When I was in High School, my Dad had this AWFUL rule that I had to spend at least 20 minutes a night on each subject. So, even if I didn't have "official" homework, I had to do something educational. Yeah right. In reality, I hung in my bedroom and did anything but study. I set up a pretty realistic scene, should he come upstairs and check on my studious ways -- with my text books open on my desk, an uncapped highlighter in the crease and a notebook at the ready.
So, as I was a few hours into a birth on Friday night with a completely, 100 percent, non-English speaking couple, I thought of my Dad and what if...what if I actually spent my 20 minutes on Spanish every night? What if I didn't have my very best friend, native to Venezuela, do my homework for me? What if?
Here's how it went down...I FINALLY got called into a volunteer birth, with the Chicago Volunteer Doula group. I was on for the night shift, from 7 p.m. - 7 a.m. and left for the hospital at about 6:30 p.m. I was giddy with excitement and nerves, as this was only my second birth and I was going solo. There was a young, 22 year-old woman, a few days past her due date, that was induced due to her Cholestasis, a liver disease during pregnancy. She was about 4 centimeters, didn't want pain medication and, along with her boyfriend, didn't speak a lick of English.
When I walked into the room, I burned through all 19 Spanish words I know trying to get to know them better. I was able to determine they were having a boy and that she was calmed by the trashy, Spanish-speaking soap operas blaring on the hospital room television. Oh, I knew it was going to be a long night. She was breathing well through her contractions, but was progressing VERY slow. I knew I should get her out of bed, moving around, but I had a hard time expressing this so she could understand. So, what did I do? I begged for help. My friend/co-doula is fluent in Spanish so I begged and pleaded for her to come help me for a bit, and g-d, love her, she did.
The moment she walked in, the relief in the room was palpable. The midwife was relieved, I was relieved and the couple was relieved. She stayed with us for about 3 hours, translating everything, as we did positions and tried to keep her comfortable and calm.
When my life line left at about 11 p.m., my heart sank. I so wanted to help this lovely woman, but how much could I actually do? A novice doula (with only one birth under her belt) that can't communicate is NOT a good combination. For the next few hours, her contractions were very manageable and there was barely any change. It hit me, at that point, I would not be going home or getting any sleep that night.
When the midwife checked her at about 2 a.m. and she was still 4 centimeters, they made the decision to break her water. Poor girl, I know she didn't understand what was happening and I couldn't help. Just imagine yourself in a foreign country, unable to communicate, in a hospital bed with people explaining things to you that you can't understand about your body and baby. My heart ached for her, but I couldn't help and truthfully, I was starting to fade. I hate to admit it...I thought years of staying up all night with my kids would prepare me for the all-nighter, but it didn't. I was tired, frustrated and didn't know what to do to help. Yuck.
Almost instantly after her water broke, her contractions hit high gear. I mean, they went from her just closing her eyes and breathing to down right pain...moaning and crying so loud you could hear her from the hallway. I was nervous at this point, up until now, her boyfriend had been playing games on his cell phone, not really a part of what was going on in the room. But, thankfully, he totally stepped it up and held her through every contraction. I did massage as best as I could, as she wanted to stay lying in bed. She could barely keep her eyes open and her pain was worse. At about 3:30 a.m., they checked her again and she was at 5. She made the decision to have pain medication at that point and, since the only anesthesiologist was in a c-section, she would have to wait almost two hours for an epidural. So, she opted for Stadol...I could tell she had NO idea the risks of this drug and I couldn't help her weigh her options. Again, I felt so helpless and like a failure, could I have done more?
The Stadol made her so sleepy, but didn't take the edge off her pain at all. For the next two hours, she would pass out in between contractions and was on the edge of hyperventilating for each and every one. When the epidural finally came, she was so uncomfortable and out of it, she didn't understand she couldn't get the epidural if she didn't sit still. The resident could speak a little Spanish and I had to leave the room. It was 5 a.m. It took them an hour and a half to get the epidural in, she wouldn't stay still long enough.
