Archive | February 2012

The Rest and Be Thankful Stage

During my first labor, I experienced what Sheila Kitzinger calls the “rest and be thankful stage” after reaching full dilation and before I pushed out my baby. The “rest and be thankful stage” is the lull in labor that some women experience after full dilation and before feeling the physiological urge to push. While commonly described in Kitzinger’s writings and in some other sources, mention of this stage is absent from many birth resources and many women have not heard of it. After writing recently about the spontaneous birth reflex, I received a comment stating the following: “I was particularly interested in the idea of resting after full dilation before pushing. This makes sense if you are only following your body’s urges to push, but never something I had seen (or remember seeing?) spelled out before.”

I always make sure to tell my birth class clients about the possibility of experiencing a lull like this, because it is during this resting phase that labor is sometimes described as having “stalled” or as requiring Pitocin to “kick it off again” or as requiring directed or coached pushing. Also, think of the frequency of remarks from mothers such as, “I just never felt the urge to push.” When exploring further, it is often revealed that what the mother actually experienced was no immediate pushing urge instantly following assessment of full dilation. Depending on the baby’s position, this can be extremely normal. The way I explain it to my clients is that the lull represents the conclusion of the physiological shift happening in the uterus—the transition between contractions that open the cervix and the contractions that push the baby down and out.

As I wrote in a previous post from several years ago:

Your uterus is a powerful muscle and will actually push your baby out without conscious or forced effort from you–-at some point following complete dilation your body will begin involuntarily pushing the baby out. Many women experience the unmistakable urge to push as an “uncontrollable urge”–-but, in order to feel that uncontrollable urge, you often have to wait a little while! Though some care providers and nurses encourage you to begin pushing as soon as you are fully dilated there is often a natural lull in labor before your body’s own pushing urge begins. Some people refer to this lull as the “rest and be thankful” stage. It gives your body a chance to relax and prepare to do a different type of work (in labor the muscles of your uterus are working to draw your cervix up and open. During pushing, the muscles of your uterus change functions and begin to push down instead of pull up). If you wait to push until you really need to, you will often find that your pushing stage is shorter and progresses more smoothly that pushing before you feel the urge.

In the book, Our Bodies, Ourselves: Pregnancy and Birth they share the following important point:

“Research suggests that the length of time before the baby is born is the same if you allow one hour of ‘passive descent’ of the baby (when you relax and don’t consciously try to push) or you start pushing immediately after you are fully dilated.”

via Waiting before pushing… « Talk Birth.

That’s right, the length of time between full dilation and baby’s birth is the same, whether the mother waited one hour before pushing, or started pushing without the urge immediately following full dilation. I know which one sounds easier and more peaceful to me!

In my own experience with my first baby, I found that I felt like I should be pushing after full dilation and thus began to do so before feeling the full urge. I ended up pushing for about an hour and fifteen minutes. I suspect if I’d just continued hanging out for 45 minutes to an hour, he may have flown out in 15 minutes. Prior to pushing though, I did experience a rest and be thankful stage of about 30 minutes in which I sat in a rocking chair, joked about feeling “trippy,” and talked about being an A++ birthing woman. I describe it in my son’s birth story:

After finding out that I was fully dilated, I started to feel very odd and I really think I had to go through a sort of emotional/psychological transition to adjust myself to the fact that I had “missed” the physical transition point…I sat in the rocking chair for a while and kept saying things like, “am I dreaming? Is this real?” I also made a joke about feeling “trippy” like in Spiritual Midwifery. We also joked about what an A+ + + laboring woman I was (a family joke–I was a 4.0 student throughout college and grad school and so we always say that I like to get an A+ + + on everything I do). Those pressure feelings I had been having for a while, got a little more intense and I started pushing kind of experimentally. I was on my knees with my head on the bed on my pillow again and during one of the little pushes my water broke with a giant, startling POP and sprayed across the room including all over my friend. At this point, the midwife left saying, “I think I should call the doctor.” via My First Birth « Talk Birth.

The blog Birth and Baby Wise has some great thoughts to share on resting and being thankful (note the blog is from an educator in London, thus the use of the term Syntocinon, rather than the U.S. based brand Pitocin):

… it seems that there is little appreciation for this well documented pause amongst health professionals working in the consultant-led units of hospitals. Any stop in action once the magic ’10 cm dilatation’ is reached is met with almost instant medical intervention to get the contractions back up and running, ie a syntocinon drip. Women experiencing this are already on a consultant-led unit, where a higher level of medical intervention can be anticipated, but it is strange that there seems to be such a rush to use a syntocinon drip to get the contractions going again, providing mother and baby are both coping well.

One reason the contractions may ease temporarily is in order to allow the baby’s head to get into a better position. If this is the case, then artificially speeding contractions up is hardly likely to have the benefit of a faster birth for the woman – if anything, a slower and more complicated birth as she tries to push out a baby that is not quite in the right position. In addition, she has to cope with stronger contractions that she might find difficult to deal with, necessitating further medical help in the shape of an epidural – which in turn makes pushing the baby out even harder…

…At this stage, the woman and her partner are incredibly vulnerable to this well meant ‘help’ from midwives and obstetricians and are unlikely to question the requirement for additional medical help. It is also unlikely that the calm and relaxed environment so important for a peaceful birth can survive the worries of the health professionals, which will affect most women and their partners. via Rest and be thankful – or panic and have a drip shoved in? | Birth and Baby Wise.

I agree. In my own personal experience with my first birth, I was very vulnerable to just the perceived expectation of it being “time to push.” With later babies, it was intensely important to me that I have very few people present at the birth, knowing how sensitive I am to the expectations of those around me. It is truly only my husband and my mother than I trust to not disrupt my “birth brain” and the freedom of my birth space.

