The Dance

So often the metaphor of a dance is used to describe breastfeeding.  It calls to mind ballroom dancers sweeping across a polished floor dressed to the nines and moving like one.  Of course there were sweet, irreplaceable moments of cuddling my newborns as they head bobbed, smacked their lips, licked their hands, and slowly unfolded to make their way to my breast.  There were also moments when their initial attempt to latch made my toes curl and called for a pinkie gently inserted into the corner of their precious little mouths to break suction and try again.  Let's just say that learning to nurse my babies was a far cry from fluid perfection.  With the moments of oxytocin and prolactin-laced bliss were also tears, frustration, and some bleeding nipples.  Had I known then what I know now, I would have asked for more help and really stayed vigilant those first few days ensuring that our latch was both comfortable an effective.

Apparently, I am a milk maker with IV fluids and without.  I was admitted and receiving antibiotics at least intermittently for at least 24 hours before Isabelle was born.  My milk came in about 36 hours after she was born.  The nurse didn't believe me when I said I was  engorged.  My breasts were so hard and nipples so flat that Isabelle could not latch onto them.  I wanted to pump (again had I known that hand expressing and reverse pressure softening worked better...).  She brought it to me with a teeny beaker and a mildly annoyed look--"This is her first baby.  What does she know?"  Quite a bit actually.  In about a minute and a half, that little beaker was overflowing.  I'm not sure if milk running all over or her look of shock were funnier.  Yep, most of us know when our boobs feel like they're going to pop.  It wasn't the fluids or a poor latch that caused my engorgement.  It happened with Will.  Boom, milk in 24 to 36 hours.  He was born at home.  Zero fluids necessary that time, though my midwives carried them in case of dehydration.

Pretty good latch.  Could be more asymmetrical and not so centered on my nipple.  This one was okay-comfortable.  Not great, but no toes curling.  See how intensely focused he is?  All instinct.  He is super new here.  I think this was actually before the above family pic.  He pinked up quickly.

Yes, abundant milk is a blessing, but it's also a challenge.  I experienced extreme engorgement despite frequent feedings on demand.  It shot across the room, soaked the sheets, made dispisable nursing pads an inch thick like a sodden diaper.  I learned a lot after the first time with this challenge.  For round two, I used reverse pressure softening, block feeding, and ice, not heat as my breasts were literally warm to the touch and super sore.


Is this sounding like Dancing with the Stars?  I am getting back to the dancing part.  Suffice it to say that all of this milk was spraying like an opened fire hydrant as soon as I was free of whatever held a pad to my leaky breast and had baby in the general vicinity.  This made me get lazy about latching from time to time.  The forceful flow also made my baby not want to latch deeply.  Put those two things together, and you've got some sore nipples. Even a handfull of lazy, not so comfy latches can make you really sore really quickly.

It's a bit damning to hear about this "dance" when dancing is a) something you don't enjoy b) are not good at c) that if anyone sees you doing you should have been cut off from the bar and driven home at least an hour earlier.  Maybe that's just how I feel about dancing.  We are all different, but most of us had to practice and get some basic skills before busting that move with confidence.  So, just as you must learn the basic steps before you dance, maybe even work to screw up the courage to even try, you have some basic steps to learn breastfeeding a newborn as well.  It can't hurt to dig up a little courage either.  Much like dancing, breastfeeding can be a very instinctive, natural thing for some mothers and babies.  For most of us, though, there is a bit of a learning curve.  Here are a few tips that helped me:

• Room-in.  A healthy baby should go straight to your belly or chest after birth and not leave your room.  Sorry to disappoint the family, but playing pass the baby is out.  It's my least favorite game ever.  They have years and years to enjoy the kid.  You only get the golden hour and those early days learning to breastfeed once.  A lot of damage is done unwittingly by those who love and want to help you most.  You and your baby are still parts of a whole.  Your body is your baby's natural habitat.
• Do not hurry baby to the breast.  All of what may appear to be "messing around" is actually how your baby prepares to breastfeed for the first time..
• Let baby practice latching and be patient.  Some latch right away, some take a while.  It depends on your birth and your baby.  Medication you have in labor does cross the placenta and reach the baby very quickly.  This may or may not affect your first few hours or days of feeding. 
• In any position, baby's ears, shoulders, and hips should be in a straight line.  Can you drink from a cup with your head turned?
• Delay baby's first bath at least 24 hours.
• In the early days and weeks, your body is setting prolactin receptors that determine how much milk you will EVER produce for that child.  It resets for each baby.  Nursing very often = healthy supply down the road.
• Strip your baby to a diaper for feeding.  Better yet, keep them naked but for that diaper and skin-to-skin as much as possible.  
• Keep the lights dim and the room calm and quiet.  
• No hats or mittens as these can inhibit some of the twenty-something newborn reflexes that are all about learning to breastfeed.
• No pacifiers, bottles,  breast shield, or anything else plastic and nipple shaped you might run across.  Nothing but your breast and the occasional clean finger ever need enter baby's mouth.
• No burrito babies.  Tightly swaddling baby does make them sleep better. When they were inside you, they were tightly held.  They also had a constant source of food that nourished them whether awake or asleep.  You need your baby to wake and feed.  Swaddling can cause them to sleep through early hunger cues and wake up the distraught kind of hungry.  It can be very challenging to soothe and latch a newborn who is this hungry.                   
• Feed in gravity-friendly laid-back positions that allow baby to self-attach.  I know, you've read books on breastfeeding, and the kid was born yesterday.  Let it go.  Your newborn really probably does know more about breastfeeding than you.
• Wear soft, unstructured nursing bras or tanks.  No underwire as it can lead to blocked ducts.  No sports bras as compression decreases supply.
• Set mini-goals.  Don't start out saying you'll breastfeed for 6 months, a year, two years, or beyond.  Make it through the first day with baby on the breast only then the first few days, the first week, the first two weeks, etc....  You are more likely to stay on track for your bigger goal if you break it into teeny ones.
• A latch that looks perfect but hurts is not perfect.  It may not look textbook perfect.  If it feels good, and baby is transferring milk well, roll with it.  You'll know they are transferring well the first few days by dirty and wet diapers.  After that, you'll see and hear them swallowing actively while feeding.
• No shushing the baby.  This goes along with my hatred of pass-the-baby and extends well into infancy.  A newborn who is crying needs his or her mother's breast either for comfort or nutrition. 
• Feed on demand, that is, your baby's demand.  Do not limit feeds, delay feeds, or feed on a schedule.  Doing so will harm your milk supply.  Your baby's cue's are your schedule.  
• A soft carrier like a ring sling or wrap, either jersey or woven at first, can really help with that demand feeding, constant contact thing.  Human babies need to be close to their mothers around the clock for the first few weeks even months.  Carrying them this way enables you to have two free hands and meet your baby's needs.
• Crying is the final hunger cue.  Your baby should be at the breast before he or she is crying.  Watch for looking around, opening and closing their mouth, licking and smacking, big body movements, hands/fingers to the mouth, and the tell-tale head bob.  If they are upright and front-to-front with anybody, they'll bob around looking for a nipple.  Strong instincts much?
• Frequent feedings are NOT a sign of you not making enough.  The typical newborn should feed at least 10-12 times every 24 hours.  Your baby's stomach does not even stretch until day 3.  Diapers tell more than any stupid clock.
• Don't try to memorize everything that could possibly go wrong and constantly scan for problems.  Learn what's normal and what needs attention and who to call if something needs attention. 
• Don't pump in the early days and weeks unless your baby is unable to latch effectively and you need the stimulation to keep your supply.  It's likely going to prolong engorgement and oversupply.  If you're going back to work, wait until a week or so before.  Hand express to comfort only.  If you take it out, your body will put it back.  Yes, it can be uncomfortable to feel full, but it signals your body to produce just what baby needs. 
• Rest and set boundaries with family and friends who want to visit.  You must take good care of yourself before you can take care of anyone else.  Spend 5 days in bed, 5 days on the bed, and 5 days near the bed to let yourself heal and get off to a good start breastfeeding.  Let the people around you take care of you, your house, and your family.  You need to rest and be comfortable feeding your baby, not entertain a slew of people every day. 
• Get a good breastfeeding book before baby is born.  One that can be used as a reference book such as The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding or The Nursing Mother's Companion is ideal.  
• Write the names of several people who you can go to for help inside the cover of this book.  Agree with your spouse, partner, family, whatever that if you are in a bad spot and won't call them yourself, they can reach out to these people for help and support.  
• Donate formula samples to your church or a women's shelter.  You do not need it "just in case."  There will be a challenging day or night and somebody who loves you will be tempted to give "just a little" to either give you a break, let your sleep, lighten your load, etc.  A bottle or two in the early days/weeks really can undermine you.
• Read up on physiologic jaundice.  A lot of pediatricians do not know squat about breastfeeding and will tell you that you "have" to supplement with formula to push the bilirubin through.  In extreme cases, maybe, but not usually.  Bilirubin breaks down as your baby metabolizes food, so breastfeed often and do compressions to get as much milk into baby as possible.  Natural sunshine on bare skin helps as well.  Obviously, don't sunburn or freeze your baby.
• Research birth control carefully.  Many options offered do frequently decrease milk supply.  That's further down the road, but it never hurts to look ahead!
• If in doubt or just having a tough day, ask for help.  Sometimes a hug from a friend who's been there and a kind word are all you really need.  Your midwife, a postpartum doula, La Leche League Leader, or lactation consultant can help if you need more than encouragement.  It's usually best not to ask your OB or pediatrician for breastfeeding help as they receive minimum (if any!) training in human lactation.

