Showing posts with label #1. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #1. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 15, 2003

Fertile Ground #1


FROM THE TRENCHES
Satchel's Homebirth by Stacey Greenberg

THE REAL DIRT
Breast Buddies by Stacey Greenberg
Sleep by Stacey Greenberg
Poop by Stacey Greenberg
Snot by Marlineee Iverson

IN THE FIELD
Beauty is a Hairless Dog by Ashley Harper
A Chance Meeting by Amie Ngyuen
Chef Mommy by Beth Myler
Bragging Rights by Stacey Greenberg
Childcare Goddess by Stacey Greenberg

FERTILIZER
Our Children by Desha Kelly
As Mother by Ashley Harper
Book Review by Stacey Greenberg
Zine Reviews by Stacey Greenberg

RUTS INTO FURROWS
Nursery Design 101 by Elizabeth Adams
Family Bed by Stacey Greenberg and Warren Oster

Satchel's Homebirth

Satchel's Homebirth
Stacey Greenberg


You're my little potato
I dug you up
You come from underground
-Malcolm Dalglish



Saturday, April 20th, Warren and I slept in. When I got up I felt a very weird sensation. "Warren, I think I just peed on myself," I said. It seemed strange but I continued on with my morning rituals. Warren planned a motorcycle ride with Monty and I planned on going to Earth Day at the Shell. As I was tooling around getting ready, I had the sensation of peeing on myself several more times. I called one of my midwives, Martina, and asked, "What does it feel like when your water breaks?"

Martina arrived around noon and confirmed that my water had indeed broken. Yay! I knew it! Martina warned me that it might be a long labor and not to get too excited because I hadn't even had a contraction yet. She gave me some homeopathic pills to take and her cell phone number. "Don't start calling everyone," she said, "Your baby might not be here until tomorrow." I tried to stay calm but as soon as she left, I called my best friend. Next I called my mom. I made her promise not to tell anyone, but within minutes both my sisters knew. Oh well. My final call was to my good friend who is a practicing midwife in California. As we were talking I noticed that my lower back was really hurting.

It took about an hour or two of back pain for me to realize that what I was experiencing was the dreaded back labor. I called Martina to let her know and pulled out my birth ball. I sat on the birth ball in the livingroom, in the bedroom, and in the diningroom. I was starting to get uncomfortable. I called Warren, "Come home NOW," I said.

Once Warren came home we decided to get everything ready. He opened the closet and pulled out the stack of poster boards that my friends had decorated for me. They had funny pictures and encouraging messages on them (i.e. PUSH! Breathe. BLOW!). One by one he hung them on the wall facing my bed. Next, I got out some candles and put them under the posters along with the magic wands from Satchel's fairy godmothers. I was all set. But the baby was not. Warren started timing my contractions. They were anywhere from 2 minutes apart to 15 minutes. Warren made dinner, tofu stir fry, and I parked myself in front of the TV and tried to watch "Trading Spaces." It was hard to eat and even harder to keep up with the decorating. (Even though it was their first ever celebrity edition.) I called Martina and she came by at 9:30pm. She seemed pleased with my progress, but informed me that since I was still able to talk through my contractions that I still had a ways to go. She suggested that I try to sleep.

I tried, I really did. Poor Warren, every time he'd doze off and start to snore I'd wake him up by moaning or whining or something. By 1:00am I was beside myself and we were starting to get mad at each other. I was mad at him because he was sleepy and couldn't make the pain stop and he was mad at me because I was mad at him I guess. He called Martina and she said she'd be right over. She suggested that I get in the shower. I did immediately and it was the best shower ever. The hot water pouring down my back was heavenly. I must have stayed in at least 20 minutes because when I got out Martina was there. The rest of the night is fuzzy. Around 5:30am Martina thought it wouldn't be much longer so she called Kim and Casie, the other midwives. I remember Kim and Casie arriving and the sun coming up. I think Martina took a nap and Kim and Casie took turns rubbing my back, massaging my hands, encouraging me, etc. At 9:00am I told Warren he better call my mom and my best friend to let them know I was still trying to get the baby out. At this point the general theory was that the baby's head was turned the wrong direction, thus making it difficult to get out.

