I have known Yano since he was 2. As far back as he can remember, I've always been in his life. This is a great advantage over other step parent situations when they come into a child's life after they are a bit older.

I keep waiting for step parenting to become easier. It wasn't until I had Max that I realized how little I loved Yano. I've had a hard time this past year coming to grips with this notion and attempting to deal with it effectively.

It is quite easy to get wrapped up in the drama between my husband and his ex and most times Yano is the recipient of my frustration. The poor kid.

I received an email from my dad a few weeks ago which said "Be sure to love on Yano. It won't take much before he realizes he is second place to Max, and the step-mother syndrome ensues." I don't know what prompted my dad all of the sudden to respond to me in such a way, but it was needed. I wrote him and asked him to continue to pray because I didn't know how to make myself love Yano when it came so easily for me to love Max. His final response? "Remember, love is an action not a feeling."

I've heard that wonderful cliche before many times. It registered with me for the first time, really registered after I'd gotten ticked off at Fuser for something I can't even remember now. I started thinking horrible things and finally caught myself some time later thinking--true intimate, marital love is loving Fuser when I'd rather not. More importantly, it's following it through with actions of love when quite frankly I'd rather run away for a few hours, convince myself of my innocence and return only to sulk and be pissy until he initiates reconciliation and apologizes first . Some might argue this as being natural to the human condition, but that doesn't necessarily okay it. Rather, it just causes more division and cracks in the foundation of an alleged marriage. I've been very aware of this recently and now it correlates to my relationship with Yano, only I don't have the solid base of love I do with Fuser.

This whole time (six years!) I've been waiting for the same loving feelings to magically arise that I might then follow through with the loving actions of a mother. It's not going to happen that way.

There is such a unique dynamic to intentional step parenting that I don't even think Fuser would necessarily understand. I think Yano and I are both trying to determine who we are to each other and how to live within the confines of those roles.

I am making adjustments. The kid needs to be loved more than anything, especially where he is at in life right now. Step kids truly get emotionally and familially screwed if the adults involved aren't tuned in and sensitive to the inner workings of their relationships within the family structure.

BumGenius Review...1 year later

We purchased 18 Bum Genius Diapers when Max was one month old. We've used them alternately with G Diapers and disposables since. At first I LOVED these diapers and raved about them to everyone. Now, I'm having second thoughts. The diapers are made by Cotton Babies which I believe on a whole to be a good company. The elastic surrounding the legs of our diapers began to lose elasticity after only 4 months. Keep in mind that we were not using these diapers exclusively as we also practice EC with Max. I say the company is good because they replaced all of our diapers (Though the whole process took at least a month.) which technically they did not need to do. Thank you Cotton Babies.

Now that it's been a year, the diapers have been replaced once, and once again they are falling apart. I still like them, but wouldn't recommend them to someone intending on using them with more than one child. I think in the future we'll stick to the inexpensive pre-folds and diaper covers...or better yet, go diaper free completely.

On Herbs, Pharmaceuticals, and Chris Rock

Fuser and I YouTubed Chris Rock last night and watched some of his stand up. We don't have T.V. so the computer is a nice alternative for the occasional veg session.

Chris Rock does a stick on drugs and in his humerus way says that drugs are illegal because the government wants us to buy their drugs, not the street drugs. Try watching T.V., he says, without being bombarded with all kind of drugs as they list symptoms until they finally hit on one you have. "Do you go to sleep at night...and wake up in the morning?" etc... If the government wasn't in bed with companies such as Merck we'd have Weedbucks instead of Starbucks.

So the other day I was hiking in the mountains behind our house. This time of year there is something growing that smells remarkably like curry. I have seen a curry plant and it is not that, it is something else I haven't discovered yet. I was awed by all the natural remedies surrounding me. I'm in my third quarter of herbology at school and I'm constantly intrigued by the medicinal properties of plants I have growing in my own yard. Have problems with arthritis? The root of clematis is used for that. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome? Star Jasmine stems can be used to help remedy the pain. Internal bleeding? Artemesia.

I was overwhelmed on my hike at how we've neglected the natural remedies that the almighty creator put on this earth. This is not to say that herbs are innocent and non toxic, quite the contrary, they need to be respected and used properly. But why use something expensive and synthetic when there is a cheaper, natural alternative?

babies........

