Mama Feminista

Because Breastfeeding is Beautiful

I am in love with this website, Beautiful Breastfeeding, which also has a FB page (until FB wipes it for "obscenity," of course)!

It showcases hundreds of truly beautiful images of breastfeeding in ancient through modern times. As my nursling and I move through this second year of nursing, I have gotten a lot of inspiration and wisdom from other nursing moms. Seeing images of other nursing moms and babies is affirming and a real joy.

Here are a few of my favorites:

I have seen this little eye many a time over the nearly 16 months that I have nursed little Lulu.  It's a sweet little look no mama could ever forget.

This painting, by Kate Hansen, is part of entire series called the "Madonna and Child Project." This one is just gorgeous with soft light and the sweet little hand on mommy's heart. I also love that she's nursing her toddler. Because this is the stage of nursing that we are at, I found myself connecting to the images of nursing toddlers the most.

This is a recreation of what happens half a dozen times a day as big sister hangs out with us while little sister nurses. Except I don't usually look so fierce and graceful.

I'm not tandem nursing, but this made me think of my friends who tandem nurse. Mama's smile and the playful look on the older child's face are really engaging.

By far this mother's outfit is better looking than most "nursingwear." It just shows that you can nurse in just about anything.

They have a lovely animal gallery. We are all mammals, after all.

(Note: The image sources can be a little tricky to find, but if you download the image, the title and artist will come up in the "save as" box. On their FB page, the citations are easier to find.)

Mama Feminista's Bookshelf: Books for Girls and Boys

Even though it is challenging to find books that represent girls in ways that are empowering, there are some beautiful books that feature girls which would be fun additions to any child's library.

 Some of our current favorites right now are:

Marisol McDonald Doesn't Match, by Monica Brown (Ages 1-8*)

This bilingual book is aimed at kids 4-8, but even our one year old is engaged by the quirky and colorful illustrations. The text is presented twice, once in English and once in Spanish. My Marisol is 3 and this book is her favorite not only because it has her name in it (although that is so cool for a little kid), but because Marisol McDonald is a strong, independent, smart girl. 

The story begins by establishing that Marisol "doesn't match" because she has her Irish dad's red hair, and her Latina mom's brown skin.  She also likes to wear bright mismatched clothes in whatever combination pleases her. Even when she plays, she doesn't like to be limited to just playing one kind of game--she wants to play pirates and soccer. She tries to match one day and, thankfully, finds that matching is possible, but not that much fun. She decides, along with her teacher's support, to go back to being exactly who she is.

The story touches on issues of race and gender, but doesn't do it in an obvious way. The kids in the story are of different races, and it's never mentioned.  Most of all, Marisol McDonald's story shows that we don't need to conform in order to be loved. 

Chavela and the Magic Bubble, also by Monica Brown (Ages 1-8*)

This bilingual story is probably aimed at kids a bit older, but my 1 year old LOVES this book. She squeals with delight everytime we read it. I think it's because of the amazing illustrations which are rich and vibrant.  Like Marisol McDonald, the text is complete in both languages, so you don't need to know Spanish to get the whole narrative. The story is simple and sweet--little Chavela loves bubble gum and one day her abuela buys her a piece of magical gum. 

This gum takes her flying into Mexico to a chicle farm, where she meets a little girl who tells her of the farmers who harvest the chicle.  In the end, it turns out that the little girl she met was Chavela's own grandmother, sharing the family history as agricultural workers. The story is magical and tender. The relationship between the grandmother and granddaughter is portrayed lovingly and made me nostalgic for my own abuelita.

Ladybug Girl and Ladybug Girl at the Beach, by Jacky Davis and David Soman (Ages 1-8*)

You've probably heard of this popular series, but we love it too much to leave it out. Lulu is an independent, creative, funny, and kind girl.  There is so much to like about her character. She is shown playing independently in the stories--exploring the wood behind her house, playing on the beach and having all kinds of imagined and real adventures with her dog as her only company.  

Grown-ups are not central figures in the stories. It's about Lulu and her world. She does try to play with her brother, but when he leaves her out for being "too little," she finds ways to make her own fun.

One of the things I appreciate about these books, which you can see in the Beach book is that Lulu is drawn like a real girl, with a healthy little tummy. She isn't given a prematurely tiny waist and hips like what happend to Dora recently. (I'm still sad about that!) No. Lulu is a strong, healthy girl with a wild imagination who learns to overcome her fears and find adventures.

This is not just a great book for girls, though. Boys need to read stories like this too because this is what girls are really like. They are not all damsels in distress or princesses or mommies. They are kids, looking for an adventure, just like boys!  I think boys would be able to relate just as well to being told they are "too little" by a bigger kid or being afraid of the ocean. (All the books on this list would be well-suited to all kids.)

Color Kittens, by Margaret Wise Brown (Ages 1-5)

We were just given this book for christmas in a board book edition--yay for board books!  It's not about girls or race or anything, except colors and the fun that can be had making new colors and painting. But I'm listing it here because unlike MOST books with animals, including most Golden Books, the kittens are gender-free. Woohoo! No, seriously, WOOHOO! The kittens are never referred to as male or female, so we can make them girls if we want or leave them genderless. It is so refreshing not to have another animal book that is by default all about male animals.  

Also, it's a very very cute little book with adorable illustrations. It's fun to read and our girls enjoy the whimsical drawings.

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I plan to keep posting media that is either girl-positive or just plain not sexist. I hope you enjoy this beginning and I'd love suggestions for future inclusion in the series. We are always looking for books that depict gender equality, diversity, and all other healthy things.

