This post is about a different kind of birth. The birth of a mother. There’s a quote I love so much, I use it often when I talk to new moms, because it describes this new birth so succinctly. “The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed before, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.” - Rajneesh (I have no idea who that is, I found this quote on pinterest)
My birth into motherhood, happened both instantly the moment he was laid on my chest, and gradually, through sleepless nights and cuddles. But mostly it started in the bath. The first time I was ever alone was 3 days after Theodore was born. A friend had given me a bunch of herbs and salts to make a healing bath, and Dan offered to take Theodore so I could just soak my wounded body. For the first time in 3 days, time stood still, and I treasured the time to just glide my hands through the water, and let it piece together my confused soul. I had time to pray, to ponder, and go to a deep place within myself that the flurry and beauty of newborn baby can so easily distract from. There in the stillness, I realized that not only was this the first time I’d been alone in 3 days, but 9 months rather. Over the months, he’d grown, a part of me. His kicks, hiccups, and somersaults were mine. He was my little buddy, who woke me through the night, who made me waddle, and who added a roundness to my tummy, face and ankles that wasn’t once there. Everywhere I went, he went. But yet, here I was, in the bath, alone. It was eery at first, I’ll be honest. But as I began to think about it, my attention turned to study my body. I cautiously felt one stitch at a time, and was in AWE that my body had BIRTHED the living being in the other room, the perfect little creature came safely into the world, and my body was so strong to do it! I would touch my empty belly, and it felt hollow, so gushy. I thought about what it meant, the hollowness, that it was all mine again, which I felt both liberated by, and deeply sad and lonely about. I felt space to just be, to just breathe. My baths often led to tears of release. Release of emotion that I couldn’t describe. Amazement that mentally and physically I'd birthed him, and could continue to breastfeed through so much pain and challenge after challenge. Amazement that God made my body with the capability to grow, birth, and nourish a human. Amazement that my own mother did this for me. Amazement at the gift of marriage, and who Dan had become to me. He SO selflessly gave of himself during this season, and I couldn’t have done it without him. I was amazed at the power of a hug, our family, the 3 of us, my favourite blessing. And in those moments of being alone, of my body being a home for one individual soul again, I realized that this was my birth into motherhood. That this motherhood was just mine. And that every day I would be birthed into it again and again.
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I’m a sucker for birth stories. Long before I knew what birth was like from a personal experience, there was something about it that intrigued me. Perhaps the fact that women across the world, since the beginning of time, no matter their ethnicity, their culture, their upbringing, their age, their circumstance, could now have a bond of both pain and beauty that transcends any other language. I think it’s just a womanly thing, that I just love experiences that draw me closer to others. Hearing birth stories has become a favourite thing of mine, much because of the community, the camaraderie, and the fact that this is something that has bonded women for as long as time can tell.
Be prepared for this to be long and unedited. I want it to be our raw experience, and to allow myself to just blab on. I feel like before I share the actual birth, I should share my preconceptions about birth. Dan and I decided to take a hypnobirthing class, which we loved and would highly recommend to others who are hoping to be as mentally, emotionally and physically prepared for labor. I felt as though it empowered us to know different terms that we would hear during labor, and to be familiar with possible interventions, so we would be more prepared and know how to approach them should they come up. We made a birth plan, but I held it loosely. I wanted to be able to go with the flow, and most importantly, be in tune with my instincts during the process, I wanted to just know how to listen to my body to make things as comfortable as possible. On April 1 (April fools day), at 38 weeks and 4 days,I woke up after a terrible sleep with a dull pain in my back that lasted the entire day. It felt very similar to the feelings of period cramps, but nothing more, so I carried on doing life. I went to fortinos and got a massive load of groceries, waddling around in great discomfort as though a bowling ball was between my legs. I went to the Mulberry Coffee shop to meet a friend and got some sympathy for my cramps. That evening after a chicken pot pie dinner we went to look at the house which we ended up buying. They wanted to show us the basement and I said, “Nah”, I just didn’t feel up to it. At 9:00 that evening I