To never be hungry

I think I made a painful parenting error last night. Not one that I can joke about. But one that breaks my heart, brings me to tears, and has created an emotional wound of sadness in my sweet 5 year old.  

It all started with my immense frustration with Benji for not eating dinner. He almost never eats dinner. Night after night he tells me that he doesn't like whatever I have cooked. Then he goes to bed hungry.

I had finally had enough.

"You HAVE to eat, Benjamin! Your body needs food for you to be healthy!"

We argued for a bit, then in my frustration, I called him to me so I could show him pictures of what happens when you don't eat food.

Dramatic. I know.

I showed him heartbreaking pictures of skeletal children with bloated bellies. My voice cracked as I told him, "This boy doesn't have food to eat. His family can't afford enough food, so his body is very sick."

Benji asked me question after question about why the starving people looked the way they did. I answered honestly, my chest tight with regret. Regret for not being able to help these hungry people. Regret for presenting this mature topic to such a young child. Regret that some of the pictures we saw were of children even younger than Benji.

This is serious stuff. It is so cliché to tempt a child to eat his dinner by talking about children starving in some remote location. Like that even helps. But I took it one step further with the pictures.

Benji started crying.

"I don't want to be like that."

My heart. I pulled him into a hug, "I promise you will never be like that. I promise we will always have food to keep you healthy. You just have to eat it."

To a 5 year old, full of trust, that is a reassuring promise. To me, it broke my heart even more, because I was so painfully aware of our privilege. We will never be so hungry that our bodies wither away.

I helped Benji eat his dinner. Afterward, he lifted up his shirt to show me his full belly; his body lean, yet healthy.

And as I tucked him into bed, he asked me to comfort him with a prayer. Those sickly bodies were weighing heavily on his mind, and well as mine.

Such a serious topic for a young child. Did I do the wrong thing? Exposing him to such horrors? Will it help him take better care of his body? Or will he develop body image or diet issues because of it? Will it teach him compassion? Or fear?

My heart.

Boy, boy, BOY!

A couple days ago, I called my mom for a "mommy fix". Basically, I was having a really crappy, depressed type of day (not that I haven't had these days for most of my pregnancy) and I needed someone to listen while I complained. She suggested to me that I go in and get an ultrasound to find out the sex of our baby. It would give me a little bit of excitement, and I could start planning names and layette...and all that other baby stuff! I had been very determined to go without an ultrasound this pregnancy. But I really did need something to cheer me up for the next 8-ish weeks. So, I decided I would make arrangements for an appointment.

The next morning, I called our family doctor's office. Now, none of us have actually gone to this family doctor, except the Hubs (for a work physical). But she came recommended as a doctor who is friendly toward natural parenting, and we were told she would be willing to take on our whole family. The receptionist on the line was rude. I asked if the office had ultrasound capabilities. She was skeptical about why I would even need an ultrasound. I briefly explained that my care provider is not licensed in the state, and could not order an ultrasound, but I would like one as proof of pregnancy in order to acquire a birth certificate. She then said they did not have ultrasound, but another office location from the practice did. (So all that asking about why I would even need one was needlessly nosy.) I got the number for the other location.

Then I called the other office. The receptionist on the line was rude. This receptionist had a list of problems with me asking about an ultrasound:

1. I was not yet a patient. (Why ever the heck can I not be!?!? I was told that the doctor at the first location was willing to take me on as a patient!)
2. Even if I -was- a patient, you can't hop around to the different locations (Why ever the heck not!?!? Isn't that part of what you do when you are in a practice!?!?)
3. I would have to have an appointment with the doctor first, and then have another appointment for the ultrasound. (Why ever the heck can I not just have the ultrasound as my first appointment, as long as I fill out all the required paperwork for becoming a patient in the first place!?!?!?!)
4. Rude receptionist doesn't even know if the doctor -would- order an ultrasound. (WHY ever the heck not!?!?! I am the one trying to -hire- the doctor, if I am asking for an ultrasound, there is really no reason for the doc to refuse to give me one!!!!)

I was pretty short right back with this rude receptionist. And I kind of, might have hung up on her after a -very- curt "thank you". And, no, I did not schedule an appointment. I did, however, promptly start crying after the connection was cut. Rude receptionists. (Later, talking to my dad, an RN, he said he was pretty sure "rude" was a work requirement for medical receptionists. I am inclined to believe him.)

So, I called the Hubby, in tears, to complain about having a really crappy, depressed type of day. I told him all about the rude receptionist, and all my worries about going into get a medical ultrasound anyway. (They are going to force me to get prenatal care, they are going to bombard me with fear tactics about home birth, they are going to call CPS on me......yeah...I think I have a problem with doctors!)

And here I was, trying to alleviate my depression by scheduling an ultrasound. And things were only getting worse.

After about half an hour, Hubs called me back and told me that we had an appointment for an ultrasound that night at 9pm, with a private company for an "elective ultrasound". I was hesitant (do I -really- want an ultrasound? what if they find some weird abnormality and I have to seek obstetrical care anyway? why do they make appointments so late at night?) but grateful that I didn't have to worry about it anymore.

So that night, we got the kids dressed in their pj's and drove to the ultrasound office. And drove around. And drove around. It was late, dark, and there were business offices everywhere, but we could not find where we were supposed to be!!! Finally, after carefully scrutinizing the GPS on Hubby's phone, we were able to locate the office. And we were still early!

We finally got into the ultrasound room. Belly exposed. Goo squirted on belly. Ultrasound wand applied and BAM!!!! First image very clearly, very unmistakably, very directly revealed the sex of our baby.

We are having a BOY! A BOY! ANOTHER BOY!

Cue shock, denial, excitement, sadness, joy....

I couldn't stop laughing. And then the ultrasound technician started making fun of baby boy's penis wiggling around (from my laughing). Awkward.

A boy! He has a beautiful heartbeat, big feet, a nice well-placed placenta. (I have a nice, well-placed placenta? We have a nice, well-placed placenta?) And no obvious defects or malformations....but it wasn't a diagnostic test, so, you know, take that with a grain of salt.

A boy! Poor Bug walked right out of the ultrasound room when we told him he was going to have another baby brother. (Drama much, 4 year old??) Gizmo doesn't get it yet. But Bug was setting his highest hopes of having a baby girl. He even picked out his favorite girl name (that we had approved of, prior) and he thinks we still need to name the baby this name. Uhm....no. But, if I can get over the fact that we are having a boy, then he can, too.

Speaking of me getting over it: I admit that I'm a little sad. This is where I start wondering if I'll -ever- have a girl. We want a big family, but what if we have 6 boys...7, 8 boys!? Can I do that?? I just have to remind myself that there is still time. And even if I never get a girl, I will still love all my boys.

I actually had a dream a couple weeks ago that I gave birth to a boy. He was beautiful, and squishy. And I was completely and utterly in love with him! I woke up with a strong realization that even if I had another boy, I would still love him. That dream was a tender mercy, for sure!

So, these last weeks will fly by, and we will welcome into our family ANOTHER little boy!