Happy Reading!

*Note: the age range is just my estimation of what age child would enjoy this story. The publisher's have their own reading level guide, but I'm assuming we are reading to our children, so my ranges start earlier.

 

Give Dads Some Credit for 2012

Many moms, myself included, often shoulder more of the responsibility when it comes to caretaking, including caring for the children, the home, and our partners. We often sacrifice self-care to take care of everyone else. In the past, I thought this was just how it had to be, so I tried to be supermom, superwife, and superworker. But that left me superexhausted and superoverwhelmed!

Even though I realized, years ago, that I needed to give him my husband credit, I still struggle with this, and sometimes default to trying to do everything myself, completely ignoring the fact that my husband is a competent adult. 

Keep reading about my plans to give credit where its due this year at MomsLA, where I am a new contributor...

Sexism on the Children's Book Shelf

Sometimes I wish I could turn off my "feminist lens" and not see everything with gender and equality in mind because frankly, it's exhausting.

It would be so much easier to be satisfied with media that either segregates girls into pink ghettos or leaves them out completely, since that's what is currently available in mainstream culture. But I want so much better for my girls. I want them to see characters like them in awesome movies (cough, Pixar, cough). I don't need most things to be girl-centered, but would like most things not to erase girls by omitting them from the universe (see Reel Girl's post on Tin Tin), or representing them in ways that are patronizing.  

Women and girls are a part of this world and erasing them from popular narratives is a potent form of sexist erasure. 

Fortunately, my "feminist lens" is not just part of my point of view; it IS my point of view. I can't help it. And even though it is exhausting and often demoralizing to see how much gender inequality exists, it is also crucial to my work as a mother because it is my job to teach my children that people of all genders matter and can be powerful.

Let's Talk About Books

Oh, man. We love books round these parts, but starting with board books there are PROBLEMS, people. Problems.  Right now, the overwhelming majority of popular kids' media features mostly boys and grossly excludes girls.

A few surprising examples from our own book collection (that we bought ourselves):

This book looks totally cute, right? Well, it is, except that all the characters are either gender neutral or male.  Now, the characters are toddlers, so they mostly look gender neutral (as long as you are willing to believe that girls wear non-pink clothes, which we do), but whenever there is a gendered pronoun, it is male.  We have kept this book because it's easy to switch the genders when we read it, and in fact, with a magic marker, even the text only needs an "s" on a couple of pages to make the representation 50/50 male to female.  I just have to wonder though, why didn't it occur to the lovely Karen Katz that a girl might want to be a superhero too?

 Okay, so you're thinking I'm just too picky, right? Well, I would agree, except...

 I love Curious George! He's just so.... curious. He perfectly embodies the desire that all children have to explore and play. His stories are great fun. My issue is that in many of his stories there are exactly ZERO female characters. From his "friend with the yellow hat" to the bumbling officers, it's a land of men, not just species-wise.  I was thrilled recently to find one book with a female paleontologist! A woman and a scientist! We'll be adding that one to our collection for sure. It almost made me want to forgive H.A. Rey. Almost.

Then there's this:

I know, I KNOW. It's Sesame Street! We adore Sesame Street! We watch that Feist video a million times! But the Street has a problem and it's that there are almost no females there, and those that do occasionally hang out, like Betty Lou, or more recently, Abby Cadabby, tend to be on the boring side and very traditionally gendered.  Elmo and Grover and Cookie and Grouch are beloved not because they are male, but because they are cool and have great adventures and are hilarious.

Can't they just have whoever does those characters do female ones, the SAME way, but call them Greta and Ella? That would be so much better than this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although, for full disclosure, I do kind of love Rosita.  More like her, and less faeries/ballerinas please.

But for sure, no more: 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poor Prairie Dawn always just made me sad. 

Okay, so that got a little silly. But do you see what I'm saying here?  Even in super cool books for kids, like this one:

 There is ONLY ONE main female character. She's the mouse with the big black eyes and poofy hair-do. While the other characters all get a neat little character description, such as "Ming...the one who made all the decisions," "Butterscotch," the female mouse, is described as "the girl in the group." Because being a female is her only quality? WTF!!?!?!?! This one really made me mad because the writer herself is female, and contemporary, and this is an otherwise pretty groovy comic storybook for kids.  As you can see, there are six main characters in the book. I don't even need the title character to be female, but why not the friendly bunny, or even just a couple more mice? We live in a world where half the population is female. I don't get it.  To be completely fair, there are some human characters at the end of the book, which play a small role in the story.  Including those, the population of the book is 21 characters: 12 male, 9 female. But most of those human characters appear only once, briefly, as in one of a group with no lines. By the end, there are 3 females total with a line, and 8 males total with one or more lines. Crappy.

I could go on. But I won't. Not today, at least. I just wanted to show that having a feminist lens is important even for parents of real young kids. I don't want my children growing up only hearing stories about boys, or just as bad, only hearing interesting stories about boys and thinking that girls can only be princesses and ballerinas. They can be that, and so so much more.  

We haven't gotten rid of the books listed here. They are still here, right over on the children's bookshelf.  We don't want our girls to miss out on these cool stories, but we make a great effort to add female counterparts to these narratives.

It shouldn't be this hard. It should be easy and it's not. I remember growing up learning that it was traditional to use the male pronoun as the default and thinking how antiquated that seemed. Sadly, that's still the norm in most children's books; stories which could be about either boys or girls, or about both, default to being stories just about boys, for no good reason. 

