Birth Story

Here's the story of O's birth. As we prepared for the birth with exercises, classes, thoughts fears and intentions, we hoped we would have a good story to share with our son each year on his birthday. We talked to people with traumatic experiences or just births that didn't go how they wanted, and it was a struggle for them to frame the story so their child could enjoy hearing it. We lucked out: things went differently than we expected, but they went well, and it's a good story! 


First, my pregnancy was a bit different than I expected. I've always been moderately thin (a little belly pooch), small-breasted, etc. In pregnancy, I got enormous, all in the belly. I got lots of the comments that pregnant women love: "are you having twins?" "Wow, you're huge!" My breasts fluctuated through lots of changes. I remember driving down the freeway and getting a pain in my breast so strong that I grabbed it. A truck driver saw me and honked nice and loud. Lovely.


Our plan was a natural waterbirth-hypnobirth. My mom, a hypnotherapist, helped me prepare for the hypnobirth with relaxation and visualization tracks on my ipod. I bought into some but not all of the hypnobirthing philosophy. Helping my body open up and relax with visualizations seemed quite logical, as did keeping the room calm and reducing distractions. Reframing the language around birth also made sense. But thinking that there would be "only pressure, no pain", or that there would be no need to push did not sound quite realistic. Maybe my realism was a self-fulfilling prophecy, I don't know. I took what I could from it, and it definitely helped me prepare for birth beforehand.


Being two weeks late, as far as the OHSU midwives would let me go, I was reluctantly induced. I had tried acupuncture twice (for $150 a pop) and twice my labor started, but then petered out. Much reassurance was given that the midwives would try mechanical induction methods first that Pitocin would be the last resort, and even then, it would be slow and monitored. We went in on a Wednesday morning, full of anticipation, still trying to encourage/cajole my body into starting on its own.


They began with a foley bulb, which is a tube put into your cervix with a water balloon that slowly inflates and expands the cervix. It only halfway worked. I got Misoprostil, the artificial prostoglandin which dilates the cervix, in two four hour sessions. A day and night of small contractions that I tried to imagine were getting bigger and closer together was frustrating. So was trying to sleep in a hospital bed. Finally, Thursday morning, the midwives said it was time for Pitocin. I was resigned to it. We asked if we could have breakfast and a shower first. I got my shower, but then my body kicked into gear on its own. I only got to have a few bites of huevos rancheros before I realized that it was finally happening. No huevos for me.


Shannon called our doula Venessa, and she arrived shortly. Quickly she and Shannon became a seamless team. I would have a contraction and I would yell, and she would encourage me to vocalize while Shannon rubbed my back or held onto me. I suppose I was having back labor, because as the intensity increased, I demanded the hip-squeeze, and eventually the butt squeeze. I required that they use all their strength to squeeze my hips together. They kept me super hydrated with water, Recharge (we brought a whole case to the hospital), protein drinks and fruit. They took turns with breaks so smoothly that I barely noticed when one was gone. They helped me in and out of the bathtub, down the hall, up and down but hardly ever on the bed.  


The midwives/nurses filled up the water birth tub for me, which is quite an ordeal. The tub takes up most of the room, and they use a hose from the shower in the bathroom. Shannon and I went in. It felt soooo good in between contractions, but the water actually seemed to intensify the contractions for me. We got in and out a few times and I started to fear the contractions. The midwife wanted me to increase the intensity and shorten the distance between my contractions, so we just kept moving and hardly ever sat down or laid down on the bed. She also heard me vocalizing and suggested that I mellow it out, leave room for my contractions to intensify even more and have a voice left. I tried to take this in stride, but was slightly discouraged when she kept telling me I needed to get them stronger and closer together. Ultimately, my body dilated fully with contractions 4-6 minutes apart! It was sort of surprising to everyone involved. Of course I had nothing to compare to, nor did I have any sense of time. 


I had planned to avoid an epidural if at all possible (that goes for a C-section too, of course). Halfway into labor, I thought "I can see why people get epidurals, and I see nothing wrong with it at all." The only thing that kept me from asking for one was that I HATE needles and the idea of something being stabbed into my spine was worse than the idea of the pain. What kept me going during labor was my team, for sure. I don't think I actually have a high tolerance for pain; I just relied on Shannon and Venessa to be my strength. Really, I physically leaned on them, sometimes putting all my 172 pounds around Shannon's neck. Also, all the preparation--the classes, the reading, the yoga and visualization--served to keep me from going to a place of fear, and it allowed me to stay in the moment. That and the pain of one contraction was all-consuming to the point that I didn't have  chance to think too much. 


