Childbirth class, part deux: It gets better

Update: Thursday's childbirth class 
When the instructor asked if there was anything surprising we had learned last week, I admitted I had resisted. I had had an internal freak out. I didn't want to go through labor and delivery. I fully confessed.
After that, it got better.


I was able to talk about pain management with Dan. I was able to relax when we did breathing exercises, ball exercises and massage. I was able to tell Dan what was working and what wasn't. And, towards the end of class, the instructor said she didn't really want to make me move because I looked totally relaxed.
Success.


Friday I met with my OB and gave her the scoop about my freak out and about what I knew now. Dan and Ann Marie were going to be my support team--they were going to squeeze my hips and count my breaths. They were going to get me through this.
I told Dr. Kelin that I don't really want drugs, but I don't want to get stuck either. I told her I was interested in the narcotics, if I needed them, and I want to get as far into the process as I can without an epidural. BUT, that she should be ready with it. If I had listened to myself in that moment, I would have been proud. I think I probably sounded pretty sure of myself. I know I felt pretty sure about it.
(Come to think of it, I also told her how I felt about the blood thinner plan. I actually felt like a consultant in my own healthcare plan. I think we're going to avoid the switch to heparin for as long as possible. Maybe even after 36 weeks. Kelin is going to double check with perinatalogy to be sure.)
If I were Wile E. Coyote this week, I think I might have looked a little more like this:



That's quite a shift from last week! Only one more week of class--I'm hoping to continue moving through these spaces using the Art of Zen.

The birth of one baby

My paper baby was born!
On May 1, my facebook status read:
My paper baby weighed in at 5.65 pounds. Baby was delivered safely and mom is healthy and happy. She'll wear her gown in three weeks.

I didn't report its length. I guess I knew my audience included several people who were in the middle of their own labors of love and didn't want to shock them by announcing that my paper baby measured in at 227 pages. 

Just moments after I got to hold it, I delivered it to the School of Education at Hamline University and took its photo:

My paper baby. My paper, baby!

Then, just like that, it was gone. )How quickly they grow up to live on their own shelves in the library. ;-))

I have to say that it was just as satisfying to shake the administrative assistant's hand as it was to get the acceptance of my committee members and adviser. I think because it was official: I was done.

People comment about how great this accomplishment is. Some even say that they don't think they could do it themselves. I guess I tend to believe I can do anything I set my mind to do. My mom, godmother and family friend do physical challenges every year--usually biking, but we did go dogsledding. I think skydiving is also on the agenda. I climbed down and out of the Grand Canyon in one day (not recommended by me--or anyone!). I ran in a marathon relay with my cousins. It's all doable. 

The secret is discipline and perseverance--and having an amazing support team. I purposely chose my committee members with the intention that the process be efficient, thoughtful, thorough and FUN! And, it was. 

First of all, we met in a kitchen in a house owned by the university. A kitchen. So, we always had tea and I always brought freshly baked goods from Dan's kitchen. I have a friend who offices in the upstairs of the house where my committee's meetings were held. She said she knew my meetings must have been going well, but was surprised about how much laughter there was. My team asked great questions. All. The. Time. They gave me great feedback. All. The. Time. (Especially when I was able to point out a few areas that I wanted specific feedback on.) They were committed to getting me through the process--maybe even just as much as I was committed. It truly was an amazing team effort. I couldn't have asked for a better experience.

Last summer my adviser and I talked about how most people have such a difficult time somewhere during the process. She said some people aren't willing to listen, some people don't want to change anything, some people aren't open to feedback, etc. She warned that there would be a time when I would want to strangle her. That time never came. There was only one evening when I had a breakdown. (And, I could recognize that it was because of unmet expectations and thwarted intentions. Heartbreak, man.)

Here's the moment I cried:

When I couldn't get pagination to begin on page 3.

That was it. My meltdown was not because of the other 232 pages, the months of data collection, months of revision, hundreds of edits, or multiple drafts. It was because of formatting. Jesus. Mary. Joseph.

And, with six days before D-Day I had one more moment of panic. My adviser was concerned about how many revisions I would need to make to the final draft. She didn't think I could get it finished before the May 2 deadline. However, those tears were quick. I realized that she had read a draft from three days prior. (I thought she had accessed my draft from "the cloud," and knew there was a lot to work on in the one she had read. That was why I had locked myself in to work on it three days in a row!) I didn't have the heart to tell her. I just powered through, sending her a few things every day for her approval. Four days before D-Day, she said she was surprised at how quickly I was getting things done. I still didn't have the heart to tell her. My paper was completed on Monday, printed at FedEx on Tuesday morning, and delivered Tuesday at noon. One day to spare.

