The Tapestry Of

When I posted my rant about wishy-washy birth partners the other day, the call to arms I so cleverly titled "This One's For the Fellas", I never dreamed that 100+ people would read it.  I imagined a few would skim it and the husband hate mail would begin piling in, but never 100-something sets of eyeballs on my frustrated words.

So far so good on the husband hate mail.  I'll give it time.  And, no, that's not an invitation.  I love you guys, really.  Just not as much when you're being a pain in the behind.

On my Facebook wall, where I originally posted this, I explained to my friends that I'd written "This One's For the Fellas" over a year ago when I'd had the displeasure of meeting a couple of particularly unsupportive husbands.  One man completely belittled his wife (and, frankly, myself) in public and then left abruptly in the middle of our interview, leaving her to blush and apologize for him when she needed an apology from him more than I did.  Luckily, for as many clueless, borderline abusive relationships I've come across in my life and in my work as a doula, I've been blessed to know so many really connected couples and birth partners who go above and beyond.  It's amazing to see this first-hand, but really a wake-up call to me when I come across a crumbling situation.

As a doula, I don't have a psychology degree.  I'm not qualified to help these families in any way other than preparing themselves for birth.  But I still see it.  The very primal essence of birth brings all of these emotions to the surface without any effort.  If there's a rift in your marriage, I probably will get a good glimpse at it.  If you have fear or scars from past abuse, I can guess they exist based on how you bring your baby into the world.  Maybe it's science or something else explainable, but I prefer to think it's intuition and knowing after watching a hundred families interact.  Or not interact.

We are a hopelessly intricate tapestry woven with the bitter threads of daddy issues and doubts and insecurities.  Each one of us are beautiful and tragic works of art.

I cannot fix a lifetime of problems in a few short months.  But I can hold witness to it.  I can say, yes, I see it.  Yes, it happened.  You aren't crazy.

I do not expect to right the wrongs of a thousand inattentive partners in a few short paragraphs.  On the other hand, I do not wish to rile up all of the volatile pregnant women, either.  But this matters, what you are doing as a unit.  You are creating a new person who will be a confusing, glorious jumble of threads from you and your partner.  This baby deserves your very best, not only for him or her, but also for your relationship.

Families leave me short weeks after baby arrives, and our communications usually go the way of the buffalo.  But I always wonder what becomes of the struggling partners after our silence is established.  What becomes of the wriggling child I watched gulp its first breath of being?  Is this as good as it gets, this outpouring of love and joy at the birth of this child?

I hope not.

This One's For the Fellas

Yeah, you heard me, guys..... And, when I say fellas, this isn't to exclude the ladies, should you be in a same-sex relationship. If you're in a relationship and not the one physically growing a human being, I'm talking to YOU. Filter off, and quite possibly, gloves off. I'm blaming this a wee bit on not being topped-off in the sleep department, but maybe just a little because I've seen a recurring theme over and over (which is what a recurring theme is, I guess). And, frankly, for you thrifty gentlemen, I think you could practically put me out of a job if you'd just pay attention and figure out how to put into practice what I'm about to say.

Since when did giving birth to a baby become strictly women's work? Because it involves extreme focus around your old lady's hoo-hah and bodily fluids? It's only okay to be interested in those things when something is entering, not exiting? Why should the weight of this experience rest on your babymama's shoulders? Why is she the one reading the books and scouring the Interwebs for every tidbit of pregnancy and birth-related info to ever be published?

"Whatever makes you happy!" is the knee-jerk (and only appropriate) response for when she asks you what color to paint the nursery or what she wants to eat for dinner, NOT for when she is asking what your opinion is on such hot-button topics as circumcision or immunizations.

What you're not getting is that this birth will affect your family and your family's family forever, meaning, like, a really long time. Your woman needs you to take some interest in what's going to be going on because she may not be 100% wanting to make all of these decisions in, you know, the minute she has to rest in between waves of the most intense discomfort she will likely ever experience. When you have no idea what the birth process looks like or what that machine over there does and why these people in Haz-Mat suits are swooping in like a scene from E.T., you are along for the ride, which is exactly what you've primed yourself for.

Your baby will have to live with his or her birth experience for the rest of their life. Your partner will live with the scars or badges of honor from this birth for the rest of her life. Let's face it, she may dump you somewhere along the road, but a child is forever, for all three of you. Whether you care about making this experience awesome for your partner, you should care for your little one. Protection of your baby doesn't begin the second you walk into your house. Know what typical birth looks like. Know what questions could come up in the course of a birth. You know that old saying -- "Failure to plan is a plan for failure." Some couples luck out just rolling the dice and showing up at the hospital with no clue, but those people also should buy a lotto ticket.

Also, don't make the assumption that picking a hospital full of all of the latest and greatest technology means that all will go according to [your woman's] plan. Statistics show that all the technology under the sun isn't improving birth outcomes. Oh, and your choice to go with Dr. Amazing doesn't assure that you will be transported on a fluffy little cloud from "pregnant" to "parents".

