The Amethyst Network: Fundraising Campaign & Day of Hope

Feb14

We have big plans for The Amethyst Network to serve families impacted by miscarriage across the country. To help achieve our goals, we’ve launched a Indiegogo fundraising campaign (featuring some great perks for donors, such as a print from The Mandala Journey!). Check it out and make a contribution!

As one of the members of the TAN board explains:

We got off to a slow start. For our own reasons, it didn’t take off as we had envisioned. We kept in touch but we were all quite overwhelmed with other things. Then this fall we had a renewed energy. I know for my part, the time felt right again. There was a drive coming from somewhere else to revive and renew the Amethyst Network. We refocused our energy. We refined our goals. And with new energy, the Amethyst Network is moving forward in amazing ways.

We hope that this will become a place of support, of hope, and of healing for women experiencing miscarriage and pregnancy loss. We hope that this will become a place for people to share their stories of miscarriage and pregnancy loss. We hope you will find solace and support here.

And that is the story of the Amethyst Network.

Another new project is our upcoming Day of Hope and Healing on February 25. Amethyst is the February birthstone—several members of the board, including me, have miscarriage anniversaries in February and the inspiration for TAN’s name also came from Amethyst, the still-missed baby sister of one of the founding members–so February feels like the perfect time to host a special event. Here is an explanation of the day:

Although we do participate in and support the wave of light on October 15, and the other infant loss awareness and remembrance days in October, we wanted to have a day of our own to focus on living in the present and looking forward, in addition to the days for looking back.

February 25 is Amethyst’s birthday, and so we felt like this was the perfect day to choose for our Day of Hope and Healing.

Many of us are familiar with the stages of grief, but we feel that grieving is one of the stages of healing. In other words, whether you are in the depth of fresh grief, or whether it has been years since your loss, we invite you to join us on this day to acknowledge the journey that we all are on.

Since everyone is in a different part of their journey, we are not asking everyone to do the same thing. Instead we invite you to participate in whatever way meets your needs at this time. Here are a few suggestions that we thought of, and please visit our pinterest page for some visual inspiration. We welcome additional ideas.

Plant flowers or a tree
Light a candle
Make a luminary
Make prayer flags
Buy a piece of jewelry or art that reminds you of your little one
Make a cake to celebrate or remember your little ones birth, loss, or memory
Read stories of other Amethyst Babies, or of Garnet Babies
Submit your story of loss or hope to TAN to be shared with the stories there
Submit your little one’s name to the Forget Me Not Garden at TAN
Write a letter to your little one, and then burn it and let the smoke carry it to him or her
Make a donation to TAN in memory of your little one
Blog about your little one, TAN, or the Day of Hope and Healing
Call a radio show and dedicate a song to your little one
Begin the process of becoming a TAN loss doula so that you can help others

Tuesday Tidbits: Birthing Bodies

Feb12

These Tuesday Tidbits all come from the Fall 2012 Pathways magazine. Pathways is a fabulous publication and the best replacement for Mothering magazine that I’ve found!
BirthontheLabyrinthPath_300x250-ad_2

…I get that some women want a particular experience of birth—I mean, I really get it now that I have had a birth that left me feeling more powerful, more humble, more focused, and more devoted to my lover than I ever thought I could feel.

But I wish American women were told the truth about birth—the truth about their bodies, their abilities, and the dangers of technology. Mostly I wish all pregnant women could hear what Libby Bogdan-Lovis, my doula, told me: ‘Birthing a baby requires the same relinquishing of control as does sex–abandoning oneself to the overwhelming sensation and doing so in a protective and supportive environment’…

–Alice Dreger in The Hard Science Supporting Low-Tech Birth

Next, in connection to my own series of posts on taking it to the body, I enjoyed Karen Brody’s article, My Body Rocks, in which she describes her experiences in a yoga nidra class, noting that when asked in class to let her intention come from her body, her reaction was:

“My body? I was ashamed to admit that, after two powerful homebirth experiences, I no longer felt intimately connected to my body. Pregnancy and giving birth were all about every little feeling in my body; mothering felt like a marathon of meeting everyone else’s needs and rarely my own…Most days, the question I asked was, ‘How are their bodies?’ My body was in the back seat, unattended, without a seatbelt.”

With regard to my own body, I’m re-introducing my daily yoga practice, maintained since 2001 even through the births of my other two children and playing a significant role in my birth experiences, and yet released with reluctance during Alaina’s infancy. It is time to bring it back! On a related note, I have a neat prenatal yoga book/DVD to review and I watched it this week with Alaina practicing with me—when it instructed you to, “put your hands on your baby,” I put my hands on her! 😉

Speaking of toddlers, I’m wearing a little thin with toddler breastfeeding. I’ve commented to friends that some of the issues and annoyances and difficulties that I’ve previously associated with nursing during pregnancy are actually simply issues of nursing two-year-olds. She is rough, wild, pinchy, scratchy, and practically abusive. She’s nursing way too much at night and I’m tired! In the Pathways article A Natural Age of Weaning by Katherine Dettwyler (who rocks), she makes a point that I’ve always felt intuitively and yet haven’t really articulated in writing:

Another important consideration for the older child is that they are able to maintain their emotional attachment to a person, rather than being forced to switch to an inanimate object, such as a teddy bear or blanket. I think this sets the stage for a life of people-orientation, rather than materialism, and I think that is a good thing.

