...a "birth"day.

Seven years ago today I was blessed to be witness to my first birth and welcome my third niece into the world. She arrived at the perfect time. Born on my grandmother's 85th birthday. Tonight we celebrated with family, cake and presents.

I have never celebrated a birthday in quite the same way since her birth. I used to celebrate the babe that was born on that day. The day that, miraculously, brought this spirit earth side to walk among us. This in itself is a remarkable thing to celebrate. And now I cannot think of a "birth"day without thinking about the other spirit that was born on that day. The spirit of the warrior mama. It seems impossible to separate the two now... to not honour that moment when the maiden is no more and the baby-mother emerges from the wreckage. And when I say wreckage...I mean wreckage. That which brings forth life is so explosive that it does leave us in pieces. I find that when I look into a mother's eyes on the birthday of her child it's as if there is a window opened to that raw place of being in pieces once again. There is maybe even a wistful realization, when going back to that place, that when those pieces/bones were gathered and placed back together the wild, warrior woman that emerged was not the innocent maiden that resided in those bones before the explosive force of birth.


Tonight my niece kept saying and singing happy birthday to her mom, my sister. I'm not sure why. Most seven year olds wouldn't dare think of sharing the spotlight on their special day. After all, the cake is for them, the presents are for them, we sing to them, light the candles for them... And somehow this little soul, consciously or not, knew to deflect a little of the love to her mama. The woman standing in the background with pride all over her face. Seemingly doing nothing more than marking the passage of time with a party for her child. But I know otherwise. I was there. My life changed forever as I watched the layers peel away to reveal her true self. Allowing her to be fully present as she brought her squirmy, wet newborn daughter into her arms. It was my humble honour to watch her face light with joy and awe in those first moments, those first breaths. Until then I had never seen anything more genuine and pure in my entire life.

Since that night seven years ago I have been truly blessed to witness this incredible sight over and over again. It never gets old.

This is that babe today. Toothless, tousled and full of joy.

Happy Birthday Madeline!
And Happy "Birth"day Mama Arden...

...a renewal.

Six and a half years ago I was sitting on the precipice of my plunge into motherhood. Hovering in that knife-edge place between mother and maiden. I didn't have any clue what that first baby would have in store for me. What she would teach me. Whom I would become as I was reborn a mother. I don't know if I fully know now as I look back. Too much of what unfolded in those first weeks, months and even years remains in a bit of a fog... But I think she was my baby of grounding. Not that she was grounded... No way! She was my flexible baby. Would sleep anywhere, could stay up til midnight and sleep in the next day. We travelled with her, partied with her, shopped with her...basically we towed her along on every wild adventure we could. But slowly she tamed us. And I became a very, very capable mother... Oh who am I fooling? I became a bit type-a like I am with everything I did. If I couldn't do it to "perfection" then I didn't bother. And I couldn't throw in the towel on this one so I had to get it right! I cloth diapered her little bottom and laundered them myself. I made all her baby food and froze it in perfectly portioned cubes. I read to her, took her to music class, taught her sign language... I wasn't trying to be the "perfect" mother. I was just trying to get really good at my job. Meg taught me how to be a mother. And for that I will always be grateful. She was a great teacher. Yielding, yet firm. And clear about her expectations most of the time. We became a good team and I got good at my job. It didn't always look pretty but it always got done.

Today I had the overwhelming sense that Lola is my baby of renewal. Or perhaps of awakening. Although this has been happening over the last few years I feel like Lola was the piece to this puzzle that I was missing. Like a catalyst for a big plunge deeper into my youthful spirit. I want to play more and work less. I want to sing and dance and create. And it's not as though I haven't always been that way. But this feels more like a living, breathing, dynamic, undeniable, passionate force working through me. Its a beast, whose insatiable hunger for growth and creation is only matched by its insatiable hunger for chocolate! My conversations feel more alive. My body feels more.... full. And sometimes I feel like I am spinning in a vortex over which I have no control so I spin freely and try not to fight too hard. Sometimes I even will the spinning to accelerate. What the hell, if the ride is gonna make you dizzy then you might as well do it large.

I wrote this a few days ago and now as I reflect on it maybe I have it all wrong. In fact I was tempted to delete and edit the entire first paragraph. It feels stilted and inaccurate. It feels like I was searching for something and never quite found it... and that is why I left it. That was me I suppose. I had spent a long time crafting the persona I portrayed to the world. And in one psyche shattering event I didn't know which way was up let alone who I was supposed to be now. But what I think now is that maybe neither Meg nor Lola had any specific thing to teach me or reveal to me. Maybe it is just about shedding one more layer to reach my true authentic self. Maybe with the birth of each baby I have just rendered myself more transparent. Found more of who I am. But not the kind of finding that happens after you lose something. The kind of finding that happens when you never knew it was there to find. You know what I mean? Perhaps that is why it feels like Lola has revealed to me my more youthful spirit. After all, our most authentic selves are the ones unencumbered by our domestication. How lovely that we get to experience our youthful spirits again as we age. Some of our filters are shed with each layer too. And we are able to express ourselves more fully and with less inhibition. And with the added grace of our maturity........ and hopefully our wisdom.

