So many people still think that homebirthing women do it for either some extreme radical point-proving self torture
or
extreme radical reaction to a "flukey" prior birth experience.
So many
So many
So many
Why is making the safe choice for our babies our bodies our souls our families RADICAL?
I think spending so much time happily swimming in the world of online midwife and doula blogs had me in a bubble. It got popped a few times, (all unrelated) in the past couple of days by some off handed comments and thoughts from some very mainstream status quo people.
Why do perfectly intelligent people in 2007 still believe that birth is some horrifying pathlogical medical crisis?
At least when I am forced to re-remember that they do feel this way, it helps me to put into perspective what they must truly feel about homebirth, and homebirthing women and families.
It brings to mind all those nasty analogies like "Ya get pain reliever at the dentist, doncha?"
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Tagged!
I've been tagged to write 8 things that people might not know about me, and then to tag 6 other bloggers to get them to do the same, so here goes:
1. I am really obessesed with trees, more specifically, tree indentification. If there are trees in my neighborhood, or anywhere that I frequent, I really need to know what kind they are! I get a very geeky thrill when I discover an odd or rare tree somewhere, and will talk to any and everyone about it, like they care.
5. I have played several instruments: piano, clarinet, recorder, guitar, handbells and sang in choirs, but my favorite instrument ever is the xylophone. I adore xylophones, both the metal ones, the wood ones, the toy ones, and the groovy ones that look like they are made out of bark. The chimey little glockenspiel, the huge Vibes, and every xylophone-esque thing in between. I am not a big collector, but this is one of the few things I would love to collect. A whole wall of xylophones, that I would play every single day. Ahhhh bliss.
1. I am really obessesed with trees, more specifically, tree indentification. If there are trees in my neighborhood, or anywhere that I frequent, I really need to know what kind they are! I get a very geeky thrill when I discover an odd or rare tree somewhere, and will talk to any and everyone about it, like they care.
2. I have some really, REALLY deep-seated aversions to "bragging". In an effort not to show off, appear smug, sound self-righteous, act better than other people, or toot my own horn, I have really botched up and under-enjoyed some very impressive events and achievements in my own life. I think all this stems from my school years, and horribly playing into a "tee-hee" stupid-girly role for a few hideous years in middle and high school. Realization of this started with dumping my evil freak boyfriend and getting with Steve, and through the tumultuous womens' studies years in college, opening my own eyes to my own Reviving Ophelia types of stuff.
Resultant devotion to NOT letting "impressing boys by acting like an idiot" ever happen to my own daughter ensued, but it has been a very slow battle to do this for myself. The blogging and the comments have helped, tremendously. I can see and believe now, without discomfort, that what I do and say IS cool, and IS worthwhile, and that by shutting up and selling myself short in order to avoid conflict, I only hurt myself. :)
3. I took French for 10 years. I can listen to French songs, and French radio, and watch French films, and feel like I totally "get" what is going on...but as soon as someone asks me "what did they say???" I can't tell them! Its very bizarre.
4. I adore little "international symbols". Now they are commonplace, but back when they were only seen on foreign cars and at airports was when I first fell in love with them. I nearly get tears in my eyes at how adorable they are in their simplicity. I can't say this enough, this is just SO cute to me!
5. I have played several instruments: piano, clarinet, recorder, guitar, handbells and sang in choirs, but my favorite instrument ever is the xylophone. I adore xylophones, both the metal ones, the wood ones, the toy ones, and the groovy ones that look like they are made out of bark. The chimey little glockenspiel, the huge Vibes, and every xylophone-esque thing in between. I am not a big collector, but this is one of the few things I would love to collect. A whole wall of xylophones, that I would play every single day. Ahhhh bliss.6. Similar to the ideas of simple design and collecting things, is my LOVE of vintage Fisher-Price stuff. I love to display, collect, stalk out ebay auctions for, and photograph the little people, especially. God they are so darling!
7. As a child, I did ALOT of borderline-OCD things that I would categorize under the word "superstitions", even though that doesn't really descibe what it is that I do now as an adult. (This is harder to explain than I thought!) Perhaps I will do better with some examples:
I find meaning in numbers, big time. I pick times on the microwave, for example, that I think will be --meaningful? Like if something needs approximately 30 seconds worth of heating, I would type "32" for how old I am, or "28" for how old I was when I had Casey, or "33" for good luck next year.
I find meaning in little things that happen throughout the day. If a squirrel stops right in front of me and stares at me, I might think he was trying to tell me something. If one colored leaf falls right on my lap in mid summer, I think that something really monumental will occur in the autumn.
I think if I look at cigarette butts then I will get cancer and so I try not to look at them.
I do not look at cemetaries if at all possible.
If I think of something, like "maybe I should lock the door", and then don't, I will usually go back and lock it, thinking maybe the original voice that told me to lock it was something.
I worry alot about "jinx". I see a little pice of litter and I pick it up, because I think it is "doing a favor to the Earth and I will get one in return". I refuse to write on my blog about anymore pets or job opportunities, because all the ones I wrote about DIED, and all the jobs I wrote about fell through.