As I’ve said before, pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding are all such embodied experiences—motherhood in general feels very much a physical commitment. Our relationship with our children begins in the body, it is through the maternal body that a baby learns to interpret and engage with the world, and to the maternal body a breastfeeding toddler returns for connection, sustenance, and renewal.

It is this embodied spirit of creation and connection I feel I draw upon and represent when I create my little birth art figures, a spirit that caught the attention of many on Facebook this week when I shared a photo of a series of four figures that I’d made as a custom order:

I will write more about these in an upcoming post and I am now accepting custom requests, though there is already a waiting list! I did update my Shop page briefly with some already made figures that I have available though.

Introverted Mama

Feb11

This post is excerpted from one written in response to the current Patheos Book Club exploration of the book Quiet : The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. I previously wrote a post for my blog about Quiet and then built on that post for my book club post. The previous post is here and my new additions are below…

I really enjoy being around people and I’m friendly and social, but on the flip side I feel very drained after people contact and need time alone to recharge. I find I am restored by being alone and drained by being with others (even though I like them!), hence I would self-label as an “extroverted-introvert,” “ambivert,” or social introvert. By definition it isn’t that extroverts “like people” and introverts don’t like people, it is a difference between whether they are fueled or drained by people contact. However, I’ve observed that people seem to make an assumption that being introverted means someone is “shy” or “doesn’t like people,” so that’s why I would choose extroverted-introvert for myself. I recently took a week-long retreat from Facebook, email, social media, and reading articles online. I did this primarily to silence the digital noise in my life (see some good explorations of why you, too, may be an introvert in this article: “Noise” Got You Down? Maybe You’re an Introvert).

Once I starting thinking about this book, Quiet, I was amazed at the connections I uncovered with how my introverted personality is expressed during pregnancy, labor, and birth. This was actually the very first time I’ve made the connection between my own birthing preferences and my introvert nature, that finds such renewal in solitude and craves silence.

Labyrinth of pregnancy pre-birth sculpture.

Pregnancy—towards the end of pregnancy I feel an inward call. I start wanting to quit things, to be alone, to “nest,” to create art, to journal, and to sink into myself. Nothing sounds better to me in late pregnancy than sitting in the sunlight with my hands on my belly, breathing, and being alone with my baby and my thoughts.

Labor—during my first pregnancy, the very first thing on my birth plan was “no extraneous noise.” It was really essential to me to labor without beeping, chattering, or questions. This birth room silence, in fact, was SO essential that it was one of my only requests for my second labor—no unnecessary talking. I can talk during labor, I talk a lot in fact, but I don’t want people around me talking. I want silence. My epiphany as I thought about the Quiet book was that this is why. I’m an Introverted Mama. I know many women are very nourished by the presence of supportive and loving family members and friends during their labors. They express wanting to be encircled by support and companionship. For me, I like to cut my birth attendants down to only the very most essential companions (and they’d better be quiet!). And, this leads me to…

Birth—after my first birth, in which I’d had the loving and supportive accompaniment of my husband, my mother, my best friend, my doula, a midwife, and a doctor, one of my most potent longings for my second birth was as few people present as possible. And, indeed, for this second labor I had my husband alone present for the first hour of a train ride of a two-hour labor, my mother and toddler son present for about 30 minutes and my midwife who walked in as my son’s head was crowning. For my last birth, I wanted even fewer companions, spending the bulk of the labor alone with my husband and later calling in my mother. When my daughter was actually born, I was the sole witness to her emergence as she slid forth into my grateful hands in one swift spontaneous birth reflex just as my mother stepped into another room and my husband was moving from behind me around to the front of my body. Shortly after her birth, my doula arrived to provide amazing postpartum care and my midwife came shortly after that to assess blood loss and to help with the placenta. This was the perfect companionship arrangement for an Introverted Mama. My older children were pretty disappointed not to be present, but I need solitude in birth and I heeded that call.

Postpartum—I am firmly convinced of the critical importance of planning for a postpartum “nesting” time or babymoon, in which parents can cocoon privately with their new baby in the solitude of their own home. I only now came to realize that perhaps this is Introverted Mama talking! I’ve spoken to other women who say that getting out and seeing people was really important during their own postpartum time. I’ve maintained for ages that this is probably culture talking (“get back to ‘normal,’ prove how capable of a mother you are,” etc.), and not what the tender new motherbaby most needs, but perhaps my preference is largely a function of personality. There is nothing better for me than spending at least four weeks nested at home with my new baby and my immediate family, no long-time visitors, no phone calls, little email, and no travel, visiting, or responsibilities. Ahhhh….babymoon bliss.

