This is a re-post from Rixa's blog...


"My whole heart is in that incubator"

The Motherwear Breastfeeding blog recently featured a fantastic guest post by a woman whose son was born 3 months early and weighed less than 3 pounds. She writes about how breastfeeding was her and her son's lifeline. Here is an excerpt from her post, My whole heart is in that incubator:

I was 37 years old. I thought I knew what love was. I thought I knew. But I have never loved anyone, anything, so fiercely, so terribly, so wonderfully, so achingly, as I did my little son, my only child, struggling in that incubator....

I loved and still love that boy with all I have. Because I couldn't hold him much, and felt terrible guilt for not being able to 'hold him in' for the entire 9 months he deserved, I was determined to breastfeed. I pumped every 3 hours for weeks on end. That pump and the milk that came out of me was my lifeline. It was somehow the way I was going to make it up to him for giving him such a lousy start in this world. So when I read stuff like "The Case against Breastfeeding" I get so angry. I believe that my breastmilk, and the good care we got at BC Children's, saved my child's life. It saved my life. If there is anything in this crazy, crazy world that is really is a gift from God it is the babies we can create and the milk that comes from our bodies.

If anything is pure and natural, and real and true, it's breastmilk. It made me feel like a mother when my baby was all alone inside a machine when he should have been inside me.

Anyone who dismisses breastfeeding so casually, or by their attitude or indifference creates an environment that doesn't hold up and encourage and cheerlead a new mom into a successful breastfeeding relationship, has lost touch with something. They've lost touch with a sense of what it means to be a mother, what feeding a baby is all about, what it means to nurture, how significant that breastfeeding can be to both mother and child.



It wasn't my intention to upset anyone with this post.

When I read this woman's full story on the Motherwear blog, I was moved. I was moved and reminded so strongly of how I felt when my milk came in after Birdie died. My breasts were swollen,leaking and overflowing with milk. Despite best efforts to stop it, the very milk that was intended to nourish her newborn body came forth. So, in some ways I can relate to the passion that this woman had to breastfeed her very tiny infant. She could see her child's life hanging in the balance, and she was lucky enough to be able to pump her milk for her baby. By re-posting this, I was not intending to speak as if breastfeeding always is able to work for everyone, I know of Mama's who have struggled very hard to make it work, and I love and respect them for this.

I can only speak for myself, and my breastfeeding experience. That said, I have been blessed and fortunate in my breastfeeding experience thus far. Breastfeeding has been a gift for me to be able to nurture my miracle baby in this way. Of course this is only one of many ways to love and nurture my son. Breastfeeding is a source of comfort and healing, it is a second chance, to nourish and grow this child in the way I would have with Birdie. For me and my babe, it is a connecting experience, and I feel that it brings us closer together, skin to skin and heart to heart.

Again, I am speaking only for myself and from my experience as a breastfeeding mother. I can speak for knowone but myself.

Giving Birth On The Fa.rm

I know that I mentioned in my last post that I have much to report. Before I do that, there is something that I have to write about, as it has been so heavy on my mind.

Last week I was blessed to attend the Par.tner.s In Per.i.natal Conference with my dear friend Carol. We were there attending as a SHARE exhibitor representing our local group "Empty Arms". We were there with lots of information to give, support and listening ears. The response to our presence there was tremendous! Some folks had heard of SHARE some had not, and perhaps for some they had never even heard of stillbirth...or maybe they had only ever heard stories of stillbirth happening in hospital.

I considered that there might be a strong presence of the home.birthing community there, and as it turned out I was right. It's kind of hard to describe how this made me feel (disgusted/pissed off/bitchy/jealous). It was obvious though, after over hearing numerous conversations that these people were absolutely oblivious and naive to anything bad happening during the attempt of a home.birth. To those folks I wanted to scream out loud! (after all my pregnancy had been so perfect, I was a perfect candidate for a home.birth)

For those who have NEVER heard of anything bad happening when it comes to home.birth, lend me your ear, let me tell you a story...it's a long tragic, awful, nightmare of a story. Would you like to hear it?

This conference featured a very well known speaker/advocate (of the home.birthing community), can you take a guess who "she" was? That's a big hint my friend! Well, it was none other than, drum roll please.........In.a M.ay!

