...something that sounds like a lullaby.

As I was laying on my yoga mat during the relaxation of my prenatal yoga class last Thursday evening my mind was racing. Hardly the point of that relaxation time, I know... I have been working in birth for over 6 years now and I really thought I understood what parents wanted. My work has lead me down a path I had not anticipated would become such a rich part of my life. I see birth as a rite of passage, a transformational journey to the depths of our souls in order to find out who we really are (or aren't). A shedding of one's maiden self in order to take up service as a mother. I know that what women need to prepare for this is not a class describing the stages of labour or a show and tell of all the potential medical equipment one might see in the labour and delivery room. I have discovered that what they truly hunger for is someone to bare witness to them as they discover for themselves what their path will be, from where they have come and to hold space for them as they realize that where they are headed is vastly unknown and uncharted territory. It is a path that involves moments of fear, panic and holy terror along with the more recognized and freely spoken about excitement, joy and anticipation.

5 years ago I read a book by Michel Odent (and later heard him speak in person). He spoke about the needs of a woman in her preparation for birth and it all seemed a bit too simple. In fact he distills a lot of things down to the lowest common denominator. He is a fascinating man. But after reading his books and hearing him speak I couldn't believe that there wasn't more to his belief that all women needed for prenatal preparation was to sing lullabies. Once a week an older woman in the community where he worked in France would play lullabies on the piano and all the pregnant women would gather to sing. They did not take "classes". This was all they did...

Surely they hungered for more than that. How would they know what to do? How would they be able to make decisions about their care? I was already a doula that believed that parents did not have to be obstetrical experts to have a baby but I couldn't let go of our Western thirst for more, more, more information. The last five years have changed my mind about this on so many levels. I have mentored and supported many parents and they all say the same thing. They love lullabies... or painting, or dancing, or storytelling. Intellectually I had new understanding for this lullaby theory.

Last Thursday it sank into my soul... I was laying on that yoga mat and feeling deep in my bones that the first 30 weeks of my second pregnancy had been missing exactly this. A group of maidens gathering to fill themselves with the spirit of a community that was pulsing at the same rhythm as them. And better yet to be lead or held in the bosom of the already initiated. My yogini is special. I met her when I was 5 weeks pregnant with Meg. She was a part of every week of that pregnancy and I lived for those evenings. I had forgotten how sacred they felt. The sharing that happens in her circles is honest and even raw sometimes. Some of the women I met in her classes are still in my life, one of them is one of my dearest friends.

I am struggling to fully translate into text what has settled in my bones about all of this. I might have been able to explain it better before last week because it was stuck in my intellect. It has sifted its way through to a soul knowing where words hold no power. Maybe I could sing it for you....

...something that feels like love.

The last few days I have found myself falling in love. The first little flutters of love are so sweet and exciting. And this has been a long time coming. Since I found out I was pregnant I have questioned our decision to do this whole thing again. With 6 years past since we were immersed in this world of indigestion and leg cramps leading to sleepless nights, boobs and poop, we were in the clear. We have a nice little groove going as a family of three. We struggle to find time for our adult relationships and squabble over parenting choices (among other things), but we have a happy family. Our daughter has grown into the coolest 5 year old on earth. All of the ups and downs of the first five years are finally paying off in the richness of this blossoming mother-daughter relationship. I crave to be around her and yet she doesn't NEED me in the way she used to. We just are. It is perfection. And now I have leapt. One of the only leaps in life you can't return from unchanged or intact. And we are now only two months away from our solstice baby. You would think that I would be growing more and more anxious about this fact but I am surprised at how things have changed...

This sweet little soul is finally making its way into my heart. I have to admit I am not the kind of person that goes gaga over babies. Maybe it is a result of my birth work and my love of mothers and fathers and their journeys into parenthood. I don't always hold the babies whose births I have just witnessed. Weird? Is this part of my ambivalence to this baby? Has it just taken this long for it's soul to settle in? Maybe I have been too preoccupied by my own struggle with pregnancy and just getting through each day. Or maybe as I suspect I have been doubtful all along that this was the right choice for our family. And now over the last few days I have begun to feel the first flutterings of falling in love. Baby is now moving in ways that feel so.... baby-like. I feel it's little foot push against my belly and when I push back it yields against my hand. It's like a game. Like we are discovering each other. In a way that dates and numbers don't tell you I can feel how close it is. Soon I will know it's little face.

Love Part II

Ironically another love has grown that I will soon lose to the emergence of this baby... I love a woman's pregnant body. I actually really love women's bodies to be honest. So round and soft ... almost as if you can see the fullness of life that they are able to bear. But that pregnant shape, it just looks so juicy! Like ripe fruit. It beats all other body shapes hands down. And I know I am not the only one that feels this way. The compulsion of other women to look at a blooming belly is obvious. Try and stop yourself. Having said all this I have never been in love with my pregnant body. In the year before conceiving Meg I lost 100 pounds. And although I felt great and looked fabulous with my clothes on... that extra hundred pounds had left it's lasting signs on my body. I was angry with myself for ever allowing that to happen. No amount of exercise would tighten the now loose and empty skin. I imagined that my full and pregnant body would once again fill out that belly which then lay deflated at my hips. I was so disappointed that it never did. That I would not be the hot mama in the bikini top and floppy sun hat in our families home movies. Instead I had this misshapen belly that never quite burst out with the ripeness of a watermelon.