...something that is sleeping.

I haven't done this in awhile. I am sitting cross-legged on my bed, computer in lap and remembered that I have a blog. This is how I blogged before Lola. Or at least when she still interfered with my lap and wasn't beside me (interfering with my sleep instead). My whole house is sleeping except me and my brain is racing... a few hours ago I had a million things I wanted to do and couldn't because I had a babe in my arms, a six year old that I promised I would make muffins with and a date with a zucchini or two. Now that I have my arms free and my house quiet I can't remember what it was that was so damn pressing. But I will remember tomorrow afternoon when my arms are full of chubby baby again and the six year old has me captive with some very intriguing story or high priority task.

I noticed a shift the other day. I am sure that I have been shifting (physically as well as emotionally) a lot these past two months but in my postpartum haze I haven't been able to recognize these shifts. Ahhhhh yes, I forgot one cannot witness their own death and rebirth.... I have been piecing myself back together. I forgot... I forgot that after you have looked death in the eye you turn to mush. So the other day when I noticed this shift it felt very surprising to me. I felt as though perhaps I had been approaching this new baby and new mothering very mechanically (much as I had the first 6 months of my pregnancy). Why hadn't I been mothering soulfully, why did it take two months for me to feel something noteworthy bubbling up from under the surface? But I had forgotten. Ah, the grace. I can open myself up to feel things and know things on a soul level again because I don't have to protect the raw flesh of my being as fiercely. I wasn't a shallow mama, just going through the motions and watching each day pass mindlessly. I was surfacing...

What was it that I felt shift? What awakened me to ask these questions and remind me that I have been on the hook? Crap, I can't remember... I know I was in the bath with Lola. I remember thinking "oh, this is good, I should blog about this"...

...my genius of a husband.

Lately Dave and I have been struggling to find time to spend together. He is in the throws of the final weeks of his work for the year, he has been sick and I have been hitting the sack at the same time as Meg every night. We barely have time to discuss the very basics of our daily lives. Last Thursday evening I regrettably had to miss Yoga to go to our one and only prenatal class. It was just a little "preparing for your homebirth" session with our midwife. But I left that class feeling like we had been away for a weekend retreat! The 15 minute ride home in the car was bliss and I can't tell you why. It just was.

Last night we lay in bed together and talked about this whole"baby" thing. We are having a baby... Holy crap. I have got past that phase of "what the hell were we thinking" but I haven't completely gone beyond my anxiety about how this one singular event will change our family forever. Right now I am loving our Meg, even when she is whining and not cooperating. She is spectacularly cool right now and the way that she nurtures me is heart-swelling. I just worry about what direction things will turn in when our family grows by one. What I hadn't considered was something that Dave pointed out to me. Meg is who she is today because of this change in our lives. We have no idea who she would be if she wasn't growing into the role of big sister. She has become nurturing to me as a result of my needing it. She has matured in the last 8 months as a result of our circumstances. I am falling more deeply in love with her because we are both feeling the need to securely tether those heartstrings before we know their strength could be tested.

Isn't my husband a genius?

...an R.S.V.P.

When Dave and I were planning our wedding 15 years ago we sent invitations to a lot of people we knew would not attend. We were planning an outdoor, white tent, casual reception to celebrate our marriage that had begun in January of that year at a very intimate ceremony. It would take place at my parents acreage in Canada, while the vast majority of David's friends and family were in Scotland. He had only decided to stay here a few months prior when I swept him off his feet...but that's another story. In response to our invitation most of the guests from Scotland went out and bought RSVP cards to mail back to us. One special person in particular sent us a card to express her dismay at not being able to attend.

Winnie Huggins lived across the street from David in Aberdeen. She had been there as long as they had lived on Craigton Road (since David was three). She was a spinster and didn't have family living near. So David and his parents did what they could to help her out. Fetching groceries, taking her to appointments and David's job was to fill her coal bucket from the bin outside. She wasn't a demure and sweet old lady. She had feist. When David told me about her I knew she would be a kindred spirit. Cranky, spirited, mischievous and with a touch of soft and gooey on the inside. She had a string of cats, all named Fluffy and all as cranky as her! She lived in a large old house on a piece of land that was owned by the city council and when they approached her to give notice of eviction so that they could build a seniors residence she fought them tooth and nail. In the end they agreed to build her a new residence on the property and consider her under their care. She suffered from diabetes and had a lot of trouble with her legs. She'd had multiple surgeries and treatments but healing was slow or non existent and she was unable to get around very well. Dave went over to check on her one afternoon and she didn't answer the door. Of course it was locked and he was forced to break in a window to make sure she was ok. She had fallen and as procedure dictated he notified her caregivers who in turn called an ambulance. When they arrived she was quite dismayed with all of the hubbub. Not only did she insist that the paramedics get the hell off her property but they should have David arrested for breaking into her home. I couldn't wait to meet her.

