We have a date! Labor for baby #4 is scheduled to be induced the morning of Monday, March 2. That’s just a week from Monday!
One thing I’ve never gotten used to is that with induced labor you pick your child’s birthday. That seems so strange. Back before my clotting disorder diagnosis I had my first child with midwives outside of a hospital setting, and I loved being able to do everything completely naturally. I’ve come to terms with most every part of having a high-risk, induced hospital birth, except for the picking the day part.
I have to say, I do like the day: Texas Independence Day, which commemorates the date in 1836 when Texas declared independence from Mexico and became an independent country. Maybe some unknown patron saint of Texans prayed for a good date (like last time).
I’ve been toying with the idea of liveblogging during labor on Twitter (or would that be “livetwittering”? “livetweeting”?)
Unfortunately I don’t know if I’d have access to wireless internet, and I missed an opportunity to find out. This morning I had an appointment with my obstetrician where we went over the induction process again, and then he asked me if I had any questions. Since this is my fourth birth and third induction I couldn’t think of any labor-related to ask about, and I felt like it would be just too unbelievably nerdy if my only question for him was, “Does the labor and delivery room have wi-fi?”
I wept tears of joy when I came across this article in the Wall Street Journal. Finally, I have found my people!
All my life I have felt misunderstood in regards to my feelings about cilantro. People hear me say that I “hate” it and they think that I mean to say that it’s simply a food that I don’t care for, in the same way that I really don’t like the taste of raw onions or ham.
Nay, when I sense cilantro on my tongue, it goes far beyond mere recognition that this is the worst taste known to mankind. It goes beyond just wishing that I didn’t have tastebuds so that I’d never be exposed to such a culinary assault ever again. Rather, I am filled with the knowledge that this herb is an abomination and see immediately that it is an affront to human dignity that we allow it to coexist on the earth with us.
It has been my great delight to find so many anti-cilantro websites, including online communities and even a poetry page where people who feel inspired to pen haikus expressing their loathing of this green scourge can have an outlet for their work (some profanity at that last link although, really, if you’ve ever tasted cilantro you know that they can’t help it).
Want to read two really interesting comment threads? I came across these when I was looking around in the archives for something else and just had to share.
- I wrote a post in 2006 talking about how I didn’t fully understand how/why Christ’s sacrifice could be payment for my sins since I didn’t do anything there — it wasn’t my sacrifice to give. “How do I make Christ’s sacrifice my own?” I asked. Here’s the discussion that followed.
- Here’s a follow-up discussion about why God doesn’t prove himself to us with on-demand miracles and why Jesus didn’t stick around in human form for all the ages.
I feel like my city has finally jumped the shark in terms of political correctness.
A while back I was reading one of the local freebie family magazines in a doctor’s office and came across an article called The Importance of Fatherhood. In a moment of great naivete I forgot that I lived in Austin and thought this author might offer un-P.C. insights about what it means to be a man and men’s roles in family life. The article started off well, but then the author felt the need to throw in the caveat:
I don’t mean in any way to disparage nontraditional families…I’m not out to insult partners, co-parents, significant others, poly-amorous spouses or anyone else.
Poly-amorous spouses?! I feel like we, as a city, need to take a step back and think long and hard about the fact that poly-amorous lifestyles are now on the list of legitimate, healthy family structures that we need to tiptoe around when we speak about marriage and family life.
My energy level is so drastically improved from doing the Saint Diet stuff (the details of which I hope to post about soon) that I keep forgetting that I’m pregnant. Yesterday I was in the store, lifting my three squirming toddlers in and out of the grocery cart, and caught myself wondering why I felt slightly achy. Then I remembered: oh, yeah, I’m 37 weeks pregnant! Honestly, I feel so great that it’s easy to forget, even at this stage of pregnancy. (That has not traditionally been my experience of late third trimester!)
I look forward to reading your posts!