Happy Babywearing Week!

Actually, that was last week. But never mind. Happy babywearing anyway.

Babywearing is one of the more relaxing topics to research online, I think, because it doesn't seem surrounded by the same amount of controversy as a lot of parenting topics. The bottom line is, everyone carries their babies. And everyone sometimes needs their hands free.

I think the biggest hurdle for me to get over when researching babywearing and baby carriers is that Baby Wearer is some sort of identity, and that there is some magical rite of passage that initiates you into being one. It always confused me a bit, seeing people identify themselves online as "babywearing mamas" or the like. What does it take to actually be a real babywearer? Buying a carrier? Buying the right carrier? Using said carrier a certain number of times or hours per day? Not owning a stroller or bouncy seat? Using your stroller or bouncy seat as a bookshelf or toy storage unit so you're not even tempted to put your child into it? You get the picture.

I think parenting topics are often portrayed as all-or-nothing, either-or situations. Where you're in or you're out. That's a whole post in and of itself, and one which I will definitely write someday. But for now, I think babywearing is a perfect example of the reality that parenting is not  an all-or-nothing scenario. There is no point at which you magically become a Babywearer and can sit at the Babywearers' Table in the high school cafeteria. Babywearing is a tool. A good one, if it works for you. One to throw out, if it doesn't.

So from now on, when I use the term "babywearing," it will mean simply this: "carrying one's infant or toddler on one's body in a hands-free carrier." Sound good?

I will also refer to "babywearing as a lifestyle." This will refer to the practice of generally choosing an on-the-body carrier over other means of baby containment, such as bouncy seats, strollers, blankets on the floor, etc. When I talk about "lifestyle babywearing," I am assuming several hours per day spent with a baby in a carrier.

Gratuitous Daddy babywearing picture. Because I could look at those all day.

I own several carriers and use them several times a week. I used them daily when Peregrine was small. But honestly, I babywear less than I thought I would. I definitely imagined myself as a lifestyle babywearer, but Peregrine was a tricky baby when it came to carriers. Don't get me wrong, Peregrine loved being held. Just not necessarily in carriers. And he knew the difference. So I ended up doing a lot more holding, and a lot less wearing, than I had imagined. Often, when I was wearing him, he wasn't really quite content. But sometimes, I needed my hands. 

As far as babywearing information, Babywearing International is a good place to start. All of the basics--different types of carriers, safety and correct positioning, etc--are covered, and the website is really easy to navigate. Also, it's not overly political, nor does it make you feel like a bad parent for not babywearing. It's just information if you're interested.

But from my own babywearing journey, here are some lesser-known facts about babywearing.

1.) Babywearing is not an all-or-nothing scenario. I know I said it before. But it's important, so I'll say it again. Babywearing isn't something you either commit to doing, or swear off completely. It's a parenting option that can be very helpful. Use it as often, or as little, as makes for peace and convenience within your family.

2.) Babies don't always like it. This one came as a shock to me. A huge shock. Most of what I read on babywearing led me to believe that babies always like it, and are always happier and more content in a carrier. This simply wasn't true with Peregrine. Babies can be picky about carriers. Some have positions they love and positions they can't stand. It is worth making sure you are using your carrier correctly and that your baby's body isn't strained awkwardly. But if you know you're using the carrier as it's meant to be used, and your baby still isn't happy, maybe he just doesn't like it. That's okay. Babies are allowed to have preferences. It doesn't make you a bad parent.

3.) No matter how perfect the carrier, you will still feel the weight. Believe it or not, this one surprised me, too. I think maybe it's the term "wearing," which makes it sound as though it's just like an extra sweater. It's not. It's seven pounds, or ten, or twenty, that you're carrying. You'll feel it. 

4.) If it's not comfortable for both of you, it's not worth it. It just isn't. If either you or your baby (or both) hate your carrier, it will be a miserable experience that will not promote bonding or peaceful living. You will feel the weight, but you shouldn't have chronic pain or irritation. Likewise, your baby shouldn't be constantly squirming or acting uncomfortable. Pain means something is wrong. Make sure you're using your carrier correctly. Find another carrier. Or, just don't do it as often. Disliking babywearing doesn't make you a failure. It doesn't mean you don't want closeness with your child. It just means babywearing is uncomfortable for you. There's no shame in that. 

