We spent Memorial Day weekend with Matt's parents in Virginia for the traditional Baker family reunion on Saturday the 24th. Saturday was a significant day for several reasons, most importantly because it was Anastasia's three-month birthday. But I little dreamed how significant it would actually be.
We spent Friday night at Matt's parents' house with his brother Jeff and Jeff's wife Heidi, along with their two children, Isaac and Olivia. Olivia was born two days before Anastasia, so we were excited to introduce the cousins to each other! -- more excited, probably, than they were. Although we did manage to get some video footage of them smiling at each other.
Saturday morning, as we were all getting ourselves and the babies ready to go out to the cabin where the reunion would be, Matt decided to put Anastasia under a little toy of Olivia's. It's a mobile that sits on the ground with dangling toys, music, and flashing lights--exactly the kind of toy I never want to own. But Matt thought it would be fun to see how Anastasia reacted to it, so he put her on her back under the mobile while I was about to go get dressed. I stopped to see what she would do.
She didn't seem particularly interested in it, but she didn't mind it, either. She lay there cooing and looking at Matt, ignoring the flashing lights and the toys. Then she rolled on her side, maybe to get away from the lights, or maybe to get closer to Matt. She's been rolling onto her side from her back for quite a while, so none of us thought anything of it. But then, after just a minute on her side, she kept going--all the way to her stomach!
Those of you who aren't parents might not understand why this is a big deal, but rolling over is a big developmental milestone. Naturally, Anastasia is very young to be achieving this--most babies don't roll over until they're four months. But I never could have predicted exactly how exciting this would be for me. "Oh my gosh!" I shouted. "She rolled over! She rolled over! I can't believe it! She rolled all the way over! Anastasia, you're so clever!"
Matt and Jeff were a little startled by my shouting. To tell the truth, I was a little startled myself. "Uh, is it really that big a deal?" Matt asked uncertainly.
"It's a huge deal! This is an important developmental milestone!" I appealed to Jeff, since he's been a father now for almost two years. "Jeff, tell him what a big deal it is!"
"Uh, it's kinda like graduating college, or getting married," Jeff agreed obligingly.
"I see." Matt looked down at Anastasia, who was starting to cry because she couldn't get her arm out from under her.
"Heidi!" I shouted up the stairs. Maybe this was something only another mother could understand.
Heidi was appropriately excited for Anastasia and me, but by the end of the week, I don't think anyone could quite appreciate just how significant the accomplishment had been. Because that was only the beginning. Over the course of the week, Anastasia gradually started staying awake for longer periods--and sleeping for longer naps. Instead of being awake for an hour and then sleeping for an hour constantly throughout the day, she started having a two-hour period in the afternoon when she was awake--and more surprising, happy. Then she took a two-hour nap in the late afternoon. She also started going to sleep more easily at night, and I was able to leave her once she was asleep and hang out downstairs for two hours (from 9 to 11) before she woke up to eat again.
She also amazed me by going holding her pee for longer stretches--especially at night. One morning I got up at 4:30 am, thinking her restlessness was because she needed to go to the bathroom, to discover she had a completely dry diaper. And the first morning after we got back, she was still dry when I changed her at 8 am. It's not a pattern yet, but I'm hoping that soon we'll be able to go diaper-free at night with a towel for back-up!
On Friday she laughed for the first time--not the infant shriek she's been doing for a while, but a real, rolling, gurgling laugh. Olivia's first laugh was also this week, three days earlier, so Heidi and I got to enjoy that together. But the strangest part about that was that Anastasia's first laugh was in the car, and she hates the car. Heidi, Jeff, Olivia, Anastasia and I were going shopping, and I sat in back with the babies to try to keep Anastasia happy. I was desperately playing with her to stave off crying: "Where's your nose? Boop! There's your nose! Where's your chin? Chin! Chinny-chin-chin!" It was tickling her chin that elicited the laugh: a chuckling, cooing, rolling laugh such as only a baby can give.
But perhaps the most exciting accomplishment of all was that she started reaching for things. As Matt put it, she discovered her hands at last! It's hard to pinpoint exactly when this happened, as it's a gradual process from flailing arms and reflex grabbing to actually reaching out and picking something up. However, it was Wednesday when I left her on the floor for a minute to go get something and came back to find her holding my sunglasses, which had been lying on the floor next to her, in her hand. Reflex? Maybe. But they are bright pink, a color she definitely enjoys looking at. At any rate, by the time we were driving home, I felt like I had a different baby than the one I'd brought on the trip up. She spent an hour sitting in her carseat happily playing with a few brightly colored tissue papers from a present her great-grandparents gave her. I folded them into a kind of mobile and held them in front of her, and she batted at them and fingered them with great interest. She also enjoyed playing with a beanie baby crab from her great-aunt: I held it so the legs dangled down, and she batted at them and pulled them into her mouth. She's turning into a real baby at last!
Now if only I could catch some of these brilliant accomplishments on video...
5.20.2008
routines
Last night Anastasia slept two three-hour stretches and only woke up once (at 2:20) between 11:00 pm and 5:45 am. I feel SO good this morning! Two long stretches of sleep...
I have a feeling her schedule might start to change soon, so I should remember what it's been while she was a newborn. Usually she goes to bed at 8:00 and wakes every two hours to eat, at 10, 12, 2, 4, and 6. At 6 or 6:30 she would want to be awake for a while and play, but I'm always far too tired, so either I lie there and watch her coo and giggle, wishing I had the energy to play with her, or I wake Matt up and let him bond with her. At 8 she nurses back to sleep until 10. Then she's awake for about an hour and nurses back to sleep around 11:30. She takes a longer nap then, till around 2 or 2:30. She wakes up to eat; then she plays until 3:30 or 4, when she gets fussy and tired. Usually I lie down with her to nap until Matt gets home around 6. Then he plays with her until I put her to bed.
She pees every twenty minutes when she's awake in the morning but only every hour in the afternoon, and right when she wakes up.
And now that we've only just gotten comfortable with that schedule, it looks like things will be changing. The past couple of days she's been staying awake longer and waking up sooner, and I think she might be spreading out her eating a little bit too during the day. And her bathroom patterns are definitely changing, although I haven't figured out the new patterns yet, and I'm keeping her completely diaper-free during the day until I do.
Maybe she's about to hit a developmental milestone; I've heard these kind of changes can be a prelude for that.
I have a feeling her schedule might start to change soon, so I should remember what it's been while she was a newborn. Usually she goes to bed at 8:00 and wakes every two hours to eat, at 10, 12, 2, 4, and 6. At 6 or 6:30 she would want to be awake for a while and play, but I'm always far too tired, so either I lie there and watch her coo and giggle, wishing I had the energy to play with her, or I wake Matt up and let him bond with her. At 8 she nurses back to sleep until 10. Then she's awake for about an hour and nurses back to sleep around 11:30. She takes a longer nap then, till around 2 or 2:30. She wakes up to eat; then she plays until 3:30 or 4, when she gets fussy and tired. Usually I lie down with her to nap until Matt gets home around 6. Then he plays with her until I put her to bed.
She pees every twenty minutes when she's awake in the morning but only every hour in the afternoon, and right when she wakes up.
And now that we've only just gotten comfortable with that schedule, it looks like things will be changing. The past couple of days she's been staying awake longer and waking up sooner, and I think she might be spreading out her eating a little bit too during the day. And her bathroom patterns are definitely changing, although I haven't figured out the new patterns yet, and I'm keeping her completely diaper-free during the day until I do.
Maybe she's about to hit a developmental milestone; I've heard these kind of changes can be a prelude for that.
