The “S Talk”

By Julie Davidson

Julie’s first video blog:

How am I supposed to understand this stuff?

By Julie Davidson

You can ask most anyone who knows me, and not one of them would describe me as a Rhodes scholar. Or a genius. When people describe me, I have a feeling the intellectual part is skipped. I have five older brothers who were extremely smart, so I figure my parents even if only from a statistical point were okay with that.

But I got by. I had to. My parents were both teachers so there was no hiding from the whole school thing. They went to every conference. They met with every teacher. They got the mail before I did. And they opened every report card before I could get my hands on them.

My oldest son is in third grade, and I am blown away by the homework. The amount, the subject matter. Even the binder. It is clearly the largest size binder that is known to man. It broke (literally broke) my son’s new backpack. And by week four, the seam of the big red binder was already coming apart.

Our kids really like school, and I thank the school gods for that. I didn’t hate school, but for me it was a means of socialization. But this homework stuff brings me back to being a kid in school. I just sit there and think, How the hell do you do this? When did they start teaching kids to add left to right (not numbers in rows top to bottom)? I can’t add like that! I didn’t get a memo or see it on the ticker on the cable news show. I don’t even want to know how things have changed with division and multiplication.

That big red binder contains everything the kids need each day. Inside the big red binder is a calendar. Every day the kids copy their assignments off the smart board. The fact that the teacher gets them to do that is very impressive as I still can’t convince anyone to put the toilet seat down.

Besides the calendar, the big red binder is home to a notebook, four see-through file folders, and two pocket folders. The problem is I have no idea what each is for. Yes, they are labeled. I just don’t get if Fluency is under Grammar or Reading. Does the take home folder mean the stuff stays at home forever, or can we toss it out? Even more pathetic is the fact that I went to parent orientation to figure it out! Now I just call other parents in a panic to see how far off course I am.

I’m trying to figure out if I should categorize my homework difficulty under memory loss or admit that there are some things I never understood well. Either way, I have a big red binder I need to get real cozy with for a few months.

It Takes a Village to Harass a Pregnant Lady

By Rallie McAllister, MD, MPH

Pregnancy is an enchanting time of joyous expectancy for the mother-to-be. You’ll find yourself contemplating with awe the miracle of the new life that you carry inside of you. You’ll spend countless hours eagerly anticipating the arrival of your little bundle of joy. Thank heavens you have something so wonderful to look forward to! You’ll need to hold that thought as you endure some of the less-than-wonderful realities of nine long months of pregnancy.

Unless you’re extremely lucky or genetically gifted, your first trimester might feature a bit of morning sickness and fatigue. Under the influence of your rampant hormones, you might become a bit of an emotional fruitcake. But not to worry. This too will pass!

You’ll experience equal parts delight and dismay as your body evolves to assume its new, pumpkin-like dimensions. With the promise of your precious baby, you’ll gladly accept the battle-scars of pregnancy: Stretch marks, hemorrhoids, varicose veins, and slightly-wider hips. No problem!

If you’re like most expectant women, you were fully prepared for the physical changes of gestation, but you might not have been warned about the total loss of privacy that accompanies every pregnancy. I’m not talking about the loss of modesty that occurs at the latex-covered hands of your obstetrician or midwife. By now, you’ve come to realize that as long as you’re pregnant, a number of folks will be peering closely at your private parts. That’s not the worst of it. The greatest loss of privacy you’ll experience stems from the tremendous fascination that friends, family members, and even total strangers have with your pregnancy.

These people have heard and heeded the adage that it takes a village to raise a child, and they like to get involved in their child-raising duties the minute your pregnancy makes itself evident.

Your belly and the little bundle of joy that resides inside become public domain of the village. Well-meaning villagers will find it absolutely imperative to interrogate you about the status of your pregnancy, the events surrounding the conception, and your post-partum plans. Nothing is sacred.

Unsolicited and erroneous advice will flow freely from the villagers. Regardless of their age or experience, everyone you know, meet, or pass in the supermarket aisle will have a strong opinion about how you should deliver, name, feed, and discipline your child for the next 18 years.

Older, seasoned mothers generally feel obligated to recount their pregnancy-related miseries and delivery-room war-stories to you. They’re eager to welcome you to the sisterhood of women who have walked through the fire of the reproductive process and lived to complain about it.

All of this attention is tolerable in small doses, but the slight-nosy-to-downright-rude inquisitions are often more than a mere mortal mom can bear.

Having two babies in two years, I had 18 months of pregnancy to ponder the most frequently asked questions and to formulate the snappy retorts that I wish I had been brave enough to use.

