Rollercoaster lows

None of these have been my finest moments in parenting.

The times when we've stayed out too late with friends, permitting mounting sugar and tiredness in little bodies, knowing full well when the meltdown came, who was responsible.

Tempers lost during particularly rushed mornings, when "I said, you need to get your shoes on now" has sounded less like encouragement and more like a drill order.

Or that time I dumped a bucket of water on T's head because we were all tired and she wouldn't rinse the shampoo out of her hair.

But tonight I experienced a new level of maternal failure.

Its pain comes, in part, from its relative innocence. T and N had a performance at their after-school program. For weeks we've heard the off-tune squeak of Moana and Justin Timberlake lyrics. I told them, co-workers and grandparents that I was not picking them up after school at our usual Thursday time, I'd stay at work later so that they could prepare and I'd arrive for their performance at 5:30 p.m.  T was in the first song, N was in the last, they kept emphasizing.

It had been yet another busy, stressful day during a sandwich week between two work trips; there was far too much on my plate and everyone else's. I tried to push through a few more things as the hour rounded 5 p.m. when I remembered I'd parked at the bottom of the hill. I rushed out, hustled down the hill in high-heels, checking traffic, calculating routes, driving a little too fast, not calling my folks so that I could concentrate. Turning onto the kids' school's street I relaxed - 5:27 p.m., I'd made it!

Outside was a bit quiet, only a couple parents hurrying in. I entered the packed auditorium, saw another class singing on stage.  Then, I saw her. Noticing me from the floor, I got a glimpse of her furious, tear-streaked face before she whipped her head and body away. Her shoulders were heaving.

I had missed it.

I grabbed a program, with the insolent 5 p.m. start time glaring from the top line. I scribbled furiously, trying to explain, then ran up and passing it to her like I too, was in second grade. She thrust it off her lap, while her friend whispered the obvious: she's really sad that you missed her performance. I said, I know, that's why I wrote this note. The next song starting, I retreated to the aisle. Her friends passed the note around, one even getting up to share the drama with her parents; I was mortified. T still refused to read it.

After another song or two, N took the stage to give the Kindergartener's finale. T wouldn't even look at me. I tried to wave at N so at least he'd see I was there, but I was terrified it would add salt to T's wound if she noticed. In the end, even he thought I hadn't come.

The performance ended, everyone jumping up to hug their loved ones. I ran to T. She wouldn't even let me touch her, let alone hug her, apologize, or coax her to the car. She was heartbroken. People congratulating their little performers tried not to stare at our spectacle. A sobbing child and her distraught mother, also in tears, unable to move in the middle of a packed auditorium of revelers.

Eventually, I coaxed her outside. Where we slumped against a wall and cried at the pain and disappointment wrought by a 30 min mistake. Eventually, we went home.

Tonight, she made the family an illustrated book with all of us in it and a note on her page: "I love you"

N also suggested a re-do for T's performance. It's not going to undo the disappointment of searching an audience in vain for the one person you wanted to be there. But it's a new memory to add to the imperfect journeys of both growing up and parenting.

Loss from a distance

The sun is too damn bright. Glinting off shellacked California facades. The palm trees repulse me in their barren plastic perfection. I need cedar and fir so tall and thick I cannot see the sky. I need the sky, low, and grey and foreboding. I need rainclouds so heavy they envelop me. I need the grey, cold Pacific, salt water crusting on my cheeks. I need your head on my lap. I need your soft ears and your deep brown eyes. I need the humor of your silent commentary, prance in your step, mischievous eyes. I need every memory I have ever had of you. I need new memories of you. Which will not come. Because these are the last eleven minutes of your life.

I need your intuition. I need your head heavy on my lap when you knew I was drowning in sadness. Sadness is drowning me now. I need your head, your seal eyes blinking up at me. These masses of buildings, cars, people everywhere are suffocating me. I feel foreign, I don't recognize anything. I can't breathe. I need to be far from here. I need to be close to you. To hold you one last time because you only have one minute to live. I need to tell you right now everything you have ever meant to me. Because the seconds are ticking and there's just no time and I'm so very far away.

I need to be home. To watch your ribcage rising and falling in soft breath. Not lowering the still and rigid weight of a body that once ran with me into cold ground. I can't bury you here. California's hot desert dirt isn't the place for you. And if it's not the place for you, why am I here? There is a circle of mourning, of all the people who have ever loved you or been loved by you, because they are the same. They will gather in your house, with their toes in your carpet, still warm from your heat. And yet I am here. 

No. More. Friends.

This is probably a bad idea.

Social mores dictate that we must not admit out loud (let alone post publicly) that we are unsociable. New friends coming into your life are a blessing and you are always open to and welcoming to these new relationships. But the truth is, I'm not. I've finally come to the conclusion: I don't actually want new friends.

I'm aware that society likely views me as a social pariah. Rude. Self-centered. Unfriendly.

But the reality is much simpler. Over the last seven years we've built up a fantastic social circle in San Diego. Friends from B's first job here; friends from my rotating cadre of colleagues; prenatal classes through new baby friends; T's preschool friends and friends-of-friends-who-became-friends...

We've culled a bit; close friends have moved away; some new ones have moved in. Our rolodex of friends is now populated by 20 - 30 people we really like. And unfortunately, rarely see.

Most weeks stream by in a blur. I wake up; there's some morning activity that involves 1) COFFEE 2) cereal 3) struggles with clothes and small limbs and lots of complaining 4) rushing out the door; lots of work; a commute home and then in quick succession: dinner, PJs and bed. Not just the kids. B & I too.

Suddenly a weekend approaches and we are faced with Groundhog Day-like deja-vu of scheduling Family Time (just us 4), work, housework, home projects, a personal time/sanity break each for B & I and, if we're lucky, some social activity with friends. But then which ones? There are a few who I would consider close friends who I can count on one hand how often we've seen them this year. My best friend I rarely see outside of work. Even friends who we get to see fairly frequently we then lose for weeks or months to travel schedules, work hectic-ness or efforts to implement consistent nap or bedtimes (the Tyrannies of Toddlers/Preschoolers/Kindergarteners will be another post).

But isn't this how many of our friends' lives look, especially those with small humans they must care for 24-7?

Maybe. But it doesn't seem to hinder the four sets of Kindergarten parents and two preschooler's mamas who've sought playdates with our offspring over the last 6 months. As I've only followed up on one out of six requests I'm at the point where I have to avoid eye contact at school events and sometimes avoid the events all together. What kind of urchin of a human being doesn't want to set up playdates for her kids?!

Last night we finally went out with T's best-new-Kindergarden-buddy (the one "yes") and her parents for dinner at a lovely craft beer place with a fenced kids play area. We talked, ate, laughed, for THREE HOURS. Far from the boring, dull, politically maligned unfriendable folks I was hoping they'd be, they were great. Very friendable. Once again it seemed ludicrous for me to announce (in my head) "sorry, my friend roster is full."

Fortunately, this morning they moved 8 hrs away.


