Archive | March 2012

A Blessing…and more…

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Rue anemone
(next to the house)

A Blessing…

May Women all be treated

as rare and holy flowers

Petals strong and fragile

rise up sacred powers

Giving

Giving

Life its very breath.

–Sarah Blogg

I read this poem in an anthology of women’s prayers, blessings, and readings and it spoke to my heart and to the heart of birthwork, of women’s work, of why I do what I do, and care about what I care about. This is what I wish for women, not just in birth, but in life. I wish for baby girls around the world to be greeted with love and joy, “oh, good! It’s a girl! Another girl! We’re so blessed!” rather than viewed as second class citizens or as property or as burdens or as objects. I wish for the lives and bodies of women to be honored and respected and for their wisdom to be cultivated.

I’m happy to be reviewing a really great book right now called Into These Hands, Wisdom from Midwives. In the introduction is a great quote that makes me think of the above sentiments as well: “Every new member of the human family arrives on Earth through the body of a woman. Each day on our planet, the majority of babies emerge into the hands of a midwife. Since the dawn of time, midwives have been receiving the generations into their hands.” –Geraldine Simkins

Birth culture

For a dozen years now, birth and breastfeeding advocacy have been areas of intense and sustained interest to me. I feel like these are core, basic women’s issues and that women in our present day U.S. birth culture, as well as women around the world, experience significant amounts of devaluation, disempowerment, and even abuse in the medical birthplace. I agree with anthropologist Sheila Kitzinger who said that, “In any society, the way a woman gives birth and the kind of care given to her and the baby points as sharply as an arrowhead to the key values of the culture.” Our current birth culture does not value women and children. Though my focus is usually on the women, it also doesn’t much value men or fathers either. I also agree with Kitzinger’s assessment that, “Woman-to-woman help through the rites of passage that are important in every birth has significance not only for the individuals directly involved, but for the whole community. The task in which the women are engaged is political. It forms the warp and weft of society.”

A popular saying in the birth activist community is “peace on earth begins with birth.” Perhaps it really means, “respecting the birth-givers, eradicates patriarchy.”

Women’s voices & social discourse

In an article by Grassley and Eschiti in summer 2011 Journal of Perinatal Education, they state, “Women’s health research is grounded in women’s voices and experience…’What matters to people keeps getting told in their stories of their life.'” I’ve written before about the value of stories and story power. I would love for us to reach a cultural point in which the most common element found in most women’s birth stories is about their own power, rather than about times in which they experienced distress and victimization. How we talk about birth and about women matters. It matters a lot. Some time ago I read an interesting article by Debra Bingham about Taking Birth Back. It it she asks you to consider–when talking about birth–how your basic assumptions affect your discourse (the way you talk about birth):

1. Does your discourse include stories about the power of women?
2. Or do the stories shift the locus of control away from women and their bodies to other authority figures such as nurses, physicians, or machines?
3. Does your discourse assume that women are physiologically capable of giving birth and nourishing their own children?
4. Or does your discourse assume that women’s bodies are fundamentally flawed and in need of medical attention and intervention?

I frequently attempt to shift the locus of control from “authority” figures back to women–it is shocking to me how ingrained the terminology is about medical care providers (even midwives!), “letting” someone do something, etc.

As I’ve previously written, the prevailing social discourse about birth assumes a locus of control external to the woman and you rarely hear stories about the “power of women” amongst the general public or mainstream media. Ditto for the assumption of women’s bodies as fundamentally flawed, except replace “rarely” with “frequently.” These messages are so dominating that I think it is hard for women to really “hear” positive birth talk–it seems like a “joyful birth” must be a myth or impossible. Likewise, when a woman is striving to keep the birth talk around her positive, it can be very difficult to override the predominately negative messages coming at her from every side. I see this in my classes, “I believe birth is a natural event, etc., etc. BUT….” (followed by a “I trust my doctor’s judgment and if he wants me to have this GTT test or this extra ultrasound to check my fluid level, etc. I guess I will do it…” comment that contributes to the “climate of doubt” in her life). There are also the woman’s own “inner voices” to contend with—I hypothesize that the loudly-shouted cultural voices about birth contribute a good deal to the “negative voice” in her inner dialog.

