a birthday discovery

My kid is a genius. Today, on his one week birthday, he discovered his hands. Hands! Hands are so cool. Who knew we had such amazing appendages?

Of course, he can't yet consistently insert his hand into his mouth. But rather than frustrating him, this just means that every time his hand makes it somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth, it's time for rapt contemplation of the miracle that just occurred, followed by estatic chewing on the newly discovered hands.

I must remember to appreciate my hands more.

thank you

Thanks to all of you for all the good wishes! I love reading all your comments and blog posts. Everything is going well. Every day I learn something new about my boy. It's wonderful.

I am behind on my blog reading, a state which I suspect will continue for some time. I've re-evaluated my reading sources in terms of what can be managed with a single hand:

Laptop: Bad.
Web-enabled cell phone: Good.
Newspaper: Bad.
Magazines: Good.
The Daily Show: Good

I missed a week of news, an unusual state for me since I usually keep up pretty well. After a full week, the news was exactly the same when I finally checked. Florida has been devastated by a hurricane, the economy is faltering or recovering (pick your political party), and the situation in Iraq is deteriorating. I could have just re-used last week's headlines.

birthday celebration

It is now 6:56 pm, and my son is exactly four days old.

He was born at 6:56 pm on September 23. He's a strong, tall kid, weighing in at 10 pounds, 2 ounces and 22 inches in length, far above the average. He's healthy and happy (and so am I).

peace

I am sitting at home, sharing a celebratory glass of Chianti with my husband. The cats are sprawled on the floor, bellied up to the afternoon sun.

We're listening to Bedtime with the Beatles, which is surprisingly good. My Beatles-loving husband approves.

My newborn son, Nathaniel, is asleep on my chest. Every so often he lets out a mew of contentment.

Motherhood is sublime.

a truism

Practice exams are good. They help you prepare.

But when the moment of truth comes, they are nothing like the real thing.

Wish me luck. I'll be back in a few days.

In labor,

T.

the name game

Waiting is tough, though I'm doing much better now that I've realized that the contractions I've been having for three weeks don't mean OH MY GOD IT'S STARTING NOW. That was a little mentally challenging. Now I'm not trapped in the house any more, because I don't believe the hype.

Plus the heat wave has broken. I have never been so happy to reach the end of a heat wave in my entire life.

All the freed mental cycles leave me time to ruminate on names. We have not decided on a name. We have a short list, but we're going to wait until we see him.

So I find this website incredibly entertaining these days. Snarky name comments like this one bring me joy.

I am 7 months pregnant, and I am having a boy. I think i'm going to name my son Kakinston ,, What do you think... ??

Besides sounding like a former Central Asian Soviet republic bordering Uzbekistan, it aids small bullies immensely starting the kid's name with KACK.

casual conversation

I ran into a woman while visiting one of the local kids furniture stores. She noted how pregnant I was and asked when I was due. She told me about her kids. I mentioned I was in law school.

"So, I take it you're going to work." She was blunt.

"Well," I said, "I'm in law school now, though on a leave of absence. But I'm definitely going back."

"Oh," she said, "then you'll work afterwards?"

I shrugged. "I like law, and nobody is going to pay the bills for us."

"I was a lawyer," she announced, "but I couldn't do it. I quit."

"Mmmmph." I tried to be as non-committal as possible.

She continued on, talking about how involved she was in her children's school, about her daily life, about how she didn't miss law, and about how she didn't know how "those other women," presumably women who did not do exactly as she did, manage.

I eventually extricated myself. There was nothing I could add to the conversation. I don't even have a kid outside the womb yet, just a baby who has apparently decided to hang out in my cervix until he's old enough to get his driver's license.

But I felt sorry for her. I think she was lonely.

I look at my extended group of acquaintances. I see people raised by single, working mothers and people raised with working fathers, stay-at -home mothers, and 1.2 siblings. Some were not allowed to watch television, and some had their own televisions at age four. Some were in daycare from infancy. A few were homeschooled until high school. Some were raised by atheists and some were raised by fundamentalist Christians. Some were spanked with belts, others were rarely disciplined. Some were rich. Some lived off of food stamps. One grew up in a commune.

Some are happy, some are unhappy. Some have great relationships with their families and some dread the two weekends a year in which they are obligated to speak with their parents.

I see no easy correlation in my sample set, no clear formula that, if followed faithfully, yields a happy adult. Reasonably happy, confident parents seem to raise happy kids, more or less, but the mechanism by which they do that seems widely variable.

I don't think at this point we can say with any certainty at all what will work best for us. We'll muddle through, I imagine, just as our parents muddled through.

I can explicitly promise, however, that I won't accost heavily pregnant women in baby furniture stores and interrogate them on their life choices.

fashion in eighteen years

I had a vivid dream in which I saw my boy. He was in his late teens.

