Eagle's Birth Story - Part 3 - Then suddenly, everything changed!

To read Eagle's Birth Story - Part 1, click here
To read Eagle's Birth Story - Part 2, click here

The walk changed everything, and very quickly put me into active labor.  It was probably about 1:00 in the afternoon when we came back in.  At one point, my friend Jo called, and I chatted with her between contractions.  I told her things were progressing slowly, and I didn't know how long this would take, but it might be a while (little did I know).  I asked her to tell me about something completely unrelated to my labor.  Towards the end of the conversation, she apologized for distracting me.  Not at all, I said, it was so comforting to hear her voice.

I labored sitting on my yoga ball most of the time.  Andrea or Brian suggested we put on some music, and since I hadn't specifically prepared any, I suggested the only thing I knew the location of, Stevie Wonder's The Definitive Collection.  Venus, my eight year old, who was anxious to help, went and got it.  That CD is an hour and twenty minutes long, and Eagle probably would have been born before it ended, but we switched to something more mellow at the end.  I still have no idea what it was, because I couldn't concentrate by that point.  It's safe to say that by the end of labor, I was no longer in a Stevie Wonder sort of mood anyway.  But for a while, I tried to sing along and circle my hips on the yoga ball to the rhythm.  Brian sat behind me and rubbed my hips and thighs, and Andrea moved my knees in big circles to keep me loose.

So I hadn't been checking my dilation regularly, but things were progressing a lot faster than I thought they were.  I pulled myself back from the edge of panic a few times.  Once, when I was kneeling and leaning forward over the yoga ball, with a bucket near me because I thought I might puke, I felt this immense expansive sensation in my lower abdomen, and then the thought occurred to me that my ass was about to explode.  For a split second, I actually thought I was about to be ripped to shreds.  I'm not sure how I knew, but at that moment I told myself, "You're not going to explode, it's just the baby moving down."  And as quickly as it had come, the feeling passed.  Still, I had no idea how far along I was, I kept wondering when I might start going through transition.

At that point, Andrea suggested I get in the birthing pool.  What a great idea!  Why hadn't I thought of that before?  She reminded me to go pee once more before I got in.  In my second labor, which was my first home birth, I felt the need to have someone at my side at all times, and there were many times that Brian literally held my hand while I went to the bathroom.  But during this labor I was much more independent, and used the bathroom alone just like I would any other time.  The last time I peed before getting in the pool, I had a really intense contraction on the toilet complete with a lot of downward pressure.  At first, I wasn't sure how to cope.  I stood up, sat down, stood up, sat down, stood up...I just couldn't get a handle on it!  I was about to call for somebody to come and rescue me, when I talked myself out of panic again.  I told myself, "I am not going to loose it yet.  I am a strong, able bodied woman, doing what woman's bodies do."  The contraction passed, and I pulled off my leggings and undies and made a bee line for the pool.

As soon as I lowered myself into the water, I felt an incredible relaxation come over me.  There was such a difference between the contractions I'd been having outside of the pool and the first few in the pool.  I actually said "I feel like I'm on vacation!"  When I checked my dilation, I said "Oh my gosh!"  I was surprised to discover that I was almost completely dilated with the bag of water bulging out.  I didn't tell Brian or Andrea what I felt, but I think she suspected I was close.  It seems a bit clueless in retrospect, but I was still waiting for transition.  I was still waiting for that time in labor when I would start saying irrational things like "I can't do this!", "I don't want to do this!", "I give up!" or "Just give me drugs!"  But I never said anything like that, and before I knew it, I felt my muscles tightening and bearing down.  Without my conscious effort, my body was starting to push my baby out.

The sensation was strong, and I was starting to get very vocal.  Andrea asked me if I had done yoga before, and suggested I make an "OM" sound, a long, low and calming sound.  Brian and Andrea were making "Om" sounds, and I was trying to match my tone to theirs.  Even the girls were "Om"ing!  By this point, I felt like I was sweating buckets, and I asked for a cold cloth and a bowl of ice water, which Venus went and got.  Andrea went upstairs to get some warm towels from the dryer.

Then I started to feel the most incredible and intense feeling I have ever felt.  I can't even really describe it.  It isn't like anything else.  I suddenly knew what people meant by "The Ring of Fire." (I didn't have this feeling in my other unmedicated water birth).  It burned and it stung.  Oh boy did it sting!  The intensity took my breath away.  When Andrea came back downstairs, she says I looked at her with "wild eyes."  I was searching her face for some sign that she knew what I was feeling, that she had been there before.  She smiled and said "Is the baby right there?"  This was the only moment in my labor which I would describe as painful.  It was also the only moment in which I felt fear.  I wasn't  afraid that something was going wrong or that something would go wrong, I was only afraid of the pain.  Nobody likes to feel pain.

As the contraction ended, the burning subsided, and I talked to my baby for the last time before meeting him face to face.  I pleaded with him: "Please don't hurt me.  Please don't hurt me."  The next contraction was all business, with the bag of water bulging out and my baby's head inside it.  Half way out.  One more contraction.  The head was out.  I breathed the biggest sigh of relief in my life.  "The head is out."  "Oh, thank god!"  I rested through the next contraction, maybe a few of them.  I caught my breath, had a drink of water.  Then one more contraction.  The bag of waters broke open as he slid out into the water, quickly and easily.

I held him while he was still under the water and looked at him.  I saw balls.  "It's a boy?" (I had never had a boy before)  I checked again. "Yup, it's a boy!"  And Brian said "Hello, Eagle!"  I brought him up out of the water, and he cried a little.

Eagle was born at about 3:30 pm.  After a few minutes, Andrea asked me if I wanted to get out of the water.  I told her no, I wanted to deliver the placenta in the water.  So we covered him with warm blankets and waited.  I held him skin to skin and looked him over and over and over.  He didn't want to nurse right away, he still had amniotic fluid coming from his nose and mouth.  He nursed after about 45 minutes, and the placenta came after about an hour.  Nobody was rushing us.

Now, for the first time, the baby and placenta were not attached to me, but they were attached to each other.  Brian held Eagle and Andrea held the placenta in a pot while I got out of the pool and laid down on a mattress in front of the fireplace.  Then we laid Eagle on my chest and the placenta pot beside the mattress.  After about another hour, we cut the cord.  When we examined the placenta with the amniotic sac still attached, there was a hole in the membranes just the size of his head, and the rest of his body had slipped right through it.  Looking at him, I thought he was so small.  I said to Andrea "I think this is my tiniest one yet!"  So we weighed him, nope!  Nine pounds, two ounces.  The same size as my second baby was.

