For today’s science wackery, I give you Heliocentrism is an Atheist Doctrine.

It seems clear that it may occasionally be convenient to assume that the calculations of Copernicus and Kepler were mathematically sound. However, for both moral and theological reasons, we should always bear in mind that the Earth does not move. If it moved, we would feel it moving. That’s called empiricism, the experience of the senses.

It’s also wrong because Newton had to “invent math” to make it work, as a quoted list of facts shows. In fact, let’s take a look at several of those facts.

2) The earth moves only thru abstract, abstruse, and esoteric mathematics invented to make it move.

4) Relativity is pure claptrap and there isn’t a person reading this who can’t know that fact.

5) Foucault’s Pendulum, the Coriolis Effect, and geostationary satellites do not prove a moving earth.

6) Anyone can see that the results of the Michelson-Morley experiments–especially the light fringe results–prove a stationary earth; and other facts about eclipses, satellite re-positionings, alleged blinding earth speeds, gravitational hooey, etc., add to the proof….

Why is this such a concern? Because the evils of heliocentrism must be opposed because it led to evolution which leads to Godlessness.

Are you ready for the punchline? This post is on a blog supporting Sam Brownback for president.

Look, people, even your Heliocentric hero Galileo recanted his idiotic notions about the Earth revolving around the Sun. If he’s your so-called reliable source on this, I think it does wonders to shatter the idea’s credibility that one of its main proponents backed away from it so abruptly.

I can’t stop quoting from this article! It’s a treasure trove of awesomeness. And don’t miss the comments, where someone asks if the post’s writer is trying to “give Jon Swift a run for his money”. The writer replies, “Who’s Jon Swift?”

(Taken from James Nicoll)

Little lolcat,

A week ago I didn’t know you. You were a black-and-white sonogram and an occasional foot in my back while your mom and I slept. Now I can’t imagine you not being here.

In some ways you’ve lucked out. You’re our second child, which means we’re much calmer with you than we were with Eli. With Eli, we were afraid to take him out of the house in case a strong wind might blow him away and into the mouth of a passing dingo. But you? With you we don’t even bother sleeping in a chair in your room.

You being our second child also means you have an older brother. Let me apologize for that ahead of time. I was an older brother. I know how much we can suck. Eli’s already grown bored of you, since right now you’re a lump of baby and thus unable to appreciate his frogs and turtles, but eventually he’ll be jealous of how we let you do things at a much earlier age than he got to do them. You’ll fight about who gets to sit in the front seat after school and who gets the last piece of cake. Like Tommy Smothers, you two will say that mom always loved the other best.

I’ll tell you a secret: Mom and I don’t love either of you best. We love you different. You and Eli are different people, and our relationships with you will be as individual as you two are. There are some things that you’ll be better at than he is. There are some things at which he’ll be more skilled. In case Eli ever lords anything over you, just remember that you did a much better job of latching on right after you were born. Your brother was a lazy eater.

Your full name is Kathryn Elizabeth. We named you after both of your grandmothers, and called you Liza because we liked the name. Your mom was especially pleased that you can create so many nicknames from your names. Kat. Kate. Beth. Liz. Zabe. Your mom’s never had a nickname that’s stuck, a loss she feels keenly to this day. I got “Doc” as my nickname, probably because of my handlebar mustache and the times I rode with the Earps.

Your birth was a difficult one. Originally your mom was going to give birth without drugs, and when she had to get an epidural, I told her she was giving up a stockpile of guilt that could be doled out when you misbehaved. “I gave birth to you without drugs, in so much pain,” is one of the more potent weapons in a mom’s arsenal. Then she had to have an emergency caesarean section because your heart rate dropped alarmingly, and let me tell you, the fear and pain of that has given her the key to a National Strategic Guilt Reserve. I’m warning you now, don’t behave so badly that she dips into that reserve. The results won’t be pretty.

Through all of this, our friends and family have supported us. They have marveled at how healthy you are and what a happy baby you are. They’ve cried with us and supported us during your mom’s recovery period. Because so many of them are, like us, Baptist, they’ve been waiting for your grandparents to go home so they can visit bearing casseroles to feed us all. Friends can drive you crazy and family can annoy you, but they can provide strength when yours is used up. I hope you are as lucky with your friends and family as we have been.

