These are my (rather long-winded) thoughts in response to this article.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Cars Count
I have often thought about how "efficient" it is that we cram 7 people into one vehicle on a regular basis. Sure, our 10-year-old minivan gets a measly 15mpg on average (city), but that's actually better per capita than a family of four driving a 45mpg hybrid (if my mental pseudo-math is correct). We do go places often, unlike the author of the article suggests. I try to get out of the house every day, even if only to the grocery store (and that, preferably with just one or two children in tow). We go to parks, homeschool events, the library, and playdates at friends' houses. And these things are located all over the metropolis, which isn't very green, perhaps, but at least our metropolis is relatively small compared to most -- the furthest we ever go is 30 minutes or less away from home, most being 5-15 minutes.
I have dreams of owning a Toyota Highlander Hybrid someday (seats 8 ;)), but that's like, what, $35,000? Not happening anytime soon. :/ My husband's car might not get much better gas mileage than our van, but he often fills it to capacity to go work out at the YMCA (while children play with friends in Childwatch). He drives to class at the college, yes. I have repeatedly considered becoming a one-car family, but just don't see how we could swing it without some major inconveniences. Not to mention that the resale value of our second car (9 years old) is pretty low, especially considering how many repairs it needs that we cannot afford on our current starving-student budget. The profits we would earn from its sale would not be worth it. Anyway, the point is that our big family makes the most of our vehicles. :)
Economy Size
Yes, it takes the same amount of electricity to light and cool (or heat, for a very brief part of the year) our home, no matter how many people inhabit it. We definitely use more water than most families, at least for laundry. I estimate that we have 10-15 loads of laundry to wash per week. We do have a "super capacity" washing machine, but it is an old-fashioned, lotsa water and agitator washer. We actually have an energy star certified washing machine in the garage that we purchased a few years back when hubby was working for Sears as a lawn and garden appliance repair technician (the job that he lost due to lay-offs in May 2009). We discovered, after 6 months of use, that this type of machine does not work for our needs right now. It does not get the job done for diapers or our children's filthy clothing. It will sit and collect dust in the garage until our current washer dies, or our children grow older and get less dirty, heh (and are all out of diapers). Either that, or we'll sell it...that's actually more likely.
As for bathing, that's another area where we are perhaps less than green. When the children were younger, we would combine their baths, to the point that it probably equaled an average-sized family's bathing habits. Nowadays, though, and perhaps this is just because it's Springtime and thus wonderful outside play weather, but the children are getting terribly dirty, and sometimes require 2 baths a day! Lately, before we can go anywhere, I have to do a wash face/hands/feet marathon with the children. Boy, do they love dirt. :D We still combine baths, though, and are now transitioning to showers often, which, with our low-flow shower heads, I'm hoping use less water than their "up to your belly-button" baths.
Then there's dishes. I think we only use about 1-1.5 dishwasher loads a day, but i'm sure we'd produce more if I cooked/baked from scratch more often (which would certainly be a greener choice, and is definitely a goal!).
~ To be continued... ~
Friday, May 27, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
10 Things About Me...(and some thoughts on evil perfectionism)
I keep meaning to get on here and blog. I have sooo many ideas for things to blog about. I want to systematically document every "journey" I've taken toward every thing/value/philosophy in my life that I hold dear. My problem? I am a perfectionist. All of these articles I want to write will take time and thought. Those two things are hard to come by in my life. :) So, I rationalize, "I can't blog today because I won't have time to finish." (And I really hate not being able to finish something...I have what they call a "completion compulsion". And, of course, as I type this my baby is crying for me.....aaand, now we're NAK. :)) Well, that's gotta stop. I want to have a blog. I want to get these thoughts off my chest. I want to document my life. I love to write. I think I'm pretty damn good at it, too. And there's just something so very satisfying about clicking "publish post" and then seeing it in all its html glory. :D
So I have to get over it. I have to settle for less than my expectations. As my mother has said many times (and I have since made it my housework motto), "A half-assed job is better than none." So today, I am going to list (oooh, lists...I love lists) 10 things about me. And that's it. No long chapter for my biography today. So. Here goes...
- My family goes through at least 12 loads of laundry per week, and there's always a mountain of "miscellaneous" stuff in the laundry room.
- I'm a fantastic cook, but the (ahem) joy of cooking is greatly reduced by the necessity of it and my small, cluttered kitchen. I'm not so great with baking. :/
- I have been sewing since I was a little girl (making doll clothes with my grandmother), but I'd say I'm still at a beginner/intermediate level. Curves and gathers scare me. I need to conquer those fears. :P I do have a nice machine, though. Oooh, and I really want a serger.
- I looove emoticons. ;D
- I also love to type how I talk. So I am usually aware of any improper grammar/punctuation that I use....and I'm doing it for a reason. So there. :D
- I have a tendency to get really excited about an idea or project, then lose steam and abandon it. I could probably open a store with all my abandoned projects. I'm reeeeally hoping this blog does not become merchandise. (I think that, considering I have been blogging on and off for over 5 years already, we're probably safe. ;))
- I suffer from chronic back pain due to mild scoliosis that makes housework difficult and/or painful. This often makes me feel lazy and inadequate.
- I like to choose the lazy way of doing things. Like co-sleeping; I'm not going to get up a million times a night to feed and comfort my baby when I could do the same thing while lying half-asleep in my own cozy bed. And unschooling...who wants to deal with assignments or teach formal lessons on a regular basis? Not I, said the little red hen.
- My house is usually a mess, ranging from a simple mess to an O to the MG disaster. My children pretty much couldn't care less about the state of things, but it drives me batshit.
- I have known my husband since 6th grade. He thought I was gorgeous and I thought that was creepy. :) 10 years later, we finally got together...and the rest is history.
Is that 10 things already? Awesome. I'm done! Good night.
So I have to get over it. I have to settle for less than my expectations. As my mother has said many times (and I have since made it my housework motto), "A half-assed job is better than none." So today, I am going to list (oooh, lists...I love lists) 10 things about me. And that's it. No long chapter for my biography today. So. Here goes...
- My family goes through at least 12 loads of laundry per week, and there's always a mountain of "miscellaneous" stuff in the laundry room.
- I'm a fantastic cook, but the (ahem) joy of cooking is greatly reduced by the necessity of it and my small, cluttered kitchen. I'm not so great with baking. :/
- I have been sewing since I was a little girl (making doll clothes with my grandmother), but I'd say I'm still at a beginner/intermediate level. Curves and gathers scare me. I need to conquer those fears. :P I do have a nice machine, though. Oooh, and I really want a serger.
- I looove emoticons. ;D
- I also love to type how I talk. So I am usually aware of any improper grammar/punctuation that I use....and I'm doing it for a reason. So there. :D
- I have a tendency to get really excited about an idea or project, then lose steam and abandon it. I could probably open a store with all my abandoned projects. I'm reeeeally hoping this blog does not become merchandise. (I think that, considering I have been blogging on and off for over 5 years already, we're probably safe. ;))
- I suffer from chronic back pain due to mild scoliosis that makes housework difficult and/or painful. This often makes me feel lazy and inadequate.
- I like to choose the lazy way of doing things. Like co-sleeping; I'm not going to get up a million times a night to feed and comfort my baby when I could do the same thing while lying half-asleep in my own cozy bed. And unschooling...who wants to deal with assignments or teach formal lessons on a regular basis? Not I, said the little red hen.
- My house is usually a mess, ranging from a simple mess to an O to the MG disaster. My children pretty much couldn't care less about the state of things, but it drives me batshit.
- I have known my husband since 6th grade. He thought I was gorgeous and I thought that was creepy. :) 10 years later, we finally got together...and the rest is history.
Is that 10 things already? Awesome. I'm done! Good night.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Flats and Handwashing Challenge! (and a tiny blog makeover)
Example: The Flats and Handwashing Challenge. (Thank you to One Rich Mother for the heads up!) I have purchased 20 flour sack towels (about 27"x28") for a grand total of ~$20, and I'm gearing up to do this challenge, May 23rd-30th. The goal of the experiment is to prove that poor families who struggle to afford disposable diapers for their babies can save money (and help the earth!) by using cloth diapers, even if they have no washing machine. And as I have proven above, a modest stash of flat diapers can be purchase new for about the same cost as 2 weeks worth of name-brand disposables. Covers are a different story, though...