I felt pretty sure that I knew just what her speech/talk would be about. Of course home.birth, natural childbirth, and how bad hospitals are for babies and moms. I sat there with my ears open and my eyes glued to her as she spoke passionately but also ignorantly. I could feel my body seizing, and my eyes welling up as she ranted about the ease to give birth that so many woman had found on "The F.arm". Then there was a story that she told of a woman who's labor had been difficult and long:

Here is an excerpt from Carol's blog...as she re-counts the story so well:

"So the story goes like this, she relays it, it is early in the life of her delivering babies, and a mother comes to her with a long and difficult labor, and the baby eventually emerges with the cord wrapped tightly three times around its neck, blue. While efforts are being made to resuscitate the baby, the mother begins to hemorrhage. Ultimately, the baby is resuscitated and the mother's bleeding slows down to a normal rate. Ina explains that everything did end up fine, because she knew what to do. Our friend Ina, in recalling the story, asks, "Who writes this stuff?" Like as if it's just this kind of cool war story to tell, with a happy ending that had nothing to do with really unbelievable timing and luck."

As you might imagine, this story pissed me off. It pissed me off because, well it could have VERY EASILY have been a VERY DIFFERENT outcome. I don't give a flying (excuse me) FUCK if you think that you know what to do. How about the babies cord was wrapped 3 times around the babies neck, AND the cord at some point during that long and difficult labor was compressed...and SHE HAD NO WAY OF KNOWING? That baby would not have survived that labor, then what? Would she be telling everyone in the world how wonderful and "safe" home.birth is then? Remember, when things start to go very wrong during labor, they start to go VERY, VERY wrong VERY, VERY fast. My dead baby, my daughter is proof of this fact.

I am very concerned and skeptical about the truth behind that statistics that she brought to brag about. She did not even mention a hint of fetal loss, and as Carol reminded me, those statistics are 1/100 births. Thousands of births have taken place on The F.arm, so you know that there has been fetal loss. There has to have been, The F.arm is not spared from such tragedy simply because it puts out such a pristine reputation. Why are the losses there not spoken about? Do they not want to scare the home.birthing community as a whole?

Did you know that I.na M.ay herself had a stillborn child? Did you know that she went into labor prematurely while traveling in the caravan on their way to Tennessee?

"It was common knowledge that I.na M.ay – one of Stephen’s two wives – was expecting a baby. The due date was sometime after our anticipated arrival in Tennessee and people were curious to see who would deliver since I.na M.ay had been the midwife for the babies born on the Caravan. But on our second day driving across Nebraska, we pulled off the road surprisingly early in North Platte, parking in a large lot in the early afternoon. This was not the kind of place the state troopers would have arranged for us. Word went around that Ina May had gone into premature labor. Anita was worried; it was way too early.

The next morning there was no routine drivers’ meeting. Instead, someone knocked on the door of our bus and somberly informed us that I.na M.ay’s baby had been stillborn and would be buried there in North Platte after all the legal paperwork had been taken care of. The Caravan would stay put until after that, then would beeline south into Kansas.

We were stunned. Somehow, the good karma of Stephen’s family and the Caravan seemed to have failed. I understood little to nothing about the magic held by the group – I’d naively believed there was such magic and that it would protect us from this kind of tragedy. The death of a newborn was so far beyond my experience and comprehension that I half expected the Caravan to disband or at least regroup under a new mission. But as we gathered with others who’d been with Stephen since the early days of the Class, we found more grounded perspectives.

This was simply the way life was. Death was a certainty for all of us. It came way early for I.na M.ay’s child, but it wasn’t an issue of fairness or deserving or bad magic. It just was. Grief was an inescapable part of life and we would move on. If anyone would understand this, it would be Stephen’s family. We couldn't’ allow ourselves slip too far out into sadness for the loss of one infant because there was so much life still left in the rest of us. Our lesson should be to love and support one another even more, especially the few children who were traveling with us."

The whole post that I excerpted from can be found HERE.

I can't believe that I found this, I mean the irony that I have been experiencing surrounding my "meeting" this woman (will tell you about this in another post) is beginning to really disturb me.

I feel so sad for her baby. Maybe, just maybe her pre-mature labor could have been stopped if she had gone into a hospital? Maybe that baby would not have made a still entrance into this world. I also feel so sad that the caravan just kept on going, literally and emotionally. I have to wonder, did I.na M.ay? Did she allow herself the space to grieve her loss? My hope is that she did, that she allowed herself the space to do so, even if she had to hide it from the others in the caravan.

I also feel that I need to be careful not to judge her about her loss, I want to respect the memory of her child. However, why wouldn't a pregnant mother who has gone into labor too early go to a hospital? Yes, they were on the road, but they had state troopers following and leading them on their way, so perhaps a distress call could have been made? Couldn't something have been done to rush her to a hospital to try to save her baby?