I’d love to hear more from readers about their experiences with the rest and be thankful stage.

Did you experience this lull between full dilation and pushing out your baby?

Was the lull recognized and respected by your birth attendants?

If you pushed without feeling the urge, was the pushing stage fairly long?

With subsequent babies, I had no internal checks during labor, so I never really knew if I experienced the rest and be thankful stage with them. I just pushed when my body started pushing—I have no idea how long after full dilation that was. So, I also am curious to know if women find they experience this stage with all babies, with only the first one, or with only some of their babies?

I suspect I did experience it with Alaina, because I remembering feeling concerned that contractions were suddenly “far apart.” I started talking more and analyzing myself and the labor and this was probably part of a lull in the intensity of the contraction action while my body prepared for a powerful spontaneous birth reflex.

Spontaneous Birth Reflex

Feb24

“Why do we, then, continue to treat women as if their emotions and comfort, and the postures they might want to assume while in labor, are against the rules?“

– Ina May Gaskin (via Birth Smart)

I’ve been intrigued for some time by Michel Odent’s description of what he calls the “fetal ejection reflex.” Personally, I would like to rename it the “spontaneous birth reflex.” Essentially, this reflex involves the spontaneous birth of the baby without coaching or conscious effort on the part of the mother. It is most likely to occur when the mother feels very safe and very private, which may be why we do not read descriptions of it occurring during many births. In an article about the fetal ejection reflex Odent writes: “During the powerful last contractions the mother-to-be seems to be suddenly full of energy, with the need to grasp something. The maternal body has a sudden tendency to be upright. For example, if the woman was previously on hands and knees, her chest tends to be vertical. Other women stand up to give birth, more often than not leaning on the edge of a piece of furniture. A fetus ejection reflex is usually associated with a bending forward posture.”

Flicked forward hips?

In the book Optimal Birth: What, Why & How, which was heavily influenced by the work of Odent, the author frequently describes spontaneous birth reflex occurring with a swift “flicked forward” motion of the mother’s hips. I found the description curious at the time that I read the book, not really conceptualizing how one would flick one’s hips forward when pushing out a baby. However, following the birth of my daughter last year, I was completely amazed to hear my husband describe the pushing stage in these words, “…you were down on your hands and knees, but then you pushed up and moved your hips forward and suddenly you were holding her.” I would describe her birth as involving an authentic spontaneous birth reflex much like Odent and Sylvie Donna (the author of Optimal Birth) describe. This is what I wrote three days after her birth:

Shortly following a spontaneous birth reflex!

I was down on hands and knees and then moved partially up on one hand in order to put my other hand down to feel what was happening…her head pushed and pushed itself down as I continued to support myself with my hand and I moved up onto my knees, with them spread apart so I was almost sitting on my heels and her whole body and a whole bunch of fluid blooshed out into my hands… I didn’t realize until some moments later than both Mark and Mom missed the actual moment of her birth. Mark because he was coming around from behind me to the front of me when I moved up to kneeling…I had felt like the pushing went on for a “long” time, but Mark said that from hands and knees to kneeling with baby in my hands was about 12 seconds.

via Alaina’s Complete Birth Story « Talk Birth.

Birth without pushing?

I’ve been meaning to write about the experience for some time and then I received a comment on an older post I wrote titled Pushing the issue of pushing in labor… which addresses physiological pushing vs. coached/directed pushing. The mother wrote: “I would so love to give birth without pushing..I hope I can do this without pushing but is it really possible?? If it’s possible, why isn’t it practiced more widely?”

While I did not experience such a dramatic spontaneous birth reflex with any of my other births, Yes! It IS possible. There are a variety of reasons why it is not practiced more widely, two common ones being that many mothers do not give birth in the atmosphere of privacy that facilitates the reflex and secondly because many birth attendants ascribe to the notion that 10 centimeters of dilation = time to push, regardless of what mother’s body is telling her to do. With my own first baby, I was checked at 10 centimeters and told I could push whenever I felt the urge. While no one coached or directed me to begin pushing, I felt like I “should” be doing so and so start to experiment with actively pushing a little with contractions. It took a little over an hour before my son was finally born. I never felt an intense or irresistible or spontaneous urge to push. With my second baby, I felt literally driven to my knees by the force of the birthing energy. I did not consciously push him out, but it definitely took several pushes and maybe about 15 minutes to push him out. There was a process of pushing involved with his birth. With my daughter, as I describe above, it was like an irresistible force gripped my body and she just came flying out with no directed physical or mental involvement from me.

Trusting the urge

I shared the mother’s question with the CfM Facebook page in order to get some other perspectives on births with “no pushing.” I received several comments to share with the questioning mother-to-be. Most mothers referenced the idea of pushing when their bodies told them to. It is difficult to communicate this with someone who has not yet experienced it—how to recognize the “urge” and what it really means to “push when your body tells you to.” I also suspect it is frustrating for women who are honestly and courageously seeking “answers” in order to best prepare their bodies, minds, and hearts for birth, to receive responses like, “just trust your body,” which can feel trite or dismissive to the pregnant woman who hungers to know. However, then once on the other side of the birthing bridge, we discover there are really few better answers to give. I believe the capacity to trust that her body will communicate the unmistakable urge to push comes with an environment where the mother is treated with dignity and respect. She has her need for privacy honored and that she is mentally able to surrender to the birthing process and let her body take over—no attempting to wrestle with or control the birth, but to dig deep and then to let go.

Personal experiences in birthing without pushing:

ARA shared: “I will say that with my last birth I started out with having coached pushing. Then I felt my body take over. The nurse told me to stop pushing and I told her I can’t my body is doing it on it’s own. It was the most awesome feeling in the world.”

