First Birth - Brother-Bug

Today is September 11th. It's a day that marks many things. Most importantly, in our world, it is Brother-Bug's Birthday. I thought that I would share the Little-Bugs' birth stories, starting today on his birthday; on the Birth Day that made me a Mama. Soon I will get Sister-Bug's story up. Someday Baby-Bug will arrive and have a story also. But this is Brother-Bug's story. 

Our Birthday-Bug last year. 

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9 days past my due date and ready to have my baby. Papa-Bug fiddled on his computer. I took naps, read books, went on walks. My sister and her sweetie were in town, waiting...waiting...waiting...with us.

Finally, the night of September 10th my contractions ramped up. We cooked dinner. I danced and danced to Peter, Paul & Mary; my body didn't want to stop moving. We called the midwife to let her know how things were going. "Eat" she said. "Take it easy. These things can take a while." We ate and danced. Papa-Bug held me during some contractions. We called the midwife. "Rest. Watch a movie. Try to sleep. You're going to need your energy." we settled on the bed with my sister and watched the incomparable Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina. My contractions slowed and stopped and I fell asleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night, and heaved my body into the bathroom. As I stood up from the toilet, I noticed that something sticky and clear was leaking. It wasn't a gush of waters, but more of a trickle. We called the midwife and she came out to our house. She looked at me - hugely pregnant, exhausted, and scared of what might be coming next. "Well, this baby is coming soon, buy not yet. Would you feel better if I was here on the couch?" I nodded. She and Papa-Bug made up the couch while I went back to bed. The next thing I knew, it was 8:00 in the morning. The midwife poked her head in to say she was going home to check on her daughter, but would come back if we needed her.

Papa-Bug and I were so disappointed. We had been so sure we would be holding our baby - or at least well on our way there. But here was another morning and another day to fill with meaningless tasks while we

waited.

In the afternoon, my sister and I decided to henna our hair. We mixed the mud and applied it. We waited, now for the henna to be ready to rinse; a much less antsy waiting. She and her sweetie got in the shower to rinse off. I paced in the hall, now impatient to get this henna done and find the next thing to do. I just wanted the henna out of my hair. They finished and it was my turn.

Mid-hair washing, I was struck by a contraction that brought me to my knees in the shower. It passed, I finished and troweled off. I dressed and told Papa-Bug I had experienced this crazy-strong contraction. We should take a walk to try and keep things going. Papa-Bug agreed and went to find my shoes. My little brother handed me the phone - my dad wanted to say hello and how were things going? Another rib-twisting contraction caused me to toss the phone at my brother, crouching on the floor while it passed. I lay on the couch. Papa-Bug brought my shoes and I told him I wasn't walking anywhere.

We talked about the contractions, should we call the midwife, and another contraction rocked me to howling. Papa-Bug started timing. 13 minutes between each wave. I yelled and swore, not knowing how to anticipate or understand what my body was doing. Later, my sister's sweetie would remark that he didn't know the lyrics of the birth-song were "Jesus. F**K!!!"

We kept timing the contractions. The midwife had said that a good time to call her was when they were 4-5 minutes apart. My sister's sweetie and my brother left the house to give us space. My sister took herself out of our area, waiting in case we needed or wanted her. The contractions were coming closer together and each one seemed more ferocious than the last. Papa-Bug called the midwife and left a panicked message on her voicemail (she saved it and played it for us a couple dats later), then he called my best friend - a homebirth mother of two - who listened to my howls through a contraction. She gave me the best piece of advice I received in either birth - scream low. I changed my howls to roars and felt much better. The midwife called back, listened to the roars from me and the panic from Papa-Bug and said she would be right over.

The midwife arrived. She and Papa-Bug put the plastic sheet and birth sheets on the bed. I rocked and roared and roared some more. The waves of contractions were unlike anything I had ever felt. Once the bed was made I ended up on my hands and knees, arching and twisting through each contraction. Between contractions Papa-Bug and the midwife would try to get me to lay back and rest, but by the time I arranged my shaking and awkward body on pillows the next contraction would pull me, roaring, back onto my hands and knees.