Breastfeeding—in the early days, weeks, and months of breastfeeding the symbiosis of the nursing relationship is so complete that the baby becomes a part of me. A newborn does not “disturb my peace” the way toddlers are wont to do. I especially feel this interdependent connection during nighttime nursings, in which the harmony with the baby feels complete and total and a peace like little else.

Toddlerhood and Beyond—Oh dear, now is when “no time to think” starts to wear on Introverted Mama’s nerves and stamina. I’ve met some awesome mothers of large families who comment on how they, “love the chaos” of home with lots of children. “Our house is wild and crazy and full of noise and I love it,” they may be known to say. Thinking of how desperately I crave silence and solitude, sometimes with an almost physical pain and longing, I feel inadequate in comparison to these declarations. Is this too simply a function of personality? Can these chaos-thriving mamas be extroverts who gain energy from interaction with others? I find that my own dear children, my own flesh and blood and bone and sweat and tears, still feel very much like “company” in terms of the drain on my energy that I experience. Whether it is socializing with a group or friends or spending the day with my energetic, loveable, highly talkative children, I crave time alone to recollect myself and to become whole once more. I once commented to my husband that I feel most like a “real person” when I’m alone. That means that the intensiveness and unyielding commitment of parenting can be really, really hard on me emotionally. Maybe it is okay to “own” that need for quiet, even as a mother, rather than to consider it some type of failure or an indication of not being truly cut out for this motherhood gig. (See more in a past, lengthy, navel-gazing post on why I need my “two hours”.)

How do you experience (and honor) introversion in your life as a parent? Sometimes I feel like being an introvert and being a mother are not very compatible, but as I learn to respect my own needs, to speak up for myself, and to heed that call for silence and solitude, I realize it is compatible after all. My children have two introverted parents and will hopefully grow up feeling confident in the knowing that there is profound power in being quiet, in taking time to think deeply, and to respond to the call of solitude if it comes knocking at the door of their hearts.

It is only when we silence the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of the truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts.

~ K.T. Jong (via Kingfish Komment)

Guest post: working/parenting interview

Feb7

In late 2011, I participated in a working/parenting series at the blog First the Egg (authored by another Molly!) As I continue to balance my working/parenting life (and as I take a computer-off retreat during this week), I decided to revisit my guest post and reprint it here. I’m not changing or editing anything about it, so in this universe, I still had an infant, rather than a busy toddler girl!

working/parenting interview: Molly Remer

Balancing working and parenting… 😉

By Molly | Published: 18 October 2011

An interview with Molly Remer of Talk Birth, & part of working/parenting series that’s ongoing here. The first three of us were Mollys, but I swear I’m done and will give you guest post authors with other first names soon!

–

What activities in your life do you consider “work”? Do you think of parenting–or some component of parenting–as “work”?

I do not think of parenting as my “job.” Being a mother is a *relationship* to me, not a role or a job. However, it is an extremely consuming relationship! And, perhaps paradoxically, some elements of mothering do feel like hard work. Like Adrienne Rich, I feel like one’s feelings about motherhood as a relationship and motherhood as an institution are two separate things–I can find motherhood as institution oppressive, while still finding the relationship with my children fulfilling. So, I guess what I’m saying is that there are parenting tasks that are work to me, but that the relationship dimension–which I place primary value on–is not a job or work.

A mothering moment that I’m not proud of came up for me immediately upon reading this question. My son was about three and something challenging had happened that I’ve since forgotten–I believe it was something to do with kitchen mess–and I said to my son with a sigh, “wow! Sometimes you are really hard to take care of” (like I indicated, not the best moment from me) and he replied, “I’m not hard, I’m soft! Just feel my little body!” He rubbed his hands all around his chest and stomach as he shared this–demonstrating his genuine softness. ::sob::

Has your relationship with work changed as a result of your experiences parenting?

Yes, I desperately snatch at free moments, packing one million tasks into my solo hours, like a starving person who is unsure where the next time-meal is coming from. I feel greedy for time alone to work in silence. I continue to require silence for my best work–I hate listening to music while writing, etc. This isn’t new for me, but the advent of motherhood layered on many challenges to experiencing what for me is an ideal work environment (silent and distractionless).

Do you do any non-parenting activities, for pay or without pay, that you consider “work”? If so, how do you juggle these roles and activities with parenting?

An example: I typed this whole response on my phone while nursing my sleeping baby.

Yes, I teach in-seat and online college classes. I write. I am a breastfeeding counselor. I edit a newsletter. I am a D.Min student. I facilitate groups. I teach birth classes. I consider all of these things work activities. I do not distinguish between paid and unpaid activities.