My most strong and current example of jinx is this: Several years ago, I decided for my grandfather's birthday, that I would finally tell him how wonderful I thought he was. I typed him a big letter, which told him about all of the things that he taught me. I printed it on good paper, and watercolored the edges all around. It was a big hit, my grandma hung it in a frame, and then he died very soon after. So, now I refuse to send one to her, even though boy o boy does she deserve one. But clearly my first letter killed Grandpa (I am only slightly kidding). She is the reason why I am all the good things I am today. For real. But I don't want to send it, the black rose, you know?
Last week we found out she has stage II breast cancer and she is not going to do anything about it but just enjoy the rest of her life. So now can I write one for her? I still don't know
I spent years and years of my childhood translating every single sound that I heard into its backwards counterpart. Yes, I spoke backwards in my head. I spoke backwards in my dreams, and backwards french in my dreams for many many years. I was so sure that this skill would make me incredibly rare and useful and bring me great fame, that I never stopped to worry if it was weird or stupid or a sign that I was perhaps, a freak!?
Don't I sound like some illogical religious wacko, wanna be new age crystal mystic drug addict certifiable corn flake or mental patient? I didn't mean to make light of real OCD, by the way, which is a debilitating disease which is horrible and disruptive torture. I am actually not tortured nor is my day interrupted in anyway by this secret internal banter, and in fact, I rather enjoy it and can't believe that I am actually typing it! See! I am already thinking that typing it will be a jinx! :)
8. I have accidentally been only buying green shirts and sweaters for 2 years now, and only truly noticed it when Greta pointed out that our laundry pile was "all green stuff"! Whoops! I guess I got on a kick and didn't mean to. But green is so beautiful!
9. I, too, have strongly considered selling my eggs for money to help our family. I have gone as far as to fill out applications and forms and to look long and hard for places who will take your eggs if you are over 28 years old. Now I have read too much about all the pain and have decided that my kids need me to be healthy and able bodied in order to take good care of them, and so, the ten grand is not to be mine for this reason.
10. I really, really don't care too much about rules. I will give them a glance-over, decide what the true original intent of the rule was about, and act from that point. This is not about being a rebel or trying to shake things up. It is just how I always have been.
Well, thats it! If you read my blog, you are tagged! Tell me in the comments who you are and then we can all go read about you and your freaky little secrets!
Monday, August 20, 2007
Coming home with Charlie Linden
To walk through the front door of our house where our homebirth supplies are still all there, with my newly born son after my C-Section.
Entering a double-exposed photograph,
Straddling the line between past and present
Energies of two very differing plains colliding, mixing a tiny bit, but then seperating
Oil and water
Old and new
Monday to Saturday
a lifetime of difference
The old smells, familiar, welcoming
The hopes, so sweet and sad,
good and right things seeming now silly and laughable
---------------------------------------------------------
Entering a double-exposed photograph,
Straddling the line between past and present
Energies of two very differing plains colliding, mixing a tiny bit, but then seperating
Oil and water
Old and new
Monday to Saturday
a lifetime of difference
The old smells, familiar, welcoming
The hopes, so sweet and sad,
good and right things seeming now silly and laughable
---------------------------------------------------------
So many unopened little packages
Gloves+Pads
Sterile clamps
3 little hats
---
Iodine
Shoelace
3 little hats
---
Big silver bowl
Videocamera
3 littlehats
---
Herbal bath
Chapstick
3 little hats
---
Cohoshes,
Chux Pads
3 little hats
---
Power bars
Recharge
3 little hats
---
Shower curtain liner
Lavender oil
3 little hats
---
Fishie Pool
1/2 inflated
3 little hats
---
Baby gown
Mama gown
3 little hats
---
Thermometer
Lansinoh
3 little hats
---
Pink onesie
Blue onesie
3 little hats
---
Barf Bucket
Long garden hose
3 little hats
---
Body Pillow
Echinacea
3 little hats
---
Bittersweet
Sepia toned
Can barely breathe in here
---
In a room
with my own ghost
and 3 little hats
---
It smells like home; interrupted
It smells like me; foolish, weary
It smells like innocence spilled.
---
Tangible sadness
Queen sized mattress
and 3 little hats
---
That chapter's closed, yet I am opened
Sliced and ripped and sewn up poorly
Slowly slowly I bend over
and put on your dear little hat.
---
I open one package
And one package only
and put on your dear little hat.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
My first award
I was so surprised when I was scrolling through the blog of Louisa, a Northwest midwife whose blog I have loved and admired for a good while now--and she had "tagged" me with the honor of a Thinking Blogger Award. on her July 28 2007 entry. Whoa-- I was floored.
I am almost positive that it was for the post I wrote called What About Dad, which chronicled some reallife things partners could do to help with breastfeeding. Thank you so much, Louisa!
This blog has sprung up out of my heart's true necessity to speak upon the subjects of birth and breastfeeding in the way that I speak only at home, to my husband, and a few special girlfriends.
I started blogging last winter, on what was meant to be a simple homeschooling blog, but my "here and there" little snippets about breastfeeding and co-sleeping soon gave way to my thoughts and opinions on homebirth and then an entry about my first c-section got me such befuddled things in the comment section, that I realized this huge realm that is my thoughts on birth could never be contained and restrained into some side-note type of stuff on the lighthearted family blog, and thus all four blogs were born, but this, Breast and Belly, was and is my pet project, no doubt.
