My Mother’s Day Manifesto

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I’ve noticed that people on the interwebs are becoming increasingly prickly.  Maybe it is because everyone has a soapbox platform now.  We blog, tweet, facebook, comment, vlog.

Hey, I get it.  I’m doing it now.

But this phenomenon has turned every news article, research study, opinion piece, heck–even the obituaries into an opportunity to express one’s anecdotal experience.

Laboratory of one.

Want an example?

I read an article about a kindergarten kid who was forced to sit in her own feces during testing.  Terrible story about a specific incident.  I knew what I would read in the comments.  “That is why we homeschool.”  And, “If you have a kid about to enter the odd social experiment American public schools have become I fear for you.”  Over 1000 comments.  Ad nauseam.

A study that shows breastfeeding boosts immunity?  You guessed it:  “Well, my kid wasn’t breastfed and he never got sick.  Not once.”

A soccer team gets sick from germs on a reusable bag.  “Please hippies, stop using your reusable bags.  You’re going to kill the rest of us.”  Real comment.

Can we please stop taking everything so personally?  Everything isn’t about you.

Cloth diapers vs. disposables.  Breastmilk vs. Formula.  Bed-sharing vs. Crib-sleeping.  Free-Range vs. Helicopter.  Public school vs. Homeschool.  Hospital vs. Homebirth.  SAHM vs WOHM.  Vaccinations, Cry-it-out, Attachment Parenting, Child-Led Weaning.

Guess what?

At the end of the day, these are not moral decisions.  They are choices.

I know they are important choices to the parents making them.  But in the scheme of things?  These are distractions to bigger issues.  And bottom line:  who cares what choices other parents make?

The so-called Mommy Wars keep us busy fighting petty battles.

I admit that when I was a new mom, high on oxytocin and prolactin, I proudly stamped the labels after my name.  Have you seen such?

NorahsMom: non-CIO, babywearing, cloth diapering, co-sleeping, no-circ, waterbirther.  Go ahead.  Google me.  You’ll probably find pages of forum activity.  You’ll find me all fluffed up with icons and smileys.  Full of advice.

Embarrassing.  Ridiculous.  Thank goodness I realize now we’re all pretty much clueless, hanging on by a thread, and doing the best we can for these children we love.

Listen mamas.  There are real issues that involve moral decisions.  Issues like maternity leave, access to healthcare, toxic food and products, children without mothers, maternal mortality and morbidity.  There are children who are trafficked and children who work on coffee plantations.  Why aren’t we taking our fierce mama bear selves and fighting about that?

I write a blog about my life, my work, and my choices.  My life.  My work.  My choices.  I parent in the way that feels normal.  To me.  And yes, I advocate for natural birth and cloth diapers and the like.  I’m passionate about these things.  But I do not assume these translate into roadmaps for other families.

Yesterday when I overheard some women talking about attachment parenting in a dismissive and demeaning way, it made me angry.  But then it made me wonder, when have I done the same?

The so-called Mommy Wars keep us busy fighting petty battles.

Polarizing us.

Paralyzing us.

A mom is a powerful force.  With our multi-tasking skills, our sacrificial love, and our relentless desire to protect, we are unstoppable.  Sounds a bit like a superhero.

Alright, I admit I am caught up in the Avengers.  Maybe I am dreaming of a Mothers Initiative.

So I’ll start small.

I’ll start with not taking everything personally.  And taking a step away when I get too close to the choices I’ve made.  My fight is not with other mamas.

We are on the same team.

(And while we’re talking teams, can we please pick out some uniforms à la avengers?  Something high-tech with snazzy gadgets?)

NEW Hypnobabies Class (June/July)

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I’m opening registration for my next Hypnobabies class.  We’ll meet Mondays from 6pm-9pm in Greer.  The first class is June 11 and we’ll meet for six weeks.

All materials are included.  The cost is 250.00.

Please contact me if you’re interested or have questions.  I have four spaces available in the class.  Email:  j_byer@bellsouth.net.

Ordinary Days

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Today was such an ordinary day.  The sort that I imagined when I became a mostly stay-at-home mom.

The girls jumped into my bed at 7:30.  I drank coffee.  They ate pancakes.  I made lists.

We went to the dry cleaners, the library, and the grocery store.

Note to self, when asking the 6 year old to dress the 2 year old, check to make certain the 2 year old is wearing underpants prior to walking into the grocery store.  Particularly when the 2 year old is sporting a tiny sundress.

Norah glammed out. Cedar sans underpants.

At the grocery store, I pushed that wretched cart with the red car in front.  One steering wheel was missing so I had to facilitate driving disputes through the entire trip.  I lasted six years before caving to that horrible shopping cart.

I digress.

There was some home-learning, lunch, and exercise.

