Ennui-ui-ui All The Way Home

Ennui-ui-ui All The Way Home: The Boring Simplicity of the Montessori Home Environment

Preamble: I said I would talk about something besides crying. Many parents I meet want to know how to bring up a good "Montessori child". To begin, I don't believe that some children are "Montessori children" and some are not. I believe they are all Montessori kids--but you can ease the transition into a Montessori school environment and improve a child's experience if your parenting style is Montessori-compatible. I guess I could start writing about my Montessori parenting experiment anywhere, but I'll start with interior design, just for fun--and because I like it.

For the record, I mean to judge no one's nursery decor. Creating this environment is something of an academic exercise. Call it "Extreme Montessori Decorating"

Designing the Environment:There is a lot of philosophy out there, and many interpretations. Here's my take on designing a Montessori-appropriate home environment, the crux of which is simplicity. It's harder than I had imagined. There are so many cool and beautiful things for our babies that it's hard for a girl to keep her wits about her. I WANT that adorable little egg-shaped bouncer they have at modernseed.com (go check it out, it is so cute!). I want a slick modernist high chair and an heirloom crib tricked out with the dwellbaby crib set. Those things have been marketed successfully to me and I WANT THEM. However, I will not have them because they are not part of the Montessori infant environment and I want to do this all the way.

The following things are omitted by design:

Swings and bouncing contraptions of any kind. We have no bouncy seat, no wind-up swing, no vibrating chair, no exersaucer,and no high chair. The bumbo seat and the bilibo rocker are waiting, gathering dust. There can be nothing to sit on, other than someone's lap, that the baby cannot get into and out of herself, including the chair she eats in. At two months, it's still early for many of those things to be relevant, but the day of reckoning is coming.

Any and all toys that "do" anything. Toys in the Montessori infant environment may not light up, buzz, spin around or move in any way or for any reason that is not visible to the child's eye. My saddest omission in this category is the cute little caterpillar and the bumblebee Lamaze toys--both of which vibrate when you pull the cords. I LOVE these toys. (snif). Rattles must have all the clattering parts on the outside, visible to the child. The Tiffany silver rattle has to stay in its box for now.

The crib. The Montessori mobile infant should be able to get in and out of bed on her own power. Nuvy has a floor bed, which is basically a mattress on the floor, surrounded by a lovely wooden tray, to make it look a little less like a mattress thrown on the floor. Just now she can't move much and she only naps in it, but I'll bet the floor bed thing is about to get very interesting.

Hanging overhead toys. These must be omitted until the baby can get under them or away from them on her own. The Montessori environment may not impose toys on the baby by hanging them in front of her face. She has to choose to play with them. There is a sort of arty, Calder-esque mobile above her bed, but it is high out of her reach, and I consider it an aesthetic element, like paint or a picture on the wall, rather than a toy.

Other environmental design restrictions I'm following:

Separate play and sleep areas. Lucky for me, this is the only practical arrangement in my house. We have two small areas, rather than one big one. There is nothing to play with in her sleep area but a few board books and a "mouthable" book with family photos in it. Later, if she wants it, she can have a "lovey" to sleep with, but I don't mean a menagerie to play with in bed.

Cartoon images. Images of people, animals, or whatever have to be as realistic as possible. I will make certain allowances for stuffed animals, justifying them by not calling them by real animal names. For example, I do not refer to the cutest stuffed horse in the world by saying "This is a horsey!" It isn't. We'll just call it "springy", which it is, and let her figure out that it looks like a horse after she's seen some photos/real horses. Why? So as to preserve the delight she'll get from discovering the likeness herself.

Montessori eyebrow-raisers in my environment:

Mirrors. Mirrors are a subject of hot debate in Montessori infant culture. Those in favor assert that the mirror allows the child to see her own realistic image, and realistic images of other people present. Those opposed say that the mirror image is complicated and confusing--like the rattle with the moving parts inside and out of view--and should be left out as a deceptive element. Personally, I love mirrors, my house is full of them, they brighten and enlarge small spaces of which I have plenty, and I am including them.

Bright colors. Strict adherence to the Montessori infant-environment-design-code requires that all colors be neutral, so as not to overstimulate the new baby, who's got enough to process as it is without the color riot. I have tried to restrain myself, painting the rooms a rather mellow shade of yellow, but I do have a red rocking chair, red cubby storage, and a bright-stripey rug in her bedroom. It's still pretty austere.