My first contraction in the shower was around 6:15. At first I had a sense of time, but as the contractions pushed and pulled at my body I lost all sense of everything except the process and rhythm of contraction-breathe-contraction-breathe. My only clear memory of this time is looking up and seeing my midwife, sitting on her toolbox, holding me in the most loving, glowing smile I have ever seen.

I really didn't think I could do it. As the baby moved down and the labor intensified, I cried and roared. It was as scared as I have ever been, sure that each contraction would rend me in two. I found out later that as I roared, full volume through each contraction, the neighbors dogs would howl and moan, another neighbors birds would chirp, and the alley cats would meow. I was, apparently, leading a chorus of creatures.

Finally I came to transition. I threw up, the amniotic sac finally broke, flooding down my legs, and I was (and still am) deeply grateful for the midwife who lovingly cleaned my body as it released everything un preparations for the baby's release. The midwife called my sister from the other room as she saw baby was getting close. She knew Papa-Bug needed to be behind me to catch the baby, but he had been supporting my shoulders, holding me up through the contractions. My sister came in and I gripped her shoulders as the baby's head moved lower and lower.

After several eternities, the baby was crowning. I know it hurt, but by then I was so deep into the process and do far out of my body that I am unable to describe the sensations. I do remember that the feeling was so intense bit my sister on the shoulder. It wasn't hard enough to draw blood, but I did leave a mark that lingered for eventual days, which she proudly showed to everyone including the clerk at the grocery store.

The baby's head came and somewhere I heard the midwife note the time (head delivered at 11:10 PM) and exclamations from Papa-Bug. Another contraction and the midwife adjusted the shoulders. Another contraction and the baby's body slid from mine into Papa-Bug's hands.

The midwife had coached us on what to do once the baby had been caught, but Papa-Bug faltered, somewhat shocked to find a whole, tiny person in his grasp. I heard "Let's pass that baby to the Mama." and Papa-Bug agreed. He tried first to pass the baby around my side, forgetting that we were still connected by the umbilical cord. "No, pass the baby through her legs, then help her lean back." But he tried to pass the baby sideways instead of head-first, bumping the wee head into my thigh. Finally the midwife helped him orient the baby just right, and I found myself looking at this tiny being. The first thing I said was, " Are you my baby?!"

Papa-Bug and the midwife helped me shift to lounging with pillows. We just looked at the baby for a minute or eternity, eventually realizing we wanted to know who this was. We looked and saw we had a little boy. The midwife lit candles, wrapped us in blankets, and left us for alone for the first getting to know our small son.

We traced his cheeks and the way his back curved. His tiny fingernails seemed so perfect and so ridiculous. His face was chubby and somewhat swollen from his birth, so he had a deep wrinkle between his eyes, making him look very serious. This was bliss.

Eventually the midwife and my sister came back into our bedroom. I delivered the placenta and helped our boy with his first nursing. My sister helped me to the shower while Papa-Bug held baby and the midwife put clean sheets on the bed. We weighed and checked out our baby: 8 lbs, 12 oz., 20 1/2 inches long, and (ouch!) a 14 1/2 inch head. He was perfect in every way.

I am still so in awe of how small he used to be, how he once fit inside my body. It seems un-real.

The midwife finished helping clean up, my brother and my sister's sweetheart came back and newborn gazed for a time. The baby, Papa-Bug, and I curled around each other. Everyone went off to bed, and our family let ourselves float in the bliss of our first night with each other.

Those Other Mothers

Look at the time - it's early in the morning or late at night... Sister-Bug has been up all night with a nasty tummy something. The poor little thing wakes up in agony every few minutes to shriek and writhe.

(I have thoroughly checked her and ruled out the need for immediate medical care... I'm guessing a very bad gas bubble.)