Something I feel is important to mention and is likely a feature of socioeconomic factors, is that to me my work equals passion, commitment, vibrancy, and aliveness. The place where the world’s great hunger and my own gifts meet. It is my “music.” The things I am “called” to do on this planet. The wild and precious life I have to offer to the world. Work to me does not connote drudgery or burden (except when I make it so, by expecting inhuman quantities of productivity from myself).

Is there work that you want to do but can’t right now? What does that look like for you?

Yes, I have three books in partial stages of development and just have to let them rest right now.

Do you ever feel misunderstood or judged because of how work happens in your family, or because of your relationship with work? What does that look like for you?

Yes, but I don’t feel like I have time to explore my answer right now. Women have always worked-–in motherhood capacities and in other capacities (usually simultaneously). I feel like we do all women a disservice by setting up or assuming either-or scenarios. I feel like people who think of me as a WOHM imagine I’m gone all the time and missing milestones, when really I’m out of the house ten hours per week and spend 99% of my waking and sleeping moments in the company of my baby, not to mention the fact that I homeschool my boys. I feel like those who look at me as a SAHM consider my teaching and writing to be my casual little “hobbies” that I dabble with in my free time, rather than career activities for me.

I could go on for ages, but both work and motherhood call to me now and I’m going to have to be okay with this being what I have to offer to the dialog in this moment.

–

For more on Molly’s relationship with working/parenting, please click through to her lovely post “I just want to grind my corn!” and her follow-up “Surrender?“

Tuesday Tidbits: Birth Pause

Feb5

Last year I wrote about the birth pause, that timeless moment of inhaling after birth and exhaling into motherhood:

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…

So, of course, when one of my Facebook friends posted the following thoughts last week, I asked her if I could quote her on my blog!

One moment that EVERY MOTHER remembers is the moment she first laid eyes on her baby. I am asking every woman to consider what that moment means to you and how she pictures it to be? Will it be in your home with dim lights and scented candles, and the loving arms of your partner embracing you both physically and emotionally at the moment of emergence? Or will it be in a brightly lit hospital room lying on your back while 6-10 strangers yell for you to push and stare at your vagina while you lay there feeling a bit helpless being strapped with cords to a half dozen medical devices?

Will your baby be touched first by your hands and brought up to your bare breasts as he fills his lungs for the very first time? Or will your baby be caught with a cold latex glove, lifted mid-air with glaring lights and strange sounds all around him? Will his oxygen supply and blood be stolen from his body with a quickly cut cord as he is swept away and rubbed by unfamiliar hands. Will he be swaddled so tight he cannot feel his mother’s warm skin when she holds him at her breast?

Think these are details that do not matter in the grand scheme of things? Think again… PLEASE! Because… BIRTH REALLY DOES MATTER. Know where and with whom you desire to give birth. Do the necessary research to make that happen! You DO have options, so do NOT let ANYONE tell you that you don’t. Birth matters. Make your decisions wisely. You WILL remember that moment! –Pamela Brott, Beginning at Home

And, then I read a great little post from Rebecca Wright about being a birthkeeper rather than “catching” babies:

As a birth keeper it’s not my place to catch babies. It’s my place to hold space. It’s my place to support the mama-baby dyad so that they birth in power and remain undisturbed as far as possible in this process.

One of my friends wrote an article some time ago about catching your own baby. She called it “squatter’s rights” and concluded with something to the effect of, “and then I reach down and catch what’s mine.” It gave me chills. Alaina is the only baby that I caught myself and it was the most potent moment of any birth. Sometimes I still can’t believe I did it.

And, on a related note, I also shared these two articles via ScoopIt:

Active birth positions for the hospital–Effective Birthing Positions | Taking Charge of Your Health

Some musings about mental comfort zones and birth–Planning a Childbirth: Is there a Comfort Zone and Should You get out of it…

Annual retreat

Feb1

I held a blue flower in my hand, probably a wild aster, wondering what its name was, and then thought that human names for natural things are superfluous. Nature herself does not name them. The important thing is to know this flower, look at its colors until the blueness becomes as real as a keynote of music. Look at the exquisite yellow flowerettes in the center, become very small with them. Be the flower, be the trees, the blowing grasses. Fly with the birds, jump with the squirrel! –Sally Carrighar in The Earth Speaks

