Malachi's Birth Story

Conception: A birth story, when truly reflected upon, often begins long before conception. Although there is common thread throughout Malachi’s story that makes conception the most relevant place to start.

It took nearly 15 months of actively trying to conceive what I knew would be our fourth and final baby. 15 months equates to lots of life decisions beginning with the phrase, “Well if we get pregnant…”. Life can feel like it’s on hold a bit during that period. At about the 12 month mark of trying, I decided not to play the “if we get pregnant game” anymore. I came to a place of acceptance about the possibility of being a family of five. This translated into finally registering and training for a running event that had been dancing around in my head for quite some time. 

On October 19, 2013 I completed my first 100 mile run; a point to point trail run under a full moon on an incredibly cold night. The race went well. I was pleased with my running and the experience overall. As expected the days following the race, I was very tired and hungry. However I was surprised at just how slow I seemed to be recovering. The tired, hungry feeling stayed with me. Then one day I was driving in the car and suddenly I felt a fullness in my body. In that moment I knew I was pregnant. I called Buzz and asked him to bring home a pregnancy test. The positive pregnancy test was immediately followed by the words “I got a job transfer to Rotterdam”. This was a hell of a lot of information to process at once. Buzz and I just kind of stared silently at each other as it hung in the air between us. What did all these changes mean for our family?

Acceptance: Universe has grand plans for us even when we don’t understand the timing

Pregnancy: Once we knew we would be leaving Phoenix a whirlwind of activity ensued, including planning a trip to California to visit our family there. Knowing it would be a long time before we would be able to see our California family members again, we made plans for a 17 day trip to ensure plenty of quality time together. I loaded up the kids in the van and headed west. About six hours later we arrived in Carlsbad. When we got there I was tired and took a nap with Isaiah. When I woke up, I went to the bathroom only to discover I was bleeding. Not an alarming amount, but enough to cause concern. I was 7 weeks pregnant at the time. I called my beloved midwife who I hadn’t even told yet that I was pregnant (mainly because I was still wrapping my own heart around the fact that she would not be my midwife this time). After talking with her I decided to take a “wait and see” approach.

I woke up the next morning in our hotel room with lots of cramping. I went to the bathroom. When I saw the amount of blood and tissue I had passed, I was sure I had lost the baby. I looked at the clock. It was 3:30am. I was alone with the kids, unsure of what to do. I did not cry; more or less felt completely numb as I wrestled around in my head what to do. My plans for that day had included pacing a friend at Chimera 100 which meant I needed to be on the road in about an hour. Although many might not understand my decision, I decided I would still go to race but not pace my friend.  I did not want to spend my final moments carrying this life force in tears, alone in an Emergency room when there was nothing they could do for baby except confirm either way; which my body would do in its own time. Being in nature, in my element, surrounded by people I admired would be a better way to say goodbye.

I woke up kids, got them ready and dropped them off at my cousin’s house. I arrived at the race and immediately found my friend Mary who I had met during my 100 miler in October. Her bright smile, deep southern accent, and tight hug brought me comfort. I was also informed my runner had dropped and although I was sad for her, I felt a sense of relief knowing she wasn’t relying on me. I enjoyed reuniting with other friends. I parked myself at an aid station to help out and cheer on the runners. I didn’t share with anyone there what was going on inside me.

My friend Vanessa asked if I could help encourage a runner who was resting in the trailer. The runner had come into the aid station about 3 hours prior and wanted to drop. They had convinced her she was still well within the time limit and maybe after resting she would change her mind. When I walked in the trailer she was sitting on the bed, gently crying. I was immediately drawn to her. It was almost as if she was expressing a sadness I was unable to. I sat beside her in silence for a few moments while I thought of what to say to her. After a brief exchange which mostly consisted of nods and shrugs on her behalf, I found myself saying “I will pace you. You are going to finish this”. The words just popped right out of my mouth. She didn’t reply. I said “I am going to get changed and will be back here in 10 minutes for you”. She nodded. I took this as a good sign.

I left the trailer to find some running gear and someone who could drive my car to the finish line for me. I handed my car keys over to a complete stranger trusting I would be able to find him at the end of the race. Vanessa lent me her pack and stocked it for me. I wasn’t able to find any running clothes so my street clothes would have to do.

Sarah (the other runner’s name; no wonder I felt an immediate connection to her) and I moved along the mountainside together. I stayed a few feet in front of her and could hear her footsteps behind me. She didn’t really want to talk. But then again neither did I. We just enjoyed the spectacular views together in silence.  I was still bleeding and cramping; a gentle reminder of what was happening within.

She crossed the finish line. We celebrated. I said my round of goodbyes, found my car keys, and headed back to Carlsbad. As I drove away I felt an overwhelming sense of acceptance about losing the baby. I needed those miles on the mountain to find peace; pacing Sarah to the finish was just as much for me as it was for her. Maybe even more so for me?

