On Beginnings and Endings -- Peanut Turns One

One year ago, at just about this time, a child was born.  It was serene and sacred, a quiet scene, a beautiful and blissful welcoming. (You can read the story here.)

While pregnant with Peanut, I experienced the normal number of garden-variety aches and discomforts.  I had at least my fair share of anxiety.

But, in retrospect his pregnancy felt much like a deep breath, his birth a sigh.

When I first looked in his eyes I felt 31 years' urgent ache melt away.  Here was my friend, the gentle joyful spirit who had trusted me enough to wait for me to be his mother.  Until that moment I had no idea how much I'd missed him.

Now, the newborn boy whose peach fuzz head fit in the palm of my hand is one year old. 

His eyes are bright with joy and laughter. His voice tinkles and coos and squeals, playing on his throat and teeth and tongue the music of our language. Soon his words will roll into the world, announcing the thoughts that make him unique in all the universe. As he learns to walk, his feet march out the rhythm of his fierce desire for independence. He longs to step into the wide world and do what he came here to do.

Never have I mourned the passing of a baby year as I am grieving the end of this child's first year.

Oh, how I will miss him! 

Tangled up in his growing is the passage of my mother-self.  I don't yet feel the settling peace and certainty that we are done having children.  I also don't feel the yearning for a missing child, the surety that there is at least one more spirit waiting to join us. And so I know that this may be the end, that I may never again know the intimacy of being the mother of a baby.

Tonight I kissed his forehead as I put him to bed, knowing that the baby I nursed to sleep tonight will wake up tomorrow as a one year old.

The pain and joy and power of it all was far too much to keep to myself, so I had to pour it out here.


My baby, likely my very last sweet baby, is ONE YEAR OLD. 

{Awed pause here.}

He was born on a wisp of heaven and his birth restored my faith in birth.

Now, each day he restores my faith. 

He teaches and teaches and teaches me hope. Life is good -- all of it -- the beginnings and the endings and the just-keeping-ons.

With each joyful, toddling step he is reminding me. Life is meant to be lived with face turned forward, arms raised high, heart open to welcome the joy that waits ahead of us, even as it holds safe the treasure of the joys that lay behind.

Peanut's Birth Story -- The Real Deal

I'm pretty sure a phone call sent me into labor.

After all of the anxiety and preparation and prayer of the preceding week, I did the hardest thing of all. I called my friend, Laura, ready to give her half of my bank account and beg her to be my doula at the last minute. Why was this so hard? I don't know. I felt so foolish for waiting until I was 39 weeks pregnant to decide, for sure, that I wanted a doula present at my birth. I was afraid she'd think I was foolish, too. Of course, if a friend were to call me at the last minute to be at her birth, I'd do everything I could to rearrange my life to be there. I'd be happy to help. I forget that other people like me too. Enough to happily help and take care of me.

At about 5pm on August 10th I called her.

Her (typical Laura) response: "I'd be honored."

Then we spent the next two hours talking about my pregnancy, what preparations I'd made, what my needs and her role for this birth would be. By the time we finished talking, I felt like there was more oxygen in the room, like the weights tied to my ankles were gone, like a million tiny springs were uncoiling all over inside my body.

The final piece was in place. Everything would be ok. Laura would be there.

I went to the bathroom and was surprised to find a bit of bloody show. I didn't think much of it because I wasn't having any contractions. Actually, I thought it meant I would probably go into labor in the morning. That's how it has happened for the last three, I'd wake up with contractions and have a baby by that afternoon/evening.

So, we had dinner and put kids to bed. Then I went to WalMart to get dog food and grapes.

While I was there I felt a bit achy, but I was not contracting. I had no inkling that I might actually be about to start labor (or perhaps be dilating/laboring already). I remember looking at people as I walked around and thinking "They have no idea that I'm going to go into labor and have a baby tomorrow."

I schlepped the 40 lb bag of dog food out to the car (along with my grapes and the ice cream and other things that jumped into the cart). On the way home, I talked to Peanut about his birth. I told him I loved him and that I would do everything I could to get him here safely and coached him again on his job. Head down, back forward, chin tucked. Then, as I was stopped at a stop sign just a few minutes from our house, I told him I was ready for him to come. I told him I was ready to do whatever it took and he could come any time he wanted. Immediately I had an intensely powerful contraction. Seriously. It was huge. I felt a kind of popping sensation along with it and thought, "Holy cow, I think I dilated 4 centimeters just with that contraction."

That was about 11:30pm.