The red rocking chair. Strictly speaking, Montessori gurus do not advocate rocking, bouncing or swinging by human hands any more than by mechanical means. It is said to distract the baby from its chosen work (usually screaming its head off, in my experience). After all that discussion about crying and soothing, I've decided that this is hogwash and I will rock my baby in my own arms to soothe her, but I'll try not to rock her all the way to sleep. That's for another post. The rocker gets in by being my contraption, not hers.

Slings and carriers. Same principle. Baby can't control it, baby can't get in and out of the carrier on her own. I object on the same grounds. It's a device to help me use my own body to soothe the baby. Plus, I love wearing her. (Lalala, I can't hear you, Magda Gerber!)

The co-sleeper. It's not exactly co-bedding, but almost, which is not forbidden, but sort of frowned upon. Well, go ahead and frown. When she stops nursing at night and starts rolling over a lot, I'll put her in the floor bed at night.

The Product:

Nuvy's Sleep Room

Nuvy's Play Room

Results so far: So far what seems to happen is that I am humanly responsible for all the forbidden mechanical activities and entertainments, by virtue of my unwillingness to let her cry (Ok, I almost got through the whole thing without talking about crying). I swing, bounce, carry, lull, and make noises and movements for the purpose of her entertainment. Thusly, I have sort of justified the invention of all the conveniences I shun. Of course today, she finally found her thumb, and has spent much of the day in her spare environment, sucking it with relish while gazing at the muted walls or the patterned bandanna she is given to play with. All in all, a pleasant start.

Ineffable Infancy

Ineffable Infancy: Magda Gerber and the Existential Baby

One last brain-twister regarding crying, and I promise I'll talk about something else. I re-read some sections on crying in Magda Gerber's Your Self-Confident Baby, and found a sort of black hole of the unknowable baby-mind waiting for me that I had simply overlooked before Nuvy came.

First of all, Gerber makes the rather weird assertion that, since a baby's language is crying (this is one of the few points over which she and Sears might not come to blows), a (fed, dry, etc.) baby should never be stopped from crying. Seriously. Here's the quote:

I feel a baby should never be told not to cry
or be distracted from crying, even if listening to it is difficult for the
parent. I often say to parents that if you tell your child not to cry, you'd
better set aside lots of money to send her to Primal Scream Therapy when she
grows up. People go to therapy because they no longer trust how they feel,
thinking, "I feel desperate, but maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm okay after
all."

Now, before I had my own baby, I read this passage without even a pause to ponder how deeply crackpot this advice might sound to a parent. Nothing but red onions will bring me to tears faster than not being able to comfort (read: quiet) my sweet little shrieking baby. I have heard a lot of babies, and have not had too much difficulty keeping my head around other people's crying children, but it's against my every instinct to sit over my own child and watch her cry without doing anything. I mean, I can do it, but I almost have to breathe through it as if I were in labor again--careful not to make any "shh" breaths that might be misinterpreted as a suggestion that the baby cut short her screaming jag.

Gerber has clearly heard this argument before. She goes on:

Parents have asked me, if crying is a
child's language, isn't she telling us to do something? My
answer is, not necessarily. It's different from when a grown-up
cries. It's the baby's mode of self-expression. Since an infant
cannot talk, crying is the only way she can express her feelings or
discomfort. Babies also cry to discharge energy. They don't run and
play as older children do.

So here we have a child who is using a mode of expression that, for an adult, indicates extreme negative emotion, but Gerber seems to assert that, since the child's expression is not codified according to learned meaning, her emotional state is unknowable to us. Therefore, we should not project our adult meaning onto the gesture the child is making--one of a very limited repertoire available to a very young infant. Lets assume she's not hungry, wet, sick or injured. Perhaps some crying doesn't indicate discomfort at all. She could be expressing anything, or nothing in particular--just letting off a little steam, or maybe conducting a little linguistic experiment by testing the parent's reaction.

But then, if we posit that expression is integral to experience, and the child has only two means of expression, crying or not, does that mean the child only experiences contentment or despair, and that nuances of expression become apparent alongside nuances of experience? Well, that doesn't seem so far fetched, does it? And supposing we do accept that, does it get us anywhere?