convinced Dan to drive us to McDonalds to pick up some chocolate Milkshakes, which were said to induce labor. We got home, I chugged the milkshake, and within 5 minutes of finishing it, I went to the bathroom, and, here’s where the exciting stuff happens. I yelled to Dan from the open bathroom door “I can’t stop peeing. I think I’ve lost control. I just peed on myself. Is this a pregnancy symptom?!” He looked like a deer in headlights. I told him this must be my water breaking, and he was like (in typical Dan fashion) “but how do you know? There must be somewhere we can look this up!” Sure enough, found it in our hypnobirthing book, then called the midwife to confirm. She said it sounded like it was my water breaking (thank goodness it happened on the toilet, and at home, not at McDonalds!) So Dan ran around trying to grab the last minute items for the hospital, and I helped by … Calling every single person I knew. I think he got a bit frustrated at how pumped up and yet distracted I was. I was so excited I could have thrown a party in that moment. We made it to the hospital at 10:30 pm. and the nurses made jokes about how many bags we’d packed, asking if we were going immediately on a trip to Europe once baby was born. Since I had group B strep, I had to have I.V. antibiotics to protect the babe, and it took 5 tries, and 3 different people. My small little veins kept blowing, leaving my hands and wrists black and blue for 2 weeks after. I felt like such a wuss, I tried to be so positive. I thought to myself, “Oh dear, if I feel like crying and yelling during this, I’m not brave enough for what’s to come” So I coped in the only way that seemed appropriate to distract me from the needles. I got Dan to turn on the playlist from our friend Nate and Becky’s wedding, and got him to dance for me. To this day, 9 months later, I can see Dan dancing with such grace to the Bollywood song “Sheila Ki Jawani". At 12:30am I was induced with Oxytocin, and told to walk around the empty floors of the hospital, carting around my IV bag, waiting for contractions to start. It felt like a weird dream, and Dan and I passed the time by walking, taking stupid selfies, and making ridiculous videos on his phone. In hindsight I think the silliness might have produced more adrenaline, which prevented the natural oxytocin to work in my body to get the hint that labor was supposed to be coming along but whatever! It was SO US, and a fun way to start things out. The fire alarm kept going off as well, and that was just weird, one more thing contributing to it feeling like a dream. By 3 am, I finally had regular and strong contractions. At 3:50 am, Dan describes it as the Drake Song, Zero to a Hundred. My contractions were suddenly SO strong, unbearably strong, almost overlapping. It felt like a basketball was expanding in my stomach each time. Dan was so great the entire time. He kept massaging my head, stroking my hair, and holding my hand. He’d play our hypnobirthing track, reminding me to be mindful of what my body was doing. This was official start of active labor. From 4-6 am the contractions continued like that every 3-4 minutes, and each one lasting about a minute. It felt like an eternity when I was in it, but now to look back it felt like it flashed by. At 6 am I had only progressed 1 cm. I’d gone from 3 cm, to 4, and was so exhausted after just pulling an all nighter, and my body not getting the hint. I remember having 3 contractions while trying to get to the bathroom, and while on the toilet praying to God that he would miraculously birth my baby. I asked him to help deliver him right there on the toilet. Then I realized that was the crazy talking. I then realized I could ask for a c-section. Then I realized, I could firstly, ask for an epidural. YES! An Epidural! SO thankful for the Epidural, it wasn’t part of the plan, but for me, in that moment, it was so necessary, and I have 0 regrets. It made things much more bearable as it numbed the beginning and the end of the contractions, giving me an extra minute or so to rest between contractions. It’s like that’s what clued my body in to the cues of the oxytocin, and allowed the rest to get caught up with the contractions. Mentally that time, from 6-8 am I was able to take in more of what was happening, and think about our baby coming into the world. That time frame was a gift, and I was no longer focussed on my pain, but my baby. By 8 am I asked the midwives to take me to the bathroom because I felt like I had to go poo. When they checked me, they saw I was 10 cm and ready to push. They prepared, and from 8:30-9:21 I pushed with each contraction. It was exciting because I could finally feel more in control of the process. They brought over a mirror so I could see Theodore’s head. I thought I’d find it uncomfortable, but I’d recommend it to anyone. It was SO motivating! Dan was so encouraging, such a little cheerleader he is! I got to the point known as the Ring of Fire. I’ll let you use your imagination for that one. I hated it. And wanted it to end as soon as possible, so on the next contraction I pushed with all my might, and he came completely out, and they