Once I got into a cell phone reception area, I called Buzz. I told him I was positive I had lost the baby that morning.  Sharing such news over the phone to your spouse is fucking hard to do; and I am sure even harder to hear. As soon as the words came out, I could hear him choking back tears.  He pleaded hard with me to go to the Emergency Room. After understanding how helpless he felt being so far away, I agreed to go to an urgent care facility the following day.

After a slew of test, it was confirmed that baby was alive and well. There was no explanation for the bleeding. But it didn’t matter to me in that moment. I was elated. I cried. Unexpected tears of joy.

Acceptance: Life can change abruptly

Time moved quickly as we scrambled to sell our house, pack, say goodbyes, run a 50 mile race, visit Rotterdam to decide where to live, squeeze in a two week trip to Chicago to see family, sell our vehicles, take the kids to see the Grand Canyon, and plan the various and seemingly endless details involved in an international move for a family of 5 and half plus a dog. The pregnancy got little attention or focus during this time. I felt good. My energy level was high.

We boarded a plane and headed to the Netherlands. Life felt incredibly busy and not all at once. There were a lot of things we needed to do to get integrated into a new country, but it was all mundane, tedious, confusing, overwhelming, and often times frustrating tasks. The joyful busyness I was accustom to was replaced with a new busy that felt lonely and empty. At the same time we tried to squeeze in some fun getaways knowing that once I was further along and when baby first arrived, travel would be difficult. We went to France, Germany, England, Wales, and Belgium.

I had not attempted to find a midwife during this time. I think part of me was not yet ready to admit Robin, our previous midwife would not be physically present at baby’s birth. However at around 24 weeks I started bleeding. It scared me. Knowing baby was now at a point of vitality, we decided to go to the ER. Navigating the health care system for the first time in a foreign country, in a foreign language when you are scared is not easy.  Several phone calls later we figured out where we needed to go and what we needed to do. Then we woke up the kids, loaded them into the car, and headed to the hospital.

Again a round of tests showed baby was fine. The placenta was fine. I was fine. There was no valid explanation for the bleeding. I was sent home with a referral to a local midwife. I made an appointment with them a few days later. My first prenatal was uneventful, consisting of the usual intake process. I didn’t feel especially drawn to the midwives but felt “Eh. They are nice enough. I could birth with them.”

Two more appointments and another bleeding episode that landed us in the ER once again, I decided I wanted a different midwife. I also concluded that I really wanted/needed someone at the birth that could speak fluent English. I found a doula who works primarily with the expat community. I instantly connected with her and felt a great sense of relief knowing she would be at the birth. Through her I found a new midwife that I felt was a better fit for us. Things seem to be falling into place. While I desperately missed the support system I had back in Arizona, I felt like I was making gains in developing a support system here.

Acceptance: New relationships 

With my three previous pregnancies, I loved my pregnant body. My growing belly made me feel beautiful and special; it served as a constant reminder of the life within. However this pregnancy I felt conflicted about the changes in my body. As my belly grew and my ability to run diminished, I struggled with acceptance. I missed running. I craved it. Deeply. For years running had served as my sanity. A huge source of happiness was no longer accessible to me. I added it to the growing list of things I missed. 

At the encouragement of both friends and Buzz, I decided to have professional maternity pictures done. I found a photographer who had a really unique style that truly celebrated the pregnant body. He generally took pictures from a distance that showcased the curves of the pregnant female form. As soon as I saw his portfolio I saw beauty again in having a belly swollen with child. I wanted him to take my picture. I wanted to look as lovely as the other women he had photographed.

Also with encouragement from Buzz I decided to adorn my belly with henna. It was something I had thought about with previous pregnancies but never actually did. Knowing this would be my very last chance, I searched for a henna artist. When I found Fatima, I fell in love with her art work. And after talking with her I knew why. She works intuitively from the heart to create designs unique to each mama. She spends time getting to know the mama and works from a place of pure inspiration. After she completes the design, she explains the symbolism in it. We discussed the power of the moon and the elements of my design that reflected this power. I started to track the moon more carefully and knew the super moon was near the 41 week mark me for. It left me wondering if I would birth on July 12, the night of the super moon. The henna lasted almost three full weeks on my belly. Every time I got a glimpse of it, I would smile at the beautiful design. It really served its purpose; to love and accept my body.

