theatrical perspectives of childbirth

I saw a birth on television today. Not a real birth. A fake one. On a television show.

Usually I just roll my eyes and not give fake births on television any more thought. But today I really watched it, and it got me thinking: why are births portrayed the way they are on TV?

This birth began in the traditional television way: her waters broke. Of course I have actually only ever met one person in real life whose waters breaking were the first indication of impending labour. But until I was pregnant myself I was none the wiser that this is not the normal way for a labour to start.

From the moment of waters breaking, the next scene included the mother-to-be being rushed down a corridor in a wheelchair with a flood of anxious people running behind her. She, typically, was making wild accusations at anyone who would listen, yelling and carrying on about how much it hurt.

From there we enter the hospital theatre, where in a sea of blue plastic, about a million people coach the screaming woman to “push harder!” She responds by screaming various insults at them. When the head begins to crown the father-to-be takes a peek underneath the blue sheet covering the woman and grimaces in disgust at what he sees under there. The people around the bed frown and clasp their hands together. The fifteen odd people waiting in the waiting room pace and worry.

A few minutes later, as the mother lies expectantly and neatly in her bed, a nurse walks into the room and with gloved hands passes over a clean and shiny four month old baby wrapped in a blanket. They smile at each other and everyone sighs.

I understand that a real, true and natural birth in all its powerful glory, would probably be too boring to get ratings. I just wish that birth on TV might sometimes be shown in a relatively real way. I wish that TV didn’t matter, and that people didn’t gain so much of their “knowledge” from watching it. But sadly, the media has a huge influence on what we think, say, believe and do.

I doubt that the portrayal of birth on television will ever change. The main reason it concerns me is because I have my own two girls, who may one day decide to have children of their own. I don’t want them to think that the story above is anything like what birth is all about. From now until that day arrives, I will be doing everything in my power to teach them about real birth. In my house, birth will never be something that is disgusting, painful, horrible, gross or worse: unspoken.

I hope that when my babies watch fake births on TV they will be able to watch and laugh, knowing a fact that is fast becoming a secret in our society: fake births on TV are just that, fake.

My hope for them is that they will reach down and be the first to touch their babies being born into this world. That they might be the ones to first see if they have birthed a boy or a girl. That they will enjoy the power of their bodies being unleashed as they meet their baby for the very first time. That they might lie quietly in the moments after giving birth holding their babies and feeling the warm, slick weight of them on their bare chests, no matter where they choose to be. That they don’t listen when people doubt or scoff at them. That even if things don’t go to plan, that they spend their pregnancies, and their lives, believing that they can give birth and that normal birth is a normal thing.

I hope that they grow up knowing that as women their bodies are capable of more mystery, subtlety, grace, power and miracle than they will ever be able to fathom. And that that is the real normal.

20/52

“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week in 2013…”

Birdie: She insists on pulling this face while pretending to be a baby. It comes paired with the traditional “baby voice”. Although this actually drives me quite insane, I didn’t want to forget.

The Pixie: A pixie and her top knot. My poor heart. 

Joining in with Jodi for the 52 project.

19/52

“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week in 2013…”

Birdie: I couldn’t resist a sisters shot, with Birdie looking so grown up and all… 

The Pixie: The concentration involved in commanding young fingers to do what you will them to do. 

Joining in with Jodi for the 52 project.

oh so tired

I miss you when I’m not here, little blog.

I think of you often. Sometimes I thread words together along tiny lines in my head. Sometimes I think I should write them down. I mainly don’t. I think: that is such a great sentence, I totally won’t forget it. Then it floats away and the memory of each word becomes faint and distant.

So here I am, sleeping baby in left arm, typing with right hand. Looking out from the couch at a sea of dishes in the kitchen. Thinking about the stewed apple and cream I wanted to make for my dessert. I may be able to type relatively well one-handed but unfortunately for me I can’t cut up an apple. In the spirit of honesty I will admit to you that in my one-handed frustration I may have had a few spoonfuls of cream straight from the tub.