That was one exhaustive list.  If I've been there for you as you learned to breastfeed, you've probably heard most of the above spread over several days, weeks, or months.  Take what you need and leave what you don't.  Add what was helpful to you.  Feel free to share in the comments what helped or hindered you.  

I loved, loved, loved nursing my babies.  Even in the early days when it did hurt some, I did not want to stop.  I definitely needed some more help and patience.  I'm one to muscle through when something is hard and admit it was hard afterwards.  It wasn't something I "stuck with" to prove anything to myself or anyone else.  It was simply what was right for my family and me. 

The nursing relationship you have with your child is unique--there are silly dancers, svelte ones, ones so relaxed that they don't even care about the music, uptight ones who have to try hard, stop-start ones who step on toes occasionally, ones that might need a few professional lessons, ones that move like the music is part of them.  To learn this dancing stuff, some watch videos, read books, watch others do it, do it instinctively, or figure it out by trial and error.  As long as you leave the dance floor with a smile and a feeling of satisfaction, you've done it correctly.

Isabelle maybe 2-3 minutes after birth.  She was practically born wearing that hat.  We look so young and exhausted!  Sleep?  Oh, you'll see that old friend in a few years. 

Big, open mouth.  See the wrinkle under her little chin.  There's one of those hands.  I cannot imagine trying to nurse a swaddled baby.  There is something so sweet about their new, wiggly self squirming against you.

Will maybe 10-15 minutes after birth.  No hat.  Same spot between my breasts.  If you give a mother her baby, this is where almost all will instinctively place the baby.  I'd already birthed the placenta here.  Mine come pretty soon after the baby.

Not such a good one.  Maybe because I'm blocking his little hand, and numbing his instincts.  He even looks frustrated. He needs to be lower.  Mouth wasn't open widely enough to get lots of breast in his mouth that try.  See, it's trial and error.  They latch well, suck a while, pop off, and relatch not so well often.  Patience.

Look at that, let the hand roam free, and get a better latch.  All pink, even the hands. Extremities are the last things to get nice and pink after birth.

Fennel & Cardamom Braised Pork Loin

Pushing a double jogger towards a towering thundercloud certainly counts as spitting in fate's eye.  I love the almost queasy feeling of an iffy course of action decided upon--if we make it home dry, it'll be a fast, fun race; if the bottom falls out, we'll be soaked and find a spot to wait it out.  Today, we were far enough from our street that a terra cotta tiled roof caught my eye.  It shelters white stuccoed benches built to house the help arriving and departing from the homes within the gates of a lovely old neighborhood.  Aside from the cars and foot traffic, there are these eerie places in the middle of the city here in the deep south where time is frozen.

On the return, I was leading the storm.  I would have had static-raised hair had we been on the water.  The cloud had blackened and stretched from end to end of the distant stretch of raised interstate.  Now, almost two hours later, nothing.  It's still grumbling, but an even gray rather than the rising triangle of grey set against bright blue.

Today I intended to write out a recipe that turned out nicely yesterday.  So far I've collected our third egg ever, gotten ballet stuff, been to the health food store, tended children, bathed a cat who somehow got a large clump of chicken poo glued to her white fur, and run a couple of miles pushing 70+ pounds of kids while sweating off my warpaint.  Time to take a minute and let the tv enthrall nap-deprived the kids for a few minutes before dinner and bed. 