And AK shared: “I pushed when my body said to do so. It was relieving!! lol”

EW wrote that she, “highly recommend physiological pushing over directed pushing. listen to your body. Consider hypnobirthing if you are wanting to birth without pushing, it encourages laboring down.”

DF had this experience to share: “I don’t know if this is the same thing but with my first child, the nurse didn’t listen to me when I said I thought it was time and when my midwife came to check I was crowning, I had ‘labored down’ as she called it by my body doing the work. So I only actually pushed once on her cue and my baby was here. The second child the same happened automatically I wasn’t even aware it was happening…..maybe subconsciously?”

NB shared that, “Because of my uterine prolapse issues, I do not push until the baby is essentially crowning on his own. I also don’t have anyone check to see how far dilated I am (since baby #1, that is) so when that burning feeling starts to get really strong I try a gentle little push to see what happens, and that usually initiates complete crowning… at which time, despite my best efforts, I CANNOT control the pushing urge any longer because I need to get that baby out!! 😉 I think it does make ‘transition’ longer in the sense that perhaps birth would have happened earlier if I’d begun pushing before the baby slid down that far on his/her own, but it makes the pushing stage much shorter and is certainly better for the baby – and me, too, since I’m not putting that strain on my uterine ligaments until the very last seconds.”

JD shared her different experiences: “With my first baby, I felt the need to push waaaay too early. (Baby turned posterior; I had back labor contractions less than a minute apart for several hours.) I spent over an hour pushing, but I can’t blame the wonderful midwives who attended my homebirth. They told me several times that it wasn’t time to push yet. But I was in so much pain, and had exhausted all my coping strategies, and just had to get that baby OUT! Then we had a dystocia, and everybody ended up yelling at me to push even though I wasn’t having a contraction, and my very calm, collected midwife sounded worried, so I pushed some more. Lots of pushing, lots of pain, lots of tearing. My second baby was smaller and lined herself up better. I didn’t push until the very end, and she came in a big hurry and surprised everybody. Nobody told me to push, and I barely needed to. So, yes, it can be done, but there are more factors at play than your doctor/midwife. I had two very different pushing experiences, both at home with the same midwife.”

G wrote: “Unmedicated, midwife-assisted home birth, pushed for 3 hours, never really got the hang of it. Baby was not quite lined up right and was stuck, crowned, for an hour. I was exhausted and basically checked out. Eventually it was gravity that got him out – they hauled me upright and he basically fell out of me. I look back and wonder if maybe I should have taken more of a break after dilation – I FELT like I was ready to push, but who knows if I actually was. Maybe he would have labored down on his own if I’d just zonked out.”

Why isn’t it encouraged?

I’ve already addressed several reasons why and then LDM shared these important points: “It’s not widely practiced because the obstetric timetable doesn’t allow for it. The physiological urge to push will be there, for some women sooner than others. Most care providers are taught to coach pushing (after all we all know women just can’t do the job they were designed to do) and to have that coached pushing happen under certain conditions (wait for the dr! Ok, doc is here!) Some women say they never felt any urge- they may have had normal physiological signals quelled from drugs or other common labor practices and/or they were not given time to rest and sleep after fully dilating. There is such urgency to force a baby out once she reaches 10, but if she is tired and cannot feel her body pushing, then mom probably needs a nap & maybe a snack. Letting a woman take that break is unheard of in hospitals.”

And additionally, Mommy Baby Spot offered this tip: “Stay away from “helping” drugs so that your body knows what to do and learn different positions so that your body puts itself in the prime position to get the baby out with the minimum of hassle (which is different for everyone).”

I thank the women who shared their experiences for their thoughts and I wish the mother who posed the question the very, very best with her upcoming birth. May you birth smoothly, peacefully, and spontaneously in harmony with your body’s wisdom, cues, and urging!

—

(Note: personal experiences are reprinted directly as shared on the CfM FB page, but have had some spelling corrected for readability.)

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Introversion

Feb23

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That’s how the light gets in.

–Leonard Cohen, from “Anthem”

via A Meditation for the Weekend: How the Light Gets In – By Susan Cain.

Accidentally came across this quote via Facebook today and just loved it. It led me to the rest of Susan Cain’s website about introverts and her new book, Quiet.

During every session of my online class, I have my students take an online version of the classic Myers-Briggs personality inventory: Personality Type Explorer. Personally, I am an INFJ which is the result I also get when taking the paper version of the test as well as other online versions. So, it seems pretty consistent. I feel I am more accurately an “extroverted-introvert” (which isn’t a real category)—I really enjoy being around people and I’m friendly and social, but on the flip side I then feel very drained after people contact and need time alone to recharge. I find I am restored by being alone and drained by being with others (even though I like them!), hence my own self-labeling as “extroverted-introvert.” Though, of course, by definition it isn’t actually that extroverts “like people” and introverts don’t like people, it is a difference between whether they are fueled or drained by people contact. I’ve just observed that people seem to make an assumption that being introverted means someone is “shy” or “doesn’t like people,” so that’s why I choose extroverted-introvert for myself.

On the website above, I read Cain’s Manifesto, which contained these gems:

“1. There’s a word for ‘people who are in their heads too much’: thinkers.”

I have heard this phrase more times than I can count—“you think too much.” While often said with a teasing air, it is also tinged with a touch of shaming. Once, several years ago, I mentioned feeling “too busy” to an acquaintance. She responded with, “it is good to be busy, then you don’t have time to think.” I was stunned by the concept then and I remain stunned by it now—no time to think? What kind of life would that be?! Sounds hellish to me. When I begin feeling like I have no time to think or that I don’t have enough space in my own head, that is my personal cue that I need to make life changes. While I can “overthink” things or ruminate in pointless and self-berating ways, most of the time I really enjoy my own company. I like time to think and I love time spent in my own head. It is a pretty interesting and fun place to be. And, for me then, writing is thought made visible. (This brings me to Cain’s third point in her manifesto was: “3. Solitude is a catalyst for innovation.”)

