lydia : an urban crunchy mama

At this time last year so much seemed uncertain. I would even go as far as to say “unlikely”. But here we are, with an almost-four-month-old baby in our family.

Like Taylor, Jameson asks to be held or worn all day. He also wakes up often throughout the night, needing my milk and reassurance that we are nearby to comfort him. As physically challenging as it has been and continues to be, I know from my experience with Taylor that invaluable gifts are hidden in these moments.

About a month ago, Jameson uttered his first laugh while I was singing and acting out a fingerplay on his body. A week later he laughed simply because he was amused by my silliness. Who knew a 3 month-old could already have a sense of humor?

While Jameson protests nearly any distance from our bodies, he does enjoy (for a few minutes at a time) his bath tub. He doesn’t actually bathe in it, but he likes reclining in it while we brush our teeth or take a shower.

What else am I wanting to remember about this time? Jameson’s numerous and very specific needs call on me to practice Presence. Many of my early months with Taylor are a blur because I expended so much energy trying to console her colicky self and wishing things would “improve”. I had not yet learned that resisting reality only results in suffering. I had yet to discover what it means to be fully present with What Is. With the understanding I have now, I can consciously choose to relate to these moments more mindfully or, at the very least, have the awareness to notice when I am slipping into an unconscious state of being.

Looking back as far as Jameson’s conception, I notice that a pattern has emerged. Over and over again, circumstances seemed treacherous and even impossible at times, yet this small but very strong spirit came through to grace our lives. He constantly asks me to surrender more fully and trust more deeply. This is only the beginning of what he has to share with us and the rest of the world.

 

 

Sleep
Jameson has continued to wake up during the night like a newborn to nurse. Only in the last few days has he begun to sleep for longer stretches. In recent weeks he has also developed difficulty with sleeping in the wee hours of the morning, between 3 a.m. and 7 a.m. So in addition to feedings, we wake up to soothe him.

The sleep deprivation from months of pregnancy discomfort in addition to now caring for an infant is taking its toll physically, mentally, and emotionally. I am absolutely exhausted everyday despite my attempts to rest and nap during the day. This level of fatigue affects my mental capacities, and I often struggle to find the right words to articulate myself when talking to someone.

Without sufficient sleep, I am downright irritable. Just ask Taylor because we have been pushing each other’s buttons for weeks now. At one point, I was so painfully raw that I looked up sleep deprivation and its possible side effects. While I don’t consider myself psychotic, sleep deprivation can contribute to psychosis. I guess I just wanted some validation that whatever I was feeling wasn’t a figment of my imagination, that lack of sleep does contribute to altered states of being.

Big Sis
On the topic of emotions, I have noticed that Taylor has been checking books out of the city library and school library that reflect what she is feeling, especially around her transition to being a big sister. How wise of her to enjoy and seek comfort in books like this. Taylor loves, loves, loves her brother. She absolutely must kiss him first thing in the morning, when we part ways at school, and before they go to bed at night. As much as she loves him to pieces, she also misses our undivided and immediate attention. I have wished many times in recent months that I could clone myself and give everyone in this house what they need.

Early Literacy
I have been ultra-mindful about not pushing Taylor academically. It may sound strange coming from an educator, but I have taken a very hands-off approach to subject matter traditionally taught in school. Instead, I have followed Taylor’s lead and let her ask for my support. I have heard about kids teaching themselves to read, but I wasn’t sure what this process might entail until recent weeks.

Taylor stepped into kindergarten with a solid understanding of letters and their respective sounds (thanks in large part to a Leap Frog DVD called Letter Factory). She would try to sound out a word here and there. No big deal. But now she’s really getting the hang of it, using context clues in a sentence to read a word she is not familiar with, building her knowledge of sight words, and stringing together sounds to make words even if they’re not phonetic.

I wasn’t aware of how Taylor’s literacy skills compared to those of her peers until her teacher started assessing each child in her class. From casual observation, Taylor’s teacher noticed that her literacy skills were well established and that Taylor would likely score high on the assessment. I had the opportunity to eavesdrop on the assessment, and from what I could hear from across the room, Taylor totally nailed it. As much as I have not pushed Taylor in this way, I am proud (and a bit relieved, to be honest) that this is where she is in her development.

Temperament
While I am certainly grateful that Jameson is not colicky (like Taylor was), I have to admit that I am surprised Jameson is not a more mellow baby. He smiles at new faces and in new environments but fusses easily. He’s not one to be in one position for more than a few minutes (unless he is nursing and/or sleeping). Eating my meals is a rushed activity. I shove food in my face as fast as I can so I can get back to holding him. He is actually most content and most smiley in the middle of the night after he has eaten and after his diaper has been changed. Jameson looks at himself and me in the mirror when I potty him in the bathroom, and after he pees and/or poops he gives us a big smile as if to say, “Look, Mama! I went potty! Shucks, I’m so proud of myself.” I wonder if I am beginning to see signs of early separation anxiety as he sometimes starts to fuss when he sees me walk away from him. If I am not holding him (and even if someone else is holding him) he watches me like a hawk as I move around the room.

Diapering
During the day I use Fuzzi Bunz one-size, pocket diapers with terry inserts, and at night I use Seventh Generation disposables. I’m not totally comfortable with using diapers that have the absorbent gel inside, so I may be searching for a new disposable brand soon. What I do know for sure is that cloth wipes ROCK! Next to cloth wipes, disposables are useless. As one of my friends said, they’re not even in the same league. I use BabyKicks wipes and keep them warm and moist in a wipe warmer partially filled with water and the smallest drop ever of tea tree oil (to keep the wipes from getting and smelling funky from being in such a warm and moist environment all day). 

Survival Mode
Although it has been three months since Jameson’s birth, we are still very much in survival mode. Still accommodating Jameson’s many naps. Still cooking a week’s worth of food on Sundays. Still socializing minimally (if nearly no socialization can be considered socializing). Still leaving dishes in the sink until we get to them. Still tweaking the evening routine to get both kids fed, bathed, and in bed at a decent hour (which now equates to each of us eating dinner separately). Still *just* getting the bare minimum done everyday to make it through to the next day.

Recovery
As if sleep deprivation wasn’t challenging enough on its own, I had a birth nightmare one night. Apparently, I have yet to fully process what happened at the hospital during Jameson’s birth, and I am in need of healing from that experience. I really thought that I cleared a path for my baby and for myself this time by planning a homebirth, but I ended up at the hospital anyway.

Postpartum Body
On the up side, I am within 5 pounds of my pre-baby weight. On the down side, I think I am re-developing my sensitivity to eggs, which is such a bummer because they’re an excellent source of protein, and I love eating them. I’ll have to experiment some more, but I fear my egg-eating days may be over.

 

**Monday**
Morning
Taylor and I stand on the school yard listening to yet another student receive a star for “being a good friend”. We hug and kiss good-bye, and as I stroll Jameson back to the car I wonder if we are awaiting a phone call that might not come at all, or, at the very least, farther into the school year than we would like, when it might be more difficult for Taylor to make the transition. On the drive home, I catch myself in negative self-talk and acknowledge how this kind of thinking only detracts from what we want.

Once Jameson and I arrive at home, I gently place him (still asleep in his carseat) on the ottoman in the living room. Just as I let out a big sigh the phone in the kitchen rings. Crap! Don’t wake up the baby! On tip toe, I run towards the phone, and just before I pick it up I think, “This could be the phone call”. I answer it, and it is the phone we’ve been waiting for. The school’s administrative assistant informs me that there is indeed a spot in one of the kindergarten classrooms, and Taylor can start the next day. I thank this woman profusely as tears of joy run down my cheeks.