I live in tension. I want to finish school n-o-w, I want to have another baby. If I were not in school now I'd have another baby. This is where the coopertive community model of living would come in handy. I don't believe in day care. I wish I had full support (ie help) in making this a reality. Sometimes I wonder if there is a very real solution and I'm simply missing it--I don't know. I don't like the idea of planning babies ("in 3 years we'll try to have another one...") I prefer the idea of fate and a baby choosing now to be the moment to come into the world. Perhaps that is just a bit too pie in the sky thinking for some, but I like it.

MAX TURNS 1!

I've said it before and I'll say it again--Nothing makes the passage of time more obvious than watching a baby grow during its first year of life. Max turned one on earth day. Fuser and I are really trying to figure out how be celebratory in life, especially with our children and special occasions. We didn't think presents were necessary and instead opted to buy a tree in honor of Max's first. Fuser took Max to the nursery on Saturday, the day before his birthday, to pick out a tree. They decided on a red seedless grapevine as grapes seem to be Max's favorite food of choice right now.

We had thought that we might get up early Sunday morning and plant Max's tree and also bury his placenta which has been in our freezer for the past year, and quite frankly I was ready to get it out. Here's the conundrum: we don't own our home, our landlord just passed away, and we don't really feel "settled" here in this house. We didn't want to plant a tree or the placenta here knowing it wasn't really any place special to us. However, after imagining what we might look like, traipsing out into the woods, pick ax, frozen human organ, and baby in tow, we opted to plant it in our backyard, plant the vine in a pot, and sprinkle wild flowers where the placenta was buried. Not an ideal plan but fine in light of our circumstances.

Max was cranky most of his birthday. Fuser's dad and brothers came over, I made tostadas and a Tres Leches birthday cake which even impressed me.

We did end up buying one book for Max as I think that might also be a nice tradition to begin. The choice? Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak.

Cheers.

I agree with the fact that many single moms get screwed by dead beat dads and never receive child support from fathers who have little or nothing to do with their developing sperm. I suppose that is why the Child Support Agency (AKA the MOST unorganized government organization in America) was established. For the dad's who are actually present and as involved (if not more) than the mother, they get screwed.

Fuser got screwed yesterday.

Damn the man.

Its enough to may one want to pack up and wash your hands of the whole issue.

This is one place the feminists can't bitch.

Allow me to step up on my birthing soap box once again. But first, welcome to the world E.C.! My new neice to arrived this afternoon and also inspired this post.

My dear sister tripped on the last two stairs last night falling on her stomach. She recovered in a minute and went about getting ready for bed. In the morning she felt a little nausea and thought that perhaps the fall had spurred the onset of labor. (officially, she was due next week). Feeling the baby move a little less than usual she called the doctor who brought her in for a routine stress test. In the course of an hour a cesarian birth was ordered and completed as a clot was found to have formed between the placenta and E.C.

I just spoke with my sister, midnight her time, who said they were in the process of moving E.C. to another hospital with a NICU unit. My sister seemed to think that everything was fine and this was just cautinary on the part of the hospital. The downside, she has not yet seen E.C.

It was this information that left me sitting weepy on the couch unable to fathom being separated so abruptly from the very being I carried for so many months.

It is in this moment I'd like to say to the hospitals:

GIVE THE DAMN BABY TO MAMA

There is a place for hospitals but they rarely derserve a place in the birthing realm. They have instilled a culture of fear into women. They have set themselves up to 'rescue' the baby from its dangerous mother carrier. ick. I get so disgusted.

The Cranberries are playing in the background. They have resurfaced as a current favorite for the time being. Max is asleep for the next few moments. He turns 7 months tomorrow and I've realized that nothing makes the passage of time more evident than watching an infant in their first year of life. I remember feeling him move for the very first time last year on Thanksgiving day. I was 17 weeks along. Now, he lies asleep, full of dirt from trying to eat grass earlier this morning. He has come into his personality.

