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Blogging from the A Mom Is Born Desk...
birth stories
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Posted on Wednesday, November 21, 2012 3:18 PM
This Thanksgiving, I am grateful for my work. Yes, after close to 8 years of staying home and raising children, it feels satisfying to have an income that contributes to my family's needs. It is also a source of pride for me to have grown A Mom Is Born into what it is today, from concept to marketing to practice and administration. But what I'm really grateful for is the chance to see women simultaneously at their most vulnerable and their most courageous, whether it is during the intensity of transitional labor or as they gingerly hold their newborns and learn how to breastfeed. Or the chance to see partners marvel at a woman as she gives birth, someone whom they thought they knew so well, yet had never seen such faith and perseverance until this moment. They are in awe, yet somehow they are not surprised. Or the way that mothers accept birth, whether it is vaginal, surgical, or some combination of both, and they bravely do what they must in order to bring their babies into the world. Or the way babies exercise their biological imperatives when placed naked on their mothers' chests, and primitively but wisely caterpillar their way to a breast, and transition from continuous nutrition from the placenta to continuous nutrition from the nipple. Or the ways that mothers and partners say they couldn't have done it without me -- but really, they could have and they would have had I not been there; what they needed was me to believe they could do it, and to remind them that they could do it, that in fact they were doing it all along. And the way they thank me, say they were lucky to have me, but all I ever say back to them in all sincerity, is "Thank you for bringing me along, " because it is I who is the lucky one. My job is incredible. The physiological process of Birth is amazing. Postpartum is precious. Women's emotional and physical capacity for strength and endurance is awesome, and it's understandable why some people view birth and motherhood as holy. Love is transcendent and transformational, and in my work I spend a lot of time in the presence of love. To my clients, Happy Thanksgiving, from the bottom of my heart. |
birth stories, doula life, obstetrics, motherhood, breastfeeding, newborns, postpartum, new moms, baby blues, natural childbirth, Boston
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Posted on Saturday, June 16, 2012 10:07 AM
In the no-obligation, pre-contract meeting I hold with couples, fathers often ask questions about how my role in labor support differs from their role in labor support. Most of the time, fathers’ concerns are eased when I tell them that I offer them support, too. Like most of the mothers I work for, the fathers have never seen a birth before, either on video or live, and they like knowing that they have someone with experience to guide them; they also like knowing that it’s okay to take a break during labor – even though their wives generally don’t get one. But I also like to tell them that I know my place in a labor, and while I may know where to lay my hand on their wives’ bodies, or I can guess a better-than-ballpark estimate about dilation, there is no way I can replicate the intimate knowledge, safety, and support of a life partner. And even though they aren’t the ones in labor, this moment also belongs to them, as fathers who are witnesses to the one birth of this one child. I’ve seen fathers: - Guide their wives seamlessly through one relaxing breath and into another
- Mop hot foreheads with ice cold water
- Sit in a shower with their laboring wives
- Sit in a shower with their laboring and vomiting wives
I’ve seen fathers: - Whisper in their wives’ ears a small detail that only they would know, like a walk on a past vacation, or the time this baby was conceived, or the name of this baby once he or she will be born
- Stretch out their sore fingers and cramped hands, just before going back to massage that one, hard-to-find spot on their wives’ backs
- Crack a joke that truly wasn’t funny, but his wife appreciated his sense of timing and that he knew she’d laugh anyway, and a laugh is exactly what everyone needed
- Catch their babies as they emerge from the mothers’ bodies
- Cradle a newborn baby and put their arms around their wives, encircling their brand new family
I’ve seen fathers: - Wide-eyed and marveled by the superhuman strength and endurance of a woman in labor
- Wide-eyed and terrified, but bravely holding their wives’ hands with certainty
- Wide-eyed, marveled and terrified, by the tenacious grip of their minutes’ old baby’s fist around their own fingertip
- Weep with gratitude, relief, pride, and love.
