Do I breastfeed (on-cue and into toddlerhood)? Yes.

Do I co-sleep with my children (beyond infancy)? Yes.

Do I carry my children (even though other options are available to me)? Yes.

Then by Time Magazine’s definition, I am an Attachment Parenting parent and, thus, also “mom enough”. I might even earn extra credit points for putting my parenthetical asides into practice. What a relief because I have been worried about how others perceive me as a mother. (dripping with sarcasm)

As various media outlets have already revealed, this article (The Man Who Remade Motherhood) is not nearly as provocative as its cover title (Are You Mom Enough?) and photo may suggest. The bulk of the piece focuses on Dr. William Sears himself, namely his upbringing and the the influences that inform his parenting philosophy.

As much controversy as this article has stirred, the philosophy itself is not thoroughly explained and is (mis)represented in very broad strokes, claiming that Attachment Parenting (AP) has shifted mainstream parenting to be “more about parental devotion and sacrifice than about raising self-sufficient kids”. I don’t know how the author came to this conclusion because, at its core, Attachment Parenting encourages the development of secure attachment between parents and children as a foundation for self-sufficiency.

That said, let’s move on to the parts that have people all riled up. The cover photo doesn’t bother me one bit. As a nursing mother, I fully support other mothers in nursing their children as long as it is mutually agreeable for them and their children. The expression on the mother’s face and her body language don’t bother me either because I know that editors chose this particular photo to stir the pot.

If I was asked to choose a cover photo that most accurately portrays the article’s contents, I would choose this photo of Dr. William Sears with one of his patients and also acknowledge that a photo of an elderly physician might not sell as many magazines as the current cover photo. If I was asked to choose a photo of a nursing mother, I would choose this photo of a mother tandem nursing her children because it most closely resembles reality.

Honestly, the title doesn’t bother me either because I understand it was chosen with the intent to upset people. While I do not condone this approach, I accept its reality. What does bother me is how Attachment Parenting is tied to oppression.

I want to take AP detractors by the shoulders; look them in the eyes; and say, “Parenting this way is a choice, and this is what I choose. I am not enslaved by anything or anyone”.

I want to take parents who feel pressured to parent a particular way by the hand and say, “If you find yourself feeling guilty for not living up to someone else’s standards of ‘good’ parenting, turn your focus inward. Don’t place your self-worth in other people’s hands. Instead of giving your power away and expending energy by looking over your shoulder, tap into the power that lies within. Listen to your intuition. If you don’t hear anything at first, be still until your voice arises. If you have a gut feeling, follow it. If something feels ‘off’ or doubt creeps in, stop; get your ego out of the way, if need be; and realign yourself with your inner guidance. If nothing else, bare witness to your thoughts, words, and actions with humor and an open heart. Only *you* can choose to feel like you are ‘mom enough’.”

Note: Before each restaurant meal, I took digestive enzymes to help my body digest any gluten that might have accidentally found its way to my plate. This is not an invitation for “cheating,” just a precautionary measure. If you are gluten intolerant, I recommend talking to your health care provider before taking any supplements and making your own best judgement about what is safe for you to eat.

San Francisco International Airport (SFO): Terminal Two
We had never flown on Virgin America before so we took this opportunity to check it out, which also meant we also had the opportunity to check out the newly renovated Terminal Two. Wow. Welcome to the 21st century in airport design. Aside from the standard TSA chaos, nearly everything else about the airport experience feels different. But I am here to talk about food. While I did not have time to research every option in the terminal thoroughly, I know where I am likely to go next time I am there.