So that recipe--it was a braised pork loin, and it was delicious!  When I go off the reservation and don't use a recipe, I have little confidence in the edibility of the final product.  I didn't take a single picture of the meat uncooked, the seasonings, the jar of bacon grease I keep, or the browning process for this very reason.  If it's awful, let there be no evidence.  Pretend it never happened and eat a bowl of oatmeal or get take-out. Not the case last night.  Here's when I realized it was good enough to share

Lighting is hard.  I'm not a photographer.  If you are, feel free to help me out and lessen the yellow.  It was not that yellow, but the pan sauce was nice and glossy just like the braising section of The Joy of Cooking said it should be.  If you have an enameled cast iron Dutch oven, use it for this.  Mine is a Le Creuset.  I love it so much that I eventually got the smaller size.  Actually, Frank got it for me for Christmas.  His friends think it's funny that he gifts me with cookware and doesn't get an earfull about me being a liberated woman.  I like tending to house and hearth.  It's my choice, so I can be just as liberated standing barefoot in a cutsey apron working on this dish at 3 o'clock in the afternoon as I could be working outside my house.  To each her own.  Being home is hard work.  Anyway, the blue one above is the big mamma jamma size, like hard to pick up when full big or hit an intruder over the head with big.

Take one pork loin (This one was from Sam's Club and cut in half with slices across the top.  The labeling was not very helpful as I thought they were actually slices like short ribs or something.  I threw the packaging in the trash and dumped several dustpans of floor grit on top before I thought to see how much the pork weighed.) and season well with salt and pepper on both sides.  Next, sprinkle both sides liberally with whole fennel seeds then ground cardamom, patting to be sure it sticks well.  Quality counts with spices.  Both of mine were Frontier organics and so aromatic in the jar.

Put a pot on medium to medium-high heat.  Add your fat.  I used 2-3 tablespoons bacon drippings and about 2 tablespoons good olive oil.  Your oil should be hot--not smoking hot or rippling.  Burning and browning are kissing cousins but very different, er, processes.  Add your meat.  It should sizzle immediately.  Wait a couple of minutes to check for browning.  If it sticks do NOT yank it up.  When it is properly browned, it will NOT be glued to your pot.

Once browned on both sides, add a sliver, or a chunk if yours is a garlic loving household, of fresh garlic to each top slit

Add liquid--1/3-1/2 cup of white basalmic vinegar and 1/3-1/2 cup of white wine.  You don't want more than an inch of liquid in the bottom of the pot per Joy, or the cooking bible.  If you check later and the liquid has absorbed or reduced, you can always add another splash.  Let's take a minute to talk about wine, specifically what you cook with and what you drink.  There should be NO difference.  If you wouldn't drink it, don't cook with it.  Somebody has to finish what's left in the bottle!  I'm not a big white wine fan, but this unoaked Pinot Grigio was quite tasty

See the two eggs in the background?  Eggciting and so tasty!  That's a wildcrafted fenugreek tincture behind the eggs.  It's replacing Mucinex in my medicine cabinet, though there are many other uses.  I'm shifting to homeopathic remedies rather than relying on OTCs for every little thing.  So far, my homemade elderberry juice (from fresh, local berries), local honey, some essential oils, and this little bottle have been great helpers.

Turn that heat down to LOW (the knob on my gas cooktop was literally turned all the way down), put the lid on, and leave it be.  Seriously, the whole point is for the little bit of liquid, the juices from the meat, and the steam to slowly soften and cook your meat.  Done correctly, braising produces fork tender meat every single time.  It is not a perfect science, though.  Every stove, pot, cut of meat is a little different.  Forget about it for at least an hour once you are sure the temperature is right.  When you check, you should be greeted with a cloud of steam as you lift the lid.  It gets more and more aromatic as it cooks down.  Never should your liquid be boiling.  It's more of a steam room than a jacuzzi.

Mine took between 2 1/2 and 3 hours to look like this

See how the fennel seeds reconstituted without burning and the meat is golden to caramel color?  It's that caramelization that produces the complx flavor in your pan sauce.  You want your cooking liquid to bubble up initially and get up the browned (not burned!) bits from the bottom just after browning.  If you like, you can carefully remove your meat once tender and reduce the sauce down to concentrate flavors further.  Just add your meat back once you get the sauce just right.