After shaking hands with the admin. assistant, I picked up my regalia at the bookstore. The next evening, Dan unpacked my tam, hood, and gown. And reenacted graduation scenarios in the living room:

What I may or may not look like at commencement.

I think both of us are ready for new chapters in our lives. 

Aunts Unite

I have always felt blessed to have aunts. When I was in elementary school, I idolized my high school-aged aunt. I have very vivid memories of watching her putting on her make-up, doing her hair (which probably took awhile, it was the 80s, after all), and rocking out to Madonna, John Couger Mellencamp, Tina Turner, Cyndi Lauper and this group singing this tune. I thought it was cool to have an aunt who was a teacher, one who was a dental hygienist, one who was a nurse--I loved them all.
That sentiment didn't and doesn't change--no matter how old I am. And, since I was the first granddaughter on the Keeling side of the family, everyone seems to remember my arrival. Well, I mean who doesn't remember when a child is born with this much hair?

I will admit I looked vaguely like one of these, but I won't tell you which one.

Perhaps my aunts remember, in the same way I do, how grandkids change the family dynamic forever. (I mean, Nick and I got to eat sugared cereals, take ice cream runs to the Taystee Freeze, eat french fries at McDonald's and get as many hugs as we wanted.) Nothing is better than being loved by so many wonderful women.

I am glad to say that that didn't change when I got older.

And, a few weeks ago I got to spend an afternoon surrounded by the love of these amazing people. My Godmother organized a shower in our honor. I was so moved by their generosity and presence. After one round of hugs, I remember rubbing my belly saying to the baby, "look at all of these people who love you so much already." I'll probably never forget that feeling--of being in a room of people who gathered together to love and support a tinylittleperson who has yet to take a breath in the world. I also remember a clear moment of clarity--when all the little alphabet blocks were stacked up in a Jenga-like fashion--that if anything ever happened, these would be women I could count on to support me through the tough times, too.  It was really powerful being present to every moment that afternoon.

My thank you cards could never ever everevereverever convey how much I appreciated their showering of love that afternoon--and always. As we welcome our baby into the world with smiles:

A beautiful quilt gifted from Godmother Barb includes a rendition of our family.

I can only hope that this Babe can know the love of aunts in its life as I have known in mine. 

I am think the Keller girls are waiting impatiently in the wings. ;-)

How will a tinylittleperson change this crew?

The Art of Being Busy

People have often told me that I am busy. 
In a phone conversation last week, a friend said that when he reads the blog he gets the sense that my life is busy. When I called to rearrange some prenatal classes, the receptionist looked through my account and said, "Man, you are one busy gal." And, my mother sometimes doesn't call because she says she knows I'm busy and she doesn't want to bother me. Obviously, it's a recurring conversation in my life.
My schedule has been busier. Really. I don't even consider this phase of my life to be actually very busy--at all. Which makes be believe that I must have, in a previous life (I refer to them as Liz 1.0, Liz 2.0, etc.), mastered the Art of Looking Busy and the Art of Acting Busy. Ever since the release date of Liz 3.0, I haven't been able to transform that conversation. I feel like I am stuck with it sometimes--like it's everyone's listening of me and I can't quite figure out how to get it to evolve. 


There is a distinct difference from the Art of Looking Busy or the Art of Acting Busy and the Art of Being Busy. 
Let me explain.
The Art of Looking Busy or the Art of Acting Busy is strategic and purposeful. It is used to ward off other things that one doesn't want to deal with--a phone call, a conversation, a job, a task, etc. An earlier version of me used to use this tactic ALL. THE. TIME. so that she didn't have to deal with anyone else's anything. She could live in her own world. She might have appeared something like this: 

The Art of Looking Busy

The Art of Being Busy is very different. The Art of Being Busy involves being busy about the best things in life. The things that light me up. The things that I am passionate about. The things that I care about. The things that I love. The things that I find interesting and enjoyable. AS. MANY. AS. POSSIBLE.

I mean, if I am only going to live on this planet for a handful of decades, then I would like to be up to something. I'd like to be learning, making a difference, laughing, meeting fabulous people, challenging myself, spending time with loved ones and enjoying ALL life offers. The Art of Being Busy is carefully selecting what I am to be busy about and making it all work. Like this: 

Art of Being Busy

The only thing that stands between me and perfecting  Art of Being Busy is circumstance. And what I know about circumstance is that--not matter what the circumstance is--it can be rearranged to make everything work out how I intend. I have the power to create my life so that it works for me and works with me; that's the life that has me stand in a powerful place on the planet. That's the life I choose.

Please know that if you feel like I am too busy to be bothered or too busy to fit you in to my schedule, that's false. Just give me a call, drop me a message, make me an offer. We can work it out. We can always make it work. Liz 3.5 is in its beta form, but she's working on having the  Art of Being Busy look and feel a little like the Art of Being Zen.