I call Jim immediately to share the news, and we are both in shock. Wow! We’re really sending our kids to this school. We celebrate briefly and move on to discussing how and when to tell Taylor. There are some items in Taylor’s current classroom that belong to her, and we know that she may worry about them being left behind. Do I tell her at pick-up today, and then retrieve the items on the spot at the risk of it all being too abrupt? Or do I wait to tell her at home (after she’s de-compressed from her day) and retrieve the items the next day at the risk of Taylor worrying about her stuff? I tell Jim that I’ll feel it out as I proceed with my day.

As I spend the next few hours thinking about this, I remember the three qualities I looked for in preschools and, more recently, in elementary schools.
A school community that…

• Celebrates and nurtures Taylor’s individuality.
• Emphasizes process over product.
• Models and scaffolds peaceful conflict resolution.

I also make a conscious choice to focus on what we have chosen, what we appreciate about her new school and not criticize her current school unnecessarily (despite my strong feelings about it). This talk with Taylor is not about my ego’s need to justify this decision. It’s about being truthful and remaining open to her response. Still not entirely sure how and when to share the news, I pack a snack for Taylor just in case we stay at school longer than usual after dismissal.

Afternoon
The school bell buzzes, and Taylor files out with the rest of the class. I ask her to sit on a bench with me as I unpack her snack. I take a moment to get up and ask her teacher if she is available to talk after she takes the rest of the kids to the bus line, and she is available to meet with me. I sit back down next to Taylor, and our conversation goes something like this.
Me: You’ve noticed that Mommy and Daddy have spent a lot of time and energy looking for a kindergarten for you. We’ve been talking about it a lot.
Taylor: Yeah.
Me: There’s one school we were really hoping you would go to, but they didn’t have a spot for you. Well, now they do. I got a phone call today, and they’re ready for you to start tomorrow.
Taylor: (wide-eyed and suddenly very excited) Yay!
Me: This school has projects and activities that we think you would enjoy. They also have a music teacher, an art teacher, and a dance teacher.
Taylor: You mean just like preschool?
Me: Uh-huh.
Taylor: (suddenly teary-eyed) But I’m going to miss my friends.

Taylor’s teacher returns and sits next to us on the bench. I share the news with her teacher and also take that opportunity to acknowledge and validate Taylor’s tears. I am mindful about reassuring her because I know the most important part of this moment is letting Taylor feel the feelings and me being fully present to empathize with her. Just as we are having this moment, her teacher chimes in with, “Don’t worry, Taylor. You’ll make lots of new friends because you are such a good friend.” Although well-meaning, this reassurance brings Taylor’s release to an abrupt halt, and Taylor asks to go inside to get her things.

Once inside, we gather her stuff, and her teacher and I talk about Taylor’s new school. Taylor becomes impatient with us and asks to leave, walking toward the door. I take her lead, stop the conversation to say a quick good-bye, and walk out too.

When we are off the school’s grounds Taylor begins crying again. I park Jameson’s stroller and squat next to Taylor to be at her eye level. We hug as tears continue to tumble. “It’s sad to be leaving people you care about,” I say. She nods her head and cries some more. I invite her to sit on my lap, and she does for a moment but quickly stands up again because she just wants to go home.

In the car, Taylor’s mood shifts from sadness to excitement. She asks me about her new school, and we talk all the way home. Later that night, she is so excited she has a difficult time falling asleep.

**Tuesday**
Morning
It’s a cold, windy, foggy morning. I tuck Jameson into the Moby Wrap, and all four of us walk down to Taylor’s new school. We check in at the office, and the administrative assistant escorts us to Taylor’s classroom to introduce us to her teacher. The room is already full of energy as the other kids move between activities during free choice time. After greeting us, Ms. E asks a boy dressed in a dragon costume (love it!) to give us a tour of the place. He takes Taylor by the hand and shows us around.

The physical environment is appropriate for kindergartners — three large communal tables, a block area, a book area, a quiet nook, a puppet theater, a dramatic play area, a large rug, and a pet snake. Other parents are settling their own child into the classroom and interacting with others’ as well. Ms. E floats around the room and offers gentle support when needed.

Because we had been invited to stay as long as we liked, we feel comfortable reading Taylor’s cues and following her lead to determine our departure time. We end up staying for a half an hour and leave each other with hugs and kisses.

Afternoon
Jameson is getting fussy and ready for a nap. Do I leave him in the Moby Wrap and walk, knowing that Taylor will probably not welcome the steep incline on the walk home? Or do I take him out of the Moby Wrap, drive down there early, and try to keep him asleep by strolling his carseat around? I decide to take the car on the conveniently short yet hilly commute to school.

Other parents are in the yard waiting for dismissal too, and when I start to see kids leaving classrooms with their care givers I make my way to Taylor’s room. As soon as she sees me, she has a story to share. Taylor’s ballet teacher is also the school’s dance teacher! I delight in the surprise with Taylor, and then my adult brain kicks in. Awesome! Taylor gets to do something she loves during school hours. It’s free of charge. And I don’t have to schlep her across town to the dance studio. Sweet!

Taylor’s energy is up, and the light has returned to her eyes. I can tell she’s had a great day, and she continues to volunteer bits and pieces of her experience until bedtime. As we both step into the shower that evening Taylor initiates a conversation about why she and I like this school better than her old one. She also states very explicitly that she would like to stay at her new school.

**Friday**
Taylor’s new school is quite small in comparison to other schools around here. In addition to its cozy size, the people who teach here and choose to bring their children here create a very welcoming vibe.

The first block of time in Taylor’s classroom is almost always free choice time, so it’s a great opportunity to help transition kids from home to school; to see what’s happening in terms of curriculum and socialization; and to connect with other parents and children. What a contrast this is to Taylor’s old school. Jim and I feel a much greater sense of belonging in four days at this school than we did in fifteen days at the other school. Night and day, I tell you.

Every Friday morning, the entire community is invited to an all-school meeting in the cafetorium. I attended this morning’s meeting because it is one of the things that endeared me to this school during the touring season. Between the short performances, appreciations, and singing, my heart swells with emotion.

As another point of stark contrast, Taylor’s old school had that silly star ceremony every morning. Here appreciations are handled very differently, both in intent and in action. There is a box in the main office where teachers, parents, and children may place a slip of paper that expresses appreciation for someone else in the community.

This morning, members of the first grade class approached the microphone to read the appreciations aloud. Some were written by children to other children, teachers to other teachers, teachers to children, children to parents, and children to siblings. The heart of this weekly ritual is plain and simple — to express gratitude. No stars. No drawings for pencils, T-shirts, and pizza parties. Gratitude.

In that same spirit…I appreciate this school for valuing my child as an individual; providing developmentally appropriate curriculum; creating a joyful place for learning; welcoming us so warmly; and being a living example of what a public school can be.

 

Jameson
He looks less and less like a newborn everyday and more like a cherubic infant. I enjoy feeling his soft, furry head against my cheek when I burp him in the middle of the night. I delight in his smiles whether he is awake or asleep. I marvel at the idea that my breastmilk is sustaining him and contributing to his physical and emotional growth. While he still prefers to sleep in our arms or on our bodies, he is willing to take one solid nap on his own mid-day.

Each time we change his diaper, we also provide the opportunity for him to eliminate in a container designated for this purpose. He knows exactly what we are asking him, as he becomes very quiet and still and, more often than not, releases into the potty. It feels good to honor this need.

