The Top Five Utterances of My HBAC

Welcome to the First Carnival of Birth Reflections.  This post was written for inclusion in the Carnival of Birth Reflections hosted by Patti at Jazzy Mama and Zoie at TouchstoneZ. Participants are writing posts that reflect on how birth has transformed them into who they are today. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.
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After the emergency cesarean birth of my first child, I was convinced I would attempt a vaginal birth after cesarean the next time around.  At my six week postpartum appointment, I was nonchalantly informed by the OB/GYN that no hospital or doctor would allow this.  It was soon afterwards when I started planning my home birth after cesarean (HBAC).  A waterfall of new experiences showered down on me during my HBAC and I found myself uttering things I never said in my first birth; here are the top five.

5.  “I need my birth sculpture.”

When I bought the book Birthing From Within by Pam England and Rob Horowitz, in preparation for my first birth, I found the initial - extremely long - part on birth art a little hokey.  Drawing crappy pictures is going to help me prepare for my birth? OK.  I never finished the book.

When I pulled the book back out in preparation for my second birth, my HBAC, I tried to have an open mind.  I made a couple of sketches and this sculpture:

I warmed the clay in my hands for a long time while I thought about the message I wanted to convey.  Before long, I had a soft, smooth roll about 8 inches long.  It had a prefect, polished look.  It reminded me of the umbilical cord that was providing nourishment to my baby at that very moment.  But I frowned as I held it up at both ends and watched it sink in the middle; it was so weak.  

Starting in the middle of my roll, I began to gently twist the clay around and around, forming what looked more like rope.  The roll became shorter, fatter, bumpy, and rough.  It also became stronger.  It wouldn’t bend as easily as its smooth counterpart.  I pushed the two ends together and my piece was complete - a small, simple circle, containing a smooth, peaceful half and a strong, rough half.

After I baked my birth art I kept it by my bed for the rest of my pregnancy.  I would pick it up, rubbing the bumpy and smooth grooves, contemplating the birth that would soon come.  I wouldn’t try and plan individual details; I would imagine the feelings and emotions I hoped would surround me.  

I cradled the sculpture in my hands during most of my labor.  Sometimes I would lean on the counter and study the lines and grooves.  Sometimes I would massage it with my thumbs as I paced the bedroom.  It now has a place of honor in my nightstand.  I no longer consider birth art hokey.  Birthing From Within now holds an important place in my birth story.

4.  “I HAVE TO PUSH!”

This certainly isn’t an unusual phrase to hear during childbirth, except I never had a chance to say it the first time.  Looking back on it, I am overwhelmed by how urgent and confident that phrase sprang from my lips.  I certainly didn’t need anyone to stick their hands inside of me to tell me I was ready to push.  “Try and stop me,” more accurately described the situation.

The fact that I never got the chance to push during my first birth sparked an emotional and determined flame in me that burned like the ring of fire.  It is a flame that still burns today and a big reason why I write about my births.  Sometimes it felt like I had to push everybody in order to get the birth that I wanted.  

I had to push away doctors and hospitals who told me I couldn’t even attempt a vaginal birth after cesarean.  I had to push my husband, who was understandably hesitant at the thought of a home birth.  I had to push myself to find a suitable midwife in a sea of OB/GYNs.  I had to push my own pediatrician who just had to comment about how scary she thought home births were.  I pushed, and I pushed, and I pushed.

After a very long year of pushing my way towards the birth I craved, I pushed my 6.4 pound baby girl out in less than ten minutes.  I guess I had gotten pretty good at pushin’.  

3.   “Don’t turn that off!”

Oh, no she didn’t! As I was heaving myself up onto the bed so I could push my baby out, my midwife went over to the T.V. and turned off the Grey’s Anatomy DVD that had been playing throughout the three hours I had been in labor. Oh, yes she did.  

I was not happy about it.  Judge me if you must, but I am an avid T.V. watcher.  You could say that having the television on during my birth was my “focus item.”  It was soothing; it brought me familiarity and comfort.

So... yeah....  I yelled at my midwife.  But, they’re used to that... Right? She took it well.  And turned the T.V. back on.  

2. “NOOOOO!”

While we’re on the subject of yelling at the midwife... I like to think that I’m a pretty assertive person in my everyday life.  I don’t know what it is about a hospital, but whenever I find myself in one, I also find myself turning into a complete pushover.  

Even after spending nine months painstakingly planning my first birth, I let my plans fall right through the cracks the instant I walked through the automatic doors.  Get in bed -- Okeedokee.  Wear this monitor -- right-e-o.  Time to get in the tub -- yes, master.  Don’t stop here to have your contraction -- give me drugs! You need to have a c-section, sign this -- is this my fault? Do they pump some kind of brain-numbing gas into the air or something?

I certainly wasn’t consciously thinking about any of this during my HBAC.  I did, however, find it much easier to say no.  Would you like to get in the shower, Leah? -- Noooooo! Every time you push you are pushing her head out, do you want to feel? -- Nooooooo! Chuck, do you want to come catch the baby? -- Noooooooo! I guess I thought my husband needed some help asserting his feelings as well.  

