If you follow any of the same blogs as I do you’ve likely already heard about the Healthy Living eBook Bundle.

This is the first time that such an amazing bundle of incredible resources has been put together, and it is an incredible value!

There are 34 eBooks included, as well as bonuses that are worth more than the entire price of the whole bundle! You will also be entered to win an Excalibur dehydrator, an Omega juicer, or a Berkey water filter! 

I have quite a few of these ebooks already, but I’m going to purchase the bundle so that I can get the free bonuses (listed below) and be entered to win the grand prizes! Having read many of these books already, and knowing most of the authors listed, I feel confident in recommending this package to everyone. There is such a diverse array of topics covered and I know that there will be something for everyone.

If you are interested in natural living, real food, natural skincare, homemade/DIY’s, and natural pregnancy & birthing… or if you just simply want to broaden your healthy recipe repertoire – this is the best value for your money by far!

Now, I’m not normally a very good salesperson… but this deal is honestly the best for its kind that I’ve ever seen. I really think that so many of you will love it! I am so thankful to be an affiliate of this sale and will make a small commission on each bundle that is sold through my link here. I’d be so grateful if you’d consider purchasing this bundle here! The price is the same, but if you buy it through my link I’ll get a bit of the sale. Thanks friends!

CLICK HERE TO BUY NOW

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Need more convincing? Check out the gigantic list of what all is included! 

Real Food Meals for the Whole Family

Have Your Fruits… and Veggies, Too! by Laura Coppinger @ Heavenly Homemakers ($5.95)

Real {Fast} Food by Trina Holden @ Trina Holden ($6)

20 Minute Meals by Leigh Ann Dutton @ Intentional by Grace ($4.99)

Real Food… Real Easy by various bloggers @ The Humbled Homemaker ($9.95)

Baking, Snacks and Desserts

Smart Sweets by Katie Kimball @ Kitchen Stewardship ($8.95)

Healthy Snacks To Go by Katie Kimball @ Kitchen Stewardship ($8.95)

Sourdough A to Z by Wardee Harmon @ GNOWFGLINS ($20)

Homemade “Everything” (Condiments, Pantry Basics, etc.)

Restocking the Pantry by Kresha Faber @ Nourishing Joy ($7.99)

Easy. Homemade. by Mandi Ehman @ Life Your Way ($3.99)

Grain Free and Paleo/Primal Eating

Grain Free Meal Plan Cookbook by Cara Faus @ Health, Home & Happiness ($18)

Toadally Primal Smoothies by Todd @ Primal Toad ($9.95)

Simple Food {for spring} by Shannon @ Nourishing Days ($10)

Simple Food {for winter} by Shannon @ Nourishing Days ($10)

Well Fed by Melissa Joulwan @ The Clothes Make The Girl ($14.95)

Saving Money on Real Food

Real Food on a Real Budget by Stephanie Langford @ Keeper of the Home($18.99)

Plan It, Don’t Panic by Stephanie Langford @ Keeper of the Home ($4.99)

Don’t Compost It, Cook It by April Patel @ An Apple a Day Wisdom ($2.99)

Skincare and Beauty

My Buttered Life (Baby edition) by Renee Harris @ Hard Lotion ($5)

My Buttered Life (Gift edition) by Renee Harris @ Hard Lotion ($5)

My Buttered Life (Summer edition) by Renee Harris @ Hard Lotion ($5)

Simple Scrubs to Make and Give by Stacy Karen @ A Delightful Home ($3.99)

Food on Your Face for Acne and Oily Skin by Leslie @ Crunchy Betty ($7.99)

Holistic Mama’s Guide to Homemade Skincare by Roxanne King @ The Holistic Mama ($19)

Homesteading, Gardening and Preserving

Your Custom Homestead by Jill Winger @ The Prairie Homestead ($4.99)

Guide to Gardening and Preserving by Laura Coppinger @ Heavenly Homemakers($7.95)

Apartment Gardening by Jami Leigh @ Young Wife’s Guide ($2.99)

Healthy Lifestyle

Simple Living by Lorilee Lippincott @ Loving Simple Living ($2.99)

Herbal Nurturing by Michele Augur @ Frugal Granola ($8.95)

Simple Natural Health by Nina Nelson @ Shalom Mama ($17)

Healthy Homemaking by Stephanie Langford @ Keeper of the Home ($12.95)

Music: An Essential Ingredient for Life by Resound School of Music ($6.99)

Pregnancy and Babies

Breast to Bib by Kate Tietje @ Modern Alternative Pregnancy ($8.95)

Healthy Pregnancy Super Foods by Kate Tietje @ Modern Alternative Pregnancy($8.95)

Unbound Birth by Jenny Yarborough @ The Southern Institute ($4.99)

PLUS, You will receive FREE Bonuses from these awesome Healthy Living companies…

* The sale has been extended through the weekend!

Happy Reading!

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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Dear little one,

You are just 3 months old. A whisper, really, and it was just yesterday that I birthed you in the dim candle-lit room with loud bellowing and moaning. You gave me a hard time in your entrance to the world, but you were a breeze from then on. A good sleeper, unlike your older siblings when they were babes.

Tonight I sit in the big recliner in the living room with darkness all around and the light of the computer screen. You have your first cold and you can’t breathe when I lay you down. Oh how heart-wrenching it is to hear you try to breathe and swallow, knowing just how horrid a head cold feels (your mama despises them). You cough and snort and choke and flail your head around my chest as you struggle. The house is silent and listening to your adorable-if-they-weren’t-so-sad snores.

So you’ve been in my arms since around 7pm. I have a touch of heartburn due to the fact that I had bread at every meal today (scandalous, since we try to avoid most grains in general, let alone store-bread), and supper was take-out pizza. On the side I have an generous helping of mom-guilt. Should I be avoiding gluten? dairy? soy? civilization at large? Did I not wash my hands enough? too much? What if I’d gotten him more sun and vitamin D? Maybe it’s my fault. It’s probably my fault. Isn’t it always the mom’s fault?

I tried to sleep in the chair while holding you, with my pillow and blanket and the whole shebang, but my mind wasn’t cooperating and my body craved horizontal, so I gave up and decided to write to you. Here we sit together, typing awkwardly with your wee little warm body snuggled up over top of my heart.

I kiss your head and know that you are slightly feverish without needing to fiddle with a thermometer. I should know – I kiss that head at least hourly, probably more. It’s a touch warmer than usual, and I’m guessing 99.4 or so.

You won’t even settle in your swing, and so while you make squeaking and whimpering noises in the dark, I run to go pee, grab a glass of water, and a slice of cold pizza, because I’m hungry and I should be sleeping right now and my body is confused. I secretly hope that you will stop squeaking so I can lay down on the couch and sleep, but the squeaks turn to whimpers and pitiful cries and so I scoop you up and kiss your warm forehead until you do that quivering breath thing that you do right before the deeper sleep comes.

I’ve heard that these days fly by and they grow so quickly and to cherish it all. I believe it (though I wouldn’t mind if these sick days passed just a little bit faster). I must be accustomed to chronic sleep deprivation, because I survived today on only a few hours of sleep, and I’m sure I can do it again tomorrow. The sexy pilot-man that brought me a grande starbucks cappuccino on his way home from work today sure did help.

You, dear soul, are a gift. If only the world knew just how soft you are. How I kiss your eyebrows and cheeks and ears and wonder if this isn’t the very pinnacle of all of the good things in the world that God created. If only they knew, they’d be willing to stay up all night holding you too.

I don’t mind so very much sweetheart, and when you’re 15 and reading this letter and wondering if I really truly love you (because I’m kind of afraid that I’m going to suck at raising teenagers), just know this: you are worth it because you are loved.

Fiercely, irrevocably, and completely. I love you right down to your guts and I’ll never ever stop.

Now, let’s wake up that Daddy of yours. It’s time for a shift change.

Forever,

Mama

image source

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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Maren's little brother.

Kate is in the midst of packing up her blue and green house in Saint John, NB for a new adventure in Antigonish, NS (population 4,200, whoo!). She has two wonderful small people in her life, and loves reading, biking, swimming and dancing (badly!).

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

More Posts - Website - Twitter - Facebook - Pinterest

The 1st Year Class of the Midwife Program (Kate is in the middle left, with a purple headband)

This is Part Two of a 3-Part Guest Series from my good friend, Kate. You can read Part One here, if you haven’t already.

***

Life moves on, hey? My brand new husband and I had planned to wait until my third year in the midwifery program to have a baby. There’s a sort of natural pause in the program at that point, where many women take some time off to have a baby. But, well, as one of my lovely friends says, “The heart wants what the heart wants”. In October of first year, we stopped using birth control, and took a “Well, we’re not going to try, but we’re not going to avoid, and we’ll see what happens”. We knew full well that this meant we’d likely have a baby long before third year. In December I got pregnant. In January I got un-pregnant. I sat in the shower and bled and cried and begged that baby to please stay, live, be born, have a wonderful life. And then, eventually, I was able to tell that baby that I loved her and wanted her but if she had to go, she should go knowing that she was loved. After that, we started actively trying to get pregnant.

I think it was April when I *knew* something was not right. I was lucky to have the most amazing campus physician who took me seriously and started off with some routine testing. When the basic stuff on me came back normal, she ordered an analysis for my husband, and sent me off to Toronto for more invasive procedures. Again, everything was normal with me, but my husband’s initial analysis showed that his body made about 8 sperm, and that 7 of them swam backwards, had three heads, or some other problem. People say, “It only takes one!”, but the science actually shows that it takes many little sperm to break down the egg enough to allow one sperm in to do its thing. He did the recommended diet, supplements and lifestyle changes, waited three months and repeated the test, only to find that his numbers were *worse*! The explanation for our lost babe was that it was some sort of miraculous conception, but that the faulty sperm had led to chromosomal abnormalities that were “incompatible with life”.

Stick with me, this does have something to do with my midwifery journey! We were referred to a fertility clinic, and I think they were salivating at what our young (we were 23), healthy selves would do to their success rates. We found out that the only way for us to have a baby biologically related to both of us would be through IVF. But, not just regular IVF, oh no, we would need aspiration and IVF with ICSI. Lots of accronyms to tell us that there would be a boatload of laboratory and drugs involved in our child’s conception. And lots of money. A lot. At the time, my husband was earning 500$ a month, and I was a full-time student with three part-time jobs. When I sat down and played with our budget, I calculated that it would take us about 15 years to save the required 12,000 – 14,000$.

