A writer friend of mine is in the process of sloughing off a few years of other pursuits to return to writing full-time. To help her do so, she's practicing a daily ritual of writing for one hour every day, even if that means an hour of writing "I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write."
It seemed like a brilliant idea, and what better time than when I'm 5 1/2 months pregnant, working full time and chasing a preschooler around? So at 2 p.m. on July 30, I begin what will likely be at least four months (now that I know how hard balancing a computer on your lap with a nursing infant can be) of daily drivel, sent out into the universe via the internet.
One reason why I chose this weekend to start is because I'm feeling a bit (pleasantly) lonely, as many of our close friends and family, here and abroad, are otherwise occupied with major life transitions. A birthday, a reunion, building a house and two new babies, to name a few. It's given us some needed time for reflection on the gifts of our life and the realization that in four short months we'll be receiving another small, loud, squirming, beautiful, sweet-smelling (most of the time) one of our own.
How is it nearly August anyway? With my work getting increasingly busy towards the chock-a-block mayhem of fall, B & I are feeling pressure to prepare for the baby yesterday. I've spent the past week contacting doulas and researching hypnobirthing classes, and trying to find the babysitter necessary for us to attend them! And while all three will punch a large hole in our very small bank account, the more I learn about the deep relaxation of hypnobirthing and read the responses we've gotten from San Diego doulas, the more excited I'm getting about this birth.
I mused the other day, listening to snippets about my friends' recent births, and thinking back to T's, about the learning curve of birth. That perhaps I needed T's wild, unpredictable, not-as-I'd-planned labor, to fully appreciate what I did need for that experience so that this time I can make sure I get it. For me, that means a dedicated labor support professional (i.e. doula), in addition to B's irreplaceable presence, love and assistance as my partner; a more mature, calm and flexible attitude towards birth; and perhaps the sanctity of planning on remaining in our home, or staying with our hospital-planned birth to allow for the kind of unpredictable variables (like that stubborn meconium) that popped up with T.
Regardless of whether our plan for a doula and study of hypnobirthing leads to a birth experience closer to the one I hope for, there's likely some truth in another story I heard recently. A mother of four asserted that while each of her births went differently, each contained a lesson she needed to learn for parenting that child. For those of us who believe birth is a natural, sacred process, it seems like sage advice.
That's my hour today. Hope to see you again tomorrow.
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