Guest Post: The Women’s Lounge

Nov14

This guest post is part of my blog break festival. The festival continues through December, so please check it out and consider submitting a post! Also, don’t forget to enter my birth jewelry giveaway. This post falls into the Motherful category and was written by my own mother (I’m the 11 year daughter mentioned in the story)!

The Women’s Lounge
by Barbara Johnson

“Excuse me, there’s veal in your baby’s ear,” whispered the stolid-looking, well-groomed businessman seated next to me on the crowded airplane (who had spent the entire trip trying to project himself into another realm where traveling women with multiple children were prohibited from invading his space). I glanced down. Sure enough, there was a pool of tomato sauce, with veal, in my sleeping 6 month old infant’s ear. I grabbed an inadequate airline napkin and swabbed ineffectually away, while Mr. Businessman began searching around in his brief case – presumably to avoid further contact or conversation with me. I seized the moment of his inattention to duck my head discreetly and quickly lick up the remainder of the mess. Slightly gross, but highly efficient…..This episode apparently unleashed some hidden reservoir of chattiness and my seat partner proceeded to produce volumes of photographs of his family, accompanied by amusing anecdotes. No further mention was made of veal.

I managed to extricate myself (holding sleeping baby girl and an insanely oversized diaper bag), my two –year-old high-needs son (understatement), and my two older daughters (ages 9 and 11) from the plane. I was met by an airline representative to be transported to our connecting flight gate. This had been carefully pre-planned, as I knew I had only a 25 minute layover and many small bodies to transport. I was smugly proud of my maternal organizing skills, never reckoning on the embarrassment of hurtling through the Salt Lake City air terminal, honking warning sounds at innocent travelers. We were crammed onto the hindmost seat, facing backwards with our feet braced to avoid being thrown out on our faces every time the vehicle accelerated. The cart reeled past all manner of passengers, including many people certainly more in need of transport that we were. A young man pushing 2 occupied wheel chairs, an elderly woman with a walker, and a blind man with a cane. My humiliation mounted as we beeped them out of our path.

The diaper bag was a massive affair, having been carefully selected for maximum capacity. Its depths contained not only diapers, but boxes of juice, a variety of snacks, my purse and personal items, as well as activity selections for 4 age groups. Oh, and my book that I had been carrying with me for 10 years, hoping for random opportunities for quick reading (hah!). Toys, crayons, tiny cars, stuffed animals, granola bars……It weighed a ton. The relevance of this information will be revealed later.

I could have saved myself this ride had I bothered to check any of the departing flight monitors. They would have told me what I found out upon my jubilantly prompt arrival at the gate. My connecting flight was delayed. Well, that’s not so bad! We can surely occupy ourselves for a while in the airport! No problem! Since there was no departure time listed, I parked the kids in a waiting area and lined up to ask a few questions.

Traveling companions circa 1990

My organized-traveling-mom-with-four-children veneer cracked a bit when I heard that the plane was delayed for 6 hours. This was not good. Must make the best of it! Not to worry! I’m a 24 hour a day parent! A woman of the 90’s! I can do this! No problem!

I returned to my gang, suggesting that we tour the airport and see all the fun sights, like airplanes taking off and landing over and over, and expensively fragile gift shops. Everyone was tired of this after an hour, so I broke out the snacks. Not good enough – the restaurants and vending machine items looked vastly superior to the eyes of my children, but not to my traveling budget.

My 2-year-old son began to melt down. My daughters needed to use the restroom, but I had an irrational and paranoid fear regarding restroom perverts, so we all had to shuffle in together (including the burdensome diaper bag). Exiting the facility, my toddler spotted a candy machine and hurtled headlong towards it, shrieking and maniacally pulling knobs. The baby in the backpack was pulling my hair while bouncing. The big girls were totally loaded down by the diaper bag (it took both of them to lug it around). We were a public spectacle! Oh, the shame! There were still 5 loathsome hours to wait in that sensory-overloaded airport. It was too noisy, to bright, too loud, too hot and too stinky for any sane person to endure for that long! Argh!

There was a gentle tap on my shoulder and I turned to look way up into the face of a burly security officer. Was I to be arrested for disturbing the peace, or possibly vandalizing the candy machine? I cringed.

“Excuse me, ma’am”, he said. “Did you know there’s a women’s lounge over there?”, and indicated a door near the restroom that had a small plaque reading “lounge” on it. I, in my ignorance, had supposed such doors thus marked to be solely for the secret use of airport personnel, and certainly NOT for traveling mothers. But no, apparently I was allowed to enter! The large and kind officer hoisted the diaper-bag-from-hell and led the way, tipping his hat politely at the door as I staggered through it.

An amazing oasis in that desert of chaos greeted me. It was a small, cool sitting room with a couch, table, several chairs and a sink (with paper towels! Oh joy!). As I removed the baby pack, using the handy counter, and collapsed into a chair, a woman of greenish-white complexion emerged blearily from beneath a blanket on the couch, offering weakly to make room for us. “No, no!” I gushed. “We’re fine! There are plenty of chairs. Just settle back down!” She gratefully did. We exchanged stories while I nursed the baby and passed out snacks. She had been compelled to actually miss her connection due to motion sickness, and was actually too ill to continue. Well, that was certainly not fun and possibly worse than my situation. At least we weren’t throwing up. I like to use the reverse psychology of “it could always be worse” to comfort myself under adverse conditions… “Have a cracker?” I offered. She took it and actually seemed improved. Maybe the diaper bag was worth it after all.