While I hovered over the pot and nibbled on this, my children sat at the table picking off fennel seeds and begging for ketchup.  Let's hope their taste buds develop in the coming years (says the woman who dips even the most hoity toity steak in the stuff).  We enjoyed ours with whole baked sweet potatoes and roasted beets seasoned with olive oil and a little S&P.  The sweet potatoes were so good that there was no need even for butter.  No action shots of it all plated up.  I was busy wiping kids and deciding that I did indeed enjoy that wine.

What's your favorite accidentally delicious home recipe?

On Slowing Down

It’s 11:00 on a Thursday.  The kids are still in pj’s.  It’s a bummy movie day.  Here’s how we got here:

• Last Friday, Isabelle started breaking out in poison ivy.  It’s finally getting better but still bumpy and gets itchy when she gets hot playing.  I spent two nights in her bed to keep on top of Benadryl and topical creams so she would not scratch to bleeding in her sleep.  This means I slept not so well, got kicked, snuggled a sweaty little sleeper, and got a crick in my neck.  Her mattress is not the finest.  We intentionally got an inexpensive one so if it got ruined with bodily fluids, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.  This decision was made naively without considering that WE would end up sleeping on it some, too. 

• The last two nights she has spent in our bed with me.  Better, but still sleeping contorted to avoid her thrashing upside-down sleeping self.  Waking up to toes in my face while the incision spot on my forehead is still sore is not thrilling.  This morning, I got up at 5:30 to treat itching boo-boos, got back in the bed to snuggle for a while, and eventually made motions to get up around 6:15.  My neck sent me a big “F you!” as I stretched—that crick in my neck?  Well, in that general area, I had a muscle spasm so strong that I froze, facedown mid-stretch.  It’s been since before Isabelle was born that I had one like that!  It was so bad at first that I couldn’t move my head or left arm at all.  A heating pad alternated with a huge cold pack, an 800mg Motrin, a smear of muscle ache cream, a long soak in the tub with jets pointed right at tender spots, some gentle head-turning to stretch, and another turn on the cold pack, and it’s feeling manageable.  

• So back to this morning…Frank, wonderful man that he is, fixed Isabelle breakfast, made up the bed, and got Will up and pottied.  I would have been hurting really, really badly if I’d had to do that first off!   Will eventually wanted breakfast, and wandered into the kitchen…where he proceeded to get that funny look and throw up a little bit in his hand.  About this same time, Isabelle announces that she has to poop and scurries off to the potty.  This is 3 days of daily going, which is not her usual.  Either gluten-free really suits her, or Houston we have a problem.  What the hell is going on in my house?  All I want to do is clean a little so that we can have friends over tomorrow to play.  I have no idea what the throw up was all about, but he happily (and slowly) at a banana and some plain cheerios at the table with a big bowl for throwing up at hand.  I made them both a double probiotic, double elderberry syrup in apple juice (organic!) topped off with water to stave off any potential bugs and am set to watch and wait today.  Luckily, nothing further has developed on this upset stomach front.

Taking a step back, I’m thinking all of this is a big kick in the pants to force me to slow down and look at priorities.  At first, I was all frustrated this morning that my week of being active (walking/strolling and yoga) and productive (keeping house neat/clean, cooking healthy stuff) was shot.  There are things I HAVE to do today to meet my own expectation.  Wait a minute.  The world is going to continue going ‘round if I don’t vacuum or cook dinner.  So, I start thinking about the Deepak Chopra Soul of Healing Affirmations album I downloaded on Sunday.  Sure it seems cheesy, but it works.  It’s making me think at least.  I’ve only listened to a hand full of the tracks and will not add more until I remember these few and am incorporating them into my daily life.

“…Our body is…the battleground for the wars we wage within our minds.  By changing the conversation that is happening in our minds, we influence the body so the body will become the playground instead of the battleground for the wars you wage in your mind.  Your body will become the playground for all the love that you want to create in your life.”

~Deepak Chopra

Do any of the things I am dead set on doing improve my own or my family's happiness or health?  Nope. Does worrying about getting it all tended to increase my stress, make my fuse shorter, and take my focus down a negative path.  Yes indeedee.   My kids would rather run around in pjs (even in the back yard today), watch movies, eat a pizza from the freezer, and get out every toy we own than be put together, eat a perfectly balanced meal, and pick up as we go about the day. 