The afternoon is a blur of homeopathic pills, herbal tea, dried fruit, baths, wardrobe changes, hanging on my husband, hanging on each midwife, leaning against every wall in the house, and begging for more counter pressure on my back. Finally at 4:00pm, Martina decided I needed a change of scenery. I threw a maternity dress over my t-shirt and we headed out the front door for a walk. I put one arm around Casie and one arm around Martina and we made our way down the street. Every few minutes I would have to stop, hug one of them while the other pushed on my back, and push with all my might. Being the president of the neighborhood association and living across the street from a pretty crowded movie theater made me feel a bit self conscious, but I had no choice. I had to get the baby out. "Come on Bumpy," I said, "Come out." (I was calling him "Bumpy" because I was sure his head was going to be completely deformed from being lodged in my pelvis for so long.)

Back inside, I continued to push. I pushed on the toilet, in the bedroom, and in the diningroom. I remember that there were chux pads everywhere and that at some point I was no longer embarrassed to be standing up in my diningroom peeing on the floor. Every once in a while a big wave of amniotic fluid would spew out. Since I seemed to be still making progress, although slowly, the midwives made the decision to try more "drastic" measures. Without blinking, I agreed to an enema. Soon I was pooping in every room in the house and not giving it a second thought. The contractions were coming hard and the endorphins were flowing so that I could actually sleep between them.

It was all very surreal and other worldly. Immense pain and then total relaxation.

When the sun began to set I had a moment of despair. After all, I had seen the sun set once already. I looked at Martina and asked her if she really thought I was going to get this baby out. She said yes. Then I looked at Casie. "You're doing great," she said. And Kim said, "Stacey, you are going to have your baby today." Then I burst into tears. I think for the first time in 30 hours it finally dawned on me that I WAS going to have a baby. I also realized that it wasn't just going to happen. I was going to have to work. Warren and I got on the bed and I sat between his legs like I had seen on all the birth videos and pushed with each contraction. Martina had her hands inside me, pulling my pubic bones apart, doing everything in her power to get the baby out. After a few contractions like that, they decided that a new position was in order. I got on all fours, another birth video position that I swore I'd never replicate. I felt too self conscious and decided to squat at the foot of the bed with Casie's support. I felt like I was in a scene from The Red Tent. I pushed from somewhere buried inside me. Deep guttural, almost animal like noises, came from within me. Loud noises. Noises I soon had no control over. My body was pushing out my baby and I was merely providing the soundtrack.

Kim was holding my legs apart and Martina was still pushing my pelvic bones apart and every time she pulled her hands out I thought it was the baby. Everyone was telling me how great I was doing and how close the baby was, but I didn't believe them until I noticed Kim frantically getting her things in order. With my next push, the baby's head crowned. Kim held up a mirror and told me to look. I took a quick glance, but I wanted to see my whole baby. I closed my eyes and started pushing ferociously. Then I finally felt the "ring of fire". It was the best feeling in the whole world because I knew it was my baby's head and not Martina's hands. I pushed hard one more time and his whole little body came out. Before I knew it, he was in my arms. He looked strangely familiar, or just like I thought he should look. I did it. I really did it. And yes, I'd do it again.

Breast Buddies

Breast Buddies
Stacey Greenberg


I often wondered how I was ever going to deal with a very small someone sucking on one or both of my nipples on a regular basis. Throughout my pregnancy I didn’t want anyone or anything NEAR my breasts. I was seriously worried. Luckily my best friend, Marlinee, was breastfeeding her daughter and assured me that I would be able to do it. She even said it would feel good, “like peeing.” (Or rather, like peeing after having held it for a long time.)

I had a bit of difficulty getting started. Satchel was quite content to nurse on the left side, but not on the right. This caused my right breast to get painfully engorged when my milk came in. I thought my breast would explode with a big, milky bang and then I would die. I cried and Warren didn’t know how to help so he hollered at me for giving away all the free formula we got in the mail. Amy, one of my midwives, was coming over soon and I was trying to hold it together. In the middle of this Marlinee called to see how I was doing. I tried to tell her I was in nursing hell, failing miserably as a mom, and slowly going blind from the pain emanating from my nipples, but I couldn’t form any words through my sobs. She said, “I’ll be right over with my pump,” and hung up.