The door opened, admitting a cacophony of airport noise, along with a desperate-looking young woman loaded with a rotund infant and a crying 3-ish girl, clutching her stomach. She thrust the infant into my arms, saying “Would you mind holding him? She’s going to throw up!”, and ran out. The baby and I stared at each other. I offered a cracker, which he solemnly accepted, and I hoped was acceptable to his mother. Actually, she looked harried enough to not even notice or care. He was content to merely hold it and watch my kids as they played.

The door opened again, and all eyes turned towards it, expecting the return of the baby’s mother. But no, it was an Asian woman accompanied by a miniature, elderly woman using a walker. They looked around hesitantly, smiling shyly and bowing. Hmmmm……Ms. Airsick, revived by the cracker, shifted around to make room. The elderly woman inched through the children, avoiding fingers and toys, and eased down with an audible sigh. “Many babies!” said the first woman. “Well, they’re not all mine”, I said. She looked puzzled. “I don’t know this one” indicating the solemn fellow on my lap. “Ah”, she replied. “His mother left him with me because her daughter was throwing up, but I never saw any of them before in my life” I babbled. “Ah!” she repeated, clearly baffled. The tiny raisin of a mother (I guess) barked a question in what I supposed was rapid-fire Chinese. “Ah!” said the woman. They both beamed at me and I beamed back. I asked them if they had a long wait, but apparently our conversation about babies had exhausted their English vocabulary. They did say “Hong Kong, many hours, much trouble”. I could read the rest in their eyes. Without a working grasp of the language and a special-needs traveler on top of that, they were trying to travel home and it was not going smoothly. After a while, an Asian-American airline representative came to fetch them. They bowed away, repeating “Thank you very much! Bye-bye!” I wished I could have understood more of that story.

Meanwhile, Little Vomiter and her mother returned. We discussed various stomach complaint home-remedies. Ginger Ale? May try that next time, but of course there’s none available in the airport – perhaps on the plane? Our babies had birthdays only 2 days apart and before you knew it we were exchanging labor stories. Ms. Airsick looked better. Perhaps tales of other people’s discomfort helped take her mind off her own stomach.

The door opened again, admitting a woman with twin four-year olds who looked miserable. We squeezed together to make room. She was having a nightmare trip in which her flight had been totally cancelled and there was a luggage mix-up causing her bags to be sent to Atlanta (they thought). My paltry delay was beginning to seem like a pleasant gift.

This pattern continued throughout my sojourn in the women’s lounge. Women of all ages and backgrounds took solace there. We helped, comforted and commiserated with each other, waving a cheerful farewell as each departed, knowing only the basic fact of TRAVEL INTERRUPTED. In the minutes of our contact, we each forged a bond. It felt as if we were all connected, and fulfilling some cosmic destiny by being thrown together in that haven to support each other. I never asked anyone’s name or more than their travel destination, but we learned so much about each other anyway. The bond of femaleness and motherhood bound us together, allowing us to trust and help each other. I sent my daughters to the restroom with a total stranger, no longer fearful of lurking criminals. We shared an unpleasant, but not unbearable, travel experience and emerged from it enriched. We were like ships that pass in the night, recognizing our bond in a vast ocean. We were all suspended and isolated in a sea of people sailing towards their destinations.

I passed through the Salt Lake City airport many times in the subsequent years, but never faced another delay and never again sought out the women’s lounge. I picture it still exactly the same, with an ongoing stream of stressed women finding peace, comfort and support. I’ve felt this support before, from family and friends in troubled times, but never before I had I been stranded in such a way. The women’s lounge was a haven for us all. The interesting part of it was how quickly we bonded and trusted each other. We were completely united in our efforts to protect our families from the rigors of the airport, and recognized that it was time to band together – no whining allowed. We took care of each other, but it wouldn’t have been possible outside of that room. That space provide a place for us to focus on the needs of ourselves and our children without the mad, jumbled stimulus of the terminal. Bolstered by the peaceful interlude, we were all able to withstand our delays, gathering strength from each other as we prepared to travel onward.

Barbara Johnson was a homesteading, homebirthing, homeschooling, traveling mother of 4 when this trip happened in 1990. Her children are now grown and married, and she enjoys spending time with her 3 grandchildren. She is the director of Shannondale Craft Camp in southern Missouri.

Guest Post: Motherful at Midlife

Nov13

I was happy to preview Peg’s book earlier this year and enjoyed receiving a post from her reflecting on being Motherful at midlife…

Motherful at Midlife

by Peg Conway

“Life is so unnerving
for a servant who’s not serving.”

These opening lines from “Be Our Guest” in the musical Beauty and the Beast popped to mind during our daughter’s recent fall break from her freshman year in college. The departure of our oldest son two years before had certainly impacted the household, but with both of them away and the youngest now a licensed driver, the house feels like the empty castle that Belle happened upon in the story. A sense of expectation surfaces, waiting for . . . what? Like a phantom limb, my routine was accustomed to more coming and going, more conversation, just more people around.