According to my dreams, my boy looks like my husband, except with sandy hair instead of dark hair. The same dark eyes, though.

It's fascinating what my subconscious thinks will be fashionable in about eighteen years. He was wearing very tight, very acid-washed jeans. Think Wham! tight. He had hair styled like Ashton Kutcher but it was pulled back into a headband. All in all, very retro-80s. I was aware at the time that he was very fashionable, thankfully proving he did not inherit my miserable fashion sense.

Who knew acid-wash jeans would be back in style?

whine and ye shall receive

As you may have noticed, I've been liberally violating my no-whining rule over the past few days, both in person and on this blog. Interestingly, this has yielded results that would horrify the positive-reinforcement educational gurus.

I whined about how I was feeling house-bound. What happens? My friends and family come and visit me and entertain me.

I whine about getting hormonally emotional to my mother. The next day, I receive cheery phone calls from every single member of my immediate family. (I also learned that the 15th figured prominently in the family betting pool, so the questions about whether my contractions were stronger or weaker weren't entirely without self-interest. That makes me giggle.)

I whine about the heat and the heat wave breaks. How's that for a powerful whine?

I whine about my problems with Michaels, and I get excellent ideas for further improvement.

Bad news for me, this learning that whining works, but my mood is 100% better. Will have to remember this as one of those 'Do as I say, not as I do' things that irritate kids to no end.

go away, hurricanes

Hurricanes scare the bejeezus out of me. Yikes.