Before I knew it, Amy was massaging one breast and Marlinee was pumping the other. The hard knots were gone, the pressure was relieved, and best of all, the pump got my nipple to perk up enough for Satchel to latch on. It may not sound like much, but Amy and Marlinee saved me. I was at the point where I didn’t think breastfeeding was working out for me. Without them, I might have given up.

Each time I nursed it got a little easier. I kept Lansinoh in reach and learned to relax. I filled my bra with cabbage leaves, took lots of hot showers, and pumped to relieve some of the pressure. Now I can honestly say that breastfeeding doesn’t feel good, it feels wonderful.

Sleep

Sleep
Stacey Greenberg


We have a family bed.

It’s a double.

No, not a queen, a double.

Cosleeping translated into an all night titty bar for Satchel when I started back at work. Inexplicably, my husband started snoring with a vengeance. Since giving birth seven months ago, with the rare exception, I haven’t slept for more than 2-4 hours uninterrupted. And really if you count the last 5 months of my pregnancy when I was peeing every half hour, I could bump that up to a year. A year. I always loved sleep, and damn I miss it. I keep telling myself that I slept plenty in college and in the Peace Corps so I should suck it up, but so far it isn’t working.

Poop

Poop
Stacey Greenberg


I spend an amazing amount of time thinking about Satchel’s poop. Just ask my friends.

One of the first things Satchel did was poop. A nice, round ebony turd. When he was under 3 months old and purely breastfed, his poop required little thought. It was a given. He was going to squirt out some mustard several times a day with the occasional split pea soup and/or canned spinach offerings. Every diaper was a dirty diaper. (They weren’t stinky though, which was a nice little bonus.)

Around 5 months when Satchel started eating solids, his poop started stressing me out. He stopped going several times a day and only went once or twice a week. This took its toll on the poor guy, and we had a few really rough nights. The first time he went four entire days without pooping I very nearly became obsessed.

Satchel’s first “adult like” poop happened at 7 months. Warren was getting the bath ready and I began cheering Satchel on when I saw his “poop face”. When I undressed him I saw a little brown ball in his diaper. Since it was actually solid I figured that was it. We went ahead with our regularly scheduled program. As usual, Warren stood Satchel up in his little inflatable tub so he could pee over the side. Instead, a little brown “snake” flew out of his bootie into his bath. Hysteria ensued. What was that? What do we do? How do we get it out? (Think pool scene in “Caddy Shack.”)

I came to the rescue by fishing the “snake” out with my bare hands and wrestling it into the toilet. We had barely recovered from the actuality of this when we realized round three was coming. Warren swiftly transferred Satchel from the tub to the potty and before we knew it, he pooped in the potty. We were so proud. So happy. So excited!

Our enthusiasm waned however when Satchel burst into tears. I think the whole thing was a bit much for him.

Snot

Snot
Marlinee Iverson

I remember the child-haters talking about "snot nosed kids" as an euphemism for obnoxious kids. I used to wonder: “Why do kids walk around with snotty noses all the time anyway? Can't they figure it out? Doesn't it bother them?” The answers are: Because they are at peace with their snot. No. And no.

Mamas are consumed with snot. I quickly learned though that I needed to get over my snot hang-ups. I needed to appreciate it; That nice, warm, sticky, multi-colored goo. My little girl is at the point where she can tell just when I'm about to fall back on my old snot-hating habits. She notices me looking carefully at her nose. She starts waving her arms and turning her head. When she sees a Kleenex or washcloth in my hand, the wailing starts and I think, “So if I do it, I better get it goooood, because there's not going to be a second chance.” When I get it, I feel a little better until I see the look of betrayal on her face as she scampers away with fresh tears and fresh snot running down her face.