The reason behind using flats is that they are the easiest to handwash, being only one layer of fabric (requiring less agitation than multi-layer diapers). Also, they are the easiest form of cloth diaper to come across, since all they are is a big square of cotton fabric, and anything from dish towels to t-shirts to receiving blankets can be used as such. Flannel receiving blankets, in fact, are typically 30"x30", which is the perfect size for a flat diaper, and such blankets are popular baby shower gifts that are practically useless after the first month or two of a baby's life. Therefore, they are cheap and easy to come by in thrift shops and garage sales (or a friend's attic ;)).
I am choosing to participate in this challenge to help contribute to the data collected to prove that cloth diapers are doable even on the tightest budget. Being poor is near and dear to my heart; I have been dirt broke multiple times in my adulthood, right now being one of those times (hubby is a full-time student, so our income consists of grants, loans, and other types of government assistance). I am thankful to already own a decent stash of CDs, and was even able to squeeze out the funds to purchase supplies for this challenge (and they weren't that much! I spent $30!).
I want to go to our local flea market and buy a washboard (~$10) to use during the challenge. I plan on using lye soap, too (which I already own). That way, I'm not only participating in the challenge, but I'm also getting to experience what it was like to wash diapers back in the pioneer days (an age with which I am thoroughly obsessed). :D I will be washing the dipes in my double kitchen sink with said washboard and lye soap. I'd originally planned to buy a washtub as well, in order to get the full pioneer experience, but then I realized that that would require hauling water, and...well...no thanks. :)
And now, I am going to go throw all my new "flats" into the washer (gasp!) for a prepping. :)
Sunday, March 20, 2011
right now all i can think about....
...is how much shit my kids are going to talk about me to their friends and spouses when they grow up. i just have to be prepared for that i guess. "my mom is/was NUTS!" everyone talks shit about their mom, right? or maybe i'm hanging around with all the wrong people. maybe eventually i'll do enough right by them that the good will outweigh the bad in their memories.
and then i start to think about how much i wish that they won't have to struggle with mental illness. it is torture. i am in my own personal hell every day. i never know when a trigger will come up, or how well i'll deal with anything in particular. i'm such a bitch. and i feel selfish and guilty for not being able to "do it all". for depending unfairly on my husband to pick up my pieces, when he's not exactly in the best place either, mentally. i think the kids have driven us both crazy, and now there's no way out. that's how i feel right about now. i almost want him to go nuts because i'm going nuts so he can see what i've been going through all these years with his temper. you think i need help? look in the mirror first. we can get help together, how bout that?
these are the times when my mother's words come back and haunt me over and over. i shouldn't have had so many kids. i can't handle it. maybe she was right. well, mom, you should have done a better job preparing me for adulthood then, huh? see, there i go looking for someone to blame. people can always find ways to blame their parents. it's their fault, even if they didn't mean any harm. that's one more judgment i'll have to prepare myself for someday. i'm ruining my kids, despite "doing my best", but my best is piss poor. and they will be crazy motherfuckers too. and it's my fault. cuz i had too many kids. (and didn't finish college.) and they'll blame me. one way or another.
and then i start to think about how much i wish that they won't have to struggle with mental illness. it is torture. i am in my own personal hell every day. i never know when a trigger will come up, or how well i'll deal with anything in particular. i'm such a bitch. and i feel selfish and guilty for not being able to "do it all". for depending unfairly on my husband to pick up my pieces, when he's not exactly in the best place either, mentally. i think the kids have driven us both crazy, and now there's no way out. that's how i feel right about now. i almost want him to go nuts because i'm going nuts so he can see what i've been going through all these years with his temper. you think i need help? look in the mirror first. we can get help together, how bout that?
these are the times when my mother's words come back and haunt me over and over. i shouldn't have had so many kids. i can't handle it. maybe she was right. well, mom, you should have done a better job preparing me for adulthood then, huh? see, there i go looking for someone to blame. people can always find ways to blame their parents. it's their fault, even if they didn't mean any harm. that's one more judgment i'll have to prepare myself for someday. i'm ruining my kids, despite "doing my best", but my best is piss poor. and they will be crazy motherfuckers too. and it's my fault. cuz i had too many kids. (and didn't finish college.) and they'll blame me. one way or another.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Florida Winters...
This winter has been unusually mild. After a brief stint of freezing nights (as in, in the 20's) in December, we have had a January full of balmy days (in the 60's and even 70's!), which have allowed for lots of outside play time for the children, and knitting in the sunshine for mama (and baby ;)). We have been going to Cofrin Nature Park every Tuesday (unless raining), and have enjoyed creek-stompin'. Yesterday it was in the upper 50's, but that certainly didn't stop my little nature-lovers...
They spent a couple of hours stomping around, splashing, sieving for sharks' teeth, digging for clay, and wandering the brush nearby...totally absorbed in their exploratory "work". Ahhh, such sights make my heart swell. Most of the time, Brigit was snuggled up to my chest in the linen wrap I made.
I do so love how she's found her thumb.
And then, I found myself on a quiet walk through the woods with just my littlest babes, as the others were headed back to the creek and playground with a friend of mine and her two little ones. Sweet Connor sure does know how to slow me down to appreciate the mysteries and beauty of the natural world. Every 10 feet or so, he would say "Stop!" and yank on my hand to halt me. We would stand there and listen...to the wind in the trees, the birds, the very distant traffic. It was magical.
When the afternoon was over, the children were half-naked and freezing, so we packed up and went home...They are like different children when we are out of the house.
Today, well...I'm going to need a chill pill. They have been arguing non-stop. Deep breaths, Mama.
They spent a couple of hours stomping around, splashing, sieving for sharks' teeth, digging for clay, and wandering the brush nearby...totally absorbed in their exploratory "work". Ahhh, such sights make my heart swell. Most of the time, Brigit was snuggled up to my chest in the linen wrap I made.
I do so love how she's found her thumb.
And then, I found myself on a quiet walk through the woods with just my littlest babes, as the others were headed back to the creek and playground with a friend of mine and her two little ones. Sweet Connor sure does know how to slow me down to appreciate the mysteries and beauty of the natural world. Every 10 feet or so, he would say "Stop!" and yank on my hand to halt me. We would stand there and listen...to the wind in the trees, the birds, the very distant traffic. It was magical.
When the afternoon was over, the children were half-naked and freezing, so we packed up and went home...They are like different children when we are out of the house.
Today, well...I'm going to need a chill pill. They have been arguing non-stop. Deep breaths, Mama.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The Unassisted Birth of Brigit Annabelle
Feel free to share this story at will, however, please do so ONLY by linking directly to this page! Thank you. :)
I had my heart set on a homebirth for so many reasons, including previous birth traumas, disdain for intrusive medical interventions, privacy/modesty concerns, and outright spiritual need. I hired the midwives and began my preparations (mostly mental at that point). Around 20 weeks I had an ultrasound and a consult scheduled with the back-up OB because I had risk factors (fairly ridiculous ones) that he needed to sign off on so that the midwives could legally attend my homebirth. He strung me along for over 3 months before deciding that he would not, in fact, be granting me permission to have the midwives attend my birth at home. His main concern was for my history of birth and neonatal “complications” (every single one of which was relatively common, unpredictable and thus unpreventable, and did not necessitate a hospital to deal with – at least not for the birthing part).
After the initial possibility of this happening was brought to my attention at that 20 week consult, I began researching Unassisted Childbirth (UC). I remembered seeing the documentary, “Freebirthing”, about this fringe movement. At the time I thought “these people are nuts!”, like I’m sure many people did, but when I actually started digging into the research, I was awed to discover that people choose UC for the exact reasons I wanted a homebirth in the first place. The thought of such an empowering, magical experience as UC made complete sense to me, and I needed to do it. I decided that I didn’t want anyone but my husband and children there; not even friends or other family. It was to be a private, deeply sacred event.