5.18.2008
our first mother's day
I asked advice of some other mothers, dads, and daughters on my first mother's day. Here's what I heard:
5.16.2008
new diaper cover
Rather to my own amazement, I'm starting to get back into sewing! The other day I made two new diaper covers for Anastasia. One of them was a little too small, so I'm going to add a little padding and convert it into training pants. The other is perfect for now, and it's become our nighttime cover of choice.
The decision came about because I was researching diapers and decided that what I really wanted was some fleece diaper covers. (Yes, I know I say Anastasia is "diaper-free," but that doesn't actually mean we never use diapers... :-). We always use them at night, because she hates getting up to pee (who doesn't?), and sometimes during the day as well...I just take it off so she can go to the bathroom, and usually we're able to reuse the same diaper most of the day.) Anyway, I was about to buy some expensive fleece covers when it suddenly occurred to me that I had about three yards of fleece sitting around, leftovers from the robe I made for her before she was born. A little googling convinced me that sewing my own diaper cover would be pretty easy, and there you have it! Here's a picture:
She seems to like it, don't you think?
The decision came about because I was researching diapers and decided that what I really wanted was some fleece diaper covers. (Yes, I know I say Anastasia is "diaper-free," but that doesn't actually mean we never use diapers... :-). We always use them at night, because she hates getting up to pee (who doesn't?), and sometimes during the day as well...I just take it off so she can go to the bathroom, and usually we're able to reuse the same diaper most of the day.) Anyway, I was about to buy some expensive fleece covers when it suddenly occurred to me that I had about three yards of fleece sitting around, leftovers from the robe I made for her before she was born. A little googling convinced me that sewing my own diaper cover would be pretty easy, and there you have it! Here's a picture:
She seems to like it, don't you think?
5.12.2008
anastasia's birth story
Throughout my pregnancy, I'd been determined to not be one of those mothers whose frustration and impatience with waiting begins exactly on her due date. Especially since my due date was only an estimated one, I tried not to build up any expectations around that day. February 12, 2008, was just a day like any other, nothing to get excited about.
I did get one surprise on the twelfth: a package from Mom Baker, with some of Matt's baby clothes, handmade by a friend, and a poem that Grandpa Baker wrote while they were waiting to hear about Matt's birth.
But that, and a lot of phone calls asking when I was going to have the baby, were all I got on her due date.
Eight days later, my sister-in-law, Heidi, was induced and gave birth to Anastasia's cousin, Olivia Grace. I was happy for her, but a part of me couldn't help but feel a little disappointed: Heidi and Jeff had already had one baby, and their due date was after ours! Heidi and I had enjoyed being pregnant together, but I had wanted to have my baby first.
However, I'd also had a feeling all along that Anastasia wouldn't come till the end of the month--maybe not even until March 1. On February 22, at our regular appointment, I told my midwife, Beth, that I thought the baby wouldn't come until the following weekend, either February 29 or March 1. Joy, Beth’s apprentice, mentioned that she would be on vacation that weekend. "Oh." I felt a touch of disappointment. "I don't want you to miss the birth!"
Driving home from the appointment that afternoon, I thought to myself, Well, maybe I should have the baby earlier than next weekend. Actually, I think I'm ready to have the baby now.
My contractions started at nine that evening.
I didn't say anything to Matt at first; I'd been having a lot of Braxton-Hicks, and I didn't want to get excited yet. We watched a movie (Becoming Jane), and I made myself comfortable on the couch. But when the contractions still felt strong and regular two hours later, after the movie ended, I started to think something might be happening.
"I'm having a lot of contractions," I told Matt. "I think it might be starting."
We timed the contractions at 3-5 minutes apart, but they weren't consistent or very strong, so we didn't call Beth. I didn't want to be one of those women who couldn't stop calling the midwife. "I think we have a while yet," I said, and we decided to go to bed.
Except that Matt wanted to watch another movie. He watched Sweeney Todd (the old version, not the newer one), while I tried unsuccessfully to go to sleep. It wasn't that I was too excited--although that was probably part of it--but it was mostly because I was uncomfortable lying down. By the time Matt finally came to bed, I had given up on sleeping. Lying down made the contractions painful, but while I was walking around I felt fine. So I walked around the house, sat on the toilet, and read Harry Potter 5 (I'd been re-reading the series) while Matt slept. Around three in the morning it occurred to me that this really was labor, so there was no point in waiting to set up the waterbirthing tub, and that I might be more comfortable in water. So I set up the AquaDoula tub and filled it with water. By then, I was getting tired and very uncomfortable, and I was glad when the tub finally filled. I sank into the water with relief and was able to relax for the first time since the contractions had started. I listened to my Hypnobabies CD until I got bored of it; then I kept reading Harry Potter and tried not to think about being in labor. And waited for it to be late enough in the morning to call my midwife.
I finally called Beth around eight a.m. I hadn't wanted to wake her up when it clearly wasn't an emergency yet. She had several things scheduled that day--a home visit and a blessing ceremony--but assured me that she would skip out on both of them if I needed her. "But you don't sound like you're very far along yet," she added. I tried not to feel disappointed. "On the other hand, you are doing that hypnobabies thing, so maybe you're just relaxed."
Right.
We agreed that I would call her if I felt different or if anything changed, and she would keep calling me throughout the day to check on my progress.
By that afternoon, nothing had really changed. I felt like I'd been having contractions for a really long time, and I was tired, but although they were very regular they didn't seem much stronger. I'd been either walking around or sitting in the tub for most of the day. Joy decided to stop by my house on the way back from the blessing ceremony, and she arrived at 2:30 pm. I was excited for her to check my cervix and see how far I'd progressed, but I was stunned when she told me it was only 2 cm. Two?!? I already hadn't slept in 18 hours.
"You need to rest," Joy ordered me. "You have a long time ahead yet." She made me get in bed and got me a glass of red wine. She also insisted that I eat something--I'd had nothing but a little toast that morning--so Matt made some bacon and I tried to force it down. She left me lying propped up on pillows, trying to relax.
About fifteen minutes after she left, I felt a gush of liquid down my leg. Fortunately she had put a pad under me on the bed, anticipating something like that. I ran to the bathroom and discovered I was bleeding. "I think my water broke!" I said excitedly to Matt, and I called Joy.
"It sounds like your water broke," she agreed. But she was still adamant: "Get some rest," she said again, and I reluctantly tried to lie down.
But it was even more uncomfortable to lie down, so I soon went back into the tub. I spent the afternoon alternating between sitting in the tub reading and wandering around the house. Joy came back at nine that evening. By then the contractions were stronger and very frequent, but it wasn't very intense yet. Between contractions, Joy and I talked about literature and youth ministry (she also used to be a youth director at a church); I showed her my library and recommended several books she hadn't read yet. I leaned on the back of the couch during each contraction, breathing through it as I'd learned from my Hypnobabies CDs, relaxing as much as I could.
I also told Joy how we'd been joking about labor the previous weekend with some friends, and predicting when my baby would be born. One of our friends was training to be a flight attendant, and the cheer she'd learned for passenger instructions in an emergency had sounded to me (with birthing on my mind) like something you could say to the baby: "Heads down, stay down! Leave everything, come this way! Slide, slide, slide!" "You can say that to the baby when it's coming out!" I laughed to Joy.
Not long after she arrived, Joy asked if I wanted her to leave and come back or just stay. I think the look I gave her in response must have had a hint of desperation in it. "Please stay," was all I said. It helped so much to have her there, someone who knew what was going on, who had been through it herself, who could tell me what was happening. I hated wondering how far along I was, wondering what was going on, wondering whether I was normal. I wanted a professional there.