I tried to do yoga but Cedar pounced on my back during downward dog.  I have a very sore wrist now.

I talked to a couple of friends on the phone, tidied up work appointments and schedules, paid a bill, texted breastfeeding help to a former client.

I even made cookies.

I cooked a big meal and delivered it to a family.  Picked up our produce from the co-op.

I made salsa, drank sparkling pink lemonade, and tucked children in bed.

Then I snuggled on the couch with my hard-working husband to watch Star Wars.

Such a very ordinary day.  I wore yoga pants and tennis shoes all day.

So unlike day before yesterday when I unexpectedly caught a baby in a couple’s bedroom.  My hand on her head as she scrunched her face and then drew her first breath.

You never know what the days might bring.  The ordinary days confuse and surprise me as much as any other.

I read this blog post today about how the days we fail do not define us.  Wow, I rest in that.  Days like yesterday when I was, as stated by the 2 year old, “the meanest mommy ever, ever, ever.”  Then I realize that none of my days define me.  Not my ordinary mundanes or the outstanding over-the-tops.

My identity does not come from my days.

My identity does not come from my days.  My kids.  My husband.  My job.  My success or my failures.  Who likes me or who doesn’t.

May I be ever mindful of this Truth.  And learn to rest in it.  Then perhaps I will scrunch my face for that big effort to take a new breath.

The old has gone.  Behold, the new is here.  

My Amazing Childbirth Students

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I added a gallery of pics from my childbirth students.  So thankful they were willing to share these pictures!

Clever as clever

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When I was five,

I was just alive.

But now I am six,

I’m as clever as clever.

So I think I’ll be six

now and forever.

(from “Now We Are Six” by A. A. Milne)

An update on Norah:

Truths

*  She has incredible self-discipline.  I’ve mentioned this trait before but wow.  At the Christmas parade, she gathered only the candy she felt appropriate.  Leaving pieces on the ground all around her as other kids eyed them.  While Cedar gobbled up as much as I allowed and then cried “CANDY!” all the way home, Norah admitted she had not eaten any because she hadn’t had dinner yet.  After dinner she ate a single peppermint.  One of many examples.  It truly is extraordinary.

*  Her favorite food is brussel sprouts.  Don’t look at me.  I hate brussel sprouts and following a vicious brussel sprout incident from my childhood, I vowed never to feed the evil things to my kids.  Her other favorite foods are raw turnips, green peas, and roasted okra.  But I cannot get her to drink much of anything besides hot chocolate.

*  She is smart.  In that sharp, scary way.  She has a no fluff learning style and prefers math, handwriting, and science to reading and history.  While I like to try out different methods and change my mind about everything, Norah wants all things to stay the same.  Forever.

*  She loves snuggles.  Cartoons.  Unlined paper.  Journey (yes, the band).  Playing her tin whistle.  Classical Music.  Pretending to be “mama” to her stuffed animals.  Her nature table.  Science lab.  Anatomy.  My iPad (especially the camera feature).

*  She adores art and has some nice pieces from museum classes.  She despises crafts at home.  I have learned that we cannot do crafts together.  Usually one or both of us end up crying.

* She wants to be an architect when she grows up.  And she is already an inventor.  She plans to open a business inventing things.  For those of you who didn’t see my facebook post, she plans to invent holograms so that Daddy and Papa won’t need to work.  The hologram will stand in.  When asked why Mommy didn’t get a hologram, she responded, “Mommy doesn’t work.”  She is designing a baby brother which she expects to animate using a placenta (presumably to be filched from one of my clients).

* She makes friends easily and is gracious with smaller kids.

The Questions (a sample of questions she asked in the last few days)

* Why do Buddhist monks like orange so much?

* What part of our body did God make first?

* Why don’t carrots have seeds?

* Do Buddhist monks like carrots?

* How are babies made?

* Who wrote Korobushka? (yeah, I had to look it up, too)

* Do we thank the farmer or God for this potato?

* Can we go to Cambodia for my birthday?

* Why is the sky different colors of blue right now?

* What is the difference between karate and kung fu?

* What do tadpoles eat?

* Where would I go if I were very small and got flushed down the toilet?

* Is Papa really doing magic when he drives with no hands? 

The Challenges

* Homeschool is harder than I expected.  More from personality.  Mostly mine.  It has revealed selfishness and impatience.  Ugly stuff.  Also, there is tension between being comfortable with letting her play most of the day and fearing that if I change my mind and send her to public school, she’ll be behind.  Because she plays most of the day.  I think play is where most learning occurs at this age.  Public school disagrees.  I don’t have a crystal ball.   Tension.