Women’s stories have not been told. And without stories there is no articulation of experience. Without stories a woman is lost when she comes to make the important decisions of her life. She does not learn to value her struggles, to celebrate her strengths, to comprehend her pain. Without stories she cannot understand herself. Without stories she is alienated from those deeper experiences of self and world that have been called spiritual or religious. She is closed in silence. The expression of women’s spiritual quest is integrally related to the telling of women’s stories. If women’s stories are not told, the depth of women’s souls will not be known. (Carol Christ, p. 341, emphasis mine)

Yes. May we see and hear women. May we witness them in the act of living, of birthing, of struggling, of triumphing. In surrender and in self-doubt. In exultation and joy. May we hold that space for her story. May we listen well and wisely.

Birth Pause…

What was the moment like immediately following the birth of your baby?

Was the baby placed directly onto your chest by a caregiver? Was she pushed into your own waiting hands and gathered to your body? Was he put first into a warmer and then onto your chest? Did a midwife pass him to you after gently receiving him? Did you glimpse her body as she was held over a blue cloth in the operating room? Did you see her whole body, or just the top of her head as she rested upon you? Did she emerge onto a soft landing where you could gaze at her for a moment, integrating the transition from giving birth to mothering, and then scoop her up into your waiting arms? No matter how it unfolded, I’m sure it was unforgettable.

Waiting to inhale…

I greatly enjoyed reading a beautiful guest editorial in The Journal of Perinatal Education by Mary Esther Malloy, called “Waiting to Inhale: How to Unhurry the Moment of Birth,” in which she explores this precious post-birth moment. This moment when mother meets baby, earthside. Malloy notes that for many women, the moment of meeting is “hurried” by the immediate placement of the baby on mother’s chest. Many women are in a brief, transitional state almost like “birthshock” at this moment—it is the moment before the classic euphoria and “I did it!” hits. Mother often has her eyes closed and needs a second to breathe and re-focus on the world outside her deeply inner focus. Malloy began to observe at births that if baby was allowed to emerge gently onto the softness beneath the mother, the mother is able to take a brief pause to integrate the shift from birthing to mothering and then begins to gently explore baby’s body on her own time, her own terms, before gathering it into her arms and to her breast. This occurs in the space of only moments, but they are unhurried, timeless, liminal moments. She notes: “…just as we are now appreciating what occurs when we respect a baby’s ability to find its mother at birth, what I am seeing [with mothers] is heightening my respect for an understanding of our own abilities as women to find our babies at birth.” She suggests that this natural pause marks a center point of a sequence that transforms woman to mother; that finding our babies ourselves brings us forward into a new state of being physically, emotionally, psychologically, and mentally. Malloy refers to this transition point as a moment to inhale—to “exhale” the experience of giving birth and to “inhale” the sight of the new baby and the beginning of a new phase of life.

Malloy does make sure to mention that the moment of birth is “just fine” and “unforgettable” without this “birth pause” and that mother’s chest is most definitely baby’s intended destination, but that she is starting to acknowledge that having her own babies delivered straight to her chest, “feels a lot like an intervention to me. If intervention feels like too strong a word, at least, it now seems like an interruption to what I might have done if no one told me what to do.” She concludes with some thoughts regarding her own upcoming birth:

Exhale and then inhale. Exhale the magnitude of the experience of birth and then inhale the unfolding moments in which I am receiving this child. Life is not one big inhale, one big gulping in of experience. It is the symmetry of exhale and inhale. Just as we breathe this rhythm through our labors, present to one contraction at a time, we can also breathe through our transition to motherhood, finding that moment between states and passing through as slowly as we need…

Personal experiences with the birth pause

Since I recently wrote about two other  “stages” of the birth process that are not widely acknowledged, the rest and be thankful stage and the spontaneous birth reflex, I knew immediately upon reading this editorial that I wanted to explore the birth pause as well. I am curious to know of others’ experiences with it or reflections upon it. I think back to my own immediate post-birth moments with my babies. My first baby was born and immediately placed onto my chest. I remember feeling disoriented, unreal, and dazed almost. It was sort of surreal. He was crying, I touched his back, and then asked him if he wanted “nursies.” It was very spontaneous and gentle and natural feeling, though taking a step back I see that there was not much time for that inhale moment.

When my second son was born, I was on my hands and knees and the midwife passed him through my legs to me as I turned over. When my daughter was born, I pushed her out into my own hands in a kneeling position. What struck me upon reading the editorial was how after my second son’s birth and after the birth of my daughter, though I was holding them, I did not immediately put them up to my chest. I held them low, against my body, near the tops of my thighs. I think my eyes were closed both times, head tilted back and then tipped forward. Then, I looked down at them, explored them briefly, and then gathered them up in my arms and to my breast. Neither was born onto the surface in front of or behind me, but neither was placed immediately on my chest either. My daughter’s birth was the most undisturbed and instinctual, and I distinctly remember looking down at her as I held her low against my body, and then making the decision to lift her higher and into my arms against my breast. With my son, I felt like his umbilical cord was short and that I actually couldn’t lift him higher without tugging it uncomfortably (it wasn’t actually short though and I’m still unclear what this sensation was exactly).

