Sol y Daddy

Fatherhood has been deeply inspirational for Jaime. 

He's often inspired to leave the house to go to the grocery store. It has inspired him to start making wine in the basement and going to the community center to swim again. It has even ignited a never before seen love for menial, time consuming tasks around the house that are too dangerous for Sol and me to be near. 

I guess one could call it a fucking renaissance. 

I'd be lying if I claimed I hadn't seen this time of self-discovery coming. Jaime never wanted to be a father, and even though I never forced him to become one, I did take advantage of his growing old and giving up the fight. 

Parenthood is hard for everyone, I assume, especially if you never imagined you'd be one. 

It isn't easy on a relationship either. 

Before Sol (BS), we were pretty good at having conversations. We made eye contact, tried very hard to listen no matter how stupid the other person's point was and peppered the discussion with dramatic but appropriate gestures and responses. It was very well scripted. 

We don't even pretend to do that anymore. 

Now, we have two entirely different conversations with ourselves but at each other. It's very liberating and unhealthy. 

I guess I'm jealous that he still has meaningful contact with the outside world, and because I don't, the information I'm bringing to the table is exclusively about Sol who is, understandably, a very boring person. 

My phone is my only tether to Earth right now, but I can't trust it. It targets me with brilliant advertisements that I could ignore only while I had an income. 

I just call everything a Christmas present and give it to him immediately after it's delivered with a manic, anticipatory smile while he wonders how much it cost. 

One that really got me was a book you can personalize for dads. The hook was that every man in the ad cried so hard he couldn't manage to read it to his child, and I fucking needed it. It took me forever to decide what color his shirt should be and lots of thinking about Sol's true essence to guess how she will wear her hair in the future. 

I gave Sol the credit when it finally arrived to keep the heat off of me. 

"Sol got you a Christmas present, Daddy." 

It was the perfect setup. 

He opened the package and said flatly, "It's a book. Oh, that's weird that there's a character named Sol." 

I explained that I didn't just find a book in Spanish with two animations that looked exactly like him and Sol with a character named Sol. I think he understood what I was saying, but I'm still not sure. 

He has read it to her once, and everyone's eyes were dry as deserts. 

But that's who Sol's daddy is.  

He'll never remember what her favorite characters or friends' names are, but he will compose elaborate operas in nearly Italian, morning jingles in Valencian and silly rhymes in English on the fly while dancing her to sleep. 

He will never be interested in her school events or extracurricular activities, but he will make sure she sees the ocean from on top of a surf board while he paddles for hours and long after she asks to go back to shore. 

And he will certainly never get emotional while reading her a book or even when she graduates, but she will see how upset he is when an animal is mistreated or hurt and learn that it's the most vulnerable around us who need our kindness and respect the most. 

Sol might not always understand her dad, but I think she will end up understanding him more than anyone else ever has. And they are both so lucky for it.  

What a waste of money.

Giving Sol to the Light

TW: pain, childbirth, medical stuff 

Disclaimer: Never before and certainly not now have I ever thought someone else who had a C-section was a failure. They're my newest heroes.

Me: I just feel like I failed at giving birth, and that was the first thing I was supposed to do for her. 

Jaime: Mmm hmm...I think we should buy iodine tablets in case there's a nuclear holocaust. 

It's not that he doesn't care. It's that he doesn't care AND he's tired of hearing about it. We're both alive and healthy, and that's all he does care about. Must be nice, Pollyanna. 

In Spain, they use the expression "give to the light" for the moment someone is born. I love it, and it was my mantra for Sol's birth. What could be easier and more beautiful than illuminating our shitty world for our child for the first time? 

And that's all the thought I gave to it. At least I didn't think I had a birth plan until absolutely nothing went according to it. 

An induction was scheduled for her due date, and even though I had agreed to it, I hoped she'd come on her own before that. I wanted the first pangs of labor to be between just my baby and me before shaking Jaime awake. I also thought Sol should choose her birthday. 

Instead, we called the hospital the morning of our induction and confirmed our time before an almost silent drive there knowing it would be the last with just the two of us for awhile. I hadn't had the slightest indication of labor despite our best efforts. 

The early hours were fun. Our induction was pushed back because another woman needed an emergency C-section. It sounded like a rough one, but we barely paid attention. We were too excited and eating the candy we'd brought for the nurses. 

I couldn't feel the contractions when the anesthesiologist came to administer my epidural. My nurse said it was because I was tough, but I truly wouldn't have known when I was contracting if I couldn't see it on the monitor. I thought I'd beaten the system and would be the first person on Earth to give birth completely painlessly.  

