Today is International Yarnbombing Day. I yarnbombed the corner of Concord and Donnell, in Cambridge MA. There is now definitely a bustle in my hedgerow.
on Flickr” href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/sundaykofax/5825779404/”>
Here’s how it went down. I knit i-cord, and went outside to find someplace to yarnbomb.
I had been thinking of doing the usual i-cord-on-a-car-antenna, but saw this hedge with a single untrimmed twig sticking up.
Now it’s cozy.
Here’s an email I just sent to a couple of local friends who I’m not scared to be in my pajamas in front of:
“Jason and I have been finding ourselves not only awake, but *ready to roll* at 7 am on the weekends. Going to the Watertown Diner has been our go-to, but sometimes we just want something easy/free to do. We figured you may be in a similar situation.
Why stare sleepily at your bouncy child, when you could be drinking coffee and hanging out with us? If you’re interested, let me know. I’ll text you if we’re without plans. There doesn’t need to be elaborate breakfast, just whatever bread as toast, whatever coffee, whatevers. We will probably not be showered, and possibly in pjs. I promise we’ll wear pants.
S”
80’s hair is as fine and sparse as her mother’s at her age.
The hair on the top of her head is getting long enough to get in her eye, so despite the fact that she otherwise doesn’t need it (and in fact, her hair can’t support anything heavier), she’s wearing a barrette today.
We inherited a grill with our place, and although we’ve owned the place for a year, we finally got around to using it. (It’s like we were busy last summer or something.)
I discovered that the grill is locked to a bush, which probably explains why it’s still there. (Actually, our neighborhood is polite and ignores when you forget to put your stroller away for a few days.)
Anyway, the lock. It was a combination lock. A FOUR DIGIT combination lock. Rats! Three digits, and Jason and I could have sat outside in lawn chairs, drinking beer and going through the combinations (000, 001, 002). Four digits, and you’re talking about a lot of beer.
I emailed the previous owner, who said she didn’t specifically remember, but try 1111 or 1313. I started with 0000.
That was it. Seriously. The satisfaction of the lock popping open on the first try evoked in me a self-chuckle that sounded like a cartoon villain running into the woods after tying the damsel to the tracks.
I was behind this bush, cackling, right as someone walked by. On the other side of the bush.
She said, “Oh! I thought the bush made that noise.”
I was at the park with a pregnant (for the first time) friend, having a picnic and playing with 80. I found that although we had lots of conversations (and I’m actually quite proud of how I didn’t let them lapse as I paused to tend to 80), I found myself quietly watching 80. I do it a lot, and it didn’t seem odd to just watch 80. I do wonder if Kristen found the contentedly-watching-my-baby thing less comfortable. 80’s *my* baby, so of course I’m the most interested in her. I’m hoping she enjoyed looking at a baby, knowing hers is baking.
<a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/sundaykofax/5737227736/” title=”DSC_2161 by sundaykofax, on Flickr”><img src=”http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2455/5737227736_934e40392f.jpg” width=”500″ height=”331″ alt=”DSC_2161″></a>
I made a no-sugar apple/applesauce muffin for 80’s birthday. I wanted frosting for a real good mess, but wasn’t sure how to keep the sugar level sane.
Thanks to a delicious lunch as Sofra, I was inspired to blend two parts cooked sweet potato to one part goat cheese. What I ended up with was a very sweet, creamy, almost marshmallow-tasting frosting.
I’m that mom who limits sugar, just like my mother before me. Some day, I’ll compromise on letting 80 have mor
on Flickr” href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/sundaykofax/5743879697/”>
No rapture, no rapture, no rapture, stop!
<a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/sundaykofax/5737227736/” title=”DSC_2161 by sundaykofax, on Flickr”><img src=”http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2455/5737227736_934e40392f.jpg” width=”500″ height=”331″ alt=”DSC_2161″></a>
I made a no-sugar apple/applesauce muffin for 80’s birthday. I wanted frosting for a real good mess, but wasn’t sure how to keep the sugar level sane.
Thanks to a delicious lunch as Sofra, I was inspired to blend two parts cooked sweet potato to one part goat cheese. What I ended up with was a very sweet, creamy, almost marshmallow-tasting frosting.
I’m that mom who limits sugar, just like my mother before me. Some day, I’ll compromise on letting 80 have more sugar, by allowing her to eat Smurfberry Crunch on Saturday mornings, just like my mother before me.
This languished as a draft so long, I forgot I hadn’t published it. A year later, here’s what happened to me and my body after I gave birth. Warning, it’s a bit graphic, and my anatomy is discussed.