Happy Fathers Day to all the men I’ve had the honor to watch become fathers. |
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Posted on Sunday, June 03, 2012 10:45 PM
Becoming a mother for the first time is an intense amount of change in a relatively short time. Women are pregnant, on average, for 40 weeks - and yes, that’s TEN months, not nine! That’s nearly a year of gradual change, some that is so subtle that it goes undetected early on even by the mother. You have forty weeks to get used to being pregnant, and if you’re lucky you get to enjoy most of it, and if you’re like many, you are ready for the end of it. And just when it’s time for a change, labor begins. And everything changes. Fast. There’s a lot to learn. There’s a lot to process. It can be overwhelming to think of doing all that on your own in a vacuum. There are many different New Moms Groups out there – some are free and run by volunteers trained by an agency; some charge a fee, whether it is a drop-in fee with different people coming and going each week, or a set group of people making a weekly commitment for a defined period of time; some are run with subtle differences, depending on if the facilitators hold degrees in health/human services, psychology, or nursing. Some have focused populations: breastfeeding moms, adoptive moms, lesbian moms, single moms. Whatever group you choose, here are six compelling reasons to go: 1. Other Mothers. Three women walk into room: a poet, an attorney, and a librarian. What is the one thing they have in common? Motherhood. They are all new moms to brand new babies, and that’s no joke! Nothing unifies women more than the visceral experience of giving birth, caring for a baby around the clock, and the philosophical and emotional changes in the aftermath. It doesn’t matter if at any other time in your life you never, ever could have come up with a single word to say to these other women -- because these days, you have a lot to talk about. So whether you are building your tribe, cultivating community, or finding strength in numbers – a new moms group is the place to do it. 2. A Place to Go. The logistics of driving alone with a baby, or clicking together the infant carrier and the stroller, or getting tangled up in the baby wrap may just be too much to take on. But it's good to get out and get a change of scenery, despite the enormous effort. 3. A Place to Go Outside the House At a Particular Time. Numbers 2 and 3 are actually closely related, but they are indeed separate goals and double the victory when achieved. Getting out of the house by (insert whatever o’clock here) seems reasonable, when all you have to do is get yourself and that little person dressed. But it’s amazing when you’re up at 6AM to feed and change the baby, that suddenly it’s 6PM and it’s time to feed and change the baby. You are still in your pajamas, and you figure– I may as well stay in them, and stay home. 4. A Place to Go Where People Want to See YOU. When you do leave the house, you’ll go to the pediatrician’s office, where you’ll talk about the baby. You’ll go to the box store where you’ll buy things the baby needs. You’ll call your mother/sister/girlfriend who will ask: “How’s the baby?” You’ll talk about the baby at a moms group, to be sure; but in moms groups, you’ll also talk about yourself. Or you’ll talk about wine. Or you’ll talk about the last time you ate out – and some of you may live vicariously and therapeutically through those stories. But you’ll have the chance to remember that in addition to the wonderful experience you are having as a mother, there are thoughts/desires/actions you have outside of your new identity, too. 5. Q&A Like You’ve Never Thought Possible. What is that layer of flaky grease on my baby’s scalp? How much sleep is normal? My breasts will what?? How do I use that babycarrier? Is that cry normal? There are 100 million possible answers to a million questions – and while that can be overwhelming, it is also a way to learn from one another, stay creative, and keep on trying. 