I initially felt panicked about driving Taylor to and from school with Jameson in tow. A minimum of 80 minutes of driving per day is a lot for anyone, let alone an infant. I imagined that he might scream all the way there and back, both in the morning and afternoon. While he does scream sometimes, I have discovered ways to keep him content and less stressed about the ride. He enjoys the sound of radio static and prefers the car to be in motion at all times. Stopping at stoplights can be especially unpleasant, so I often reach back with one hand and jiggle his carseat until the light turns green again. When Taylor is in the car with us she reaches over to jiggle her brother’s seat too.

Mission Critical
These two words drive our priorities as we continue to navigate life in survival mode. What is mission critical these days? Jameson’s feedings and naps. Warming meals. Eating meals. Jameson’s laundry. Dishes. Bathing. Driving Taylor to and from school. Everything else is icing on the cake.

Our day-to-day survival depends heavily upon my weekly meal planning and cooking. I establish a menu for breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and snacks every seven days and cook all the entrees and prep whatever I can for Taylor’s lunches and snacks on Sundays. It makes for a busy Sunday, but we are then able to spend the rest of the week tending to the mission critical items.

Survival mode has also equated to consciously choosing a very limited social life. Outside of our parents and support people (like midwives and our doula), I have yet to visit with any of my friends. I just don’t have the bandwith for it. I’m still sleeping only a couple of hours at a time at night, and I spend so much energy caring for Jameson and chauffeuring Taylor during the day that I have little energy for much else. Squeezing in a nap of my own or at least lying down for a few minutes is a welcome luxury (that doesn’t always happen).

3+1=4
On one hand…
Taylor is completely smitten by her little brother. She can’t kiss his little, furry head enough times each day. She runs to his side whenever he is awake and enjoys entertaining him with her singing and silly antics. She delights in the newness of Jameson and his first experiences, like going to the farmers market. Holding him in her arms is still a welcome novelty. When Jameson spits up she quickly grabs a burp cloth to gently dab his face and clean up the mess. When I nurse him, Taylor needs to sit on the side closest to his head so she can stroke him, kiss him, and talk to him.

On the other hand…
Taylor is more emotionally raw. Little bumps and what would normally be minor upsets trigger louder cries and bigger emotional releases. She is also very aware of her feelings and articulates them well. She shares with me that having a baby brother is not as exciting as she imagined it would be. She now understands that having more children in our family equates to her receiving less attention. I am so proud of her ability to be in touch with what she is experiencing and expressing these difficult feelings with words.

Postpartum Visit
This post would not be complete without mentioning my final visit with Maria. We talked about my recovery from birth, breastfeeding, Jameson’s development, our transition as a family, and generally caught up on what has happened since we last saw each other.

Maria also performed a pelvic exam, the very first pelvic exam I’ve had in her care. Just think — I gestated a baby for 41+ weeks and gave birth, and six weeks postpartum is the very first time my midwife performs such an intimate exam. The birth advocate in me stops to wonder why these kinds of exams are so prevalent in the obstetric model of care.

Kindergarten
Taylor started kindergarten a week and a half ago, and I have had a really tough time with it. Not because I’m sad to see my baby grow up. Nothing like that. I have been troubled by her school’s educational and social-emotional approach.

Although Taylor spends far less time in her kindergarten class than she did in her preschool class, she emerges from kindergarten like a zombie. The life is just sucked out of her, and I don’t see her usual vibrancy until we get home. She sits in her carseat with a glazed look over her eyes. I don’t have a concrete sense of what happens in the classroom because parents are not welcome until at least two weeks into the school year. This policy is obviously school-centric and not child-centric.

What I do see during morning announcements on the yard does nothing to comfort me either. The children are rewarded for being “good,” in a way that strips them of intrinsic motivation. For example, a child may earn a star for “being a good friend” or “always listening attentively” or “drawing a beautiful picture”. If you have read any of my child development and education posts, you know exactly why I have issues with praising children like this. For clarity’s sake though, I’ll explain myself.

Why are children praised (and entered to win in a drawing for a pizza party and other wonderful prizes) when the consequences to their actions are their own reward? Isn’t friendship valuable enough on its own? And is anyone always listening attentively or always doing anything for that matter? What about the child who receives this star? S/he knows that s/he isn’t always attentive. By adding this impossible superlative, s/he may actually feel bad or guilty for not always listening attentively with her/his “eyes, ears and heart”. And about the child that draws a beautiful picture. What if s/he does not receive a star for every beautiful picture s/he draws? Are they then not good enough? And why should his/her artwork need to be judged by anyone anyway? Isn’t art about personal expression?

Both the mom and the educator in me cringes every morning as I witness this star ceremony. I think about how these children are belittled and stripped of their authenticity bit by bit. From a philosophical standpoint, it pains me to drop Taylor off there everyday.

In the meantime, we are climbing the waitlist at our first-choice public school, a school with an educational and social-emotional approach that is much more aligned with what I want for our kids. I actually walked there yesterday to speak to someone in-person and inquire about where they are in the waitlist process. I received some hopeful news and cried tears of joy and relief. Yes, I stood there sobbing between words, with tears falling on Jameson as he slept in the Moby Wrap. Although they could not make any promises, they anticipate calling us in the near future.

Jameson is on the boob as I sit propped up on a pillow on our bed. The soupy fog outside has yet to be burned off by the late morning sun, and clouds of hot air puff out of the dryer vent and up past our bedroom window. My mom is still in town, and Jim, Taylor, and my step-dad are on their way to Yosemite.

Although I’ve been walking around here in a sleep-deprived daze for weeks now, the reality, that is, the less than savory moments of Jameson’s birth, are pushing their way through.

After Taylor’s birth, I rode the “high,” birthing drug-free like I had wanted and planner for, for quite some time. The upset and feelings of trauma didn’t surface until almost three years later. 

As I sit here with more birth knowledge, more attuned to my primal instincts, and more in touch with what makes dysfunctional dynamics (a key ingredient in any trauma) tick, I feel the waves of more difficult emotions coming ashore.

At first, the feelings remained vague and nameless. Then, in an unexpected, split-second, a wave washed up and over me. Because Maria has returned to Haiti for a month of volunteer work, one of the other midwives in the Bay Area Homebirth Collective (BAHC) came over for a postpartum visit. Quite innocently, she mentioned a potluck gathering we might attend in the near future. I didn’t think much of it in the moment, but when I stopped to think about it later, I unpacked some feelings that took me by surprise.

Up until now, my friend, Thais (who is also one of Maria’s homebirth clients) has been trying to convince me to attend a potluck with her. She invited me before I was pregnant, and I just didn’t feel comfortable attending a BAHC event yet, even though I had been a part of their online community and planning a homebirth for years. Then when I did become pregnant, I still wasn’t ready because…well, I don’t know why exactly. I suppose it still didn’t feel “official”.

Now that Jameson is here, earthside, I don’t feel like I have earned my place in the room among the women who birthed their babies at home. Earned. Is that the word? Or deserving. Is that more accurate? Whatever the word is, it is somehow messily wrapped up in my sense of worth. I know it has nothing to do with how the other moms or the midwives see me. If anything, I know they would welcome me with open arms and hearts. It’s me. I’m getting tripped up by my own sense of loss. As much as I tried to process the grief on that fateful Wednesday three and a half weeks ago, I am still in mourning.

Right about now is when people who are only accustomed to medicalized birth (as opposed to physiological birth) usually pipe up and say, “What the hell are you complaining about?! You’re alive. Your baby is alive and healthy too. How could you be so selfish and want anything more than that? You should be grateful.”

Yes, a healthy mama and a healthy baby are important. Absolutely. But should women be asked to put on a disingenuously happy face and make do with the bare minimum? What about respect? Individualized care? True informed consent? Trust? Partnership (as opposed to relationships based on power and authority)?

