I’m halfway done! Congratulations to me! Now, I just have one question. When do I get my brain back? Anyone?

We’re now in the pleasant middle stretch; I’ve gotten into stride for the most part. It’s hard to tell between muscle twitch or movement
sometimes, but I’m pretty certain I’ve finally gotten to that point as well. Stupidity is my biggest complaint at the moment, and it’s
serious. A fog has descended over my brain. What I even remember to do is done with a frightening lack of accuracy. Baby has turned out to be every bit as camera shy as Mom, but we’ll see if next week brings any news. We keep hearing “probably” girl, but I hate to call it for sure until we’ve actually seen something.

Meanwhile, I’m just trying to enjoy this phase without stressing about too much, at least for a week or two. It’s my favorite time of year, where everything is green and rainy but the mountains still have caps of snow. The lilacs will bloom, soon! We have warmth and cool, and possibly only a few week’s break between winter cold and summer heat. What a joy that will be!

I’m relieved to focus on other things for a while, such as: wishing you all a Happy Mothers’ Day. When I say “Mother” I mean those like my beautiful Mom, above, and all the women out there who celebrate their inherent capacity to nurture others and who help whatever they touch to grow. I’m talking about crazy aunts, best friends, educators, healing scientists, authors, etc. I’ve met lots of you in lots of
places, and I owe you the deepest gratitude, particularly for your example. Because of your efforts, my life has deeper purpose and
satisfaction.

I was raised on the concept of traditional family, which for me provided a positive sense of direction in life. I want to be part of
that powerful legacy of mothering. However, I don’t accept the overly sanctified vision of the flawless mother in the ideal family, mostly because neither of those exist. Also because there will come a moment when each of us who buys into it realizes how short of that measure we fall in some way, and run the risk of being crippled by despair. I’ve seen this sadly often in my own childhood home.

Still, I believe that each of us striving toward many of those goals in our own way leads us to become better than we could be otherwise. It just works best if you don’t try to do it all, or all at once. Easier said than accomplished. I have less physically to cope with at the moment, but my brain is becoming more and more absent and my heart more vulnerable, just as my focus is turning to what happens after the next 4-5 months. Am I ready for this? I suppose I won’t ever be completely ready because I don’t know yet what to expect. At least, I know I have the right intentions, and great support from many directions. I feel I’m in the right place.

I will quickly share two treasured experiences that have pushed me to face Mothering With Confidence. I was working as a missionary in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and experiencing a kind of personal crisis, namely one of those moments of crippling despair and inadequacy. I expressed some of my doubts to the man directing missionary efforts in that part of the state, and was reminded in turn of the many family members I had who were praying for my success as I worked there and beyond, from my immediate family to generations past to the children and grandchildren I was yet to have. This reminder turned my thoughts to my mother, the harrowing challenges I had seen her face through my life, and to the person she had become as a result. Was she perfect? No. But she had a heart that was always willing to love, accept, and reassure. Because she had been hurt, she knew how to comfort. I decided that if enduring that time was what it took to be like her, to offer what I hoped to give to others, I would do it.

So I tried my best to move forward and give of myself and then came home to face the rest of my life. Enter another despairing moment. It was a late night, and I was lying in bed, thinking of all that still needed to happen. Where would I find work? What would I study? Was I going to be married, or not? What if I was? Would I be happy? Would I be a good mother? It was all so much and seemed so urgent. I prayed and prayed for comfort and was surprised when the answer came so quickly.

I dreamed that night of my first experiences with a new baby. The first time we met, I realized I was holding her incorrectly. When we
brought her home, my dream husband and I had just moved, and boxes were everywhere. My family had come to stay with us and help unpack. We all sat on the couch and talked and laughed together, mostly about how our new girl still had no name. Finally, she grew tired. For what seemed like a real life hour, I tried to rock her and shush my family, looking through boxes for her pajamas. We fell asleep together in a recliner in another room. When I woke up, she had peed all over us both. Okay, bathtime! I got her undressed and into the bathtub before I realized I had never cleaned it after the move. My mother held her as I scrubbed and disinfected obsessively. Just as I was ready to put her back in, she peed again in the water. The most striking part of the dream was how calm and happy I felt, in the middle of the chaos and as I made so many silly mistakes. It didn’t matter; I kept moving on to the next thing. I loved watching how aware and smart my baby was, and talking and explaining the world to her. Everything would be fine. The confidence was coming from around and not inside me, but it quieted my heart and left me feeling peaceful in the morning.