Now it is my turn to tag five bloggers whose writings really make me think. I follow quite a good deal of midwife and doula blogs now, and they are all fantastically important and wildly different. But no matter how popular she is, there is still no avoiding nominating, for what is probably her six-hundredth time,
Navelgazing Midwife. she makes me think, think and rethink. Which is no easy task. This is what I believe to be at the heart of this whole Thinking Blogger thing, anyhow. What's she gonna say next? How many smiles will she bring to my face? How many tears to my heart? How many sassy chuckles to my lips? She kicks ass, plain and simple.
LaborPayne. This amazing mama is a former Labor and Delivery nurse, and the mother of 9. Her blog is very professional and informative. She also has awakened me to many new ways of looking at things, and I respect her a great deal.
Louisa herself-- I have no idea if tag-backs are allowed, but whatever. She is such a beautiful writer, and I feel a very strong connection to the way she says stuff. She is extremely intelligent, is the only way I can put it. Her blog definately makes me think, and I look forward to her adventures and her thoughts as though we were old friends.
Hospital Birth Debate--- this is one I follow almost daily. Like the award says, it makes me think. Think about things in a new way. It is a good solid read for me, and the journalistic approach is one that I need sometimes. I feel myself siting up taller and feeling more strong and vocal when I read this blog.
_
_
And last, only because I don't want you to click the link to her and never return, is the incendiary, incredulously righteously amazing most kick ass Mama I have ever had the privledge to read, Dark Daughta. This blog reminds of of my days reading zines like Bust and Hip Mama when they still were printed on newsstock and hand stapled, running red faced in searing tears out of my women's studies courses in college, too pissed off to remain indoors with my brain blown up in front of all those strangers, burning my sick diary from my depraved three years with my first real boyfriend in the garbage can outside of Meijers, blasting Bikini Kill, smoking cloves, writing on my body, questioning everything they ever told me, being 17 18 19 20 years old and realizing it was all lies and then starting anew as a wise woman. Stuff like that. She is a fierce, fierce human and her writings are not for the faint of heart. This is why to not nominate her for a Thinking Blogger Award would be rediculous. She will certainly make you think.
_
_
At first I couldnt pick five and now I feel SO bad leaving off all of the other bloggers I adore. To hell with it, I gotta put my SageFemme, and make it six. She has been a part of my conciousness since 2005, she was there for me as Pamamidwife on MDC (Mothering.com's online community) all through my pregnancy with Charlie, and hers is my ultimate "check first" blog. she really, truly, says it better than well, everytime.
So, if I ever move out to the northwest, ill come and hang out with all the groovin midwives up there.
Until then, kudos! Keep writing! and thank you
A nurse's guide to managing failure.
Take a pregnant woman and randomly jam a pitocin line into her arm. She is here today for failing to birth before it is the time for the baby to be born.
Strap her down
poke her skin
repoke her skin and muscle.
Stab her and say sorry hun you got bad veins. Everything about her veins, in fact, reveal failure.
No, she cannot have food or drink. Remind her that she is in fact, here for failure, and failure is not rewarded with goodies. Besides, she could choke or aspirate, and be a failure at not throwing up only bile later tonight, as is preferred.
Flip her upside down and dig around in her pussy and tell her she is most certainly failing so far.
Leave.
Return.
Leave.
Return.
Dig harder, higher, rougher to ascertain that yes, she is still failing.
Stick a crochet hook inside of her body, up past her cervix and snag and rip the very sphere of protective fluid that encases her baby. Break it. Stare at it. Wipe at it in a manner that will ensure she knows that she is a bad girl for making a pissy mess. Note the color of the naughty piss outloud, twice.
Dig around in her pussy and tell her and the doctor and her attending support team that she and her cervix, as of yet, are still failing.
Force the mouth of her womb viscerally open, to encourage violent reaction. Show disdain when it occurs. Send for the silver tray man and the angry helper. She is clearly failing at not scaring the other patients with her screams.
Force her to lean forward, forward hun, that is not forward, reprimand her to curl her back, curl forward. Puncture spinal chord. Legs twitch. Naughty. Failure to motionlessly accept puncture wound to the spine while being silent during chemically induced uterine contractions.
Flip her back upside down and re strap.
Dig around in her pussy to ascertain and announce current failure levels.
Cram rubber tube up her pee hole before anesthesia takes place. Failure to relax and open yer legs wider, hun, just let them fall apart is noted.
Remind her that moving around will only make her velcros fall off and that she is indeed failing to care about the velcros and the plastic disks at this time.
Dig up into her pussy with fistfull of metal, past her cervix, into the baby's SKULL ITSELF, and screw an implant into the SKULL of the baby. Mom failed to care enough about being still for the plastic disks and so we have to have a read-out of the babys heartbeat. Use of regular doppler or fetoscope to the tummy somehow is not appropriate, as it would require human care and not machine monitering.
Baby is failing to enjoy his SKULL IMPLANT and his heartrate is up.
