Ozarkansas

I have arrived in the land of Oz (Ozarkansas). Ollie's first plane ride went well. Although he did leave behind a nice layer of smeared spit up on the back of our seat- but really who can blame him for wanting to leave his mark? Andy, Ollie and I stayed the night in our friend Theresa's cute apartment in Queens, which made for a quick drive to La Guardia Airport at 5:00am. Oliver was a doll and slept the whole way through the gate confusion, check-in and security, and then continued to sleep for the first 2 hours of the 3 hour flight. What a guy! Then I let him stretch out on the empty seat next to me so he could perform his morning show.

Oliver's morning show started at about 3 weeks old. He is a super happy guy when he wakes up. Andy and I sit him on one of our bellies and lean him back against our knees. Ollie waves his uncontrollable arms, smiles, stares, and sticks his tongue out. Each week he adds something new to the routine, like mimicking a clicking sound with his mouth, or controlling his arms enough to keep his hand in his mouth. I'm not usually a morning person (and after being woken up 3, 5, or 10 times in the night I would think even less), but this has become my favorite part of the day. Andy makes me laugh and laugh with his jokes and narrations of Oliver's thoughts. The fun continues until Andy leaves for work and Ollie usually falls back asleep in a carrier while I make breakfast.

My mom is in heaven right now holding sleeping Ollie. I'm going to take advantage of this and get a little nap in. Pictures from Oliver's travels in the South coming soon (I didn't bring a camera, but Ollie is a WELL documented baby when his Pody is around).

The Birth

I was ready to have my baby. My birth team and plan were all in place. Practice contractions had been going on since 35 weeks, and Andy and I were working on softening my cervix and encouraging labor with everything from bumpy roads to (ahem) bumpin' in the bedroom. My midwives gave me a homeopathic concoction to gently encourage labor, and I even enlisted Murphy’s law by telling my doula to go ahead and stay the night in New York City (2 ½ hours away), figuring if I did go into labor he would have plenty of time to get back- after all the average first time birth lasts 16 hours.

When I woke up that night at 2:30 am I thought it was for the usual hourly pee break (two gallons of water a day left me waddling to the bathroom FREQUENTLY), but as I stood in the hallway I stopped and felt a contraction much stronger than the practice contractions I had become accustomed to. I knew this was the real deal right away, especially when I got to the bathroom and my body immediately began emptying the contents of my intestines. I waited a few minutes until I had another contraction and then woke up Andy. We were both excited and relieved that labor had begun, but I knew there was a long journey ahead and that it was important to rest in the early part of labor.

We called David and the midwives to let them know I was in labor. Surprisingly my contractions were 5 minutes apart, and while they weren’t painful, they did require my full attention at the sensations going on in my body. The midwives told me to rest and call again when the contractions got stronger or closer together. Only about 20 minutes went by before I looked at Andy and said “they’re strong now. Call again.” At this point I was moaning through each contraction, trying to stay relaxed, and imagining each one opening my cervix and hugging my baby down. I tried lying in bed to save energy and had Andy put on my hypnobabies tape, but quickly found it too difficult to lie down. This is when I started wandering around upstairs pausing for each contraction to lean on whatever was nearby. I was searching for a surface at the perfect height for leaning on. It felt as if I needed to lift the top half of my body off of my pelvis to give relief to the strengthening pressure between my hips.

I lost since of time, but the contractions kept coming closer and closer together, giving me little relief in between. It hurt, but I kept reminding myself that they were going to get a lot worse and to stay relaxed. Low moans were very helpful; it felt meditative, like an “om,” and forced my mouth and jaw to stay relaxed during the peak of the pressure (a la Ina May Gaskin). Andy was also giving counter pressure on my hips which soon felt essential to get through the worst of it. I wouldn’t allow myself to think thoughts of pity or give measure to the pain; when my mind wondered there, I focused on pacing myself and finding what comfort or distraction I could to get through.