Those of you who have either suffered through Ivan (or Frances or all the others) or face the wrath of Ivan or Jeanne coming up, take care of yourselves.

~~~~ Sending many anti-hurricane waves and wishes your way. ~~~~

more practice exams

My body has been playing tricks on me. I've been having contractions for two weeks now.

"False labor," my doctor cheerily said. "It could go on for another few weeks. Your body is practicing."

Does it want an outline too? Maybe a commercial study guide for my cervix?

I've been sitting on the edge of labor for two weeks now, unable to go very far from the house because of the contractions and the heat wave but mentally going crazy with the waiting. Add in the surging hormones, the oh-my-God-there-is-a-baby-coming panic, and, well, let's just say that it adds up to an edgy T.

When the hormones aren't making me weepy when I see babies on TV (true! weird!), I find them fascinating. This entire process is tremendously fascinating, actually. It's the coolest science project I've ever embarked on.

I'm ready for my final exam, though. No more practice, please.

if you want a gmail account

Go here. Also go there if you want to donate your extra invites. Caveat: I haven't tried it, so don't know if it works.

I've had a gmail account for awhile now. I don't like the UI very much so I use it for a few high-traffic mailing lists I belong to, effectively creating my own archives and saving my own personal disk space. It works well for that purpose.

No matter how many invitations I give away, gmail throws me more. It's like some incurable, yet communicable, disease.

the craft zone

I entered the scary craft zone known as Michaels today.

This was a brave step for me because I am craft-pathetic. The most I have ever managed are some gift photo albums with fancy stickers and multi-colored writing on them. I was pretty proud of myself for those, actually, but on the crafty scale of things, that barely registers. I've never had any reason to go to Michaels before.

I faced my craft fear today, however. It's amazing what impending parenthood will do.

We have painted our boy's room with bright yellow walls and a blue ceiling. We then took a deep breath and bought star stencils.

The stars made us ambitious. We dreamt of planets and maybe a comet. So it was off to Michaels for me.

And, oh! The disappointment! There are many, many stencils at Michaels, but only two of them resembled solar system objects. One of them had evenly spaced horizontal stripes with a loop around it. I think it was supposed to be Saturn, but I'm not sure. The other had three or four thick wiggly lines across a globe. It looked like a moldy snowglobe, not a planet.

Sadly, accurate depictions of stellar bodies do not appear to be a high priority of Michaels. I left empty-handed. I'm not going to subject our boy to moldy snowglobe astronomy.

the reality distorter that is the ivory tower

Jeremy posted a provocative quote from former Harvard University president Derek Bok bemoaning the large numbers of "exceptionally gifted" students who go into law, causing a "massive diversion of exceptional talent into pursuits that often add little to the growth of the economy, the pursuit of culture, or the enhancement of the human spirit." Demonstrating that he obviously never worked as an engineer, Mr. Bok approvingly quotes the Japanese, who supposedly say "Engineers make the pie grow larger; lawyers only decide how to carve it up."

Yeah, okay.

In general I find statements ranking the creativity of various professions to be devoid of the very creativity they supposedly value. Maligning an entire profession as lacking creativity and intelligence, or something as amorphous as enhanced human spirit, demonstrates a lack of imagination on the part of the speaker more than anything else.

But Mr. Bok’s lack of imagination is his problem, not mine. No, what really bugged me about the quote was his disapprobation of decisions that he obviously never had to make himself.

This is classic academia, a quote from somebody who hasn’t had to worry about being laid off in fifty years, who doesn’t have to think about his skills atrophying in an industry that changes instantaneously overnight. Mr. Bok has clearly never been through the regular layoffs that are a hallmark of engineering in this country. He lives in a world where people worry about how creative their jobs are, not whether those jobs will exist in six months.

Does he understand how many of the engineers, high school principals, business executives, and public servants that he lauds would love to enter that privileged world? Has he ever paid a bill and wondered whether the check would bounce? Does he have any idea how law, a mostly stable profession with a steady income, appears to the rest of the layoff-fearing, bill-paying world? Would he trade his income and his academic safety for life as a budget-cut-threatened high school principal?

Of course not. That would be silly, about as silly as criticizing the "exceptionally gifted" for desiring a little of the job security Mr. Bok himself has.

modern mysteries

One of the more mystifying aspects of impending parenthood is the Toxic Peanut.

In the course of educating myself as to this whole kid thing, I have noticed a tremendous amount of awareness of peanut allergies. There are many children who are highly allergic to peanuts.

This isn't some fad tailor-made for AM talk show hosts to bemoan modern American life. (They probably do moan about it, because God forbid our rights to get peanuts on a plane be trampled upon. That's, like, totally Communist.) But these kids, their throats close up, their faces break out, they can't breathe, and they are frequently rushed to the ER. These are not symptoms that four-year-olds can fake.

So if it's not fake, where and when did the Toxic Peanut emerge? Has it always been here?

I went to kindergarten and elementary school in the 1970s and 1980s. I don't remember any kids that were allergic to peanuts, at least not so dramatically that even being near one could trigger a fatal attack. I've informally polled my friends about it as well, and none of us remember anything about peanut allergies. Bee sting allergies, yes. There were definitely kids with very serious bee sting allergies. But nothing about peanuts.

Are peanuts more toxic? Or did kids just used to die and we didn't hear about it?  Is it just heightened awareness, or are kids truly more allergic to peanuts? If kids are more allergic, where did that come from?

biology 101

My fellow law students were universally supportive during my pregnancy. Once it was public knowledge, people frequently picked up my bags for me as I went up the stairs, held seats at events and took notes for me.

I did encounter, however, some fundamental misconceptions about the basics of human biology.

1. “You’ll be pregnant for two sets of finals!”

The human pregnancy is approximately 38 weeks from conception to birth. For ease of calculation, consider it nine months. For even more ease of calculation, my due date is September 25th. That’s NINE twenty-five, if you catch my drift.

So, no, I was not pregnant for two sets of finals.

2.”Ewwwwww! There’s, like, a human in there! That is SOOOOO weird!”

Yes, there is in fact a human inside me. Believe me, at times I find it pretty weird too. I’m growing a human? Dang.

3. “You’re gonna get all fat! Do you have to gain weight?”

Yes, one must gain weight in pregnancy. Sad, but true. This is because, as noted above, pregnancy involves growing a unique human being who is not weightless and who is surrounded by a sack of liquid. Therefore weight gain is inevitable. Sorry about the bad news.