It's easy to fall off that particular precipice in either direction. You could say that, if the child is in apparent despair, with no apparent reason, you must treat it as real despair and relieve it in any way possible, trusting that experience and expression will become more modulated with time. I would call this "Attachment Parenting" or "Searsism". Alternatively, you could say that, if the child expresses despair in a situation that doesn't seem to call for despair, you must modulate your response in order to allow the child to discover nuances of experience and expression authentically. I would call this "RIE Parenting" or "Gerberism".

Either way we get to the same place, right? Listen to your child's unintelligible signals. Once you've interpreted those signals, respond to them according to our very-well-researched model. Otherwise you run the risk of raising a very damaged individual.

Great. Thanks. I should have gone into the head-shrinking business.

The Shutdown Syndrome

The Shutdown Syndrome: Sears Sucker-Punches the Maternal Guilt Complex

Welcome back to the crying game! To continue our discussion, I found an anecdote at askdrsears.com that I found worthy of deconstruction. Anyone care to join me?

Dr. Sears writes:

Heather had previously been a happy baby, thriving on a full dose of attachment parenting...The whole family was thriving and this style of parenting was working for them. Well-meaning friends convinced these parents that they were spoiling their baby, that she was manipulating them, and that Heather would grow up to be a clingy, dependent child.

Parents lost trust...They let Heather cry herself to sleep, scheduled her feedings, and for fear of spoiling, they didn't carry her as much... Heather went from being happy and interactive to sad and withdrawn. Her weight leveled off, and she went from the top of the growth chart to the bottom. Heather was no longer thriving, and neither were her parents.

Baby lost trust. After two months of no growth, Heather was labeled by her doctor "failure to thrive" and was about to undergo an extensive medical exam. When the parents consulted me, I diagnosed the shutdown syndrome...They unknowingly pulled the attachment plug on Heather, and the connection that had caused her to thrive was gone.

Ok. I can picture this situation. Everybody is telling you how to handle your perfectly happy, well adjusted child. You make some ill-advised changes based on half-assed renderings of child-rearing wisdom from people you didn't agree with to begin with, your new grudgingly-imposed restrictions work for no one. Everybody loses. But seriously, how far did these people go? Failure to thrive? Sad and withdrawn? Top to the bottom of the growth chart? Pretty dramatically not good. Did they lock her in her room and pass her a bottle through a slot in the door every four hours?

Where I get hung up is with the "shutdown syndrome" part. It's not that I don't think emotional deprivation has physiological consequences, that's been shown everywhere. It's just that a thing like "shutdown syndrome" gets sketchy when the first symptom of it is the child not crying--unthinkable failure masquerading as success. Ouch.

To illustrate, here's Sears again:

Babies thrive when nurtured. We believe every baby has a critical level of need for touch and nurturing in order to thrive...We believe that babies have the ability to teach their parents what level of parenting they need. It's up to the parents to listen, and it's up to professionals to support the parents' confidence and not undermine it by advising a more distant style of parenting, such as "let your baby cry-it-out" or "you've got to put him down more."

True, who would argue against the idea that children need to be nurtured. You can't walk away from a newborn and expect her to sleep through the night. If you have one, your whole being forces you out of bed in the middle of the night to give that baby the physical and emotional nurture she needs. However, are we to equate nurture with shutting the baby up no matter what it takes? Binkies? Wind-up-swings? All-night car rides? Car seat on the washing machine? Is it OK to tend the child's physical needs, and then just hold her or sit beside her through the hurt we can't solve for her? Supposing we succeed! And if we do, what do we do with the next statement?

Babies who are "trained" not to express their needs may appear to be docile, compliant, or "good" babies. Yet, these babies could be depressed babies who are shutting down the expression of their needs. They may become children who don't speak up to get their needs met and eventually become the highest-need adults.

Now this is just what the Maternal Guilt Complex needed. I mean, are we talking walk-don't-run trained, wind-down-a-few-minutes trained or Romanian-orphanage trained? Supposing I follow my mother's advice and do everything I would normally do (rock, sing, walk the floor) then put the baby down and go away for a few minutes. What if the baby actually stops crying? How can I tell if my baby is content or depressed? Do I get to blame my mother for making me a "high-needs adult?" Where are the data on high-needs adults?

Actually, lets construct some data. If there are any readers lurking out there who think they could classify themselves as either "high-needs" or "low-needs" adults, go call your mom and ask her what she did with you when you cried as a baby, then let us know on the comment board. We'll compile the data and see what we get!