No Promises

It seems that I have fallen...hard...off the blogging bandwagon! I have no promises that I will be jumping back on with this post. But today I feel at least a little bit motivated to share bits and pieces from my life over the past 5 months. (I have still been reading the blogs that I love, via Google Reader on my tablet. That means that I haven't been able to comment, but I have been there!)

About two weeks after we moved to Charlotte, my genetic predisposition to depression kicked in and started making my life pretty miserable. I was so excited to live in a new place. To be able to establish my identity with my new family (far enough from parents and people who have known me since I was "yea high"). The weather was warm and beautiful. There was (still is) green everywhere...even more than I was used to back in Ohio.

But, I felt like I was having trouble making friends. I missed my family. I missed my grocery stores. I didn't know the roads. I got frustrated with the kids (who weren't handling the move very well). I got frustrated with my husband (who wasn't handling the move very well). And I realized maybe I wasn't handling the move very well.

I am too stubborn though, and I tried to just push through. I gained at least 10 pounds. I wore my throat out almost daily, yelling at the kids. I cried....a lot. I argued with my husband. My depression manifested as anger and irritability. (You know, in addition to poor eating habits, poor sleeping habits, unexplained crying, lack of motivation to do things like exercise/shower/brush teeth). I was in a bad place.

Finally, last month, I put down my foot and let the Hubby know that something needed to be done....before I did serious damage to myself or my family. (Of course, I just wanted the quickest med to fix my problem.) My wonderful husband, however, knew that his hippie of a wife would not want to be on medication, and started looking for an alternative. He quickly found a homeopathic doctor, scheduled an appointment for me, and took the day off work to accompany me to the appointment.

The doctor was great. She was cheerful and asked very thorough questions to be able to understand my depression. She gave me a homeopathic remedy and gave me some supplements to take, in addition to the vitamins I was already taking. Every morning, I take my remedy (lycopodium). With breakfast, I take a women's multi vitamin, EFA oil, Emergen-C, and 100mg of 5-htp. I take more 5-htp with lunch. And with dinner I take a B-complex and another 5-htp. If I am feeling pretty good, I skip my lunch dose.

Surprisingly, I noticed within a week that things were improving. I felt like myself again. I had more patience with my kids. More love for my husband. And a more positive outlook on all of my previous problems! I did notice though, that my routine only turns me into a normal person. It isn't a miracle "happy all the time" thing. And I am still subject to normal emotions (including mood swings, although much less frequently), especially during my normal PMS week. But being a normal person is a significant improvement on being a mopey, miserable, depressed person! I have started watching my calorie intake and exercising frequently (although the scale hasn't given me any encouragement). And I have even pulled out some of my crafts that I used to love working on.

Over the past 5 months (since I last wrote on this blog), I have attended the wedding of one of my younger sisters. Celebrated Bug's 4th birthday. Celebrated Hubby's 27th birthday. Caught a lizard on my porch, and used it to teach Bug and Gizmo about reptiles. Cleaned up about a million messes (mostly courtesy of Gizmo...our resident Lord of Chaos). Gently encouraged Bug that he should let his "ahhhh...soooo cuuuute" spider live outside. Cleaned and bleached after our downstairs toilet flooded the bathroom, laundry room, pantry and half the kitchen. Received a nasty note from an anonymous neighbor about how our property is an "eyesore". Revamped the outside of our house (that we are only renting, by the way). Took Bug and Gizmo to visit family in Ohio for a week, all by myself (worst vacation ever). Talked to Bug about why he cannot put Gizmo in the garbage, just because Gizmo can be mean. Listened to a million hilariously mispronounced words (courtesy of Bug). Gained a nephew (the first on my side of the family....I seriously cannot wait to meet him in a few weeks). Listened to Bug sing a goodnight some to Gizmo: "I love you, Gizmo. I don't want to put you in the garbage. Sorry for saying that last night. I love you, Gizmo. Goodnight." Avoided cleaning our mess of a house a million times...and then actually cleaned it about half a million times. Had a million sleepless nights (courtesy of Gizmo, our resident Lord of Poor Sleeping Habits). Weaned Gizmo from nursing. Got on a supplement routine to treat my depression. Went to the beach for a single day (and got gloriously sunburned). Discovered Adele. Celebrated my 5th wedding anniversary with my wonderful husband. Celebrated Gizmo's 2nd birthday. Dealt with jealous envy of every pregnant woman in the world. Found a lost snuggle bear, which was received with a very heartwarming "thank you, mommy. I love you!" And cleaned a million more messes. 

(Thank you, FB timeline, for helping me remember all the stuff I've been doing lately!)

I know this post is a bit long and....erm....depressing-ish. And lacking the normal humor of my regular posts. But, maybe.....juuuuust maybe....I will start sharing stories again. Maybe. No promises!

Please Research: Postpartum Depression

She may seem completely normal to you. But inside, she's broken. Confused. Angry. Scared. Sad. Tired.

She has no motivation. She exhausts herself trying to get her daily chores done. She has trouble interacting with her kids as often as she knows she should. She knows her husband is sorely neglected. She can't form complete sentences. She feels that she has no friends. She can't sleep, even though that is all she wants to do. She gets angry about even the smallest of things. She often doesn't feel like cooking good food and sometimes doesn't want to eat at all. She feels guilty that she isn't well. She feels like she should be able to shake it off, but she can't. She has zero desire for physical affection. She doesn't show much interest, or take much time to enjoy, the things that she used to do all the time. She has headaches and body aches and heart aches. She's unhappy with the way she looks. And even more unhappy with the way she feels.

Sometimes she has good days. Days where she is happy and productive. But other days, she cries.

This is the life of a woman who suffers from Postpartum Depression (PPD).

PPD can happen to any woman. It can happen a couple weeks after the baby is born, or it can happen months after the baby is born (sometimes depression comes even a year after baby). And if it happens to you, don't feel as if you should have been able to prevent it. That will often make it feel worse.

Instead, start doing things that will make it better. This is definitely easier said than done, because those who have PPD have a hard time finding the motivation to -do- the things to help...even if they desperately want to get better.

First, you should tell someone, that you love and trust, how you feel. You NEED someone to be your anchor to reality. Ideally, this should be your husband. Make sure he doesn't go into "Mr. Fix-It" mode, though. Tell him that you need him as a sounding board. And help him know what ways you are comfortable with him helping (i.e. doing the dishes, making dinner, changing poopy diapers, practicing healthy living with you). You can also have your mother, sister, or a close friend be your anchor. Women, especially mothers, can often relate. They may have even suffered from PPD themselves. It might be hard to tell someone that you are depressed. It might make you feel ashamed or embarrassed. But once you feel like you don't have to hide your feelings any more, it will be easier to find ways to alleviate them.