We have found some pretty awesome books that include girls in them, and I'll be sure to post those soon and to keep posting those to encourage other parents to share stories with their girls AND boys that represent the real world, the one with girls and women in them. It's a good world.

Toys for Girls

It's Christmastime and that means that we have been thinking about toys around here. What toys would the kids enjoy? What toys will be most fun, most educational, most lasting, and most loved? It's apt then, that this LEGO controversy has blown up right now. Instead of explaining all the things I hate about the new LEGOs for girls, I want to focus on the positive and what I look for in toys and product advertising for girls (aka "children"). Ironically, LEGO's own ads from the 1970's illustrate some of the most important things perfectly:

Exhibit A of a Great Toy for Girls (aka "children"): LEGO blocks

Some of the text is worth transcribing: "Have you ever seen anything like it? Not just what she's made, but how proud it's made her. It's a look you'll see whenever children build something all by themselves. No matter what they've created. Younger children build for fun . . . LEGO Universal Building Sets will help your children discover something very, very special: themselves."

Why is this a great toy?

1. The toy is versatile. There is no limit to what LEGOs can become. Our own modest set of LEGOs have been everything from a robot, to a mom, to a phone, to a car, to a monster, to a fire station, to a zoo, and much, much more. It just takes a little imagination, which is abundant when kids are allowed play freely.

2. The toy requires the child "do things;" the toy does not "do things." LEGOs can become a phone if the child makes them one. Then she can pick it up and "dial," and "call" anyone she wants. Heck, it can become a piano, with some of that good old imagination. It does not make sounds or  move--the child makes sounds and moves.

3. The toy encourages both interactive and solo-play. This toy can be used by a parent and child, or children together, but it can also be used by a single child. In all scenarios, it makes for lasting play. At 3 and 1 our girls easily play LEGOs for 20-45 minutes.

4. The toy is educational. LEGOs encourage the development of mathematical and spacial skills, fine motor skills, and basic skills such as color recognition.

5. The toy is beautiful. This goes a long way towards my enjoyment of a toy, but I think it's true for kids as well. LEGOs in their bright bold colors and geometric shapes are aesthetically pleasing.

6. The toy is durable. LEGOs will last many years not just because they are nearly indestructible, but also because it takes about a dozen years for kids to "outgrow" them. Then, they can be passed on.

Now, the advertisement is pretty rad too and an image I would be happy for my daughter to see, unlike so many media images and advertisements aimed at children.

What makes this a great ad?

Well, she is clearly happy, and as the ad says, PROUD. I would love to find out the behind-the-scenes and whether or not the girl actually built her awesome structure or if some advertising person did that. In any case, she looks like she just built it herself. She looks like a healthy, strong girl because she is standing up straight, facing the camera, and in a wide stance.  She looks not just like an advertisement for playing with this toy, but an advertisement for PLAY.  Her clothes look comfortable. There are no baby high heels here. She can run and jump in those clothes. She can do anything.

 Here's another good example from LEGO: 

This ad emphasizes pride again, and specifically, pride at having made something, not "having something." It's the difference between feeling a sense of worth because they received something or because they did something. One is a gift, another is an accomplishment.

She seems to have made a cool trolley or train, while he made an airplane. This ad illustrates that boys AND girls can build, can enjoy a full spectrum of colors, can play TOGETHER, and most of all, it celebrates imagination.

Now. These are the types of images and toys that get Mama Feminista's stamp of approval. 

Here's hoping that the new line of LEGOs, which fails to meet several of the expectations listed above, is a temporary foray in the wrong direction.

Want to have your say on LEGOs new line?: People are going to Lego’s Facebook page and posting the cool older ads to protest the new toy line. If you want to join in,  go to Lego’s FB page, click "like," and then post.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

My family has always celebrated Thanksgiving, and as long as I remember it has marked the official start of the holiday season. Last year, I wrote about how mi familia comes together for the holidays, and how it makes for a crowded and busy time. Now that I have a family of my own, we alternate holidays with each side of the family, allowing our kids the opportunity to form memories with everyone in their large, beautiful, diverse family.

Our differences are something that I give thanks for, this year and every year.

Click here to read more of my reflections on Thanksgiving this year , over at Spanglishbaby.

Birth Stories: Part Three

To read about my first birth, visit Birth Stories: Part One

To read about my second birth (the start of this story), visit Birth Stories, Part Two

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I said goodnight to Gabe as he headed to bed. It was 10pm, and I got settled on the couch, with some towels, just in case. I laid there and tried to sleep through the increasing contractions, but around midnight Gabe came down to find me on hands and knees doing "cat-cow" yoga stretches in an attempt to ease the contractions. He laughed and said, "this is happening tonight."

But I still wasn't sure. I was in some pain, but it didn't feel overwhelming, like my first labor. It just felt like really deep powerful cramps. I was scared that if we went to the hospital, they would tell me to go back home or that I would only be a a few centimeters dilated and they would want to induce. So we hung out for another twenty or thirty minutes, timing the contractions, which were probably coming every 5-6 minutes and lasting a minute.

Soon, we thought it was a good time for Gabe to call his sister to come spend the night with Marisol. I was sure that these contractions were not going away. I was excited, but still fearful that what I was experiencing wasn't the "real thing." I called the OB and he said that I was perfectly right to come on in and then I called our doula. We packed up the last few things for the hospital, and I had some fruit and water.

When Gabe went out to let his sister in the gate, our dog started barking, and I had to chase him around trying to quiet him down in the middle of a powerful contraction. When Gabe and his sister came in they found me yell-whisper-cursing at the dog! We gave Jessica some last minute instructions and I laughed at her look of worry when she saw me lean over the counter during a contraction. It was getting serious and we headed out the door, eager to meet our new girl.