The Crying Game

The Crying Game: Magda Gerber and Dr. Sears Face Off

Welcome to the philosophical paradox of crying babies. Beyond the obvious reparable (or irreparable) reasons, nobody knows why babies cry, and nobody can keep them from crying from time to time, yet all the experts agree that this no-apparent-reason crying is a meaningful, authentic form of communication that must be honored, interpreted and responded to by the parent. Experts further agree that if you follow the advice of the wrong expert, you will do irreparable damage to your future relationship with your child, and to your child's self-esteem as she grows up.

In other words: everyone knows you can't win, but nobody can call off the game, and just to keep it interesting--loser gets a kid who's scarred for life. Well, I protest! I will sit down and extemporize while my fussy baby yells herself purple in my helpless, sagging arms. I will do this because nothing I do will do any damn good anyhow. I might even wear my iPod while I type!

For the benefit of grannies, childless people, and other readers who are less baby-obsessed than I am, I will explain who these people are. If you have a young infant you probably already know, so skip the next bit and go attend your screaming baby. If you're pregnant, go take a nap and when you wake up, get your doc to write you up a scrip for some Librium. Trust me. It's for later.

In the white corner, wearing yellow trunks: Magda Gerber, founder of Resources for Infant Educarers (RIE), disciple of Dr. Emmi Pickler, who did a lot of research with some very nice Hungarian orphans, and author of Your Self-Confident Baby, which is required reading for Montessori infant-types. Magda would like for you to respect your child's individual competence as separate from you. She would have you respect her "need to cry" by letting it be "ok" for her to cry sometimes. She cautions against rocking, swinging, bouncing, walking the floor, cars and washing machines, and other physical stimulation methods of baby soothing, as they intrude on the baby's natural ability to work through its newfound emotions. She would have you go to the baby's bed, talk to the baby, maybe lay a hand on the baby's tummy, and "be present" while the baby screams its head off.

In the red corner, wearing blue trunks: Dr. Sears (actually, now there are three--Dad and two sons), Attachment Parenting (AP) guru. Check out the whole AP philosophy at www.askdrsears.com. Dr. Sears would probably like to eat Magda Gerber alive. He cautions against "letting your baby cry-it-out" as this is against almost every parent's natural instinct toward her child, and will damage the trust bond between parent and child, cause easy babies to become apathetic (i.e. quiet), and difficult babies to become totally unglued (i.e. disturbingly noisy). He advocates bouncing, swinging, "baby dancing", walking the floor, pacifiers, and pretty much anything you have to do to soothe (i.e. shut up) the baby, and he advocates doing this for as long as it takes. No "crying it out" ever. He does make a certain allowance for colic, and at some point in the future, moving from being a "yes mom" to a "yes-and-no mom", though he does not specify when or exactly what the hell that means.

And so I'm...Stuck in the middle with you.

Let's all digest while I settle in for the 2:30am feeding. Anyone have upfront opinions before the main event?

On Demand Nursing and the Pacifier

"On Demand" Nursing and the Pacifier: Which One Am I?

Nuvy is now about a month old and we are, right on schedule, experiencing "periods of fussiness" which I would characterize as the clean, recently fed child screaming her fool head off for God knows what reason. Now there are many professional and lay opinions in the comfort/cry-it-out debate, and I am trying very very hard to avoid what I think is a poor compromise: cry it out until I can't take it anymore, then I'll pick you up.

If you don't have kids, let me tell you. This is way harder than you think. If you do, well, then you know what I'm talking about.

They say that, by now, I should be able to distinguish the wet cry from the hungry cry from the just-a-little-whiny cry. Of course, in the course of a cry-it-out, it always comes down to the hungry cry. She may be young, but she's not stupid. She knows what cry will get me to pick her up, even if the clock tells me she can't possibly be hungry, she wets and soils 15 diapers a day, and her little thighs are so fat and dimply I could just eat them up.

So when should I feed her? The AAP breastfeeding manual answers "as often as she's willing." Ok. Are you kidding? I have never seen this child turn down a lunch ticket. She will nurse until she's literally overflowing--not swallowing the last mouthful, but letting it run down her cheek, still hanging on. The AAP further states that "sucking is comforting to infants, and they may require more sucking time than feeding time allows...so unless you are strongly opposed to pacifiers, offer your child one."

Well, guess what?

I'm strongly opposed to pacifiers. They're gross, they get dropped, lost, you eventually have to take them away, and they say "Put a sock in it!" very clearly not only to the child, but to everyone else you meet. Everyone tells me that this is "so first-time-mommy", which may be true, but I maintain. I can hang on until she finds her thumb. I swear I can.