Her RSVP to our wedding invitation read "It would give me great pleasure to see you both thoroughly engaged in matrimony" but naturally she would have to decline. Those words "thoroughly engaged in matrimony" became emblazoned in my memory. I was completely smitten by this woman and the depth in which she could describe our union. She seemed truly delighted that David had found matrimonially bliss. In fact there was almost a cheekiness to her response. As if she was taunting us. I loved it! Winnie passed away two years later, only months before my first trip to Scotland. I never got to meet her.

6 years ago we were anticipating the birth of our daughter. We didn't know she would be a "she" so we had lists of names to consider of both gender. On our list of girl names we included Winnie. It had been on the list for years to be truthful. In the end we settled on Meg (the name of another dear old friend in Scotland). We had tried to work Winnie into the name but somehow it just didn't fit. We have a new list of names (of both genders) as we await the arrival of this baby. I have revisited many of the names we considered 6 years ago. And when thinking about Winnie I was reminded of that RSVP. "...thoroughly engaged in matrimony..." It made me think about this ritual of marriage. This need to be honoured and seen as you make the tranformative journey from bride to wife, from groom to husnband. To have all of the people that have helped to shape you come together to bare witness to this shift in your life's path. As if not having them there would leave them behind in your old life and not give them the frame of reference to journey forth with you and your spouse as you forge ahead in partnership. As a society our reverence for this ritual has wained. I wish we honoured it more "thoroughly" on a soul level.

The next rite of passage for most couples after marriage is the journey to becoming parents. This incredible time of tranformation, unfolding and growth is now most often marked by medical-like notations in a baby book and a baby shower to play silly games and place wagers on the sex and weight of the new arrival. Most times leaving the father completely out of the picture. I am craving something different. I am wanting to connect with everyone that has seen me unfold as a mother over the last 6 years. I am hungry to have people dear to me bare witness to me as I am "thoruoghly engaged" in gestation. I want all of the people I love to admire my ripening body and see that at 36 I have found the youth and innocence of a maiden once again. I want to connect to this energy and ensure that I bring these people forward with me as I journey onwards from here.

...a friend.

I am blessed. I am surrounded by so many amazing women. My family is comprised of some of the most phenomenal women I know and is born of an amazing feminine legacy. I am very proud of this. I feel deeply attached to my ancestral lineage and know that these women that machteted their way through life ahead of me have allowed me to adorn that path with my own grace and beauty, love and compassion. They have made it easy for me. And as a result I have been able to culture some pretty incredible friendships. And even some pretty incredible acquaintances. The type of people that you know well enough to hug when you greet each other and would feel comfortable to cry with but don't fall into the category of people you call or get together with regularly. What a blessed life I have. I have friends that span the globe and that endure the distance and time between us. If this is a way to measure my wealth I am very rich indeed!

Now more than at any other time I feel compelled to soak in this sea of feminine energy. I want to lay my head back in the water and float on the waves of this soulful sea. I have been drifting this way for months now and it is clearly evident in my inability to focus, attend to the needs of others and generally see a task through to it's end. I am scatterbrained and it makes me smile a little to know that this is the energy that will serve me as my path unfolds towards my birth. The divine feminine. The flowing, oozing, soft, yet powerful qualities that I will need to traverse this portion of my journey are seeping into every part of my life. I was reminded to accept this energy with grace by one of my dearest friends. She knows me in a way so unique I can not put it into words. She is a person I never knew I was missing in my life until she was a part of it.... and now I have no idea how I ever felt complete without our relationship. We have not seen each other for almost a year now and I am aching to see her while I am in this place of fullness and standing, a bit anxiously on the edge of a whole new sense of being. Yesterday she booked a flight to be here for my Mother Blessing in a few weeks. I am overjoyed. This feels like the thing I need to complete the final steps of my preparation before I make my solo journey into the underworld. She will help me to don my medha, she is my handmaiden. Together we will gather my robes, breast plate, lapis necklace and gold bracelets. She will help me dress, comb my hair, apply my make up and wash my feet to honour the journey ahead. Then she will bid me farewell as a maiden-mother of one. Never to return....

...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!