5.) Most baby carriers are quite expensive. Babywearing websites act like you can own a whole arsenal of cute little carriers and select one to match your outfit every day. Okay, so that's exaggerating a bit. But seriously, they are expensive. I highly recommend borrowing carriers, if you can, before you buy one. Or asking rich relatives for them as gifts. Or doing what I did, and obsessively stalking thrift stores. 

6.) Babywearing generates a lot of heat. A lot. In that way, it is just like a sweater. With a little body inside. As a cold-blooded person who spent her first year of parenthood in a very cold house, I will freely admit I often wore my child just to stay warm. But I've also encountered people who don't babywear at all for this very reason. Again, it's not worth forcing. If it's uncomfortable, find another solution.

7.) There are other ways to bond with your child. Babywearing is an excellent way to provide safety and security to infants and toddlers alike. Babies do tend to be happy, on the whole, in carriers, and it is one of the easiest ways to build a close relationship with a child because it allows you to continue the flow of the rest of your life at the same time. But it's not the only way. Choosing not to wear your baby all the time, or most of the time, or at all, will not doom you to detachment from your child. There are lots and lots of ways to love a baby well. There is absolutely no reason to feel guilt for choosing others.

8.) Even if you do a lot of babywearing, your baby will learn to crawl and walk. I think this is the most common criticism of babywearing, and one that people who practice lifestyle babywearing can get very tired of hearing. But unless you are forcing your child, against his will, to remain constantly attached to your body, he will go through normal development, which includes the desire to get away from mom and practice movement skills. Babies want to learn to crawl and walk, and they will let you know it. Wearing a baby will not somehow prevent this. I suppose it might postpone it. Peregrine spent the vast majority of his first nine months either in a carrier or in arms, and he did crawl later than most of his peers. Who knows what all went into that. But he did learn to crawl when he was ready, and became very good at very quickly. 

At some point in the not-too-distant future, I will write about my experience with different carriers and what options are out there. But for now, Peregrine just handed me the Ergo, smiled, and said "Boody!" Which is Peregrine-ese for "Please!" Highly appropriate, I suppose, in light of the fact that it's Babywearing Week (or was). I think I'll go celebrate.

Nap Schedules and Baby Enrichment Classes

I've tried really consciously not to plan the way I'll be as a parent. Mostly because I just know that if the words, "Oh my goodness I would never---" come out of my mouth, I'll end up eating them someday. And because I don't want parenting to be about My Plan For My Child, because I know that if that is the focus, I'll end up seeing my child as a final grade on me. And because, honestly, I'm just not that much of a planner.

But every now and then, I do end up doing something I didn't really see myself doing as a parent.

The big one has been scheduling. I've never really been one for schedules. I never saw myself being one of those parents whose baby had to eat and sleep at certain times. They eat when they're hungry and sleep when they're tired, right?

Newborns, it turns out, do just that. A lot of babies, it turns out, continue doing just that. Peregrine, it turns out, did not continue doing just that.

Peregrine would eat constantly, if he could. But when he snacks all the time, he never gets enough, and so he's cranky and hungry, and the cycle keeps perpetuating. He does best with intentional, focused meals. In his high chair, no distractions. Just him and the avocados/hummus/meat/cheese/whatever else loaded-with-calories thing I can dig up.

And Peregrine doesn't sleep when he's tired. You know those cute pictures everyone has of their child falling asleep in their high chair/exersaucer thing/the middle of the floor? Yeah, I don't have a single one of those. Because the more tired Peregrine gets the more manically awake and alert he becomes. I guess I just assumed, before I had him, that he would just get droopy a couple of times a day, and at night, and I would soothe him and put him to sleep. If I left it to him, he would possibly never sleep. Except for a few short hours at night when he did drop from absolute exhaustion. Seriously, I can't believe how few hours he would sleep if I just let him fall asleep on his own.

But, it turns out, he thrives on a schedule. By making his mealtimes and sleep times intentional, I can catch him before he becomes cranky with hunger, or manic with tiredness. He's a much, much more peaceful little person. And while I don't necessarily like being tied down to his schedule (seriously, it would be much more awesome if he'd just nap in the car when he got tired), it's part of living with a person who isn't me. It's weird, though; I never imagined saying things like "Peregrine will need to nap around 2:00." Because I'm not really a person who naturally does things around 2:00. I do them sometime in the early afternoon. Or later, if something else comes up.