Beauty is a Hairless Dog

Beauty is a Hairless Dog
Ashley Harper


I already have the only publicity photo of myself I will ever need. Candid, or seemingly so; in a natural setting, the kitchen. My son swings loose in his Snuggly, infant's puff of hair dusted with flour, eyes beatific, adoring. I am rolling out dough for biscuits, a recipe with scallions, dill and a whole cup of plain yogurt. I am tanned from playing outside with my children. Never mind that the tan is a trick of light, the biscuits tasted of dust and wild onions or that though you can't see it, my son is sucking a pacifier half-way down his throat, waiting for me to hang up the Snuggly and nurse him for the 48th time that afternoon. But it is a photo of how I wanted things to be, how I was convinced they could be if I would try a little bit harder. To stay awake, to invent games for my four year old, to cook a decent meal that a meat loving man, a vegetarian and a hot dogaholic would all enjoy. It is all there in the parenting magazines, how to "make time for yourself" and play Barbies at the same exact moment, how to "put the romance back in your marriage" and still maintain a family bed. Apparently it's even possible to feel like you're doing a good job, when you most emphatically are not.

In the bookstore where I worked I would pour over the medical texts to find out what effects Prozac would have on a nursing infant, or Valium, maybe a half bottle of red wine. I never found the exact information I was looking for, which would read something like, "Go ahead. Take whatever you need to make it until the next day." And some days I have, nothing too drastic, nothing to really pickle the breastmilk or make it too thin to freeze in five ounce bags. In motherhood I have found my daily fare to be replete with guilt, a guilt so preoccupying that I am sure mood altering drugs were invented by and for mothers. Forget the men sitting nobly around the campfire smoking the ceremonial pipe or sipping the bitter hallucinogenic broth. What were the mothers doing, back in the huts with their ailing children, animal pelts to sew, seeds and nuts to pound, cloth to slap against the river stones? I don't suppose it's necessary to have a linen closet to have a secret stash.

Lately I find myself hypersensitive to these moments that you might say have meaning, covetous of the stuff of memory that you can hold up as evidence of life's light and better moments. But since these moments when I feel confident in my parenting choices fail to appear very often, I ache for comic relief. That's why I was so very thrilled last Sunday when driving home from the Olive Park in San Isidro, Lima, we saw a man riding a bike slowly in heavy traffic. He was balancing a full plastic bag on one handle bar and holding a Peruvian hairless dog (or a Chinese hairless dog, depending on who you're talking to) under the other arm. At first this dog looked like a really smooth Dachshund. And of course there is really nothing that special, that Peruvian or other-worldly about seeing this guy, but being here and floundering to remember why you make decisions like moving to South America, seeing him and his dog becomes one of the little experiences in life that they make desk calendars about. I almost think I have seen the exact same vision in Memphis, except maybe a guy wheeling out of the Piggly Wiggly parking lot with a Basset, instead of this hairless pup on a boulevard. Instead of the silently appreciative nod I might give the man and his Basset, I was unusually tickled at the sight of this fellow and his dog in Lima traffic. I mean, I would have thought it was a really smooth Dachshund like I said, if my husband had not said, "Oh my God, that's one of those Peruvian hairless dogs!" I was already adding just knowing that there is a Peruvian hairless dog to my growing list of "things that will make me look more worldly when we move back to the US". As in, "Yeah, my son really wants to get a dog." "Oh?" I might say, "like maybe a Peruvian hairless dog?" But I don't know, where else am I going to find meaningful experience? Of course I suppose to continue in this vein we would have to continue moving every few years so that we can see Australian cattle dogs being balanced on bicycles, or maybe an English bulldog. If we moved to Germany I might be able to have some sort of psychedelic expatriate deja vu if I actually did see a really smooth Dachshund under someone's arm. I don't suppose this is the exact spiritual awakening I was hoping I might find by putting myself under the stressful circumstances of moving my family to Peru, but it may be a beginning.

It reminds me of driving back into Midtown Memphis from the Arcade Restaurant one evening and driving past this little microcosmic project where there were these young kids jumping on a filthy old mattress and hurling tin cans into piles of old tires with bats of PVC piping, and my husband and I just sort of looked at each other, recognizing that the scene, for us, was very out of context; beautiful in a chilling sort of way. Of course, I know you don't have to be in Haiti to see something like that, but it doesn't diminish the spectacularity of the vision, the fact that in dire circumstances, it?s sometimes possible to heave yourself on top of it all and enjoy the chaotic view for a time.