laid him on my chest. It was so surreal. His umbilical cord was really short, so they had to bring the mirror up to my side so I could see his face. What do you know, he was a little HUMAN. A real, live human! I couldn’t believe it was all done, and that this little baby, who I’d grown so intimately in love with over the past 9 months, and yet who I was just getting to see for the very first time, so incredibly new. Oh my goodness, if I could go back to that feeling, and just sit there for 20 minutes every day, I don’t think it would every lose it’s wonder. It was a holy moment. It was the closest I’ve ever felt to God. I felt so much love, so much affection. He was 7 pounds, 3 ounces, born at 9:21 am, after 5 hours of labor, on April 2, at 38 weeks and 5 days. He was perfect. Dan told me that my parents had left from Ottawa early in the morning after my mom finished her night shift and that they were only 45 minutes away. What a surprise! They stitched me up while I held him. He was covered in wet, warm, sliminess, and his little body moved up and down so much with each breath he took. He cried for only a moment and was comforted easily in my embrace. He nursed a little but we had some work to do before it would feel natural to both of us. Then the midwives took him to the table to weigh him and I got ready to move to my recovery room. I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted the world to know about him immediately. Our labor story wasn’t at all what I expected, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I didn’t labor at all at home, I didn’t get to be in the water for any of it, I wasn’t able to do it naturally, but I had a healthy little baby, and I’m so proud of myself, and the strength within. I praise God for all of his gifts within the experience. Those first few days were a thin place for us, where heaven came close to earth. We were captivated by every little yawn, sneeze, breath, grasp of a finger, and dinosaur-like squeaks. But you’ll have to wait for my next post to read more about my postpartum experience, and then life with a newborn human. Dan and I were honoured this past Christmas Eve to host the annual dinner for 18 family members. It was our first Christmas in our own house, and the renovations have given us ample room to have that many people here at the same time. As the event drew nearer and nearer, I found myself getting quite excited about this event. I thought through each person who would be in attendance, and looked forward to conversations with each one. I also thought through each of the family members who would be missed, those far away, or unable to make it for various reasons, and I reflected on memories past with those individuals.
As we pulled out Christmas decorations and put them up throughout our now, larger house, I started to worry, as the lack of snow also impacted how much things didn't look like Christmas. One night, I woke up in a tizzy, after a bad dream, in which people arrived to our house, saw the lack of decorations, and said "well didn't you know you were hosting this year? We thought it would look a little more Christmasy!" When I described this dream to Dan in the morning, he laughed and said, "Well was there food in your dream? That's all people care about, stop worrying about the decorations." The day of the event, Dan and I strategized about how we would set up the room. I'd bought one long table cloth for our 10 person table, and assumed everyone else could sit in the living room and eat off their laps. We didn't have enough matching plates and things for the table to be set and still look nice, and I wanted the room to still look aesthetically pleasing. Dan disagreed. He said it would look lovely if you were the one sitting at the table, but how would it feel for those who had to eat off their laps? As I thought about it, I realized he was right! So we asked my inlaws to bring 2 extra tables and more chairs, and made one massive table, with plates that didn't all match, not enough cups, and 2 people who didn't get knives. The room was squishy, the table cloths were different shades, and the centrepieces I'd planned for a table for 10, no longer worked at a table for 18. And it was amazing. Aesthetically, it bothered me, but socially, to see everyone during the meal sitting at that table, passing the food along, eating to their hearts content, not having to get up to serve themselves seconds, it was lovely. I wish I could say that this sort of frantic care about the details only happens to me when I host Christmas, but it's not true. I often care about the appearance of our home. I often care that the bathrooms are very clean, that Theodore's room is spick and span (Even though rarely people even go up there), I often care that our house has a level of "un-lived-in-ness" about it...even though, it is in fact, WHERE WE LIVE. I like our shoes to be neat at the door, the windows to not have marks on them (which is impossible with a particular guy ,Theodore, not Dan, who loves to lick all the windows), and the sink and dishwasher to not have a trace of dirty dishes. Now, be careful not to assume that I'm bashing