While some may believe that homebirthing families choose homebirth just for the “experience,” for the warm and fuzzy aspects of birth, they are mistaken. I choose natural childbirth for its safety. I choose homebirth for safety, for physical safety and emotional safety.

So what am I mourning? A birth that supports and celebrates my son and me as whole and unique beings. The hospital staff put into motion the system’s birth, the series of protocols and procedures that work for the institution (not the individual), the factory-like process that delivers babies from women’s bodies. The only time we caught a glimpse of the care we truly needed was when the hospital staff was absent and our original birth team was present.

But what about the triumphant tone of Jameson’s birth story? Was it real? Yes, the pride and clarity are authentic. At the same time, my determination was a reflection of how I chose to cope with the situation. I could have chosen to shut-down and just let the system process us. Instead, I fought like hell for our well-being. It was a survival mechanism. I was a mama bear protecting her cub.

How do I feel about Jameson’s birth in this moment? Jumbled and a little heavy as I continue to unpack and process this experience.

Taylor, Jameson, and I climb into the birth tub after returning home from the hospital in hopes of capturing some of the magic we missed.

From conception onward, our son, Jameson, has asked me to deepen my spiritual practice and drop further into the peace and truth that lies within. My children are my greatest teachers, and I am infinitely grateful for all the ways they ask me to learn and grow with them.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011
10 a.m.
Jim and I arrive on the labor and delivery floor of the local hospital that we chose as our back-up for our homebirth. The location of the appointment concerns me already because it would be very easy and convenient to convince a woman to stay and be admitted if one of her test results came back “abnormal”.

We are led to a triage room with two beds, and I am relieved that no one else needs the other bed in this closet of a room. A nurse takes my blood pressure, and I inquire about the numbers. It’s unusually high for me, so I let her know that I am very anxious about the testing. She takes this into account and leaves the cuff on my arm so it can inflate on its own at regular intervals. Allowing these extra readings result in more typical blood pressure readings over time.

For the Non-stress Test, I am strapped to a machine that records contractions and the baby’s heart rate. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, inhaling and then exhaling twice as long as my inhale. I sometimes inhale and then let out a deep sigh to release tension and reassure the baby with my calm. I also remember and repeat a mantra from yoga class, a mantra that one of my friends shared on my Facebook Wall earlier this morning — Sat Nam (Truth is my identity. My identity is truth.). Measurements are recorded for over twenty minutes and show that the baby is doing well (i.e. the baby’s heart rate only accelerates and does not decelerate).

For the Amniotic Fluid Index, an ultrasound wand is rolled over my entire belly in search of pockets of amniotic fluid. Each pocket is assigned a number and must add together for a total of at least 5.0. As the doctor searches for pockets, I am not so confident in her ultrasound skills. Her movements do not exude confidence to me. At the end of the test, she concludes that the baby’s amniotic fluid is too low, which means the baby may not tolerate labor well without the cushioning of more fluid.

I imagine that since I am a homebirth client, they specifically ask the Certified Nurse Midwife to deliver the bad news — They want to induce me. They want me to stay and get induced. Here we go! On one hand, the induction is presented as a way to eliminate the inevitable danger of birthing at home with such low fluid levels. On the other hand, the induction is presented as a nonchalant event, “Let’s just get this baby out, so you can be at home this evening”. No big deal, right? Wrong!

This situation is not clear cut. Amniotic Fluid Index (AFI) readings are not an exact science and may not account for circumstances that are actually normal for one particular individual. How meaningful are these numbers to my body and my baby? No one can say for sure. I do know that Taylor had very little fluid leak during her labor and birth. Is this just the way my body grows babies?

Going into this appointment I told Jim that I absolutely did not want to check for dilation because checking does not necessarily offer information about birth’s imminence.  A woman can dilate from 5cm to 10cm in as little as 30 minutes or as many as 30 hours or more. She can even be at 7cm and shrink down to 5cm if she feels threatened or in danger.

Despite my best laid plans, I do consent to a vaginal exam. From my perspective, the hospital midwife inserts her fingers inside of me to measure that I am 4cm, and then I feel an extra agitation/maneuver. I don’t think much of it in the moment, but as I go about my day I wonder if she had aggressively and consciously checked me with extra force and without my consent to encourage labor. Immediately after that check, my Braxton Hicks contractions increase noticeably.

With a difficult decision ahead of us, I call Maria for her input. When she answers my call she is attending another birth, acting as a doula for one of her hospital birth clients. The baby is literally being born at that moment, so she calls back a few minutes later, and we talk about next-steps. We agree that I will sign an Against Medical Advice (AMA) form that will release the hospital of liability should something happen to me or the baby after leaving the hospital’s premises; do my best to hydrate and increase the baby’s amniotic fluid level; and return to the hospital in the afternoon to re-check AFI numbers.

On the way home, Jim and I stop by Whole Foods to pick up some lunch and some snacks for labor (just in case I am admitted to the hospital later in the day). While I remained centered at the hospital as we weighed our options, I fall apart in the car. I sob as I begin to mourn the loss of birthing at home. I also express my desire for Taylor to be with Jim during the labor and birth because I do not want Taylor’s consciousness to be imprinted with an over-medicalized, overly managed approach to birth.

I ask Jim to sacrifice his presence at his son’s birth to be at home and care for Taylor. This may sound extreme, but I absolutely need to know that my first-born is safe, and I feel most comfortable with Taylor being with her father. Jim agrees to make this sacrifice and let Maria and Britt act as my primary support at the hospital. Many veteran moms report stalling their labors until their older children are cared for. By going to the hospital I am already entering an environment where I have previously experienced trauma, and I am trying to clear a path for labor to unfold as smoothly as possible for this next child.

1:30 p.m.
As I shovel spoonfuls of cilantro rice and chicken curry in my mouth, I dart around the house packing a hospital bag. Time flies by as I gulp mouthfuls of water in between zigzags as I retrieve necessities. I text Britt with an update, and I also ask if she is willing to shift her role from photographer to doula. Britt calls me a few minutes later after finishing up with one of her yoga classes, and we flesh out some details around what I want and need from her. Much to my relief, Britt agrees to become my doula, and as such, she asks me to look over the birth plan on her website, an outline of preferences for labor and birth that are communicated to the hospital staff, because she wants a solid idea of what she will be advocating for. Britt also asks me to consider having Jim and Taylor at the birth, and I tell her that I will think about it.

3 p.m.
I had originally told the hospital staff that I would return to the hospital at 3 p.m. with Maria, but I need more time to discuss my options. I also feel the need to meet on neutral ground, so I ask Maria to meet us at our house. We sit in our living room and talk at length about our options. Maria is supportive of whatever we decide and acknowledges that they are our decisions to make. She is still willing to attend our birth at home; however, with the understanding that the stakes are higher if the baby’s amniotic fluid level is truly low.

Knowing that Jim was already a little nervous about homebirth and hearing his rising concerns around safely birthing at home with the possibility of low fluid, I can only feel good about going to the hospital because I need Jim to feel safe about this birth too. This little one is not just my baby; he’s our baby.

I hop into Maria’s car so we can continue talking, and Jim follows in our car. We check in with the nurses on the labor and delivery floor, and I’m hooked up to machines again but this time for a biophysical profile. The doctor and hospital midwife (from this morning’s appointment) re-confirm their initial findings of low amniotic fluid.

At some point in the conversation, the hospital midwife mentions something about me needing an aggressive cervical exam to get my labor started. In that moment, I remain calm and centered despite all the fear that is hurtled in my direction. I let the hospital midwife’s comment pass over me, but in hindsight I can’t help but seethe at the possibility that she had performed an unnecessarily aggressive exam earlier in the day without my consent. How dare she violate my body and my trust that way?!