I was given another blessed opportunity to embrace the changes in my body. A photographer from a Japanese travel magazine saw my professional maternity pictures and asked if he could photograph me for a project. After some discussion I decided to go for it.  I really loved the concept of the featured article. He visited various art museums in both the Netherlands and in Belgium to photograph select paintings. For each artwork he focused on, he wanted to photograph a modern day person that reflected that piece. The idea was to demonstrate contrast in modern society but also to depict what is timeless in humanity. So for my photo the focus was on a painter who enjoyed painting women, particularly paying attention to the curvatures of the female form and the strength which women possess. The photographer felt pregnancy embodies these two characteristics (strength and beauty) in a women and why he wanted a pregnant subject. At 39 weeks pregnant he came to my home for a photo shoot.  Overall it was a very special experience and I felt truly honored to be a part of their project.

Acceptance: My body

I continued to bleed on/off through the remainder of the pregnancy, but was told as long as the volume did not increase nor was it accompanied by pain or contractions, everything was okay. I had faith they were right and declined on going monitoring. I was reassured by baby’s movement patterns and my own sense of well being. Physically I felt fine. It was the emotional piece that was hard for me.

The final weeks of pregnancy I felt very introverted. I could have happily crawled into a cave, all alone and waited for baby to make his arrival. While we never confirmed gender via ultrasound (and made it very clear at the last 2 ER visits they were not to reveal baby’s gender), I knew I was carrying a boy. I would confidently refer to baby as “he” in utero throughout my pregnancy. I had no doubt I would have a fourth son.

My friends and family provided an incredibly amazing amount of support from a far. I found myself turning to them frequently for love, encouragement, and reassurance.  It was a bittersweet feeling. While I was filled with deep gratitude for them, it made my heart ache at how much I missed them. It provoked a consciousness of how deeply alone I felt in our new space.

As I approached the 41 week mark the realization that my doula would not be present at baby’s birth hit me rather hard. I knew upon hiring her that this was a possibility due to her travel plans, but I had been optimistic that it would all work itself out.  Up until the morning she left, she kept in close contact with me remaining hopeful she would be at the birth. But alas the morning of her trip we said goodbye with my belly still full of baby.

At the same time I found myself avoiding my midwife. I didn’t schedule any prenatal appointments with her. I didn’t pick up her phone calls. I would just reply to her calls with a generic text, “I am doing well. Will let you know if I need anything.”  I still don’t fully understand why I needed space from her but I did. Although as I approached 42 weeks I realized I needed to meet with her. Everyone kept telling me that here a midwife is not allowed to assist a women at home past 42 weeks. In a way it didn’t truly matter because my midwife was going on vacation the day I turned 42 weeks any way. I looked at it as an easy out for her (not intentional of course, just coincidental). However I didn’t know where that left me. I doubted I could find a midwife last minute that would take on a 42 week pregnant American expat client who had very little prenatal care except for 3 ER visits.

Right around the same time, my mom informed me that she didn’t think she would be able to come out for two weeks once the baby was born like we had planned. Her work policy had changed and she no longer knew if she would be allowed the time off.

Within an hour of my mom’s news, the postpartum nurse I scheduled (a free service in the Netherlands) informed me she was no longer available because I went so far past my estimated “due date.”I felt like the support system I had attempted to create here fell apart on me during a time when I most vulnerable. It deepened my feelings of aloneness. I felt a sense of abandonment even though I knew none of it was intentional and they all truly wanted to be there if they could.

The final days of pregnancy were hard…not physically hard. I was still riding my bike around town. I was still taking daily walks in the dunes. I was swimming. I was keeping up with the kids and their needs. Emotionally, however, I felt completely drained. I finally asked Buzz if he could stay home with me. I felt more relaxed and comfortable when he was home. I knew this meant he was using up his leave from work before the baby arrived, but I didn’t care. I wanted him with me.

I finally met with my midwife and she assured me her backup midwife would take me on as a client.  It was as though I could finally exhale. I was relieved to know someone would be there. And I was surprisingly content with it being a complete stranger.

Acceptance: The Unknown 

We decided to throw a birthday party for baby. We had done this during Isaiah’s pregnancy when I hit the 42 week mark and it was a fun distraction. I really needed a distraction of some sort.

During my pregnancy I discovered the song Wild Child by Brett Dennen. I listened to it often. Every time I heard, it made think of the little spirit growing with in me. He was my Wild Child. Repeatedly throwing me off my path. Nudging me to cultivate my existence. Reminding me to remain open to the winding, bumpy trail of life.

Acceptance: A journey does not need a map.

Monday morning, July 21, I woke up with the same thought I had had each morning for about the past 2 weeks. “I am still pregnant”. I finally decided I would try some gentle techniques to help stimulate labor. We went into town to rent a breastpump and buy an exercise ball. I envisioned myself bouncing on the ball, post sex while pumping to encourage the onset of labor. The store we went to didn’t have a breastpump available, but gave us the name of another place about 30 minutes away that did. On the car ride there Buzz looked at me and could tell I was pretty uncomfortable. I had been having some irregular contractions that morning but because I had been experiencing a ton of prodromal labor the past weeks/months I didn’t think it was anything to get excited about. However when he looked at me, he said “I don’t think we should go to the store”. I agreed with him and we went back home. I spent the afternoon mostly alone. I had Buzz take care of the kids and I went for a long walk, journaled, meditated, drew, organized baby things, and set up my birth space. I still wasn’t sure I was in labor because contractions were quite irregular.