Not that I am one to see the beauty in all things. I see plenty that has not a smidgen of the good stuff. In fact it seems that it is an American eccentricity to look on the bright side. Others smirk at the optimistic varnish we tend to slop over the most atrocious of events, the ridiculously passive idea that all's for the best or at least for some higher plan. Of course I don't have much to offer in place of blind optimism. When the wolf makes his way into daily life, I imagine there is often little more defense than to remark on the glimmering sheen of his coat and the porcelain beauty of his teeth.

Here in Lima, where toddlers eat overripe bananas in the sunburned medians of filthy avenues while their older siblings hock everything from bottled water and peanuts to wooden hat racks and pirated Celine Dion CDs, I am hoping to shake the nasty habit of chalking it all up to the not-so-grand scheme of things. In a city of over eight million people where at least one third of that number live in squatter settlements, the smell of burning garbage, settles down into the suburbs each morning like poison dew. I suppose there are those among us who don't quite know where to look for comfort other than to reach up into thin air. Unfortunately we can only get so far with handfuls of hydrogen and oxygen, and the mysterious atmospheric gases that allow us to come up with ideas like, "Well, perhaps if she had worked a little harder at school, she wouldn't have to put her kids to work in the streets." The blessed luck that keeps my own children out of the streets has awakened me to the severity of circumstance for the rest. But I suppose if a dog on a bike can dull the edge even a little, then God bless his little hairless heart.

A Chance Meeting

A Chance Meeting
Amie Nguyen


While I was shopping at the grocery store an older lady stopped to see Lucy and she asked if she was my first. (Everyone asks and their jaws drop when I say she's my third.) To my surprise instead of making some rude comment about me having too many kids (when I still want more), she said, "Well you ought to stop at ten. I was the tenth child and I am the only one left." She proceeded to tell me all about her mom’s life and how she homebirthed them all and the only time she went to the hospital was to die. She cried. I was so sad, but happy at the same time. It was wonderful to meet her. I felt compelled to ask her to lunch or something but I refrained. Now I wished I had. She was lovely. I had no idea (after telling her about my great grandma who is 96) that she is 89! The woman is still living with her husband, grocery shopping, and driving! Wow. I want to look and function like that when I am her age.

Chef Mommy

Chef Mommy
Beth Myler


If anyone doesn't believe that their toddlers run the show, listen to this. We just went through a terrible GI virus with Gabriel (15 months) over Thanksgiving. He wouldn't eat anything! He had diarrhea and was puking for almost a week. Even though I knew he was nauseous and clearly his body was telling him NOT to eat, I couldn't keep myself from trying to shove food/drink down his throat every half hour or so.

Even though, as a nurse, I knew that dehydration was the main concern and he was nursing as often as I would let him, and taking water too, I was irrationally desperate to get some calories in him, anyway. It seemed to me that he was wasting away before my eyes (ribs and skinny arms that I hadn't noticed before).

He is so verbal now that he repeats like everything that I say. So I would offer an item of food...noodles?? And he would say, "Yeah, nood," and smile like he wanted it. So I would cook the noodles, the whole time gleefully anticipating his eating the food. I put it in front of him and he put out his hand and pushed the food away firmly saying, "No, no mama," as if he changed his mind. This was not the thing he wanted.

Ever persistent, I would offer the next favorite item, "Egg??" and he would again smile and say eagerly, "Y-egggggg!" He even clapped his little hands and jumped up and down excitedly. The perfect scrambled eggs, with milk and a little pepper, would arrive in front of him and he stuck out that little hand and said, "No-no!"

Again, and again.
Me: "Cracker??"
Him: "Crack!!!!!"
"Cheese??"
"Chee!!!"
"Avocado???"
"Cado!!!!"

But when I produced the item always, "No, no, Mama!!!"

He thoroughly enjoyed playing me for the fool and by the end, I had a highchair tray (and a floor) full of rejected food, a few more gray hairs, and he still had an empty belly and a smile!

