1. Everyone’s pregnancy is different.

2. Everyone’s baby is different.

3. The mega-eating you have to do while pregnant doesn’t end if you breastfeed. Just now, people look at you weird for double-stuffing your face with an otherwise normal body.

4. Babies have to push their poops out. With loud, sustained groaning, wrinkled foreheads, and squished red faces. It’s the funniest thing you’ve ever seen.

5. The weight you gain while pregnant can take a really long time to come off (many months or more). Doesn’t matter if you’re a skinny runner type

6. Babies don’t smile for 6 weeks. During that time you’ll be preoccupied with the question: Should I kill it, or should I kill me?

7. Mom-shaming is totally a thing. Dad-shaming is totally not a thing. Gender equality is still a pipe dream. Even in really ultra liberal circles.

8. Breast milk is not like blood. You can’t just casually take it when you need it. Your boobs are like a pair of monsters that are continually engorging themselves and need to be drained every few hours. In reality, breast feeding is a major pain in the ass.

9. In the movies, your water breaks and then you scream and push and the baby pops out. In reality, my baby came out days after my water breaking. No one told me labor could be 61 hours.

10. Kids and grandparents get along splendidly because they have a common enemy: YOU.

Tussey MountainBack 50-mile Relay

October 7, 2018

State College, PA

This is the 14th year in a row that I’ve run MountainBack. I’m not committed to any streak. But I love making my annual pilgrimage back to State College to see all my Penn State running buddies. And spend a day with them bouncing along in a van making lewd jokes, griping about old joints, and searing our lungs and quads on Rockrock Forest’s unforgiving climbs.

‘Wow, your team would’ve been really fast 5 years ago.’

We thought of naming our relay team the Has-Beens. Or maybe the Ten-Pounders since all of us are about 10 lbs over our natural running weight. As the day went on, our unofficial slogan became ‘Pump It’, since the guys quickly found my breast-pumping stuff  in the van and spent much of the day imagining nefarious uses. Yes, I had to pump part-way through the event. Yes, it was a stretch to do MountainBack two months after giving birth. But Michelle and my mom, my invaluable crew, made it work.

The running part was actually the easy part, thanks to Dave’s company on my legs. I didn’t even piss myself this time. Way tougher was managing the personnel (two-month baby Bjorn and his grandmother) and their gear (they say breastfeeding is cheaper than formula, but by the time you add up all the pumping gear and feeding pillows and nipple creams I’m not so sure).

Costas dazzled in his technicolor outfit. But Bjorn stole the show. He cooed and charmed, and napped and smiled. I expect it won’t be long before Michelle comes to visit him in DC (open invitation there). He took a particular liking to Dave and Michelle. And he didn’t seem to hold it against Meira that she’d kicked Dave off her MountainBack team two years in a row.

Dave was another star of the trip, chauffeuring the three of us from Harrisburg to State College, and helping me haul my big boobs up the gnarly hill on Leg 3 (Dave’s training for the Harrisburg Marathon included doing some bonus miles by accompanying me on my leg). Dave and Bjorn were best buds by the end of the weekend.

I came home exhausted, hungry, and with boobs rock-hard from engorgement and too painful to sleep. As an evolutionary biologist, I started out committed to breastfeeding six months. But mentally, I’m so ready to go back to work, get back into running, and wean Bjorn off breastfeeding and transition him to formula.

Three extra months of formula isn’t going to matter a speck in the long run. Bjorn needs a momma who’s happy and free to be herself way more than he needs a boob. I’m proud I lasted this long, and it’s been a fun adventure to squeeze breastfeeding into a rough-and-tumble life. But I’m ready to move onto the next phase where there will be a lot more freedom. Bjorn says he’s game.

 

Run For It 5k

Davis, WV  9/28/2018

When I knew I was having a baby in July, I decided that my first run back would be the Run For It 5k in Davis, WV. Because RFI must be the only race where the number of runners actually exceeds the population of the town (Davis has around 600 residents). Every last weekend of September, the sleepy town of Davis gets packed to the gills and has the party of the year. It’s one of the toughest, hilliest little 5ks around. No one is running it for a PR. And no one is running for prize money.

Because all the prize money goes to local charities. Instead of winning for yourself, runners compete to earn money for the Tucker County charity they’ve selected to run for (there’s a list of about 20). The overall male and female race winners earn $1,500 for their selected charity, 2nd place gets $750, 3rd gets $500, and age group winners 1-2-3 also win money for their charity of choice.

Aaron and I run for Dan Lehmann’s Heart of the Highlands organization that maintains and builds new running and mountain biking trails around Davis. Dan is the RD of the Highland Sky trail race, and we’re thrilled to be able to run the race to support Dan’s hard work.