I did more research about birth than ever before. I read about 5 books about natural childbirth, some of them midwifery textbooks. I read them over and over. I had to focus not only on the emotional aspect of birthing without any professional attendants around for support, but also the functional aspects of safe, responsible birthing. I read birth stories and watched birth videos on the internet of other successful UCs. I read stories of unsuccessful UCs that resulted in hospital transfers. These women were smart; they were prepared enough to recognize when something wasn’t right, and when the point came that they could not handle it alone. That is what hospitals and OBs are for. The “real” emergencies. It blew my mind to learn how very unnecessary so many routine medical interventions are, and how often hospital staff overreact to things that occur during birth that are simply a variation of normal. It was amazing how much I learned about natural birth, including every single “complication” I had ever had, and how most of it was really no big deal as far as “normal” birthing goes. It was fascinating and empowering. I knew I could do it. It was a long journey that required a lot of deep consideration and bravery, but when the time came that I made up my mind, I knew I could do it. I trusted my body and my mind to get us through this safely, regardless of whether I actually got to UC or not. I was certainly not willing to sacrifice health and safety for the UC experience, which is why I had to be so prepared; so I would know how to deal with anything that arose and recognize when to throw in the towel and call in the professionals if things went bad.
I gathered the appropriate supplies. I purchased a birth pool, a Doppler, a stethoscope, a blood pressure monitor, a pulse-oximeter, chux pads, gauze, gloves, alcohol, umbilical scissors and clamps, hemostats, various herbal tinctures for augmenting contractions and helping stop hemorrhage and shock. I learned all about how to deal with a surprise breech, shoulder dystocia, hemorrhage and shock. I learned neonatal resuscitation and instructed Drew on it. We talked and talked about things, over and over for a total of 4 months. I made sure he knew how to support me during transition, when I typically lost emotional control and had panicked in previous births. I mentally prepared myself for the pain of crowning, because I’d felt it 3 times before, so I knew exactly how much it would hurt. I was determined to swallow my fear of the pain and be the primitive birthing goddess that Mother Nature intended.
On Tuesday, November 9th, 2010, I had my 39 week prenatal appointment. I had reluctantly agreed to have my prenatal care transferred to the hosp MW who worked under the back-up OB. She checked my cervix and found me to be 3-4cm dilated and 50% effaced, but baby was still high. I went home and continued my day as usual. Around 4pm, as I sat on the porch talking to Drew, I coughed (I was getting over a long episode of asthmatic bronchitis triggered by a very dusty, pollen-y cleaning marathon several weeks prior), and felt a trickle. I looked at Drew with a sheepish smile and said “I think my water just broke.” I stuck my hand down my pants and felt the distinct wetness, and said, “Yup.” Hooray! Birthing day had finally arrived! Contractions had not begun yet, however. I figured they would soon, though, like they did last time with Connor’s labor.
After the initial excitement, I started to get nervous. Was I really going to do this? Did I really have the mental capacity to have a UC? Was I endangering myself and my baby? I found a bottle of Riesling in the fridge that had been there for 9 months (haha), opened it, and poured myself a small glass. It was delicious, surprisingly enough considering how old it was! It was about all I could do for the anxiety, and it did help.
We called a few friends over, those who knew our plans (and there were VERY few of those), to help with the last minute preparations. One friend came and cleaned the kitchen and tidied the rec-room (for my tv-viewing pleasure, haha). Another friend got our children ready for bed. During this, Drew moved all the laundry baskets and boxes out of our bedroom so there would be room for the birth pool. It was set up, and starting to fill. We turned the water off when it was half full so that it could be filled the rest of the way with fresh hot water when it became needed.
Then the three of us ladies went on several walks to try and stimulate labor, which was still nowhere in sight. After several hours of waiting (my bedtime having passed), I became increasingly tired and discouraged. I decided to go to bed, hoping to be woken up by labor. No such luck. I slept horribly and morning came with still no labor. I had been having periodic gushes ever since my water broke, and every time, I would wait for a hard contraction to begin afterward. Never happened.
It was then Wednesday, November 10th, the United States Marine Corps’ 235th birthday. All through the pregnancy I had jokingly said I was aiming for 11/10 to give birth in honor of Drew’s 10 years in the Marine Corps. It was so awesome that it looked like that was going to actually be true!
I was starting to get a little nervous, because of the 24 hour “time limit” OBs tend to stick you with when the membranes rupture before labor has begun. The risk is of infection. I, however, was not being exposed to the main risk factors, which are being in a hospital full of foreign germs, and having multiple cervical exams to check progress (I had not done any on myself since my water broke). The fluid was gushing regularly so the area was constantly being flushed out. I was monitoring my temperature and the baby’s heart rate regularly, and both continued to be fine.
Around 8am I sent Drew to Mother Earth Market to buy a new bottle of blue cohosh tincture (an herb that is used to induce/augment labor contractions). He got there only to find that they didn’t open until 9am. I was frustrated, but knew I could do nothing else but wait. At 9am, he called to say that the store was sold out of both brands of blue cohosh tincture. Ack! He then had to drive across town to the other Mother Earth store, where they did have some.
When Drew finally got home around 10am, McDonald’s breakfast in hand, I reached out and said “Gimme, gimme!” He started to hand me my mocha frappe, and I said “No! Give me the tincture!” I went straight to the kitchen and took a dose. I had decided to take the doses more frequently than usual, because I knew from past experiences that it took over an hour for any contractions to start (after 2 doses). I was going to take it every half hour until contractions began, then decrease to every hour until they were strong and regular.
I had loaned my double electric breast pump to a friend, so I called her to see if she could bring it back that morning so I could use it to try and induce labor with some pumping sessions (which release oxitocin, the hormone that causes contractions).
I finally decided to call my homebirth midwife to consult with her. I had been trying to avoid involving her, because I had no intentions of going to the hospital as long as things seemed to be going okay. She knew this, but I didn’t want to put her in any kind of awkward situation (ethically). But, the clock was ticking and I had been ruptured for over 18 hours by then. I needed to make sure I wasn’t making a dangerous mistake by continuing to stay home, and to hash out what to do if/when it became truly necessary to go to the hospital.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that my MW was calmer about the situation than I was. She assured me that labor would start, and that things would probably go quickly when it did. She had to consult the hosp MW and inform her of what was going on, and I reluctantly agreed. I was told that, because of the hospital-based nature of the practice, it was recommended that I come into Shands to be evaluated. I declined, and my choice was documented. I knew if I went in they would pressure me to start pitocin, and that would completely kill the experience I was aiming for. Not to mention that there was no medical indication that I needed it at that point. So my MW instructed me to monitor myself for fever, keep checking the baby’s heart rate to make sure it remained strong and steady, and adhere to the “nothing in the vagina” rule. No problem! I told her I had just started taking blue cohosh and was going to be using the pump as well. Big thumbs up. I felt much better then!
So, around noon, after 5 doses of cohosh, 3 pumping sessions, and still no labor, I decided that I wanted the kids to leave the house. I couldn’t concentrate or relax; their presence was keeping me tense and nervous as they went about their day as usual (which consists of running around, making lots of noise, demanding attention, and occasionally fighting with each other). So Drew called his mom and she agreed to come pick up the 3 younger children (Robby was visiting his dad). She arrived around 12:30pm, and Connor started to freak out. Poor thing knew something was going on, and did not like the idea of being shuttled away – it was a new experience for him. We finally got him in the car and he was weeping…but apparently the smiles returned a few minutes down the road and Drew’s mom called to tell us that. Good. I could finally relax.
Enter mind-body connection. Within 15 minutes of the children departing, I had a contraction. A real one! I was excited and relieved. Drew had just made me a turkey-provolone sandwich and I was slowly eating it; I was not very hungry, but I knew my body needed more than the Gatorade I’d been drinking. About a minute or two after that first good contraction ended, another one began. Wow! I was sure it was a fluke. I continued to eat a bite of sandwich, breathe through a contraction, repeat. After about 5 contractions in a row like this, I finally realized that I was actually in labor! The contractions were 2-3 minutes apart, which signifies active labor, and the intensity of the contractions were consistent with that stage of labor as well; strong, but doable. I posted on MDC (MotheringDotCommunity, an online mama’s forum) that I was finally in labor shortly before 1pm. My sandwich sat, half-eaten, on the porch table.
After about 45 minutes of these contractions, still coming quickly and strongly, the intensity suddenly increased dramatically. I knew Drew needed to get the birth pool filled and warm, because it was time for that “aquadural” relief. I had been holding out as long as possible so as not to waste the warm water or cause labor to stall. So, between contractions, I breathlessly instructed him to get the pool ready. There were 4 big pots of water being heated on the stove, and he emptied our hot water tank into the already half-full (but room temperature, by then) pool.