"No problem," Joy said. "I'll just stay the night."
We waited, and talked, and time passed. Nothing really seemed to change until eleven forty, when I threw up and started shaking."Yes!" I thought to myself. "This is transition. I'm probably at nine centimeters already." I waited eagerly as Joy checked, expecting her to say I was nearly there, but after feeing for a minute she pronounced me at 3 centimeters. Maybe three and a half.
She still wanted me to try to rest, even if I couldn't sleep, but I didn't think I could relax lying down. "What about in the tub?" Joy asked.
"Well, yeah, I can relax there," I said a little sulkily, still upset about my lack of progress, "but I'll fall in if I sleep!"
"I'll watch you and make sure you don't drown," she replied, and that's exactly what she did.
For the next five hours, I sat in the tub and tried to rest. The contractions slowed down to about ten minutes apart, and I felt them mostly in my back and butt, like bad cramps. I found they were better when I relaxed through them, riding them like waves, settling into them despite the pain. Between them I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the side of the tub. I tried to listen to my Hypnobabies CD, but I quickly discovered that it was incredibly annoying (how had I listened to that irritating voice all through pregnancy?) and tossed my headphones aside. Joy dimmed the lights and lit candles and made sure I had water to drink, and to my surprise, I was able to drift into sleep. I'd wake up with a start as another contraction started, feeling like I'd slept for an hour, but it would have only been two or three minutes. After the first few hours, Matt offered to take a turn so Joy could sleep, and he sat there in the darkness trying to keep awake as I tried to go to sleep. This is the part I remember most vividly about labor: the warm water lapping at my shoulders, the candles flickering, and Joy's soft voice coming from her silhouette in the darkness as she reassured me: "You're doing great, breathe, don't back away from it, let it happen, you're doing great."
At five in the morning I got out to go to the bathroom, and Joy wanted to check me again. I was surprised when she told me I was five centimeters. I had stopped thinking of progress at that point; I was experiencing each moment, living from one contraction to the next. I hardly even thought about being halfway there, although I was pleased I wasn't still at three. I got back into the tub and rested a little longer.
Around seven I told Joy that things felt different. It was light outside and it felt like morning; I felt ready to be awake, to do something. "I can feel my cervix stretching," I told Joy, and it was the strangest feeling, but I really could feel the muscles pulling and the tissue stretching wider, like opening your jaw as wide as you can, or spreading your fingers to their fullest extent. "Something's happening," I told Joy. I was thrilled when Joy said she thought we should call Beth. That, I felt sure, meant the baby would be born soon.
At eight o'clock she checked me again, and I was seven or eight centimeters. "Really?" I felt like I'd been in labor so long that I couldn't believe it would ever end, like I'd drifted into another world, with a different flow of time. Later, I learned that she'd felt a balloon of water over the baby's head when she checked me then, so it had just been bloody show, and not my water breaking, that I'd felt earlier.
It seemed to take Beth forever to get there. She called on the way to say that she was stuck in construction traffic, and Joy gave her directions for a different way to come. I wondered if the baby would come before she did, but she arrived at 8:45, and I immediately felt better, as though everything was okay to go now.
But, of course, her arrival didn't change anything. The contractions kept coming, and I kept trying to ride them, trying to relax. I think this was the hardest part of labor, this waiting, expecting it to be over soon. There was a part of me that had thought that Beth would do something when she got there, so it was disappointing when all she did was exactly what Joy’d been doing: sit there and watch and tell me I was doing great. I wasn’t talking much any more, but I remember looking at them both with a kind of desperation, a look that said do something!—anything, drugs, forceps, something. Make it come out faster. They would both reassure me every time: You’re doing great, you’re doing this, everything is going fine.
But it’s a good thing I wasn’t in the hospital, because at that point I gladly would have accepted drugs—not really for the pain, which still was definitely bearable, but just to get it over quicker.
I kept hoping to feel the urge to push, and worrying that I wouldn't recognize it when it did come. But when it did, it was unmistakable. It was around nine in the morning when I said, "I think I need to push."
Beth checked me and felt a lip of cervix still there. "Try not to push yet," she told me. I was horrified. During the next contraction I found myself pushing—I couldn't help it.
"I have to push," I said, gasping for breath, when the contraction was over.
"Well," Beth suggested, "I can try to hold the lip back while you push during the next contraction. Do you want me to try that?"
I remembered vaguely that I'd decided earlier I didn't want that. I didn't want any kind of interventions. I wanted everything to be completely natural, to do everything myself. That was just a memory now, a very vague and faint one. "Yes, please," I said, trying to catch my breath; "let's do that."
She reached in, but I didn't feel her doing anything. The next contraction came, and I just let my body do whatever it wanted. Beth pulled her hand out. "There," she said; "you can push now."
I couldn't believe it. It had only been a few minutes, but I felt like I'd been waiting to push forever. "Really?" I looked at her in astonishment.
"Yeah," she said, with a nod like she was sending me off to go play, do my thing, do whatever I wanted.
So I did. I let my body take over completely. Even I was a little shocked by its response: for the next hour and a half, every contraction made me double up into the fetal position as I yelled at the top of my lungs, a deep grunting yell of exertion. The strange part, though, was that it didn't really hurt. It felt much better than the long, slow contractions earlier. At one point I found myself comparing it to going to the bathroom, and in the midst of a contraction I decided that it was definitely much less painful than cramps when I was sick. At one point, I looked up at Matt and was surprised to see a look of shock and horror on his face. "Don't worry," I told him. "It's not as bad as it looks, I promise. It really doesn't hurt at—aaaaaaaah "—and I interrupted myself with a yell as another contraction took hold.
But most of my time between contractions was spent urging Anastasia down. "Come on," I kept saying, "come on down! That's it, that's it." I glanced at Joy as I added, trying to laugh, "Slide, slide, slide!"
Beth suggested that I could reach in and feel the head. I tried and was amazed at how close it was, and how soft. It didn't feel at all like a skull. I kept touching it again between every contraction after that, but I was disappointed when it didn't seem to be moving down. "What's taking so long?" I demanded of the midwives. "Why isn't it moving?"
They just watched. "You're doing great," they said, a low murmur of voices that would have been meaningless if not for the fact that I knew they had both done this before, done it and watched countless other women do it. I wished they could do something more, though. Pull the baby out, or something. Give me drugs or take control or do a test, something, something more than sitting there watching as I did all the work.
Later, I remembered that was exactly why I'd chosen a homebirth: I wanted to do all the work myself.
It felt like only a few minutes later, but was really an hour, when Beth asked if I wanted to get out and sit on the birth stool. "Will it help?" I demanded.
"It might speed things up," she said.
"Then yes."
Beth sent Matt out to her car, where the stool was in the trunk. He brought it back and I climbed up out of the tub, supported by a midwife on either side. I was surprised at how weak I felt and shaky, out of the water. It was cold in the air. They wrapped a towel around my shoulders and I sat on the stool before I was overtaken by a strong contraction.
This time, when I reached down to feel the head, I didn't have to reach in. "It's crowning!" I exclaimed. The head was protruding out of me. "It's coming out, it's crowning!"
"Well..." Beth hesitated. "Technically crowning is when the head is a little farther out, about where a crown would sit—" She broke off as I gave her a blank look. What on earth was the woman babbling about? My baby was crowning! "Get back in the pool," Beth interrupted herself hastily. "The water will support you; I don't want you to tear."
I was shivering now and cold, so I gladly stood up to hop back in the pool. Except that now I had a baby's head sticking out between my legs. Somehow I still managed, with both midwives' help, to climb back over the edge of the tub and sink gratefully back into the water just before another contraction was coming.
