SacMomsClub.com

This is my editor's note for my Sept/October issue of Kidaround. Timely and crazy, considering McCain's nominee for vice president is a mom of a baby with Down syndrome, Sarah Palin. I am so excited for this next issue to come out, look for it September 1! ~ Barbara


There I was, shopping in Payless. I can still smell the pleather as we rang up some Thomas the Train sandals when something else rang: my phone. As soon as the woman on the other end of the line spoke, I knew it wasn’t good news. It was the genetics counselor.
  
Two weeks prior, during my second trimester, I was at my OB’s office. “Do you want to take the AFP?” he asked of the elective blood test that screens for various defects like spina bifida and chromosomal issues. He told me of the AFP’s fluky nature. “You’re 35, right at the age where this test is more likely to give a false positive.”
   
I’d taken it with my three previous babies and never had any issues come up, and it was free, so I said, “Sure. Why not?”
   
Here’s why not: So I don’t get a call from the genetics specialist halfway through my pregnancy. What did she tell me? “Your AFP result came back positive.”
   
After doing the mental math (is positive bad and negative good, or the other way around?) everything was kind of a fog. I do remember—clearly—her saying, “Your test screened positive for Down syndrome, one in ten,” which meant that one out of every 10 women with similar hormone levels will be carrying a child with Down syndrome. That’s not bad, I thought. There’s a 90 percent chance that there’s nothing to worry about. Then she told me that these are the highest odds the screening test can give. Ouch.
   
Google AFP and the first thing you see is “simple blood test” and “recommended by the State of California for all pregnant women and can detect if they are carrying a fetus with certain genetic abnormalities.”
   
Again, I was reminded that this was a screening test, meaning my baby simply had an increased risk. However, the next step would be to come in for a second-level ultrasound, where they look for physical markers like shortened femurs, heart defects and a thickened nuchal fold.
   
The geneticist then recommended I have amniocentesis right away if I wanted confirmation and the chance to terminate my pregnancy (I think I was running up to the deadline where you are talking about a more complicated medical procedure). I asked about the risks of amnio and she told me there was anywhere between a one in 200 to one in 300 chance of miscarriage. I told her I didn’t want to risk that. Even if the baby did have Down syndrome, I told her, I wouldn’t have an abortion, to which she replied, “I’ve heard that before, and you might change your mind if it’s a reality.”
   
We opted for a level-two ultrasound, which revealed a “borderline” marker: The nuchal fold thickness qualified as a marker, but there were no other markers so we were still in the dark. The presence of a marker increased the odds even more and again the doctor recommended amniocentesis. Scared, we scheduled one, but I cancelled it the next day.
   
Before all this unfolded, I was planning, of course, the perfect pregnancy, the one I didn’t have with my first three babies. I wasn’t going to gain 50 pounds and complain about my aches and pains. I was going to splurge on sexy maternity clothes. This was going to be our last baby and, damn it, I was going to be the happiest, cutest expectant mama I could possibly be. Then all this happened.
   
While we decided to wait it out, that’s not to say my husband and I didn’t do our fair share of stressing out like no expectant couple should ever have to. It was possibly, looking back, the hardest five months of my life. But during this time, as most modern moms do, I Googled the hell out of screening tests, ultrasounds, Down syndrome, amniocentesis—and learned a lot.
   
Among the lowlights of my research was the same uncertainty dumped on tons of other women, all because of a test that is inconclusive and fraught with false positives, when ideally the worst we should be dealing with is edema and hemorrhoids. On one hand, I was relieved to see I wasn’t alone pouring through the forums on Baby Center. On the flip side, I would see women freaking that their test came back one in 800, and I’d think to myself, “That’s nothin’! Try one in 10!” I also discovered that the abortion rate for amnio-confirmed Down syndrome pregnancies is 90 percent. Nine out of 10 pregnancies with confirmed Down syndrome are terminated…because why? As my mom said when she learned of Emmett’s possible fate, “He might have to ride the short bus…so what?”
   
That leads me to share the highlights of my Google search: With today’s early interventions and therapies, people with Down syndrome do quite well, go to school, hold down jobs. But most importantly, they positively affect everyone around them. Show me a family touched with Down syndrome and I’ll show you a family that is better for it.
   