I was squealing with excitement over seeing The Plant Cafe Organic but ultimately disappointed when I picked up their menu and did not see very many gluten-free options. I was hoping to find their usual gluten-free friendliness (as exhibited in their other locations), but it was not so. All they had was one cookie option, a quinoa bowl, a fruit cup, nothing really substantial. I was really hoping they would serve their spring rolls. Darn. I walked over to Wakaba Sushi and Noodle, but I didn’t feel like eating sushi or waiting in line to ask if their curry bowls were gluten-free. I might inquire next time. Where did I find myself in airport heaven? (Yes, I think I did hear angels sing.) At Napa Farms Market. What did I find there? GT’s Passionberry kombucha. Gluten-free cupcakes from Kara’s Cupcakes. Local cheeses. Coconut water. The list goes on. As the name suggests, it was like stepping into a general store in Napa for picnicky, snacky foods. What did I have for lunch? I was really hoping that the porchetta was gluten-free because it was a thing of culinary beauty. Alas, it was not gluten-free because it contains breadcrumbs. (sigh) I opted for a chicken leg, asparagus, and roasted potatoes at Tyler Florence’s Rotisserie after consulting with one of the staff who knowledgeably talked to me about the ingredients in the chicken’s brine. The chicken was moist and flavorful. The asparagus served their purpose as my vege side, and the potatoes were in need of more cook time. Overall, I was thrilled to have quick, quality, well-prepared food at the airport.

On to Vegas…

Breakfasts
In the name of ease and to decrease the risk of cross-contamination, we did not try any of the many buffet options. I stuck to bacon, eggs, hash browns, and fruit at various restaurants. We ate at Mandalay Bay’s Raffles Cafe on the first morning, and, unfortunately, the food was less than stellar. The mushrooms in my spinach and mushroom omelet were nearly raw, and the entire omelet was sadly under-seasoned and over-cooked. The hash browns suffered the same tasteless fate. My fruit cup was prepared well in advance and sitting in an ice-cold refrigerator up until the moment it was served to me. The quality and flavor of the strawberries, pineapples, melons, and blueberries matched the rest of my dismal meal.

On the second morning, I ordered a three-egg omelet containing bell peppers, mushrooms, and spinach, an accompaniment of hash browns, and (snagged Taylor’s leftover) bacon at the Mandalay Bay’s Crossroads at House of Blues. The overall quality of the food’s preparation exceeded that of Raffles. The omelet’s ingredients were better seasoned, and the eggs were less spongy. The bacon was nice and crisp, and the hash browns were satisfyingly crunchy and flavorful.

On the third morning, we ventured over to THEhotel’s THEcafe, the swankiest of all of our breakfasts on this trip. Distracted by the kiddies, I forgot to order an omelet (for consistency of comparison) and ordered a bowl of (over-priced) berries, two eggs over-easy, hash browns, and bacon instead. The berries were served at an appropriate temperature and sweet enough for me to gobble them up without much thought (as I assisted in the organization of Taylor’s pile of school work). The eggs were prepared correctly, and the rest of the meal was cooked well enough (that I didn’t give it much notice) but not well enough for me to recommend that anyone make a special trip for this breakfast.

Lunches
Taylor and I took a cab to the Whole Foods just south of The Strip to buy some organic fruit for Jameson, and while we were there we picked up some fixin’s for lunch. What did we eat with only a wet bar (and without a stove or kitchen gadgets) in our hotel suite? Passionberry kombucha. Gluten-free table crackers. Tuna packed in olive oil (in a jar, as opposed to a can). Gluten-free ranch dressing (for mixing in with the tuna). Roasted nori strips. Pre-washed baby carrots. I bought a package of compostable, paper bowls and grabbed a couple of utensils from the prepared foods area.

Jameson’s shortest wake window is between his morning nap and his mid-day nap, so for our second lunch we were desperate for food within the hotel compound. In Mandalay’s shopping mall area we found Hussong’s Cantina. Latin cuisines (as are Indian) are usually pretty good sources of naturally gluten-free options (if you steer clear of flour tortillas and Naan, ask about cross-contamination in fryers, and double-check to make sure gluten has not been added as a thickening or breading agent). Hussong’s is kind of a dive bar that serves food too, so I was pleasantly surprised when our server knew exactly what was and was not gluten-free on the menu (e.g. the refried beans are in cooked in beer, and the fryer is not gluten-free). He offered to put my steak in lettuce cups instead of corn tortillas even though the tortillas would have been fine. The steak tacos were not so great, as the meat was overcooked, but the side of guacamole we ordered was fresh and tasty. I scooped big dollops of guac on my tacos to make up for the lack of moisture from the steak.