When my water finally broke, I didn't notice that Venessa slipped out of the room for a moment. I was absorbed by the fact that water was gushing out of me, all over my legs, my slippers, the floor; everywhere I went I leaked. When she came back she had a nurse with her. After a while she calmly told me that there was meconium in the amniotic fluid, and that the midwife would come in to check it out, but it was probably fine. The midwife came and was just as calm and reassuring. She said that it happened in 30% of births, and it could mean nothing at all. It did change our plan. I could continue to labor in the water tub, but I couldn't give birth there. And there would need to be a pediatric team in the room when I crowned, in case there was an issue with the baby. The concern is if the baby had gotten meconium in his lungs. I said fine, get rid of the tub. They checked me and I only had a lip of cervix left, SOOO CLOSE!

 A bit more contracting and gushing, and then there was a midwife/nurse shift change. The new midwife checked me and I was there! I started pushing, in the bed, on my side, using Shannon as an anchor, in a headlock. In retrospect, we really could've used the bar over the bed, but never thought to ask. I pushed for a good two hours, being directed to focus the energy down and out. I thought, well, there's no way out now but to push. At least if I keep pushing, I won't have to be pregnant any more. Oh, and I get a baby! When people were saying "here he comes", "there's his head", I thought they were just being nice. It seemed like he couldn't really be coming out already, but boom, there he was, placed on my chest, all bright and heavy and breathing! He was vigorous, though had some mucus to be cleared out. I never even noticed the pediatric team, waiting in the wings. Someone could come up to me on the street and say "hey, I was at your birth. I watched a baby come out your yoni" and I wouldn't know who they were. 

I think I remember saying "is this real?" We talked to him, he suckled slightly, we caressed him and gazed in amazement, and then I noticed that other things were going on down there. My body wasn't contracting to get the placenta out. After all that natural labor, I ended up getting more misoprostil, Pitocin stabbed into my leg, and eventually a narcotic anesthetic in an IV, because the midwife had to manually remove my placenta. It didn't matter though, because he was out of me, and I had snuggled him, and during that operation, he was snuggling with Shannon, skin to skin, bonding. I felt elated, triumphant, and pretty tired. He nursed successfully, our family came in and gazed in amazement, he weighed in at a whopping 9 pounds 3 ounces, and the journey had begun. 

Mama Blogs to Inspire

Busy day. Here are some awesome blogs to check out. I've highlighted my favorite posts.


The Rookie Moms Blog has this brilliant idea that I wish I'd thought of: 25 things to do on maternity leave. It's awesome because the writing is great and the ideas are exactly what a new mom needs. Here's one: http://www.rookiemoms.com/write-a-did-do-list/ .
She also has tips for how to fit a shower into your day---[HOLD THE PRESSES! My baby just smiled in his sleep]--- Okay, anyway, she has this great list that includes things that will help you build confidence going out and about as a new mom, like scouting out the baby-friendly bathrooms and nursing spots, and going to a Mommy Matinee, which I have already done! She also has the brilliant idea for couples to pretend one night that they are teenagers babysitting rather than parents in their own home. 


The other one that I just have to read daily is Mommy Shorts. She is a brilliant writer with the right sense of humor for me. Here are a few of my favorites:
 http://www.mommyshorts.com/parenting-math and for father's day, this one.


I also adore the writing (and the people) in this one: 
http://therhodeslog.blogspot.com

How to Tell the Days Apart

How was yesterday different than  the day before?  The days really sort of run together when all you seem to do is breastfeed and empty the dishwasher. I try to fit in some outing almost every day. So yesterday, being a Tuesday I think, I had organized a playgroup walk on Mt. Tabor. Originally I had scheduled it for Monday,  it was pouring so I cancelled it. No one showed up Tuesday either. Again the weather was drab and gray (it's currently gorgeous and sunny, no plans made). So I walked by myself (with O) on a forested path to the top of Mt. Tabor. O was asleep in the baby bjorn. Halfway up, in the deepest part of the forest (to set the mood) I heard a clunk and saw something smack against a tree trunk. When the thrower saw me, he picked up said object and slipped it back into a holster on his belt. Great. The man with him was wearing shorts over his track pants and smoking a pipe. I wouldn't say I was afraid; the two white-haired gentlemen seemed harmless, but I did briefly consider my lone adventures differently with a bundle of baby in front of me. You never know when you might run across a knife-thrower. 