My days are routine and usually predictable. Some friends can't comprehend how I can do this and not go crazy. I am slowly gaining boldness in my ideals as Max gets older. I think there is a reason our bodies work the way they do and produce milk. We are meant to feed our babies exclusively. If the milk supply wanes, then more time must be spent with the infant. We are meant to respond to our baby's cries. Babies are not trying to manipulate us. After spending nine months growing and developing in the womb why wouldn't they cry when they are momentarily separated from their mother? I think people try to take on too many roles these days. And I while I am still trying to see what this whole motherhood thing encompasses and who I am within that realm, I'm in no rush to come up with some clear cut idea. There are things I still want to do 'alone' and goals I'd like to accomplish. This time with my little one is so short however and I want to be fully present for every moment of it. So I'll continue to breastfeed Max when he wants as long as he wants, Fuser and I will continue to share our bed with him (though I some nights I long to spread out and move around just a bit more), and he'll continue taking presidence over much of life. I don't want to be looking back back in 5, 10, 20 years and longing to be in this moment regretting missed time. I want to enjoy it in the present and move on through the stages of life as they come.

I have a few friends who all had babies around the same time Max was born. The universe is swamped with "how to " books on parenting. We all have different ideas. And while I'll hold to the idea that parents must do what works best for their family, I'm beginning to wonder if people try too hard.

If Fuser and I had to lump ourselves into a category for parenting types we practice what Dr Sears has coined "attachment parenting." When Max was a few months old I said to Fuser one day, "If I had never read a book on parenting, I would be doing the exact same thing I'm doing now only I'd feel like it was wrong because it's not the norm for our culture, it's not what my peers (most of them) are doing, it's not what I'm used to seeing." The way we have chosen to parent, simply said, just feels natural.

Motherhood has been surprising...

I feared becoming a mother. I feared losing myself. More selfishly, I feared losing my life and free time. I feared I wouldn't really want to spend that much time with 'they baby' once it arrived.

When I was in labor I pushed for two hours. While that isn't long, I'm told, for first labors I think my psychological self got in the way and prolonged the process. All the great proponents of natural birth--Ina May Gaskin, Sheila Kitzinger, Pam England--to name a few talk about women entering "labor land" a state where a woman although fully conscious enters a place very distant from that which is going on in her midst. Perhaps a higher sense of awareness? I was there and I still can't really describe it. I knew there were people milling around my bedroom. I knew fuser and my dear friend were on either side of me holding my hands, I knew my legs were wide open praying the next contraction would be the last, my eyes were clenched tightly shut....and yet I was faraway, talking myself through the process, yet not fully willing to surrender to it. I was fully aware that the second the baby entered the room, life as I knew it would change, my marriage would change, my friendships would change, I would change. I was thinking to myself, "I'm not sure I want to do this. But there are no take backs...so I have to push. But I don't want to, but I have to...." and thus my labor dragged on...

Then Max came. I felt his head with my fingers as it crowned. I pushed him out. All 8lbs 4oz of him. I didn't cry. I was relieved. I had a slippery baby on my stomach. My hands felt grace personified as I stroked his body all over. I couldn't stop kissing his head. He cried for maybe ten minutes. I felt his tiny naked body on mine. I didn't even know he was a boy until Fuser asked and our midwife turned him over so he could see for himself.

These past five months have been very sweet. All of my fears have been allayed and overshadowed by an indescribable (and very surprising) joy. I am living in the midst of utter fulfillment and contentment which I continue to find shocking.

8 months later with a 5 month old in tow...

wow, what a slacker. since february 11, or my last post life has undergone some major changes. maybe i'll write more now. maybe not.

i turned 25. i officially took a leave of absence from school in mid-march. I had a baby boy, 'max' (not his real name but what his older brother Yano is STILL fighting to call him). Max was born April 22, 11 days early according to calculations. The homebirth was sucessful. The only way to sum up such an event is to say that it was passionate and painful, romantic and primal...speechless. I still can't describe the event clearly. How does one articulate a moment in which new life, a soul, enters the world that wasn't previously 'there' in person? The mystery and amazement of it still boggles my mind.

Grieving.

Fuser and I recently returned from a trip to Hawaii. It's not a place I'd ever really had the desire to visit, but we went because we couldn't go somewhere else, it was inexpensive, and we wanted a chance to be far away from everything else (thougth the laptop found it's way into Fuser's backpack). Simply put, we needed the opportunity to be just the two of us in one celebratory last time. I'd jokingly been referring to the trip as our last hurrah before the baby arrives, but it was more a chance to remain in the union and partnership we've created over the past five years and just be together.