6. Perspective. For the better part of your pregnancy, you saw babies everywhere you looked –particularly in glossy parenting and pregnancy magazines, as well as TV commercials. Those babies were sleeping, cooing, or smiling (or sleeping AND smiling, and I’m about to explain why that’s ridiculous). If I had to guess, as the mother of 3 babies and as a doula who has seen over 100 babies born, those beautiful,chubby-cheeked baby models are perhaps 5 months old. A 5 month old is no longer a newborn baby. A newborn baby, a baby that is perhaps 1-2 weeks old, is an entirely different creature. A newborn baby is truly a helpless being, with only instinctive reflexes as their movements. They are not smiling at you or cooing; they may not even have their eyes in focus. Instead, you are protecting the pulsating soft spot on their head while trying to keep a nipple and not their fists in their mewling mouths.You are trying to figure out how to weave their tiny arms beneath the strap of their car seat, which dwarfs them in size. In fact, at the right moment, they are at once beautiful and helpless and terrifying. When you are with a group of women and their newborn babies, some who are 2 weeks old, some who are 10 weeks old, you will understand just where your baby is developmentally and how you can realistically expect to interact with your baby. It may be a few weeks before you get those smiles. But hold on, the mother of the 10 week old will tell you –those smiles are coming. And weeks later, when your baby is 10 weeks old, and you meet the mom of a 2 weeker and in whose eyes you see your own reflection, you’ll tell her the same thing, and you’ll realize that not only have you come a long way; you, too, are an expert. . |
birth stories, birth on TV, motherhood, breastfeeding, newborns, postpartum, new moms, baby blues, Boston, New Moms Groups, babies on TV
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Posted on Wednesday, March 14, 2012 12:06 AM
I love Robin's birth story! Robin and her husband are warm and loving people. They are also heavenly, out-of-this-world beautiful. Robin is tall, willowy, and fair, with graceful, feminine curves. She has a sweet smile...and in her story when she refers to using expletives during labor, well, she's being shy. Robin swore -- like a sailor! -- during her last 2 centimeters. This stunningly beautiful woman and her ivory complexion made rosy by the work of labor juxtaposed against the quantity of ways she used the word f*ck was just so funny and real, despite how incongruent it is with her normal vocabulary. The whole picture was so natural and loving and humorous; totally organic, just like birth. Every time I remember her giving birth, I see her husband's wry, surprised smile as he kissed her hair, and I can't help but smile myself -- more than a year later! The birth of my second child was fueled by a lot of hope, apprehension, and purpose. My first birth did not go at all how I had hoped. I say that partly in truth but not entirely; ultimately what I wanted was a healthy baby and a safe delivery, and I got bothof those things, thankfully. During my first pregnancy I was sent for an ultrasound tocheck the baby’s position because I was having back pain and measuring a bitsmall. This ultrasound revealed the babywas sitting low but growing just fine, but it also picked up on a possible complication, a potential problem with the health of the baby. Possible. Possibly catastrophic,but possibly nothing at all. We were sent through a traumatic rush of doctors andspecialists and tests and results and conversations and counseling and at theend of it all (6 grueling, long weeks later) we were told chances were likelyeverything would be just fine but we would be shuffled in to a high riskpractice and scheduled for a c-section 10 days before my due date just in case. Not even the doctors could agree if this wasnecessary but we felt confused and pressured and like we would be irresponsibleparents if we did not go along with it. In the end our beautiful baby girl was born in *perfect* health, and we were very grateful. When I became pregnant 18 months later with baby #2, I knew that I wanted to go for a VBAC. I had so much left over regret andfrustration at the entire medical community, mixed of course with gratitude andappreciation. The whole thing was veryconfusing -- and intimidating. My doctor said I would be a good candidate to “attempt” a VBAC, but she provided very little assurance otherthan “as long as the pregnancy is healthy and you go into labor spontaneously, then you have a chance. But we will only let you go a week late, just to be careful.” That wasn’t good enough for me. I had never gone into labor last time, I wanted to experience that. Most people I know have ended up over due with an induction. I started researching and looked at statistics for everything I could find related to birth and VBACs and decided I need to hire a doula. When we met Maria it was an immediate match for me. Besides the warmth of her personality and the depth of her knowledge there was a level of understanding I hadn’t realized I needed. She understood why this mattered so much to me. I wasn’t just another name on a file, this wasn’t just one more birth to be done in a day. I needed to give birth to my baby, and I was sad that I didn't have that chance with my first. Maria and I focused on how