Fetuses, real and rubber
I had a very vivid dream last night that I went into labor and gave birth at my house before having time to go to the hospital. This happened recently to someone on a mothering message board where I'm a member; guess her story left quite an impression on me. In my dream, the birth was virtually painless, in large part because the baby was so small because it was so early. But he was perfectly healthy (and of course he definitely would not be anything approaching healthy in real life if he were born now at just short of 22 weeks gestation). The nice thing about dreams is that they can be totally pleasant in the face of impossible odds.
Wow, just typing that made me remember for a split second that I think I dreamed about my mom recently, too. Just a split second, though, and I couldn't grasp it. Some dreams are so, so vivid, but still so fleeting. Sometimes my mind completely erases even dreams that I have written out in detail; rereading them is surprising because I have no memory of them.
Anyway. Here's a belly shot, taken MySpace style because Lee isn't here today to photographically capture me in my new maternity dress.
Penelope is happily watching Tom and Jerry cartoons on TV; Blair and fam gave her a DVD of them for Christmas, and she loves them.
See her toys and couch cushions and other "treasures" on the floor. Oy.
When Lee is away, Penelope enjoys talking to him on the phone. She will tell him about whatever she is doing at that moment. Here, we had been looking for her necklace, so she was telling him that her necklace was gone, and something else that now I don't remember. She'll say things like, "Red butterfly!" (except it sounds like "buck-uh-fie") or "Froggy sleeping" or "Aladdin" or other seeming non sequiturs.
She has several new expressions lately. My favorite is, "of course!"
"Penelope, would you like some bread?"
"Oh, of course!"
"Are you watching your show?"
"Of course."
"Did you have fun at Baby School?"
"Yes, of course!"
She also has finally learned to say, "I don't know," which for some reason she always expressed in the past by either shrugging her shoulders or just staring at you blankly. But now, whether you're asking her who someone is in an old picture, or where her coloring book is, or what she wants to eat, if she doesn't know, she tells you.
Another is, "I don't think so," which she says in a cross tone of voice while frowning. This might be her response if you are touching her toys when you're not supposed to be: "I don't think so, Daddy."
****************
Last Sunday, we went to an evening Mass at a church where I don't normally go, but they have the latest Sunday service around here, and that's what we could manage. The pro-life people were there in the narthex, where they ambushed us. It was 5 minutes before the Mass, I had to go to the bathroom, and I was trying to corral Penelope, when this dude asked me if I would pray for the unborn.
"Sure," I said. Because, hey, no harm in that, and besides, I pray for my unborn all the time.
"Could you sign your name here?" he asked.
I briefly skimmed what he was showing me. It did not appear to be a petition of any kind, so I figured what the hey and wrote my name.
But then he told me, and I realized, that I was signing an agreement to pray for a "spiritually adopted" unborn child that I was supposed to name and pray for over the next 9 months. He told me to pick a name, so I scrawled "Ezekiel," which is one of the names we're considering for Inside Baby. Then he gave me a blue certificate congratulating me on my spiritual adoption.
I hate January. With the anniversary of Roe v. Wade, it always ratchets up the pro-life presence in church.
So whatever, I stuffed my blue certificate in my purse, went to the bathroom, and took Penelope to a seat. She was wired and couldn't stay still and quiet during the Mass, so halfway through the homily, we had to get up and go to the cry room. Then we had to go change her diaper. Then after Mass, we went to light a candle. Then we had to go to the bathroom again, which again brought us to the narthex where the pro-life people were again waiting with their wares.
Penelope was very interested in their display (which, thankfully, did not involve any pictures of blood and gore) because of all the stacks of handouts and whatnot. She focused in on these baskets that were sitting out with little baggies of giveaways, including those little plastic fetus dolls they like to hand out to remind you what a 10-weeks-gestation "clump of cells" looks like. A lady wearing a mantilla was more than happy to help her pick one out (and even made sure we got a white one!). "It's soft, too, just like a real baby!" the lady explained. Sure enough, it was made of that squishy, rubbery material that stress balls are made of. A stress fetus.
With that, we left, Penelope happily clutching her fetus doll. It became the favored toy of the night. As soon as we got home, it was bath time, and the fetus doll took a bath with her.
The fetus doll also joined us for story time, and then went to bed with us. Because the material it's made of it s a bit sticky, and because the fetus doll began the night curled up right next to Penelope's head, in the morning it was covered in hair. Then it rode along to Baby School with us, but I had to insist it stay in the car and not go into school--not because it's a fetus (though, really, that would be a good enough reason) but because they don't want you to bring toys from home in with you.
When I started to tell this story to friends at work, I naturally began the tale with, "You know those little fetus dolls?" Nobody knew what I was talking about. So strange! I became acquainted with the fetus dolls many years ago, though I guess I've only ever seen them in a Catholic setting (and one other time, when a Catholic girl in my college ethics class distributed fetuses to everyone during her abortion presentation). A bit of preaching to the choir, I suppose, as one of my co-workers pointed out. Since I had P's fetus doll in the car, I brought it in for show and tell.
As is her custom, she promptly forgot about the fetus doll and didn't have any interest in it by the time Baby School was over. But for a memorable 12 hours, it was her macabre favorite.