Here is a list of things I will *not* be accomplishing today, things that can get kicked down the list of priorities until I can at least turn my head again:

Vacuuming, mopping, bathroom cleaning, dusting, fixed hair, putting on a bra, shaving my legs, ironing, baking, cooking dinner,  exercising, obsessive toy picking up 3x a day, full laundry basket, and chickens who’d like to peck around the back yard.

I’m sure there are more things that will be left undone without ruining my life, my week, or my day.  I'm making an effort to slow down, play more, and praise my kids more.  Those things can be hard to do when I'm so caught up in all of the "have-to's" I pressure myself to complete.  Nobody else in the house shares my sometimes extreme expectations.  

What in your daily life can you let go of or reprioritize to increase your wellbeing and decrease anxiety?

Girlie Day

Today has been a day full of errands.  Odd runs here and there disjointed like the movements of a piano concerto.  Somehow the closing of the piece ties together all of the loose ends.  It all fits and makes sense.  There is no more dissonance, only resolution.

The random running began with a well-earned trip to the Disney store with Isabelle.  She'd never been before.  It was awesome.  She was more than a little awestruck.  Not wild (honestly, apeshit) as I anticipated, but cool and a little blissed out.  We counted out the saved Christmas money, and she picked out just what she wanted.  The first favorite was a purse filled with pink jewel dress-up accessories, "Because I don't have things to go with my PINK dress, Mama."  At our house, one must match in costume.  No wild, disorganized get-ups.  Outfits per the princess's orders.  She is never Cinderella when in a blue Cinderella dress.  "It's just Isabelle IN a Cinderella costume," she is quick to say.  Funny kid and neat to see the complexities of preference and personality are very present even at four.  In close second was a zipper pouch filled with colored pencils, markers, a ruler--school stuff.  My mother described it perfectly when she said, "Oh for making trash.  Yeah, she does that at my house, too."  Sorry, dear daughter, fine arts abilities don't run on my side.  I'm thrilled for her to play in it and enjoy it all, but I won't be saving any of it for an exhibit at the Met in decades to come.

Quick ride on Pumba

So, home again, home again, jiggety jig after stopping to have froyo for lunch.  Mama was SO much cooler than usual today.  As soon as Will went down for a nap, I ran to a local junktique store looking for a birth stool rumored to be in some store past Walmart.  Score!  It was there.  I didn't get it.  What on earth will I do with that?  It won't be seeing any action in the near future if ever at my house.  Maybe for an office later, but our house is bursting at the seams already.

The birthing chair

On to the health foods store--how I love Five Seasons in downtown Ocean Springs.  Jan and Paul are incredubly knowledgeable and helpful.  I'm hunting for a home remedy for my sweet kitty who has feline herpes virus.  No laughing, it's very common in feral cat colonies or unhygienic places where cats are overcrowded.  Both of those describe her humble beginnings from what I can gather.  It's pitiful.  She pukes all the time, has rotten teeth, and has upper respiratory symptoms periodically with outbreaks.  We are currently having an outbreak.  So far, probiotics, grain-free crunchies, grain-free canned food just for her, plus olive leaf extract (gag, it's vile) are really helping.  She is still snot rocket sneezing, albeit less often, so I picked up some colloidal silver to treat the infection.  The outbreaks always come with a wicked upper respiratory infection.  I'm trying to avoid the vet, because the only way of treating there is with anitbiotics which kill ALL of her gut flora.  With an autoimmune issue at the root, I hate to level her defenses and kill all the beneficial cooties.

From the heath food store to the grocery store for a beer run, quite a bit in fact.  The weather is pretty.  We love sitting outside.  Beer is practically required to rock on the back porch on nice, warm evenings.  By this time, I've decided that the birthing stool is the perfect early Mother's Day gift for myself.  I mean, really, if this simple, hand hewn piece of history was picked up by someone not in the know because it was a cute little chair for wherever, what a loss!  I have imagined it's tragic end by this point--getting broken and tossed out with the trash.  Think of all the stories lost if it sits unappreciated in some corner.  That seems worse than being broken and discarded. 

The lady at the store grins when I come in the store again.  She knew I'd be back.  The first time, she told me about all three of her births.  Her kids are grown, my age-ish.  This stuff sticks, folks.  Anecdotal experiences like this morning, the random stories of ladies I've met, the research I love--it's sure nice when science backs up what I've suspected as elderly ladies tell me what they remember vividly of their experiences.

