Short NPR article discussing autism dx and parental levels of education.  Seems obvious to have to state that the correlation/causation caveat is (in part) due to educated parents knowing to even seek out said autism dx, but I also don’t think their little maps can be written off quite so tidily. Because although I still every once in a while see articles on epigenetics and such, I have to wonder if eventually autism will be posited more convincingly as an evolutionary shift. It just makes sense to me to think that our technological growth is possibly (simply) becoming matched neurologically. And I wish I could find where I saw the stat that said people with Asperger were twice as likely to have fathers and grandfathers as engineers. I mean, come on. That’s pretty compelling if not full-on fascinating.

All the more reason why I personally think eugenics is reprehensible. Whatever.

More importantly, I wish people would stop polarizing into neurodiverse/curebie camps, because NOTHING IS THAT SIMPLE, and maybe it would slow people down from doing things out of desperation. Massive chelating of metals in the brain and restrictive diets and injections and everything else that scared parents are funneling into their children? It needs to slow down. Not because I’m against alternative medicine in the least. But because I’ve been that panicked parent, and at this point I want to have on the table the idea that perhaps if your child improves from whatever impaired state of functioning they were in, maybe they weren’t ever actually autistic in the first place – but merely (if merely can be used respectfully) just bodily toxic. And if that could be acknowledged as a possibility, surely it would be easier to mitigate the eternal fear surrounding autism. …Which would obviously foster better acceptance. …And also lessen the obsession to find a causation. I dunno. Call me crazy.

In the end I know I don’t have any more actual facts than probably anyone else with a strong view, professional or otherwise. But that’s pretty interesting, too. And worth noting.

So go Cats woot woot let’s all go crazy

and yay! for fellow (well, sort of fellow – I was English but I WROTE for the paper and all of my FRIENDS are J-schoolers so whatever) Kedzien Sam and his awesome, awesome.. awesome story – thanks BHS for the linky

and the world might have actually stopped spinning for just a wee moment when I recently realized that I can actually like a Weezer song (no really, I serious) and, in fact, secretly really really dig this one – though I still think their hubris is obnoxious so don’t get too excited

and happy Thursday everyone.

So this morning as the kids and I trekked across KC on our thrice-weekly school vs home commute, Jack all of the sudden burst into tears. I did that swerving-thing where you spin around in your seat and try to gauge based on sight if he’s just upset or if he’s bleeding or on fire or something. He had his head tipped back as far into his hood as he could, and tears were just streaming down his face. When I finally got him to answer my pleas for an explanation he said he wanted to know why Lucky had died. And where he had gone. And who took him there. And what he did there. And if his mom was sad. And if that meant that great-grandpa Woody or Grandpa Great were going to go, too. And last of all if heaven was on the moon.

Jesus Christ, I hadn’t even started drinking my coffee yet.

So I scrambled (because in the end all parents know that most life-defining moments sprung on them are flat-out scrambling), and quickly tried to weigh validating his sadness with how much time we could really spend on this if he had to go to school. Also up there is the fact that validating Jack’s anxieties too much might have him spin out completely, and he was already having one hellaciously kind of existential crisis for 7:40 in the morning.

I told him that Lucky had been sick and old, but that he was happy now.  “With Nana’s dog, right?”  Yes.  “Is he with God?”  Ummm… do you think so?  “Yes.”  OK, then he is.  “Are they in heaven?”  Sure.  “What’s God doing with him?”

Feeding him treats, Lorelei said, completely unfazed and never turning from the window.

He told me that he knew he needed to calm down before school, but that ‘the tears keep coming out of my eyes’. I pulled over so I could give him a proper hug before dropping him off, but he just seemed miserable; it’s a sad truth that platitudes really are worthless when someone is grieving. And I really wish I knew what had sparked it. My thought is a dream he might have had, with that sucker punch realization thinking about it later that the details are either totally true or completely the opposite of whatever you’d dreamt. Who knows. He couldn’t tell me. I mean, he didn’t even realize Lucky was even missing from the house until a Wii Fit pet roundup produced an AWOL member two weeks ago, two months after Lucky had died. Jack’s mind fascinates me.

In the end he seemed to find some peace when he declared he wanted to write Lucky a letter to send to him in heaven (on the moon). To tell Lucky that he was a good cat, even though he bit sometimes, and that we all hope he feels better from his sickness by taking lots of naps. I told Jack that that was a great idea, and that I loved him as much as anyone could possibly ever love another person.

