I have been thinking more about labor and delivery these days, since they should be upon me in the next four to ten weeks. And I keep thinking about the moms around me, and the control they've either taken themselves of their pregnancies and births or have relinquished to care givers, not knowing their options.
Let me start right off by saying that I know most everybody wants the very best for their children and themselves, so stories like these can make people feel regretful about their own journeys if they were different. And I hate that! Feeling threatened or judged, we avoid talking or thinking about complex issues. But every story has room for redemption - that's what I think - whether a person is done having kids or not. So, hopefully these will inspire you in one way or another, maybe having nothing to do with childbearing!
These two friends, one from college and one from the blogosphere, recently had babies, and their blog stories are beautiful (and eerily similar), although they expressed them quite differently! Melissa's story is longer and more descriptive of the specific choices she made, so that's helpful for those in the same boat who want ideas. Both women had their first children (boys) five or six years ago by C-Section. Both were disappointed in the births and wondered in hindsight if their C-sections could've been avoided. Both adopted their second children. Melissa had a third child by VBAC (vaginal birth after C-section) two years ago, and both just had little girls by VBAC in the last few months. The differences in their second and third births were tremendous; they educated themselves on what they could do differently and they chose care givers with similar values. In regard to large babies (which both had with the first), they both carefully watched their diet this time (and other things) and were rewarded with babies who were about 8.5 pounds.
Melissa's story about Amarys
Autumn's story about Mavis
For moms-to-be, or women who hope to one day be mothers, I urge you, I beg you, please immerse yourself in these and similar stories. For some odd reason, it's not a mainstream idea to take control of your pregnancy and delivery, to ask questions, and to go with your maternal instincts. So if you're just going by what you hear, you'll think childbirth is mostly about pain and struggle (and that modern medical interventions are there to save you). But the rewards for birthing the way your body intended are out of this world! And from what these two women say, there's a lot of redemption to be had, ways you can heal from past trauma and disappointment in birth.
While I'm talking about stories, I'll throw out a suggestion for one of my favorite birth books, Ina May's Guide to Childbirth. Ina May is like the guru of midwives in the United States, and this book of hers is insightful and empowering. The whole first half is birth stories, and the second half is practical things you can do at various points of pregnancy and labor to have a natural, safe, and fearless delivery. She studied indiginous childbirth around the world and learned from midwives who don't have medical options at their fingertips, but she's not opposed to medical care when a true emergency arises.
The secret to natural childbirth is not that birth is pain free, but that women are strong.
- paraphrase of a quote I read in a clinic and can't find the source for
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
the day: sickness and injury in toddlers, snow-boarders, geriatrics, dogs, and pregnant women
Some days require their own whole blog post; you've beheld enough interesting sights and heard enough news, been reminded of enough of life's themes, and wondered hard enough how an acquaintance took your conversation, that you get home and say, "You know, I just need to write this down."
Zoralee woke up with a snot trickle. There have been some serious nasties going around, so of course I'm hoping against hers developing into any of those. That was the least interesting thing I had to say, but it is a reality that lead to an afternoon nap in which we lay skin to skin while I gave her a little breast milk medicine on tap and thought about the day so far. Sickness and injury was definitely a theme.
On the way to church, Mom read us two emails from the caregivers of some of our recovering family members - a young cousin who had knee and leg surgery following a pretty bad snowboarding accident, and an early-70's great-aunt learning to talk, walk, and write again a year beyond a steroid injection for back pain gone wrong. The striking thing about the letters was that, despite very unfortunate circumstances that have and may continue to drag on for an unknown period of time, the caregivers (a mother and a husband) were hopeful. They focused on small victories, things that wouldn't even be worthy of mention if you were dealing with healthy people. But I suppose the standard of progress can change in an instant, as can the standard of a normal day, a normal life.