 

Art of Being Zen

Coming to Terms

This week, we had our first (of three) childbirth classes. And my reaction was not what I expected. 
I have been alright with the concept and reality of being pregnant.
I got used to the movement of a live child in my uterus.


However, during the viewing of a live birth, every single muscle in my body reacted to what I saw. If they could have joined in unison, they would have shouted:
WE ARE NOT DOING THAT!
No way. No how. Not going to happen, lady.
Forget about it. 


The problem is that this train has already left the station. The ship has sailed. There's no turning back time. If only I could find a way...


For now, I get to deal with my reaction. In seven days, I get to return to the classroom to see more women shouting and grunting. I get to visualize that that woman is me.


Don't come too soon, baby. I (apparently) have not come to terms. Yet.

My paper baby

My paper, baby.

Dear real, live, kicking kiddo, I hate to break it to you, but you aren't the only thing developing around here. Considering I haven't posted for 26 days, readers should be getting suspicious about what's up with us.
Well, I did indeed have my final meeting for the dissertation. Some universities call this a "defense," but at Hamline there's no need to defend. The philosophy is that you really have already defended your choices at the proposal meeting and the committee accepted those decisions at that time. They have also seen and read your work as it's developing so there's no surprise to them about what's happening in your research. They don't need you to defend it, they want you to talk about it. They are genuinely interested in what you found.
That's the reason each of them is on the committee--they can benefit from knowing what you know and discovered through your research. The afternoon meeting was held in the "kitchen" at the MAT office. (Literally. The MAT faculty hold office in a house across the street from campus.) Dan made apple pecan crumble that got RAVE reviews. (Each meeting we have had has been accompanied by a baked good from our house. I think it's helped to sway the committee members.) ;-) Anyway, I wasn't nervous at all about this meeting; it's impossible not to know what it is I was going to talk about given how closely I worked with the participants in my study, the data and the results. It was a lively discussion that resulted in more questions than answers.
Questions > Answers = Success @ Final Dissertation Meeting
However, what comes out of the meeting are recommendations to improve the paper:

The result of my final dissertation meeting: a few edits. Just a few. ;-)

 It ain't over yet, baby. 
For an entire week I worked to get the edits made before I started working on the formatting of this monster. Then, on April 19, I sent it to my advisor. At that point, I started work on my works cited pages (there were over 20...let's say I had a little sympathy for my students who were working on perfecting their three citations for a class assignment).
I learned a valuable lesson: when I really don't want to do something, I really don't want to do it. 
This is why I put off working on the works cited for a year. A year.
And: Someone should pay attention to the tinylittledetails.
This is also why it was such a struggle for me to enjoy college catering gigs. Every napkin has a place. Every plate has a place. Every fork, knife, spoon is precisely located in relation to the other items on the table. The chairs. Oh, god. The chairs. Sometimes they were measured. Seriously.

What my works cited should look like.

It's probably because of this that I appreciate the beauty of perfection, cleanliness and attention. I value it. I notice it.
However, that doesn't make me any more ecstatic about having to do it myself. However, if all that holds me back from finishing this dissertation and graduating are commas and periods, I'll iron my white shirt, crease my black pants and get to work.

Appropriate uniform for dissertation revision.

Here's to Hoping

Blogging fail.
I say, sometimes, when creating and publishing books is a part of my job, I don't always have the creative energy to post to a blog. I say, that's what happened in March, my friends.
Yearbookland gets a little hectic when final deadlines roll through. I start spending my prep hour locked away in the back of my classroom. I squirrel away at my computer during lunch time. It's a pretty isolating way to live. But, that's the way the work gets done.
Dissertationtown has also picked up speed. My final meeting is scheduled on April 10, so that means I have been tethered to my computer for a few weeks now. I even brought my laptop on Spring Break and on a trip with friends up North. I keep holding out hope that some day soon I'll feel the release of the weight of the Big D (and, no, I don't mean Dallas or Divorce). Realizing that I have a drafted document that is 241 pages is shocking--to say the least. Knowing that all I have to work on this week is the works cited pages is at least somewhat comforting.

Actual Representation of a Literature Review

I am anticipating the light feeling of freedom and relaxation to be quickly followed by the realization that I'm carrying weight somewhere else...

A couple of major difference will be that a.) I won't be in a tropical location on vacation. b.) I won't shelving beer on my belly. c.) I doubt I'll be seen anywhere in public wearing my swim suit.

Most likely, I'll look a little more like this: 

Here's to hoping that a black graduation gown can take 20-30 pounds off my figure...or that people are at least distracted by all of the other regalia I'm sporting in May. 

Here's to hoping I'll be a more regular blogger then, too.