This time of pre labor or early labor was a purely transcendent moment for me. I remember looking out  my window into the forest and crying gently. I just felt this overwhelming sense of love and beauty. It was as though I could literally feel the oxytocin rushing through my body. All the symbols of love in my birth space, vibrated so loudly to me in that moment. I inhaled it all in and said to myself “it’s time”.

At 4:00pm I sent my new midwife a text to let her know that something was brewing and I would keep her posted. At 8:30pm I decided it was time to get the pool ready and have her come over. Intensity and frequency were picking up quickly.  I was sure baby would be in my arms soon.

When midwife arrived I was actively laboring. I was very vocal. Contractions were coming one on top of each other with virtually no breaks in between. I couldn’t find a good rhythm. I was in and out of the pool. Laying in the bed on my side. Moving into the bathroom to squat. The intensity and frequency of contractions were nothing like I experienced in my other labors. Yet I somehow knew I wasn’t progressing. Baby still felt very high to me. I tried to check my own dilation in the pool and concluded I wasn’t very far dilated. Even though I had assumed I would not want any vaginal exams during labor, I asked midwife to check me. I needed confirmation that what I suspected was true. She checked me and I was a 3, but knew my behavior indicated someone nearing transition. Now intellectually I know dilation is not necessarily that meaningful in assessing labor. I know a woman can go from 3 to 10 in a very short period of time. I however felt defeated. I was already exhausted.

Truthfully I went into labor feeling exhausted and defeated. I had been trying so hard the past months and weeks to keep it all together for my family. I told Buzz I felt like all the frustration, anxiety, fear, and unhappiness that had been mounting over time was being expressed in my labor. It was an incredibly powerfully release of emotions from the past several months of holding.

As the night wore on and I continued to labor, my exhaustion grew. Along with my fear. And frustration. I had already experienced the feeling of losing this baby three times during his pregnancy. I started not to care how baby arrived. I just wanted him here. I told this to Buzz. He said you are speaking out of frustration, you don’t really mean that. I didn’t know what I thought anymore. I just felt like I didn’t have anything left in me. I felt like I had already long let go of the childlike innocent birth image I had used to help me cope through the difficult parts of the pregnancy. In my mind his birth was going to be a beautiful and lovely family experience captured on camera by my doula while my midwife sipped tea and knitted in the other room. For a long time I really carried an idyllic image about how this birth would unfold. For it was to be my grand finale. My final birth.  One where I would epitomize a birthing goddess. I would embody calmness and serenity. Slowly that romanticism was stripped away from me as it became a raw experience. One where I felt completely out of control. Wild. Panting. Searching.  My ego was freed.

Acceptance: Allow myself to truly exist in the moment. 

At about 4:30am I asked my midwife to check me again. I was still only a 4. I didn’t understand how I could be laboring so hard and not making any progress. I decided I wanted to go to the hospital. This was hard for Buzz to hear. I had drilled it into him that I only wanted to go to the hospital if it were a true life or death situation. He was confused by my request and unsure how to respond. I was on the ground and started crying. I said “I am on my knees here. Begging you to take me.”

Acceptance: ARISE IN LOVE! Decide what needs to be done in the moment, without being attached to outcome. 

The midwife asked me why I wanted to go and I told her I was afraid something was wrong. The on going bleeding during pregnancy, the length of pregnancy, his still high position, and irregular labor pattern all made me feel worried that something was not right. This was enough of a reason for them to honor my request.

I asked Buzz to gather up some stuff and get the kids ready to go. I was still actively working through contractions as best I could.  I got into car with midwife. Buzz would follow behind us with the kids. We were told by the midwife the kids wouldn’t be allowed in delivery room and were strongly encouraged to find alternate care for them. But we really didn’t have any options plus I was adamant they come with.

I sat in the front seat of the car, next to my midwife.  I noticed on her GPS it said 22minutes to our destination.  I started saying aloud “Slow down. Slow down”. My midwife thought I was talking to her, “You want me to slow down?” as she braked. “NO! I am telling my body to slow down. Drive fast!”. I could tell things were picking up and picking up fast. I suddenly thought a car birth on the side of the road might end up being this baby’s story. In that moment I heard my friend Rachel’s voice telling me her son Everett’s birth story; how on a car ride to the hospital to get an ultrasound she came to a place of peace and acceptance about however her son would enter the world. That peace and acceptance washed over me. This was a pivotal point of surrender for me.Divine wisdom passed from one mother to the next. 