The ride to the hospital was extremely vivid. My vision felt really sharp and the streetlights sparkled brightly as we drove towards the hospital downtown. For some reason, that ride stayed with me and to this day when I hear the song we listened to on the way there, I am taken right back to that ride, filled with anticipation and hopeful that the strong pains I was feeling would lead to a good birth and a healthy baby.

Arriving at the hospital, I felt briefly like the main character in a movie as I waddled down the hallways, pausing every few miutes to lean against the wall during contractions. When we checked in, the nurse asked Gabe if I was in active labor, then looked around the window to see me, hands pressed against the wall and breathing deeply. "Yup," she said and got us checked into a room. It was just past midnight.

I was expecting some resistance from the nurses because I was a VBAC and I did not want an IV and wanted only intermittent monitoring. The nurse did go over the risks with us and made some passing comment about VBACs being risky, but then she let it go. Our doctor is known for doing VBACs and the nurses respect him, so they knew that we were knowledgeable and not going to change our minds.

When the nurse checked my cervix, I was so scared that she was going to tell me I was at a three, still. But I wasn't. I was six centimeters dilated! I felt a rush of relief. I had only gotten to a six with Marisol, and that had felt like torture. I still felt good this time and was at a six. I was so so happy! I finally believed that this time could be different.

Right after that good news, our doula, Cat, came in. She too, was happy at the news. The next few hours were a blur of contractions and chatting. I stayed out of bed, except for when the nurse needed me to sit for the intermittent monitoring, which was only for ten minutes at a time. Those ten minutes were challenging because sitting was the most painful position to be in, and the least helpful for progressing. Mostly, it went like this: every few minutes I would get a contraction and I would stand in front of Gabe, who was seated on the bed. He would rub my neck and shoulders while Cat, who was seated on a chair behind me, would rub small circles on my lower back. That was all I needed to get thorugh the pains.

As soon as we got into the delivery room, I got into the shower with Gabe and let the hot water do the work. I leaned my head against Gabe and let the water flow over my big belly. The pain almost vanished. Cat and Gabe were amazing again: they kept me drinking fluids and going to the bathroom regularly, and kept me positive. At about 6am, I started asking about an epidural. I was still at a six and very very tired. I wanted to take a nap with the epidural and then turn it off to keep laboring. Looking back, I see that was a silly plan, because I was so close to the end, but I just wanted to sleep a bit.

Gabe and Cat were the perfect measure of support and understanding. They reminded me of why I wanted a natural birth, but said that I should do what I wanted to. I called the OB and asked him if he thought that getting an epidural would lessen my chances of a vaginal birth. He said it would be fine either way and that some rest might do me good. So, I kept stalling and waiting. I finally decided around 8am that we should ask the anesthesiologist to come in, but soon found out that I was at 7 cm and that the anesthesiologist was in surgery. At that point my OB  headed over.

I sat in the bed and refused to keep walking around, like I had been, because I knew that walking would make me complete, and I wanted to take a nap. So I sat there and waited. When the OB came in, I told him I didn't think he would let me get the epidural anymore, and he promised me that he would, even if I was complete. He leaned me back and checked me. Then he quickly said, "I'm going to pop your waters." He popped my bag of waters with his fingers and declared: "you're ready to push your baby out." I cried with relief, joy, and surprise.

Then he asked me, "do you still want that epidural?" "No!" I said. He would have given it to me then, I think , because he is that kind of guy. But I was ready to push her out. I was in pain, but glad that I was actually going to give birth! At this point, my OB said he had to step out, but left me with the nurse to get to work.

So I pushed. I spent the next hour pushing with the help of a nurse, Cat, Gabe, and then my OB when he returned.  To be honest, the pressure that my doc and the nurse applied hurt more than the baby and my main motivation became to get their hands out of me by getting the baby out.  In retrospect, I think I should have tried switching positions, but I was so focused on following my nurse and OB's guidance that I just stayed put and pushed when I got the urge--which was every few minutes.

I was so eager to have her out. Every time I pushed I felt like she should be coming out, but she wasn't. I kept asking "Where is she?" not quite sure what I was hoping to hear.   I focused on Cat and her encouraging quiet presence as she held my hand.  Gabe was also by my side, but he was too interested in seeing Lucia's head to hold my gaze like I needed. I felt the ring of fire, but took it as a good sign because it meant Lucia was really finally moving through me towards the world.

The feeling of pushing out a body from my body was strange. It felt slippery and hot and just all of a sudden after all that waiting. My OB told me they had to check her real quick because there had been a bit of meconium, but that was fast, and the OB stitched up a small tear while she got cleaned up.  I asked him if she had a cleft palate and the NICU team checked and reported that she had an intact palate.

I smiled and looked over at my doula (Gabe was with Lucia a few feet away) and said "I pushed a baby out my vagina!" That sounds silly, but for a mom who had her first baby cut out of her abdomen, that's a big deal.  I was so proud and so relieved!

Soon, Gabe handed me my second daughter and she was gorgeous! She was almost a pound and a half larger than Marisol, but otherwise seemed identical. My doula helped me latch her on to nurse and that's how we spent the next hour or so, nursing and dozing and smiling and laughing at this new life that had come so joyfully into our lives.

