First Encounters

It's hard to tell from this angle, but that's my boy.

I knew it would happen, and I've even assumed it would happen soon. Brother-Bug wears his skirts and dresses when and where he wants to, so of course it was only a matter of time before some other, more conforming kids, decided to give him a hard time.

Happy National Bullying Prevention Month, by the way.

Brother-Bug was playing on the near by elementary school playground and got a drink of water. Papa-Bug was watching Sister-Bug. Some older boys near the water fountain took issue with Brother-Bug's polka-dot skirt, telling him that boys don't wear skirts, and so on. Bless my son's beautiful heart - he first tried to educate these other kids, explaining that boys can wear whatever they want to. Naturally these kids ignored his attempts at explanation and reconciliation. They teased and shamed him. He fled to his Papa-Bug who confirmed that the boys were mean and wrong.

What does a parent do in this situation? Papa-Bug was not in hearing range, so was not able to help in the immediate. How to address this, without adding to the shame for Brother-Bug; without shaming the bullies? And in this culture of gender oppression, a little boy who wears skirts is going to need to learn how to handle all sorts of remarks, regardless of who is around to support him.

But my heart breaks for my wonderful Princess-Boy, with his long legs that are so beautiful in a skirt. His world has been so free of this kind of treatment and oppression up until now. He's not sure he wants to wear skirts to that playground anymore. We've explained that as a fine choice, but to think about if he wants to let these narrow minded kids change what he is comfortable wearing. We explained that we have to live in our way, and speak our truth courageously, and decide when and how we best can do that. That there is nothing we can do or say to those kids that will change their minds. That they are scared of someone being different; maybe they want to wear skirts but someone else shamed them.

Brother-Bug is a logical guy and I think he understood the message. Luckily we live in a pretty safe community where the majority of people Brother-Bug encounters love him for his unique self; a community where men in skirts is not outside the ordinary. After some inner contemplations he came up with the idea that Papa-Bug could wear his pink pants or a skirt with him to the playground. Papa-Bug is totally game. I volunteered to wear a tie.

But no matter how much we support and love the heck out of him, he's going to find other narrow-minded gender conformists who will do their best to shame him into his appropriate gender box. I believe that he will rise to the challenges presented to him with grace and resourcefulness, like he did yesterday. I hope he understands that it's not him; it's the rest of the damn world. But all the understanding is not going to fully heal the hurt and the small fissures those boys left in his innocence and self-confidence yesterday.

My boys - looking so fabulous. Who can resist loving this awesome fashion plate?

===

In the spirit of preventing bullying, how can we help kids like Brother-Bug?

Sport gender bending clothing for fun and with pride. Dress up is fun!

Don't let anyone force a gender stereotype onto another person in your hearing.

Support groups that are working for equality - for all orientations, lifestyles, and gender expressions.

Speak up lovingly and respectfully about your support of equality, the people you know who genderbend, and other lifestyle differences.

Talk gently and complimentarily to kids who are expressing their clothing choices in a non-conforming way.

Talk to kids with rigid gender ideas (Sister-Bug is one - she won't ever play pirates unless she can be a Princess-Pirate!) about how other expressions are just fine.

Don't take color (pink vs. blue) so seriously or literally. Likewise with princesses, cars, horses, unicorns, trucks, superheroes, or whatever else. 

There are lots more ideas out there I am sure. This was just what I came up with on a brainstorm list. people. What can I add to it?

"I’m not ashamed to dress ‘like a woman’ because I don’t think it’s shameful to be a woman.” ~ Iggy Pop

After I posted this, I got a reminder on my Facebook wall that this weekend is the anniversary of Mathew Shepard's horrific murder. As a parent facing the challenges inherent in having a non-conforming child, this chills me to my very soul. For Matthew and for Brother-Bug, lets all be a little (or even a lot) more loving and tolerant of all people's differences. And let's stop tolerating bullying and intolerance.

Second Birth - Sister-Bug Joins the Family

On Brother-Bug's birthday last month I shared his birth story. I'm sharing Sister-Bug's story now, far before her March birthday. This is part of my preparation for sharing a third birth story sometime next month (or later...when I get around to it). Enjoy!

===

I was less impatient with the waiting time for Sister-Bug. I knew from experience that I would miss the fluttery baby kicks, even as I loved holding my newborn. My due date came and went and I barely noticed. We were looking for a house to buy, a nicely diverting task but one we were not having much luck with. Finally we found a house we could envision our kids growing up in. We decided to put in an offer and that evening some contractions kicked in. My sister and Brothers came over for a game of Apples-to-Apples. We played and laughed, but the contractions never changed to the real thing. We kept waiting.

Brother-Bug trying to convince the baby to come out and meet him.

Brother-Bug was impatient - with the house hunting, with waiting for the baby, with the increasingly snappish Mama... Our midwife assured us that everything was fine and the baby would come in its own time. However, somewhere in the back of my mind I could feel something holding me up. I was ready. The baby was ready. Something was in the way. I was up in the middle of the night, journaling. The offer we had put on the house had stalled - it was a reserve offer, second in line, and looked unlikely - so I was writing about that process. Finally it hit me

I am an introvert and a very home-oriented person. I love to simply be at home. The stress of looking for a new home was confusing my body. Here I was in the house we had lived in for 5 years, where I had given birth to Brother-Bug, but every other day I was looking for a new home. This key component of what makes me feel happy and safe was is flux. My brain didn't know where home was, so my body didn't want to give birth not know where we might end up. I woke Pap-Bug up, sobbing. We talked it out, I cried it out, and we emailed our realtor. Looking for a house was too much right now and we would be in touch when we felt it was a better time. We went back to bed and I slept the first night of truly deep sleep I had experienced in weeks. I slept the next night too.

At my last prenatal we found the baby face-out - a hard way to have a baby, so the midwife and I tried to move it into a face-in position. Nope. That baby flipped right back to sunny-side-up. We sighed and prepared for a posterior labor.