When we arrived at hospital I could hardly control my breathing. I asked for help. Begged for it. I said I thought I was going to die. My body needed to push. But they wanted paperwork completed. They wanted me to lie on a table to monitor the baby. They wanted to check my dilation. I yelled “You’re not helping me”. My midwife tried to calm me down and play referee for me in English. I lied and exclaimed “I have been here before! I am already in your system”. I simply did not want to deal with the bullshit policies and procedures of an institution.  I wanted to birth my baby.

Transformation… A trial to mirror who you are.

Finally I tore off my pants, flipped over, and yelled, “Speak English and don’t touch me!”

Then it occurred to me my husband and children were not there with me. “Where is my husband?” I shouted as I began to grunt. “He’s coming, he’s coming” they told me. I looked up and suddenly Buzz was next to me. “I am so proud of you!” he said as he ran behind me with his hands out ready to catch our son.

“Are the kids here?” I asked.
“Yes!”That was all I needed to know and then I really started to push. I watched the sweat pour off me and drip below me. I felt completely wild and primitive.  I had found myself. My true power.

Acceptance: We often discover ourselves in places we least expect to

The intensity of feeling his body emerging from mine was a crazy mixture of emotions and sensations…ones I fully embraced. It took about 5 good, strong pushes to bring him earthside.Tuesday, July 22, 5:30am. 

Buzz caught our son. He immediately passed him under my legs to me. I tore off my shirt, scooped him up, flipped over and snuggled him right to my chest.

A nurse stepped in and wanted to take him for observation. They viewed 42 +4, hard labor, and a great deal of meconuim as red flags, but I knew he was just fine. I knew the very best thing for him was to be with me. I said very firmly and directly without ever taking my eyes of my newborn, “You are NOT taking him from me.” And then I went inward to him. Just me and him. In our own sacred space of bonding. I knew there was a bit of commotion around me, but I wasn’t  fully aware of what was transpiring…nor did I care. I was in a purely blissful state of euphoria. All that anxiety and uncertainty from the past months completely dissipated. I could literally feel it floating out of me and being replaced with pure love. For him. For me. For us. 

He was here. Finally here. In my arms. My Wild Child.

After an ample amount of holding, I was ready to pass our son over to daddy and birth the placenta. I turned to Buzz, “Take your shirt off”. I wanted baby to be skin to skin as much as possible. Buzz held his fourth son up to his chest and inhaled him for the first time. He then brought him over to be weighed. He was 9lbs, 10oz. My biggest baby of them all.

After the placenta came out, I immediately expressed I wanted to go home. However the staff strongly encouraged us to stay a little longer so they could observe our baby.  We decided to oblige as long as we could all stay together in the room and they would leave us alone to bond as a family. Which they did. We snuggled. We nursed. We marveled in the joy of new life. After several hours, we were released and headed home as a family of six.

Birth Story: The Gladiator

“Hey, honey? I think this is the real thing.”

It was 4:30 in the morning. A contraction had stirred me from sleep at 1:48, and the intensity and regularity of the following contractions made it impossible to drift back to unconsciousness. I had spent a few hours bouncing on a birthing ball, watching Gilmore Girls on Netflix, noticing a bit of blood with each bathroom excursion.

“What do you need me to do?” His eyes were hardly opened, and he was snuggling our youngest in bed. The two other boys were in their room, sleeping soundly.

“Nothing. You’re fine. I don’t think we need to do anything for a few hours until someone is awake and can take the kids. I just wanted to let you know that it’s happening today.”

None of my previous three children had come on their due dates, and I smiled at the idea that my daughter was going to be as big of a stickler about punctuality as her mama. The contractions were noticeable, but not painful. My mind drifted to previous labors, with many false starts, and part of me wondered if I was overreacting, and that this was going to be one of many practice rounds.

A couple hours passed, and I was no longer alone with my thoughts. The morning routine shifted a bit, as the two older boys stirred before my husband and youngest. I fixed them breakfast and put on a movie, then showered. When I stepped out, my husband asked me how I was doing, and if I thought he should take the kids to a friend’s house.

“I don’t know. Would you check me?”

Having worked with a couple of home birthing midwives in previous pregnancies, my husband had become skilled at checking my cervix for dilation. The contractions still weren’t painful, so I was skeptical about making the thirty-minute trip to the birthing center on a Sunday if this wasn’t the real deal.

“What? What is it?” I couldn’t read my husband’s face, and assumed that I was still at fingertip dilation.

“You’re at a seven or an eight. We have got to go!”