Still, there she was going on and on about all the intense, primal, beautiful and perfect births that take place on the farm. There wasn't even a whisper of fetal death, only the mention of maternal death, because the death of a mother who has given birth is so much easier to digest? WTF?

I feel deeply disturbed and sickened by all of this.

More to come when I can collect my thoughts.

33 Weeks Old

My boy is over 7 1/2 months old! HOLY SHIT!

I have lot's to report to you...but I can't type too much just now. Lot's of exciting news, and lots and lots more photos to share. Perhaps this weekend I can post some up. For now some photos of Holdyn and I from this morning.




And a few more from a few days ago...because they are so adorable.

Last night I was catching up on my blog reading and I was brought to tears by my dear friend Carol's latest post. She is able to articulate so purely her deepest love for all her children, and how missing her eldest daughter, her dear Charlotte informs her every moment with her living children.

She has written this so openly and beautifully, and I felt compelled to re-post it here. I feel that as a fellow lost mama who is now blessed to raise my child alongside hers, she speaks volumes to what I also hold most dear, allowing our children to blossom in their own ways, at their own pace, to honor them as they grow. Not to look down upon them for skills they might lack, but to help them to feel inspired to reach ever higher. To guide and love them unconditionally, no matter who they are or what they do.

Anyway, here is her post re-posted:

+2....

The lift is on, the sun is creeping above the horizon as the day has passed and somehow, although six years ago I could not lift my head above my shoulders, the light is returning.
But even with the release of the anticipation, the agony of knowing that she could have been saved over, I still retain the grumpiness of May-- the critical eye that seeks not to place myself above others, but to feel affronted by much that I see and hear around me.
Sometimes I find it hard to be around other mothers in May. Quite hard. Now, let it be said, to each his or her own, and this I do believe, truly and wholly. Of course I take exception to extremes that might constitute abuse, but I truly do believe that parent-child relationships seek a balance, and while there are certain practices that I believe are in the best interest of a child, I also respect that those same practices might lead certain parents to not be the optimal parents for their child, and so compromise is justified and called for.
But in May, I just hear it all around me. I hear people chastising their children. I hear impatience. I hear parents who sound, from a listening ear, as if they'd really rather not be parenting. (I realize this is not actually the case). I find myself in situations where I want to yell and scream and grab a child and take her with me, when a parent is scolding her child for not being good enough at something, instead of encouraging her for what she's doing right. I want to grab the child, hug her tight, and tell her it sometimes takes kids a long time to learn new things. To tell her to keep trying, that she's doing such a great job and I'm proud of her, even if her mom isn't at that moment. I see babies crying while their mothers talk on cellphones on the park paths. I hear complaints about children who are too loud and too slow and, for all intents and purposes, acting exactly as children should (which is different from how adults act and therefore annoying)
I hear these things, and instead of just walking past, or laughing along at the complaint and offering my own version of the story, I feel sick to my stomach. I want to take all these children home with me and appreciate all of them for exactly who they are. I want to hug them when they cry, and let them walk as slowly as they want to, and let them learn new skills at their own pace without being told they obviously aren't good at it. I want to take them to my home and feed them homemade cookies we have made together, while getting messy and dirty and spilling ingredients without reprimand, and wrap them in cozy blankets and read to them and kiss their soft cheeks and give them nothing but goodness, nothing but sweetness and love and whatever it is that I can offer to them because they are alive, their hearts are beating and they are breathing and they deserve a chance to be the best to someone.
This, all this, even though sometimes my own grief, and shadow grief six times over, pulls me to the point of impatience with my own brood, makes me wilt and cry and handle situations less than skillfully, and causes me to question my own worth as a parent.
But my misgivings about myself are in the moment, are gut reactions to one specific moment or behavior, I never question the worth of my child. If my words caused her to sit down quietly and hang her head, defeated, I would feel by crushed my actions. Children are miraculous, no more, no less. They are absolutely amazing. To think of the physical and cognitive skills that a child masters in five short years is staggering. Now think of the emotional skills they are capable of if only we allow it. How they can flourish and shine when we tell them not just that they are "good", but that they are worthy, and capable, and amazing. How they glow when they realize that we are truly proud for exactly what they are doing, which is learning and growing, and aren't just pleased by the successful perfection of a specific task.
So I think the long and the short of it is, that however one chooses to parent, it seems only fair that one should prioritize the self worth of one's child. This encompasses the simple, basic necessities of loving ones child, respecting ones child, and allowing him or her the individuality that we are all due. How one then chooses to go on and feed, or discipline, or whatever else goes into the daily ritual is off my radar. I just wish I could see people letting their children be children, like beautiful daisies growing in a summer field, each so beautiful in his or her own way. I wish more children could have a half-full glass, could have the benefit of the doubt, could be given something to grab onto to inspire them to reach to higher places.
And I wish this in part, of course, because my daisy was plucked much to soon, and never had a chance to dance to her own breeze, and develop her own strength of character. Her glass is empty. So couldn't those who are here fill up with some of what she lost?