to keep the pregnancy healthy and how to promote labor on time. I focused all of my energy on helping my body prepare for labor and birth; eating right,walking, massage, prenatal yoga, meditation. We also took a natural childbirth class and learned as much as we couldabout how to get through labor without interventions. All seemed to be going great and even the doctor became optimistic. In my head I was still nervous about needing another c-section, but I did my best to push this out of my mind. Three days later I was in for my next appointment and myblood pressure had skyrocketed. They hooked me up to a fetal monitor to see if it would come down, and I did my best to pull out my inner Zen. It came down a tiny bit but not enough for their liking. I was told to come back in the morning and if it was still high I would be induced. I was a nervous wreck as I told Maria the news. She told me to: 1) stay off my feet, 2) call for help with my daughter’s care, 3)take Epsom salt baths, and 4) salt one item on my dinner plate with sea salt. My parents arrived to take care of my daughter, and my husband packed our bags as I did my best to follow Maria’s instructions. I was trembling as they took my blood pressure the following morning and sure enough, it had dropped over 10 points. My doctor was shocked, and I was sent home. After such a close call I decided to pull out all the stops to get the party started. My doctor did two membrane sweeps, I went to an acupuncturist, ordered a really spicy Thai dinner, and as they say when they say “what got the baby in there will also get the baby out!” The day before my due date I woke up around 2am with mildcontractions every 12-15 minutes. I was suddenly wide awake as I was wondering if this was in fact true labor. Around 3:30 I had bloody show, I was thrilled! I woke up my husband and called Maria. Things were still pretty mild and not getting any closer together so we agreed to talk again at 8am. By then the contractions were still only a bit uncomfortable and maybe 10 minutes apart so we debated if my husband should go to work or not and decided to talk to Maria again around 10:30. Around 9:30 I began to get very emotional and irritable asthe contractions were starting to get painful. I could still talk between them and they were not much closer togetherbut my husband called Maria back and she said she would come over around10:30. My parents took my daughter out and we decided to try a hot shower or bath. By 10:00 the contractions were really picking up in intensity but not showing much consistency in timing. Again, I was ok enough between contractions so we debated when we might want to call the doctor. They had said 5 minutes long, 5 minutes apart, for 1 hour and we definitely were not there yet. They were maybe 7-8 minutes apart, 30 seconds long… and then suddenly they jumped to 2 minutes apart. After a few strong contractions at 2 minutes apart my husband decided we needed to get in the car and drive the 15-20 minutes to the hospital. He called the doctor to tell them and they asked him to hold on. He said (as I moaned in the background) “there isn’t time!” He got in touch with Maria and rerouted her to thehospital. She was waiting in the parking garage when we arrived and I remember seeing her face and saying “This really hurts, this is awful!” as tears streamed down my face. She reassured me that everything was happening just as it should and just to relax and breathe. The three of us arrived at the L&D check in and the contractions kept coming. They quickly admitted me, got me in a bed and gown and checked me as we were getting settled in. I was begging for some pain relief, and Maria advised I wait to see how far along I was before making any decisions. I remember praying that I was past 5 centimeters, because although I originally said I wanted a natural birth I didn’t think there was much more I could take. We all almost fell overwhen they looked up and announced that I was 8 centimeters already. What?!?!? They put me on the monitor for 15 really long minutes and all looked good. Thankfully they took it off after that which is rare during a VBAC - so I was free to change positions which provided some much needed relief. Still, it hurt. A lot. I was begging and pleading for an epidural. Maria and my husband reminded me that I did not really want one and told me by the time they got the anesthesiologist in and administered it I wouldn’t need it anymore. I tried to tune everything out and focus on the music I had brought. The doctor came in to check me again, and I was at 9 centimeters and during the exam my water broke. This again provided some relief but still, it hurt, and I was begging and pleading for