About an hour later, we were pulling into the birthing center parking lot, and I was acutely aware that I had only had one contraction in the past half hour. We settled into the birthing room, especially quiet in the repurposed large Victorian home, as a Sunday meant only the midwife and nurse attending my birth were present. As they took some information, I sheepishly said, “My contractions have stopped. This might have been a false alarm.”

“I checked her before we left, though. I think she’s at a seven or an eight,” my husband said to the midwife, who in turn looked a little skeptical of my husband’s cervix exploration ability while she assured me that it was completely okay if today wasn’t my baby’s birthday. I accepted her invitation to check herself, and laid back on the bed.

“Oh. Oh!” The midwife had a look of surprise. “You’re at a nine.”

Until this point, I’d had a little discomfort, but no pain. And at this point, I had no contractions.

The midwife suggested relaxing in the tub, operating under the assumption that my uterus was protesting because I felt stressed. After a while of still not contracting, she invited me to walk around. Soaking wet from the tub, and completely naked with the exception of a nude-colored nursing bra, I jumped out and started running up and down the stairs. My husband turned on my Pandora station, and I started dancing in the birthing room. I did squats and lunges, and more stairs. I used the bathroom constantly, as my previous babe had been born over the toilet, hoping for some good luck, porcelain style.

This went on for 4 hours.

Fortunately, my contractions started up again just as I received my second round of antibiotics for my group-B strep. I hopped back in the tub, willing my water to break, knowing that my daughter would come soon after. Finally, a soft pop happened, and I felt the gush of water in the tub. I was in a squatting position, holding the side of the tub, and spoke to my little girl.

“Baby, it’s just you and me. This is hard. It’s really hard. We’re in it together, and the hard stuff is doable, because we’re doing it together.” I pushed. The midwife, nurse, and my husband were in the room, but it was just me in the tub. I pushed her head into my hand, and with another little pop, her head was fully out. I laughed. “I can feel her ear!”

When the midwife saw that her head was out, she urged me, “Just one more push, right now. Just one more push to get her the rest of the way.”

“Nope,” I said. “I need a minute.”

When my body was ready, I pushed, one more time, and with just me in the tub, my little girl came out, and I pulled her up against me. She and I had done it. Together.

Her name is Emery, which means “brave and powerful.” While I do wish that for her, the truth is, she is my source of bravery and power. She is my Gladiator, and her birth was my most sacred accomplishment.

Keighty Brigman is terrible at crafting, throwing birthday parties, and making sure there isn’t food on her face. Allegedly, her four children manage to love her anyway. 

***Originally posted to BreastfeedBabywearClothDiaper.Naturally  Reposted with permission.

Benefits of Babywearing

By Peggy O’Mara, founder of Mothering.com

Babywearing is a necessity for women all over the world who carry their babies while they work and do domestic tasks. This practice has been around for centuries, but has seen a dramatic resurgence in popularity in recent years. Why? Because touch is good for us.

THE BENEFITS OF TOUCH

According to a study in Pediatrics, babies who are carried cry less. Babywearing for three hours a day reduced infant crying by 43 percent overall and 54 percent during the evening hours.

A study at Columbia University compared the attachment of babies carried in a baby carrier with babies carried in a car seat. After 13 months, the babies who had been transported in wearable carriers were significantly more attached to their mothers.

According to research at Dr. Tiffany Field’s The Touch Institute, touch therapy has been shown to:

Facilitate weight gain in preterm infants

Enhance attentiveness

Alleviate depressive symptoms

Reduce pain

Reduce stress hormones

Improve immune function.

Ashley Montagu was the first to remind us of the power of touch in his 1971 classic, Touching::The Human Significance of the Skin. According to Montagu, touch for infants is important because of their developmental vulnerability:

This intensification of cutaneous stimulations is especially necessary in the human fetus because, contrary to general belief, the period of gestation is not completed when the baby is born. It is only half-completed.

Nils and Jill Bergman’s work advocating “kangaroo care” for premature babies recalls Montagu’s characterization of humans as marsupials. Kangaroo care is continuous or prolonged maternal-infant-skin-to-skin contact (supplemented by father or other attachment figure). Research shows that it improves outcomes for premature babies and the Bergman’s recommend it for both premature and full-term babies.

OXYTOCIN

Touching is not just good for baby. Adults also benefit  from oxytocin, the neuropeptide released into the bloodstream during many types of touching. Oxytocin makes us want to touch and cuddle. Its release promotes feelings of devotion, trust and bonding. It lowers our heart rate and blood pressure making us feel more soothed and less stressed.

TYPES OF BABY CARRIERS

Rest of article

My Birth Story: A Christmas Baby

The holiday season will always have heightened meaning for me as a mom of an end-of-year first baby. Granted, any time of year for any mother of any baby will likely have heightened meaning. Still, the season of anticipation, joy, and reception of a gift holds new meaning for me as soon as we heard the due date of 12/25. Christmas music and the twinkle of tree lights in the dark of midnight grace my memory as I sat up nursing in a daze that first month.