On the Spring Equinox, my sister came over to give me a massage. She hit the labor stimulating points on my legs. It was a gorgeous and warm day and I got my massage in the backyard under the apple tree. But no resultant labor. Baby stayed, happily kicking and hanging out face-out. We put ourselves to bed. I sat up reading. Twenty pages, or so, from the end of my book the first real contraction washed through me. I noted the time (10:45) and kept reading. As I finished and closed my book, another contraction. I gritted my teeth through it, not quite ready to wake Brother-Bug. I woke up Papa-Bug, we talked a little, another contraction. On the fourth contraction I couldn't grit my teeth any longer. Even though I tried to be a little quiet, my roar woke up Brother-Bug. He was confused at first, then wary, finally excited. The baby was finally coming!! He called his God-Mommies, who lived right across the street at the time, and they came over. We called my sister and our midwife. Papa-Bug got the birth sheets on the bed and people began to assemble.

Papa-Bug was singing "You Turn Me Right Round" to convince the baby to shift from face up to face down. He ended up getting that song stuck in my head for most of the labor. I hated it at the time, but now it has made that song strangely special to me.

When the midwife checked the baby between contractions, we were relieved to find that it had turned itself face down and was ready to go. I'm pretty sure the turn happened long before Papa-Bug annoyed me with '80s dance music. Like my labor with Brother-Bug I roared through each contraction and tried to rest in the brief spells between.

The difference I noticed between my first labor and this second labor was that I wasn't scared. I knew what was coming and I knew that my body could do it. With Brother-Bug I had to work hard to trust that my body knew what it was doing and that I would be okay. This time I had that experience and could let go much deeper into each contraction, because I had come through this already. I knew it was hard.

Brother-Bug was unsure. He stayed close to his God-Mommies, even going across the street to play in a quieter space for much of the labor. Our midwife explained what was going on and everyone (apparently including me) was loving and supportive of his feelings and the space he needed to take. At one point he fulfilled his personal labor mission and brought me some juice with a bendy straw. He helped. He felt proud.

As with Brother-Bug's birth, I rocked on my hands and knees, roaring through contraction after contraction. It had been a hot night for the end of March and we had our window open. We woke the neighbors. And between each contaction I could hear the spring frogs singing out back. It was a very magical sound, and now every time we hear those frogs we know that Sister-Bug's birthday is near and we remember the night she was born. (I wrote a Cowbird Story about it...)

Finally things began to intensify - as though they weren't intense enough already. I stopped listening to the frogs, or paying attention to much of anything. The breaks between contractions were no longer lengthy enough to pull my focus away from the work I was doing. I could feel the baby coming, and coming fast. It was faster than I was comfortable with. My sister remembers seeing the baby moving downward, sending a slow wave down my spine. As that baby moved faster than my body could go, before I was ready to push, my sister saw me stretch during contractions from my hands and knees into a full and straight plank, holding the baby back just a little longer. I don't remember doing that action, but I do remember the feeling of "Not Yet BABY!" and doing what I could to slow down just a little bit.

Papa-Bug called across the street and asked Brother-Bug to come back, since we knew he wanted to be there right away when the baby came. His Godmommies hustled him home and they sat just outside our bedroom, watching.

My midwife watched me and leaned over me after a contraction. She said "I'm watching your body and it looks to me like you are being called to catch this baby yourself." I looked at her, probably with confusion. "I want to hold you up on your next contractions so you can deliver your baby." I nodded, and she and Papa-Bug helped me up into a squat, supporting me under my arms and around my back. Another contraction crashed through me and I just about knocked both of them over getting back to my hands and knees. They decided to leave me be and watch me do it my way.

Another contraction; maybe two or three more... I couldn't say. And the baby was crowning. I lurched up onto my knees and used my hands to help the head through my birth canal, creating muscle support where I needed it. In one mighty push this baby was born, into my own hands, from head to toe.

This was the most amazing, Godly, awe inspring moment of my life.

At that moment it was just me and this baby. Everyone else felt so distant. I said, "You are my baby and I caught you my own self." I was shaking with Exhaustion and Grace.

Focus returned around me, people slid back into view. We looked and found we had a girl. We brought Brother-Bug onto the bed to meet his sister. As with his birth, we were wrapped in blankets and left in candlelight for a while. We marveled at our new baby, her perfect fingers and tiny nose. As always, I was confused by the little fingernails - they are so tiny and perfect and complete on a newborn and they seems...out of place...somehow.

So perfect.

Eventually the midwife and my sister came back in. We delivered the placenta, and I nursed our new one. As I wrote in my post about tandem nursing, Brother-Bug curled up on my other side, nursing the right while his new sister nursed the left, and wrapped his arm around her tiny body. It was a perfect moment. After nursing, I handed the baby to Papa-Bug and my sister took me to the bathroom where she helped me into the shower and washed the birth mess off me. Looking back on two births and forward to another one, I think this is my favorite ritual I have with my sister. There is something deeply sacred about this, and I don't know if I would want anyone else's help. After my shower we tucked into bed with clean sheets and a fresh baby.

Sister-Bug arrived at 3:15 in the morning. Somewhere around 5:00, my sister took Brother-Bug off to cuddle with her and have a special "sleepover", while Papa-Bug and I settled down with Sister-Bug for a few hours of sleep.

Blissful, birthed, and so content.

Home Birthing

There are plenty of people in this world who wonder at my deep commitment to having my babies at home. They question the safety and comfort, and sometimes my sanity.

As I wrote in this post, I was privileged to attend my mom's two home births; the hospital as a 'normal' place to birth didn't really occur to me. Additionally, in my late teens I developed a close relationship with a woman who was, and is, an outstanding midwife. She has been my midwife through this pregnancy, both my other pregnancies and home births (you can read Brother-Bug's story here), a couple of early term miscarriages, and continues to be a force of love and support as my kids grow. But besides this early education, I have my own reasons I have my babies at home, and I thought I would share.

While birth can become a medical event, I believe that a healthy birth is pretty much non-medical and should be treated as a family event instead of a medical situation. I trust my body and my midwife to be aware of the situations that would lead us to seek hospital assistance, and much like my position on ultrasound, I would transport to the hospital if my midwife, my body, or the baby, told me that transport was the best plan.

I want to decide who is with me during each passage and who helps me welcome the baby to our family. This includes siblings (not allowed in hospital delivery rooms usually), my husband, my sister, and a close friend or two to help the kids - and our midwife. It does not include strange nurses, a doctor I've potentially never met, or any other hospital staff. This is the most amazing and intimate thing I am ever going to do with my body; this is the most vulnerable I will ever be. I don't want to share it with just anyone. And that's just during the birth! After the birth there are nurses that have to bathe my baby, test it, photograph it, and poke and prod me and my knitting body.