At this point I got down on my knees and leaned over the birth ball during contractions. I had to focus on relaxing my abdominal muscles, because I had been inadvertently tensing them. The contractions were slightly less uncomfortable this way. I breathed slowly and deeply, and rode each wave as it came. After several contractions like this, I seized the opportunity during the (short!) break between them to pick up the ball and go to the bedroom (I’d been on the back porch this whole time). I made it back there just in time for another contraction to start, so I threw the ball down on the floor and got on my knees, leaning over it again. I was waiting for Drew to finish warming the pool water.
Shortly before 2pm, the phone rang. It was my MW calling to check on me (we hadn’t spoken in a few hours), and to tell me that she had a class from 2-3:15pm, so to text her instead of calling if I needed her during that time frame. She asked if things were picking up and I replied “Oh yeah…”, still breathing heavily as I had just finished a contraction.
A few minutes later, the contractions increased in intensity again. I had to muster more courage to remain calm through each one. I got up and stuck my hand in the pool. It seemed only lukewarm, but I figured the buoyancy might at least help things even if the warmth factor wasn’t quite where I needed it. I changed into a gray sports bra and fresh undies (‘cause I’m so modest, haha) between a few contractions, and stepped into the pool. Drew came in and I asked him to turn on the CD player, which had a Polynesian woman’s choir CD in it, which I had listened to while in labor with the twins 6 years back. Then I said “More hot water.” He was off again. I was leaning over the side of the pool on the end that has a seat. Drew arrived with a pot of hot water and I moved to the other end of the pool and stirred with the “debris net” as he slowly poured it in. It felt good, but still not warm enough. “More,” I said. Off he went. This repeated until all 4 pots of water had been poured, and he was refilling them all to put them back on the stove.
During all of his bustling around, I had turned over and was laying face-up with my arms supported over the sides of the pool, stretched out and suspended in the water. The contractions were incredibly intense by then, and I was deep in a trance. My legs were trembling and I knew that I was approaching transition. I stayed unspeakably calm, focusing on making it through one contraction at time. After a time, and I have no idea how long (I’m guessing about 10 minutes), I felt a very strange sensation after a contraction finished. It was a distinct shift in the pressure down there. My eyes flew open wide as I realized what had just happened. My cervix had finished dilating, and her head had just slid down into the birth canal. Holy crap. I wasn’t about to enter transition. I had just finished it! With no panic!
At this point, I was in a state of disbelief that the birth was so imminent. The last thing on my mind was calling anyone, or even telling Drew what was going on. I didn’t quite believe it myself, and thought if I came out of my deep meditative trance and tried to talk to anyone, I might not be so calm. So I just sat there, in my own little world. The contractions had stalled, which is normal between the first (labor) and second (delivery) stages of birth. It isn’t called the “Rest and Be Thankful” phase for nothing!
As soon as the contractions started up again, they were very hard and sharp. After a few like that, I took off my undies, squeezed the water out, and chucked them toward the bathroom (I missed and hit the dresser). I moved to the other end of the pool, the end without the seat, and leaned over the side, resting my head on the edge. I was on my knees, which were far back behind me, with my belly hanging down in the water. During the next contraction, I figured I’d try pushing a little to see if that helped relieve some of the sharpness. It did, so I continued to push, breathe, push, breathe…really focusing on catching my breath between pushes. I may have been in la-la land, but I realized that I hadn’t checked her heart rate since I’d gotten into the pool, and there was not any possibility of doing it at this point (my primal birthing instincts had kicked in and I wasn’t going anywhere!), so I wanted to make sure I was breathing well enough to keep everything as oxygenated as possible.
Drew came back into the room, and as soon as a contraction subsided, I said to him, breathlessly, “Go turn the hose on, hot.” He complied (there was a garden hose hooked up to our shower head). By that point, the water heater had rebooted enough to give at least some hot water. After less than a minute of the hose being in the tub, and feeling the hot water swirl around me, I started to have a hot flash. “Okay, that’s good, that’s good!” He ran and turned it off, then finally climbed onto the bed and settled in by my side.
At this point, I was pushing with each contraction. I would ease into a push, and then my body would take over and hold the push, and I would grunt like I was taking a huge dump. I was panting between pushes, and would then push again, because it made the sharp pains dull out a bit. Drew was there, stroking my hair and telling me what a good job I was doing. At first, I almost told him to stop touching my hair, but then I realized it was giving me something to focus on other than the pain, and I appreciated it, so I kept my mouth shut. I hadn’t told him that transition was over and that this was real, intentional pushing. In fact, I hadn’t said a word to him at all since telling him to turn off the hose. Apparently, he thought transition was just beginning, because with Connor’s birth, I was pushing/grunting involuntarily during that stage.
Within a few minutes, I started to feel the burn. I knew that I needed to stop pushing and let the tissue stretch, but it hurt so much that I chose to continue pushing as gently as possible anyway. I knew it was almost over. I reached down to feel for her head, but felt nothing except a slightly opened hole. I was grunting and sobbing as I pushed. I reached down again and felt that telltale “fuzzy walnut” that was her scalp, compressed in the birth canal and just starting to crown. The burning was intense and I was panting quickly between pushes, still groaning and crying. But strangely, I was not panicking. I was so focused on what my body was doing, knowing that this was the moment of truth and that it would soon be over; there was no time for panic. Another few gentle pushes and I reached down again. This time, her head was completely crowned, and so I reached my other hand down and pressed down on either side to provide counter pressure.
I knew that this was the most important time to not push. But I also knew that one more push would bring her head over that hump and the worst part would be over. Decisions, decisions. I chose to push. I don’t even know if I was having a contraction or not at that point; all I could feel was that blasted “ring of fire”. So I braced my hands on either side of her head, and pushed hard. Suddenly, there was an entire head in my hands. I let out a big sigh of relief and stroked her soft head. I moved my fingers around to her face, brushing over her tiny ears, felt her nose and mouth, and rubbed her squishy, fat cheeks, all while catching my breath. It was a peaceful, surreal, and completely magical moment; the world had stopped turning, and it was just me and my baby girl.
Then I was eager for the rest of her to come out. I knew I had to wait for her to rotate her body so her shoulders could be born. I waited to feel that happening, as I’d heard others do, but I didn’t. I became impatient and figured I’d try to push again and see what happened. I figured I’d stick my finger down there and try and hook her armpit to aid the top shoulder’s delivery. As I was doing that, she started to slide out a little, and I realized I’d forgotten to check to see if the cord was around her neck! OOPS! I unhooked my finger from her armpit and there was the cord!! She was already sliding out, so I quickly tried to loop it over her head. I couldn’t, and she was coming out anyway. She sort of somersaulted out into the water, and I tried to maneuver her out of the cord tangle. The lighting was dim and I couldn’t really see exactly how the cord was wrapped over her (I believe is wasn’t actually around her neck, but over her shoulder and across her chest). I couldn’t pull her up out of the water because of it, so I slowly spun her around until she was untangled and I could pull her up. It was 2:58pm.
[This was the moment when Drew finally realized how far things had gone, poor guy! He had no idea what was happening until he saw her hand in the water as she was born. Talk about poor communication on my part!]
I lifted her up to my chest. She was blue and not breathing, but her arms and legs were flexed, her face grimacing, and the cord still attached and pulsating, so I knew she would be okay. But, I wanted her to wake up. Drew handed me a warm receiving blanket and I rubbed her vernix-covered back and head, and said, “Hi, sweet girl! Open your eyes, baby!” I turned her onto her tummy so she could cough up any mucous or water, but there wasn’t any. She did give a dry cough, though. I turned her back over and she was opening and closing her eyes, slowly and sporadically. I kept rubbing her with the blanket and talking to her. I stuck my finger in her mouth to check for mucous, but it was clear. Drew handed me the suction bulb and I stuck it in her mouth and nose, if for no other reason than to made her mad so she’d cry. She was making angry faces, but still didn’t really cry more than a little mew every now and then. I tried blowing into her mouth gently, and that made her mad, too. After a few minutes of stimulation, she was noticeably pinker and more active, but still very mellow.
I felt another contraction, and remembered the placenta. I gave a little push, and out it slid into the water. It was still attached inside by the membranes, so I waited a little longer to see if it would eject itself (it didn’t, so I pulled gently and it came out, tearing off a small piece that ended up passing in a clot a few days later with no complications).
At 3:11pm, I called my MW, hoping that maybe her class had let out a few minutes early. She didn’t answer, but called me back within a few minutes. I told her “Well, that was a fast labor!” She was surprised, just as everyone else who heard the news. I assessed Brigit to make sure she was okay to wait until the next morning to see the pediatrician. She was. My bottom, however, was not okay. I ended up with a second-degree tear that required about 12 stitches (and a very long wait at the doctor’s office).