And that is all I can do.

Don’t EVER let anyone you know assume that all autistics are unable to feel empathy. Ever.

I just paid you off in full.  Now shove it up your ass.

Dear Jack,

I know you’re all ‘master stylist’ and everything, but we need to talk. I’ve been seeing you for a while now, but you can’t seem to remember a single thing about me. Which, in all honesty, doesn’t offend me. But you must feel as if you should, because you keep trying to suggest things as though you do remember me, yet you’re always wrong. But I’m apparently so immemorable, you don’t even REMEMBER that you’re always wrong about what you’re desperately trying to remember about me. So in the end you just keep making mistakes each visit in an attempt to guess wildly and hope you hit on something. It’s actually kind of funny to me. Sort of.

And while we’re being honest, can we just go ahead and talk about that whole When I Was At The [famous stylist] Show In [hip city] I Ran Into [other famous stylist] blahblahblahblah spin I get each visit? I mean, I suppose if you don’t remember me, you might not realize you reference the same stories all the time. But unless I’m mistaken and you are secretly yearning for my approval – which, can’t be correct if I’m so immemorable – one could assume you tell all of your clients in an attempt to up your cred, therefore, consider it a safe bet I’ve heard the story.

Especially in light of the fact that YOU HAVE A RECORD SHOWING ME BEING THERE ROUGHLY EVERY SIX WEEKS OF THIS ENTIRE PREVIOUS CALENDAR YEAR.

More or less.

So OK. You’re a nice enough guy. I’m pretty sure you’re blowing smoke up my ass when you seem quasi-interested in our conversations, but I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same after that many years of listening to prattling idiots in my chair – so I don’t fault you that. And though I’m thoroughly irritated that I came home with The Rachel haircut, effectively lopping off nearly two-year’s worth of length, I have to admit that you are not the first stylist by far to give me that cut unasked, so I’m considering this a hint from fate to stop trying to be hip (or even early 30s, apparently) and go buy some Keds and (comfy, surely) Mom jeans.

Who knows, maybe I’ll thank you for giving me permission to shop at J. Jill so early in life.

I will say that you are the most relaxing stylist I’ve ever had. You are heavenly when you so very slowly and gently comb my hair while you cut, and because cutting seven hundred layers takes a while, I was near drooling as I watched long, long… long locks of my hair slide down the cape to the floor. And maybe that’s your barbiturate to keep me from jumping out of the chair and screaming WHY IS MY HEAD UPSIDE DOWN SO YOU CAN DENUDE THE UNDER SIDE OF MY SCALP, who knows, but it works so I can’t complain. It feels marvelous.

Until, that is, you begin to attack my head like a rabid bat.

Eh. To be fair, I guess I can’t honestly verify what a rabid bat does to one’s head. But I really imagine it has to be similar to when (right as you slyly grab the can of hairspray and commence to lacquer the shit out of me) you just start frantically poking at the top of my head, desperately trying to free the imaginary bees burrowing into my ear. Scrubbing viciously as if forgetting we’ve already done the shampoo part. Backcombing everything so it stands straight up and then combing it back down again. Tousle, comb, tousle-spray-comb, comb, tousle, comb. Spray.

Jesus, man. Make up your damned mind.

Look. Frustrated as I am, I’m still predisposed to feel affection toward you either because you’re gay or you have my son’s name, or both. But I need you to get on some meds or something. Get a little fish oil in your diet. Because I don’t care what famous stylist you run around with, giving someone whiplash AND a haircut that makes them look ten years too old ALL on top of the insult of not knowing the gender of her kids is just not wise business practice. Especially since that last one is pretty much always 50/50. You really should be getting that one half the time, buddy. Like, statistically.

And that’s all I have to say. Thank you. I’ll see you in two months.

.

~Jen

We celebrated Christmas this weekend with the kids because by the time I get them Friday afternoon, they are going to be CRACKED OUT on events where they open eleventyfourteen gifts. (We told them Santa sent our presents early because we don’t have a fireplace.) And though Jack didn’t get his Death Star (from me, anyway), he did get a Venator-class Republic Attack Cruiser and Vader’s Tie Fighter, which took 6 and 2 hours, respectively, to build. The Attack Cruiser was only just finished at midnight, but Jack promptly woke up this morning and asked if we could dismantle it and start over.

Wherein my attachment parenting failed royally when I essentially gave him a big hell no.