I usually divide up the days by visiting the garden if it hasn't rained, going to the store, walking, and having an occasional visitor. Last week I even made it to someone else's house! And Fridays I have a facilitated moms' group, which has been one of the best thing so far for getting information and having confidence about each stage that O goes through. 

Other things that made yesterday different:

• I cooked something from The Chew. Well, sort of. It was chicken Amandine, but I didn't have almonds, so I just used garlic (because garlic is always a good substitute for almonds). And then I realized I had a red cabbage, so I decided I should make coleslaw. I looked at a Chew recipe and then made it totally different. It was actually great!
• I had a doctor appt and left O (with his papa) for a whole hour and 20 minutes; the longest I've been away from him. And everything was fine! 

Baby Wonderment

Strange that I started this blog by talking about the garden when my main focus in life right now is this tiny creature in my lap. Creature? Yes, my husband and I always remind ourselves that he is a little person. Sometimes I wonder if humans are more like frogs and insects in that the change between little person and adult seems like a metamorphosis. Sure, we're born with arms and legs and the same basic anatomy, but he's just such a tiny, amazing being.

Waiting till I was 36 to have a baby has been somewhat conscious: I explored the world a lot before entering into family responsibilities. But now that I have been through it, I find it hard to imagine that I was missing out on experiencing this process for so long. Sure, I knew that pregnancy and birth were cool and how it all worked, biologically, but going through it is enlightening, of course. It amazes me that everyone came out of someone's vagina (or abdomen, I suppose), that most people nursed on their mother's breasts (I hope it's most, though probably less), and that so many people have been through this experience and been transformed by it. I'm so glad I got there, and Shannon got there, even if later than some.

Garden Plot

Our Garden:
Actually, I believe this garden is what kept me from blogging last year. I put all my creative energy into it (oh, and into growing a baby). It was a gamble, since the site is a few miles from us. I decided it was worthwhile because it was a) on the bike path and somewhat near the Max line, b) on my way to school (where I was temporarily laid off, but worked over the summer anyway), and c) within visual distance of Zenger Farm, where Shannon and I got married. My goals were to have a place to get out of the city, which feels stifling for a country girl in the summer, have a creative outlet for my free time, and enjoy digging in the dirt. Harvesting was an afterthought, though it sounded fun, too.

Portland community gardens are hard to get into. This one was brand new, donated land by the Furey family, for both a community garden and a CSA spot for Zenger Farm. There are something like 30 plots, mostly 20x20 feet, which is quite large. The land was once a farm, so the soil is incredibly good for planting. It had been a fallow field for years, watched over by Frank, the resident pheasant who still reigns.


I originally thought the garden would be my project, but as soon as I started, Shannon wanted in. And of course, he wanted to do things HIS way. This was not what I was looking for, but I saw through our bickering an opportunity to connect over something important to both of us. It has led to many an argument, but we are better for our gardening together. Last summer, we built, sowed, and grew the most bountiful 20 x 20 garden I have ever seen. Other gardeners had some good stuff too, but ours meant more to us, of course. We built two slightly raised beds (our first project together involving lumber), and lots of mound beds. We designed it to be a green haven with various heights that created some shade, our favorite foods, hummingbird, bee and ladybug habitat (and mice and frogs, and rabbits), and a place for sitting in our plastic adirondack chair.


I think this creativity, on some level, led to the most creative project anyone can enter into. After planting all the broccoli in our tray (18-20 plants) in various spots all over the garden, I discovered that the smell of broccoli made me want to gag. Yep, we got pregnant in July, as everything was in full bloom and fertility was in the air. I continued to make the trek, and aside from the broccoli, this was one of my happy places, where  I could reflect on what changes were coming and just do some good hard work.


Now, with a community garden comes a community. This one was real in the sense of being quite random, based on who lived nearby, who heard about this spot, who was passionate or curious. As I said, this garden was in deep southeast Portland. Off 122nd and Foster, which, if you don't know the area, is pretty poor. Driving up 122nd you will see car dealerships, strip clubs, convenience stores, and plenty of baby-daddies with pants falling down pushing a stroller or walking somewhat near their baby-mama pushing a stroller, as well as a few people who've lost their teeth to meth. The neighborhoods are more personal, but there are plenty of people struggling to get by or doing the best they can with what they have.