Now you need to start figuring out how to feel better. This may seem like an impossible task. But pick something that you think seems easiest, and put your energy into doing it. It might help you find the energy to pick another thing off the list. Then another. And another. Until you find that you are back to feeling like yourself again. Here are some ideas for how to kick PPD to the curb:

-Focus on good nutrition: When you don't even feel like eating, or you would rather sit on the couch with a spoon and the sugar bowl, good nutrition can be really hard to fix. Start off by taking a vitamin supplement. Niacin, or Vitamin B3, is especially good for helping with depression. You can also continue taking your prenatal vitamins, these are really good if you are nursing. Then you can look into taking an herbal remedy for depression, such as St. John's Wort. Go to a health food store and find brands of vitamins that are minimally processed. (Or send your husband, because chances are you didn't feel like showering today...and getting out of the house may seem like too big of a task for you right now.) Once you start taking the vitamins, you might start feeling better. Whether it is a real effect or a placebo, it doesn't matter. You have your foot in the door of "better health". And now you can start eating better food. Cut out the junk foods and pre-packaged dinners. Eat lots of raw foods, fruits and veggies. Drink plenty of water. Minimize sugar intake. Try asking if your husband would be willing to cook dinner during the week, even if only on a couple days.

-Focus on light therapy: Fresh air and the shining sun can do wonders for improving mood. But getting ready and dressed for public (and getting all the kids dressed and ready for public) is not always easy. There are nap times and feedings and diaper changes to contend with. Or you don't have a car. And sometimes the sun -isn't- shining. Or sometimes it is too daggone cold. If you can't get out and about, try at least playing in the yard, if you have one. Or sitting out on a deck/balcony. At the very least, open the curtains and blinds to let the natural light into your house.

-Focus on exercise: If you can, combine exercise and light therapy and go for a walk outside. But if that seems too hard right now, try to find a quick and easy workout that you like...and just do it in your underwear at home. You could just put on some music that makes you want to move and dance around. If you have a toddler, it will be even more enjoyable, as those little guys love to dance.

-Focus on music: Like with exercise, upbeat music can help you get going. Put some music on, even without the plan to exercise to it, and see how it makes you feel. Or you can try calming, classical music that helps you relax.

-Focus on spirituality: Heavenly Father knows what you are going through. Sometimes, depression can put you out of touch with your relationship with your Heavenly Father. Rekindle that relationship. Work on saying prayers. Use God as your sounding board and begin by addressing Heavenly Father, then rattling off your list of woes. Finish by asking for help and expressing love and gratitude where you can manage it. Try reading your scriptures for 15 minutes a day...even if done in 3 minutes intervals (upon wakening, mid morning, after lunch, mid afternoon, evening). Or watch an episode of Veggie Tales and talk about it with your toddler. Sometimes it is the littlest things that will help!

-Focus on grooming: Wake up, eat breakfast, change diapers, nurse the baby, take a shower, change diapers, do hair, get the toddler a snack, do makeup. Whatever your morning routine -needs- to be, make sure to include personal hygiene. Make the time to shower, brush your teeth, put on deodorant. Make yourself feel as pretty as possible. Put on a bra and clothes, like you are going to go somewhere. Use soap that smells really good to you (not just something that smells ok, but find something that you -really- like). Wax or shave your legs and armpits. Go ahead and put on a movie for the kids, if it will give you time to take care of yourself.

Focus on cleanliness: This is not a focus on bodily cleanliness, this is for your house. Ask your husband to help you clean the house in the evenings. Then do what you can to keep it clean during the day. Make sure you keep up on laundry and dishes. Sometimes those chores that you -have- to do are the only ones that get done...because, let's face it, you need to do laundry if all your underwear are dirty! The task is to keep them from piling up. A week's worth of dirty dishes is a daunting task, and can aggravate depressed feelings. But getting the dishes done every day or having a freshly vacuumed floor can feel like a wonderful accomplishment!

Focus on hobbies: Remember those hobbies that you used to have and used to love. They seem dull now. So, remind yourself why you used to love them. Pull out your pen and paper and write some poetry. Or get out your paints and a canvas. Or your crochet hook and yarn. Get a new book from the library. Watch your favorite movie. Design a new ball gown. Shoot some hoops. Whatever it is that you used to do, find time to do it. Get the kids involved if you want. Or get them busy with something else (or down for a nap), so you will have time for yourself.

These are just some ideas for combating PPD. Like I said before, pick ONE of these and work on it. Don't try to do them all at once. It will not work. It will probably make you feel worse. But, picking one that especially appeals to you might make the world of difference. Get as much sleep as you can, and devote your days to getting better. You may not have much motivation or energy, but gather what you do have up, and put it to good use.

PPD is not healthy or normal (common...but not normal), but there are natural ways to make it better. These suggestions may not take all your troubles away, as PPD is often caused by hormonal imbalances that need time (and sometimes medical intervention) to be fixed. However, if you have thoughts of harming yourself or your child(ren), you need to get medical help immediately. If you feel like things are too hard to handle, and you haven't had any success with natural remedies, you are not a failure. PPD is a real illness. Just as you couldn't help it if you got cancer, you cannot help getting depression. But you can help get rid of it.

You are not alone.

Birth on my mind

I've been composing this post for a LOOOOOOOONG time. In fact, it was basically written out even before I got pregnant again. Then I forgot about it. Then I remembered it. And I read it over and had to add and edit about a million more things. I still don't know if it is really ready or not. I have a lot of feelings about Bug's birth that have been ruminating in my mind for a long time (like...two years). If I were to keep adding to this post, until I felt it was truly complete, I would probably have a whole book! Therefore, I will go ahead and let this post be. There will definitely be some sort of follow up after the new baby makes his/her arrival! Birth on my mind:

I always have pregnancy and birth on my mind. It is my passion. I read about it all time time. I dream about it all the time. I think a lot about how I can make my own experiences with pregnancy and birth better. Of course, that means I spend a lot of time thinking about what I want this pregnancy and birth to be like. And I think a lot about what was wrong with Bug's birth. The more I think about Bug's birth, the more I realize that I -need- to write it all out. Not just a birth story, I have one of those. But, I need to write out my true feelings, more specifically, what I didn't like and why. Perhaps I feel like it will be a therapy session. This isn't just for me to complain (although I do love to complain!) I like to think that I can help other women who want better birth experiences (or maybe haven't had any yet, and have no idea what they could have). So, here is my list of things I did NOT like about pregnancy/birth with Bug, why I didn't like it, and then my preferences for a better pregnancy and birth -including what I'm doing for my current pregnancy/plans for this birth. (these are in no particular order):

-Seeing an OB. I wish that I had either gotten a midwife to take care of my prenatals, or gone with an unassisted pregnancy (UP) and done everything myself. I think I was unsure about what choices I could make, and I felt pressured by our society, and those around me, to see an obstetrician. It is such a normal thing today to have an OB attend you throughout pregnancy. But, as soon as I put my trust in an OB, I forgot to trust myself and my own capabilities. Even though I wanted and hoped to have an unassisted childbirth (UC), I continued going to my prenatals with the OB, and in the end, that is why I gave birth in a hospital.

