I have a new birth story up. Go read, go read!
Teasers:
“We didn’t even consider that those really were pressure waves”
“I thought that I felt something coming out… but Brandon told me it was “nothing, don’t worry about it” when I asked him what it was”
“I then kept shouting at him what time is it, what time is it.”
“I still had a hard time believing that this was not just a pregnancy dream.”
“yes you really do boil a pot of water like in all the old movies.”
What are you waiting on? Go read!
I’m reading The Year After Childbirth by Sheila Kitzinger. I love this book.
Here are a few gems from the first chapter about the first weeks postpartum:
“The ordinary divisions of time–into morning, afternoon, evening, and night, and before and after meals–have lost meaning. In their place there seems to be a long, uncoiling, endless ribbon–feeding, changing, cleaning up, soothing and rocking and patting, starting the laundry, tidying up a bit, feeding again, bouncing the baby up and down, managing to wash yourself and pull on some clothes if you’re lucky, feeding again, carrying the baby around, drying the baby things, grabbing something to eat, picking the baby up, feeding, dashing to the shops, and then feeding again because the baby is still fretful. There is never any point at which you can say that you have finished.”
“Some new mothers say that they did not know what tiredness was until they experienced the exhaustion that comes from straining every nerve, concentrating with set purpose on doing everything right with a new baby, while at the same time feeling powerful emotions…For the tiredness is not just a question of needing more sleep, or of trying to fit everything into a twenty-four hour day that seems suddenly to have shrunk. The emotional intensity of becoming a mother and caring for a new baby is in itself demanding.”
“Maternal emotions are urgent, raw.”
“For several months after birth it is normal to be in a heightened emotional state.”
“Yes, there are times when you lose all self-confidence and feel that you are a terrible mother and a failure as a woman. But there are other times when you feel a luxurious contentment, like a cat who has been at the cream.”
Sheila Kitzinger is a social anthropologist and writes many wonderful words about women, babies, and birth.
While I love the words, Norah loves the pictures. After flipping through the pages on our drive to the coast, she drew some detailed pictures of perineal tears and episiotomies. Oh well. Maybe she has a future in medical illustrations?
Why wasn’t I told that convincing a small human to eat requires enormous creativity?
I am a consummate constructor of food monsters. For some reason, known only to a toddler or preschooler, anything shaped into a monster may be eaten. Boiled egg? Boring! Egg monsters? Delicious.
(she ate most of the egg monsters before I could take a picture)
Foods named eggs and toast? Yesterday’s news. Foods named “eggs in a nest?” Something new!
Food presented on a plate? Blah…push it around with a fork. Food presented in an egg carton, altoid box, cupcake liner, cookie cutter, or any odd container? Gobble it up.
The egg carton is Norah’s favorite lunchbox.
Need some ideas for a picky little one? I take lots of ideas from bento box themes. Check out laptop lunch’s ideas. I also like their photo gallery.
Of course, for those truly artistic souls, aspire to true bento genius.
I’m at the coast for much-needed leisurely pursuits before the next wave of busy time hits us. While we shake sand from our towels and taste salt on our tongues, I cannot help but think of what waits when we return.
Here are the happenings on the horizon:
Saturday (August 28) I’ll be speaking about baby-led weaning at the monthly Blessingway. If you’re soon-to-be-adding-solids to the baby’s menu, join us! If you’re struggling with making baby food or spoon-feeding your little one, join us! If you are an expert at baby-led weaning, join us! You could maybe speak and I could maybe just listen?
I begin a new Hypnobabies series Sept 5. I have two spots open. This class is a 6-week group series.
I am teaching two private classes. One is a Hypnobabies class and then other is a Mindful Birth class. Both go for 6 weeks.
I have two births for September. Both will be lovely, I am certain.
Norah begins soccer this Thursday. Her first team sport. Her first sport. I have no idea how this episode in her life will look!
And Norah begins school. Just one morning a week. Still, a new responsibility and discipline.
I’m hosting a playdate at a river on Monday.
Then the usual babywearing groups, playdates, consultations, postpartum visits, prenatals.
I’ve heard rumors that my husband might take me to High Cotton for a hot date.
Speaking of husband, he is doing his ritual “man-weekend” sometime in September. I’ll be alone. With the girls. All. Weekend.
Also, have I mentioned I have a new nephew? I really want to spend loads of time snuggling with him!
Wonder how I’ll do about keeping up with the blog? We shall see.
In Hypnobabies, students train their minds to expect birth to be comfortable. Students spend lots of time before their birthing time to practice this programming.
Birth is suprising.
Congratulations to one of my couples who had a super-fast, comfortable birth. Before their doula arrived and before they could leave for the hospital, daddy caught their baby. At home. Unplanned.
The birth was quick and uncomplicated. Daddy was calm, cool, collected. The mama was thrilled. The baby was content.
It was their first baby.
Birth is surprising!
I received this exact text from my husband today:
“hope your xlose…i am prisomer”
My reaction was poor. “WHAT?? I can’t leave the house for 2 measley hours to run errands without you needing me to come home and rescue you from your 4 yr old daughter?? Who rescues me when I’m home with both girls all day, every day! For the rest of my young life!”