So if you're one of our friends, we miss you. We'd like to see you more. Please pass on tips of how you manage work, kids (as applicable), a social life and don't burn out.

For all other warm, interesting, funny, engaging souls I bump into in this world, maybe we can be friends too... someday.

Putting away the Puzzle

I guess what this is all about is trying to get my head around our blessings.

Which is hard. Because we are inundated in a culture of want, of aspiration, of striving for something better, of fixating on what comes next. Plus, I'm a planner. And an over-thinker...

For the last decade Brent and I have lived in many beautiful places: six cities in four countries, with travel to a dozen more. And for the last six years we have called San Diego home. Iconic Southern California: palm trees; white sand beaches; eternal summer. But it also has plenty of concrete. And freeways. Gridlock. People. Box stores. Crime. Urban sprawl. Standardized tests. Smog. 

Which is a stark contrast to my current view: driving through New England, surrounded by
Vermont's verdant green hills, feeling the familiar tightening in my throat which accompanies the drive to the airport. Every. Single. Time. This place feels like home. And as beautiful and vibrant as life is in San Diego, it feels temporary. Like we are familiar visitors, long term tourists, snowbirds that forgot to leave in the summer, six times.

Brent gets the feeling too, both in Vermont and in Victoria (don't even get me started on the power Vancouver Island holds over me). It's been going on for over eight years now, this strange puzzle we just can't seem to solve, but keep playing because it is always there, always demanding out attention. How To Move Home. 

Ten months ago we came close, so close we started touring schools for T to start kindergarten. I met with my potential new employers. We took our umpteenth tour with the kindest real estate agent on the planet, who has been indulging in our dream to own a home in Vermont since we met. When that opportunity fell through we nearly fell apart. 

Luckily, the closed door/open window metaphor seems to apply...in the ensuing months things have gotten better in San Diego. Work improved with a promotion and new opportunities, opportunities I may not have in small town Vermont or Victoria. T's school options started looking better; N started attending their excellent preschool. Brent went back to school. Significantly, we also took a closer look at the community we have formed in San Diego. We still miss family, achingly so, but we have small circles of very close friends who offer each other a pseudo family. And we do our best to go home, a lot.

Should that be enough? For now at least? I feel like that's where we need to get to. 

The challenge of being a family that travels, starting with a couple from two countries who met in a third and have lived and will continue to live in far flung locales, is that you will never be able to be in all places at once. You must accept that and do what you can to divide your time and maintain your connections to your homes however possible. As for so many clichés: easier said than done.

Because I feel there's something else at play now that we have kids: time. My biological clock was fairly quiet while I was having my babies. Now that we're done it has gotten markedly louder, ticking the moments away from their first cry, to their first steps, and now toward the rapid end of toddlerhood for N and the first day of Kindergarten for T. It, more than anything is turning my eyes towards the Puzzle every time I manage to get it tucked safely on a shelf. Its incessant marking of their growing up reminds me daily, sometimes hourly, that my firstborn did not go to St. Christopher's Montessori School, as I did. She will not start kindergarten at the Neighborhood Schoolhouse in the woods as Brent did. They are not growing up Canadian as I always assumed my children would, singing Oh Canada, learning about multiculturalism and hopefully attending French immersion. They are not growing up in a home or neighborhood surrounded by trees and nature where even at age 2 and 5 we would be comfortable with them playing outside on their own until the sun dips low and we call them in for dinner, like my parents did with me. They don't have their cousins in town to take them to a beach with driftwood trees taller than they are, looking out at the snow capped Olympic mountains across the straight. All of my best childhood memories do not exist in San Diego. 

For some reason it really bothers me that our children will grow up with different sights and smells that will one day make them nostalgic. I guess because it was precisely those childhood feelings and memories that created my sense of Home, and to where I want to return (in addition to the distinctive ocean, mountains, towering pines and cedars of the Canadian west coast, I'm certain that I fell in love with Vermont so quickly because it reminded me of the quiet forests, rivers and lakes of Half Moon Lake, where I was born in Alberta). As time passes, T and N are forming those same (nostalgic?) memories of the desert, the Santa Ana winds, crowded beaches, and the smells and bustle of a city of 2+ million.  When their father and I want to retire in B.C. are they going to choose to settle their families back in SoCal?

So what options do we have? Obviously, finances tip the scale. The reason we went to and have stayed in San Diego is our work. There are very few places in Victoria or Brattleboro where we could earn a comparable pay check and have the professional opportunities we have now. But there are a couple. My chances of actually being employed by them would be much higher if I had my PhD, which is a possibility if we stay in San Diego. 

 

So a long term plan is forming...Stay in San Diego, do my PhD while the kids are still small, while I continue to work and move up the professional ladder. Then consider looking for positions in Victoria or Vermont. T will be 10, N, 7. B and I, over 40?! Oh Lord.

Can we keep the Puzzle shelved that long? Will my clock keep ticking for another 5 years without deafening me or worse, stopping all together? Will we become complacent to life in a metropolis by that time, unable to leave the perks and move to a smaller, slower way of life? Will our children have lost the best, most impressionable years of their lives for them to be in such an environment? 

As soon as the plane lands in B.C., or the car from the airport crosses the Vermont state line these questions begin to clamor in my brain, clouding our precious time with the urgent crisis of how to solve the Puzzle - how and when? Sometimes they stop once we land in San Diego, often they don't.  So during this trip I tried to focus, as I said at the beginning, on our blessings. Rather than obsess about the future, appreciate our present. We spend a week or two every summer and winter and occasionally spring and fall in our homes - both of them! 

Our kids are growing up 90% outdoors, in a virtually bilingual city; they are getting 2.5 years each in a fabulous Reggio Emilia preschool, have four neighborhood playgrounds within walking distance, spend many weekends building sand castles on beaches most families only get to vacation to, and are surrounded by an excellent group of multicultural friends who are learning similar lessons of community and social justice from their parents. My current job has allowed them to travel to places like Prague and Nepal, and make annual trips to see their mom give presentations at the UN. 
 

They also get to see their cousins at least 2-3 times a year, go swimming in Vermont rivers, hiking in the woods, and skiing in the winter. They know their way around Oak Bay, Windsor Park and B.C. ferries and see their grandparents nearly every other month in San Diego or B.C. or Vermont or New York or England. Last night Noah's lullaby request was Oh Canada.

They are getting the best of three homes now, and while short trips aren't the same as settling into the routines of living somewhere, the regularity with which they visit our families in Victoria and Brattleboro build the kind of familiarity and nostalgia I formed with England - a place I still consider one of my homes.

So I'm going to try my best to put away the Puzzle. Stop fretting over our life path, and whether we've somehow vered off where we are supposed to be. I need to disengage from the hype around fast paced professional achievement VS meaningful rural (or Canadian) living. Maybe it's not an either/or. Maybe we're doing exactly what we're supposed to, and the only reason the clock is ticking is to remind me to stop focusing on the future or I won't get to enjoy these too-quickly passing days. 