I’m not in any way anti-IVF. We just came to the conclusion that it wasn’t for us: toxic drug load for me, insane amount of money (we had always planned to adopt anyway, and that money could be much better used in that arena), no guarantee of success, etc, etc. And then, the kicker, we learned that any son we had would also be highly likely to be infertile. No way could we knowingly inflict this torture on our child, so we put IVF away. There was month after month of disappointment, and there seemed to be an correlation between my grades and the length of our infertility.

I returned to second year in a pretty unhealthy headspace. My thought life basically revolved around getting pregnant, and school did nothing to pull it in another direction. I knew I was unhealthily focused, but I couldn’t seem to pull myself out. A classmate told me that if I would just “Get right with God” I would get pregnant. I was pretty despondent. And yet, everyday I went to class and clinic and labs, and everyday I was surrounded by women doing the amazing work of growing and birthing their children. I was so, so blessed that I never felt anger or resentment or jealousy towards the women who got to get pregnant like normal people, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t break a little every time I saw someone do what I wanted with every fiber of my self. School became a painful thing. Midwifery became an intensely painful thing.

How do you spend your life being a part of a miraculous thing, while knowing that *you* will never be allowed to experience it? How do you help women and families carry and welcome new babies, when you want that for yourself and know you’ll never get to carry your own child? Where do you find the grace and maturity and resiliency and love to do that work the way it deserves to be done? My answers were, well, I can’t. I can’t be a midwife. Not now, and maybe not ever. I just knew I needed to get away and figure out if I could develop the heart I needed to be a good midwife. So, instead of going in to third year, I went to Yellowknife. Logical step, hunh?

My husband got a job in the North, and we headed out. His company paid for our move, so I wrote exams and packed our house (he had already left), and bought the things that people recommended I buy (mostly laundry soap, canned goods and dog food, all supposed to be much more expensive in the North). Off we went. Life in the North was bleak, initially, but we fairly quickly found ourselves completely in love with so many aspects of life there. We skied and skijored, rock climbed, paddled, hiked, “swam” (polar bear dips, in August, for real) in pristine lakes. We lived in a house that was spitting distance from a lake and hiking trails. I biked to work year round. I worked as a sled dog handler, a substitute teacher, earned a spot in a professional dance company, we made friends, and, really, life was pretty good.

We also decided to pursue donor sperm and adoption. We filed out paperwork, requested paperwork, chose a donor, did our homestudy, got approved to adopt, bought some sperm, found a doctor who would deal with the sperm, became foster parents, and lived through four failed cycles with donor sperm. Canada then announced that it was changing some laws surrounding donor gametes, which sounded like they were going to make using donor sperm pretty close to impossible. We were fed up, torn down, and ready to be *done*. So, we sold our sperm back to the bank. I did a lot of work to get to a place where I thought I might be able to function as a healthy person without experiencing pregnancy. I made plans to induce lactation for our to-be-adopted baby, even as we knew that was going to be a bit of a wait as we gathered up the required funds.

And then, one of my best friends from the midwifery program wrote to me, and offered us her husband’s sperm. This might sound like an insane arrangement, but it was one of those things that is so perfect that I still get teary when I try to explain it. My first trip to them was so filled with stress (for me!), and we made a few rookie mistakes in terms of timing and stuff. It didn’t work. We had to wait several more months before we managed to get together again, but our second try was so simple and normal, if you can use that word for something not quite normal. And there was Maren. Perfect.

pregnant with Maren

I thought I could go back to midwifery the fall that Maren was 8 months old. We moved from Yellowknife back to Ontario, and spent the summer in Toronto where I took an elective course to lighten the load in the fall. The plan was for my husband to stay home with Maren. The midwifery program in Ontario requires moves every three months (there are exceptions in fourth year, but you can need to move that often) once you’re in the clinical portion of the program (the last 2.5 years of the program), so finding work for him would have been next to impossible anyway. It was a disaster. I would go to the library to get some school work done, and ten minutes later Papa would show up with the babe in tow, “I think she needs to nurse!”, or he had some other important reason for interrupting me. The reality was that, while he loved to hang out with his kids, my husband did NOT enjoy being the primary caregiver. Not to mention that leaving the baby I had fought so hard to have broke my heart.

You’d think that midwifery would be a really family friendly profession. It is not. Of all my classmates, not a single woman with children graduated on time. A good many dropped out. Practicing midwives do not qualify for maternity leave (they’re considered “self employed”). Anecdotally, divorce rates are very high among midwives. Student midwives have the added challenge of, you know, school. I watched classmates go to clinic all day, rush off to a birth in the late afternoon, get home at 4 in the morning after not having seen their children since two days earlier, and then have to feed themselves and grab a few hours sleep before finishing a paper due by noon. Conference call tutorial followed by post-partum home visit, shadowing two (or more!) preceptor midwives, attempting to eat a meal somewhere other than their cars, maintain a semblance of a relationship with their stressed spouse, etc, etc, the list of crazy goes on. Their family relationships really suffer, and while they all look forward to when they’re “real” midwives as the point in time when the crazy will diminish, the reality is that they remain tied to a pager. They miss birthday parties, dance recitals, talks in bed with partners before sleep, *sleep* (!!), and so many other things. They are living their dreams, in many ways, but not without a cost.

Before I knew better, I think I pictured this lovely midwife life of a few hours of clinic, dinner with my family, tucking the kids in to bed and then heading off to a perfect birth and being home in time to get a decent sleep before getting up with my kids. That’s not the reality. It’s gritty and beautiful and fulfilling, but it’s a long, hard slog. And I chose to put it away for awhile. I felt at peace with the idea that it was not my season for midwifery. I chose to spend my time with my family and I loved the daily rhythm and wonder of motherhood. I don’t at all regret my choices.

***

Don’t miss Part Three of Kate’s story tomorrow!

***

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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Canaan Maverick, 7 days old

The beautiful babe in the photo above may be all mine, but the story below is not. My dear friend Kate and I go way back to teenage-hood camp staff days. She was certainly way cooler then myself, but agreed to be my friend anyway upon discovering that we were, in fact, kindred spirits. I was beyond excited when she agreed to write her midwifery story as a guest post for me while I welcomed my third little person into our family (and how fitting that this was my first midwife-attended birth!). I know that you will enjoy her story immensely and be as riveted as I was at every last word. Enjoy!

***

I get one of two responses when they hear about my midwifery-ness. One smaller group sort of glazes over and says, “unhunh”, which I take to mean, “That is seriously one of the grossest/dullest/craziest professions on the planet” and/or “I care not one whit about this aspect of our conversation”. The other, larger, group gets that look people get when something is unusual/offbeat/interesting, and then they frequently ask, “What got you in to *that*?!”

Usually, I tell people that I spent some time Central America and was inspired by the potential for public health education in the child-bearing year. It’s true, I did spend nearly a year in Honduras between high school and university. It was an experience that really can’t be described, but I can describe the feeling of sitting on a rickety little chair in someone’s dusty backyard, makeshift medical clinic draped around me, as I translated for a fourteen year old mother who was worried about her four week old baby.

Oddly, I do not remember the baby, I do not remember what the doctor I was translating for on that particular day said or did for this woman. I remember the mother’s face, and I remember how I managed to translate without thinking about what I was doing because all I could think was, “Babies shouldn’t be fed sugar water multiple times a day!!! No wonder the child is not doing well, he needs breastmilk!” I knew I didn’t know very much about breastfeeding, or being a mom, but I knew a few things, and I knew that if this mother knew what I knew, she would have a healthier child. I can point to that single person, a fourteen year old woman in a developing country, and say that she kindled the little spark that made me want to be involved in educating people about the child-bearing ear. How did I get from Honduras to midwifery school? I have no idea. Truly. I don’t remember when I first heard about midwifery as a profession. I know at some point in high school I read Chris Bojalian’s “Midwives”, and realized that midwives existed beyond biblical times and the Appalachian backwoods in the 1930′s. I do not know when I realized this was a viable career option for a (nearly!) present day girl from the Canadian Maritimes.

I went from Honduras to Dalhousie University’s International Development program. Because I did an accelerated high school program, and then negotiated for some credits for my language training and experience in Honduras, I was technically at the end of my second year of university after only a year there. That’s when I decided I was going to study midwifery. I called my parents to announce this grand new plan. And my mother, in that clever way mothers have, managed to convince me that I was already half-way through my current degree and that it would be much, much wiser to stay the course and then go on to other things. I wasn’t entirely convinced but, in that not-as-clever way that nineteen year olds have, I conceded.

I really don’t enjoy academia, so I manged to finish off my degree by spending more time abroad than in Halifax. I hooked up with midwives wherever I could along the way. In Senegal, I got to follow a local midwife around as she taught in a midwifery school and worked like a woman possessed to convince traditional healers and practicing midwives to do away with the pratice of female genital mutilation (female circumcision). In Cuba, I researched and wrote an honours paper on the use of pregnancy “houses”, where woman with even fairly low levels of risk are ensconced for up to the entire duration of their pregnancy. I managed to work midwifery in, in little pieces, wherever I could.

I was completely beside myself when I got my acceptance letter to the Midwifery Education Program (MEP) near the end of my final semester. I called the professor who had written one of my recommendation letters and shrieked in her ear for a good five minutes before she managed to understand who was calling, or why! I will admit to not realizing, at the time, what studying midwifery was going to mean. I was excited that I had managed to avoid having to deal with the real, scary world of grown up with a grown up job, and excited to be studying something I was totally in awe of.

The MEP is a four year bachelor of Health Sciences in Midwifery offered at a consortium of three schools in Ontario (Laurentian, Ryerson and McMaster) as well as at UBC. Because the Ontario group is a consortium, you can only apply to one school. I chose Laurentian because they have a focus on rural and remote practice, which was appealing both because I wanted to practice in a development context down the road and because I thought there might be some neat, additional skills we might get to learn.

I got married, and then, two weeks later, we packed up my new husband’s little car and drove to northern Ontario. Every time I went to class or spent time with classmates I was floored by one of tw things: there are some seriously amazing women in this world, and midwifery is like a very highly addictive drug. The more I knew about midwifery, the more I wanted to know. I had never before experienced an academic setting where going to class was the highlight of my week. I’m pretty sure I didn’t blink for the entire three hour core class ever week, and I’m equally sure there was a slightly goofy looking grin on my face the entire time.