* Norah has a phenomenal memory for details.  I don’t.  She can remember what kind of car someone drives, what color pants someone wore (turquoise or cerulean), etc.  I’m much more into narrative and feelings.  Because I don’t remember as she does, she thinks she is smarter than me.  And has said so.  This issue adds to challenge number 1.

* And she is cautious.  Afraid to be alone.  Often helpless (perceived or real).  Complains of odd and specific ailments–“my elbow feels like my nose when it is about to sneeze.”

However, she is not cautious about science!  She has studied a sheep’s heart, given a pygmy hedgehog a bath, built a catapult, and touched all manner of slithery things this year.

New Birth Story

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I love this story from one of the Hypno-Doulas in our community.

She went from being told “You’re just not good at being pregnant” to having a beautiful homebirth.

She went from listening to the “Baby Stay In” hypnosis script to the “Baby Come Out!” script.

She went from previous preterm births to full term.She went from feeling fear to empowerment.

Enjoy!

Last Minute Class for Last Minute Folks

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I have some folks who need a last minute childbirth class in Greenville.  I’m offering a two hour “crash course” class.  Usually I teach this class privately and I have to charge more.  But if I can pull a group together, I can offer it for 35.00 per person/couple.

April 28 6-8pm.  The class will cover stages/signs of labor, comfort techniques, hospital protocols/choices, informed consent, and the immediate postpartum.

Cozying up with Little Women

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Last night I took Norah and her two friends to the theater. We saw “Little Women”, the musical. I wanted to do something special for her friends since I knew their dad was deploying the week of the show.

As Norah and I pulled into their neighborhood, Norah said, “You know, Mom, the girls in Little Women are a lot like my friends’ dad. Both of the dads are gone to war.”

I had to pull over for a second. I hadn’t made the connection at all. Quickly, I ran through the story in my head. Would it be ok to take these girls to see it?

I pulled the girls’ mom aside as they loaded up and asked her thoughts. She looked as surprised as I had been. I can’t believe we didn’t think about it! She hurriedly took her youngest daughter aside and told her that the story tonight would be about a different war. One fought a long time ago.

I’m mentally kicking myself.

I’ve read Little Women umpteen times. Somehow, reading it and watching even the musical version at this time in my life has been powerful.

Reading it, I’m intrigued by Marmee as a mother. Her candid talk. Especially when she admits, “I am angry nearly every day of my life.” Mostly, Marmee makes me feel inadequate in every way. It is no wonder I latch on to this one revelation.

The musical was brilliant. Fifteen minutes into it, I stopped biting my nails and fretting over the girls. I got caught up in the story. The first moment that hit me was Marmee’s scene in which she tries to write her absent husband a letter. She wants to tell him how hard the days are and how alone she feels. And how she fears she is failing as a mother. But she can only write chipper words of encouragement. I ached for my friend who said the same thing about when she tried to write a letter to her deployed husband.

And then came Marmee’s song, “Days of Plenty” which begins after Jo asks, “How do you do it? How do you go on?” referencing Beth’s death.

I missed the funeral of a young mother in our community to attend “Little Women”. It wasn’t an easy decision. Images of my grieving friends and this mother’s small children were always in my thoughts. I wanted to be there to support them.

And then this song.

I refused to feel tragic,
I am aching for more than pain and grief.
There has got to be meaning,
Most of all when a life has been so brief.
I have got to learn something,
How can I give her any less?
I want life to go on.
I want Days of Plenty

You have to Believe,
There is reason for Hope.
You have to Believe
That the answers will come.
You can’t let this defeat you.
I won’t let this defeat you.
You must fight to keep her there,
Within you!

So Believe that she matters!
And Believe that she always will!
She will always be with you!
She’ll be part of the days you’ve yet to feel!
She will live in your bounty!
She will live as you carry on your life!

So carry on,
Full of Hope,
She’ll be there,

For all your Days of Plenty

I love that line, “She will live in your bounty.”

I didn’t know Eileen well. I knew her as a mom in the playgroup. Our conversations were rarely more than surface level mom stuff. She had sparkly eyes and a humongous spirit. I remember once when she spontaneously led the older kids in yoga poses during a babywearing group. They followed her like the pied piper.

Many of my friends knew her deeply and loved her deeply. And as I sat in the theater with tears falling off the tip of my nose, listening to a musical (a musical!!), I knew that I was hearing Truth.

She’ll be part of the days you’ve yet to feel. She will live in your bounty. She will live as you carry on your life.

My time with Little Women has been unexpectedly raw and revealing. And I have to believe there is reason for absorbing it at this time and place.

Of deployed husbands and fathers.

Of angry marmees.

Of grieving friends.

May we carry on full of Hope.

Negotiating Laborland

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She could take me down with her pinky finger.

Her body was strong.  Her mind was sharp.  She carried a gun.

Thankfully not during her labor.

Her motto was “To serve and protect.”