We can sign another AMA and continue to come in for monitoring on a daily basis, but I know myself well enough. I won’t be able to sleep tonight, and I’ll just stress about the baby. If I’m going to be induced I might as well do it while I have my energy and wits about me. I inform the staff of my decision to go ahead with the induction; however, it is already early evening, and I am hungry. There’s just no way I’m going to welcome labor on an empty stomach. To do so would be uncomfortable and foolish. I need energy to birth this baby, so I sign another AMA form and agree to return to the hospital after picking Taylor up from school and after dinner.

On our way out, the hospital midwife pulls Maria aside for a private discussion. She tries to put fear in Maria’s head so Maria will coerce me into a hospital birth instead of a homebirth. Wow! The audacity of this hospital midwife is disturbing. What kind of wounds is this woman carrying around to inflict such negativity and unethical behavior on others?

6:30 p.m.
Maria and I drive to a local Puerto Rican restaurant while Jim picks Taylor up from school. As we wait for them to meet us there and throughout dinner, I continue to talk to Maria and Jim about what is unfolding for us. I am trying my best to process my thoughts and feelings of grief. My dreams of a homebirth are dead, and in order for me to move forward, I need to fully feel my loss. Tears return to my eyes now as I write this. I resign myself to another hospital birth, another birth likely to be filled with unnecessary interventions and extra energy expended in efforts to keep my son and myself safe. I realize what I’ve just signed up for, and it is difficult for me to accept.

Maria agrees with Britt’s suggestion and reassures me that having Jim and Taylor at the birth is both necessary for us as a family and can be a positive experience. I warm to the idea and eventually decide to invite them to the birth.

Ever the pragmatist, I explicitly communicate to Maria what I want and need from her in a hospital birth setting — her 25 years of clinical knowledge and experience and her advocacy prowess. What I need from Britt is her intuition, her ability to attune to the moment and fulfill a need. And what I need from Jim is his presence to care for Taylor. If I feel that my first-born is emotionally and physically take care of, I will be more able to focus on caring for and birthing our son. This is not to say that Maria, Britt, and Jim do not have anything else to offer. From what I know of them and myself, this is exactly what I need from my birth team, and I want to be clear about expectations going into this birth.

I text Britt from the dinner table so she has a better idea of when she might be needed. She assures me that she’s ready and will be eating and then resting until she hears from me again.

7:15 p.m.
Jim, Taylor, and I climb into the front seat of our car so we have a quiet place to talk. With all the strength and confidence I can muster, I explain our new birth plan to Taylor. On one hand, I don’t hide any information about what is happening. On the other hand, I keep my emotions in-check for her sake. While I am all for being authentic (especially with my children), I don’t want her to be scared or worry about my well-being or the baby’s well-being. I am acutely aware that her sense of safety comes from the strength I exude.

I give Taylor a big hug and a kiss and return to  Maria’s car. Jim and Taylor go home to pack an overnight bag and some activities for Taylor. Maria and I check in at the nurses station again and inform them that I am ready for an induction. I don’t want Pitocin if I can help it, so I ask for my membranes to be “swept” first. The staff wants me to agree to placing a saline lock into a vein in my arm, but I negotiate with them and agree to do so later, when my amniotic sac is broken. “Sweeping” separates the amniotic sac from the lower part of the uterus without actually breaking the sac open. Uncomfortable with the idea of a first-year resident performing this procedure, a chief resident agrees to do the “sweep”. She exudes confidence and her movement inside me feel competent. I am 5cm dilated and stretchy to 6cm.

8:30 p.m.
We inform the staff that I will walk for the next hour and then officially check into the hospital and break my water to continue with the induction. I notice that the faster I walk, the more readily and stronger my contractions come. The layout of the labor and delivery floor is not conducive to walking laps, so we weave up and back dead-end hallways as we encounter them.

Every once in awhile, we stop back in the triage room. On one such occasion, a man walking by notices me and bids me an enthusiastic “Hello”. For a split second, I’m not sure who he is. Then is dawns on me; he’s the sales associate who sold my new cell phone to me. He asks me what I’m doing here because, to the observer, it is difficult to discern that I am in labor at all. What can I say? It’s just how my body works. I may be 6cm and contracting, but anyone outside of myself is unaware. He is in disbelief and wishes me well as he proceeds down the hall.

9 p.m.
Jim and Taylor find us in the triage room, and I follow them back to the garage to help them retrieve the remaining items from the car. As we exit the hospital’s main doors, my contractions become even stronger, and I wonder if I can make it to the car and back. Jim asks me if I’m really OK to make the trek, and I assure him that I can. 

9:30 pm.
I am officially admitted to the hospital, and Maria requests a particular labor and delivery room because she’s quite familiar with their accommodations. The room is available, and we make our way to an incredibly spacious corner room. A nurse places a saline lock  into my left arm (which I think is overkill, but I agree to it anyway) and straps an electronic fetal monitor (EFM) to my belly. Game on!

Before proceeding, I need a shower to feel refreshed and energized. I remove the EFM and quickly hop into the shower before any fuss can be made of its removal. I emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later dressed in a black tank top, a black birth skirt, and still wearing the mama goddess necklace my dear friend, Thais, gifted to me. This way there is no need for a hospital gown. I am not the hospital’s property. I am not a case number in LDR#2. I am not even a patient for that matter. I am a healthy pregnant client giving birth to a healthy baby. I am a radiant birthing mama, and they are definitely going to hear me roar.

Birth Doula & Photographer: Britt Fohrman

Jim makes a bed for Taylor on the pull-out chair, and they read books, draw pictures, and watch a DVD on Jim’s laptop. I look over to the window ledge and see the objects Jim collected from my nightstand at home to create an altar here in the room. I am touched by what he has chosen. He recognizes what is important to me and understands the connection I have with each piece.

As I am asked to sign a stack of papers, the birth advocate in me notices how ridiculous this process is. Labor requires a woman to tap into the primal, animalistic parts of her brain, and this pile of legalese is the last thing that’s going to assist a woman in accessing them. I mentally and physically put labor aside so I can focus on the documents.

In the meantime, Britt is already beginning to transform the room into a sacred birth space. She turns off all the flourescent lights and leaves just one spotlight over the bed lit. She covers the hospital’s glaring monitors with extra pillow cases from the linen closet, plugs her iPhone into a docking station we brought, and spritzes the air with calming, healing scents. As we are all settling in, the anesthesiologist stops by to introduce himself and offer his services. As he is talking I can’t help but be amused by his presence because I won’t be needing him, and I am also wondering if he knows that him being here at this moment is purely a formality.

11 p.m.
One of the first-year residents (the first-year that was supposed to “sweep” my membranes earlier) and her sidekick come into the room to perform an amniotomy (i.e. break the baby’s amniotic sac). I inform this girl (using “girl” not to be condescending but to more accurately paint a picture of who she is) that I am not comfortable with her doing the procedure, that I would like the chief resident instead. To which she replies, “Well, I’m in charge of taking care of the laboring women”. I repeat my request. She answers with, “That’s just not the way we do it.” We loop through this conversation a few times until she agrees to speak with the chief resident.

11:15 p.m.
I don’t remember saying this, but Maria quotes me in her chart — “I want to get as far as I can without them touching me.”

When the chief resident arrives Maria and Britt take her out to the hallway for a chat. Quite some lengthy time later, Maria, Britt, and the chief resident re-enter the room. The chief resident asks to speak with me, and this is my cue to turn the labor dial to “off” because I have serious business to attend to. Up until now, I have been weaving in and out of Laborland, depending on what is happening in the room and what is being asked of me. This conversation necessitates the full attention of my thinking brain, so my primal brain needs to be turned off. “Is it possible to stop and start labor?”, you may wonder. Yes. The mind-body connection is that strong.