clean houses. There is something to be said for the home that has been prepared for you, for the home that is tidy, and makes you feel at ease upon entering. What I'm saying, is that some of the homes I've entered and felt the most myself, were the homes where I knew the person spent more time preparing their heart for my arrival, than polishing their silver. I felt like I could cozy up to tea and put my feet on the couch while we shared stories like family. I felt like I could linger all day, because I knew they weren't ashamed of the state of their home. I'm growing in this area. When people say they're coming over, I leap with excitement, but I also leap to frantically clean as much as I possibly can before they arrive, ensuring I stop with enough time before they arrive to regain my breath. After all, they can't KNOW that I just rushed to clean, they have to think this is how we always live. What if instead, I simply tidied the dirty diapers strewn across the couch to prepare a place for them to linger, and then to linger a little longer. What if I opened up my home instead, for people to just come exactly as they are? What if I spent more time thinking about what I appreciate about these people who enter this space, and thinking of ways I can encourage them, than running up and down stairs shoving things in closets? There's a quote that I love that says "When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence." And finally, a quote by Shauna Niequist, who has been helping me grow so much in these areas through her books "The heart of hospitality, is when people leave your home, they should feel better about themselves, not better about you." Today I'd like to talk about something that's been new to me over the past few months since becoming a mother. Personal grace.
When I was pregnant with Theodore I started making crafts galore. Well, actually I did that before I knew of him, I just love crafts in general. When I was expecting him though, it was something I excitedly did out of preparation. I made a few terribly ugly crafts before committing to an embroidery hoop that I was going to put the letter "T" . It was half way done when I realized that it too, was not quite terrible, but it was certainly not perfect. The pattern was crooked, the little lines were different sizes, and it just wasn't looking like I'd imagined. It was then that I made the decision, to accept the imperfections within every craft, to go without fixing them, and to finish them as is, and display them around our home as reminders to myself that I do not have to be perfect as a wife or as a mother. I'm not a perfectionist, that's for sure, just ask anyone who's eaten any of the meals I've made- it will fill you up for sure, but it may not be all that flavourful. But for some reason, I put this expectation on myself that I can do everything perfectly. I want to be the woman that hosts beautiful and perfect meals, who doesn't have permanent bags under her eyes, who bakes homemade bread in the morning and sews clothing for her children at night. Somehow this woman I've created in my mind, also has freshly non-chipped nails, proper eyebrows (which is so unfortunate that eyebrows are so in style these days...so.much.upkeep). She is well-rested, the beds are made, she has lots of friends, she has time to read and keep up to date on the news, and she probably even works out. And her kids love her because she is also always taking time to be with them. And she does cloth diapers. And she grows all of their food organically. ... Etc Etc Etc. Why is it so easy to be full of grace for others, and yet the standard we hold ourselves too is SO. RIDICULOUSLY. HIGH. ?! Someone on Facebook shared a blog awhile ago, and there was a phrase in it that talked about only doing what is yours to do. It was about picking a few things that you are passionate about, and focussing on those, and letting the rest slide a bit, or simply not allowing yourself to feel guilty about not doing. That resonated with me. I will probably never have a wonderful garden in the backyard, at least not for the next 6 years. I will probably never be one to wake up early and make a breakfast for my family other than boxed cereal and toast. I will probably never be able to sew a quilt, even though I find them so beautiful and would love to be able to. I will probably never be able to knit from a pattern. I will probably always make ugly crafts that I'm proud of anyways, I will probably always have bags under my eyes. I will probably always make dinner from a box once or twice a week. I will probably always put more energy into baking than cooking. I will probably always be terrible at writing thank you cards. I will probably always have one room in the house that is messy, that I just somehow cannot keep on top of. And I'm deciding to be ok with that. I'd extend that grace to others, and I think it's time to extend it to myself. |
AuthorI'm a farm girl living in the city, a daughter, a sister, a wife and a mother. I love the simple things in life, and love to share them with others. Archives
February 2017
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