The next day, I took Brigit to the pediatrician to be checked out (and weighed and measured!). Our guess for her birth weight was 7lbs 8oz (and that’s what we put on the birth certificate), since she had already passed meconium 4 times before she was weighed. She was 20” long with a 35cm head circumference. Perfectly average in size!
This experience was incredible. Despite the tear and some difficulties I’ve had with recovery, I could not have asked for a more perfect birth. It was 23 hours from my water breaking to her birth, with a mere 2 hours of labor in the end. I was calm, followed my instincts, and have been healed from all the past birth traumas. I have never felt more empowered in my life.
M. Neilson
Copyright 2010
*This still needs some editing, as I notice one more tiny thing each time I read it... Someday...*
I had my heart set on a homebirth for so many reasons, including previous birth traumas, disdain for intrusive medical interventions, privacy/modesty concerns, and outright spiritual need. I hired the midwives and began my preparations (mostly mental at that point). Around 20 weeks I had an ultrasound and a consult scheduled with the back-up OB because I had risk factors (fairly ridiculous ones) that he needed to sign off on so that the midwives could legally attend my homebirth. He strung me along for over 3 months before deciding that he would not, in fact, be granting me permission to have the midwives attend my birth at home. His main concern was for my history of birth and neonatal “complications” (every single one of which was relatively common, unpredictable and thus unpreventable, and did not necessitate a hospital to deal with – at least not for the birthing part).
After the initial possibility of this happening was brought to my attention at that 20 week consult, I began researching Unassisted Childbirth (UC). I remembered seeing the documentary, “Freebirthing”, about this fringe movement. At the time I thought “these people are nuts!”, like I’m sure many people did, but when I actually started digging into the research, I was awed to discover that people choose UC for the exact reasons I wanted a homebirth in the first place. The thought of such an empowering, magical experience as UC made complete sense to me, and I needed to do it. I decided that I didn’t want anyone but my husband and children there; not even friends or other family. It was to be a private, deeply sacred event.
I did more research about birth than ever before. I read about 5 books about natural childbirth, some of them midwifery textbooks. I read them over and over. I had to focus not only on the emotional aspect of birthing without any professional attendants around for support, but also the functional aspects of safe, responsible birthing. I read birth stories and watched birth videos on the internet of other successful UCs. I read stories of unsuccessful UCs that resulted in hospital transfers. These women were smart; they were prepared enough to recognize when something wasn’t right, and when the point came that they could not handle it alone. That is what hospitals and OBs are for. The “real” emergencies. It blew my mind to learn how very unnecessary so many routine medical interventions are, and how often hospital staff overreact to things that occur during birth that are simply a variation of normal. It was amazing how much I learned about natural birth, including every single “complication” I had ever had, and how most of it was really no big deal as far as “normal” birthing goes. It was fascinating and empowering. I knew I could do it. It was a long journey that required a lot of deep consideration and bravery, but when the time came that I made up my mind, I knew I could do it. I trusted my body and my mind to get us through this safely, regardless of whether I actually got to UC or not. I was certainly not willing to sacrifice health and safety for the UC experience, which is why I had to be so prepared; so I would know how to deal with anything that arose and recognize when to throw in the towel and call in the professionals if things went bad.
I gathered the appropriate supplies. I purchased a birth pool, a Doppler, a stethoscope, a blood pressure monitor, a pulse-oximeter, chux pads, gauze, gloves, alcohol, umbilical scissors and clamps, hemostats, various herbal tinctures for augmenting contractions and helping stop hemorrhage and shock. I learned all about how to deal with a surprise breech, shoulder dystocia, hemorrhage and shock. I learned neonatal resuscitation and instructed Drew on it. We talked and talked about things, over and over for a total of 4 months. I made sure he knew how to support me during transition, when I typically lost emotional control and had panicked in previous births. I mentally prepared myself for the pain of crowning, because I’d felt it 3 times before, so I knew exactly how much it would hurt. I was determined to swallow my fear of the pain and be the primitive birthing goddess that Mother Nature intended.
* * *
On Tuesday, November 9th, 2010, I had my 39 week prenatal appointment. I had reluctantly agreed to have my prenatal care transferred to the hosp MW who worked under the back-up OB. She checked my cervix and found me to be 3-4cm dilated and 50% effaced, but baby was still high. I went home and continued my day as usual. Around 4pm, as I sat on the porch talking to Drew, I coughed (I was getting over a long episode of asthmatic bronchitis triggered by a very dusty, pollen-y cleaning marathon several weeks prior), and felt a trickle. I looked at Drew with a sheepish smile and said “I think my water just broke.” I stuck my hand down my pants and felt the distinct wetness, and said, “Yup.” Hooray! Birthing day had finally arrived! Contractions had not begun yet, however. I figured they would soon, though, like they did last time with Connor’s labor.
After the initial excitement, I started to get nervous. Was I really going to do this? Did I really have the mental capacity to have a UC? Was I endangering myself and my baby? I found a bottle of Riesling in the fridge that had been there for 9 months (haha), opened it, and poured myself a small glass. It was delicious, surprisingly enough considering how old it was! It was about all I could do for the anxiety, and it did help.
We called a few friends over, those who knew our plans (and there were VERY few of those), to help with the last minute preparations. One friend came and cleaned the kitchen and tidied the rec-room (for my tv-viewing pleasure, haha). Another friend got our children ready for bed. During this, Drew moved all the laundry baskets and boxes out of our bedroom so there would be room for the birth pool. It was set up, and starting to fill. We turned the water off when it was half full so that it could be filled the rest of the way with fresh hot water when it became needed.
Then the three of us ladies went on several walks to try and stimulate labor, which was still nowhere in sight. After several hours of waiting (my bedtime having passed), I became increasingly tired and discouraged. I decided to go to bed, hoping to be woken up by labor. No such luck. I slept horribly and morning came with still no labor. I had been having periodic gushes ever since my water broke, and every time, I would wait for a hard contraction to begin afterward. Never happened.
It was then Wednesday, November 10th, the United States Marine Corps’ 235th birthday. All through the pregnancy I had jokingly said I was aiming for 11/10 to give birth in honor of Drew’s 10 years in the Marine Corps. It was so awesome that it looked like that was going to actually be true!
I was starting to get a little nervous, because of the 24 hour “time limit” OBs tend to stick you with when the membranes rupture before labor has begun. The risk is of infection. I, however, was not being exposed to the main risk factors, which are being in a hospital full of foreign germs, and having multiple cervical exams to check progress (I had not done any on myself since my water broke). The fluid was gushing regularly so the area was constantly being flushed out. I was monitoring my temperature and the baby’s heart rate regularly, and both continued to be fine.
Around 8am I sent Drew to Mother Earth Market to buy a new bottle of blue cohosh tincture (an herb that is used to induce/augment labor contractions). He got there only to find that they didn’t open until 9am. I was frustrated, but knew I could do nothing else but wait. At 9am, he called to say that the store was sold out of both brands of blue cohosh tincture. Ack! He then had to drive across town to the other Mother Earth store, where they did have some.
When Drew finally got home around 10am, McDonald’s breakfast in hand, I reached out and said “Gimme, gimme!” He started to hand me my mocha frappe, and I said “No! Give me the tincture!” I went straight to the kitchen and took a dose. I had decided to take the doses more frequently than usual, because I knew from past experiences that it took over an hour for any contractions to start (after 2 doses). I was going to take it every half hour until contractions began, then decrease to every hour until they were strong and regular.
I had loaned my double electric breast pump to a friend, so I called her to see if she could bring it back that morning so I could use it to try and induce labor with some pumping sessions (which release oxitocin, the hormone that causes contractions).