Andrea had called her husband, PJ, and he arrived and immediately set to work emptying the pool.  While normally I am not comfortable being naked in the same room as someone else's husband, I guess all's fair in love and birth.  We really can't thank the two of them enough.  They thought of the things we didn't think of, took care of things so we didn't have to and were an enormous help throughout the whole thing.  Their support made this birth easier for us.  Andrea didn't do it for the money, she did it because she cares.  She genuinely cares about the well being of mothers and babies, and she wholeheartedly believes in women's right to choose where, how and with whom they give birth.  Brian was also incredibly helpful to me during my labor and birth.  The two of them did such a great job supporting me.

I am grateful to have a husband who trusts Nature and the birth process, and a wise woman who I am proud to call a friend.  I am grateful to have a son, another beautiful baby, whom I have very quickly fallen in love with.  My life will never be the same, not just because now I have another child, but because of the journey I went through to bring him here.  I am grateful for the experience of a peaceful, undisturbed, autonomous birth.  It is truly a life changing experience.

Eagle's Birth Story - Part 2 - Just Getting Warmed Up!

To read Eagle's Birth Story - Part 1, click here.

So, at 42 weeks plus 4 days, I woke up at 4 am to one giant contraction.  Maybe it was my excitement, but I couldn't sleep anymore.  I was having to find other positions during contractions, and I didn't want to wake Brian up, so I went into the other room.  Fairly strong contractions were coming about every 8 minutes.  I sat on my yoga ball and killed time on my computer between contractions.  During them, I kneeled on a cushion and draped my arms over the ball.  After about an hour, I sent emails to some friends to say I was in labor, and announced on facebook that I was having a baby.  Then common sense kicked in, and I went back to bed, to try to get some rest.

My contractions continued while I slept in between, until about 7:30 am when Andrea, our doula/birth attendant called.  I remembered that Nichole had gone into labor in the night as well, and asked how she was doing.  Andrea said she had her baby already.  I felt a twinge of jealousy over how fast some women give birth.  I still felt I had many hours of labor to go, actually I thought my baby wouldn't be born till evening or early morning on Sunday.  Andrea said she would eat breakfast and feed her kids and be out at my place by 9:30.  I reminded her that I have a history of very long labors, and not to rush.

This phone conversation was when Brian learned that I was in labor, even though I told him the night before that I would probably be in labor the next day.  He asked why I didn't wake him, and I told him I thought he needed the sleep, and it hadn't really been that strong yet anyway.  We both got up and cleaned the house a bit and had breakfast.  When Andrea and her husband PJ arrived, I was upstairs folding laundry.  PJ set up the birthing pool for us and dropped Andrea off.  She had been up all night at Nichole's birth, so we both laid down to take a nap.  My contractions were about every ten minutes at that point, and during them I would roll over onto my hands and knees, or elbows and knees.

By 11:00 am I couldn't sleep anymore.  I got up and went to the shower.  I labored in the shower, mostly on my hands and knees, letting the water hit my back.  I kept my mind busy by singing to myself, Marvin Gaye's "What's Going on?" and "Heard it Through the Grapevine."  I grew up on a lot of old motown, listening to my parent's records, and it always has a way of lifting my spirits.  I took quite a long shower, and by the end I was feeling pretty good, contractions were coming about every five minutes.

For lunch we had burritos with pinto beans, avocado and tomatoes.  Shortly after lunch the contractions started to get stronger, and I asked Brian if he could help me through them.  While I leaned on the kitchen counter through them, he stood behind me rubbing my hips and thighs.  This helped, but I was still holding tension in my body.  When Andrea woke up, she reminded me not to tense up against the contractions, but to try to relax every part of my body.  We were sitting in the living room, me on the yoga ball, chatting between contractions, and I commented that I thought it should be more intense by now.  I made a peace sign with my fingers and asked Andrea how far along she thought that was.  "About four centimeters" she said.  I said I had thought so, and that's how far along I was when I was in the shower.

Well, since things seemed to be in a bit of a lull, she suggested we go for a walk outside.  I didn't really want to, because I didn't want to run into anyone that might be kicking around the farm, but since I knew it might help to get things moving, I agreed.  The whole family went outside, including Venus and Ocean.  We first stopped to say hi to the goats, I wanted to make sure they were happy, that their water and hay were stocked up.  We really only walked out of our place, around the workshop and back, which is a very short walk, but I stopped for several contractions along the way.  By the time we got back in, contractions were longer, stronger and closer together.  That walk really did the trick!

...To be continued...

To read Eagle's Birth Story - Part 3, click here

Eagle's Birth Story - Part 1 - Labor (finally) Begins!

My estimated due date came and went.  At 40 weeks, I knew my body was nowhere near ready to give birth.  My first hint of labor happened at around 41 weeks.  I woke up in the night to strong contractions about three minutes apart.  I hadn't been expecting labor so soon, and I wasn't sure what to expect at that point, because these contractions had come on so fast, and my two previous labors had started out slow and mild.  Turns out, they stopped after an hour.

The next morning I was disappointed to not be in labor, but I noticed right away that my belly felt significantly lower.  I was curious to check my cervix to find out if my body was any closer to giving birth than it had been before.  When I checked, I discovered that my cervix was much thinner than it had been the week before and open about a centimeter.  I was encouraged by the progress.  That day I cleaned my whole house because I thought "It could happen any day now."  Of course, by the time I did go into labor, a week and a half later, it was messy again.  Figures.

At 42 weeks plus two days, I got that feeling again that I might be going into labor.  This time, I had some major menstrual-like cramps and nausea along with sensations directly around the cervix now and then.  They never established a constant rhythm, so I didn't get too excited, but it lasted about six hours before it fizzled out.  The next morning, my cervix was thinned out almost entirely and open about two centimeters.  But the tell tale sign for me was the presence of blood-tinged "mucus plug", a very strange name for the protective goo that blocks the entrance to the womb during pregnancy.  I was excited to see this, because I knew it wouldn't be long now.

