Why was my baby breech?
Was my uterus too tight? From what? The same stress hormones that tense up my gut?
Was it sitting long days, confined to an office? The wedge shaped cushion I used that tilted down my pelvis?
Was my breechling my baby’s way of nestling in close? My heartbeat a rhythm he craves more than most?
Generations of drummers, passed down from his dad… And dad’s father before him… How many have passed?
Little drummers that follow the rhythm of life, even when it guides them away from the light?
My breechling, my darling… Whatever the reason… Nothing would stop me from giving you the sweet air you’re now breathing.
My ribs made more room for you, the light entered my womb for you. There is nothing, no nothing that I would not do for you.
My breechling, my darling… Let us bang on the drum. We’ll bang for the rain and we’ll beat for the sun. I know you still wait for my heart’s drum to sleep… Come rest your head, I’ll give whatever you need.
Love mom.
Just finished reading The Birth House by Amy McKay.
This book started off as a slow read for me but eventually picked up steam and I became increasingly absorbed in it until every last page was devoured.
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Before I found out my son was in the Frank Breech position @39 weeks pregnant, I had been determined on a physician led, hospital birth with no interventions. I am comfortable in hospitals and saw only positive signs about the way they would support natural labour- such as encouraging you to stay home during labour as long as possible, birth balls in the L&D rooms and even a few rooms with bath tubs.
My physicians were part of a maternity practice that shared patients and were located very close to our then home. The doctors were all very supportive of my plans but in retrospect they were brusk in our appointments and did not discuss with me in advance what scenarios I could end up facing that might effect my labour outcome.
I did read many pregnancy and labour and delivery books during pregnancy, including one special order book for medical students on the physiological phases of embryo-fetal development. I read it bit by bit during trips to the toilet. As far as exciting literature goes, that book was relegated to bathroom confinement only reading material. Groan.
I thought myself quite educated on birth outcomes and breastfeeding but found myself totally unprepared for the news @39 weeks that my son was breech. My only given choice was to try ECV (external cephalic version, physical manipulation of the baby through the abdomen, sometimes resulting in emergency birth and excruciatingly painful) at the hospital. However the OBGYN and also my soon to be c-section surgeon- told me upon ultrasound that the ECV would be too risky because he suspected the cord to be around my son’s neck (which it was, multiple times). I was pretty much sentenced to a planned c-section from that moment on (unless I went into labour before my section date, in which case I would have an emergency c-section).
I was so upset. I visited the spinning babies website daily combing its pages for tips on turning a breech baby. I watched breech vaginal births on youtube, crying tears of hope, fear and loss. I found a hospital a few cities away with a breech birth program, however they had many strict criteria for being accepted and required physician’s referral. My physicians had not suggested this program to me and although I knew if I really wanted it I would have to fight for it… Ultimately I decided that there were too many barriers and risks. I made peace as best as I could with the planned c-section. My stress levels were getting so high that I felt making peace was the best thing I could do for both me and my baby.
I never went into labour. I had a relatively cheerful c-section on a beautiful sunny morning in November 2011. My son was born with quite advanced hip dysplasia on both hips and subsequently went into a Pavlick harness for three months on day two of his life. This did show me that he was truly a ‘stuck’ breech however, and not one of those flip-floppy kidos that sometimes turn to the ideal position during labour. No. He was big (8.8lb) and he was stuck. Natural labour probably would have been dangerous and likely would have ended in an emergency c-section anyways. (Doctors and even midwives are seldom trained these days for delivering breech babies, although I have heard this may be evolving).
Some would say I am lucky to have avoided the pain of labour. I feel like I was that player that suffered an injury before the final game of the play offs- we still won the cup, but I didn’t get to shoot the puck. I didn’t sweat. I didn’t feel it in every muscle of my body, every ache of my bones. My breath was cold from the fear of surgery, not warm with the heat of blood rushing through your veins.
Recovery was painful and difficult, even more so because I tried to cut down the pain killers after hearing they could effect breastfeeding babies drive to nurse. Regardless, my son and I would still end up having a low milk supply situation and need to supplement by the time he was 1 month of age. We battled through that, me like a mad scientist trying to constantly construct the perfect scenario for making more milk. He is a week shy of 18m today and we are still nursing, and there is no longer anything mad at all about it. Thank the mother of god.