The Sunday when Kieran was home, we planned a brunch for after church. As Joe and I worked in the kitchen together to put the meal on the table, a sense of having donned a familiar garment came over me. “This feels like ‘us’ in a way I haven’t known in a while” I said. Although our family table has long anchored our life, especially through the busy teen years, something didn’t fit quite the same way. Providing a nourishing meal was not creating the same satisfaction as before. In early September, my life felt unnerved by fewer nurturing tasks to perform. Just six weeks later our adaptation became clearer, with Kieran home on a weekend when I was booked with several activities related to ongoing commitments I have made. I had less time and energy for the style of nurturing that had been an essential part of my life for a long time, and I didn’t mind.

Yet at the core I remain a mother. The emotional and spiritual transformation wrought by the physical processes of pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding feel permanent. What does this mean? Does one cease to be motherful when the children are grown? Or rather, how is one motherful at midlife and beyond? Physician and menopause specialist Christiane Northrup advises that the hormonal changes as childbearing wanes cause a shift in women. We truly are less nurturing than when we were caring for young children, but what emerges in its place can be creative, powerful, and immensely fulfilling. Rechanneling motherfulness, women’s midlife initiatives may arise from old passions re-discovered or the pursuit of new paths. I know several women who have entered politics, local and state-wide, now that their children are grown. Another started a school for young children to implement her unique vision for learning. Someone at my church took up pottery making and donates the proceeds from sales to charity. I can think of two other women who have started consulting businesses.

My own standard for future endeavors is the deep satisfaction I derived from homeschooling, especially being part of a weekly co-op where I team-taught writing and history with other mothers. I have struggled to articulate just what made it so rewarding, but I think it has a lot to do with community, forging relationships with a diverse group while engaging in a project of personal importance. Of course my enjoyment also related to spending generous time with my children, but I have had to accept the finitude of that experience. Grieving and letting go are significant motherful activities at mid-life.

Professionally, I’m still finding my way, but writing is figuring prominently. I started a blog two years ago, and last month realized a long-held dream by publishing a book, Embodying the Sacred: A Spiritual Preparation for Birth. Involvement in several local non-profits is helping me discern further. I’m also discovering that simply being present to young people is a motherful mid-life outlet. Recently I began spending delightful time with my 2-1/2-year-old niece. We read books, take walks, play with plastic food and dishes, dolls, and blocks, talking all the while about what’s happening then and there. I also savor moments with my young adult children as they become companions present to me. The memory that endures from my daughter’s visit is not the food that I cooked on Sunday morning, but the hike we took together with our dog on Monday afternoon…

Peg Conway is a writer and community leader in Cincinnati, OH. She blogs about life and faith at pegconway.com. As a childbirth educator and doula, she was certified with Birthing from Within, Doulas of North America, and BirthWorks. She earned degrees from Xavier University and Northwestern University. Peg is in the process of becoming certified as a celebrant through Global Ministries University.

Call for your experiences – the impact of birth trauma and beyond | Rebecca A. Wright

Nov11

http://rebeccaawright.com/

An online friend and sister birth professional, Rebecca Wright, emailed me recently to share some information about an important new project that she is launching:

I’m planning to write a book on birth trauma that will centre on women’s voices and experiences. It’s not going to be so much dwelling on birth trauma (though there will be an element of that as I want people to understand that whether an experience was ‘objectively’ traumatic or not, it can have an enormous impact – and I think a lot of women say to themselves, ‘my experience wasn’t as bad as some others I hear about’ and so don’t feel able to validate their own feelings and experience). What I really want to focus on is a) the impact of birth trauma (or of ‘difficult’ birth experiences) on mothers, babies, partners, families; b) the many individual paths to healing from birth trauma that people have walked; c) rediscovering your power in birth and motherhood following a difficult or traumatic experience.

She’d like to reach out to mothers, but also their partners, and doulas (midwives, nurses, doctors, etc.) and she’s also interested in hearing from practitioners of whatever sort who work with women and families around these issues.

Full details are available on her blog:

I want this book to be made of women’s voices (and men’s as well). I want it to be a place where the unspoken is spoken clearly and openly. I want it to be a book that honours the sacredness of each birth journey, and each path to healing. I want it to be a book that opens doorways for those who are feeling lost or alone so that they can find hope and a way forward that is suitable for them personally. Most of all, I want it to be a book that shows that it is possible to reclaim your personal power in birth and mothering following a difficult or traumatic experience in birth.

via Call for your experiences – the impact of birth trauma and beyond | Rebecca A. Wright.

Make sure to check out her project and see if you can lend your voice to what sounds like a beautifully healing book!

And, speaking of birth trauma, a while ago, I also received a question via Facebook asking for recommended resources for healing from traumatic birth. Check out the series on Giving Birth with Confidence about traumatic birth prevention and recovery. Or, look into Solace for Mothers.