Why is our culture so afraid of people that may be limited in IQ or physical capability, and what is so wrong or “defective” with persons who are not jaded by superficiality, drama and the typical bullshit the rest of us give credence to? Our society has historically tolerated so much worse—racism, sexism, bigotry—yet these statistics reveal a record of discrimination against and fear of those who are innocent, loving, accepting and will positively touch the lives of everyone around them. What’s to fear?
   
Of course it did occur to us the work we could be facing in the future should he have Down syndrome. It’s impossible to know the degree of disability you are facing until birth—or even years after. How would we be able to travel to Ireland someday, to have a life, if we were burdened with a severely differently-abled baby?

In my heart, though, I knew that we were the “retarded” ones, in those moments when we feared being burdened by our child. The true burden is society’s concept of perfection. Who determined what is perfect enough? Must you have a high IQ? We know there are plenty of paste-eaters out there, and they got a shot at life. There are plenty of us with “perfect” chromosomes, and yet not one of us is perfect.

At the time of my AFP test, it was recommended for women aged 35 and over. Now it’s recommended for EVERY pregnant woman regardless of age. This scares me because I think of all the women who will be unnecessarily filled with fear of the unknown.

But you know what? While I certainly had so much to dwell on, complain about and fear—and even worse hemorrhoids than ever before—I had the pregnancy I wanted, no matter what the odds told me I may be in for. I simply couldn’t wait to meet my baby, and was actually more curious about what the next chapter of my life held rather than dreading some diagnosis. I was proud I decided to remain in the dark about our future and this baby—and I went and bought my designer maternity jeans.

A friend recited to me a favorite quote: “Ninety percent of the things we worry about don’t even happen.” I held on to that and still do. Curiously, those odds are one in 10. Hmmm.

The simple fact is, there was one thing I did know: I loved him no matter what. When Emmett was born, all that worry was for nothing, and now I worry about a million other things like all moms do, most of which are not in our control. Who knows? He may still have to ride the short bus, or he may be a rocket scientist. I really don’t care either way. I’m his mom.

PS. During my Google-fest, I found Elaine Linn, executive director of DSIA who became  a supportive  e-friend. I’m also happy to feature a piece from Jen Sanchez, a local mom who has found herself happy in Holland.

Yes, my eighties are showing...I was in the Rick Springfield Fan Club in elementary school! And I am so excited to go to his concert tomorrow night in Colusa! Admit it...you are jealous...me and two girlfriends are goin' and throwing our panties on stage! ;) just kiddin'....maybe...

Man! I just have to vent...I am crushing huge on David Cook on American Idol. I love dudes who can really sing. That dude can sing. What is the deal with everyone gushing over David Archuleta? He's terrible! He should tour baseball parks to sing the national anthem and that's about it. Can anyone really see this guy as a recording artist? He's such a gomer!
All the others are fairly cheesy too. I think Jason Castro is smoking out just to get through the commercial cheesefest that is American Idol. Don't get me wrong...i LOVE karaoke...but not on my tv. In a bar, with a pitcher of beer. And is anyone else, like me, visualizing Archuleta's stage dad pushing the poor kid, when you know he probably just wants to go play with his Hot Wheels or dungeons and dragons or something?

For more on this weeks AI, here is a great recap that had me rolling.

My poor baby (ok, he's 1 1/2, but he's still my baby) had a rough day. Which as you know means mom had a very rough day.

A couple weeks ago, we noticed a little red bump on his cheek and made a note to keep an eye on it. It was definitely growing so I called to make an appointment. It looked like a hemangioma, but those usually are present at birth, then fade. I thought it was weird to suddenly pop up and grow. His pediatrician saw him and said it was definitely a vascular growth (she called it a granuloma) that wouldn't go away and would need to get removed, so she put in for the referral. Today (the following day) I am driving around running errand, and glance in the rear view mirror to see blood all over his cheek and neck. Streaming. He must've felt it and scratched it, and since it's vascular, it was practically gushing. He wouldn't let me put pressure on it, and I tried a band aid that filled up in moments and fell off it was so wet! So long story short, 3 hours later we left the clinic where they'd been able to apply a pressure bandage and it finally stopped. It probably bled for over an hour.