When I did get a bite of something in him, I would feel victorious until he usually ended up puking it up anyway. When the virus ran its course and he was no longer nauseous, I guess, he started reaching for food again and all is back to normal. I have made a vow NEVER to ignore his protests again. If he won't eat, it
must be for a valid reason, and probably much to the dismay of Gabriel, I won't be performing my Chef Mommy routine again.

Bragging Rights

Bragging Rights
Stacey Greenberg

This is a laundry list of cool things that my hubby has done lately that I feel are worth bragging about!

• Subconsciously dressed himself and Satchel in matching outfits on more than one occasion.

• Caught a rat with his bare hands before it ran into the bedroom where Satchel was sleeping.

• Vacuumed on more than one occasion.

• Made smoothies every morning, sandwiches every afternoon, and homecooked meals every night.

• Gave/Took a bath with Satchel every night for three months.

• Continued to shower the dogs with love, treats, and trips to the park after Satchel’s birth.

• Instead of constantly asking me, “Where’s Olive?” (our cat) he constantly asked, “Did you check Satchel? Is he breathing?”

• Took the afternoon off of work to take me on a date (sushi and a movie) while Satchel was at school.

• Mastered Photoshop.

• Spent two nights making the perfect manicotti for my (pregnant) best friend’s birthday.

Childcare Goddess

Childcare Goddess
Stacey Greenberg



Katy is a childcare goddess. If it weren’t for her there’s no way I could have rejoined the workforce after giving birth. Katy runs a childcare service out of her midtown home. She has about 6 regular kids and makes taking care of them look not only easy, but fun.

She loves Satchel almost as much as I do. She holds him, hugs him, rocks him to sleep, introduces him to new and exciting things, feeds him, changes his diapers, takes him on walks, plays with him, and truly appreciates him.

Katy has her own language. A “noozie” is a nap, a “shoo-shoo” is a bowel movement, and “he’s so _______, it hurts my feelings,” is the highest compliment.

She is constantly rearranging and redecorating her house. She is a great listener, has excellent taste in books, and knows every one of her neighbors.

Katy has a wall specifically for writing things down–song lyrics, quotes, children’s measurements, and maybe even a grocery list or two. She doesn’t watch television and she reads the Wall Street Journal.

Katy is not only a childcare goddess, she is a mother, a daughter, a sister, a teacher, and a friend. My friend.

Our Children

Our Children
Desha Kelly


he said our children would want a water park
instead of some deserted beach
a pirate island for snorkeling
could be private property
dangerous
laced with spies
boring
coral under the feet
painful
the water park with its chain link
DO NOT signs
lifeguards and Pepsi
legal and commercial
manufacturing smiles and chlorine
the occasional fatality
keeping it just real enough
I could have said I wonder what our children would choose
I wonder what they would love
instead I said nothing
have none

As Mother

As Mother
Ashley Harper

She is visited by cataclysmic possibility
at inopportune moments--
at birthday parties, shoe stores,
orthodontist appointments.
Her body covertly plots to expose
the frail heart, like a victim of disease.
Adrenaline is slipped into her cereal, anxiety
dosed out in her eggs.

Slapping at worry, the persistent fly,
she clings to the curb like an apron string.
Carpool, the roiling mass of arms and heads,
her daughter’s lost there somewhere.

As mother, she finds her body
the heart’s ventriloquist. The lumbar
vertebrae grinding under the heft of her
sleeping girl; her legs turned aqueous at
a siren, the heart rising and dropping
in the airless spaces of worry.

Rallying, she enlists the senses,
consoles herself with the reward of a child’s
crying mouth on the neck,
the soft valley at the skull’s base,
the smell of sweat and pea gravel,
wet footprints on the bathmat,
their dry and absent instep.