We opted to stay home for Thanksgiving instead of driving across state to our traditional family meal. Aside from the discomfort of traveling long distance, I’m most happy to have skipped out because of the quiet, lazy Thanksgiving we had together as a family of two. December ushered in what I termed the “Christmas waddle” and we also experienced due day, Christmas day, as a family of two.

I’d been a patient lady up until that point. I’m not one to fall for gimmicks, but I never ate so much spicy food or went for such long drives on bumpy roads, among other things. At 41 weeks my blood pressure continued to cause concern. In addition to the protein found in my urine at my checkup, this was enough to be admitted for observation.

I had the birth plan, the anticipation of natural childbirth. Several hours later, in lengthy consultation with my doctor, we heard that the small but present protein, continued high blood pressure, and my full term status all made her comfortable with induction. I’d read thoroughly about induction and preeclampsia. When she returned once more, we made the decision for induction while I was eating dinner. She quickly encouraged me to limit my intake of food, to which I gingerly popped a few more grapes into my mouth with a smirk.

My husband went home to get some sleep, as we weren’t going to start Pitocin until 6 am. Just before midnight they applied cervidil to encourage the softening of my cervix. Almost immediately, and for the next six hours, I had intense muscle cramping in my abdomen, hips, and thighs. Contractions caused some of this pain, but the intense throbbing of my hips and thighs proved by far more excruciating and distracting than anything I anticipated. I have some sense and ability to tolerate pain. I’ve practiced yoga for years and trained for a marathon—I know a thing or two about breathing, pain, and endurance. Six hours into those “labor” pains, I asked for an epidural. Due to extenuating circumstances, it did not come for another two hours. Ouch.

I put quotation marks around labor because I never reached active labor throughout the entire 19-hour process that ended in our baby’s birth. With the epidural I found some relief and rest. My epidural caused continued frustration as one side of my body regained sensation. What an odd feeling to have no feeling on one side of your body and only slightly-numb pain on the other side. It was uncomfortable but manageable.

Throughout the day we were playing the waiting game. As the baby had not dropped at all, my cervix barely responded to any of the induction, and my blood pressure remained cautiously high, so at 12 hours my doctor introduced the idea of a C-section. She offered the option gently and without force. I appreciated her offer but wanted to wait it out. About 15 hours in, the anesthesiologist adjusted my epidural and the doctor again checked in. My temperature was rising just a bit, and I was otherwise still the same. I opted to continue forward and wait to see if my body would respond. She obliged and offered support.

Three hours later I developed a fever and fetal movements remained present but slowing. I knew it was time to lean into immediate action. We swiftly moved into the operating room where nurses—a flurry of nurses—draped and prepared me for surgery. Within minutes, just shy of 19 hours after the first labor pain, our baby boy was born. I was able to share a few moments with him but, due to the fever, they scurried him off to the NICU. My husband stayed with him along the way. Though he remained in the NICU for the first day for antibiotics, he was able to come to my room for milk and cuddles numerous times.

The C-section, on the one hand, was not ideal in that I wanted a natural childbirth. Later, I wondered if my choice to induce sealed the fate of a C-section. I don’t know, but given my preeclampsia, I’m willing to say my C-section was ideal and possibly inevitable—possibly a life saver. I made thoughtful, informed decisions along the way for my medical care. I birthed a beautiful baby with the aid of a support system around me that I trusted. That is what matters.

Happy New Year to us, indeed.

Lyn, mommy of two and counting…

***Originally posted to BreastfeedBabywearClothdiaper. Reposted with permission.

Do We Need a Daily Routine?

During my baby’s first year, one of the most common topics of conversation was about how she was sleeping.  Friends/family/moms in mom groups/strangers in the grocery line all seemed really interested in how she was sleeping.  Once we had established a daily routine, my response was much more positive to the dreaded sleep question. Routinesare needed because they let your baby what to expect next, according to Babycenter.  When babies can anticipate what happens next, it provides comfort to them and helps them sleep better. Experts say that routines can be established as early as 2 months or as old as 6 months old, depending on your (and your baby’s) personality.

My first daughter was a snacker. She liked to nurse for short amounts of time every hour or two all day, every day up until she was about six months old. At about 6 months, we started to establish a routine with her, encouraging her to eat more during the day and sleep for longer stretches at night. My younger daughter was content to nurse for long amounts of time, less frequently. We worked out our routine around 4 months. Establishing a routine earlier with my second daughter also benefited my first because we returned to many of our activities that we did before the baby was born.

