reconstruction

aside from putting my patio, my relationship with my parents re: religion and, well... my identity back together after finishing and or quitting pretty much everything I was consumed with for the last 2 years, I also made another major leap.

A few summers ago I went to this great garages sale and bought, among other things, a red pleather bag for 2 bucks (that I later found $12 in) and a Cold War Kids t-shirt. This Italian (I know) t-shirt has been my favorite, best fitting, most treasured article of clothing since. The problem is, it's crazy stained and wearing out. I've looked online and compared American Apparel and Alternative Apparel shirts to no avail. It's an orphan. So... I took the plunge.

Today I cut up the poor thing and used it as a pattern to deconstruct a few of Jesse's less than satisfactory shirts (y'know the ones from Target that have one arm longer than the other- things like that).

It was simultaneously horrifying to deal with the fact that I'd never wear my favorite shit, as such, again and deeply gratifying to see that I was right! It IS special! It's ever so slightly bias cut, the sleeves are asymmetrical the angle of the shoulder seams is of an elegance typically reserved for garment cut from much finer cloth that medium weight cotton jersey.

Pieces are cut, hems are out, now for gestation and...

dum, dum dum!......

the birth of the clone!

upheaval

After a semi-stern reprimand from a woman wearing onion-cutting goggles and wielding a tom-honed knife, I am back at the blog. I hear the re-entry phase can be cruel, so I'll keep it short. I'm entering a summer of no dayjams, no school, no teaching-related projects, not being on call for the first time in years, and no tiny baby. I am trying to wrap my mind around the idea of gardening in actual dirt-clothes - with my phone lying neglected on the counter in the kitchen instead of cozied up to my twitchy behind ready to ring me into action at any moment - instead of grabbing a few handfulls of weeds on my way from the car to the house after work or class. S-man can help and do things like (seriously!) "Bud will you go into the kitchen and look in the napkin drawer and grab the old blue towel with the stain on it and the spray cleaner and bring it out to me in the car, ok? Oh, and could you ask dad if there's any coffee left?"
For the record; he came back in less than 2 minutes with the right cleaner, the right towel, and the answer to my question (which was, sadly, no.) and I was well into cleaning the last few weeks worth of spilled coffee out of the minivan cup holders before I realized that he's not really a grown up, and is in fact 3 and 3/4.
J-man dug a giant pit in our backyard which will one day soon - with the help of the mysterious "Charlie from sand and gravel" - be a lovely breezeway again.
The constant steam of dirt throught the house would bother me so much more if I weren't experiencing the oddest lightness of being. I would mind the sweeping and the laundry more if I wasn't moving so slowly in my mind. I think this must be what it's like for those kids who get medicated instead of being thansfered to a self-contained classroom.
Everything seems so slow.
and so clear.

saying yes, again

Between christmas and newyear's I was priveledged to witness the birth of a VERY large baby. 11.8 to be exact. The heft of the infant, the ease of the birth, the proud Papa's crazy dance number and the family hoopla surrounding the whole event ( a house FULL of people, furniture and pizza showing up just about the time we thought she'd be delivering a baby) though bizarre, are probably not what I'll remember the most about the day.

I spend long months during the school year reading midwifery texts, studying journals, making paper perineal models, practicing stitches and stressing about NNR, just waiting for a chance to get to a birth, or even to prenatal appontments. So when I am on break, I'm usually totally gung-ho to drive through feet of snow, or leave parties or whatever if I have the chance to actually DO some midwif-y thing. When I got the call on the 27th, however, I was anything but excited. I felt tears welling up and my heart was racing the whole drive out. I spent a good part of the morning trying to ignore the voice in my head that was saying "What the hell are you doing?" "Why are you here?" "Just quit and go home."

When we eventually did leave for a bit, I struggled mightily with wanting to call my midwives and just tell them I wasn't going back. Or to any other births ever. I know. It's crazy sounding, but I just kept being hit by these waves of anxiety and dissappointment and tears (oh, the tears)and un-sureness.

I called A1 eventually and told her about my volatile emotional state. She, perplexed and kind, all but let me off the hook, but by the time she called back I had straightened something out - enough so that I could laeve family christmas number 76 or so to get lost twice and eventually make it to the house in time for the second stage of Mr. Giant Baby's birth.

Here's what I realized in the interim.
1) I was crazy stressed about the Mama and should have talked more openly about it with my preceptors. I hadn't been to any prenatals for this baby (just the little bro) and I think my feelings of disconnection didn't help with my aniety level at all.
2) I, the sworn enemy of hesitation, hesitate at births. I want so much to become skilled at this, and my opportunities to practice are so few and far between that I put a crazy amount of pressure on myself at every midwifery moment.
3) Being off call for long stretches of school tedium makes every re-entry into birth world like starting all over again. I like starting new things, but only because I like getting better at them. This is like some bizarre dating relationship: First date, second date. First date, third date, First date, fourth date, superlong vacation, who are you again? Second date, third date; and do I really want to be with you? Is this worth the trouble? AAAAGGGHHH!

The answer, of course, is Yes. Again.
I DID quit at least 8 times between 4 and 10 centimeters, but I started again 9 times, and I guess, if I'm honest, I can say that that's good enough for me.
Hopefully it's good enough for A1 and A2, and I'm not made to quit quitting by being fired!