At that point, the mother fell fast asleep and everything in the room calmed. And, I made the decision to leave. The next shift was starting at 7 a.m., so I knew if she woke up and needed help, the Midwife could call the next shift. All that work and I still have no clue when she had the baby and if everything was okay. I also made the decision I was quitting this line of work, on the way home.
I came to my senses after my totally understanding hubby took kid duty so I could pass out for a few hours. So now, after my normal course of a few days processing, I am cutting myself a little slack and getting back into the game. I'm sure a more seasoned doula would have known what to do, how to handle this situation, how to communicate without speaking. And, the only way I can get there is by sticking with it. And, by remembering what my Dad taught me so long ago...practice makes perfect!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Happy Birthday Baby Girl
Yesterday was my precious baby girl's second birthday. After, gulp, missing her first birthday last year, I wanted her day to be special, to spend time with her and soak in all her amazing-ness. I think we must have sung "Happy Birthday" 100 times (including all the times she sang it to herself (adorable)) and gave her no less than 100 kisses. As a side bar, I think she knew it was a special day, lets just say, the Diva in her was full-blown! I just pray the terrible two's didn't start on her actual birthday.
My hubby and I were reminiscing about the exact moment we learned she was a girl. Things were a little tense in the delivery room during those final moments and with the commotion, my doctor said "he" a few times. Once I knew the baby was okay, I remember asking in my haze if it was, in fact, a boy. I vaguely remember someone saying, "did anyone check?" And, then...the words I wanted to hear so bad, yet never really expected to...it was a girl. A girl, my girl. I burst into tears...joy, pure joy.
We were also thinking of those first weeks with her...colicy, refluxy...it was bad, very bad. I vividly remember my precious SIL, 7 months pregnant at the time, sitting with my wailing baby girl on the toilet -- as only the bathroom fan would do -- for an hour, singing "You Are My Sunshine" over and over again, just so I could get some uninterrupted time to put MDB to bed, without hearing newborn screams downstairs. I definitely owe her one when her THIRD baby is born in April!
Those first weeks with her couldn't be farther from who my little girl is today...just a breath of fresh air. My daughter, this off-the-charts charming, super smart, beautiful, hilarious little girl...I don't even know where to start. She is my joy, my love, my kindred spirit, all wrapped in the most adorable little package...with cheeks so kissable, they're hard to resist. Her smile and those big blue eyes...they get me every time.
She is girly, yet tough as nails. She is easy going, yet opinionated about what matters most to her. She is cuddly, yet independent. She is inquisitive and curious, her hugs addictive, her smile contagious and her sense of humor makes you laugh out loud.
Sometimes when I look at her, I still can't believe she is mine. Oh, how I love this
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Snowmageddon...SnOMG!
I've lived in the Chicago-land area my entire life (except for a brief stint during college). Winter, cold and snow are just part of life. In fact, I NEVER had a snow day my entire childhood. Not a one. I vividly remember sitting in front of the TV watching the school closings scroll across the screen...crossing my fingers to see mine. Even in college -- in Syracuse, New York -- where snow was a pretty much everyday occurrence up through May, classes were only canceled once...and it was because there was a tornado that knocked power lines down on campus.
So, last week, when the reports started that the world was ending with the blizzard of the century, I didn't really think twice about it. There have been similar reports this season, that have culminated with a measly inch or two. The closer it got to the storm coming, the more the news people and authorities got hysterical. I pretty much ignored it all...and rolled my eyes that those that were raiding the grocery store shelves to stock up, on milk and eggs, of all things. As a side bar, these would not have been my choice of provisions should I be trapped inside for weeks on end. I think red wine and Oreos would top my list.
BUT, right on cue at 2 p.m. on Tuesday, February 1, it started. It was snowing good and pretty windy, but no different than I had seen before. Folks at the office scrambled to get home and I geared up for a LONG commute. Luckily I could walk underground all the way to the train, got on the first one that came and got home in 20 minutes. I still didn't see what the big deal was.