As if that wasn't exhausting enough, later that evening the kids were playing in the backyard and suddenly we hear breaking glass, and he cut his hand. We don't know how a glass jar got out there, but it jacked his precious little hand pretty bad. Four band aids later, he was back to eating blackberries and giving hugs. I tucked in my son with 5 band-aids all over him and said a little prayer that we survived a crazy day. Here's to hoping tomorrow is less eventful...

I previewed the documentary that is showing this Thursday at the Esquire IMAX, The Business of Being Born. It is SUPER good...it explores how babies are born in America, the increased rates of Cesareans, and features several home births, including executive producer Ricki Lake. I am so excited to be a small part of bringing it to the big screen here in town. It's a one night only gig, benefitting Chicks in Crisis, a local nonprofit. I hope I see some of you there! :)

The Business of Being Born
Thursday March 13, 6:30 pm, $20 at the box office before show
Esquire IMAX Theatre 12211 K St. Sacramento
Includes small soda, popcorn and a goodie bag

By the way, I am such a sucker for birth stories. Having a baby is the coolest, craziest most surreal and inspirational thing I've ever done. No matter what kind of birth it is, they are always fantastically entertaining, don't you think? Share yours if you'd like. I have also started a section in my magazine Kidaround where we feature a birth story from a local mom in every issue. The current issue has a fabulously readable unassisted birth. Email yours to me if you'd like to submit it, or post it here!

Anyways...here's how my fourth birth unraveled...

A friday night October 2006 around 8 pm I started having contractions about 8 minutes apart. They didn't go away like Braxton Hicks so around 11:30 pm I started to think this was likely the real deal. I was paying particularly close attention because I wanted to make sure I got admitted as early as possible to make sure I would have time to get my beloved epidural (which I had with my three previous labors). I thought better of trying to sleep through the night, but I didn't want to drag the family out either if it wasn't going particularly fast. I decided I'd go in by myself (15 minutes away), get checked and call my husband if it looked like it was necessary to get the kids up sooner rather than later.

By the time I got there, I'd had about 2 more contractions I could deal with, but they were inching closer together and starting to hurt. pretty bad The doctor checked me told me I was 100% effaced, but only 1 cm and to go home. This was at 1 am. I told him this is my fourth baby, and there is no way I was driving back to Roseville. He didn't even suggest walking or anything. I said well, my last baby same thing happened, and I walked for an hour and went to 5 cm so I'd rather walk and get checked, this wasn't going away. I got the impression he was annoyed and he discharged me, saying to walk for 2 hours and get rechecked if I wanted. (What a turd.)

So, I walked. In an hour, at 2 pm, they were 3 minutes apart and brutal. I went to the admissions nurse (who was there for the earlier exam) and told her how fast they were coming and I was in a lot of pain. She told me "well, the doctor wanted you to walk for 2 hours to give you time to dilate," essentially telling me to take a hike. (Yes, another turd). At this point, I'm crying and manage to walk for another half hour. I go back and luckily there was a different nurse there who apparently saw in my eyes another 1/2 hour wasn't necessary. (Finally, not a turd.) I got checked and I was 3 cm so they got the ball rolling in getting me admitted. I called home and said, they are admitting me, c'mon down! He was going to drop the kids off at his parents, then come to be with me.

I was in the room a bit after 3 am, got an IV in my hand and hooked up to the monitor. The first few contractions on the monitor were still 3 minutes apart. They drew blood to get the ball rolling to get an epidural. Suddenly I remember looking at the monitor thinking they was way too close too fast, they were 2 minutes apart. The graph was just going up and down and I didn't have any time to even recover and they were crippling. I just remember grabbing the sheets and feeling paralyzed with pain. Since I've relied on epidurals for all my births, I had no idea how to cope with the pain and the fear of what was happening. My nurse went off to get the order for nubain to get something to at least take the edge off my contractions.  I was alone in the room for a few minutes and when he came back I was like "Dude, I feel a lot of pressure" and he asked how did it feel and I said "like I have to go to the bathroom!" He said, "oh my, let me check you right now." I was 8 cm. I had gone from 3 to 8 cm in about 15 minutes. That's when he said it, my worst nightmare:

"Your having this baby soon and you're not going to have time to have an epidural."