an epidural. This time the doctor confirmed for me that, truly, by the time they got the anesthesiologist in and administered it I wouldn’t need it anymore. Expletives. Begging. Maria held my hand and said to me “the only way the pain will stop is to get the baby out.” A final check and 10 centimeters, but because of slight lip in the cervix, no one wanted me to push yet. Please?!? Maria leaned over to the OB and asked, “Do you think she can try and push around the lip?” A long minute passed as the OB considered the question, and then she finally agreed (we later learned it was her first day unsupervised!). Yes, I could push. I kept repeating Maria’s words: “Push to make the pain stop.” I pushed that kid out in 20 minutes. Harvey was born at 12:59, less than two hours after we arrived at thehospital. He was 7lbs, 8oz, 20.5 inches long. Healthy, handsome, loved, and the product of a natural VBAC. |
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Posted on Tuesday, February 21, 2012 5:08 PM
Every now and then in a birth there is a moment of worry. It hangs in the air like a wet bed sheet pinned to a clothesline, heavy and looming. Mama had been pushing for nearly 4 hours, and I could see her exhaustion. Laboring without an epidural, she could and did move into a variety of positions, but the position she favored was on her back, her head elevated by the angle of the bed. Her baby had crowned up to her brows -- but after 45 minutes of pushing with all of her might, she was not budging any further. The OB suggested an episiotomy. Mama asked if the baby was okay. The OB, nodding his head that the baby was unfazed by this labor, knew that Mama would not consent to an episiotomy. Then not yet, she whispered through closed eyes. More pushing. More of baby not moving. Between contractions, when the OB was not applying supportive counter pressure or copious lube to the mama's perineum and baby's head, he would glance at the fetal tracings. Each time, he was mystified that the baby was fine, fine, fine. I kept one eye on the instrument table, anticipating the appearance of a vacuum. More pushing. More of baby not moving. A riot was going on in my head, an absolute panic -- how can I do nothing? Suggest something, doula, for crying out loud!! I whispered in her ear, do you think you could push on your side, like before? No. Mama didn't think she could move. This woman who has labored ceaselessly through the night and into the dawn without medication was going to have a vacuum delivery unless someone came up with an idea. In my mind's eye, I imagined ways to flip her into some other position, an ordeal which would require a person on either side of her, plus someone to safeguard the baby whose head was already 1/3 of the way out. But it felt like everyone was at a loss and that we were all just waiting for the mother finally to exhaust herself, or for the baby to get fatigued, so that something decisive and obstetrical would have to be done. More pushing. More of baby not moving. All I could picture was this stuck baby who just needed some movement from her mother to unwedge her. For what seemed like an eternity, mama had been on her back, hitching her knees up towards her shoulders; hips, knees, and ankles had been bent at those 45 degree angles all that time. Let's stretch out your legs, I suggested. One at a time, like a jack knife. We'll straighten out one leg, then the other, alternating them. I wanted to make her hips uneven, as if she were walking up a flight of stairs. Maybe it would provide the baby with just the micromillimeter of space she needed to be fully born. If anything, I reassured her, the stretching will feel good. A contraction was building. I suggested to the mama that she stay in that jack knife - one leg straight, the other bent towards her. She laced her fingers behind her bent knee and pulled on her hands for leverage, rounding her back with the effort. Baby moved the tiniest amount, the most she done in an hour. In addition to that barely perceptible movement outwards, she rotated, just a few degrees. Between contractions, I alternated the mama to a jack knife in the opposite direction. Push this way now, I urged her. With all of her might, mama pushed. The OB's eyes lit up. There we go, he said. Out slipped baby, her whole head. A few breaths later, one shoulder came, then the other. Naked baby went right to mama's naked chest. No episiotomy, no vacuum. Good job today, to the mama who didn't stop, to the dad who fervently whispered into his wife's ears, to the nurse who read my mind and followed my jack-knife positioning, to the OB who sat on his hands and waited. Great job. |
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