We got pager and women to “with woman” during our first week of intensive training in September. The word “midwife” means “with woman”, and the program assigns 1-3 women to first year student. Student follow the women throughout their pregnancy, birth and postpartum period. The idea is just to observe. I laugh, because we were glued to those little black, silent, pagers. We carried them compulsively, checked them constantly, fantasized about that first, real, birth. And, um, they never went off. The first time it went off, I could hardly think, I was so excited. I managed to navigate the automated message system, only to find out that it was our program administrator sending out a “Has anyone seen Amy?! Her sister is in labour and wants her to come!” to all of us. For the record classmate Amy was camping in a provincial park with no pager coverage and missed her sister’s homebirth. Bummer. My “with woman” didn’t have her baby until February. And my husband had to figure out what that “annoying noise” was, after a good ten minutes of complete bafflement, when my pager finally went off.

We were also assigned to observational hospital shifts. One twelve hour shift every month. I started off with fireworks. I put on scrubs, manged not to impale myself with my nametag, and then walked in to the room of a very actively labouring woman. In fact, in retrospect, so many things were wrong with the situation. she was so intensely focused on pushing that I didn’t feel comfortable interrupting her to introduce myself. No one else did either, I guess. The first words I heard were from the ob on call, “Hey, she’s got a cervical lip! Put on a glove and come feel it!”

So, I put on a glove. In the time it took me to snatch up a glove and jam it on my hand (believe me, I was moving *fast*!), the lip had resolved, but the ob had me put my hand in there anyway. It was the most incredible thing. There was no cervix left at all, and this wrinkly *head* was slowly, slowly moving into my fingers. A nurse held out a second glove for me, the ob had me applying counter pressure to this poor woman’s perineum, and *I* caught the baby. For real.

I laugh at myself now; I was so scared I was going to drop this greasy, new little person, that I pretty much threw him on to his mother’s chest. Bum first. I’m sure his mother would have much, much rather seen his face first.

I’ll also never forget the smell of that first birth. It’s not good or bad, it’s just blood and fluids and other things, and it’s very distinct. It’s the sort of scent that takes over all the other scents. For me, it’s sort of a ground smell. Initially, it’s strong, and close enough to unpleasant, that it sort of pulls you out of the haze of wonder enough that you can have a coherent though. A good thing for a birth attendant, really. I still smell that smell at every birth I’m lucky enough to witness. And now, I love it.

A lot was wrong with that birth picture: the hands in her vagina as she was pushing, the people she didn’t know doing intimate, important things (like, oh, catching her baby), the complete lack of consent about having a student “do” anything to her, etc, etc. But, it was an incredible experience for me. It was only in retrospect, when the birth high and the feeling of that small person sliding into my hands had ceased to overwhelm all other thoughts, that I realized that I would never want to give birth in that situation. It wasn’t hellish, it wasn’t terrible, but there was a definite lack of respect for a woman doing the most important work of her life. Reinforcement that midwifery care is the way to go.

To be continued… (Part Two and Three to follow)

 

***

 

Kate is in the midst of packing up her blue and green house in Saint John, NB for a new adventure in Antigonish, NS (population 4,200, whoo!). She has two wonderful small people in her life, and loves reading, biking, swimming and dancing (badly!).

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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(FYI: I’m saving most of my labour & birth photos to share in a slideshow. I wanted to include it in this post, but my technical support is out at a guys movie night thing this evening and I didn’t want to wait to post the story.. so the slideshow will be a separate post… and also – an explanation of his name).

He’s been here for 17 days now.

His birth day seems somewhat like a hazy memory, and I have hesitated over and over again on writing his story. In the days since his birth I would steal a moment here or there with both hands free to type, and I’d avoid writing and do something else instead. When I think back to labouring and birthing Canaan, I have mixed emotions. In so many ways it was a more difficult labour and delivery, and I wasn’t really mentally prepared for that (despite trying my best to be prepared for “anything” to happen). In other ways though, I am beyond proud of myself for accomplishing the great work of bringing him safely into the world in a beautiful and natural way. Here is our story…

***

I was 8 days (41+1) past my due date. I was beginning to doubt I’d ever go into labour on my own, and yet I was at peace. I had finally stopped feeling like a ticking time bomb, and had checked out a novel from the library to read before baby arrived. I got through the first chapter…

I had been having prodromal labour for almost two weeks without it turning into active labour. Add that to the fact that I had been medically induced with both previous births, and I was having a hard time trusting my body and my intuition.

Tuesday evening (June 19) I saw Jess for a regular appointment. We planned to try the verbena on Saturday morning when I would be 41+5, because once I hit that 42-weeks mark then I would have to have the birth in a hospital rather than the home water birth I wanted.

She asked if I wanted a membrane sweep. I debated back and forth because when I’d had it done in both previous pregnancies it had been extremely painful and not effective at all in bringing on labour. Jess offered to just check me and if my cervix was still completely closed and far back then she wouldn’t bother. Chris and I decided I should go for it, and to my great surprise I was dilated three centimeters already. She did the sweep (it actually didn’t hurt at all which was shocking to me) and that was that.

We left the appointment and began the hour and a quarter drive home, but first we stopped at Tim Horton’s for a cup of tea (we had left the kids with my Dad at home, who was here from Toronto). I was having more irregular contractions, but they seemed the same as the last few weeks. We had brought everything with us “just in case” but finally at 9pm we decided we’d better just head home to bed because there were no signs of it being “the real thing”.

Home we went, and at one point Chris pulled over as I was having a contraction that was painful. He asked if we should turn around, and I said no, there’s still too much doubt. It’s possible, but right now we don’t know.

We held hands in comfortable silence. The lingering summer sun began its descent toward the horizon and we drove the quiet road to Tiny Town here in the prairies, surrounded by flat farmer’s fields as far as the eye could see. I was aware of each breath and twinge of pain as they came and went.

We went to bed. Chris went to sleep, and I tossed and turned. I looked at the clock when I had a contraction, thinking this might be the real thing. Then 20 minutes would go by and I’d lose hope. At midnight I still hadn’t fallen asleep and I got up and went into the kitchen. I was hungry, and intuition told me I should eat something “just in case”. I warmed up a plate of leftover shepherd’s pie and ate in the dark and silent living room, mindlessly surfing facebook and my google reader, taking deep breaths as the contractions continued to come at random and spaced out intervals.

I decided to have a bath to see if they would stop. I got overheated (darn hormones!) and got out before I could give it a fair chance since they were spaced so far apart.

I went back to bed, lay down, and got another contraction. I woke up Chris and told him that I thought we should time these, to see if there was any pattern. From midnight to about 2:30am we laid in bed in the dark, facing each other with the ipod in between us. We fell asleep in between each contraction, and as I’d wake up with the pain of each one he’d record it on the contraction app he had found. They were 10-15 minutes apart, a minute or so long, and fairly painful.

By 2:30am I couldn’t sleep any more. I went back to the bath. After a while we decided to call our doula, Sara-Lyn, to see what she thought we should do. We didn’t want to go to the city if it was just a false alarm, but we didn’t want to wait too long, either!

She came over and we decided to go for a walk to see if we could get the contractions to intensify and come more frequently. I pulled on my yoga pants and fleece jacket and we went for a walk around the block with dew on the grass and crisp morning air, just as the sun began to rise and the birds starting their enthusiastic (annoying) chirping. It was about 4am. The contractions starting coming much more frequently but they didn’t last as long and they weren’t as intense.

At this point we decided that there was a good chance it was the real thing, so we decided to head to the city and find somewhere to have breakfast and reevaluate. We woke my Dad to let him know, and he called my mom, who booked the next flight out that morning. She wasn’t planning to be there for the birth, but wanted to come as soon as possible.

We drove to the city with loud upbeat music, contractions every ten minutes, and the sunrise out the window. I laboured on my hands and knees during the more painful contractions. My sweet husband had thoughtfully taken out one of the middle seats in our van so that I’d have room to kneel and move if necessary (and if you are a police officer, I’m definitely kidding. I totally wore a seatbelt at all times while the vehicle was in motion…).

In between contractions, I gazed out the window at the pink and orange sky, thinking about the profound work that I was about to do, wondering if the world would feel the slight breeze of change as I brought a brand new living soul into it. A calmness and peace washed over me with shoulders squared and ready.

We arrived in the city and went to Denny’s and I ordered eggs benedict. Sara-Lyn got a free breakfast because it was her birthday. Mine came with fried onions and peppers, which I normally love but at that time they were completely detestable to me, so I scraped them off to the side with a scrunched up nose and a brief thought about how strange that was. I got about halfway through my breakfast when things started to intensify. I told Chris it was definitely time to call the midwives, and head to Lisa’s house (our birth location). He still wasn’t sure and was a little hesitant, and I told him (as nicely as possible!) that everything I said from now on was based on my body’s intuition. I wanted to be somewhere private to deal with the intensifying labour. I said I’d like to go NOW, and I’ll take my eggs to go, please…

We headed over to Lisa’s house, went in and got settled downstairs. Contractions were still pretty spacey and random, but getting quite a bit more intense. I got into the shower for a few minutes, sitting on the exercise ball. It felt amazing, but I didn’t stay in long because we needed to be sure to have enough hot water to fill the birth pool.

It was nearing eight in the morning, I believe. I began to focus on labouring and lost track of time until after the delivery. My contractions were still kinda lazy, so I began to work for them. I walked back and forth from the bedroom to the stairs. I put one foot up on the second step, and did squats. Inevitably every time I did this, a contraction would come 30 seconds later. So I kept at it in hopes of meeting my babe that much sooner.

Sara-Lyn held a wrapped hot water bottle to my lower back during contractions, which was perfect. I would support myself with one hand on a wall and one hand holding my belly. My eyes drifted closed as I entered “labour-land” more intensely, and I vocalized my way through with low toned moaning.

Somewhere along the way one of my midwives, Jenn, asked if I wanted her to check me. Apparently I was about 7 centimetres at that point, and Jenn also tried to push the baby’s head up a bit so that he could turn, because he was not in the optimal position for birth (he had been posterior or transverse at every appointment). I say “apparently” because this part was from Chris’s memory. I was not really thinking straight at that point – I was beginning to get exhausted.

(Also? Going through one or two contractions while on my back demonstrated to me the sheer insanity of forcing women to labour on their backs. It was easily ten times more painful that way, not to mention the fact that my labour probably would have stalled without the walking and squatting, and I very well could have ended up with a c-section.)

I had been labouring for several hours and had also missed an entire night’s sleep, and my contractions were still kind of lazy and needing me to work hard to bring them on. My midwives and doula were beginning to get concerned with my energy level, so they convinced me to lie down on the bed and have a brief rest. I managed to fall asleep in between contractions 3 times, for about 7 minutes each. Chris says I even snored a little, but I find his claims dubious at best.