Guest Post: Don’t Touch Me… Don’t Even Look At Me

Nov9

This guest post is the first in my blog break festival. The festival continues through December, so please check it out and consider submitting a post! Also, don’t forget to enter my birth jewelry giveaway. This post falls into the Motherful category…

Don’t Touch Me… Don’t Even Look At Me.

by Veronica of Mormon Monkey Mama

Being a monkey mama isn’t all it’s cracked up to be sometimes. My kids still cry. I still have to discipline and direct my 3-year-old. Yesterday was especially difficult. Squirrel Monkey, 3 years (SM) is getting sick and Owl Monkey, 5.5 months (OM) is still sick. When SM is feeling sick, she is very testy. So, yesterday, she kept doing things she knew she shouldn’t to get my attention, acting out her physical feelings. She didn’t want to eat anything I gave her, she was whiny, and she mostly wanted to watch TV all day. So by the time my husband, Gorillaman, got home, I. Was. DONE. But I can’t be done. I have a nursling. And though that is often very zen… it wasn’t yesterday.

We put the girls to bed at 8:00. That never happens here. SM is usually up until 9:00 or 9:30. She went to bed easily. But OM, who usually goes to sleep pretty easily, was fussy because she couldn’t breathe.

So the mother abuse began…

FACTS:

*Baby toes are like a velociraptor‘s. I have bruises on the insides of my legs from OM taking her big toes and digging them into anything she comes in contact with. Most of the time, especially when we are nursing lying down, that is my leg, groin, or stomach, as she writhes around being frustrated about her inability to breathe easily.

*It’s especially uncomfortable, verging on vomit-inducingly painful, when the baby goes from nursing peacefully to clamp-and-twist in 0.2 seconds. It’s even worse when you have a recurrent plugged duct because of said baby’s latch. I know from experience… a lot of it.

*Babies have unbelievably strong fingers… the better to pinch you with. I have bruises on the insides of my arms and the tops of my breasts from aggravated little fingers that find purchase and CLAMP DOWN! Hand wrangling should be a class for pregnant moms.

*Toddlers/preschoolers have sharper elbows than the coffee table corners we protected them from a couple of years before.

My normally sweet and gentle Owl Monkey has become a baby badger. Ow. Add that to the bone crushing antics of a testing toddler, well, is it any surprise why I avoid any sense of intimacy on a day like yesterday? By the end of the day, when I have been poked, prodded, pinched, and pummeled by tiny hands, feet, and toothless gums, I don’t want to be touched. By anyone. I don’t even want to hold hands. My lucky poor husband, who has been away from his doting family all day, wants to come home and have some sort of physical closeness, even if it’s just to sit together on the couch and watch our show. It’s not fair that our jobs give us seriously different needs. But such is life so we both make sacrifices. So sometimes I snuggle, though it makes me feel like crawling out of my skin. And sometimes he takes a cold shower. 😉 Such is this life of parental bliss. And bliss it is. For just as you think you can’t handle any more, your 3-year-old crawls into your arms again and needs you to snuggle her to sleep. Your 5.5 month old flashes that gummy, milky grin. And suddenly your heart is full again, the bruises don’t matter, and you hug your husband that much closer knowing that only the two of you truly understand…

It’s all worth it.

Veronica is a semi-crunchy stay-at-home mom to two girls and a sweet English Bulldog boy. She is passionate about breastfeeding, gentle parenting, co-sleeping, and babywearing. She spends her days chasing her 3.5 year old with her 23 lb 9 month old on her back! She hopes to encourage and support other LDS (Mormon) moms as they embrace the mommying counterculture and parent instinctively.

Originally published on Friday, July 13, 2012 at Mormon Monkey Mama

Blog Break Festival!

Oct19

Blog Festival Entries to date:

Guest Post: Mothers Matter–Creating a Postpartum Plan

Guest Post: Nine Reasons to Choose Independent Birth Eduation

Young Moms: Making Childbirth Education Relevant to Them

Guest Post: A Secular Sabbath

Guest Post: The Women’s Lounge

Guest Post: Motherful at Midlife

Guest Post: Don’t Touch Me… Don’t Even Look At Me

Blogaversary birth jewelry giveaway!

Call for your experiences – the impact of birth trauma and beyond

On recent mini-vacation.

In my family, we have a saying about being, “my own best friend.” We say it when we’re helped out by something we did, or something we plan to do—i.e. “I picked out my clothes in advance last night when I knew I had an early morning ahead of me. I’m my own best friend!”

So, I’m going to be my own best friend right now and host a blog festival as well as a blog break for myself!

I have a crazy October/November ahead of me. I’m teaching three classes—two in-seat and one online—and I’m feeling overwhelmed by that already and they don’t start until Monday. I’m also planning a Sagewoman ceremony for my women’s circle and really want it to be special. Alaina needs a lot from me lately and the boys are really busy with their classes and activities and so my usual opportunities to have alone time to work are becoming markedly diminished lately. And, like a genius, I decided to sign up for FIVE new classes in my doctoral program in addition to the three I’m currently in the progress of finishing! (Luckily, they’re all self-paced and so I don’t have to work on them all at once. If I did, I wouldn’t have been that crazy to sign up for five more.) As I look ahead at the next couple of months, I realize that I need to take a moderate blog break in order to free up my attention and energy for my other projects. I don’t want to totally put my blog on hold, but I do want to, finally, figure out how to write SHORTER posts for the time being and save the involved, insightful posts that I put a lot of thought into for my winter break. I also just really need to give myself permission to be “off” here and direct my attention towards other roles.