That day--except for the joy of getting to meet my amazing girls--was the exact opposite of my first birth. Where I felt physically and mentally exhausted and spent with the c-section, I felt physically and mentally exuberant. Yes, I was in some pain, but I also felt an incredible rush of endorphins that masked the pain incredibly well!  Where I felt incapable of caring for Marisol because I couldn't nurse her or change her or anything, I felt incredibly capable the second time. I was nursing, I was walking, I was moving around and lifting her and hugging my visitors! I know that some of the difficulty of my first experience was the long labor and birth, and some of it was also the shock of learning that my child had a cleft palate and that we wouldn't have the nursing relationship I had hoped.

I cannot explain how this birth changed me except to say that it many many ways it healed me. It's ironic because vaginal birth is not easy, and I certainly needed to heal from it as well, but the physical traumas of the birth not only healed over time, the birth itself healed many emotional wounds.

In the coming weeks, we would go on to have some nursing issues (oversupply!!!), but mostly, Lucia was an easy baby who now as a toddler still loves to cuddle and nurse with me. She and her sister have taught me how to be a mother and made me a stronger woman. I could not be more thankful to each of them. 

Birth Stories: Part Two

Recently, I shared my second birth experience with a relative who is expecting her second son. I was the only mom she knew who had even attempted a VBAC and she was interested because she was hoping to at least consider a VBAC, but was getting resistance from her health care provider.

I was happy to share my experience and only wish that more moms would talk about their VBACs. It's not surprising that she had a hard time finding someone to share her VBAC experience. According to the March of Dimes, only between 6.8-8% of women with a previous cesearean will have a VBAC. This is unfortunate, because 74% of women who attempt VBACs will be able to deliver vaginally and avoid surgery. A mom who delivers surgically is often told that she has to have surgery again because, "Once a C, always a C;" her baby is breech; her pelvis is too small (extremely rare in developed coountries), she went postdate, or she is having twins, etc. The reality is that most of the time, if the pregnancy is otherwise healthy, a mom can  deliver vaginally after a cesarean--safely.

Anyhow, I apologize for the technical birthspeak, but I know that when I was researching my options for Lucia's birth, I wanted tech speak; I also wanted inspiring stories, but I'm not a fool. Even if something sounds lovely and amazing, if it has been proven to be dangerous, then I wouldn't consider it. Luckily, when it comes to Vaginal Birth After Cesearean (VBAC), the National Institutes of Health, The American Council of Obsteticians and Gynecologisits, and the World Health Organization all agree that it is a safe option in most cases. That's what I found and that's what I wish all healthcare providers would share with their patients.If you'd like more information, just google them or go straight to the International Cesarean Awareness Network.

Here's my personal story:

Because my first birth experience was so traumatic for me, one of the first things I did once I found out I was pregnant was try to process that experience. After Marisol's birth, I thought about it a lot for a few months, replaying the events in my head, trying to see what could have gone differently.  But then, with time, I stopped thinking about it.

The knowledge of my pregnancy brought back a lot of feelings from the postpartum period: fear, sadness, regret, guilt, anger. I sat down and told myself the story of that first birth. I was surprised to remember things I hadn't even been conscious of before. For example, I hadn't really realized that relatives other than Gabe had gotten to hold Marisol before I did. But that was one of many things that was overwhelmingly painful for me.

Basically, I cried like a baby as I relived it. I needed to do that though--to go through it and figure out what I was so afraid of. Once I had done that, I was able to talk with Gabe coherently about my fears, my hopes, and try to figure out how we could make sure the second time around was a better experience. At the top of our minds was our concern that Marisol's cerebral palsy had been caused by the trauma of the induction during the decelerations that had so alarmed the medical team and us. We wanted to avoid that, yet we knew that only so much was within our power.

I had switched providers soon after my first birth and was working with an OB well-known and loved by LA moms for doing VBACs. This was probably the most important choice I made in preparation for a second birth: my OB was smart, kind, caring, and communicative. He let me know from the get-go that he would support my wish for a VBAC, as long as it was safe to do so. Almost every time we met, he told me he wished, I "would go into labor a bit ahead of schedule and have a wonderful birth." It became a refrain in my mind, almost a mantra.

I tried to get myself into a strong frame of mind. I told myself that it would be okay to go to 42 weeks and beyond, so long as the baby looked good. I didn't let myself linger on the due date, to avoid feeling like it was some kind of deadline. I scheduled myself to work until three days before my due date, figuring that would give me at least five days or a week to relax before the birth. I played out different scenarios in my mind: if I go post-date, how supportive would my OB be? If I have to have a cesearean how could I make the experience a better one? If I go into labor naturally, how will I labor at home?

I envisioned the birth I wanted, but also tried to plan for a range of possibilities. To that end, I stopped carrying Marisol around, taught her to get into and out of her carseat and other chairs, got her used to climbing up into my lap to snuggle, and other little things that I figured would make recovery from surgery easier on the both of us. I also tried to stack the deck in favor of a natural, vaginal birth: I went for prenatal acupuncture, prenatal chiropracty, did prenatal yoga, ate a healthy and rich diet, walked and tried to rest as much as I could.

I felt vibrant and strong during the pregnancy, and felt positive about the labor. I made it all the way to that last day of work, feeling good. I was lucky; even though it was late September, it had been a mercifully mild summer. That morning of my first day of maternity leave, labor started.

We thought it would be the day because the contractions were pretty strong. We spent extra time in bed cuddling with Marisol, aware that it could have been our last morning as a family of three, that soon there would be another baby in bed with us. After breakfast, we took Marisol over to my friend's house and headed into the doctor's for my scheduled appointment. We took our time as things didn't seem to be moving fast. And they weren't. The contractions were strong but they were not getting closer together. I was 3 cm. dilated and 50% effaced, but not in active labor.