I was then presented with a rousing pep talk, which was definitely not my favourite thing, but I knew that I needed to get things going so I could finally meet my baby. They graciously shoved a glass of Gatorade and a cookie in my hands, and I managed to get them down, mostly out of fear of what would happen if I couldn’t summon the strength to continue.

(This baby was without a doubt planned for and loved from the very beginning, but I do recall stating somewhere around this point in labour that this “having another baby” thing was “a stupid idea”. It makes me laugh to think back on, but I was perfectly serious at the time.)

The game plan was now to go hang out in the bathroom. Apparently many labouring women find their contractions to be more effective while sitting on the toilet, because the pushing muscles “down there” are more relaxed. All I knew was that I had gotten a contraction every time I went to pee (which was a lot since my doula was pumping fluids into me every chance she got). So, we tried it. Contractions continued to intensify.

Jenn suggested using the rebozo shawl around Chris’s neck for me to grab onto and do squats while hanging on. We did that which brought on more intense contractions, and they began to come closer to together. As I moved into transition (finally!) I began to “go primal” as my husband described it. My inner warrior-woman came out and I let out loud low-toned moaning yells with each contraction. When I looked at the video a few days later I was slightly horrified to find that I sounded somewhat like a cow bellowing. I guess birthing a baby sometimes requires some noise…

We moved into the birth pool (my favourite place) and I instinctively went into the hands and knees position. My forehead rested on the edge of the tub and I rocked back and forth during contractions. Chris was with me in the tub, helping to pour warm water over my back and being a steady presence of support and strength. Sara-Lyn was by my side giving me sips of water and wiping my face with a cold cloth.

Finally, the urge to bear down began to come over me. I could feel my entire body directing every ounce of strength to the muscles in my midsection, and with each contraction, I pushed. It was not a conscious decision, and I could not have pushed on my own if someone had tried to tell me when to do it. My body literally took over and simply did what it needed to do. No one really spoke much or tried to tell me what to do, for which I was so grateful.

As I was in the water pushing, Jess suggested to me that I could reach inside with a finger and feel the baby’s head as I pushed, and feel it moving down the birth canal. I did, and it was an amazing feeling. I got a surge of adrenaline and energy as I yelled and pushed and sweated through each contraction, and I could feel the head move down and closer to birth.

Every fiber of my being burned with determination. I was not aware of a single thing in the room other than the fire I felt. I was in another world, deep inside, experiencing childbirth in all its incomparable grit and glory.

After (what I later learned was) about 25 minutes of pushing, I felt the unimaginably perfect feeling of his head slipping from my body with groaning and the inimitable moment of bringing forth new life. His body quickly followed, and Chris caught him in the water behind me. Jess just helped ensure the baby stayed under the water so that they could pass him through my legs to my waiting arms (in a water-birth, once the baby comes above the water he cannot go under again).

I reached down and lifted my baby up out of the water and onto my chest as Chris sat back and sat me on his lap to make sure the baby was above the water level. The bag of waters was broken just as he came out and the membranes were still covering large parts of him (Aliza came out in her bag of waters as well). The midwives helped pull them off, and covered him with a towel on my chest.

My eyes took in my third-born child for the first time amidst a blurry transition from pain and groaning to bliss and pure perfection.

I heard my husband’s voice cry out “it’s a boy!”, and we laughed and marvelled at him together.

We sat there in the water enjoying him. Where there were two, there were now three, and we sat together in intimate meeting and bonding as a new mama and papa once again. It was 3:25 in the afternoon on June 20, 2012. It was the summer solstice – the longest day of the year.

Our blissful bonding was suddenly interrupted at this point when the perfectly clear water (I hadn’t torn at all) was marred by a rapidly-spreading large cloud of dark red.

“We’ve got to get her out of the pool, now.”

Everything is a bit of a hasty blur at this point. The cord was clamped and cut (scissors quickly handed to Chris to do the cutting), the baby was lifted away from me and Chris stepped out. He took the baby, and I was helped out of the tub and onto the bed. Jenn asked if it was ok to give me a shot of oxytocin to stop the bleeding, and a dose of Shepherd’s Purse under my tongue. They massaged my belly to encourage my uterus to contract, and the placenta to deliver. After a few minutes the placenta came out, along with a few more bits of membranes, and the bleeding slowed. The baby was handed back to me (Chris had been holding him skin-to-skin) and everyone breathed easy again.

They estimated that I lost almost half a liter of blood in that initial gush. Not quite enough to be called hemorrhaging, but enough to warrant an abrupt end to the blissful and relaxed bonding time in the water.

That interruption was a great disappointment to me, in retrospect, but not something that anyone could have prevented. I think some of my mixed feelings about this birth are related to the mourning of that loss. It was the thing I was most looking forward to – just relaxing for an hour or two as a family as we got to know him and love him and have him on my chest, skin-to-skin. The interruption was only a few minutes, realistically, but it impacted me quite strongly. I don’t know that I can even fully explain it to anyone else, but there is a deep sense of sadness there, which has been difficult to process as I’ve written this story. It is what it is, I guess.

The ending of the story is a happy one despite a minor interruption in plans. I am grateful that I was able to labour in exactly the way I had hoped for in a peaceful location that was the next-best-thing to being at home. I loved every second of having midwives (especially Jess and Jenn, who are just incredible), and I had a fantastic doula that guided me through labour in every way that I needed.

As I (finally) type these last words here in that same darkened living room late in the evening a few weeks later (which feels like a lifetime ago), I see a bit of my heart sleeping there beside me on the couch. He’s nine and a half pounds of pure loveliness, and I’m utterly blown over by the way my heart beats out of my chest with love for him. I believed in love at first sight when I first looked into Isaac’s face that warm afternoon in September nearly four years ago. Now with my third babe, at just over two weeks in, he’s already firmly entrenched in all of our affections.

We’re a family of five and it couldn’t feel more natural. What a stunningly beautiful life I have.

Welcome to the family, Canaan Maverick. You couldn’t be more loved.

xoxo.

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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This is Part Three of a 3-part guest series, written by my wonderful friend, Naomi. You can read Part One here and Part Two here.

***

Pain is a theme in breastfeeding that every mama knows well; sore nipples, poor latch, mastitis, clogged ducts, being pinched or bitten, the discomfort of letdown or just plain “full and sore” all terribly common things in the reality of breastfeeding.

I was blessed with a babe with a great latch and zero pain problems minus the odd clogged duct. My heart felt for friends who got mastitis or had cracked and bleeding nipples. It wasn’t until Ransom was 8 months old that I got my turn to taste the pain. By this time I thought we were in the clear and that no troubles could possibly come up now and I planned to breastfeed for as long as Ransom showed interest. In January my nipples seemed to become ‘dry’ and leave deep cracks around the base of my nipples. I assumed it was just dry skin, as my hands were in a similar state thanks to the winter weather.

I dealt with the pain and discomfort of Ransom’s nursing for a few weeks until it became unbearable. It felt like a small sharp needle deep inside the breast moving ever so slowly from the back towards the nipple. And while Ransom was nursing it felt like ten thousand needles sticking into my nipple all at once. Hands down I would rather give birth than experience that pain again. I would cringe during nursing sessions, cry, hold my breath and rock back and forth like a traumatized child.

I told my friend and doula all about what was going on and after a short series of questions she deduced that I had Candida. I immediately googled it, read the info from the Newman Clinic’s website and filtered through all my breastfeeding books on how to get rid of it. That night I sent my husband out for gentian violet and thus began another breastfeeding battle.

There was one thing that baffled me though, Candida always went hand in hand with Thrush in babies yet Ransom did not show any of the typical signs.

After several appointments with various health care providers (a walk-in clinic, nurse practitioners, a naturopathic doctor, and lactation consultants) and several rounds of various treatments including;

- $600 in Fluconazole (the drug most commonly used for Candida), an all-purpose nipple ointment compound
- probiotics
- grapefruit seed extract
- and even a super intense 8 week diet (Dysbiosis Diet) that had me eating nothing but veggies, beans and brown rice

I still had Candida and Ransom still didn’t have Thrush symptoms.

The Fluconazole had worked to take away the worst of the pain thankfully and I was grateful to have the pain behind me, but unsatisfied with the lack of understanding why the Candida was not going away and why Ransom was never showing Thrush symptoms. The treatments seemed to be doing next to nothing. For a few days I would be free and clear and then overnight the symptoms would begin to reappear.

By the beginning of April I had had enough of the treatments, the discomfort and the confusion and decided it was time again for a trip to the Newman Clinic.

They were just as baffled as me. They reaffirmed that it was Candida and that Ransom did not have thrush. So what was going on!?

And then like a lightbulb it clicked. The lactation consultant looked at me and asked, “Has your period started back yet?” It had. After a little back dating we traced it all back to January and the re-starting of my regular cycle. Hormones were throwing off the pH balance in my body while trying to restart the system, allowing the Candida to run rampant and unchecked, hence why Ransom was never showing signs of thrush. The problem was in me all along, not in the breastfeeding.

I was again directed to take grapefruit seed extract, probiotics, and use the all-purpose nipple ointment when necessary. However, by now the damage had been done. The nursing sessions we had had during the day were long behind us and only the night time nursing remained.

I was committed to breastfeeding Ransom as long as he remained interested, which I always assumed would be well after his first birthday. But as quickly as our breastfeeding relationship started, it was over. Simply one night as we crawled into bed together for our nightly nursing session before sleep, instead of “helping himself” to milk, he simply laid his head down on my chest and fell asleep. Not once since has he pulled on my shirt or cried for milk.

Candida did us in, and though I am still dealing with it (yes, even still) I am not bitter or resentful that breastfeeding ended sooner than I wanted. Instead I am happy that it seemed to end with zero stress or discomfort for Ransom. He still snuggles on my chest at night as he falls asleep, a simple reminder of the nursing sessions we used to have. I do miss breastfeeding and I wish I had known to savour that last moment together. But in the end I am content and proud at what we accomplished and overcame as a breastfeeding family and you can’t ask for more than that.

I hope our story will encourage you and instruct you. Education and support are your best allies if you desire to breastfeed. Your battle may be more or less difficult than ours, but no matter what you face if you educated yourself and surround yourself with a network of support you will come out swinging with healthy babe in arms.

***

Thank-you so much, Naomi, for sharing your journey through breastfeeding. I know that your story will inspire and encourage many as they seek to give the best to their babes as well.