I immediately thought of post-birth pictures of each baby, in this birth pause time:

Immediately after first baby's birth--straight to chest. Main view is of top of his head. Hands tentatively touch/explore.

Immediately after second son's birth. Notice how he's held low down and kind of only with one hand. My eyes are closed and I'm not looking at him yet. In pictures shortly after, I'm looking at him and smiling and I've moved him up to my breast.
(Didn't feel totally comfortable with full breasts shot on my blog, though feel bad to conform to social expectations of appropriateness!)

Immediately after last baby's birth. I know it is dark/hard to see, but note how I'm holding her kind of low down and actually kind of out/away from me (to look at) rather than against my chest.

I actually feel like I see in all of these pictures that birth pause to exhale the birth and then inhale the baby and the mothering of it.

What about you? What was the moment like following the birth of your baby? Did you take a brief pause, a moment to exhale and then inhale? I’d love to hear about it!

300 Things

Step out onto the Planet

Draw a circle a hundred feet round

Inside the circle are

300 things nobody understands, and, maybe

nobody’s ever really seen.

How many can you find?

–Lew Welch

I’ve almost finished reading the book Earth Prayers and the above is one of my favorites from the book. It was actually the first one I randomly opened to when I first got the book last year and then it jumped out at me again this week (when I finally got to it in sequential order).

I’ve had some exhausting days with Alaina lately. She’s getting four molars and is super whiny as well as just generally a “baby on wheels,” constantly wanting to move and grab and get and explore. I feel worn out—body, brain, and spirit. However, earlier this week, I went outside with her to play in the rain and I think I found some of those 300 things:

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Noah's tree bloomed again!

Alaina specifically picked a spot on the deck where the rain was dripping through the gutter and stood under the drips experimenting with the feeling of getting dripped on.

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Look at those great arm segments, as well as the little hands thinking about catching raindrops.

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This is one of her faces that I most love--she does this fabulous little head-cocked-to-one-side-question-look that is ADORABLE!

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Baby on wheels running in the rain! See that face? Those little feet?

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Literally a baby on wheels now. I love watching her climb onto her little bike. It is a lot of work for short legs, but she does it.

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Another one of her best faces--little squinchy, "eee" face!

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A better look at that cute little squinched up "being bratty" face!

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Hey! Mama has a face too!

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Check out the baby curls. And, check out the "challenge" stand and also Z's defensive face...she is fond of wrecking just about everything they do lately.

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Mama collapsed in toddler induced exhaustion on the floor. Then, I got jumped on. Her expression is that grating, "eeehhhh" sound that she is making that drills through my skull.

There are women who make things better…
simply by showing up.
There are women who make things happen.
There are women who make their way.
There are women who make a difference.
And women who make us smile.
There are women of wit and wisdom who –
through strength and courage –
make it through.
There are women who change the world everyday…
Women like you.

~ Lisa Young

Then, today, after feeling again like I was being drained in body, mind, and spirit and feeling frustrated, annoyed, and headachy (I swear the tone of voice she uses drills straight into my brain and saps my life force!), I went outside and took a 300 things walk with her. It was wonderful.

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My favorite dogwood tree bloomed. I love how this one is shaped like a tree that should be in front of a Japanese temple.

After admiring this tree, I lamented how we don’t have any pretty redbud trees in our woods. Then, my 300 things eyes snapped like a magnet into the woods beyond this dogwood and lo and behold there WAS a redbud there. We walked down to it and I took a close up picture of one branch:20120323-221107.jpg

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The profile! Look at the glee of being outside.

Earlier in the week I also mentioned how I didn’t have any violets and should dig some up to transplant from my mom’s house. Well, look what happens when you go on a 300 things walk? It turns out there are plenty of violets right next to our front porch.

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This is one of my favorite pictures that I took on our walk.

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Friendly hound. Earlier was licking butter off my skirt (Alaina is fond of eating straight butter)

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Clouds!

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Approaching priestess rocks in wood--I love this overlook.

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Looking like most precious ragamuffin ever to be found standing on the rocks in the woods!

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Love that I accidentally caught both the reaching, straining arm and the pointing, desirous finger!

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Looking a little stormy. Have I mentioned how I love these woods?