I now own a birthing chair, or birthing stool.  I'm glad I bought it.  It may be a silly way to spend money, but both of my grandfathers were born at home in rural areas of Mississippi within a couple of hours of here.   Maybe there were seats like this where they were born.  Maybe not.  I think both were caught by their grandmothers.  I can personally attest to the importance of something sturdy to hang on to when giving birth--squatting bar with Isabelle and the handles of the birth tub with  Will.

My dad's father was born in his grandparent's home in Wayne county Mississippi almost a year after his mother's first baby was stillborn.  He and his sisters settled on calling her a "community nurse" when they were telling me about her and how they were all born at her house.  Apparently, she served the area in many capacities, assisting the local doctor on house calls and catching babies when needed.

My mom's father was the youngest of five boys born at home in Covington county Mississippi.  I think he came too quickly for the doctor to make it to the house in time.  His grandmother stepped in to catch there, too, I believe.  Just last summer at the family reunion, one of his cousins got up to talk about Granny.  Feisty, tiny, red-headed lady who was hailed a healer and had well-remembered medicinal and flower gardens.  She had the ability to walk in to the sickroom, take a whiff, and discern the fever or illness from the smell.  She taught her daughters how to do this as well and what plants to use.  One of those girls lived well into her hundreds, and I knew her.

If any of that is incorrect, dear family, please correct me.  It's oral history.  Nobody has written this stuff down that I know of, and I'm a couple of generations late for getting the details spot-on.

I love knowing this kind of family history and now owning a piece of local history that is tied to what I do.  It's fascinating and sad all at once that they knew so many things that I am just beginning to re-learn.  We know a lot more now in ways, but we have also lost a lot of knowledge.  Sure, I'm not opposed to medicine and appreciate having access to medical care when we need it, but I can handle a lot at home.  That said, I'm going to watch my squirrely girl wallow in her new stuff, drink a beer, sit outside at the picnic table and bench my crafty husband just threw together, contemplate repurposing a dog house into a chicken coop, and figure out in which pots to attempt rooting the elderberry that is growing wild in the lot next to our house to wrap up my day of randomness.

Shedding Skins

Would it be rude to sit with pen and paper and write during church?  Yes, probably so, especially elbow-to-elbow with a stranger on Easter.  I’ll just have to attempt and recreate that thought that has been floating for months and gained form this morning.  It’s late afternoon.  I’ve exchanged contacts for glasses, stylish sandals for busted Birkenstocks, and my new skirt is partly unzipped to accommodate the generous, mimosa complimented meal earlier.

This morning the preacher mentioned the Easter tradition of new clothes or just wearing your very best, since with shedding of Christ’s blood we are all made new and clean.  Finery on Easter Sunday is symbolic of the old, dirty self passing away to be replaced by raiments of God’s grace and glory. 

The sin skin shed.  

Over the last few years of life, I feel like I’ve constantly been shedding skins.  At the moment of the shed, the old me is emptied, and the new emerges a bit fragile and dazed, leaving the brittle remnants of former self.  It can be like a damp new insect emerging from a chrysalis at just the right moment as one phase of life makes room for the next.  It can be sudden and violent like the phoenix bursting into flames, leaving the old as a pile of ashes and beginning again from square one.  It can be snake-like and practically unnoticeable until I come across the transparent form that was previously.  

Gentle and expected or violent and shocking, change is hard for me.  I feel empty at standing in the change.  Whether it’s the change of family dynamic as we add a new member, an uprooting move, or a simple change of plans, I struggle to adjust internally though the waters may seem calm outwardly.  At times I feel like Eliot’s J. Alfred Prufrock, “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.”  Though my tone is far more optimistic and I don’t drink that much coffee anymore, my days are meted out in 2-3 hour segments with two small children in the house.  

Down the rabbit hole and away from the spiritual meaning, but it was the springboard that prompted this slowly-congealing realization.  The years of change have been the most challenging and stressful, but I’ve been picking up pieces of the old me along the way—writing for fun, remembering that I’m married to my best friend and the most wonderful man ever, going out with friends, being more fun and relaxed, cooking and entertaining a bit, enjoying clothes again after 4 years of gaining and losing and two generous visits from the boob fairy.  