Border Grill: Kobe Beef Tacos

Border Grill: Chicken Mole

Dinners
I was extremely excited to have a gluten-free friendly restaurant with a mouth-watering menu right in our hotel. Yay for Border Grill! They do have a dedicated gluten-free menu, but our server was knowledgeable about what was safe and what was not, so she just stood over my shoulder as we discussed my options. It was kind of a bummer that the only appetizers safe for me to eat were the tamales and empanadas (which are baked instead of fried and made with a wrapper of plantains), so I focused on the entrees, narrowing it down to Carnitas, Yucatan Pork, and Kobe Beef Tacos and finally choosing the tacos. The tacos were tasty, but I wasn’t completely happy. They either need to lower the price of the dish by at least ten dollars or execute the dish with a level of precision and refinement deserving of $28. Jim ordered Chicken Mole which was served with a side of mixed greens (which were over-dressed and sitting too long) and a lasagna-type starch containing plantains (and not gluten-free). While the mole sauce was flavorful, the chicken was a bit overcooked (although Jameson didn’t seem to mind. He happily ate his drumette).

Maggiano's: Rotini "D"

We ate our second dinner at Maggiano’s, which is quite a trek from Mandalay. Whew! While Maggiano’s does not advertise a gluten-free menu, other gluten-intolerant bloggers rave about the customer service at this particular chain. The chef came to our table to discuss what modifications could be made to my meal, and my head was swirling with choices. I wasn’t necessarily in the mood for a big bowl of pasta. I was more in the mood for some animal protein, some veggies, and maybe a side of pasta, but I ordered a big bowl of pasta anyway because, “How many restaurants on this planet serve gluten-free pasta? Not many!”. I settled on one of their specialty dishes called Rigatoni “D,” (in my case, gluten-free) rotini pasta with herb-roasted chicken, mushrooms, and caramelized onions tossed in a Marsala cream sauce. The sauce was flavorful and permeated the pasta quite nicely. The bowl could have stood to arrive at our table a moment or two earlier (as this is the kind of dish one needs to eat immediately after it’s been prepared to enjoy the optimal mouth feel), but I’ll let it slide. I was eating pasta at a restaurant! Woo hoo! Although my stomach (which was being overloaded with an atypical dose of grains in one sitting) told me to stop, I continued to eat until nearly every morsel was consumed.

Nine Fine Irishmen: King Cut Ribeye

Nine Fine Irishmen: Child's portion of Lamb Stew

Nine Fine Irishmen: Shepherd's Pie

We chose a restaurant close to “home” for our final dinner, New York New York’s Nine Fine Irishmen. By default, nearly half the menu is gluten-free anyway, and they also have a dedicated gluten-free menu for diners to peruse. Because there were so many gluten-free options on the menu, all four of us had gluten-free entrees. I ordered a Mixed Green Salad (which was over-dressed and sitting too long before it got to our table) and a King Cut Ribeye (which was ordered “medium” and served “well done”). Taylor ordered Lamb Stew (which was sadly under-seasoned) with a side of (nothing-special-about-’em) mashed potatoes, and Jim ordered Shepherd’s Pie (which was the tastiest dish of the bunch but a bit too one-note in flavor to warrant polishing off the entire bucket). Jameson wasn’t quite as discerning, so he happily shoved fistfuls of pie into his mouth.