Book Review: Super Baby Food by Ruth Yaron

Book Review: Super Baby Food by Ruth Yaron
Stacey Greenberg


Super Baby Food is not a book that can possibly be read from front to back and like my friend Julie says, “[The author’s] cross referencing will drive you mad.” However, I have found this book to be incredibly useful (and a little scary). Once I realized that I didn’t have to boil every object in my kitchen on a daily basis for Ruth to love me, I happily began making my own baby food. I have gained a Martha Stewart type of satisfaction from doing this. Making the food is quite simple and requires basic skills like boiling and grinding. I usually spend a few hours each month making a few batches and freezing them in ice cube trays. Once they are frozen, I pop the cubes out and put them in freezer bags. We just started making the “Super Porridge” which is a huge hit.

I believe that I am not only saving money, but I am starting Satchel off on the right foot. People are somewhat amazed that my darling boy is wolfing down avocado, tofu, and prunes. (Marlinee is also using the Super Baby Food system and I am amazed that her precious little girl is slurping up kelp, nutritional yeast, and lentils!) Super Baby Food also offers some handy tips like washing your kitchen garbage can in the tub once a week (yeah, right!) and the proper distance to keep between you and your blender. There are some REALLY useful tips too, like freezing water in baby bottle nipples to make teething popsicles (very cool!).

Marlinee, Julie, and I are all using this system and our children’s ages range from 7 months to 19 months of age. The Super Baby Food book is something you can and will use for a long time. So I do recommend this book, but I also recommend that you take it with a grain of salt. Don’t try to read it all in one sitting, and by all means get to know your local natural food store and it’s products.

Zine Reviews

Zine Reviews
Stacey Greenberg


The East Village Inky is the “mother” of all mothering zines. Ayun Halliday writes and draws about life in New York with two kids. She also has an awesome book called The Big Rumpus that is hilarious and a must read for moms. To find out more, go to www.ayunhalliday.com

The Edgy Catin Mama is a feminist homeschooling zine. Please read this before deciding you know anything about homeschooling! To subscribe send $8 to Nina Packebush, 1102 Hiatt Ct., Sultan, WA 98294.

Esperanza: A Zine Where Hope Springs Maternal is created by a budding writer and mama to twins who shares my passion for the perfect slice of pizza. #2 should be done by the time you read this. To get a copy send an email to Esperanzazine@yahoo.com!

Miranda: Motherhood and other Adventures is a zine by a Portland, Oregon mama who is a former Peace Corps volunteer with a literary flair. I especially love Miranda’s reviews and reading lists. To find out more, check out www.mirandazine.com

Placenta Zine is a punk rock vegan parenting zine by another one of my online mama friends. Issue #1 includes the most romantic birth story ever! Email placentazine@yahoo.com for more details!

Zuzu and the Babycatcher is my new favorite zine. (Because I secretly want to be a midwife!) It is completely hand drawn and hilarious. You must order this zine! Check out www.emeraldgiant.com/babycatcher for more info.

Nursery Design 101

Nursery Design 101
Elizabeth Adams



When we found out we were pregnant, I immediately set to work on creating the perfect new space for our first baby. I mean immediately - with First Response stick still in hand I reached for my sketch pad. But I knew "perfect" would come with some limitations. The remaining spare bedroom of our new house is pretty small, so I had to maximize storage space and minimize the accumulation of decorative "stuff," and we had already committed a lot of money to refinished other parts of the house. So I had to make some choices on where to spend the big bucks and where to do some serious bargain shopping.

Thank goodness for the Internet. I found 90% of my nursery décor on the Web, and was able to easily compare prices and designs and find inspiration along the way. Some pregnancy magazines and web sites also gave me some good hints. Don't forget to tap your best resources - friends and relatives with babies. They've already done a lot of the legwork for you.

The first decision I made was the crib set (fitted crib sheet, bumpers, crib skirt and blanket). This would be the basis for the theme of the nursery. Although I already knew I didn't want a nursery dripping in pink or covered with dinosaurs, I didn't know the sex of our baby when I set out. So I looked for a theme that could be enhanced with masculine or feminine touches later in the process. I selected the "Sir Leaps-a-Lot" crib linens from Wendy Bellissimo. These didn't come cheap (my husband is still working through his sticker shock), but the detail was beautiful, from the embroidered frog prince and princess leaping for a kiss on the bumpers to the lavender chenille ties and embroidered, two layer crib skirts.