Our time was unique, uninterrupted, constant, and precious. I love who Fuser and I are together. I think to some extent I've had lurking feelings of lament over what we are in essence losing in the addition of this new life. Don't get me wrong, there is intense joy at the expectancy of this coming life and even now as I write and feel a constant prodding of the little one's foot in my lowest rib I can only smile at the faculty of created life. Things will change. Our relationship will be different. Life will be full and dominated by the needs of this helpless one.

I don't feel guilty for grieving the loss of being just the two of us. Even out of grief comes great joy. Without grief how would we recognize its antithesis?

This has little to do with pregnancy

A friend wrote this as part of a greater piece today:
I sincerely wish that I had spent more time in my twenties working on my own stuff and less time telling other people what to do with theirs. I wish that I had figured out sooner that my anti-church diatribes were more about my need for healing than they were about the church’s need for reformation. I wish that I had connected advocating for others with my own feelings of voicelessness and powerlessness.

So much of what my friend writes resonates with me and many others who devour her writings. This above paragraph particulary so tonight. Because I lack the history of the pain and abuse that my friend has experienced sometimes I feel unworthy to find such resonance.

These past 5 years or so of my life have seen shifts that I never anticipated. I have had my faith and ideals thrashed and deconstructed only to remain a discombobulated confusion. Slowly, I find that pieces find themselves joining together. I spent a couple years fighting causes and joining protests all the while ignoring the scattered pieces of my existence and soul. I stopped protesting when I realized that I was the ultimate problem. Me, a single human, represents a microcosm of injustice. How can I fight when I haven't examined this tiniest element of world. How can I criticize when I haven't taken a contructive look at myself? I have spent a lot of time feeling selfish and guilty if I so much as want to disconnect from the world momentarily that I might get to the bottom of who I am at the core. But I also know the time and self realization that will be involved and I get intimidated. I've always been full of excuses and lacking in discipline.

Reading my friend's post above reminded a lot of Henri Nouwen's writings. He lived a life of utter self examination and out of that came intense love and social action that subsequently followed.

If we allow ourselves to dissect all the issues in the world down to the smallest particle one will be left only to examine the injustice of their own heart. Until then, I must take on myself each day.

As I contemplate this baby that is coming I evaluate the type of mom I want to be, the values I want to instill, the example I want to lead. I want every action I make to be intentional, every choice I decide to come with a researched reason leading up to that definitive moment. I want this baby to learn self examination. At the end of the day I can either tune out my soul by escaping to the wretched stone (T.V.) or I can succumb to the sound of it scraping at my psyche begging to be heard, scrutinized, and nurtured.

Fuser fears that I have too high expectations for this child coming. And while I admit that I sometimes catch myself viewing this entrance into motherhood and this child-to-be's life through rose colored glasses, I'd rather have high expectations than no expectations. I'd rather strive for greatness than mediocrity. I'd rather be intentional and have every choice down to the type of diapers we choose to use be made consciously rather than just having life happen to us while we nonchalantly sit in front of the television and permit it to pass us by.

I want my family to be different from my own upbringing. I want my family to have tradition and conectedness. That's not to say my family didn't have those things, we did very much so. But I'd still do some things differently as most people would. Fuser and I are two different people and must shape this family accordingly.

Seven year old Yano has provided with me with great growth this past year. This, I'm sure, has not been an easy process for him (nor for any firstborn child I'm sure). Only in second grade, Yano is not really into school. His life situation is probably the greatest contributing factor to his young apathetic attitude. He lives half his life with us and half his life with his mother. Both families love him. Both families have diametric approaches to child rearing. I used to get very frustrated with his lack of interest in school. While I still hold school and academics as being important there are other traits I'd rather see Yano master than simply being a good student.

This realization has caused me to think more intently about what I want this new baby to gain in life and what I want it to learn about above all. Knowing what I want this baby to learn causes me to realize that I must first embody the traits I want the baby come into. As this baby grows inside (nearly 22 weeks...) I continue to grow as well.

While having a profound thought about diapers today I suddenly became amazed that motherhood is not something you need to apply for. So I'm kidding about having profound diaper thoughts, but that was on my mind when the latter came to mind.

It is perhaps the largest responsibility one can take on, (next to the guy who has the job of deciding whether or not to press the red button to release the nukes). We make people take a drive test before letting them on the road alone. We test fast food employees' pee for evidence of drug usage. When adopting a pet from the animal shelter you have to write essays and convince the organization that you will take care of the animal you choose.