Las Vegas McCarran Airport (LAS)
I did not expect Las Vegas’s airport to have gluten-free food of any kind. With this assumption, I did not look into any hot food options. Taylor and I were pleasantly surprised when we stopped by a magazine shop for some bottled water. (gasp!) Yes, I know. Plastic bottles kill the Earth! I am not in the habit of buying bottled water, as we fill our personal water bottles with our fancy filter at home. But in this case, I bought a big bottle for Taylor and I to share and empty into our personal water bottles, which we had been using during our entire stay in the desert. OK, I’m done with my guilty disclaimer. Onward. Beyond the usual chips, crackers, and sugary snacks you would find in any convenience store across this country, this store had an entire section of healthier equivalents (gluten-free being among them). Taylor chose some gluten-free chips, and I didn’t buy anything for myself, but it was still interesting to see what they had. I now know where to raise my blood sugar in a pinch at LAS should I need to in the future.

It was an evening like most others around here. The kids were fed and bathed, and we were all hanging out in the living room together before bedtime. Without any prompting from Jim or me, Taylor grabbed a book from her room, plopped on the couch, opened up the book, and started to read.

She chose Tumble Tower, which is certainly not the easiest book in her collection. Taylor relied on her knowledge of phonics and sight words, and when she encountered a word that could not be decoded with the two previous strategies alone, Taylor used context clues in the sentence to discern what the word could be. Then she re-read the entire sentence to include the newly deciphered word. Word for word, sentence by sentence, one page after another, Taylor read until she reached the final period. Wow!

I was blown away by her ability to read. Up until that moment, she had been reading traffic signs, billboards, junk mail, nutrition labels, readers from school, the classroom message board, and Dr. Seuss-type rhymes, but I had no idea she could decode such a challenging book. The next day happened to be our conference with Taylor’s teacher, and in that meeting we learned that Taylor is reading above grade level. My heart swelled with pride.

Taylor’s voracious appetite for the written word coincides with a courageous leap in putting her thoughts down on paper. Again, without prompting from us, she finds any excuse to write — in the form of letters to friends and family, reminder notes to herself, brainstorming lists, restaurant orders as she cooks in her play kitchen, sticky notes as labels for objects in her room, and annotations on her artwork.

A schedule of a typical day at school. It translates to:
“Monday March
choice time
morning meeting
snack and recess
art, dance, and music
literacy
lunch and recess
quiet journal time
handwriting
storyplay and closing circle” 

All of this activity got me thinking about how Taylor arrived at this point in her journey. We will never know exactly what contributed to her current skill level, but I can share how I supported Taylor with the intention of nurturing and protecting her love of literature.

As odd as it may sound coming from an educator, I did not tutor Taylor with direct instruction. I consciously chose/choose:

• Not to accept an offer for one of those teach-your-baby-to-read programs from a well-meaning relative.
• Not to provide workbooks or flashcards.
• Not to ask Taylor to practice reading the Dick and Jane-type books provided by her teacher (even though Taylor is supposed to practice reading them at least every other day).
• Not to ask Taylor to practice the sight words she has learned at school (even though Taylor is supposed to practice these regularly as well).
• Not to ask her to read. Taylor reads only when she wants to read.

At the heart of my intentions lies a fierce desire for Taylor’s interaction with the world of print to be authentic and intrinsically motivated. I do not want her learning process messily entwined with whatever adult-centered “needs” I may have for her to achieve or with her desire to please me with “good” work. As with virtually anything and anyone, activities chosen out of joy do not feel like work at all, and any learning that occurs through joyful activity tends to embed itself more deeply in the brain than lessons chosen by someone else.