Except the contraction I was expecting didn't come. I sat down in the water, and nothing happened. I waited. Finally a contraction did come, but it didn't, as I expected, push the head out immediately. In the movies, the baby comes out as soon as it starts crowning; why wasn't that happening to me? I started to get a little angry.
"What's going on?" I demanded of the midwives, as though they could do something about it. "Why isn't it coming out? What's taking so long?"
"Well," Beth spoke gently, "your body is slowing down to prevent you from tearing. It's giving your skin time to stretch." She paused a moment, then added, "That's why they do episiotomies. If we did one right now, the baby would come right out."
I glared at her. Why wasn't she doing one, then? I opened my mouth to say, only half-joking, that I was sure I had some scissors in the house, but I was interrupted by another contraction.
That one didn't push the baby out either, but it gave me time to remember that I didn't want an episiotomy. That was why I was having a homebirth.
Why didn't I want an episiotomy? That was the part I couldn't remember.
But just as I realized that the baby was never coming out, and I would be giving birth forever, in some eternal alternate reality, the baby did come out. The head popped out and the body slipped easily after, and I caught the baby without even thinking, with a reflex instinct that would become a motion I would practice many times again, to scoop up and cuddle my baby. I pulled the baby up out of the water and held it so I could look in its face. "I can't believe you're finally out," I said, still gasping for breath. It looked back at me, right in my eyes, and a little red tongue flicked out of its mouth at me. Then it opened its mouth and screamed, and I instinctively cuddled its wet little body close to my breast, comforting.
Beth wrapped a towel around both of us and put a hat on the baby's head, and only then did I realize that I could finally find out what gender it was. "What are you?" I asked through laughing and crying, and I held it out again to see. Through tears and sweat and exhaustion, all I saw was something dangling down—the cord still hanging off the baby's belly. "It's a boy," I said, feeling—to my shock—a little disappointed.
"No, it's a girl," Beth corrected me softly, and I blinked and looked more carefully, and saw she was right.
"It's a girl! You're a girl!" and I hugged her to my breast again, exulting, thinking in a joyful flash of slumber parties and girl bonding and makeup sessions and shopping trips and cute little pink baby outfits. "Anastasia," I called her by her name for the first time, and it felt so right to say it. I knew then why we could never agree on a boy name.
It was 11:14 in the morning, and the sun was shining through the window.
The rest of the morning was a blur. Beth made me get out of the tub again so she could see how much I was bleeding, and I cuddled Anastasia as we waited for the placenta to come. It took over an hour, and I was shocked when I realized my body was still working. "Why am I still having contractions?" I asked, perched on the birth stool. "I thought I was done!" But I was quickly distracted by Anastasia, who was nuzzling my breast and opening her mouth. She latched on and started nursing, and I watched her in amazement. She was so tiny, so beautiful, so perfect. "Is she really ours?" I wondered. "How can she be related to us? She's so much more beautiful than either of us." She looked like another being entirely, not even human, some lovely perfect creature from another world.
Someone told me recently that babies are perfect when they're born--and then they keep getting better. Now that I've experienced it, I know it's true.
I did get one surprise on the twelfth: a package from Mom Baker, with some of Matt's baby clothes, handmade by a friend, and a poem that Grandpa Baker wrote while they were waiting to hear about Matt's birth.
But that, and a lot of phone calls asking when I was going to have the baby, were all I got on her due date.
Eight days later, my sister-in-law, Heidi, was induced and gave birth to Anastasia's cousin, Olivia Grace. I was happy for her, but a part of me couldn't help but feel a little disappointed: Heidi and Jeff had already had one baby, and their due date was after ours! Heidi and I had enjoyed being pregnant together, but I had wanted to have my baby first.
However, I'd also had a feeling all along that Anastasia wouldn't come till the end of the month--maybe not even until March 1. On February 22, at our regular appointment, I told my midwife, Beth, that I thought the baby wouldn't come until the following weekend, either February 29 or March 1. Joy, Beth’s apprentice, mentioned that she would be on vacation that weekend. "Oh." I felt a touch of disappointment. "I don't want you to miss the birth!"
Driving home from the appointment that afternoon, I thought to myself, Well, maybe I should have the baby earlier than next weekend. Actually, I think I'm ready to have the baby now.
My contractions started at nine that evening.
I didn't say anything to Matt at first; I'd been having a lot of Braxton-Hicks, and I didn't want to get excited yet. We watched a movie (Becoming Jane), and I made myself comfortable on the couch. But when the contractions still felt strong and regular two hours later, after the movie ended, I started to think something might be happening.
"I'm having a lot of contractions," I told Matt. "I think it might be starting."
We timed the contractions at 3-5 minutes apart, but they weren't consistent or very strong, so we didn't call Beth. I didn't want to be one of those women who couldn't stop calling the midwife. "I think we have a while yet," I said, and we decided to go to bed.
Except that Matt wanted to watch another movie. He watched Sweeney Todd (the old version, not the newer one), while I tried unsuccessfully to go to sleep. It wasn't that I was too excited--although that was probably part of it--but it was mostly because I was uncomfortable lying down. By the time Matt finally came to bed, I had given up on sleeping. Lying down made the contractions painful, but while I was walking around I felt fine. So I walked around the house, sat on the toilet, and read Harry Potter 5 (I'd been re-reading the series) while Matt slept. Around three in the morning it occurred to me that this really was labor, so there was no point in waiting to set up the waterbirthing tub, and that I might be more comfortable in water. So I set up the AquaDoula tub and filled it with water. By then, I was getting tired and very uncomfortable, and I was glad when the tub finally filled. I sank into the water with relief and was able to relax for the first time since the contractions had started. I listened to my Hypnobabies CD until I got bored of it; then I kept reading Harry Potter and tried not to think about being in labor. And waited for it to be late enough in the morning to call my midwife.
I finally called Beth around eight a.m. I hadn't wanted to wake her up when it clearly wasn't an emergency yet. She had several things scheduled that day--a home visit and a blessing ceremony--but assured me that she would skip out on both of them if I needed her. "But you don't sound like you're very far along yet," she added. I tried not to feel disappointed. "On the other hand, you are doing that hypnobabies thing, so maybe you're just relaxed."
Right.
We agreed that I would call her if I felt different or if anything changed, and she would keep calling me throughout the day to check on my progress.
By that afternoon, nothing had really changed. I felt like I'd been having contractions for a really long time, and I was tired, but although they were very regular they didn't seem much stronger. I'd been either walking around or sitting in the tub for most of the day. Joy decided to stop by my house on the way back from the blessing ceremony, and she arrived at 2:30 pm. I was excited for her to check my cervix and see how far I'd progressed, but I was stunned when she told me it was only 2 cm. Two?!? I already hadn't slept in 18 hours.
"You need to rest," Joy ordered me. "You have a long time ahead yet." She made me get in bed and got me a glass of red wine. She also insisted that I eat something--I'd had nothing but a little toast that morning--so Matt made some bacon and I tried to force it down. She left me lying propped up on pillows, trying to relax.
About fifteen minutes after she left, I felt a gush of liquid down my leg. Fortunately she had put a pad under me on the bed, anticipating something like that. I ran to the bathroom and discovered I was bleeding. "I think my water broke!" I said excitedly to Matt, and I called Joy.
"It sounds like your water broke," she agreed. But she was still adamant: "Get some rest," she said again, and I reluctantly tried to lie down.