Today, I clocked in another I-didn't-see-myself-doing-this parenting moment. I packed food to go, put Peregrine in the car, and drove up to the hipper part of town for a Baby Gym Class. As in, an enrichment class for one-year-olds.

I'm a bit bound and determined not to be a soccer mom (which means I'm probably doomed to be one). And I've never really seen the point in baby classes. I mean, you don't really need a teacher and some peppy music to teach babies how to clap and bounce, right? And I believe pretty strongly in the importance of free play and in letting children do their own thing in their own time.

Well, winter is settling in here in the Northwest. And by winter, I mean months and months of rain and cold. I've been dreading this season with a toddler. What do you do with an energetic child when going outside (or outDIE!!! as Peregrine says) means freezing rain, and wind, and mud? When going to the park means toweling off every slide and dressing your kid in trash bags in some vain hope of keeping them marginally dry? I asked a couple of neighbors with toddlers how on earth they stay sane in the winter, and one and all they recommended The Little Gym. So I bit the bullet and signed up for the free class.

And Peregrine loved it. Adored it. He explored every corner of his classroom, crawled across colorful mats at top speed, clapped and booty-shook to all the (terribly corny) music, shrieked with delight when he learned how to shoot baskets, and even, entirely unasked, gave his teacher a hug at the end of the class. I can't even begin to describe how much fun he had, and how much energy he burned off, and how much more content he's been the rest of the day. So here comes my first step down the Slippery Slope Of The Soccer Mom. When I think about the long, rain-filled days, and Peregrine's ever-growing energy, I think it will be worth it.

I guess all this is to say that it's worth holding expectations lightly, and letting parenting grow and evolve. Having ideals is a good thing, to be sure. I have a lot of ideals. But children, and reality, are usually more important than ideals. Flexibility is a good thing, too.

Brave

I was at the doctor's office the other day, making small talk with the receptionist. She smiled at Peregrine, asked me how old he was, and started talking about her little girl. We compared development and talked about crawling and talking and teething. We got on the subject of birth, and started trading stories. She asked me if I'd had an epidural, and I said no.

All of a sudden something changed. Something subtle, but there. A barrier of some sort. We weren't on the same level anymore. She told me she hadn't wanted hers, she had tried to go natural, but the doctors thought it necessary, they had made the decision without her permission. She hadn't wanted it, did I know that?

I don't doubt her story, and I'm really sorry her birth involved her feeling forced into a procedure she hadn't wanted. But this is not the first time this has happened. That sudden break in sameness. The loss of something we shared--until now. I hate it. It's happened with strangers and friends alike. It's like people feel the need to apologize for their hospital births, their epidurals, their c-sections, just because I didn't have these things. Like it somehow makes me tougher, braver, somehow better than them.

It started before Peregrine was born. People would ask me about how I planned to give birth, and when I mentioned with a midwife or unmedicated I felt the same sudden distancing. Or people would shrug, and tell me I was "so brave."

I love natural birth. I love midwifery care. I love that I have those options, and that in the part of the world I live in, they are safe, viable, wonderful options. A lot of things went into my decision to birth with a midwife and not to have an epidural. Toughing out pain was not one of them. (If it had been, I probably would have opted out of the soothing rice pack, the anesthetic while stitching, the ridiculously high doses of ibuprofen to deal with after-pains. Just saying.)

I have a friend whose water broke early, and labor never started. She had to go on pitocin, and needed an epidural to manage the (much more painful) pitocin contractions. She is so brave.

I have a friend whose labor progressed much faster than intended, and her husband delivered the baby in the parking lot of the hospital. She is so brave.

I have a friend who was able to fulfill her dream of having a successful VBAC. She chose an epidural early on, and spent the rest of her peaceful, pain-free labor resting, praying, and talking to her baby, sharing her hopes and dreams for her new daughter's life. She is so brave.

I have a friend who chose not to have a VBAC. She scheduled her second c-section because that was the decision she felt most comfortable with. She is so brave.

I have a friend who had a ridiculously long labor due to her daughter's awkward positioning. Labor was intense and painful, but she made it through, in the end, without drugs and without sleeping for nearly two days. She is so brave.

I have a friend who fought long and hard to labor without drugs. Her labor was difficult, and painful, and lasted more hours than her body could stand. She was eventually transferred to the hospital, and had a c-section at the last minute to save her baby's life. She is so, so very brave.