 

What the World Looks Like

I wrote this post mid-July. Unfortunately, the bombardment of Gaza has resumed, violence continues to rage in Iraq, Syria, Ukraine, and elsewhere; ISIS beheaded a colleague's friend last week. It is still relevant a month later.

Today was a bad day.

Last night four young boys--someone's babies--were blown up on a beach in Gaza. This morning a Malaysian Airways 777 passenger plane was shot down over Ukraine, killing all 298 passengers on board. Buddhist extremists are killing Muslims in southern Sri Lanka. Iraq is descending into civil war after a decade of occupation and conflict that has cost upwards of half a million lives.

These are the news headlines these days. But to me, they are affecting the communities--for some the families--of women I know.

That is the result of the work I do, fostering personal relationships with 44 women from 35 conflict-affected countries. We have women peacebuilders and human rights defenders from many--maybe most--of the world's hot spots, and we just selected four more.

It means the numbers aren't dry statistics, they are friends' nations, and their families. I wrote once that issues of war and peace do not take place primarily in board rooms at the UN, they take place in people's living rooms, on their soccer fields, on a beach where their children like to play.

So my reaction isn't to change the channel, or let simplistic reporting drone in one ear and out the next. It's to get on Facebook or e-mail and make sure they're OK. To tune in to the discourse, what intervention will there be? Is anyone speaking sanely? Is violence simply going to beget violence yet again?

What would foreign policy look like if the majority of the world had friends in these conflict zones? Would anger rise hotter and faster? Would the desire for revenge flow freely between borders?

Or would more people cry out for calm? Demand that their political and military leaders be more creative in their diplomacy; work harder to seek solutions.

If everyone knew the women I know--and the tens of thousands like them--the peacebuilders who are finding and implementing non-violent ways to resolve these conflicts, they might have hope. Hope that military solutions aren't always, or even often, necessary. That amping up the violence only leads to more violence. Revenge only perpetuates a cycle. It is shortsighted. And it is cowardly.

The warhawks like to perpetuate a misconception that peacebuilding is "soft." In even mainstream circles, peace is equated with idealism. Those who seek dialogue are not as tough or courageous as those who turn to military solutions in the face of violence.

But if they knew the women I know...the women who are risking their lives, and that of their families not to end these conflicts from behind the barrel of a gun, but from the equally courageous approach of speaking to "the Other." Women who are just as likely to be raped, tortured or killed by holding a meeting with families of combatants, or the combatants themselves, or the military or political leaders ordering those attacks. Women who are vilified, ostracized, targeted, not only by the enemy they are willing to approach, but by their own communities, for doing so.

If you knew these women, knew the names if their children, spouses, parents; if you knew the activities they were engaged in, if you knew they were probably in the protest that was violently suppressed, they were in meetings in the villages the drones are targeting; you would see the news differently. You would see conflict differently. You would see peace differently. 

But not only because the stakes would be higher, touch closer to the familiar, but luckily, because within these tragedies you would know there were those fighting for justice; there were those mobilizing, now, for an alternative to further violence. And those women are powerful, capable, dedicated and strong.

Even in these dark times, there is reason to hope.

Puppy Racketeering

It's been a few months since I've written. You may have been wondering what we are up to. Well for the last two weeks, it's been a long and frequently private, shadowy process. Handing over our most personal and private identifying information. Long (40+ qu.) essay-answer applications. Payments (read: bribes) to shady individuals. Private interviews. Inspections of our home and family. Classified correspondence with a faceless and shadowy group of mysterious power brokers. Treated as pawns in a game of high-stakes espionage played with opaque rules and hidden traps.

You'd be forgiven for assuming one of us was applying to join a clandestine government agency or crime syndicate. No, we're just trying to adopt a rescue dog.

We thought the rescue route made sense. Young dog needs loving, nurturing, responsible home, we have a loving, nurturing, responsible home, and want dog = match made in heaven!

Evidently not. The underground world of elite dog rescue (elite because we are drawn to breeds like Labrador retrievers or golden retrievers which tend to be more in demand than the latest iPhone) resembles more like a racketeering ring run by a clique of righteous old dog ladies. They hoard the most desired dogs (puppies) and wield their power over the uninitiated potential adopter with glee. Fees up front. Grueling interviews with secret rules. Then, arbitrary judgements handed down with no accountability, transparency, or recourse.

Home Interview 1:  sketchy questions, with vague assurances that our application will now go to a "committee" for "review"... if it is "approved" then we will be "allowed" to e-mail foster parents of dogs we like on the website.
Supposedly we are successful, but two attempts to e-mail foster parents with promising initial e-mails are then followed by radio silence. Our follow-up calls are eventually answered with "Sorry, we have already matched that dog to another family..." It feels like getting dumped.

Home interview 2: the volunteer inspects our fence while we play happily with her 6 month old gorgeous lab puppy that she brings just to taunt us. She confirms that we are interested in a young dog 2 months - 2/3 years old. Interview ends with her stating we likely won't be approved for a puppy because we have children. Children have toys. Puppies could choke on toys. My retort that small children can choke on toys too and we managed to keep them alive falls flat. I don't think this woman knows anything about kids.
Her e-mail that night brims with false enthusiasm, "You've been approved to adopt a dog 3 years old and above!" It feels like a slap in the face. Evidently volunteers are mere cogs in the organization's wheel. Young kids = no puppies, it's for the good of the party my Comrades!


We are now in line for our third home visit. Even though we'd be thrilled with (even prefer) a dog of 6 - 12 months, it looks like that could involve knocking someone off and half a year's salary in ransom. Shockingly, a litter of 5 week old lab pups was just posted on the third agency we applied to, and some initial e-mails have indicated they are considering us DESPITE the fact that we have young kids... However, going through another one of these home visits, handing over another non-refundable "donation" and then sitting on pins and needles for 3 weeks until the pups are old enough to go home, without any assurance that we will be get one of the final matches may prove more than we can bear.

So my friends, for all of you considering the journey to dog ownership through a lab or golden retriever rescue site, we recommend the following:

1. Give up now. Choose a breed more readily available at your local humane society, e.g. a pit bull.
2. Lie on your application. You are now an extremely active retired couple in a 3000 ft house, with an acre of land, no kids and 5 pure-bred retrievers. Send your kids to a babysitter, erase all evidence of their existence, hire actors and take a big house hostage for the home interview.
3. RUN don't walk, to a breeder.

Stay tuned to see which of those options we choose!

A Christmas Letter...

T'was the night before Christmas and I decided to finally type up a Christmas letter. Here is the e-mail version with the benefit of a few images.

Over the past year our little California bungalow has primarily been a whir of the domestic adventures of the early parenting years: preschool art projects, potty training surprises, and the challenges of getting playdoh out of carpets. But we realize the unique joys of sleeping with a toddler's foot in one's face and snuggling with a footed-PJ clad 4-going-on-14yr old are almost over. Thea will start Kindergarten this year, and Noah has begun the 2's with the energy of a revved up Energizer bunny.

To keep sane we try to stay true to our pre-parenting vagabonding days and ensure our children are thoroughly eaten by the travel bug from an early age.