Looking at you in your crib, I’ve been overwhelmed by my love for you. It helps balance the crazy times when you’re not really interested in sleeping even though your parents’ heads will burst into flames if we all don’t go to sleep right now. I watch the faces you make, the smiles and frowns, the bit where you suck your bottom lip in. I listen to your wheezes and snuffles and feel at home.

I doubt this will come as a surprise to you, but you’re a girl. And thank goodness — since I’ve forgotten how to put a washcloth over you when I’m changing your diaper, it’s good you only wet the changing table instead of spraying me in the face. But in a lot of ways your gender works against you, in ways too numerous to list here. And I hate that. I hated watching your mom deal with things at work that I wouldn’t have had to deal with by virtue of me being a guy. I hate that you may be discouraged from being physically active, or from being a physicist or liking math or getting into comics or liking football, just because you’re a girl.

So here’s my promise to you: We will not push you into “girl-appropriate” activities or behaviors just because they’re expected. We will not tell you that you can’t do something because of your gender. We will support you and love you. When we mess up, and we will, we will acknowledge it and apologize and figure out how to make things right.

Parents talk about what they want from their kids. It starts right after a baby’s conceived and doesn’t ever stop. When we told people we were pregnant, often they asked, “Do you want a boy or a girl?” We told them we wanted a healthy baby. Some parents know what they expect from their kids when they start school, or even what they want their kids to be when they grow up.

My wants are much less specific. I want you to be happy. I want you to learn who you are and be comfortable with yourself. I want you to experience life and find your own way in a world that can be confusing and painful and wonderful and breathtaking. I want you to have friends and family that support you and love you.

I want this letter to be written proof of that support and love.

I guess this is going to be my labor story. I hadn’t planned on it being that, but now that I’ve started writing it down, that’s what it’s going to be. I didn’t write anything down with Eli. I probably should have because my memory is spotty even after only three years. I’m not sure that I’ll ever forget the experience of Liza’s birth simply because it was filled with so many highs and lows, but again, sleep deprivation does something to the memory….

A note to my pregnant friends: don’t read this until you’ve had your own baby. I’m not kidding. Don’t read it. Ashley, Jamie, Jessica, Terry: if I find out you’ve read it I’m gonna kick your butts. After you’ve had the babies, of course. Later addition: Wendy too isn’t allowed to read. Sorry, I have Mommy Brain.

Labor

Last Thursday morning, I woke up to go to the bathroom for about the fifth time and experienced an odd sensation. I knew instantly that my water had broken. I got Stephen out of bed and woke my mom to tell her we were leaving. On the way to the hospital I kept expecting my contractions to get stronger, closer together. That didn’t happen until after we got to the hospital.

I have to say that the experience of leaking amniotic fluid is icky. That is the best word I can use to describe it. Icky. Because it doesn’t stop and then you get a hospital gown and its icky for everyone all over.

We met Jeanne, my doula, at the door and her first comment was, “I love your Mary Jane Crocks! Where did you get them?” She was wide awake and ready to help me bring my baby into the world. She was calm and caring and I would have never made it without drugs for as long as I did without her.

We got to the hospital room by about 2 A.M. and my active labor started in earnest about 3 A.M. I walked and sat on a paper drape on a birthing ball (extra large exercise ball) and generally moved around to stave off the pain, which frankly wasn’t that bad. Both the night labor nurse and Jeanne seemed impressed with my tolerance for the pain. I’m not sure that I have a high tolerance or if my contractions just weren’t that bad. I suspect it’s some combination of the two.

Around 7 A.M. I started transition labor, which is supposed to be the very worst part, worse even than the actual pushing because of the contractions’ intensity. Jeanne and Stephen and my labor nurse, Rebecka, were great during this time. All three were around me and very encouraging. Rebecka didn’t have any other patients so she stayed with me and gave me updates on where my doctor was. I was worried that my doctor wouldn’t get there in time to actually deliver Liza.