It is that time of year again…time for a retreat! I recognize a pattern in my own life that I’ve been conscious of since my first miscarriage, the deep call to retreat beginning in November of each year and finally having a chance to be held in February. I’ve been feeling it coming. I started hearing the call in late October/early November and I was like, oh yeah, THIS. This call for silence, for mindfulness, for taking heed, for regrouping, for calling my spirit back, for resting. I set aside the first week of February each year to take a “computer-off retreat,” in which I unplug Facebook and take a break from blogging. Since the rest of my life doesn’t necessarily recognize this rhythm, I can’t take a completely computer-off retreat this year (having the computer off isn’t really compatible with teaching online, especially during midterm week!), but I can take a Facebook retreat and a retreat from feeling compelled to write/blog and to stay “caught up” with a variety of miscellaneous time-eating, online-based activities (like clicking on interesting articles or updating my ScoopIt page). I will also try really, really hard to check email only once a day. I’d like to actually deactivate my FB account, but that will take away my pages too (from what I understand) and I don’t want to do that—if I’m wrong, tell me please! (and, I’ll see your message when I check my email once a day ;)) And, guess what?! This year, I’m not making a to-do list. I know what I want and need and it isn’t a list.

I went out to the woods to think about this and this is what I said:

Keep vigil
bear witness
hold space

open heart
open hands
open mind

share stories
share healing
share laughter

Keep vigil
hold space
circle round

Amazon affiliate link included.

This is mainly a noise-silencing thing for me. I’ve been looking forward to it since November. I’ve been feeling it coming. I need it badly!

My favorite retreat resource is Woman’s Retreat Book: A Guide to Restoring, Rediscovering and Reawakening Your True Self –In a Moment, An Hour, Or a Weekend by Jen Louden. I also treated myself to a Breathe Peace online class (ah, the irony, since I’m having a computer off retreat! Luckily, the online class lasts throughout the month of February, so I can take my break and still come back to it!)

“Turtle” rock in the woods 🙂

Timeless Days: More Postpartum Planning

Jan30

“Understand that the tremendous energy going through you during birth is the same sort of power as the force of ocean waves moving towards shore. Know that just as a bird knows how to build its nest, and when to lay its eggs, you too will build your birthing nest…” –Janice Marsh-Prelesnik (The Roots of Natural Mothering)

So, after writing about postpartum survival tips and about what to share with mothers-to-be about the realities of motherhood, I found some more postpartum notes saved in my always overflowing drafts folder from the sidebar to Time in a Bottle by Beth Bailey Barbeau in Spring 2011 issue of Midwifery Today (p. 44).

“Encourage realistic contact between mothers-to-be and new mothers to help them shape more realistic expectations of postpartum life.” Yes! This is why I strongly encourage mothers to come to LLL meetings before they have their babies.

“Use language that shares your expectations and gives parents a vocabulary to articulate the demanding needs of their new infant.” Like Barbeau, I find it helpful to bring in the concept of the fourth trimester. The first three months are the “fourth trimester” during which baby pretty much wants to live on mom’s chest and replicate the womb (i.e. almost constant feeding–like the umbilical cord–constant holding and lots of motion, like being in the uterus, as well as being able to hear your heartbeat). After the fourth trimester passes, babies “wake up” even more and start really interacting with the world. I explain in a light-hearted way that even if you hold your baby for 12 solid hours a day following birth, that is a 50% reduction in what she is used to. And, I let them know that while the adult’s brain thinks, “how can this baby be hungry, I just fed him 30 minutes ago?!” The baby’s brain thinks, “it is has been 30 minutes since I’ve EATEN ANYTHING!!!!!” I also reinforce the idea that a baby that wants to be held and snuggled and nursed is a smart baby, not a manipulative one. And, of course, I also describe mother’s body as baby’s natural habitat after birth.

My husband and first baby during the first tender postpartum days.

“Remind new parents that most cultures around the world have some sort of ‘lying in’ period, typically lasting 30-60 days or more.” Truly the things that support both a healthy birth and healthy postpartum are contrary to the expectations and habits of mainstream society. See Kathleen Kendall-Tackett’s handout on how other cultures prevent postpartum depression.

“Matter-of-factly inform the family, especially the extended family (if you have your client’s permission), that mama is going to be encouraged to stay in bed for a while after the birth and that she’s not ‘being lazy.'” Mothers can have a lot of difficulty giving themselves this permission and it can help to have the acknowledgement and encouragement to family members coming from an outside source.

“Remind them that a true six-week postpartum window allows for the placenta site to fully heal and supports minimized bleeding and stronger recovery.” An excellent tip for educators and doulas from Barbeau is to illustrate size of placental site healing area with hands like small dinner plate—if this was outside the body, how would you care for yourself…

“Encourage preparation for postpartum success!” I write about the idea of postpartum expression instead of postpartum depression. See ample past articles about postpartum planning and a nice specific story about creating a nest here.

“Although pregnancy and birth is a richly intuitive and instinctive process, a woman will prepare her ‘nest’ and birth according to the style of her culture, in the same way that a particular species of bird will build its nest with whatever is available.”

–Pam England

Let’s help make sure her nest is rich, resourceful, blessed, and beautiful!