With this in mind, I consciously chose/choose:

• To start reading to Taylor when she was an infant. Books were woven into Taylor’s nap time and bedtime rituals and remain an integral part of our one-on-one time before bed.
• To visit our local bookstore and library often, holing up in corner to read book after book of Taylor’s choosing. I asked Taylor for suggestions on subject matter, searched the card catalog, and reserved books she wanted. Now Taylor browses the shelves herself and requests that I reserve specific materials on her behalf. I am certain that in no time at all she will be logging into her account online to research and reserve books by herself.
• To sing traditional nursery rhymes and create our own silly songs as went about our day. As we sang and talked, Taylor would marvel at the sounds of words and become intrigued by homophones and homonyms. She stopped to ask about the definitions of words that sound the same but have different meanings. This kind of language play continues today and also includes jokes that are plays-on-words.
• To stop and answer whatever questions Taylor may have as I read aloud to her. She may ask for clarification about the plot or a new word and make connections to real life events and other stories. Taylor has done this consistently since she was a toddler, so much so that all of her teachers have reminded her to raise her hand before speaking during story time. Taylor’s current teacher makes an extra effort to call on Taylor when she raises her hand because her teacher knows that Taylor has been waiting patiently to share her many thoughts.
• To share a variety of books, from Dr. Seuss to J.K. Rowling. I have kept simple board books, picture books, and chapter books in Taylor’s bookshelf since she was an infant, which means she has always had access to them and can choose whatever sparks her curiosity. Reading simpler books with many illustrations aloud provides a different experience than reading chapter books with little or no illustrations aloud. I also have a few reference books thrown in the mix, so Taylor can explore them and ask questions according to her level of interest.
• To model a genuine love of reading and writing. I did not enjoy reading until the Harry Potter series came along, a series published when I was in my early 20′s! Throughout my education reading was more of a chore than anything else. I consistently scored well on reading assessments and wrote above my grade level, but I did not enjoy the processes much. I want a very different experience for Taylor. I want joy and curiosity to lead way. Taylor has witnessed the pursuit of my interests through books, magazines, journals, note taking, and blogging, and I hope this encourages Taylor to continue with wonder and joy in her learning journey.

Eating
When Taylor was an infant I was eager to start her on solid foods. I suppose I considered it a milestone for her (as a developing child) and for me (as a new parent), so instead of following her individual cues and signs of readiness, I chose the “appropriate” time to coax spoonfuls of pureed mush into her mouth. By the time Taylor was a toddler I came across this article on Baby-led Weaning (BLW), and something just clicked.

Why spend time pureeing food or serving food from a jar (that is mostly water and contains ingredients that have been sitting on a shelf for months) when I can provide local, seasonal, organic, fresh food in its original form? If babies naturally put nearly everything they encounter into their mouths anyway, why not provide the opportunity to explore new flavors and textures and nourish themselves according to their individual tastes and stages of development?

While that familiar excitement around starting solids returned as Jameson neared six months of age, I sat on my hands and waited patiently for him to shows signs of readiness (i.e. grabbing for our food, putting objects in his mouth, and sitting up unassisted).

Jameson’s first bite of solid food was from a wedge of avocado, and during his first few encounters with the fruit I have to admit it was hard not to interfere with his experience. Most of us are conditioned to do certain things for our “helpless” babies, and there I was unlearning how to feed a baby. I resisted every urge to “help” him. It really can be hard not putting food in your baby’s mouth at first.

Then there’s the gagging aspect of BLW. Babies, at this point in their development, are naturally quite adept at expelling food they cannot swallow (i.e. gag) without any assistance. In the first few days of BLW, it can be distressing to hear your little one gag like this, but quite quickly, I learned how effective Jameson truly is at this, and his gagging lessened substantially as each day went by.

Gagging is very different from choking in that it is productive; food is on its way out or down. When someone is truly choking the obstruction isn’t moving. Regardless, it is wise to know the Heimlich Maneuver for children under the age of one year and for individuals older than one year.

I am amazed at how quickly Jameson’s fine motor skills have developed over the past few weeks. His movements have become increasingly deliberate, and I catch myself in awe of how little time he has actually been practicing these skills.