The chief resident sits on a stool at the foot of the bed, and I sit in a low, supported squat on a foot stool. If I am going to stall my labor, I might as well position myself in a productive posture and squat to encourage the baby to come down while we are talking. The chief resident turns to me and asks me to speak about my wants and needs.

It is immediately apparent to me that I need to stay grounded (i.e. not be too emotional) and speak to the scientist in her. I talk about my understanding of labor hormones, explaining how oxytocin and endorphins will help labor progress while adrenaline will suppress labor and dilation. I tie this into intuition and trust in practitioners and how feelings of safety facilitate labor while feelings of fear thwart labor. Knowing that Maria and Britt likely addressed this topic in more detail, I briefly touch on the trauma I experienced during Taylor’s birth and how I really need to feel safe and confident in whomever performs procedures on me and the baby.

I can’t remember how many times I heard the line, but the hospital staff expertly delivered their unquestioningly robotic response, “We just don’t do it that way.” At no point did they address the safety of my requests. Their unwillingness to see me as an individual was not rooted in best outcomes or evidence-based practices. It was rooted in a dysfunctional hierarchy of power they dared not question.

Oddly enough, when I refused the first-year resident’s offer to perform the aniotomy, I felt compassion for her. I looked at her, how inexperienced she was, how incredibly new and wobbly-footed she was, and thought how sad it was that her true power, the power that lies in her own Truth, had yet to be tapped. And certainly this hospital environment isn’t going to  help her find It.

I say my piece and the chief resident gets up to retrieve the attending OB. In my head I think, “Bring it! I’ll tell that doctor exactly what I just told the chief resident.”

11:55 p.m.
The chief resident returns with the attending OB and the attending OB agrees to let the chief resident break my bag of waters without further explanation on my part. On cue, the attending OB reiterates, “This is just not how we do it. But we’ll make an exception just this once.” On one hand, I am relieved. On the other hand, I am in disbelief and exasperated. What?! Is this such a big favor? Is it so unfathomable that a birthing woman wants and needs to feel safe? What’s more important — that pregnant women are these residents’ nameless, faceless guinea pigs, or that pregnant woman are respected as the individuals they are and provided care that is based on the evidence of best outcomes?

Wednesday, July 13, 2011
12 a.m.
I lie semi-reclined on the bed with my legs in Baddha Konasana (i.e. butterfly pose), and the chief resident breaks my bag of waters. When the warm fluid gushes out I comment how on much more fluid is present in comparison to Taylor’s birth. Was my amniotic fluid truly “too low”? We’ll likely never know, but there seemed to be plenty of fluid in that one gush. While still between my legs, the chief announces that I am 6cm and the baby is at -1 station (which is a measurement of how low the baby’s head is in my pelvis). Once the hospital staff leaves the room, I am free to turn inward and continue the work of birthing our baby.

Birth Doula & Photographer: Britt Fohrman

12:20 a.m.
I move to the toilet to see if sitting on it might encourage labor. The bathroom reeks of pee even though Britt does her best to cover the stench with aromatherapy. The toilet is also too tall for my stature, so I return to the main room. Taylor is asleep.

1:00 a.m.
I begin vocalizing during my contractions which means they’re really ramping up and taking nearly all of my concentration. In a kneeling position on the bed, I drape my upper body over a birth ball cushioned by a pillow I brought from home. Although each contraction consumes most of my attention, I find myself taking on three different roles — the Birth Advocate (i.e. the woman who has been studying birth for almost six years, is very aware of her surroundings, and knows she needs to protect herself and her baby. She can’t completely let her guard down in this setting.), the Witness (i.e. the mama who birthed Taylor and remembers how she felt at each stage of labor), and the Birthing Mama (i.e. the woman who is birthing this baby in this hospital under these circumstances).

I am surprised that Taylor, who is usually a fairly light sleeper, is sleeping through my deep, low moans. I open my eyes when I feel an unfamiliar presence beside me. I hear the click of Britt’s camera, and I hear the beep of the video camera as Jim turns it on and off. I wonder if I will be inhibited by so many “eyes” watching me, but I let them continue because I have asked them to do this, and I want to witness my own birth process from a different perspective. I wonder if the hospital staff will “let” me continue finding my own positions to labor because the nurse comes in to re-adjust the misaligned monitor on my belly. The monitor runs out of paper, so someone pushes the call button to communicate this to the nurses station. A nurse comes and quickly installs a new roll. Rather than sinking completely into my body and this birth, the noise and interference keeps me teetering between two worlds — the inward and the outward.

As I continue to ride the waves of each surge, I am also comparing this labor to my labor with Taylor, trying to calculate my progress. I am acutely aware of my need to fall within certain hospital parameters of “normal”. I feel an intense opening in my low back, and the surges are coming so close together it is difficult to communicate what I’m experiencing and what I need. Britt takes firm hold of my hips and shakes me through some contractions. “Off,” I bark when it doesn’t feel good. In between surges, Britt offers sips of water from my water bottle to keep my hydrated. She leaves the room to heat a heating pad in the microwave. She returns and places it on my sacrum. At first it feels good but then becomes too hot. “Too hot,” I bellow.

Birth Doula & Photographer: Britt Fohrman

One to two-word sentences is all I can manage, and at the same time, I’m trying to figure out what might be a more comfortable position, one that is both restful (requiring little energy) and productive (encouraging dilation).

I stop to notice the conversation I’m having in my head. I am wondering how much longer I need to labor and if I can really do this. Then the Witness in me realizes that I am in Transition, the stage of labor that comes before pushing and often when women think they can’t go on. Britt expresses her plan to nap and take a rest, and Maria is already napping on a mat on the floor. I think, “Uh, oh. I need to tell someone where I am in my labor.” Jim happens to be standing on my left, so I turn to him to say, “I’m in Transition”. He alerts Britt and Maria, and I feel their attention heighten ever so slightly.

I start feeling grunty. Britt is on my left side, advising me not to actively do anything and, at the same time, not to hold back. Somehow this oxymoronic advice makes sense to me. However, I notice that I am holding back because I feel the urge to poop. With the contractions so intense, there’s no way I can make it to the bathroom and back. So what am I supposed to do?!  More surges wash up and over me. Wait, that’s not poop. That’s the baby coming down!

Once I fully embrace this reality, I follow my body’s urges to push. Still kneeling on the bed with my upper body draped over a stack of pillows, I nudge the baby’s body lower and lower with each surge. These sensations are entirely new to me because even though Taylor’s birth was unmedicated, I was semi-reclined and ordered to push on someone else’s timeline.

In this birth, I am free to follow what my body is telling me. I can feel just how round the baby’s head is as it moves through my birth canal. At the sight of the baby’s head, Maria informs the hospital staff via the call button. In between pushes I feel the baby shimmy his body. He’s an active participant in his own birth, and I take a moment to connect with him, “Hi, Little One,” I laugh.

Sensing the arrival of the cavalry, I push even though I’m not having a contraction and even though I know I am more likely to tear this way because the protective instinct in me wants this baby out before the staff can touch him.

1:54 a.m.
And it is so.

Birth Doula & Photographer: Britt Fohrman

Our son slithers down and out, and Maria catches him from behind. For a split second, my mind and body are paralyzed in ecstatic shock. Maria invites me to reach down and hold my baby, but the thought takes an extra moment to register. I reach down to hold our son and rejoice in the warm, slippery wetness of our earthside meeting. Just as I am marveling at this miracle, one of the hospital staff motions to cut his umbilical cord. Maria swiftly stops whomever it is, and assures him or her that the baby is doing well. We spend a few moments greeting our son, and, with the cord still attached between us, I scoot to the middle of the bed to find a more stable and restful position.

