Tuesday, Apr 28, 2009 | Big Thoughts, Birth |
Well, it was amazing.
Last night I attended, for the first time as an adult, a birth that did not involve me pushing out a baby. I volunteered as a doula, or labour-supporter, for a young couple having their first baby. Herein, a few general observations about the birth experience, all of which threaten to sound terribly cheesy, the way all big life-changing transitional events do when translated into words. But here goes …
The most ordinary space can be transformed into a holy, sacred place.
A woman’s body is an extraordinarily powerful entity, and in birth it just really knows what to do. Travelling emotionally and mentally into that place where you can allow the body to do what it needs to do can be really frightening; at the very least, there’s some resistance to letting go like that. I remember feeling that in my own births. That sensation of oh no, no, I really am not prepared to go there, do I have to go there? “There” is an extremely focussed, interior, almost animal place inside the body and mind. “There” will get you through just about anything, I think.
We really earn these babies.
How profoundly my experience of the spiritual is linked to my body, to physical reality.
Birth is this crazy intense moment in a life–the moment of parents becoming parents, of a new human life entering the world, of vulnerability, and of strength, which is parenting distilled–and which could kind of define love, really. How vulnerable it feels to love somebody the way I love my children; and yet in no other role could I feel as strong, if I’m called to be, for their sakes.
Let’s see, what else. Yes, I cried a bit at the end. I also laughed, and found myself feeling weepy at moments during the labour, overwhelmed by the amazingness of the body, by the strength this woman kept finding throughout, and by the connection to this individual yet collective human journey. It’s ordinary, and it’s extraordinary.
Will I do this again? During the labour, I couldn’t imagine NOT doing it again (doula-ing, I mean; not giving birth myself). But I’m exhausted today, and know that choosing to do this more regularly–as a job on the side? or pursuing midwifery?–will mean choosing not to do other things instead. Reflection is in order.
Saturday, Apr 25, 2009 | Spring |
My internet connection has been playing hide-and-seek these past few days, rendering an online presence near impossible. This is probably a good thing, like therapy, but makes posting blog entries difficult (while simultaneously making me WANT to post even more; ah, thwarted desire). Here is our yesterday morning, first thing, hammocks hung, flowers abundant, knees scraped. Today the air is chilly, the earth cold and muddy, sky white. I got caught in the amazingly wild storm yesterday afternoon with all four kids. We were at the gelato shop uptown, the power went out briefly, and we looked outside to realize the weather had turned. It was almost scary. Pelting heavy rain that soaked us to the skin almost instantly, wind whipping, pushing the stroller with a screaming CJ protest, running as fast as we could for home while thunder pounded and lightening struck. The big kids LOVED it. Me, not quite so much. The power of the unknown.
Must publish this post while the connecton holds.
Wednesday, Apr 22, 2009 | Chores |
I’m currently employing a method of housecleaning that some of you may be familiar with. I call it “Wow It Looks Gross in Here,” and it has such sub-categories as “Was Someone Eating Something Crumbly in This Room?” and “How Much Water Actually Stayed in the Tub?” and “Oh No Not the Dress-Up Clothes.” Among others I enjoyed thinking up whilst vacuuming after supper tonight.
Tuesday, Apr 21, 2009 | Sleep |
I’m really going to regret it later if I don’t go forth and wake these two. But, oh, the peace.
Tuesday, Apr 21, 2009 | Soccer |
These photos commemorate one of the last days of the splinted knee, which happened to coincide with Kevin’s favourite time of the year, the first round of the hockey playoffs when there’s a game on every night, and our television is tuned to it. First round doesn’t seem to be over yet, but the splint is officially off, the knee officially healed (I keep asking, “Okay, so the bone is completely, totally healed, like it’s not going to break apart if someone bumps into it?” and Kevin keeps saying, “Uh, yah, that’s what the surgeon said.”). In fact, after six weeks of not bending his leg, AT ALL, it’s time to do the opposite and figure out how to get it to bend readily again. (“So, if it’s all healed,” I asked, “why wouldn’t you be playing soccer this summer?” And he replied, “Because I can’t, um, run. At all.” “But you can bend your knee now.” “Well, in theory, I can bend my knee, but it doesn’t bend more than ten degrees right now.”) Right.