I wish we all allowed ourselves that peace more often. I’m wishing it for all of you, in all your nurturing efforts. Let’s all live in the
season and the spirit of new life and growth in the world right now. This is a beautiful time to celebrate and simply be.

I love those moments when progress comes. Suddenly my husband smells better, I actually have some cravings, and I can eat my own cooking. It feels like a miracle! My figure has more visibly changed. The midwife’s best guess at this point is a girl, which means that the arguments over names may commence. We are now entering the fun stage. And of course, I love to talk about it, with my mother, other relatives, my friends with kids, the women at work or church, or anyone who’s interested. I like to hear their stories and advice. How else am I going to find out the million and one little tips and tricks that have been discovered? I’d never figure it all out on my own. One fun surprise has been that there are three other women I know who are due within two weeks of me in either direction. It’s nice to get a note saying ‘do you ever get sick of being hungry? I feel like all I do is eat,’ and to know that neither of us is alone in the craziness.

In the middle of all this sharing, I’m also discovering some great ways to kill a good conversation. If you’d ever like to do the same, I’ve found the following choices most effective:

“Yeah, I know ACOG doesn’t recommend induction before 39 weeks.”

“I won’t say I’d never have an epidural, but I wouldn’t touch the Pitocin unless someone’s life absolutely depended on it. See, Pitocin
is a synthetic form of…”

“I think I’m going to use hypnosis.”

Or any sentence containing perineal massage, placental encapsulation, informed refusal, etc. It can be kind of lonely, to differ from the local “norm” in my opinions and choices. I don’t have much to say when the stories start, and I don’t see that changing much even after giving birth. No worries. I’m fine with where I am, who I’m with, and what I see. I know essentially the direction I am headed in, and while I can’t see all that’s coming, I know where I can turn when it does. As long as baby and I stay healthy, I don’t have many lasting reservations about anything between here and delivery.

I owe this feeling to a number of wonderful people I’ve met over the years. First is my Mom, for teaching me the value of nurturing and motherly love. I saw what she was giving as what made her beautiful, and I wanted to be the same. Families and motherhood are a God-given gift and a privilege, and one I am thankful she participated in. Now I have the chance, too!
Second: women who share their experiences. Growing up, when my mother and others would talk about pregnancy and birth, I listened, fascinated. Eventually I came to understand that there were possibilities beyond the typical hospital experience, masks, drapes, ice chips, needles, stirrups and all. Not that I found that image totally unappealing, initially. It was the price you paid for the
children you loved, and the leverage you held over them for the first couple of decades.
Third: women who serve other women. This next group I met when I signed up for a class on childbirth education and doula work offered at the community college when I lived in Salt Lake. Preston and I had just married, and decided to leave the option of a growing family open. It seemed like a good time to dive in and get prepared. I just had no idea how much I needed, what would be taught, and how it would change me. I loved everyone in the class. I loved the teachers, ‘the Kristies,’ as I called them to myself (I hope they don’t mind the mention or the nickname, but just so you know, they are two of the best). Through their wisdom and experience—Kristy Huber as a birth and postpartum doula, and Kristi Ridd-Young as a doula and midwife—I developed new perspective and a greater sense of identity. I’m sure this isn’t unusual for those they work with. They taught me how to be aware of myself, of how I and others might seek comfort, and to offer it according to another’s needs. Other valuable points: trust in the best, trust yourself, ask for the support you need, do your homework and make decisions beforehand, ask lots of questions, give everyone room to make their own choices, and sometimes all you need to offer to make a difference is a comforting hand or assuring word.