I drove home and took things into the house (I made JDub carry the dog food). At about 11:45, I was standing in the kitchen and had another contraction (not as strong this time) and felt another pop. And my underwear were suddenly very wet. It wasn't like a gush (like when my water broke with Kaitybean) and there was no puddle on the floor. It was just a little fluid. I sat on the toilet and a little more fluid came out. It was, thankfully, clear and not a lot of fluid. I think his head was probably pressed pretty well against my cervix and kept most of the fluid in.

I told JDub that I thought my water had broken and started contracting pretty regularly. We finished putting things away, took the grapes off their stems and rinsed them. Each time I'd have a contraction I would hold on to the counter or the stove, lean forward and rock back and forth. JDub massaged my lower back and hips, which felt wonderful. He gave me a priesthood blessing, where I was promised help from the other side of the veil, added strength and a healthy baby and mom.

Finally, I decided it was probably time to call Suzanne, my midwife, and give her a heads up. We decided, first, to time a few contractions and see how close they were. They were lasting about 45 seconds and were a pretty consistent 2 minutes and 45 seconds apart. And definitely getting stronger.

Still, I was convinced that this was just early labor. My plan was to call Suzanne and then go to sleep "until things got serious". It didn't even occur to me that things might already be getting "serious".

I called Suzanne, told her what was happening. She asked if I wanted her to come and I told her the plan. I was just going to wait it out and I'd call her when I needed her. I just wanted to let her know it would be soon.

Then we called Laura. She also asked what was happening and talked me through a few contractions over the phone. I told her of the "wait until things get serious" plan. She asked where I was feeling the sensations and I told her "Mostly in the front of my abdomen, near my pubic bone and in my inner thighs."

Bless Laura and her spot-on instincts.

"Um, if you're feeling sensations in your inner thighs and your contractions are that close, I think I'm going to assert myself," she said. "I'm just going to start moseying on down there."

"Actually, I think that's a good idea," I told her.

She instructed me to eat something and then to spend some time on hands and knees (leaning on a birth ball) and to do some aggressive pelvic tilting during contractions to promote rotation and descent.

This was about 12:35am on August 11th.

Sometime during my next few contractions, I ended up on the birth ball in our hallway. I did pelvic tilts during contractions and at first didn't like it because it made the sensations much more intense. Actually, the sensations were just intense. I had a very lucid moment in that hallway when I thought, "You know, I think I completely skipped early labor."

These were not early labor contractions. They were powerful. The pressure and pain radiated all through my abdomen, my back and my thighs.

Then something miraculous happened.

There was a little voice in my head. "You have a choice here," it told me. "You can run from the intensity of these contractions. You can fight them. Or you can embrace them and go straight to the center."

I decided right then to embrace, to allow each surge to wash over me and to find my way to the center of each sensation and really feel it.

And here's the amazing thing: When I decided to embrace the sensations, they actually got easier. The actual feeling of each contraction was not nearly as difficult as they were in the story I had running inside my head. Now, each pelvic tilt actually felt good to me. It felt great to move into, rather than away from what I was feeling. I imagined my cervix y-a-w-n-i-n-g wide open with each contraction. I felt help from the other side. Truly, it was amazing.

JDub continued to massage my back and touch me and stay with me.

At some point I decided that I was really tired of staring at the cracking paint above our dusty A/C intake vent and had JDub help me into our bedroom. The atmosphere there was MUCH better. A newly painted green, clean, restful bedroom with soft light from our bedside lamps was a much nicer place to be.

At about 1:30am I had JDub call Laura to see how close she was. She was about 5 minutes away. Then, I convinced myself that I really was in serious labor and probably ought to have our midwife come too. So I had him call Suzanne, also.

Laura arrived to find me leaning on the birth ball. With each contraction I'd tilt my pelvis and JDub would rub my back. Then, as the contraction ended, I'd rock my hips back and forth and sway on the birth ball until all of the tightness in my hips and thighs just faded away. Her presence was wonderful. She stroked my hair and talked softly, encouraging me through each wave. JDub went to fill the tub.

I got my ipod off of my nightstand and started listening to Jason Mraz and John Mayer and James Taylor. (I'll have to post my birth playlist. It was awesome.) That helped so much, but the earphones kept coming out. Laura pulled out her handy ipod dock and we were all able to listen.

Just after this, I got up to empty my bladder, get a drink and eat a bit more. When I came back to the bedroom, I tried to get back down on the birth ball but couldn't do it. I tried to crawl into bed. That wouldn't do either. The only thing that felt good was to mooove. Contractions were coming right on top of each other now, and it just felt good to walk right through them. I walked laps through our living room and kitchen, with my sweet husband trailing behind. I grabbed his hand and placed it on my back.

"Just touch me," I told him. "It feels better when you touch me."

