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I just got out of a three hour “branding” meeting at my loathed place of employment. Three hours spent listening to a marketing drone talk about “positive branding statements” and “personal brands” and brandy-brand-brand-McBranderton. This workshop is mandatory for all employees at my company, because the most recent employee satisfaction survey revealed that most employees had no idea what the hell our brand was, and even fewer actually cared. The solution, obviously, is to shanghai everyone from their actual work during one of the busiest times of the year, and force them to look at pictures of the Target and Apple logo for 180 minutes. I mean, duh. Highlights:

– We were required to bring an example of “our favorite brand” to the meeting and discuss why we liked it. I brought despair.com. ‘Nuff said. But the best one was this IT guy who brought a brochure from Royal Caribbean and spent three minutes talking about how much he loves “cruising” and he’s such an experienced “cruiser” and “cruising” is really a way of life. Heh heh. *snort*

– Absolutely true quote from the presenter: “One of the goals of this session is that we wanted to address the perception that ‘branding’ is a dirty marketing word. It’s much MORE than that!”

– At the beginning of the session, to help us understand just what a brand is (because we’ve apparently all been living in caves somewhere), we were shown a slide show of effective brands like Coke, Nike, IBM, Microsoft … and MLK, Jr., and Reagan. Er, yeah. After the slide show the presenter asked for comments. Me: “It seems like those images are conflating ‘brand’ with ‘image.’ ‘Brand’ suggests commodification in a way that seems odd to apply to individual people like MLK and Reagan. What’s your take on that?” Presenter: (blank look). “Great observation.” (To be fair, I think she didn’t know what “conflate” means, so maybe that made it harder to respond.)

So anyhoo, that’s three hours of my life that I won’t get back. Sounds like Brando had a similar experience – his list pretty accurately reflects my mindset.

Braxton-Hicks? Yeah, they kind of suck.

There is no time at which I do not feel like I have to pee.

I’ve come to the inescapable conclusion that my fetus is a scientific genius, even in utero, and has embarked on some kind of crazy physics/engineering experiment in which the elasticity of the human frame is tested to its very limits. My tummy doesn’t get any bigger, kid. It’s just not physically possible.

I am not enjoying this waiting game. I consider myself a fairly patient person in many respects, but when it comes to shit happening to my body, not so much. I yanked my first baby teeth out right after my 6th birthday, waaaaaaay before they were really loose. I pick scabs. I pop blisters. I know I’m not at week 40 yet, but I’m still considered “full term.” WHAT’S THE HOLD UP???

Last night, Mr. Squab confessed that he’s afraid he’s going to “freak out” and “have a panic attack” after the baby comes. For some reason, I found this extremely funny. Is that wrong?

… which, yeah, I know I won’t be getting until, say, the year 2020. But still.

I’m freakishly tired today and have a ton of things I’m trying to get done, so not so much with the posting. BUT:

Ampersand has a really really interesting post on weight-loss dieting today. He’s collected a lot of research and offers a compelling case that dieting to lose weight is a no-win move nearly all of the time. Definitely worth checking out.

And, if you feel like getting riled up, Ancarett links to another pseudo-intellectual (this time, sadly, a woman) ragging on feminism. Did you know, for example, that feminism has killed sisterhood? And eradicated female altruism? Yah. Neither did I, because it’s a load of hooey. Ancarett does a good job of taking the author down.

Now if I could just find a mattress that would fit under my cubicle …

So, have I mentioned that I seem to be losing my butt? It’s true, and I’m not happy about it. I *love* my butt. I know that’s a slightly weird thing to say, but it’s true! It’s always been all sassy and round and pinchable. I mean, dude, “Baby Got Back” and “Fat Bottomed Girls” are, like, my anthems. But I’ve been noticing lately that the bigger my belly gets – and we’re reaching fairly epic proportions here – the smaller my patootie gets, correspondingly. The baby is sucking away my butt!! I recognize that for many women, this would be perceived as a real bonus, but I am not one of those women. I loves me my booty. Moreover, I have a phobia of having a flat, suburban “mom-ass.” You know the kind I’m talking about. So has this happened to anyone else? Are the effects lasting? I want my backside back!

Today’s topic: European Cities.

Squabby: Dublin or Munich. Lots of good drink, easy-going locals, a variety of things to do and places to go, and surroundings that are generally please to the eye.

Squinny: Paris or Berlin. Glamorous, cutting edge fashion and design, lots of amazing culture, really good food, fast paced, and gorgeous.

Squotund: Oslo or Helsinki. Progressive social structure, high-quality goods and services, strong sense of identity, not-for-the-faint-of-heart climate, breathtaking vistas.