But I still had to keep myself busy while I waited for things to get going, so I went to visit a friend, Nichole, who's due date was two weeks after mine.  She was now past her due date as well, and she was getting very impatient to have her baby, so we decided to keep each other company.  While our daughters played, we talked about labor, postpartum and breast feeding, and the general politics of birth within the medical and midwifery systems versus free birth.  She didn't seem like she was about to go into labor, but then again, I guess neither did I.  When I left she said "Hopefully I'll have a baby tonight!"  I smiled and joked "The race is on!"

Nichole and I were planning to call the same doula, Andrea, and that evening I called her to touch base, "What are you doing this weekend?"  She said she had nothing planned unless Nichole or I go into labor, and I told her I was pretty sure I would be in labor by tomorrow or the next day.  That was Friday evening.  Late that night, Andrea sent me a message saying Nichole was in labor and she was going over there.  I had a chuckle over this. What are the odds that we would have our babies on the same weekend?  I wished Nichole all the best, and tried to express to Andrea that I was confident I would be fine, even if she didn't make it to my birth.  Maybe I was too excited to sleep that night, because before I knew it, it was 2 am.  I felt a bit of remorse for staying up so late, knowing that I could very well wake up in labor.  I didn't want to be exhausted when it came time to give birth, so I tried to get some sleep.

That didn't last long though, because two hours later I awoke to a contraction that just about rocked me out of bed! ... (To be continued)...

To read Eagle's birth story - Part 2, click here

42 Weeks is Not That Bad

It can be a little socially isolating.  Most of the time, if people don't avoid me completely (like my mother has done for the past few weeks), the only thing they have to say is "No baby yet?" or some equally obvious question.  My mother in law keeps asking us that, and if I thought she'd see the humor in it, I'd answer with "Oh yeah!  We forgot to tell you!  We DID have a baby!"  Even my own husband, who is completely aware that the baby will come when it's good and ready, often greets me with questions like "Any contractions?"  Sigh.  I can't make myself have a baby today, no matter how much I may want to get this show on the road.

That being said, I haven't tried everything in my power to make it happen.  There are some home remedies that are decidedly unpleasant.  Castor oil, for example, beyond tasting disgusting, begins your labor by either causing you to puke or get the runs, neither of which are my idea of a good time.  I have tried a few things, eating pineapple, a glass of wine, a long walk, sex.  The bottom line is: it will happen when it happens.

Some people have tried to make me feel better, or appease their own nervous tension by insisting that I must be wrong with my dates.  Everyone that knows me knows how much I hate to be wrong, but that's not the only reason this bothers me.  Since my last daughter was born, I have used fertility awareness as a method of birth control successfully for four and a half years.  This requires women to keep track of their cycles and know when they ovulate.  For anyone who would like to do the math, my last period happened on Christmas day, and I ovulated on day 18 of that cycle.  40 weeks from Christmas gives a due date of October 1st, which I adjusted for the later ovulation.

A friend and midwife/TBA I know insists that we ought to be counting 40 weeks from our ovulation day, rather than our period, so I looked up the history behind how we measure due dates.  It seems around 1850, a doctor determined that the average length of a human pregnancy is 266 days from conception or 180 days from the first day of the last period (assuming ovulation on day 14).  But in modern times, the length of human pregnancy is being extended due to better prenatal care, nutrition and education on risk factors.  It is suggested that, for Caucasians, we add 15 days for the first time mother and 10 days for subsequent pregnancies.  So coming up with an actual "due date" can be a bit ambiguous.  Besides that, 40 weeks is an average.  Both midwifery and modern obstetrics recognize that a normal pregnancy is anywhere from 37 to 42 weeks for most women.  Technically, a women is not considered overdue until after 42 weeks.

If all this is true, why does being post EDD make people so nervous?  Why are we all so impatient, and quick to assume that something is wrong or more likely to go wrong?  Unfortunately, the medical system has overblown the risks of going overdue, and minimized or completely ignored the risks of induction.  As a pregnancy extends, the placenta can become less effective at doing its job.  This happens gradually, and begins at about 42 weeks.  This is a problem in about one percent of women over 42 weeks.  But about 35% of women are being induced, or having labors augmented with pitocin.  Even non-chemical forms of induction, such as the cervical stretch and sweep or artificial rupture of membranes, are not without risks.  "An induced labor forces the baby out before the body is ready, before the complex hormone interaction has primed the cervix and often before the baby has reached his full intrauterine maturity." (Gail Hart, The Postdates and Postmaturity Handbook)  With an induced labor, there is an increased risk of ineffective contractions, fetal distress, meconium aspiration, shoulder dystocia, vacuum or forceps extraction, and cesarean.

So with all this in mind, it is clear that routine induction at 41 weeks, as is common now in hospitals, is a pretty irresponsible practice.  Obviously, the safest and healthiest thing for me and my baby is to wait for labor to progress naturally.  In the meantime, my baby is kicking (often) and moving around like crazy.  My belly has dropped, and I'm getting a lot of infrequent contractions and menstrual-like cramps.  My cervix is mostly effaced and about a centimeter open.  These signs of early labor have been going on for about a week now.  I am not really bothered by the duration of this pregnancy so far.  My last labor started 2 weeks and 2 days after my due date, so I am not really surprised either.  For now, I feel just fine.  I am a bit uncomfortable, and it's taking me longer to get around, but I can still do what I need to do.  For the most part, I can't really complain.  42 weeks isn't that bad.

Powerful Mamas, Peaceful Births

I hit that 40 week mark earlier this week.  Not that there is anything magical about that number, but I did celebrate my going outside and taking some pictures.  The setting is not really a forest, but just a small grove of poplars, some of the only trees on our little acreage.  And even though fall in Alberta is not as colorful as other places, I LOVE the fall leaves.  So here I am kneeling on the ground in a very "ready to give birth" position.  This is the position some unassisted birthers take, because they can reach down and catch their baby in their own hands.  This picture makes me feel powerful, which I am.

Not that saying this is an ego thing, or that I feel I am any more powerful than anybody else, except that I believe in myself.  Unfortunately, I think people often underestimate pregnant women (and women in general).  We are capable of so much more than most people expect of us, and often than we expect of ourselves.  During this pregnancy, I have rototilled a large garden space, shovelled truckloads of mulch, planted, weeded, and harvested.  Not to mention packed and moved my family, patched drywall, learned to milk a goat, trimmed goat's hooves (which was no small task), built a milk stand, and put up a fence.  One thing my parents told me over and over growing up: "You can do anything you set your mind to."