Laura asked me how I was feeling, what my sensations were.

"Lots of pressure. Lots of pressure in my perineum and pelvis."

With a little bit of panic in her voice she asked, "Now do you think that pressure is a sign that it's a good time to call Suzanne?"

She seemed very relieved when JDub told her Suzanne was already on her way.

Soon, the walking stopped feeling good, so I got into our bed (with some help) and laid on my side. By this time, I was sure I was in transition. In transition I have almost always wanted to be very still. In that way, this birth was no different. The big difference was a wonderful one, though.

With my other births (particularly Mashuga and Coco), transition was a time of outer stillness and quiet but I was screaming inside. It was scary and I felt so alone. I don't know if it was because of the promised help from the other side, or my determination to simply embrace each moment as it came, or the attentiveness of Jeffrey and Laura. But during transition this time, my mind was as still and quiet as I was on the outside. I knew my baby was coming soon. I could literally feel him moving down through my body. Jeffrey held my hand and kept his face close to mine and I felt so safe and loved. Laura gently ran her fingers from my hip to my knee, which was so relaxing.

Jeffrey asked if I wanted to get in the tub. I nodded. He asked if I wanted him to check it or Laura. I wasn't sure whether I could live without either one of them at that moment, but decided he was the indispensable one and sent Laura.

I knew I was close to pushing, but wasn't about to rush it because Suzanne hadn't come yet. But, like I said earlier, I could literally feel Peanut moving down through my body. It was probably only a few minutes that I felt it, but it was felt like an eternity. And I was in a state of pure wonder. Just wow. Then, I heard a guttural, unintentional growl. I realized it came from me and that my body was pushing without my consent.

"Get Laura up here now," I told Jeffrey.

He went to the air vent and called to her.

I growled again.

"Laura, could you please come up here. NOW!" Jeffrey pleaded.

And I heard Laura running up the stairs.

"He's coming." I told her.

Laura was awesome. She was completely clear-headed. She found the chux pads in my birth kit and got them situated underneath me. She got some gloves on and got ready.

"Okay, Heather," she told me, "You place your hands wherever you feel they need to be and I will help you guide him out."

"Good, because he's here," I told him. I was feeling that unmistakable ring of fire that told me his head was right on my perineum. Even though I didn't believe it could be there already.

I reached down and, sure enough, I could feel his head at the opening of my vagina. I gently pushed with the next contraction, supporting my perineum with one hand and above his head with the other hand. I have no words to describe how miraculous, how empowering, how awe-inspiring and beautiful this moment was for me. It still brings me to tears. Whether through instinct or inspiration or both I knew exactly where to place my hands, where to put pressure to support the tissues and keep them from tearing. And I felt my precious baby's head slip right between my hands and into the world.

After this, I felt no urgency to push his shoulders out. I was just blissed out and resting for a minute. Laura suctioned his nose and mouth and then guided me to spread my legs open a bit wider and push the shoulders out. I wasn't quite ready to and when I spread my legs I felt a bit like I was pushing uphill. But I gave just a couple more pushes and his whole body came wriggling out. He cried immediately. It was the most beautiful sound imaginable.

Laura placed Peanut right on my chest, skin to skin. I was immediately in love with him.

So in love.


After that it is a bit of a blur. Suzanne made it just after Peanut was born. She was here to help deliver the placenta and to confirm that I had no tears and that my bleeding was normal.
We just snuggled him until his cord stopped pulsing and then Jeffrey cut the cord. We woke Scud and Kaitybean up to meet their new brother.

Suzanne weighed and measured and examined him to make sure he was healthy and strong. She gave us paperwork for his birth certificate and scheduled follow-up visits for 1 day, 2 weeks and 6 weeks. Then she left.

Laura stayed long enough to help clean up, to make sure I ate and was comfortable and ready for sleep. I took a picture of Jeffrey, who had fallen asleep at the foot of our bed holding Peanut and posted it on facebook. (Which was not a good idea because I hadn't yet called my parents or sister and my sister was at work and awake and saw the picture before I had told her personally that he was here and called my parents to see if they knew. I should have just called them all in the middle of the night, but I was exhausted and figured I'd just let them sleep and call in the morning. Oops. Oh well.)

Then, we settled in to sleep.

It was a wonderful experience. Now, I wonder if childbirth is a time of literal time dilation. All of this seemed to go in slow motion, even though it went so fast. Laura got here shortly after 1:30am and Peanut was born at 2:02am. But, I was so lucid (within my head) and every moment seemed so distinct and to stretch as if there was nothing else before or after it.