Mom is failing to enjoy her multiple massive puncture wounds and urethra, vagina, arm veins, hand veins and spinal chord being intubated, and her heartrate is failing to behave.
Her body temp and b/p are failing to behave.
Her mood is failing to behave.
Her white blood cells are failing to behave.
Her blood sugar is failing to not crash.
Her tears are failing to not cascade.
She is failing to be out of pain and failing to be quiet.
Administer a little something to take the edge off.
Mom is failing to not vomit spasmodically.
Moms catheter is failing to stay in during the vomiting.
Administer a little something to stop all that failure to react appropriately to the narcotics.
Mom is failing to be able to cope with this world and appears to be falling asleep. what she is really doing, which is dying, a true spiritual death. Shutting down. too much trauma. Passing out.
Dig into her pussy and scream at her that itistime hun itis time hun, noting her failure to get what you are saying.
Scream at her to push way down in yer bottom, hun. Way down in yer bottom.
Failure to push way down in her bottom is noted.
Reprimand and threaten.
A few things you might want to say are "doncha wanna see yer baby, hun" and "Yer gonna have to gimme alot more than that if you wanna see yer baby".
Another helpful phrase is "You gotta gimme a couple real good ones, hun, otherwise I dont know if your gonna be able to do this natcher-ull or not
(Remember, nothing by mouth. Very important.)
Failure to birth natcher-ull-blue-gown, hat and shoe-covers must be distributed at this time to all members of the room.
Pull up bars of the miniature slab-bed to ensure the safest ride down the hall.
Strap her down
poke her skin
repoke her skin and muscle.
Stab her and say sorry hun you got bad veins. Everything about her veins, in fact, reveal failure.
No, she cannot have food or drink. Remind her that she is in fact, here for failure, and failure is not rewarded with goodies. Besides, she could choke or aspirate, and be a failure at not throwing up only bile later tonight, as is preferred.
Flip her upside down and dig around in her pussy and tell her she is most certainly failing so far.
Leave.
Return.
Leave.
Return.
Dig harder, higher, rougher to ascertain that yes, she is still failing.
Stick a crochet hook inside of her body, up past her cervix and snag and rip the very sphere of protective fluid that encases her baby. Break it. Stare at it. Wipe at it in a manner that will ensure she knows that she is a bad girl for making a pissy mess. Note the color of the naughty piss outloud, twice.
Dig around in her pussy and tell her and the doctor and her attending support team that she and her cervix, as of yet, are still failing.
Force the mouth of her womb viscerally open, to encourage violent reaction. Show disdain when it occurs. Send for the silver tray man and the angry helper. She is clearly failing at not scaring the other patients with her screams.
Force her to lean forward, forward hun, that is not forward, reprimand her to curl her back, curl forward. Puncture spinal chord. Legs twitch. Naughty. Failure to motionlessly accept puncture wound to the spine while being silent during chemically induced uterine contractions.
Flip her back upside down and re strap.
Dig around in her pussy to ascertain and announce current failure levels.
Cram rubber tube up her pee hole before anesthesia takes place. Failure to relax and open yer legs wider, hun, just let them fall apart is noted.
Remind her that moving around will only make her velcros fall off and that she is indeed failing to care about the velcros and the plastic disks at this time.
Dig up into her pussy with fistfull of metal, past her cervix, into the baby's SKULL ITSELF, and screw an implant into the SKULL of the baby. Mom failed to care enough about being still for the plastic disks and so we have to have a read-out of the babys heartbeat. Use of regular doppler or fetoscope to the tummy somehow is not appropriate, as it would require human care and not machine monitering.
Baby is failing to enjoy his SKULL IMPLANT and his heartrate is up.
Mom is failing to enjoy her multiple massive puncture wounds and urethra, vagina, arm veins, hand veins and spinal chord being intubated, and her heartrate is failing to behave.
Her body temp and b/p are failing to behave.
Her mood is failing to behave.
Her white blood cells are failing to behave.
Her blood sugar is failing to not crash.
Her tears are failing to not cascade.
She is failing to be out of pain and failing to be quiet.
Administer a little something to take the edge off.
Mom is failing to not vomit spasmodically.
Moms catheter is failing to stay in during the vomiting.
Administer a little something to stop all that failure to react appropriately to the narcotics.
Mom is failing to be able to cope with this world and appears to be falling asleep. what she is really doing, which is dying, a true spiritual death. Shutting down. too much trauma. Passing out.
Dig into her pussy and scream at her that itistime hun itis time hun, noting her failure to get what you are saying.
Scream at her to push way down in yer bottom, hun. Way down in yer bottom.
Failure to push way down in her bottom is noted.
Reprimand and threaten.
A few things you might want to say are "doncha wanna see yer baby, hun" and "Yer gonna have to gimme alot more than that if you wanna see yer baby".
Another helpful phrase is "You gotta gimme a couple real good ones, hun, otherwise I dont know if your gonna be able to do this natcher-ull or not
(Remember, nothing by mouth. Very important.)
Failure to birth natcher-ull-blue-gown, hat and shoe-covers must be distributed at this time to all members of the room.
Pull up bars of the miniature slab-bed to ensure the safest ride down the hall.