PS: Please note that Naomi is currently away on a road trip with her babe and hubby, and will respond to your comments when she returns in a few days. Thanks for sharing in the conversation!

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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This is Part Two in a Three-Part Series. You can read Part One here.

***

Our breastfeeding battle didn’t end with the unexpected psychological demands; our worst battle yet came from the most unassuming of places.

Our former family doctor (Dr. W)  was nothing short of a disaster with regards to breastfeeding. It was the catalyst of events that drives me to compel parents to educate themselves and find good support.

At 8 weeks old Ransom had failed to achieve more weight gain than a half an ounce a day, which was of little concern to the midwives who had held and played with Ransom and seen that he was thriving, but our care under them had ended and we were officially in the hands of our family doctor, Dr. W, who felt that his slow weight gain was dangerous to his brain development and overall health. At her insistence I began a steady regimen of nursing and pumping all day every day, adding the herbs, fenugreek and blessed thistle to increase supply (which made Ransom colicky). Still our baby remained steady at only gaining half an ounce a day, failing to achieve a level of weight gain that satisfied Dr. W.

Finally Dr. W told us that we HAD to supplement with formula. When I began to protest she began to interrogate us about our reasons against formula and continued to use her ‘scare tactics’ informing us that Ransom would not develop properly if we didn’t feed him formula. After a few minutes of mild ‘debate’ she concluded the conversation by informing us that if we did not give Ransom formula she would have to contact the Children’s Aid Society.

We left the office enraged and terrified. Had it not been for the fact that we had an appointment at the Newman Breastfeeding Clinic in Toronto for that afternoon, we might have just thrown in the towel and begun researching formula brands.

Even though we knew Dr. Jack was a leading expert in breastfeeding, after our appointment with Dr. W we were scared to step into the Newman Clinic. But our appointment was thorough, encouraging, empowering and informative (and over 2 hours long!). We were consulted by a team of people including a paediatrician and lactation consultants to whom we poured our hearts out. They were horrified that Dr. W threatened us and reassured us that even though Ransom was on the small side, he was perfectly healthy and they would help protect us if things got bad.

They diagnosed Ransom with a tongue tie, which Dr. W  had noticed but failed to think it was anything worth fixing, whereas the Newman Clinic clipped it immediately. I was also put on Domperidone to increase milk supply, which when it failed to do so, the clinic then suggested I take Moringa leaf powder which worked wonderfully and without the side effects fenugreek & blessed thistle had on Ransom.

With reassurance after several appointments at the Newman Clinic, and support from friends who knew more about the legal rights of patients we set out to formally ended our doctor/patient relationship with Dr. W. We drafted a formal letter detailing their misconduct, and even a terrible mistake they made in Ransom’s chart which made it look like he dropped from the 25^th percentile into the 3^rd which we happened to catch, we also had the paediatrician from Newman Clinic send a fax to Dr. W which firmly stated that Ransom was perfectly fine and that they ought to (basically) ‘shove it’ for taking such a drastic approach.

We called Dr. W to cancel our up coming appointments before mailing the letter and met with unexpected resistance. We were told that we HAD to come in. We were not allowed to cancel our appointment. Thankfully, now knowing our legal rights, we firmly declared that we were cancelling our appointment and we did not need to reschedule. That phone called ended with me saying: “It’s my legal right not to answer any of your questions.” and hanging up.

We were tense about what might ensue from that phone call, and what might happen after they received our registered letter. But knowing we had support from Newman Clinic, our friends, and also knowing our rights made a huge difference, and helped us sleep easy at night. And thankfully nothing happened. It makes for a lame ending to a story but I would hate to think of the terror we would have lived through if this had ended more dramatically.

We never in our worst nightmares dreamed that we would have to deal with such threats. Had we never taken the time to learn about the benefits of breastfeeding, the potential hazards of formula, and find support in places like the Newman Clinic, and in people like our friends, we would have easily succumbed to the pressure of unnecessarily formula feeding our perfectly healthy babe.

***

Have you experienced undue pressure towards formula feeding, or suffered from lack of support in breastfeeding tough times? Stay tuned for the third part of Naomi’s story, and please share your thoughts in the comments below. 

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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While I sit back and do nothing but enjoy the eight-days-old babe currently snoozing on my chest, I’ve arranged some guest posts for you to enjoy here on the blog. (And yes, I’m nearly done writing my birth story… I’ve been somewhat unmotivated due to this being my third babe and knowing exactly how quickly these first days fly by. Needless to say, I’ve been savouring the moments and enjoying the babymooning).

Today I am honoured to host the first part of this three-part guest series from Naomi – one of very best friends in the world. She’s a mama to a darling boy that I have not met nearly often enough due to there being over two thousand miles between us. Her breastfeeding story is inspiring and encouraging. Please join me in welcoming her to Red & Honey!

Most natural mamas I’ve met acknowledge that breast is best; however, very few of these mamas have had a trouble free breastfeeding experience. Everyone has had to fight some kind of breastfeeding battle.

Beth has to kindly allowed me to share with you my advice and my story to you her readers while she takes her ‘baby moon’ and basks in the glow of post birth love hormones with her new babe. (Hope you are enjoying those newborn snuggles!)

***

Firstly, my breastfeeding advice to any parent is sweet and simple.

1 – Get Educated: Learn all you can. Learn why breast is best, and especially why formula is not. Learn about the complications that can occur with breastfeeding. Learn about remedies for issues and where to buy them. Learn about latching techniques and how to stop troubles. Do not be content to trust others, even if they are lactation consultants or doctors with the best intentions. Educating yourself will allow you to make the best decisions BEFORE you are faced with complications and feel tried, frustrated and are particularly vulnerable to bad advice or suggestions. It is also important that your partner educate himself as well, as he will need to support your decisions and help you.

2 – Find Support: Find other breastfeeding mamas in your community. Join a La Leche League group or another breastfeeding support group. Find post partum doulas who can help, they are worth every penny. Know the different lactation consultants in your area and choose which one you would visit BEFORE babe is born. Take a pre-natal breastfeeding class. Make sure your partner is committed to your breastfeeding, he will be your biggest help. Also, be aware of online breastfeeding help like the Newman Clinic (located in Toronto) which has many resources on their website.

Finally, read or listen to stories like mine (below): stories that will encourage you and remind you that you are not alone. Breastfeeding is best, but it can also be the most difficult. Read on for my story.

* * *

On April 7, 2011, our firstborn son, Ransom, joined the outside world joyously in our home. He began nursing like a champ but as those newborn baby days carried on I found myself losing that sense of wonder and bliss and spiralling into frustration and sadness as day after day I was completely immobilized by this tiny, precious, ever-hungry being. Within a few weeks I had mastered doing everything while breastfeeding: cooking, cleaning, eating, sleeping, using the bathroom and even picking berries.

I had prepared myself for the physical demands of breastfeeding, but not the psychological. I knew that breastfeeding meant lots of time just sitting while baby ate…but I did not realize that it meant losing almost everything else I did, everything I felt that made me, “me”. My nature to be moving and active was stopped short by this little creation that needed me to sit still so he could eat. It drove me mad.

I don’t like to think I was depressed but I was definitely sad for weeks. I felt like I had lost myself and that I would never again do more than sit and nurse this baby. I felt like an invalid, needing the world to come to me, where as before I was self sufficient. I was impatient with breastfeeding, it was interrupting my wants, needs and desires. But most of all I felt like I wasn’t contributing to anything, like I was useless, good for nothing more than a milk machine.

I had no choice though but to ride the wave. That little baby wanted to eat and I had no choice but to be there to feed him. However, those days turned into weeks and a month or two and Ransom and I began to find some rhythm and routine. Suddenly, as we joined the world together as a pair, those quiet moments we would have to steal away to nurse turned into beautiful little times of reflection and peace.

I began to learn that my identity didn’t come from what I did, and that I was contributing more by nourishing my baby than I ever did washing the dishes or doing laundry.

I also learned that slowing down, though so very against my nature, was something that was good for me so I could stop and reflect on what was going on around me, rather than rushing through it to get something, anything done.

Fourteen months later, I miss breastfeeding. I watch my friends nurse their babes and long for those stolen moments of solitude with just my baby again. I regret loathing breastfeeding at the start but those psychological demands are something that any mama would have a difficult time preparing for. You can know about it, but you never know just how bad it is until you are in the thick of it (similar to sleep deprivation). I am however, content that I found the joy of it and savoured that joy for a little while.

Breastfeeding is hard, it is challenging and it can be merciless at times but it is rewarding beyond measure for both mama and babe. The psychological toll it took on me, I believe, worked to humble me and worked to make me stronger, more resilient and over all a better mother.

Unfortunately, our breastfeeding battle did not end there…

***

Have you struggled with the psychological demands of breastfeeding? Stay tuned for the second and third parts of Naomi’s story, and feel free to share your thoughts in the comments below. 

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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Canaan Maverick Ricci

(Canaan is a Biblical place name from the OT with significant to Honey & I {story to come}… and Maverick means “independent, non-conformist”)

8 lbs, 1 oz. & 21 inches long.

A beautiful “home” water birth, on Wednesday, June 20, 2012, 3:25pm (summer solstice!).

Birth story to come (being written in between nursing, sleeping, cuddling, and kissing).

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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What keeps me going is the knowing that this is what i'll be doing in the very near future... (Aliza Emmanuelle, a couple of days old, July 2010)

I do believe in the inherent wisdom of a woman’s body and her baby’s ability to choose well his/her own birthday.

I really do.

I also believe that a due date is really more like a due month, with a normal time for baby to arrive being from 38-42 weeks on average.

Yup.

It’s just really hard to say those things without a slight edge of bitterness (or at least a big sigh) while you’re sitting there at nearly 41 weeks pregnant, watching everyone else who was due around the same time with their babies already on the outside. The discomfort and mind game of late/overdue pregnancy is not exactly fun or easy, as any previously overdue mama can attest. Also? (and the most important of all) If baby doesn’t come before 42 weeks then I can no longer have my out-of-hospital birth. Blah.

It takes every ounce of my mental energy just to stay positive and patient… waiting… and waiting… and waiting still.

So.

Here in these days while I sit and wait, I am calling for your help!

Do you have an overdue story you want to share to sympathize? Tell me all the crazy natural induction methods you’ve heard about, and which you’ve tried. I’m not saying I’m going to use them just yet, but perhaps next week if I’m still waiting…! Also welcome: words of encouragement and rah-rah-rah… you know, that kind of thing.

