My birth story: Redux

If I could sum up my second birth, it would be with this picture:

And with this sentence:

"Why is everybody so ANNOYING?!"

I'm so glad Jason managed to snap that picture. It says everything: messy, tired, overwhelmed, ecstatic. I'll take annoying people over a brush with death any day of the week.

Last time, I felt like I orbited the black hole of my mortality and was lucky to escape. That may be overstating it, but for months I struggled to revive my body and my spirit. This time, I feel like I just circled it from a distance, and it let me right on out. I feel so much better that I grieve a little for how hard I had it last time. I also am relishing the gift of still being here on this Earth, and for Dean being here too.

Like most things child-related, the labor was not as I expected. Last time it was fast and hard. This time it was much longer, and much better.

Instead of a too-fast-too-furious avalanche of contractions, this time I had weeks of them that built up slowly. A few times, I thought I was in labor and started preparing, only to have the contractions fade out. That part was mentally and physically exhausting, but my official opinion is: long labor with breaks is ONE THOUSAND TIMES better than short labor without breaks. I had some restful days interspersed, and for the most part, things felt manageable (comparatively). Plus, feeling so miserable for so long made me actually happy when labor began!

The night I really was in labor, the contractions were getting more painful but were still irregular. I was distracted by my two year-old puking at 3:30 AM, which rallied our household for a few hours. By the time I had a chance to think about my contractions again, they were about five minutes apart. I called my doctor, and she advised me to go to the hospital to be checked.

I had decided to go to a hospital this time, rather than to a birth center, because of the hemorrhage I experienced last time. However, I may have mentioned that I HATE HOSPITALS. I realize my husband spends most of his waking hours inside one, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Just walking in and standing and waiting and getting my bracelet and "Who are you again?" and "What is your insurance?" and "Only one person with you in the triage room!" and blah blah blah made me remember why I didn't do this last time. The things I will do to maintain my blood supply.

I was four centimeters dilated when they checked me. They weren't sure whether to admit me, so I walked for an hour. I progressed just a little, so we decided to get my show on the road. Here's a selfie with my IV pole.

I was positive for Group B Strep, so I had to get IV penicillin.  OH BY THE WAY THAT HURTS ALMOST AS MUCH AS LABOR DOES. Good times!

After two hours of walking, things got rolling and they rolled fast. This part felt like I remembered. My contractions were long and strong and I could no longer walk or talk much. I got into the position that helped me (leaning over a birthing ball on all fours) and I stayed there pretty much until I pushed. Jason and my mom took turns giving me counter-pressure through the contractions.

I felt much more in touch with the process this time. I could feel the contractions that were opening my cervix, and I could feel when they switched to pushing the baby down. I knew things were moving fast. Hard as it was, I kind of got into a groove and I knew what I needed. When they checked me again, I was at 6 cm. At the birth center, someone would then have said, "You're making progress! Good job! You're doing great! Hang in there and he'll be here soon!"

At the hospital, they just said, "Last chance for narcotics!"

So, I tried some Stadol. :)  It's pretty nice! I was still in pain, but I felt warm and fuzzy about being in pain.

The cast of characters I had to interact with was what irritated me to no end. The resident checking on me didn't know my birth plan. The anesthesia resident had to give me his spiel about why I should probably avoid an epidural (which I already knew), while I was nearing transition and I could barely open my eyes and the pain was becoming nearly unbearable. Thanks, dude. My doctor was in clinic so people kept telling me I'd have to wait to push. Ha! Right! Luckily, I don't think anyone but Jason and my mom heard me blurt out, "Why is everybody so annoying?!"

Then there was Celeste, my labor nurse. God bless Celeste. She was an angel. She empathized; she stood up for what I wanted. She would come in close to me and say something important and I knew that all was well. She offered to catch my baby if my doctor didn't make it and that sounded great to me. I wish everyone had a Celeste in her life.

When it was time to push, there was no stopping me. Luckily my doctor made it just in time (don't they always?). I decided to push in a squatting position on my knees, holding on to a birthing bar they installed over the bed (which blew the resident's mind, I think. I don't think she had seen a Birth Without Stirrups). After the resident broke my water, I pushed hard and I felt him crowning. It hurt like hell. There is no way around how much that hurts. So I just kept on pushing and screaming, "Get him out get him out get him out!!!" He must have heard me because he came sliding right out in less than five minutes. I think he hit the table before they knew it, even though he weighed 8lbs 12oz. I didn't tear, and I didn't hemorrhage. Hallelujah! 