With a two-month old kid, Aaron and I are not anywhere close to racing form. Before the race we joked about doing some strides, as if the wear and tear of catering to a newborn infant’s 24/7 needs for nine weeks had left us with any energy for such things. I thought that being a tough little ultra runner would prepare me for the physical and emotional challenge of being a new parent. Not even close. My boobs are still totally dumbfounded by their new line of work.

Left Boob: Hey, Right Boob, what the hell is going on here?

Right Boob: No idea, but it f’in hurts!!

Left Boob: Are you also all lumpy and swollen and having your nipple chewed off every couple hours?

Right Boob: Yes! You too?

Left Boob: Dude, I thought we were supposed to be decorative.

Right Boob: Like floppin’ around in bikinis and getting stroked from time to time. Like a house cat. 

Left Boob: Dude, I have not been training for this! My milk flow is all over the place. My soft nipple isn’t nearly calloused enough for hard baby gums. 

Right Boob: So, realistically how long do we have to do this for?

Left Boob: Someone said something about 12 months.

Right Boob: TWELVE MONTHS!%$(! No f’in way. That’s insane. And btw what the frick is that pump thing? 

Left Boob: Don’t worry I have a plan. It’s called Operation PubMed. I’m finding literature about the negligible benefits of breast milk over formula. Sure, the baby will be a little more gassy. But she is a twenty-first century woman and we are twenty-first century boobs. We’re just supposed to sit by the pool drinking piña coladas looking pretty. 

Right Boob: I thought babies given formula end up obese with lower IQs.

Left Boob: Hogwash. Aaron was a formula-only baby. And he’s smart as SHIT. 

Right Boob: And definitely not obese. But that’s just an n of 1.

Left Boob: Look, I am not against breastfeeding. If a woman wants to breastfeed, our society should do everything in its power to help her, including making comfortable places at work to pump and letting women feed freely in public spaces. My point is just that it’s not the most important determinant of whether you’re a good mom. That JAMA article was disturbing as f*&K!

Right Boob: I haven’t read it.

Left Boob: Go read it. And then think about all the ridiculous lengths some women go to in order to get their babies breast milk. At the expense of their sanity, their work, their relationships with their spouse and family. All because they think it’s required to be a good mom.

So with me and my boobs a little ground down these days, we brought in a couple of ringers. Dave Moore, my friend from Penn State who now coaches track/xc at Penn State Harrisburg, locked up 3rd overall male. Aaron’s mom crushed the 70-79 age group. And Aaron and I did better than we’d thought. Aaron won the 40-49 age group (7th overall). And I took the lead in the last 300m to win the women’s race.

The race was an indicator of just how far I’ve come since returning from the hospital with Bjorn. I was diagnosed with postpartum depression three times during the two months after giving birth. Having the wettest DC August and September on record was little help. I’m doing a lot better now, in no small part to getting over the Cult of Breastfeeding and introducing some infant formula into Bjorn’s diet, which has made for a fatter, happier baby and a less sore and miserable mom. It’s taken two months for me to finally start to feel like myself again. Here were some of the milestones since Bjorn’s birth that helped me feel like a marmot again:

2 weeks: played with my cat Leda (I can’t believe it took me 2 wks to remember that kitties should be played with every day)

3 weeks:  first run (only 2.5 miles in 95-degree heat, felt like poop – still aMaziNg)

4 weeks: first WUS (Julian’s epic farewell WUS in the torrential rain — Julian, we miss you!)

5 weeks: baby’s first trip to West Virginia (I love West Virginia!)

6 weeks: midwife cleared my body for all activity (yes, all activity)

7 weeks: introduced formula to supplement my breastfeeding (left boob and right boob had a big boob par-tay)

8 weeks: went to a two-day conference on universal flu vaccines plus work drinks/dinner (got totally engorged at the work dinner because I went too long without pumping or feeding, but worth it to think about something other than baby for a little bit)

9 weeks: ran a race (it wasn’t pretty: the clearest sign that I had just given birth two months ago was that I was leaking urine the whole way, and piss started gushing down my leg during the final quarter mile when Katie Wolpert and I were fighting for the win. I’m still having some pelvic pain, and the hill around mile 2 is so steep it’s like a wall. but damn did it feel good to race again!)

The Chophouse has always been Aaron’s home, and I’ve always just been along for the ride. Sure, I’ve organized SnowShoeFests and gotten some of our DC friends out there. But one of the best parts of RFI is feeling like part of the Davis community. Aaron isn’t such a go-out-of-his-way-to-be-social bear, but I’ve started to work on finding a community of people in Davis to hang out with when we visit. We’ve been meeting up with our trail running friends Jeff and Charlotte for dinner or a hike. I told Adam after the race that he and his family should join us next time we go hiking in the Sodds. And some day we’ll overlap with Tracey and Frank. There’s a great running community out there, and Aaron and I just need to work a little harder to link up with it.