Play the martyr often, do we?
Granted, I said all this in my head. Still…there it was.
When I got home, I was greeted at the door by my firstborn.
“Where is your father?”
Norah led me to her dark bedroom where I found my husband tied up with three ropes, his phone clutched in his hands. He couldn’t bring the phone above his waist because his hands were held fast by a rope looped about his feet. He also had a rope around his neck. I saw the red marks on his wrist where he tried to wiggle out. I wish I’d taken a picture.
Could he have gotten out? I honestly don’t know. He looked securely tied. These were sturdy ropes; the kind Scott uses to tie kayaks to cars.
Norah does love tying knots. She sometimes ties my skirts strings to the kitchen drawers when I’m cooking. I almost destroy myself, dinner, or a drawer when I turn to walk away. We are ever untying the most complex tiny knots from headphone cords, blanket tassels, silk streamers…
Should we be afraid? Or proud?
I love this picture.
To me, this is what support looks like at a birth. The dad providing counterpressure. The doula supporting the mom’s squatting position. The midwife a reassuring presence. I love her hand on Noelle’s head.
The transition into pushing is an intense time. The body is releasing adrenaline and mom’s “thinking brain” has shut down. She is fully immersed in the sensations. It can be a vulnerable time and one that is often abused by caregivers who are uncomfortable with the power of it.
This is not a time for loud noises or flurried activity. This is not a time for bright lights. This is not a time for medication or the offering of medication. This is not a time for instruction or cheerleading.
This is a time for calm reassurance and gentle hands on support. If the mom asks for help, offer it in a way that bolsters her trust in her ability to birth. I quietly whisper to women words like “your body is designed to do this” and “you are bringing your baby down.” I remind them to take it slow, there is no rush. I remind them that they are not breaking; not damaging themselves. They are stretching and opening.
Sounds of power from the mom. Croons and murmurs from the support team. A cry of awakening from the newly born.
My family is tight. I have one sibling. My parents still love each other. We have weekly Sunday dinner during which we sit at the table talking long after the coffee has cooled. And for this rare moment, we all live in geographic proximity.
When my sister became pregnant, I coached myself on:
All the while, I wondered how I could possibly be her doula in the hospital setting. I imagined scenes of security guards forcibly removing me from the hospital. But they chose a homebirth and I breathed a sigh of relief. I wouldn’t need to guard her or time her arrival at the hospital just right. I could relax into supporting.
Ha.
As her time approached, I had so much anxiety. If she had to transport, I would blame myself. I knew this. Deeply knew this. A big sister thing, you know? I did a Hypnobabies “fear clearing” before her birth.
Then her birthing time began. And it felt so normal. The anxiety melted away as I moved into the familiar and comfortable space of birth. I hunkered down to support her in the work of bringing a baby.
What I was not prepared for was the emotion. The powerful emotion that hit me full force out of nowhere as she was close to birthing. At this moment:
Yes, this moment. Do you know what I was thinking? I was remembering the time I left her in my uncle’s hayloft. She was little and refused to come down the ladder. So my cousins and I left her crying. My horrible brain fired off many of those memories in rapid succession leaving me a pile of mush. I wept in her shoulder so she wouldn’t see. I was entirely unprepared for the onslaught memories. I never cried at my own births.
She was a warrior, as I knew she would be. And Zach was a strong birth partner whispering prayers and endearments throughout.
Her sweet babe weighing in at 8lbs 4oz was a precious dumpling.
And her doula was busy remembering every mean thing she ever did to her.
Regarding birth, I hear language like this: “You mean, your doctor let you [fill in the blank]?”
I’ll be honest. Language like this makes me want to puke.
I attend births in different environments. Rarely do I hear an out-of-hospital birther say, “I am so glad my midwife let me [fill in the blank].” But I hear it all the time about doctors or nurses.
What is the difference?
Pregnant women, hear me. You do not need to compromise all your power and choices when choosing a hospital birth. Yes, there are some limitations. Yes, many many OBs do not support vertical birth, delayed cord clamping, etc. Find one who does. Prepare. Ask your friendly neighborhood doula which doctors support physiological birth. We know what goes on in the labor room.
One of my clients recently gave birth standing in the hospital bathroom. Her doctor (of course it was Dr. Polo Shirt) responded afterwards, “well, I haven’t had a standing birth in awhile.” He was completely unfazed by the whole thing. He simply handed her the baby and helped her to the bed. Some of her friends responded with “he let you give birth standing up??” Why yes. And she trusted he would support whatever position she chose.
Do not be afraid to switch care providers if your intuition is screaming that he/she will not support your choices. Be tenacious about finding someone who will. Birth is important. It is. How you are made to feel during birth is important.
**Great scene, isn’t it? All I could do was crawl between doctor and toilet to slide a pad under her and then crawl back out to grab the camera. Space was tight and it all went down quickly. I think Dr. Polo Shirt only got one glove on.
When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before,
like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.
Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
shaking the water-sparks from its wings.
Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
like the diligent leaves.
A lifetime isn’t long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.
Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.
In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.
Live with the beetle and the wind.
–Mary Oliver (from The Leaf and the Cloud)
Inexplicable Ways 