Ok, I have to say, it was as bad as they said it was going to be. The winds were howling, there was crazy lightening and thunder and snow, lots of it. I went to sleep on Tuesday night, literally crossing my fingers that the power wouldn't go out. I knew it was gonna be big as I watched the meteorologist from the Weather Channel get giddy, like a kid in a candy store, as the storm progressed. He was jumping up and down, laughing as he was blown down Michigan Avenue, with lightening overhead.
We woke up on Wednesday to this...
The day turned out great...my very first snow day. Work was closed, the nanny couldn't get to the house, it wasn't safe to drive anywhere and it was nice enough day to be outside. We baked cookies with the kids, played outside in the snow, took naps, hit the neighbors for a play date and wine and everyone was in bed sleeping by 7:15 p.m.
I am thankful too...thankful that we have a garage for the cars, as I know people that probably won't see their car until Spring if they were parked on a side street. Thankful that my nanny lives close to public transportation so she could get here on Thursday! Thankful for the weather people, because if this didn't turn out as bad as they said it would, no one would EVER listen to them again! Thankful that I didn't drive to work and that I wasn't on Lake Shore Drive, stranded like these poor folks...
And, just thankful for all that I have. A friend told me that it is unprecedented that the Chicago Public Schools were closed the day after the storm, for the first time in 12 years. And, even more historic that they were closed two days in a row. She said it was such a big deal because so many kids are on the free school lunch program and, for a lot of those kids...school is their only guaranteed meal a day. Puts things into perspective...that's for sure.
So, blizzard of 2011, thanks for the memories and my very first snow day. Here's hoping that the Groundhog's premonition comes true and spring is on its way!
So, last week, when the reports started that the world was ending with the blizzard of the century, I didn't really think twice about it. There have been similar reports this season, that have culminated with a measly inch or two. The closer it got to the storm coming, the more the news people and authorities got hysterical. I pretty much ignored it all...and rolled my eyes that those that were raiding the grocery store shelves to stock up, on milk and eggs, of all things. As a side bar, these would not have been my choice of provisions should I be trapped inside for weeks on end. I think red wine and Oreos would top my list.
BUT, right on cue at 2 p.m. on Tuesday, February 1, it started. It was snowing good and pretty windy, but no different than I had seen before. Folks at the office scrambled to get home and I geared up for a LONG commute. Luckily I could walk underground all the way to the train, got on the first one that came and got home in 20 minutes. I still didn't see what the big deal was.
Ok, I have to say, it was as bad as they said it was going to be. The winds were howling, there was crazy lightening and thunder and snow, lots of it. I went to sleep on Tuesday night, literally crossing my fingers that the power wouldn't go out. I knew it was gonna be big as I watched the meteorologist from the Weather Channel get giddy, like a kid in a candy store, as the storm progressed. He was jumping up and down, laughing as he was blown down Michigan Avenue, with lightening overhead.
We woke up on Wednesday to this...
The day turned out great...my very first snow day. Work was closed, the nanny couldn't get to the house, it wasn't safe to drive anywhere and it was nice enough day to be outside. We baked cookies with the kids, played outside in the snow, took naps, hit the neighbors for a play date and wine and everyone was in bed sleeping by 7:15 p.m.
I am thankful too...thankful that we have a garage for the cars, as I know people that probably won't see their car until Spring if they were parked on a side street. Thankful that my nanny lives close to public transportation so she could get here on Thursday! Thankful for the weather people, because if this didn't turn out as bad as they said it would, no one would EVER listen to them again! Thankful that I didn't drive to work and that I wasn't on Lake Shore Drive, stranded like these poor folks...
And, just thankful for all that I have. A friend told me that it is unprecedented that the Chicago Public Schools were closed the day after the storm, for the first time in 12 years. And, even more historic that they were closed two days in a row. She said it was such a big deal because so many kids are on the free school lunch program and, for a lot of those kids...school is their only guaranteed meal a day. Puts things into perspective...that's for sure.
So, blizzard of 2011, thanks for the memories and my very first snow day. Here's hoping that the Groundhog's premonition comes true and spring is on its way!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
My First Birth
Holy moly...I don't even know where to begin! Sunday, January 16, 2011...my first doula-baby was born!