Birth Doula & Photographer: Britt Fohrman

Britt asks if I would like help removing my tank top, and I welcome her suggestion. I want this warm, slippery babe to be skin-to-skin with me. The umbilical cord now still and no longer pulsating with life-giving, oxygenated blood, Jim cuts the cord at 2 a.m. I continue to luxuriate in the softness of our son’s body and the excitement of his arrival. I place him face-down on my chest, and with the strength of someone much greater than his size, he pushes himself up with his arms and raises his head to greet me.

Birth Doula & Photographer: Britt Fohrman

His Apgar score 1 minute after birth is 8 and 9 after 5 minutes. He responded to labor well, and his heart rate did not decelerate a single time (as the hospital staff had feared and warned). A syringe was never plunged forcefully and unnecessarily into his nose and mouth. He was not rubbed vigorously with coarse towels and blankets. He was not whisked away for weighing or bathing.

2:02 a.m.
The placenta is easily birthed, and within the next half hour, a resident (who I have never met) sutures my first-degree tear. As the doctor works and Maria observes her handiwork, our son latches on to my breast for the first time. I am surprised and relieved to feel such a vigorous suck. What a strong and vibrant boy!

As he nurses, the staff checks my bleeding periodically and suggests using Pitocin to force my uterus to contract. I empty my bladder a couple of times in order to make space for my shrinking uterus. They bring up Pitocin again. When Maria and I have a moment alone, she shares with me that my blood loss is normal. The hospital just isn’t accustomed to natural blood loss levels because they likely administer Pitocin routine after every birth, which skews their perception of “normal”. I rest in Maria’s observations and knowledge, and I’m relieved I won’t be pumping my body with that stuff.

What unfolds over the next 36 hours or so isn’t so pleasant, and I’m not sure I’ll ever go into detail about what happened. We originally planned to leave the hospital by signing another AMA a few hours after giving birth, but we agree to  to some bloodwork, which turns into a circus of fear-mongering, hurrying up to wait and wait some more, countless blood draws from our son’s heels and  hands, re-testing, and a near-constant stream of interruptions. The precious energy we had postpartum was zapped by the time we were discharged because it took so much effort to navigate the system and make decisions with the limited information we had.

* * * * *

For the past several days, I have taken notes, written Jameson’s birth story long-hand, and typed his story into my blogging software. As much as I would like to wrap this piece of writing up with a neat bow and conclude with a succinct and powerful message, I am simply not ready. Although the story’s elements have been extracted and put to words, I still have some emotional processing work to do, and I am not sure when that process will feel complete. For now, I will close with some stray thoughts that may or may not form into something more substantial.

• Although I always knew it was a very real possibility, I didn’t think I would give birth in a hospital again. I suppose part of me felt I “deserved” a homebirth because I have invested so much time and energy into learning about pregnancy and birth and preparing myself physically, emotionally, and spiritually for this particular journey. I am accustomed to being disciplined, doing my homework, and being rewarded for all my hard work. In this instance, I have yet to discover the complete breadth and depth of this reward.
• The most blissfully connected moments of this birth experience occurred with Jim, Taylor, Jameson, Maria, and Britt. They held me lovingly in a sacred space, and I am forever grateful for all the ways they nourished me as I crossed the threshold of motherhood again.
• The most striking memory of Jameson’s birth was holding his warm, wet body immediately after he was birthed. Something very profound, something rooted in eons of human history happened in that moment. The experience of uninterrupted skin-to-skin contact attuned me instantly to Jameson’s body and his being. Whereas this attunement developed over time with Taylor, it happened immediately with Jameson. Feeling the contrast of these two births, I have discovered first-hand a major disconnect in our maternity care system. What is the impact of unnecessarily medicalized, overly managed birth? On mothers? On babies? On families? On whole societies? What can be preserved in those few precious moments after birth? How can those few minutes, spread across an entire species, affect the world and aid in its healing?
• Why wasn’t homebirth written in the stars for me? I imagine I will be attempting to answer this question for the rest of my days on this earth, but I do have some ideas about why. In hindsight, I could have safely birthed at home and had the birth I envisioned. However, from the standpoint of fate and spirituality, I birthed at the hospital — to reclaim that experience; to emerge empowered rather than victimized; to continue to advocate for better maternity care; to share information with you so that you and your loved ones can make more informed choices; to show the hospital staff what individualized, respectful and evidence-based care looks and feels like. To share with everyone (myself included) what is possible in birth.

It’s been a challenging road since I last posted. I can’t even begin to describe the full range of emotions and sensations I’ve experienced in a cohesive and coherent way. Part of me wants to document some of what has come up in the last twelve days for posterity’s sake, and part of me wants to remain very much in the present so my momentum isn’t mired in the past. So prepare yourself for a very scattered sharing of where I’ve been and where I am.

– Taylor caught a bug at school, which developed into her very first ear infection, and the girl is still not yet fully recovered. Her night wakings deprived my body of even more sleep, and despite my best efforts to rest whenever I can, I am physically exhausted. Depleted. Toast.

– I experienced a second night of early labor, exactly one week after the first night of early labor. This time my Braxton Hicks contractions came every 2-4 minutes instead of every 2-6 minutes, and as I sat on the toilet, I had flashbacks of Taylor’s labor. With the thought that things might rev up, I asked Jim to inflate the birth tub. By morning, however, we learned that there was actually no need to set it up.

– On Thursday, we met with Maria and discussed next-steps. That conversation sent me into a tailspin of emotions. The thought of setting foot on a labor and delivery floor for a Non-Stress Test and an Amniotic Fluid Index threw me straight into trauma mode. Sheer panic, grief, and fear invaded every cell of my being, and as I sit here three days later, I can’t say that I’ve shaken it all out of my system. The wounds are deep. The scars are almost six years old. But all still so fresh.

– Since I’ve been in and out of early labor for almost two weeks now, I’ve kept very much to myself. Just as with any laboring animal, my instinct is to stay inward and cocooned in safety and intimacy. I’ve shared only with an intimate few how difficult this has been for me.

After some Puerto Rican take-out and showers last night, Jim boiled pots of water on the stove, and then as he lit a circle of candles around our bedroom, he filled the birth tub with a long hose that extended from our bathroom sink. All three of us climbed in, and I was lovingly pampered by my family. Taylor poured cups of water down my back as I kneeled and leaned over the edge of the tub. Jim massaged my shoulders with coconut oil and tended to the acupressure points there.

Not quite ready to leave my aqua nest, I remained submerged as Jim and Taylor dried off. A natural doula, Taylor caressed my arms, head, and feet, asking what might feel most comfortable.

Jim got Taylor ready for bed and poured the remaining pots of water into the tub. I luxuriated in the water and candlelight until I felt called to step out. Jim and I rested into the quiet of our cocoon and took that rare moment to connect and embrace the stillness.

As I drifted off to sleep, affirmations formed effortlessly in my mind. When I thought “welcome baby” I sensed a slight discomfort as my sacrum expanded and the baby nudged downward. Each time I repeated these two words, my body responded in kind. Over and over again, this call and response continued until I surrendered to sleep.

With this coming Tuesday’s NST and AFI appointment at the hospital looming large, I vacillate between moments of peace and moments of utter frustration and dread. At the moment, the sun is pushing its way through layers of fog, and Taylor is patiently waiting for my attention.