We also learned that Murray, pictured below, had eaten one of those giant 7 ounce Hershey's chocolate kisses the night before, necessitating a middle-of-the-night visit to the animal hospital and some worried hours for Luke and Heather (brother and wife). Fortunately, it looks like the little guy will be okay, because his system is essentially rejecting the chocolate in every way possible, ahem, out of every orifice possible. I can only imagine his glee though when he first saw the kiss and began tearing into the foil, realizing this was a gold mine like no other.
We met my grandparents at a church new to me, specifically to hear a local brass ensemble perform the "sermon," which was a walk through liturgical and religious music from about the 1500's onward. Zoralee and I hadn't attended a conventional church in awhile, so when we first got there, she stood on the pew beside me and looked around with wonder. She said, "Ohhhhhh!" like it was a Eureka moment. I said to her, "This is church." Of course, I disagree with that statement theologically - "this is church" - but it was no time for hair splitting, as the band was about to kick off. I really enjoyed the songs and explanations; Zoralee did too, though she's the type of kid to supplement her music appreciation with farm animal play and doodling on paper.
One thing about churches around here (or grocery stores or theatres) - lots of white people. My lands, I hadn't been in a room with that many white people in, well, nine months. And one thing about this particular church - lots of older people. Permed hairdos and extreme-floral-print shirts for the ladies, suits for the gents. One couple caught my eye. They were both well kept and looked easy-going, the kind of people you'd want to talk with at length. She must have Parkinson's disease, or something like it, and was in a wheelchair. He was very handsome, bearded. After church, he was loading her up via wheelchair lift into a VW vanagon. Yes. An older, maybe mid-80's VW vanagon. Mine eyeballs were both confused and delighted. Believe me, I'm filing away that revelation: just because one of us gets a debilitating disease doesn't mean we can't have fun transportation.
At lunch, I saw an acquaintance who is the same farness along in pregnancy that I am. Normally I don't delve into pregnancy and birthing issues (that I care deeply about) with a near-stranger unless they too are really into it. I value individual choice, and I think there's a time and a place for nearly everything, so a variety of well-informed methods and perspectives doesn't bother me. But what gets me fired up is when a woman has no idea that there are ways she can increase her chances of a healthy pregnancy and normal birth. I am not angry at the woman; I am angry at her health care provider, be it doctor, midwife, or whomever isn't making known to her the range of choices and their benefits and risks. Birth can usually be such a beautiful, intense, life-enhancing, confidence-giving experience (barring serious medical conditions that threaten mama or baby), that when women are pushed through the process in ways that strip them of control, I feel nearly the same anger as I would toward a rapist.
This acquaintance gal, sweet as can be, mentioned that she may be having a C-section if the baby gets too big. I was curious! How big is her baby right now?! Turns out, my midwife (by feel) and her doctor (by ultrasound) estimated our respective babies to be within 1/2 pound of each other at 32 weeks - mine 4 pounds, hers 4.5 pounds. I was totally alarmed that her doctor would be already seriously considering (and gearing her up for) a C-section for a potentially perfect baby! I asked if the doctor was discussing diet with her. She was surprised by the question. "Nope," she said, "not at all." Aaagh! I suggested she might want to google it, and I briefly mentioned two friends who had first children by C-sections five or six years ago due to "large" babies of 10-11 pounds. By watching diet (and taking a totally different approach to birth, which I didn't mention), their recent full term babies were 8.5 pounds, both born vaginally and completely naturally.
But here's the rub. She, having every right to be so, was uninterested. She's sure that she eats too much, but oh well. This reasoning is so different than the birthing subculture I'm most familiar with that it threw me for a loop. I moved on to general congratulations and lightness, but it really bugged me for a bit there. Debriefing with my folks afterwards, I was again reminded that sometimes people don't want the complexity of considering options, and in a free country, that's their prerogative. So then I felt weird about what I said, like maybe I'd overstepped my bounds. It was probably fine to express my honest surprise at her doctor, but I shouldn't have mentioned my friends. It's helpful to know about real life examples, if you're open, but it's not helpful to be blithely compared to others, which I may have inadvertently done. So, doggies. The last thing a pregnant woman needs is stress that she's not doing something right. But, but, but what if this information could save her a major abdominal surgery, 6 weeks of recovery, the heartache of bonding and breastfeeding problems, etc. etc. etc. etc., and instead allow her to have the most incredible experience ever? Choosing between advice-giving and advice-withholding is very difficult sometimes.