And, psssssh. Is this about blood? Most of us have an aversion to blood. And other things. If given the choice, I'd say your woman probably would choose to sit in the Waiting Room and let you handle this by yourself. Man up! I know you can! There are plenty of places you can sit and participate with this birth process that doesn't involve a front-row-center eyeful of the nitty gritty. Just pretend the doctors or midwives are working on your wife's carburetor. A carburetor with a baby stuck inside. I'm sure that'll help. But even if it doesn't, there are ways around it.... and I promise she won't let you forget it if you leave her to go it alone.

As a doula, I'm often hired because women don't feel the confidence in their partners to know what in the world is happening. And while I'm thrilled to support women and families who need it, I'd also be ecstatic if doulas were extinct like.... Sasquatch? Something that's extinct? I don't know... because partners were setting aside a little time to pick up a book or even minimally tune into that weekly childbirth class they've been forced into for the next month.

Am I ranting? Totally... but it is because I see your glazed-over expressions lock into place when the word "birth" is uttered in a sentence. I hear the way her voice raises a couple octaves every time you shrug your shoulders when she's looking for input on your child's birth plan. "That's just the way he is." They tell me, as if that makes it all okey-dokey. Odds are, if you're married, you had more opinions about your wedding.... And I'm pretty sure you spent longer putting together your bracket for March Madness, so why the complacency here? If I could take you by the shoulders and shake you for a couple seconds, I would. Care about this, goshdarnitall! I know you've got it in you.

I know you've got some brains in your noggin--that's why you chose your amazing partner. Why not use your powers for good instead of meh? Start by thinking of ways you can become more involved: Challenging yourself to five minutes of reading something birthy each day; discussing specifics surrounding the event of the year (your baby's birth day) with your lady; really shock her by putting together ideas for your birth plan; encourage her to practice her relaxation or all those silly positive sayings you usually make fun of her for.

Guys (and non-guy counterparts), you've GOT this.

Reflections on Birth

This could be the time, this could be the very day.
Your body squirms with each mighty squeeze.
Our meeting dips closer then draws away--
Every two minutes, three-hundred-and-sixty degrees.

My mind transforms my womb to blooming flower,
And I cry out loudly in triumph, not despair.
A last surge, one final crescendo of raw power
And new life bursts forth with a first gasp of air.

Falling In Love

I feel bad for those of you who don't fall in love every day.

Maybe I'm a sap, deep down inside.  It's always been this way.  Sometimes it is embarrassing, but usually I think it's one of my better traits.  As cynical and sarcastic as I might seem, people do matter to me.  Odds are, you're one of the people who matter.  And I hope that, even just a little, I have mattered to you.

~ Putting on gloves to make sure my best friend's baby doesn't fall on the floor.
~ Is it Mardi Gras?
~ Benchpressing three women and still not hitting the spot, except when it comes to pocket-dialing 9-1-1.
~ Can I get you a glass of water?
~ Peach tea--I don't drink tea, but you can try to convert me!--and, please, punch me in the stomach as soon as that contraction ends.
~ That was not a firm, warm hug.  What a load of....
~  Uhhhh, are you anywhere near a hospital?
~ I'm sorry, Jen.  You're just not strong enough.  Go get him from the lobby.  [reuniting a banished husband with a mom who needed every ounce of his strength.  To date, one of the most beautiful and exhausting experiences I've ever had]
~You're doing wonderfully.  Say hello to my lactation consultant friend.
~ Here, honey.  I just Googled this labor position.
~ Come sit down next to me... and... it's okay your water broke.  These weren't my good Crocs.
~ Blissful immediate skin-to-skin bonding instead of hours of isolation [true for several of my families].  Happy sigh!  My work here is done.
~ You've never met this woman before?  Nope.  Nice to meet you.  Did you want the vitamin K shot?
~ This is the spreadsheet I want you to fill out.  Do you have a finance degree, by any chance?  No?  Well....  Good luck.
~ The epitome of the perfect Bradley method family.  I wish I had a magic wand.
~ A family that became like my own.  Sorry about your sweater.
~ Kids, you're up just in time to meet your new brother.
~ Let your body move in whatever way it needs to.
~ I'm sorry I ate all of your hummus and you can see my sister's bra.  I made you this cute hat(?).... scarf.
~ The Jewish community places high value on sarcasm.  [Now I understand why I function so well within the Jewish community.]
~ Now that I've found you, I may never leave. Stupid GPS.
~ Sweet Virginia, and an even-sweeter family.
~ Happy anniversary to you.  It's not often I get invited to a romantic dinner for five.
~ Baby Moe.  Oh....  Baby Moe.
~ I recognize the toddler in the visitor lounge.  That can't be good....
~ Sifting a baby right out.  Mimosas and chocolate chip pancakes for all!
~ Advocating so well for yourself that you nearly shoot the eyebrows off of your Ghandi-like midwife.
~ Like a Boss.
~ Eating Snickerdoodle bars with your husband even though you are fasting.  I'm glad you are my friend and will forgive me when all is said and done.  <3
~ They keep telling me my baby is smart, and yet she wants to stay breech.  Is she smart or isn't she?  (It turns out, she was smart and so were they).  Oversharers = my peeps.
~Fist-bump between pushes.... and ice cream and chocolate sauce solves everything.