Sorry, that’s all I got for a blog post right now. My brain is officially in overdue fog territory…

And…. GO.

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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But if we hope for that which we see not, then do we with patience wait for it. {Romans 8:25}

Happy due date day to me! The babe is snug and comfy inside, and I am waiting. With this being my first time enjoying the incredible care of midwives, there is far less angst surrounding this day. I made happy-due-date (non-real-foodie-friendly) brownies last night. They gave me heartburn. That’s what I get for eating white flour and sugar, but on the plus side I made them at home so they didn’t cost me anything other than ingredients from my cupboard. Also, there was a cup of butter which pretty much makes them healthy… or maybe I should have just eaten the butter on its own…

The general consensus among the midwifery and natural birthing community is that the baby is smart enough to choose his/her own birthday, which renders the due date more or less meaningless. Like all other stages and milestones of human development, the best time for a baby to be born varies widely – usually between 38 and 42 weeks.

For some reason our culture has come to believe that my baby is a fed-ex package with a guaranteed delivery date, or that I am a pressure cooker that might explode by a certain time. Studies show that the rate of stillbirth increases a very slight amount (point one of a percent!) after 42 weeks of pregnancy (NOT 40!), however there the vast majority of women who continue to wait are able to safely birth after that time as well (not to mention the fact that most due dates are inaccurate/estimates because women all ovulate at different times in their cycle, and thus conception time can vary widely from the average).

Adopt the pace of nature; her secret is patience. {Ralph Waldo Emerson}

Today I’m 40 weeks, and as has been my goal since the very beginning, I am of the mindset that I will likely be quite “overdue”, and I am honestly ok with that. I’ve been reflecting on patience and waiting lately, and have been meditating on a few choice words…

Faith is not simply a patience that passively suffers until the storm is past. Rather, it is a spirit that bears things – with resignations, yes, but above all, with blazing, serene hope. {Corazon Aquino}

These words are beautiful and they exhort my soul to hope in something bigger than myself. My baby and the good Lord above know the best time for him/her to be born, and I wait with blazing, serene hope (most of the time!).

Another fantastic quote I found while pregnant with my daughter two years ago is this:

Everything grows rounder and wider and weirder, and I sit here in the middle of it all and wonder who in the world you will turn out to be. {Carrie Fisher}

Rounder? Check.

Wider? Check.

Weirder? Check.

I am trying desperately not to go on about the make-up-less face in the photo above, complete with double chin and chunky arms, and let’s try NOT to dwell on the horrified reaction of my face in the mirror after catching a glimpse of my bare behind after a shower the other day. Yikes.

Instead I choose to write a story of beauty in that mirror.

I am beautifully marked and used, housing a complete separate human being and birthing that person into the world. My body is functioning in a most remarkable fashion, and will be left with evidence of its other-worldly achievements. Stretching and sagging and leaking and aching – all glory-marks in a world of artificial contrived beauty and denial. I am not ashamed. I am beautiful.

And so I wait. I heave myself over in bed and feel the pelvic muscles scream pain, the belly drags on my lap and restricts my lung capacity. The baby seems to weigh a billion pounds (somehow I’ve “only” gained sixty. Yes, six-zero…). I. Am. Tired.

But I wait. 

Life is steady. And full. And hanging in this place of the in-between of my readiness and my babe’s.

And so I wait. 

***

(And since the rest of the world seems to be a great deal more anxious than I am about WHEN this baby will come, please – sit back, relax, and enjoy these random iPod photos of late. Breathe, relax, and your my baby will be here soon enough…)

 * the state of my bathroom sink *after* the muddy boy-child “washes his hands”. He and the darling girl-child also managed to dirty an entire load of laundry with mud from head to foot in all of ten minutes *

 * the next logical step *

* mama and daughter love *

* a favourite summer-time treat – tomatoes and cucumbers from the market. add some cashews and serve it for lunch, and these kids are in total bliss. isaac finished his tomatoes first – they’re his favourite. *

* there’s been a lot of this going on around here… babies are being birthed at record speed – baby monkeys, bears, and dollies by the dozen. isaac usually says “look at my belly! ask when my baby’s gonna come out! (when, isaac?) in five minutes!!” 30 seconds later the baby’s out, and giving birth has never been easier… *

***

And now for a final word… my last couple of posts have each been slightly controversial in their own way. I greatly enjoyed writing about encapsulating my friend’s placenta, and the positive responses I’ve received. If you haven’t checked it out yet and feel like broadening your cultural horizons just a little, please do. Also – my post addressing some of the ignorant and sanctimonious attitudes of privileged folks who don’t really get that some people truly cannot afford to buy whatever they want at the grocery store was very well-received by nearly everyone. The comments left here on my blog on my blog’s FB page were super encouraging and positive, and though I was nervous hitting the publish button – I don’t regret a single word I wrote, or how I wrote it. Thank-you, dear readers for your beautiful words and for “getting it”. I’ve responded to the comments there, and would love to continue the fantastic conversation that was begun.

Happy Monday!

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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:: WARNING :: GRAPHIC PHOTOS INCLUDED IN THIS POST.

I do believe this is the farthest into crazy crunchy hippie territory that I’ve ventured thus far. A couple of years ago when I first heard of people burying their placenta under a tree as a symbol of life I thought that was weird.

Now? I’m nearly forty weeks pregnant with my third child, and planning to encapsulate and consume my own placenta in order to reap the many health and postpartum healing benefits as has been done in traditional cultures for thousands of years.

I wrote an article for Frugal Granola a few months ago on some of the history and benefits of placentophagy (the act of consuming one’s own placenta after birth), and one of the commenters with a placenta encapsulation business in Texas very kindly offered to answer my questions and give advice as I went through the process.

A friend of mine here in Tiny Town just gave birth to a beautiful babe on Wednesday, and knowing that I was planning to encapsulate my own placenta, asked me to do hers as well. I nervously agreed, since I had never done it before. Dana’s instruction and guidance was invaluable to me as I went through this process, and she has given me permission to share it here as well.

The Process

The placenta was dropped off by K’s husband where it was stored in my fridge (it was stored in a hospital-grade bag then double-bagged again, in case you’re wondering). The optimal time to process a placenta is within 3-5 days, and I started on the evening of day 2. It was an overnight process, as it required 12 hours in the dehydrator.

I began with spreading out a garbage bag over my table, and setting out my glass cutting board and knife, along with the steamer pot ready with cut up lemons, a jalapeño pepper, and a hunk of fresh ginger.

(Optional: Lay the placenta out on a canvas to make an artistic print. Check out the photos on Dana’s site to see some examples).

Dana explains the purpose of these in the TCM (Traditional Chinese Method): “The lemons are an astringent, the ginger and pepper are blood warming and help to move things along in the blood stream. Remember that this is following the Traditional Chinese Method. If you don’t use any of them, you are still going to get the benefits of your placenta but these things are definitely helpful.”

Once you’ve unwrapped the placenta and laid it out, cut the cord off. Optionally, you can reserve the cord to shape into a heart and dehydrate as a keepsake (I chose to skip this step, as the cord had already been mostly cut off).

FYI: If it’s your first time handling and seeing a placenta or anything bloody there may be some “ick factor” to deal with. This part was a little crime-scene-esque for me, but nothing I wasn’t able to handle overall. I almost felt like I was in medical school or something.

Then rinse it under running water, gently massaging it for 5-10 minutes to get the blood out. Dana says “getting the blood out is not a necessary step but I do so because it tends to irritate the stomach for some”. The placenta should lighten in colour after this step.

Place it in your steamer basket that is ready with the lemons, pepper, and ginger.

Steam the placenta for 20 minutes. I used a hot plate burner out on my deck in case there was a lingering smell. (I didn’t want to take chances with my sensitive pregnancy nose – as it turned out the smell of the ginger was the grossest thing for me, the placenta didn’t really smell much).

Be careful not to add too much water to your pot like I did – mine kept overflowing all down the sides and into the burner (which was really hard to clean!) and onto the table, which, I’ll be honest, just grossed me out. My Hubby was helping me and he didn’t think it was gross at all, so it’ll really depend on your own “ick factor” level!).

When it is done steaming (and it’s best to err on the side of underdone), cut it into 1/4 inch slices. Place on parchment paper (for easier clean-up) on your dehydrator tray, and dehydrate at 118 degrees for 12 hours.

This is it after dehydrating. Little pieces of placenta jerky… mmm (yes, I definitely curled up my nose at this thought, too!). Once it’s done dehydrating (I began the process in the evening so that I could dehydrate overnight – I didn’t want to have to get up in the middle of the night to take it out!), then you need to grind it into a fine powder. A food processor, Magic Bullet, or coffee grinder could all work. I used a food processor.

Once it is in powder form, it is time to encapsulate.

Though this was the part that I was afraid would be the most difficult, it was actually quite easy. K had bought empty capsules (size 00) from the health food store here in Tiny Town. I simply opened a capsule, scooped some powder into each end, and put the capsules back together. Easy-peasy. This was the least “icky” part of the whole process for me, though it was a bit time-consuming.

Unfortunately things got crazy in my house with a friend (and her two kids) here to help me cook a bunch of freezer meals for my upcoming postpartum period (which was so amazing!), so I totally forgot to take a photo of the finished product in the cute little jar I found in my cupboard. It was a great sense of accomplishment!

The capsules should be stored in the fridge in a dark glass bottle. If you are interested in dosage information, feel free to email me!

Would you ever consider encapsulating your placenta? Do you have any other questions?

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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This past Monday I reached the 38 week marker. The evening prior found me reflecting on this pregnancy and the upcoming birth of this babe, surrounded by amazing women who spoke words of life and beauty over me, pampered me, and celebrated with me, sharing in love and life.

The blessingway originated from a Native People traditional ceremony (some call it a mother-blessing instead when it’s not done by Native Peoples). It is now used in non-Native culture as an alternative or addition to the typical baby shower. It focuses on the spiritual aspects of the pregnancy and birth, rather than the typical gifts and such.

In the words of the blessing way book website, it is “a ceremony that can be designed to provide a deeply meaningful and transformational experience for a mother-to-be while honoring her personal belief system”.

My own blessing way, hosted by my amazing friend, Ashley, was exactly that for me – deeply meaningful and personal to my own relationship with the Creator God and Jesus Christ. Rather than just give you a rundown of the evening, I want to share a few favourite photos with you. Some of the photos are from my friend Katherine’s blessing way, held just 3 days after mine, as she’s due 4 days after me. The symbolic elements varied slightly from mine and hers, but each evening was similarly rich with meaning and beauty.