I have a friend who found out at a prenatal ultrasound that her baby had a serious heart condition. She had a c-section at 34 weeks and her daughter was rushed into the first of many surgeries. She is, perhaps, the bravest of all.

Birth is hard, no matter how you choose to go about it. It is harder if the ways you choose do not work and you are forced to consider other options. I believe absolutely in the power of women's bodies and the beauty of birth. Women have been doing this awesome thing for centuries, millenia. But women have been dying of it too. It takes courage to face, courage to perform. With or without drugs, knives, midwives, doctors.

When I hear the story of a baby's birth, the last thing I am doing is comparing (or even thinking about!) pain tolerance. Everyone's story is different. Everyone makes the choices they make. Just because my choices in that one area happened to be higher on the natural spectrum doesn't make me better. Natural doesn't equal better. Natural is an option. With advantages and disadvantages. Like any other option.

So here's to you, receptionist with the nice smile who let my kid flirt with you and play with your cell phone. Here's to you, birth-er of a beautiful little girl. You know what? You are so brave.

Peregrine's Birth Story

I have this written down in much, much greater detail, so that I can remember every tiny thing. But I've been wanting to write the more public, less painfully detailed story for awhile. So here it is. It will be long. I have very few pictures of the event; it was very fast. But I will include what I have.

38 weeks pregnant, shortly before I started feeling huge and sore

I had an easy pregnancy overall. Morning sickness (also known as all-day-all-night-from week-three-to-week-fifteen sickness) was unpleasant and gross and miserable, but not unbearable at all. I had a cough for virtually my entire pregnancy, and I fractured a rib during a particularly violent coughing episode. Other than that, though, I had no complications. I was healthy and strong, and taught music and dance up until a few weeks before I gave birth.

I had planned to give birth at Bellingham Birth Center with a midwife. I had been present at the home births of two of my younger sisters, and that was how I had always imagined giving birth. But, in the case of complications, our home was over half an hour away from the hospital, and that made me nervous. So the Birth Center was a nice compromise.

Peregrine was due August 9th, and I felt beautiful and glowing and alive up until a few days before his due date. Then I just started feeling tired and bloated and huge. My feet were so swollen, and it hurt so much to walk, and I felt so out of shape. I walked constantly, though, because I really, really didn't want to go overdue to the point where I would have to be induced. I felt mentally prepared for any number of birth complications. But if I needed to be medically induced, I felt like it would automatically cancel my plans to have a natural birth. So I walked for miles every day, breathing hard the whole time. Walking also helped keep my mind off waiting. Waiting was slowly driving me crazy.

The morning of Peregrine's due date, I started noticing a pattern to my contractions. I had been having contractions since 32 weeks, even though I couldn't feel them. As I neared my due date, though, they began to make themselves known, though they weren't painful at all, just a barely-perceptible tightening. I got all excited to see a pattern, but then it stopped. So I decided to ignore them and start my daily regimen of eating fresh raspberries and taking multiple walks. (The raspberries had nothing to do with labor. We just had a ton of them, and I liked eating them).

Raspberries! They were juicy, red, and delicious. 

I took a walk with my mom, who came up for the birth. It was a short walk, but it was hard. My contractions became uncomfortable when I was walking, and I had one I couldn't walk through. We came back home, and ate dinner, and cleaned up, and by about 8 in the evening, I was noticing my contractions were coming pretty consistently at every seven minutes. They still didn't hurt at all, they were just like small, mild muscle cramps. We put on a movie, and I used the DVD timer to time my contractions. They were still coming at every seven minutes, but if I got up to pee (which I did a lot), I always had one, regardless of when the last one had been.

It was about 11 when the movie ended, and we decided to go to bed. We were fairly certain I was in early labor, but if we learned anything in our birth class, it was this: When in early labor, sleep. So we went to sleep. Or rather, Andrew went to sleep. I tried to go to sleep, but found out it takes about six minutes to get almost there. And then I would have a contraction, and wake up. My contractions were much more bothersome when I was lying down, so I would usually get up and go to the bathroom when they started. I tried all sorts of positions, but I couldn't sleep, and my contractions were starting to hurt, so I gave up. For awhile, I tried sleeping on my knees on the couch, leaning over the side, but that didn't work either. I tried not to make any noise, because I didn't think I was that far along, and I didn't want to wake anyone up. But finally, my mom couldn't stand not helping me, so she came out and started rubbing my back.