I based the paint scheme on the colors of the crib linens, choosing a very pale yellow for the walls, and a lavender accent for the shelves. For an external water pipe that runs floor-to-ceiling, I used the yellow and lavender paint to create a "maypole" that adds some interest to the room. To paint the ceiling I used a sea sponge and a very pale blue to mimic the sky and added some wallpaper clouds that I found on Pottery Barn Kids. I found a nice, inexpensive curtain with a yellow windowpane design at Target.

Now that I had my frog prince/princess theme, I kept my eyes open when browsing children's websites and stores for items that would compliment it. My mom spotted our "castle" storage unit on-line at Land of Nod, which is owned by Crate & Barrel and is full of good stuff. She purchased it for us as an early baby shower present. It allows us to stack, hang and stuff baby clothes and other items as we see fit. I bought some wicker baskets to hold blankets and miscellaneous items from Ikea, and got wooden baby hangers with little frog heads to hang clothes from the top shelf at The Container Store.

The giant stuffed frog prince I found at The Company Kids Store, a division of The Company Store. My husband was afraid this oversized amphibian would scare the daylights out of our child, so I did a test-run on a friend's one year old and he thought it was the best thing he'd ever seen. At this web site I found frog and crown drawer pulls, which I used to replace the plain wood knobs that came with the baby's dresser to give it more personality. Also at The Company Kids Store I purchased a lavender pillow with a silk-screened crowned frog that says "Just One Kiss." Perfect to toss on the rocking chair. At a local boutique I snagged a little hand-painted canvas that features a frou-frou pink dress with the words underneath "You be the frog. I'll be the princess." (By this time I knew we were having a girl, so I was free to add some girlie touches - if it had turned out to be a boy, we had a framed poster from my husband's family of a little boy peeing into a lake with a frog crawling up on shore coughing. Luckily it wasn't a boy.).

Next came the hunt for a changing table and/or a dresser. Since I was limited in storage space, I wanted drawers. I also wanted a piece of furniture that wouldn't be rendered obsolete after the child outgrew the need to be diapered. I looked for a dresser with a removable changing top, and found one for $250 from a manufacturer in Canada, Forever Mine. They delivered to our front door for a very reasonable price based on our location in the US. I picked white, so that I could easily match it with other pieces that I would buy later. It arrived, as promised, within a couple weeks.

The crib was our final purchase for the nursery, and my husband wanted to have some say in this. So together we marched off to Buy Buy Baby, a mega-store that has everything from pacifiers to gliders to pregnancy pillows. He had something particular in mind for the crib, which was, as it turns out, for it to be as simple and streamlined as possible - and inexpensive. Since cribs can climb into the thousands of dollars, we did pretty well for our nice model at $350, and a mid/upper level mattress at $150. Make sure you order in advance, our crib took the full 12 weeks to arrive after we ordered it.

My husband again chipped in on the nursery prep, this time with elbow grease. He fit the very deep and very narrow nursery closet with pull-out coated metal bins he bought at Home Depot and two hanging rods. It was a perfect cheap solution to having shelves custom-built for an awkward and unfinished closet.

Final touches included finding shades for our antique ceiling fixture for $22, a colorful braided area chenille rug and the mosquito netting for a wispy envelope for the crib from Pier 1. I found an old mirror and refinished the wood frame with the same lavender paint I used on the shelves, and had white cushions made for the rocking chair, where I'll most likely be clocking in many, many hours later this spring. And finally, my mother's childhood Dr. Seuss books, which I read every
time I visited my grandmother's house as a child, are now sitting on the shelves, waiting for our daughter's turn to enjoy.

I think the key to surviving and actually enjoying decorating the nursery is that I started early - although you may want to put down your pregnancy test and tell your partner first, unlike me. I took my time in finding the right pieces for the right prices, and I now have a unique nursery that suits our tastes and worked on our budget. Now that I'm approaching my due date I'm free to focus on the fun stuff, like swollen feet, sciatica and getting pummeled from the inside by my baby's kicks and elbow jabs.

Family Bed

Family Bed
Stacey Greenberg & Warren Oster