~ You were never broken.  (And I greatly appreciate anyone who giggles at a good "balls" joke.)

~ Seven diapers in one hour is no joke.

~ You did Fantasti*con.... and I'm not just saying that to be creepy.  :-)

There are more moments than time and words to share, but I add to this rich mosaic one piece at a time.  It may be nonsense or silly to you, but to me, it is the reason I do what I do.  It is why I return the e-mails, make the calls, drive the miles, sip the lattes, and wedge myself into impossible pretzels in the corner of that birthing room.  Because I meet and fall in love with hopeful people all the time.

You Might Pass This Way Again

Today I had a strange experience.  Okay, I often have strange experiences because, well, that's life surrounded by boys in their varying states.  Today's strange experience, for once, didn't have anything to do with them, Angry Birds, or the stupid Internet connection.

In my other life--the one where I'm not writing and yelling and endlessly picking up socks and Legos, etc.--I am a birth worker.  People actually pay me to come watch them give birth.  I mean, I'm supposed to be calming them down and stuff, but if I didn't already do this for a living, I'd probably not believe it, either.  But I digress...

This morning I was called to do a home visit with one of the midwives I work with.  At a home visit we are checking out the lay of the land and what supplies the family has gathered to welcome their little bundle of joy in the comfort of their own casa.  Shoelaces?  Check!  Boiling water?  Check!  When the midwife told me where this family was located, I was elated.  Almost literally a hop, skip, and a jump away from the Ohboyohboyohboyohboy house.  That like NEVER happens.  Literally, everything is 30 minutes away from me, if not more like an hour.  There's not much more irritating to me than when someone complains about having to drive somewhere 15 minutes away.  It practically takes me 15 minutes to get to the end of my street! I have to trek everywhere, and I'm pretty ticked off that I've seem to have misplaced my sherpa somewhere along the way.  I guess even he was getting tired of all the driving....  But, again, I digress.

So, I drive to this house.  I already know exactly where it is based on the street name, even though I've never been there before or even heard of the street.  It's like a really, really identifying name--like if you lived in the middle of an apple orchard and you lived on "Orchard Lane".  This particular subdivision was built in an old stone quarry, so you can do the math on this one.

I pulled into the drive and looked across the street to a big pond.  That's when the deja vu hit, big-time.  As a bratty teenager, I'd ridden one of my horses here.  It was still a stone quarry then (and, honestly, way cooler than the subdivision, no offense suburbanites!), and the water used to collect right about where the pond is now.  A good friend and I had bravely waded our horses into this water, somehow, and lived to tell the tale.  Now that I think of it, I am pretty sure that was the one and only time I've been able to take a horse in water deeper than a couple of inches.  If I tried that with my horses now, I'm pretty sure I'd be the one wading and the horse would be clinging to my back.  Yeah, it's like that.

I remember going home that evening and telling my mom about our riding adventure.  Her eyes widened in horror and she shrieked, "That's so dangerous!  Those quarries can be hundreds of feet deep!  You could've been sucked all the way to the bottom!  Doom and gloom!  DOOOOOM AND GLOOOOOOOOM!"  That's my mom, Mrs. Worst-Case-Scenario.  I love her, I do.  And now I always wear my riding helmet and worry about liability releases.  I'd say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but falling is dangerous and someone could sue.

Anyway, coming across this place again felt so significant, especially on the heels of a day where I was feeling like it was all wrong, wrong, wrong.   The quiver in my tummy made me feel like I was on some kind of sacred ground taken over by minivans and landscapers.  Maybe I'm in an odd place in my life where I'm looking for a deeper meaning in things that really don't have one.  I dunno.  What I do know is that in a few weeks I will be part of a birth team welcoming a baby into this world in a place I remember so vividly from such a different time in my life.

Part of me wishes I could go back, like some kind of weird time warp that only happens when a lady has a baby surrounded by hoodoo witch doctors (that's me, right????).  I'd like, again, to sit astride the horse that I never really knew how to care for or even appreciate as a kid.  I'd like to hug my friend one more time, knowing I'd probably see her and her spirited grey mare in a day or two.  I'd like to tell myself that things all work out in the end, and not to waste my energy on the people who weren't wasting their energy on me.  I'd like to be reborn.

But I can't be reborn--not in the way I wish I could--and I guess that it's okay.  I'll live, though some days it feels a lot less likely than others.  In the end, I know that's just my overactive imagination and jumpy nerves from a house full of whiny ohboys talking.
If you could go back, would you?  If so, what time would you relive if you could?