So, we know 80 ended up in the nursery under observation. One of the reasons why I didn’t freak out was because I was busy with my own minor woes.
Aw, there’s my sweet, cross-eyed baby. I’d like to think she’s making this face on purpose, like someone just asked her “What was being birthed like?”
I’ll remind you that I was stellar at giving birth. I was a champ. One thing I remembered to do was drink a lot of water, keeping myself hydrated. I figured there’d come a point where I wouldn’t want to have anymore, so I really stocked up. Really. I drank a BUNCH of water. This was my undoing, as I forgot to pee. I think it’s because there was so much going on down there, pressure and the like, that I didn’t pee all that water I’d drank.
This didn’t present itself as a problem until after 80’d been born, it was decided that she needed a bit more care (over in the nursery), and the midwife and nurses had time to attend to me. They were concerned that my uterus wasn’t contracting (it’s supposed to), which meant I was still bleeding a lot. They gave me a shot of Pitocin to help my uterus contract down. They felt my abdomen and realized that my bladder was HUGE, and blocking my uterus from shrinking down. I tried to pee, with no luck. I’d experienced this before, where you have to hold it so long it kind of goes on strike and refuses to open for anything.
So, they had to use a catheter, and that’s when the LITER of liquid that was holding up my progress was removed. Whew. The midwife attended to the tiny tears (one internal, and two symmetrical ones between my inner and outer labia) that required a stitch apiece. I was asked if I wanted to see the placenta, to which I said YES. The midwife brought it over, and explained what part was attached to me and what part was attached to 80. She said that it’s the only organ we can generate that is meant to be discarded. She showed me a giant vein on it, that is called “The Tree of Life”, which she said with some reverence. (If you’d like to see my ACTUAL placenta, which shows off the Tree of Life pretty well, click here.) She then told me that I had done an amazing job, I was really strong to have been able to listen to my body and to her, and she was honored to have participated.
I later asked A’Nova if that was the normal cheerleading speech to new moms, and she said no, that I had a particularly smooth birth and not every one can follow the midwife’s coaching (especially when it’s to stop pushing when there’s a baby head half out of you). It’s really hard to not feel overly proud of this, especially since most of my friends have NOT had a smooth birth.
A few hours later, I still couldn’t pee, so they left a cath in overnight so my bladder could get back to sane proportions (note: having the cath applied wasn’t pleasant, but after that it wasn’t much of a bother, and totally worth being able to pee). My uterus shrank just fine — mama-hormones from nursing help shrink it too, so whenever 80 nursed, I’d feel this warm, low feeling spread across my belly, right under her. It felt awesome. It was ecstasy (also, like Ecstasy). It’s the best feeling I’ve ever had, ever. I experienced similar (but lessened) hits of this when nursing 80 for the first few days. (Your body releases more endorphin when you nurse. I was known to make a just-shot-heroin mmmmmmm noise.)
Once I was in the post-birth recovery room, and saw myself in a mirror, I realized that I had burst blood vessels across my jaw, from pushing so hard.
I also now had a baby on the outside, which left my abdomen looking like I was maybe 6 months pregnant. I was worried about how I’d think about my body, since books warned that I might be disappointed. I wasn’t! I kind of liked my doughy, soft belly. It decreased at a reasonable pace, so I didn’t get too upset about not fitting into pre-pregnancy jeans.
Another thing they just don’t bring up in popular culture portrayals of birth is that you normally bleed for weeks. It doesn’t hurt (it’s was like having a long-ass period), and tapered fairly quickly. The only thing was, I tried cramming myself into pre-preg jeans, then had a liiiiittle more bleeding than usual. Heh. So, don’t do that. Probably not a great idea to smoosh your uterus.
That’s about it for birth-related body stuff. Ask any questions you’d like in the comments and I’ll update to include answers. Ask away, I’m not shy.
We kept the baby alive for a year. Here’s proof.
80 and I went shopping for a new sippy cup (upgrading to a straw), which has a nice rite-of-passage feel.
Two friends (well, four friends if you count the toddlers) stopped by to wish 80 a happy birthday.
Pants are for suckers. Pants-free is the way to be.
I’ll be posting the cake-smash pics and video in a separate post. Off to eat celebratory lamb tikka masala. It may be 80’s birthday, but it’s also my birthiversary and I get treats too.
I was googling “what do contractions feel like?”, unbelievingly I was having them. Next I tried to get some sleep.
I’m having a little trouble falling asleep tonight, thinking about it.