Since doing my training workshop this fall, I decided to take on one private client with a co-doula/friend in addition to my volunteer work. I'm not committing to private clients now because of my work and home responsibilities, but something about "B" and her doting husband, wouldn't let me say no! And, just for me, she gave birth on a Sunday so I didn't have to miss a thing! And, as luck would have it, the hubs had the kids in Michigan for the weekend, so I didn't have to worry about them either. Fate?!?
I got the call that "B" thought her water broke on Saturday morning while I was at Costco. She was a week past her due date and I literally almost left my cart mid-aisle to head straight for the hospital, forgetting everything I learned about how long the laboring process can be with first time moms! As I got my wits about me -- somewhere between buying 200 rolls of toilet paper and enough batteries for my kids' toys for life -- I learned "B" was not contracting and her doctor was letting her labor at home until that evening (yeah doctor!) I told "B" I would come over in a few hours and see if we couldn't get her labor started on our own, trying to avoid Pitocin, if we could.
I got to her house at about 1 p.m., and she still wasn't having any contractions, but was steadily leaking fluid. We tried to jump start contractions by having "B" try nipple stimulation (T.M.I.? Sorry!) for the next few hours. By 3 p.m., nothing had changed and her doctor asked that she head to the hospital at 6 p.m. to get confirmation that it was in-fact amniotic fluid and get induced. I went home to wait...and wait and wait. I honestly jumped 10 feet every time my phone rang. She got to the hospital and they let her try for 2 hours to get labor started on her own (again, yeah doctor) with a breastpump. But, no go. She got the Pitocin at about 9 p.m., and was 1.5 centimeters. We decided she would call us when her labor got intense or when she got to about 4-5 centimeters. And, all night I waited... and waited and waited...and slept for about 11 minutes. She texted at about 3 a.m., saying she got the epidural. She was only 2.5 centimeters, in pain and very, very tired. "B" never had it in her birth plan to go au natural...so I wasn't surprised. But, I was a little personally disappointed because I so wanted to witness a natural birth -- but hey, I'm a doula to help people have their perfect birth and she wanted peace and to be "present" in the moment.
I woke up on Sunday at about 5 a.m. I almost couldn't stand the waiting anymore. She wanted us to come when she was about 5 centimeters, and she was only at 3. I took a shower, blow dried, made muffins and two loaves of banana bread, went to the grocery store and the produce market, made two loaves of bread in the bread maker and meals for the week -- all by 11:30 a.m. I had so much nervous energy and was just so excited to get the show on the road.
FINALLY, I got the call to come to the hospital at around 3 p.m. The last time they checked her she was at 4 centimeters and finally having steady, strong contractions. Phew, I was starting to get nervous they were going to make her have a c-section since it had been so long since her water broke.
I loved the energy in the room, the minute we walked in. "B" had her epidural turned down, so she could feel the contractions and breathe through them, but wasn't too uncomfortable. We helped her by playing with her hair and rubbing her very sore legs -- which were achy, mostly from being in bed for so long! After not too long, I had a feeling her labor was progressing as her contractions were intense, long and very close together. Her labor had definitely reached a peak...I was guessing she was at 7 centimeters.
At around 4:30 p.m., the doctor came in and examined "B"...she was at 7 centimeters (gold star for me). The baby was OP, meaning backwards facing "B"'s pelvic bone. This can slow labor and be pretty uncomfortable, so the doctor recommended we help her get in some positions to help turn the baby (third time, yeah doctor!). So, we spent the next hour helping "B" get on all fours and do a side-lying position, which was great to experience. At about 5:30 p.m., the doctor came in again and she was at 9 centimeters ...I had a feeling about this one too..."B" went from being super hot to really cold and was shaking and nauseous. Sure-fire signs of nearing transition, getting ready to push. It was fun seeing what I read in my books, actually happen! And...the baby had turned! Whoo-hoo, it worked!
"B" was starting to get uncomfortable with the urge to push at about 6:30 p.m., and the doctor came back in. I got to hold a leg while she was pushed. "B" was a champ and took the moments between pushes to relax (I should say so, after nearing 32 hours of labor). I SO remember that feeling -- when I could hear AMB and the nurses chatting -- but it just sounded like mumbles, as I melted into the bed, trying to muster the energy to go on. I tried to be cognizant of this and contain my excitement and nervous energy, but it was hard.
