Rubber Band Rings

They’re developing on Sweet Seamus’ wrists as he eats, sleeps, poops, eats again; the cycle of growth. He was born so lanky, so thin, so sturdy—his thigh muscles clearly defined. His long limbs going on for miles but pulled in like a wind up toy you pull out and then it recoils ever so slowly into itself. Now eight weeks later he is really growing in length and in girth with these sweet rings carving into his once dainty wrists, and his thigh muscle definition fading away.

And he is finding his thumb, talk about sweetness! Watching him suck his thumb. How ingenious! He self soothes no paci plugging, or incessant nursing. Well okay, still incessant nursing. But no paci plugging! That has caused me more sleepless nights with my other three boys than I care to count! The thumb is a revelation to me in parenting. Dr. Grady, our pediatric cardiologist who cared for our first born’s heart murmur, assured us that they needed “non-nutirtive sucking,” and therefore that we were not ruining our son with an introduction to the paci. And we didn’t, whew, but at the time it was such a new parent controversy—or so it seemed, sitting there in Dr. Grady’s office waiting for the results of Finn’s heart echo, with the palm trees swaying outside his window.

And can we talk about the sweetness of having a baby fall asleep on you? It’s really an euphoria that I can’t get enough of these days. Him asleep on me, cheek to cheek, snuggled under my chin, laxed arms draped over my shoulder, his feet curved under my forearm against my belly. Really! What amazes and saddens me is one day it just stops—they just won’t sleep on you anymore.  

In this four week small window filled with such major growth, I’ve met mothers, who recall with heart wrenching details their sons, sons that have prematurely died. As they tell their story, stories that are now part of mine, I have the Chinese proverb I once got on a fortune cookie in Santa Fe whisper in my mind: “May your children and your children’s children outlive you.” It’s become my prayer and my plea.

Two mothers, Constance and Princess lost their teenage sons to murder in Minneapolis’ north side. Another mother, Caroline, who lost her twelve year old son, Carter, to a freak accident at the park shared her story with me in the waiting room at urgent care as I clutched my feverish two year old two nights ago. She looked at me holding him, and said, “What I wouldn’t do for those snuggles again.” Her other son battles kidney failure. She wishes they had more kids as she sadly states, “My 16 year old does not want to be an only child.” Then, last night at my doula party, I sat and talked to another doula, Kelly, who shared her story of losing her 19 year old son, Tyler, last winter to carbon monoxide poisoning as he worked to install large booming speakers into his car with the engine running. With each story that I now hold, tears have filled my eyes and theirs.  Who knows what details will stick to memory? Caroline said, “I imagine Carter saying this one is really gonna be a good one as he launched the next rock. I imagine he died laughing. Happy.” Or Kelly who said, her girlfriend said “Tyler visited her and was very near God and said please tell my mom ‘I love her and that I am filled.’”

As I look at my sleeping Seamus and revel in his rubber band wrists grateful for his vitality for each of my boys lives, I accept how fragile and strong life really is, and that just like that it can snap, the band breaks and we are left to walk in those deep crevices like the ones sweetly forming, ever evolving on Seamus’ wrists.

We Wait

Patience Being in the now, that is what I am doing as I wait for our fourth to debut him or herself to us. My first due date has passed yesterday, my second one is imposing on me with it’s inevitable arrival tomorrow, and I wait. I know due dates are only estimations, a best guess as to when to hope your baby will emerge. And, while I have never been one to rush the baby out, knowing that they are easier to care for inside than out, I must admit this go around I am getting a little impatient. Just slightly. Perhaps I wouldn’t be, but my other two girlfriends due the same days as me have already received their babies, a boy and a girl respectively. Perhaps, if I didn’t feel like I might be pregnant for the next five years, I would be more ok with the wait.