To date, Jameson has tasted and devoured avocados, bananas, apples, green beans, sweet potatoes, pears, butternut squash, and broccoli. In his first couple of encounters with a chicken drumette he merely sucked on the flesh, and in almost no time at all he tore bits of meat off like a seasoned omnivore.

One of the cutest sounds he makes is when he eats an apple. I can hear those two little chompers of his bite into and then chew the juicy-crunchy morsels. The added bonus of BLW is that we are able to enjoy a less hurried meal when Jameson is busy with his own tray of food. When we eat together as a family Jameson also learns how sharing food provides an opportunity for people to connect.

Sleeping
When Jameson was 3 months-old I wrote a blog post saying that he was beginning to sleep longer stretches during the night. HA! Well, I must have jinxed myself because it has been anything but a cake walk since then. It has actually been one of the most difficult challenges of my life thus far. I realize that I may sound melodramatic in making such a statement. Oh, how I wish I was kidding.

Immediately after writing that 3 month-post, Jameson began waking throughout the night needing hours of bouncing and rocking. Was does this mean exactly? Imagine rocking a baby to sleep for 30 minutes and putting him down, only for him to wake up as soon as his body is lain in the crib. Pick him back up and try and try and try to put him back down again, which may take up to two hours. Let’s say he actually stays asleep during the transfer from your arms to the crib. He may wake up anywhere between 20-90 minutes of placing him in his crib. Repeat this cycle all night long for over 4 months.

I did try sleeping with Jameson while nursing in a side lying position, but he would not unlatch himself from my breast and remain asleep, and holding this side lying position all night long was not a sustainable solution for my body.

I have encountered some really low and dark moments in recent months. The extreme sleep deprivation has taken a toll on all aspects of my well-being — mentally, physically, and emotionally.

My ability to concentrate and remember things is nearly shot. I have difficulty forming coherent sentences. I have lost over 50 pounds since Jameson’s birth, and, as one of my friends noticed, I have never looked more depleted. While I would like to enjoy the company of friends and loved ones, I just don’t have the energy to socialize and connect the way I want to.

In the early morning hours before most of the City is awake, I sometimes wondered if this was a plot to kill me slowly, one night at a time. My non-centered, ego self couldn’t fathom what horrible thing I had done to deserve this cruel punishment.

As naive, first-time parents, we did try crying-it-out (CIO) with Taylor in hopes that she would sleep better. I don’t even remember what kind of nighttime sleep challenges we were having with her, but I do know that it was absolutely nothing like what we have been experiencing with Jameson. We tried CIO with Taylor for ten days and stopped. Since then I have vowed not to repeat CIO with any subsequent children.

Despite that vow, I seriously reconsidered the idea twice in recent months. On the second go-round my brain was at odds with my gut. My mind was trying to rationalize the idea of letting our son cry until he “learned” to fall asleep and stay asleep. My gut was unsettled, and, at first, I couldn’t quite pinpoint why my gut seemed to be in disagreement with my mind.

Then it hit me. In order for me to implement CIO, I would choose to shut down emotionally and turn off any feelings of distress that would arise from hearing my child scream. Essentially, I would choose to be unconscious.

Once I named this gut feeling, this feeling that many proponents of CIO actually admit to, I realized I would not allow this to happen. This sudden clarity brought freedom and revealed a yet-to-be discovered well of creativity, energy, compassion, and patience.

With the decision to forgo this method of sleep training our child behind me, I looked into and thought about CIO some more. I came across this article in Psychology Today about the dangers of CIO, and I expanded my perspective to encompass the bigger picture. If I isolate this challenge as a sleep issue, I still can’t justify CIO to myself because parents who implement CIO often talk about the need to retrain a child after traveling, after an illness, or after some other disruption to the family’s rhythm. Between teething, growth spurts, developmental milestones, and external factors that may interfere with a child’s sleep, I can’t imagine shutting myself down emotionally over and over again.