I finally decided to call my homebirth midwife to consult with her. I had been trying to avoid involving her, because I had no intentions of going to the hospital as long as things seemed to be going okay. She knew this, but I didn’t want to put her in any kind of awkward situation (ethically). But, the clock was ticking and I had been ruptured for over 18 hours by then. I needed to make sure I wasn’t making a dangerous mistake by continuing to stay home, and to hash out what to do if/when it became truly necessary to go to the hospital.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that my MW was calmer about the situation than I was. She assured me that labor would start, and that things would probably go quickly when it did. She had to consult the hosp MW and inform her of what was going on, and I reluctantly agreed. I was told that, because of the hospital-based nature of the practice, it was recommended that I come into Shands to be evaluated. I declined, and my choice was documented. I knew if I went in they would pressure me to start pitocin, and that would completely kill the experience I was aiming for. Not to mention that there was no medical indication that I needed it at that point. So my MW instructed me to monitor myself for fever, keep checking the baby’s heart rate to make sure it remained strong and steady, and adhere to the “nothing in the vagina” rule. No problem! I told her I had just started taking blue cohosh and was going to be using the pump as well. Big thumbs up. I felt much better then!
So, around noon, after 5 doses of cohosh, 3 pumping sessions, and still no labor, I decided that I wanted the kids to leave the house. I couldn’t concentrate or relax; their presence was keeping me tense and nervous as they went about their day as usual (which consists of running around, making lots of noise, demanding attention, and occasionally fighting with each other). So Drew called his mom and she agreed to come pick up the 3 younger children (Robby was visiting his dad). She arrived around 12:30pm, and Connor started to freak out. Poor thing knew something was going on, and did not like the idea of being shuttled away – it was a new experience for him. We finally got him in the car and he was weeping…but apparently the smiles returned a few minutes down the road and Drew’s mom called to tell us that. Good. I could finally relax.
Enter mind-body connection. Within 15 minutes of the children departing, I had a contraction. A real one! I was excited and relieved. Drew had just made me a turkey-provolone sandwich and I was slowly eating it; I was not very hungry, but I knew my body needed more than the Gatorade I’d been drinking. About a minute or two after that first good contraction ended, another one began. Wow! I was sure it was a fluke. I continued to eat a bite of sandwich, breathe through a contraction, repeat. After about 5 contractions in a row like this, I finally realized that I was actually in labor! The contractions were 2-3 minutes apart, which signifies active labor, and the intensity of the contractions were consistent with that stage of labor as well; strong, but doable. I posted on MDC (MotheringDotCommunity, an online mama’s forum) that I was finally in labor shortly before 1pm. My sandwich sat, half-eaten, on the porch table.
After about 45 minutes of these contractions, still coming quickly and strongly, the intensity suddenly increased dramatically. I knew Drew needed to get the birth pool filled and warm, because it was time for that “aquadural” relief. I had been holding out as long as possible so as not to waste the warm water or cause labor to stall. So, between contractions, I breathlessly instructed him to get the pool ready. There were 4 big pots of water being heated on the stove, and he emptied our hot water tank into the already half-full (but room temperature, by then) pool.
At this point I got down on my knees and leaned over the birth ball during contractions. I had to focus on relaxing my abdominal muscles, because I had been inadvertently tensing them. The contractions were slightly less uncomfortable this way. I breathed slowly and deeply, and rode each wave as it came. After several contractions like this, I seized the opportunity during the (short!) break between them to pick up the ball and go to the bedroom (I’d been on the back porch this whole time). I made it back there just in time for another contraction to start, so I threw the ball down on the floor and got on my knees, leaning over it again. I was waiting for Drew to finish warming the pool water.
Shortly before 2pm, the phone rang. It was my MW calling to check on me (we hadn’t spoken in a few hours), and to tell me that she had a class from 2-3:15pm, so to text her instead of calling if I needed her during that time frame. She asked if things were picking up and I replied “Oh yeah…”, still breathing heavily as I had just finished a contraction.
A few minutes later, the contractions increased in intensity again. I had to muster more courage to remain calm through each one. I got up and stuck my hand in the pool. It seemed only lukewarm, but I figured the buoyancy might at least help things even if the warmth factor wasn’t quite where I needed it. I changed into a gray sports bra and fresh undies (‘cause I’m so modest, haha) between a few contractions, and stepped into the pool. Drew came in and I asked him to turn on the CD player, which had a Polynesian woman’s choir CD in it, which I had listened to while in labor with the twins 6 years back. Then I said “More hot water.” He was off again. I was leaning over the side of the pool on the end that has a seat. Drew arrived with a pot of hot water and I moved to the other end of the pool and stirred with the “debris net” as he slowly poured it in. It felt good, but still not warm enough. “More,” I said. Off he went. This repeated until all 4 pots of water had been poured, and he was refilling them all to put them back on the stove.
During all of his bustling around, I had turned over and was laying face-up with my arms supported over the sides of the pool, stretched out and suspended in the water. The contractions were incredibly intense by then, and I was deep in a trance. My legs were trembling and I knew that I was approaching transition. I stayed unspeakably calm, focusing on making it through one contraction at time. After a time, and I have no idea how long (I’m guessing about 10 minutes), I felt a very strange sensation after a contraction finished. It was a distinct shift in the pressure down there. My eyes flew open wide as I realized what had just happened. My cervix had finished dilating, and her head had just slid down into the birth canal. Holy crap. I wasn’t about to enter transition. I had just finished it! With no panic!
At this point, I was in a state of disbelief that the birth was so imminent. The last thing on my mind was calling anyone, or even telling Drew what was going on. I didn’t quite believe it myself, and thought if I came out of my deep meditative trance and tried to talk to anyone, I might not be so calm. So I just sat there, in my own little world. The contractions had stalled, which is normal between the first (labor) and second (delivery) stages of birth. It isn’t called the “Rest and Be Thankful” phase for nothing!
As soon as the contractions started up again, they were very hard and sharp. After a few like that, I took off my undies, squeezed the water out, and chucked them toward the bathroom (I missed and hit the dresser). I moved to the other end of the pool, the end without the seat, and leaned over the side, resting my head on the edge. I was on my knees, which were far back behind me, with my belly hanging down in the water. During the next contraction, I figured I’d try pushing a little to see if that helped relieve some of the sharpness. It did, so I continued to push, breathe, push, breathe…really focusing on catching my breath between pushes. I may have been in la-la land, but I realized that I hadn’t checked her heart rate since I’d gotten into the pool, and there was not any possibility of doing it at this point (my primal birthing instincts had kicked in and I wasn’t going anywhere!), so I wanted to make sure I was breathing well enough to keep everything as oxygenated as possible.
Drew came back into the room, and as soon as a contraction subsided, I said to him, breathlessly, “Go turn the hose on, hot.” He complied (there was a garden hose hooked up to our shower head). By that point, the water heater had rebooted enough to give at least some hot water. After less than a minute of the hose being in the tub, and feeling the hot water swirl around me, I started to have a hot flash. “Okay, that’s good, that’s good!” He ran and turned it off, then finally climbed onto the bed and settled in by my side.
At this point, I was pushing with each contraction. I would ease into a push, and then my body would take over and hold the push, and I would grunt like I was taking a huge dump. I was panting between pushes, and would then push again, because it made the sharp pains dull out a bit. Drew was there, stroking my hair and telling me what a good job I was doing. At first, I almost told him to stop touching my hair, but then I realized it was giving me something to focus on other than the pain, and I appreciated it, so I kept my mouth shut. I hadn’t told him that transition was over and that this was real, intentional pushing. In fact, I hadn’t said a word to him at all since telling him to turn off the hose. Apparently, he thought transition was just beginning, because with Connor’s birth, I was pushing/grunting involuntarily during that stage.
Within a few minutes, I started to feel the burn. I knew that I needed to stop pushing and let the tissue stretch, but it hurt so much that I chose to continue pushing as gently as possible anyway. I knew it was almost over. I reached down to feel for her head, but felt nothing except a slightly opened hole. I was grunting and sobbing as I pushed. I reached down again and felt that telltale “fuzzy walnut” that was her scalp, compressed in the birth canal and just starting to crown. The burning was intense and I was panting quickly between pushes, still groaning and crying. But strangely, I was not panicking. I was so focused on what my body was doing, knowing that this was the moment of truth and that it would soon be over; there was no time for panic. Another few gentle pushes and I reached down again. This time, her head was completely crowned, and so I reached my other hand down and pressed down on either side to provide counter pressure.
I knew that this was the most important time to not push. But I also knew that one more push would bring her head over that hump and the worst part would be over. Decisions, decisions. I chose to push. I don’t even know if I was having a contraction or not at that point; all I could feel was that blasted “ring of fire”. So I braced my hands on either side of her head, and pushed hard. Suddenly, there was an entire head in my hands. I let out a big sigh of relief and stroked her soft head. I moved my fingers around to her face, brushing over her tiny ears, felt her nose and mouth, and rubbed her squishy, fat cheeks, all while catching my breath. It was a peaceful, surreal, and completely magical moment; the world had stopped turning, and it was just me and my baby girl.