Tuesday Tidbits: Teeth and Teaching

Jan29

“Do not try to satisfy your vanity by teaching a great many things. Awaken people’s curiosity. It is enough to open minds; do not overload them. Put there just a spark. If there is some good inflammable stuff, it will catch fire.”
—Anatole France (in The Earth Speaks)

“A woman who writes has power, and a woman with power is feared.” —Gloria Anzaldúa, “Speaking in Tongues” (via The Girl God via Guerrilla Feminism)

Bits of the birth net:

It is old news, but this week a 2009 post from The Unnecesarean caught my eye: An OB’s Birth Plan: Obstetrician’s Disclosure Sent One Mom Running. The article describes the “doctor’s birth plan” a mother received from her medical care provider, which includes gems like this one:

“…I do not accept birth plans. Many birth plans conflict with approved modern obstetrical techniques and guidelines. I follow the guidelines of the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology which is the organization responsible for setting the standard of care in the United States. Certain organizations, under the guise of “Natural Birth” promote practices that are outdated and unsafe. You should notify me immediately, if you are enrolled in courses that encourage a specific birth plan. Conflicts should be resolved long before we approach your due date. Please note that I do not accept the Bradley Birth Plan. You may ask my office staff for our list of recommended childbirth classes…”

One of many reasons to run far away from this doctor! One of my Facebook friends made a great point though: “at least he’s honest! I think there are other doctors with similar views who might not make it clear until it’s ‘too late.'” This is true–he said it, but you know a LOT of people are thinking it/acting on it. So, that IS good that he was up front. Another mother then commented to add her own similar experience: “We went to an OB who had us sign something saying we would not have a birth plan or hire a doula. It felt so creepy to sign away all involvement in my own child’s birth – and doing so at 9 weeks felt like I was signing that I’d keep my mouth shut throughout the pregnancy, too. But gratefully, as you’re saying, it was clear early on that way this was not the OB for us. I’m sure many don’t get to find out before labor.”

Speaking of teaching and igniting sparks, it isn’t too late to register for our next Birth Skills Workshop—rapidly approaching on February 2nd! This workshop is specifically designed not to be a lecture, but is a hands-on, skills-building workshop.

Also via ScoopIt, I shared this article: Bearing the Burden of Choice: A Young Feminist’s Perspective

“Based on personal observation, choices concerning women’s reproductive health are heavily concentrated in preventative action – what are the best practices to avoid pregnancy? Consequently, prevention inspired language lends to a negative association with child bearing. It is something to prevent rather than embrace…”

She goes on to address something that I find to be a reason why sometimes birth activists have trouble connecting to the larger feminist community:

Abortion is one of those issues that seems to leak into every “women’s issue” whether initially intended or not. Needless to say, we talked about abortion to the point of exhaustion. Not to take away from the weight of abortion to the feminist cause, I began to recognize a gap in our reproductive justice discussions. I found myself asking the question:What about the women who choose the path of childbearing?…

Those women are basically why I’m here and why I do what I do. And, what has been on my mind recently is explored in my most recent post: What to tell a mother-to-be about the realities of mothering…

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” and, “why isn’t anyone talking about this?” is a common refrain echoing in the postpartum tales of many mothers. So, why don’t we tell them? Or, what can we actually tell them? Is there a way to really do so? I kind of think there’s not…

And, connecting the teaching and the sparks and the women’s issues and the women writing having power, I also made sure to sign this petition: Vigorously support women’s rights by fully engaging in efforts to ratify the 1972 Equal Rights Amendment. This is going to be one of the discussions towards the end of my current Social Policy class (I can’t really write much about it here, but suffice to say the class is extraordinarily challenging so far and we’re only to week three). I hope no one vigorously disagrees with it or I might FREAK OUT! When I shared it on Facebook, a friend commented: “I am enraged that women’s rights are an ‘issue.‘” To which I replied: “Isn’t that the truth?! I hate that. It boggles my mind that women’s rights are considered a political issue that anyone could have a ‘position’ on. The nerve!!! ARGH. FREAK OUT, I TELL YOU”

And now, the teeth…

This post is essentially all about what I shared on Facebook apparently (might as well get some mileage out of it!). This is what I wrote yesterday:

In case anyone cares, I’m totally sick of taking my kids to the dentist! All three had appointments in Sullivan today (1.25 hour drive one way). Alaina wasn’t cooperative and is clearly traumatized from prior dental experience and we will need to go back to a pediatric dentist for her (crowns on two molars). Zander’s were good and he got two seals. Lann had two extractions (previously filled teeth) and one filling. I’m exhausted!

I still haven’t written my planned blog post about the heartbreak of tooth decay. I came home yesterday all fired up to write it, but then I had to get caught up on grading instead. But, I did take these pictures of my little pearls-wearing, skirt-sporting, curly-haired, brave little girl:

I told her I wanted to take a picture of her face and she ran away from me like this!