It took some stretching. I remember the struggle to write the first paper: listen to the birth story of a friend and discuss how her
rights were honored or ignored. Wait, rights? As in, you can say no, or I want something different? To a doctor or nurses face? I mean,
seriously? Most especially in that time, I realized how essential those home and community networks are for us, to have the help and support of other women as we try to find our way in that world, and into motherhood. If we want to be safest, healthiest, and best, we need each other.

Subsequently, my life has been enriched by reaching out and making new friends from the Utah Doula Association, various online groups, and even authors of books—Thank you, Penny, Henci, Ina May and company!  I hope someday to work as a doula or childbirth educator. I want to offer the gift that I found. Maybe even these public musings will be of help to someone else. Though, when it comes to my friends and others I talk to, I wonder often… If I am a woman just like all the women that I talk to, and this understanding has changed my life for the better, how far do I open my mouth now? I worry that in being too outspoken, one of us will leave the conversation feeling “judged,” or invalidated. I hate it when that happens. But if the other woman knew the statistics, and the other options, and how well her body is made to handle the challenges, would she make a different choice? I want her to have that chance. If not, that’s fine. She has her own needs and priorities, and the odds say that in the end we’ll both have healthy babies and can be good mothers who raise happy, long-lived children. But maybe she knows someone else who’ll be asking. And if I don’t say anything? It’s a hard balance to find. So I only make those comments when I’m talking about my experience. I give my favorite birth books as gifts. I share random things I learn on Facebook, just trying to spread the information—all of the things that I might have missed if other women hadn’t opened their mouths. I put my thoughts out there, just like right now, and then let be. Because I’m a part of this circle, too.

T-minus 4 weeks — just about 672 hours, give or take — until my official due date.  People I encounter keep giving me the “are you going to have that baby here and now” look — at work, at the grocery store, in the parking lot as I attempt to lever my glowing pregnant self (read: enormous watermelon body) in and out of the car. They say things like: “looks like that baby’s coming any day now!” Or, “how long do you have there?”  Or my favorite, “WOW, that’s a big belly!”  Thanks.  No, really.  I didn’t know that when I grew out of my maternity jeans a week ago or was forced to go out and buy maternity underwear, something I swore I’d never do (it’s my own hang-up, there’s really nothing wrong with maternity underwear).

While I know that next week I will be at full term and in theory could go into labor any time, the fact that my first two children came almost exactly on their due dates gives me a sense of security that the rest of the world doesn’t understand when they see me walking a mile or carrying my own bags out of the grocery store. I’m still planning meetings, and setting family schedules.  Heck I just RSVP’d on an evite for 8 days prior to my due date. Just ask the baby to wait, and he’ll wait.  Makes perfect sense until I really start to think about it, and realize that maybe reality rests somewhere between my own small case of pregnancy-induced denial and everyone else’s hyper-sensitivity to my third trimester.

To help accept the fact that I could potentially go into labor soon, I delved into my own practice to give myself a few pieces of advice from the Been There, Done That school of pregnancy.  While every woman is different, here are six things I learned the first two times around about labor, delivery, and life right after that have improved my experience with each baby:

1) Try not to absorb or implement all the advice you are given. Mea culpa, I’m breaking my own rule by going all up on the internet to put these words down like I know something.  What a perfect opportunity to highlight that everyone who has ever had a body, mother, sister or friend who was pregnant believes they have great advice to give you. And they may, and it’s good to listen with an open mind. But it’s also okay to think, be, and act differently than your mom, sister, best friend, co-worker, neighbor, or stranger at the checkout counter. Develop some “smile and nod” skills for this.  Sometimes the advice is useful, and if not at least you have something to laugh about with your partner later while they massage the midnight cramps out of your calves.

2) It feels good to be prepared, but it does not feel so good to be rigid.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, with our first baby we attended a wonderful birthing class.  With babies two and three, we also went to abbreviated classes for experienced parents — like a birthing refresher course.  In all of the classes we spent time thinking and talking labor and delivery with other people like us — delving into the science behind labor and how to have the birth we wanted (especially in a hospital), gaining confidence the first time, and returning to that feeling the next two times.  Even writing this down helps to bring my mind to a readiness that my body is reaching. However like anything, once someone defines a “typical” process it’s easy to cling to it as the way.  But guess who’s not paying attention in birthing class?  The baby.  They may come into this world in an entirely different way than expected, and it just feels better to be flexible instead of exhausting myself because of any preconceived notions of how birth would be.  Trust me you won’t have that energy to waste while pushing.