Friday, August 17, 2007
New books
Gotta go check out these books from Rixa's awesome blog ASAP. Have any of you read these yet?
Sheesh, by the time I write my book, I won't need to! Wouldn't that be fantastic?
:)
Sheesh, by the time I write my book, I won't need to! Wouldn't that be fantastic?
:)
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
informed consent for all
When I speak of informed consent, I speak from a truly heartfelt place of love and concern for everyone.
Contrary to what it may seem, I have no "big dream" that all women do X Y and or Z with their babies or their bodies or their children or their lives.
What my "big dream" IS, is that we as a people have real access to real scientific, factual, experiential, historical truth. Then and only then will there be a level playing field, so to speak, for mothers and babies and their families.
Bottle vs. Breast
Hospital vs. Homebirth
To vaccinate vs. To not vaccinate
Circumsize vs. Intact
Disposable diapers vs. Cloth
Cry it out vs. Sleep/nurse 24/7
School vs. Homeschool
Stroller vs. Sling
this list can go on and on. But whats with all this "VERSUS" stuff? It sounds like a bunch of battles, a bunch of fuel on the fire, a bunch of self righteousness, a bunch of seperatist language and imagery that mimics a male model of aggresion and conflict and destroys the very foundation of Creating a Village, Circle of Sisters, and everything we women need.
Noone is so black and white in their actual living, because life is not black and white. We can feel passionately about something and then life throws us a curveball and we are back to square one. I always joke that I knew it all about parenting until I actually had a child.
I want the other Mamas and babies and families to not have to suffer BECAUSE THEY DIDNT KNOW. thats all.
I want the other Mamas to spend their precious time and energy on their families and not on regrets.
If that is so wrong, or if that makes me militant or polarized or biased or one sided, then I will work on it. I am not here to judge, but I am also not going to hold my toungue like a good little patient when I want women to know some truth and some fact and some info and some options. I did that for many many years and that is not me anymore.
What do I want? What is my point?
I would love for women to not have to spend their entire pregnancies, postpartum period and all their years of child rearing to be filled with decisions that they made under duress, under anesthesia, out of ignornace, out of sociatal pressure, out of conformity, out of fear.
Access and full disclosure for women. From the grassroots level to the healthcare system to the coffee shops to the media and so on and so on.
I'm sure the person who discovered that lack of hand-washing was killing women by the millions from puerperal fever had a rough time selling his story at first, too. Its MUCH more within folks' comfort zone to think that someone they love went through something really awful because "life is mysterious"--and life IS mysterious. and bad things DO happen for reasons we do not comprehend. B U T, why withold our stories from each other?
why
why
why
why
why?
Contrary to what it may seem, I have no "big dream" that all women do X Y and or Z with their babies or their bodies or their children or their lives.
What my "big dream" IS, is that we as a people have real access to real scientific, factual, experiential, historical truth. Then and only then will there be a level playing field, so to speak, for mothers and babies and their families.
Bottle vs. Breast
Hospital vs. Homebirth
To vaccinate vs. To not vaccinate
Circumsize vs. Intact
Disposable diapers vs. Cloth
Cry it out vs. Sleep/nurse 24/7
School vs. Homeschool
Stroller vs. Sling
this list can go on and on. But whats with all this "VERSUS" stuff? It sounds like a bunch of battles, a bunch of fuel on the fire, a bunch of self righteousness, a bunch of seperatist language and imagery that mimics a male model of aggresion and conflict and destroys the very foundation of Creating a Village, Circle of Sisters, and everything we women need.
Noone is so black and white in their actual living, because life is not black and white. We can feel passionately about something and then life throws us a curveball and we are back to square one. I always joke that I knew it all about parenting until I actually had a child.
I want the other Mamas and babies and families to not have to suffer BECAUSE THEY DIDNT KNOW. thats all.
I want the other Mamas to spend their precious time and energy on their families and not on regrets.
If that is so wrong, or if that makes me militant or polarized or biased or one sided, then I will work on it. I am not here to judge, but I am also not going to hold my toungue like a good little patient when I want women to know some truth and some fact and some info and some options. I did that for many many years and that is not me anymore.
What do I want? What is my point?
I would love for women to not have to spend their entire pregnancies, postpartum period and all their years of child rearing to be filled with decisions that they made under duress, under anesthesia, out of ignornace, out of sociatal pressure, out of conformity, out of fear.
Access and full disclosure for women. From the grassroots level to the healthcare system to the coffee shops to the media and so on and so on.
I'm sure the person who discovered that lack of hand-washing was killing women by the millions from puerperal fever had a rough time selling his story at first, too. Its MUCH more within folks' comfort zone to think that someone they love went through something really awful because "life is mysterious"--and life IS mysterious. and bad things DO happen for reasons we do not comprehend. B U T, why withold our stories from each other?
why
why
why
why
why?
Monday, August 6, 2007
It would be so easy for me to butt out...but I can't
Would you let your pet bunny hop into an eagle's cage?
Would you set your puppy out in the middle of an interstate?
Would you lock your baby sister naked into a known child molester's basement lair?