And, finally, her fifth point appealed to the homeschooler in me:

“5. We teach kids in group classrooms not because this is the best way to learn but because it’s cost-efficient, and what else would we do with the children while all the grown-ups are at work? If your child prefers to work autonomously and socialize one-on-one, there’s nothing wrong with her; she just happens not to fit the model.”

(I love the casual acknowledgement that a primary purpose of government school is to provide publicly funded day care while parents are at work.)

My own kids love being home best of all (actually, they may love visiting my parents’ even better!). They always have each other for company though. I do not know if I’ve ever fully expressed how very much I love having this pair of boys. It is phenomenal. They pretty much play with each other from the time they wake up until the time they go to bed. Day in and day out each spends with his best buddy, his brother. Last weekend we had a family wide meltdown over something pretty silly, but the whole family ended up yelling about it and Lann ended up in his room for a while because the boys needed to be separated (besides being best buddies, they each have a “signature” behavior that leads to some challenges—L’s is to tease/taunt and then laugh in a horrible mocking way when Z gets upset, and Z’s is to throw massive “rage fits” that involve physical attacks). Z kept begging and begging for Lann to be able to come out of his room (L wanted to stay in because he was really upset and crying and mad) and then said to us, “you don’t understand, I HAVE to be with my BROTHER!” While it is an unfortunate example because of the family wide meltdown context, it was very telling about the depth and quality of their relationship and I just feel extraordinarily fortunate that they like each other so very much and are such an integrated and committed unit.

wearing their signature skeleton sweatshirts of awesomeness

This experience with a pair of brothers is one of the things that makes me want to have just one more baby—so A has a chance to have that intense sibling connection too. Of course, there are no guarantees that she would bond that well with a younger sibling—it could be a sibling rivalry torture fest that drives me screaming from my home with no scrap of time left to think. And, I know it is extremely ridiculous to plan to have kids to be friends for other kids (how would that hypothetical other baby feel to know that it was only born to be a buddy for someone else?!) And, of course, she has her two big brothers to be her friends. The boys are such a tight pair though and are enough older than she is that I don’t think she’ll ever be on the true friend level with either of them.

Okay, so I started on one topic and ended somewhere totally different. Ah, well.

Honoring Miscarriage

Feb22

When I had my first miscarriage, I vowed several things in the immediate aftermath. One was that I was going to write a book about it so that other women would not have to experience the same total dearth of resources about the physical process of coping with home miscarriage. While I did publish my miscarriage memoir this year, I am still collecting stories and experiences for a different, more comprehensive book on this theme. However, in the time since I made that vow and since I had my miscarriages, a new resource emerged for women: Stillbirthday. This is the website I NEEDED when I was preparing for the birth of my tiny, nonliving baby. While I received emotional support from a variety of sources, I found a void where the physical information I sought should be. That information is skillfully covered in the birth plans section of the Stillbirthday website. I reprinted information from their “early home birth plan” in my Footprints on My Heart memoir, since it was the information I was desperately seeking during my own home miscarriage-birth. I am grateful the information is now available to those who need it.

My second vow was that, if I knew about it, I would never leave another woman to cope with miscarriage alone on her own. My third vow came a little later after more fully processing and thinking about my own experience and that was to always honor and identify miscarriage as a birth event in a woman’s life.

A friend’s loss

In March of 2010, my good friend, who had doula’ed me very gracefully and respectfully and lovingly through my miscarriage-birth postpartum experience and processing, experienced a miscarriage herself. She didn’t call me while she was experiencing it, so I couldn’t go to her as I had imagined I would if needed, but afterwards I went to her with food and small gifts and hugged her tightly, recognizing all too well that hollow, shattered look in her eyes and the defeated and empty stance of her body. Later, I bought her a memorial bracelet. However, I was still in the midst of coping with my own grief and loss process—my second miscarriage having just finally come to a long-drawn out end only a month before and the experience of which having brought another friendship to an almost unsalvageable point—and my dear friend’s own process, her feelings, got lost along the way. She recently wrote about the experience on her own blog and it was harder for me to read than I would have expected. As she noted, I agree that doesn’t matter how little the baby, or baby-start, or baby-potential that is lost-–there is no quantifying loss and no “prize” for the “worst” miscarriage. It is a permanent experience that becomes a part of you forever. Also permanent for me is the empathy and caring showed to me by my friend/doula during my time of loss and sorrow. I regret that I was not able to be that same source of solace, companionship, and understanding to her. I thank her for having held space for me to grieve “out loud” and I’m really sorry that part of the cost of that was the suffocating of her own sadness or minimization of her own experience. While I do feel like I did what I could to acknowledge her miscarriage at the time that it happened I really wish I would have done more, particularly in terms of acknowledging how very long the feelings of emptiness and grief persist. I made a mistake in taking her, “I’m okay” remarks as really meaning it, rather than being part of the story that babyloss mamas often tell themselves in a desperate effort to “get over it” and be “back to normal.”

That said, I also compassionately acknowledge that it can be hard for people to know what it is that we need if we don’t tell them. So, now I’d like to hear from readers. What are your own thoughts on recognizing and acknowledging miscarriage—how do we best hold the space for women to experience, identify, and honor miscarriage as a birth event in their lives?

Charm & book giveaway (**Giveaway is now closed. Veronica was the winner***)

In harmony with my question and associated thoughts, I am hosting a giveaway of a sterling silver footprints on my heart charm exactly like the one I bought for myself after Noah’s birth and that I gave to my husband and my parents afterward (my husband carries his on his keychain). If you win the charm, perhaps it is something that will help you to honor your own miscarriage experience or that you can give to someone else to acknowledge their loss. This giveaway is in concert with the blog contest on Stillbirthday and will end on March 20. Additionally, everyone who enters will receive a free pdf copy of my miscarriage memoir.

