Why I’ve Distanced Myself from NCB’ers

NCB’ers (otherwise known as those in the natural childbirth movement) stand up for many things – none of which they are shy to share. Back when I was pregnant, I knew I didn’t really fall into a category, but if you had asked me then I was aimed for what I believed was a natural birth. I didn’t want an epidural, Pitocin, or any “drugs”. I was going to use the heck out of that jetted tub. I was seeing a midwife – but little did I know that my CNM would be seen as a “medwife” – not someone with my best interests.

I struggled in labor, and things did not go as I had planned. After hours and hours of stalling at a 9, I think everyone in the room knew that something had to be done because this was spiraling backwards – not moving forwards. An epidural and a low dose Pit drip was administered, and I spent about an hour and a half wide awake before it was time to push – finally out of misery and knowing so well that my baby was on his way. Bonding? It was excellent. I spent the whole night staring at him, studying him – the perfect little baby that was so unbelievably cute and that no one could take from me for a second – except when I wanted a shower, which took me about three minutes… a personal record. I went home with nothing but a raving review of my midwife and the immense pride I felt for the amazing birth I had – no matter how long, miserable, horrible it was – and for my perfect son.

My love for this perfect birth led to reading. I began to toy with the idea of becoming a CNM myself. I studied, I read, I researched. I accidentally stumbled onto a popular birthing facebook page one day, which then lead me to a blog about the things that health care providers say. I began reading to discover what I wouldn’t want to say to a patient someday. Soon I began to read it and believe the comments. That’s where I lost myself, I think.

I began to doubt my CNM. Was she a “medwife”? Had she not had my best interests in mind? What would have happened without the Pitocin? Sometimes I would stare at my son and feel as though I failed him. Who knows what all those “interventions” did to him?

As I became more involved, reading more blogs, following more facebook pages, I also became more involved as a nursing student. My class reports – no matter what class – centered around childbirth, pregnancy, or women’s health. In reality, I think they kept me grounded – scientific research isn’t perfect, but paired with an intelligent and skeptical mind, you can really analyze anything.

I went on to give birth to my daughter, with the same CNM in the same hospital, but no Pitocin, no epidural, and not a mere utterance of such from the nurses or CNM. In fact, the only debate I really remember is me in transition saying “I can’t do this… I’m not going to be able to” and my CNM saying “You can, you’re doing great, and that baby is coming in less than half an hour” – and she was right. I think the sheer terror of the potential of hours and hours of horrible labor were behind the words I spit out, and her confidence was all I needed. Although I’ll admit my husband replying with “You’re silly, you ARE doing it” were pretty darn nice, too – but hey, he hasn’t witnessed 1,000+ births. What does he know?

My faith was somewhat restored in my CNM. I was confident and pleased with birth #2, and I can’t say I’ve doubted it for a second. And while hours and hours of labor isn’t fun, I would never be able to say that one birth trumped the other. Both gave me beautiful children, and isn’t that the priority?

Yet I still continued to follow these pages quite regularly. One night – one particularly bad night, when my three year old was simply a terror, I finally ended up shutting myself in my room, where I sat on the floor bawling. My husband was left to diffuse the situation outside first, then cautiously enter, unsure of what was really wrong or what to do. He sat next to me and I crawled in his lap and cried “What if this is my fault? What if this is my fault for failing when I was in labor?” I sobbed for I don’t know how long. It felt like hours. Hours and hours where I sat there blaming myself for all that happened in my labor with my son, and how his spirit, his intelligence, his curiousity and his damn stubborness was surely my fault for not having the “perfect” birth that NCB’ers talk about, by themselves in a rented pool in their living room, or with a home birth midwife – a REAL midwife – not a “OB in disguise” like I had.

It took a couple of days for me to level out before I realized the error in everything. NCB’ers tell you to have an empowering birth – one that makes you feel incredible about yourself. I did – twice – and then spent some time where that was taken away from me, and I began to doubt that the incredible feeling I had for weeks after delivering both of my children was well deserved. They then mentally vaccinated me with horrific ideas of all the things that would be wrong with my son because I had “failed”, and all the things that were wrong with me because I wasn’t patient enough, didn’t wait, didn’t “know enough” to manage the pain – and I began to feel as if I wasn’t even a woman, and had no right to birth a baby. They left me bawling on the floor one night, convinced that the Pitocin used to get my labor moving again was so dangerous, so harmful, and so awful of me to do that I had destined my son to be a mess – without little regard for things in natural labor that cause issues, too, like hypoxia in labor having a very strong correlation in a lot of research to be associated with schizophrenia. Do you ever see a NCB’er mention that?