3) You may find that your natural reaction is to be rigid anyway. When people say “you are in control” in birthing class they are helping to build your confidence and positive outlook, which are all good things.  But the truth is you are not in control and neither is the midwife, doctor, birth coach, partner, or perfect Prince song you have blasting from your ipod on repeat. The baby is driving the bus, and you’re the other most important person there. For a control freak like me, that is so uncool (I’ve told the babies this, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference). My initial reaction is to construct roadblocks, cut off bridges — tell that baby what to do! What a way to set myself up for disappointment. As those among us who meditate might say, let the thoughts of control come into your consciousness, acknowledge them and let them go.  And if that doesn’t work, don’t beat yourself up about it! The baby will come out anyway.

4) Nesting is real, baby blues are real, hormonal swings are real — it will be a rollercoaster, you or your partner may not recognize it or know what to do about it, and that’s okay.  Shortly before and after delivery, I do some pretty out of character things. For example I waddled around Ikea with the whole family this weekend, just to soak in all the bedrooms and kitchens and living rooms and daydream about owning and furnishing a house. And while I was in early labor the first time, I went to Target to return some things, roasted a chicken (it made sense at the time — we were going to be out of the house for three days and the chicken would go bad in the fridge), and smudged the house before we left for the hospital to clear the air — nesting anyone? As soon as she came out I was euphoric, then when she went briefly for examination and hubby followed after her, I spent about 20 minutes feeling abandoned and being really angry at my perfect little newborn for how much it had hurt. My sense of calm returned fairly quickly but my embarrassment about the whole thing kept me preoccupied for days, questioning whether there was something wrong with me.  There was not.

5) You are in control of what is done to your body and your mind during labor. Most birth stories I hear are essentially stories about communication. Having a good relationship with my doctor was great during pregnancy, and I believe she wrote some key things down in my chart, but what happens when you go into labor while another doc is on call, or just as your midwife arrives halfway across the country at her annual conference? I was able to go with it (see #2 above) when a totally new doctor showed up at the hospital – his office and my doctor’s office shared OB coverage – he listened well to me and communicated well with the hospital staff. Nurses are clearly key to an overall positive experience as they spent the most time with me, but for better or worse in a hospital, doctors call the shots – especially on issues such as interventions or wanting to get up and walk around. This is also where an advocate can be crucial – your birth coach, or a friend, or a doula – whatever you need to feel comfortable, make it happen! If people judge you for creating the best birthing space for you, well then shame on them (and stay focused on you).

6) Practice does not make perfect.  It just makes one more at peace with the imperfections. If you can start out that way, you’re totally ahead on the happy mama meter!  You figure out what works for you, no matter what others say.  Then when it stops working, you figure out something else.  Now, if only I could accept this about everyday life.
As I face labor all over again sometime soon I have to say that all in all, I really enjoyed it the first two times. It’s true. And no, it wasn’t easy. But the best things never are.

This week is my 4 year-old’s birthday, and watching her while this tumbling baby due in six more weeks keeps growing (seriously, he’s perfecting his back handspring in there) has me thinking, not unexpectedly, about my first pregnancy and birth, and the differences now and then.

Around four years, two months ago, I was living a bit of a different life.  I had been married two years, had no children, lived in a smaller, somewhat calmer and more affordable city, and I was having the maternity time of my life.  I was lucky enough to have a very charmed pregnancy without many issues, and did pretty much all of the things the magazines talk about: I took walks every day after work, still happily wore heels pretty much everywhere (I like heels, please don’t judge), daydreamed about baby as I perused our registry, and took a break sometimes for a chemical-free  pedicure. Hubby and I thoroughly enjoyed the birthing class series offered by our hospital where we appeared twice a week for a few weeks, learned about all the options available on our hospital’s perinatal tour, and I read books and websites exploring all the ways to have a great pregnancy and birth and forwarded it all to my mate, who enthusiastically responded to each and every email (he’s a keeper; I reciprocated by going to a few dozen movies he wanted to see while we were expecting).