4. “Oh my God, how did you get pregnant in law school?”

My personal favorite question, but I’m afraid the answer to that question falls deep into the Shall-Not-Be-Publicly-Discussed category.

This book, however, might provide a useful refresher on the topic.

5. “Do you, like, totally want to eat pickles?”

No. Pickles are gross.

6. “It’s like Alien!”

Sure, other than the fact that he’s a) human (I’m guessing the ultrasound pictures didn’t lie) and b) isn’t going to burst out of my stomach except perhaps in some very controlled circumstances and in that case he won’t try to eat the doctors immediately post-burst. He may slime them. But sure, otherwise just like Alien.

7. “I assume it was an accident. How did you feel when you found out?”

“I felt great. But it wasn’t an accident.”

“You mean you deliberately got pregnant in law school?” I think I horrified her.

I was surprised at the number of people who thought my pregnancy was an accident. I assumed the casual observer would have noted that I have made it thus far with no children and that I am now pregnant. Without going back to the Shall-Not-Be-Publicly-Discussed category, this indicates a successful application of birth control for a nonzero period of time. I thought people would use human pattern recognition skills and come to the obvious conclusion.

Apparently the conclusion I assumed was obvious was not, in fact, obvious.

8. “Wow, I didn’t know you were trying.”

That’s because I didn’t say anything, my personal feeling being that information about conception attempts is deep in the Shall-Not-Be-Publicly-Discussed category. Heck, I’m blushing as I write this.

Do people really want status reports on child-making attempts?

9. “Oh my God, have you seen the size of baby heads?”

Believe me, I am trying hard not to think about it.

grumpiness

I'm grumpy. Very, very grumpy. It's been extremely hot for days now, a situation that is unpleasant under normal circumstances but unbearable in the ninth month of pregnancy. My boy, after making steady progress towards an early due date, has stopped and decided that he prefers it indoors. Given the heat outdoors, I can hardly blame him.

I complained to my doctor. She was sympathetic, but pointed out he wouldn't be considered overdue until October. "It would be statistically unusual for him to be born this early," she said gently, "given how normal and healthy your pregnancy has been."

I heard her, but mostly fixated on the impossible, laughable idea of my boy being born in October. October? October is a million days away from now. Trees will grow and fall before October. Seasons will come and go. New mountains will form at the Continent Divide, and it will only be September 27th. No, I cannot be pregnant until October.

It is astounding how nature fixes it so that the pregnant, first-time mother reaches a point where she is ready for labor long before labor actually begins. "Hours of agonizing, crippling pain, the worst pain I'll feel in my life? But I won't be pregnant afterwards? Sign me up!"

for the special students

[I've been very impressed with AmbImb's law school advice project, Blawg Wisdom. I recommend it to anybody looking for advice on law school. AmbImb has done a fantastic job.

However, there is always room for more advice, especially for those of you who know you're going to get 4.0s going in. -Ed.]

My dear 1L,

You’re a very special person, somebody who stands out from the rest of the 1L crowd. You don’t need the advice given to those other 1Ls. Because I truly appreciate and admire how special you are, I’ve compiled the advice that you need in one handy place.

In case you haven’t noticed, lawyers drink a lot. I suggest you start now so that you are in optimum form by the time second year OCI rolls around. You don’t want to be the loser who gets drunk off of one girly fruity drink at the firm reception. That’s a surefire way to not get a callback. And for God’s sake, stop drinking anything that’s pink. That’s not a drink, it’s a Barbie™ "Math is Hard so I’m a Lawyer" accessory.

You’ve heard law school is competitive. Now is the time to sharpen those talons! Don’t smile or greet your fellow classmates. They just want to gouge your eyes out as they climb ahead of you in the rankings. Acknowledgement is a form of weakness. Pretend you don’t see them. If they insist on talking with you, roll your eyes frequently. They shouldn’t be wasting the time of somebody as special as you.

Even though you are practicing your drinking skills, avoid all invitations to 1L parties. Be sure to sniff loudly about how you don’t like the alcohol-doused nature of these parties because "everybody just gets drunk." For extra points, mention how you would prefer a meeting to discuss Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 11 but "nobody will join me for that." Don’t worry – nobody will actually take you up on that offer! This is called "lying." It’s good practice!

Frequently mention your 175 LSAT score in conversation. That always goes over well!  One particularly successful technique is  to mention your LSAT score and then mention how you are sure there is a qualitative difference in intelligence between a person who scores a 174 and a person who scores a 175. That really reels them in!

If you are male and are in criminal law discussing rape, be sure to raise your hand and tell one creepy anecdote involving animal sex. Make sure that the female rape victim is compared negatively to whatever female animal  you’re using. Guffaw heartily at the end. Don’t worry if nobody else thinks it’s funny! They’re all secretly laughing, but lack the courage to really tell it how it is.

If you are female and are in criminal law discussing rape, make sure you raise your hand at some point and scream obscenities at the males of the class for having masculine genitalia. Again, don’t worry if your bovine classmates don’t stand up and cheer "Womyn Power!" with you. They really agree, but look what The Man has done to them! Luckily, you know better.

The professors really like people who vigorously waive their  hands in answer to every question. Don’t worry if you don’t actually know the answer. The whole class secretly loves your rambling anecdotes, but they’re jealous that they didn’t think of your brilliant insights. Some people, those jealous ones, might claim that this sort of behavior does no good because the exams are anonymously graded. Please. Maybe their exams are anonymously graded, but we all know that the exams of special students like yourself are set aside and carefully given A’s due to your brilliant in-class participation.

Most importantly, however, always remember how very, very special you are.

Regards,

T.

things nobody should have to do

I probably shouldn't read stories like this now.

My God, those poor parents in Beslan.

what to do

My obstetrics clinic gave me a helpful tip sheet with suggestions on what to do when early labor commences.

Among the other, very reasonable suggestions, I saw the following:

"Do not insert a tampon."

I must say, that's not something that had ever occurred to me. I want to know who the woman is who thought, "Heck, I'm going into labor. Let's plug that space up right now."

celebratory days

Happy 7th Birthday to nmap! 

It's not all seven-year-olds that are hip enough to be in The Matrix Reloaded but have the good taste to avoid the horrendous sequel.

For those of you who don't know what nmap is, but who believe that your network has never been hacked, I suggest you kiss your security administrator today. Tell him or her it's in honor of nmap's birthday.

Free love to security admins in honor of nmap's birthday!