Since I like being honest (or whatever) with you guys I wanted to let you know that I originally wrote this post in April for Deep South Moms but that blog is defunct which means, well, nothing to me. All I’m saying is that this isn’t NEW content unless you’ve never read it before. Then it’s new to you.

When I was pregnant I spent countless hours browsing baby registries and reading product reviews to make sure I selected the perfect things for my angel.

NO. NOT REALLY.

Instead of doing that I was probably reading chick lit and stuffing my face with pita bread and hummus.

Again, just kidding. I craved cheeseburgers.

I didn’t want a crib. The baby could sleep in a dresser drawer. We registered for a pack ‘n play so why the hell did we need a crib? It appeared to me that most baby related products were unnecessary. Do you really need a diaper wipe warmer? NO. Do you need a bottle sanitizer? NO. I nursed my daughter so I didn’t even need bottles! A Boppy? Really? Couldn’t I just use a pillow?

As for the stroller and car seat? FORGET IT. My niece was only sixteen months older than her cousin-to-be so we would be getting her hand-me-down car seat. A friend of mine whose oldest child was five had a stroller she no longer needed so she gave it to us. Sure, the stroller was kind of ugly and needed to be cleaned. But it had wheels and a place for the baby to sit or lay down.

And did I mention it was free?

I would bundle her up, lay her in the stroller and push her around the block as she fell asleep. It was magical. I would pass other moms pushing their babies in their fancy BOB and Quinny strollers while I was rolling around with this rickety old stroller and I felt a little embarrassed. It was hard to steer and you could forget about pushing it with one hand. I wanted to kick my own ass for not getting a new stroller when we actually had two incomes and could afford it. Since I chose to be a frugal jerk I was stuck with this navy blue plaid monstrosity that my daughter didn’t even like sitting in.

The stroller is to a mom what a car is to a guy. It’s a status symbol. What was I saying to the world with my stroller?

I’d had enough. I was uncomfortable and hated using the stroller and I am pretty sure that my kiddo hated it too. When our tax refund arrived I waited exactly thirty seconds for the check to clear before I hopped online and started looking for strollers. I created a must-have list – the handle had to be high enough so that my husband could comfortably push it, it needed a large storage compartment and I needed a damn cup holder! I ogled the ritzy ones that I knew were out of my price range. Can’t a girl window shop?

I found the one that was perfect and made my purchase. It arrived on my doorstep a few days later and once my husband assembled it we took it for a test drive.

It was the best walk EVER. I didn’t feel like a loser pushing a piece of crap stroller. I felt like a mom. Like SUPERMOM. I looked like I knew what I was doing. I looked put together. Maybe I’m materialistic (I know I am) but I actually enjoyed taking my daughter for a walk and she liked it too. My thirteen month old actually fell asleep while I was pushing her in the new hotness. I was amazed. I wanted to hug my new stroller.

But what would the neighbors say!?

Oh Netflix.

You have changed my life in ways even I cannot fully comprehend.

I love you, Netflix. I can watch every season of Weeds on my laptop while my husband watches (boring ass) anime on the TV. We can even watch something together if we can ever agree.Your instant play feature is GENIUS. I haven’t even watched the DVD that arrived a week ago.

I love how you are compatible with our Wii. I was already in love with the Wii but you have taken my love to another level.

Netflix, if you were a man you would be the man of my dreams. I love you unconditionally.

Except that your instant play feature doesn’t offer all of your movies which is bullshit. Work on it. Then you’ll be perfect.

Sure, I may have watched more television in the past week than I have in the past month. But thanks to your wide and varied selection I have watched a lot of documentaries. Netflix, you are making me smarter.

Oh Netflix, I can’t quit you.

Love,

Lauren

It seems like everyone I know is either pregnant or trying to conceive and I am so happy for them. Babies are AWESOME. I should know; I have one and she fucking rocks.

Jacob and I are planning to start trying for baby number two in March after Avery’s birthday. That way our kiddos will be around three years apart and in my opinion that seems like a good plan. But what do I know?

I am working on making myself healthy so that I can handle a 100% natural birth. This means that I am losing weight (I am!) and getting into shape. I am eating healthier. Taking vitamins. Practicing yoga. I am also researching birthing centers and midwives and looking for a place/midwife (MW) that will perform a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean).

That last part? Finding a midwife to do a VBAC? That will be the hardest task to check off of my list. And it fucking blows.

I visited a birthing center today that appeared to be very crunchy. Once the midwife was available for our scheduled tour I asked her, “Do you guys perform VBAC”? The answer? “Not anymore but I wish we still did.”