The most difficult thing that happened during that time was a challenge at work over paid family leave – it was a small office, and our leader did not feel that having a baby “benefited the company.” But I had amazing, supportive coworkers, and we all worked together for an outcome that we felt benefited everyone and still stands today. And when it came time, I got to have the birth I wanted. I labored at home for eight hours, showed up at the hospital with the calm of someone who has no idea what’s coming (carrying my own purse and marching up to the desk like I was looking for the vending machine), and in four hours, we had a baby girl in our arms. Lucky, blessed, prepared, flexible – we were incredibly grateful but clearly could not fully appreciate the comparative ease with which she had arrived and we had become a family.

Fast forward a few years: now in my third pregnancy, we live in a busy city that seems to construct hurdles to daily life just for the fun of it, there isn’t much time to re-read maternity books, I carry my 23lb toddler around until I feel so much pressure in my belly that she must be put down, I see the inside of a real movie theater about twice per year, and I clearly (and I mean clearly) remember how my last (also non-medicated, also in a friendly hospital with great, supportive people around me) labor and birth felt. I wouldn’t have had it any other way, but yes – it hurt. And like many women, I don’t often (or ever) ask for help.

It all leaves me in a bit of a quandary.

Don’t get me wrong, I love living in a city – it fits my personality, my need for a diverse community, and my desire to give our children an experience similar to my own upbringing. And I love my family – just a few minutes with the kids together provides more entertainment that you can imagine, and I am able to participate as they develop and grow has been its own wonder of the world. However, it all has its challenges.

Being an only child myself who was several years older or younger than the other kids in my extended family, I really have no personal experience with what I’m doing right now: parenting two and almost three kids. But I do know how it translates in real time, or I’m figuring it out, minute-by-minute. For example, these days when I read pregnancy magazines in my doctor’s office, which like most magazines are a carefully pieced puzzle of product endorsements and advertising, I think more about the prices of those items than what they could do for my baby – in fact, I think about money all the time. Actually to be fair, I can’t be thinking about money all the time – I haven’t had a full, uninterrupted thought in about… wait for it… four years.

When I’m not thinking about money, I’m talking about dinosaurs and princesses, or how many diapers day care needs, or explaining to my oldest daughter why her little sister (now 15 months old) cannot play with play dough (yes she’ll eat it, even if it doesn’t look like food to you, honey). Then I go back to talking with Hubby about the family schedule, or politics (we dig politics in our house), or money. We had a conversation in the kitchen after the kids went to bed just last night about how we expect a substantive conversation to last all day – we begin while we’re getting dressed, pause to get everyone out the door, then continue to talk in the elevator (60 seconds maximum), load our lot into the car, pause for the day perhaps emailing continuations when we have time, keep going later while someone cooks dinner and the other makes sure no one is eating play dough, pause for bedtime, and then if we are both still awake, finish our talk by midnight. If I want to have a full thought, I “take a break,” which because I sign away my prenatal massage and pedicure funds to preschool now, means taking a trip by myself to go grocery shopping. To be fair, I really like grocery shopping — but it ain’t no mani-pedi.

What I really want to be thinking about right now, six weeks away from baby number three, is getting ready for baby number three. I want to make time for yoga; take a hike through the park, meditate on the aforementioned fear of birth hurting (news flash — I say to myself — it will. You just have to get ready.), or even just remember to stretch before I get into bed at night. The truth is peace is what you make it – yoga is still yoga, even if children are crawling over my warrior pose, and I can think plenty during my morning commute, and no one is stopping me from doing some breathing at night before I go to bed, or for taking a little bit of time to myself – after all, Hubby always makes room for me when I ask for it – it’s a pretty mom-tastic habit, however, to not ask for things for yourself.  These are choices I make, and habits I cultivate – after all, the kids aren’t stressed out when they’re being kids, in fact they have a blast at it.  And the good habits may be harder to stick to than the bad ones, but they will definitely be worth it – at least I think so.  I’ll let you know.