When we do nothing and say nothing as our sisters and friends walk so ignorantly, so innocently, so mindlessly into the world of the hospital birth-machinery, are we not doing the same thing? When we downplay the horrors of what can happen, when we downplay our own homebirth stories and when we "bite our toungues", are we not doing the same thing?
I would like you all to go check out the thought provoking coments section to an innocent and I believe sincere question posted on the Sisterhood Six website. Go read all this and then I will be working on my own bit. Im too overwhelmed and exhausted by the idea of responding on that page. I think the other women said it beautifully, all of them.
http://www.sisterhoodsix.com/2007/07/the_mysterious_allure_of_a_hom/
I also wanted say that I watched alot of hospital birth on Television via the likes of A Baby Story, Maternity Ward, and other types of shows.
Then I watched alot of homebirths. Some on A Baby Story. Some on video. I read and read and read in things like Compleat Mother magazine, Mothering Magazine. Spiritual Midwifery. Our Bodies, Ourselves. Hip Mama. Websites.
The two events, hospital birth and homebirth were like comparing apples to oranges. The nastiest rapey sex in the trunk of a car with a scuzzy stinky stranger to tantric golden mind blowing lovemaking. Or better yet, heaven to hell. Humiliation, degradation, infantilizing terror to...I dunno...life altering empowering gloriously ecstatic spiritual blossoming most important Rite of Passage?
I'll write more soon.
Meantime ask yourself this: How many birth stories have you been compiling? Watching? Witnessing? How many of your friends tell you about their hospital births and say "it went well" and then the real stories trickle out....How many of your friends tell you about their homebirths?
What do they say?
Do you internalize these stories? Do you believe them? If not, do you contemplate why you think these mothers are lying? What do they stand to gain from twisting their tales? Are they scrounging for a tiny piece of their autonomy back? Do you ever notice the hospital birthing Mamas stories changing depending on who they are talking to? Do you hear a change as time takes them further away from the birth?
Would you set your puppy out in the middle of an interstate?
Would you lock your baby sister naked into a known child molester's basement lair?
When we do nothing and say nothing as our sisters and friends walk so ignorantly, so innocently, so mindlessly into the world of the hospital birth-machinery, are we not doing the same thing? When we downplay the horrors of what can happen, when we downplay our own homebirth stories and when we "bite our toungues", are we not doing the same thing?
I would like you all to go check out the thought provoking coments section to an innocent and I believe sincere question posted on the Sisterhood Six website. Go read all this and then I will be working on my own bit. Im too overwhelmed and exhausted by the idea of responding on that page. I think the other women said it beautifully, all of them.
http://www.sisterhoodsix.com/2007/07/the_mysterious_allure_of_a_hom/
I also wanted say that I watched alot of hospital birth on Television via the likes of A Baby Story, Maternity Ward, and other types of shows.
Then I watched alot of homebirths. Some on A Baby Story. Some on video. I read and read and read in things like Compleat Mother magazine, Mothering Magazine. Spiritual Midwifery. Our Bodies, Ourselves. Hip Mama. Websites.
The two events, hospital birth and homebirth were like comparing apples to oranges. The nastiest rapey sex in the trunk of a car with a scuzzy stinky stranger to tantric golden mind blowing lovemaking. Or better yet, heaven to hell. Humiliation, degradation, infantilizing terror to...I dunno...life altering empowering gloriously ecstatic spiritual blossoming most important Rite of Passage?
I'll write more soon.
Meantime ask yourself this: How many birth stories have you been compiling? Watching? Witnessing? How many of your friends tell you about their hospital births and say "it went well" and then the real stories trickle out....How many of your friends tell you about their homebirths?
What do they say?
Do you internalize these stories? Do you believe them? If not, do you contemplate why you think these mothers are lying? What do they stand to gain from twisting their tales? Are they scrounging for a tiny piece of their autonomy back? Do you ever notice the hospital birthing Mamas stories changing depending on who they are talking to? Do you hear a change as time takes them further away from the birth?
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Mother Nature
http://www.amazon.com/Mother-Nature-Maternal-Instincts-Species/dp/0345408934/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/103-6246574-9031046?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1186247276&sr=1-1
Here is the book I referred to in my last post's comments section.
I read this a few years back and it is extremely well done. It is scientific and non-sentimental, which makes it a very different and refreshing (and impressive to show the nay-sayers in your life) read.
STRONGLY recommended.
Here is the book I referred to in my last post's comments section.
I read this a few years back and it is extremely well done. It is scientific and non-sentimental, which makes it a very different and refreshing (and impressive to show the nay-sayers in your life) read.
STRONGLY recommended.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Not wanting to go through all that again.
I have met, in person, nine or TEN women who have had such difficulties nursing their firstborn babies that they did not try to nurse the second baby at all.
Oh, the symbolism. It kills me. I feel so, so bad for these women and it is so difficult to get them to talk about this. Do you want to know the only way I have found out that this whole thing was going on, really? Because I knew them when they had just one baby. And I heard them tell their tales. Of how they tried and tried. Of how they pumped and had latch issues or support issues or even sexual abuse issues. They wanted to nurse so much, but for whatever reasons, they ended up stopping. they would tell these stories over and over, the sadness and frustration still fresh in thier eyes.