Blog Festival

So, for my blog festival, I’m seeking guest posts to publish during my blog break! Rather than a blog carnival, I want to host the posts here (with links back to your own blogs/sites of course). I hope this is a mutually beneficial idea and can showcase the work of other birth/women’s health bloggers! Your post does not have to be new content, it can be a personal favorite, or, related to the specific topic ideas for which I am soliciting content. My wishes are for…

Your own musing on the “What if’s” of pregnancy and birth (see: What If? Shifting the Dialogue of Birth and What If…She’s Stronger than She Knows…)
Thoughts on what it means to be Motherful/what that concept looks like in your life.
Feminism and motherhood/birth/breastfeeding
Moontime/menstrual empowerment
Postpartum
Mother Blessings (or women’s rituals in general)
Birth art!
The things you don’t blog about (these can be anonymous guest posts, obviously)
Your own personal favorite posts from your own blog!

I’m also collecting stories about labial/clitoral tearing for a future article or blog post on the subject. More specific follow-up post to follow about this.

Please email me your contributions for this Blog Festival experiment and I will merrily schedule them!

Permission & Radiance

So, once again I’ve found myself staring at The Mountain of Too Much and a familiar a crisis of abundance. This happens routinely. I should be used to it by now! But, I feel this creeping sense of overwhelm and dismay as I look at my calendar, my commitments, and my neverending to-do list. And, as I continue to try to be more and do better and yet always feel as if I’m not enough. I feel myself getting ragged and I don’t like it. I also have a feeling that I’m forgetting the self-care mantra, “the things that matter most should never be at the mercy of the things that matter least.” I keep getting distracted by little bits and bites and losing sight of what I most value. I’m also not taking care of myself—not eating enough, running out of time to exercise, being preoccupied rather than present, always doing the “should dos” instead of the “want tos.” I crave rest. I fantasize about just being able to rest. But, then I discover I’m not sure I know how.

So, I very much appreciated this extremely thought-provoking audio-blog Women in Cyberspace ~ Our Blind Spots – IndigoBacal.com. She makes a lot of important observations about how women use social media, including blogging, and she shared: “What I discovered was that sharing as much of myself as possible, as much of my inspiration as possible [online] was actually diminishing my radiance…”

I actually have quite a lot more to share about this and various navel-gazing meandering thoughts about me, me, me, but I think I’m going to keep my radiance to myself for a bit. And, practice this whole SHORTER posts goal…

As I listened however, I became aware that at some level almost all the time is the thought, I can’t stop/rest, because I might die. Meaning, what if I die before I “finish”—what if I run out of time for my dreams and plans, what if my life ends before I “get around to it”? And so, this compulsion to do it all now. In case this is my only opportunity. And, what if I don’t matter? Isn’t that stinky? I need to work on this in myself (or not, because I’m really sick and tired of my never-ending, relentless self-improvement project and never, never being enough). I also read/listened to this piece: You Have Permission (Right NOW!) and decided that I MUST give myself permission to rest without worrying about dying. I must! So, I am. And, you, lovely readers, can help me do that by sending me delicious blog posts to publish during my blog festival…

Thank you for reading! 🙂

Oh, and by the way, contributions about how you rest are also most welcomed…

Guest Post: Homemade Baby Food

Oct3

Homemade Baby Food

by Cynthia Dorsch

Given the recent trends in DIY projects and healthy, homemade concoctions, it’s no surprise that baby food is also on board. Making your own homemade delicacies for your child is not nearly as complicated as it sounds. Homemade baby food projects can be just as fun as they are economical. Listed below are some of the best recipes I’ve encountered in my days as a DIY baby food maker.

To begin, any baby food recipe is going to require the use of some type of blender. Getting the food pureed to a perfect consistency may be essential to pleasing the palate of your young one.

Sweet Potato Based Puree

No baby food recipe arsenal is complete without a good sweet potato based purée. Infants almost always take sweet potatoes without complaints and the many health benefits associated with them don’t hurt either. To get this recipe started you will need to

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees
Take one large sweet potato, and making sure it is properly cleaned, poke a few holes in it with a fork
Place it in the oven for about 40-50 minutes, or until it is soft to the touch
Once baked, cut the potato in half and scrape the contents into your purée device
Depending on your appliance, you may want to wait until it has cooled to blend, but either way, go ahead and give it a whirl to ensure no large chunks or hard pieces will make it to your baby’s tray
After it has been blended, make sure it is cool enough for your toddler’s mouth and voila! You have yourself a great supply of baby food!

Apple Based Puree

Appealing to your baby’s sweet tooth can be a difficult challenge. You don’t want to overly emphasize sugar and sweetness but you still want to have your little one have a great treat once in a while. I found this following recipe to be the perfect marriage of both of these and my son (who’s sadly now a little too old for this) thought so too! To whip up some awesome apple inspired baby food you will need to:

Get two apples, I generally favored the Red Delicious variety but I’ve also heard of Braeburns being used as well
Peel the apples and carefully cut them into large pieces
Set aside about an 8^th of cinnamon
Place the apples in a steamer above a pot of nicely boiling water
Leave them in there for about 4 to 5 minutes or until tender
Once they’re nice and soft put them, along with the cinnamon into your blender and blend till smooth
After the mixture has cooled, you’ve got a wonderful apple based purée!

