Archive | August 2013

I Have a Luscious Beard

My facial hair does not reach this level of awesome.  That is both a relief, and tragic.

Madame Clementine Delait (1865-1939)
My facial hair does not reach this level of awesome. That is both a relief, and tragic.

This post can be found at my new website,

Lets do some good old fashioned soul-baring, inspired by The Militant Baker.

I have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome.  It can mean a lot of different things to different people. To me it means I keep a closer eye on my heart health and blood sugar, both of which are currently normal. It may have contributed to my current size.  PCOS correlates to the depression that I have dealt with off and on since I was a teen.  I was told I may be infertile when I was diagnosed at 15.  I was diagnosed when my mom and I realized my periods weren’t becoming regular as a teenager.

With a little care, I’m lucky that I am as healthy as a horse.  The jury is out as to whether fatness is a cause or effect things with PCOS, and frankly I only care about it academically.  That same big horse is already out of the barn, and a fancy chestnut mare is she.  Turns out, I’m probably not infertile.  However, I’m all over the jump-straight-to-spoiling role of auntie, so I won’t be testing that theory.

Other people may see actual cystic ovaries (although this is not guaranteed), heavy or absent periods, thyroid issues, thinning hair and acne and other skin issues.  Symptoms vary from person to person.  Symptoms may show up at puberty, like mine did, or may show up later in life.

The biggest part of my PCOS that I deal with daily is the beard…  I started growing facial hair at about 17.  I’ve been super self-conscious of it since then, but turns out people generally don’t notice.  Or they’re too polite to say so.  Even so, I’ve tried almost everything to get rid of it.  Most things I’ve tried have caused more skin irritation and acne than hair removal.  I now reap the benefits of a laser hair removal groupon I used few years ago, and a constant supply of tweezers stashed strategically in the bathroom and in my purse.  I’ve also made more peace with it and don’t worry about it as much anymore.

Female facial hair can be a sign of hormonal imbalance, but it can also be normal human variation.  I don’t discount the fact that the men in my family are impressively hairy.  There are women who embrace their facial hair.  I think that is awesome.  While I like my face smooth, I don’t pretend that the preference is not a cultural thing.  Mariam and Balpreet both look great.


This blog is moving

This was a temporary get-em-started web address.  The new, fancy, permanent one is

We’re still working the bugs out over there, but it is live and is shiny for you.
It will be the main site as of Sunday, August 11.

Scooters and Birthwork

Me, on my scooter in February.

Me, on my scooter in February.

I love riding my scooter.  My dad rides a motorcycle and I always loved riding with him.  A few years ago, I gave up my car (by “give up”, I mean totaled, and refused to replace). I’m not a terribly good driver, and it is much harder to get distracted on my scooter.  I chose a scooter partially because I have a tendency to wear skirts every day; I’m not much of a lady most of the time, but straddling a motorcycle in a skirt is a bit beyond my comfort level.  This leads to an interesting world in which some motorcycle riders acknowledge me as two-wheeled kin, and some don’t.  I love seeing motorcyclists and scooterists on the road.   To me, its a party where we all try not to get killed by drivers. And I always give a head nod or wave, either way.  It isn’t always returned.  I’m sure there is an argument to be made that a scooter can’t always go as fast, is a cop-out, and other reasons that motor cyclists might not openly recognize me.  And that’s fine.  While it is nice to see a head nod, wave, or two fingers flashed over a handlebar, the absence of recognition doesn’t make me go home and cry at night.

As I rode along a few miles from home, I was thinking about how this correlates to the birth community.  Some see it as an adversarial system, where OB-GYNs just want money for c-sections and their evenings free, and labor and delivery nurses are either overworked and surly or saints, midwives are angels, but home-birth midwives  might be irresponsible, and doulas take over the roles that friends and families should fill and just annoy the nurses.  And of course, they all have trouble working together.

I remember when I first chose to start down the path to become a midwife, I chatted with a labor and delivery nurse one night at a friend’s house.  I told her I was really glad to hear what she did, and asked her some questions about her experiences.  Eventually, she asked me what my plans were. When I told her I wanted to be a midwife, she laid into me saying that any time a woman had a midwife they always ended up in her care with interventions.  My decision was foolish, and harmful.  I was shocked at the vehemence.  I never ran into her after that night, so I never had the chance to understand the experiences that lead to her frustration with midwives and home births.

Her line of reasoning didn’t make sense, from multiple angles.  There are many midwives who work in hospitals, and there is plenty of evidence showing that home births and birth center births are effective for many women.

I don’t think either view has much merit.  In birth, no one has a direct ride to the front of the class. Each position has strengths and weaknesses.  Every care provider picked their occupation to help pregnant and laboring mothers.  OB-GYNs have a level of skill that is required for more complicated cases.  Midwives have skills to lead uncomplicated cases safely through pregnancy and birth.  Nurses provide care and  valuable monitoring and liaising with a hospital.  Home birth midwives fulfill a community need for supervision and guidance, even in the simplest of cases.  Doulas provide one-on-one support, hands-on assistance, and useful education.  They can all work together, within their own scope of practice, to create a community that supports parents at every level.

And maybe we can all go for a ride afterwards.