Honestly, it was the perfect birth for me. It wasn't easy, but by staying in the moment and embracing each moment, it was extraordinary. Ecstatic. Moving. Beautiful. The way I wish normal birth could be for every woman.

And, of course, a beautiful pregnancy and wonderful birth were both lagniappe.

Because now we have him and it feels like I've known him forever. I have no idea how I lived without him for 31 years.

I Broke the Butter Dish and Other Confessions of Late Pregnancy

Yes, I'm the one who broke the butter dish. And the last of the glasses that Derrick and Kendra gave us. And one of our few remaining IKEA stoneware bowls. I'm always clumsy during pregnancy. Well, I'm fairly clumsy all the time. Something about the hormones and the physical changes of pregnancy just exacerbates it.

But strangely, I have felt anything but clumsy this pregnancy. Being pregnant this time around has been pure bliss. I feel beautiful, divine, big, powerful, capable, joyful, grateful beyond reckoning. It may be because this is likely my last chance to experience pregnancy. It may be because I am keenly aware of so many around me who are yearning to be pregnant, or whose pregnancies are truly difficult. But somehow I have been able to abide in each moment of this experience, to cherish it for what it is, to revel in this partnership with the divine in creating a body to house a precious spirit.

I laugh at the less-than-stellar moments of pregnancy: the now cumbersome belly, the ridiculous round-ligament pain, the multiple trips to the bathroom (some coming less than 5 minutes apart), the hips that hurt in the morning and leave me walking like an old lady. And then I cherish them too. When will I ever feel this again? Even the pain and the discomfort are precious. They are teachers, reminders of how alive I am, how fortunate I am to be a mother, how worthwhile the fruits of this short season will be, how short this season truly is.

I think it is also a blessing to have a summer baby. I visit my garden in the mornings to tend and weed and water and harvest, the warmth of the sun radiating through me. The squatting and the bending and the reaching are wonderful preparation for my physical body. The widely opening flowers, soon to be ripe with fruit, are a comfort and companion to my mother-soul. The effortless green and growth are nourishment to my spirit and a gentle example of our equal needs, the garden and I, for nourishment and tender care.

In my favorite birth book, Birthing From Within, there is a powerful exercise. It is one I teach my BFW classes and doula clients. It is the process of choosing one's Deepest Question. Like affirmations, it is a way of bringing mind and body into congruence. Even more powerful, to my mind. In asking the question over and over, we invite ourselves to live the answer. And as I live the answer now and the next moment and the next moment, I can know with surety that I will still be living my answer as I give birth and learn to mother a new child.

My question through the latter half of this pregnancy has been this:

How am I opening to this moment?

Each time I ask this again, I feel myself crack open just a little wider. I feel my heart open, my mind open, my eyes open, my hands open. I feel myself opening to and embracing the joy, the humor, the aching hips, the gentle nudges of my baby each morning, the nervousness about having five children, the breaking butter dishes. I am opening to all of the possibilities this particular birthing adventure might take, to the love and kindness of friends and family and strangers who are eager to share in this experience, to the wonder in my children's eyes as they marvel over my hee-uuuge tummy, the adoration and devotion of my dear husband. I am claiming and embracing it all, without apology, with an inkling that I just might be one of the most blessed women in existence right now.

My preparation for Coco's birth was an exercise in trust, a warrior-like need for battle readiness, almost an existential crisis. (I frequently pull myself into the-chicken-or-the-egg type discussions about this. Was Coco's birth my most intense because I was so intense about preparing for it, or did my spirit know how desperately I needed that intense preparation for the phenomenal experience to come?)

This experience has been so incredibly different. It has been one of curiosity, gentleness and steady, calm assurance. Perhaps I am living the calm of the warrior. Coco's birth taught me that I am made of tougher stuff than I ever imagined. Perhaps my spirit really knows what's coming and I'm in for an easier ride this time.

Either way, I'm ready. Open. Grateful.

I'm in no hurry to part with this little one, to end this treasured experience. But I feel the end coming soon. And when it comes, I will open body, mind and spirit and let my little one come from my body to my arms.

And the opening will have only begun.

Ten Whole Years

Ten years ago, just after midnight, my water broke. We drove by the light of a full moon to Gunnison, Utah from our little home in Ephraim. I was excited, strangely confident and ready despite the fact that I was 37 1/2 weeks pregnant and even in my wildest dreams did not expect to be giving birth so soon.

JDub was a bit of a wreck, but he stuck with me and helped me pack and get there.

I walked the halls of the hospital, plunging into a squat with each wave. We watched home improvement shows and Gilligan's Island. My parents and sister and brother took turns spending time with us in my room. Interestingly enough, my fourteen year old brother was my greatest comfort during the contractions. He was so tender and so present.