Bean Based Puree

Beans are a great staple for any growing youngster’s body. With their complete proteins and fiber, giving your baby a great homemade bean purée is a great choice that requires a little more elbow grease than the last recipes. However, this can really pay off with the happy grins and smiles of a satisfied and full youngster. To get the ball rolling you will need to make sure you have:

1 cup of some leafy greens, (Kale or Spinach are great healthy choices)
A clove of garlic
A tablespoon of chopped onion
An 8^th of a teaspoon of oregano
A half cup of cooked brown rice
A cup of cooked white beans
And finally, a half cup of cooked tomatoes

You’ll want to make sure your kale is properly cooked or steamed before you add it to the blender. A great thing you can do here is steam the onions, oregano and the greens all at once. Place all the ingredients in the blender and purée until everything is smooth. Make sure this meal is cooled properly before serving and see how fast your baby will eat this treat up.

Cynthia Dorsch loves writing about health and wellness. In her free time she can often be found researching and catching up on trending techniques and new innovations in the medical field. She currently writes and blogs for My Egg Bank, a company specializing in third-party reproduction.

Guest Post: Abuse of pregnant women in the medical setting

Sep26

This post is a companion piece to my article, Domestic Violence During Pregnancy, and was previously published as a sidebar in Citizens for Midwifery News and later in International Doula.

Abuse of pregnant women in the medical setting

By Susan Hodges, founder and past President of Citizens for Midwifery

Have you or someone you know experienced rude, abusive or violent treatment at the hands of obstetricians or other hospital staff? Abusive behavior, in or out of the hospital, can include threats, coercion, yelling, belittling, lying, omission of information, lack of informed consent, misrepresentation (of medical situation, of interventions, of reasons they “need” you to do something or not do something), and so on. For example, nurses yelling at a woman to push is abusive, even if the nurses don’t intend to be abusive. An OB lying to a woman that her baby is “too big” (something that neither he/she nor anyone else can predict), telling her she “needs” intervention, and then not providing complete information about the risks and benefits of the intervention, is abusive behavior. Unwanted and unnecessary surgery (such as episiotomy or an avoidable cesarean section) is no less violence against a woman than hitting or strangling – most of us have just not thought about it in that way. The fact that most women are persuaded that they “needed” the intervention, that it was because their body was somehow defective, is another aspect of the abuse (blaming the victim).

While the situation is different from domestic violence in some ways, it is also similar. Abuse in the medical setting is also about power and control, the pregnant or laboring woman is often blamed for her situation, and verbal and emotional abuse can be similar. Because we are taught to “trust your doctor”, and in fact there is an explicit assumption of trust in the “fiduciary relationship” between the woman and her doctor who is an “expert”, most of us do not think about the possibility of abuse, and many of us stay with the OB or feel we have no choice about our health care providers or settings, especially when we are in labor. Also, the doctors and staff generally are not even aware that their behavior or actions are abusive.

Forty years ago, domestic violence happened, but was hidden and accepted. A lot of women had to do a great deal of work to come up with the language and the legal strategies, and to educate women, law enforcement, judges, mental health workers, and many others to get us to the point where we are today, where at least the problem has a name and at least some of the time women can fight back with the law on their side.

It is extremely difficult to deal with an abusive OB (and it might be hidden abuse, manipulation, etc.) in the middle of labor, just as is very difficult to effectively deal with an abusive spouse in the middle of the abuse. The childbirth community is only just now beginning to recognize that women are being abused in many ways in the present system of maternity care. We don’t really have special words for it yet. We do have some legal underpinnings to fight at least some of it, but we are in the very early stages. It will take recognition of the problem on a larger scale and by women who are not being abused by OBs to bring this issue to public attention, create language for it, and use legal tools to end it. We have a lot of work to do.

Have you experienced abuse? At the least you can file a complaint. See “Unhappy With Your Maternity Care? File a Complaint!” at http://cfmidwifery.org/Resources/item.aspx?ID=1

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Guest Post: What is a 21st Century Feminist?

Sep25

Molly’s note: I have a lot of diversity amongst my Facebook friends and amidst the many politically liberal posts I see every day there are also links to anti-feminist articles, written by mothers, that make me incredibly sad. Last month an acquaintance posted one of them and I responded to her: “This article made me sad, because of the writer’s distorted experience of what feminism is (or the distortion she’s experienced of it). I hate it when women perceive feminism as a ‘dirty word’ or incompatible with their lives as homemakers and mothers.” As our conversation continued, I went on to explain: I’ve been a feminist forever–like before I even knew there was an actual word for it. I do understand that there is a tension between feminism and motherhood sometimes (in a negative way). I think because I mostly read or associate with feminist mothers, and feminist attachment-parenting-minded mothers at that, I’ve had less exposure to the “other kind” and I tend to feel like, “I’m not that way, so surely no one else is either!” I guess it might be similar to other large movements and certain representatives of those movements making the whole thing look bad–i.e. if people might say “religion is oppressive!” rather than realizing that it is really how some people USE religion that is oppressive, not necessarily the institution itself.

I am a feminist. I was one long before I had children. It was my first “cause.” I’m also the mother of three. I’m totally into birth and breastfeeding and female-biological-processes. I might be able to be accused of being biologically reductionist in some of my ideas, because of the importance I place on the body, particularly the female body, in how I relate to the world and to my own spirituality. However, to me, feminism feels simple and obvious. I love women. I think they’re awesome. I don’t think they should be exploited, controlled, victimized, or dominated. Boom. I’m a feminist! Duh.