-Caved to subtle threats from the medical field. A week after I started prodromal labor (but still waiting for the baby to be born), I went in for another prenatal checkup. They heard an irregular heartbeat, and sent me in for all kinds of testing. Eventually, they advised me to be induced. I was vulnerable, because I was a woman getting ready to have a baby anyway (my body was already preparing: I had lost my mucous plug and was having on and off bouts of contractions). They effectively scared me into thinking that my baby's life was in immediate danger. As I laid on a hospital bed, in a hospital gown, crying, I honestly didn't think I had a choice. I wish I could have gone back home to contemplate the situation. I could have returned shortly after if I really felt like I needed to be induced. I could have studied, and subsequently found out, that abnormal heartbeats really aren't uncommon and are typically nothing to worry about. I could have prayed with my husband for personal revelation on what to do in the situation. But, I didn't do any of that. It's hard to do any of that in a busy hospital, where people are checking on you every couple of minutes, asking if you have made a decision, when you clearly know what decision they want you to make. I quietly accepted the invitation to be induced.

-Given a hep lock for an IV. It is ridiculous that mothers in labor at a hospital are rarely allowed to eat and drink when and what they want. It is such an out dated practice, but it is still being practiced! Instead, they keep you hooked up to an IV to keep you hydrated. Or, if you are lucky, you just get a hep lock, so they can hook you up to the IV later. It is mandatory in many hospitals, especially in my area. Why? So they can hook you up to drugs quickly if there is a problem. They see it as a preventative measure. I see it as an unnecessary hindrance. Hospitals are supposed to be there to help quickly -if- a problem comes up...not get you hooked up in advance for -when- a problem comes up. Plus, is there anything comfortable and relaxing about having a plastic tube stuck in your vein? No, I think not. I was constantly worried about the foot of tubing wadded up and taped to my arm. I didn't want to pull it the wrong way, because that hurts! In the end, I wasn't hooked up to the IV...but it wasn't fun laboring with a hep lock in my arm.

-Allowed artificial rupture of my membranes (AROM). AROM definitely is one way to get labor going, especially if the woman's body has already been preparing for labor. However, it can introduce infection. It could have resulted in a cord prolapse (a serious condition, resulting in a c-section). And, it is artificial. What if Bug wasn't ready to come that day? Getting labor started when he wasn't ready could have caused distress for him. AROM also put a time limit on me. If you haven't delivered within twelve hours of your water breaking (or being broken), most hospitals will take drastic measures to get your baby out (i.e., cesarean section). When my OB broke my water, I was not informed of the risks. That makes me angry to think that there are other women out there that are less educated about childbirth than I am, and their OBs are preforming these procedures on them, without telling them anything about what they are doing, and the women believe it is needed, because their OB said they needed it. And for a moment, I was one of those women.

-Allowed an internal fetal monitor. The internal monitor was the whole reason I had my membranes ruptured (besides the fact that the AROM was also to get my labor going, after all, it was medically advised for me to deliver. And I guess I would rather go into labor from AROM than Pitocin). An external monitor wasn't being very helpful in hearing Bug's irregular heartbeat. This was the main thing they wanted to watch. To a mother in labor, how could I have refused? But, getting an internal fetal monitor is risky business, indeed. That one little intervention makes it incredibly more likely that you will end up with a c-section. Once the monitor was in place, I had to stay laying in bed. I was hooked up to a machine, and I could only unplug it to go pee...although I had to go pee with wires hanging out of my crotch. And just to add a little insult to injury (or should I say add a little injury to the insult), the internal monitor's electrode is screwed into a baby's head. Bug had a scab on his little noggin' for several days after he was born because of the monitor.

-Forced to labor in a supine position. Because I was hooked up the internal monitor, I wasn't able to move around. I was able to unhook to go pee every now and then...but if I wasn't hooked up for a couple minutes, a nurse would come in to "make sure everything was ok". So, I spent the time laboring in bed. I rolled from side to side, trying to get comfortable enough to deal with my contractions. And I moaned and vocalized. I probably could have knelt on the bed or stood beside the bed...but nobody told me that I was allowed to. And I was afraid that I would get into trouble by doing stuff. (Can you tell I had zero confidence while I was surrounded by people who were more "in charge" of my labor than I was!?!)

-Legs placed in stirrups, combined with semi-sitting, kind-of-laying position for the pushing phase. I had no idea that I could have knelt down on the bed to give birth to Bug. Nobody at the hospital told me I could. And once I was in the hospital, I felt like I couldn't do anything unless the hospital personnel told me I could do it. (And, even if I tried, my OB may not have allowed it.) So, when it came time to push, they "broke down the bed", aka they removed the lower half of the bed, put up the stirrups and put my legs in them. Being on your back, or mostly on your back, is probably the worst way to push a baby out. And the best way for an OB to watch while you push a baby out. It makes the mom work harder, and it just might cause more tears.

-Directed and strongly encouraged pushing. This was one of those things that I paid a little less attention to while I was pushing. I have a memory of the nurse on one side, telling me that -now- would be a good time push, and my mom on the other side, asking me to push if I -could-. (Moms are much more sensitive to their laboring daughters than nurses! Although, my nurse was really nice, she was obviously trained in hospital birth.) I would push when a contraction came on, then I would get worn out and stop for a bit. When I stopped, the nurse told me to keep going. I told her that I needed to take a break!! It had been about 12 hours since I had had a meal, or even anything to drink. I was exhausted, and I honestly wasn't sure I could push as often or as strong as the nurse wanted me to. I tried to push when I felt like it, and only then. But, I felt like I was failing or not doing a good job, because the nurse kept telling me to push...even when I felt like I couldn't.

-Immediate cord clamping/cutting. Bug had an irregular heartbeat. That was why the doctor wanted me to deliver. And that is why there was a neonatologist there for when Bug was born, ready to whisk him off for testing. And that is why, against my expressed wishes, Bug's cord was immediately clamped and cut after delivery. And, sadly, I didn't really get to see the placenta, either. That connection that my baby had with me throughout my pregnancy was gone in an instant.

-Baby taken away for tests. Right after Bug was born, they put him on my chest. But it was only for a few minutes, before they took him away for testing. And the OB stitched two of my three small tears. That whole after birth phase is a cloudy memory to me. I don't remember how long Bug was away from me. All I know, is that I got to hold him for a minute, then he was gone for a while. And the next time I saw him, he was bundled up in a blanket. I didn't really get to cherish that skin-to-skin after birth moment that I long for. And I definitely didn't get the opportunity to see if Bug would make his own way to my nipple to nurse.

-Lost autonomy. As illustrated in almost all of the above, I had little to no confidence to do what I wanted to do in a hospital birth. There were rules and regulations and people who were important and in charge. I was just a patient there. I was supposed to be good. I was supposed to be compliant. I was supposed to be easy to take care of. I was nervous and excited. It was my first child. I had never done anything like birth before! I had studied and I knew A LOT about birth. I knew I wanted to follow my own intuition. But I couldn't. As soon as I was told to head to the hospital for a biophysical profile, I felt my confidence draining. It drained more as I was told to put on a hospital gown. And even more as I was send for an ultrasound...in a wheelchair. And once I was told that it was "medically indicated" that I deliver, I knew my intuition was NOT invited to this hospital birth. It wasn't even until hours later that I realized I didn't have -anything- with me, other than my purse. (In fact, my husband ran home after Bug was born to go get clothes and other stuff that would have been there with me, if I had a hospital bag packed.) I was completely and totally at the mercy of the hospital. The policies. The regulations. And even though Bug's birth was amazing (as I imagine any kind of birth would be), it was not what I wanted.