I was annoyed at not having slept, but when I checked the clock, I found out I'd been laboring for several hours already. By 2:30, I was most definitely in real, painful labor, and my mom woke Andrew up and we called the midwife, Eloisa. She said I should wait to come in until I was sure my contractions were lasting a full minute apiece. She said she thought active labor was just beginning, so I should stay comfortable and take it slow. My mom wasn't so sure; she thought I was nearing the end (it should be noted here that my mom had extremely fast labors; she delivered me, her first, in two hours, and woke up in transition with my youngest sister and had her 15 minutes later). Either way, we decided to leave for Bellingham. We had already made arrangements with my friend and doula, Sarah, to have me labor at her house if I wanted to be in Bellingham but wasn't quite ready to go to the birth center.

The car ride wasn't that bad. It was dark and peaceful, and hardly anyone else was on the road. Whenever I had a contraction, I would press my head into the ceiling of the car (which, oddly, really helped), and hum "What Wondrous Love is This" to myself. I could pretty much count on my contractions lasting the length of a verse of "What Wondrous Love" and it was nice, having something like that to concentrate on. My mom timed my contractions, and they were lasting at least a minute apiece, more often a minute and a half, but we decided just to go to Sarah's. We arrived, and Sarah was very (very, very) excited to see us, and helped settle me in on the futon, sitting on the edge and leaning forward.

The next few hours were by far the most peaceful and enjoyable of my whole labor. Sarah was there, and my mom, and Andrew, and they were brushing my hair and rubbing my back and putting massage oil on my feet. My contractions were hard and painful, but there was space between them, and I concentrated on enjoying those spaces. I thought I had a long way to go, so I decided to just rest as much as I could. I wanted to sleep really badly, so my mom made a nest out of pillows for me and had me lie on my side, since it wasn't as painful as my back. Contractions hurt so much worse lying down at all, but I was so, so tired. Oddly enough, that's the one thing I remember the strongest about being in labor--wanting to sleep with everything in me, and thinking it was so unfair that I hadn't gotten to sleep at all that night. I had never pulled an all-nighter in my life before. I kept telling myself, just get through this, and then you can sleep as long as you want. This line got me through many late-night study sessions in college, but it didn't occur to me at the time that when I got through this, I would have a newborn, and would not sleep as long as I wanted possibly ever again. It was a very reassuring thought at the time, though, so I suppose it's just as well my rational self never kicked in.

Three things were very strange about my labor. The first is that I could always control my contractions. I couldn't stop them, but I could start them. If I ever got up, or changed positions, I would have one. The second is that the pain was always in my back, never anywhere else. I expected this at first, and expected it to change. But it never did. Peregrine was positioned just fine, but I had back labor all the way through. And the third was that my contractions always began at full intensity. I had always imagined contractions on a sort of curve-graph, where the pain would build and build, and peak, and then subside. But mine just came on very suddenly, at their peak from the very start, and then would taper off at the end.

At about 5, we called my dad and Andrew's parents, and told them I was officially in labor. Shortly after that, my labor became very, very intense. My contractions started back to back, with no blissful break in between. My legs started shaking, my nausea got much worse, and I was hot, after being very cold through most of my labor. I was so tired, and it hurt so bad. My contractions felt like they were ripping my spine apart. Andrew decided to call the birth center, but I didn't want to go in and get checked and find out I was only a few centimeters dilated. I could focus through the pain if I just concentrated on the moment I was in. I didn't want to think I had hours ahead. Andrew talked with Eloisa for awhile, and then asked me if meeting at the birth center in an hour sounded good. I said yes, as long as I'm not in transition. Apparently Eloisa had some misgivings when she heard that I had said that. But I didn't really think I was in transition, since no one else seemed to.