This year, our destinations were more nostalgic than exotic: we rang the new year in in Vermont, Jen finagled a trip to Victoria to speak as one of her high school's centennial speakers in Feb; March took us back to NY for Jen's annual presentation at the UN Commission on the Status of Women, followed by a sunny wedding for Brent's cousin in South Carolina (all in the company of Brent's patient folks). April I think we actually took a break (if you don't count camping along Cali's coast and welcoming visitors to San Diego) in order to gear up for May!
 

It only took seven years and a successful conference submission to get us back to Small Trees. We started with 10 glorious days in England before heading to Prague for Jen to present a paper at the fourth global conference on Storytelling.

Devon was everything I remembered - misty mornings, cream teas, cold drizzle, warm pubs. Little had changed around Yelverton's small roundabout, with the notable exception of a little café boasting free Wi-Fi. Better yet, we discovered the Rock pub had it too. Introducing Thea and Noah to places that hold some of my dearest childhood memories and long overdue reunions with friends, family and the Moors brought a commitment to make sure we head back every other year.

Prague was wonderful as well. Despite a wetter week than England, we balanced strolling along old cobblestone streets, taking in famous landmarks like the St. Charles Bridge, the Astronomical clock, and Prague Castle with periods of sheltered respite watching life go by from the covered patios of numerous cafes. Thea and Noah seemed at home amidst the culture and ancient landmarks of both countries, and didn't let a little rain get in the way of sampling traditional European delicacies, like ice cream.

 

Jen and Brent's work have both been drama-filled. June - Oct. Jen was consumed with the Women PeaceMakers residency, and Brent was consumed with keeping the house running and the kids (and himself) alive and well amidst her long absences. Along with the usual hecticness of the residency, this year additional intrigue swirled as Jen worked behind the scenes to try to find a new home for the program. By the time the PeaceMakers left and our little family flew to Vermont for two weeks of RnR and to welcome our new niece, Lucia Freeman, things were starting to fall into place. There are too many moving parts still shifting to announce anything yet, but we're hopeful that the coming year will offer new opportunities and locations for the program, and maybe for our little family too.

 

For now, our focus is on slowing down. Sitting in my parent's light-drenched kitchen typing this over breakfast, we are looking forward to three luxurious weeks to surround ourselves with friends and family here, enjoy the cold, celebrate the holidays and breathe the cool moist air of the west coast as we contemplate the year to come. Something tells me its not going to be any less eventful. 

Wishing all of you light and joy for the season, and laughter and hope in the year to come. May our world and its interconnected lives be filled with kindness, gratitude and peace.

There were three in the bed and the little one said...

TWO-TWO MILKS!!!!!

Likely bellowed from bed (his mood pre-milk is much like mine pre-coffee) or at the start of a long car ride once everyone is strapped in, most people who have met N soon learn his term for nursing. Some babies adopt adorable terms like "Mo-mo", "Nummies" or even the simple, Hooters-approved, "Booooobies!" N is more practical. "There are two of them, they make milk. It's not rocket science," I imagine him explaining, exasperated. 

I'm vaguely aware that a sizeable portion of the U.S. has some sort of opinion about nursing a nearly two year old. Some passionately support the health and psychological benefits for mother and child; others see it as socially unacceptable to provide nourishment to a child who's old enough to ask to be fed from a body part that society would rather resexualize. 

For me, it's simply a continuation of the mixture of feelings, challenges and benefits of feeding a newborn. It's often a pain in the boob. The physical discomfort has graduated from the cracked, raw nipples of learning to latch, to the exquisite pain of having soft, delicate flesh treated like the extendable rubber of a taught elastic band. The clawing scratches of infant fingernails made way for heel-to-the-boob kicks when suddenly, "toesies want two-two milks!" And now I am almost nostalgic for the awkward fumbling of public latch-ons with a squalling babe, when strangers and friends alike are often treated to N confidently locating and removing all coverings to his beloved Two-Two Milks at a moment's notice. 

I hear there are a few mothers out there who are able to marry modesty and breastfeeding for longer than a few months. That's wonderful. After 18 hrs of labor, birth, bleeding nipples and a screaming, hungry T, Modesty was simply reprioritized to somewhere between color-coordinating my linen closet and gnawing off my big toe.

But for a mama who spends 40-50+ hrs a week away from her two little ones, telling stories to a nursing N--bown eyes wide and attentive--when I get home from work; stroking his hair while he nurses to sleep at night; and when he wakes up, snuggling his body in a ball that I can tuck against my belly, are three of my favorite times of the day. Sure, he could get all his daily nutrition from food alone; but maybe not with breastmilk's antibodies and extra je-ne-sais-quoi. Sure, we would still cuddle if he weaned. But my arms would compete more often with the thrill of bed jumping, the curiosity of whatever his sister is up to, and the indefatigable draw of glowing screens. 

So I'll put up with my not-so-tiny bed-hog and the midnight roundhouse kicks to the face (see footnote on bed-sharing); the umpteenth assertion that I do NOT have Go-Go-Gadget nipples; and the occasional flash of boob to the unsuspecting public. We'll save pennies and patience for the excessive and expensive travel plans to keep him, and a familiar caregiver, with me on work trips. And if anyone is looking with eyes that judge me or him for being two and "still" nursing, let them look. I'm too busy feeding my son and trying to keep my clothes and sensitive parts in tact as I do so, to notice or care. 

Because he is my last baby, and once this particular connection is gone, it doesn't come back. Because I believe the clearest path to independence is the one children choose to pursue themselves. Because right now I can't give him everything, but this is a gift--of nutrition and connection--that I can. 

Photo on exhibit in the Nursing is Normal project, VT, by Studio Ten13

*We started co-sleeping in large part because as sleep-deprived new parents, the idea of getting up 5x a night to nurse a baby for 20-60 min, then finagle her into a crib, (start again if she wakes!) and then repeat it all 30 min later seemed ludicrous. We also had a newborn that refused to sleep for longer than 10 min unless she was nestled against another warm body. So out of desperation, and then choice, we co-sleep... but that story is for another post!

Jen's Top 5 Weightloss Tips

Over the last few months I started hearing a disconcerting refrain. Naturally, it started with my mom.

"Jen, you're too skinny!"

Next it was coworkers.

"Jen, you're not looking well. Have you lost weight?"

"Jen, you're looking a little gaunt. Are you eating?" At which my office mate who witnesses my steady 8 hrs of food inhalation would snort. 

For the record, the scale hadn't made a significant downward plunge, and the comments were getting annoying.

So, I thought to put my health in a bit of comic relief with Jen's Top 5 Weightloss Tips!

First though, you need the back story. Growing up I probably would have ransomed my favorite candybar for the future promise of hearing anyone describe me as skinny, let alone "too skinny." Teased by a gang of classmates, I spent grades 1 - 7 identifying as the chubby girl, with all the shame and self-loathing that society helpfully facilitates even a 5 - 12 yr old feeling. Now "fat" is a descriptor that my self-confident, logical, scale-reading 34 year old brain can recognize is no longer true, but it remains an aspect of my identity which I don't think I will ever fully lose. That's not to say I have a poor body image any more (thank you sports and feminist theory). But those formative years have stuck with me, luckily for the most part, in ways I feel has made me a stronger, more compassionate human being, and one who can find beauty and strength in more than one shape and size.