Recovery has been smooth. My body may never be the same, but that's a blog post for another time. I've been fortunate to have a village of family and friends helping me adjust to doubling my number of kids. My spirit is full of love and hope.    

How Birth is Like a Supernova

As I inch closer to my second delivery, I am aware of the slow turning inward that seems to happen during this third trimester. This pregnancy has been a harder one than the first in many ways. Physically, it's been a roller coaster. Emotionally, I've had heart-bursting excitement, but I've also struggled with a lot more fear and dread now that I know more about what's coming our way.

I've struggled with how to understand birth. I had hoped to find some sort of spiritual fulfillment in it, and I paid close attention to women who really do seem to have that experience. But to me, birth and the newborn period were primarily a blur of agony.

Is it like a trauma? I've mulled this over many times in my mind. In a way, yes--though I don't have nightmares or flashbacks, it was so totally overwhelming and disorienting that it tore me outside of my ability to cope and to integrate it into my consciousness.

And yet, the pieces of me fell back together, and there I was not a year later wanting to do it all over again. All I have to do is notice my daughter's brilliant blue eyes to be reminded of what beauty comes out of that fight. Life-giving, life-sustaining, sublime beauty...

...Which led me to the most appropriate analogy I have found so far: birth is like a supernova. I'm sure astrophysicists would laugh at my comparison, but I've been a bit obsessed with Cosmos and Neil deGrasse Tyson lately, so I've had supernovas on my mind a lot.

A supernova, as I understand it, is the brilliant explosion of a dying star. It creates an incomprehensible amount of energy and can outshine entire galaxies. It emits more energy than our sun will in its entire life. So, basically, it is a violent, extreme, catastrophic event. It's also completely natural--it happens perhaps once per minute somewhere in the universe. Violent, extreme, and catastrophic are words that often describe our universe, it seems to me.

And yet, supernovas are where the stuff of life come from. They often create new stars. They are the primary source of heavy metals in the universe, including the metals in our bodies and our food. Neil deGrasse Tyson likes to say, "We are made of starstuff." Plus, as you can see from the picture, supernovas look absolutely magical and breathtaking.

All of this comes as close to describing birth as I've ever heard. Violent. Extreme. Life-creating. Devastating. Magical. Awe-inspiring. And it's where these precious beings came from.

If that's what it takes for a life to happen, then that's what it takes. I'm going to stare it down again, and in the end, I'll probably end up even more grateful for it.

My Letter to My Daughter About her Body

Step one: Don't talk to your daughter about her body, 

except to teach her how it works.

Don't comment on other women's bodies either. Nope. 

Not a single comment, not a nice one or a mean one.

Recently, an article by Sarah Koppelkam called How to Talk to Your Daughter About her Body, published on the Huffington Post, seemed to be everywhere I looked at once. It is beautifully written and inspiring, and I think it is a great guide for the early years of a girl's life. Something was missing, though. I felt I needed to have my own talk with my daughter about her body.

Dear Coralie,

Your body is strong; it is healthy; it can do amazing things. It can climb mountains and run marathons and move furniture and dance and sing and experience pleasure. It deserves to be cherished. I cherish yours, and I hope you will too. I care for it, feed it, file its nails, rub its back, run with it and wipe its tears because I love it and I love you. Your body is how I communicate with you.

Right now, every time you look in the mirror or see a video of yourself, you light up with pure joy. I hope that "I am awesome!" revelry lasts as long as possible. That's how I wish we all felt about ourselves!

The time will come in your life when everything will change. It's called puberty. And I do not serve you well if I avoid talking to you about the incredible and the harsh realities of growing into a woman. Puberty is awe-inspiring and glorious as it allows you to experience maturity, sexuality, and fertility if you wish. However, it's a time when you're going to be inundated with negative messages about your body and other people's bodies. As they grow up, many women stop enjoying their bodies and become obsessed with how they look. FIGHT BACK. Recognize those negative messages and kick their butts.

Those lies come from people who are suffering in their own self-hatred, or who want something from you, or who want power over you, or who want to sell you things (especially that last one!). They are not the truth. If you buy into them, you set yourself up for misery. You don't have to live that way. I am heartbroken every day over all the women living in a prison of self-loathing. They are caught up in other people's delusions. Other people's definition of good and beautiful. They miss out on so much of life!