For a while I sat on a yoga ball and leaned on the bed. I threw up a few times and felt like there was no reprieve from the pressure, so I got in the shower for a few minutes. The hot water on my back was awesome, but I remembered a friend saying that warm water had slowed her labor down, and I just wanted to get my baby out. I reluctantly got out of the shower and moved to sitting backwards on a chair and listening to Iron and Wine’s Our Endless Numbered Days. This album was the perfect serenade for the cycle of moans and rest.

For most of the labor it was just Andy and me upstairs. My mom stopped in a few times to empty the puke bucket, but mostly left us alone. I was in an altered state of reality, hyper-sensitive to other people’s speed of movement and voices. Mostly, I went inward and didn’t talk much. There were a few times when I wondered when David and the midwives would arrive. I thought “I hope they get here to help me through the really bad part.”  When Andy told me the midwives’ apprentice, Julia was on her way here, I decided to stand up again for contractions, hoping I could encourage my cervix to open and praying that when she arrived I would be at 6 centimeters and could get into the birth pool (they want you in active labor before you get the relief of warm water). I was vaguely aware of Andy giving Julia directions on the phone and remember being bummed she was lost and wanting her to get there and tell me I could get in the pool. (Days after the birth it occurred to me that it was miraculous that she was able to get cell service out here.)

When Julia finally arrived I crawled onto my back on the bed. It didn’t quite register at first when she told me there was only a small lip of cervix left. I thought I had hours to go, and transition, the part I feared most, ahead of me. It turned out that I had already gone through transition and I was just about ready to push! I was absolutely elated. I asked her if I could get into the birth tub now and she said, “I’m not sure there is going to be time for that.” She went downstairs. I was blissfully unaware that downstairs everyone was preparing for the birth and calling the midwives to hurry over. All of a sudden during the next contraction my body heaved and pushed, all on its own. It wasn’t the “sensation to push” like I expected, my body was just pushing, uncontrollably. I yelled out, “I need help. I’m pushing!”

Everyone was back up in the room and soon kicked into action. The lights went on, there was some rushing around to get the room warmed up and some debate about the birth tub- all of this was throwing off my zen labor groove I had going and making it harder to focus through the contractions. At one point during a contraction, I yelled out “there’s too much going on in here!” as an attempt to quiet things down again. It didn’t even cross my mind that the midwives weren’t there yet- I felt totally safe and was ready to push out my baby. I leaned on my knees and the birth ball on my bed. Andy’s tired arms kept a steady pressure on my hips. The contractions at that point were actually easier feeling and had longer, more restful breaks between them than the hours leading up to this.

My body kept pushing and I felt my baby low in my body. I didn’t want to tear, so when I felt the head crowning I cried, “it burns!” In my delirious state this was the only way I knew how to communicate to Julia to do what she could to keep me from tearing. The only instruction she gave me was when she asked me to try and push a little between the next contractions. I did, and then pushed hard, letting out guttural groans. In the next seconds, felt him slip out. Another push and my baby had arrived in the world.

Pody caught Oliver's first moment in the world on camera.

I collapsed onto the yoga ball with such relief for what felt like a minute (after watching the video it was only a second) and then said “I want to meet him!” and turned around to see my tiny baby in Julia’s hands. He let out a little cry and a few snorts. It was an ecstatic moment. I turned to Andy, who was also crying said “we had a baby!” Julia passed this perfect, delicate new human to me and I drank in every sight of him as I held his tiny warm body against mine. It was 7am. I had labored for 4 ½ hours and pushed for 12 minutes.

It was only after Julia had asked if we had scissors and alcohol to cut the umbilical cord that I realized the midwives weren’t there with all of their medical equipment. While I would have loved them to be there to share that magical moment with us, it felt like everything happened exactly how it was supposed to. Oliver was born healthy and safe, and gifted Julia with her first solo homebirth (I hope a baby decides to do the same for me when I am in my midwifery education). I couldn't have been happier that everything went so well, and I have to say, I was proud of myself. After all that worry in pregnancy, I trusted the process, and peacefully participated as it unfolded into the perfect birth I hoped for.

