opportunity to solidify the relationship I have with Punky. I have time to enjoy things with her one-on-one that will become precious, stolen moments later on. I don’t know if she’ll remember them the way I will, but I hope they influence her as beautifully as they have me.

when a toddler feeds.

I’ve been in a constant battle trying to get Punky to eat something for breakfast for what’s going on months. It’s been difficult as she’s been increasingly defiant, and verbalizing that pretzels, or organic cheese duck crackers are adequate replacements for a banana, oatmeal, or even scrambled eggs. Knowing that she’ll eat nothing if she doesn’t get the pretzels, or the ducks, it’s easy to give in, since no mother can tolerate the thought of her child’s tummy rumbling.

This morning, the clouds parted, and the sun shone its warmth on Punky’s poor morning appetite. She asked for pancakes. Blueberry Pancakes! How could I not comply with such a brilliant request? Sometimes toddler trumps preggo brain, and there is no room for negotiation.

In less than 3 minutes, I was whisking pancake ingredients, heating the iron skillet, and thawing frozen blueberries in the microwave. Since I burn blueberry pancakes, and was completely out of maple syrup, I used the blueberries as a topping, and drizzled them with honey. Mmmm!

Punky broke her previous record, eating nearly two whole pancakes, and gobbling up more blueberries than any mama of a still-diapered child wants to revisit later. She enjoyed her breakfast, and even now, while partially chilled by an hour of Sesame Street, she’s engaging me in the experience, calling to me, sharing her alphabet, and telling me what her favorite characters are up to, thanks only to the energy from her breakfast.

Knowing I can’t make blueberry pancakes every day, I wish I had a trick to prompt her to start all her days this way. Alas, she is no doubt my daughter, lacking much function before 10 am, especially without breakfast. I’m finding myself in a fight against my own nature within another human; I’m doomed.

As Sesame Street ends, she’s turned off the TV, dragged out her step stool, and is about to get herself into trouble, so it’s time to play and burn off breakfast in time for lunch. I can only hope she wants lunch.