To enter the giveaway, please leave a comment addressing the subject of honoring miscarriage. I am wondering things like:

What did you need after miscarriage?

What did you wish people would do/say to honor your miscarriage experience?

How could people have helped you more?

What do you still wish you could do/say/write/share about your miscarriage experience(s)?

What do you wish you had done for yourself?

What did you want to tell people and what do you wish you had been able to say?

What did you want to do that you didn’t feel as if you had “permission” to do? (personal, social, medical, cultural, whatever type of permission…)

I will share my answers to these questions in a later post, but I do want to mention that one of the things that was most important to me to have acknowledged was that this was REAL. That was one of the first things I said to my parents about it when they came over to help me immediately after Noah was born—this is real.

Water babies

I continue to honor the experience of miscarriage and babyloss in my own life in various ways. Recently, I found a buddhist monk garden statue from Overstock.com that reminded me of the “jizo” sculptures that honor and protect “water babies” in Japan (mizuko is a Japanese word meaning “water baby” and specifically refers to babies lost during pregnancy—the only specialized word that exists). I have a small jizo inside on my living room windowsill, but I’ve wanted one that could weather the outdoors by Noah’s tree.

I took this one for size perspective, but you can barely see the sculpture in the shadow to Alaina's right.

I believe I may be partially responsible for the widespread usage of the following quote on the internet now with regard to babyloss mamas:

“Miscarriages are labor, miscarriages are birth. To consider them less dishonors the woman whose womb has held life, however briefly.” –Kathryn Miller Ridiman

I found it in an issue of Midwifery Today from 1995 and shared it multiple times on Facebook and on my blog. I have since seen it in many locations around the web and I feel happy that I was able to be a conduit for the sentiment and the increased recognition of miscarriage as a birth event.

To participate in the Stillbirthday blog contest/carnival go here. And, make sure to check them out on Facebook too.

Babies & Balance

Feb21

She is nursing here and holding a partially peeled potato. She likes to fall asleep holding something--and those somethings are often very random.

I’m just bursting with ideas for blog posts recently, but Alaina has other ideas for me namely with regard to her sleep “schedule.” She has had several days recently where she has only napped for 15 minutes. At night, she insists on sleeping with her head on my arm, which is really fine and pretty sweet, but since she goes to bed at about 8:30, I am then “trapped” there in the dark (light has to be off for her to go to sleep too) for hours and hours. (My iPad helps make this work.) With my boys, I could usually sneak away after they fell asleep. She, however, pops awake when I reclaim my arm. In the morning, I can’t get up before she does either, because she is still on my arm and pops awake when I try to sneakily wiggle away. I’ve surrendered to these things, knowing that they will pass soon and enjoying the fact that my baby has spent every night of her existence sleeping in my actual arms, but I have not surrendered to the notion that I’ll be able to put her down for a nap during the day! I nurse her to sleep for nap while walking her in the Ergo and then put her down on the bed. Today…popped up. This weekend…popped back up. Uh oh.

I have been “mining” my old blog for content that I want to move over here. In the same post in which I originally shared some quotes from the book The Mommy Wars, I found a quote that spoke to me again today as I try to figure out my “balance” with kids and teaching and writing and A’s popping up from nap ways. I thought I’d shared the quote here before, but I don’t see it now. So, here it is:

Let me save you some money: In a life with children, balance does not exist. Once you’re a parent, you can figure you’ll be out of whack for the rest of your life…Children are not born to provide balance. children are made to stir us up, to teach us how angry we can get, how scared we can be, how utterly happy, happier than we’d ever imagined was possible, how deeply we can love. Children turn us upside down and inside out; they send us to the depths and heights of ourselves; but they do not balance us. We can’t balance them either, and that’s a good thing, too. They’re finding out how to live in the world, and the most we can do is make them as safe as possible and have a good time with them.

I have struggled in the past when things like this happen thinking I need to give up my blog, but in the last year, I’ve accepted it is one of my favorite hobbies and should actually be the last thing to go. I’ve also come to the conclusion that it is a legitimate avenue for writing, providing me with countless seeds for later article and book projects, not to mention the personal posts serving as a “time capsule” or memory record for both me and my kids in the future.

Motherhood, Feminism, and More

Feb18

“When a woman tells the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her.“

– Adrienne Rich (May 16, 1929 – March 27, 2012)

Some time ago Molly at First the Egg did a series of posts about the book Of Woman Born. This book is an excellent feminist classic that at the time during which I read it helped to clarify for me that it is the “institutional” elements of motherhood that I sometimes find so oppressive and binding—it isn’t the children themselves, in the climate of motherhood in which I find myself.

Several years ago I also read Fruitful, by Anne Roiphe. The subtitle is Living the Contradictions : A Memoir of Modern Motherhood. Like Of Woman Born, it was written before the more recent wave of “momoirs” (that is a kind of dismissive term, but it does help me classify the genre) and focuses heavily on feminism and its relationship to mothers/motherhood (so, different from momoirs in that the focus is less on personal experience of motherhood and more on motherhood and its social/cultural/political connections, I suppose). Fruitful is less “heavy” and depressing than Of Woman Born. The focus of the book is on the tension between feminism and motherhood (i.e. can you be a “good” feminist and also be a “good” mother) and she explores that issue throughout. Roiphe is a feminist and yet critiques some elements of the movement’s impact on mothers and motherhood. She is also very pro-father and I appreciated her exploration of men/fathers as people vs. “evil patriarchy—down with them!”