That morning my mom made everyone breakfast and we had a picnic in our bedroom to celebrate baby Ollie's birthday.

Oliver's (almost) Birth Story

I tend to worry. I get it from my mother. Each new week in my pregnancy I tracked the development of my growing baby and discovered new things to worry about. Those nine months were a constant challenge to practice trust in my body and to steer my thoughts from fear in order to manifest health and safety. It was a practice in the biology of belief.

I knew I wanted a homebirth before I was pregnant. Oddly enough, I had decided almost exactly a year before I gave birth, that I wanted to become a midwife. This decision came after reading Ina May Gaskin’s Spiritual Midwifery when I was trying to discover my next steps, post undergraduate degree. Midwifery seems to me a beautiful combination of human relationships and the science of medicine. And, of course, there has to be an opportunity for activism and creating positive change to keep my attention.

Andy and I had been living on the Frost Valley Farm for a little over two months when we found out I was pregnant in July. We weren’t sure where to find good prenatal care or midwives that would travel out to our country home. I was unsure we were good candidates for homebirth with the closest hospital 45 minutes away in perfect driving conditions (which are uncommon in our valley in early March). Even after we found our midwives and began preparing for our homebirth I struggled with the concern that we were too far from a hospital.

By some awesome stroke of luck (oh you universe, always putting us in the right place at the right time), two other Frost Valley families living in our one-road valley were also pregnant. It is now known as the “fertile valley.” Both women were planning homebirths with the same midwives and sang their praises of “the Susans.” These neighbors reassured me we were not too rural for a safe homebirth and that these midwives were the best ladies for the job.

A couple of weeks after the summer camp season ended on the farm I was lucky enough to encounter one of my neighbors in labor. We usually had chats in my front yard when she was out on walks with her two year old. This time her daughter wasn’t with her, and she was stopping for breaks with her hands on her knees. It was my first time seeing a woman in labor. I was excited for her and extremely curious how she was feeling. It was shocking how calm and happy she was; there were no signs of fear or unbearable pain. She acted as if it was any usual, late summer day we were meeting in our yard, only with pauses where she would stare at the ground and breath. Her husband was the only one showing nervousness.

Andy and I left them to it, but couldn’t stop wondering aloud how the birth was going next door. The next morning we found out that the baby was born soon after we saw them in our yard. Labor was only 6 hours long. We brought food over and caught a glimpse of a beautiful, brand new baby girl and glowing mother. After that I was totally psyched for my homebirth and wanted to do whatever I could to help it be a speedy and enjoyable birth. However my midwives were quick to remind me that that was a second birth, and that first time births usually go a lot longer.

From the first laid-back meeting with one of “the Susans” on our porch I felt at ease, and confident we were in good hands. I loved appointments with my midwives. They would talk to my baby as they measured my growing belly. I was emotionally supported and meticulously checked for physical health, all the while being invited and expected to participate in my own prenatal care. It was the most empowering health care I've ever experienced. 

My other pregnant neighbor quickly became a good friend as we carpooled to midwife appointments, chatting about pregnancy, birth, and parenting on the long drive. Knowing I want to be a midwife, she was kind enough to invite me to the birth of her third baby. That is a whole other incredible birth story in itself, but I will say here that it amazed me to watch the midwives care so peacefully for Jennie as she brought her baby boy into the world with such grace. Being at that birth not only made me fall deeply in love with the magic of natural birth, it also reaffirmed my decision to birth my baby surrounded by the same peace of home and the resolve of a mother easing her child forth with her own power.

Even with such great care, it was a challenge not to let worries get the best of me. I read and prepared the best I knew how- focusing on eating well, exercising, relaxing and visualizing a good birth. There were times I felt so scared my baby would be sick or that something would go terribly wrong at the birth and we wouldn’t get to the hospital in time. Worry seems to be common for a first time mother, but it doesn’t help that everyone loves telling a pregnant woman their birth horror stories and giving unfounded advice. Thank Goddess for my midwives! With each visit I developed more of a relationship with them and gained more confidence in the road ahead. This was especially crucial as my pregnancy shifted from healthy and easy, to a bit complicated in the last trimester.