So as my body prepares to have this baby, I set my mind to give birth, and I believe that I can.  I won't be alone, necessarily, but I will be in charge.  I will have the final say in who participates in this birth and in what way, and in what happens to my baby in the moments following.  Unassisted birth doesn't necessarily mean you give birth without help.  I am helped by my supportive friends and family, my husband, and a knowledgeable woman I have invited to be present, whom I believe understands and agrees with my preferences.  Unassisted birth, or more appropriately called freebirth involves a woman's right to choose where, how and with whom she gives birth.  There is no government sanctioned "professional" in attendance or in charge at a freebirth, but rather the birthing mother is the expert on her own body and what she needs to birth her baby safely and effectively.  She is free to follow her intuition and free from routine procedures, which can interfere with the course of labor.

This is not a new thing.  It is a very traditional way of birthing.  One hundred years ago, before the advent of medically managed birth on a large scale, it was the way most women birthed, and such has been the case throughout history in most cultures.  Often, the birth was attended by a female relative or trusted woman in the community, but an understanding of the process was usually common among women, and not seen as something that required patriarchal interference.

It is a fallacy to believe that our medical system has made birth safer for women or babies.  Even in our prosperous, developed nation, the morbidity and mortality rates of hospital births are extremely high, and the rate of surgery is ten times what is considered safe.  Many women and babies are injured by invasive techniques and instruments, and surgical deliveries are dangerous and painful to recover from.

That being said, the process of natural birth is a delicate dance of hormones and responses within the mother's body and the baby.  Allowing the body to cultivate these hormones is the only way to a safe, natural birth without complications.  The birth hormones flow at their best when the mother is comfortable, relaxed and free from fear.  The same is true for all mammals, and is a biological necessity.  A mother gives birth when and where she feels it is safe to do so.  If she does not feel safe, her body will hold back until she does.

With that in mind, I don't recommend unassisted birth to anyone.  I don't recommend home birth with a midwife.  I don't recommend hospital birth or birth centers.  The only place a woman should give birth is the place in which she feels most safe and comfortable.  She should recognize that there are options, and the choice is hers to make.  She should chose carefully for her sake and her baby's.  She should believe in her abilities.  I have chosen the way of giving birth that I feel is best for me.  As my body prepares to give birth, I prepare my mind as well.  I remind myself that I am a strong and powerful person.  My body is up for the task, and I can do anything I set my mind to.

Things to Come

It seems I only blog when the rest of the world is sleeping.  One reason I actually love insomnia.  It helps with creativity.  Plus, I'm pretty good about allowing myself to take a nap during the day, so if I don't get much sleep at night, I don't stress it.

There was a really awful sounding bird squawking outside my window when I woke up.  Some bird noises are peaceful and serene.  Owls are awesome.  But this bird was more like a squeaky door being opened and closed continually in my yard.  Nature: it takes all types.

Not to mention the fact that I usually wake up in the night feeling like I am dying of thirst.  Is this because I am too distracted in the day to make sure I drink enough water, or because I sleep with my mouth open, and wake up with a dry mouth and throat?  I am on my second liter of water since 4:30 am.  And yes, I have a bladder the size of a walnut.

I have about two and a half weeks till my due date.  Half of my place is still under construction.  I have made it clear that whatever doesn't get done in the next week will have to wait until after the baby's born.    I want the last two weeks before my due date with my house to myself, without construction workers coming in and out all the time.  When I've explained this to people, they've assumed it was so that I could follow my "nesting urge", or as someone put it, so that I can decorate.  It's not.  I feel very little urge to nest.  Is nesting really supposed to be an urge that all pregnant women get?  Or is it simply what they become obsessed with based on their domestic motivations?

I have much respect for my friends who are domestically inclined, who keep a neat and tidy house that looks nice, with everything in it's place, who are usually on top of things like laundry and dishes, who get all their baby stuff laid out before they enter their third trimester.  That's just not how I roll.  I would be lucky to go into labor with my kitchen floor recently swept.  I am pretty okay with the way my house is most of the time, and the amount of work I put into maintaining it.

The reason I want my own space for a few weeks before the baby's born is because I like solitude.  It helps me focus.  This construction is disrupting my chi.  I need to meditate, to settle into my space and feel like it's mine.  Like its safe, private, calm.  This baby will be born here.  So over the next few weeks, the place I intend to birth will become like a sanctuary.

Even as my inner life becomes more and more still, my outer life keeps rolling along.  Yesterday I helped build a compost, and learned about it, so that I can build one at my place this weekend.  I picked up some fencing, which will go up in preparation for when the goats come.  The goats I had been looking at got sold to someone else, and it was back to the drawing board, but I am going to look at some more this weekend.  I may just bring them home in the minivan!

I'm pretty excited about setting up my little homestead.  My goal is to produce the food we eat in a sustainable and healthy way, and take care of the land.  Part of modern homesteading is also living in a more sustainable way, which influences what I consume and my connections with the community.  Our vegetable farm has started to sell some produce at the market.  It went really well last week, and we'll be there again this week.  I'll try to post some pictures of that, and anything else that happens around the funny farm.  But for now, it's time to start the morning fiasco. Wake my daughter up get her clothes, make breakfast, pack a lunch and get her off to school.  It seems so strange, but even by grade four, I still don't find this easy.  Of all the things I do in my day, this is the hardest part.

Midnight Cravings

Insomnia is a funny thing in late pregnancy.  At a time when I should be sleeping more, I end up sleeping less.  I am not the only one awake.  I've been hearing an owl at this time in the early morning (around 4:30 am).  Today, there are two.  The closer one hoots in a deeper register, this is not the first time I've heard it.  But today, someone answers, further away, with a higher pitched hoot.  The sound they make is somewhat mystical, from their anonymous perch in the night.

The quiet of the early morning is a great time to think, and once again my mind drifts to goats.  I dream of goats at night, I read about them during the day.  I sit in what might become the goat pasture, and contemplate what needs to be done.  Build a shelter, put up a fence, buy hay.  When walking in the fields and bushes, I see different plants and twigs and think "The goats would like that."  It's a strange obsession for an 8 year vegan veteran, and a bizarre thing for a woman expecting a baby to be thinking about.