Then, a few years later, they would have the second baby, and the entire vibe was different. I would hear a very very detatched voice this time around. A voice that told a very different tale to those who they spoke to. Tales of "not wanting to be tied down". Tales of "liking my sleep". Tales of "after 9 months of pregnancy, I would like to have some wine, maybe some motrin, you know?"
Lies to cover the hurt. Lies that were sort of reharvested, I can only asuume, during the second pregnancy? Perhaps discussions with bewildered husbands about how little Timmy is doing awesome on formula, maybe talks about not wanting to go through all that again. Husbands and partners who never got to be there for the good parts of breastfeeding. The awesome parts of breastfeeding. Like from week 6 until forever.... husbands and partners who only remember their wife crying topless on the couch, with a boppy pillow, a tube of Lansinoh, a few cabbage leaves and a box of kleenex, the crying crying crying of the mama and the baby. The feelings of fear and failure and confusion and regret and utter defeat mixing the little bottles of powder with water. Wanting this to work, wanting the baby to gain some weight, wanting someone to swoop down and tell you something will change. Wanting to hear that formula is just as good. Wanting your wife back. Wanting everyone to just stop crying. Wanting it all to be ok. Finding solace in the people who tell you breastfeeding is stupid; for dirty hippies and poor people. Feeling like for once, when you go to WalMart and buy a can of formula, that you are in control again. You have bought something tangible. You have mixed it and measured it and stuck it in your new child's mouth and he liked it! He burped and peed and pooped and went to sleep! Isn't that better!?
Maybe I am sugar coating it all. Maybe the partner is the reason they wouldnt bother again. Maybe it is mother in law or "best friend" who undermines the interest to try it again. Maybe some idiot doctor or maybe even great grandma told you to feed the baby every four hours....once every four hours (hahaha!)
Maybe someone told the mom "Remember all that bullshit you went through last time? You really want to do that again with a toddler to take care of, too? I have tons of coupons you can have."
Oh, but my mamas, my sisters, if only you knew.
It isnt the same as surviving birthing with mean doctors again.
It doesnt have to be like last time.
It is easier and better and you know so much more now.
You know how fast that postpartum haze goes by now.
You know how fast they grow now.
You hopefully feel much more confident in your mothering now.
Maybe it is too scary to "go back" to when you were so sore and so so tired and so bewildered and so freshly feeling like everything is going wrong. Maybe you just can't bear to go back there. But with each birth, you ARE back there.
A new baby IS a fresh start. Your second baby IS your new baby, just like your tenth baby is. They are one day old and they want your milk, just like your firstborn did.
I really want to help these women. It was helpful to hear them at the playgrounds saying things like it was so hard, I was so sore, I pumped for a month.
It is damaging for them to be spreading the word that nursing isn't important, that nursing wrecks your sleep or your figure or your ability to get wasted or its leaky or inconvenient or whatever other tough-guy lies they are trying out for size. What if some new pregnant person is listening to this?
Isn't it much better to hear true tales of heartbreak and regret than the mean spirited fabricated barely believable bullshit?
We mothers arent allowed to lament anything in this society, and I know that full well. People are quick and ruthless when they dig into that grab-bag of AT LEAST YOU HAVE A BABY, etc etc etc kind of stuff. We are suppossed to breeze through or shut up, and the results of these muffled cries end too often in mother-baby murder suicides, too often in the hands of the pill pushers, too often in unresolved pain that will manifest out in myriad ways, affecting many many people.
Ah, what a rish I take in even writing this. I risk offending so many people I know personally. Please understand that this is not about TRY HARDER MOM. This is about something so different. About women's healthcare. About conception-pregnancy-breastfeeding as a continuum that lasts for years, not 9 months. About lack of TRUE lactation support being as expected as prenatal care, of a breastfeeding society for real. About coming out with our truths, about sharing our TRUE stories, about taking the ideas of failure out of the lexicon ALTOGETHER when it comes to our mothering. About helping out the next Mama-baby, even if it is not to be our own.
The times that I was there in person, hearing a mother tell a very different tale in regards to her not nursing the second baby at all, I knew I would hear this type of story again and again, and I have.
This particular subsect of women would be extraordinarily difficult to help. But I want to so badly.
There are many comparisons I would like to make soon in the women who have scheduled c sections after the first one. Same deal. Can't imagine "going through all that again just to arrive at failure, so now going to spread that word that surgical birth is awesome, thus negating the reality of my whole experience at the risk of impressionable pregnant women hearing me saying this shit. At the risk of my one reality being lost."
Cost: Another woman's true story. Deleted. Gone.
As I continue to pretend that I am some kind of women's health worker but have never even been to a LaLecheLeague meeting or anything else in my life that would put me out there in a position to help any mamas besides my own pregnant sister (whom I am trying so gingerly to not SCARE) I will use this blog to sound off what I want to do, what I plan to do, what I feel is needed for women, no matter where they are at in their reproductive lives.
Oh, the symbolism. It kills me. I feel so, so bad for these women and it is so difficult to get them to talk about this. Do you want to know the only way I have found out that this whole thing was going on, really? Because I knew them when they had just one baby. And I heard them tell their tales. Of how they tried and tried. Of how they pumped and had latch issues or support issues or even sexual abuse issues. They wanted to nurse so much, but for whatever reasons, they ended up stopping. they would tell these stories over and over, the sadness and frustration still fresh in thier eyes.