My blood pressure had been rising until it reached the point at which it was time to start intervening. The midwives took a welcomed approach to managing my blood pressure involving herbal and homeopathic remedies that seemed to be helping.

The last few weeks of my pregnancy were, by far, the hardest part. A week before my due date my mom was admitted to the hospital to get a stint in her heart. Not surprisingly my blood pressure went up at the midwife visit the next day. The intensity of my prenatal care increased accordingly- this also correlated with the arrival of my long time friend and doula, David and his seven year old son who stayed at the farm to support our birth. What I had pictured as a relaxing and rejoicing time with friends, leading up to the big event, was instead stressful, swollen, uncomfortable, and worrisome. 

Andy and I had to drive an hour and a half to get ultrasounds every couple of days in the last week. They had discovered that my amniotic fluid was low and I was put on modified bed rest and told to drink 2 gallons of water a day. At this point I was a few days past my estimated due date- something I knew was a distinct possibility, but had not fully emotionally prepared. It seemed like the longer the pregnancy went the more complicated my health became. The saving grace was that the baby was doing well, regardless of my body’s malfunctions.

Firsts

I've never been a good journaler. There is a box upstairs with journals full of the details and observations of the first week or so of every trip abroad or major transition in my life. The writing always stops as soon as I am caught up in the adventure or normalized to my new surroundings. I had high hopes for recording Oliver's life and my journey into motherhood, but almost two months in now and I've barely recorded his milestones or the magical, emotional, and exhausting moments of caring for this new being. Not because it is becoming normal. On the contrary, it is because the every-waking-moment-job of figuring out how to be a mom has afforded me only a few minutes to reflect and record this journey (all my other hands free moments are spent cleaning, wedding planning, and if I'm lucky, catching up on self-care and sleep). Blogging is something I haven't tried yet, and since I type way faster than I write, maybe a blog is the best way for me to create a record of memories as Ollie grows up (this may be replacing my failing memory that is seemingly getting sucked out of my breast). So here is the start of my ramblings as Andy, Ollie and I evolve as a family on the farm.

Frost Valley Farm Camp garden and yurts.

I'm going to skip the introductions, because although I know this is a semi-public forum for recording my life, I have no idea who (you) the audience will be, and I am determined not to let that shape my posts and rather allow this blog to be a cathartic exercise and memento for me. 

Oliver joined me in weeding half a raised bed in the garden this afternoon. He slept snugly, wrapped in the moby while I raked and plucked dandelions from the soil until the bending and jostling coaxed cries from the little bean to stop weeding and start walking. The fact that half a weeded bed feels like an accomplishment is just another indicator on how much my life has changed since Ollie entered it. It took me weeks just to figure out how to do the basic things like eating and showering while taking care of my newborn. But now that he is a little bigger, a little less fussy and I am a bit more seasoned in mothering we are starting to get things done around the house and on the farm.

How can you resist being in the garden on a day like this?

Some days we do a lot together- like when I moved a whole stack of wood while singing to Ollie who watched while he stretched out on the porch. Other days he reminds me that he is only a little guy and needs my undivided attention (that sentence was my best euphemism for the supper fussy, "nothing makes me happy for more than 5 minutes" days). While those days of marathon breastfeeding and arm-tiring, non-stop baby bouncing can be more exhausting than tackling the wood pile on the porch, I still fall asleep feeling a sense of accomplishment knowing how lucky I am to nurture and watch as this new life grows.

Mama and baby enjoying skin-to-skin contact and sunshine.

As I write this Oliver, having recently discovered his reflection, is cooing and smiling at himself, his arms and legs wiggling and dancing. His fresh newborn-ness is as ephemeral as the trout lillies and trilliums. While the progress of spring is calling me to plant a garden and plan a wedding, I am continually reminded to readjust my idea of an accomplished day. At the top of my long to-do list is my most important job: caring for Ollie.