My OB told us it could be a week or a day. We would just have to wait and see. I appreciated that he did not say, "Okay, time to induce and get this puppy going." I love that he was willing to let my body do its thing. So we went to lunch and then we went home and took a nap, knowing the nights would be wakeful from there on out, and picked up Marisol.

That night, Friday night, the contractions got stronger. I stayed downstairs on the couch, occassionally timing them, but mostly, falling in and out of sleep. Come Saturday morning, I was tired. I considered going for a long walk, or maybe climbing some stairs to get things going, but I decided to call my OB and see what he thought. I also called our doula. Both of them agreed that it would be best for me to just relax as much as I could because this prodomal labor could last for days, and when it was time, my body would go into active labor on its own. I just needed to eat and rest and get ready.

I was so thankful for that advice and gladly took it. The contractions came all day, waning only sporadically so I could take a nap in the afternoon. But it wasn't active labor. Yet. We spent that day getting the house super-clean and hanging out with Marisol, cuddling, and reading, knowing her time as our only baby was coming to a quick close.

That night, I laid in bed, early, after taking a hot shower, and had a little chat with Lucia: I told her, "Lucia, listen. If you are ready to come out, then let's go. Let's really kick this thing into gear and progress. If not, then please just relax. I need a little rest in order to be strong. So decide what you want you want to do, and let's commit." Right on cue, the contractions stalled and I took a glorious three hour nap. Then, the contractions came back.

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To read about my first labor, visit Birth Stories: Part One.

To find out what happens next, stay tuned:)

Over on SpanglishBaby...

I haven't been able to post in a while (that second birth story is in the draft stage though...), so I thought I'd post links to some of my posts over on SpanglishBaby, in case you didn't catch them the first time around:

Querido Disneyland: Where are the Latinos?

On Names

A couple poems:

In Honor of Hermanas: A Poem

Mothering: A Draft in Progress

Enjoy! I promise to post something new soon...

Birth Stories: Part One

 

It took over three years to write this story because while meeting my daughter was the most amazing moment of my life, the birth process was quite difficult for me, emotionally and physically.  I don't think I'd be able to write it now, if I hadn't had a much better  birth experience two years later (sorry for the spoiler!). I finally wrote it because I don't want to forget more than I already have, and because I love reading other moms' birth stories and know that someone out there might be looking for a first-hand experience of an induction, cesearean, or vbac.

Fair warning: if you are sensitive to reading about medical situations, or are looking for 100% positive birth stories, skip this one.  Yes, there's a happy ending in the form of a beautiful baby girl, but there's quite a bit of pain first.

Also, it is VERY long, just like the labor.

Marisol: My First Birth Story

Pregnancy

I love being pregnant. I am one of those women, like my mother, who just feels better pregnant. My hair gets thicker, my nails are shiny, my skin finally clears up (and then stays acne free until at least three months post-partum, at which point...the acne returns, sadly), and I just feel more beautiful in my skin than ever.  Sure, there's some nausuea and other normal pregnancy symptoms, but overall, I'd be happy to be continually pregnant! 

In my job, I tend to take on a lot of projects, and pregnancy makes me slow down and focus on myself. I did yoga, acupuncture, and chiropracty with each pregnancy and took care of myself because it was the first way I could take care of my babies. I also learned all I could about pregnancy, birth, and lactation (irony alert).

We took a wonderful Bradley class and I learned so much about the whole process that it felt like a college course. By the time my due date neared we had a natural birth plan, a doula, and a wealth of information. I thought I was empowered to make all the best choices during my birth.

[Now, I have to get this out because it colors the way I feel about what happened during Marisol's birth, whether that's fair or not: Marisol has Cerebral Palsy.  It is usually caused during, right before, or right after birth.  We do not know what caused it, and never will, because no one ever witnessed her having the stroke that caused her brain injury. We can only assume that it happened before birth, but there is no proof of exactly when it happened. My strong feeling is that it happened during the one moment that everyone freaked out about her heart rate. It was one scary moment, and the only moment that makes sense to me.]

Nearing My Due Date

I worked up until five days before my due date. My mom had come to stay with us until after the baby was born.  Unluckily, the day before my due date, as we walked out of a restaurant, on the way to an appointment with my midwives, my mom fell and broke her shoulder. This was a huge deal because she is in her 70's and my mother! 

I stayed calm and got her to the ER.  At first, the doctors thought she would be okay--they didn't think it was broken. The ortho we went to the next morning agreed that it was not broken and asked us to come back a few days later. When we did, it was clear that she had broken it and would require surgery.  So we put her on a plane and sent her home to my siblings who could better care for her in her own home.

To say that the four or five days between her fall and the day we sent her home was stressful is a tremendous understatement.  I was terrified of going into labor and not being able to care for her.  She couldn't use her arm at all. At least, when we sent her home, I knew she would be cared for and that it would be okay for me to labor.  If you know anything about birth, it should be pretty clear to you that this amount of stress would be enough to delay labor in any creature, human or otherwise!

Early Labor a.k.a. Prodomal Labor (annoyingly a.k.a "false labor")

A day or so after we got my mother settled back home, my contractions started. This was five days past my due date, but 8 days BEFORE I would actually give birth. It was a Monday and later that week, on Thursday night, I began having more serious contractions. However, they were erratic and under a minute long. It was difficult to sleep, but not impossible. The next morning, on Friday,  we woke up sure that would be the day as my contractions were fairly strong and about 6 minutes apart.  Gabe took the day off work and we drove together to my scheduled check-up with the certified nurse midwives.