Life is what our bodies give us! I felt perilously close to losing my life a couple times, and it gave me a whole new gratitude for my body. Your dad witnesses other people's tragedies every day--people who would give anything for our healthy bodies and their idiosyncrasies.

You are a masterpiece. I hope you can see yourself that way your whole life. If other people don't, ignore them. You and I know the truth about you. I hope you always love you as much as I love you.

To Be...or to Overthink It

"I'm not depressed. I'm extra-feely. 

I'm not anxious. I'm extra-thinky. 

I'm not addicted. I'm extra-passionate about lots of things...

some of which may do me harm." --Glennon Doyle Melton

One thing I have learned from mindfulness practice...and as far as I know, Taoism...is that most of us have (as one of my clients called it) an "unhelpful sophistication in our thinking." The part of our brain that analyzes, evaluates, measures, and makes meaning is very often unhelpful. When we give value to something as good or bad, beautiful or ugly, right or wrong, better or worse, we are frequently setting ourselves up for suffering. And as far as I can tell, we are CONSTANTLY doing that. Or maybe it's just me. Or maybe it's just the people in therapy.

I think therapy draws NFs and NTs disproportionately: those are "extra-feely" or "extra-thinky." Those of us who just can't get out of our heads. Who think about life perhaps more than we live it.

Being in our heads splits us off from our experience. It actually takes us away from our lives. It makes us pull inside, away from the people around us. Away from our present moment. There are so many ways we split off.

"This moment is better than that moment."
"This aspect of me is more beautiful than that one."
"I am not who I should be."
"This person is not the person I imagined myself with."
"It doesn't make sense for me to feel this way."
"Tomorrow..." "Ten years from now..." "What if...What if...What if..."

All that is, really, imagination. It's our mind's ability to fantasize. It's in the same family as fiction and delusion. It has its place, but it's not the only voice or the most important voice.We are kidding ourselves if we really think we can predict our futures or live up to our ideals (or that others will live up to them).

What's helped me most is to stop trying so hard to get better. To bring myself back, over and over. What do I feel? Who am I right now? What if I let go of what I want to feel/be...let that go like the clouds passing by...

Often, if someone is feeling anxious, I'll try having them simply sit with it. I'll ask them to describe it to me. What does it feel like in their body? What is the quality of it? Does it move? How intense is it? What if we just invite it into the room? It's welcome here. What would it say to us? (I didn't come up with this approach, of course. :) )

It feels like diving into one of those pitch-black water slides. You don't know when or where you're going to come out.  Except, usually within minutes, the person comes out. They land in the shallow pool at the end and the darkness is gone. Often what is left is just...acceptance. Not just, actually. Acceptance is damn hard and dangerous and freeing. Radical acceptance.

 



 

Spirit Me

Do other people have involuntary daydreams about life-and-death scenarios?

I can be walking down the street, and this will go through my mind: What if someone runs up and tries to mug me at gunpoint while I've got Coralie strapped to me? How will I fight him without hurting her? If we fall to the ground, I'll need to fall like this...

Or if that dog comes at me teeth first, here's my plan: first I'll kick and yell, then I'll grab that person's trash can...

Or I'll be in Target, and I'll start thinking: What if someone steals my cart with her in it? Do I scream and risk them doing something crazy? Yes, I think I must. Scream, then take them down.

My level of anxiety about these things is pretty minimal, so I don't get too worried about myself. I think it's probably all just my fierce desire to hold on to what I've got right now.

I'm feeling very sentimental these days. I see a large handful of aging clients in my practice, and a recurrent theme keeps coming up: rather than big, shattering tragedies, they are saddest about their lives slowly declining and realizing they never lived what they hoped and dreamed. They're lonely and disappointed, in life and in themselves. It gets me every time.

I tend to believe we choose to become physical form for a reason. Right now, I have this marvelous sense that I'm pretty much living what I've hoped to live. I've got staggeringly wonderful family and friends, a career that challenges and inspires me, and a beautiful daughter. I'm healthy. I'm stable. I came out of the tortured confusion of my (longggg) adolescence and now I'm really enjoying my life. (Just tired. Oh. I'm. So. Tired.)

