October Snow?
That’s right, it’s been snowing all day up here in the arctic. Ada tried out her snowsuit and resembled a perfect bright orange marshmallow. Jason has made a new bird blog theme to welcome in the winter weather, what do you think?
Our camera is not working for the moment but here are a few pictures from our trip to Boston back in September. Pictures a
re courtesy of Allison and I guess that’s why we don’t have any photos of her to put up, she was behind the camera the whole time. It was a good visit. In the meantime, I’ll get that camera working and take some video of Nibs’s brand new cognitive skills.
Much love, Denise
Filed under Photos, Stories | Comment (0)Ada’s Birth
I’ve been working on this birth bit for a while now, trying to get it right because I know people interested in reading it that aren’t very familiar with homebirth. So since the sequence of that day is already slipping away as promised by many mothers struggling to recount their own stories, I’ll get down to it.
I have wonderful feelings surrounding Ada’s birth, accurate or not, and wouldn’t want to lose them. I have a theory about why the details get fuzzy for so many mothers. I believe two things are at work; the well-known birth memory fog and the incredible realization of what human bodies are capable of. On January 12th I birthed my child at home, with the help of my husband and two incredible midwives, without pain meds. Nothing I’ve accomplished comes close to that and being a first-time mom, I wasn’t sure that it was even possible. But holding the brand new, breathing human that just exited my body instantly made the memory of childbirth pain unimportant (the secession of contractions helped with this outlook). I do vividly remember the thought that passed through my mind in the few minutes after Ada’s birth as she slipped into my hands, even before we knew she was a girl. It was thank god I don’t have to do that anymore!
The birth memory fog is a powerful asset. Right now I have nothing but warm thoughts looking back to Ada’s birth, she was born literally right in front of our Christmas tree, there were brownies baking, music playing and candles burning. There are some things I’ll never recall about that day but hrm… now that I think of it, I was nauseous the whole ten hours and could barely drink watered down fruit juice let alone eat a brownie or um move very frequently. Also, the smell of the scented (and even non-scented) candles promptly made me want to hurl. Right after Ada’s birth I remember telling Bonne I’m not going through that again. I had already changed my mind the next day. Will I do it again? Let’s just say that I’m planning the birth of our second child around the availability of these wonderful midwives, Bonne Dunham and Astrid Grove.
Here is the scoop on homebirth from my perspective. I don’t really have the energy to make the case for homebirth from start to finish. If you find yourself interested do watch ‘The Business of Being Born’ . It’s very informative and fascinating to watch. It can be rented through Netflix. See it’s trailer via the link above.
The short of it is that we researched it thoroughly and are convinced it was the very best option for us. I’m aware that it may not be everyone’s cup of tea, especially the no epidural part, but it is a safe and viable option for low-risk pregnancies and shouldn’t be discounted. In much of the U.S. Homebirth is a pretty rare practice but it’s popular in many other countries like the Netherlands, where 80% of births occur at home. A few recent and rigorous scientific studies, published in leading medical journals, have found that for a healthy woman having a normal pregnancy, a planned, midwife-attended home birth is as safe as a hospital birth and with far lower rates of medical interventions.
As I said, this was not an unassisted birth. Bonne Dunham and Astrid Grove, two Certified Direct-Entry Midwives attended Ada’s birth. A direct-entry midwife is trained to provide care to healthy women and newborns throughout the childbearing cycle primarily in out-of-hospital settings. We had complete faith in the capability of these professional midwives. They offered an exceptionally high level of prenatal care and I enjoyed the comfortable setting of their home offices. Their very human approach was a breath of fresh air compared with the often very clinical (which certainly has it’s place in medicine) and rushed approach experienced at some busy doctor’s offices. They were supportive and took time to answer all of our questions in length. We had at least an hour for each prenatal visit plus they were on call throughout my pregnancy. Both midwives incorporated effective herbal and homeopathic medicine into my medical care. My primary care physician was pleasantly surprised to hear that I didn’t need antibiotics for the two cases of mastitis that occurred.
Here’s how it went
I woke up around 8:30 on Saturday 1/12, stood up and my water broke, just like in the movies. It was fabulously exciting. The contractions were fun at first, I would note to Jason that I had just finished one and we’d sort of nervously giggle. He printed out a contraction schedule and began filling it out. The rushes did quickly become more frequent but I tried to nap. We contacted the midwives and they were set to come over when they reached about 5 min. apart. Jason fed me cheerios and a Clif bar and that’s pretty much what sustained me until after the birth. After that we ditched the contraction schedule and the midwives arrived. Much of the rest is a blur. I went from laboring in my bed to the bathroom to the living room to the birthing tub then PUSH in front of the Christmas tree. As far as I know, I was quiet as a mouse up until push time, mostly because of the nausea. It just felt better to stay quiet and still. I also discovered that the contractions hurt less when I did not look at the little air bubbles attached to the bottom of the birthing tub. Whatever works right? Jason’s performance was stellar throughout. Poor guy was even a bit sore from all the tugging that I did on his wrists while in the tub. My labor was pretty much 10 hours on the dot and I really feel it would have lasted quite a bit longer has I been in unfamiliar surroundings. I don’t know if I would have been able to resist the temptation of using the narcotics available to laboring women in hospitals. Since it wasn’t an option at home and I really didn’t want to drug my unborn child, I didn’t focus on it. I had spent nine months avoiding all sorts of harmful chemicals and didn’t want start compromising her nervous system just when she was hard at work moving down the birth canal.
Considering all our supports, we saw home as a comfortable, safe and preferable setting to have the baby. Unless some medical problem prevents me from doing so, I will certainly be having any future children in exactly the same way (minus the candles). I of course, would not make judgments about how anyone else decides to birth their baby, drugs or no drugs.
So now on to the real challenge - raising children!
Much Love, Denise
www.midwifeinfo.com
Citizens for Midwifery
Big night out
Last night we hauled Ada out into the 2 degree evening to have dinner with some friends here in Plainfield. As predicted, she slept through the entire event. I wish that I could have.
More pictures from this week here:
To Parents
I have new found respect for parents everywhere. Parenting is a hard job. I seem to remember hearing this before, but not really paying attention. But now I understand and am paying attention and this is just the beginning. I suspect that raising children will be the most challenging task of my life, and I really love it so far.
My cousin Becky emailed me the following thread on this subject. It was so inspiring that I just had to post it here.
Denise
The Invisible Mom
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, "Can’t you see I’m on the phone?" Obviously not; no one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I’m invisible. The invisible Mom.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?
Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I’m a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I’m a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please." I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She’s going, she’s going, she’s gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put togetherso well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find
that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a hair clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Carol , with admiration for the
greatness of what you are building when no one sees."
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A
legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.
The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don’t want my daughter to tell the friend she’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I’d built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want her to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to her friend, to add, "You’re gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
The bread slicer
Some babies like to be rocked. Ada likes to be shaken vibrated. Like it’s the end of the world and she better wake up quick. Rocking doesn’t really do it.
We are going to go ahead and attribute this to the bread slicer machine at the Manghi’s Bakery, where Denise works. For many hours a day while she was pregnant she would stand in front of this giant vibrating machine that slices the bread. When she first conceived another mother that works there told her that when her toddler hears the machine he gets sleepy. Well, I think it got Ada, too. Pretty amazing.
Filed under Stories | Comments (5)