Another post I want to do soon is about the lessons I learned from my first birth, things I want to remember and apply to this upcoming birth. I hope to get some feedback from y'all too, no matter your stories! In fact, after I'd finished this post, I read a great story, and I'm gonna post a link right next.
Zoralee woke up with a snot trickle. There have been some serious nasties going around, so of course I'm hoping against hers developing into any of those. That was the least interesting thing I had to say, but it is a reality that lead to an afternoon nap in which we lay skin to skin while I gave her a little breast milk medicine on tap and thought about the day so far. Sickness and injury was definitely a theme.
On the way to church, Mom read us two emails from the caregivers of some of our recovering family members - a young cousin who had knee and leg surgery following a pretty bad snowboarding accident, and an early-70's great-aunt learning to talk, walk, and write again a year beyond a steroid injection for back pain gone wrong. The striking thing about the letters was that, despite very unfortunate circumstances that have and may continue to drag on for an unknown period of time, the caregivers (a mother and a husband) were hopeful. They focused on small victories, things that wouldn't even be worthy of mention if you were dealing with healthy people. But I suppose the standard of progress can change in an instant, as can the standard of a normal day, a normal life.
We also learned that Murray, pictured below, had eaten one of those giant 7 ounce Hershey's chocolate kisses the night before, necessitating a middle-of-the-night visit to the animal hospital and some worried hours for Luke and Heather (brother and wife). Fortunately, it looks like the little guy will be okay, because his system is essentially rejecting the chocolate in every way possible, ahem, out of every orifice possible. I can only imagine his glee though when he first saw the kiss and began tearing into the foil, realizing this was a gold mine like no other.
 |
| Murray, two days ago at the park, pre-7-oz-Hershey's-kiss |
One thing about churches around here (or grocery stores or theatres) - lots of white people. My lands, I hadn't been in a room with that many white people in, well, nine months. And one thing about this particular church - lots of older people. Permed hairdos and extreme-floral-print shirts for the ladies, suits for the gents. One couple caught my eye. They were both well kept and looked easy-going, the kind of people you'd want to talk with at length. She must have Parkinson's disease, or something like it, and was in a wheelchair. He was very handsome, bearded. After church, he was loading her up via wheelchair lift into a VW vanagon. Yes. An older, maybe mid-80's VW vanagon. Mine eyeballs were both confused and delighted. Believe me, I'm filing away that revelation: just because one of us gets a debilitating disease doesn't mean we can't have fun transportation.
At lunch, I saw an acquaintance who is the same farness along in pregnancy that I am. Normally I don't delve into pregnancy and birthing issues (that I care deeply about) with a near-stranger unless they too are really into it. I value individual choice, and I think there's a time and a place for nearly everything, so a variety of well-informed methods and perspectives doesn't bother me. But what gets me fired up is when a woman has no idea that there are ways she can increase her chances of a healthy pregnancy and normal birth. I am not angry at the woman; I am angry at her health care provider, be it doctor, midwife, or whomever isn't making known to her the range of choices and their benefits and risks. Birth can usually be such a beautiful, intense, life-enhancing, confidence-giving experience (barring serious medical conditions that threaten mama or baby), that when women are pushed through the process in ways that strip them of control, I feel nearly the same anger as I would toward a rapist.