LOLzzzzz. And if Samuel L. Jackson had been in the room at that moment, he would have asked me if I thought I was a smart mother fucker. 

It was shortly after the OB broke my water, another thing I didn't want, that I lost all track of time and space. 

With each contraction, I curled into Jaime begging him to press his full weight into my back. It felt like someone was stabbing me repeatedly with the length of whatever standard size really long knives come in. Nothing helped and eventually my contractions overlapped giving me no break in between. 

My nurse, knowing the most violent pain was in my back, began to suspect that Sol was in the wrong position facing up instead of towards my tailbone. 

In retrospect it's really cute that Sol was "sunny side up," but at the time, it felt fucking evil. 

She and Jaime maneuvered me onto all fours and other positions to turn her, but it didn't work, and I was dilating quickly. 

I told the nurse I felt ready to poop like she'd told me to watch out for, but it really felt like my body was about to turn inside out and come through my butt. It was time to push, and it oddly felt good to be able to do something to counter the poltergeist in my lower half. I was so close to feeling the weight of our baby on my chest, I thought I could push out a VW bus if I had to. 

My nurse was an incredible pushing coach, and she invited Jaime down to see the big show. Every time I pushed, he could see Sol's head bulge through my cervix then get sucked back into my body as soon as I stopped. He watched this scene on repeat for hours.

The first time my OB brought up a C-section coincided with the end of my nurse's shift. Jaime says he knew it was over then, but I could not accept that outcome. I still can't. 

I pushed with the new nurse whom I hated only because she smelled like my own failure. Eventually, my doctor came back and said I could push for another 6 hours and have a C-section, or I could have a C-section now. 

Jaime hugged me while I cried, and I asked if he could hold her skin to skin immediately because I wouldn't be able to hold her for awhile. 

After some discussion about how to dress Jaime, they took him away, and the anesthesiologist came in to "turn up my epidural" for the C-section. That's when the panic started because this sadist thought the epidural she had gone to school for a decade to learn how to administer had worked. 

And guess who else thought it had worked? My doctor and the entire surgical staff as they prepped me. This included shoving another catheter up my urethra with no finesse and packing my vagina with gauze, which hurt even more. When I cried out in pain, my doctor said, "Why are you complaining, we've done much worse to you today?"

Hello anger my old friend. It was the first time I could think clearly in hours.

I turned to the anesthesiologist and said, "If you cut me open right now, I will be able to feel everything." 

She certainly didn't believe me, but she did have an object that felt like a jack with sharper points. I could tell her everywhere she was poking me behind the sheet. Her face dropped. 

Everything suddenly stopped. 

My doctor explained that they were going to remove my epidural and replace it with something called a spinal. If that didn't work, they'd have to put me completely under, and Jaime wouldn't be allowed in the room. She left to tell him the epidural had failed to which he probably responded, "no shit."

I was so afraid our baby would be born into a blindingly bright room full of strangers and without her parents. 

But the spinal worked, and Sol Perales-Green was given to the light twice because she fell back in the first time. 

Jaime's job was to announce the sex of the baby, but he was so overwhelmed, he forgot. He did yell out that she had red hair, which absolutely was not true. It was as black as his. She looks exactly like him just like I'd hoped. 

In between Sol's cries, I could hear the surgical team get excited about her weight and the size of the placenta. 

I really wanted to see this giant placenta that had kept my baby alive for months, but I couldn't speak. Euphoria washed over me as I tried to track her movements in the room. She couldn't walk, but she was moving so quickly. I was cemented to a table. 

If I craned my head back, I could see Jaime and Sol chest to chest. I couldn't hear what he was saying to her, but I like that it will be their secret forever. It was torture not to be able to hold her. 

I watched them as long as I could, but my neck started to hurt, and I shifted my focus back onto myself. I could hear a staple gun then that same anesthesiologist squirted a mystery liquid directly into my eye. She wiped it away and apologized profusely. I hope I fucking haunt her dreams. 

Watching my blood pressure tank twice was Jaime's trauma, and he imagined life as a single father while clutching Sol as they brought me back around. I don't think anyone said anything to reassure him. It probably happens all the time. 

In the recovery room, they put my daughter on my chest, and she hasn't moved from that spot in 2 months. 

We don't know her very well yet, but we do know she really hates it when the sun gets in her eyes. 

Jaime was in charge of sending photos of the baby to our family and friends. This one was taken after my father asked if he could send some without my boobs in them so he could show people. 