I know these things are temporary. I know when life is going well, just wait. And when it's not going well, just wait. So I'm clinging fiercely to this life I get to have right now. I feel like I'm really in it more than usual. And then part of my spirit is watching it from afar, grateful. Spirit Me is telling Body Me to enjoy, enjoy, enjoy. Body Me says, I know, don't worry I know. Can I just have a nap?

Maybe it's Christmas that pushed me over the edge. As a child, Christmas was at my grandparents' home, with aunts and uncles and cousins and food and conking out on the couch. Then, my grandparents passed way, and the family dispersed. There was a lull, and a readjustment with some sadness. Now, I feel like Christmas is coming to life again. The kids are young, the family is new and vibrant.    

My work, and some of my own experiences, keep me in touch with how lucky I am. I encounter lots of people living on the edge of instability, too aware of the monsters lurking on the other side of all the safety and support we're trying to build around them. I used to feel that way too, back when I had panic attacks, when too much postmodern education took the rug out from under me, when my relationships were struggling...when I was wandering and didn't trust myself. Those experiences served to make me even more grateful now. I feel like I went through one of those black tube waterslides, where I couldn't see anything and didn't know how long I would be falling. Then I came out the other side, and now I'm splashing happily in the sunlit shallow waters again. Coralie means "Girl from the Sea." Spirit Coralie looks out at me from her radiant blue eyes, and says, "I am so ready to be here. I've got my reasons."

Sleep Training: A Literature Review

A friend recently texted me: "Do you have your baby on a sleep schedule?"

Ha! She had no idea what she was getting into by asking me this question.

I'm not one of those moms who Does Things That Work. So, this is not a blog with Answers! However, I thought I'd piece together information I wish I'd had before my baby was born. Plus, it's a huge part of my life lately so it's all I have to write about. :)

I've collected a small library of sleep books and somehow managed to read them in the midst of my zombie brain! Here I offer a comprehensive literature review.

Babywise:
Get it together, baby. You eat, play, and sleep when I say so, and always in that order. You will cry as much as you need to get on my schedule. Soothing is for the weak.
                  Me: Um, I feel sick reading this. Don't make me do this!
                  Babywise moms: Sure, enjoy your moral high ground. We're going to enjoy our twelve hours of sleep.
                  *What I found useful: Coralie is definitely happier with a routine.

Dr. Sears:
You are cruel, Babywise, and you will ruin your baby forever. Instead, why not let her sleep in your bed and breastfeed whenever she wants to? DON'T YOU LOVE YOUR BABY?? Sleep is for the weak.
                  Me: Yes! I am an Attachment Parent! Oh God, I'm so tired.
                  Coralie: It's 4am! Let's play!! Hi-ya! Hi-ya!
                  *What helped: at least somebody is in favor of soothing a crying baby.

Dr. Ferber:
So this thing called scientific research says...(zzzzz). Don't be cruel. Let your baby cry in small, increasing increments. It's the humane thing to do. But you need to "give your baby the opportunity to fall asleep on her own"!
                 Me: This is code for: "Listen to her scream her heart out until you cry into your husband's T-shirt."
                 *What I liked: we tried his method for bedtime at 3 months old, and it made a big difference. Coralie goes down easily most nights now.

Secrets of the Baby Whisperer:
I am the nanny you wish you were. Follow my program and it will be E-A-S-Y! Eat, awake, sleep, time for yourself! Get the routine down and she'll start falling asleep on her own.
                 Coralie: What's wrong with you? I'm not hungry and now I'm not sleepy. I sleep for 45 minutes no matter what you say, thank you very much.
                *What helped: lots of specifics on how to care for a baby in general.

Sleeping Through the Night:
If bedtime is your enemy, this book is for you. It will guide you through every detail. Then, once your baby can fall asleep on her own, the book says she'll sleep through the night when she's ready.
                Coralie: Haha! That's a good one! Hahaha!
                *What helped: acknowledging that sleep training may not work until 5 months. Things really are much different at 5 months.

The No-Cry Sleep Solution:
Get out your pencils, people. We're making charts and graphs and a few Venn diagrams while we're at it. If we track your baby's every move, maybe we'll figure out when she wants to sleep. Or maybe if you just soothe her and feed her enough she'll grow out of it.
                Coralie: WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

This leads us to our winner. Ladies and gentlemen, I present Dr. Weissbluth's Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child. I resisted this book for a long time because I knew he was a cry-it-out advocate. However, this is apparently the book Coralie read cover-to-cover, because so far he has been right about EVERYTHING.