So for now I am enjoying my big, round, full belly. The way this baby moves across my abdomen in waves and then pauses to extend his feet to the upper left, and stretch his fingers to the lower left while his back hammocks to the right like a crescent moon embraced. Or how occasionally I feel the baby bouncing on my waters, almost willing himself to come out like my others did by starting with the breaking of the waters, the seal that separates us. Or how at my touch to his foot he retracts and extends playfully. I release my fears I have of birth, of becoming a mother of four and embrace the amazing-ness that is my good fortune. This pregnancy I am grateful for winter caps and darling scarves that have helped keep my shedding head warm, and me feel somewhat normal when an abnormal thing is occurring. I am grateful for the love and amazing support Peter has been to the boys and myself.…knowing by now when I am having a hormonal shift that can’t be argued only assuaged and making meals, and singing for an hour every night to the boys at bedtime to settle them from Johnny Cash to the Beatles. I imagine his sound track he is creating with them will live with them for their lifetime, classic songs they will come across as they grow and listen to music. I am in deep awe of the wonderful girlfriends I have who support and encourage me. Some physically near and many far, all who call and check in and encourage, others who whisk me out for one last pedicure before baby—I’m donning blue toes at the moment, and text me to invite me over for pancakes. I go to bed in a sea of abundant gratitude, perhaps my last night pregnant, perhaps not, with the fortitude to wait for my baby’s sweet debut.

Birthing the present

This morning I was called in for a birth. The thrill and excitement never grows old as I prepare to drive to the hospital to meet the woman I will doula for through Woodwinds Volunteer Doula Program, I am humbled at what I may or may not encounter and the unknown that lies there. I have only been participating in this program for a little over a month and already I have been called four times. As I leave my house this morning, with the snow still falling after blanketing our yard with an additional four inches overnight, I catch myself contemplating my need for a ritual to mentally, physically, and spiritually prepare myself for someone's birth. The last one I attended was hard. While I have processed all that happened at her birth (much thanks to my conversation with you K!), which ended in cesarean after a long labor, and seen her since, I realize the need for such preparation. I have a ritual for after I leave a birth. I walk through snow. I wipe the souls of my feet clean and offer gratitude for the honor and opportunity to be at a birth, and blessings on the new babe and parents.

Today's birth was easy on me. I went in to meet the parents, they informed me that they just found out the baby was breech and that they were slotted for a cesarean and no longer felt they needed me. After talking with them, I was amazed at how at peace they were with this turn of events. I savored their ability to relax into their present reality. I think I would have gone kicking into that knowing that breech babies can be delivered vaginally if the care provider is willing and the mom advocates for it. I would have been calling in acupuncture and pleading for aversions--I mean an inversion. No I would not have gone gently into that change of course. This mom's optimistic resolve was inspiring. That is the lesson I took from her birth. She stayed right there with her present reality, pure acceptance.

I was home by noon. Happy to see my boys, tuck them in for a nap, and take some time for writing and rest myself. My writing soon became an invitation for a Zen sitting after I wrote my blog last night I became aware of how much I needed it and missed it. It went like this:
"Sink into silence I told myself, watch my breath-- I can do this."
Seconds later aware of the iPod still playing downstairs and U2 singing, I told myself, "Let go of the music."
Aware of the subtle noise of L. flipping pages of books in his bed, "Let go of the pages. Let go of whether L. naps or not."
Aware of the itch on my chin, "Let go of the itch, okay give into the itch." So I did.
Aware of my breath moving from my neck to my abdomen I heard my digestion at work, and gave gratitude for my breath now settling into my belly.
Aware of my baby kicking, "Let go of the baby, return to breath," and amazingly I finally sunk into a deeply relaxed state of silence able to neither be tempted away from it by distraction, nor needing to focus in on it. Just to be, and that gift from this morning's birth of being in the present sank to another level and my mind let go of the trillion tasks of life's little intrusions I hoped to tackle today, dry cleaners, laundry, writing, returns, etc. and for 15 blissful moments I was just as I am.

L asleep, although not from today, from many "presents" before when his naps were a given!