I remember being worried that people could tell I'd had a C-section from this photo, angry I couldn't lift my kid out of her bassinet or change her diaper and in so much pain.

From Emma in the Third Trimester

The third trimester is a real kick in the nuts. 

Like it really felt like someone had kicked me in the nuts. 

But the best part about the third trimester was that Jaime noticed I was pregnant and started to get excited. 

Okay, the real best part was joining an early morning water aerobics class in which I was the youngest student by at least 30 years though I fell towards the bottom if ranked by most able-bodied. At that point in my pregnancy, I couldn't get comfortable unless I was in water and could not care less that I looked like the midway mark of Ursula trying to change herself into Ariel.  

We decided to book a last-minute trip to Spain for Jaime to once again remind him of the incredible things he was giving up to work all the time, worry about mass shootings and obesity and be a father in Kansas. 

Cautious about going into early labor, Harper (completely useless in an emergency situation) and I stayed with my parents while he was gone knowing I'd have to sacrifice some getting wet to the oldies time. 

Luckily, I had one prenatal visit scheduled during the week and drove back home the evening before really looking forward to a night alone and water aerobics in the morning. 

All I wanted for dinner that night was an entire watermelon, a block of cheese and some crackers, and my husband and father, who both weirdly don't care for watermelon, couldn't stop me. 

I guess a lot of other people wanted watermelon that day, too, because I found myself standing next to a gigantic box at Aldi with three sad melons left at the bottom. My independence flew right out the automatic doors, and I really wished my husband or father or even my entirely useless dog were with me to help hoist one of these babies out. 

I'm not sure how many people watched me lower my much larger than a watermelon torso between my knees and then slowly lean into the side of the box bending it down just enough to get my finger tips around a fruit, but it was at least five. 

When I got home, I texted my neighbors to say they were first on call if I went into labor that night, and they suggested I come sleep at their house.

I still really wanted a night to myself, but for some reason my house was really hot, and it took me the time it takes to eat 1/3 of a watermelon to waddle two houses down. 

Rachel and Carla are fancy, so they keep their house very cool and have Hulu. I watched the first episode of The Handmaid's Tale in their guest room with a fan blowing directly on me. It was perfect. In the morning, I left the house before they woke up because I has some very important business with a pool. 

I thought the rest of the pregnancy would be smooth sailing once Jaime got home, but that's where the trouble began. 

Jaime tested positive a couple of days before I did, so we quarantined from one another as best we could. He didn't want Harper in harm's way, so I was stuck with her in the guest room wiping both her and myself down with washcloths soaked in ice water because our 26-year-old air conditioner decided it was fucking done during the hottest week of 2022. 

The feverish European cloistered in the bedroom had always thought of air conditioning as a luxury. He hadn't grown up with it and insisted we didn't need to get it fixed though a) his wife was nine months pregnant b) he and the mattress he was on were soaked through with sweat and c) he was about to bring an infant home to this ninth circle of hell. 

By the time my Covid test was positive, he'd finally admitted in a desperate WhatsApp message to his parents, "Esta claro. En el Medio Oeste de los Estados Unidos el aire acondicionado es esencial." 

It is and always will be my greatest victory in this marriage. 

I lost another precious 10 days in the pool, but I did gain watching four seasons of The Handmaid's Tale, which is hands down the worst series to binge when you're pregnant.  

Emboldened by following the original CDC guidelines and a negative test, I convinced my neighbor Carla (remember her?), whose shoulder hurts, to accompany me on my epic comeback tour of the locker room and the pool but certainly not the gym. 

But we were promptly informed the pump was broken. The pool was drained. They didn't know when it would be fixed. Supply chain stuff. But I could still use the hot tub and sauna to blanch my baby. 

I, handmaid's name Ofjaime, had two weeks left to carry this child fathered by a 6'3'' pure Wagyu beefcake. 

If there had been a table in front of me instead of a bolted down desk, I would have flipped it. 

Jaime told me last night that octopuses kill themselves after they give birth.

From Emma in the Second Trimester

The nausea really let up approaching the second trimester, so I assumed the day I hit 14 weeks I'd feel like a new woman. 

Turns out the new me did stop feeling nauseous and went straight to surprise puking while peeing her pants. 

Luckily, that didn't last long, but what will stay with me forever is the joy of being pregnant in front of a teenage audience. 

I wanted to hide my pregnancy for as long as possible at school, but my body said, "Bitch, you thought." I confirmed it to the first kid who was brave enough to ask me within the fourteenth week. It spread like wildfire, but they had all "been knowing" and had taken bets.