It was a long day today, visiting my sister in California and adventuring around her haunts. We aren't in our own bed, which makes this harder. And every few minutes I must be ON. On for crooning and tummy rubs and sitting up rocking, or anything else that eases this baby's discomfort.

And I do it.

It's very zen. We are here and now doing this because there is nothing else to be done.

It is nights like this that I feel the Other Mothers. These are the mothers that span time and place. Mothers of ancient Sumeria or present day Finland. Pioneer mothers or exiled queens. My ancestors, and any other mother who has sat up with a sick child, all night long, dredging compassion and patience and one more lullaby from the depth of her weary being.

I feel their hands on my back when I want to lay down, but must remain sitting. I feel their hands gently over my mouth when I want to scream with tired frustration. I feel their love pouring over me, enabling me to continue pouring love over my child.

I am so grateful for those other mothers - the ones who have sat up in the past and the ones who are sitting up tonight. And I hope, someday, my spirit can fly to a future mother as she sits rocking all night long.

52 Artful Thoughts

Starting out - the card for week one.

One of my projects for 2012 is more Art. I am a better person and a better mom when I take a little time to create. I also am more likely to create if I have some structure around that creation. So I made up a project for the year - a weekly piece of art.

Stove hood with card in place.

But not just a piece of art. I will be illustrating a prayer/quote/inspirational sentiment each week, something that I would like to meditate on. I'm doing this as an Artist Trading Card (3.5"x2.5") and I took a plastic card holder, added a magnet, and can hang my card up weekly on the stove hood. I will see it as I clean and cook - both excellent times to let my mind wander to meditations.

I think, busy though I am, that I can commit to doing at least one small piece of art each week. I started two weeks ago so that I could hang the first thought on New Year's Day.

I am getting a lot of my quotes from Gretchen Rubin's wonderful Happiness Quote of the Day (the subscription option is at the bottom of the post). I also am on the look out for other inspirations and prayers, that I assume will come when I need them.

Card for week two.

Some weeks I will probably do two cards, so that I have one made for weeks we are traveling, or should other adventures overtake us. I hope to end the year with a box of 52 artful thoughts and meditations.

Mindful Monday: Fifteen Minutes Again!

Last week's Mindful Monday post was such a success! I got a lot done in my art room, and restricting myself to the 15 minutes made me really want to get back into it the next day. I got a lot done, but there is still more.

I also tempered my work time by getting to a couple of easy, niggling craft tasks as I came across them. This had a double benefit - it broke up the time nicely, giving me small reminders of why I so badly want this space functional and getting a couple of things done meant having a couple less things to find a home for as I organize.

For this week - I'm having anoutehr go-round of this task, to see how much more I can get done! 

Look! You can almost see the work table!

Who: Me
What: Fifteen minutes of cleaning everyday in my art room.
Why: To get 'er done.
How: First thing after Sister-Bug goes down for her nap, bust in to the space for fifteen minutes no more, no less. Last week I focused on clearing space for the future work of sorting and storing. That meant a lot of just picking messes up and boxing it for later organizing. This week, I want to focus on clearing out some of those boxes of chaos. I also want to make the "work box" drawers that I have for the kids accessible and functional. I think if they are,  I can have a little more time in my room...

I'm gonna get this done, I swear. I probably will have it all nice so I can mess it up well and good in Holiday preparations.

Mindful Monday: Fifteen Minutes A Day In My Room

I have a room of my own in this house - its for my art supplies, herbal products, sewing work, and the kids school supplies. But regardless, it is mine and it has a door. The only thing is that I don't use it. In the way of many things in life with small children, my room was the lowest on the list to unpack when we moved. And it still lingers in a state of semi-unpacked, catastrophic mess.

What the challenge looks like...

I've been hoping and waiting for a weekend day when I can really absorb into the room and do some crazy unpacking, but... Well, I've been waiting for six months. It's become a looming, awful task, a mess beyond belief, and I've been just keeping the door closed.