But my body is asking for dairy.  Not just any dairy.  Unpasteurized, non-homogenized, grass fed, organic dairy.  Such a thing hardly exists in Alberta.  What my body is asking for is illegal, and no farmer within two hours of my location is willing to provide me with such a substance for fear that their farm be shut down.  Without getting into the politics of the industry, or the potential health risks of drinking commercialized dairy, I'll just say that the only way I've found for me to have such a food is to provide it for myself.  And so, my mind drifts to goats.

I am considering the purchase of two goats from a local family on a small farm.  Capella is a four year old doe who is currently being bred.  She will kid (have goat babies) in five months and start giving milk.  Her companion is Star, a four year old weather (a neutered male).  He has some experience pulling a cart, and I'm thinking of getting him to help me with some of the gardening next year.  They are both Toggenburgs, a Swiss dairy breed.  They'll be ready in two weeks if I want them.

Most of the people around me have implied that this idea is crazy.  My mom expressed concern that I will have too much on my plate.  Between settling into my new place, getting my kids started in a new school, and having a baby, she feels I will be maxed out.

Rather than seeing farming as extra unnecessary work, I see it as a primal survival technique.  Living off the land, as humans did for centuries, puts us in touch with nature and with history.  I'm sure I wouldn't be the first woman with three kids to milk a goat every day to feed herself or her family.

But maybe I'm romanticizing the idea too much in my head.  I do tend to drift more towards idealism than realism.  In my defense, I am used to working 12 hour days on top of getting kids to school, helping with homework, doing laundry, and putting dinner on the table.  Now all I have to do is take care of my family and build a life for myself in the country.  I'm just trying to figure out what that life should entail.  Is this a step in the right direction?  Am I ready to take it?

The Big Move

I think last night my baby moved down a bit.  Not all the way down, as in when the baby's head engages in the pelvis before labor, but down enough for me to wake up feeling different.  Suddenly when I sit down, I feel my big belly on my legs.  It's a good thing, really, because this kid has been kicking me in the ribs a lot lately.  There was a lot of movement and mild uterine contractions yesterday evening, so now I know why.  Besides that, it was just one of those little reminders that one of these days will be the big one, the one where baby moves down and out.  Six weeks to go, more or less, and time is flying by.

But oddly enough, I don't think about labor a whole lot.  My life and my thoughts have been very occupied with other things.  The sun is just coming up, and as it gets lighter outside, the rooster next door starts his morning routine.  Next I'll be hearing the baby horse on the other side, trying to wake up her mom and everybody else with her stomping.  And I sit in between, in the one room loft apartment of a barn, with my husband in our big bed to my left, and my kids in the bunk bed to my right.  Downstairs I have the basic amenities, a small kitchen, a bathroom, a place for my armchair, which my family recently admitted is comfy despite its ugliness.  The scenery is a contrast to my big house in the suburbs, where I was until two months ago, when I started this move, and now when I go into the city, it feels so cramped, so many strangers everywhere, so busy.

Yesterday the kids turned around to find a deer in the driveway, standing right behind them.  Earlier this week my daughter spent all afternoon picking wild raspberries, only to come back with none, because I guess she ate them all on her walk home.  Who can blame her?  Across the road a ways, two rivers meet.  One is fast and cold, the other slow, warmer and deeper.  We often go swimming there in the heat of the afternoon, and I find that in the river, all the tension in my body is washed downstream, and I emerge feeling like a new person, relaxed and energized.

But the mornings are getting colder, and in the foothills, frost is already appearing.  Soon summer will be over, and river swims will have to wait until next year.  As I set up my little farm and settle into life here, my thoughts drift to the near future.  My fall preparations, bring my tomatoes inside to ripen, set up garden beds for next year, plant garlic.  Then soon after, set up my birthing pool near the fireplace downstairs, have a baby, breast feed.  Everything revolves around the passing of time.  A season is changing in my life, which brings me to a new place, and whatever else I will learn while I am here, time will tell.

Half a Pregnancy Come and Gone

Well, it's been a few months!  I intended to keep this blog up throughout my pregnancy, but here I am half way through it, and I haven't even told my blog that I'm pregnant.  Although most of you probably already know.  I've been pregnant since sometime in January, which puts this baby due sometime in Libra.  Probably.

I've been informed that my neighbor has commented "Holy cow!  Does she ever look pregnant!"  Umm, yeah...  I think I look a lot like I did at this stage with my other two.  I am big all around.  I have a round belly.  I will still be getting much bigger and much rounder.  Some women remain tiny when they are pregnant.  I don't.

But I feel great!  The first trimester was miserably nauseous (also normal for me).  Now I am in the "I feel great" stage, the second trimester.  I have plenty of energy, and I am keeping busy.  I'm gardening out of town and here in my backyard.  The rain has kept me in all week so I'm keeping busy by making some pajamas for the kids.  I haven't decided yet if I'm doing this because I'm too cheap to buy pajamas or if I actually enjoy doing this.  I keep reminding myself that handmade things are better.

I had a bit of a scare when I was about twelve or thirteen weeks along in my pregnancy.  I was driving home from work at 2:30 in the morning when I hit black ice.  I was traveling full highway speed.  My van went into the ditch and rolled.  Emergency crews were called.  It took me a while to remember that I was pregnant, and when I told EMS, they asked if I wanted to go to the hospital, presumably to have an ultrasound to see if the baby was alright.  I refused.  First of all, if the baby is fine, why would I want to stress him/her out further by having an ultrasound and by going to the hospital, a place where I am always uncomfortable?  Second, if I am going to miscarry, there is nothing they can do to stop it, and I would rather do it in the comfort of my own home.

Obviously, everything went along just fine with the pregnancy.  This one has been different than my other two.  I haven't taken a pregnancy test.  I haven't attended any prenatal appointments.  I haven't heard the heartbeat or had any ultrasounds.  I haven't even weighed myself or measured my fundus (womb).  I felt the slightest movements around 18 weeks, and since then I feel movements every now and then.

This is the way pregnancy has been done since the dawn of humanity, up until sometime in the last 100 years or so.  I don't see the need for technology or professionals to help me do what women have always been able to do.  Yes, there are some risks.  Some people have been injured or died during the birth process.  But plenty more people have been injured or died while driving, and yet that is something we do without having a professional there to hold our hand.  As a matter of fact, I've been a professional driver for five years, and there is still a chance I could be in a serious accident.