Around 9 or 10 A.M. I had progressed to 8.5 cm and 100% effacement, but didn’t seem to be going anywhere very quickly. I decided that I needed some IV drugs to help with the pain that had gone from bearable to remarkably unbearable. When later I still hadn’t progressed, we decided to do the epidural/pitocin route, so the pitocin could do its job and I would finish dilating. I don’t remember much after this. The IV drug that I was given hadn’t really worn off and the epidural definitely canceled out the contractions, but I still didn’t make any progress.

By 12:30 P.M. my doctor came in to check. By this time, Rebecka had set me up with internal monitors and taken me off the external ones. My doctor didn’t like Liza’s heart rate. She ripped the plugs out of the monitor, unlocked the wheels on my bed, and leaned over and said to me, “I’m sorry. I know this is fast but we have to go right now. I don’t like what I’m seeing of the baby’s heart rate.” She started wheeling me out of the room. She bumped into a desk, ran over a nurse’s toe (she cussed in my ear, it was lovely!) and all but did an up-on-two-wheels turn screaming into the OR. She promised me that the baby would be ok and that she was good now and we were going to keep her that way and then she ran out to scrub.

The anesthesiologist, who had hooked up my epidural, was there and he talked to me as something like 20 people were whirling around me to get ready. He moved me to the OR table and stuck a wedge under my right side and was holding my belly with his left hand while trying to get some IV thing set up over my head with his right hand. The whole time he was telling me that it was going to be ok and that the baby was going to be safe. His was the voice of sanity that no longer lived in my head. I heard someone drop what sounded like 15 or 20 metal instruments. There was much discussion of putting me under as opposed to using the epidural that I already had. Someone was talking about getting me prepped. What was I doing during all this?

Freaking out.

Between the meds and the hormones, I was a complete and total basket case. It was the worst feeling of my whole entire life. I’m not exaggerating. Worse than when I found out my parents were divorcing. Worse than when I found out anyone I knew had died. I don’t ever remember the intensity or the sheer depth of terror that I was trying desperately to deal with. And all without the comfort of any loved ones around me. While I know that the bulk of it was hormones and meds, it still makes me cry when I think about it. Maybe it always will. I honestly thought that Liza or I could die.

By this time I had an oxygen mask on and the anesthesiologist kept reminding me to breathe because I’m sure that I wasn’t doing a very good job of that just then. Maybe the oxygen finally kicked in because I started to pray that my baby would be ok. I could deal with anything else as long as my baby was ok.

And then I went to sleep.

OR Recovery

When I woke up, I thought I was coming from the ER (later I found out that I was coming from X-Ray because they like to check and see that nothing is left behind from surgery). Rebecka was asking me to rate my pain. I thought she was joking because I was pretty sure that someone was still cutting on me. She told me they were hooking up my pain pump and that I could have some of the lovely morphine in just a couple of minutes.

While I was waiting on the good drugs in a haze of hormones and pain and trying to come to grips with what had changed so drastically for me in the past few hours, I heard a male voice say he was bored. As with the unreasoning fear I had felt in the OR, this caused unreasoning anger. I called for Rebecka and told her that the man who just said he was bored needed to be sent out. Actually I’m pretty sure that I ordered her to send him out because I didn’t want him there. I felt as if my whole life where falling apart and some jerk was joking around about how the life-and-death ordeal of trying to birth my child was boring him. I wanted to do him bodily harm. I was thinking that the knife I’d just felt was a good place to start. He’s probably a nice man; he apparently was an anesthesiologist from another floor who just happened to be visiting Labor and Delivery because his regular job isn’t very exciting. I’m sorry for him about that, but I’m still pretty sure that I’ll hate him forever.

Not too long after that (It didn’t seem long to me but maybe it was a while, who knows? I had morphine), they let Stephen come in. I think the first thing I said was that I loved him. It had been the only thing I could think about for the time I’d laid there: That I loved him and hadn’t had a chance to say it before I went to the OR. He had brought the camera and he wanted to show me pictures of Liza but I couldn’t wake up enough to focus my eyes. Instead I just asked questions.

Was Liza ok?
Was my mom here?
Was Liza ok?
Was Eli here?
Had my dad made it yet?
Was Liza ok?
Where my mom and dad playing nice with each other?
Was Liza ok?

We were both crying and I’m sure that he’ll probably always have scars on his hand from where I was gripping it, but for the first time in what I later learned was several long hours that I thought everything just might be ok. Really.