Sooo, for those of you who wanna "lose weight" like me:

1) Max out on workplace stress!
May I suggest a toxic working environment with an incredibly unsupportive, out-of-touch boss; losing funding for your program; and putting a promised promotion on hold for 1.5yrs may help.

2) Buy a workout ball.
Not to workout on! Just to sit on at work and nervously bounce all day. *Warning: may severely annoy office mates*  When not bouncing, I seemed to miss the potential for an "excellent core workout" by modifying the correct upright posture to a limp 15-degree slouch on my desk.

3) Eat. LOTS.
I don't really know why this one works for me. I just know I do a lot of it. Ask anyone who lives in the same house or works in the same office with me for verification. I. Eat. Constantly. I think it has something to do with #5.

4) Avoid Sleep Like the Plague. If you do find yourself falling asleep, be sure to wake up frequently.
I can recommend having small children as a great aid to #4. Also, #1 helps a lot.

5) Breastfeed. For like 4-5 years.
Of course this would likely involve having kids (which would help with #4). (N.B. just in case anyone reading this doesn't know me, I'll spell out that I am in no way shape or form advocating for anyone to get pregnant, undertake the physical and emotional repercussions of a 9-10 month pregnancy, birth, losing the 20 - 40 lbs you gained during pregnancy, and bring a new human being into this world so that you can breastfeed and lose weight. Sheesh, that'd be almost as dumb as having a baby to try to keep a relationship together)

*Brilliant* as these 5 tips are, I'm afraid I am no longer the weight-loss guru! At the end of October I spent two weeks in Vermont. Relaxing. Sleeping. Thousands of miles away from a toxic office (that boss, at the end of my trip, graciously resigned). Not bouncing nervously on my ball. Instead, snuggling my new baby nieceeating the state's signature cheese drowned in maple syrup. And even though the scale never budged, the comments when I returned were markedly different.

"Wow Jen, you look so much healthier!"

"Jen, you look great. Did you put on weight?"

No my friends, I didn't. I'm just happier :)

The littlest bookworm

The other morning, eyes still shut, tossing and turning lightly in his final throws of dreamland my sweet boy suddenly throws his arm in the air and bellows, "BOOK!" Shocked, I figure it must be a vivid dream until he repeats it. Over and over. Slowly opening his eyes to the glare of sunlight still imploring the universe (and me) for the ceaseless delights of his favorite "BOOK!"

Half an hour later Brent returned from his morning run to find both of us, still PJ clad, sitting in the middle of the bed surrounded by close to a dozen of his favorite titles: Haiku Baby, How Kind, The Little Blue Truck, Farm Animals...but the most worn, most frequent request is still for "Moon."

I have a nighttime video I managed to capture of this fabled tale, but can't seem to get it to post (yet). It is of N on reading number 4 or 5, at least half an hour past bedtime. Groggy with sleep, we go through the Great Green Room with the telephone and the red balloon and the picture of a cow jumping over the moon, one last time. My favorite is N's faithful addition of the Old Lady Whispering... "Hussssssssh" :)

Baths, bubbles and bad decisions

Last night was not my finest parenting moment.

I'm sure there's been a few but last night is still smarting, so that's what I'll mull over now.

It began with two overtired kids in the bath before bed (the equivalent of eerie music in a horror film - you know it won't end well). To complete the fairly gross process of soaking T's head in oil and combing out the cradle cap that I only recently realized was still present 3+ YEARS later we were embarking on the infrequent task of lathering her head in (tear-free all natural) shampoo... Soap going in = easy. It's the rinse that's the kicker.

Tried and true options were given ("you can lay down in the bath like a starfish and do it yourself!""We can hold a towel over your eyes!" "You can tip your head up and look at the light so no water will get in your eyes!"), each of which was met with a resounding "No!"

After repeated requests (and a long work week) Mommy's patience was on a smoldering fuse, but N's hit the punch first. T started splashing, he started to wail. I asked T to please stop splashing, it was upsetting N. T looking from N to me, and splashed harder. Fuse done.

I took the bucket I'd been gently holding, dumped it on her head and in her moment of spluttering shock, picked up crying N, wrapped him in a blanket and handed him to Papa. T, red eyes HUGE, realizing she could still breathe, let out her most terrified wail. I made a couple more attempts to 1) reassure her she was fine; 2) review the options to get the bubbles out of her hair so we could get out of the bath. But meeting reticence to both ideas, grabbed two more bucketfuls, dumped them on her spluttering, terrified head in quick succession, threw a towel around her and lifted her to the safety of dry land, screaming.

The whole experience lasted less than 10 minutes, no animals were harmed in the making, and her only physical blemish was some very red eyes. I was only rinsing her hair! But I had hurt her; a depth which was glimpsed in the choked-sob question I had to endure repeatedly as I put her to bed "Why did you do that Mommy?"

It may seem like an overreaction on my part, and perhaps it is, but B and I have tried hard to nurture trust in our relationships with T & N, and last night my frustrated, knee-jerk actions broke that. Hopefully not completely, hopefully not permanently, but I put a little crack that was not there before. I wielded my power as a bigger, stronger, (meaner), adult, to get my way, on my timeline, even though it meant scaring my child.

So while I've said I was sorry for scaring her, and explained slowly and gently why I chose both actions, I know I now have some work to do healing that crack. Because yes, T should know that we must rinse the soap out of her hair, and yes, she should not upset her little brother intentionally, but equally, I know that fear is not the way I want to teach her these lessons.

A year in passing

It is incredible to watch how the passage of time alters once it becomes marked by the birth and growth of a new soul. Because to you, birth and growth now mean "meeting" and "getting to know," lifelong and life changing activities that necessarily shift how I see and interact with my world.

A day is never a day, a week never a week, a month never simply the waxing and waning of a moon, again.  And now a year has passed and our life has changed again, over and over for every minute of the last 365 days.

This time his name is N and he is beautiful. Really beautiful. All parents should feel this about their children and we are no exception. But he really is. Twinkling eyes. Mischievous grin. Easy, belly jiggling laughter. Careening, perpetual motion in pursuit of his boundless curiosity. Everything is or can become a game. Unless he's sleepy, then he comes to lay his head on your lap, asking you to hold him close.

He has made B and I better parents and allowed T to become a big sister, something that has deepened and challenged her, and allowed her to fall in love with him as much as we have. Which is, of course, the best of all. After T I joined so many first time parents awaiting their second, terrified that the love we felt at her birth could certainly only be felt once a lifetime. But amidst the intensity of N's  arrival, that familiar emotion rose equal and unhindered, threatening to overwhelm my concern for his agonizing delay of breath. Then when he responded to my pleas, it surged with the swell of gratitude, overwhelming me once again with the euphoria of first love.