A year ago, I’d probably tell you that I was miserable and sleep deprived with an 18 month old and a 3 year old, but it is sitting better now.  We’ve all grown, but I’ve mostly picked out my drummers beat amongst the chaotic harmony of the house.  The past lows made me more, they added.  In the moment, I felt like they were draining me of me, of individual identity.  They weren’t.  Even the times that I felt empty, I was just the opposite--new space had been made without stripping me at all.  I’ve backtracked and picked up the best and most longed for parts of me from those sheddings. 

Like an Impressionist painter’s images of reapers in the golden light of late day swinging scythes to harvest the dry yet fruitful stalks of grain, I’m looking back and idealizing the process—it was exhausting, dirty, underpaid labor, yet the perspective makes all the difference.  Instead of resisting change so, maybe I should try letting go of the conventions of polite society a bit more, let my gaze become less direct and judgmental, and notice how the shapes and forms are first made of light and colors.  In that light, the many mes I struggled to hang on to or reclaim are transparent shadows compared to the present.  I am far from perfect but now more open to the opportunity that change can create.  In that light, I too am formed of colors richly reflected and always changing, gloriously new and old as the mythologies of dying and rising deities all at once.

Last Call 2012

Trite though it seems, I spent yesterday reflecting on the year soon drawing to a close.  What have I done well or not?  How can I improve myself and thereby the daily lives of my family members?  Here's what I narrowed it down to:

• Personal: Self Control and Discipline


• Nutrition--More plant-based whole foods.  Less meat, and the meat we eat will be local, fresh, and/or organic when at all possible.  Less sugar.  Less processed foods.  No GMOs--if I am what I eat eats, then I'm still eating rather a lot of GMO corn.  Read labels for hidden MSG.  We won't waste what's in the pantry (see budget bullet below), but I will change some shopping habits.  Take advantage of the two farmer's markets nearby.  Replant our own herbs.  Take note of what I'm missing.  This past year, it was too much caffeine, not enough iron and B vitamins (big no meat kick), and not enough vitamin D after the summer.
• Activity--move moving, walking, running, yoga, hiking.  More being outside.  Less TV and computer (after I finish this post).  How I live will influence my kids for life.  Get brave enough to let Isabelle ride her bike around the block with us walking.
• Routine--make one and stick to it.  Have a loose plan for the day, don't laze around in PJs then scramble to meet the household needs.  Pick outfits for the week for me and the kids on Saturday or Sunday.
• Interactions with Frank, Isabelle, and Will--be nice, be calm, be patient.  Listen more.  Talk less.  No more yelling in frustration, aggravation, or just across the house being lazy.  Give what I want to get.
• Finishing--this is a biggie for me.  I'm a professional procrastinator, an 85 percenter.  Almost finished is not the same as finished, as evidenced by the 2 recovered kitchen chairs that sat outshining their 4 shabby comrades.  Finished the other 4 yesterday. 
• Add a doula and/or basic lactation certification to my existing LCCE to reach more women around me.

• Family: Budget and Plan

• Cash budget--the only way I can stay honest on a budget.  It's going to be hard to reel in after this last quarter of 2012.  It's probably going to limit our intake of adult beverages, as hinted at with the title.  It's easy to feel like too much is never enough and forget that the pride of saving and smart planning is far more satisfying than consuming in excess.
• Meal plan--see the above.  It's amazing how much less I spend and how much more healthfully we eat when meal planning happens.  My goal is to have a written plan for two weeks at a time.  Shop for no more than 3 meals at a time since all these fresh fruits and veggies spoil faster.  Buy organic and see what I mean--scary to think what's in and on the other stuff to make it last.  It's not cheap to eat clean and healthy, but junk isn't cheap either.  Everything is pricey at the moment.
• Set savings goals--the first goal is to pay off the credit card and actually START saving again.  Make the habit even if the amount set aside is negligible in the long run.

We've had a lovely first day of 2013 despite too much Mexican food topped by too much champagne last night.  At bedtime, I deleted Facebook from my phone and have not missed it at all.  I'm detoxing myself from the smartphone.  It is still just a phone after all.  Real life going on around me is exponentially more interesting and more worthy of my attention.

Spending the morning in the woods on a hiking trail with the kids was so nice.  It's been so long since I was outside like that.  I'd almost forgotten the quiet reverence of the woods.  We covered backyard pinecones with peanut butter and seeds for the birds (and squirrels).  Now it's time for naps all around.  Happy New Year, indeed!