Burning fears, written out on slips of paper and released into the flame.

Beautiful henna belly art, kindly done by the amazingly artistic Ruth-Anne and Ashley.

Foot soak for the tired mama’s feet, followed by toenail polish and massage (she said it was her first foot massage – she’s a total natural – it was amazing!)

A candle tied with strings brought by the women, each unique and colourful, reminding me of the unique strength of womanhood of which I am a part, to be lit and focused on while I labour.

The blessing.

My personal favourite part of the evening – a simple ceremony in which we all stand together in a circle, and bind our wrists together with one long strand of string, beginning with my left hand and ending at my right. Each woman wraps the string several times around her wrist, and passes it to the next woman. While we are bound together, they prayed over me and the baby and the coming birth, then the strings are cut between women and each tied theirs onto their wrists, to remind them to pray for me in these last days and weeks until baby is born. (I now have two – my own, and Katherine’s).

Another significant part that I loved was the words of encouragement/quotes/verses that were chosen and read aloud to me (and Kat) as we listened. The words that were given to me will continue to bless me in the days to come as I finish this pregnancy and prepare for birth. There is such power in an intentionally spoken word of love and encouragement – it was rich and meaningful.

*

I didn’t mention the laughing and the (glorious!) food and the fabulous-as-usual girls’ night atmosphere that permeated the in-between moments, but that was all there too. It was lovely and perfect, and I couldn’t ask for better friends to have blessed me so as I prepare for this new little person about to change my world forever for the better.

{I love you already, dear one}.

*

Thanks for visiting Red & Honey! Please take a second to like me on Facebook or follow me on Twitter! You can also subscribe via RSS or have posts delivered to your inbox by entering your email into the box in the sidebar.

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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36 weeks pregnant with number 3! I was already in my PJ's (hubby's old t-shirt and an old pair of "Canada" shorts) and was not in the mood for smiling or changing my clothes... so this is what you get!

It’s inevitable.

When you’re at the waddling stage of pregnancy (so, the entire last trimester for me pretty much) you get asked two questions at least a billion times a day.

1) How much longer?

2) How are you feeling?

Number one is usually met with shock and horror when I say anything other than “any day now!” A week ago, when I answered “5 or 6 more weeks” I was informed, “ooooh, yikes, that will be rough”. To which I usually just nod and mmm-hmm vaguely while trying not to roll my eyes.

I usually answer number two with “Large. Very, very large…”. When they say something brilliant and astute like “you must be getting tired”, I nod with raised eyebrows so as to appear impressed at their superior deductive reasoning skills.

If elaboration is required I can add “Hot (all.the.time.). Oh, and exhausted. My back hurts and my feet are sore, and I can do about a quarter of the needed housework in a day before feeling like I might lay down and have a nap right there on the laundry room floor.”

Sigh.

I don’t want to be *that* pregnant woman that always complains though. There are actually a lot of things I’m enjoying at this time in life… like my two kiddos that are both so ridiculously grown-up. I almost forgot what having a newborn is like (lots of work, little sleep I do remember though!). I’m loving being able to sleep all night long without being interrupted by a newborn that is so very dependent on me.

I’m excited to meet this baby and enter that stage of getting to know him or her, but I’m not rushing it. I am, for once, happy to live in the present.

I may be exhausted, but my kids are adorable. I may be large and sore, but the weather has been positively summer-ish and  gorgeous and I’ve already gotten a sunburn. I may be slow and I may be a sight for sore eyes, but my kids entertain themselves with a pile of dirt outside for hours at a time. I may have to pee a bajillion times a day (and night), but I’m participating in an incredible life-giving process and watching tiny arms and legs kick out my belly from the inside.

On Friday we had a student from the college here in Tiny Town move in with us for the summer. In exchange for free room and board, she is essentially going to be my right hand – playing with the kids, taking care of them when I want to get stuff done, and babysitting on occasion while Chris and I sneak out for a little pre-baby “get-em-while-you-can” date.

Brilliant.

Today I went grocery shopping by myself. Did housework and made meals while my children were outside, supervised. I think this is going to be my saving grace this summer. I also hope to get a bit more blogging done. I’ve been finding it difficult to keep up with housework lately since I’m moving so slow and having a lot of aches and pains, but hopefully this will allow me to get more done and still have energy left over to blog somewhat regularly.

My brain is fried. This post is overdue and scattered, but perhaps that is just appropriate for my life right now

I’ll be back soon with something more interesting.

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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Labouring at home in the tub (with candles lit, listening to Jack Johnson on the iPod) as long as possible before heading to the hospital for the birth of my daughter in 2010. Not my most flattering photo (clearly), but this was my favourite part of that labour, and a memory that I love.

You may recall a post I wrote back in January when I was half-way through this pregnancy, talking about the decision I faced of where to birth this babe. Since I live in a small town and travel to the city for midwifery care, I also have to birth in the city (I dream of having a home birth one day!). I had three main options (I only knew about the first two when I wrote that post).

1) In the hospital (potentially with a birthing pool!)

2) At a B&B near the hospital that is labour & birth-friendly (but dependent on vacancy when I go into labour)

3) In the basement of a friend of my midwives (who is one of their nurse back-ups in case one of them can’t make it)

Now at 35 weeks pregnant I needed to get this all figured out, and we have decided on option 3. We went to see the place after my midwife appointment last week, and it is pretty much perfect. There is a large rec room with toys*, 2 bedrooms (one for birthing and one for my midwives to rest in if necessary) and a bathroom with a nice large sized shower. In the room for birthing there’s a double bed, a cradle with sheepskin, a night table/lamp, and lots of floor space where the birthing tub will be, as well as a mini-fridge. We can use her kitchen on the main floor if needed. Oh! And she’ll make us breakfast in the morning – how sweet is that?!

(*My Dad is flying in 2 days before my due date, so hopefully he will be here to take care of Isaac and Aliza while we go to the city for the birth, but if for some reason we had to bring the kids with us, it would be ok. Not ideal, but ok.)

There is a charge for using this place (though if I don’t make it there for some reason, I won’t have to pay anything), but I can stay for around 24 hours before either going home or to the B&B for a night or two. If I’m still in the city on day 3, then my midwives will come to me for a check-up, but if I go home then I’ll need to return to the city on day 3.

For that part I’m leaning toward going home and then coming back on day 3, for two reasons: 1) the cost of the B&B, and 2) the fact that I know that I’ll miss Isaac and Aliza desperately, and just want to be together as a family.

That’s how I felt when I was in the hospital after Aliza’s birth – I just wanted to get home as soon as I could! I know some women see being in the hospital as a little bit of a break before returning to the daily grind, but I don’t find it relaxing in the slightest, with the noisiness, the constant vitals checks from nurses, the terrible food (a very passionate rant for another day), and the uncomfortable beds.

This whole out-of-hospital birth (which I will probably just call a home birth from now on) thing with my midwife can happen only when I’m full-term (premature births would be too high-risk for out-of-hospital)… which is 37 weeks… which is 13 days away (!!!). Crazy!

I know that birth plans don’t always play out as they are written, and that emergencies and unexpected scenarios can happen. Nonetheless, this is what we are aiming for, hoping for, and wanting. I am actually very excited about this birth. I am nervous in the same way as someone about to jump out of a plane – knowing that it’s terrifying but at the same time potentially the most incredible thing you’ll ever experience in your life.

I believe in the empowering and awe-inspiring birthing power of a woman’s body.

Of my body.

And I am honoured to be able to experience it! 

{Linking up with the Natural Parents Network blog hop on Preparing for Baby the Natural Way!}

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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The photo that I share with you today is somewhat of an intimate one. It is my daughter, Aliza Emmanuelle, born in 2010, just seconds after she entered the world. I feel such a sense of awe and a rush of emotions whenever I look at it, as I remember the incredible other-worldy experience that was her birth.

True to my wishes, my wonderful doctor passed her to me immediately for skin-to-skin bonding and breastfeeding, which we enjoyed for the first hour or two after birth before they did the exam and weighing, etc. I had many specific desires for her birth because I wanted to have my first natural birth (my son’s birth in 2008 was fairly mainstream, involving induction and an epidural, etc). I was able to have the natural birth I desired with my daughter, but it took much planning and thought and determination.

Recently Jenny from The Southern Institute blog contacted me and asked if I’d be willing to do a review and giveaway of her e-book here at Red & Honey. I was happy to oblige, since it is all about that very subject: how to have a natural hospital birth.

From the time I had my first child to now being nearly 35 weeks pregnant with our third, my views have drastically shifted concerning childbirth. I am now a firm believer in the superiority of out-of-hospital births, and of drug and intervention-free labour and deliveries. I believe that a pregnant woman is not a medical emergency, and that her body was designed to give birth. I believe that it can be an incredible experience.

However, I have many friends who (for whatever reason) are just more comfortable with birthing in a hospital, but yearn still for a natural birth. They want to find a happy middle-of-the-road approach, and are not quite sure how to achieve it. In an environment that is more prone to the use of drugs and unnecessary interventions, it is essential to be educated beforehand about the process. This book helps you do just that. Jenny birthed three children naturally in a hospital, and had great experiences.

In her book she quotes the following:

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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I feel like I’m entering the home stretch now, being in “the 30′s”. It’s like the countdown at new year’s when they start with 10! 9! 8! etc. Except that this time each second (aka week) may or may not feel like an eternity, and there will probably not be an immediate party after we get to the last number. There will probably be great efforts to stay thankful! and happy! (while overdue!) even though I want to serve up an eviction notice and reclaim my body from the little alien within.

Oh well, the end is coming at some point, and each day is one day closer. I’m ever mindful of that fact now that the uncomfortableness is gearing up. The usual – pelvic pain, heartburn, fatigue, not sleeping well, and peeing every 5 seconds. I think I feel way worse (achey, etc) when I eat any sugar or wheat… so I’m being careful right now about those things.

By and large my biggest frustration is my rhinitis. I’ve been using a nasal spray because that’s the only thing that has allowed me to sleep. I’ve tried an herbal breathe-easy tea, tea tree oil treatment on my feet, saline sprays, having a humidifier in my room, steam from the shower, vicks rub, and a neti pot (doesn’t work for me). Nothing has worked well enough to allow me to actually sleep enough to function during the day, except the nasal spray. (It’s getting so bad that I can barely smell or taste things anymore, and it’s making me totally nuts.)

Uh, small problem: apparently the nasal spray, if used continuously, can actually make your symptoms worse and is potentially addictive. Ouch.