I sat on the rocks and noticed a blue jay flying in the woods. I thought about how many things live their lives in these woods without anyone even noticing. I thought about how there was only one redbud on the whole hillside. Then, looked to my right and suddenly there was another redbud I had overlooked before. And, another blue jay flew above it…

How many can you find?

Book Review: More Than a Midwife

More Than a Midwife: Stories of Grace, Glory, and Motherhood [Paperback]
by Mary Sommers
MavenMark Books (HenschelHAUS Publishing) (October 1, 2011), 148 pages
ISBN-13:978-1595981066

Reviewed by Molly Remer, Talk Birth

More Than a Midwife is a thoroughly delightful little volume by experienced and resourceful midwife, Mary Sommers. One of the things that makes the book particularly distinctive is the impressive diversity of Mary’s work experience. The book includes stories from her work as a midwife in urban Chicago as well as in Africa and Mexico. As always, glimpsing the dire situations facing birthing women cross-culturally is a sobering reminder of the immense challenges international midwives face with few physical resources—they accomplish an amazing level of care with only their heads, hands, and hearts.

Each story shared in the book is selected with care and has an important message to share. The stories are about unique women and their unique births and what Mary (and the reader) can learn from them. From empowering and exhilarating, to difficult and heartbreaking, particularly notable are the stories that remind us all to treat every woman with dignity and respect, regardless of her life’s circumstances or choices. Mary is clearly a midwife who loves women and birth and practices with sensitivity, respect, and positive regard.

More Than a Midwife is a slim paperback. It is nice size to hold easily and the stories are short and easy to read in small chunks of free time. It is occasionally erratic in the organization/flow of a story and in a few of them I had to re-read segments to understand chronology. However, this  was a negligible issue in the context of this thoroughly enjoyable small book.

Mary Sommers has written a true gem of a book. I feel honored to have read More Than a Midwife and I highly recommend it to anyone interested in birth, homebirth, midwifery, or women’s health. Most excellent!

Disclosure: I was provided with a complimentary copy of the book for review purposes.

A Tale of Two Births

As Penny Simkin has frequently noted: “We can’t control labor, whether it’s hard; that’s a leap of faith. But we can always control how we care for [the mother]” [1]

In 2001 and in 2004, I attended the births of two of my dear friend’s children in the same hospital in a mid-sized Midwestern city.  I was not a childbirth educator or doula at this time, but was there in the capacity of friend and “witness.” Both births were intervention-heavy and not what I would call ideal, natural births; but the feelings were vastly different, which made all the difference.

At the 2007 LLL International conference in Chicago, I picked up several of these great "Listen to Women" buttons from the ACNM booth in the exhibit area. I love them. Isn't this what it is all about? So simple and yet so profound. Imagine how the world would change if we just listened to women.

One had an atmosphere of respect, caring and trust; the other had a “climate of doubt” throughout. The difference was a certified nurse-midwife (CNM). My commitment to homebirth midwifery often leads me to forget what a profound and true difference a caring CNM can make in a hospital birth. All the other hospital procedures can be present, but the care factor a CNM provides can transform a woman’s experience from powerless to powerful. Sometimes I forget how CNMs are poised to bridge the gap between home and hospital effectively. The US needs lots of them (not as subordinate “junior obstetricians”—but as expert guardians of normal birth in a hospital setting).

The details were similar in each birth. The babies were both almost 9 lb; a doula was present (same doula in both births); and the mother labored with an IV, spent a large portion of the labor in bed and had internal fetal monitoring. In the first birth (with the CNM), the mother even had several hours of Pitocin augmentation; in the second, with the obstetrician, she had no Pitocin until third stage. With each birth, the mother also had an extensive tear and long repair (a third-degree with the CNM, a second-degree with the obstetrician).

However, some things were very different.

When the mother said, “Can I have a birth ball?” the CNM said, “Yes,” and the obstetrician said, “Not until the baby has been monitored.” And then, “The baby doesn’t like that; you need to get back into bed.”

When the mother’s confidence waned, the CNM said, “You can do it. You are.” The obstetrician said, “I don’t think this baby is moving down.

When the mother said, “This is taking such a long time,” the CNM said, “I know. It is taking for-freaking-ever!” and everyone laughed (including the laboring mother). The obstetrician said, “I think we should consider a c-section based on your history. The baby is not moving down.”

The CNM said, “You have such strong muscles in your legs and bottom, do you exercise a lot? I think because you are so strong, you’re holding a lot of tension here. Try to let it go.” The obstetrician ironed the perineum until the mother screamed with pain.

The CNM waited. The obstetrician did another internal check.