Then, a few years later, they would have the second baby, and the entire vibe was different. I would hear a very very detatched voice this time around. A voice that told a very different tale to those who they spoke to. Tales of "not wanting to be tied down". Tales of "liking my sleep". Tales of "after 9 months of pregnancy, I would like to have some wine, maybe some motrin, you know?"
Lies to cover the hurt. Lies that were sort of reharvested, I can only asuume, during the second pregnancy? Perhaps discussions with bewildered husbands about how little Timmy is doing awesome on formula, maybe talks about not wanting to go through all that again. Husbands and partners who never got to be there for the good parts of breastfeeding. The awesome parts of breastfeeding. Like from week 6 until forever.... husbands and partners who only remember their wife crying topless on the couch, with a boppy pillow, a tube of Lansinoh, a few cabbage leaves and a box of kleenex, the crying crying crying of the mama and the baby. The feelings of fear and failure and confusion and regret and utter defeat mixing the little bottles of powder with water. Wanting this to work, wanting the baby to gain some weight, wanting someone to swoop down and tell you something will change. Wanting to hear that formula is just as good. Wanting your wife back. Wanting everyone to just stop crying. Wanting it all to be ok. Finding solace in the people who tell you breastfeeding is stupid; for dirty hippies and poor people. Feeling like for once, when you go to WalMart and buy a can of formula, that you are in control again. You have bought something tangible. You have mixed it and measured it and stuck it in your new child's mouth and he liked it! He burped and peed and pooped and went to sleep! Isn't that better!?
Maybe I am sugar coating it all. Maybe the partner is the reason they wouldnt bother again. Maybe it is mother in law or "best friend" who undermines the interest to try it again. Maybe some idiot doctor or maybe even great grandma told you to feed the baby every four hours....once every four hours (hahaha!)
Maybe someone told the mom "Remember all that bullshit you went through last time? You really want to do that again with a toddler to take care of, too? I have tons of coupons you can have."
Oh, but my mamas, my sisters, if only you knew.
It isnt the same as surviving birthing with mean doctors again.
It doesnt have to be like last time.
It is easier and better and you know so much more now.
You know how fast that postpartum haze goes by now.
You know how fast they grow now.
You hopefully feel much more confident in your mothering now.
Maybe it is too scary to "go back" to when you were so sore and so so tired and so bewildered and so freshly feeling like everything is going wrong. Maybe you just can't bear to go back there. But with each birth, you ARE back there.
A new baby IS a fresh start. Your second baby IS your new baby, just like your tenth baby is. They are one day old and they want your milk, just like your firstborn did.
I really want to help these women. It was helpful to hear them at the playgrounds saying things like it was so hard, I was so sore, I pumped for a month.
It is damaging for them to be spreading the word that nursing isn't important, that nursing wrecks your sleep or your figure or your ability to get wasted or its leaky or inconvenient or whatever other tough-guy lies they are trying out for size. What if some new pregnant person is listening to this?
Isn't it much better to hear true tales of heartbreak and regret than the mean spirited fabricated barely believable bullshit?
We mothers arent allowed to lament anything in this society, and I know that full well. People are quick and ruthless when they dig into that grab-bag of AT LEAST YOU HAVE A BABY, etc etc etc kind of stuff. We are suppossed to breeze through or shut up, and the results of these muffled cries end too often in mother-baby murder suicides, too often in the hands of the pill pushers, too often in unresolved pain that will manifest out in myriad ways, affecting many many people.
Ah, what a rish I take in even writing this. I risk offending so many people I know personally. Please understand that this is not about TRY HARDER MOM. This is about something so different. About women's healthcare. About conception-pregnancy-breastfeeding as a continuum that lasts for years, not 9 months. About lack of TRUE lactation support being as expected as prenatal care, of a breastfeeding society for real. About coming out with our truths, about sharing our TRUE stories, about taking the ideas of failure out of the lexicon ALTOGETHER when it comes to our mothering. About helping out the next Mama-baby, even if it is not to be our own.
The times that I was there in person, hearing a mother tell a very different tale in regards to her not nursing the second baby at all, I knew I would hear this type of story again and again, and I have.
This particular subsect of women would be extraordinarily difficult to help. But I want to so badly.
There are many comparisons I would like to make soon in the women who have scheduled c sections after the first one. Same deal. Can't imagine "going through all that again just to arrive at failure, so now going to spread that word that surgical birth is awesome, thus negating the reality of my whole experience at the risk of impressionable pregnant women hearing me saying this shit. At the risk of my one reality being lost."
Cost: Another woman's true story. Deleted. Gone.
As I continue to pretend that I am some kind of women's health worker but have never even been to a LaLecheLeague meeting or anything else in my life that would put me out there in a position to help any mamas besides my own pregnant sister (whom I am trying so gingerly to not SCARE) I will use this blog to sound off what I want to do, what I plan to do, what I feel is needed for women, no matter where they are at in their reproductive lives.
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