Of course, I have a bag in the closet full of brand-new binkies, sort of like an emergency carton of cigarettes after you quit smoking, you know, just in case I turn out to be spineless. But I digress.

So if I choose to quiet the baby by nursing "whenever she's willing", have I made myself a human pacifier? Am I saying "put a sock in it" just as clearly as if I popped a binky in her mouth, and if so, why fight it? Alternatively, can she really be this hungry? Does she have worms or is she playing me for a chump? Am I really "honoring her feelings" by letting her scream?

Follow the child. Follow the child.

It seems like following the newborn child is a little like following the ghost of christmas future. It doesn't say anything intelligible, just makes funny noises and mysterious gestures.

The Daddy Factor

The Daddy Factor: Can The Infant Care Gurus Stand Up to Paternal Instinct?

Kent is a natural daddy. He's a big boy. He can stand a little screaming-meemie time, is able to enjoy changing diapers, sings to the baby with abandon, catalogs her every breath in pictures and video, carries her around everywhere in his Baby Bjorn, and can't wait to show her off to all his friends and colleagues. He's the daddy for the new millenium. Sensitive, loving, involved, and working hard to make it a fifty/fifty, two-parent show.

So, can my Montessori Baby experiment survive him?

The Montessori Baby is "respected" above all. The gurus teach us how to demonstrate respect for the baby by how we touch and talk to her--mostly by giving her what is, to many parents' natural instincts, way too much personal space. We, the Montessori Baby club, speak to the baby in a natural, adult tone of voice, tell the baby what we're going to do before we do it (as in "I'm going to pick you up now." or "I'm going to put this fresh diaper under your bottom, can you help me by lifting your legs?"), and say meaningful, true, and respectful things to the baby, as if she could understand our every word--because you never know when she will.

We move slowly around the baby, speak softly, carry her "respectfully" and only sometimes, not constantly. We give the baby "space" in which to move her body independently. We give the baby time and loving support in working through her feelings (i.e. we sometimes let her cry) We watch her and broadcast her accomplishments back to her in a calm, not-too-impressed voice.

In other words, we are no damned fun at all.

Kent often handles Nuvy, our daughter, as you would a cute, scruffy dog. He raises her high in the air, then brings her very close to his face and wiggles her a little, saying in that puppy-talk voice, "Who's just the most perfect f-ing thing?", or "I love you SO MUCH, you f-ing little sh-t!" He bounces her and swings her to quiet her, dances her around the house, and generally has such fun playing with her that I can't bear to tell him that he's outside my experimental protocols.

I have a feeling it would sound like a big load of crap to him. He might be right.

Don't get me wrong. I am a true believer. I have drunk the Montessori Kool-aid. The kids I've seen respond beautifully to the methods, the baby-groups are unquestionably successful. So why can't I insist on his "respectful handling" of our child? I mean, it's impossible to tell if a one-month-old child "enjoys" one style over another, and that may not be relevant anyway. After all, don't we all "enjoy" ice cream over steamed broccoli, or a good movie over two hours at the gym? Does enjoyment make it better? Or am I some kind of sicko for "experimenting" on my own child by trying to raise her according to some wacky theory?

Will I lose my mind as I watch all my hard work in "respecting" my child come undone as she and her Daddy enjoy hours of natural, unschooled, scruffy-dog fun? Will I lighten up and give it a rest? Will she be orphaned after Daddy and I kill each other over disparate parenting strategies?

Stay tuned to find out.

Day Three: The First Big Goof

Day Three: The First Big Goof--Following the Child Into Medical Hell

Never did a brand new mommy come home from the hospital with more confidence in her personal competence, knowledgeable support network, and careful preparation for the delicate work of caring for a new infant. I was unstoppable--ready to take my brand-new baby out on the open road.

And in for a hell of a ride.

Now the Montessori mantra is "Follow the child. Follow the child." So when everyone from the midwife to the pediatrician to the lactation consultant counseled me that newborn infants need to eat every two to three hours, I smiled politely and trusted my Montessori newborn to let me know when she was hungry. This was the first wrong turn on the road to nowhere good.

The first night passed without incident. She woke me up to eat twice, maybe three times but after all, who was counting? Follow the child. Follow the child. How sweet and perfect she was, and how not-very-hungry. So sleepy, and cried almost not at all. What a dream baby!