Getting a child to sleep and stay asleep (or at least to stay in their own sleep space) is just the tip of the iceberg. What about nightmares? And night terrors? Sleep talking and sleep walking? All of which Taylor has experienced. Am I supposed to show her my “tough love” and require her to manage these big sensations all on her own? And at what cost?

Throughout the day I consciously choose to parent in a way that encourages secure attachment. Why would I choose the opposite at night?

So where are we now in this sleep journey? Jim bounces and rocks Jameson to sleep while Taylor and I read books and snuggle. When Jameson wakes up a half an hour later and at any other point in the next few hours, Jim soothes Jameson back to sleep. When Jameson wakes up to feed, I nurse him, and Jim soothes Jameson back to sleep. Then somewhere around midnight, Jim and I switch rooms and kids, and I bring Jameson into bed with me. I nurse while side lying if Jameson is up for it. If not, I rock and bounce him to sleep. I feed and soothe as necessary until morning.

Amazingly, we all get more sleep this way. On his own, Jameson has started to sleep ever so slightly longer, meaning maybe three hours in a row. And if he is willing to nurse while we side lie together, he usually sleeps longer than if he is not next to me. Sometimes he is willing to unlatch and continue sleeping, so my body isn’t as wrecked as it would be if he stayed latched on.

As with many other areas of parenting and life in general, it is a dance.

I have been writing this post in bits and pieces over the course of several days. In the last couple of nights, Jameson has been waking more often during the night. It seems as if his body is on hyper-alert because even after nursing, rocking, and bouncing he has a difficult time falling into a deep sleep and staying asleep. We’ll see where this takes us.

Peeing & Pooping
I’m still using a combination of disposable diapers and cloth diapers with cloth wipes. Have I mentioned that cloth wipes totally ROCK?! We are still also providing opportunities for Jameson to eliminate in the potty. He pees reliably after waking from a nap and nighttime, and he is currently in the rhythm of pooping in the potty upon waking in the morning.

Elimination Communication has its logistical perks in that we change less diapers, which creates less waste (Yay! for the Earth), and since we change less diapers there is less mess to deal with. Just yesterday, Jim commented, “I can’t remember the last time I changed a poopy diaper”. I smiled proudly from ear to ear.

It is quite common for babies to temporarily refuse the potty when they are too busy exploring the world to want to stop and eliminate, so I know to make an extra effort to enjoy the consistency we have now. Some babies use their new crawling and/or walking skills to signal their need to eliminate, moving themselves to the potty and pointing or even placing themselves on the potty. We’ll see where we go from here.

Playing
Right around six months Jameson began sitting up without assistance, and of course this offered a whole new perspective on the world. Plopping over unexpectedly was quite common so we padded the immediate area around him with pillows or a Boppy. Over time Jameson has learned to balance his upper body and fine tune his posture with counterbalance when he feels himself teetering to one side.

We can see that Jameson is now preparing himself to crawl (something Taylor never did, so this is new for us). Jameson sits upright and pivots his upper body until one leg trails behind. When he’s sitting near me he pivots toward me to use me as a support and appears to be attempting a hands-and-knees position. When on his tummy he will sometimes push his butt upward toward the ceiling.

When we hold Jameson in our arms he often twists his body and dives toward the ground as if to say, “Put me down already! I want to run!”. And if I do put him down on the ground he gets frustrated that he can’t move anywhere on his own. On one such occasion, I sat in a dining room chair and put Jameson on the floor. He grabbed onto one of the horizontal supports underneath the chair and started pulling himself up to a standing position but didn’t quite get all the way up on his feet.

Jameson certainly understands that his relationship with Taylor is quite different than it is with his parents. He loves to be in her company and to watch her go about her day, often laughing at her facial expressions and vocalizations. While Taylor does physically care for Jameson to some degree, Jameson understands that Big Sister is just plain, good entertainment. There is not sweeter sound than our two children cracking each other up.

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.

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.

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.