Feel free to make yer own nominations in comments.

(Confused? Check here or here.)

“The North Liberty Community Library will close at 6 p.m. Thursday because of the Harry and the Potters concert.

“The concert is free and open to the public. Harry and the Potters is a band made up of two brothers who dress like Harry Potter and play indie rock/punk songs about the book series.”

I mean, you KNOW that would just RULE!

(via Bookslut)

SO. As y’all know, we don’t know what flavor Hoss will be when he/she comes out. Lots of people (Mr. Squab included) think it will be a girl, some think it will be a boy, I have absolutely no sense one way or the other. (Maternal instincts, schmaternal instincts.) That being the case, of course, we need to be ready for all possibilities. We’ve got the name thing down for both flavors (and if the kid is intersexed it will just have to take pot luck, I guess), all the clothes and toys and stuff have been carefully chosen in gender-neutral tones of yellow and green, and we’re looking forward to having that one last surprise at the end of the labor. Basically, as long as it’s human and healthy, we’re all good. However. We have one issue left to resolve, and that is (insert ominous music here): to circumcise, or not to circumcise?

Here’s the deal. My own perspective is: why do it? From what I can tell, there’s absolutely no medical reason to do it (the AMA no longer recommends it, though they don’t recommend against it, either), and several possible medical reasons not to do it; it causes the baby pain; it’s less and less of a trend in this country, so, you know, why would you do it? If you’re Jewish, OK. That’s a mighty long cultural tradition and I can see not bucking it. And frankly, whatever any particular couple wants to do in this regard they should be able to do – I wouldn’t want to make other people’s decisions for them. But when it comes to my kid, I just don’t see the point, and I’d definitely decide against it. BUT. I also think that this is one decision that should really be Mr. Squab’s to make. Because, frankly, I don’t have the equipment, and I feel like the one who has the equipment should get to make the call. And Mr. Squab is leaning towards circumcision – largely, I think, because he’s circumcised and it just seems easier to have your kid look and function the way you do. (He can correct me if that’s wrong.) Now, I’m not convinced that’s a sufficient reason, but I’ve told him the decision is his and I’ll support it either way. He did say, however, that I could send him links or articles or whatever that support my position and he’d take that stuff into account. So, internets, what I wanna know is: what are your thoughts? Are you pro or con, and why? And if you’re con, do you have any recommendations for non-rabidly crazy resources on why it’s unneccesary? (So far, a lot of the anti-circumcision stuff I’ve come across has been very much of the “you’re an evil person if you circumcise” variety, and homey don’t play that, yo.)

Let ‘er rip.

Hoss does not like it when I use my laptop, and he/she is making that very clear whenever I get it out. Due to my burgeoning belly (now 15 times its usual size!) There’s not so much “lap” for the laptop, so I usually stick a pillow on my lap to bridge the gap between the top of my baby bump and my legs. This results in a fairly workable surface, but often the near edge of the laptop will be resting on my tummy as I type. This is NOT OK with the fetus. If the computer lies there for longer than, say, 5-6 seconds, the kicking begins. Kick-kick-kick, right where the computer is. As if to say, hello! Some of us are trying to gain 1-2 pounds a week in here! NO COMPUTERS! This is distracting not only internally, but also because it makes the keyboard bounce whenever that little foot makes a connection. How am I supposed to check my email? Or blog from home? SIMMER DOWN, HOSS. You can’t be the complete center of attention until I can actually make eye contact with you. Sheesh.

Boy, do Mondays ever suck. (What an original observation, I know.) This is going to be a whiny post – consider yourselves warned. We had yet another weekend that was supposed to be completely cleared for doing stuff on the house, and yet somehow got eaten up with social and other obligations. You know, some old friends in from out of town, doing our stint of box office/ushering for the show my company just opened, visiting a friend’s brand new baby. All stuff that’s fun to do, but then when do you unpack? Added to which, I got a severe case of the tireds this weekend, so on Sunday morning, when I had all these plans to get stuff done before going to the theatre, I literally could do nothing except sit on the sofa and read my New Yorker. Which is so frustrating I could just spit. I mean, no one enjoys being lazy on a Sunday more than me, don’t get me wrong, but I’d kind of like it to be a choice, you know? And normally I can summon up the energy for a little unpacking and organizing and just go full steam until it’s done. But my steamer is broken or something. Damn life-force sucking babies. (Ha! Right after I typed that, Hoss kicked me in the ribs. Serves me right, I guess.) Mr. Squab is trying to convince me to just lay low until the baby comes, and mentally I know he’s right. But oof, it is not easy to do when there are so many visible reminders of things that still need to be put away/cleaned/sorted/organized. The sucky part about it is that this is the kind of task it’s not easy to have anyone else do. I mean, Mr. Squab and I have to figure out where things go and how to organize everything – so even though lots of people have offered to help, it’s not something easy to help with. One thing is, I have GOT to say no to any and all non-urgent events in the next couple of weeks. (I am a social squab. This is not easy to do!) And, like, probably I should start going to bed earlier. (I am a night owl squab. I cherish the time I’m not at work!) And mostly, I should just try to get over it, and accept that there may still be major holes in the house-settling scheme when the baby comes. I mean, it’s not like we get a prize or anything for finishing the unpacking before Hoss arrives. And we do have a place for Hoss to sleep, which is the most critical thing, I guess. But boy, I hope we’re more settled soon. It’s hard to feel at home when your home is largely contained in boxes in your dining room.