But motherhood is a choice (sometimes a surprise) and no one can take it away from you.

This post is lame.

DR. JONATHAN TAM OB/Gyn is a fraud, or at least a gynecological punk

Remember when I blogged about my one and only appointment with an OB/Gyn? I said everyone was friendly, the Dr. was fine, but not that personable, and it was a fine experience for my one and only appointment with the office.

That was until I received by bill from the lab. When I actually sat down to look at the bill and write a check I was amazed to find that Dr. Tam had done a Pap smear, and STD testing because to my knowledge, those tests had never been done. Unless I'm completely weird and wired on pregnancy hormones, I think I (and most other females) would remember a speculum being stuck into my vagina to permit a probe to retrieve cervical cells. That's not exactly a procedure one sleeps through. It's not like getting a facial. Yet the lab claims Dr. Tam sent my cervical cells out to them.

I've spent two weeks trying to get some answers from the Dr. on this. It usually takes 4 days just to get a human being who is usually a know nothing office help. (I say this because when explaining my concerns to the first woman who was completely unhelpful I asked her if it was standard procedure to use a speculum to do these tests. She said she didn't know. You'd think if you are working in a women's health clinic, are a woman yourself, that you'd be familiar with the procedures.) I finally made it to the office mananger and have her direct number to harass as often as I want now. Patricia kindly said she would speak with Dr. Tam about my concerns. When I spoke with Patricia again she said Dr. Tam's response was, "I"m just that good. Woman don't know what's going on." Hmmmm.. I wonder if he says that to his wife....So now I'm not only pissed off, I'm offended at this response and awaiting to talk to the Dr. directly.

So, if you live in the Pasadena area, and are in need of an OB/Gyn, avoid DR. Jonathan Tam.

19 weeks 2 days pregnant

BIRTHING CHOICES and Judgement

I am a judgemental person. I have tried to be more aware of this personality trait as I progress farther into this pregnancy. I don't take offense at other people's comments about our choice to birth at home. Those don't bother me. It's the four other people I know who are currently pregnant that I don't want to settle for a uninvolved birth. I want this birth to be theirs. I want them to own it. It's hard to hear some proclaim that they "want an epidural the moment a contraction begins" until birth occurs. I have been wrestling with my inner judge to keep from saying--but that seems so cowardly. Your body was made for this.

Judging is never going to get anyone anywhere. That's why everbody hates Christians these days. We can be so damn judgemental. So can everyone else. And I've just realized how judgemental I am about the birth process.

But the past month has softened me. The birth I desire is not going to be the right birth for another. To the person who says--I could never birth at home, too much can go wrong...Then the hospital is the place for them because they would not be able to birth at home with that mentality. Their body could very likely stall labor until they were in the comfort of the hospital with all the high tech interventional amenities.

To the person that desires an epidural at the first twinge of a uterine contraction, I say I hope it works out for you and you don't suffer from the potential side affects.

To the person that want to birth at home, I say I hope you find the inner strength to complete the task at hand and come out with a sense of pride and accomplishment.

I'm at a place where I want to support the decisions of these friends even when it's not what I would choose for myself. In the same way I would hope that they would return the support.

I wish women had more courage demonstrated to them when it comes to the birth process. I wish doctors would up their belief in a woman's ability to birth a healthy baby. We need a cultural shift away from birth being viewed as a sickness and instead have it be viewed as supernatual yet normal bodily function.

16 weeks, 2 days pregnant; one pound heavier

I'm sitting in front of my klassy duraflame fire. Half of the house is asleep. It is peaceful in this moment. I'm taking a break from my current pregnancy read of the moment, Giving Birth; a Journey into the World of Mothers and Midwives, by Catherine Taylor.

I don't know if pregnancy or growing older has made me crave more intentional family time in recent months. It is too easy to get caught in the run of the mill business that overtakes so many and neglect that which is most important. I have had the simple desire--perhaps need, to establish more of a family bond lately. While the three of us, Fuser, Yano and myself are often all home together in the same space, we are usually preoccupied with our own doings. I am suddenly understanding all the long sunday drives my parents used to drag us on when I was growing up. We didn't have much money, so a 2 hour trip across the border to Wisonsin to purchase frozen custard, was my mom and dad's method of having us all together for a few hours a week. I can't help but feel lame at times when I find myself repeating certain events, outings and actions, but I revel in the time and experience that comes out of it.