It was not the day.  By the time we arrived for the appointment the contractions were all but gone.  That morning, a midwife I would came to detest tried real hard to scare us into inducing. She checked my fluids and said they were too low, even though I would later find out that her idea of "too low" was very subjective.  I asked her if I could try and increase my fluids. She asked me, "Why don't you want to just have her now? We can induce." (This is why this midwife is called a 'medwife' by many in the birthing community here.) I thought, but did not say, "Because inductions are risky, and she is doing fine according to your monitors, and she isn't actually 'late' until after 42 weeks..." She finally relented and gave me two more days-until Sunday.

I spent the next 48 hours doing everything I could to increase my fluids and get labor going. I kept getting contractions at night, which was exhausting. I climbed stairs for hours at our local outdoor mall. I walked many miles. I napped. My acupuncturist even came to do a housecall to induce labor. etcetera...

Sunday, an OB resident saw me and said my fluids had improved, but not enough.  The only remedy, she said, was birth.  It wasn't urgent, though, so I could come in the next morning, Monday, a full week after my "false labor" or prodomal labor had begun.  Even though I had read that this was very normal, I hadn't expected it and was starting to get frustrated with how long the process was taking. I had hoped the whole labor process would last less than a day, not more than a week!

Induction

At this point, we had another challenge-- the standard at the hospital where I delivered was to begin inductions with Cytotec, which poses many risks, such as uterine rupture. I called my birth educator, and my doula, and we did more research. We had a few long talks and neither Gabe nor I were comfortable with the use of Cytotec for induction.  My "medwife" was very annoyed by this, but relented, because honestly, she had no choice without my consent.

We drove in that Monday morning ready for the induction, which I did not want, but felt pressured by my care provider to have, and was beginning to fear was inevitable.  It didn't help that family were getting worried about my having gone "overdue" even though I knew that the average gestation for a first pregnancy is 41 weeks and 3 days.

When we arrived at 8 am they were full and told to us to come back in twelve hours.  We went home and I tried to use my breast pump to get labor going.  I also tried to nap, and went out for our last pre-baby meal at Bucca di Beppo.  I was still having contractions, but aside from some shifting at the table, was able to make it through the meal.  We went home one last time, packed up a few last things, checked in with our doula and went back to the hospital.

I felt sad on the way. I felt like an animal going to slaughter.  I knew that induction made the need for an epidural much more likely, which made the need for a cesearean much more likely, not to mention a host of other interventions we didn't want.  I was terrified of this "cascade of interventions." I was committed to laboring with pitocin without pain medication. I wanted to participate fully in the birth. I wanted to feel my body pushing her into the world. I wanted to be able to walk around, and not expose her to drugs.  I had high hopes, but a heavy heart.  I remember thinking, as long as this ends in a vaginal birth, I'll be happy with the birth experience. Of course, my top priority was a healthy baby, but I also was concerned about the birth process, which would affect both our health and well-being.

They hooked me up. The "medwife" chided me once more about the Cytotec, and I tried to sleep. Gabe napped and checked on me, but the night was uneventful. It was pretty much the same as the last few nights.

In the morning, the "medwife" came in only to check my dilation and tell me that nothing had happened since I wouldn't do the Cytotec.  She was rude and luckily, going off duty to be replaced by a nicer, warmer, and much more experienced midwife. This midwife came in with kind words, and unhooked me to let me take a "pit break." They stopped the pitocin and allowed me to shower and eat breakfast--thank goodness for small miracles.

Active Labor

Then, I got back on the Pit and they began incrementally increasing the dosage.  It was probably 9 am. By 4 pm, I was at 5 centimeters and in active labor. The pain was intense, especially since I was experiencing back labor which made the contractions radiate from my back around to my entire uterus right up to my chest.  Gabe was fantastic--helping me to walk around, get to the bathroom, reminding me to drink fluids, change positions, etc.  We called the doula, hopeful that the show was really going to go on!  I spent almost no time in bed. I was walking, boucing on the birth ball, stretching. I was doing everything I knew how to manage the pain and help labor progress.

Meanwhile... my mother was getting a should replacement surgery. Four of my siblings were there, at least one of whom was terrified that my mother would not make it out of anesthesia. Honestly, we were all a little terrified. I tried to focus on my daughter and getting her into the world, but I kept thinking of my mom, being cut open, and I was scared for her too.

My lovely doula arrived and helped me and Gabe. He got to go take a shower and grab a bite to eat. He made some phone calls to his family and mine. He got updates on my mom, who did fine.  He was working hard with me, to help me, and having  a break for him was important. Our doula helped me deal with the increasing intensity of the contractions by massaging my feet and legs, rubbing my back, and many other calming and soothing things I can't even fully remember. Most importantly, she was supportive and encouraging.

By 10 pm that night, the contractions were very intense and getting closer together. I was at a 6, which was pretty good, but I was getting really tired. I hadn't eaten for 14 hours and had been pretty active all day.  My midwife suggested rupturing my membranes to see if that wouldn't speed things up a bit. I agreed, knowing this would be another intervention.  It was only a little painful, and there was little fluid, although it was clear.  It did further intensify the contractions, making them feel sharper.

I continued to labor for another five hours. They kept increasing the dosage of pitocin.  I was transitioning and they moved me into the delivery room. It was 2 or 3 am.  I was exhausted but still hopeful as I walked down the hallway with my crew.  I wanted to get this baby out!