In both, a baby was eventually born (the first after four hours of pushing, the second after a little over an hour). A strong, healthy baby. Vaginally and without pain medications. After the first birth—though she would have done some things differently—my friend felt triumphant, empowered, powerful, strong, capable, happy and proud.

After the second birth she felt abused, disappointed, ashamed, guilty, angry, assaulted, diminished, wounded and scarred.

I believe the CNM’s personality, attitude and basic belief that vaginal birth would work was the critical difference between these two experiences. These births dramatically, viscerally illustrated for me that no matter what else is happening around the birthing woman, we can control how we care for her.

Endnote: My friend went on to have her third baby at home in 2008. She pushed this baby out in fifteen minutes, with no tear, and she shone with her power.

Molly Remer, MSW, ICCE, CCCE is a certified birth educator, writer, and activist who lives with her husband and children in central Missouri. She is the editor of the Friends of Missouri Midwives newsletter, a breastfeeding counselor, a professor of human services, and a doctoral student in women’s spirituality. She blogs about birth, motherhood, and women’s issues at https://talkbirth.me/posts.


[1] Looking to nature, doula Penny Simkin practices the art of delivery, in The Seattle Times, Pacific Northwest Cover Story. Originally published March 23, 2008. Accessed April 27, 2009. http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/pacificnw/2004299467_pacificpenny23.html.

This is a preprint of A Tale of Two Births, an article by Molly Remer, MSW, ICCE, published in Midwifery Today, Issue 91, Autumn 2009. Copyright © 2009 Midwifery Today. Midwifery Today’s website is located at: http://www.midwiferytoday.com/

Woman Rising

No time for a long post today (or, probably, this week), so I share this quote I had saved from the book A Dozen Invisible Pieces by Kimmelin Hull (p. 229):

When faced with behavior battles, health concerns, family finances, and the struggle to stretch time to the fullest, I could choose to sink into the quicksand of life with young children–becoming engulfed in the daily grind, unaware of my own loss of self–or I could rise to the occasion. And I am rising.

Hull goes on to share the following:

Whether it be the thick memory of enduring a non-medicated labor and finally pushing our third child into the world, despite feeling as though I hadn’t an ounce of energy left, or the meager sprint I managed as I neared the finish line of the marathon…, I hold tight to these images as proof that I can and will be able to rise to the occasion–again and again, if and when I need to-because the ability to do so is in my very bones. Because I am a woman.” [emphasis mine]

The birth face, immediately following birth of second son. This feeling--this crying, laughing, euphoric, I DID IT, feeling is the one I draw upon in the rest of life.

This is one of things I find so powerful about women’s birth memories—they can hold onto them as a touchstone, as an affirmation of strength and personal capacity, during other challenging (or mundane) moments of their lives. I also don’t think births have to be “empowering,” natural, or unmedicated births in order to hold this affirmation for women. There is a lot of courage to be found in most birth journeys and the ability to find moments of powerfully conscious strength to draw nourishment from in the rest of life exists in many types of birth experiences. Personally, my birth experiences created a lasting sense of personal worth, that I have drawn from ever since. This includes the birth of Noah, which was not a “happy ending” to my pregnancy. In the months after his birth, I found myself at many times thinking, “I gave birth to my little, nonliving baby alone in my bathroom, I can do this too.” I did the same with the births of my other two boys—only thankfully without the “nonliving” part. Alaina’s birth is more “integrated” somehow, and I don’t find myself thinking about it or referring to it in quite the same way, though I’ve definitely had moments of remembering, “I caught my own baby, I can do this too!

Saturday Savoring…

I was surprised to unearth a wonderful little reminder in the March issue of Parents magazine. Parents is usually pretty mainstream, party line, and conventional for my taste, though I do really enjoy some of the recipes and party ideas as well as the $1 subscription renewal price I got this year. Anyway, in an article titled “Savor the Moments” by Harley Rotbart, he explains:

Alaina and my dad---*blink*--this moment, this "Saturday" is months old now already! (he looks like he's paying attention though 🙂

There are only 940 Saturdays between a child’s birth and her leaving for college. That may sound like a lot, but how many have you already used up? If your child is 5 years old, 260 Saturdays are gone. Poof!

Oh. My Goodness. FREAKS me out! That is nothing. A blur. A zoom. A blink. An amazingly swift transition. Somehow putting it in terms of Saturdays makes it feel very stark and swift.

Also included in the article is an oft-repeated remark  in some form or another in parenting circles: “Each day with young kids feels like a week, each week like a month. Yet as every birthday passes, the years seem to be streaking by at warp speed.