I didn’t take it too far though.  After I had been checked, by request, and was at 7/8 centimeters and started feeling pretty tired, Katia again suggested I get into the shower.  This time, I heeded her experienced advice.  Less than ten minutes later, I was screaming, “I HAVE TO PUSH!” (See #4)

1.  “I did it!”

Yeah, yeah, yeah.  It’s cliche, it’s cheesy, it’s corny.  What can I say? Birth is corny.  And cheesy.  It’s also beautiful, powerful, natural, instinctual, gentle, hard, painful, and unique.  Why wouldn’t I be so proud of having accomplished something that wonderful that I shout out the first thing that came to my mind?  There is a plethora of emotions that can be felt when someone lays a newborn baby on your chest, still wet from the womb and still connected to you through a pulsating, life cord.  At that moment, this cheesy phrase is the only thing my brain could push through my lips. 

It’s also true.  I did do it.   And I’ll cherish every memory of it for the rest of my life.

You can read my full birth story here.

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Visit Jazzy Mama and TouchstoneZ to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Birth Reflections!



Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants:

• In the Middle - A Progression Through Four Birth Experiences Amy at Peace 4 Parents shares her birth experiences and the central focus that holds them together.
• A Birth Story-The Post Where I Finally Let Go Jennifer at Hybrid Rasta Mama finally frees herself of all of the negativity she held onto regarding the way in which her daughter came earthside.
• From Hospital to Home Birth Kerry at City Kids Homeschooling explains how it took three pregnancies to realize that birth is a natural, empowering life event to be celebrated at home.
• Preparing for Joyful Birth-Making Peace with my Soul Shana at Tales of Minor Interest prepares to birth her second child with joy after a traumatic first birth experience.
• Reflections Rosemary at Rosmarinus Officinalis reflects on the planned cesarean birth of her breech daughter.
• The Top Five Utterances of my HBAC Leah @ Zen and the Art of Cloth Diaper Maintenance comments on how an HBAC brings many new expierences and phrases.
• Labor Phases: Latent, Sleep, Transitional, Hell CatholicMommy shares the surprises of her birth story.
• The Birth of My first Child - Our Miracle Baby Darcel @ The Mahogany Way Birth Cafe shares her story of the traumatic birth of her first child. Darcel still feels guilt over the birth and is looking for ways to heal.
• My Thoughts on Birth: 10 Months Later Adrienne at Mommying My Way compares how she feels about her son's birth now that he's ten months old with how she felt right after he was born, and how that impacts how she relates to other new moms.
• Jasmine's Birth, My Rebirth Patti at Jazzy Mama discovered that the birth of her third daughter would change her entire view of her Life.
• Birth Reflection: It Only Takes A Second Zoie at TouchstoneZ reflects on her third homebirth-the birth of her second living child 

***This post was originally written under my previous blog name, Zen and the Art of Cloth Diaper Maintenance.***

Parental Civil War

This post was written as part of the Parenting In America Carnival hosted by Adventures in Mommyhood: Mommy Outnumbered. The Carnival is running from July 3-10, 2011.
  
When I became a mom, I instinctually sought out other moms.  I wanted advice, encouragement, and apathy.  I wanted to know I wasn’t alone.  As a stay-at-home-mom, I was definitely craving some adult conversation.  Since I am shy and kind of a homebody, I decided to jump on the internet and see what the world wide web had to offer.  This is when I first came across CafeMom. 

CafeWar!

At first, it seemed like a great find.  Moms supporting other moms in every single category your mind could imagine.  There really was something for everyone.  But then came my first experience with mom bullying.  It was horrible! When a mom would excitedly talk about how much she loved breastfeeding, the formula moms would jump on her for thinking she was superior to them.  When a mom talked about the fact that she liked formula feeding her baby, the breastfeeding moms would attack her for not doing what is best for her child.  Vaxers and anti-vaxers, circumcising moms and intactivists, the enemy lists go on and on.  After about a month on the site, I realized this was less a place for support and more a battleground for the ongoing parental civil war.  And CafeMom is certainly not the only parent chat site that has been sieged.  

 Now that I am attuned to the sounds of the parental civil war going on today in America, I hear the battle cries everywhere I go: the moms at the park afraid to breastfeed in public because they will be shelled with hurtful comments; the dads at the grocery store afraid to baby wear because their manhood could be amputated; the parents at daycare who are shunned as traitors for not vaccinating their children; the vaccinating parents shunned by the antivaxers for poisoning their children; the laboring woman who surrenders to her doctor and submits to an unnecessary cesarean section who is crucified by natural birth supporters.  No one is immune, neither side is showing signs of retreat, and everyone is suffering from heavy casualties.

As I have been watching the battles rage on for five years now, I often find myself torn, not sure on which side I should be fighting.  I certainly have strong convictions about all of these topics, but most of the time I just try to wave my little white prefold, signaling I don’t really want to fight at all.  I find myself defending everyone.  After all, this is America.  We all have a right to our opinions; we all have our individual freedoms to parent the best way we see fit, right?

On the other hand, what about the common good? If one way really is better than the other, shouldn’t we be trying our hardest to make sure most of America is practicing it? As parents, doesn’t the fact that we are responsible for the children of America mean that we are also responsible for the fate of the country?