You can't take the risk out of life, but you can take out the enjoyment.  You can take out the satisfaction. You can take out the freedom.  To me, giving birth in the medical system is doing just that.  It is putting myself in a position where my dignity and autonomy are compromised, where I do not have a say over when I eat, what position I labor in, what I wear, who is around.  I believe it is also introducing unnecessary risks to me and my baby.  Like the risks that come with interventions, forceps, episiotomies, drugs, surgery.

Contrast that to labor at home, where the mother is in charge.  Her body tells her what she needs- food, sleep, a walk, a change in position.  She is aware of what is going on in her body as she opens up and the baby descends.  She is in the environment that makes her feel most comfortable- her own kitchen, her own bathroom, her own bed.  She is surrounded by people she loves and trusts, who fully believe in her ability to get the job done.  This type of birth is not just for the brave or crazy.  It is simply what makes sense.

Midnight Hugs from the Blissfully Innocent

My five year old still sleeps in my bed from time to time.  Last night she rolled over in her sleep, put her arms around me, and gave me a big hug.  She let out a sigh.  My heart melted.

This wasn't like the hugs we have during the day, where I ask for a hug, or she does, or we show affection simply because we're standing next to each other.  This was a subconscious hug.  To my daughter, mom is perfect.  This love, in my life, is unprecedented.  Unconditional.  Unequivocal.  It scares me sometimes.  Someday she will realize just how imperfect I am.  I wonder if someday she will start to feel uncomfortable with my hugs.  I wonder if I will disappoint her, if she will grow to resent me. Surely someday she will realize that I do almost everything wrong.

Despite what my daughter thinks of me now, I am not really great at anything.  I am not a great mom.  I am a terrible housekeeper, and not a great breadwinner either.  Trying to do all three leads me to feel burnt out, which leads to depression, which leads to me just shutting down.  At that point, I often snap at my loved ones, tune out my kids and ignore my husband.  This is not the life of a picture perfect mom, living in a picture perfect world, maintaining a picture perfect blog that other moms can read and envy.

But I still get hugs in the middle of the night.  I am probably only conscious of these hugs because I have insomnia.  So last night I laid awake wondering why this child is wrapping her arms around me as if I am the greatest thing in the universe, her own personal heaven.  Her once chubby arms and legs are getting longer and thinner, and her body seems huge to me now.  She no longer sleeps with her head in my armpit, where she once enjoyed the comfort of the smell of breast milk in the night.  I see her growing up, and I'm afraid that it's only a matter of time before she sees all my faults.  This in inevitable.  I celebrated her fifth birthday last week, and at the same time, I mourned it.

Reflections on Age

I heard a statistic that people's number one fear is public speaking, and number two is death.  I am willing to guess that, among woman, number three would be aging.  We fear wrinkles and gray hair, as if they were monsters coming to devour the "real" us.  The young us.

Marketers know about this fear and use it to make suckers out of us.  We readily buy up anything labeled as anti-aging, whether it works or not.  And usually it doesn't.  We can keep our skin from getting dry, but we can not keep it from looking it's age.  The very term anti-aging is ridiculous.  Why should we be anti-aging?  Not only are marketers making suckers of us, but we are loosing our power by not embracing the passing of time.

This may seem like a new concept to some of you, the fact that age makes us powerful, but it is actually ancient.  Throughout history, we have recognized our elders with honor.  Life experience gives them perspective, depth, peace about the world around them, and acceptance of who they are (wrinkles and all).  If we do not honor ourselves, or the wisdom we have gained, we are pushing our power away from us, rather than embracing it.

But it is not becoming wise that we fear, nor are we worried about losing our health or mobility.  We are worried about loosing our youthful beauty.  Most people don't think about it this way, but there are other types of beauty besides youth.  To me, this seems so very obvious.  I think of all the beautiful women I have seen in their thirties and forties, their fifties and sixties.

Youth tend to have a very limited, close minded perspective on the world around them.  They can not relate to anyone except those in their own age bracket.  Everyone else is automatically uncool, or doesn't understand them, or couldn't possibly relate to what they are going through.  For the record, I am glad my youth is over.

I am not looking backwards, holding that stage of my life up on a pedestal as if it were the ultimate in living.  I am looking forward to getting older.  I have gained a lot of perspective in the last ten years.  I have grown immensely.  I learned so much about who I am, what I value, how to love.  I have learned about the world around me, how to relate to others, how to be a family, how to work hard and pursue my goals, and what is really important in life.  I am still learning all those lessons, but I feel I am a better person for all that I learned in my twenties, and I would not give that up for a chance to have a thinner body or smoother skin.

I feel that if life is as full for me in coming decades as it has been in my twenties, then I will continue to emerge from each decade changed for the better.  With each new stage of life, I will be more able to see the world for what it is, more comfortable with who I am, and more able to have genuine, lasting friendships.

I have come to have such a deep respect for what we gain through life experience, that I think it has changed my view of what beauty really is.  I no longer look at twenty year olds and think "I would like to look like them."  I am noticing women who I feel are aging gracefully, and wanting to be like them.  I don't mean women who are sixty but still look forty because they use hair die, or get botox or plastic surgery. I mean those women who truly seem proud of their age, of all they have come through, and all that they've gained.  Those women who are rocking gray hair, rather than trying to cover it up.  Those women who continue to be stylish and healthy, but most of all, who are comfortable in their own skin.

It may take me a few more decades, but I will get there, too.  Someday I will have gray hair and wrinkles.  My hands will look like leather, with large creases on the knuckles.  And I will have that look in my eye.  That look that says I know something, I've seen things, I understand.  At thirty, I have a long way to go.  In fact, I am probably closer to youth than I am to wisdom.  But I can relax and enjoy the ride, not long for what has past, but look forward to what is to come.   I can enjoy this stage of my life, and celebrate the passing of time.  Here's to a new decade!