Trying to be a step-mother to Yano and figure out my place continues to be one of my most difficult tasks in life. I so desperately want to win him over yet I wake up most mornings already donning my evil step-mother wart. Yano is only 7 and I've been in his life as long as he can remember. This offers some advantage. I can't imagine walking into an older kid's life and living in his or her space and expect us to create some idyllic Brady Bunch dynamic. But then, the Brady kids weren't involved with there respective biological parents who'd left them. Yano has a mother. I can't fill that roll. I have a hard time when he reminds me that I'm not his mother. So, what am I?

One of my greatest fears about this baby to be is that I will treat him or her differently. I hate that. I so desperatly want to believe that there will be no difference between this little one and Yano, but I think that's wrong thinking--only setting myself up for disaster. When Fuser and I married I wrote Yano into my vows. I promised that he would be my own that there would be no difference between him and those that followed. I can't see that playing out into reality now that the time has come. I'm left feeling immense guilt. I feel guilty that I can't wait to meet this little being growing in my womb, to call it mine, to have it call me mom. To bond and be exclusive with my very own son or daughter. How will that play out to Yano though?

Birthing Mantras

I have read several books on giving birth. There are some very interesting techniques for coping with the pain of being in labor. Some are cool, some are lame. A few of the books give visualization ideas. Ideas such as--imagine you are a flower all closed up. Slowly, you open, coming into full bloom. Pretend your cervix is that flower, opening, slowly, allowing your baby to pass through. Another idea: Imagine with each contraction that you are being whisked off by dolphins. Roll with the waves of your contractions as though you were with the dolphins. Imagine you are surfing. Surfing the waves of each contraction. Living one wave to the next.

That's all nice flowery language but I can't see it working for me. I can't picture my cervix as a rose, and I've never surfed a day in my life let alone swam with the dolphins.

I did however, come across this poem written by a Maori woman by the name of Roma Potiki:

Breathe
help me as the next generation carves a pathway from my body.
Breathe
in this space between worlds I link my life and yours.
Breathe
each physical exertion pushes you towards my arms.
Breath
in vigour and action.

It has an earthy sound to it. My body may not identify with a pretty untarnished rose, but it likes these words above.

Peace.

First Visit With the Midwife

Fuser and I had our first prenatal appointment with our midwife today. What a difference from seeing the OB just two weeks back. I felt at ease. Cared about. We were the center of focus. We were the only people present at the small, homey office. Mary, one of two midwives, and Kelly the apprentice were working today. I felt less like a patient and more like I was having tea with a friend. We went over my medical history--which isn't that exciting, much to Mary and Kelly's enjoyment.

Mary then ran me through the regular procedure I'd encounter when I have appointments--I check my own urine sample for protein and weigh myself. I report back on the findings. I was then taken to the examination room which was small, but nice and peaceful. (Quite an accomplishment --also a difference from the typical gynecological exam room...) I was left to undress and put on a plush (yes, plush, not paper or typical hospital gown) robe like nightgown. Mary, Kelly, and Fuser all came into the room. Mary checked my breasts and raved about how great my milk glands were and how great my breasts would be at sustaining the new life once it comes into existence. She spent a lot of time on them, then she had Kelly come feel them so she would know what 'healthy' yet lumpy breasts were like. I jokingly, and having the need to make some joke in the midst of exposed breasts, asked Fuser if he was feeling left out and wanted to palpate them as well. Mary, not missing beat said--No, you get to do this at home when you want.

Using a Doppler we were able to hear the baby's heart beat--but only after I stopped laughing. Rapid and strong. Amazing. Life begets life. Life within. Weird. Cool. G O D.

On to the internal examination--the only one until 35 weeks or so. I looked at Fuser and told him he could leave if he wanted to for this part. Mary encouraged him to stay. He stayed quietly in the corner. There were no degrading stirrups to endure. Kelly did the exam. She gave me a mechanic's mirror so I could see my cervix. Mary asked Fuser if he wanted to take a look. (That I have to admit, was a bit awkward feeling). Fuser declined saying he was feeling light headed.

The exam ended. Fuser went off to work. I stayed and chatted for another 20 minutes or so. I trust these women. I don't feel like drugs, routine, mainstream manners, or agendas are being forced on me.

I am satisfied with my choice of birth attendants.