But it was even more uncomfortable to lie down, so I soon went back into the tub. I spent the afternoon alternating between sitting in the tub reading and wandering around the house. Joy came back at nine that evening. By then the contractions were stronger and very frequent, but it wasn't very intense yet. Between contractions, Joy and I talked about literature and youth ministry (she also used to be a youth director at a church); I showed her my library and recommended several books she hadn't read yet. I leaned on the back of the couch during each contraction, breathing through it as I'd learned from my Hypnobabies CDs, relaxing as much as I could.
I also told Joy how we'd been joking about labor the previous weekend with some friends, and predicting when my baby would be born. One of our friends was training to be a flight attendant, and the cheer she'd learned for passenger instructions in an emergency had sounded to me (with birthing on my mind) like something you could say to the baby: "Heads down, stay down! Leave everything, come this way! Slide, slide, slide!" "You can say that to the baby when it's coming out!" I laughed to Joy.
Not long after she arrived, Joy asked if I wanted her to leave and come back or just stay. I think the look I gave her in response must have had a hint of desperation in it. "Please stay," was all I said. It helped so much to have her there, someone who knew what was going on, who had been through it herself, who could tell me what was happening. I hated wondering how far along I was, wondering what was going on, wondering whether I was normal. I wanted a professional there.
"No problem," Joy said. "I'll just stay the night."
We waited, and talked, and time passed. Nothing really seemed to change until eleven forty, when I threw up and started shaking."Yes!" I thought to myself. "This is transition. I'm probably at nine centimeters already." I waited eagerly as Joy checked, expecting her to say I was nearly there, but after feeing for a minute she pronounced me at 3 centimeters. Maybe three and a half.
She still wanted me to try to rest, even if I couldn't sleep, but I didn't think I could relax lying down. "What about in the tub?" Joy asked.
"Well, yeah, I can relax there," I said a little sulkily, still upset about my lack of progress, "but I'll fall in if I sleep!"
"I'll watch you and make sure you don't drown," she replied, and that's exactly what she did.
For the next five hours, I sat in the tub and tried to rest. The contractions slowed down to about ten minutes apart, and I felt them mostly in my back and butt, like bad cramps. I found they were better when I relaxed through them, riding them like waves, settling into them despite the pain. Between them I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the side of the tub. I tried to listen to my Hypnobabies CD, but I quickly discovered that it was incredibly annoying (how had I listened to that irritating voice all through pregnancy?) and tossed my headphones aside. Joy dimmed the lights and lit candles and made sure I had water to drink, and to my surprise, I was able to drift into sleep. I'd wake up with a start as another contraction started, feeling like I'd slept for an hour, but it would have only been two or three minutes. After the first few hours, Matt offered to take a turn so Joy could sleep, and he sat there in the darkness trying to keep awake as I tried to go to sleep. This is the part I remember most vividly about labor: the warm water lapping at my shoulders, the candles flickering, and Joy's soft voice coming from her silhouette in the darkness as she reassured me: "You're doing great, breathe, don't back away from it, let it happen, you're doing great."
At five in the morning I got out to go to the bathroom, and Joy wanted to check me again. I was surprised when she told me I was five centimeters. I had stopped thinking of progress at that point; I was experiencing each moment, living from one contraction to the next. I hardly even thought about being halfway there, although I was pleased I wasn't still at three. I got back into the tub and rested a little longer.
Around seven I told Joy that things felt different. It was light outside and it felt like morning; I felt ready to be awake, to do something. "I can feel my cervix stretching," I told Joy, and it was the strangest feeling, but I really could feel the muscles pulling and the tissue stretching wider, like opening your jaw as wide as you can, or spreading your fingers to their fullest extent. "Something's happening," I told Joy. I was thrilled when Joy said she thought we should call Beth. That, I felt sure, meant the baby would be born soon.
At eight o'clock she checked me again, and I was seven or eight centimeters. "Really?" I felt like I'd been in labor so long that I couldn't believe it would ever end, like I'd drifted into another world, with a different flow of time. Later, I learned that she'd felt a balloon of water over the baby's head when she checked me then, so it had just been bloody show, and not my water breaking, that I'd felt earlier.
It seemed to take Beth forever to get there. She called on the way to say that she was stuck in construction traffic, and Joy gave her directions for a different way to come. I wondered if the baby would come before she did, but she arrived at 8:45, and I immediately felt better, as though everything was okay to go now.
But, of course, her arrival didn't change anything. The contractions kept coming, and I kept trying to ride them, trying to relax. I think this was the hardest part of labor, this waiting, expecting it to be over soon. There was a part of me that had thought that Beth would do something when she got there, so it was disappointing when all she did was exactly what Joy’d been doing: sit there and watch and tell me I was doing great. I wasn’t talking much any more, but I remember looking at them both with a kind of desperation, a look that said do something!—anything, drugs, forceps, something. Make it come out faster. They would both reassure me every time: You’re doing great, you’re doing this, everything is going fine.
But it’s a good thing I wasn’t in the hospital, because at that point I gladly would have accepted drugs—not really for the pain, which still was definitely bearable, but just to get it over quicker.
I kept hoping to feel the urge to push, and worrying that I wouldn't recognize it when it did come. But when it did, it was unmistakable. It was around nine in the morning when I said, "I think I need to push."
Beth checked me and felt a lip of cervix still there. "Try not to push yet," she told me. I was horrified. During the next contraction I found myself pushing—I couldn't help it.
"I have to push," I said, gasping for breath, when the contraction was over.
"Well," Beth suggested, "I can try to hold the lip back while you push during the next contraction. Do you want me to try that?"
I remembered vaguely that I'd decided earlier I didn't want that. I didn't want any kind of interventions. I wanted everything to be completely natural, to do everything myself. That was just a memory now, a very vague and faint one. "Yes, please," I said, trying to catch my breath; "let's do that."
She reached in, but I didn't feel her doing anything. The next contraction came, and I just let my body do whatever it wanted. Beth pulled her hand out. "There," she said; "you can push now."
I couldn't believe it. It had only been a few minutes, but I felt like I'd been waiting to push forever. "Really?" I looked at her in astonishment.
"Yeah," she said, with a nod like she was sending me off to go play, do my thing, do whatever I wanted.
So I did. I let my body take over completely. Even I was a little shocked by its response: for the next hour and a half, every contraction made me double up into the fetal position as I yelled at the top of my lungs, a deep grunting yell of exertion. The strange part, though, was that it didn't really hurt. It felt much better than the long, slow contractions earlier. At one point I found myself comparing it to going to the bathroom, and in the midst of a contraction I decided that it was definitely much less painful than cramps when I was sick. At one point, I looked up at Matt and was surprised to see a look of shock and horror on his face. "Don't worry," I told him. "It's not as bad as it looks, I promise. It really doesn't hurt at—aaaaaaaah "—and I interrupted myself with a yell as another contraction took hold.
But most of my time between contractions was spent urging Anastasia down. "Come on," I kept saying, "come on down! That's it, that's it." I glanced at Joy as I added, trying to laugh, "Slide, slide, slide!"
Beth suggested that I could reach in and feel the head. I tried and was amazed at how close it was, and how soft. It didn't feel at all like a skull. I kept touching it again between every contraction after that, but I was disappointed when it didn't seem to be moving down. "What's taking so long?" I demanded of the midwives. "Why isn't it moving?"
They just watched. "You're doing great," they said, a low murmur of voices that would have been meaningless if not for the fact that I knew they had both done this before, done it and watched countless other women do it. I wished they could do something more, though. Pull the baby out, or something. Give me drugs or take control or do a test, something, something more than sitting there watching as I did all the work.
Later, I remembered that was exactly why I'd chosen a homebirth: I wanted to do all the work myself.
It felt like only a few minutes later, but was really an hour, when Beth asked if I wanted to get out and sit on the birth stool. "Will it help?" I demanded.