I usually post on Tuesdays, the beginning of each gestational week, but when I sat down this past Tuesday I just wasn’t feeling it, so here I am on Thursday afternoon. There just isn’t going to be a Pregnancy: Week 38 post. Instead, I’m writing as I feel called to write, and today we’re at 39 2/7 weeks.

Tuesday
I woke up with an urge to clean the bathroom and start the laundry, something I usually don’t take on so early in the morning. After I dropped Taylor off at school, I joined other pregnant mamas at yoga. What is normally a bright, sun-drenched space was a hazy, dream-like cocoon. As I sat cross-legged on a bolster with the sound of rain clattering on the skylights above I wondered if the impending storm would encourage Baby to arrive.

That night I went to bed around 9:30 and woke up around 11 to pee. When I got back into bed, I noticed that I was having more Braxton Hicks contractions than usual. I laid there noticing them come and go, eventually timing them with the alarm clock. They came every 2-6 minutes for the next couple of hours, and when I became too tired to notice, I slept. These painless contractions came in clusters for the remainder of the night, and I slept in between the clusters.

Wednesday
When Jim awoke I asked him to stay with me at home for the morning to see if the contractions would pick up again. I figured the walk to and from Taylor’s school (especially the steep climb towards home) would give us more information to work with. Although the climb was a good workout, it did not encourage labor.

I saw my chiropractor later in the morning, and he shared how my pelvic alignment (which could affect the baby’s positioning and final descent) was optimal. Excellent. My craving for more Indian food brought me to a local eatery for lunch where I happily devoured an entire platter of spicy goodness. The rest of the afternoon and evening passed without much excitement.

Thursday
Somehow it was a lot easier to wait for Taylor’s arrival than this baby’s birth. We settled more peacefully into the unknown timing of it all, and this time we find ourselves actively waiting. After our prenatal appointment with Maria this morning I ate lunch at a restaurant I would normally reserve for a date night or out-of-town guests. As I admired the plates of food before me and shared them with my friends on Facebook, I decided I would savor the time I have for these lunch dates with my son. Rather than focus on not having (not birthing yet), I can choose to enjoy the abundance of the present (delicious meals prepared by skilled chefs). Where will we eat lunch tomorrow?

During the 37th week of pregnancy, Maria visits her clients in their homes.

• Maria, Taylor, Jim, and I took turns listening to the baby’s heartbeat with a fetoscope. In addition to talking about plans for the birth, I also administered my own Group-B Strep test. Maria gave me precise instructions; handed the swab kit over to me, and I sought out the privacy of our bathroom. This simple gesture speaks volumes for the kind of care she provides. Let’s compare this to standard obstetrical care for a moment. Under standard circumstances, my OB would tell me that it is the appropriate time in pregnancy to test for GBS, likely assuming that I will comply with this request without question. He or she would ask me to disrobe, put my feet in stirrups, and scoot my naked bottom down to the end of a table towards his/her waiting eyes and hands, where he/she would swab my vagina and rectum. That would be standard protocol, more or less. In Maria’s care, there are no assumptions. She brought the topic of GBS testing to my attention several weeks in advance so we could make a fully informed decision. Once we agreed that I would be tested, I administered the test myself because my provider perceives me as a trustworthy and capable individual. Once again, how refreshing!
• The final weeks of pregnancy bring new sensations. More Braxton Hicks contractions for sure. More lightning bolts in my vagina. In addition to zapping me without warning, they also come when the baby moves into certain positions. And on one particular morning, I felt a prolonged jolt lasting several moments with an additional bolt on top of it. Yowza! Sitting and standing during the day has become more uncomfortable because the weight of my lopsided belly pulls on my body, creating a patch of tingly numbness on the upper part of my abdomen and making my mid-back ache. This has been going on for weeks and weeks now, but it’s happening a lot more often, so to get some relief, I lie on my left side with a belly wedge to support the baby. (I have no idea why it’s so expensive on Amazon because I paid only ten bucks for it at a local store.) The wedge is great for nighttime too. I feel the baby super low in my pelvis, and I’m actually experiencing some pelvic sheering (where one of my pubic bones shifts in front of the other instead of staying on the same plane), which means I need to be extra mindful about how I move my body. Oh, and I almost forgot one more new sensation, menstrual-like cramps. Nothing regular or worthy of a phone call, but I’ve had a couple of them over the past few days. I don’t recall feeling crampy like this during my pregnancy with Taylor, so this is definitely new to me.
• Seeing as how the baby could safely be born any day now, I’d like to acknowlege the practitioners who are supporting me during this pregnancy. (Many of them hold credentials beyond the ones I mention here.)

Maria Iorillo: Licensed Midwife
As a skilled and even-keeled midwife who has caught over a thousand babies, we knew Maria was the midwife for us. 

 

Britt Fohrman: Prenatal Yoga Instructor & Birth Photographer
I attend Britt’s yoga class every week so we have an opportunity to get to know each other before this baby’s birth. She amazes me with her knowledge, compassion, and strength.

 

Hokhmah Joyallen: Friend, Mentor & Jin Shin Jyutsu Practitioner
Hokhmah and I first met when she facilitated our holistic childbirth preparation course during my pregnancy with Taylor, and she’s been midwifing me in many ways ever since.

 

Kari Marble: Prenatal Yoga Instructor
Kari and I met during my first trimester with Taylor, and she was the catalyst of my Awakening. I continue to be nourished by her yoga classes.

 

Craig Marble: Acupuncturist
I was scheduled to meet Craig for a treatment on what turned out to be Taylor’s birth day, but we didn’t actually meet until I wanted to become pregnant with this baby.

 

Colin Phipps: Chiropractor
Appreciating his down-to-earth demeanor and noticing signifcant improvements in Taylor’s health, I decided to see Colin for fertility and pregnancy support.

 

Liz Kalmanson: Psychotherapist
By far the most compassionate and skilled therapist I’ve worked with, Liz has supported me in deep levels of healing and shed new light on patterns and dynamics that play out in my life.

 

Bettina Roeper: Acupuncturist
Maria recommended Bettina for placenta encapsulation, and Bettina will personally pick up my placenta and deliver my capusles after I give birth.

 

Lindy Woodard: Pediatrician
As Taylor’s doctor, it’s only natural that Lindy become this baby’s doctor as well. Lindy and Maria are teaming up to keep a close eye on our baby’s health in days immediately after birth.

 

Carla De Martino: Massage Therapist
Carla has been easing my tight muscles for over ten years, seeing me through my single days, marriage, and now my second pregnancy.

 

Tekoa King: Certified Nurse Midwife
Tekoa is a midwife at our back-up hospital, and after our one and only meeting, she (to my pleasant surprise) declared me to be a perfect candidate for homebirth.

While the trappings of traditional baby showers often focus on the external and the material, blessingway ceremonies honor the internal and the ritual. Blessingways celebrate the most uniquely inherent quality of feminine life and embody all aspects of the Sacred Feminine.

Surrounded by the most intimate circle of women in her life in a physically, emotionally, and spiritually safe container, a pregnant woman’s most authentic self is welcomed and embraced. Decorations, talismans, and ceremonial objects are often items borrowed from nature. Guests work together in creating symbolic gifts, and the mother-to-be is adorned with body art. Enveloped in a womb of timelessness, all in attendance give and receive with the truest essence of who they are.

Outside observers of this ritual may characterize this ceremony as witch-like, and they would be absolutely correct. Witch, not in the negative light of modern times, but in an ancient sense — healer, knower, truth seeker, wise woman.

I bow in gratitude to the Sisters who lovingly held me on this most magical night.

 

* * * * *

I have also been honored to host blessingway ceremonies for others.