After 15 1/2 hours of labor, I decided I was ready for an epidural. I'd really had no intention of giving birth naturally, unless it just happened that way. And by this point, I was ready for a rest and some relief. It was just what I needed. Despite some complications and plummeting blood pressure that had to be resolved, I was grateful when it was in place. I took a nap and woke up to some pressure sensations.

I didn't tell anyone or even open my eyes, but gently, gradually began to push my sweet baby into the world. That quiet space was the space where I began to become a mother. Eyes closed, body filled with light, I held tightly to the tender secret that my child would soon be in my arms. I talked with her and with my Heavenly Father. I made promises and let go of old agreements and readied myself for the rest of my life.

There are no words for the sweetness of that time.

After 15 minutes or 30, I don't know, I felt it was time to let everyone else in and welcome their help with the birth. I pushed for 30 minutes and my tiny daughter was out of my body and on my chest and I would never be the same again.



I was a mother, forever, through and through. Nothing else I had been before would ever matter as much or hold as big a part of me as this new little being.

Now, I have very few words to tell the beauty and awe I feel.

This, my 4 lb 13 oz baby girl:



has become this, my too-lovely-for-expression daughter:



I thought I knew joy ten years ago. But, ten years of being a mother to such a lovely, bright, amazing daughter is more than I will ever deserve. She has written poetry in my heart and I will never be the same. I simply will never be able to capture her goodness, her heart in words. She is far too wonderful.

Thank you, my daughter, for choosing me.

Happy birthday to both of us.

Unexpectedly Grateful Moments

A list of just a few moments in my life that were difficult at the time, but that I'm very grateful for now.

1. When I found out, at 16, that my boyfriend was dating someone else. It was sad, but also a feeling of complete freedom. It was like my body, mind and spirit all heaved a great sigh of relief. It was over. I was no longer bound to that destructive, abusive relationship. My life began in that moment.

2. Fifteen minutes before Scud was born when I was absolutely certain that I wanted an epidural and my midwife said "It's too late for that." That moment led to me giving birth to Scud without medication, which was very empowering and led to deep study and preparation for Mashuga's birth. That terrifying moment was the beginning of the path I've taken and the reason I am fortunate enough to do the deep, fulfilling work with women that I do today.

3. At 17 when a boy I was dating (and really liked) told me that he couldn't date me anymore because he'd made a mistake and had sex with another girl. He said that I deserved better and that I was not that kind of a girl. I will love him forever for that decision. I might have forgiven him and still dated him, but he really saw me. He saw who I was and who I wanted to be and knew that he wasn't right for me and that I needed someone else. That is perhaps one of the most selfless and compassionate things that any person has ever done for me. I still see him sometimes, as he was walking away in tears and I want to reach through the years and embrace him to thank him for giving me some of the best gifts he could have given me -- gifts of myself, my future -- whole and unsullied, the gift of profound respect.

4. My worst date ever, also my first date and first date with JDub. For some reason that terrible experience made me realize that this skinny, blond kid was worth hanging on to. And I knew, somehow, that our worst date was behind us.

5. The moment I lay on an ultrasound table, searching with my midwife for the flicker of a heartbeat and hearing the words "I'm sorry. There's no heartbeat." Surrendering to this experience tore me wide open. In the years since, gallons of years of unacknowledged grief have come spilling out of the hole created by that moment. Grace, compassion, gratitude and joy have come rushing in to fill the void.

6. When I was six and my Grandpa collapsed in my backyard, then died a few hours later. This was my first of many experiences with death. It cemented my faith in the eternal nature of souls and families. It taught me to not be afraid of death, of endings. And it helped me appreciate the gift of a loving family.

Life is What Happens When You are Busy Making Other Plans

So, here are the goings on as of late.

Rusty, ever the destructo dog, ate an entire tube of this
today while we were gone. I know. Ewwwww!

So, why were we gone? We went to see my sweet new niece, Evie and her mommy (who is one of my best friends and favorite people). I also had the honor of being there for her birth. She is beautiful and tiny, 6lb 3 oz and 19 1/2 inches long and just perfect. I am so impressed by her mom. I got to do some work with her and her husband before the birth and I was amazed by her faith and her determination and strength in doing just what was right for her and Evie. And this was the FASTEST birth I've ever attended. (For you birth junkies, she was started on pitocin at 9am, received an epidural at 9:20 and her baby was born at 11:58. Wow.) What a beautiful gift it was to witness a miracle yesterday.