So, how can I change this? How can I help myself have a better experience with birth? The first thing I did was put my foot down and NOT schedule an appointment with an obstetrician. The hubs wasn't comfortable with the idea of doing an unassisted pregnancy/birth with this baby. And he is part of my team, so I had to compromise. It took a lot of work, but I finally got in contact with several midwives. The homebirth community in Ohio is almost like a secret society. You have to know where to go to get the information that you need. I didn't have that information when I was pregnant with Bug. Or, I didn't know how to -find- that information. This time, I worked harder. I found midwives, and I interviewed midwives. And I decided on a midwife that I believe is a good fit for me (the hubby even picked her before I did).

My midwife is ok with my requests. This includes: no vaginal exams, no ultrasound technology (including a doppler), letting me do my own urinalysis, visits in my own home, no routine tests or procedures. Basically, when I ask my midwife if I am ok to do something, she says, "Sure, why not? It's your choice/your body!" If I ask my midwife if I need to -not- do something, she says, "Why? If you want to do it, do it. If you think you shouldn't, don't." My midwife is not flippant. She just thinks that pregnancy and birth are normal, and you shouldn't have to alter your life for them (as long as you are healthy, and not participating in harmful activities). She also thinks that I should be making all my own decisions. She is just there to observe and let me know if something is going wrong (and I don't catch it before on my own). It's exactly the kind of care that I want (assuming that I actually have care from someone other than myself).

It has been nice to just go throughout my pregnancy like I'm living normally. I never have to worry about getting to an appointment (because my midwife comes to me, and I'm always home with Bug during the day anyway). I never have to worry about doing something that I'm not supposed to do, or making sure I do something that I am supposed to do (according to an OB). I just do things that make me feel more comfortable. I eat well. I rest a lot. I take care of my toddler. I feel the baby moving within me and I smile and get emotional about another baby coming to our family. It's been a beautiful pregnancy so far. Very relaxed. It feels good. It feels right.

I want the birth of this next baby to be more ceremonial, and less....protocol. I want to be the one to call the shots. And, I even want to be the one to catch the baby (assuming I'm in a position to do so) and my husband is ok with that! (Yipee!) I'm not typically a conformist. And I think after Bug's birth, I have become even less so. I am stubborn and confident. I think that is why I had such a hard time with Bug's birth, feeling that that part of me was taken away...or that I really don't have those traits. But, I know what I want, and I have learned enough to now get what I want.

I can't wait until the baby is born. Then I will write a follow up post on how this birth went. In the meantime, I'm interested in how my readers have experienced their pregnancies/births. Did things go the way you wanted them to? Did you wish you could change things? What would you want to do differently?

Motherhood: An Eternal Partnership with God

A couple of my friend's have posted this video on their blog/facebook page. And, as I watched it with tears streaming down my cheeks, I realized that this is probably one of the best videos I could ever share on -my- blog. We mothers have so many things to "lament", but we also have so many things to be grateful for. We are blessed beyond what we could ever imagine. We are truly in an eternal partnership with God!

Sleep Sharing Bliss

"You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone", right?

The other night I had an epiphany. I love sharing my bed with my kid.

It was one of those days. You know, the kind that starts early in the morning and doesn't include an afternoon nap....or any nap for that matter. So, around 7:48pm, Bug turned into a whining, screaming, thrashing, fighting, terrorizing, monster. Oh, it was bad.

Unfortunately, I kept getting caught up in things around me (like planning our trip to Texas, or cleaning up the water that Bug got all over the bathroom, or realizing that I let my Red Raspberry Leaf tea steep for nearly two hours...). So, it wasn't until 8:15pm that I realized I needed to just stop and put the kid to sleep. And, since he's been sleeping in his own bed, I needed to get him to sleep without laying down next to him. Let me tell you, it is ridiculously difficult to calm a tantruming toddler, when you are trying to sit in a squeaky glider and you have no room on your lap (due to your hugely pregnant belly) and you are so exhausted that it's hard to contain the toddler's flailing arms and legs. I may or may not have swatted his butt a couple of times to get him to pay attention to me. I think I got lucky, though. Because after singing two songs, I was able to transfer Bug to his own bed, and he stayed asleep.

Later that night, when the hubs and I went to bed, Bug briefly woke up and started crying (because Bug's bed is at the foot of our bed...and the hubs has a noisy electric toothbrush). We quickly calmed him down again, and he stayed in his bed. But, then, as I was laying in my own bed, I could hear the post-cry hiccups that Bug had, even in his sleep. It made my heart ache to hold him close, so he would know that his mommy loves him. Really, REALLY, really loves him. (In fact, I was aching so much, and telling my husband all about it, the he even offered to get Bug and bring him to bed with us! I have such a sensitive and loving husband!!!)

And I realized that, although I complained all the time about sharing a bed with Bug, I loved it. Because it was a time where I could give Bug 100% of my attention. If he needed anything, I was right next to him to help. When we were nursing, the breast was right there for him. Even if he wasn't nursing, I could offer him his sippy cup. And there was always a soft and warm body there, letting him know that he was safe and secure. I can't offer that kind of parenting during the day, no matter how hard I try. And I must admit, I don't often try. I -want- to be able to offer my child everything he needs. I want him to know that he is loved, and that he is safe. I want him to be comfortable.  But it isn't always a reasonable option during the hustle and bustle of the day.

And THAT is why I love sharing my bed.

Hope during Infertility

What better time during the year to be filled with hope and gratitude than Christmas!? (Perhaps, Easter?) However, I have been filled with hope, indeed!

I know a post about infertility right after a pregnancy announcement may seem a little insensitive, but I've done a lot of thinking about my experience with infertility. It is my sincere hope that other women find strength in their trials.

For months and months, I wanted to get pregnant. But, because I was breastfeeding Bug, my cycles hadn't returned yet. And consequently, my fertility hadn't returned yet. Then, my body started showing signs of returning fertility. Signs...but not reality. Every time my body began another cycle, I was filled with painful emotion. The flowing blood of menstruation is a physical cleanse. The body dumps the old to make room to try again. A clean slate. Another month to temp and chart and record and plan. Another month for hopes to rise. Yet, every time my body would cleanse itself, my spirit was sullied with grief, anger, jealousy and fear.

I always trusted my body, until it didn't do what I wanted it to do. Or what I though it should do. My body had always done what I wanted it to do, before! Finally, I realized that I had a defect. For all I knew, my body could have been aborting a possible baby every cycle. But that was just it, my body didn't understand to keep it, and it would begin the cleansing process before it even knew whether or not it was necessary.

Day and night, I would suckle my needy toddler, with tears in my eyes. Weaning him could be the answer. But I couldn't do it. I knew he needed to nurse. Would it be right to take something away from the child I have to -maybe- get a child I want? *Note: I still have not weaned Bug. In several months, I will probably do a post on nursing during pregnancy.