At home, the midwife and all other non-immediate family members leave the room once the baby is out and obviously well. We just sit in bliss with our baby from somewhere between a half-hour and eternity - time is irrelevant. Eventually the birth team returns to clean things up, help me deliver my placenta, see that the baby nurses well, and check its vitals. We don't bathe the babe for several days, letting its skin gradually sluff off vernix while loving that fresh-baby smell. Papa-Bug holds our baby skin-to-skin while my sister washes my aching and exhausted body in the shower. We sleep naked with baby on my chest, still a part of each others' breathing and heartbeats. Siblings cuddle parents and support people, we all marvel at the details of a newborn, everyone takes candid pictures. Soon after the birth - 2-3 hours maybe - everyone goes home and a magical post-birth stillness descends on our home. We have time and deep peace to get to know our new person; to watch our family structure stretch and change.

I believe that babies need the minimal amount of stimulation and interaction during their first days. Except for our midwife doing important baby-wellness checks, no one touches or holds our baby except for Mama, Papa, and Siblings for the first several days. We never pass a baby from stranger to stranger (because even if you are a grandparent or bestest friend, you are still a completely strange situation to a newborn), respecting a time of adjustment for both Baby and Mama.  We have no visitors besides the people who attended the birth for several days. It's just US, extending that post-birth time until we are ready to open up. We can't know a newborn's perspective on things, but I try to think about what each new experience might be like for this being, and we adjust our behaviors to encourage comfort for this new person. Slowly family begins to hold baby for short times, with us watching for its communications that it is looking for Mama/Papa/Boob.

Besides that, I know that home birth is safer for me. I'm an introvert. I dislike strange situations and interacting with strange people. I tend to shut down in these situations, going on a polite auto-pilot until I feel safe or return to my place. This is not a good thing to do if you are giving birth - nor a good thing to have to override during the intensity of helping a person into this world. I want to feel safe - physically, emotionally, spiritually - and I do that best at home. The very idea of getting in a car when contractions are rocking my body seems insane. There are lots of statistics and studies done on the safety of home birth, and you can look those up. It is statistically safer provided that you've made the decision to stay home, gotten good support from a knowledgeable person, and are prepared for the adventure.

Women birth in all positions, making all kinds of noises. Myself, I seem to like hands and knees and lots of lion-esque roars. I prefer my bedroom, but have found that I like to be in different areas early on in labor. I don't like people to touch me much, I don't want to be forced to eat or drink or rest (unless things are going on and on and its for my & baby's well-being), I don't want to be confined to a single room or position - especially one based on a monitor's best position. At home, I am free to find the most comfortable postions, make as much noise as I want, use whatever space I want, and generally go deeply into my experience with the level of interaction from other people that is right for me. The people with me know me very well, have known me for many years, and can be flexible with my needs in each moment.

These are my reasons for home birthing, and what works for me might not work for everyone or anyone else. I think the most essential aspect of home birth - or any other birth - is that it comes from a place of informed choice. I don't think everyone should default to hospital/doctor assisted birth OR home/midwife assisted birth. I fundamentally believe that babies will come best when the mama feels good about her situation and is able to labor and birth with support, as opposed to falling into a decision based on assumptions or pressure.

Birth is radical and wonderful. I wouldn't say I'm looking forward to the deep, aching pull of contractions that are coming in a couple months... But at the same time, I kind of am. It's an amazing experience and I feel so lucky to have had that experience twice, in my own time, way, and space.

Allowance At Six

As we contemplated Brother-Bug turning six and the Privilege & Responsibilities he could receive, we decided it was time for an allowance. He's wanting to buy things, he's really enthusiastic about Math, and it feels like it is time.

Learning money management is tricky, and seems like a skill that just doesn't stick very well for many people. It is certainly something that we struggle with, and I know other adults around me also find very challenging. Papa-Bug and I talked seriously about how to help Brother-Bug enjoy the freedom of spending money, while also learning some of the things money is for.

Papa-Bug explains the concept of allowance. 

Years ago I read Living Simply With Children. There were some excellent ideas in there about helping with money management and I'm sure I drew on some of them as we crafted our allowance plan.

We want our kids to learn about saving, spending, and sharing. And we want to start out small. So...

Brother-Bug gets $6 each week, but there are some rules. $1 goes in his savings account (college, travel, or ???), $1 he saves in a jar for something special he wants to buy or do, and $1 he donates to something important to him, to make the world a better place. The last $3 are his to spend or save at his discretion.

Savings jars. So proud of this boy. 

We decided not to link his allowance to his chores, because we feel like our family works together to have a comfortable home and none of us get "paid" for that. But, at the same time, we wanted some personal responsibility to come with the acquisition of wealth (at six, having your own $3 is wealth!). We talked about how in the real world we can get fined for breaking the rules/laws and decided to try our some simple fines for behavioral issues. There is a ten-cent fine against the coming week's allowance (from the $3 spending money only) for shrieking, rudeness, or responding with defiance.

We got him a wallet (he chose the pinkest, most glittery one in the store of course) and yesterday he had the infinite satisfaction of a visit to Smith Family Books. He had saved $8.50 and was able to find his book for only $6.00. Having $2.50 left over makes him feel like a millionaire; paying for his own book made him feel like a grown-up. He proudly pulled his crumpled dollars from his glittery wallet, creating a chaotic pile of ones, while the store clerk looked on in delight.

First purchase. He saved up not only his saving, but also his spending money. He hugged his new book in the car, and read it in bed until he couldn't keep his eyes open any more. 

We have no idea if this is going to flow the way we imagine, but we are hopeful that Brother-Bug learns a little something about money and how it touches so many aspects of our lives. I'm sure our plan will shift and change as we explore and learn together, but for now it feels like a good place to start.

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. 

===

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.

Skin On Skin

I love my children's bodies. They are so beautiful and authentic and whole. They are so at ease inside their skins. I am constantly reminded of this in the summer because, hippy children that they are, they spend most of their time at home sans clothing. Finally this year, at 5 3/4, we have convinced Brother-Bug to wear underwear outside most of the time.

My boy turns golden in the summer.

Sharing skin-on-skin contact with my family is something that I treasure. Baby skin is so soft. A child's graceful body is to be marveled at. The intimacy of skin is magical. When I remember all this, I feel deeply saddened that there are people in this world who don't share skin with their family. 

