Must get research dollars for this…

Hey! You! The one sitting there reading with a glass of wine/cup of coffee in your hand!

Do you suffer from Prepping For A Solo Tripitis?

Symptoms include, but are not limited to:

  • sudden realization of eleventy billion things that must be accomplished before leaving on the trip, or the world will end
  • a neon, yet invisible, sign to indicate that, yes!, you can go to the grocery store at 10pm after a meeting to get food to sustain the family while you are gone
  • at least one critical electronics malfunction or worrisome blinking light on the dashboard
  • two or more trips to the credit union, because you didn’t remember to get cash to pay the mother’s helper watching the cherubs the first time you went and got cash
  • and, finally, complete scheduling of the entire day prior to the trip to fully ensure that you will not drop into bed until nearly midnight, regardless of the time of your flight

If you, too, suffer from Prepping For A Solo Tripitis, you are not alone! Studies* have shown that 99.9999% of women who leave on a solo trip will suffer some form of this condition, from a mild “oops, gotta set the DVR for my favorite show!” to “holy crap, if I don’t get this bathroom painted before my flight leaves in an hour I will not be able to enjoy that flight!

There is no cure at this time. The best treatment is to just suffer through it, get on a plane, and have margaritas immediately after arriving at the destination. The favorite show can be watched later on Hulu, the bathroom walls will just get peed on, and the mother’s helper can damned well take a check.

Back Sunday.

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*studies may or may not have actually occurred, and may or may not have been random small talk over drinks with people not seen again.

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Two births, too different

I tend not to dwell on the births of the boys, mainly because I’m too wrapped up in the day to day chaos of actually raising them. This month’s book club selection for the Rocky Mountain Moms Blog, Birth Day by Dr. Mark Sloan, got me to thinking about them. A pediatrician, Dr. Sloan writes on the history and science of childbirth, and writes well at that. The book draws you in, and you can’t help but think, “Would I recommend this to an expecting mom?”

Yup, I would. Right after the thought better you than me, chica, I ain’t going through THAT again. Been there, done that, don’t want to do it again.

Birth A: First child. No idea on the sex. Born on Easter weekend (I do not recommend going into labor on any kind of holiday weekend). The ever-so-kind staff set me up with an epidural, cranked it to high, and left me there. I got checked, “hey, you’re at 10, start pushing!”, and had to watch the contraction graph to know when to push. For an hour. The last 45 minutes I had the pleasure of being introduced to Pitocin, which certainly moved things along, but also caused me to say very naughty things. A was born, I got lots of happy-happy-fun-fun stitches, and it’s been craziness ever since.

Birth J: Second child. Knew it was a boy, and thankful for it, for if I had learned in the delivery room that I wasn’t having the girl my heart was set on, it would have been ugly. Born two weeks early on the hottest day of 2004. I knew what was coming this time. I had been doing yoga for a couple of years, and prenatal yoga the entire pregnancy. None of that ridiculous labor breathing crap (which is the complete opposite of how I studied breathing for years as a flutist), just deep yoga breathing and concentration. Imagine my surprise when the anesthesiologist took one look at me and said “no way, dude.” J was born quickly, without drugs, maybe one stitch, and the endorphin high later was indescribable.

Two different boys. Two different births. Two completely different personalities. And while I know that birth stories don’t predict temperament, sometimes I really have to wonder. A’s birth was difficult-ish, with drugs and being forgotten, and pushing forfreakingever. He’s a difficult-ish kid, with twice-exceptionalities and issue after issue. J’s birth was calm, with deep breathing and focus and no drugs. He is a laid-back, easy-going, happy and loving little boy. Sometimes I have to wonder, and that’s why I don’t think about the boys’ births much.

But I can’t wonder too long, because the results of those two births are older now, running around the house, being all boy-ish and running amuck.