That child I already have been blessed with brought other questions forward as well. If I already have a young child, did I have a right to mourn my infertility? Did I have a right to claim infertility? I had been wanting to get pregnant for a whole year! By medical standards, I was infertile. Did breastfeeding change that? Maybe. But it didn't change my desires.

I know that there are probably women that are jealous of me and my one child. And I was jealous of women who are expecting or already have two. Did my one child make my sadness any easier? To a woman who strongly desires a(nother) child, but cannot get pregnant, I think there is little solace.

Many women experiencing "true" infertility may not appreciate the difficulty of the situation I was in, just as I could not fully appreciate their difficulties. But, if I am able to get one point across, I wish it to be known that infertility of ANY kind or duration, is difficult if a woman truly desires to get pregnant.

So, every time I began another cycle, I would swallow my pride. Through my grief, anger, jealousy and fear, I would pray for strength, faith, patience, health and hope.

And sometimes, even if it doesn't seem like it, we have a loving Heavenly Father who is watching over us. He knows our desires. He knows our struggles. And He knows the best way to bless us, and the right time to bless us. In hindsight, our struggles always look easier than what they really were. Heavenly Father knows how difficult things are for us. But if we remember Him always, He will bless us in the most unexpected and marvelous ways!

Defiant Little Devil

Bug is quite your typical toddler. That means that he never listens to me and he is almost always disobedient. Sometimes, I wonder if he even really understands me. But then he is naughty after I KNOW he understood me, and I realize that he is being disobedient on purpose.

The other day, we went to our friendly, neighborhood grocery store as a family. After we got all of our groceries down the checkout belt, the hubby (who had been holding Bug) passed Bug off to me so he could pay. I put Bug back into the seat of our cart, squirming and fighting. I told him that it was ok, and that we were going to go home. Then, I told him to give me a kiss. And, as I leaned down with my lips puckered, Bug slapped my face. I sharply told him, "NO!" and that what he did wasn't nice. I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a young lady laughing at the exchange. It actually made me really mad to see someone laughing at my uncontrollable toddler. I guess I could look back at that situation and laugh. But, part of me looks back at that situation and wonders, how the heck do I get Bug to be nice and kind and obedient!?!

Elizabeth Pantley, (author of The No-Cry Sleep Solution and other books) has some fantastic ideas for how to get toddlers to be a little more obedient in her book, Kid Cooperation. This excerpt, called Get Your Toddler to Co-Operate! is from her book Kid Cooperation:

Toddlers and preschoolers require finesse to gain their
cooperation, because they have not yet reached the age at
which they can see and understand the whole picture, so simply
explaining what you want doesn’t always work. Robert Scotellaro is
quoted in The Funny Side of Parenthood as saying, “Reasoning with
a two-year-old is about as productive as changing seats on the
Titanic.” (He must have had a two-year-old at the time.)

You can get around this frustrating state of affairs by changing your
approach. Let’s look at two situations – first the typical (Titanic)
way:

Parent: David! Time to change your diaper.
David:No! (As he runs off)
Parent: Come on honey. It’s time to leave, I need to change you.
David: (Giggles and hides behind sofa)
Parent: David, this isn’t funny. It’s getting late. Come here.
David: (Doesn’t hear a word. Sits down to do a puzzle.)
Parent: Come here! (Gets up and approaches David)
David: (Giggles and runs)
Parent: (Picking up David) Now lie here. Stop squirming! Lie still.
Will you stop this!
(As parent turns to pick up a new diaper, a little bare bottom is
running away)

I’m sure you’ve all been there. Oh, and by the way, David is my son.
And this was an actual scene recorded in his baby book. Like you, I
got very tired of this. Then I discovered a better way:

Parent:(Picking up diaper and holding it like a puppet, making it
talk in a silly, squeaky voice)
Hi David! I’m Dilly Diaper! Come here and play with me!
David:(Running over to Diaper) Hi Dilly!
Parent as Diaper: You’re a nice boy. Will you give me a kiss?
David:Y es. (Gives diaper a kiss)
Parent as Diaper: How ‘bout a nice hug?
David: (Giggles and hugs Diaper)
Parent as Diaper: Lie right here next to me. Right here. Yup. Can I
go on you? Oh yes?!
Goody goody goody! (The diaper chats with David while he’s being
changed. Then it says, Oh, David! Listen, I hear your shoes calling
you – David! David!

The most amazing thing about this trick is that it works over and
over and over and over. You’ll keep thinking, “He’s not honestly
going to fall for this again?” But he will! Probably the nicest byproduct
of this method is that it gets you in a good mood and you
have a little fun time with your child.

When you’ve got a toddler this technique is a pure lifesaver.
When my son David was little I used this all the time. (I then used
it with my youngest child, Coleton, and it worked just as well.)
Remembering back to one day, when David was almost three, we
were waiting in a long line at the grocery store and I was making
my hand talk to him. It was asking him questions about the items
in the cart. Suddenly, he hugged my hand, looked up at me and
said, “Mommy, I love for you to pretend this hand is talking.”
Another parent reported that she called her toddler to the table for
dinner a number of times, when he calmly looked up at her, chubby
hands on padded hips and said, “Mommy, why don’t you have my
dinner call to me?”

And suddenly, the peas on his plate came to life and called out to
him; he ran over to join the family at the dinner table.

A variation on this technique, that also works very well, is to
capitalize on a young child’s vivid imagination as a way to thwart
negative emotions. Pretend to find a trail of caterpillars on the way
to the store, hop to the car like a bunny, or pretend a carrot gives
you magic powers as you eat it.

It’s delightful to see how a potentially negative situation can be
turned into a fun experience by changing a child’s focus to fun and
fantasy.

And it is so true...when I make things fun for Bug, he is so much more willing to cooperate with me. It becomes a game, and what toddler doesn't love to play a game with mommy?? (By the way, I think that Titanic diaper scenario should be renamed the "Mommy tries to change Bug's diaper" scenario!) Perhaps, as I learn to employ more entertaining ways of teaching Bug, he will be more willing to give me kisses in the grocery store!

Two Years and more to come!

A couple months ago, I was laying in bed with my husband and Bug. It was so comfortable. A baby snuggled up in front of me, a husband snuggled up behind me. The hubs and I were being romantic in that mushy, sappy way.

"How much do you love me?" my husband asked.

That is such a hard question to answer! I thought for a while. And then I told my eternal husband what it felt like to me to love him. How much I loved him. How I loved him. I told him that I loved him so much that I couldn't get close enough to him. Hugs aren't close enough. Snuggling in bed isn't close enough. Really, any possible physical intimacy isn't enough. I need his soul inside of me. I love him so much, I want our very cells to mesh together for all time and eternity.

After I finished trying to explain my love for him, my husband was silent for a few moments. Then, he told me, "That's what Bug is."

And it is so true. Our children are, literally, our cells meshed together. Each child is a living, breathing testament of our love. It is a little miracle that God has given us. Our mortal insight to a perfect, godly love.

"Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is his reward. As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate."
Psalm 127: 3-5

"Wherefore, it is lawful that he should have one wife, and they twain shall be one flesh, and all this that the earth might answer the end of its creation"
Doctrine and Covenants 49:16

We have had a happy two years of marriage so far. It is so short when you look at it from an eternal perspective. I hope to be happy, with my husband and our children, for a long, long time!

Happy Anniversary, Hubby!

Breastfeeding Evolution, Part Three

Continued from Part Two:

The breastfeeding battle began with Bug’s birth. I was cursed with inverted and flat nipples. It is debatable as to whether or not this is actually a trial in breastfeeding, as the baby is breastfed not nipplefed. However, it was a trial to me as I sat in the hospital bed struggling to get my newly born son to latch on and nurse. The hospital lactation consultant was obviously not interested in helping me deal with the situation correctly. She brought me breast shells and a nipple shield. My colostrum was thick, and Bug struggled to suck it through the nipple shield. Those first few nights, I cried along with Bug. I expressed colostrum onto my finger for Bug to suck off over and over again. I felt like I was broken. Oh, how we cried.

Finally, my milk came in. I dutifully slapped on that nipple shield each feeding. I struggled to keep it in place and clean. Then I dealt with the excess milk that had collected in the shield spilling all over both of us. I neglected to wear the shells that I was given. I struggled through those first few months. I continually leaked milk. I was going through breastpads galore. I felt ashamed of myself and my body as I struggled to keep covered when I was in company that demanded modesty. I felt like I had little support from those around me. And still I cried when breastfeeding was more than I believed I could handle. I suffered through three bouts of mastitis, feverish and desperate to continue being a good mom.

Miraculously, after three months, Bug decided that he would have nothing to do with the nipple shield. I gave it up, and experienced nursing skin to skin, successfully, for the first time. I was exhilarated. However, it didn’t last long enough. Bug got teeth. And I got bitten. Several times. At one point, I had an open sore on my breast that was so tender that each time Bug latched on to nurse, I felt waves of nausea roll over me. I could hardly stand nursing. Yet, I continued.

We had trial after trial. Thrush came and went. Nursing acrobats ensued. Biting, pinching, chapping. Fevers, vomiting and stuffy noses. Night after night I would contemplate weaning. But something told me that we were not ready. Bug needed to nurse. And I needed to let him.

There was something that happened each time I would sit down to nurse my child. It was peace. I would smile, even when Bug wasn’t nursing peacefully, but playfully trying to stand on his head while latched onto my nipple. I was made for this divine role of nourishing my children. I loved looking into those nursing eyes, drunk with mother’s milk, sleepy with love. I mended Bug’s boo-boo’s with my “magic mommy milk”. I gave nourishment and comfort.

Through breastfeeding, I have realized that I am a wonderful mother. I have given my child security and the trust that I will always be there for him. I will breastfeed all my children until they are ready to wean. I am still nursing Bug at fifteen months. He isn’t much older than a year, but I am still nursing strong. I still have those nights that I struggle and cry with breastfeeding. I contemplate weaning when things get difficult. But I will give him nursies until he no longer requires that special relationship with me. Even if it takes me longer than I ever dreamed of nursing before. Because I have evolved. It is my desire that all mothers receive the support they need to bless their children with their breasts. I hope that our society will one day learn the beauty of nourishing a child as intended by God. I know that breastfeeding is a magical, spiritual experience that is one of the greatest things that we mothers can do for our children. It creates love. It is selfless love.

Breastfeeding Evolution, Part Two

Continued from Part One:

Before my son, Bug, was born I knew I wanted to breastfeed for one year. I had planned on weaning after Bug’s first birthday, though. I was going to live the APA standard; no solids until six months, nursing to a year. My mother did not breastfeed any of her children longer than six months. My mother-in-law, too, had less than satisfactory experiences with nursing. My only shining example was a friend from church. She had nursed one of her children for around five years. At the time I heard about that particular non-conformity, I thought she was a little strange. Loveable, and a good example, but strange! I thought to myself that I would never nurse that long!

Over time, my personal views about breastfeeding have changed significantly. Breastfeeding became important. Necessary. I was bound to that relationship. I knew I would nurse my little one for as long as his little heart desired. I was changing a lot in other ways, too. I was growing up. I was no longer an ignorant teenager that could perform exemplary babysitting. I was a woman. A mother. I needed to have ideas and make choices for my family; choices that would affect us all for the remainder of our lives. As I studied unorthodox parenting styles, I found myself drifting farther and farther away from the mainstream parenting and closer to this “attachment parenting” and “natural parenting”. I like to refer to it as “self-sufficient parenting”.

I read books and prepared myself for this new adventure of responsibility. I was going to be a mom. I was going to breastfeed. It was like the amount of studying I did resulted in the length I was planning on breastfeeding. Finally, I had settled on child led weaning. I was going to let my child decide when he was ready to wean. And hopefully, we would come to the decision together. We were going to have to work hard at this relationship, we were going to have to respect each other’s desires and strive to get along well. At times, I seriously felt that the relationship was doomed. Even from the beginning, I struggled. I fought against my stubborn self. I cried. I wondered how I would feel if I just gave up. And I stood resolutely behind myself as I told myself that I was doing this for my son. It was, and still is sometimes, a never ending battle.

Click Here for Part Three

Breastfeeding Evolution, Part One

I have evolved. No, not how Darwin would describe evolution; but my own journey towards perfecting myself. Learning and being fit to survive the trials that so many other women do not survive. Breastfeeding. Or, as it is known as in my house, nursies. How many women snap up their bras for good, in defeat? How many women believe that they “just aren’t made for this”? How many women secretly feel like they have failed as mothers, because they gave up? And what does it take to push through to a satisfactory weaning? To survive?

Words of advice are often no use when given to women who have already admitted defeat. And, honestly, I don’t know all the answers to these questions. I can only offer my example. Share my each and every struggle, so that other women know that it isn’t always easy. I have heard it all before, the excuses as to why these mothers are no longer nourishing their babes at their breasts. The mothers are not the only ones to blame, though. Some people say that it takes a village to raise a child. I don’t particularly agree with that. I believe that it takes a family to raise a child. However, I do believe that it takes a village (or a city, or a whole society) to breastfeed a child. It is a little known fact that women who do not have breastfeeding support, from their husbands, employers, or families, often end up discontinuing the breastfeeding relationship with their child. I can only share the joy that has helped me to survive. It has not always been pretty. In fact, sometimes, it has been downright horrible. Perhaps I would be taking too much liberty in saying that there were even times I felt like breastfeeding was torture. Nonetheless, I feel that there is nothing more important than understanding the miracle and feeling the fire that has pulled me through the breastfeeding mire.

Do you have to understand completely why breastfeeding is important, physically and emotionally, for both you and your child? Do you have to live in a society that commends and supports the breastfeeding relationship, and most importantly, the breastfeeding mother? I’m not sure if you have to be completely stubborn, as I have been, to keep breastfeeding until your child is ready to wean. But that is what has kept me going. I’ve never been more grateful for my personality-that desire to learn everything I can and to try my hardest to be the best at everything.