"It might speed things up," she said.
"Then yes."
Beth sent Matt out to her car, where the stool was in the trunk. He brought it back and I climbed up out of the tub, supported by a midwife on either side. I was surprised at how weak I felt and shaky, out of the water. It was cold in the air. They wrapped a towel around my shoulders and I sat on the stool before I was overtaken by a strong contraction.
This time, when I reached down to feel the head, I didn't have to reach in. "It's crowning!" I exclaimed. The head was protruding out of me. "It's coming out, it's crowning!"
"Well..." Beth hesitated. "Technically crowning is when the head is a little farther out, about where a crown would sit—" She broke off as I gave her a blank look. What on earth was the woman babbling about? My baby was crowning! "Get back in the pool," Beth interrupted herself hastily. "The water will support you; I don't want you to tear."
I was shivering now and cold, so I gladly stood up to hop back in the pool. Except that now I had a baby's head sticking out between my legs. Somehow I still managed, with both midwives' help, to climb back over the edge of the tub and sink gratefully back into the water just before another contraction was coming.
Except the contraction I was expecting didn't come. I sat down in the water, and nothing happened. I waited. Finally a contraction did come, but it didn't, as I expected, push the head out immediately. In the movies, the baby comes out as soon as it starts crowning; why wasn't that happening to me? I started to get a little angry.
"What's going on?" I demanded of the midwives, as though they could do something about it. "Why isn't it coming out? What's taking so long?"
"Well," Beth spoke gently, "your body is slowing down to prevent you from tearing. It's giving your skin time to stretch." She paused a moment, then added, "That's why they do episiotomies. If we did one right now, the baby would come right out."
I glared at her. Why wasn't she doing one, then? I opened my mouth to say, only half-joking, that I was sure I had some scissors in the house, but I was interrupted by another contraction.
That one didn't push the baby out either, but it gave me time to remember that I didn't want an episiotomy. That was why I was having a homebirth.
Why didn't I want an episiotomy? That was the part I couldn't remember.
But just as I realized that the baby was never coming out, and I would be giving birth forever, in some eternal alternate reality, the baby did come out. The head popped out and the body slipped easily after, and I caught the baby without even thinking, with a reflex instinct that would become a motion I would practice many times again, to scoop up and cuddle my baby. I pulled the baby up out of the water and held it so I could look in its face. "I can't believe you're finally out," I said, still gasping for breath. It looked back at me, right in my eyes, and a little red tongue flicked out of its mouth at me. Then it opened its mouth and screamed, and I instinctively cuddled its wet little body close to my breast, comforting.
Beth wrapped a towel around both of us and put a hat on the baby's head, and only then did I realize that I could finally find out what gender it was. "What are you?" I asked through laughing and crying, and I held it out again to see. Through tears and sweat and exhaustion, all I saw was something dangling down—the cord still hanging off the baby's belly. "It's a boy," I said, feeling—to my shock—a little disappointed.
"No, it's a girl," Beth corrected me softly, and I blinked and looked more carefully, and saw she was right.
"It's a girl! You're a girl!" and I hugged her to my breast again, exulting, thinking in a joyful flash of slumber parties and girl bonding and makeup sessions and shopping trips and cute little pink baby outfits. "Anastasia," I called her by her name for the first time, and it felt so right to say it. I knew then why we could never agree on a boy name.
It was 11:14 in the morning, and the sun was shining through the window.
The rest of the morning was a blur. Beth made me get out of the tub again so she could see how much I was bleeding, and I cuddled Anastasia as we waited for the placenta to come. It took over an hour, and I was shocked when I realized my body was still working. "Why am I still having contractions?" I asked, perched on the birth stool. "I thought I was done!" But I was quickly distracted by Anastasia, who was nuzzling my breast and opening her mouth. She latched on and started nursing, and I watched her in amazement. She was so tiny, so beautiful, so perfect. "Is she really ours?" I wondered. "How can she be related to us? She's so much more beautiful than either of us." She looked like another being entirely, not even human, some lovely perfect creature from another world.
Someone told me recently that babies are perfect when they're born--and then they keep getting better. Now that I've experienced it, I know it's true.
5.10.2008
pacifiers are not a gateway drug
Yesterday Matt convinced Anastasia to use a pacifier. He'd been saying for weeks that she needed one. "She just wants to suck on something," he kept saying, as she fussed and cried and I kept trying to nurse her. "She needs a pacifier."
Reluctantly, I bought a couple of Soothies last week, but I was secretly delighted when she absolutely refused them. However, on Friday I decided to get a couple of Nuks just in case. I was worrying about our upcoming car trip (to Virginia, on Memorial Day weekend); weighing my hatred of pacifiers against my dread of her crying, I decided the pacifier was worth another try. But I was still disappointed when she experimentally mouthed the Nuk for a few minutes and then settled down happily to suck on it.
I expected that Matt would be proud; it was his idea, after all. Instead, he cried.
I looked at him in amazement as he wiped his eyes. "Are you crying?"
"I feel like I'm corrupting her," he admitted, half laughing as he wiped another tear off his cheek. "She used to be so sweet and innocent. Now she's a woman of the world."
I looked at our little girl, staring at us wide-eyed with a pink pacifier attached to her mouth, and I felt myself getting a little choked up too. "But she's happy," I said, trying to convince both of us.
I think we were both relieved when she spit the pacifier out and cooed at us reassuringly. "Don't worry," she seemed to be saying. "I'm not addicted. I can quit anytime I want."
Reluctantly, I bought a couple of Soothies last week, but I was secretly delighted when she absolutely refused them. However, on Friday I decided to get a couple of Nuks just in case. I was worrying about our upcoming car trip (to Virginia, on Memorial Day weekend); weighing my hatred of pacifiers against my dread of her crying, I decided the pacifier was worth another try. But I was still disappointed when she experimentally mouthed the Nuk for a few minutes and then settled down happily to suck on it.
I expected that Matt would be proud; it was his idea, after all. Instead, he cried.
I looked at him in amazement as he wiped his eyes. "Are you crying?"
"I feel like I'm corrupting her," he admitted, half laughing as he wiped another tear off his cheek. "She used to be so sweet and innocent. Now she's a woman of the world."
I looked at our little girl, staring at us wide-eyed with a pink pacifier attached to her mouth, and I felt myself getting a little choked up too. "But she's happy," I said, trying to convince both of us.
I think we were both relieved when she spit the pacifier out and cooed at us reassuringly. "Don't worry," she seemed to be saying. "I'm not addicted. I can quit anytime I want."
5.09.2008
elimination, telepathy, and the abortion debate
Lately I've found myself measuring my days by how well I do at elimination communication. Not because I care about misses--I think there must be a hormone that makes mothers not mind their babies' bodily fluids, and when Anastasia pees on me I simply find it cute--but just because I feel so in tune with Anastasia when I know when she needs to go.
Perhaps I should explain a bit, since not everyone is familiar with elimination communication, or EC. Which is a shame--everyone ought to at least be aware of it so they know they have the option. But to briefly explain it, it's simply the method used to deal with the toileting needs of infants in countries where diapers are not readily available. Just as mothers all over the world learn to be aware when their child is hungry or tired, many mothers also learn to be aware when their babies need to go to the bathroom. Then, instead of watching them go in a diaper, they take them to an appropriate place (a toilet, a sink, a baby potty, or even a convenient bush) and let them go. Babies learn to associate a certain position (usually you hold them in a sort of crouching or squatting position) and a sound (generally hissing) with going to the bathroom. It's completely different from potty training, mainly because potty training is actually re-training a child who's gotten used to going in his diapers to relearn to recognize when he needs to go. Babies are born recognizing that need, and EC allows the parents to recognize it, too.