I have begun waking up at 5:30 each morning to go running, do yoga, read, pray and get a jump on the day. I've always considered myself more of a night owl, but it has been heavenly to be awake just as the sun is coming up and step out into the newness of a cool morning. I've found myself more than happy to go to bed earlier at night and more invigorated and productive throughout the day. I'm surprised as you are. But, I've loved this.

I have more to tell you about, but must get to it later. Right now life is calling -- diapers to be changed, dinner to be made, kids to hug.

Working Toward Beautiful

The bleach has not made it out of the closet yet, even though everyone is back to normal now. (Well, Scud's nose may still be broken, but...) As happens often, my poet self has subjected my housecleaning self to her will. If only I could spin the magic of a lovely, clean house in words. Trust me, people would be begging to tour my home at all hours. :) If I could learn to give my full attention and joy to my home the way I give it to my poetry, life would be different around here. But, alas, I must embrace the gifts I have and hope to continue developing other abilities.

The mop bucket really will find its way out of hiding today.

Promise.

For now, I want to share something I wrote today. It is long. It's rough, but it made me feel happy and wriggly and light. I hope it does the same for you.

Working Toward Beautiful

I was never that kind of pageant girl.
My mother didn't cake my face with makeup
or dress me like a Vegas show girl
at five years old.
But I do remember standing in the hall,
playing fives with Daddy
just before I pranced onto the stage
in the ballroom of the Marriott.

And I can still recall
growing up surrounded
by What gorgeous eyes she has.
and What a pretty little girl.
Thank heaven for my mother
who cocooned me in gentle reminders.
What matters it that you're beautiful inside.
What matters is how you treat people.
And my vanity was kept in check.
Until I turned fourteen
and I was very vain.

But soon I knew.

I didn't want to be a vase
beautiful to look at but mostly pointless
if not graced by flowers
of kindness, knowledge,
strength, serenity.

And so I spurn the pages of Glamour,
dismiss the beauty tips in Vogue
and look for a higher paradigm of loveliness.

Like Doris, who once told me
I am grateful for the life I've lived,
words that didn't need to be uttered.
They were written in the stillness of her blue eyes
and in the skin around them
carved through, like clay,
with rivulets of joy and pain.

And gentle Clara, crowned by snow white hair,
her blessed hands bear the spots of age.
Her fingers are bent, spindly,
a testament to tireless hours,
holding fourteen children,
kneading bread dough with love,
wisely canning peaches.
I'm sure those hands have dried a million tears.

And Linda, whose carriage calls out volumes
about loving the moment,
feeling satisfied with what is.
Her deep voice lulls and comforts,
each word singing songs
of compassion and understanding.

These women know secrets
that beauty editors will never tell.

So now I stand,
staring at my reflection in a stolen moment,
making peace
learning to love
a waist gone soft,
and hips spread wide,
stretch marks running over all
like lines of a map
showing the journey I've taken
giving life to four souls,
loving and losing an angel.
Breasts no longer firm and buoyant,
but hanging low and soft
from years of tender service
as babes grew to children.
I smile at the silver
streaking liberally
through waves of mahogany.
Squinting, I search for wrinkles
around my eyes
in my forehead.
What stories they call back to me
of care and concern, love, patience, worry.
I notice for the first time,
my eyelids are more wrinkled, sunken
than they were a decade ago
and gladly embrace the wrinkles
that form canyons on both sides of my mouth.
I love what they tell me.
I've smiled often, and generously,
laughed deep, throaty laughs
and witch-like cackles
every day.

Examining this version of me,
I silence voices of
Where have I gone?
and cocoon myself once more
in gentle reminders of what really matters.

I'm getting there.

Beauty For Ashes

I have been drawn to Isaiah a lot lately. I used to find Isaiah rather intimidating, but lately it has come alive for me. It is pure poetry.

I have especially found myself reading chapter 61 over and over and over. It has been especially moving recently as our family has dealt with tragedy.

My sweet niece, Hannah Paige, was born on June 9th. Her mom, who is one of my best friends and favorite people, had been having some problems with bleeding because of placenta previa. On Saturday, they had to deliver Hannah by c-section because her mom was losing too much blood. She was only at about 21 weeks gestation and survived for about 20 minutes. I won't get into too much of the story, as it's not mine to tell.

But I have been surprised by how tender my feelings have been over the last few days. I feel comforted and blessed by an inner knowledge that families are forever, that sweet Hannah is not forever lost. But that doesn't always make right now any easier. My heart has been open and feeling so deeply for her sweet family, my brother and sister and nephews who I love beyond words.

And I have been re-feeling the loss of the sweet child I miscarried almost two years ago. And holding my sweet Jack, also, and feeling something akin to survivor's guilt. Baby guilt, maybe?