This time I have slowly been won over by my body. Gradually I have watched my fullness force me to give into the reality of what was going on inside of me. And in the last week or so I have fallen head over heels in love with my big round belly. I choose clothes that cling to my shape and leave no doubt that I am heavy with this child. The baby doll style maternity clothes have found their way to the bottom of my dresser drawer in favour of shirts that I bought off the rack in the "regular" department. My belly precedes me wherever I go and yes, people are compelled to look at my ripe body.

Last weekend we put up a mirror in the front entry of our house. It has always been something I wanted. To check my hair on the way out the door or make sure there was nothing in my teeth before I went out in public. At long last I have a big, huge, beautiful mirror to greet me as I walk in my door. A gift from my aunt for our wedding 15 years ago. Made of wood reclaimed from a barn and an old school house I believe. It now has the perfect home. On Tuesday I walked in the door from my daily walk to drop Meg off at school and was greeted by the reflection of the most beautiful pregnant woman I had ever seen. Certainly not love at first sight... but nonetheless quite a sudden revelation.

So now the bittersweet irony settles in. I have finally found myself falling for two things at the same time. Two things that can't really co-exist. Or do they? Right up until I re-read those words I thought this was true. But how can I not be in love with this vessel and it's contents at the same time. Perfect! So for the next two moons I will drink deeply from this well of love. I know I will have many moons of love to follow as I get to know my newborn but this love is like no other. Maybe these next two months will allow me the opportunity to show Meg that there is more two having babies than puking and pain!

...something that is ending.

I have been going at full speed ahead or full stop lately. The schedules of my family have collided into a break neck speed over the last few months and then we were slammed with sickness. Nursing myself and my daughter through the flu for over a week had us hibernating. All of this has led to a disconnect from my friends and family. Some I have not seen for months (and I think have given up on me) and others tolerate my sporadic attention and apologies for my lack of time. Today I took a short break to talk with a dear friend on the phone and I realized that this gap in my social structure has had a larger affect than I realized. This chatter with friends, shallow or deep, is my way to self discovery. I have, in fact, been moving through my life without much reflection. At a time when reflection, discovery and transformation should be a daily practice. Gestating a new life should have me thinking about change, growth and fear. But I have thought of little else but the mundane juggling of my daily routine... So this talk today allowed me a chance to reflect. She offered that perhaps I needed to find some time for myself. Some time to focus on me and my journey to the motherhood of this baby. Permission for myself to be selfish. But without hesitation I disagreed with her observation. I suddenly realized that what I wanted was permission to completely lose myself in my relationship with my first born. I know on an intellectual level that my heart will grow and my bosom will swell to accommodate my love for two children but for now I can only see that my relationship with my daughter will be irreversibly changed forever on the day that we welcome this next one into our lives. It brings a lump to my throat as I write about it. I don't know this new baby yet. But I am completely smitten by my daughter. Our mutual adoration seems to have grown to overflowing lately and I am worried about this increased attachment on one level but drinking it up on another.

Over the last few weeks we have finally focused some of our attention on moving Meg into her own room in our new(ish) house. We moved here in June and with all the change in our lives we felt that having her sleep close to us was best for all of us. Her mattress has been on the floor next to our bed until only a few days ago. I am reluctantly encouraging her to carve her own space in our home. To feel cozy and comfortable in some place other than our bedroom. We painted, bought a new natural latex mattress and are working on refinishing my childhood bed for her to call her own. She spent the first few nights in her own room with her cousins sleeping over. A novelty for her and it went quite well. The last two nights I slept with her all night on her old crib mattress next to her new one. 30 weeks pregnant with a pinched nerve in one hip and a belly that keeps me on a rotisserie all night. And I somehow can't see myself giving it up. I am just not ready for this to end yet...

...something that is awkward.

How does someone start a blog? Is there any point to giving context for the 36 years that brought me to this point? Or does it make more sense to start off with a journal entry as if I have started from here? Or do I explain why I am doing this or who I am? I have no idea where to start...

I have always been terrible at journalling. I want to write. I feel compelled to document my life but I start every entry with "it has been so long and so much has changed... " I spend all of my time catching myself up instead of writing about where I am at. Lately I have found myself awake at night for hours sometimes (the hormones of pregnancy at play) and I am composing emails or journalling in my head and wishing I was documenting this journey for myself, my daughter, my next baby and maybe even for others to read and relate to. So now I set out on this exploration of the blog. Maybe it will work for me.

Ugh this still feels like an awkward first date and the beginning of something uncertain...