So OK, look. This crappy phone picture doesn’t do justice to this beastly thing. (Click on it.)  I swear everyone would be super impressed at its largeness if you saw it in person. And at almost 1200 pieces, I can see why people put these together just to put them on a shelf – because they are a helluva lot more painstaking than I ever remembered from my Lego days of square houses and shutters on the windows.

All of which doesn’t mean that I won’t be OK with Jack dismantling it at some point; it’s soothing for him, and, after all, it’s his toy. But until he is able to do it all by himself – or until at the very least, say, a week passes, I just can’t do it.

I’ve never been wholly down with the whole Santa thing, the least of which because I think the materialism of the holiday is indoctrinated so concretely (not to mention so early) that way. I try – like most parents I know – to teach my kids to be kind, generous people. But the holidays just seem so danged commercialized, and it’s hard to keep focus. I know there are plenty of options for charity and selflessness, but it still often seems to be so, well, tax deductive, and I’m not so sure we haven’t bastardized the entire point by channeling it to a one-month period in the whole year. People need clothing in June, as well, as far as I can see. And for a year or two I tried to muster up the whole Jesus/reason/season vs Santa=satan anagram, but like I’ve since admitted, in the end that indoctrination wasn’t my bag either.

Especially because I could take Jack to church to learn about baby Jesus and then promptly go into the lobby to sit on Santa’s lap.

But I digress.

The truth is I’ve been secretly stoked in the past that Lo was too young, and Jack just never seemed to care, about Santa or the whole production of Christmas. We ran around like chickens with our heads cut off trying to appease family expectations, but overall we didn’t do nearly as much as most Americans seem to during this time. The kids got a shitton of gifts, and many hours were consequently spent donating old toys, but to date they really hadn’t totally lost their minds about wanting things. Mostly because they have no real idea of want.

But my blessedly procrastinated reprieve is over, and at four and six the kids have now fully embraced that bountiful benefactor of booty. No pretense for goodwill or good behavior, Christmas has simply and unabashedly become the ticket to the goods. Jack wants a Lego set that happens to be FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS. He has no idea of what the cost really means, he just wants it because he thinks it’s cool. But ole St. Nick (and Toys R Us) have full-on convinced my sweetly gullible -and literal- child that all he has to do is write it down on the list and voila! it will be produced.

Because that’s what SANTA DOES, RIGHT?

So what do I do when he’s upset I can’t get him a FOUR HUNDRED DOLLAR Lego set? Tell him it was because he wasn’t good enough? That there was a shortage of plastic up North? I have no idea. But we’ll figure it out because we always do.  And he’ll survive because he’s a champ.

And please don’t fully misunderstand me, I’m not really on the train to Cynicalville. I do actually like the holiday season because I get to see my family and friends more, and that always makes me happy. But it’s a hard balance for me as a mother, and I want to do better for my kids.

[I also want a law that declares Christmas music illegal until December 20th. Especially that creepy making-out-with-Santa-song. I mean really, how many confusing messages can we possibly send this time of year?! But I digress again.]

So because our ridonkulously overwhelming and draining year is over, I resolve to expand my kids’ horizons and attempt to dismantle the materialism they swim in so comfortably. Or at least temper it with some of the kindness and giving I’ve seen them possess in large quantities. I look forward to it – it will be good for all of us. And now that I’ve also purged my bah humbuggery for the season, I can happily post the letters the kids wrote today, because all other tiring issues aside, I think they’re hysterical, and the kids will never know they are skipping the mailbox and going into my treasure box.

Welcome to parenting, right?

.

Dear santa.

I want for chrismrs the Legos set 7627 Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Crystal Skull. I would also want the Lego Indiana Jones 2 video game. I want the Legos Star Wars Death Star I want the Ewok set.

Love Jacoby

**********************

Dear Santa,

I would like a dolly to name Lorelei please. And also cute little puppy dogs. And a baby pig for Christmas. And I want a baby giraffe and a baby puppy dog and a little baby giraffe. So I want that. Please. I want to have a baby puppy dog. And a baby ricenocerous. And a bottle for the baby rosernous.

I love you and thank you,

Lorelei Elizabeth

.

Happy Holidays, friends. ;)

I so had planned to set aside like an hour or so to write a cohesive post, but it ain’t happening. So here’s the list version. I do love me some lists.

1. Got a new p/t job that provides insurance. It’s at a spa that does massage, so part of my training was – I kid you not – to get a 90 minute massage so I can ostensibly provide proper feedback to clients. Sigh. Life is rough sometimes.