[Whorfianism is the theory that language shapes thought. While there are terms for the major hormonal and morphological changes that occur during a woman’s teenage years (adolescence) and post-child-rearing years (menopause), there is no term for the similar major physiological and even neurological changes that occur in a woman after giving birth. Consequently, in contrast to adolescence and menopause, there is little research and little public sympathy or understanding of what a woman is experiencing and her behavior during this critical time period. After being fussed over for our 9 months of pregnancy, we’re kind of just left out to dry — or rather, quite the opposite, as urine runs down our legs. #justsayin]

Hey dudes, my name is Bjorn. I’m only two-months old, but gainfully employed as the Town Crier. I’m looking for a girl with big boobs. Like really big boobs. Particularly the left boob. Sure, I enjoy some other things too. I really like: loud 90s grunge music, pacifiers, and car rides on shitty DC roads with lots of bumps. One of my favorite games is taking a really nasty big poop in a freshly changed diaper at 3am. And I’m game for long (8+ mile) hikes in the Dolly Sods. As long as I get boob of course.

 

 

The WUS blog has been neglected badly this year. We’re halfway through 2018 and there is just 1 post and a graveyard of half-written drafts. Aaron and I have been too busy starting a new generation of Wussies, and Bjorn Theodore Schwartzbard made his grand debut on July 17th. His entrance was a wild ride, as Aaron detailed in his very clever IsquirmFar interview.

After 61 hours of labor, Bjorn squirted out on the hospital floor. I was in a deep squat, my butt on my heels, wearing nothing but an IV. Elvis was playing. A killer Birth Mix is definitely the key to labor. The midwife snatched Bjorn’s lanky, blood-stained body just before it hit the linoleum. I fell backwards into Aaron’s arms and he slowly lowered me to the floor. The new baby was thrust onto my chest. Someone asked me if I wanted to get up off the floor, and I replied that no, that there was absolutely no place I would rather be.

Julian astutely noted that at 61 hours, my ultra-length labor would have timed out at The Barkley. The pain in my sacrum had made it too painful to sit or lie down during my long labor, so I’d spent the whole time on my feet, pacing. First in my basement at home, then in the hospital room, and eventually in the halls of the maternity ward, stopping to grip the bar along the wall to ride out contractions. When my labor stopped progressing at 7cm dilated, around 50 hours in, I had to do the Circuit.

When the midwives explained the Circuit, it sounded like Mel Gibson’s torture scene at the end of Braveheart. Step 1: give me a splash of Pitocin to induce harder contractions. Step 2: once the contractions get really painful and at least a minute long, spend 90 minutes doing the Pilates routine from hell: various deep lunges and twisting poses to stretch out my pelvis and help the baby’s head get better positioned so I could go into the final pushing stages of active labor. After three nights without sleep and 50+ hours on my feet, the Death Circuit didn’t sound all that appealing. But I understood that these exercises were my only option if I wanted to continue my plan of natural childbirth. So I whimpered and groaned and cursed my way through it, while Aaron snoozed peacefully on the couch. And fortunately the Death Circuit did its thing and shortly thereafter I went into active labor. After 46 minutes of active labor doing deep squats every three minutes during each contraction, nothing has ever felt so good as lying butt naked on that cold linoleum floor with little Bjorn in my arms.

~    ~    ~

Robin had told me early on to approach pregnancy as an ultra. Your body is going to be hit with all kinds of new tortures and you’re just going to spend a lot of time troubleshooting when possible, and riding things out when necessary.  I had terrible morning sickness for six weeks. I had to go to PT for pelvic pain. Given how much I had to learn over this time, I thought I’d share some of the most important lessons, in case anyone else is thinking of joining the WUS baby boom.

Lesson #1: Midwives. In general, I like Western medicine. I like vaccines. Antivirals. And under the right circumstances I can really go for a lovely pain killer. Plenty of friends swore by the epidural. At first, natural birth seemed a little granola for my tastes.

But then I heard about the snacks. ‘You had me at snacks‘ would be an appropriate epitaph on my tombstone.  Midwives let you eat snacks during delivery, whereas most OBs limit you to clear liquids. Midwives 1, OBs 0.