Family nakedness is a delicate, rarely talked about subject. We fear so much - judgement of others, endangering our family because someone misunderstands, repercussions of all kinds. I started thinking about this because I wanted to post a Facebook status about waking up on a summer morning after sleeping naked together on a hot night, and how very blissful that is. I didn't post that because I feared negative, judging, or even repulsive comments. But that doesn't make any sense.

Before I delve further, let's get a little clarity on what I mean; what we do and don't do with our kids.

*We allow our children to run naked most of the time they want to (weather and social situations permitting).
*We often bathe with them.
*We go to hot springs with them and soak naked with them and other adults present.
*We sleep naked on hot nights.
*We explain our adult naked anatomy if questions arise, as well as their youthful naked anatomy and talk about keeping our bodies healthy and safe. We do this in a matter-of-fact way with out shame or tension.
*We support genital play (if your kids run around with no pants they will discover these delights very early and it can get a little awkward) because everyone does it, but ask that they take that play away from other people - it's something we all do and we do it in private. Again, no shame here. It's a privacy thing.

-We do not engage in any sexual adult intimacy (beyond nice deep kissing and loving, but chaste, caresses) while they are around.
-We do not allow nakedness in unknown places or with unknown people. God-parents' house? Fine! Dropping in on the new neighbors? Pants!
- We do not publish any overtly naked pictures of them on the internet. Even "private" can be gotten into.

In this culture we are so touchy about touching that we tend to throw the baby out with the bath water, making sure we don't somehow mis-touch our baby. There are people out there who have dangerous and deeply wrong desires, and so we hide all nakedness from our children lest we are tarred with the same brush. There are men who are parents as well as perpetrators and therefore there are good and loving Fathers who aren't allowed to watch their daughters' friends without another person (preferably a woman) present.

But most of us love our children without these issues; we change their diapers, bathe their bodies, examine injuries and illnesses. We caress their soft baby butts and bury our noses in the folds of fat to smell their special baby or child smell. They trust us with their bodies and we do an excellent job with that trust.

But we hide our love, our tactile skin-on-skin love because we are scared and ashamed?

Well, I'm not ashamed. I love the feel of a sleepy toddler body snuggled next to mine, the way the baby skin reaches out to me. I love seeing my bathtub full of Papa-Bug and Little-Bugs as he gently helps them learn to care for and clean their bodies. I love the play of light on skin when my ever-lengthening son reads naked in a sunbeam.

Look at those lovelies. 

I refuse to teach my children to feel shame or fear around nudity. I will teach them awareness and to respect their intuition and the many ways they can keep their body safe and healthy. I will help them understand that their skin is their largest organ, as well as an extremely powerful sensory organ. I will explain discretion and appropriate behavior and why we have to keep our clothes on in public locations. I will show them that the human body is just a body and nothing to fear or blush at. When they feel a need or want to cover up I will support that need.

I want my children to live comfortably in their miraculous bodies, knowing that they are beautiful
and magical.

One recent morning, I woke up to birdsong. It was a hot night, so we all slept "in our nakeds". When I woke, our skins were all touching, sticking slightly from heat. I marveled at how much skin we have between us and how my skin seems to know the skin of my family, kissed sweet dimpled elbows on a two-year old, rubbed a long lanky back on my almost-six-year old, and snuggled into my husband's waking cuddle. He and I looked at our children's bodies, perfect in the relaxation of sleep, with adoration and disbelief. When Papa-Bug got up to get ready for work, Brother-Bug cuddled close to me, throwing one leg over my side and belly, as if to keep me there or include the new baby. Sister-Bug wrapped a chubby arm around my neck and sighed. Every cell of my skin reached out to them. I fell back asleep, wrapped up in their love and touch.

Sushi Math

Brother-Bug's all time favorite restaurant is SushiLand - one of those sushi places where we sit next to a conveyor belt and sushi rolls past us in limitless quantities. He tries it all, enjoying some things that I just can't stomach. At our last trip to the sushi restaurant, I realized we had an excellent math game right in front of us.

There are so many possibilities. The plates are 1.00, 1.50, 2.00, and 3.00 each. You pick your plates and the waiter adds up your total at the end of your gorging. On this trip, we kept it simple, just playing with some of the many numbers we encountered.

What to eat next? Tuna? Salmon? Octopus?

I kept my plates in one pile, he kept his in another pile. We estimated who was eating the most by looking at the two piles. At first we tried to keep track of how many of each plate, making hash-marks on our paper...but we got to excited about eating sushi to keep up with that.

It was just too good to track while we were eating...

At the end of our feast, we counted up. How many of each plate? How can we figure out the cost of that stack? Who ate the most? (He did - he out ate me by one plate.) About how much money did we spend? Which plate - 1.00, 2.00 - did we eat most of? Least?

Brother-Bug starts counting. I ate 9 plates. He ate 10. 

It was an awesome math game.

There are so many places it could expand as well. Multiplication, division, quantity of individual rolls...  Mental math as we add up the total... I could give him $15 and he could figure out some budgeting... And going the other way, we kept Sister-Bug involved by having her do some basic counting practice - how many rolls are on this plate? Everyone was really happy, full of sushi, and enjoying finding a new math game out in the world.

Bonus! Sister-Bug works on her fine-motor skills with her chopsticks....

What other things could we do with Sushi Math? I guess we will have to go back...

A Question of Dignity

This is ridiculous. I generally try to keep the political off this blog, but since this is a blog about my life-choice to stay at home with my kids...

I don't want the "dignity of work", Mr. Romney. I do work - 12, 16, 18 hours a day. A lot if my job is undignified - scrubbing the toilet, begging and bribing a five-year old to clean up, or chasing a toddler around playing growling bear are not "dignified" activities.

I have made a choice for me and my family. This choice means I earn no Social Security, no 401k, I am reliant on my husband's sick leave and health insurance. I have chosen to live at a lower income level, by a full-time adult salary, because I love my work and I believe that what I am doing is important.

This has nothing to do with access to day care. There are many wonderful and qualified and affordable day care options in my area. This has nothing to do with my ability to find work. I have a college degree, I am credentialed in a couple of fields, and would be willing to put my shoulder to the wheel.

I'm an educated, liberal, feminist. I'm not making this choice out of a religious or similar bias, though many women do and should be able to. I know many women like myself who believe deeply in having a parent at home. I know many employed women who envy my ability to stay home and who wish they could afford to "not work". I know many working women who love their jobs and for whom staying home would cause frustration and boredom. I know many women who struggle daily to do what they believe is best for their families, regardless of their state of employment.