I may not have much (any) time to write a blog or hear myself think, but I cannot imagine life smaller than it is with our laughing, crying, working, exploring, running, cuddling, traveling, loving family of four. Thank you my beautiful boy for making us complete.

N's (film) Debut

After over 20 (I kid you not) uploading attempts on Faceboook, I've decided to bring you this glimpse of N and his first Christmas on the blog...

The Postpartum ABC's

Twenty-six features of postpartum-hood. (Those who haven't been through it might want to glance at "T" first)

A is for Adorable - N. is. He and his sister together make it exponential.

B is for Boobies - they run my life. I woke in the middle of the night last night with my T-shirt soaked through. I thought I was having sudden hot-flash sweats. It took me till morning to deduce it was just milk.

C is for Cookies - Walnut chocolate chip specifically, homemade by our good friends. My assault on the baby weight will have to wait till that tupperware is empty.

D is for Diapers - which are failing me completely. He's pooped on me 6 times today. SIX.

E is for Engorgement. For those who have not experienced this unique affliction, take two large honeydew melons, fill with a high concentration of your most sensitive nerve endings, then pummel repeatedly with phone books, while inserting hot needles.

F is for Feeding -which is constant. See entries "B" "N" and "P."

G is for Grandparents - What a great invention! They come when needed, offer love, food, hands, gifts, and mountains of support. Their grandchildren adore them as much as they adore them. And for those few days we're in their presence, we have the option of being adults or momentarily, children (to them) again ourselves.

H is for Help. Not only does it take the proverbial village to raise a child, ideally it takes one to birth and recover too. N needed every person around him during his birth - Grandpa P to look after little T, Grandma L and Daddy to support mama, mama to birth him, and midwives Marla and Sandi to make sure it all went smoothly. Since then I've been a lump on the bed needing to be waited on hand and foot - something my folks and then B have obliged to do. T helps with cuddles, kisses, and running mama and N little house errands. B now has the veritable workload of cooking, cleaning, taking care of T full time, AND running around attending to my needs (water, food, more water, cookies...). I don't know what N and I would do without them.

I is for Ironic - Alanis could have made a whole sequel on the spit-up that comes right after you get that awkward long sleeve onesie on, the poop explosion that waits until just after the fresh diaper has been tucked into clean pants, or the phone that rings once sleepy eyes finally close.

J is for Jen - the person I was, the person I will be once again! After most of A-Z subside...

K - there's got to be one letter I can't answer ;-)

L is for Leaking - gives Wet T-shirt Contest a new and entirely unattractive connotation.

M is for Mama - which I love being enough to not mind A-Z.

N is for Nipples - sore, cracked, bleeding, leaking...

O is for Other Sensitive Areas - same.

P is for Poop. It rules my life. Yellow, sticky, prolific, but sweet-smelling (thank goodness!). That's his. Mine, let's not go there.

Q is for Quiet Time - which I have surprisingly a lot of. When B is with T at music group, preschool, playdates or the playground it's just N & I for hours, hanging out in the poop, pee & milk soaked paraphernalia of our bedroom (items I do try to get from the bed into the dirty clothes bin I should mention). Then there's the baby crying, T climbing over me to comfort him, general mayhem times. It seems to only ever be one or the other.

R is for Rest - Specifically bedrest for 15 days on midwife's orders. In turns it has been both welcome and ridiculously boring. But my midwife has assured me that like a 2 yr old that's just devoured your chocolate chip cookies, if I stray the evidence will out me!

S is for Stitches. Which is what happens when a 14" head is the second largest diameter you birth.

T is for TMI - because nearly everything about labor, birth and postpartum is TMI.

U is for Undergarments - suddenly my intimate attire has taken on the attributes of those of an incontinent geriatric. B has promised Santa will take this into consideration (hopefully he frequents Victoria's Secret & Patagonia? :)

V is for Vital Records - the place we need to get N's birth certificate before we can get his passport to fly to Canada next week. I'd been obsessing about this hurdle for weeks, so as soon as we woke up on Friday morning, I called. I don't think they were used to hearing "Hi, I just gave birth a few hours ago..." and while the offer of brownies was made (to which I got a polite "I'm sorry, we're not allowed to accept bribes ma'am"), the supervisor was sufficiently sympathetic enough to get us in at the first cancellation.

W is for Waking Baby - the ultimate no-no. Only exceptions: 1) to extract him from the middle of a poop explosion. 2) the house is burning down.

X is for X's - on his little puckered baby lips. Sweeter than any first crush kiss.

Y is for You did it. After T's birth I went from wanting to try a natural birth and a homebirth and even a hypnobabies birth with N, all without really knowing what we were getting ourselves into. It's nice to look down at him, recall my labor and his arrival without the disappointment and uncertainty we had through much of T's and allow myself a little "you did it!"

Z is for Zzzz's - namely, what I should be doing now instead of writing blog posts!

Noah's Arrival

He's (finally) here!!!

The short version:

After the aforementioned waiting game, I finally

went into labor around/after dinner on Thursday night, labored at home with B, my mom and two midwives for support and gave birth to Noah at 3:57 a.m. in an almost water birth ;-) He clocked in at 8 lbs. 4 oz and was a whopping 21" long.

The full version:

Happily, all it seemed to take to get him to come was a good dose of maternal despair :)

Aprox. 24 hrs after writing my last post I was in my other (hospital) midwife's office hearing that I was now 3 cm dilated, 80% effaced and could go anytime! Woo hoo! Sure enough, a 1.5 hr walk with B, and some Olive Garden for dinner had me wondering if the odd mixture of intermittent tightening/gas pains/menstrual-like cramps I was feeling was finally N conceding to come (I'd

never been to Olive Garden, maybe this was a typical reaction!).

Not wanting to get anyone's hopes up I didn't say much about it. T went for a sleepover at the grandparents' hotel as planned and B and I headed home to watch some T.V. before an "early" night. Half way through our second program I realized that I was needing B to rub my lower back in order to concentrate - not exactly gas pains anymore! I began timing the pressure waves (aka contractions) on a handy phone app, while B started rushing around preparing the tub, supplies and calling our home birth midwives. I started listening to my Hypnobabies tracks but had to keep stopping to time my surges which were about a 1-1.5 min long and coming 3-5 min apart.

Mom came over after a call at midnight and the midwives arrived around 1 a.m. The one thing I dreaded after T - back labor - had returned with N, but while it prevented me from having a completely comfortable birth, the hypnobabies training meant that instead of being a screaming banshee like I was with T, I was able to make it through active labor with only "Shhh"-ing sounds during pressure waves, and B or mom rubbing my back. For transition (considered the hardest part of labor) I changed to low moans and "Ahhh"-ing and was able to cope in the tub pretty well. Hooray for hypnobabies! :)

Pushing, however, was a different matter! I'll spare you the details, except to say he was born half on the caul (very rare and supposedly good luck), but with shoulder dystocia. So while things got a bit hairy for a couple minutes as/after he was born, I actually didn't know how hairy until debriefing with the midwife today. Save to say, we had an incredibly experienced midwife team, Noah is a little fighter and things worked out fine.