I don’t actually quite agree with this one. Even with my first baby, I felt astounded at how fast the time flew by. Even with overwhelming early days, I was more amazed by how fast the day would pass without “getting anything done” and “without time” for a shower, rather than feel like the time was dragging or lasting a year. The speed of time as only increased with each baby and with each developmental milestone.

Talk Less, Learn More: Evolving as an Educator

Since late 2006, I have written at the top of each of my teaching outlines: “Talk less, listen more.” This simple reminder has  fundamental importance and has completely revolutionized how I structure and guide my childbirth classes. During each series that I teach, I realize how listening to the women and giving them a space in which to share, is one of the most important things I can offer. Though I studied principles of adult learning and designing effective curricula during my certification program, I started out my childbirth education journey with a lecture and information-heavy approach I’ve since heard called, “opening their heads and dumping information in.” As I continue to teach, I’m continually discovering ways to talk less, but hopefully, impart more, creating a guiding philosophy of “talk less, [they] learn more” for myself as I plan and implement my classes.

Real birth preparation

After my first year of teaching, I realized that couples that sign up for my classes are not really looking for pregnancy and prenatal care information, but for real birth preparation. They are there because the women want to learn, “Can I do this?” and “How will I do this?” and the men are asking, “How I can help her do this?” It feels almost insulting to meet this quest for inner knowing with a discussion about the benefits of prenatal vitamins. I had to confront the fact that some of the things I was teaching seemed irrelevant, redundant, or obvious.

It became clear to me that I had to tackle the slightly embarrassing reality that I was following a model of prenatal education that was not in line with the true needs of the women in my community. I teach independent, natural childbirth classes privately in people’s homes. Maybe with a different population, my original approach would be more successful or I would take a different approach altogether. Also, just as students have different learning styles educators naturally have preferred methods. I have an information-heavy personal style that spilled into my teaching. I continue to wrestle with this tendency and struggle to rein in the information overload approach I gravitate towards.

Action!

As I made my discoveries, I began to drastically cut my talk time (lecture) and focus on action instead. Though it felt nearly sacrilegious to do so, I trimmed many things out of my outlines that were about nutrition, prenatal testing and so forth, because many of the women I work with have already read a great deal and don’t need to hear it again from me. I’ve come to see I really need to skip a great deal of the “book learning” and get them actually moving and practicing and using skills. Then, the “book learning” naturally arises during the course of the class, either via questions or via me needing to explain why something is useful or helpful during pregnancy or in labor.

I totally restructured and rearranged my class outlines to include a whole class about the mind-body connection and psychological preparation for birth. This class took the place of a previous class about birth planning. I was finding that many people already had a birth plan written and/or the birth plan information naturally comes up during the course of the six weeks without my needing to spend an excessive amount of lecture time on it. I tell them that I have the information, ask if you want it! I also dedicated a whole class to labor support with plenty of time to practice hands-on support techniques. In addition, I created a brand new class called “Active Birth” that involves lots of moving and positioning as well as many helpful ways to use a hospital bed without lying down. Informed consent, consumerism, and birth planning naturally arise as topics during this class, rather than being separately scheduled topics.

Information overload

Many pregnant women have information overload. They are faced with more information than they know what to do with. They are bombarded by it. What they really need is “knowing.” They need to know: “What skills do I possess or can learn that will help me greet my birth with anticipation and confidence? What are my tools? My resources? Can I just let it happen?” As an educator I ask myself, “What will help them feel confident? Feel ready? Trust their bodies and their capacities?”

I want people in my classes to learn material that is dynamic, active, exploratory, self-illuminating, supportive, positive, enriching, and affirming. I created a vision statement and asked myself where my classes stood in relationship to my vision. The answer was, “not as close as I want them to!” My vision statement for my classes is: to focus on celebration, exploration, motivation, education, inspiration, validation, initiation, and dedication.

I know I’m hitting the mark when couples comment, “Oh, this makes so much sense! I see how this works!” Or, “This was a really good illustration of what you were just talking about.” In this way, class participants readily reinforce (or modify) my own presentation style and I learn from series to series what to change, continue using, discard, or alter.

