Hannah’s actions and decisions make me sad sometimes. For long stretches I wonder how she’ll ever make it in the world.
But she is also the person through whom I have had the opportunity to know true awe and pride. (You might not know that Hannah fought and won a complicated lawsuit against the Nassau County School Board when they denied her the right to start a Gay Straight Alliance at her middle and high schools. The case went on for a couple of years and even when the high school case was settled, Nassau County intended to take Hannah to trial over her middle school discrimination case.
In the end, a settlement was reached. Would you want to go up against this woman on a witness stand?
You can see Hannah on Penn N Teller’s “Bullshit” in the following clip, starting at 1:44, putting it out there what attacking her on the witness stand would net those guys. Smart move, Nassau County.
On Saturday I watched my daughter bring her baby girl into the world free of painkillers, intervention, and most of all free of fear. She was a fierce warrior and at one point even exclaimed irritably, “I got this” when I tried to manage her.
Here is Celica Leigh. She came into the world surrounded by love and Hannah’s chosen family, in the home that Hannah has made for herself and her family. She weighed 8 lbs and 8 ounces and was 21 inches long.
This morning I heard a commotion from Jacks room that was unfamiliar to me. Here are some things I AM familiar with, by sound:
glass bottles hitting the wall or floor
Jack’s head banging on the “floor” of the portable crib
The empty diaper wipes container, when we thoughtlessly leave it within his reach and he’s done removing individual wipe, crushing it into a ball. (I WISH I could hear the first diaper wipe ball hit the ground….)
Feet of Fury, hitting the wall. Picture a child laying on the mattress of a portable crib, stretching the mesh sides to their limit, pushing padding out of the way, so that his feet are able to beat his dissatisfaction into the wall.
Anatomically Correct Baby Doll head being flung into the wall, onto the floor.
A little sing-song warning, peppered with “ewwww!” and “gross!” and “ma-maaaaaaaaaaa” and sometimes “haaaaannnnaaaaaahhhhh!” performed with the special beat that comes along with trying to carry a tune while you’re jumping up and down. This song means in adult language “whoever goes in there should wear a gas mask, and go ahead and turn the shower on now because warm water dissolves feces better than cold”
So anyway. THIS morning I heard the crash and then subsequent “maaaammmmmaaaaa!” that I thought meant OK, it’s time to put him in the regular baby jail and head injuries be damned because he can now throw his leg over the side of the portable crib and roll out onto the floor.
So I went in. And he was not on the floor crying. (I would like to point out that I have placed a fuzzy rug on the floor for exactly this contingency)
He was on the top bunk of the bunk bed, whose ladder has been disabled (to avoid exactly this occurrence). Instead of throwing his leg over the only open side of the portable crib(which woud have landed him on the soft rug), he used his newfound leggy length to hoist himself onto the side of the portable crib, hang onto the end of the bunk bed, and pull himself onto the mattress.
Let me explain: We have a bunk bed wedged into the room, ladder side to the wall so that kids can’t get up there. It’s a family heirloom, or sorts. It’s in the kids’ room because I keep hoping that one day, my small ones will share a room, lay on their respective bunks and tell stories to each other, climb in bed with each other when a nightmare makes the whole room scary.
We’re um, not there yet. Currently, wedged into a corner and between the end of the bunk bed and the wall, sits a portable crib (pack & play, to all you youngsters) surrounded by pillows and comforters. That’s right, we had to pad the wall because even though he may not be able to injure himself permanently by banging his forehead against the wall, I can’t stand the little wound that rests in between his eyes.
And another for your enjoyment; the night my water broke, Mel snapped this pic so that later we could marvel at how stoned I look. I was; completely wasted on anticipation and adrenaline, and just so damn happy that the End was near. I’m so glad for this picture because it makes me remember that for a while there that night I forgot about the actual end and how it would come and I was just rolling with it, happy to have some semblance of a labor that came on its own. What you can’t see from the pic is that when we pulled up into their yard, there were birds singing in the trees at well past midnight. There was magic in the air and I half expected a chorus of Angels to serenade us on the way to Jacksonville.
And now for your pumping news: I feel like a heiffer. And I need to learn how NOT to stay up “just for a few minutes” after pumping at midnight- because whoops! Look what time it is already! Time to pump again! And wake someone up to finger feed the little Lazy Sucker. Ah, the hidden consequences of getting your baby early.
My optimism about all this surprises me; I can only credit the Percoset right now, which I caved in and swallowed at midnight tonight after a full day without. It was a hard day, with the choices being 1)take the drugs and fucntion or 2)go off the drugs and lay in bed wishing I had taken the drugs but proud as hell I wasn’t putting percoset in my breastmilk. And also? II’m going to run out, and ouch. When this candy wears off I am literally gasping and banging my head against the wall. And I would have thought I had a pretty high tolerance for pain given the last few months of my life which were one long pain party. What the hell?
NOw I’m faced with the happy task of calling the OB’s office tomorrow and begging the staff, who know my whole story and how I almost left the hospital in a huff while in labor last week because the OB was mean to me (Oh I didn’t tell you about that part? It’ll come. After my babymoon I’ll let my story loose on the Internet), for more narcotics. I’m not a junkie I swear. I’m just a mom trying to figure out how to bed at the waist and hug a two year old without screaming.