Next day, Mom and I spent the day dismantling the overdue Christmas tree and watching the perfect baby sleep the day away in her picture-perfect little basket. No mother could be as lucky or as perfectly competent as I. I continued to follow her lead and let her sleep, as she was clearly very sleepy. She slept for seven solid hours. When I did finally find the good sense to wake her up, she was jaundiced to her tender little umbilical stump, unable to stay awake for more than three minutes of nursing, and beginning to squeeze my mommy-insanity button. I called the pediatrician. You know, just to be on the safe side.

The pediatrician recommended we swing by a nighttime clinic or the ER, you know, just to be on the safe side. I was beginning to suspect that it was too soon to start following this particular child.

What I expected from the hospital experience was a few minutes under the bili-lights and a patronizing pat on the head for being a neurotic mom. What I got was three days in the joint with IV fluids and antibiotics through the scalp (the ER nursing staff managed to blow out every vein in both arms, both legs, and one side of her head trying to establish IV access) plus a lumbar puncture for my perfect little pigeon. This is apparently the standard protocol for "lethargy and sepsis ruleout" which is what they call anybody under 2 months of age who comes in with this set of symptoms. Imagine my surprise.

To my chagrin, several of the hospital staff, including one NICU nurse and an attending doc, reported having had just this delightful experience with their own first children. I learned little tricks like applying icy washcloths, blowing in the baby's face, and sundry other unpleasantries designed to keep a sleepy little one awake and sucking. Back on the outside, several more friends offered sympathy and their own little tricks for avoiding the apparently bonehead pitfall I had, in my infinite wisdom, walked right into.

Of course, she's just as perfect now as when she went in, only less yellow and more perforated...

Obligatory Montessori Birth Story

Our Amazing Birth

With apologies to those who have read this already...

Ok. So I went into labor (as in contractions every 2-5 minutes--can't talk during a contraction labor, not "oh, maybe that was a contraction" labor) at 11:30pm DECEMBER 29TH!

You can see where I'm going with this, right?

Well, since I planned to do this cold-turkey, I figured there was no screaming hurry to get medical attention. I waited until 7am, then I called the birthing center and let them know I was in labor, and we decided I'd work on it at home for an hour or so more, and then come in when the office opened, for our already scheduled 41-week prenatal visit (!)

So at about 8:30am, they checked me for dilation (2cm) and watched my contractions on the monitor. Long story short: congratulations, you're in labor. now go on home and get that cervix to 4cm so we can admit you.

We went home. It was about 11am. Slept (sort of) between contractions until about 4:30pm. Went back. It was now 5:15 or so. Cervix check: 2cm. You have got to be kidding me, right?

It was suggested that I go walk around the mall for a couple of hours and get the old cervix open. Surely a couple-three hours on my feet would have us good and born by morning. I labored in the Montgomery Mall for three hours until 8:30. Cervix check: 2.5cm. No dice. Go home and try to get some sleep. Right.

6:00am and we're back. Surely after 10 hours of mooing like a cow every 4 minutes or so, we are almost ready to push, right? Cervix check: a tight 3 cm, and the cervix is now getting thicker (as in swelling from baby mashing her little head on it...) not thinner. We sit on the fetal monitor again for a while--baby is happy as a little clam in there, kicking around, mashing her head on my poor swollen cervix, looking for a way out. I'm pretty tired and dehydrated, so they hook me up to a bottle of lactated ringers and let me labor in the birthing center for a while--even though I'm still too tight to be officially admitted.

At 7am, I exhaust the shift of my first on-call midwife.

Midwife #2, sends me home again at 10:30am to rest (!) and sit in a hot bath until the afternoon, when I can come back and she'll break my bulging water bag for me--the only thing that seems to be progressing out of my body at this point. I am about to lose my mind, but I go. I have now been in labor for 36 hours.

I come back in at about 1:30pm, now December 31st, nearly 4 cm--close enough. Midwife #2 is reaching for the amnio-hook when my water breaks on its own at 2:00. Now we can get this show on the road. The baby will be out in a couple of hours. Contractions are good and strong, baby is doing fine. I am trying to suck back coca cola between contractions to stay out of IV fluidland.

4:30, time for a cervix check--I must be in transition now, because the pain is experiencing me, rather than the other way around, and I feel like I'm going to puke.

4 cm. Incredible.