This acquaintance gal, sweet as can be, mentioned that she may be having a C-section if the baby gets too big. I was curious! How big is her baby right now?! Turns out, my midwife (by feel) and her doctor (by ultrasound) estimated our respective babies to be within 1/2 pound of each other at 32 weeks - mine 4 pounds, hers 4.5 pounds. I was totally alarmed that her doctor would be already seriously considering (and gearing her up for) a C-section for a potentially perfect baby! I asked if the doctor was discussing diet with her. She was surprised by the question. "Nope," she said, "not at all." Aaagh! I suggested she might want to google it, and I briefly mentioned two friends who had first children by C-sections five or six years ago due to "large" babies of 10-11 pounds. By watching diet (and taking a totally different approach to birth, which I didn't mention), their recent full term babies were 8.5 pounds, both born vaginally and completely naturally.
But here's the rub. She, having every right to be so, was uninterested. She's sure that she eats too much, but oh well. This reasoning is so different than the birthing subculture I'm most familiar with that it threw me for a loop. I moved on to general congratulations and lightness, but it really bugged me for a bit there. Debriefing with my folks afterwards, I was again reminded that sometimes people don't want the complexity of considering options, and in a free country, that's their prerogative. So then I felt weird about what I said, like maybe I'd overstepped my bounds. It was probably fine to express my honest surprise at her doctor, but I shouldn't have mentioned my friends. It's helpful to know about real life examples, if you're open, but it's not helpful to be blithely compared to others, which I may have inadvertently done. So, doggies. The last thing a pregnant woman needs is stress that she's not doing something right. But, but, but what if this information could save her a major abdominal surgery, 6 weeks of recovery, the heartache of bonding and breastfeeding problems, etc. etc. etc. etc., and instead allow her to have the most incredible experience ever? Choosing between advice-giving and advice-withholding is very difficult sometimes.
Another post I want to do soon is about the lessons I learned from my first birth, things I want to remember and apply to this upcoming birth. I hope to get some feedback from y'all too, no matter your stories! In fact, after I'd finished this post, I read a great story, and I'm gonna post a link right next.
transition: the trip from south to north
I really like change (aside from death and disease), but I need good transitions. And, moving from Texas to our temporary home again in Montana, we got a good transition. The advanced start on packing and cleaning helped, but also, the trip itself wound up taking about three days, even though we flew. This was an unexpected benefit, the downside being that my sister had gone to MT to see us and was hum-drumming her fingers on the table while we turtle-crawled our way there. For those three days of being between houses, we had only a single carry-on bag with a couple of outfits and a few choice toys. This really freed us up to relax, to cuddle and play more, to take in our surroundings, and (for me) to think about our stint in Texas.
As an aside, we had Jason bring us only two suitcases of clothes for the 8-12 weeks we'll be in MT, and it is SO WONDERFUL to not have stuff to tend to. (Most of it is either already in North Dakota with Jason or sitting in our big blue van in the yard.) I hate stuff! By some standards, we may not have much, but it's definitely more than three or four humans need. When we unpack each box in North Dakota, we are specifically aiming to stock our tiny town's thrift store (if they have one...hm). "Get rid of!" is our forever motto that is easier to fantasize about than to live by. We'd like to be able to pack up our entire life in a single day if need be, leaving furniture behind, of course. Is that possible? I already feel like the world is my closet as long as there's a thrift store, but I need that sentiment to extend to kitchen supplies, trinkets and gadgets, books, projects, sewing material, and and and and....
So, the trip - -
I had purchased mine and Zoralee's plane tickets about six weeks in advance to leave the same day as Jason. His plan was to drive to ND, drop off our crud, and take the train to MT to spend a week with us. I would've loved to have taken the road trip with him, but our Zoralee is just not ready; two hours in the car is her max, the pickle. Anyway, shortly after I bought tickets, Jason's last day of work was moved up; so, Z and I ended up hanging around a hotel in Texas for an extra day. Plus, to get decent fares in and out of small towns at spring break time, our trip was broken up by a night in Las Vegas.