I have such a smart son, and such a clever little girl, and while neither are perfect, both are beautiful, healthy, normal kids who were born in beautiful, healthy, normal ways – and never again will I doubt what I did for them. I will not let anyone lead me to believe that anything I did in labor made me a horrible mom, or destined them for anything. And never ever EVER will I doubt my CNM’s – to this day I think I got better care than I could have imagined, and the best partners in my labor that I could have asked for. My births were perfect, even if they weren’t perfectly natural, perfectly intervention free, or perfectly at home. They were perfect for me, perfect for my husband, perfect for my babies… and no one else has any room to say otherwise.


Minor Rant About Having Children

I follow a number of birth boards. And a number of them cause strong emotions to erupt from me on occassion. And while this overall is pretty innocent, there is one line that just grates on me.

“I think she went to get away from all the craziness at home.”

So backtrack to a few days ago, when I began reading “The Strong-Willed Child” (insert all your praise here – I’ve heard it all, trust me). The introduction refers to a woman boarding a bus in L.A. with seven “rambunctious” children in tow. When asked if they were all hers or if there was some kind of picnic going on, she replies “They’re all mine, and believe me, it’s no picnic!”

Okay, here’s my problem. I have two kids. I love pregnancy. If I could be pregnant all the time, I probably would. Yet there is a cold, hard reality after the pregnancy – you have to raise them, too.

So my first question is why on Earth would you have this many kids? I mean, let’s think about this logically. If you have a baby every 12 months – which you shouldn’t be doing anyway (insert remark about higher rates of autism in babies closer than 24 months apart) – your oldest will be 7 when you had that last one. Really, in seven years, with 7 kids, it didn’t suddenly dawn on you “Wait… this is a lot of work. Perhaps I should not have any more right now”????

Yet maybe you wanted a big family, and you appreciate your big family. So insert my other rant. Please, by all means, tell me if this isn’t fair. If you go to the hospital to get away from the “craziness” of your kids to have another kid, should you be having more kids? I understand needing a few hours to yourself. I still don’t get the taking-a-vacation-by-myself-to-get-away-from-the-kids thing. I’m a firm believer in the “you had kids and now you get to take care of them” theory.

Before you say “but you don’t understand, my kid is so hard to handle”, remember – I’m reading Dobson. My kid is insane. While he may not trump everyone’s kid, he trumps most in level of activity, general naughtiness, and sassing. He also suffers from RAV, or “random acts of violence”. (Yes, I created that term myself.) He’s equal to approximately four of my little girl, who is not yet two – and I figure probably at least two of any “normal” boy. So I get it – kids can be hard.

So at this point I will repeat – I love pregnancy. I’d have a million babies if I could. But I know that I cannot be a devoted mother right now to more than two. If I have more than two, I might just become clinically insane (extended vacation) or get pregnant to have more babies so I can go to the hospital (vacation), or simply duct tape them all to the walls. Okay, not really on the duct tape.

Does this mean I will never have more? I do not know. All I know is right now I cannot handle it, right now it is too much to think about, and right now it would lead to my certain demise.

My point is that if you are going to have kids, I feel you should be committed to having them, not then looking for excuses to get away because you can’t handle it. And if you are lucky, like me, and have an insane one (or more, you poor soul!), then it’s probably a wise idea to obtain a good, sturdy, reliable method of birth control and take one day at a time for a while until you’re sure that you won’t be seeking hospital visits for a break (not a relaxing place, anyway!) and grumbling about how your life is no “picnic” with the kids you have.

Psychology and Pregnancy

During my studies, I decided that linking psychology with pregnancy would be a fun topic to explore.  As I did initial research and narrowed things down, I ended up with a project aimed towards oxytocin use in labor and the psychological effects, postpartum depression and PTSD as it relates to birth experiences.  I completely believe in terms like “birth rape” or “birth trauma” – I do feel that women can be left feeling abused, mistreated, and taken advantage of.  I thought it was interesting to tie that into PTSD and studies done on the topic.

Anyway, so here’s a little Powerpoint if you are curious.  I should add that I am not saying that oxytocin should never be used – I’m fairly natural-birth friendly, but every situation is different.  Mom and provider need to weigh pros and cons and decide what is best for them.  I don’t necessarily take a side for or against, but side with education and well thought out choices.

So here you go – enjoy!