She pushed for about an hour (it felt like 5 minutes) and the actual moment was surreal. It happened very fast at the end...and then, there she was. Her husband got to tell her it was a girl and "B" got her wish to hold the baby right away, skin to skin, with the routine exams happening on her chest. We stayed until she could breastfeed for the first time and the time came for some quality family time.
Then, my co-doula and I...we went out for a celebratory drink!
I was surprised by the lack of blood during the actual birth and then by the amount of blood post-birth. I was shocked by the unique one-of-a-kind smell of amniotic fluid and the little tool the doctor used to stitch her up, a little fish-hook looking thing. (I'm glad I didn't know this before I gave birth.) I was amazingly, pleasantly surprised how eager her doctor was to do things more naturally -- I think my jaw visibly dropped open when she recommended positions instead of other interventions to turn the baby! But, you can also tell the nurses are trained to help their patients not be in pain. It was like she couldn't handle "B" not pushing her epidural button with every contraction, every wince of discomfort. I was surprised with how tired I was and how much my feet and muscles ached...and I was only there for about 7 hours. I know a lot of that was due to nerves and the fact that I was on high-alert since the moment her water broke, but I was bone tired none-the-less.
I'm very glad this was my first birth. "B" had a team of help, including her husband and my co-doula and definitely didn't need all of us...but, that almost made it better for me. I could sit back and learn a little more, take it all in, mentally capture the images and scene so I can determine what my style will be moving forward.
I couldn't really write this post right away. I had to take it all in, process and wrap my arms around what an amazingly awesome experience it was. Yet, at the same time, for some reason, I was disappointed. I think I built it up in my head so much, that when it actually happened, it was a little anticlimactic. I was expecting really heavy-duty emotions, but didn't really get that. Perhaps it was because it wasn't my baby or a family/friend's baby or that I was so focused on just trying to be helpful and not get in the way, that I wasn't exactly sure my place. And, I was also not prepared to be so tired...it almost felt like a hangover that I needed to sleep off. And, for some reason, which surprised me, I didn't want to tell the story 100 times like I thought I would, like I wanted to after my own births.
But, now, I know I made the right decision to have birth work in my life. I learned a lot from this experience and now I know what to expect next time. I won't have those "first time" jitters and understand my place in the process. I shouldn't get emotional, that's not my job.
And, now that I had time and a clear head to reflect, I smile remembering when "B" and her husband told us they couldn't have done it without us and thanked us countless times for all our help. But, in the end, it was me who was beyond thankful. Thankful that they trusted me, with my inexperience and my visible kid-in-a-candy-store excitement, to witness the moment that will forever change their lives. It is amazing to think that years from now, when "B" is telling her beautiful little daughter about the day she was born -- I will be there in their memories, always.
Since doing my training workshop this fall, I decided to take on one private client with a co-doula/friend in addition to my volunteer work. I'm not committing to private clients now because of my work and home responsibilities, but something about "B" and her doting husband, wouldn't let me say no! And, just for me, she gave birth on a Sunday so I didn't have to miss a thing! And, as luck would have it, the hubs had the kids in Michigan for the weekend, so I didn't have to worry about them either. Fate?!?
I got the call that "B" thought her water broke on Saturday morning while I was at Costco. She was a week past her due date and I literally almost left my cart mid-aisle to head straight for the hospital, forgetting everything I learned about how long the laboring process can be with first time moms! As I got my wits about me -- somewhere between buying 200 rolls of toilet paper and enough batteries for my kids' toys for life -- I learned "B" was not contracting and her doctor was letting her labor at home until that evening (yeah doctor!) I told "B" I would come over in a few hours and see if we couldn't get her labor started on our own, trying to avoid Pitocin, if we could.