What the hell does that mean? Did a mother die during a VBAC at the birthing center? I doubt it. I should have asked why they no longer do them but I was silently panicking about my next birth. I pictured a sterile hospital with my lower half behind a sheet and needles. I wanted to cry in the waiting room of this lovely birthing center but I held back. The midwife kept the tour short- a woman had just arrived and was apparently ready to have a baby. She looked beautiful: tall, healthy, sipping what I imagined was some all natural tea out of a SONIC cup. She was doing what I want to do. I felt jealous. Before leaving the center the midwife suggested that I find a lay midwife because they are more likely to perform VBACs. What, you ask, is a lay midwife?

An UNCERTIFIED midwife. Yeah. Someone who isn’t licensed or certified. Yeah, that’s great. Thanks.

She had the best of intentions but I was vulnerable. It hurt. I don’t think she meant to push me out of the door or make me feel like what I want for my future births is unreasonable. It still stung.

I came home and Googled and found another birthing center in the metroplex and called them up. And smiled. They perform VBAC’s! Victory!! I cannot wait to find out more about this birthing center. It gives me hope.

What disappoints me is that midwives are the last frontier for women taking control of their bodies and their births and yet they won’t perform VBAC’s. They fight for women to birth naturally but once a woman has a cesarean they turn their backs? A midwife can talk a good game but will she actually back up all of that talk with practice?

I am not attacking midwives. I love midwives. What they offer women is a choice. A choice to take back control of our bodies. And how can I hate that? I believe in choice. I just don’t get it. Help me understand.

EDIT: Added, well, soon after this post was published:

I am not blaming midwives. I am not saying that they don’t want to do VBAC’s or are refusing just because. I am wondering what is tying their hands? Insurance reasons? Legal? Didn’t some new law or guidelines come out saying that VBAC’s are actually a good thing and should not be discouraged?

I am looking for answers. So let’s find them together.

I want to write a quick “what happened at BlogHer” post and I think that a bulletted list will be adequate for now. I will get deep about a few things but that will occur later. Because I’m fucking tired.

• My roommates Sue and Fadra are amazing bitches who made me feel included. It felt like we had all known each other for years instead of just, well, minutes.
• Speaking of being comfortable with each other, the first time I met Fadra I was in my skivvies and she asked if she could hug me. I fucking love you, Fay-dra.
• Restaurants in New York are worth the money so shut the fuck up about the price of shit.
• I never got tired of talking about my hair to random people in the elevator.
• My hair, by the way, was how most of my online friends found me in the massive crowds. Without it I would have blended in which would have been totally lame.
• I met everyone that I wanted to meet.
• I walked through Times Square a few times but never at night. Tourist fail.
• In fact, I didn’t do any sight-seeing. I walked alone to Central Park but got to the entrance and turned around so I wouldn’t get lost.
• I bought souvenirs for everyone but myself.
• I met and became fast friends with Melysa who officially kicks major ass.
• BarHer was a huge success. So huge, in fact, that fucking MaryMac even showed up. And almost fell out of a window while dancing with the co-hostess with the biggest and sexiest hair Melissa.
• I don’t think I learned how to be a better writer or blogger but the two sessions I attended were hilarious.
• I drank a $15 cocktail at the hotel bar.
• I stained the shower curtain in our hotel room’s bathroom with my hair dye.
• I ordered a $20 plate of French fries from room service. Yes I did. At 2am. And I didn’t share.
• I wore my flip flops at BarHer. My heels are raw and blistered from the poor choice of footwear that I packed and my feet needed a break.
• JEGGINGS.
• There were moments when I felt lonely but I have no one to blame but myself.
• Mother fucking Sparklecorn. I was beckoned onto the dance floor by none other than Shauna Glenn. I am a huge fan of her writing and that bitch actually lives close to me. I’m thinking that I will tweet her til she agrees to have drinks with me. Or something else less creepy.
• I snagged my very own Shut Your Whore Mouth shirt from Aunt Becky. We are BFF now.
• I actually handed out my business card and talked to people I didn’t know.
• I am pretty sure that I said mean things about Adam’s ex-wife when I saw him at CheeseburgHer.
• Did I mention that I drank A LOT?
• I hugged Gavin DeGraw. I have yet to track down a photo of it but it totally happened.
• New York is better than Dallas.
• I received some groovy swag but some of you lucky bitches got blu-ray players and jeans and I’m not even jealous.

So that’s a really fucking lame run-down of my weekend. Basically it was a vodka fueled friendship happy fest that I would be stupid if I didn’t do again next year.

Unless I get pregnant. I won’t go to BlogHer if I’m preggers. It’s just not fair.