There is a wide range of philosophies about establishing routines, ranging from the parents setting the routines to basing the daily routine on the baby’s natural schedule and everything in between. For me, and my children, building a routine around their natural schedules worked best.  However, I am a stay-at-home mom, so I have flexibility with our days.

I found that using time intervals–instead of basing the routine off the clock–created a routine that was flexible but still offered my babies the comfort about what was coming up next.  Juniper was the most happy with about 3-3.5 hoursbetween waking and going back to sleep.  When she was about 6 months old, Juniper’s routine would begin with her waking up for the day.  I would feed her breakfast, play with her and do tummy time while her big sister was eating breakfast, get the three of us dressed, then about 2.5 hours after she initially woke up, I would nurse her for about a half an hour to forty-five minutes until she fell asleep for nap.  During her naptime, Lily and I would do one of her classes or another activity (like going for a walk or to the playground).  I would let Juniper sleep as long as she wanted, and then we would start the routine over (meal of solids, play/activity, nurse, nap) again, this would fit into about 3/3.5 hours.  At this point, Juniper was taking two naps a day and going to bed around 6/6:30 at night.  Because we were not tied to the clock, if Juniper wanted to nurse an extra time or take an extra nap, our entire day was not thrown off.

Setting a routine doesn’t have to be a struggle to have your baby follow a schedule based on the clock.  Setting a routine based on a pattern during a rough time interval offers your baby predictability and meets her needs based on her natural schedule with the flexibility that she needs day to day.

Becky Nagel is a stay at home mom to two girls, a three year old and a one year old, in Denver, CO who enjoys cooking for her family, running, and hiking.

***This article originally appeared under blogger BreastfeedBabywearClothdiaper at http://www.breastfeedbabywearclothdiaper.com/need-daily-routine?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+BreastfeedBabywearClothDiaperNaturally+%28Breastfeed.Babywear.ClothDiaper.Naturally%21%29. Reposted with permission.

6 Easy Ways to be a Great Guest When Visiting a New Mom

So a friend has just had a baby and you’ve been invited over for your first visit. Yay, a sweet, squishy newborn to love on! Who doesn’t love that feeling of a tiny baby falling asleep in your arms? My own daughter is 2.5 years old now and often running away, rather than towards my arms so believe me that when I get the chance, I want to HOLD ALL THE BABIES! But the truth is that a new mom doesn’t really need you to hold the baby. Not all the time, at least. There is so much more that you can do that will make you the best visitor that new mom has had yet.

1. Bring food. A meal, a side dish, a gift card for local delivery – pretty much any of these items would be welcomed warmly by a new mom. Cooking is often the last thing on the list when baby is brand new. Freezer meals, soups, even fresh produce are all fantastic ways to help support a new family.
2. Ask after the mom, not just baby. So much cooing tends to happen over baby that a new mom can feel like she’s standing in the shadows. That lady just gave birth! Give her a high five and ask her, honestly, how she’s doing. Let her talk. She’ll probably just talk about the baby, but at least you gave her the opening to do so.
3. Help around the house. Every ounce of mom’s focus in those first few weeks, especially for a first time mom, is on baby and surviving the life altering changes that come with a newborn. Household chores can pile up and cause a lot of stress. Doing something as simple as unloading the dishwasher or tossing in a load of laundry can mean the world. Don’t offer, just do. If you ask, she’ll tell you not to bother. She’s being polite, but secretly she’d love you to wash a few dishes.
4. Let her shower. If you know her well, offer to watch the baby so that she can have a few blessed moments alone in the shower. New mom truth: days go by before you realize you haven’t showered. Giving her the chance to do so is both great for her and a sneaky way to hog all of that delicious newborn baby smell.
5. Limit your visit. Aim for a 30 minute visit the first time around. Mom’s bound to be tired, baby may or may not need to eat/sleep/poop (or all of the above!), and there have probably been many other visitors coming around to see the new arrival. As a new mom struggling to breastfeed, I hated the awkward moment when I had to slip away into the nursery while guests remained just on the other side of the wall in my living room. Keeping your visit short and sweet, at least at first, is a great way to keep mom relaxed.
6. Don’t show up unannounced. Just don’t do it. It’s rude at any time, whether dropping in on a new mom, your best friend, or your parents. Plus, frankly, a new nursing mom is likely to be mostly, if not entirely, undressed from the waist up. You’ve been warned.

There you have it! Easy steps that will make you the best guest a new mom sees. I promise, you’ll still get baby snuggles and you’ll probably be invited back sooner than anyone else!

What would be your tips, looking back, on ways to be a good guest to a new mom?



Kate is a mainly stay-at-home mom in the Pacific NW who seriously wants to Hold ALL the Babies! 

The post 6 Easy Ways to be a Great Guest When Visiting a New Mom appeared first on Breastfeed.Babywear.ClothDiaper.Naturally!.