How to Pee in the Sink

It all started one day when I was sitting in my friend's kitchen having tea.  I was pregnant with my second child.  We chatted and drank tea, and her seven month old sat on her lap and periodically nursed.  Then without explanation, she walked over to the kitchen sink, took off her baby's pants, and held her baby in the sink for a moment, whispering something in her ear.  I thought I heard water running.  As she put her baby's pants back on and returned to the table, I was dumbfounded.  I stared at her for a moment like she had two heads, and blurted out "Did your baby just pee in the sink?"  I still wasn't sure what I had just witnessed, but I knew I had never seen anything like it.

That started the process of learning an entirely new way of diapering- no diapers at all!  In North America, the technique is called Elimination Communication, or simply diaper free.  In some other cultures, it is normal.

The theory is that babies are aware from birth of a pee or poo coming on.  They can communicate that they have to go through body language or vocal signals.  From birth, they have the ability to consciously eliminate.  If we can pick up on their signals, and offer them an appropriate place to go, they can maintain their natural awareness of their body's functions.  If we keep them in diapers, we are teaching them that the diaper is where we want them to go, and later  in life, we have to re-train them to use the potty.  Often, by this point, they have forgotten how to recognize their body's signals in time to make it to the potty, and they have to re-learn this skill.

So, Elimination Communication, or EC, means you don't have to potty train.  It means your baby will not be sitting in pee or poo.  She will not get diaper rashes.  It may reduce fussiness (she may be crying or squirming because she is about to go).  She will be less likely to get constipated, and less likely to wet the bed when older.  You reduce the use of disposable diapers that end up in the landfill, or the energy consumption and detergent it takes to wash cloth diapers.  Best of all, you are increasing the communicative and trusting bond between child and parent!

I ought to mention that you don't literally have to go diaper free.  Any kind of diaper can be used just in case you miss it, and believe me, you will.  This is not an all or nothing thing.  What matters is the effort, and hopefully the gradual growth.  I never did master the technique, but we did catch most pee's, and my daughter rarely wet a diaper.  I never had to "potty train" her, and she never wet the bed.

Here's how we did it.  When she was born, I left her naked a lot.  Babies don't really go in their sleep, they usually do it when they wake up, or they stir, pee, and go back to sleep.  So, we started with taking her every time she woke up.  We held her with her back to our stomach, our hands under her knees, bum over the sink (usually the bathroom).  We told her it was okay to go by making the pissing sound, and we also taught her a hand signal for pee.  It worked from one day old!  This was amazing to witness!

She would pee at other times, and we had to learn to read her signals.  Often, if she was nursing and pulled off the boob in (what seemed like) mid feed, I knew it was about to come- fast!  For these moments I kept a pee or poo catcher next to me while I was nursing.  I kept it next to my bed, too, for those middle of the night pee's.  We started out using a bowl, but later used a small one piece BabyBjorn potty.  This is my very favorite potty ever made, and I had to order it special on the Internet.  Now you can get them all over.  Just these few changes eliminated most of our wet diapers each day, and she started sitting on this potty on her own at about six months old, shortly after learning to crawl.

Like I said, I never became an expert at it, but it certainly helped my daughter and I bond, made our lives easier and less messy.  It's worth a try.  If you are reading this, and you have experience with EC, I'd love it if you'd comment on your own experience, and if there's any helpful tips that I've missed.  If you want to know more, I'll leave you with a link with EC info and resources to get you started.

http://www.diaperfreebaby.org

Easy Cloth Diapers

This post is just some basic information about cloth diapers, what I've used and how I used them.  People have some pretty strong misconceptions about cloth diapers.  Often, when I told people I used them they wrinkled their nose and made an "Eww, gross" face, or just assumed that I used them because I was so crunchy granola, and that they would never work for a regular person.  But cloth diapers are not gross, time consuming, or complicated.

On the contrary, they are soft and cuddly.  Your house is cleaner when you don't have stinky old diapers sitting around.  It reduces your household waste, and the waste that builds up in our landfills.  It keeps toxic chemicals away from your baby's skin.  It is way cheaper.  They have become a very chic thing to use, and there are so many choices now, but at the time it hadn't really caught on except for among the hippies and the very poor.  We were both.  So, here is how we did it, and it became a very easy, routine part of life.

With my first child, we used cloth diapers almost entirely from birth to potty training.  We bought the Kushies brand from Sears.  They don't require folding, and they have velcro closures.  We bought two packs of eight and two plastic diaper covers.  The entire set cost us less than $100.  We didn't spend another penny on diapers until the next year, when we bought her the toddler size ($100 again), which lasted till she was potty trained.

We kept a five gallon pail beside the toilet.  After a change we would throw wet diapers in the bucket.  If the diaper had poo, we'd plop the poo into the toilet (or scoop it off with toilet paper if need be), rinse off any remaining poo in the sink, and toss it in the bucket.  We didn't fill the bucket with water or soak the diapers, because that turned out to be messy, and made it harder to carry them downstairs to the washer.  At the end of the day, we'd throw them all in the washer (regular cycle).  Then we hung them up inside, and by morning they were dry and ready to use.  The diaper covers were changed if they were wet.  The wet one got hung on the towel rack in the bathroom, the dry one got put on.

There's really not much else to it than that.  My sister, whom I got the "Eww gross!" face from the most, ended up using cloth diapers for her own kids, and commenting on how easy it was.  All I can say is, you never know until you try.