Click Here for Part Two

Retiring the Razor

I wasn't always a crunchy, hippy, earthy, natural, granola person. But I have always enjoyed being unique. I have always been abstract. Artistic. Creative. Different.

I knew I wanted to have natural births, because my mom gave birth to all four of her children without pain medication. Birthing naturally was one of those things that I thought was so cool! Of course, I didn't learn until much later that the only reason my mom went natural was because she couldn't afford pain medication. And, of course, birthing “naturally” seemed to me then to only give birth without medication.

And then I met Ingrid.

Ingrid is a woman that I met at church. I first remember watching her from a distance. I saw her wearing her baby in a ring sling (although I wasn't familiar with slings at the time). I saw how beautiful she looked, even while wearing light or no make-up. Then, one day, I was sitting close enough to her to notice that her legs were unshaven. I was completely absorbed in curiosity and interest in this strange woman. She was so different from all the other women that I knew. She shocked me with her lifestyle. But I liked her. I even talked to my mom about how I admired Ingrid for being different. Ingrid had, unknowingly, touched something in my soul. Something that had been there all along, but had been small and weak. Like an unlit candle. Ingrid's touch was a small flame for my candle. The light helped me to see things more clearly. I had a library of information to learn about. And so I began learning.

When I first got married and started thinking about having children, I was only just interested in the crunchy lifestyle. I was willing to do a home birth with a midwife, if I could easily find one. I fully planned on breastfeeding, but only to a year. I was shocked when I learned that Ingrid breastfed her children much longer than that. I also planned on vaccinating my children. And when I found out I was pregnant, I bought a crib…because that’s where babies sleep, right? But I kept studying.

I learned about Attachment Parenting. It sang to my soul and brightened that little flame. And then I found out that Ingrid had birthed some of her babies at home. With no medical personnel in attendance. Unassisted Childbirth (UC). I was floored. I didn’t even know you COULD do that! I didn’t think it was quite for me. However, I studied it. Intrigued. I kept seeing a regular OB for my prenatal checkups. But I still studied. Home birth. Unassisted birth. Unassisted pregnancy. Free birth. Pure birth. Intimate. Loving. Comfortable. Safe.

I studied the whole world. There is so much out there that I had no idea about. Breastfeeding. Sleeping arrangements. Vaccine free. Babies’ cries. Circumcision vs Intact. Birth. Diapering. Slings, wraps, mei tai’s, simple pieces of cloth. Ancient parenting. Natural remedies. Red raspberry leaf. Colloidal silver. Life. It all sang to me. It was right for me. For my family.

I waltzed happily down that path. And I’m still waltzing happily down that path. I believe in and practice attachment parenting. My baby sleeps in bed next to me. My baby has no vaccines. But that’s ok, because he is still breastfeeding at 14 months. And I will let him breastfeed for as long as his precious, little heart desires. My sons will all be kept whole, intact. And my children’s precious bums will be softly wrapped in cotton diapers…when I am willing to do the laundry for them! I will carry my babies when we go out, wrapped in a simple piece of cloth. And, although my first child was born in a hospital, it is my desire to birth the rest of my children at home. In just the company of my loving husband and family.

And through all these parenting choices that threw open wide the door to my crunchy lifestyle, there are other changes that I am continually making in my life. Like trying to eat healthier. Like wearing less make-up. Less jewelry. Like going “no-‘poo”. I haven’t used shampoo or conditioner on my hair for nearly two weeks now, thanks to the inspiration of TopHat. And I love it! [Perhaps I will do a whole post dedicated to this topic, including my recipes for washing and rinsing]. And, I have almost completely retired my razor. I have chosen to wax my legs and armpits occasionally. But, in the months between waxing, my hair grows out long, and my razor sits alone. Unused.

Perhaps. Just maybe, I will light the candle in some young girl’s soul as she sits next to me, and sees my unshaven legs.

I learned a lesson.

Yesterday morning, I learned a lesson. On patience. On parenting. On nature. On God. On love.

Sometimes, as I'm sure all you parents out there know...especially you stay-at-home mothers, kids can make you want to pull your hair out of your scalp by the handful. That was how I was feeling yesterday morning. I was trying to open the screen door to let a visiting firefly back out. And I couldn't get that stupid door open. What the heck!?! Bug was screaming bloody murder for some reason, of which I wasn't entirely sure. In a huff of frustrated psycho-mom madness, I called my husband to demand, "What the heck did you do to the screen door? And why can't I get it open!?" (Keep in mind the screaming baby in the background. That makes for one dramatic phone call!) Turns out, you can lock a screen door. And the lock is super secret, and sneaky, and highly undetectable.

Then, I worked some sort of magic to settle Bug down. We nursed, we played, we took a shower. After the shower, Bug was in my closet, getting into the bottom drawer of my dresser. The bottom drawer is special. It holds my lotion and smelly sprays and all other kinds of girly stuff. Bug thinks the bottom drawer is his. He pulled out a spray bottle. Tangerine Grapefruit body mist. And he pulled the little plastic lid off. And put it in his mouth.

"No, Bug! You cannot put that in your mouth. It might choke you. Give it to me." I held my hand out to him. He didn't acquiesce. I continued with strained gentleness, "Can mommy please have that?"

Usually, Bug will give me whatever is in his mouth if I ask and hold my hand out...unless he really wants whatever is in his mouth. Apparently, he really wanted the plastic lid. So, I fished it out, replaced it on the bottle, shut the drawer, and we left the closet together.

Bug was not happy. He cried. He bawled. He screamed. He clenched his little fists and flopped around like a fish on the floor. His throat sounded raw as he told me in his own way how he did not want to give up that "toy". I held his tantrum-limp body in my arms. I was getting frustrated. I was getting angry. Why should he get so upset over something so silly!? I plopped down on the couch and started nursing Bug, to stem the torturous cries and save both of our lives.

He nursed through the after-cry hiccups. And patted and rubbed the exposed skin on my chest, my arm, my face. And he closed his eyes. But the screen door was open still, and a nearby cardinal started singing. Loudly. I cringed, and glanced at Bug every time the bird called. I cursed the bird for being so loud. "You're going to keep my baby from sleeping!!! Or you are going to wake him up!!!" I thought angrily.

But Bug continued sleeping. And I was humbled.

The crisp sound of a bird, so beautiful, so pure, did not keep my child awake. What right did I have to scorn the lovely music? My God created this bird, this melody. He created it to bring us joy, comfort, peace. Bug would go to sleep just fine, if I could only be patient and let him relax. Perhaps, he could even fall asleep while enjoying the song of a bird. I closed my eyes and listened. The birds and wind. The distant vehicles. The hum of my comfortable life. The gentle breathing of my child, interrupted occasionally by the staccato of recent tears. He was upset because his "toy" was taken away, he was tired, and his mother was being sharp and angry with him. But he could relax when he was in his mother's loving arms. Calm. Listening to a gift from God. This is love. And I learned a lesson.





[Be sure to check out all the updated links at the bottom of my last post for the carnival, "What Nursing a Toddler Looks Like".]