_________________________

Someone commented to me the other day that May seemed much less heavy this year, that the posts here were much less dragging and sullen. Truth, yes, but it dismays me to think that through the nausea and exhaustion and incredible sense of purpose from a fundraising walk last weekend and a conference next week, that I was perhaps slightly distracted from it all, and we all know how effective it can be to shelve emotion for later (hem, hem). So perhaps there will be days upcoming which are heavier than those that have passed, and for those days I will be grateful.

It feels nicer for me to be sad than to be angry, but it is so much easier to feel angry.

Today Is For Remembering...Charlotte

I just saw this poem on another loss blog, and I wanted to re-post it here and dedicate it to my very dear friend Carol on this day (her 6th birthday), the day of her sweet baby Charlotte's birth, the day her beautiful girl's body stopped working.

Today Is For Remembering
by W.W. Roberts

Today is for remembering
The day begins like any other day,
The busy-ness of people all around me
Going about the tasks of their day,
Will never know the pain
This day marks for me.
I have survived a difficult year.
I have endured more pain and heartache
Than I ever thought possible,
And I have survived.
And I miss you...
It may just be another day
To everyone else,
But today I remember you.

The Heaviness of May

It's coming, the heaviness that struck a pang in my heart even deeper than it already had been 2 years ago, 2 Mother's Day(s) ago...

Though this year is a "re-newal" year for me, for us, I will still feel that weight in my heart, hanging and pulling on the strings (of my heart) that aren't quite in tune as they used to be.

As many of you know, this month is (my dear friend Carol's) baby Charlotte's month. For the past 2 years since I met Carol, and have grown close to her and her family I also have felt pulled in close to Charlotte. Pulled in close to her spirit and I am always close to Birdie's spirit. The last few days, I am finding myself even more taken with thoughts of Charlotte and how it is she and her Mama that have helped so much to shape how I was able to openly grieve for Birdie (and still do). I have never (personally) known or seen any Mama express such beautifully fierc edeep love and gratitude for her children. Through my friendship with Carol, I have been blessed to witness her un-ending love and devotion for her Charlotte, and her beautiful and gentle awareness of living each day to the fullest with her miracle babies, Liam and Aiofe. For they are miracles. Beautiful, gracious miracles who speak of their sister Charlotte so innocently and lovingly...she is with them.

I remember the first time I went to Carol's house. I had arrived on a cool, gray April day (i believe it was April). We were in the kitchen speaking softly, Liam and Aiofe were napping and over the monitor we heard Liam say: "I'm sad that Charlotte died".

Carol and I looked at each other, tears in our eyes.

"You must have brought some Birdie energy with you", Carol said.

Oh, yes, yes I did. Since that moment, since that day I have felt not only Birdie's spirit with me, but also Charlotte's. I like hope that our girls found each other, up there in the stars, in the constellations...in the universe.

And so, as the spirit's of these two little girls fill my heart, so does my gratitude for a friendship that probably might not have been. As I feel this gratitude and love for my dear friend and her children...

I also wish that her dear sweet Charlotte was with her not only in spirit, and memory, but in the flesh. I wish that her Charlotte was upstairs asleep, sweetly breathing and gently dreaming of the adventures she would have in the day to come.

Soon Charlotte will be 6. May 13th, that is her day...that is her day. As we grow closer to the date, I know that my friend is feeling the pang of sadness. The bittersweet of the spring, the season that was supposed to have welcomed her precious blessing, that instead showered her family in tears of sadness.

Why Birdie?
Why Charlotte?

Why?

I love you Birdie.
I love you Charlotte.

Family Portrait In EXHALE Magazine

Mothers Day will soon be here....and I am blessed to honor the memory of our babies in this months EXHALE Magazine.

Peace & Love,
Erin