All of that meant a surprise slumber party with the friends who'd given us their prepaid motel room and driven northward only to be forced to return with a broken down vehicle (and two dogs and cat!), one more lunch date with some stay-behind friends, a last carousel ride at the mall for Zoralee, several hours on the airport lawn in the Texas pre-summer heat, and a night and morning in Vegas, where we happened upon a parade of racing dunebuggies. In Vegas, I had forewarned Zoralee that she'd see a lot of people playing giant games in the hotel. When we saw them, she said something really funny. I can't remember what.
I felt so much love for Zoralee and our growing family on that trip, so much appreciation for Jason and for our life together. And Zoralee grew up a little, as she always seems to do on trips. I don't know if it was stepping outside of our routine, or the joy in knowing we were on to the next thing, or having time to just be, but it was a special time for me, a good transition.
As an aside, we had Jason bring us only two suitcases of clothes for the 8-12 weeks we'll be in MT, and it is SO WONDERFUL to not have stuff to tend to. (Most of it is either already in North Dakota with Jason or sitting in our big blue van in the yard.) I hate stuff! By some standards, we may not have much, but it's definitely more than three or four humans need. When we unpack each box in North Dakota, we are specifically aiming to stock our tiny town's thrift store (if they have one...hm). "Get rid of!" is our forever motto that is easier to fantasize about than to live by. We'd like to be able to pack up our entire life in a single day if need be, leaving furniture behind, of course. Is that possible? I already feel like the world is my closet as long as there's a thrift store, but I need that sentiment to extend to kitchen supplies, trinkets and gadgets, books, projects, sewing material, and and and and....
So, the trip - -
I had purchased mine and Zoralee's plane tickets about six weeks in advance to leave the same day as Jason. His plan was to drive to ND, drop off our crud, and take the train to MT to spend a week with us. I would've loved to have taken the road trip with him, but our Zoralee is just not ready; two hours in the car is her max, the pickle. Anyway, shortly after I bought tickets, Jason's last day of work was moved up; so, Z and I ended up hanging around a hotel in Texas for an extra day. Plus, to get decent fares in and out of small towns at spring break time, our trip was broken up by a night in Las Vegas.
All of that meant a surprise slumber party with the friends who'd given us their prepaid motel room and driven northward only to be forced to return with a broken down vehicle (and two dogs and cat!), one more lunch date with some stay-behind friends, a last carousel ride at the mall for Zoralee, several hours on the airport lawn in the Texas pre-summer heat, and a night and morning in Vegas, where we happened upon a parade of racing dunebuggies. In Vegas, I had forewarned Zoralee that she'd see a lot of people playing giant games in the hotel. When we saw them, she said something really funny. I can't remember what.
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| Lada, just being the highlight of Zoralee's week |
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| airplane play |
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| morning walk in Vegas |
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| eery scene from an ancient time - an old payphone booth without the phone |
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| - dunebuggy parade - You can't see her in this pic, but one of the girls in this booth was wearing a crown. Last year's Dunebuggy Parade Princess? |
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| man's and nature's ideas of Tall, Skinny Things With Puffs on Top |
Sunday, April 10, 2011
two going on sixteen
Me: I like being your mommy.
Z: [rolling eyes to the side, as if to avoid such awkward, intimate talk, even though crikies, she's only 2, then quietly] I'm glad you are.
Me: ha ha ha! You are??
Z: Yeah. [whisper, whisper, whisper] I'm talkin' to myself.
Me: ha ha ha! Like Mommy does?
Z: Yeah. Where did I put my phone? Where did I put my phone?
So, within just a few lines of conversation, she covered embarassment over my expression of love and immitation of my weaknesses.
Z: [rolling eyes to the side, as if to avoid such awkward, intimate talk, even though crikies, she's only 2, then quietly] I'm glad you are.
Me: ha ha ha! You are??
Z: Yeah. [whisper, whisper, whisper] I'm talkin' to myself.
Me: ha ha ha! Like Mommy does?
Z: Yeah. Where did I put my phone? Where did I put my phone?
So, within just a few lines of conversation, she covered embarassment over my expression of love and immitation of my weaknesses.
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