“Talk less…” teaching tips

I have many ideas of ways to “talk less” in birth classes, here are a few:

  • Media portrayals of birth—show two contrasting clips, such as a birth from a popular TV show (I often show Rachel’s birth from the show Friends) paired with an empowering birth from a film like Birth as We Know It and then have students discuss the two.
  • Use “The Ice Cube Minute” exercise from Family-Centered Education: The Process of Teaching Birth. In this exercise, couples hold an ice-cube in one hand for one minute and see what coping measures spontaneously arise for them. I do this exercise fairly early in my class series, before we’ve done a lot of formal talking about coping measures. It is very empowering for couples to discover what tools and resources come from within as they try the ice-cube minute.
  • To illustrate the potency of the mind-body contraction, practice two pretend contractions while holding ice. One contraction has an accompanying “stressful” paragraph read with it (“your body fills with tension…it hurts! Oh no!”) and the second contraction has a soothing paragraph read with it (“you greet the wave….it is YOUR power….”). This illustrates the fear-tension-pain cycle viscerally.
  • Use a five minutes series of birthing room yoga poses to begin the class—birth happens in our bodies, not our heads. Practicing the poses opens space to simultaneously discuss and practice: squatting, pelvic rocks, optimal fetal positioning ideas, healthy sitting, pelvic floor exercises, leg cramp prevention, back pain alleviation, and more.
  • Role playing cards—talk through various scenarios. I’ve found that couples are more receptive to talking through the cards than actually getting into a role and playing it through.
  • Values clarification exercise–participants cut out values from a list and arrange them in a grid to help them figure out if they are in alignment with each other and with their caregivers.
  • Leg stretch exercise to explore the use of vocalizations and other coping mechanisms during labor.
  • Ask plenty of open-ended questions that stimulate discussion and ideas, “what have you heard about XYZ?” or “what is your experience with…?”

Evolutionary spiral of a childbirth educator

After I had already done all of this self-inquiry and curriculum modification, I discovered Trish Booth’s concept of “The Evolutionary Spiral of a Childbirth Educator.” I quickly recognized myself and my experiences along the loops of the spiral. In the Early Stage of the spiral, educators are focused on “content and presenting the information.” This perfectly matches where I was when I started out with my “open heads and dump information in” approach. The Intermediate Stage is focused on the “group as a whole” and also “emphasizes learning rather than teaching.” Though I tend to teach one-to-one private classes and not groups, this seems to clearly be the stage I was in when I looked at my vision and realized that I needed to talk less so people would learn more. In the Advanced Stage, the educator “understands the meaning of the childbearing experience” and the focus is on the “individual learners.” This feels like the stage to which my teaching has spiraled. Further along the spiral is the Master Stage in which the educator “integrates the first three stages and moves gracefully between them” with a focus on “cognitive, emotional, and spiritual needs of the group as well as the individual learners” (Booth, 1995).

Perhaps my insights are old news to experienced educators, but they have made a profound difference in the quality of my classes. I’m sure as I continue to teach, I will continue to deepen and refine my approach and will continue to blossom as an effective educator.

Molly Remer, MSW, ICCE, CCCE is a certified birth educator, writer, and activist who lives with her husband and children in central Missouri. She is the editor of the Friends of Missouri Midwives newsletter, a breastfeeding counselor, a professor of human services, and doctoral student in women’s spirituality. She blogs about birth, motherhood, and women’s issues at https://talkbirth.me/posts.

Modified from an article originally published in the International Journal of Childbirth Education, December 2008.

References:

Booth, Trish. Family-Centered Education: The Process of Teaching Birth, ICEA, 1995.

Mothering as a Spiritual Practice

Why is it that to rise gladly at 4:00 am to meditate and meet one’s God is considered a religious experience, and yet to rise at 4:00 am to serve the needs of one’s helpless child is considered the ultimate in deprivation?

Mothering a child is the greatest act of service one can do. It is an act of surrender, and act of love…

One can learn sitting meditation by rocking and nursing a little one to sleep; one can learn reclining meditation by staying still to avoid disturbing a little one who has been awake for hours; and one can learn walking meditation by walking and swaying with a little one who would like to be asleep for hours. One must learn to breathe deeply in a relaxed and meditative manner in order to still the mind that doubts one’s strength to go on, that sees every speck of dust on the floor and wants to clean it, and that tempts one to be up and about the busyness of accomplishment…

–Peggy O’Mara in The Way Back Home

Zen and the art of baby curl and dimpled finger spotting...