Anastasia and I started gradually. I learned about EC before she was born, and I knew I wanted to start as soon as possible after her birth. But after our long labor, I knew I would need a little time to recover before I started trying to learn such a radically unfamiliar skill. I waited about two weeks before I even thought about it, and during that time we used cloth diapers. (I thought I was just being lazy, so I was delighted to discover when I read Diaper Free: The Gentle Wisdom of Natural Infant Hygiene that even places where EC is normal don't start until at least two weeks old. They use a towel or cloth before that to catch messes.) When Anastasia was about two weeks old, although I still felt really intimidated by it and not quite ready, I decided I'd better just plunge in and try. So at a diaper change, I held her over the toilet and made a hissing sound.
Like many new EC'ers, I was blown away when she peed. In the toilet. First try.
After that, it didn't take long to get hooked. One of the best parts for me about EC'ing is that suddenly diaper changes became fun: instead of just being a mess to clean up, they were an opportunity to get to know my baby better, to understand her needs and her language. After a couple months of using diapers all the time and just taking her to the toilet between changes, while trying to figure out her rhythms and notice how often she goes at different times of day, I felt ready to really go diaper-free. At least part time.
Which brings us to where we are now. In the past week, Anastasia has had several days when she went six, seven, or eight hours without a miss. Some of those days she was diaperless; some of them she was in the same diaper all day. I love having her bare-bummed (she has the cutest dimples on her bum), but I'm finding I tend to be more relaxed about it when I have a little bit of backup. Also, sometimes she passes a little bit of mess when she farts, and I hate for her to get skid marks on her clothes and have to change her whole outfit. I've gravitating more toward just a flatfold or cotton fitted diaper, with either no cover or just a breathable wool cover, because I don't like having her covered with something waterproof. I asked for some baby underwear and training pants from the EC store for mother's day, and I can't wait to start dressing her in those!--light and breathable, with just a tiny bit of protection.
We're both enjoying a lot of benefits from EC. Anastasia has no diaper rash, she never has to sit in her own mess, she's keeping her natural awareness of her body, and she's experiencing more and more immediate responses to her needs. She also will probably never develop an unhealthy self-consciousness about her private parts, and she's already used to peeing outside! I am enjoying less laundry, more enjoyment of my baby, and very few poopy messes to clean up--it's only once every ten days or so that she poops in a diaper instead of the toilet. But best of all, we're both learning to communicate with each other in ways I never thought were possible with a baby. The other day, in fact, I realized that she's often communicating with me telepathically.
Crazy, I know. But my sister, mother, and I have had many experiences that we could only explain by telepathy, and my mother has had many experiences with my aunt as well. And really, it makes sense that mothers and babies would be able to communicate this way, at least before a baby can communicate with words. Many of the commonly experienced "signals" of needing to go that EC'ers advise each other to look for would best be described as telepathy--things like feeling a phantom pee before the baby has actually peed, or hearing a phrase like "she needs to pee" in your head, or even feeling the urge to pee yourself.
And I'm starting to wonder if listening to Anastasia's toileting needs isn't helping me better "hear" her other needs as well. The other night she was crying inconsolably as I tried to get her to sleep. She'd just peed, she wasn't hot or cold, she was swaddled and comfortable and I was trying to feed her. But she kept pulling off, protesting, and looking at me pleadingly, as if desperate to communicate something that I just wasn't hearing. I tried to comfort her, but she kept giving me that look--"can't you see what's wrong?" she seemed to be saying. And suddenly it popped into my mind like a flash of insight, something I never would have thought of on my own: the light was bothering her. I didn't think of it as something that might help that I hadn't tried yet; I knew, suddenly but completely, that the light was the problem. I got up and turned it off, and she was asleep in minutes.
Coincidence? Maybe.
But looking back, I realized that wasn't the first time that happened. There was that moment shortly after she was born, as we were taking a bath together. I lowered her into the warm water, and she began to relax for the first time since her birth. "Ah," I could see her thinking, "yes, warm water; this is what I'm used to!" But after a few minutes she stretched her arms out, and as she did so she startled and gave a terrified scream. Watching the whole thing, I knew instantly what had upset her: her outstretched arms had met with no walls, no barrier, and she felt like she was falling. For a moment she had forgotten and thought she was still in the womb. In the moment when she startled, I had felt my own stomach jump, as if I were falling.
I wonder if we're all born with that kind of connection. It makes sense, after all, that a mother and baby who have been intimately physically joined for nine months would continue to feel and experience things together, at least for a while. It might be offensive to some to say it, but a baby in your womb really is part of your body--just as you are part of its body. In some cultures, newborn infants and mothers are considered to still be two parts of the same person for the first few months, so they should never be separated. It makes sense from a physiological perspective: a breastfeeding baby is eating the same things as its mother, and when mothers are in physical contact with their newborns, the mother's body regulates the baby's breathing and body temperature. I realize this argument has often been used to support pro-choice, but now that I've experienced pregnancy, that logic seems terribly flawed to me. Perhaps, instead of arguing that the baby really is a separate person, the pro-lifers ought to embrace the idea of mother and baby being, in some mysterious way, one person in two parts. Then abortion becomes as much self-injury as murder. Like cutting off your own hand. Maybe that would help new mothers, too, to be gentler on themselves and to listen to their instincts. I am becoming more and more convinced that every woman who carries a baby and gives birth has the ability to be the best mother possible to that baby. But so many of us override those instincts with the dubious wisdom of experts or well-meaning friends who tell us "don't spoil her" or "you won't have enough milk" or "babies don't know when they need to go." Mothers, I appeal to you: don't listen to the experts. When it comes to understanding your baby, no one knows better than you do. You are, in many ways, still one person--just with two souls.
Perhaps I should explain a bit, since not everyone is familiar with elimination communication, or EC. Which is a shame--everyone ought to at least be aware of it so they know they have the option. But to briefly explain it, it's simply the method used to deal with the toileting needs of infants in countries where diapers are not readily available. Just as mothers all over the world learn to be aware when their child is hungry or tired, many mothers also learn to be aware when their babies need to go to the bathroom. Then, instead of watching them go in a diaper, they take them to an appropriate place (a toilet, a sink, a baby potty, or even a convenient bush) and let them go. Babies learn to associate a certain position (usually you hold them in a sort of crouching or squatting position) and a sound (generally hissing) with going to the bathroom. It's completely different from potty training, mainly because potty training is actually re-training a child who's gotten used to going in his diapers to relearn to recognize when he needs to go. Babies are born recognizing that need, and EC allows the parents to recognize it, too.
Anastasia and I started gradually. I learned about EC before she was born, and I knew I wanted to start as soon as possible after her birth. But after our long labor, I knew I would need a little time to recover before I started trying to learn such a radically unfamiliar skill. I waited about two weeks before I even thought about it, and during that time we used cloth diapers. (I thought I was just being lazy, so I was delighted to discover when I read Diaper Free: The Gentle Wisdom of Natural Infant Hygiene that even places where EC is normal don't start until at least two weeks old. They use a towel or cloth before that to catch messes.) When Anastasia was about two weeks old, although I still felt really intimidated by it and not quite ready, I decided I'd better just plunge in and try. So at a diaper change, I held her over the toilet and made a hissing sound.
Like many new EC'ers, I was blown away when she peed. In the toilet. First try.