When I walked into her home, shaking off the adrenaline from my speedy drive, I found her deep in her labor dance.  She was leaning over her bed and swaying her hips.

Things had moved rapidly since I’d visited her that morning.  That morning we had laughed about her spacey contractions and she prepared to go shopping.

It was 4pm.

The first words she said, “I’m not strong like you.  I can’t do it.”

“Crazy talk.  You are MUCH stronger than I am.  And you ARE doing  it.”

Her husband, who also carried a gun, was mastering the fine art of the double-hip squeeze.  I caught his eye and sent him telepathic messages:  she is close.

And she was.  I arrived during mom’s transition stage; when her body was releasing adrenaline to prepare for pushing.

And there was a problem.  This beautiful police officer, in that strong police officer voice that I’ve spent a lifetime respecting says, “I want an epidural.  I am not leaving this room.  I’m absolutely not getting in the car.  I can’t.”

I look to her husband but he is suddenly very involved in double hip-squeezing.

I’m on my own.  My usual pep talk with murmurs of encouragement fly out the window.  This woman is practical.  I give it to her straight.

  • A) I’ll call a midwife and we’ll have the baby right here.
  • B)  I’ll call an ambulance.
  • C)  We will walk to the hospital you did not want to use (1 mile away)
  • D)  We walk downstairs, get in the car, and drive to your hospital and your doctor.  (45 minutes away)

Negotiations begin.

I know we don’t have time for negotiations.  I channel my inner police officer.

I send Dad to load and cool the car.  He also fortifies himself with a Red Bull.

When Dad returns, I give him “the look” and I run to transfer my things to their car.  This birth will be my first time driving the getaway car!  Usually I follow in my car but this one is too dicey.

Somehow Dad gets her into the car and we’re off.

I’m driving two police officers to the hospital.  And one is pushing!

Holy cow, what a ride.  Mom is on her knees with her faced smushed up to the window.  Dad is still rocking the double-hip squeeze.  I’m handing back a chux pad in anticipation of her water breaking.

We were still a good 25 minutes from the hospital when the pushing sounds began.

Then I hit stupid Wade Hampton Rd.

When I pull up to the hospital doors, I jump out, grab mom, and bolt.  I hear knocking and look back to find Dad stuck in the backseat which can only be opened from the outside!  I rush back and let him out.

We get upstairs, there is flurry, there is some chaos.  Mom is a VBAC so there is extra flurry and extra chaos.  I catch the eye of a nurse I know and mouth “which room?” while Dad deals with check-in.  She points and I go.  As soon as we walk in, Mom’s water breaks.  I strip her clothes and toss on a gown.

She crawls into the bed on her knees.  Baby crowns.  I hear one of the nurses say to another, “I’ve never done one in this position.”  Too late.

The nurse receives the baby, mom flips overs and takes baby.  No one clamps the cord until the OB arrives 10 minutes later.  I guess the OB has to have something to do, right?  She doesn’t even get to suture since Mom’s perineum is perfectly intact.

Baby was born 15 minutes after we pulled in.

This woman’s first birth:  a 40 week induction + cesarean + NICU.

Second birth:  a quick birth without assistance.

I think that women can be just completely surprised by the change in them from giving birth—you have something powerful in you—that fierce thing comes up—and I think babies need moms to have that fierceness—you feel like you can do anything and that’s the feeling we want moms to have.” –Ina May Gaskin, midwife

Lately

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I haven’t done one of these in awhile.

Adoring: my May clients. Two beautiful families. Their births will be extraordinary.

Listening to:

Proud of: my students and the amazing, outside-the-norm births they experience!

Never Leaving Home Without: My LifeFactory bottle filled with coconut water, chlorophyll, and lemons.

Appreciating: coffee

Nostalgic about: gluten. Oh how I miss it. I’ve been gluten-free for four whole days.

Reading: Little Women with Norah. The Easter Bunny is bringing her tickets to the musical.

Buying: Vitamins and herbs. This family is consuming some serious supplements of late.

Drinking: green tea. Trying to get three cups a day.

Working on: A new blog look. This one has long grown stagnant.

Wishing: Cedar would decide to poop on the potty. I threw away a cloth diaper the other day because I just couldn’t make myself clean it. Shhhhh…don’t tell anyone.

Giddy about: hmmm. I can’t think of anything. I need more giddy in my life of late.

Feeling: Heavy for my dear friend who will be sending off her Airman to faraway places.

Missing: my computer. It crashed last night. As much as I would like to say the iPad satisfies, it falls short in areas like blogging, creating Facebook events, creating documents, working with media files. I would like to insert a picture in this post. Alas, I don’t know how.

Grumpy that: my poor missionary sister in Cambodia gets to see Hunger Games before I do.