In our garden, we have a few retired folk, one woman who lives around the corner and gardens compulsively  in every open space she sees (this year she has planted flowers along the whole outside perimeter of the garden as well as in an old bark-mulch pile), a few people who are unemployed, a few families who want their kids to get in the dirt, and a few aloof folks whose stories I might not get to know. We all learned from each other the first year. Our neighbor to the south just stuck plants in the ground directly from the trays, without separating them, and said to my organic husband "I don't know about this whole organic thing!" (a requirement for the garden, mind you). So he learned from us and we learned how to be more diplomatic. Another opportunity for diplomacy was when a few gardeners got the idea that Zenger Farm's CSA, right next to our plots, was planted for everyone in the neighborhood to just take what they wanted. "It's for the community". We hopefully helped save their investment and plants for the people who had bought shares of the CSA. And we learned a lot from other gardeners as well. One of the best ways to learn was to merely walk along the paths and see what others were doing. Some came with years of experience, and some had never planted a seed in their lives. And those who opened up had amazing stories. Our neighbor to the west came from Vietnam as a refugee, and was one of the few refugees I have met who believes that sharing her story is an important part of healing. Our neighbor to the east was a retired grandfather/war veteran who cared for his grandson from infancy to school age, five days a week to keep a semblance of family going. And our neighbor to the north was Frank, the pheasant who let his presence be known every time we visited, with his shrill and demanding call, and then he showed off his family as they grew up in the fields and plots of the land we were borrowing.

To Blog or Not To?

Recently I’ve been thinking about starting a mama blog. For some reason I’ve been a bit hesitant, so I thought I’d make a list. Here it goes.

Reasons to start a mama blog:                                                                    

•   Record my experiences with O
•   Keep up my writing skills
•  Outlet for my ideas and emotions
•  Help me keep my sense of humor
•  Share “precious moments” with friends and family
•   Network with other moms, get (and give) advice/info
•   Be more productive than facebook 
•  Could lead to some other opportunities...

Reasons NOT to start one:

•    Self-indulgent, narcissistic
•   Hate typing one-handed
•   Takes time from really being present with O (like looking @ pics of baby while baby is right there)
•   Would have to edit myself too much to really share with friends and family
•    All that laundry

Three Reasons...

Many of us became teachers not because of the long summer vacations, but because we have a passion to share or a desire to help kids succeed. We work incredibly hard at it, against many odds, and summers are a little perk. Or, arguably, a much needed break, the only way we can continue teaching with any sanity or skill. 

So when the break finally arrives, when the exhausting string of class after class, day after day nears an end, we dance for joy and are washed in waves of relief, just like we did as kids. Some of us transition beautifully to the warm, slow, stress-less days. Others fly away immediately to a beach, family cabin, retreat, etc. Some struggle to find their pace and place. This blog is for everyone, but especially for the last group.

Here I will share interviews about creative teachers' great summer gigs, whether they be hobbies, projects, other ways of making money, travel, or classes. I will explore the balance between professional development (strong in a group of passionate people), and personal development, and how to set up a bit of structure for oneself. Mostly, here you can find lists of ideas, brainstorms of projects, profiles, job ideas, Venn diagrams, links, videos and images to help lead you on an inspired, renewing adventure.

[before I changed directions with this blog, the following was my "about me" section. I still like the idea and will still post about it sometimes, so I wanted to save the original thoughts.]

This project starts out selfishly, but I think it grows beyond that. As a teacher, I struggle with the transition between working 95 hours a week and working 0. After the first summery week of catching up on sleep, movies and travel, I begin to feel listless and lacking in purpose. I need some kind of structure for my adventures. With my teacher salary, I can't exactly afford to circumnavigate the globe. One summer I committed to a certain number of restaurant reviews. Fun, and expensive. Another summer I got married (oh, that happens to be expensive too). Working is okay, classes could be fun, travel definitely, but not always by myself, and something cool that has nothing to do with kids, please. I wanted to start interviewing cool teachers about how they spent their summers, so I might get some ideas. Then *ding* I realized THAT could be my next summer project. And maybe others could benefit from it too.