So, I keep coming back to Isaiah. And the imagery is beautiful.

The Savior was sent to "bind up the broken hearted", to "proclaim liberty to the captives".

There will be beauty for ashes.

The oil of joy for mourning.

The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.

Through affliction we can become as trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord.

The old wastes and desolations will be built up. Restored.

For our shame, we will receive a double portion.

We will rejoice in our afflictions as well as our joys.

All will be well, sanctified, consecrated for good in the end.

What beautiful words these are. And though the pain of right now may be so much to handle, I have no doubt that all things work together for our good.

There is not a pain, an affliction, a mistake in my life that I have not felt has been turned to a higher purpose, consecrated and made sacred.

There is nothing to fear, truly, for all will be made whole, made sacred, made good in the end. Loss is a gift every bit as much as any joy.

And so I weep and give the mother earth of my salty tears, hoping that I am truly mourning with those who mourn and that I can comfort and love and hold a space for healing and for joy.

Because I believe the words of Isaiah. I believe that, no matter what happens to us, we will be bound up, blessed and strengthened. And I would not trade a single loss I've endured for any amount of joy, for I know that in the end I would be left with less.

Open Letter to Childbirth Professionals Of All Persuasions

We birth professionals seem to be settling for the easy answers. The causes. The propaganda. The comfortable absolutes.

I think, though, that absolutes in something as uncertain as birth are worth about as much as dental floss at a Willie Nelson concert. If I indulge in any during this post, consider them for what they're worth -- about as much as any other absolutes (not very much).

But principles, ah... I think principles (which admit a multitude of "right" answers) can be worth a great deal. Principles such as validation, empowerment, personal sovereignty, respect...

I keep thinking that one very important thing in birth and birth preparation is to always validate the woman's experience, whether in past, present or future tense. For this reason, I am uncomfortable with both the "Pain is good! Embrace it!" and the "Birth can be easy and comfortable." mentalities. Because, like so many dichotomies, it feels false. Neither one is right. Neither one is wrong. And most women's experiences with birth lie somewhere in the middle.

In an effort to acknowledge the full range of women's experiences, I try to be careful in my classes. Though I call the skills we learn "pain-coping techniques", I am careful to make it clear that a woman may experience the sensations of birth as pain or stretching or pressure or fullness. Or she may experience them as none of these or all of them at different times or many of them at the same time or as any other sensation or group of sensations.

For those of you who are thinking "Wait, but by using the word pain, you introduced into her subconscious mind the idea that birth might be painful." I invite you to take a step back and think for a minute.

Did I really?

First of all, how many women are there in our society who have not (in arguably a much less balanced presentation than the above) been exposed to the idea that "childbirth equals pain" before their sixteenth birthday? I admit that there may be some. But truly, how many? By using the word pain, I have actually acknowledged what has probably already been in her self-conscious for quite some time. And by acknowledging this and then introducing the idea that she MAY experience birth as pain, but she may also experience it in many other ways, I have actually expanded her possibilities in birth. And at the same time, have I not validated and brought to light an unacknowledged idea that may be controlling her preparations for birth? (And when a woman seeks out a childbirth method that promises "easy, comfortable birthing", isn't it possible that she does so because she has already heard that birth is painful and she doesn't want it to be that way for her?) I feel that by validating what she believes is true (that childbirth can be painful), she is much more likely to accept that other things can also be true (childbirth can be comfortable).

Feel it out in your own body (yes, I'm highly kinesthetic. For you visual types "Look at it this way." For the auditory folks, "How does this sound to you?").

I tell you that something you believe is true AND that there are other things that can be true.
OR
I tell you that your truth is wrong and that other things (usually my ideas) are right.

Which are you more likely to believe?

Second, who am I to tell a woman what she will or will not feel when she doesn't even know it yet? Even worse, who am I to invalidate what she actually DOES feel and her OWN WORDS for describing it?

It goes both ways.

Yes, if I tell her that it is going to be hard work, then I may very well sabotage her out of a belief (and the manifestation of that belief) that her birthing will be easy and comfortable. But what if I tell her that it can be easy and comfortable if only she prepares well enough and that birth should be this way, if it weren't for all those pesky problems. Then, when SHE experiences her birth as difficult or painful, she is either a failure (because she did it wrong or didn't prepare) or she is a victim (hypnosis failed her or her doula failed her or her care provider failed her or nature failed her). How crappy is that?