I'd arranged a field trip to see an Auschwitz exhibit earlier. However, we had a snow day on our original date, and by the time I could reschedule it, everyone knew. That wouldn't have been a big deal except that we, like every school, are short-staffed, so I had to invite Jaime to be a chaperone. 

Kids are awkward around Jaime for two to three reasons: they think he's cool and/or an absolute smoke show, but also, you can feel his absolute disdain for them radiating from his whole body. 

This time, unfortunately, they had the added factor of knowing that he had impregnated their teacher, and it was too much for them to handle. Everyone wanted to be in his group while simultaneously not daring to go near him. 

And that's how we almost left a kid behind. 

But the highlight of the second trimester wasn't hanging out with teenagers. It was the trip we booked to Miami before we knew how big I'd get and how quickly I'd get there.  

Jaime had a conference in Bonita Springs at the same time I had spring break, so we decided to make a babymoon in Miami out of it even though anywhere in Florida would have been my very last choice on Earth. 

The conference days weren't so bad. All I felt pressured to do was waddle down to the pool and back to our room several times a day and even got some work done. My best friend David Marquez was also at the conference, and the reason why David Marquez is my best friend is because he made Jaime bend over to get my ball out of all the holes at a mini-course that featured real caimans you could feed with lil fishing poles.

But for all the thousands of Marquezes in Miami, David was not one of them, and I was stuck with an over-zealous Valencian on a beach vacation with no buffer and heavily pregnant when the conference was over. 

Jaime started each day with a miles long run on Miami Beach while I sat and obsessively adjusted the umbrella each time the sun moved an inch then I'd continue to sit while he complained there were no waves as he looked for surfboard rentals nearby. In the humid heat of the afternoons, we'd take long walks on urine drenched cement sidewalks window shopping the sex stores and CBD distributors until we found something to eat. 

My favorite thing about Miami is assuming people speak Spanish because they always do except for the Australian lady at the table next to ours who asked Jaime if he recommended the "pay-el-la." 

We'd really wanted to try a Cuban restaurant, which is difficult for vegetarians, so we caved and got a seafood Cuban-style paella that turned Jaime into Gordon Ramsey's more critical and handsome brother. 

He says I say paella wrong, but the way she said it even made my skin crawl. He slowly turned to look at her, and I swear to god, I thought he was going to flip the table. 

Our last night in Miami, we had tickets to see a singer from Barcelona who'd sold out the house. 

We got there on time, which of course meant we had to wait another three hours for the hall to fill and the show to start. Sometimes stereotypes exist for a reason. 

While waiting, the fire alarm went off with a recording that said repeatedly, "The building is on fire, evacuate now." 

No one else seemed concerned, but we made our way towards an exit. Near the door, I asked a security guard if we really needed to leave. He responded, "Well that depends, are you due today?" 

We went back to our seats. 

A Valencian in a Valencian shirt with an incredible seafood pay ella. 

From Emma in the First Trimester

I trudged through 9" of snow carefully avoiding any ice patches a half block or more behind Jaime and Harper who was cradled in his arms as he jogged home. The snow kept getting packed in her paws, and she informed him that his hot breath through his cupped hands wasn't cutting it anymore. 

This is a really indicative snapshot of my first trimester. Me cautiously and hesitantly navigating my way through a new and scary territory while Jaime shouts from across the room, "But what does Harper need right now?" 

Week 6: the first day the nausea was bad was also the day of parent-teacher conferences. I was stuck at school for 12 hours and knew I wasn't going to make it without Cheez-its. A lot of Cheez-its. I called Jaime and asked if he would bring me some as soon as his schedule allowed. It took him awhile to realize I was serious, but even then, he asked, "Can't it wait until after work?" Fair question. 

Um, NO, mother fucker, it cannot. 

He brought three family size boxes of extra toasty within the hour while I tracked him on our shared app. 

Scrolling through YouTube at 8 weeks, I found the Garbage and Screaming Females' cover of Patti's Smith's Because the Night. I listened and watched with the appropriate amount of reverence until Marissa Paternoster ripped into a face-melting guitar solo at the end. I started sobbing. 

A few hours later, I cried because I was so grateful that we can afford electric toothbrushes. 

Approaching our 12 week checkup, we got into a deadlocked argument about whether we wanted to learn the baby's sex during our genetic screening or wait until they were born. I was mistaken in thinking we were on the same page with waiting until birth, but Jaime was annoyed that some nameless, faceless lab tech would know and we wouldn't. 