Note: Thanks to good friend Snarky Squab for letting me guest-post the following, and for the nice intro below, too. –S.

The other day when Snarky Squab wrote about childbirth, it got me thinking about my own experience giving birth to my daughter almost two years ago. Reading Snarky Squab brought back a lot of memories and musings—which went far beyond the question she raised of natural vs. medicated childbirth. I swear I am not writing this to scare any soon-to-be mothers. Nor am I posting this as a self-pitying rant. I truly feel that the things that we don’t tell each other about childbirth, the questions we don’t ask because we don’t know to ask—all the stuff beyond the usual “did you have an epidural?”—these are also the things that we need to know the most. After having my baby, I was above all shocked by what I had been through, and at how unprepared I was beforehand.

Granted, my childbirth story is surely atypical. I went into labor on Monday and did not give birth to J. until Thursday, some 60 hours later. Though I adored my OB, she was not on call at the hospital the entire time I labored, so she was not among the 10+ health care professionals who saw me over those days. None of the things I learned in childbirth class about coping with labor helped at all—not the warm shower, not the birthing ball, not the photograph to focus on, not any sort of breathing. I got an epidural when I was in so much pain that despite my best efforts I could not keep myself from screaming loud enough for anyone far down the hall to easily overhear.

At some point in the middle of the 3rd night, I was put on oxygen. I remember suddenly being terrified because it occurred to me that I didn’t know what it really meant to push. They told me later I pushed for 3-1/2 hours, but J. was stuck in the worst position and she couldn’t move. Her birth was vacuum-assisted, at the last minute, with a room full of residents, nurses, and various specialists in attendance. It was 5:45 in the morning. The vacuum gave me a 4th-degree laceration that took almost an hour to stitch up. I was discharged the following day, after only one post-birth night in the hospital, because my insurance covered a stay of 48 hours from the time of the baby’s birth, and it was unfeasible to discharge me at 5:45 a.m. So they made me go home the evening before, even though I hadn’t slept in over 3 nights and could not walk.

It took me 14 months to medically recover from J.’s birth. As the fog of exhaustion and trauma slowly faded, questions began to form in my mind, such as: Why was my labor allowed to go on so long? Why wasn’t anyone talking C-section? And why didn’t it even occur to my husband or me to ask? Who was watching out for us? Did all those nurses and doctors who changed shifts during the time I was in labor even realize I had been there for days already? Did they read the whole chart? Why wasn’t an episiotomy done? Why, not hours after the baby was born, did the first nurse to care for me tell me gravely that “many women with pelvic floor damage this severe have permanent incontinence problems when they get older”? Did I really need to hear that then?

So what would I do differently, if I could go back in time? I would ask more questions of my health care team. I would demand to know the contingency plan for a long and difficult labor—even if I assumed it would never happen to me. And as much as I adore my devoted husband, I would not assume that he would be in any better shape than I to be lucid and clear-headed during an unexpectedly complicated labor. I would make arrangements ahead of time for someone—a friend, a parent, a doula—to be at the hospital with us in the event that pain and/or sleep deprivation rendered us unable to think clearly and advocate for my care. I would expect the unexpected.

What does my story say about health care and childbirth in our country today? Was the fact that I was not offered a C-section, despite days of labor, some sort of attempt to counter the controversial trend of skyrocketing C-section rates at major medical centers across the U.S.? Why was their no consistency in my care over those 4 days? Why was I discharged so incredibly quickly? I wish I knew the answers to any of those questions, but I don’t.

I also don’t wish my childbirth experience on anyone, but I do hope it might serve as food for thought for other women.