After that, it didn't take long to get hooked. One of the best parts for me about EC'ing is that suddenly diaper changes became fun: instead of just being a mess to clean up, they were an opportunity to get to know my baby better, to understand her needs and her language. After a couple months of using diapers all the time and just taking her to the toilet between changes, while trying to figure out her rhythms and notice how often she goes at different times of day, I felt ready to really go diaper-free. At least part time.
Which brings us to where we are now. In the past week, Anastasia has had several days when she went six, seven, or eight hours without a miss. Some of those days she was diaperless; some of them she was in the same diaper all day. I love having her bare-bummed (she has the cutest dimples on her bum), but I'm finding I tend to be more relaxed about it when I have a little bit of backup. Also, sometimes she passes a little bit of mess when she farts, and I hate for her to get skid marks on her clothes and have to change her whole outfit. I've gravitating more toward just a flatfold or cotton fitted diaper, with either no cover or just a breathable wool cover, because I don't like having her covered with something waterproof. I asked for some baby underwear and training pants from the EC store for mother's day, and I can't wait to start dressing her in those!--light and breathable, with just a tiny bit of protection.
We're both enjoying a lot of benefits from EC. Anastasia has no diaper rash, she never has to sit in her own mess, she's keeping her natural awareness of her body, and she's experiencing more and more immediate responses to her needs. She also will probably never develop an unhealthy self-consciousness about her private parts, and she's already used to peeing outside! I am enjoying less laundry, more enjoyment of my baby, and very few poopy messes to clean up--it's only once every ten days or so that she poops in a diaper instead of the toilet. But best of all, we're both learning to communicate with each other in ways I never thought were possible with a baby. The other day, in fact, I realized that she's often communicating with me telepathically.
Crazy, I know. But my sister, mother, and I have had many experiences that we could only explain by telepathy, and my mother has had many experiences with my aunt as well. And really, it makes sense that mothers and babies would be able to communicate this way, at least before a baby can communicate with words. Many of the commonly experienced "signals" of needing to go that EC'ers advise each other to look for would best be described as telepathy--things like feeling a phantom pee before the baby has actually peed, or hearing a phrase like "she needs to pee" in your head, or even feeling the urge to pee yourself.
And I'm starting to wonder if listening to Anastasia's toileting needs isn't helping me better "hear" her other needs as well. The other night she was crying inconsolably as I tried to get her to sleep. She'd just peed, she wasn't hot or cold, she was swaddled and comfortable and I was trying to feed her. But she kept pulling off, protesting, and looking at me pleadingly, as if desperate to communicate something that I just wasn't hearing. I tried to comfort her, but she kept giving me that look--"can't you see what's wrong?" she seemed to be saying. And suddenly it popped into my mind like a flash of insight, something I never would have thought of on my own: the light was bothering her. I didn't think of it as something that might help that I hadn't tried yet; I knew, suddenly but completely, that the light was the problem. I got up and turned it off, and she was asleep in minutes.
Coincidence? Maybe.
But looking back, I realized that wasn't the first time that happened. There was that moment shortly after she was born, as we were taking a bath together. I lowered her into the warm water, and she began to relax for the first time since her birth. "Ah," I could see her thinking, "yes, warm water; this is what I'm used to!" But after a few minutes she stretched her arms out, and as she did so she startled and gave a terrified scream. Watching the whole thing, I knew instantly what had upset her: her outstretched arms had met with no walls, no barrier, and she felt like she was falling. For a moment she had forgotten and thought she was still in the womb. In the moment when she startled, I had felt my own stomach jump, as if I were falling.
I wonder if we're all born with that kind of connection. It makes sense, after all, that a mother and baby who have been intimately physically joined for nine months would continue to feel and experience things together, at least for a while. It might be offensive to some to say it, but a baby in your womb really is part of your body--just as you are part of its body. In some cultures, newborn infants and mothers are considered to still be two parts of the same person for the first few months, so they should never be separated. It makes sense from a physiological perspective: a breastfeeding baby is eating the same things as its mother, and when mothers are in physical contact with their newborns, the mother's body regulates the baby's breathing and body temperature. I realize this argument has often been used to support pro-choice, but now that I've experienced pregnancy, that logic seems terribly flawed to me. Perhaps, instead of arguing that the baby really is a separate person, the pro-lifers ought to embrace the idea of mother and baby being, in some mysterious way, one person in two parts. Then abortion becomes as much self-injury as murder. Like cutting off your own hand. Maybe that would help new mothers, too, to be gentler on themselves and to listen to their instincts. I am becoming more and more convinced that every woman who carries a baby and gives birth has the ability to be the best mother possible to that baby. But so many of us override those instincts with the dubious wisdom of experts or well-meaning friends who tell us "don't spoil her" or "you won't have enough milk" or "babies don't know when they need to go." Mothers, I appeal to you: don't listen to the experts. When it comes to understanding your baby, no one knows better than you do. You are, in many ways, still one person--just with two souls.
5.08.2008
anastasia so far
Anastasia is nine weeks and four days old today. Her accomplishments so far:
And her newest accomplishment today: turning her body around while on her tummy! I put her on a blanket on the floor today as usual so she could practice movements that lead toward crawling. This is something that she wants to do pretty much every day. Usually she just holds her head up and wiggles her arms and legs. It's clear that she wants to crawl, but of course she can't do that yet. However, today as she was wiggling her feet and knees against the floor, she somehow managed to pivot her body around! Her head stayed in basically the same face as the rest of her body pivoted around it. I have no idea how she accomplished this. But I am impressed! Mary and Pamela Showalter were there to see it as well. She went a full 180 degrees before she got frustrated and wanted to be picked up.
She may not be interested in toys yet, but she does love to play...
- smiling a lot! -- especially for Daddy
- laughing
- rolling from her back to her side when she's next to me on the bed (I think the soft surface helps. She can also wiggle up next to me to get her mouth on my boob.)
- cooing and babbling (I love this!)
- sort of putting herself on a schedule (awake for about an hour, then eat and sleep, except at night, when she wakes every two hours but only to eat)
- peeing and pooping in the toilet more than half the time. This is as much my accomplishment as hers, I guess. But still.
- holding her head up and turning it to the side while on her tummy
- holding her head up with only a little wobbling when she's sitting up
- looking people in the eyes and imitating facial expressions
- responding to voices and studying people's faces
- "walking" with much of her weight on her legs as you hold her arms or body
- "jumping" off your lap: she crouches down and pushes off, and we fly her into the air
- staring at patterns and lights with great fascination
- "beat boxing" with daddy (she waves her arms or stomps her feet in rhythm, although it's probably just coincidence)
- nursing round the clock!
And her newest accomplishment today: turning her body around while on her tummy! I put her on a blanket on the floor today as usual so she could practice movements that lead toward crawling. This is something that she wants to do pretty much every day. Usually she just holds her head up and wiggles her arms and legs. It's clear that she wants to crawl, but of course she can't do that yet. However, today as she was wiggling her feet and knees against the floor, she somehow managed to pivot her body around! Her head stayed in basically the same face as the rest of her body pivoted around it. I have no idea how she accomplished this. But I am impressed! Mary and Pamela Showalter were there to see it as well. She went a full 180 degrees before she got frustrated and wanted to be picked up.
She may not be interested in toys yet, but she does love to play...
welcome to the web
Dear Anastasia,
Since I'm terrible at making a baby book, I've decided to make you a baby book online. It's not as permanent, I know, but I think you'll still be able to read it someday. It's less work than scrapbooking, I know, but it's done with no less love. So, with no further ado, let's talk about you!
Since I'm terrible at making a baby book, I've decided to make you a baby book online. It's not as permanent, I know, but I think you'll still be able to read it someday. It's less work than scrapbooking, I know, but it's done with no less love. So, with no further ado, let's talk about you!
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