2. This song is one of Lorelei’s newest favorites.  She’s a hoot singing and headbobbing in the backseat to it.

2a. This one is a contender for top three of 2009 for me.  Scottish accents and a chorus like that? Yar.

3. Speaking of my sweet, sweet baby girl, she just turned FOUR. FOUR I TELL YOU.

Good Lord I love that girl.

4. Part of her other gift was this, Millie Vanilla:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SO CUTE. And boy howdy is she a sweet one. Reminds me of Lucy, for those that knew her. :)

And that’s it for now, I hope everyone has a great Thanksgiving and stays warm!

xoxo

.

(Props to Megatron for making me laugh over the phone by simply explaining this one. Gawd we’re such cat dorks.)

Me: Hey guys, is it OK if we just sit quietly for a while? I have a headache and that will make it go away faster.

Kids: Yeah

………………………………………………………....[ 45 seconds pass ]

Jack: Mom, I’m being so quiet for you because I love you and I want your headache to go away.

Me: I know, buddy. Thank you. I love you too.

Jack: I love you too, Mommy.

Lo: And I love you too! And Jack too!

Me: I’m so glad. Can we try to just watch the sun go down and think about our day?

Kids: Yeah

…………………………………………………………..[ 15 seconds pass]

Jack: Hey Mom, do you see how quiet I’m being so your headache goes away?

Me: Oh I do and I appreciate it. But if I can have a little more quiet it will totally go away. OK?

Jack: OK

…………………………………………………………...[ a minute passes ]

Lorelei: MOM JACK’S TOUCHING ME!

Jack: Shh! Mommy has a headache and needs to have quiet!

Lo: Oh yeah. I forgot.

Jack: See Mom? I’m trying to keep it quiet in the car so your headache goes away.

Me: And your heart is in the right place, mister, I love it. But, see, we keep talking and because of that it’s not really very quiet in the car, is it?

Jack: Yes it is! I told you I’m being quiet! I’m being quiet so your headache goes away!

Me: I know you’re trying baby, but when we talk we’re not actually being quiet. Don’t you see? We need to actually not talk at all for it to be silent. No one. Not you or me or Lo. Just everyone thinking their thoughts.

Jack: But I AM being quiet!

Me: Welp. Keep on keepin’ on, then, I guess.

……………………………………………………………[ a minute passes ]

Jack: Right Mom?

Me: Right what?

Jack: That I’m SO GOOD at what you asked me to do. I’m not talking like you asked me to.

Me: *sigh*  I know you’re doing what you can to help. Thank you baby.

Jack: You’re welcome.

Lo: You’re welcome!

Stop writing patronizing articles debasing people’s choices and clouding the already incredibly complicated mix of science, money and fear. Or, make every vaccine in single doses so that parents can choose the ones that fit best for them. And then use real facts and education so they may actually make the decisions that are best for their family’s particular health, social, economical and religious lives.

But I’ll settle for less asshole commentary first.

Perhaps it’s because of the current barely contained panic with H1N1, or maybe just because sheer coincidence, but I feel like there have been more articles published recently attacking people who choose not to vaccinate. And I use the word attack because the slant of these articles is literally about idiots like myself who are not only woefully (scientifically) uneducated, but worse, wantonly wield the sword of death by choosing not to take one for the team (literally) and vaccinate for the betterment and safety of the whole. And you think I’m being hyperbolic, but read this piece of crap from Slate and tell me I’m not supposed to think just that. I’ve also in the last week read a blurb in the October 12 edition of the New Yorker, and a loverly story about those who think vaccines cause autism in the November issue of Wired Magazine.

It is increasingly frustrating to me, after 7 years of researching vaccines, that a respectful and two-sided discourse can’t seem to be had in the media about vaccines. One because I think the goal of separating out vaccines for personal choice is the best case scenario for everyone (and it won’t happen until public opinion forces the money lost to unused vaccines from being the reason doctors and health departments often refuse to separate them), and two because I do obviously think the vast majority of vaccines are unnecessary or ill-timed, and if more people had the facts, it would take away the fear that drives most parental decision-making.

Last week Lo had a pretty high fever. And I’m not even going to pretend that for one brief moment when I was driving down the highway to go get her, I didn’t  imagine the what-if of H1N1 and death. I’m not above panic just because I spout unpopular views on this stuff. But in the end, the truth is, and I really fuggin mean this, if either of my children died because of a disease for which you can get a vax, I would feel no more guilt than if they died of something for which you CAN’T. Because I have done enough research and I simply – philosophically – think the overwhelming levels of vaccination administered currently are going to eventually be seen as a phenomenally historic mistake.