View this document on Scribd

I’m Going to Have My Work Cut Out For Me

As you may or may not know, I’m an aspiring nurse-midwife.  I also had my two kids with a nurse-midwife, and my labors were not perfect.  I certainly don’t expect others to be.

But sometimes…. sometimes I read stuff that really bothers me.  Pretty much anything on www.myobsaidwhat.com, for example.  (This is your warning, medical professionals in L&D – you may be quoted when you say stupid things!)  Sometimes, though, it is people I know.  And I always keep my mouth shut.  After all, like I just said – my labors were not perfect.  I agreed to an epidural after 12 hours of labor with Ollie (which really did it’s job nicely in my case, so I’m proof it’s not all bad.  I had stalled for hours upon hours, and was able to progress very quickly and easily after that), and maybe wasn’t the quietest patient with Emmie.  (Although I certainly wasn’t the loudest.)  I may have been the most pessimistic, though.  Not sure.  I was pretty convinced that I simply couldn’t do it.  The good thing about labor is you don’t have a choice.  Once you’re there, you’re there.  Other than that, it was a perfect birth with roughly only a 4 hour labor, of which 1.5 hours was spent in the car at 3 in the morning on extremely foggy roads.  If anyone deserves a reward, though, it is my husband for staying so calm and driving so well in zero visibility with a squirming woman in labor next to him.  Props.

Anyway, so I never say anything.  I never do challenge these women to do their own research, do a little reading, find out more about what is going on with their bodies and their baby’s bodies.  I think ultimately when I tell people I used a midwife, they think I’m one of those scary, perfect-birthing, ultra conservative mamas who is going to chew their butt for having an epidural or a c-section.  Do I like the idea of c-sections? No.  Am I glad I didn’t have one?  Yes.  Do I have a problem with women having the choice to have a c-section if they want to without being scared or coerced into itAbsolutely not.

Sometimes it’s what goes on with the c-section that sets me off.  For example, someone recently told me that her c-section was going to be ordered as soon as they were sure that the baby’s lungs were fully developed, so she wouldn’t have to be pregnant the full 40 weeks.

There are so many things wrong with that statement.

Please believe me when I say that they can’t tell for sure that the lungs are fully developed.  A doctor might argue that yes, they do know, because after all, they are doing ultrasounds, and they know the due date based on the baby’s size.

So I take it one step further and say please believe me when I tell you that ultrasounds after the 12th week can be flawed as many as 3-4 weeks depending on genetics, the tech doing the measuring, the position of baby, and size in general.

Insert quick personal story here – when I was pregnant with Ollie, my midwife sent me in for an ultrasound at 8 weeks for dating.  No one else I knew had done this, but then again, at that point I didn’t know anyone else who had seen a midwife.  (Hospital or home)  She explained to me that until roughly 12 weeks after conception, a fetus is very consistent on size, and that genetics doesn’t ‘kick in’, so the best ultrasound to estimate a due date is before 12 weeks.  Sweet, okay, whatever.  At that point I didn’t know much about the subject, but when I went home and studied it, I found it to be very true. 

Fast forward 12 weeks to my 20 week ultrasound.  Imagine my surprise when my previous ultrasound due date was set at July 28th, and this ultrasound read July 2nd.  I was further along than I thought!  Sweet!  I was totally pumped.

Yet when I met with my midwife, she said “Nope, not changing your due date.  The first ultrasound is the correct one, and you’re just growing a big baby in there.”  Now my friends immediately thought this was sheer insanity.  I think I kind of got caught up in it.

Braxton Hicks started in mid-June, and by late June I was having some real contractions, too.  So early July I was ready.  I wasn’t buying into that first ultrasound.  I knew it was time.

The 2nd passed.  And the 3rd.  The 4th I was admitted, but didn’t progress and was only at a 1, so I was sent home. 

Eventually I went into labor.  I was admitted to the hospital on July 28th, and Ollie was born July 29th.  He was not wrinkly, as post term babies are (my daughter was, though!), and was 9 lb, 7 oz., and 22.5 inches long.  He was a big baby.

Now he’s 2 and a half and wears size 5 in BOYS (toddlers clothes are too small).  He’s still a big kid.

My point with that story is that the early dating with ultrasound works, and that your due date per your 20 week ultrasound can be total crap.

So now, back on track.  Knowing what I know, there was no early ultrasound to date this pregnancy that was about to be forced into completion on what could possibly end up to be a baby that is born too early.  Babies’ lungs finish late in the pregnancy – sometimes as late as 38 weeks – which means that if that ultrasound is off by 2 weeks, you may end up with a baby in the NICU.  Not fun.