I don't need "a job" and I don't need the "dignity of work". I love what I do and I have plenty of work, thank you Mr. Romney.

Mothers (parents) - those who stay home or those who work - need their lives and the choices they make in those lives to be supported. We do not need anyone, least of all some rich and smarmy politician, to treat our lives like they are not worth anything unless we are gainfully employed by the economic machine. That is an indignity, Mr. Romney. We do not need anyone pushing some "work requirement" upon us, making lives already difficult even more so. I do believe that I am living my life, celebrating my freedom, and pursuing that which makes me happy...and don't you dare try to take that away from me. I'm not putting my two-year old in day care, even of you foot the bill. How dare you treat my life choice as something undignified?

I - and parents making hard choices every day, all over this country of ours - need the awesome work we do, raising and caring for the future voters of America, to be treated with dignity.

===

Update: I do realize that this quote is a snippet and lacks broader context. I also realize that Romney is not actually talking about me. He's talking about poor women who utilize the welfare system. For the record, I don't think that I am any different, better, or more deserving than any other woman who is also making tough decisions for her family. I believe that everyone deserves the dignity of choice - and that means not being forced to work OR forced to stay home. I believe that people should be treated equally and that an attack on a family on welfare is an attack on my family.

A Tandem Nursing Story

Happy World Breastfeeding Week! Nursing a baby is magical - that the food I eat turns to rich milk, that my beautiful children thrive from that milk... It's really special. There is nothing like a baby or child looking up into your eyes as they nurse. That is beyond really special.

In honor of World Breastfeeding Week, I want to talk about Tandem Nursing.

What? Is that like extreme nursing on a tandem bike or something?

The definition of Tandem Nursing is nursing two kids at the same time. A mother of twins might be a tandem nurser. A mother who has one older nurseling and a new nursing baby is a tandem nurser. And so on. Tandem Nursing is somewhat controversial, especially in this culture that frequently frowns upon nursing past a year (despite the recommendations from the AAP and WHO). Nursing two (or more...some moms nurse more!) children, when one is able to sustain themselves with solid food is a whole other kind of cultural taboo.

Before we delve into Tandem Nursing, I want to talk a little bit about Extended Nursing - or nursing into the toddler or preschooler years. Nursing is not a mere mechanical food delivery system; babies and children nurse for food, for medicine, for comfort, for connection, and because it's really good stuff. There is a dance and relationship that develops between baby and mother. The choice to nurse a child is deeply personal, and the length of time that a mother chooses to nurse is also deeply personal. Because it is a relationship between two people, the choice to end or change that relationship must happen between those two people. It's not my doctor's business how long I nurse (barring some extreme medical situations), and likewise it's not relevant to my friends, family, or strangers on the bus. People can and will share their opinions with me, but at the end of the day the decision has to be between the two people in the relationship. Nursing should stop when either party in the relationship is done. If the child no longer wants to nurse - Done. If nursing is too much for the mother - Done. If the dentist says nursing past a year is highly questionable - Find a New Dentist. You wouldn't let your dentist decide if you should break up your relationship with your partner, or stop speaking to your best friend, right?


On to Tandem Nursing.

When Brother-Bug was almost three, I found out I was pregnant with the being who would come to be Sister-Bug. Brother-Bug was nursing 4-ish times a day and I still cherished that time with him. It felt especially important as I contemplated sharing myself bewteen two kids - it was a time to relish my first child and the ability I had for those years to lavish attention on him without distraction. And he didn't want to stop nursing anyway. So we didn't. We talked to our midwife, did some reading, and decided to take it one day at a time. At any point I might have been done, and we would have helped Brother-Bug with the transition to not nursing.

Eventually, Brother-Bug learned to curl his body around my growing belly, and we explored different nursing positions. He would pat and rub the belly while he nursed. I gave him more of a schedule of nursing times (waking up, nap time, going to bed) and we talked about how the baby would get to nurse whenever.

It wasn't all blissful. Brother-Bug's initial latch-on hurt my pregnancy-sensitized nipples. But it only hurt for a minute and it was something I decided I could live with. I gritted my teeth for the latch moment and breathed through it. It passed fairly quickly, and stopped almost entirely somewhere in my second trimester.

Eventually, Sister-Bug made her way into the world. Brother-Bug was present at her birth. When she was about half an hour old it was time for her first attempt at nursing. She latched on my left, Brother-Bug latched on my right, sitting next to me. I looked down at my two beautiful babes and Brother-Bug reached his arm to wrap it around his new sister, gently stroking her back as they nursed together. That one moment was worth every painful latch I experienced.

Sister-Bug is about 6 hours old here. I love the smile in Brother-Bug's eyes.

As they grew together they would hold hands while they nursed, smile at each other, and connect while piled up on me. There were a few moments in which I felt overwhemed, under my two nurslings, but for the most part it was wonderful. Brother-Bug had a very easy adjustment to being the older of two and I attribute some of it to Tandem Nursing - that they could share this special relationship helped him understand the link between he and his sister. I loved having an extra tummy when I was just making too much milk - he was always happy to help take some of the pressure off! As he grew, his nursing slacked off, and just before Sister-Bug turned one, I asked him to be done nursing. He wasn't remembering to nurse and then feeling frustrated because he had missed it. His brain still wanted it sometimes, but the rest of him had grown out of nursing. He had a last nurse, we celebrated with ice cream, and I continued to enjoy nursing Sister-Bug.

Fast forward to Sister-Bug's second birthday. I was newly pregnant with the current Fetus-Bug. Still nursing. Again, we are taking it one day at a time. Sister-Bug is a LOT less committed to nursing. Sometimes she skips whole days and doesn't even notice. But we are still nursing and I plan on doing so until she is done...or I am done. I won't be surprised if she stops nursing before this new baby is born. Latching on is still uncomfortable, but I know that it's worth it for me. I treasure these moments when I can right the wrongs in her world so easily; the moments where she snuggles up to me, gazing up as we nurse. She will be a big girl so soon. I'm watching curiously to see where she goes and when she stops. The differences between my children fascinates me.