Now that he's here I can say he's beautiful (in one mama's humble, unbiased opinion), a great nurser (maybe a little too great at times...), and has spent his first 36 hrs of life dedicatedly nursing, sleeping, pooping and when he's not snoozing, gazing around and being cuddled by his big sister.

She's taken to him with unbridled enthusiasm, though it's been a challenge to explain all the new limitations of having a little, live baby to receive her love, who's decidedly less robust than her resilient (plastic) baby doll.

It's been great reading the well-wishes and love pouring in over e-mail, text, phone and facebook. I've been urged to stay home for a few days (not how I normally roll as many readers know) but we're looking forward to a few visitors over the coming days/week and hopefully, a short-notice apt. at the office of vital records so N, T, B & I can make our flights to Canada next week! We look forward to as many of you as possible meeting him then, if not sooner.

The FSFM post

Otherwise known as the Feeling Sorry For Myself post.

If shows of emotion are a good sign while waiting for a baby (heightened hormones? Stress release?), then I'm doing wonderfully! Since Monday when my in-laws had to leave SD after a week waiting to meet their new grandson, the waterworks have sprung frequently and liberally. I'm not proud of this. Trumping disappointment, guilt, anxiety and more disappointment, is an overall feeling of being upset with myself. I know better than this. I have people close to me who are unable to conceive or conceiving and then suffering the loss of miscarriage. What an idiot I am to be wallowing in self pity for having carried a healthy pregnancy to term but having to wait a few extra DAYS (maybe weeks at most) to bring him into this world?! Really, is that my biggest problem? I guess it is, and therefore I should be counting my lucky stars, not blubbering like a teenager who just got dumped.

So what's all the fuss about anyway? Sometimes I don't really know. But the emotions start to well when I have my midwife team tell me (like they just did this morning) with their best smiles, that while I'm "softening" and my cervix is moving forward, like it should, neither my dilation or effacement have progressed since our apt. last week. After weeks of trying every natural induction technique possible, I'm stuck at 70% effaced and only 1 cm dilated.

I know I should be happy there's been any progress, rather than disappointed that we're not looking at an arrival today or tomorrow or maybe another week or even more. Moreover, there is a side of me, as I've mentioned before, that -if we lived down the road from our families all in one country and this was some boring month with nothing going on - I would be fine to kick back and watch the world go by for another week or two, trusting the wisdom of my body and Noah to simply come when he's ready. Unfortunately, the world we live in has dates such as Christmas Eve - 3 weeks from this Saturday (the amount of time it will take Noah to get his birth certificate so we can leave the country); and Monday - the date my parents are both scheduled to fly home (though they've said one will delay their flight if baby's not here yet); and logistics such as the house my parents are trying to finish building before we (and other guests from as far as the UK) arrive for the holidays; bureaucracy such as birth certificate and passport wait times; and flight rules, fees and availability for Brent, me, Thea, Noah and my folks to try and make it to Canada for Christmas once he does come.

So yes, it upsets me to think we might not make it home by Christmas. It worries me the stress my folks will be under to get their house built if they stay to support us. These seem like real concerns that loom larger with each day I don't go into labor. But worse than this, in many ways, is how this is affecting my feelings about a birth we've painstakingly planned to be as positive as possible, and a son who I love and have yet to meet.

I know it's not Noah's fault. It's my body that's taking its time to get ready and if my disappointment should be directed anywhere, it should be at myself (which it is). But what can I do about it? I've read every list available on what to do to bring on labor:

Walking. Acupuncture. Evening Primrose Oil. Raspberry Leaf Tea (to help uterine tone). Wearing a compression band to keep Noah's head pressing on my cervix. Visualization. Relaxation. Spicy food. Hell, I even drank a hot water "tea" of 1/4 cup of melted chocolate chips and 1/8 tsp. of cumin based on word of mouth that it induced labor (yuck!). You name it, I've been doing it!! The only exceptions have been castor oil (I even asked, my midwife said don't bother yet because my body was still so unready) and membrane sweeping (midwives couldn't reach it with my dilation being so small), but heck, I'll even try them as soon as they'll let me!

In the meantime, writing this all down has helped diffuse the emotion (I do have pregnancy hormones as an excuse!) for the time being at least. Mom and Dad are talking about delaying Christmas, and filling our remaining waiting days with fun activities rather than obsessing with stressful thumb twiddling (and doing all of the above list over and over again). I see my only job now to be letting go and trying to recapture the positive anticipation of this birth and meeting our little Noah (I hope he's still little by the time we get to meet him! ;-).

Some final pregnancy musings

Well it's not a birth announcement (yet). In fact, my midwife's latest prediction is another week. *Sigh* Theoretically I understand that 1) a week is not a long time; 2) neither is 2 weeks if it came to that; and 3) I should be enjoying luxuries such as a full night's sleep, long showers, one-on-one time with my hubby or T, or the ability to have a degree of personal autonomy (I do have a 2 yr old remember) without my life being ruled in 2 hr increments. But as with any big event looming, sometimes it's woefully hard not to obsess about when the big moment is going to come.

So whether N's going to make his entrance soon or not, I thought it might be an idea to get those last pregnancy musings out now (at least one of each, cuz it's late and I remember I should be sleeping!). After all, this may be my last shot at this with-child thing.

One thing I'll miss

Feeling him move. Sure, he feels like a pterodactyl stretching in there right now, and my ribs weren't happy to be his heel rests from week 30 - 36, but I remember the longing I felt when T's nudges silenced after she was on the outside. Of course I then had the magic of being able to inhale her sweet scent, see into her eyes, hold her hands or count her toes. But I remember walking down the hall at work one day missing her terribly and realizing that when she was on the inside I got to take her with me to work - everywhere - 24-7 she was with me. But once a baby is on the outside, they have to fit into societal norms of where they are and aren't welcome. They're also a lot more work. But I missed having her so close. And I know I will miss him just as much.

One thing I'm scared of

Not loving him as much as T. This is a hard one to admit publicly, and I only really do so because nearly every parent we know with more than one child assures me that this is a common fear that will be quickly and fully rebuked the first time I lay eyes on him. Furthermore, I know I already love him, tons, and just can't wait to meet him. So what's this nervousness? Maybe it's a little of my "oh my gosh, it's a boy" insecurities returning, or just some anxiety surrounding the memories of how completely we fell in love with T the moment we saw her and the disbelief that that kind of love can happen to a human being again.

One thing I can't wait for

To meet him. Everything from the first time we set eyes on him (what's he going to look like?) to the first kiss, the first smell, the first snuggle... But most of all, the slow revealing of his personality over each day, week, month, year to come.

So there you go. He's coming. No idea when or where (though I hope we have a good guess on the latter), but odds are he will be on the outside soon enough.

Looking forward to meeting you little one.

The Waiting Game... with deadlines.