You see, birth is not about us as birth professionals. It is about HER, the birthing woman. HER EXPERIENCE. HER WORDS. HER POWER. By making it about us or our "birth philosophy of choice" are we not robbing her? I agree that in setting forth the idea that birth is always painful, we are robbing her of possibilities. But what of setting up a goal of "easy and comfortable" in a setting over which one has little to no control?

I think hypnosis is a fabulous tool for birth. I have seen it work first-hand many times. In fact, the "sensation-management skills" ;) taught in Birthing From Within (which is my "birth philosophy of choice") are deeply based in self-hypnosis, and many other of its processes are also hypnosis based. I even think that introducing the idea that easy, comfortable birthing is possible (even likely, given ideal circumstances) is great.

What feels wrong to me is the setting up of "shoulds" instead of "cans". "Shoulds" limit. "Birth should be this way, but sometimes things go wrong." "Cans" empower. "No matter what happens, you can do it." If easy, comfortable birthing is the way it "should be", then when it is not achieved something must have gone WRONG.

Why does anything have to be wrong? Why can't we just see things as being the way they were meant to be? Or even better, why can't the happenings of birth just BE. What is. What was. What will be. No attaching labels of good or bad, wrong or right, failure or triumph.

If a woman enters the path of birth and comes out the other side, is that not enough? Does it really matter what happened in the middle so long as she was allowed sovereignty over her body and her inner experience of birth?

Many "natural-birth" promoting women often harp on about how the obstetrical system "breaks" birth by intervening in a natural process, through words, attitudes and actions. We complain about how medical people view women and their bodies and the birth process as "broken", something needing active management and fixing.

Are not we guilty of the exact same thing when we say that "something went wrong" because a woman had a c-section or felt pain (even excruciating pain) or decided that she wanted an epidural? Are we not labeling that birth, that woman, as broken? When we say "trust birth" or "trust the birthing woman" do we really mean it? Or do we just mean "trust birth when it is easy, comfortable, vaginal and natural" or "trust the woman when she makes the choices that are based on our idea of evidence-based, well-prepared, idyllic birthing"? Wouldn't trusting birth mean trusting it no matter what? Trusting that the birth of a woman who births a baby by c-section after many hours of valiant pushing is no more broken than the birth of a woman who pushes a baby out her vagina in the water at home. Why does it have to be that, if birth doesn't fit our picture of ideal, something must be fouled up? Why not just let it be, celebrate what worked. What was.

If hypnosis worked for five minutes or five hours, hypnosis WORKED. If moaning worked for three contractions, moaning WORKED. If screaming "Oh, God, I'm going to die!" worked for the last ten minutes of pushing, it WORKED for the last ten minutes of pushing. Who are we, as birth professionals, to take that away from a woman, to invalidate her experience. It was, it is. She did what she did. Nature did what it did. What benefit is there in placing blame -- anywhere?

Sure, we can acknowledge that we all have preferences. Most of us wish that all births would go smoothly, be easy, be painless or at least easily manageable. We probably all WANT every woman to be able to birth easily, for her care provider to not overstep his or her realm of authority into the birthing woman's authority over her own body, for every baby to be healthy and breastfeed easily.

I don't twiddle my thumbs in my classes thinking, "YOU can have an easy birth, but YOU are going to have the 95 hour labor from hell followed by an emergency c-section just to prove my point that you CAN do anything." Of course not. But I feel that I must look a woman in the eye, listen to her words, her experience, her fears, her wishes and help her discover and expand her resources, her strengths, her knowledge and self-confidence until SHE feels ready to face that 95-hour labor from hell followed by an emergency c-section. Then, if she is faced with that experience, she can do it.

And if she has an easy, comfortable birth then she is doubly blessed. First, by the strength she gained in her preparation and second, by the easy birth. And perhaps the easy birth is the lesser gift, because an easy birth only happens once (or maybe even a few times). But the things she learned about herself, the skills she gained, will probably never leave her and can be there for her to access if she has the "postpartum from hell" or the "illness from hell" or even, simply the "Monday at work from hell."

Now, please don't think that I think that I have all the answers or that "my way is right" or that I even think I know what I'm doing or can be sure that everything I just said is true.

What I do feel very strongly is that birth is NOT about me. It is not about hypnosis. It is not about Birthing From Within or Bradley or Lamaze or evidence-based-care.

Birth is about women and babies.

What I want most to do in my work (and what I feel women need most) is to assist each woman in finding whatever it is that will allow her to feel prepared to face ANY experience that comes her way, to strengthen her through any means SHE feels will work and then, to embrace and welcome her to the other side without judgment and to acknowledge her strength in having made it.

I imagine that most of us want the same thing, but we (myself included) get distracted so often by the peripheral details.

Lets all try to do better, okay?

With Love and Respect,
Heather