===

Tandem Nursing will not work for every mother. Some women have intense nipple and breast pain and must stop nursing. Some just don't want to keep nursing. And they shouldn't. Every woman's experience of nursing is different and should be supported and honored. If it's something you are considering, check out these sites:

La Leche League - Tandem Nursing : A great list of all their posts and links to Tandem Information

Breastfeeding Basics - Tandem Nursing : A very informative FAQ

Also buy yourself a copy of Adventures in Tandem Nursing, by Hilary Flowers. Good stuff there, and an invaluable reference to flip though as you nurse...and nurse...and nurse...

I've loved almost every moment of my Tandem Nursing experiences so far. If Sister-Bug does entirely wean herself before the baby is born, I will feel a little sad not to see that relationship develop as the baby sits on her lap while they nurse together. I love the way my arms and body encompass my children and feed them.

It's the best magic I can do. 

Teaching Spelling

Sure, we could learn all kinds of spelling words and follow some age-appropriate program, but it's more fun than that. To learn spelling in this house, we pull out the Scrabble board. Both sides of the family are Scrabble maniacs. At family gatherings with my side, the Scrabble board sits and waits for anyone to make a move. Quick game to 50 points while the kale steams? Totally. Brutal 500 point scoring competition? Yes please! This is something that the Little-Bugs have watched parents and extended family enjoy since they could form memory and they are thrilled when they get to join in.

So it's almost a ritual initiation, as well as a spelling lesson...

But let's go back and cover some of the "Hows" of this spelling method.

Get a spare set of Scrabble or Bananagrams tiles - make sure it is actually spare so that tiles can get lost without impacting the family game set. Set your child up with the tiles, face up, on a tray and see what they can spell without your assistance. Brother-Bug made me laugh out loud when he deftly pulled "CRUD" out of his pile. Talk about the different words you can see. If they start to get frusterated, put together a good two-letter "starter" (like RA) and ask them what letters they can add to make a word.

Brother-Bug contemplates his Banangram options.

Play games of Banangrams - play next to each other so they can spell, you can help, and they can watch the process that an adult goes through to make the word grid. They will also grain new vocabulary this way - double score! Play a combined game with one word grid, working together to find the silliest (grossest, biggest...) words and make them fit.

Let them figure out correct spellings and make mistakes. Help them find the correct answer, but don't provide it right away. In a recent game we went through several permutations to get to the correct spelling of "OUT". English is so hard for spelling - with silent letters, dipthongs, and other abnormalities galore. I truly believe that just playing the games makes in-roads into this complex language of ours in ways that standard spelling programs miss. And it's super fun, which makes the "lesson" more effective.

Get out The Scrabble Board. When you start out with a new speller, have them team up with a grown-up until they want their own set of tiles.

My dad teaching Brother-Bug the ropes...just like he taught me. And I am an awesome speller...

 Play open tiles - everyone helps everyone else spell, no secrets. The new speller gets to see each person's way of finding words in the mish-mash of letters. To that end, verbalize your process; talk about what words you can spell, what you can almost spell, etc.

Go for a combined score instead of individual scores so that everyone is contributing instead of competing. For an added learning bonus, adding up the word scores is a great math lesson. Adding, doubling, trippling...

Have the adults play on high-speed so the kids don't get bored. Grown-up Scrabble players can get really bogged down in the rearranging of their letters and the many possible words - which one is the best? where can it fit? An adult Scrabble turn can take... ... ... forever. Adults should spell words fairly quickly and move on.

With any of these games, stop when the enjoyment and attention of the new speller wanes. Keep it fun and fresh and special. There is no reason that you have to play to the last tile.

===

Brother-Bug loves that he has been initiated into our world of Scrabble and Bananagrams. Playing with the grown-ups until late at night (9:45!) really made his day. Sister-Bug enjoyed drawing tiles for me and working on counting up to 3. Papa-Bug and I enjoyed having the Scrabble board out for a while. Everyone wins. Everyone learns.

Happy Spelling!

Princess Power

Princesses are a reality in the world of parenting - especially if you have a daughter. They are on stickers and band-aids and everything else. Even if you try to keep them out of your house, they are at friends' houses. What do we do about our Princesses?

Let's think about this though... Are Princesses really as bad as many people would have us believe? I'm not so sure. I think we leap too quickly to obfuscate Princesses because of the potential that our daughters and sons learn a negative message. In reality, I think it's all in the interpretation and the message you choose to share.

Papa-Bug and I were talking about this. After all, consumerism and marketing aside, we have heartily endorsed Brother-Bug's vehicle & 'Cars' obsessions. What if all Sister-Bug cares about is Sleeping Beauty & Snow White? How can we buy licensed characters for one kid and deny the other kid?

In the course of this conversation, we segued into the broad topic of helping our daughter learn to use her power. Papa-Bug said (to paraphrase) "I find the Princess Power to be a little scary - it's so subtle." That idea raised a red flag in my women's studies brain.

Scary? To you, a privileged white male? Interesting.

Before I delve further, let me state that I deplore the physical representations of the Princesses. They are painfully thin, some of them laughably so. But I'm not her to talk about what they look like. That is a related, yet different topic of discourse.

Let's get back to those scary princesses. Why are they so scary? Because they are powerful. Because its a subtle power, often difficult for someone raised to believe in the "powerful might" to put their finger on. Because the princess manipulates and uses her power through biology and desires that subdue the powerful might. Because it's a power that a man can not posess nor fully understand.

This power - the power of looks and biology (read: sex) - is a power that women have used for millenia. When women were chattel, posession of father then husband, it was all the power they had. The Goal was marriage - until very recently it was the only truly viable goal and option for the majority of women on the planet. It is only within the last half-century that Barbie could become an astronaut.

So women developed this power. Good, bad or beautiful, they worked with what they had - their bodies - and evolved complex habits and rituals to keep that power intact. I'm going out on a historical limb here, but assuming that most children's stories were likely concocted by a mother trying to get a child to hear a lesson and/or settle down...Mothers told stories to their daughters that featured young women (princesses) who presevered in the face of hardship to attain The Goal (the prince and marriage).

Princesses are powerful and they always achieve The Goal.

We want our daughters to be powerful right? So did whoever came up with these age-old tales to help their daughters learn to use the power that they had. And what a power it is! History is full of tales of beautiful women who use their skills to subdue the mightiest men. No wonder it's scary.

Fast-forward through bloomers at the end of the 19th century, sufferage, women in factories in both World Wars, and a Feminist Movement that brought us ever closer to equality. We have lots of possible goals now - wife or astronaut, teacher or congress-woman. I'm not here to say that marriage and baby making is The Goal anymore. But even though women's options have increased and our horizons have broadened, Princesses are still powerful.