9 months!!  As my midwife told me during our Wednesday appointment, I just have to get through November 30^th and then I will be in my ‘safe window of birth.’  I hope we can hang in there because at this point, I really don’t think the baby can get any lower without falling as the downward pressure is quite intense.  My midwife was having a hard time measuring my fundal height because his head is already tucked so nicely into my pubic bone.   In the past ten days I have had two separate episodes of strong contractions (three in an hour) that were strong enough to stop me in my tracks and force me to lay down and see if they would stop.  They obviously did but the episodes were enough to remind me that I can’t keep going at the pace I’ve been going if I want to keep this baby cooking for a little bit longer.  I’ve returned to napping when the boys nap in the afternoons and have slowly cleared my calendar so we can slide into these final weeks with less stress and activity.

One recurring issue I’ve had throughout this pregnancy are my hips and muscles and the thought of being able to roll over without fear of tweaking my hip sounds divine.  My trainer and I have been working together each week to strengthen my supportive muscles without straining my abdominals, but unfortunately I can’t say that we’ve been totally successful.  Between the exercises both my trainer and my chiropractor give me to help with hip and lower back pain, I’m uncomfortable probably 50-75% of the time, especially after sitting on a hard surface.  Even though I have very minimal abdominal separation, or diastasis recti, I am not doing any direct abdominal strengthening and focusing on my back, glutes, and legs for strengthening.  As a former triathlete, I know the importance of a strong core and where I always thought I needed strong abdominals, the further along in my pregnancy shows me how important strong gluteus muscles are for support and balance.  So ladies, work on those buns of steel BEFORE you get pregnant if it means being more comfortable the bigger you get!

An impromptu tummy pic taken by my hubby

Each chiropractic adjustment I have my right hip is way higher than my left and the mobility of my right leg is quite limited.  I’ve been working on keeping my hips loose (through pelvic tilts, pelvic rolls on a yoga ball, and squatting) but what I keep thinking is my hips that hurt are actually my gluteus muscles!  Here’s what’s happening:  my sacrum is tilted due to the weight of my belly.  Due to my sacrum’s tilt, the nerves for my gluteus Maximus muscles are not firing thus preventing my gluteus Maximus muscles from doing their job of stabilizing me the larger I get.  Instead, my gluteus medius muscles (which are meant for more lateral movement stability rather than forward/backward stabilization) are overworked and sore.  When my massage therapist or chiropractor gets their hands on my gluteus muscles, a light rub down makes me sweat with pain but it is SO relieving!  On the front side of my body, because my abdominal muscles are compromised and stretched, my psoas muscles are overcompensating and also getting sore.  I thought I was in tune with my body before I had children through sports training and yoga, but pregnancy has certainly given me more knowledge of my body than I ever thought was possible.

Tied in with being hyper aware of my body, the other thing that’s been on my mind is postpartum recovery.  Seeing all these babies being born around me these past few months and seeing the mothers’ recoveries continues to remind me that there is indeed life postpartum, no matter how far away it feels right now.  As my friend reminded me recently, a big part of why we choose unmedicated, natural childbirth is that recovery is supposed to be much easier on the body.  My recovery plan right now includes a hefty box of perineal ice packs, postpartum herbal supplements to manage uterine contractions and pain, abdominal wrapping, and placental encapsulation.  I am also tapping an army of people to help with house duties and childcare so I can spend at least my first two weeks postpartum literally sitting on my bum and bonding with my new baby.  I did not ingest my placenta after either of my boys but this time around I’ve heard so many wonderful things about the benefits of placenta encapsulation, I figured I might as well try it.  I also love the idea of saving some capsules for menopause to use them for my own hormonal replacement if I need it.  I’ll let you know how that experiment goes.

My next prenatal appointment is set for my 37 week mark this coming Friday, the 30th.  Each day seems like an eternity until I will meet our baby but at the same time as I reflect upon the past 8 months, it only feels like yesterday when we discovered our little bundle.  All the body pains, blood sugar drama, and emotional downs will all be worth it when we have our baby in our arms.  I’d like to thank Giving Birth with Confidence for allowing me to share my journey with you.  Only a few more weeks to go!!