I am so very tired, little blog. This baby that I continually come to tell you about is not much of a sleeper and it has me in all manner of muddles.

She has taken to bottle feeding like a… hmm can’t think of the saying, the only thing coming to mind is “like a dog on heat” and I think that is highly inappropriate… [so insert appropriate line here, reader]. What I mean to say is that she really likes the bottle. It’s peaceful and lovely compared to breastfeeding and I’ve slowly come around to our decision. I can even go so far as to say I’m so happy we took this path. She likes food too, amazing as I didn’t predict this. All of these things had this mother fooled. You see, I thought that once she started feeding and eating happily and well, the sleep thing would just fall into place.

What is this baby trying to do to me?!

Not only is she an unsettled sleeper overnight, but she has now decided that day sleeps aren’t all that much chop either. In the last fortnight she has had two (TWO) naps longer than 40 minutes. Today she had two sleeps (out of the five times I attempted to get her to sleep). One was a 30 minute nap, the second 40 minutes. That was it. At seven months old I really think it would be beneficial for everyone involved if she had a little more than that? It’s 9.30pm now. Between 7pm and now she has gone to sleep and woken four times. So here I sit, enjoying the cuddle time very much but worrying and scheming and thinking about how to get her to sleep for longer. Because all those good things like growth and healing and dreams happen when you sleep, right?

I’m at a loose end people.

Tell me, do your babies sleep? Do you rock them, do you let them cry? Do you wear them in a sling, do you take them for a drive, do you pat them? Or do you just put them in their cots to have them drift off into peaceful slumber like some of my friends… (grrrr!)

I would love some good advice.

18/52

“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week in 2013…”

Birdie: Concentrating on some painting. I love watching her truly engage in a task. 

The Pixie: My crazy-haired, wide-eyed pixie baby, I can find no words for the love I feel looking at this picture. 

Joining in with Jodi for the 52 project.

on the fly

Firstly I must say a very warm and heartfelt thank you to those who have commented on my last post, emailed me, texted me, called me, hugged me. Thank you dear friends, family and readers! I really do appreciate your kind words and thoughts, particularly in times of tough decision making and shitty/unplanned outcomes as I have been experiencing around here.

About a month ago I was lucky enough to be given a leave pass to use a massage voucher I was given for Christmas. I see my naturopath for massages every now and then which are absolutely amazing and a wonderful treat. We were talking as I lay on the table, about this and that. Usually we talk about True Blood and life. True Blood hasn’t been a discussion point of late as we are waiting for Season 6, so it was mainly just life that was being discussed. She advised me to wait four weeks. Just wait. To give myself four weeks without thinking too much about this dilemma and that dilemma. Without wondering who I am and where I’m going and if I’m breastfeeding or what type of mother I am or where we are going to live or whether the sky is blue for any particular reason or whether or not there is life in outer-space (I do wonder this, do you?). She assured me that things would fall into place.

This was a harder task than one would imagine, but I tried hard and kind of managed to succeed.

And fall into place, things did!

In the last week I have gone from the point where I could not make a decision about whether or not to take the rubbish out, to suddenly seeing so much clarity around me. Perhaps coming to the end of breastfeeding and making such an enormously difficult decision has cleared some space in my mind. Yes, probably. Perhaps getting a few hours of extra sleep has removed some fog. Who knows.

I have learnt a few things on this motherly path. I experienced this influx of “life questions” on-mass last time I was on maternity leave. Maternity leave is wonderful: it is fun and tiring and expansive. It’s also a time that I personally feel kind of withdrawn from the rest of society. For me, it is like stepping away from the “real” world (I hesitate to say that, as I think being a mother is pretty much as real as it gets), taking time out and not having the external hustle and bustle going on that distracts you from you. Maternity leave has given me the time and space to think (too much?) about my life and where I am headed, despite being physically and environmentally busier than I have ever been in my life.

Excuse all this, I have had two coffees today which we all know is against the rules for me, so I am not really sure where this is going or if it makes sense to any of you.