If Birds Were Humans

I am a mother bird.  My eggs just hatched.  I have three new nestlings, and I am feeling a little overwhelmed because these are my first.  They are looking a little slimy and scrawny, but they are mine, they will grow up to look like me.  They are now squawking and wiggling around and drawing a lot of attention to us.  The other mother birds are starting to stare.  Gosh these kids sure are loud!  I try to quiet them down, but they keep on squawking.  I suppose they are hungry.  The other birds are waiting to watch me feed them.  If I can't feed them like a mother bird should, they will think I am not fit to be a bird.  The squawking is getting louder.  I am so nervous I feel I might puke!  Woah, yuck!  I just puked in my beak a little.  This morning's breakfast of bugs tasted a lot better the first time.  As I open my beak, the slimy little squawkers nearly jump down my throat.  They are eating the bug-puke!  Gross.  So this is motherhood.
My beak is emptied, and the nestlings are quieting down.  I figure after all that hatching, I am in need of a bird bath.  The little birdies are curled up in the nest looking like three little furry balls.  I fly away, I need to clear my head.  That was the strangest thing I've ever done.  I see a puddle with some worms in it, and stop for a snack.  Then I head over to my favorite little bush, which has just gone to seed.  I am famished!  I guess that makes sense, since breakfast didn't go down so well.  But I am feeling more refreshed in no time, and I head back to the nest, thinking maybe I'll get a nap while the birdies are still asleep.
As I approach my nest, I hear a horrible racket.  Oh no!  All three nestlings are crying bloody murder and waving their wings about.  Insanity has set in.  There is no calming them.  I wonder how long they've been doing this, and I look around to see if any of the other mother birds have noticed.  I notice one eyeing me in the tree next door.  She's heard the commotion, and she's giving me that look.  I try putting my wings around the birdies.  I talk softly to them, "It's all right little birds, hush, hush.  I just went for a little fly, I didn't go far."  But it's no use.  If they don't cut it out, some one's going to report me to bird services.  The whole thing is making me feel sick all over again, and, oh there we go.  My snack of worms and seeds is in my beak.  Again the little monsters stick their beaks right in there and gobble the mushy mess right up.  Then, just as suddenly, silence.  They are curled up in the nest again, like there was never any problem in the first place.
So, off I go, to get myself some thing to eat, again.  Down at the puddle I meet my friend, who hatched four birdies last week.  "Did your eggs hatch yet?" she asks.
"Yes, this morning" I answer "they sure take a lot out of you."  I wasn't sure if I was referring to the energy, or the puke.
"I know" she says.  "I found regurgitation too much for me.  I just couldn't handle it."
"That's all I've been doing since they hatched.  But, that's the way it is, I guess.  It's only for a few weeks."
"Oh, I'm already done with that.  I didn't have enough puke to go around, and they were hungry again after twenty minutes."
"I thought that was normal" I pictured my own nestlings, and how they had been so hungry after only ten minutes.  "But what other choice do we have?"
"Oh well, regurgitation is best for nestlings, don't get me wrong, but I just couldn't live like that.  All I did was eat and puke!  I started giving them mashed food from my talons.  It's SO much easier!"
"Really?  Don't they need the bacteria from your intestine to pollinate their intestines?"
"Oh, that's what the regurgitation fanatics say.  They think every mother bird should regurgitate.  But this is the way that is best for me, and my nestlings are coming along just fine.  Besides, in another week, they'll be getting their own food."
As I finish my worms, I think about what my friend said.  I return to my nest, and my birdies are just waking up.  Up comes the puke, a little easier this time.  The nestlings practically inhale it, and go back to sleep.  I was tired, I was hungry, I was wondering if it was really worth it.  Would I have enough puke?  Should I consider this new way of feeding?  I don't want to be called a "regurgitation fanatic", but it seems that, as a species, birds have thrived with regurgitation.
So I fly away to get more food, and I hope maybe I'll meet some birds that do regurgitate.  Maybe they can give me some helpful pointers.  It would probably help just to know that I'm not the only bird out there doing this.  I'm learning that raising nestlings is not easy, and I'd like to have some other birds around.
I return to my nest, thinking about a nap.  The little birdies are still asleep, if only for a moment.  I curl up next to them, and fall asleep.  Soon I can feel them start to stir.  I don't want to wake up just yet, so I quickly regurgitate and open my beak.  Softly, the sleepy little birds take their food and in moments they are asleep again.  As I fall asleep again, I reflect on my new role in life.  Someday, these little birds will leave my nest, but I'm not ready for that just yet.

Parenting 101

I never want to read another blog or article on parenting again.  I say this as I continue to write my own.  At the same time, I won't blame you if you don't read it.  Parenting blogs are very annoying.  In the past few days, I have read all sorts of information, scientific studies, and opinions of experts and lay parents (people who don't parent professionally).  Most of it conflicts, all of it is or seems to be backed up by some kind of study.  I can just picture the new mom, and even some seasoned veterans running around like chickens with their heads cut off, trying to follow the advice that the latest studies suggests.

This has been going on for a long time.  Once upon a time, it was recommended that all babies be slept on their stomachs, then, suddenly, the "experts" changed their minds.  They said babies ought to sleep on their backs.  If mothers had been connected to the internet at this time, I can imagine all the mothers in North America simultaneously running from their computers to their sleeping babes to turn their babies over before somebody saw and suspected them of bad mothering.  Then it was recommended that babies sleep on their sides, and all the mothers got up and ran to their sleepers again to turn them before they choked on spit up.

Suddenly, a study comes out that suggests that waiting till your baby is six months old to introduce solids could be harmful to your baby, or that circumsizing your boy will help prevent the spread of aids, or that sanitizing your grocery cart and washing your hands will produce healthier kids than extended breast feeding.  The list goes on and on, until a person is so overwhelmed with information that they are not sure what to believe anymore.  Only one thing is for sure, no matter what you do as a parent, somebody somewhere will tell you you're doing it wrong.

And here comes one more parenting blog to suggest one more way of making decisions.  Follow your intuition.  That's it.  Parenting is not rocket science folks.  Actually, I could probably still do it just as well if there were never any studies done on it to prove one way is better than another.  There is one little piece of advice that has influenced my parenting choices more than any other.  It is "Follow your baby's cues."  So, if your baby wants to nurse, let her.  If she wants solid food, give it to her.  If your baby is crying, there is a reason why she is crying.  Try to figure out what it is.

I am not saying we shouldn't be reading parenting books or blogs, learning or getting a glimpse of how other people are parenting.  But I don't recommend parenting according to the latest scientific research.  I  also don't recommend choosing a style of parenting simply because it is what your parents did, or what your friends do.  Guess what, Mom and Dad, you are the one that has to make decisions on how you are raising your kids.  You are the one that has to live with those decisions, and those kids.

I could tell you what I think is the best way, but I'd rather tell you that you are strong, smart and capable. You need to have the confidence to make the decisions that you feel are best, and to be able to defend those decisions without falling back on the scientific studies (because science is likely to change).  And hopefully you have a better reason for your decisions than "That's what my parents did, and I turned out okay."  That being said, please have the confidence to admit that you could be, or have been wrong.  It is okay to be wrong sometimes.  I will be the first to admit it.  I have made bad parenting decisions before.  I continue to be an imperfect mother.  I notice it.  My children notice it.  I'm sure my friends notice it.  Sometimes I tell my kids "I'm sorry, I'm doing the best I can".  I think they understand that.