Then I was eager for the rest of her to come out. I knew I had to wait for her to rotate her body so her shoulders could be born. I waited to feel that happening, as I’d heard others do, but I didn’t. I became impatient and figured I’d try to push again and see what happened. I figured I’d stick my finger down there and try and hook her armpit to aid the top shoulder’s delivery. As I was doing that, she started to slide out a little, and I realized I’d forgotten to check to see if the cord was around her neck! OOPS! I unhooked my finger from her armpit and there was the cord!! She was already sliding out, so I quickly tried to loop it over her head. I couldn’t, and she was coming out anyway. She sort of somersaulted out into the water, and I tried to maneuver her out of the cord tangle. The lighting was dim and I couldn’t really see exactly how the cord was wrapped over her (I believe is wasn’t actually around her neck, but over her shoulder and across her chest). I couldn’t pull her up out of the water because of it, so I slowly spun her around until she was untangled and I could pull her up. It was 2:58pm.
[This was the moment when Drew finally realized how far things had gone, poor guy! He had no idea what was happening until he saw her hand in the water as she was born. Talk about poor communication on my part!]
I lifted her up to my chest. She was blue and not breathing, but her arms and legs were flexed, her face grimacing, and the cord still attached and pulsating, so I knew she would be okay. But, I wanted her to wake up. Drew handed me a warm receiving blanket and I rubbed her vernix-covered back and head, and said, “Hi, sweet girl! Open your eyes, baby!” I turned her onto her tummy so she could cough up any mucous or water, but there wasn’t any. She did give a dry cough, though. I turned her back over and she was opening and closing her eyes, slowly and sporadically. I kept rubbing her with the blanket and talking to her. I stuck my finger in her mouth to check for mucous, but it was clear. Drew handed me the suction bulb and I stuck it in her mouth and nose, if for no other reason than to made her mad so she’d cry. She was making angry faces, but still didn’t really cry more than a little mew every now and then. I tried blowing into her mouth gently, and that made her mad, too. After a few minutes of stimulation, she was noticeably pinker and more active, but still very mellow.
I felt another contraction, and remembered the placenta. I gave a little push, and out it slid into the water. It was still attached inside by the membranes, so I waited a little longer to see if it would eject itself (it didn’t, so I pulled gently and it came out, tearing off a small piece that ended up passing in a clot a few days later with no complications).
At 3:11pm, I called my MW, hoping that maybe her class had let out a few minutes early. She didn’t answer, but called me back within a few minutes. I told her “Well, that was a fast labor!” She was surprised, just as everyone else who heard the news. I assessed Brigit to make sure she was okay to wait until the next morning to see the pediatrician. She was. My bottom, however, was not okay. I ended up with a second-degree tear that required about 12 stitches (and a very long wait at the doctor’s office).
The next day, I took Brigit to the pediatrician to be checked out (and weighed and measured!). Our guess for her birth weight was 7lbs 8oz (and that’s what we put on the birth certificate), since she had already passed meconium 4 times before she was weighed. She was 20” long with a 35cm head circumference. Perfectly average in size!
This experience was incredible. Despite the tear and some difficulties I’ve had with recovery, I could not have asked for a more perfect birth. It was 23 hours from my water breaking to her birth, with a mere 2 hours of labor in the end. I was calm, followed my instincts, and have been healed from all the past birth traumas. I have never felt more empowered in my life.
Copyright 2010
*This still needs some editing, as I notice one more tiny thing each time I read it... Someday...*
Monday, August 2, 2010
Healing Depression
it has come to my attention lately that i may be in a depressive episode. depression can be tricky to recognize and treat during pregnancy because of the myriad of "symptoms" that manifest due to hormones and other pregnancy-related factors. chronic fatigue and mood swings are normal for a pregnant woman, but they are also a symptom of depression. so, which is it?
the other day i pulled out my trusty, tattered old copy of How to Heal Depression. i have owned it for over 10 years, and revisited it several times. i love the format: lists. bulleted lists of no more than a page or two for a gazillion sub-headings. short, sweet, easy to skim and skip to the most useful parts. i have made notations and put post-it tabs in relevant areas over the years. it's interesting to see how my chronic depression has evolved.
last night i was helping hubby study for an exam (police academy). we covered the 3 types of stress, and then i asked him coyly "and which of these does your wife suffer from?"..."all of them!" yes, i am stressed. all the time. ALL the time. chronic high stress. messy house, unruly children, fatigue, back pain, loneliness, abandonment, childhood traumas, adulthood traumas, PTSD, guilt, low self-esteem...i could go on and on. and it's allllllll intertwined. i am seriously fuctup.
it was interesting to see a part in the book about negative thoughts and blame-laying by the depressed person. yes, i am full of negative, pessimistic thoughts, some of which i verbalize (unfortunately, usually to my children). i am afraid to sound too negative to my friends and most family, because i do not wish to either invite criticism or drive someone away for being too high-maintenance. both have happened to me before, and that traumatized me (hello, abandonment!)...so now i'm stuck holding all these thoughts and feelings in, or taking them out on my immediate nuclear family.
but usually holding them in. most of them. i blame the children's behavior, the messy house, my husband and his ADHD/insensitivity/lack of common sense, and my craziness in general for making me such a fuck up that i can't keep friendships. i have often thought that my depression is almost completely "situational", and that if i lived alone, no husband, no kids...there would be no mess, no unruly children, no sloppy husband to supervise and take care of. seeing the page in the book that talks about how it's no one's fault and such...well, it makes me feel a little angry ("but you just don't understand MY life!"), but relieved too...? like, well, i'm obviously not unique in blaming everyone and everything else for my depression...but it's not MY fault either. it's my brain's chemical reaction to these events and circumstances.
and that brings me to a very recent epiphany. yesterday i forgot to take my morning meds until after we'd already left for UU. i had klonopin in my purse, so i took one and figured i'd take my wellbutrin when i got home. i never took it because nothing happened that obviously reminded me that i hadn't and needed to (which is usually what i count on when i forget -- it's never long before i'm ready to blow my top and realize i've forgotten my meds!). incidentally, robby is at his dad's for a long weekend and so the children-conflict level was decidedly lower than usual. and the topic at the service was....depression(!), and i had already suspected that i was in the middle of an episode, so in an effort to assure that the rest of the day would be as peaceful as possible, i asked hubby to refrain from demanding anything of the children, chore-wise.
that is one of the sources of major conflict. messy children + tired pregnant mama = super messy house. enter drill instructor daddy who thinks he can fix everything by facilitating a terrifying, argument- and resistance-filled "clean-up" time, which makes mama want to retreat into the bedroom and shoot herself in the head. nothing gets done except a lot of yelling, threatening, punishing, and angry daddy resentfully cleaning all by himself (but ALWAYS half-ass'edly and NEVER completely). the cycle never ends.
so yesterday, i decided i would rather live another day in the chaotic mess (that will only continue to get worse) instead of experience another "family clean-up time". *cry* that's a huge step for me. defeat is what it is, really. anyway, the day was rather uneventful, i even ended up falling asleep on my IL's couch when we went over there for dinner and watched a movie before hand.
today i decided not to take my meds to see what happened. robby is still not here -- i will pick him up this evening after dinner. so that will have given me 2 whole days to withdraw from the wellbutrin, if that is what is happening. i don't feel a thing. the twins have had some squabbles this morning, and connor has acted like his usual sick 2 year old. not once so far have i had the rage creep up. and that's just WEIRD. so i'm thinking...OMG, the only reason why i need klonopin is to counteract the agitation that the wellbutrin causes. i'm remaining calm with the children without even trying.
i've known for a long time that many BP'ers can't take antidepressants because of the mania-inducing risks, but i have ALWAYS taken an antidepressant, and i've always fallen into a mild depressive episode when the dosage was lowered or the mood stabilizer dosage was raised... so i assumed i was an exception to that rule. why would i be??? perhaps all this time i have been full of such rage requiring klonopin to balance out simply because of the hypomanic/mixed episode symptoms that the wellbutrin has been causing!! the true test will be day #3 (tomorrow), because robby will be home. if i can make it through a whole day with all of the children home and not have a violent-urge physiological reaction to the stressors of the day, my theory will be confirmed. and does that mean i can stop taking klonopin, too? then i can report to the asshole OB that i am no longer taking the dreaded category D medication and he can pull his head out of his ass and sign off on my homebirth already. wouldn't that be nice...