This is a quote about the crux of the mother/feminist issue: “Motherhood by definition requires tending of the other, a sacrifice of self-wishes for the needs of a helpless, hapless human being, and feminism by definition insists on attention being paid to the self. The basic contradiction is not simply the nasty work of a sexist society. It is the lay of the land, the mother of all paradoxes, the irony we cannot bend with mere wishing or might of will.”

This reminds me of my journal entry from my early months as a new mother—“is it possible to balance motherhood with person-hood?” I’m still figuring it out! (some days it seems to work, some days it really doesn’t!)

During the time in which I read Fruitful, I also read The Mommy Wars. I almost didn’t read it because I was worried that it would be excessively harsh or inflammatory and I don’t need to bring things like that into my life. However, it seemed truly supportive of women/mothers. It was a collection of essays by various authors (alternating between those who have chosen to be mostly at home and those who have chosen to be mostly pursuing careers) and it quickly became clear that the most real “mommy war” that most of us experience is the one inside of our own heads. There seems to be no ideal/perfect solution. I also noticed that many of the women (including the editor of the collection) had cobbled together some sort of “balance” between working-outside-of-the-home and working inside it–there were lots of part-timers, lots of WAHMs, lots of writer-in-the-spare-minutes, etc. Since I’ve done the same, I particularly identified with those tales of struggle to discover the right balance for your family.

The first quote I wanted to share from this book is with regard to being asked “what do you do?” at a cocktail party: “I find it odd that I’d generate far more interest if I said I raised dogs or horse or chinchillas, but saying, in effect, ‘I raise human beings’ is a huge yawn...It might, in fact, be boring if child care were simply a series of pink-collar tasks–bathe, dress, feed, repeat. But observing and participating in a little Homo Sapien’s development is fascinating to me. Furthermore, being a mother isn’t just a ‘job’ any more than being a wife or a daughter; it’s a relationship.” [emphasis mine and in total agreement with this]

Then in another writer’s essay (the above was from one of the SAHM, the below is from one of the WOHM) came this interesting observation:

“I remember reading once that all manner of selfishness is excused under the banner of focusing on one’s family, and it strikes me now as penetratingly true. How many of us don’t do for others because we’re supposedly saving it for our families? and how valuable is staying at home if you’re not teaching your children how much other people (and their feelings) matter?”

In another book I have, The Paradox of Natural Mothering, she refers to the “family first” mentality as a type of narcissism and I do see the point.

I also wanted to share some quotes from an essay by a woman who does not yet have children, but is planning to, with regard to talking to mothers who shut down her opinions/thoughts with the, “what could you know? You don’t have children” brush-off. (Which, I personally, have definitely been guilty of thinking on more than one occasion! And, actually did so while reading this essay!):

I want to be able to say that all the judgment and aggression and competitiveness I witness among working and stay-at-home mothers surprises me and absolutely must change. But that wouldn’t be honest. I’ve been party to this one-upping and henpecking and know-it-all-ness my entire life. It’s as if becoming a mother puts us back into a sorority or junior high school, into some petri dish of experience where what other females think and say and feel and do counts more than anything.

The one thing my stay-at-home and working-mom friends share in the country of motherhood is a superiority gene, some may call it a gift of vision, that convinces them that women who don’t have children are, despite their educations and accomplishments, dumb as doorknobs. I’ve sat through many a heated conversation…during which I’ve been silly enough to offer an opinion only to be shut down more condescendingly and viciously by wise Goddess Mothers than I ever have been shut down by any man.

FWIW, I would not call this a “superiority gene” or “gift of vision,” but a “voice of experience”…I think most of us have been in the position of ourselves being the “just doesn’t get it” woman without kids! And, after you have kids of your own, you suddenly realize why “those mothers” were condescending to you.

On a somewhat related subject, I also enjoyed this post by Dreaming Aloud about the silencing of mama anger.

Memories of a One Month Old…

Feb17

My newborn!

I didn’t make a “onemonthababy” post about Alaina and as I flipped back through my journal on her birthday this year, I found the entry I made on February 20—the day after her one month “birthday.” So, I feel like adding it now to join the other monthababy posts I made during her first year.

Alaina is one month old! Still a nice quiet, contented little soul with new smiling action, head-lifting action, and potty-peeing action. I love her SO incredibly much. I’m loving having a baby again. I do not find baby-parenting to be difficult, confusing, or frustrating. Pretty much non-stop marvelment. She feels so easy to take care of.

Alas, tis not true of my other kids lately who are exhausting, noisy, need-factories obsessed with butts and poop jokes.

Weather has been delightful lately and I walked with her down to the priestess rocks this afternoon feelings as if I was officially “presenting” her to the world/planet.

Earlier in the week, I took her outside to wait for [my friend’s] visit and I walked the labyrinth with her and also introduced her to Noah. I had profound sense of unity with her. Symbiosis. A feeling of being her whole world and she my whole world. World felt narrowed in on us and then also like I was part of some great, grand majesty. Her nestled against my chest, me protecting her and enfolding her. Nurturing her. Our twosome the whole world. “The sheltered simplicity of two people existing only for each other.” And, that is enough. All she wants is me and I can give that to her. 🙂

I also spotted this quote on a friend’s Facebook page recently and it spoke to my heart and feelings:

“A mother’s body remembers her babies–the folds of soft flesh, the softly furred scalp against her nose. Each child has its own entreaties to body and soul. It’s the last one, though, that overtakes you. I can’t dare say I loved the others less, but my first three were all babies at once, and motherhood dismayed me entirely. . . . That’s how it is with the firstborn, no matter what kind of mother you are–rich, poor, frazzled half to death or sweetly content. A first child is your own best foot forward, and how you do cheer those little feet as they strike out. You examine every turn of flesh for precocity, and crow it to the world.