Two other Facebook kid updates from this week that were funny:

Alaina put a bracelet on pushed high on her arm. When she took it off, it left a red mark. She looked at the mark solemnly and said, “scar.” Poor little sugar. She said it very acceptingly. Like, yep, I’m scarred now…

And

Yesterday, my little entrepreneurs cooked up a plan to raise some money to buy a pug. They decided they should raise Dobermans and sell them…”When people see the big cage of Dobermans in our yard, we’ll just tell them, don’t worry…it’s for pugs!” Hmm. I see a couple of flaws with this plan…

Hearing this, it suddenly became clear to me how puppy mills were invented—a couple of pre-ten-year-olds (or, adults with similar critical thinking skills) hung around talking about money-making schemes…

What to tell a mother-to-be about the realities of mothering…

Jan26

I see new friends starting out on the road to motherhood with mixed feelings. Immense joy at the ecstasy of love they are about to experience, great protectiveness, wishing to shield them from the scars it will make on their souls, the pain, the heart ache, the worry, the exhaustion, the touching of anger which they had been able to keep hidden all these years. But this is the journey. The one that makes us the mothers that we will be. The mothers that our children will live with every day, yet barely know… –Lucy Pearce, Moods of Motherhood

A few years ago, a life coach and women’s health expert I follow online got pregnant. During her pregnancy, she started a new Facebook fan page called Blissful Motherhood* (*not really. It was called something different, but I’m protecting her identity). I am going to confess that my first reaction was to kind of meanly laugh to myself as I thought, “oh honey! You poor thing. You have NO FREAKIN CLUE.” So, a couple of months after she had her baby, she showed back up on her real Facebook page with a familiar lament: oh my goodness, this is SO HARD, why didn’t anyone TELL ME?! And, again, my initial reaction was kind of a mean secret snicker (so, how’s that Blissful Motherhood page treating you now?!). Then, I swallowed that unbecoming reaction and I told her this:

When I had my first baby, I would see women who were pregnant and feel almost a sense of grief for them—like, just wait, you have NO idea what is coming. I also told my husband more than once: “this is both more wonderful and more HORRIBLE than I ever could have imagined.” The fear of being thought a “bad mom” is SO powerful that it keeps us quiet about many things. I’ve felt more than once that my kids were “torturing” or me or literally trying to crush my spirit/soul. It sounds horrible to type it out, but that is how I feel sometimes! I’ve also written about how it interesting to feel both captivated AND captive. Bonded and also bound. I discovered that there was a whole new section of women’s rights I hadn’t even been aware of prekids–mother’s rights. I do think many, many women have written about this, but when you start out you feel like you’re the only one whose “daring” to mention the ugly side [she’d also mentioned, “why doesn’t anyone write about this?” Um, they totally do. A lot]. Start reading “momoirs”—they’re a lifeline! So many good ones out there. I have a big collection of them. Oh, and start reading Brain, Child magazine. The best look at real mothering I’ve ever know.

This, “why didn’t anyone tell me?” and, “why isn’t anyone talking about this?” is a common refrain echoing in the postpartum tales of many mothers. So, why don’t we tell them? Or, what can we actually tell them? Is there a way to really do so? I kind of think there’s not.

Lucy Pearce explains it like this in her Moods of Motherhood book:

Nobody told me… You look at me bewildered, eyes grey with exhaustion. Milk-spattered, baggy clothes, hair awry. “Nobody told me…” you begin. You look at me, urging me to explain myself. How could I have kept this, all of this, secret from her? Surely it was my duty to prepare her. “Nobody told me how much it would hurt, how exhausted I would feel, how much love I have in my heart that I think I will burst, how overwhelming it all is…” her eyes begin to well with the enormity of her new knowing. All I can do is to smile. To hold her. “We tried.” I say softly. Stroking her tousled hair. And I think to myself. It is not so much that we did not tell you, as you could not hear. Until you have your own child, held in your heart, your ears are blocked, your eyes are blind to the reality of motherhood. Its pains and its glories. Once you have been there, stood in the body of motherhood, then you can hold hands with every woman who has ever mothered. You know her joys and pains. You are her.

Looking at my own pre-motherhood life, I think this is right. I could not hear. I didn’t want to hear. I saw frazzled mothers stumbling into LLL meetings and “complaining” about their precious darlings and thought things like, “I’ll never feel that way!” I remember thinking after my first son was born that everything I’d feared it would be like to have a baby was TRUE and everything I’d dreamed it would be like, was also true. My mother told me before he was born that the, “highs are higher and the lows are lower” after a baby, which is also very true, but I don’t think there’s any way to fully prepare for that. My future doula gave me a letter at my blessingway in which she tried to lovingly express what it is really like and I put it away thinking,”for you maybe!”

First baby: tender triumph and dazed reality.