in the mean time, i still want to start thinking more about the self-care suggestions from the book. like laughing more -- i try to watch funny stuff regularly, but i think i need to set the tivo to record south park and family guy, and not just scrubs. maybe friends reruns and reba, too. any show that makes me literally LOL will do.
the intense summer heat has been making it very difficult to get adequate "fresh air and sunshine" treatments. i'd much rather stay holed up in the darkened, A/C'ed house all day than brave the 110'F heat index -- i'm very heat sensitive, and i don't need daily heat strokes! only another 6-8 weeks before i can tolerate being outside for longer than 5 minutes... swimming is the only solution, and taking 4 kids to the YMCA by myself can be a feat, and is always time-consuming. ugh. i think i just need to MAKE it a higher priority, though.
yoga and meditation. those are things that i love, but have not actively participated in in a looooooong time. i have 2 different postpartum yoga/exercise dvds ("with your baby"), but no prenatal ones. i would totally do it if i had them (or so i say now, when i don't). meditation is something that i usually only squeeze in at UU services, during the moment of silence or during the musical performances. choir was a great release for me, but it doesn't happen in summer. it starts back in about 3 weeks, though, i think.
knitting and reading are a few "coping strategies" that i use regularly, but i always end up having to neglect something else in order to do them, and that fosters guilt. can't win.
i know i need to devote more time to grooming/self care. i dyed my hair the other day. today i was thinking how nice it would be to make it more of a priority to take relaxing hot baths. i can't even remember the last time i did that. :/ maybe i could start painting my nails again. those things always make me feel better.
i do notice that i am more productive when i get dressed and put on an apron -- it's like my homemaker uniform. :D but these days i'm thinking more about how to squeeze in a little rest here and there. that, or i just reach for the caffeine...
i must go now. i'm getting sleepy......
the other day i pulled out my trusty, tattered old copy of How to Heal Depression. i have owned it for over 10 years, and revisited it several times. i love the format: lists. bulleted lists of no more than a page or two for a gazillion sub-headings. short, sweet, easy to skim and skip to the most useful parts. i have made notations and put post-it tabs in relevant areas over the years. it's interesting to see how my chronic depression has evolved.
last night i was helping hubby study for an exam (police academy). we covered the 3 types of stress, and then i asked him coyly "and which of these does your wife suffer from?"..."all of them!" yes, i am stressed. all the time. ALL the time. chronic high stress. messy house, unruly children, fatigue, back pain, loneliness, abandonment, childhood traumas, adulthood traumas, PTSD, guilt, low self-esteem...i could go on and on. and it's allllllll intertwined. i am seriously fuctup.
it was interesting to see a part in the book about negative thoughts and blame-laying by the depressed person. yes, i am full of negative, pessimistic thoughts, some of which i verbalize (unfortunately, usually to my children). i am afraid to sound too negative to my friends and most family, because i do not wish to either invite criticism or drive someone away for being too high-maintenance. both have happened to me before, and that traumatized me (hello, abandonment!)...so now i'm stuck holding all these thoughts and feelings in, or taking them out on my immediate nuclear family.
but usually holding them in. most of them. i blame the children's behavior, the messy house, my husband and his ADHD/insensitivity/lack of common sense, and my craziness in general for making me such a fuck up that i can't keep friendships. i have often thought that my depression is almost completely "situational", and that if i lived alone, no husband, no kids...there would be no mess, no unruly children, no sloppy husband to supervise and take care of. seeing the page in the book that talks about how it's no one's fault and such...well, it makes me feel a little angry ("but you just don't understand MY life!"), but relieved too...? like, well, i'm obviously not unique in blaming everyone and everything else for my depression...but it's not MY fault either. it's my brain's chemical reaction to these events and circumstances.
and that brings me to a very recent epiphany. yesterday i forgot to take my morning meds until after we'd already left for UU. i had klonopin in my purse, so i took one and figured i'd take my wellbutrin when i got home. i never took it because nothing happened that obviously reminded me that i hadn't and needed to (which is usually what i count on when i forget -- it's never long before i'm ready to blow my top and realize i've forgotten my meds!). incidentally, robby is at his dad's for a long weekend and so the children-conflict level was decidedly lower than usual. and the topic at the service was....depression(!), and i had already suspected that i was in the middle of an episode, so in an effort to assure that the rest of the day would be as peaceful as possible, i asked hubby to refrain from demanding anything of the children, chore-wise.
that is one of the sources of major conflict. messy children + tired pregnant mama = super messy house. enter drill instructor daddy who thinks he can fix everything by facilitating a terrifying, argument- and resistance-filled "clean-up" time, which makes mama want to retreat into the bedroom and shoot herself in the head. nothing gets done except a lot of yelling, threatening, punishing, and angry daddy resentfully cleaning all by himself (but ALWAYS half-ass'edly and NEVER completely). the cycle never ends.
so yesterday, i decided i would rather live another day in the chaotic mess (that will only continue to get worse) instead of experience another "family clean-up time". *cry* that's a huge step for me. defeat is what it is, really. anyway, the day was rather uneventful, i even ended up falling asleep on my IL's couch when we went over there for dinner and watched a movie before hand.
today i decided not to take my meds to see what happened. robby is still not here -- i will pick him up this evening after dinner. so that will have given me 2 whole days to withdraw from the wellbutrin, if that is what is happening. i don't feel a thing. the twins have had some squabbles this morning, and connor has acted like his usual sick 2 year old. not once so far have i had the rage creep up. and that's just WEIRD. so i'm thinking...OMG, the only reason why i need klonopin is to counteract the agitation that the wellbutrin causes. i'm remaining calm with the children without even trying.
i've known for a long time that many BP'ers can't take antidepressants because of the mania-inducing risks, but i have ALWAYS taken an antidepressant, and i've always fallen into a mild depressive episode when the dosage was lowered or the mood stabilizer dosage was raised... so i assumed i was an exception to that rule. why would i be??? perhaps all this time i have been full of such rage requiring klonopin to balance out simply because of the hypomanic/mixed episode symptoms that the wellbutrin has been causing!! the true test will be day #3 (tomorrow), because robby will be home. if i can make it through a whole day with all of the children home and not have a violent-urge physiological reaction to the stressors of the day, my theory will be confirmed. and does that mean i can stop taking klonopin, too? then i can report to the asshole OB that i am no longer taking the dreaded category D medication and he can pull his head out of his ass and sign off on my homebirth already. wouldn't that be nice...
in the mean time, i still want to start thinking more about the self-care suggestions from the book. like laughing more -- i try to watch funny stuff regularly, but i think i need to set the tivo to record south park and family guy, and not just scrubs. maybe friends reruns and reba, too. any show that makes me literally LOL will do.
the intense summer heat has been making it very difficult to get adequate "fresh air and sunshine" treatments. i'd much rather stay holed up in the darkened, A/C'ed house all day than brave the 110'F heat index -- i'm very heat sensitive, and i don't need daily heat strokes! only another 6-8 weeks before i can tolerate being outside for longer than 5 minutes... swimming is the only solution, and taking 4 kids to the YMCA by myself can be a feat, and is always time-consuming. ugh. i think i just need to MAKE it a higher priority, though.
yoga and meditation. those are things that i love, but have not actively participated in in a looooooong time. i have 2 different postpartum yoga/exercise dvds ("with your baby"), but no prenatal ones. i would totally do it if i had them (or so i say now, when i don't). meditation is something that i usually only squeeze in at UU services, during the moment of silence or during the musical performances. choir was a great release for me, but it doesn't happen in summer. it starts back in about 3 weeks, though, i think.
knitting and reading are a few "coping strategies" that i use regularly, but i always end up having to neglect something else in order to do them, and that fosters guilt. can't win.
i know i need to devote more time to grooming/self care. i dyed my hair the other day. today i was thinking how nice it would be to make it more of a priority to take relaxing hot baths. i can't even remember the last time i did that. :/ maybe i could start painting my nails again. those things always make me feel better.
i do notice that i am more productive when i get dressed and put on an apron -- it's like my homemaker uniform. :D but these days i'm thinking more about how to squeeze in a little rest here and there. that, or i just reach for the caffeine...
i must go now. i'm getting sleepy......
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