So, if anyone has any bright ideas about cleaning congestion while pregnant, I’m all ears. Also, natural heartburn remedies would be nice.

Gosh this was not really supposed to be such a negative post. I just get asked so often how I’m feeling, so I figure I may as well give you the low-down.

In other news – I’m pretty sure my milk dried up totally somewhere in the second trimester, and Aliza was just comfort nursing for the last while. However…

I don’t actually remember the exact day, but I believe it’s now been a full week since she nursed. I do believe that we can say that she has officially weaned (at nearly 21 months old). I have to be honest, I am relieved. I had no qualms about nursing longer in theory, but it was getting quite uncomfortable since I had no milk left. I was starting to resent it, so I decided to give it a go and see if she would mind terribly if we weaned. I had to tell her once or twice a day that “mama’s milk is all gone”. She cried some mournful tears several times that almost made me give in, but I was able to distract her successfully each time without too much fuss, so we stuck it out. I feel at peace about it and I think it was the right time.

I know this is a somewhat scattered update, but let’s just say that I did it on purpose to illustrate the scatter-brained-ness that is my reality right now.

My final thought in this post is this: watching Isaac and Aliza play together these days, laughing and giggling and enjoying each others’ company (usually) is making me way excited about this babe to come. Despite the crazy roller coaster of having 3 kids in less than 4 years, I am beyond thrilled to think and hope that they will be each others’ best friends growing up. What a gift!

***

In case you missed them, here are the other posts I’ve written reflecting on this pregnancy: The Big Announcement, 13 weeks, and 20 weeks (focusing on deciding between a hospital-birth or a B&B birth).

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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I sit here sipping my morning cup of tea (decaf while I’m pregnant), basking in the warm glow. The sun pokes above the tree-line and dances its way through my half-opened curtains through which I saw a gorgeous sunrise. The living room lamps are still on and we are in the in-between of darkness and light. The day has arrived, I’ve been up several hours (though not quite as long as my love, who got up first with the little one and let me sleep a bit extra).

The little one and the big one are downstairs in the playroom. The sounds of giggling and happy playing are intermingled with the brief bouts of shouting and whine-crying. They learn and grow together as siblings and playmates, and at the end of the day he leans over to her highchair (which he insists on sitting beside at supper) and asks tenderly “Are we friends, Ally? Are we friends?”

She is 19 months old (and I am nearing 24 weeks pregnant), and she is still nursing. Mostly it’s just once a day, first thing in the morning. It has been a very important thing to her, and she has shown no signs of wanting to stop yet. We sit and cuddle, she and I, first thing in the morning. She nurses, while curled around my growing belly. She sometimes will stop and look at me with a goofy smile on her face, giving a sweet sigh of contentment, and continue on, gazing into my eyes with a piercing and tender love. Our special time brings comfort and peace to our relationship and starts us off with a good dose of oxytocin – lovey-dovey hormones.

I wonder sometimes – when will it happen? It will end, inevitably, and one day she will no longer be interested in being comforted and connecting in this way. She will outgrow the desire and need for it, and she will take a significant step toward independence from me.

I sit here sipping my tea, listening to my babes playing downstairs, and wonder. Is today the day? Is this it? The beginning of the end of a beautiful and tender nursing relationship? She didn’t ask to nurse this morning when I walked out of my room (normally she’s quite insistent about wanting it). She didn’t ask to nurse moments ago when she came upstairs pouting and crying because her big brother had taken a toy away.

At the beginning of this pregnancy she was still nursing three times a day, which was fairly physically taxing on my first-trimester body. Then as we worked on gently encouraging her to nurse a bit less (using distraction, etc), she willingly moved into this groove of once of day, first thing in the morning. It’s a natural part of our day with which we are both content.

There so many emotions running through my mind. Sadness mixed with anticipation, and regret (that I weaned my youngest so early at 12 months and never had this kind of beautiful experience with him). Most of all though I feel at peace. Whether she continues to nurse throughout my pregnancy and beyond, vaulting me into the unknown territory that is tandem nursing, or if today really is the beginning of the end – I am at peace.

***

Today I’ve guest posted over at my lovely friend’s space, on “10 Ways to Make Art at Home”. Please pop over and leave a comment!

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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This is the fourth instalment of a series I am doing on breastfeeding in public. You can read the first three posts here:

Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public {Reclaiming My Womanhood From Perversity}
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public {Is It Obscene and Inappropriate?}
Uninhibited Breastfeeding in Public {Not Worth the Controversy?}

***

People stared at me as I walked through the mall. My face was disfigured and swollen practically beyond recognition, with deep nasty bruises from my eyes down to my neck on both sides. I could see people shifting their gazes when I noticed them staring at me uncomfortably.

I was 18 years old and I had undergone major reconstructive jaw surgery two weeks prior.

Both of my jaws had been broken, repositioned, and fastened in place with screws and plates. The top jaw was impacted (shortened) and the bottom jaw was lengthened. I was in the hospital longer and had a longer recovery than my boyfriend’s (now husband’s) grandfather who had undergone quadruple bypass open heart surgery just two days prior. The swelling and bruising eventually faded, and after a pure liquid diet for 2 months (which dropped me down to around 90lbs) I was able to begin eating again.

***

This was my only taste of being physically different (unless you count having red hair – haha), and it was only temporary. Still – the feeling of being stared at by people who uncomfortably shifted their gazes away will stay with me forever. Some people endure this kind of social ostracizing their whole lives if they have a visible disability or disfigurement. I used to have a coworker who has an extremely large growth on half of her face about the size of a pineapple (or bigger). I don’t know the whole medical background, but I do know that she’s had it for most of her life. I found it difficult to not feel slightly awkward or uncomfortable when speaking with her face to face, even after working in the same office every day.

Now what does this all have to do with breastfeeding in public, you ask? Well, by large the most common reason that I was given as to why we should not breastfeed in public without a cover is that it makes people uncomfortable. Some claim that it is more loving to avoid making someone feel uncomfortable, and that it’s not worth causing a controversy.

“I guess I figure if breastfeeding makes people uncomfortable, and it doesn’t hurt to cover up, and it isn’t sin to cover up, why wouldn’t I cover up?”

This comment left on one of my previous posts is rather typical of the position that I’m discussing here, so I’ll use it as an example. Now, let’s replace the word “breastfeeding” in that sentence with “the disfigurement”. Should my coworker have come to work every day with a large covering over half of her head so that none of us had to look at it and be uncomfortable? Or perhaps she should have just stayed home? Or worked in a separate room where no one had to see her?

Is it the responsibility of the disabled person, burn victim, or person with the disfigurement to “cover it up” so that others don’t feel uncomfortable? Or, perhaps, is it the responsibility of those around her to “get over it” and treat her with respect and dignity despite their emotional reaction at the sight of her? Who bears responsibility for those uncomfortable feelings (which, I should remind you, are the result of the wrong and perverted message of our over-sexualized pornographic culture)?

Now I’m certainly not saying that breastfeeding and a physical disfigurement are identical situations. There are obvious differences, like the fact that breastfeeding is not a 24/7 deal (though new mamas probably feel that way!), whereas having a disfigurement or disability is not something that you can stop having.

Nonetheless, I do think there is a valid comparison here. The assertion being made is that we should avoid making people uncomfortable. I just want to know why. Since when is feeling uncomfortable such a terrible thing? Historically it has been a necessary side effect of many instances of social change as new ideas were brought into acceptance. I think of things like racial integration in the 1960’s, and women’s rights in the early twentieth century. Then I think of things like having a large family (I’ve heard mamas of many children tell over and over again about the nasty looks and ridiculously rude comments they get in public). If one day I have a large number of children (like 5 or more), should I avoid taking my family out in public all at once? It will most certainly cause people to feel uncomfortable! Perhaps I should take them out only in groups of two or three so as to not to ick people out with the evidence of my lively sex life and my rejecting of modern society’s negative bias against children?

If you affirm that the disabled and disfigured should cover up or hide away, and that my (theoretical) eight children should avoid going out in public together, well then I shall agree that I definitely should use a nursing cover as to not make you or anyone else feel the slightest bit awkward (actually, no I won’t. I will likely think you completely ridiculous and rude, to be honest). But I don’t think any reasonable person would actually affirm that.

From a spiritual point of view, I do not believe that breastfeeding in public could possibly “cause a man to stumble” any more than eating in public, walking in public, or just being in public! First of all, we should always interpret scripture in context, and in this case the passage is referring to food issues and the OT laws against unclean meat. It is saying that we should not eat something that someone else thinks is unclean if it causes them to stumble and eat it against their conscience. Does seeing me breastfeed in public cause someone who thinks that breast milk is forbidden by scripture to stumble and drink breast milk against their conscience? Somehow I don’t think so.

Even if you could apply that scripture to this situation, you would need to also be consistent. If seeing a non-sexual act of breastfeeding a child could “cause a man to stumble”, then I feel compelled to point out that seeing a woman’s hair, neck, legs, etc. could also do the same. This goes back perfectly to my discussion on modesty, and I ask then Why Don’t We All Just Wear Burqas? I contend, rather, that the man is responsible for his own thoughts, his own perverted thoughts, and his own sin. Most of us know that breasts have been over-sexualized by our culture to an unhealthy and harmful extent. Breastfeeding is not a sexual act – it is actually our culture’s distorted view of a woman’s body that is to blame for this theoretical discomfort and awkwardness.

The triple whammy of social taboo: 1) Breastfeeding in public 2) Breastfeeding without a cover 3) Breastfeeding a toddler. Gasp!

So, where does that leave us? If breastfeeding makes others feel uncomfortable, should I use a cover? If a man sees me breastfeeding my baby and it results in him lusting and sinning sexually in his mind, then should I use a cover? (never mind that most men still know what I’m doing and are perfectly capable of using their imaginations if they want to, which can still result in lust and sin). Or, should I breastfeed my baby without a cover (assuming I want to, of course) and contribute to the normalization of breastfeeding in our culture as a beautiful and natural act of love by a mother to her baby? I strongly believe the latter, and I wholeheartedly reject the notion that I am in any way responsible for the awkward feelings of others that come from such a situation.

What do you think?

Beth

Beth is the creator and editor here at Red & Honey, a lifestyle blog for the naturally-minded homemaker. She recently began a passionate love affair with coffee and her life will never be the same. She has had three babies in less than four years, is a professional laundry-avoider, and loves to stay up way too late making weird stuff from scratch that normal people tend to just buy in a store. Hence, the coffee.

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