No more!

Who: Me
What: Taking a page (not literally) out of Gretchen Rubin's blog about tackling difficult tasks, I commit to spending fifteen minutes each day, organizing and clearing my space. In seven days that is almost 2 hours, so I should be able to get something accomplished.
Why: Above and beyond what I stated previously, the holidays are coming. I don't have a mountain of crafting to accomplish, but it sure would be nice to have a space in which to work on the little I do need to get done. And, space to work aside, I'm just bloody sick of the mess! The rest of the house is so consistently tidy that my room haunts me.
How: For fifteen minutes - hopefully during Sister-Bug's nap - I will delve into my art room, set a fifteen minute timer and clean till it beeps. No more, no less.

Here's to success and a clear work table!

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Additional notes: The laundry design is going well, and I plan on posting more about that soon. It's working its way into my weekly housekeeping schedule, which will be for the best.

I missed the Mindful Monday last week - I had it mostly written. It was about holding normalcy and rhythm in a week of chaos. But the day, the week, was just too busy to post at all last week. I was more focused on getting the kids through a crazy week, with some of their routines intact to do much writing.

One Of Those Moments

Because nothing is ever perfect, my re-vamping of errands failed to help Sister-Bug with a particularly challenging day. She didn't want to sit in the cart. She didn't want to sit in the basket of the cart with Brother-Bug. She didn't want to ride on my back. She wanted only to run around the stores unattended, probably pulling everything off the shelves. She wasn't allowed to do this at any of our stops. She adamantly and vocally let me know that she was being treated abysmally.

Consequently, I got snappish and impatient with both kids. Sister-Bug flailed in the Ergo on my back, wailing and begging to be released. Brother-Bug rode in the cart or trudged by my side, both of us frustrated with the toddler and just pushing through this hell of grocery shopping.

A laugh break came when Sister-Bug tried a new tactic. In the grocery store she started scolding me.


"No Mama! No! Want out! Bad Dog, MAMA! BAD DOG." 

I was at the end of my rope. and pretty much being a bitch, so she wasn't wrong. Brother and I found it very funny. Laughing at Sister's shrill chastisement of me got us through our errands.

It was one of those parenting moments.

Mindful Monday: A Little Bit for Me

I've noticed that when I take 5 minutes in the morning to groom and care for myself - prefferably with the bathroom door closed! - I have a much better day. So that's my intention for this week, just a little bit of self care.

Who: Me! Just ME!
What: Prioritizing my daily ablutions.
Why: If I put myself together in the morning, I feel so much more on top of my day. Everything else might fall apart, but at least I have deodorant on, right?
How: Take the time to brush my teeth, wash my face with rosewater, put on deodorant, brush and fix my hair (which hangs past my hips and I usually keep up), and choose some earrings for the day. Reward myself with a new pair (or two!) of earrings. Attempt to accomplish this before 9:00, but don't beat myself up if it happens later.

Two Conversations with a Four-Year Old

We have an anatomy book in which the different systems are represented by different teams of tiny people working inside the body.

Brother-Bug: Mama, when those little guys are working inside the body, where do they go to the bathroom?
Mama-Bug: Sweetie, those little guys aren't really in your body. It's just imaginary in that book.
Brother-Bug: I KNOW it is imaginary. But where would they go to the bathroom...if we were imagining?
Mama-Bug: I suppose if there are imaginary people inside your body, they must have imaginary bathrooms.

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And with their Grandmommie just back from holiday in Sicily, we were talking about volcanoes and Mount Etna today. A lot.

Brother-Bug: Mama! I think the inside of my nose is turning into a volcano!!
Mama-Bug: What might happen then!?
Brother-Bug: I will have hot lava snot! I might erupt!
Mama-Bug: Well, if that happens take it outside. I don't want volcanic ash all over my living room.
Brother-Bug: Maybe I can erupt by the mail box?