I never went into a depression although I haven’t had an easy time emotionally either. I am a resilient person and am so grateful for this fact (a hard childhood pays off?) but my perspective has definitely been altered and whether that is for the stronger or for the weaker I am unsure. I’m unsure of a lot of things. I second guess myself more than before. Nothing will ever be as simple as before.
Since going through my own unique birth story, I have become passionate about reading of other’s birth experiences. Especially reading stories about midwifery. At my 6 week PP checkup I asked my maternity physician why I wasn’t able to attempt vaginal breech delivery, and she said it was because this was my first baby, and my pelvis was ‘untested.’ Why didn’t they tell me that @39 weeks? Why didn’t they give me a choice? Why didn’t they spend more time on my emotional health? Would a midwife have treated me differently- even if the outcome ended up being the same?
Reading The Birth House made me feel that a good midwife like ‘Dora’ or ‘Miss B.’ would have made all the difference. What I needed was a strong, feminist woman who knows how to make other women feel strong, powerful and in control of our own body. Yes, I would still have like a hospital birth. Yes, I still would like the benefits of good science (the kind that learns from kind, careful, meticulous observation of the natural world, sometimes enhancing the recipe with the art of a clever chef)… And yes, my birth story may still have been one of those dangerous situations requiring surgery. But wouldn’t it have been nice to be treated like a woman with dreams, feelings, fears and a lifetime of remembering that beautiful November day to look forward to? To be cared for like a sister, a daughter or a neighbour? Midwife trained or doctor trained… This tradition of caring for the woman as much as the baby comes from the midwife tradition. Not the patriarchal field of obstetrics medicine.
This is what I got out of reading The Birth House… In addition to it just being a beautifully told story. As they say… this book spoke so much to my truth.
So confession… I check my inbox like 50xs/day. Really.
My excitement soars every time I get a new message and then I crash when I find out most of them are just junk flyers. Lol.
When I was employed it was not uncommon for me to send/receive well over 100 emails/day. Not to mention phone calls and desk visits.
I am still programmed to expect all this communication.
However my CEO, President, Co-worker and #1 client is just this little 17m old guy. He is more than delighted to just throw rocks in the pond, colour, play tickley games and read story books all day.
I was going to write some more complaint-ish things about how I want more ‘important’ emails but have realized that is utter BS. This is not a real thing to complain about. One day I will be stuck writing and receiving numerous task-related emails and I will LONG and I mean LONG to have these days back.
I wish these moments could last forever.
Emails? Consider this message an email to myself to say Snap Out of It, Put Your Phone Away and Cherish The Day.
My husband’s Mondays are my Mondays too.
The weekends make our home seem so much more full!
…Having a partner to talk to and trade turns entertaining our little man makes a huge difference compared with weekdays.
Monday blues are intense for me when he goes back to work and I am alone again with a screeching toddler who is understandably upset that I can not (always) mind-read for him.
Not to mention coming off about four nights in a row of interrupted sleep (thank you extended nursing).
And having a headache still from being head butted in the nose this morning by Pumpkin. This weekend he bruised my bottom lip again in the same place as last time through head flailing as well. I can’t get a break.
I can’t wait for it to be Tuesday already. Wednesday ‘hump day’ is even better. Thursday ‘music class and lunch with the Hubbs’ day is even better. And finally on Friday, well in addition to it being Friday… This particular Friday I turn 31. Woot woot all my 1982 homies.
Peace out, from the toddler-dome
Being ‘off’ work for almost a year and a half now has made me a bit crazy in that I am constantly concocting new ‘plans’ for the future. What job I will go back to; where we will settle and live; if I should start my own business; or go back to school; or write professionally/freelance; or this or that.
Nobody takes me seriously any more because my pendulum swings so drastically from one thing to the next. I was calling these thoughts OBSESSIONS but am trying to think of them as more of a gift than a curse, so now refer to them as MEDITATION.
I am supposed to enjoy every second of this time at home with my son and I do. I am so passionate about bringing up his unique identity in a warm, joyful, safe environment. Seeing life unfold through the mind of your own child is magical. And I feel that our connection is so strong and a gift to share day in and day out. However it is my mind not my heart that seems to constantly dart forward to a place and time when I am working again, and he is in school. What kind of job do I want then? What kind of home do I want then? How can we best plan for financial opportunity vs financial enslavement? When should we fit in another child, or should we? The thoughts just do not stop. Pendulum. Swinging. Wildly taking. A toll? A bell? Ringing with life?