So my main problem is that we have a doctor telling a patient that they will know when the baby’s lungs are fully developed, presumably by due date, because they can’t tell with  an ultrasound really, and then they will make sure that she doesn’t have to be pregnant anymore.

Doesn’t have to be pregnant anymore.  That part gets me, too.

This time I’m pulling out a soapbox.  When you get pregnant, a good majority of the time it’s because you want to have a baby, right?  And every parent wants a healthy baby – that’s a given.  So why why why why why are we yanking babies out before they are done growing and developing (because let’s face it, they aren’t going to stay in there forever) and risking their health?  Is two weeks of pregnancy THAT bad, that you’re willing to risk your baby being in an ICU, possibly for more than those two weeks, all because you just ‘didn’t want to be pregnant anymore’?  I understand the feeling… I totally do.  Try getting all pumped up (even though you were told not to) for a baby that you believe is going to be born nearly a full month before he was.  Yet when it came down to it, as much as I wanted to go into labor, I did not want them to induce me (and they did offer to schedule it once I hit my due date) and I did not want a c-section.  

When I went a full week over with Emmie, my only complaint was that my midwife said on Friday “I will see you before Monday, you’re not going to last that long” and I arrived at the hospital around 4:30 AM on Monday morning, and when she walked in the door I said “You said I wouldn’t make it until Monday!  I’ve been waiting ALL WEEKEND!”  Sure, I wanted to be done, but I wanted a healthy baby more. 

Maybe the problem is that people really don’t realize the risks of ‘taking’ babies early.  Or the amount of error you can have in an ultrasound – or that you might have a freakishly ginormous kid who has been in the 99.75 growth percentile his entire life.  (For the record, my daughter has been at the 50% since the day she was conceived, and I see no sign of that changing.  I don’t only have huge kids.)  Maybe it’s poor medical providers, maybe it’s ignorance.  I’m not sure.  But I do know that my dream job of standing up for women’s rights and helping to teach them and support them will be a challenge.  One I eagerly embrace, but a challenge nonetheless, and I am so anxious to get to that point.

*I’m sorry if I offended anyone.  Please, if you don’t agree with me, feel free to dispute it, but also look into the topic a bit, too.  I’ve done a boatload of research and read studies all the time on birth and pregnancy, and this really is my passion.  I do believe in every woman’s right to the birth that she wants, her way, no matter what  before anything else, and I hope you can respect that.  Thanks for reading!*

I Almost Did It…

I need to apologize to all pregnant women out there.
I almost committed a “felony”, as far as I was concerned when I was pregnant.
Tonight, we at dinner at Acupulco. (I want to go to there. Num num num num num.) Anyway, hello pregnant waitress who stops by our table to ask how old Ollie is. I turn to look at her, and there’s that perfect little basketball like bump just inches away. And I just wanted to reach out and touch it. Touch that little baby. And do the whole cooing-precious baby-wanna cry thing that all expectant mothers hate, when random strangers all of a sudden invade their privacy and feel no shame in placing their hands all over your abdomen. (Which happens to be a place that in my experience no woman is ever happy to have anyone touch, especially without consent, because – am I right ladies? – this is the one place that always needs the most WORK.
I managed to keep my hands on my own baby, but inquire politely about hers.
I decided right then and there that midwifery would be AWESOME, because I could touch baby bellies all day long and no one would mind or think I was a crazy “stranger”. And even if they did, it’s my JOB, so pfft.
Anyway, after a long day of shopping, Nick, Ollie, and I arrived home around 9. I quickly shedded Ollie’s layers except his onsie, changed a diaper, and managed to lay him down just in time for him to wake up and decide to start crying. Ug. So I get him all situated, mobile on, and sneak from the room. He cries for a bit, then stops. Then cries for a bit, then stops. He does this for HOURS. This is what happens whenever his bedtime schedule gets messed up. Nick and I stayed up watching a movie, and when we decided to head to bed, I was picking up pillows off the living room floor when Nick went to turn Ollie’s lamp out. He whispers “Come here!”, which immediately startled me. I wasn’t sure what was wrong, but I went trotting towards the partially open door, and the sight inside was soooooo precious.