In addition, I don’t consider myself pro-choice OR pro-life. I consider myself pro-woman and for me that means upholding all women’s reproductive rights, regardless of how I feel about making those choices for myself and regardless of how I am personally uncomfortable with some women’s choices. Women MUST be able to control their own bodies and who has access to them. To me it is that simple and that nonnegotiable.

So, I appreciated this guest post that came in today and how it lays out very simply what it means to be a 21st century feminist…

What is a 21st Century Feminist?
Women’s Author Says She (and He) May Look A Lot Like You!

With all the talk of a “war on women” during this explosive election year, the notion of feminism is once again in the news – and open to debate. Especially among women.

Nothing illustrates that better than the rash of commentary following the recent death of sexual-revolution era author Helen Gurley Brown, says Heather Huffman (www.heatherhuffman.net), a 35-year-old author whose newest book, “Devil in Disguise,” continues her tradition of upbeat romances featuring strong female protagonists.

“Some writers took her to task for advocating sexual freedom for women,” Huffman says. “They say she wasn’t a ‘feminist’ because she was all for promiscuity, not women’s rights, and her actions led to an explosion of single moms and STDs.

“Others viewed her as the ultimate ‘feminist,’ a heroine who chopped through a cultural thicket to break down repressive social mores.”

The truth is, Huffman says, that Brown did important work on behalf of women.

“While I don’t advocate promiscuity, I do acknowledge that Gurley Brown’s boundary-pushing stance brought the topic of women’s rights to the forefront, paving the way for change,” she says.

The problem is, she says, that when people hear the word “feminist,” they picture a woman from another time, like Helen Gurley Brown. They don’t see themselves at all.

“I hear some women say, ‘I’m not a feminist!’ They think a feminist is a strident, angry man-hater who gets up in arms over any perceived slight,” Huffman says. “That’s too bad, because the world needs feminists as much as it needs any group that advocates for human rights.”

Feminism changes with the times, she says. So what is a 21st century feminist? Huffman offers her observations:

• She (or he) supports a woman’s right to be a mom – or not. When women won acceptance and equal rights in the workplace, we were released from one box and plopped right into another one. “We went from raising children to raising children and working. Too often, that’s the expectation now,” Huffman says. Feminists support a woman’s right to choose her life’s direction, whether that’s staying at home and being mothers, choosing never to become mothers, or some hybrid of work and motherhood. “Having equal rights is having the freedom to choose our life’s direction without being subjected to discrimination because of what other people expect our role to be,” Huffman says.

• Supports removing double standards. “You still see, in the workplace and at home, the tough guy gets praised, and the tough woman, well, she’s a ‘witch’ or worse,” Huffman says. More smart, savvy women have earned respect professionally – Hillary Clinton, Condoleezza Rice, Madeleine Albright – and that’s progress, but we still have work to do. “Professional women still get criticized about their hair style, their fashion choices. Rarely are professional men snubbed for these things.”

• Understands what rights are being legislated and by whom. We all know the hot-button “values” issues that polarize voters. “The reality is a politician’s party affiliation doesn’t paint an accurate picture of who they are or what they stand for. Voting records, corporate associations, and actions are much more telling. As citizens, as women with a voice, we must do our homework to ensure our values are being reflected in Washington. And, in truth, feminism is more than a political movement – it’s the empowerment of women to live the life they were created for.”

About Heather Huffman

Heather Huffman is a women’s advocate, writer, former human relations specialist and mother of three. She and her family are currently homesteading 10 acres in the Ozarks. Huffman is the author of seven novels, including “Throwaway” and its prequel, “Tumbleweed.” A portion of proceeds from sales of her books benefit groups fighting human trafficking.

Birthday!

May3

Today is my birthday and my mom sent me a guest post about my own birth!

Molly’s Birth Story (33 years later)
May 3, 2012

At the time of Molly’s birth in 1979, we lived in a 10 x 30, un-insulated building – a shack, really – and were completely off the grid. We used wood for cooking/heat, and kerosene and candles for light. We hauled in drinking water, and bathed in rain water. We had no phone, electricity, or plumbing and shared a vehicle. Many people were appalled at our decision to homebirth (fortunately, they couldn’t call us to yell about it!). Midwives were completely hidden and underground. I had two dear friends, both nurses, who agreed to attend the birth.

I was very close to term, and we were concerned that I would begin labor at home (with no phone or car) while Tom was away at work, so I spent those final days of pregnancy hanging around at the homes of neighbors and friends. Labor began while with neighbors, and continued to progress throughout the evening. It was a wild night – raging thunderstorms, torrential rain, and incessant lightning. It became apparent that this was true labor, so Tom had to leave me alone in our tiny home to go find a phone to call our support people. They arrived by midnight, and I continued to labor throughout the night, culminating in 2 hours of pushing and the arrival of a beautiful, sweet baby girl! I’ll never forget the surreal feeling of contractions punctuated by lightning and thunder. Towards the end, I was actually falling asleep between contractions and still remember the dreams I had…..