I am now sobbing that I can't do it anymore, Midwife #2 says do it for another hour and you can get in the Jacuzzi tub for a while to rest. Well, OK, what's another hour anyway?

5:30pm. 4 cm. Very disappointing. I go into the Jacuzzi tub anyway, just for a little pain relief. Midwife #2 reaches in and determines that the baby's angle of engagement (head mashing angle) is unfavorable, and that that is slowing us down. She has me sit in the Jacuzzi tub on my hands and knees like a frog to try to move the baby to a more forward position. I can barely sip my coke anymore, My poor husband is splashing water on my back, wondering what new circle of hell is this, and I am sitting with my face about 3 inches from a big warm tub of water and thinking I could put myself out of my misery with one big underwater breath...

The contractions are getting farther apart, which is not good, but I don't care, because I'm getting a little break--they're around 6 or 7 minutes apart now. Baby is still happy as a lark, thumping around like no sweat. Midwife #2 and husband haul me out of the tub at 6:30pm, and hook me up to another bottle of lactated ringers. Cervix check: 4.5 cm, but a little less swollen. Position is better.

Of course, at this pace, in this age of modern medicine, we are never going to make it to 10 without some intervention. Midwife #2 says I can try for another hour before they send me to the hospital. I tell her to go ahead and get the ball rolling. She says my best shot at a vaginal delivery is to have an epidural and rest a little. I would settle for a sharp blow to the head at this point. Sign me up.

We are at the hospital by 8:30, the epidural is in place by 9:30, and for the first time in 46 hours, I can speak in sentences! Nobody can shut me up. Even while I'm on oxygen and my third bottle of lactated ringers solution (I came in dehydrated, with a fever, and baby starting to depress a little).

I watch my painless contractions go by on the monitor and think "Oh, that was a good one. Glad I didn't have to breathe through that!" For a few hours until about 12:30, when all the happy new year business is done, and my father and father-in-law are through sneaking champagne into the labor and delivery room. On call midwife #3, checks my cervix, 7 centimeters. Not tremendous progress, but a dramatic improvement for me! She anticipates that the baby will be out by around 1:30 or 2:00am, January 1.

At 1:30, I'm still 7.5 centimeters, and still a little swollen, but going down pretty well. Midwife #3 rescinds her prediction about time of birth and tells my parents they'll give me a bag of pitocin for one last try before sending me down for a c-section.

Well The Diva must have heard that, because she took the opportunity to move right on down until about 3:30am, when my epidural wore off. Welcome back to hell! Did you miss us?

I called for the nurse, who checked me out--9.5cm! getting there! She called for more juice for the epidural. Another massive contraction. "Hey, um, I think I have to push!"

Another check. 10 cm! Done! The L and D nurse is running around, yelling "Don't push yet!" She goes to wake up Midwife #3. She comes in bleary-eyed and settles in for the pushing part. She asks if I need them to tell me when to push, or if I can feel it. The L and D nurse explains that my epidural is conveniently out of juice and that I can feel EVERYTHING. I cannot, of course, explain this myself, because, once again, I can only make mooing sounds.

For my part, I am DONE! When the midwife says push, I resolve never to breathe again until this kid is OUT! In fact, it took 4 pushes. She was out at 3:56. Amazing. A whopping 52 hours of labor. No tears, No stitches. Thank God for great and small favors.

Even though we didn't make it all the way, frontier-woman style, I couldn't be more glad I used the midwives at the birthing center. No doctor in his right mind, on new year's eve at that, would have let me go on so long. I would have had a c-section by midnight on the 30th, and not spoiled everyone's party, and STILL would have been able to squeeze some sympathy for my 24 grueling hours of labor!

Naturally, she's worth every minute, and I'd do it all again for the first moment I saw her.

Testdriver Hits the Road!

Testdriver Hits the Road!

Ok. I've read all the manuals, pored over all the catalogs, and now, armed with what feels more and more like a cardboard sword and a newspaper hat I'm strapped in and flying down the freeway of motherhood at what must be, by all accounts, breakneck speed. It's the baby road-test, and I'm afraid there's no closed course.

I'm an administrator in a small Montessori preschool, and as such am supposed to have a certain "expertise" when it comes to young children. In my Montessori Infant and Toddler training, all the old-hand mommies said over and over, "I wish I'd known all this when I was having babies!" Well, I'm heading out with all the information they wished they'd had, and I'm here to see just how far it'll get me.