Undoubtedly, the number one FAQ is, “Do you know what it is?” Your reply, (with all of the innocence you can muster): “Why yes! We’re quite certain it’s a baby! We’ll know for sure after the ultrasound!”

The second question most often posed to moms-to-be is, “When’s your baby due?” Inquiring villagers desperately want this information. Give it to them. To save your breath, you might want to have some cards printed up. Be sure to include the exact date and time of delivery and a map to the hospital. Invite them to bring a friend, a camera, and a bag lunch.

People who know your spouse will find it necessary to ask, “Is your husband happy about the pregnancy?” My favorite, unused response: “I’ll let you know after we get the results of the paternity test!” Make sure you give your inquisitor a big wink and a poke in the ribs for added effect.

Tactless villagers with excessive concern for your financial security and emotional wellbeing often inquire, “Did you plan this pregnancy?” You are perfectly within your rights to counter with a question of your own, like, “Did you plan to be rude?”

Although these FAQs will annoy you, they can’t touch the very real problem of the belly-rubbers. Belly-rubbing villagers will not hesitate to rub, pat, caress, or croon to your belly and its contents, often positioning themselves for up-close and personal, face-to-belly interaction.

You may have to fight the impulse to flop down on the ground, roll over, and shake your leg in the air when a belly-rubber gets her hands on you. You probably won’t be able to stop her It’s difficult to defend your belly when you can’t reach it all, and in your condition, you certainly won’t be able to make a run for it. You might feel a little better if you return the favor and rub the belly-rubber’s belly while she’s rubbing yours.

There’s a reason that expectant mothers used to sneak off to the woods as their due dates approached. It was to escape the loving, annoying attentions of their fellow villagers.

If the villagers are driving you crazy, remember, they’re only doing their jobs. The moment you give birth, they’ll focus all their wonderful efforts and energies on welcoming your baby to the world, and your entire village will help you raise your precious child.

Where Are the Mommy MD Guides?

Where are the Mommy MD Guides? Our books are being picked up by stores, but our distributor won’t tell which ones! If you spot either of our books, The Mommy MD Guide to Pregnancy and Birth or The Mommy MD Guide to Your Baby’s First Year, in a store, email us or FB. We’ll send a $15 Starbucks card to the first person to report each new retailer.

Do We Really Want It All?

By Julie Davidson

You’ve likely heard the question, “Can we really have it all?” You know: husband, career, kids, social life.

Before I had it all, I remember thinking, How hard could it be? I’d have a house, a husband, a very grown-up job, and kids. Yeah. Okay. So it would all be perfect if the house were self-cleaning. And if the husband didn’t have to put in so many hours at work. And if the kids never got colds. And if the grass was always that perfect shade of green. And if someone would kindly do all the grocery shopping. And cooking. And if the stocks we bought were worth something.

Sure. We can have it all. You bet. But it’s like a smorgasbord. And it’s all there for you to choose from: fancy cheeses, filet Mignon, mashed potatoes, green beans, pork’n beans, those weanie things on toothpicks, bacon wrapped chestnuts, carrots, broccoli (pass), salmon, sweet corn, corn on the cob, bread, gobs of butter. Even dessert. It’s all there. You can eat it all. Go ahead eat it. Yeah. How are you feeling now? It’s like a bad Alka Selzer commercial. You take too much, and you will combust.

It’s not far from how it is with life. Sometimes there’s just too much going on. But we feel compelled to do it all. Why? Maybe it’s just our nature. Frankly, the older I get, the more I feel that perfection is overrated. Maybe I’m just getting lazy. Or tired. Or realistic.

The other day, a friend of mine found out she mailed a card that was supposed to have a check in it. She accidentally forgot to put the check in before mailing the card. In an email to me she said, “Can you tell I’m coming unglued?”

I was actually relieved to read that email and was thinking, I’m not the only one. Last week I threw a check away. Yes. In the garbage.  It took me 60 seconds to grab the check from the pile of mail. Then 20 more searching through the garbage can for it. I was busy going through the mail and listening to voice messages and thinking about making dinner and just absent mindedly threw the check in the garbage.

Another friend who has five children and is married told me she needs a couple hours a week just to think. She said she needs to go somewhere like Dunkin Donuts just to gather her thoughts. I was thinking even somewhere not to have to think sounded good. And yeah if donuts are served, that’s even better!

I think as women we tend to think it’s all gotta get done, and we have to be the ones to do it. But if we are always doing it, no one else has the chance to. So yeah. We can have it all. And maybe even all at one time. But here’s a heads–up: Something might end up in the garbage.