I have accepted the singularly important fact that it is impossible to try to stop everything that could kill you, nor is it even always the better choice for the whole team.

I really believe that. There are just too many competing variables routinely unacknowledged that complicate the issue. Efficacy, ingredients, epidemiological niches, hell – even the bypassing of the first step of the normal immune defense (in that almost all vaccines are injected intramuscularly straight to the circulatory system, which oddly enough, is not how one usually contracts a respiratory illness). That. Is. Not. Natural. And yes, when it comes to something this scientifically complex, that is a big deal to me. Because the science behind it all is the attempt to manipulate the natural consequences within the environments of both my body and the world I live in. And if I look at the big, long-term picture, and really do consider the whole team, I don’t think it is working nearly as well as ‘they’ need you to believe.

The Wired article was in defense of Paul Offit, who whether fairly or not, has taken the brunt for the vax side. I’ll admit it was interesting to see him painted as the person he is, rather than the asshole figurehead I and other people have called him. But it didn’t stop me from shaking my head at the fear-mongering and condescension used. One quote says “I used to say that the tide would turn when children started to die. Well children have started to die.”

Sigh. Please google RotaShield + intussusception. I don’t think the guy is a monster. But I do think he’s an arrogant, callous, PR failure.

There was a sidebar in the Wired article called ‘How to Win an Argument About Vaccines‘ that literally made me laugh. It was so ridiculously patronizing, and well.. lame.. I was stunned. In the first Myth, this line

(Thimerosal isn’t gone from all vaccines — it’s still present in some influenza formulations. But none of the vaccines routinely required for school admission contains thimerosal as a preservative.)1

is for whatever reason convenient or otherwise, missing from the printed magazine. Does it negate the myth that vaccines can cause autism (an idea that I, even as an autie mom, don’t in the least believe)? No. But it was a fact that was wrongly printed about something that is super important to the majority of people worried about vaccines. Mercury was enough of a concern that they had to take it out, obviously (though even that is another misleading fact listed – that the thimerosal-filled vaccines were just voila! off the shelves in 2001. They were actually on the shelves for a year or two after that while suppliers used up their stores, but I digress. )

Fact is,  I have an issue with all of their ‘myths’, or at least their summations of public opinions within each. Not because I’m defensive about what they’re trying to assume I think as a non-vaxer, but because they’re just… dumb. I mean number five is that there is no dividing opinion within scientists. Except for those few dissenters, but they don’t count.

Mmm.. what?

Whatever. Maybe Wired had to fill some space on the page and made the poor sidebar fool find another ‘myth’ an hour before sending to press. Who cares. The point is that it’s patronizing to the group they are discussing (in this case those that believe that vaccines can cause autism, in other articles those who don’t vaccinate period) despite that the following fact printed in Wired is actually true:

…counterintuitively, higher rates of non-vaccination often correspond with higher levels of education and wealth.

So at the very least it should be acknowledged that perhaps the overarchcing implication that the non-vaccinating demographic are miseducated sheeple, is actually… wait for it… wrong. That perhaps there could be some people who are at the simplest level making choices that other people just don’t like.

Look. Obviously I’m just as fired up as the people writing the articles. But that’s less because I’m defensive about my views, but more that I feel these articles are stupidly unbalanced and pejorative. To the point where, coupled with the current flu season/H1N1 awareness, it’s beginning to feel a little uncomfortably like a witchhunt to me, and I’ve never encountered that before. There’s a sweet, sweet little girl in Jack’s class who has spina bifida, and she has missed 6 weeks of school because her parents are afraid of H1n1. I was told she might choose to stay home through the whole season because of those who are unvaccinated that might infect her. Was that directed at me? I have no idea. But I don’t think it’s fair for myriad of reasons if it was.

I want those I respect (and those who don’t know me in the least) to know that I am actually aware of herd immunity and what would happen if everyone stopped vaccinating. That I don’t make these decisions lightly, and that I really wish it didn’t appear to be something that was done selfishly or without regard to any possible consequences. It’s a paradigm shift for a lot of people, and I get that. And I know there are those who fit the picture these articles are aimed at, but I’m not it. And neither are a lot of people I know who feel the same way I do.