I got to her house at about 1 p.m., and she still wasn't having any contractions, but was steadily leaking fluid. We tried to jump start contractions by having "B" try nipple stimulation (T.M.I.? Sorry!) for the next few hours. By 3 p.m., nothing had changed and her doctor asked that she head to the hospital at 6 p.m. to get confirmation that it was in-fact amniotic fluid and get induced. I went home to wait...and wait and wait. I honestly jumped 10 feet every time my phone rang. She got to the hospital and they let her try for 2 hours to get labor started on her own (again, yeah doctor) with a breastpump. But, no go. She got the Pitocin at about 9 p.m., and was 1.5 centimeters. We decided she would call us when her labor got intense or when she got to about 4-5 centimeters. And, all night I waited... and waited and waited...and slept for about 11 minutes. She texted at about 3 a.m., saying she got the epidural. She was only 2.5 centimeters, in pain and very, very tired. "B" never had it in her birth plan to go au natural...so I wasn't surprised. But, I was a little personally disappointed because I so wanted to witness a natural birth -- but hey, I'm a doula to help people have their perfect birth and she wanted peace and to be "present" in the moment.
I woke up on Sunday at about 5 a.m. I almost couldn't stand the waiting anymore. She wanted us to come when she was about 5 centimeters, and she was only at 3. I took a shower, blow dried, made muffins and two loaves of banana bread, went to the grocery store and the produce market, made two loaves of bread in the bread maker and meals for the week -- all by 11:30 a.m. I had so much nervous energy and was just so excited to get the show on the road.
FINALLY, I got the call to come to the hospital at around 3 p.m. The last time they checked her she was at 4 centimeters and finally having steady, strong contractions. Phew, I was starting to get nervous they were going to make her have a c-section since it had been so long since her water broke.
I loved the energy in the room, the minute we walked in. "B" had her epidural turned down, so she could feel the contractions and breathe through them, but wasn't too uncomfortable. We helped her by playing with her hair and rubbing her very sore legs -- which were achy, mostly from being in bed for so long! After not too long, I had a feeling her labor was progressing as her contractions were intense, long and very close together. Her labor had definitely reached a peak...I was guessing she was at 7 centimeters.
At around 4:30 p.m., the doctor came in and examined "B"...she was at 7 centimeters (gold star for me). The baby was OP, meaning backwards facing "B"'s pelvic bone. This can slow labor and be pretty uncomfortable, so the doctor recommended we help her get in some positions to help turn the baby (third time, yeah doctor!). So, we spent the next hour helping "B" get on all fours and do a side-lying position, which was great to experience. At about 5:30 p.m., the doctor came in again and she was at 9 centimeters ...I had a feeling about this one too..."B" went from being super hot to really cold and was shaking and nauseous. Sure-fire signs of nearing transition, getting ready to push. It was fun seeing what I read in my books, actually happen! And...the baby had turned! Whoo-hoo, it worked!
"B" was starting to get uncomfortable with the urge to push at about 6:30 p.m., and the doctor came back in. I got to hold a leg while she was pushed. "B" was a champ and took the moments between pushes to relax (I should say so, after nearing 32 hours of labor). I SO remember that feeling -- when I could hear AMB and the nurses chatting -- but it just sounded like mumbles, as I melted into the bed, trying to muster the energy to go on. I tried to be cognizant of this and contain my excitement and nervous energy, but it was hard.
She pushed for about an hour (it felt like 5 minutes) and the actual moment was surreal. It happened very fast at the end...and then, there she was. Her husband got to tell her it was a girl and "B" got her wish to hold the baby right away, skin to skin, with the routine exams happening on her chest. We stayed until she could breastfeed for the first time and the time came for some quality family time.
Then, my co-doula and I...we went out for a celebratory drink!
I was surprised by the lack of blood during the actual birth and then by the amount of blood post-birth. I was shocked by the unique one-of-a-kind smell of amniotic fluid and the little tool the doctor used to stitch her up, a little fish-hook looking thing. (I'm glad I didn't know this before I gave birth.) I was amazingly, pleasantly surprised how eager her doctor was to do things more naturally -- I think my jaw visibly dropped open when she recommended positions instead of other interventions to turn the baby! But, you can also tell the nurses are trained to help their patients not be in pain. It was like she couldn't handle "B" not pushing her epidural button with every contraction, every wince of discomfort. I was surprised with how tired I was and how much my feet and muscles ached...and I was only there for about 7 hours. I know a lot of that was due to nerves and the fact that I was on high-alert since the moment her water broke, but I was bone tired none-the-less.