My favorite Princess. Grace Kelly.

And if we deny our daughters knowledge of and access to that Princess Power, are we not cutting them off from some amazing aspects of Womens' History? If we take away that power, what do we replace it with? We can talk and write and discourse for hours about the power of the empowered woman, and advocate for the ERA, non-gendered toys, and positive role models for young women... But those are lacking in the magic and mystique that appeals to little children. Why don't we accept that Princesses are here, historically important, and that they aren't going anywhere? How can we find ways to show our daughters how very strong and cool a princess can be?

I am choosing, as a parent, to embrace Princesses for all their might. I'm going to celebrate their strength. When my kids are older (because you know that Brother-Bug is as much or more into Princesses than his sister is) I will show them historical Princesses and we will talk about thier role in the world. We will enjoy Princess movies and Princess tales.

I will not villify something that has so much potential for teaching strength and courage. I will not tell my daughter that ANY woman is bad/evil/wrong, even if she is pencil thin with gigantic eyes.

I will point out how cartoon women's bodies are...not accurate.

I WILL play dress up with my Princess-loving children.

Because Princess costumes are FUN! Much more fun than an empowered feminist dress-up set - what would that even look like?

 ===

I have more thoughts on Princesses, so keep your eyes tuned. Princess Ariel (from Disney's Little Mermaid) is one of my new favorite feminist figures. Wonder why? Stay tuned!

Also, I realize this is potentially inflammatory for lots of people. I welcome your comments as long as you keep said comments in the spirit of inquiry, conversation, and polite disagreement. I will delete any comments that are mean or disrespectful. 

A Busy Time and A Good Read

I'm not writing a lot for the next month or so. Besides the usual onslaught of life, chores, homeschooling, and pregnancy, we have family in town (parked in an RV behind my house), we just spend almost a week working up at Breitenbush, and now we are getting ready for our week out at the Oregon Country Fair.

I posted some pictures from Fair last year - it's always a mad thing to prepare for. Six days of camping, wandering, partying, parenting, and other mayhem. It's the week that most of our plans and goals revolve around every year. I can't wait to get out there, get my wings on, and have a blast.

In other news, the blogging conversation continues. A while ago, MommyMan wrote about his son's desire to wear a dress and I responded. I was completely thrilled to read a recent post from the MommyMan, in which his son dons a dress and feels fabulous - as all kids should, regardless of the clothing they wear. It's a great post and I will certainly admit to getting all choaked up while reading it.

I guess it ties into our trip to Country Fair...if only because I have to remember to get Brother-Bug's new green taffeta dancing & cocktail dress clean for the weekend...

Strawberries to Start the Summer

Yesterday we loaded kids, carseats, snacks, and buckets into a friend's minivan - 2 moms and our 4 kids - and went questing after the fierce, but not particualrly elusive, Strawberry.

We were successful. We went picking at a friend's farm where the berries were thick and sweet.

Brother-Bug hard at work and snack.

There was great excitement from all the kids, and enough space in the open fields for them to run and scream and "help" pick berries for pies and jams and frozen treats.

I love getting kids out of the house and out of the constraints if the city. I always notice how much happier they seem, how less drastic their meltdowns become. I especially love when we can connect the experiences of outside and away to the food that we eat. It seems so empowering and health-building, not to mention FUN!

What all kids really need - space to run and play without restraint.

The strawberries taste the best when they are fresh in the field, all the better for being just a little dusty. When we bring the berries home and wash them, they still taste better than purchased berries because our work is a part of them, and our memories of toddlers free-ranging through rows of bright berries lingers around each bite.

Oh Yum!!

Berry picking should be a mandatory activity, and not only for children. Take a morning, or the whole day. Play hooky and flee to the berry patch. In most areas strawberries absurd just starting. Soon you can find blueberries or blackberries. The summer is full of sweetness.

===

We went picking at Riverbend Farm, near Pleasant Hill. I love this farm and buy all my canning fruits from them. If you aren't in our area, try a Google search for u-pick berries. Find your own favorite local farms to support.

Keep your eye out for a post about all the many things I will do with these berries!

I guess my work is cut out for me...

Siblings At Birth

In my recent pregnancy post I mentioned that the Little-Bugs will be here with us, around the house, while I labor and deliver our new baby. A comment was left about how to prepare children to attend birth, and it's worth a better thought-out response than another comment.

The Why:
I attended my brothers' two homebirths. I was 5 1/2 and rubbing my mom's feet when I watched, totally fascinated, as he crowned. At 9, I was not in the room for my second brother's delivery - he was a surprise breech and the midwife didn't want any additional distractions. Dad called us in as soon as Mom and Baby were stable. Both of the experiences taught me that birth is a healthy and normal process that takes place in the context of family. These lessons I brought with me when I decided to have a homebirth, and they are one of the greatest gifts I have received from my Mom. By being involved in the process, by watching my Mom trusting her body to create this miracle, I never questioned my body's ability to pull off the same miracle (well...not until I was in the thick of contractions with Brother-Bug...but that's a different story).

I want that for my kids. I want them to know and to see that our bodies are amazing, that birth is safe and joyful, if hard. I want Sister-Bug in particular, to learn from me as I learned from my mom that her body can do this if she chooses to be a mother. I want to do my little part to dispell the myths that labor and delivery are inherantly dangerous and medical. I want my children to be empowered in whatever choices they make for their bodies, and I think that watching me birth a baby is a step toward that.

Tandem nursing right after birth.

The other large component to having the kids present is the addition of another person to their pack. The concept of Mama leaving the house pregnant and laboring (which is likely scary to a little person with maybe a vague understanding of what is happening), and then appearing in a hospital room later with a baby... Many kids meeting new siblings are not old enough to make that huge mental jump. "Meeting the Baby" is an important ritual, but I prefer that my kids are involved in the process of supporting me while I bring the Baby out and into the circle of our family.

I'm not a stoic birther - I'm loud. I scream and cuss and thrash and cry. I do what my body needs to do, and Brother-Bug got kind of freaked out for the first couple of contractions I had with Sister-Bug. But he was supported through that and now has only fond memories. I have heard him explaining this process to Sister-Bug.


"Mama will scream and be really loud. If it's too much we leave the room, but she's just working really hard and having a baby hurts her. But it's okay and the midwife is there to help her and then we have our new baby. I'll take care of you..."