Hospital Stay

The rest gets better. I got to see Liza later in the afternoon on Thursday. Shortly after this photo, I sat up for the first breastfeeding session (ouch!). My first completely embedded memory of my girl child will be of her wide-open mouth ready to latch on. It was a beautiful sight and brought on a few tears of relief and made me laugh at the same time. She knew immediately what to do and proceeded to do it with a gusto that hasn’t diminished during this week. I was pretty fuzzy the rest of the day and was warned they’d remove all my hookups the next morning.

On Friday at 5 A.M., the nurse came to unhook my catheter and make me walk to the bathroom. Ugh! She promised me that was the worst trip that I’d make. She was right. The rest of Friday was a whirlwind of baby photo taking, Social Security card registration, doctor debriefings, vital sign checks, baby feedings, visiting with my mom and dad and Eli and finally, finally! a shower around 1 pm. I hadn’t had one since Wednesday morning so it was a lovely experience. Saturday was better still with a long stretch in the afternoon of Stephen and me hanging out in the room with Liza watching Matrix Reloaded on TV. Sunday brought the flurry of activity associated with getting released and then we were home for lunch.

Closing

Was it the experience I wanted? Yes and no. I got to experience the bulk of labor naturally. I guess you could say I got two labor and delivery experiences for the price of one. Overall I accomplished the goal of Liza getting as few drugs as possible. Yes, I had IV drugs and an epidural but those were so late in the program, she didn’t have time to get nearly as much as Eli certainly absorbed over the 10 hour period I had an epidural, pitocin, and anti-nausea medication while I was in labor with him. I never dreamed that I’d have a C-section. I had successfully delivered on child vaginally; I didn’t think C-section was anywhere near a probability for me, but on looking back and seeing the number of false labors that I had and the slow progression I made, I don’t think that I’d ever have progressed to 10 cm with Liza. 50 years ago I could have died; 100 years ago I certainly would have. Of course, I probably would have never lived to be as old as I am now anyway 100 years ago, my eyes are too bad. So I guess it wouldn’t have mattered 100 years ago.

I’m glad she’s here. I’m already enjoying her babyhood in a way that I never could with Eli because I was too nervous about what I could be doing wrong. I’m glad that she is healthy and I bore the brunt of the pain and angst. I guess that’s the best case scenario after all.

Again, I thank you for all your thoughts and prayers and love and care you’ve sent our way over the past week. It has meant more to me than I can ever say. I am thankful that I have all of you here to share my life with and that you give your time to read what I write here. When we started this site, I thought only a few people would read it, mostly grandparents. I’m glad it’s given me a way to connect with so many people. This experience has taught me that once again, these kinds of connections are the things that matter.

Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars. (YouTube link)

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers’ Learning to Fly. (YouTube link)

Which is the most repetitive?

Dear Internet,

Yes, I’ve already seen that XKCD comic. Yeah, I thought it was funny. No, no, it’s okay you sent it to me, you just don’t need to send it to me any more.

Sincerely yours,

That LOLTrek guy

[tags]lolcats, loltrek[/tags]

To allay any fears that our house is all-Liza all the time, here are three notes on Eli’s recent behavior.

One

Eli has a book called Shaggy Dog and the Terrible Itch, which came with a CD. On the CD, Doon Mackichan and Jamie Theakston read the story.

Now, Eli has a habit of memorizing books and then parroting them back as we read them. In this case he parrots it back in a strange mash-up of southern US, southern England, and Scottish accents. Hearing him carefully say, “much, much better” as “mooch, mooch, bit-tah” is often the high point of my day.

Two

Eli has taken to creating stories about his toys and other objects in his possession. He will line up a frog and a quarter and a race car and tell us how the frog and the quarter went down the road and then they got stuck and then the race car came along and said “hop on!” and gave them a ride back, the end.

During one of the many trips between our house and the hospital, Eli was in the back seat of Misty’s mom’s car. He was cradling a fistful of quarters he’d been playing with. Misty’s mom asked him, “Eli, will you sing me a song?”

“No,” Eli replied.

“Will you tell me a story, then? About your money?”

Eli said, “If you give me another quarter!”