I had kind of a premonition the other day. I’m just about due to go back to uni (naturopathy degree) after a year off. We are balancing some figures and wondering how long we can last without me going back to work. Things have been vague and for a while now I have had a niggling feeling in my gut that has been questioning my path. Do I forget about uni for now and go back to community development and disability? Do I change plans again and do something completely different? Who the bloody hell am I? What do I like? What am I good at? I felt insanely jealous of people who have just fallen into something they feel passionate about and who totally love going to work every day. I had pretty much decided to forget everything and think about it again when my girls are in Primary School.

Then, the epiphany. What do I like most outside my family and kids? What am I drawn to? What am I interested in? What do I think about when I think about a future career in naturopathy and how I would treat patients? What do I like to do? What do I think about? What excites me? What do I want to learn about? What do I read books about? What do I like searching on google?

The answer came to me a couple of nights ago at around 2.30am as I sat up in bed cradling the Pixie in my arms in the dark:

FOOD.

I LOVE FOOD. I love thinking about it, cooking it, learning about it. I love how good food, real food, can influence our lives, our health, our happiness and our communities. I love the connection between good nutrition and community. My community development background urges me to learn how to teach other people about it, help pregnant women to navigate it, to show new mummies how to introduce it to their kidlets. It feels like a fit, a fantastic melding together of my current skills and future goals. My gut said YES! I said YES! This is it! I could hardly contain myself from waking the just-sleeping baby in my lap to tell her.

The very next day, I rang uni and began the process of transferring from naturopathy to nutritional medicine. I go back in four weeks (part time!).

Flying by the seat of my pants? Absolutely!

Excited? Finally feeling in my gut that I am doing the right thing? Many questions evaporated from my mind? YES!

I am a true believer, particularly since becoming a mum, of listening to your gut. It usually tells you what is right and wrong. From wondering if your baby is sick, to making big life decisions. Once the fog has cleared, you know most of the answers already.

Have you guys made any big decisions this week? Are you at a turning point? Do you wonder where life is going to take you?

coming around, slowly

I am no longer breastfeeding the Pixie.

I had to stare at that sentence for a moment. It’s only been the last few days that I can think that sentence, say it out loud, hear it, without the tears welling up in my eyes.

Six and a half months of struggle. Six and a half months of stress and fighting, every three to four hours around the clock. Brief windows of hope. Brief moments of thinking it was going to be ok. Countless appointments and consultations. Endless advice. Many, many, many tears of upset, anger and frustration. Questions as to whether my baby would love me, and how we would bond if we didn’t get this right, get it sorted. Wondering why. Putting on a brave face, smiling and nodding when people asked how I was, how we all were. Fine, great, good, thanks for asking. Telling the truth to some, lying to most simply because I couldn’t be bothered.

All culminating in me falling in a rather large and undignified heap a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t even make it through my four week plan. Such a lengthy time of stress surrounding breastfeeding and such a drastic crash in my ability to function made me ask the question:

What is more important? Breast milk and this continual stress? Or my sanity and a bottle?

After much agonising I have chosen the latter.

When I finally accepted what I truly knew in my heart to be the right decision, the black curtains slowly began to lift. I won’t lie, I am having a lot of help through this period from my family, my naturopath and the wonderful brown tinted bottles of herbs she keeps supplying me, and my yoga practice. I know in the grand scheme of the world we live in, this is hardly a disaster. Yet for me, it is my own little personal tragedy.

I have an ever-expanding sense of compassion and sorrow for all the women in the world who, for whatever reason, have been unable to breastfeed their babies at all, or for as long as they may have hoped. I am ashamed that before this experience I held some degree of judgement towards these women, without any understanding of their personal situation. 

The first time I cradled the Pixie to feed her a warm bottle of goat’s milk formula without attempting to breastfeed or express first, she looked deep into my pooled eyes and reached up to stroke my cheek. She drank her bottle and fell asleep in my arms. 

Now, I am consciously, physically and whole-heartedly moving onto our new path together. This will be a time of new beginnings, new rhythms, new routines. It is also a time for me to heal and cleanse myself and be kinder.

Change is afoot.