As I did more research I also learned that foregoing the epidural would free you to walk around and be mobile during delivery. Once you’ve taken the epidural you can’t get out of bed. Over time, there seemed to be a lot more points in the midwife/natural birth column. In the end, I really savored my capacity to remain mobile through the delivery, to walk around and take hot showers and even deliver in a squat position. While I probably wouldn’t do a midwife program in a home setting, as is more common, I whole-heartedly endorse the GW Hospital Midwife program. It really is the best of both worlds. You get to have the autonomy of the midwife delivery within the safety of GW Hospital, with its top-of-the-line NICU. My delivery was complicated (my baby’s head was askew and I was in too much pain to lie down), and I undoubtedly would have needed a C-section had I not been delivering with a midwife.

Lesson #2: Kumquat. I had a lot of pelvic pain during my pregnancy, particularly in the second trimester. I discovered that two of my personality traits were entirely ill-suited to pregnancy. (A) I do not like curtailing activities. (B) I do not like asking for help. One day Aaron found me with my 7-month pregnant belly smooshed against the couch, my butt in the air, while I reached over to grab my cat by the scruff of the neck and drag her up (Leda doesn’t like going in her carrier and hides in inconvenient places when she knows we’re packing for WV.) Ow, that really hurt my belly I confessed as Aaron stood shaking his head. So I came up with a new word: Kumquat. Our code word for I really want to do this myself, but know I shouldn’t, both for me and the baby, but I’m struggling to ask directly, because it sounds really sissy, so instead I made up this stupid word so you know what I mean without me ever having to say it. 

On the trails, it was Huckleberry. I was thrilled to be able to run for the entire duration of my pregnancy. Completing the full WUS loop two days before my due date was as thrilling as winning a race. But I did get slower. In general, the WUSsies accommodated my slower pace with a genteel civility that I will long be indebted to. Aaron gets a lifetime supply of points for all those off-pace runs in Rock Creek and the Sodds. But on occasion a WUSsie would smell barn at the end of a run. Instead of yelling Hey jerk-ass, your pace is putting a knife in my pelvic floor, I came up with a more diplomatic code word: Huckleberry. Kumquat and Huckleberry get a heap of credit helping me stay active, within inherent limitations, all the way to week 40. All hail the fruits!

Lesson #3: Expecting Better. You know something more stressful than pregnancy? Pregnancy books. I started referring to my state as Pregnancy Jail because of the tomes of restrictions. A lot of the restrictions tend to be overly cautious and not based on robust scientific evidence. I found a book Expecting Better by an economics professor at the University of Chicago that provided information on how much scientific evidence supported each pregnancy recommendation. I found that the key to a happy pregnancy was learning how and when to rebel against some of the advice heaped on me from books, the internet, friends, and even doctors, and start listening to my own body.

My first rebellion was against the prenatal vitamin. There are some important nutrients that developing babies critically need, including folic acid to avert neural tube defects. So pregnant women are all told to take heavily loaded prenatal vitamins. But over time I realized that the prenatal vitamin was making my morning sickness so much worse. I had read on the internet to not worry about morning sickness and not eating anything all day, because as long as you’re taking the vitamin your baby is getting all the nutrients it needs. F that! Once I stopped taking the vitamin, and making sure I got folic acid, calcium, and other key nutrients from natural food sources, my daily vomiting became much more manageable.

I had also been told I could run, but only on flat surfaces to avoid falling. But I discovered that the gnarlier the trail, the more rocks and roots, the less it hurt my pelvis. So I rebelled again, and celebrated my full unshackling from Pregnancy Jail with my first run in the Dolly Sodds when I was about six months pregnant. The Sodds is full of rocks and roots and high stream crossings, and some people might think I’m crazy. But Aaron supported me, and I knew that if it was putting our child at risk that he would say something. So I climbed the mountain, stood at my Smoking Bench, and gave all the baby books the finger.

Lesson #5: School Year. Child care in DC in effing expensive. Like college tuition-level expensive. Not that anyone really can plan when their due date is, but Aaron and I really lucked out having our baby before the DC school system’s September 1st cut-off. Our kid will be going to kindergarten right after his 5th birthday, whereas a kid born in September or October will incur a whole additional year of childcare costs, which can run tens of thousands of dollars. Imagine how many frozen burritos that could buy Sean Andrish.

Lesson #6: Don’t Forget to Play With Your Kitty. When you finally have your baby, you’re going to be totally overwhelmed just trying to feed it the 8-12 times a day he requires. It was about two weeks before I realized I hadn’t played once with my cat Leda since I’d returned from the hospital. Not with her mouse. Not with her string. She was looking lethargic and depressed. Seeing Leda come back to life as she batted her favorite blue string, with a convincing determination, was the turning point in my recovery from childbirth. I could go without sleep. I could go without food (my house was littered with half-eaten plates as I shed almost all my pregnancy weight in the opening weeks from stress). But I realized that nothing darkened my mood more than Leda going two weeks without being the Most Loved Kitty.