Facie’s Ramblings

I rarely comment on news articles on Facebook. Mostly, I just don't want my name to be out there (hello, Google search). Partly, I just don't want to get into it with people. But yesterday, the P-G published an article about moms wanting a facility for nursing mothers at Heinz Field. And I simply could not stop myself from commenting. (But only once. At least so far.) I was surprised (though I am not sure why) many of the comments were in the vein of "be a parent and stay home" or "you women want everything." Apparently most commenters did not bother to read the article, which was about nursing mothers who want to breastfeed or pump. Honestly, I don't think it is terribly appropriate to take a baby to a Steelers game. People can get wild and loud. Profanities abound, and sometimes rough behavior ensues. But if that is what someone wants to do, I certainly won't criticize them. At least not on FB. But I was nursing mom for about a year. When J was...

This is not going to be about health care; I just don't have the energy to talk about that. No, this post is about going to the doctor. Fun! Like an intelligent woman that I sometimes I am, I regularly go to a gynecologist. But the "regular" doctor? Not so much. I figure I get my heart rate and blood pressure checked at the gyne (along with my women parts), so what else would a regular doctor really do? I do try to get to one of those about every four or five years, and I get blood work, so I figure I am all set. Not quite, I guess. I was last at the "regular" doctor about 3 years and 10 months ago. I had been having leg pains, and I worried that it was something serious. So the doc checked me out and did some blood work. Nothing came of that, life went on, so I figured I was in the clear. Then a few months ago, I had to pick a PCP because of my new (via job) health insurance, and I went with that same practice I had gone to almost four years ago. The ...

Last evening, for reasons I cannot remember, my eight-and-a-half-year-old third grader asked if she could get a bra. Well, bras . For a girl, the first bra is a big deal, and I am fairly certain that the vast majority of ladies out there remember their first (or at least early) experience with that mystical piece of fabric. My earliest memory of bra-land was in the fourth grade. A note came home informing families that scoliosis tests were being conducted the next day. Girls were instructed to wear a bra, so they could be examined together in the same room (rather than sending them one at a time into a smaller room with the nurse). I was a skinny, flat-chested girl, and I did not own this white, shapeless garment, unlike every other girl in my class (most of whom were equally as flat-chested). So when the school nurse conducted the test, I was examined separately, while everyone else got to giggle with one another. I remember being pretty embarrassed. Even worse was getting the ner...

It is hard to believe another year has passed since the day that probably 99 percent of the women out there dread. Oh, how I loathe my annual exam, but I am happy to report that two things happened to make it not so awful this year. Through the apparently thin walls, I could hear the heartbeat of an unborn baby. I have no idea what that instrument is called (the one that allows you to hear the heartbeat of an in-utero baby), but as I heard that sound from so long ago, my eyes immediately watered. The memories of that whoosh-whoosh-whoosh noise, from over eight years ago, came flooding back, and I was immediately reminded of the first time I heard Jordan's heart beating from inside by stomach. At the time, I had no idea what the sound was, and I had to ask the nurse if that was my baby's heartbeat. She said yes, and my eyes welled with tears. I also remember the next time, when it took awhile for the instrument to pick up Jordan's heartbeat. I was supposed to get a so...