For all of modern medicine's advances, it still can't seem to accurately predict either a baby's size or his/her date of arrival (unless you're forcing the baby out)... which really isn't helping me much these days.

I've been full term for nearly 2 weeks, and tomorrow we'll be down to the final week before my estimated due date. At the moment my head is spinning with little tidbits from friends, birth boards or my midwives, like, "second babies often come early!" "Wow, this little guy has dropped 6-7 cm since last visit! He's either coming early or very quickly when he comes!" "With all the stress you've been under at work I wouldn't be surprised if he came any moment." "Oh, you seem so relaxed now, I think he'll hang in there a while longer." "You're a natural planner, I think baby will feel that and come right after your parents get here."

Usually B & I are advocates of just letting baby be, trusting that babies and pregnant bodies know best when baby is ready for the outside world. Unfortunately, we're fairly sure Canadian Immigration is not going to accept this as a suitable excuse for why our baby wasn't able to get a passport in time to fly to Canada four weeks today.

The problem isn't actually his passport, which we've worked out can be gotten in a day if need be. The problem is the birth certificate necessary to get the passport; which we don't seem to be able to request early and we were told in no uncertain terms takes 3-4 weeks (and that's WITH string pulling!)!

"Well, why not simply delay your flight?" the wise ones ask... Unfortunately, after $225-$300 in change fees alone, we still have to factor in the increased cost of 3 full fares that are going up daily as the holiday approaches, all from a bank account that could only afford flights on points in the first place. (If you're a wise one with money to give us, please call!)

So tomorrow I'm heading back to my midwife's office for her assessment and recommendations on how to get this N-arrival process going! I'd love to wait until our families are here next week (for many reasons, not least of which is the desire to not need to call any of our friends to request a middle of the night playdate for T!), but with our "latest possible" date looking to be this coming Wednesday, it doesn't leave N much wiggle room...(sorry for the pun, it's late).

Here's hoping my next post is a birth announcement!

"Pain-free" Natural Childbirth...

Say what?!

I think that was my reaction the first time I heard about hypnotizing yourself for a comfortable, natural childbirth. It was when I was pregnant with T and a friend passed along her Home Study Course. She had tried it for her labor but lost concentration during a long and difficult ride to the Birth Center (they lived 45 min away). She admitted she had only done parts of the course and wasn't really expecting it to work.

Hmm, one point against.

Nevertheless, curiosity got the better of us and we made our own half-hearted attempt for a couple of weeks. But a combination of the cheesy scripts, the overzealous bolding and underlining every other sentence throughout the manual, and most of all, the doubt that came from not knowing if I could be hypnotized, or what this whole labor/birth thing would feel like, led me to conclude it was not the birth prep that I wanted to go into this scary thing called Labor with.

Fast forward to this pregnancy. The birth prep course we took for T's birth was helpful, but I wanted more tools to help me have a natural birth this time. We looked into Bradley, Lamaze, and finally returned to Hypnobirthing and its more robust cousin, Hypnobabies. Again, I was skeptical. Then I stumbled upon this Hypnosis for Birth board (and specifically birth stories likethese ones) on BabyCenter.com. Stories of regular women from all over writing in telling about their incredible, unusually fast, easy and most remarkably, comfortable births! I also started googling Hypnobabies on You Tube, and watching a bunch of women, silent or gently "ahhh"-ing through parts of labor that I was decidedly UN-silent through!

It turned out our homebirth midwife had delivered hypno babies too, and had her own stories of the remarkable relaxation the women were able to achieve through self-hypnosis. One lady she attended last year was lying quietly in her birth pool when Marla arrived. She raised her head after a little while to announce calmly, eyes still closed, "baby is crowning." A moment later, "Head is out" Marla came over to shine a light to check the baby's color underwater, which was perfectly pink. The baby was then born... completely healthy and fast asleep!!!

I'm not expecting one of these sleeping labors, or a 22 min dad-delivered-at-home birth because the family never realized they were in labor until the baby's head emerged. But it does give me hope that my labor could be much more relaxing and pleasant than it was last time.

Not that getting a fairy tale natural birth is simply a matter of watching a pocket-watch swing before me as B croons, "you are getting verry sleeepy..." It's actually a lot of work, listening to 1-2 x 40 min scripts daily, doing self practice 2-5x daily, practicing with your birth partner every other day, as well as a lot of reading. With my current work schedule and a 2 yr old that is a pro at distractions, I'm lucky if I do one daily script (usually as I fall asleep at night), and practice with B once a fortnight! So just like college, I'm 5 weeks away from D-day and nervous that I'm going to fail the exam due to insufficient studying.

Nevertheless, I'm hoping my subconscious is paying attention when my conscious mind is busy negotiating with a sleepy preschooler and freaking out about the piles of e-mails I still have to get to... And that somehow, when Noah's Birth Day is finally upon us, that this hypno-anesthesia hocus pocus kicks in!

Just for the record, I've already had one point in Hypnobabies' favor... I got a flu shot a few weeks ago and as the needle was poised above my arm I realized this would be a good mini test! I quickly got into the "awake" hypnosis mode, directing my anesthesia to my arm where the tip was about to enter. I don't mind needles but there's usually a pinch and ache involved. Amazed, I felt nothing more than light pressure at the sight of the injection. The nurse asked me if I was OK as I did my weird relaxation (I think she was worried I was going to pass out). I just wanted her to leave so I could jump up and down yelling to B that it worked!

What's in a name?

I don't know if other families out there find it easy to name their babies, but for B and I this process has involved two rounds of months-long testing, trying, researching, shortlisting, trying again, and finally, throwing caution to the wind and choosing!

We wanted to name this baby as soon as possible, so T could learn the name and begin to associate the bump of mommy's tummy with the real, live, baby that will be hanging out in her house (a lot), come November. It still took us eight of this little guy's 9-10 months' inside to decide! And now that she knows, trying to keep it a secret until the birth has become futile.

The process to choose a name was made a little more complicated by the first and middle name we chose for T, honoring her two maternal grandmothers. We found ourselves in a complicated bargaining process - how to choose a name from each family, reversing the order of lineage that we used for T to be fair, keeping the second middle and last names to be the same for our nuclear family, and maybe, just maybe, fitting in a name that we really liked just in and of itself. All without burdening this little guy with a string of monikers so long he would have to risk committing fraud every time he filled out an official document.

So what is it already?!

;-)

Early on I fell in love with the name Noah. I don't know any Noah's personally but those I know of and hear of are sweet and caring, living up to their name's meaning: restful, comfort.

Which just left the middle name. After wrestling for ages with other family names that we also liked, I woke up one morning, turned to B and asked, what do you think about your name? Neither of us had ever suggested this, and B immediately choked up. That solidified it, leading us to start/continue a family tradition to give the first boy's father's name as a middle name (as B has).

It's now wonderful to be calling him by his name. T loves saying it, and telling anyone and everyone who will listen about her "baby brudder, Noah!" She especially likes talking to him when he's kicking (aka trying to stretch out my poor stomach for more space in these last few, increasingly cramped weeks!).

We can't wait to meet you, Noah.