See what I mean about empowering my kids through their presence?

Brother-Bug was cuddled up with me and his newborn Sister within 5 minutes of her arrival. He "met" her, but it was just a part of that entire experience for him, and when he woke up the next morning he wasn't surprised that a baby was in my arms because he had witnessed her arrival there.


The How:

In every part of this process that leads to the birth, I try to find a place that the Little-Bugs can be involved.

We read books together, take their advice on names, make plans, talk through the coming months and what will happen as we wait for the baby. We talk about the birth almost daily with Sister-Bug especially. Nothing serious, just passing conversation to keep it fresh in her mind, even though we have a while to wait. As soon as they can feel it move we will play games like "get the baby to kick you in the head". When we pull out the newborn stuff they will help sort, wash, and fold. Even though we don't need any newborn clothes (we have so many that we could clothe twins and still have extras), we will make a trip to the thrift store and they can pick out a couple of things for their baby to wear.  But all of that is easy, and most people do those things. Having kids at an actual birth is something that needs extra thought and resources.

A loving person: Regardless of the age of your child, make sure that some one is available to be their support person. Mama has the Papa and the midwife, maybe there is a doula or a close friend to support the midwife and Papa. Kiddo needs a person to help, explain, cuddle, take out of the room, play with, or anything else that child needs. Select a person who Mama is comfortable with (afterall, labor and birth is about is intimate as it gets) and your kid really enjoys spending time with. Make sure that the two of them get plenty of time before the birth to hang out and establish a strong relationship.

The person you ask needs to undertand and be comfortable that they are not really there to attend the new baby's birth. They are there to lavish attention on the older sibling, whatever that means to that kid. In my mind, the people coming to care for Brother & Sister-Bug are more essential than our midwife. I can be in labor for a while before the midwife shows up, and I think I could even feel okay if I had to deliver a baby without her help, but I don't want to try to lovingly parent and support my kids while doing any of that...and I want Papa-Bug to be able to take care of me knowing the kids have what they need. 

I think this applies even for an older child. Maybe you have a 10 or 12 year old who needs an adult who is willing to come play favorite games while Mama labors. If something goes awry, it's important for the Mama and Papa to know that the older sibling has loving support and care. If Mama and Papa aren't at home, or the sibling is not able to be present in the birth room, it's important for someone with adult communication skills and less emotional attachment to be there and help communicate if necessary. 

Holding Sister-Bug on her first morning with us.

Participation from the First: the Little-Bugs go to all the prenatals. Our excellent midwife teaches them how her tools work and carefully helps them learn to use those tools with her. The kids wander in and out, see my rare internal exam, and hold the various sized fetus models our midwife keeps around for just this purpose. We answer the kids questions and engage them, and in a low pressure way we keep the focus on me. They slowly grow used to their midwife being present mostly for Mama. They see me trust her with my body. She helped me bring both kids into the world and they are familiar with her role in their stories. When she shows up at the labor, she's familiar and already very safe. She's part of their family, and we've all been working together to be ready for our labor day.

A to-do list: Find a list of age-appropriate tasks that your child can do during the birth. I was rubbing my Mom's feet at my brother's birth. I felt so helpful. Brother-Bug brought be a cup of juice with a straw while I was in labor with Sister-Bug. He's looking forward to doing that again. Your list of things to do should be:
*things that are not necessary, in case the prevailing feelings of the older sibling prevent participation.
*some tasks in the birth area and some in other rooms, should the older sibling want space from a very intense situation. 
*within your child's skill level, something they can be successful at (with help from their support person).

Our list of to-do's includes hanging up our family birthday banner, bringing me juice when I need it, drawing a birthday card for the baby, and similar tasks. 


Watch movies: This is currently Sister-Bug's favorite thing to do. I previewed a lot of homebirth movies on YouTube and came up with a couple that she watches over and over. As she watches we talk about what we see happening. Because I know my birth habits (not quiet) I made sure to choose movies that feature some good Mama-screaming. I also looked out for movies with older siblings attending. Do be sure that you pre-watch them - birth can get pretty intense pretty fast!

===

I cannot express how magical it is to help and support children learn about and become comfortable with the beauty, mess and reality of birth. Afterall, we all were born once...shouldn't we all know what that process is like?

I Love To Listen To The News

Really, NPR Morning Edition to start the day is wonderful.

Except... I can't listen to it anymore. I have small kids, with big understanding, and listening ears. I stopped listening to NPR the day that Brother-Bug (almost four at the time) overheard a news segment that elaborated on brutal gang-rapes being conducted by soliders somwhere in the world. I rushed to turn off the radio, and I think (I hope) that he wasn't really listening. Before that, I had rushed to the mute button during many a segment - child soldiers, battlefield scenes, and more - that I am not ready to deconstruct for my small children.

Above and beyond what I am comfortable with as a parent, I wonder how these segments impact veterans recently returned, on an emotional hair trigger, negotiating the tricky terrian of PTSD? Or other people who are victims of violence, or just sensitive? Shouldn't we have a choice to turn off the radio if we determine it's not something we want echoing in our heads?

Last week on Fresh Air, Terry Gross warned that some of the details in an interview about the meat industry might be unappetizing. Ira Glass has a disclaimer on This American Life that acknowledges the existance of sex, put there at the request of his producers. Surely if Terry Gross has to tell us that meat farming might be gross, and Ira Glass has to aknowledge the existance of sex before airing a radio episode (which is almost always child-safe), those who produce the news should take a similar initiative and acknowledge the existance of horriffic violence. Not everyone wants to, or should, listen to those segments. NPR should not censor their news coverage. But I should have the option to stop listening if something is too violent or too sexy or too gross for my children or myself.

I would love to re-incorporate the news into my day. I would love to have Brother- and Sister-Bug exposed to some of the events happening in the wide world. But until I feel like I can keep my children's ears safe, I won't have NPR on if they are awake. Some people may think that I am being over-protective, but I think the world is scary enough without learning about child soldiers and gang rape before elementary school.

I have written comments and letters to NPR about this issue, and received no response. More than anything else, it is that lack of response that inspired me to create the attached petiton on Change.org. If anything I have written here makes sense to you, please consdier signing it - if only so that I can start my day with the new coverage that I truly miss listening to.

CLICK HERE to sign my petition and help make NPR's news coverage safe for all listeners.