At some point he not only managed to roll over, but turn himself sideways in the crib, too. The picture quality isn’t the greatest because I didn’t want to use the flash and wake him up. Nick rolled him over and repositioned him after I had my fill, and then we shook our heads and chuckled on our return down the hall. We love that kid.
It was a long, boring day for him. He gets EXTREMELY bored in the car lately. He’ll start screaming and you’ll change his diaper, give him a bottle, do everything you can think of, and he’ll appear fine. You’ll return to the driver’s seat, and the screaming commences. And it will continue until either you go so far that he can’t fight it and falls asleep (Trust me, it’s quite a distance!), or you return to the backseat. He’d much rather converse all day then ride in the car. The poor guy didn’t even get any solid foods today. I’m just not sure how to do the whole baby-food-on-the-go thing. But he gets cranky when he doesn’t get his solid foods.
At one point the old trick work. I busted out “No Air” by Jordin Sparks, and his hysterics paused for the song, where he listened quietly, and then resumed his screaming as soon as the last note died.
I find it fascinating that I, sitting in the driver’s seat, can merely pick a song on my iPod, press play, and soothe my child without touching him, making eye contact… virtually doing anything! Music is amazing. Unfortunately, I need to broaden Ollie’s “comfort” songs, because there are only a few. (And Nick hates them all.) “No Air”, “Mercy” by Duffy, “My Love” by Justin Timberlake, “The Garden” by Mirah, and “Boys with Girlfriends” by Meiko. All songs that I was listening to quite a bit in his first month.
Anyway, my brain is mush and I’ve been yawning so hard my eyes tear up for HOURS. Goodnight all.

The Worst Week Ever

Okay, seriously, what did I do that karma feels the need to punish me for this week?

I was harassed about not being married a number of times. About 4 people today asked “what’s this?” and pointed to the engagement ring I’ve been wearing for NEARLY FIVE YEARS. And then… and then…

I stopped at the bank to pick up a Visa gift card. I’m standing in line and someone I used to work with at Coborn’s walks in. I haven’t seen her in probably two years. I say “Hey! Hi! How are you?” She replies that she’s doing well, and then points towards Ollie and says “how many?”. I smile, and look at Ollie, and say “just him.” She smiles back and says “Well, yeah, and that one” and points about waist level. At first I glance down, expecting to see someone else’s wee one standing next to me peeking at the baby or something. Then I realize with horror that she’s pointing at my stomach. My stomach, which is covered by a coat, and in my honest opinion, not looking pregnant. Still confused, I look up and say “No…. there’s no baby in there.” She smiles and says “Oh, it sure looks like it.” I turn around and say “Did you ever think maybe it was the pouch style pocket in my jacket?” (Sticking my hands in my jacket to demonstrate.) “I just had him four months ago, you could cut me some slack!” I felt bad instantly for snapping, and the bank teller, who knows me pretty well, said “Yeah, she’s looking really good. She deserves bonus points.”

So, to make the situation even worse, I leave and head over to the Little Bread Factory. I walk in, and Dawn peeks around the corner. I say “Dawn, I need a cookie. I mean, I NEED a cookie.” She grabs a wax paper and says “No problem hun… which one?” Then I lost it. “I need 2 cranberry white chocolate, and 2 chocolate chip, and 2 blueberry scruffins and…”

“WHOA WHOA WHOA!” She quickly grabs a bag. “I didn’t realize it was THIS serious!”

Needless to say, I left with ten dollars worth of cookies, scruffins, and one lone macaroon, which I promptly ate in the car before pulling away from the curb (the macaroon, not all of it!). And just because I told Dawn I was then on my way to kick someone out of their house and didn’t want to, I got some inspirational words and a free sugar cookie.

So a macaroon and a sugar cookie, some turkey pizza for dinner and then a blueberry scruffin. I lost a couple pounds, and now I’m probably packing it right back on. Sheesh.

I can’t get the image of the pregnant girl yesterday out of my mind. All of a sudden every time I see a pregnant woman I feel all warm and fuzzy and happy. Are other people like this? Or am I a bit of a freak?

I also do not cease to be amazed at what happens to us when we have children. All of a sudden there is this incredible bond. We nod understandingly when one’s child is screaming bloody murder in the store. We can relate to the woes of formula, gas reducing bottles, and picking out just the right baby food. And even if we weren’t friends before, or even slight enemies before, we now swap labor stories like trading cards instead of insults and glares. Women. Are. Amazing.

My dog is lying next to the bed snoring, and Nick has his legs wrapped around mine and is snoring on the other side. I’m trapped, and it’s like listening to someone snore in surround sound. How enjoyable. Ahhh, life is good. Luckily, there’s a cat lying immediately above my head on the pillows (which I rarely get to use because Harold feels that I put them there for him and him alone.), but at least I can hear him purring. That’s always a relaxing noise.