But the last one: the baby who trails her scent like a flag of surrender through your life when there will be no more coming after–oh, that’s love by a different name. She is the babe you hold in your arms for an hour after she’s gone to sleep. If you put her down in the crib, she might wake up changed and fly away. So instead you rock by the window, drinking the light from her skin, breathing her exhaled dreams. Your heart bays to the double crescent moons of closed lashes on her cheeks. She’s the one you can’t put down.” ― Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible

Alaina is most likely my last baby. When we are alone together, I often spend time just staring at her. I want to memorize her. I stare at her eyelashes, her lips, her little nose, the curve of her cheek, her profile, her fuzzy hair, her little neck. I nuzzle her face with my nose and lips and sniff her all the time. Today, we went back down to the woods, and just sat there on the rocks together and I marveled at how fast time continues to pass and how she grows and grows and grows. It isn’t that I didn’t notice or appreciate or cherish my boys as babies, I did, and I have crystal clear memories of lying in bed nursing my first baby and cradling the back of his soft little head with my hand and crying as I laid there thinking about how he would be a teenager before I knew it. He isn’t gone now, of course, and he is still my “baby” forever and I cherish him today also, but that baby whose head I cradled and cried over in that moment is in fact gone and every day I feel conscious of the fact that another day of Alaina’s babyhood has passed. As I’ve noted before, there is just a sharp sweetness to this time with her that I did not experience before and I think it is the trailing flag of surrender, of a passing season, that Kingsolver references in the quote above.

Getting soap

Drawing seriously

Postpartum Thoughts/Feelings, Part 2

Feb14

“The time of danger, what needs to be survived, comes at different times for mothers. For me, it came early — during my [child]’s infancy.”

—From Sleeping Beauty & The Fairy Prince: A Modern Retelling By Cassie Premo Steele

After posting my “playing my music” essay containing an exploration of my postpartum feelings after the birth of my first son, I went back and forth about continuing to explore the subject. I’ve written about it a lot, but the feelings are scattered throughout a variety of locations—including partially written articles and also blog posts from my first, no-longer-updated blog. I actually wrote this post last year, immediately after my part 1 post, and then ended up not sharing it, but moving straight on to Postpartum Feelings, Part 3 instead.

Weird thoughts

Anyway, I wanted to briefly address the weird/intrusive thoughts that I experienced postpartum with both of my boys. I think one of the reasons I have trouble broaching this topic on this blog is that to look back at my thoughts and feelings is to begin to acknowledge to myself that I very likely experienced a postpartum mood disorder, even though I—perhaps purposefully—did not identify it as such at the time. With my first, I had a recurrent image of the bookshelf in my computer room at the time falling over and squashing me. I also had the sense that the baby was trying to “squash” me—as in stamp out my life spark (actually, who am I kidding, life with kids still makes me feel like this is their goal sometimes! ;-D) and the best way I could come up with to describe my feelings at the end of a long day was that I had been chewed up and had my bones spit out. This is a pretty intense description that some people might feel is ridiculous or over-the-top, but is the way I would have described it.

When my second son was a baby, I planned much better for postpartum and experienced a fairly pleasant babymoon at home with him. I felt like in general, mothering him was easier than mothering my first and as he grew, I frequently would say (and feel) that having a second child was the best thing I’d ever done. Despite those feelings, I had a recurrent image that would pop into my mind unbidden of falling backwards through a grate, my body dissolving into water as I fell and dripping through the grate and the skin of my face remaining a “mask” on the grate, eventually also dissolving/dripping through. I also had a weird, recurrent sensation that my shin bones were fragile somehow and I would imagine them snapping.

So, after typing this out I officially felt mentally ill, and that is why it hasn’t been posted until now.

The current

With my second son, I described my mood to my husband in this way: There is a current that underlies all of my emotions. I feel like I can “dip” into this current and test out how it feels, beneath the mood that I present outwardly or how I feel on the surface. My current lately is always sad—even when I am happy and feeling/acting happy, if I take the time to “dip” beneath, what I feel is sad. I used to actually chart the feelings on my calendar, with a little notation for the surface feeling and a different notation for the current. I tried to explain to him that I did not feel like I had a neutral point and that I would like to feel “even.” However, I also acknowledged that if to feel “even” or neutral as my “current” would mean trading in all peaks of emotion, rather exuberant or despondent, I’d rather have the ups and downs. During this time I looked up various mood disorders, thinking that I might possible qualify as having cyclothymia.

Wal-Mart “angel”

Then, one day, when my second son was perhaps a year or so old, I had an interesting experience at Wal-Mart with a very friendly and cheerful checker. She chatted along with us and was just very nice and pleasant to be around. That night I had a vivid dream that this checker was actually an angel and that she had come to “heal” my feelings. When I woke up that morning, I had very dramatic sensation and announcement of sorts in my head, “you are not depressed anymore” and indeed, when I dipped into the current it had become a wellspring of joy, rather than sadness. Since this time, my “current” has never again shifted back to sad. While I definitely have sad or “down” moods or get distressed about things, I now feel like it is only that surface emotion that is being buffeted, but that what waits underneath is always doing all right. Perhaps you have to know me in real life to understand how strange of an experience this is for me to describe. I have never had another “angel” experience and do not connect with angel imagery. The word “angel” is not one that I use to describe anything, really, and I feel extraordinarily skeptical and uncomfortable when other people say things about having guardian angels. I suppose if I did have PPD, it could be looked upon as a “hallucination” almost. However, I do not have a way to describe what happened to me without using the word. Indeed, I feel so oddly about it, that I have never actually told anyone else about this—I told my husband about the current shifting, but left out the “Wal-Mart angel” piece of the story.

Why tell it now?