Three

Eli is very fond of flashlights right now. Misty’s mom had a flashlight in her car, and Eli begged for it every time he saw it. When Misty’s dad arrived, he came bearing three small LED flashlights. Eli was ecstatic.

Later that day he was talking to Misty on the phone. “Mom!” he cried, “I have a new flashlight! See?” He then shone the flashlight at the phone so Misty could see the light.

When you have a one-month-old screaming at you, it’s important that you have a checklist of things to do to give you the illusion of control and sanity. In preparation for Liza being old enough to throw some great screaming fits, here is such a checklist, adapted from Dr. Harvey Karp’s list. For those of you without children and with no desire to have children, think of this as worst-case scenario instructions, kind of like what to do when you have to fend off a shark. You will probably never need it, but then one day you’ll be trapped on a plane hurtling to its doom and your seatmate will have been knocked unconscious, leaving you with nothing to do but soothe his screaming baby.

In the order you are to try them, here are the seven S’s.

Swaddle. Babies were wrapped up tight in the womb. Being able to flail their arms and legs about is distressing. Wrap them tightly to comfort them.

Side. When sleeping, babies should be on their back. When calming them, however, try holding them on their side. Many babies find lying on their back to be disorienting.

Shush. While in the womb, babies were bathed in the susurrus of mom’s heartbeat and blood, and comforted by hearing the muffled sounds of her voice and the voices of those around her. White noise, rather than quiet, is what babies need to feel comfortable. While holding your baby on the side, bend down and put your lips near his or her ears and say “SHUSHHHHHHH” as loud or louder as the baby’s cries.

Swing. Babies in the womb also are jostled around by mom’s motions. Replicate that experience by gently swinging and jiggling your baby. Do not shake the baby violently, as that can harm tiny baby brains.

Suck. While taking the swaddled baby and turning them on their side, shushing them, and swinging them, offer a finger or pacifier for them to suck on. This triggers a calming reflex. “Suck” also serves to describe you if you make it to this point and are unable to calm your baby.

Sob. It’s 3:17 A.M., you’ve had no more than 20 minutes of sleep in a row, and your baby won’t calm down at all, despite all of the pseudoscientific S’s you’ve thrown at them. Go ahead and cry. You know you want to.

Shriek. It’s 4:40 A.M. and none of these strategies have worked. Join your voice with the baby’s and offer up a wordless howl of frustration and despair. Don’t forget to breathe from your diaphragm.

Sure, I may have been busy with other things, but Brian and Crispy soldiered on, discussing Lost’s announced end date (because of course they will have tied up all loose plot threads by then), George Lucas wanting to make more live-action Star Wars movies, and the possible use of a “Stunt Stephen” for the next several episodes.

This entry is a break from the all-baby all-the-time content of the previous days (Live Granades: Like a Blog, Only Babier). I was a Boy Scout, and collected a number of merit badges. My favorite was the one for computers, which was very easy to get if you had a computer — the badge requirements had been written in the late 1970s or so, when computers were hard to come by. Otherwise, though, science-oriented merit badges were hard to come by.

Thankfully the Order of the Science Scouts of Exemplary Repute and Above Average Physique have badges to fill this void in my life. Aaron pointed them out to me, and now I share them with you!

Continue reading Science Merit Badges →

IMG_3810.JPG

Originally uploaded by misty.granade.

Okay, this is actually Geof posing as Misty, but … hey. What are friends for, but for giving them your “super secret” password? [I should tell you mine, Misty, so we have Mutually Assured Destruction. Heh.]

Anyhow … around 5:00 p.m. tonight, I got a call from Stephen: “We’re ready for visitors now! Spread the word.” I grabbed keys and hauled butt to the hospital. 🙂 My camera has been living in my car since I heard Misty had gone to the hospital. I’m fairly happy with how these photos came out. All in all, there are 68 photos in the set, all the ones that I thought were good enough to post. [It was weird, having all this light to shoot in. Most of my photos are done at ISO 1600 and 1/10s in some dimly lit bar in Nashville.]

Anyhow … Misty’s moving slowly, as you might expect, but she and Stephen both look and sound happy. And Liza, well, she’s a cutie. Not that I’m biased. Enjoy the photos! –GFM