My Hair Is Falling Out, And Other Updates

Number uno on my list, I just have to say congrats to Alison and Jeff for their beautiful baby girl Evalynn Mae (God I hope I spelled that right… pretty sure I did…), who was born at 1:15 AM on Thanksgiving. Talk about something to be thankful for! I look at the pictures and I tear up with joy. This in itself blows my mind.

Secondly, my hair is falling out. Constantly. In large gobs. And I know all of you moms are nodding your heads in understanding, but HOLY COW. It just doesn’t seem to stop. I am tempted to save the globs of hair that come out in the shower for a wig for someone. I can’t even take a shower without ending up COVERED in long strands of hair. I’m excited at the prospect of my wanna-be ‘fro thinning out, but seriously? All at once? Someone give me some prenatals and some willing sperm, because being pregnant was wayyyyyy better.

Wait, no. My hair was a crazy, dehydrated ‘fro then. Never mind. At least not for the hair’s sake.

Went out on Thanksgiving Eve. Had a good time, yet felt distanced, and sometimes like an ass. I remember one semi-intoxicated point where someone asked me why I would want to be a midwife. I responded “Why WOULDN’T you? You get to catch babies! And listen to their heartbeats! And see happy mommies!” Perhaps I’m trading a career in large life events for one even bigger. I like to change lives – instant high for me. And I’m not a millionaire, so I can’t go around buying houses for poor deserving souls. So I’ll just have to deliver their babies instead. 🙂

A few funny looks from people. Mostly tons of comments on the adorable-ness of my baby. Yeah, I know. 🙂

Ollie is going to do his “photo shoot” in January. I’M SO EXCITED. He will be about 6 months old then… crazy. And some of the shots will be with Ellie, too. Then someday, when they graduate, we can say “HA! You knew each other before you even properly figured out how to poop!” Okay, well, that’s an exaggeration. Ollie figured out pooping a few months ago I guess. Funny how babies just don’t really get the whole pooping thing for a while. No one tells you that. You just assume they know how. Then they are screaming their head off, and you’re reading about it, and somewhere, in tiny little letters that take up half a sentence that lovely piece of literature informs you that your little bundle of joy has no idea what’s wrong with him, or what to do about it. Then, for weeks afterwards, you sound like a labor coach every time you are convinced your baby has to poop. “Come on, push down! You can do it! Don’t forget to breathe!”

Okay, I exaggerate a little. But it’s true.

Even the other day, I knew what Ollie was trying to do, but it just wasn’t happening. New foods in his diet leave him pretty unpredictable, and kind of constipated. So I’m helping him “walk it off”, using gravity to our advantage. I’m coaching him to push. Nick walks into the house from work and says “Why are you coaching my son in childbirth?”

Yeah, well, they are kind of close to the same. Although I’m pretty sure I’ve never pooped 9.5 pounds before…

I’m getting so frustrated with Anoka-Ramsey already. You have a million (okay, 150-200) pre-nursing students, and you don’t offer enough of the pre-req courses, even. I’m checking the openings 5+ times a day, hoping and praying someone drops. UMD was not this bad. Sure, some of the courses I wanted were full, but I watched them for like two days and they’d open up. This is just getting insane. And I didn’t get to take my math placement, because Nick didn’t make it home in time. So I need a babysitter so I can get down there to do it again. I need to get it done ASAP, so I can snatch up an opening in Interpretive Chem if there ever is one.

Also, in more college news, I requested a transcript from UMD the other day, and the next window pops up and says “cannot fufill request due to hold”. So I click on the holds. They want a freakin’ exit interview. THEY HAVE BEEN ISSUING MY TRANSCRIPTS UP UNTIL NOW. All of a sudden they want to know why I left? So I need to figure out if they will do it over the phone, or if I have to drive up to Duluth just to get them to send a transcript to SCSU. It’s totally worthless, I withdrew. But whatever. I can view my grades… maybe SCSU will just take that. So I have some phone calls to make. Anoka Ramsey has it on file, so I KNOW that they have sent them out. Pine Tech got one, too! Crazy a-holes.

I can’t sleep. It’s nearly 4 AM. I need to open the office tomorrow at 9. What is WRONG with me!?!?!?!?!

My favorite picture from Thanksgiving Eve. Katie F. found it necessary to get even with me for the bathroom picture I took of her last year. I am fully clothed, in case you were wondering. She just reached over the stall and snapped the picture right after I closed the door. And I don’t really look as wide as a house, so that’s always a plus.

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