I'm very glad this was my first birth. "B" had a team of help, including her husband and my co-doula and definitely didn't need all of us...but, that almost made it better for me. I could sit back and learn a little more, take it all in, mentally capture the images and scene so I can determine what my style will be moving forward.
I couldn't really write this post right away. I had to take it all in, process and wrap my arms around what an amazingly awesome experience it was. Yet, at the same time, for some reason, I was disappointed. I think I built it up in my head so much, that when it actually happened, it was a little anticlimactic. I was expecting really heavy-duty emotions, but didn't really get that. Perhaps it was because it wasn't my baby or a family/friend's baby or that I was so focused on just trying to be helpful and not get in the way, that I wasn't exactly sure my place. And, I was also not prepared to be so tired...it almost felt like a hangover that I needed to sleep off. And, for some reason, which surprised me, I didn't want to tell the story 100 times like I thought I would, like I wanted to after my own births.
But, now, I know I made the right decision to have birth work in my life. I learned a lot from this experience and now I know what to expect next time. I won't have those "first time" jitters and understand my place in the process. I shouldn't get emotional, that's not my job.
And, now that I had time and a clear head to reflect, I smile remembering when "B" and her husband told us they couldn't have done it without us and thanked us countless times for all our help. But, in the end, it was me who was beyond thankful. Thankful that they trusted me, with my inexperience and my visible kid-in-a-candy-store excitement, to witness the moment that will forever change their lives. It is amazing to think that years from now, when "B" is telling her beautiful little daughter about the day she was born -- I will be there in their memories, always.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Food Issues?
So, my deep thought of the day is...when do food issues/obsessions really start?
Why, you ask? Well, my little girl -- all of 23 months -- has a little food obsession. I realized it tonight when we were reading Pinkalicious and before I even got through the first page, she kept telling me "dinner" and "eat." I realized she wanted me to flip directly to the page showing the family eating dinner. We never made it to another page. And, when we read "The Very Hungry Caterpillar", the only page she wants to see, is the one with all the junk food on it. When she gets hurt, she cries for "nem a nems" (the M&M look-a-likes we keep for occasional treats) and could survive on jelly (which she cleverly licks off of the whole grain bread) and dippin' sauce (BBQ sauce, but hey, at least I buy the kind sweetened with Agave!). She gets giddy at the mere thought of dessert and will eat just about anything if that means she can get something sweet at the end of a meal. And, anytime the word birthday is mentioned, she just looks at us and says, "cake?"
Stop rolling your eyes will you. I know she is so little -- but I can't help but get a little twinge of worry. I never, ever want her to have to deal with food issues or, worse, be like me...spend her days preaching to her family about the merits of healthy living, while having difficulties doing so for herself.
I get nervous that my desire to keep my family safe by encouraging a healthy lifestyle and far from chemically-laden and over-processed foods will backfire and instead I'll drive them into having a unhealthy relationship with junk food. I've tried to keep my obsession with every morsel of food that touches their lips in the "normal" ranges, but I can't deny that sometimes I get a little loony-toony about the whole thing. I think I strike a good balance between making healthy choices a majority of the time with letting them just be kids -- but maybe not?
And, more than anything, as hard as it is to admit, this is my issue, one I deeply don't want to pass on to my daughter. For as far back as I can remember, food (normally not the most nutritious) has always been something I get excited about, remember, plan for and my source of comfort.
So, yet it is possible that this obsession could manifest into her becoming a world-renowned chef. But, I think the lesson here is that while I could continue down my comfortable path of hypocrisy it would be better for me to realize that it's my job to be a better role model, get healthy for her, show her that food is a joy and wonderful, but there needs to be a healthy balance and, gulp, show her that exercise can be fun.
Boy, do I have my work cut out for me!
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