Yes life is full of beauty and sound and fulfillment and I do not want this feeling to end when my child develops his independence and I am left as I was… Yet richer in experience and compassion… And far wiser and hungrier for life than I ever was before.
This depth of love is totally transforming me.
While I drift in mind towards the future I seek to anchor myself in the present and soak up every precious second. Make the most of every miraculous moment. My heart will be that anchor. I am so happy to be his mom. All of us mothers, parents and teachers/caregivers of children are just so blessed. Children are the future and the love they experience now will shape their lives forever. Sniff sniff. Pass the tissue please.
Some of you (the ones I am the most fond of) may have noticed I have been a bit MIA from my blog lately. Two words- SEVENTEEN MONTHS! Two more words- FOR REALZ!
My little guy has been keeping me busy like a bee. Want to know what he’s been up to? Well the latest little miracle is watering our houseplant by drinking water from his straw-py-cup (what? If sippy-cup is a legit word straw-py-cup can be too), holding it in his mouth, spitting it into a measuring cup (I use to water the plant with when it’s not busy quartering off cups of flour and sugar for super rad muffins that I bake myself like once a month because I’m awesome)… And then watering the houseplant (who is stoked about it by the way- so many new leaves.) (I dare you to find a writer who uses as many parentheses or run on sentences as me.)
The really cool thing about this trick is that it combines two separate levels of self-mastery. 1) Holding liquid water in his mouth and then spitting it out instead of swallowing it (‘I only drink when I want to drink’ and ‘watch my amazing powers to get mom to change my shirt, this old one was so two hours ago’). 2) Knowing that plants like water and stuff.
In fact, water is definitely his favourite thing all day, every day, in every way. So you should know that before you enter the toddler dome.
What else should you know about the toddler dome? Well I totally called it about all that veloco-raptor screeching being a pre-verbal thing. He has been adding new words such as ‘mama’ ‘duck’ ‘key’ to his long-time favorites ‘dig’ ‘up’ and ‘truck’. It’s nice to know I am a close second with construction.
We also have a lot more gestures happening along with ever manipulating facial expressions. So songs with lots of actions (shake yo’ sillies out) and heart melting exaggerated smiles and head wagging (for no and possibly yes) are all the rage.
On the topic of the elements… Rocks are just as important as water. And rocks IN water? Just stop. Only make promises on which you intend to deliver.
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Um err what else? What do you want to know? Ask me anything about life in the toddler dome! I can’t promise wisdom but I can promise something. So who wants a super fresh delivery of something? Hit me up.
My feelings are totally hurt that nobody thought my Honest Momager joke was funny. 😳
I posted this on my twitter earlier this week and am sharing here now so I don’t seem too inactive. Truth be told, it has been easier this week to tweet small thoughts rather than spend a significant chunk of time writing on Tumblr- what?! You all know I am wordy! This blog takes TIME! Hence ‘hold on Pumpkin… lol ;)
I have been especially busy reading Mindy Kaling & Tina Fey’s respective books. Not to mention Pumpkin’s mouth is exploding in teeth and he has been toddlering it up with lots of pre-verbal screeching, and head butting. Last night he threw his head back so hard into my mouth my lip busted on my teeth (big lips, big teeth, big pain)- Talk about being a pouty mommy! So anyways without further ado… here it is… My observations on Suburban vs Urban Toddler Music Classes (and I’m not even kidding about this):
Suburban music class for toddlers =’s nursery rhymes and pop songs we all know and love.
City music class for toddlers =’s Buddhist chanting, theatre style mouth exercises and homework.
To Honest Toddler’s book deal, I believe that we are owed a book by Kris Jenner called Honest Momager.
Found this at my local Sobey’s this afternoon and had to stop and take a picture.
For real, shit like this exists?! For this price it better guarantee you get laid if you buy it.
This was on Dragon’s Den a few weeks ago and now it is everywhere.
I am going to make some new products I think called SEXbranmuffins, SEXprenatalvitamins, SEXtoiletpaper and finally SEXtoasters. Your welcome.
"Hold On Pumpkin! Mommy's got to write a blog!"