On the plus side (is there a minus side to this story?), I did tell her that the fetus doll is just like the baby in Mommy's tummy, and she actually seems marginally warmer toward the prospect. That could be a coincidence, but whatever.
Wow, just typing that made me remember for a split second that I think I dreamed about my mom recently, too. Just a split second, though, and I couldn't grasp it. Some dreams are so, so vivid, but still so fleeting. Sometimes my mind completely erases even dreams that I have written out in detail; rereading them is surprising because I have no memory of them.
Anyway. Here's a belly shot, taken MySpace style because Lee isn't here today to photographically capture me in my new maternity dress.
Penelope is happily watching Tom and Jerry cartoons on TV; Blair and fam gave her a DVD of them for Christmas, and she loves them.
See her toys and couch cushions and other "treasures" on the floor. Oy.
When Lee is away, Penelope enjoys talking to him on the phone. She will tell him about whatever she is doing at that moment. Here, we had been looking for her necklace, so she was telling him that her necklace was gone, and something else that now I don't remember. She'll say things like, "Red butterfly!" (except it sounds like "buck-uh-fie") or "Froggy sleeping" or "Aladdin" or other seeming non sequiturs.
She has several new expressions lately. My favorite is, "of course!"
"Penelope, would you like some bread?"
"Oh, of course!"
"Are you watching your show?"
"Of course."
"Did you have fun at Baby School?"
"Yes, of course!"
She also has finally learned to say, "I don't know," which for some reason she always expressed in the past by either shrugging her shoulders or just staring at you blankly. But now, whether you're asking her who someone is in an old picture, or where her coloring book is, or what she wants to eat, if she doesn't know, she tells you.
Another is, "I don't think so," which she says in a cross tone of voice while frowning. This might be her response if you are touching her toys when you're not supposed to be: "I don't think so, Daddy."
****************
Last Sunday, we went to an evening Mass at a church where I don't normally go, but they have the latest Sunday service around here, and that's what we could manage. The pro-life people were there in the narthex, where they ambushed us. It was 5 minutes before the Mass, I had to go to the bathroom, and I was trying to corral Penelope, when this dude asked me if I would pray for the unborn.
"Sure," I said. Because, hey, no harm in that, and besides, I pray for my unborn all the time.
"Could you sign your name here?" he asked.
I briefly skimmed what he was showing me. It did not appear to be a petition of any kind, so I figured what the hey and wrote my name.
But then he told me, and I realized, that I was signing an agreement to pray for a "spiritually adopted" unborn child that I was supposed to name and pray for over the next 9 months. He told me to pick a name, so I scrawled "Ezekiel," which is one of the names we're considering for Inside Baby. Then he gave me a blue certificate congratulating me on my spiritual adoption.
I hate January. With the anniversary of Roe v. Wade, it always ratchets up the pro-life presence in church.
So whatever, I stuffed my blue certificate in my purse, went to the bathroom, and took Penelope to a seat. She was wired and couldn't stay still and quiet during the Mass, so halfway through the homily, we had to get up and go to the cry room. Then we had to go change her diaper. Then after Mass, we went to light a candle. Then we had to go to the bathroom again, which again brought us to the narthex where the pro-life people were again waiting with their wares.
Penelope was very interested in their display (which, thankfully, did not involve any pictures of blood and gore) because of all the stacks of handouts and whatnot. She focused in on these baskets that were sitting out with little baggies of giveaways, including those little plastic fetus dolls they like to hand out to remind you what a 10-weeks-gestation "clump of cells" looks like. A lady wearing a mantilla was more than happy to help her pick one out (and even made sure we got a white one!). "It's soft, too, just like a real baby!" the lady explained. Sure enough, it was made of that squishy, rubbery material that stress balls are made of. A stress fetus.
With that, we left, Penelope happily clutching her fetus doll. It became the favored toy of the night. As soon as we got home, it was bath time, and the fetus doll took a bath with her.
The fetus doll also joined us for story time, and then went to bed with us. Because the material it's made of it s a bit sticky, and because the fetus doll began the night curled up right next to Penelope's head, in the morning it was covered in hair. Then it rode along to Baby School with us, but I had to insist it stay in the car and not go into school--not because it's a fetus (though, really, that would be a good enough reason) but because they don't want you to bring toys from home in with you.
When I started to tell this story to friends at work, I naturally began the tale with, "You know those little fetus dolls?" Nobody knew what I was talking about. So strange! I became acquainted with the fetus dolls many years ago, though I guess I've only ever seen them in a Catholic setting (and one other time, when a Catholic girl in my college ethics class distributed fetuses to everyone during her abortion presentation). A bit of preaching to the choir, I suppose, as one of my co-workers pointed out. Since I had P's fetus doll in the car, I brought it in for show and tell.
As is her custom, she promptly forgot about the fetus doll and didn't have any interest in it by the time Baby School was over. But for a memorable 12 hours, it was her macabre favorite.
On the plus side (is there a minus side to this story?), I did tell her that the fetus doll is just like the baby in Mommy's tummy, and she actually seems marginally warmer toward the prospect. That could be a coincidence, but whatever.