I couldn't see a path to compromise, so I offered to continue to be the only person who cleaned the bathroom if we waited. 

He agreed without hesitation, and I still can't tell if he's the dumbest genius or the smartest dumb ass on the planet. I really admire him. 

I've worn it for years, but never has the George Costanza sweatshirt 

shown as brightly as it did during pregnancy. 

You don't have to be an asshole to be on the Supreme Court, but it does help.

"The Constitution does not confer a right to abortion; Roe and Casey are overruled; and the authority to regulate abortion is returned to the people and their elected representatives." -Majority opinion Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization 

The whole opinion is a boring and boorish reflection of its author(s), so I didn't read the whole thing. But I don't think that matters because if the Supreme Court can't do its research properly, I certainly don't have to. 

Instead, I'll just focus on the crux of their argument on paper for this post: We've been jerking it to same jerks for 235 years, so why stop jerking off now? 

So, who are these jerks? 

Like the Bible, it's true that abortion isn't enumerated in the Constitution; because, again like the Bible, the Framers of the Constitution were all dominant-race men with a self-serving agenda that did not include a single member of any minority population. 

This sounds incredibly fun for them, and I'm sure the Constitutional Convention was OFF THE CHAIIIIIIIN, but as committed as I am to preserving the rights of White men to have a great time at the expense of others' basic human dignity and needs, I am going to be a real bitch and imagine what it would have been like if they had considered women at all in that frat house called Liberty Hall. 

But before we begin...

Like throughout all of history, abortions were a common part of health care practiced among women in the United States at the time the Constitution was written. If you've ever walked through an old cemetery in New England, you surely noticed with great alarm the number of young women who've been pushing up daisies for centuries due to complications in pregnancy, termination and childbirth. 

And those were the rich ones who could afford a rock and someone who could chisel and read and write. 

Women were (as they are now) often terrified to learn they were pregnant at a time when many men were completely oblivious to their wives, mistresses and rape victims' pregnancies until about 10 years after they'd given birth, and their kids were asking them for an education or money to treat their typhoid. 

If we could suspend reality like the Supreme Court has, let's pretend that the men who debated over and wrote the Constitution gave women a thought outside of their use to them sexually and domestically. 

Like what if Daniel of St. Thomas of Jenifer (MD) said to Gouverneur Morris (PA), "Thank you so much for recommending that brothel last night. I had such a good time. I just hope I didn't impregnate that young sex worker. It would be an awful hardship on her. She is the sole supporter of her ailing mother and wants to go back to school for wig making. I also hope she doesn't ask me for money." 

Gouverneur Morris (PA) probably would've responded with something like, "Dan My Man (MD)...they are professionals and know how to end a life-ruining, unwanted or dangerous pregnancy. It will always be that way. It's not like we have to write that down and enshrine it so some assholes 200 years from now will be cool with it." 

Then they high-fived. 

Or what if Gunning Bedford, Jr. (DE) called Jacob Broom (DE) over and whispered, "Dude, you know how my mistress got pregnant, and I was like so scared she was going to tell my wife?"

And Jacob Broom (DE) was like, "Yeah, Dude. I feel so bad for only you." 

But then Bedford, Jr. (DE) came in clutch with, "Well, she got an abortion." Side-five, chest bump, side hug. 

A messenger boy piped in and said, "My mother had an abortion once. She already had so many mouths to feed, and we were on the brink of complete desolation. It was the loving choice of a mother." 

Everyone screamed back, "Shut your mouth, Poor!" 

And finally, maybe Charles Cotesworth Pinckney (SC) said, "I don't know guys, I just have this weird feeling that the downfall of our new country will begin with power hungry political sociopaths making a diabolical pact with narcissistic con men who masquerade as religious leaders to trick desperate, lazy-thinking people into forcing women to give birth and remain subservient once they start to gain any sort of autonomy. Let's write to Tom Jefferson in France and see what he thinks. He's brilliant at predicting this sort of thing." 

TJ's response: You guys do know that I rape people that I enslave, and when they give birth, I get another free slave, right? 

Anyway, I think even this is way beyond the thought the Framers of the Constitution could have possibly given the issue of a second or third-class person's choice to carry an unwanted or dangerous pregnancy. 

It also appears to be more than the extent to which the current conservative majority who were placed on the Court precisely to overturn Roe give a fuck about us. 

Because this is the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution: 

No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

Donate to state abortion funds here. These networks pool money to provide assistance to any person in the country who needs or wants an abortion.