And because this is already a hellaciously long post, I’ll go ahead and copy here the response I quickly and furiously wrote after reading that Slate article. Because I can’t let a vax post end without some some attempt to counter the propaganda, and because at its basest level, at least the two opinions are honest that every parent wants what’s best for their own children.

Thanks to those who made it this far. ;)

Interesting. The author uses one child in a day care as the smoking gun for her son’s precarious death, and yet for all her refutation that ‘current public opinion about childhood vaccinations sometimes seems to be influenced less by science and more by Jenny McCarthy’, she herself fails to either seriously research or at the very least objectively acknowledge that statistically the vast majority of adults are not up-to-date on their own vaccine schedules. People look toward children as the carrier monkeys of all illness, but you are just as likely to catch a disease from the 40-year-old woman hacking away in the grocery store as you are from little Johnny on the bus.

The VariVax vaccine has long been cited by medical journals as having one of the lowest efficacy rates, making going to school at all akin to attending a ‘pox party’; cursory searches will find many stories documenting outbreaks among vaccinated populations. The rise of shingles, a nervous system-attacking pleasant little thing, is directly correlated to the mass vaccination of VariVax, which is unable to provide, ironically, the lifelong immunity conferred from the wild varicella virus. So does that mean in 70 years I can write the same article about her vaccinated child, because her herd immunity eradicated the necessary protection my daughter is missing when she gets shingles as an elderly person?

She mentions that the child who died of Hib was an infant not old enough for that vaccine, but was in fact one of three in a family that don’t vaccinate… But vax status is actually irrelevant here, b/c the child was too young regardless of the family’s opinion on immunizations. So if anything, based on her own hysterical logic, she proved that Hib doesn’t have to be feared if the other four children – one of whom was immuno-deficient – DIDN’T die (despite that three of them actually were unvaccinated). And really, if she wants to take her fear mongering to the next level, she should research epidemiological niches, and the serotype replacement of the other 5 Haemophilus influenza strains that replaced the unnatural decline of the b strain. True story.

It’s sad for this family that they have to try and overcome leukemia. Without a doubt. But pretending this article is anything other than a misleading, poorly-researched witch hunt, is not helping anyone. We’re all parents trying to do what’s best for our children, and you don’t worry or love your child any less if they DON’T have cancer. This was the Limbaugh of vax articles, and if she truly believes it’s as righteously and scientifically simple as she proclaims (and this wasn’t actually somehow an indirect tie to Paul Offit, of multiple vaccine patent and money-making fame) then she needs to put her child in a bubble. And live there with him.



IMG_0537

Hmm. You must not know Lo.

Lorelei, unprompted yet whispering very shyly and quietly to the man behind the counter:  “Can I please have a sucker?”

Man:  “Sure, sweetie! And you’re so cute you can have two!”

Lo, mumbling:  “Thank you berry much.”

Lo, not two minutes later in the car, nearly screaming with excitement:  “I’M SO HAPPY I MIGHT JUST SHARE THIS NUMBER TWO SUCKER WITH MY BROTHER WHEN I GET HOME!”

Sigh. I had a whole long rant written out about how freaking pissed off I am about this local hospital’s policy about separating mamas and babies for two days if mom shows signs of having H1n1, but I deleted it. I realized that there is no way I can write about this without offending a whole lot of people, and it’s just not in me right now.

I understand that this policy is supposed to protect babe from a scary, admittedly, virus, but to completely negate the – in my not even humble opinion – crucial factors that make those first few days irreparably important just makes me sad. These mamas need those hours for endorphin release. For milk production. For bonding. The thought of little babies in plastic cubes away from the one person whose smell and sound is the only thing they’ve ever known is barbarous to me.

I’m fully aware that many people think I’m a nutjob for my natural-leaning opinions, but I don’t see how there could be any mother who could have a healthy birth – of any kind – and not think something is just instinctively wrong when a member of the hospital staff walks away from you with your brand new miracle. I don’t care if you know that the colostrum that baby is missing out on has more antibody protection than the Fort Knox of quarantines, or that the hormones you might be missing out on could actually prolong your hospital stay if your uterus doesn’t contract well enough, or even that just having that baby at home – with full-on flu – is still statistically the safer choice, especially in relevant terms of nosocomial and iatrogenic infections. That really doesn’t matter. I’m just sad that we’ve gone so far from our instinctive biological histories that this is even an option. It’s just wrong.

I really don’t think I’m the nutjob. I just don’t.

Lurkers

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