I really enjoyed reading this collection of essays by Peggy O’Mara. I do find that I have a tendency to think about my spiritual practice as something that has to wait until I am alone, until I have “down time,” until I have space alone in my head in which to think and to be still. On the flip side, I’ve also thought and written before about how the act of breastfeeding, day in and day out, provides all manner of time for spiritual contemplation and meditative reflection, but I often find it difficult to stay centered and grounded in mindfulness of breath and spirit during the swirl of life with little ones. I’ve done a lot of reading about “zen parenting” type topics and it seems like it would be so simple to integrate mothering with mindfulness. Then, I find myself frazzled and scattered and self-berating, and wonder what the heck happened to my zen. Today, I read an interesting article about anger and Zen Buddhism that clarified that meditation and zen practices are not about being serene and unfrazzled, but about being present and able to sit with it all. And, it offered this helpful reminder:

I used to imagine that spiritual work was undertaken alone in a cave somewhere with prayer beads and a leather-bound religious tome. Nowadays, that sounds to me more like a vacation from spiritual work. Group monastic living has taught me that the people in your life don’t get in the way of your spiritual practice; these people are your spiritual practice.

via The Angry Monk: Zen Practice for Angry People.

And, then this small snippet from the 2011 We’Moon datebook also reminded me of my 2012 vow to be embodied prayer:

My prayers are

The food I cook

The children I hug

The art I create

The words I write

I need no religion.

–Eileen Rosensteel

I don’t need to wait to be alone in order to be “spiritual” in this life with my babies. This sometimes messy, sometimes chaotic, sometimes serene, sometimes frazzling, often joyful life, is it.

On a somewhat related side note, I’m in the middle of writing an article for a scholarly journal addressing breastfeeding as an ecofeminist AND spiritual issue. I’d love to hear any reader thoughts on the issue!

Previous related posts:

Breastfeeding Toward Enlightenment

The Rhythm of Our Lives

Motherhood as Meditation

How to Meditate with a Baby…

Surrender?

Ode to my nursling

Embodied Prayer

Telling About It…

An Act of Motherhood

Some time ago I read a clever essay by Jeannie Babb Taylor called “May, 2052.” It is about birth in the future and is told from the perspective of a grandmother who gave birth in 2007, sharing with her granddaughter how birth was “back in the day” and the granddaughter being shocked by how horrible the birth climate was in the “old days” of 2007). Side note: in some ways this story reminds me of a piece that I reprinted with permission of LLL called A Fantasy, which is a satire about birth and breastfeeding that I’m still not convinced won’t actually come to pass.

Feeling fierce at 37 weeks last year.

However, I was struck afresh by the power of the closing lines in May, 2052 (when discussing how/why things finally changed):

We insisted on dignity. We did not let doctors push us into inductions or surgeries just to accommodate their schedules. Women who still used hospitals refused the wheelchair and the gown that were presented at check-in. Women refused to be starved, or to have their veins punctured with unnecessary IVs. Mothers refused to let doctors break their waters or insert electronic monitors in the baby’s scalp. When we pushed our babies into the world with our own fierce power, then we refused to let them out of our sight.

…Eventually even the medical community came to recognize that birth is an act of motherhood, not an act of medical science. Today a laboring woman is not regarded as a body on a table, as if she and the baby needed some doctor to ‘deliver’ them from each other. Today women are honored as life-bringers.

Don’t you just love that? Recognizing that birth is an an act of motherhood, not an act of medical science… So true.

I can’t write about it in-depth, but I began thinking about this today after speaking with a mother who had received very, very questionable (to the point of thoroughly bizarre) breastfeeding advice from her doctor. When I could not help but express my dismay at the suggestions she had received, I had the distinct feeling that she was not able to even consider that possibility that her doctor might have been wrong. I wish I could write about the actual circumstance because it just boggled my mind and made my heart cringe. Breastfeeding too is an act of motherhood, not an act of medical science, and not one that “belongs” to anyone except for the motherbaby unit.

However, returning to the act of motherhood, vs. medical act, I also have this quote saved from the older book, Who Made the Lamb:

“Tom [her husband] laughed at this idealism. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said, ‘Pregnancy is not regarded as a process of creation. It’s a disease of the uterus.'” [emphasis mine]

What a (culturally) still true and unfortunate sentiment: A disease of the uterus. This is absolutely how many within the medical system and the general population continue to view pregnancy (and birth is the excavation of the disease). This reminds me of our “friendly” neighborhood doctor testifying at the Capitol against the midwifery bill several years ago stating that pregnancy can be viewed as a foreign object in the body and therefore “babies are like tumors that need to be removed.”

I look forward to the day when our acts of motherhood are celebrated and valued, the motherbaby bond is accepted as inviolable, and pregnancy is a state of health and well-being.*

—-

Note: I am aware that pregnancy and birth take a physical toll on most women and that for some pregnant women, “disease of the uterus” might feel like an apt descriptor—I’m speaking in more general terms of the emotional and cultural climate surrounding pregnancy and birth.