Did You Really Ask Me That?

By Julie Davidson

I haven’t always been keen on asking people for information. Maybe because they might tell me what I don’t want to hear. Maybe. And the worst is the unsolicited type. You know the kind that people give you without you even giving them the slightest indication that you wan their input. At all.

So before we got pregnant the advice was stuff like, “You should go off the pill now because it could take months after that to get pregnant.” Or, “Are you even sure you want kids? Cause you might think so now but if you wait awhile it might change.”

Oh man, and once that belly begins to show, you’re toast. A pregnant woman is like a magnet for people looking to spew all kind of information their way. A big, round magnet.

Here is a list of questions I was asked, with the answers I thought about giving but had the restraint not to. Please excuse the sarcasm. It heightened a bit during pregnancy.

“Oh you’re pregnant. Are you gonna find out if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Yes. We know already that it is one or the other.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“No. We are completely unprepared college-educated idiots who waited 36 years to make this biggest mistake of our lives. But thanks for asking.”

“Sleep while you still can.”

“Go away while you still can.”

“Will you breast feed?”

“That’s just creepy. Leave my breasts out of this.”

“You look great!”

“Wait. Did I look bad before?”

“What are you thinking about for names?”

“Thing One or Thing Two”

“Wow, kids are so expensive!”

“Yes they are. How much money can you give us?”

“Are you going to have a natural delivery or use drugs?”

”Ummm…let’s see the baby’s head is the size of a basketball going thru a canal the diameter of a tennis ball. What do you think?”

“Have you considered cloth diapers?”

“Yes, they‘re great for wiping down the car.”

On my way to a routine visit with my OB, I somehow got the misfortune of getting on an elevator with a woman who gave me a piece of her mind. She asked me how far along I was. I told her six months, but I’m not sure she heard or even cared. She did however go on to give me a bit of insight into her life.

“Well, just wait til after they grow up and become mean nasty people!” Who says this to a stranger?  A pregnant stranger at that.

As she got off the elevator all I could think of is that I could expect to see her and those “mean, nasty people” someday soon on the Dr. Phil show.

I think the harshest unsolicited conversation came four days after our oldest son was born. He was born C-section, I was having problems nursing and felt like I was gonna burst into tears at any moment.

Charles had gone to get the car, and I was waiting in the lobby. An elderly woman was about 10 feet away from me and started speaking to me. “How do think I felt with my first baby? He was colicky for the first six months and cried all the time. It was awful.” I didn’t even respond. All I could think is, Where is my husband with the car?

Now, I ask for more information. I call people and ask for advice. But when I see a pregnant woman, I try really, really hard not to tell her anything that she doesn’t need or want to hear. I usually just say, “You look so beautiful.” Pregnant or not, you can rarely go wrong with that.

So About That God Thing

By Julie Davidson

I believe in God.  I do. But I struggle with the idea of God. I would rather be honest than hypocritical. So I like to say I believe in God. I’m just not sure which one. I have a few questions for the big guy. I want the Cliff Notes to all this stuff. A nice, neat outline would be helpful.

My husband and I have had discussions with the boys about God. And we’ve taken them to church. A little. Naturally they were in awe over the Nativity scene during the Christmas season. Maxon was a bit disappointed at Easter the next time we went to church. “Hey, where is the baby in the crib?” he asked. Gulp. So then anyone within earshot knew we hadn’t been to church in months.

But the boys have ideas about God. It was a few years ago when they were discussing God’s age. Max had explained to his brother that God was very old. Miles agreed. “I know. He’s older than Michael Jackson.” Yes. They used Michael Jackson as their unit of measurement for Gods’ age. So if the math is done correctly, God would be at least 53 years old.

And church and home are not the only places the kids hear about God. Luckily there are other children “in the know” of his ways. This summer, Maxon shared a secret with me about God. “You know, Mom, if you put your middle finger up to the sky, God will do it back to you.” How could I respond to that! I’ve often hoped that God had a sense of humor. So the idea of God giving someone the, you know…finger is kinda funny.

So today I decided to revisit that idea with Maxon. But now he added a twist. Something beyond the finger. “So if you show him that finger, he points it back at you. And he makes a tornado or thunderstorm come down on us.”

Thunderstorns, tornadoes, wars, famine, and disease. I’m not blaming God for these things. But like I said, I have questions. Do people really use rude hand gestures with you? And how much older than Michael Jackson are you? I mean if you don’t mind my asking.