Unfortunately, I sustained a large tear, and was unable to push to release the placenta. We had to pack up, borrow a 4-wheel drive truck, and slip and slide through the mud to a doctor who had agreed to provide postpartum care if needed. I was curled up on the seat with baby Molly – this was before car seats were in use! I lamented having to go out in such horrible conditions. The tear was major, and took 42 stitches, making my days of postpartum recovery very difficult. Nothing daunted, I went on to have 3 more children at home – still off the grid, still with no indoor plumbing, but some of the time with a car and a phone for the last two.

This experience – having my first baby – was a transcendent transformation. I became a mother at that moment, and being a mother is still a defining element of my personality and identity. Molly grew to adulthood altogether too fast, and even though she stands before me now as a mother herself, I will never forget the infant, child, and teenager that she was. We’re inextricably linked, and while I marvel at our sameness, I also celebrate our differentness.

I had 2 favorite books that I read to prepare for a very rustic homebirth – Spiritual Midwifery, by Ina May Gaskin, and Special Delivery, by Rahima Baldwin. These books are still being recommended to birthing women, and while the climate of homebirth is certainly in transition, each woman must find her own path through the labyrinth of birth.

Who knew, when I was planning a homebirth all those years ago, that Molly would grow to be the birth advocate and authority that she has become? Perhaps my decision to homebirth had some sort of deep-seated and profound influence on her!

Happy birthday to an amazingly intelligent, witty, loquacious, creative, generous, intuitive, compassionate and productive daughter. I am incredibly proud of the woman you have become, and I love you beyond all reason.

Love,
Mom

She also uploaded a photo of me at 11 months–we think Alaina looks like me 🙂

I also had this nursing picture already saved on my computer:

Happy Birth Day to both of us!

Present day…

Today we had to take Alaina to the pediatric dentist in St. Louis to have her front teeth looked at. I thought the four upper front teeth all had decay, but it turned out to be a pretty best case scenario—she only had one actual cavity (some pitting and staining on three others, but not decay) AND the dentist said, “would you like me to just fix it now instead of you having to drive all the way here again from Rolla?” So, not only was the problem more minor than we feared, it is already ALL FIXED! Yay! So, I was able to go on and enjoy the rest of my birthday rather than fretting about her teeth or planning the follow-up visit for the “big work.” We did have a horrible 15 minutes while I held her on my lap and she screamed and cried and they did the work, but that is a tiny blip as far as things go and it was SO much better than the anesthesia route we did with Z (ambulatory surgery clinic admission, etc. Boo on that, especially because most of the work then chipped off—that’s what $5000 or so gets you!). After we got home she was extra clingy and very needy and mama’s girl-ish though, which makes me feel bad because I know she must still be feeling traumatized by the betrayal of being taken somewhere to, essentially, be hurt, trapped, and helpless 😦

After the dentist, we went to my friend’s house who lives in the vicinity. Another friend joined us and we had a little party with a nice lunch and cupcakes. My friend’s kids had blown up balloons and hung them up all over and there was also a great sign hanging in the tree:

I cried when I saw the cute sign! I really miss seeing both these friends on a regular basis, but I also feel thankful that they still live close enough to be within reach!

Recovered enough from tooth trauma to swing like a big girl!

On the way home we stopped at the pie shop for the Boston cream pie Mark ordered for us to enjoy with my parents:

Couldn’t resist taking a picture of the sweaty, wild hair of a traveling baby!

My parents came over bearing gifts and my favorite dinner of beef stroganoff and we also ate the pie. I’m tired, but relieved. I was also feeling weird to be 33 now and said something along the lines of, what happened and is Alaina going to be 33 soon too?! My dad said, “this can never be a long time ago…” and then reminded me that it was a Laura Ingalls Wilder quote: “…They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago...”

Later, I laid in bed nursing Alaina to sleep and thinking about how my parents remember me as a baby—their baby—but I don’t remember being their baby. And, how this intimacy with Alaina will someday soon be only my memory, not hers (at least not consciously). How strange, because it is so total and so real and so right now…it can never be a long time ago.

Guest Post: Alcohol and Breastmilk

Dec23

Just in time for the holiday season, a note to clarify the issue of nursing moms drinking alcohol.

Your milk alcohol level will be exactly the same as your blood alcohol level. So if you’ve had a couple of drinks and hit the legal limit, your milk has about the same alcohol content as fresh fruit juice or a non-alcoholic beer–.08%ish. Alcohol does not concentrate in the milk, and as your liver clears it from your blood, the milk alcohol level will also drop. There is no need to pump and dump for a healthy baby! If you are concerned about even very minimal amounts of alcohol in the baby’s system, nurse before you go out, and time your drinking so that you give your liver time to metabolize it before the baby would want to nurse again.

The takeaway message: Long before you have enough alcohol in your milk for your baby to even notice, you would be so hammered that you would hardly remember you even had a baby. The concern for occasional drinkers is not really alcohol being passed to the baby, but mom and dad remaining sober enough to care for the baby–and that’s a really big deal where co-sleeping is concerned! Safely sleeping with a baby means being stone cold sober. Period.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a great New Year to everyone!

Please note that I’m really only talking about moms who have a drink now and then, not habitual heavy drinkers. We just don’t know what effect continuous long-term exposure to alcohol might have on a baby.

Lynn Carter is an IBCLC in Kirksville, Missouri.