Things he taught me that were helpful:
1. Two words: avoid overtiredness. Put that baby down sooner than you think!
2. You can try all that no-cry stuff, but it won't work for everyone. Some babies really just need to cry it out.
3. Forget "dream feeding." "How would you like it if I woke you out of a deep sleep and fed you when you weren't hungry?"
4. Cluster-feeding and solid foods don't help babies sleep longer.

HOWEVER, the downsides are that I felt like a slave to her naps and I became OBSESSED with sleep. I worried that if she didn't sleep enough her cognitive development would suffer and blah blah blah...can't a new mom get a break?


What We Did:

For the first three months, we soothed like crazy and prayed that Coralie would figure sleep out on her own. She didn't.
Then, we established a nighttime routine and bedtime. Still, she cried and we soothed for hours.
Then, we tried Ferber's method for bedtime. It took a while, but she did start falling asleep on her own. It was excruciating to hear her cry. I sat and stared at the wall and hated myself.
Still, naps were short and she woke a lot at night. I followed Weissbluth and put her down every 1-2 hours.
Now, her naps have finally become more normal. Sometimes we soothe her if she wakes up quickly, and she might go back to sleep a while longer.
She still woke up several times at night though. So, dear reader, we did it. We let her cry.

I am no longer judgmental about people who let their babies cry. We are not cruel people. We are desperate people.

I was starting to have crazy thoughts. Thoughts like, "Maybe I should have a heart attack so I can go to the hospital and get some rest for a few days."

And I have to say, so far it is helping. She gets up less, and I am in better spirits.  She wakes up smiling and laughing and seems no worse for wear. She is a joy! 

If you made it to the end of this post, I adore you. You clearly care about me a lot. :)








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Things I Have Learned Since Becoming a Mother (all three-ish months of it)

All night your moth-breath 
Flickers among the flat pink roses. 
I wake to listen: A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral 
In my Victorian nightgown. Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. 
The window square 

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try 
Your handful of notes; 
The clear vowels rise like balloons. 

-Sylvia Plath


"Morning Song" doesn't seem like such a sad poem anymore. She's struggling, and tired, but her disconnectedness starts to improve and her tone softens by the end. She ends with balloons, for goodness' sake. Good for her.
 
I can understand the strangeness she describes. Everything feels new and strange. My body feels strange. Normal society looks different. How does everyone else run errands and talk to each other and accomplish things?

If you expect it to be beautiful and easy, you're in for a rough time. If you expect it to be a rough time, it's beautiful and wonderful, and it's also a rough time.

Single parents are other-worldly super-human beings who deserve our reverence. And paid days off.

Sometimes breastfeeding doesn't help the baby weight.

That first moment of seeing my baby really is as close as I've come to seeing God.

The idea that life is a gift feels more real to me now. It's a gift, but it's not a gift you just unwrap and smile at.  It's fought for. That whole birth thing takes you to the brink of your mortality, the trembling point where life could begin or end. I realized we have all fought hard to be here...HARD.

I can pray for our long, happy, healthy lives every day. But life is not in my control. It's only because of God that I get to exist at all, and to have the opportunity to hold this baby.

There is an underground war going on about infant sleep. There are basically two sides: those who believe in "sleep training" (often known as crying it out), and those who think you're a terrible person if you let your baby cry it out. The sheer vastness of books and blogs and opinions on sleep is overwhelming. The more I read, the more confused I get.

Or maybe I'm just confused because I'm sleep-deprived. OH RIGHT, we're all sleep-deprived. That's why everyone's fighting the underground war!

I went back to work because I had to, but I stayed back to work because I love it. Doing therapy makes me feel more whole. I'm afraid to admit that I might not be cut out to be a stay-at-home mom.

Babies need dialectical behavior therapy just like all of us. For example, some things will calm her down when she's at a 5 on the Richter Scale that won't calm her when she's at a 10. At a 5, I might swaddle and shush and sing or whatever. At a 10, only the boob will do.

Another example: we all benefit from accepting the co-existence of contradictions. She can be tired and wound up. Breastfeeding is wonderful and difficult. She is the most amazing thing in the universe and I love her more than I could imagine, and could someone else please take her for a bit?

As Ti would say, "Be there for the experience of it." And just look at that little face.