I certainly don’t have all the answers.  Just as I could never tell you which of my children I love more, I cannot tell you which freedom is more important - the freedom of individual rights or the freedom to make a positive difference in your country no matter your race, creed, gender, or economic status.  But the more I look at the issue, the more I see I may not have to choose at all. 

A Gentler Approach

When I was a child, I was bullied into going on my first roller coaster by my family (Dad, aunts and uncles).  As we stood in line for an hour, I was terrified. I knew I wasn’t ready to go on this ride.  But my family dismissed my fears as childish (um duh, I was a child!) and said once I got on, I would be fine.  Well, I wasn’t fine.  I was frozen in fear through the entire ordeal and the minute the ride was over I broke into tears and was inconsolable for the next hour.  The experience traumatized me.  For years I refused to go on any kind of ride or water slide and I refused to listen to anyone’s opinion on the matter.

A few years later, my mom took me to the local street fair.  I rode the merry-go-round, jumped in the moon bounce, and ate cotton candy.  It was comforting because I knew what to expect.  It was fun because it was all things I had done before, things I knew would be fun.  Mom looked bored though.  I watched her eyes as she peered longingly up at the Rainbow.  That’s the ride where a big flat group of seats starts slowly swinging back and forth until at last it starts going all the way around in big circles.  It is by no means an extreme ride.

 “Would you like to try the Rainbow, Leah?” Mom asked excitedly.

“No way!” I cried, the fear of my last roller coaster experience already bubbling up in my sensitive gut.

Mom took a much different approach at convincing me to try out this new, terrifying ride.  We sat down on a bench and watched others go on the Rainbow.  We watched it make its passes back and forth and listened to the riders scream as it finally made its inevitable loop all the way around.  As we watched, Mom told me about her first experience with the Rainbow - how she had been frightened too.  But once she gathered the courage to go on, she experienced wonderful things: the butterflies in her stomach waiting for the ride to begin, the anticipation in her fingertips that gripped the safety bar as the ride floated up into the sky, and the feel of the wind lifting her hair away from her shoulders as she descended towards the ground.

After about 15 minutes, the ride looked different to my inexperienced eyes.  It was no longer new and unpredictable.  I could see exactly what was going to happen, I could count how many times it would swing back and forth before it finally plunged over, and I could hear the sheer delight in the shrieking voices that once had only sounded like petrified screams.  I could also see that nobody was walking off in tears.

I fixed my face with the bravest look I could muster and stood up. 

“Ok, let’s do it.”

And the rest is history, of course.  I went on the Rainbow at least 10 times that night.  The next night I went back to the fair and rode it another 20.  I’ve been on at least two dozen other new and thrilling roller coasters since that day.  And I will admit freely, that I am still terrified every time I’m standing in line.  But instead of trying to avoid the fear like I did as a child, I find that the fear is as thrilling and as useful as the new experience that follows it.  And every once in a while, I find the experience less than thrilling.  Some roller coasters really are no good - they hurt your neck, upset your stomach, or lead you down a path you realize you never wanted to go down.  But one bad ride doesn’t stop me from testing out others.  Every journey has a lesson to deliver.

You Do What?

The first time I heard of ideas like breastfeeding to four years old, elimination communication, and extended rear-facing car seats, I had the same terrified feeling I did the first time I looked at the Rainbow.  For one, these were brand new experiences I had never heard of, and the unknown can always be a little scary.  But even more, I was scared of what it meant if I considered these new ideas.  If I pondered these new and different paths, did that mean the mothering I had been doing up to now had been wrong? And if I actually decided to incorporate these ideas into my parenting style, did it mean I was somehow a better mother than I was before? If I changed the way I thought about parenting, would it change the way I loved my children?

Insert the best quote ever: “You did then what you knew how to do.  Now that you know better, you’ll do better.” - Maya Angelou

The very tools used in the “gentle parenting” method are the same ones we need to use on each other and ourselves.  If we don’t expect our children to always know the right thing to do, why do we expect it of ourselves? If we say its ok for our kids to make mistakes, why do we expect our fellow moms to be perfect? If we have to show patience to our children to teach our children patience, why are we so impatient with each other? Why can we be so tolerant of our children’s shortcomings and so demanding of ourselves? If we would never say it to our kids, we shouldn’t say it to each other or ourselves.  How much I love my children is not congruous to how much knowledge I have of different parenting techniques. 

So what’s the moral of my incredibly long blog? Parenting in America does not have to be some kind of civil war.  We don’t have to kill the other side in order to prove our side the victor.  And we don’t have to run away in fear.  Instead, we can all take a long hard look at each new and sometimes scary path presented to us and listen with anticipation to the exciting tales other parents have to tell us about those paths.  We can relate our own tales of our own paths to other parents with just as much excitement and compassion.  We can sit on benches and take our time pondering which new and exciting roller coaster we want to ride today.  Sometimes the journey other parents love will just not have the right fit.  Other times, we will find ourselves gleefully over the rainbow.




***This post was originally written under my previous blog name, Zen and the Art of Cloth Diaper Maintenance.***