As I noted, I’ve been waffling about posting this. It is close on the heels of another post that may seem woo-tastic. It makes me feel vulnerable and embarrassed. Why? Why bother sharing things that bring up these sorts of feelings? My answer was almost, just don’t, and then I read a fabulously amusing essay in the winter issue of Brain, Child magazine about a woman’s experience teaching “sexuality and the new mother” workshops at Babeland in New York City. In her postscript closing the essay, Meredith Fein Lichtenberg writes the following:

“…writing this now, years after it happened, I still felt that sharing something personal cast stark light on the Inner Vat of Chaotic Shit I Haven’t Figured Out Yet. The desire to hide that is amazingly strong; I see it in my students, and I see it in myself. But I also see that when we bend our lives’ stories into words to be shared, everything changes. Sharing stories reminds us we’re not alone with our icky mess of doubts and questions. In the light of day, frightening concerns and general weirdness become more understandable, forgivable, human.”

Reading this, I knew I wanted to share after all. And, it reminded me of another quote, this one by Carol Christ, a thealogy scholar that I love:

“When one woman puts her experiences into words, another woman who has kept silent, afraid of what others will think, can find validation. And when the second woman says aloud, ‘yes, that was my experience too,’ the first woman loses some of her fear.” –Carol Christ

Postpartum Feelings, Part 1

Postpartum Feelings, Part 3

Book Review: The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Urban Homesteading & to Self-Sufficient Living

Feb13

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Urban Homesteading
Sundari Elizabeth Kraft
Paperback, 352 pages
Published by Penguin Group (USA)
ISBN: 9781615641048

And

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Self-Sufficient Living
Jerome Belanger
Paperback, 400 pages
Published by Penguin Group (USA)
ISBN: 9781592579457

Reviewed by Molly Remer

Written in clear, straightforward language and covering an impressive array of topics, Urban Homesteading and Self-Sufficient Living, are excellent resources to those on a sustainable living path. At first I expected them to be “too basic,” but discovered useful information and resources applicable to people at various stages and experience levels. Because they are so comprehensive, the books both serve primarily as a broad overview of relevant topics, rather than as in-depth how-to guides. They serve to whet your appetite for further resources for a sustainable lifestyle.

I’m not a fan of the title Complete Idiot’s Guide in general, finding it unnecessarily insulting rather than amusing, but that is a minor drawback to these thorough, useful guides.

Of the two tomes, The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Urban Homesteading really shines. The focus is on micro-farming and self-sufficiency for the city dweller. It covers gardening (including options for those without yards), chickens and other small livestock, food preservation and preparation (including cheesemaking and various recipes for food prep), soapmaking, composting, foraging, and off-grid living. It also includes information about zoning laws and working with landlords. As someone who has homesteaded in a rural area for a number of years, I still found the Urban Homesteading book quite useful and informative.

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Self-Sufficient Living focuses on living a self-reliant lifestyle and on sustainable living. It covers topics such as gardening, kitchen coordination, raising animals, and self-sufficient housing.

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Disclosure: I received complimentary copies of these books for review purposes.

Birth Plan Item #1: Leave My Cervix Inside My Body!

Feb11

Some time ago I read several articles in Midwifery Today about birth in the Ukraine. Apparently, it is a routine practice immediately postpartum to use two “shoe horn” shaped devices to pull the cervix out of the woman’s body to examine. Yes, I think that warrants repeating–manually pulling out the cervix to look at! (no pain medications). This is so patently horrible and unnecessary that I had a visceral response to reading about it–my uterus hurt.

U.S. maternity care routines

However, as I reflected on my reaction, I began to wonder if the practice is any more strange or disturbing that some U.S. maternity care routines? I still feel like cervix-pulling-out ranks pretty high on the horrible factor, but I also recognize that it is filtered through my cultural lens of what I’m used to—“normal” (i.e. culturally acceptable) birth practices in the U.S. (such as Pitocin injection immediately following most normal births regardless of indication and so on and so forth). We have any number of questionable medical care practices in this country too, but because I’m used to them they register as “normal.” Of course, this doesn’t mean I approve of them or fail to notice that they are not evidence-based, but I accept them as possible occurrences and I’m certainly not surprised to read about them over and over again, or shocked when my clients experience them during their births.

One of the articles was about birth in a Ukrainian “birth house” and the other was a composite of observations about birth in the Ukraine in general. Sometimes there is a tendency amongst midwifery supporters to romanticize birth and midwifery care in other countries and to vilify the U.S.—if you are a Ukrainian woman, this is clearly misplaced!

My first thought when reading the essays was, “Wow! The U.S. system isn’t so terrible after all!” But then, I tried to imagine the U.S. birth culture seen through completely fresh eyes, as I had just viewed the cervix-pulling technique. How would facets of hospital birth care in the U.S. appear to me if I was just hearing about them for the first time? As gross human rights violations?

Though I cannot make it have the same raw emotional and physical shock to me as cervix-pulling-out, I can only imagine how an episiotomy might sound to my imaginary fresh eyes: “then the doctor took some scissors and cut through the skin and muscles at the base of the woman’s vagina.” Or, the same with the not uncommon addition of, “as she begged ‘please don’t cut me! No!'”

I also read with sadness and dismay about the emotional maltreatment of Ukrainian women in labor and how (in hospitals) they are frequently denied the companionship of their husbands. Is this really more awful than women being coerced into unnecessary cesareans or even more basic, being denied food and drink throughout their labors? No, not really, just less familiar.

What do all women deserve?

While it is nice to recognize that there are things that women birthing in U.S. hospitals can be very grateful for, there is not an official continuum or hierarchy of “better” bad things to happen to birthing women regardless of country of residence. Humanized care is humanized care. Women worldwide deserve a safe environment, a respectful caregiver, continuous emotional support, physically responsive care, evidence-based medicine, and to have their cervixes and uteruses left inside their bodies.

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(P.S. In case anyone is interested, “cervices” or “cervixes” and “uteri” or “uteruses” are both acceptable plurals)