Not to mention I was alone. I started flipping out...oh God, at least get the Nubain in me now, I'm dying, I can't do this without anything, please God!

I didn't have my husband's cell # by memory (it's programmed in my cell, but I couldn't use it in the hospital) so I called my mother-in-law and said TRYTOCALLHIMANDTELLHIMTOCOMESTRAIGHTHERE, THEBABYISCOMINGNOW!

A couple minutes later, I was like, I have to push NOW. There was another woman nurse in the room and I said I need you to please hold my hand NOW. A doctor came in and my man nurse told him "she was 8 cm a minute ago, but this baby is coming NOW!" He put my legs up and they were like "the head's halfway out, PUSH!" I tell you, without an epidural, there is not stopping the pushing. Your body takes over and I became one giant push. It is the definition of urgency. It was so surreal. The doctor came in to "catch". I pushed and the head was out. One more push and the baby was out. I have never felt such relief in my entire life.

The doctor was just holding up the baby, cord still attached when I hear my father-in-law at the door yell "Let me in! I'm her father-in-law and she's all alone!" He came in and hugged me and held my hand. My husband came in just a couple minutes later and I could see him looking at my belly, hearing a baby crying over in the warming bassinet, trying to make sense of what was going on. Last he heard I was 3 cm and that was only a half hour earlier! : )  He thought it was someone else's baby. I smiled, "That's ours, babe! I'm done!"

Our son was born weighing 9 lbs 9 oz. perfectly healthy. He just had to be watched for 24 hours because of exposure to Group B Strep (which they were supposed to give me antibiotics for, but obviously didn't have time to do. :) He also had a full knot in the umbilical cord which was crazy to see...a tight, full knot, but apparently it didn't affect the flow of blood.

After all that, I don't know if I'd want an epidural if I was ever to have another baby. It was brutal, but so...real. So unnumbed. But that's probably easy for me to say, since I'm done. I think about it a lot though, and I am glad, even though it wasn't by choice, that I finally felt what we women were made to feel. We truly are awesome. And I am inspired by all of you who grow babies...no matter how they come out. : )

One of my advertisers, Carmen Salazar Photography, got a call from a reader who saw her ad in Kidaround and was all excited about an idea she had but that it had to be done quickly. Inspired by the feature on mama boudoir photography by Penny Sylvia in the Jan/Feb issue of Kidaround, She wanted to give her boyfriend a gift for Valentine's Day and had this vision of transforming herself into a modern day Varga girl.

Carmen immediately went into creative overdrive and the creative goddesses above knew what she was up to and started revealing the perfect props for the shoot everywhere Carmen turned. They teamed up with makeup artist Faten to really pull the whole look together. See the fabulous results here. Gorgeous, dahling!

Barbara
Kidaround Magazine

I just might have goosebumps for the next two months straight. The Sex and the City movie is coming out May 30. Feeling turbo excited. I just saw the full movie spoiler and it's...dare I say...fabulous! One thing...is it me, or does Big look a little something is goin' on in the forehead area? Oh, who cares...I'm counting down the days! The final episode was perfect...I was a little afraid of how this would translate to film...but I'm totally in. Are you? Check it OUT!

My husband’s latest issue of Men’s Health was just begging for me to flip through it with teasers like “More Sex, Hotter Sex!” and “60 Second Health Fixes.” What really piqued my interest was their exclusive new poll where they supposedly got women to confess what we want. Nestled between an ad of Jeremy Piven modeling a man purse and an article on the benefits of beer, there it was in its glossy glory, our top 5 fantasies.
   
After reading them, I had an Aha! moment: Perhaps this is this why we buy into the notion that men and women are from different planets? This was so wrong…all wrong. Which probably means the knowledge I’d gained about the opposite sex in Seventeen and Glamour and Cosmo on what guys like was just as wrong. It was like pulling back the curtain on the great  and powerful Oz and seeing a little old man pulling levers. We've been duped!
   
But I digress. According to Men’s Health, our top five fantasies are (drumroll, please): stimulating ourselves while they watch, being dominated, having "intimate relations" in public, making a homemade flick (if you catch my drift), and not to be overlooked, a ménage-a-trois. What!? Is this what these slick men’s magazines are teaching our men? No wonder we feel like we’re from different planets.
   