Another hour or so passed and nothing changed. I was, seemingly, stuck. I was also at my limit emotionally. I was so fatigued from the lack of food, level of stress and endurance, and the intensity of the pain.  The contractions were so profound that I needed Gabe to use his full strentgh to bear down on my lower back for counterpressure, while my doula rubbed my arms through every contractions. I was on the birth ball and sounding it out, but I was done. 

The midwife explained that they would have to increase the Pit significantly to try and get things going more rapidly. I asked her, plaintively, "but how am I going to do it? I don't know how to do it."  I couldn't go on.  I had been induced over 30 hours earlier, and hadn't eaten in close to a full day.  I was spent. I felt completely depleted.

She suggested the epidural and I accepted. We all hoped I could sleep for a few hours and then push my girl out. It sounded like a reasonable plan.  The epidural was quick and effective in that it numbed my lower half. But I felt totally disconnected from my belly button on down.  It was strange. I slept a little.

My mother in law was invited into the room. She had been waiting in the lobby, but now that I wasn't laboring naturally, I didn't feel like I needed as much privacy.

The Caesarean Section

Soon after the epidural, everyone freaked out. My blood pressure and the baby's heartrate were dangerously low.  A bunch of doctors and nurses raced into the room. They flipped me in a few directions. They gave me a shot of epinephrene which made my heart race and they stopped the pit.  I have always had low blood pressure, even when pregnant, and my suspicion is that that makes me a poor candidate for epidural medication, since one side effect is lowered blood pressure. 

They stablized the baby's heartrate and inserted an internal fetal monitor which screwed into her scalp. Another intervention I hadn't wanted. Honestly, we hit every step on the "cascade of interventions."

Gabe was terrified. I felt defeated. This was turning into a nightmare and I was scared for my baby and for myself.

To the credit of the staff, my midwife came in with an OB at that point and said, "You and the baby are safe and doing well now. But something was causing her problems. It could be a fluke and she might tolerate more labor. We can start labor up again and monitor her closely, or we can do a c-section. Either way, we are going to make sure you are both safe. It is up to you."

I didn't have to think long. One look at Gabe and a short conversation later, we decided that Mari would be born by cesearean. It seemed the least risky option at this point. My mother-in-law kindly pointed out that I was born by C-section and my baby would be too. I comforted myself with the image of nursing her, an image I had had with me all through the labor as a way to keep myself motivated. I so wanted to hold her to me and begin our breastfeeding relationship.

Things finally moved quickly. Less than twenty minutes after we said yes to the surgery, she was pulled out of me and into the world. She was born before 8 am.

The surgery was surgery. I felt numb and a lot of pulling. I felt nauseous. I shivered uncontrollably because of the drugs, or the cold of the OR, or nerves, or all of those things.

I cried when I heard her cry. I cried when I saw her. She was beautiful. I was relieved.

Post-Op/The First Day

It's a blur the bit of time between seeing her in the OR and in recovery. A bunch of people got to hold her before I got to hold her. My arms were too numb to hold her and I remember that everyone got distracted for a moment and I had her next to me in her bassinet, but I couldn't reach over and grab her.  It was painful, that moment. My mother-in-law noticed and held the baby while I touched Marisol's face for the first time.

This strange inability to hold her is probably why a lot of C-section moms feel a little distant. I did, but I also wanted desperately to be close to her and bridge that distance. Thankfully, the drugs wore off and I was soon able to hold her. The midwife came in, even though she was technically, "off duty", just because she was sweet and wanted to see us through. She helped me get Marisol latched and checked for colostrum. The baby had a lovely latch and I had plenty of colostrum. She was not worried and neither was I.

The next few hours were sweet--getting to know her, smell her, touch her, kiss her. Seeing Gabe care for her, since I couldn't stand up at all yet from the surgery.  We were exhausted but elated with our girl.

Sometime that afternoon, the pediatrician noticed that Marisol had a cleft palate.  I instantly thought of my nephew. I had grown up knowing he was born "with a hole in the roof of his mouth," but I had never thought of him having a "cleft palate" until that moment.  In my mind, knowing he had this too was a tremendous comfort because honestly, he is one of my favorite people on the planet. But it meant she would not be able to nurse.  The picture I had of nursing her was a mirage.  Although I would try to nurse her many many times, it wouldn't work out.  In the end, I pumped for her for a year, but that's another story...

We stayed in the hospital a couple more days and then went home with our prize--the most amazing little girl we had ever met.

Reflections

The labor. It was awful. Having my daughter--that was awesome in the true sense of the word.  I wish that I had had the strentgh to refuse the induction until 42 weeks. She was born at 41 weeks and 6 days any how, since it was not until the third day of induction that she was born.  It might not have gone better, but I doubt it could have gone worse. She was little, just 6 lbs 15 oz, not a huge post-date baby and she was healthy.  Looking back, I fear that the only damage done to her was not from staying too long in my body, but from the many interventions we used to try and get her out before she was ready.  That is something I don't think I'll ever get over. The only good thing that came from that labor, other than her birth, is that I learned what both Gabe and I are capable of.

Once it was over, I kept telling him that. We were a good team. He was strong and he was there for me and he was just amazing. I was pretty tough myself.  I wasn't scared of pain.  I knew that if we did this again, that it could go better. I knew that I could handle it and so could he.

Luckily for us, the second time around was drastically better, and in many ways, my second labor was a salve for the emotional wounds of the first. After my first birth, I felt let down by my body, as if  "it didn't work."  When I pushed my next baby out, I knew my body did work!  But that's Part Two...