In response to the Blissful Motherhood life coach, another woman responded: “I remember my mom trying to get real with me before I had my first baby and I was horrified with what she told me, almost angry that she would try to burst my bubble… then I had my little boy came along and I wondered why she hadn’t told me more…Sometimes the realities of motherhood do just seem too harsh to share…” Personally, I didn’t want to hear much about the realities of parenting from my own mother, because if her experience of mothering was terrible, HELLO, that would have been my fault. I didn’t want to know that I’d made her suffer and stress!

My own childbirth educator simply told a story: when her own first child was a newborn, sometimes the baby cried so much and so long, that the educator would put her down in the middle of the living room floor and go outside and run around the house multiple times. While initially only “hearing” this story in brief passing (i.e. I’ll never feel that way), I touched back in with that story multiple times during my first son’s first year. I never actually did the running, but what the story gave me was permission to feel badly about parenting and to want to get away from it. And, you know why? Because that childbirth educator was a rocking cool lady and if someone that rocking cool had to “lose it” and run around her house like a freak, then I must not be doing such a bad job myself.

However, I also don’t tell them, those sparkling, beautiful, bright, glorious, happy, and full of promise pregnant women, what it is really like, because I don’t want to ever be the one to steal their joy, their excitement, their sense of promise, and their happy anticipation of “the greatest days of their life” or the fulfillment of a lifetime dream of parenthood. And, guess what? I think I’ve also realized that that sense of promise and anticipation is reborn, at least in part, during every pregnancy. It isn’t only the territory of the blissfully unaware, it is a gift that accompanies each new baby—the dream that this baby will be wonderful and perfect and so, too, can you be the mother you’ve always imagined being. It is a new, bright, hopeful start, every time.

It wasn’t actually until I had Alaina that I felt like I finally really enjoyed having a baby and being a mother the way I’d always dreamed of. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy the others, I certainly did, but not in that delicious, complete, whole, and vibrant way in which I reveled in her. She was the first baby for whom I felt fully capable of totally giving myself to and not feeling captive by that gift. Perhaps not coincidentally, she was also the first baby for which I did not quit doing other things I wanted to do in order to mother her. My first son’s birth necessitated essentially totally dismantling my previous life and identity. It was SO HARD. I felt so much grief and loss about abandoning so much that I’d cared about so deeply. With my second son, I was finding my legs as a mother-person and feeling my way into other roles and responsibilities that were compatible with motherhood. My feelings of depression and fatigue after him were lifted when I started to find my voice as a blogger, as the editor of the Friends of Missouri Midwives newsletter, as a breastfeeding counselor, and as a birth educator. I’d redefined myself to include motherhood as the core facet of my identity, but in a way that allowed me personal expression and the ability to “make a difference” to other women. With my last baby, my mother-voice outlets were firmly established, my tribe was healthy and strong, and my non-mother career was compatible in an integrated and fairly harmonious way with family life. It was then that I finally felt like being a “good mother” AND doing others things at the same time was actually possible and (pretty much) stopped trying to make excuses for never having given up on that desire.

So what do you think? What can we tell mothers-to-be about the realities of mothering? Do we tell them anything or do we just hug them later when they cry and tell us they had no idea, why didn’t anyone tell me? What stories, like that of my own childbirth educator, do you have that you share with clients? Stories are handy ways of imparting life wisdom without being directive or prescriptive, or implying that someone must be exactly like you. I tell my clients a story of reaching out my hand to my husband, our fingers not quite able to touch, and saying, I miss you. I tell them about my feelings of this parenting thing being both more horrible and more wonderful than I ever imagined. I tell them about my childbirth educator running around her house. I give them tips and tips and more tips about making a postpartum plan. And, I tell them they look gorgeous. And, that they’ll be wonderful parents; that their babies are so lucky to have them. I listen to their happy birth plans and celebrate their enthusiasm. I point out how I notice how well they work together and what a great team they are. I wish them beautiful births and happy babymoons and tell them to email me or call me if they need anything. I hope they’ll remember that I’m there and that I do have the capacity to hear “ugly” without rejecting them. I remind them as many times as I can that they’re strong and beautiful and capable…and then, I open my hands and heart and watch them fly away into their own unknown, mysterious, tender, fragile, and precious journey.

Postpartum hands picture, taken by my mother in 2003.

Some relevant past blog posts:

Rebirth: What We Don’t Say

Surrender

Birthing the Mother-Writer

I Just Want to Grind My Corn

Moods of Motherhood book (free on Kindle!)

Jan23

Just this Tuesday, I referenced Lucy Pearce’s blog Dreaming Aloud. She has another deep and beautiful blog called The Happy Womb and she wrote a wonderful book called Moon Time, which I reviewed a while back and continue to refer to monthly. She also has a theory I adore about being Creative Rainbow Women (and Mamas). Anyway, Lucy’s new book The Moods of Motherhood is free on Kindle today! I snapped it up right away and so should you! 🙂