So in an effort to set the universe right, I am revealing what women really want, and men, it’s not what you think.

Stimulating ourselves. Yes, we want to stimulate ourselves…with a good book, and actually be able to get through a chapter without having to refill a cup or change a diaper. (You can watch if you want.)

Being dominated. Bring it on. Push us out of the way to empty the dishwasher. Knock us out of the way to get to the crying baby first. Throw us over your shoulder and then onto the sofa and hand us the remote while you sort the silverware and rinse out moldy cups. Yeah, baby.

Being intimate in public. That’s right: Hold our hand. Put your arm around us. Give us a kiss. And while we may walk slowly in our heels (since we rarely get the opportunity to wear anything but flip flops) don’t walk two steps ahead of us. Show that you dig us outside the confines of the love lair. In an airplane, we want to take a nap, not join the mile-high club.

Making a flick. Yes! You take the camera and play director once in a while. You shoot the kids’ recitals, soccer games and birthday parties. Get us in the shot now and again, so if something happens to us, our kids will actually have a visual record of our maternal existence. But not in the bedroom, and definitely not in our birthday suits. If the camera adds 10 pounds, do you really think we want our post-baby bods in all their natural glory recorded on video? Now who’s fantasizing?

Inviting others into the relationship. We totally want to share you with others, but no, not in the room where the magic happens. Let’s go bowling, out to dinner, or to a movie with friends so we can have some adult conversation that doesn’t require anyone to put on earmuffs or see a movie that doesn’t star a cartoon or Hannah Montana. It’s hard enough to let you see us without support undergarments. There you go, fantasizing again. This is about our fantasies, remember?
   
Of course, some of us are more adventurous, and I won't address those fantasies here. But some other fantasies we have still require a sense of adventure that men can certainly help with, such as getting the kids’ homework in on time, serving healthy dinners or making sure our kids are bathed and in bed on time. When lucky moms have husbands that help make these fantasies a reality, they will probably get lucky, too. Now that’s fantastic.

Barbara Hennelly
Kidaround magazine

I usually jet by the benefit beauty bar at Macys. While I'd like to think it'd look apropos, I have a feeling I'd look a little, um, old. Cute brand, cute packaging, cute girls (that I fear would talk crap about me as soon as the delusional 'mom' left). But I gotta say, I love the idea of going to the mall to return some jeans that don't fit and hey! being able to get a fabulous brow wax with no appointment. (Only downside: It's in public, so you may not want to get any other part of your face waxed even if you really need it.)

But like a pair of Spanx, every mom needs a pair of tamed brows. A professional brow arch is like a mini makeover! If you've never done it, for the love of God, wax those puppies. You'll thank me, and don't be a wuss, it doesn't hurt that much. It's less painful catching a glimpse of your hairy brows in the rear view mirror! So drop in next time you are at a mall with a Macys, get and let their brow experts work their magic and make your brows look groomed and gorgeous.

Brow arch: $18
Brow & lip: $25
No appointment needed!

Barbara
Kidaround Magazine

Location: 113 Front St., Sacramento, CA

This Saturday, February 23, G. Willikers Toy Emporium  is having a HUGE 50% off everything sale for one day only!

If you haven't discovered it yet, G. Willikers is a fun toy store with a retro flair...classic dolls, toys and games, Breyers horses, a Thomas the Tank Engine section, a girls section, Bionicles...and so much more you just have to check it out. I think they carry that big Ride-On Thomas that might otherwise require a lottery win to justify. But half off? Game on!

This is not too good to be true...half off everything and anything! I have been waiting to get me (er, my son) some Tinker Toys. Patience is a virtue...'cause now I'm getting them for half off! (Can you tell I dig a good sale?)

All you have to do is sign up for their preferred customer email list! So stock up on gifts for the rest of the year, or get your child that toy you've been saving up for. Don't miss this great opportunity to save big this Saturday!

Doors open at 10 am and close at 10 pm, Saturday, Feb. 23
113 Front St. Old Sacramento (where parking is always validated!)
(916) 447-1091
www.gwillitoys.com

Cheers~
Barbara Hennelly
Kidaround Magazine