I happened to be 37 weeks pregnant on my birthday.
The weather was kinda nasty that day. Rainy, cloudy, chance of storms. What's funny about that is that my Mom has a totally selective memory about weather on my birthday. For some odd reason, she's got it in her head that May 20th has always been an absolutely gorgeous day every day since 1980. So on years when it's nice out, she calls me and says, "See? Once again it's 73 and breezy and not a cloud in the sky, just like it always is on your birthday!" On years when it's like this, she calls me to say, "I can't believe it's raining, it's never rained on your birthday!" Except it has, lots of times, my birthday has about the same weather as any other day in the spring in Kansas. Sometimes nice, sometimes not. I remember turning 21 on a rainy Sunday, out to lunch with my sister, unable to order a fun summery drink to celebrate my legal alcohol status. It was sad.
Being Really Freaking Pregnant obviously gave me a new relationship with both my mother and my birthday. I somehow think that her memory of the weather may be some kind of complicated childbirth result that happened in 1980, who knows what May 20th was like for her but it was changed. I'm unable to think of it like any day because it's always been my birthday, I have all these memories from every year, fading back in time. She's unable to think of it like any day because she remembers the day. Maybe the weather was nice that day? Maybe there wasn't a window in sight, but she was so happy to not be pregnant she imagined it was a beautiful day? Either way it stuck, and overwhelmed all her May 20ths forever.
Last week I was telling my investment club ladies that I was tired of hearing all these bad childbirth stories. Why people do this to pregnant women, I'll never know. But my investment club is full of the awesomest most supportive women, and one of them just smiled and said, "You know that none of those stories really matter, right? Because soon you'll have your own."
My own story, my own birth day, my own crazy tainted changed-forever square on the calendar. Of course I will always have all the May 20ths to celebrate myself and how awesome I am, my celebration of years. But I'm curious and anxious to see what it's like to really celebrate birth.
My father-in-law spends a lot of time with the kid, mostly by choice. I sometimes wish we had more of a schedule, because at the moment, naps and bedtime are the only semi-guaranteed breaks for anyone. My spouse and father-in-law both work from home free-lance, so they don't actually have a schedule for when they need to be left alone, but at least my father-in-law has more warning with jobs scheduled out in advance.
I'm sorry for your loss. Ectopic pregnancies are scary, and I would like to go punch that first doctor in the face for you.
PPD is awful too.
When I worked in a biligual Kita, the kids picked up loads from simply being read to and pointing out the different things. Sometimes a question came up ("that is a pferd", "it's called horse in English", "ok horse") and it's good to know both languages to understand what the kid is saying, but reading is a good together activity
I would say its very important, because what you learn shapes and molds yours views that make you who you are.
Aum, my partner and I were just discussing this. He was surprised by my taking the hard line that stopping BC or poking holes in condoms or something like that is rape, making the woman a rapist. Which should result in jail time, so she should lose custody, which should go to the father and now he has the choice of keeping the baby or putting them up for adoption.
It's unfortunate that you can't prove such a thing, but hopefully if it was actually taken seriously women would be less likely to do it because it would at least be explicitly called rape.
I understand how the justice system and the family courts would look at it. They see it as the man's sperm made it to the egg so somehow he wasn't protecting himself, he made the choice, yada yada. There's no way to prove that the woman was manipulative, withdrew BC, or "poked holes in the condom" (I think that's unheard of, but anyway).
I topped baby off tonight. He straight up drank 7 ounces of formula after his prunes. If he's an infiltrator, he's eating well for it.
I am still dealing with the fact that your 11 year old is an actual 11 year old.
If a boy who has a penis asks if he's a boy and you don't just say yes, then that's straight up lunacy.
What he decides to do with that boyhood or how he dresses is up to him. But if you're born with a penis you're a boy.
Making it airy fairy when, statistically, scientifically, less than 1% of 1% of children born have true gender dysphoria, is immoral and wrong. It's also a sign of our troubled times.
This is just my anecdotal experience but...
I have experienced bullying based on simply engaging in normal children's play with girls. Insults were attacks on both me and the girls. But I NEVER questioned my gender as a male. So if a child asks me if he's a boy and was identified biologically as one, I am going to question what influences are on the child before I answer.