Looking back, of course I was in transition. But I didn't feel angry, or scared, or despairing, like I had heard women do during transition. I was just tired. Reflecting on it though, there was a definite change in my emotions. I had stopped feeling gentle and strong and capable. I was ready for labor to be over. I just wanted one of my peaceful breaks-between-contractions again. I didn't want to make low noises, I wanted to scream. And I told Sarah and my mom that I didn't think I could do this for much longer. They wisely refrained from telling me I would probably have to. Andrew came by to comfort me and I almost threw up because there was coffee on his breath. He helped me sit up again, and put a little table in front of me with a pillow on it so I could lay my head down, but the pillow smelled bad. Peregrine was so low, it felt like he was breaking my pelvis open. I kept crying, "He's so low! He's so low!" And everyone kept telling me that was good, he was moving down like he was supposed to. But I wanted to go to bed and sleep.

And then it came, a sweet, blissful break, and suddenly there was no pain. My first thought was, so that wasn't transition, which is too bad, because that means transition is worse, and I can't really imagine worse. My second thought was, I don't care, I'm not in pain, and it feels absolutely wonderful not to be in pain.  I rested for probably five minutes, and then another contraction came, harder than ever. I was groaning and bearing down with the intensity of the contraction, and then it stopped, and it suddenly occurred to me.

I was pushing.

That was an unexpected turn of events.

So I announced to the room, in shock, "I'm pushing! He's coming out!"

And thereupon there was a flurry of activity. I was a bit preoccupied with my second pushing contraction, so I'm not sure who was doing what, but Eloisa was called again, and plans were made to get all the necessary people to the birth center. I again announced to the room, "What if I'm not ready to push?" They all hastened to reassure me, but I realized they thought I had meant, what if I'm emotionally unready to push, when I was actually wondering if my cervix was fully dilated yet. I wasn't even worried about this, I just thought I should throw the question out there. I was in a very odd frame of mind.

I didn't want to move, and I seriously considered calling Eloisa and having her just come to Sarah's house. But for some reason, I was fixated on the idea of giving birth in the water. I'm not sure exactly why. But the thought of the wonderful warm tub of water kept me going. Eventually Andrew came over to me and said, "You're pushing the baby out. We're going to the birth center." I was glad he was so decisive. I was willing to do what people told me to do, but I didn't have any energy to waste on making my own decisions.

It wasn't until I had made it out of the apartment and into the hall that the reality of where I was sunk in. I remember a few things running through my mind at the moment. I felt inordinately sorry for leaving amniotic fluid on Sarah's futon, and I felt bad for all the neighbors, being so rudely awakened by the sounds of a woman (loudly) giving birth (actually, someone did come out to see if everything was okay; she seemed satisfied with Sarah's explanation). But mostly, I just thought about the fact that I was at the top of 27 stairs. At the time, I wasn't sure I would ever make it down them all. I was pushing, actively, and couldn't think about doing anything else. So Andrew picked me up on one side, and Sarah's husband picked me up on the other, and they basically dragged me down the stairs. It was kind of awful. Actually, it was really awful.

They put me in Sarah's car, and I lay in the back with my head in my mom's lap while Sarah floored the accelerator and drove the few miles to the birth center. I was wholly prepared at that moment to give birth in the car, and the prospect didn't bother me, or even faze me that much. I wasn't in control of the situation at all. Things would happen the way they happened, and I was okay with that. I was in a really altered consciousness at the time. I felt almost drugged. My overarching memory of that car ride is of just how beautiful the early-morning was. The light was gray and cool and sleepy and the sun was just beginning to come up. I felt oddly at peace with everything then. At one point I asked where Andrew was, and Sarah said he was right behind us. Actually, she couldn't see him at all.

We arrived at the birth center and had to wait a few minutes for Eloisa to get there and unlock the door. Finally, she arrived, and Andrew came out with a wheelchair for me. I have rarely ever been so glad to see anything in my life. I was dreading walking again. They got me inside, where Eloisa was filling up the tub. Someone made some comment about there maybe not being enough time to fill it up, and I remember thinking that was the most pointless thing I'd ever heard. I had waited long and hard, and braved 27 stairs, for that water. Who cares if it was filled up all the way or not.

Right before I got in, my water broke for real (though it had been trickling on and off), and another intense pushing contraction came on. I was glad it happened then, so Eloisa could see I had been serious about having the baby right then, and so she wouldn't feel like I had dragged her out of bed for a false alarm. I got in the water, and she went through the necessary procedures of checking my blood pressure (which was apparently sky-high, due to my almost-crowning baby), and charting what time I had arrived. She tried to check me, to see how far down Peregrine's head was, but my body would have none of it, and so she gave up.

Peregrine crowned a couple of minutes after I got in the water. I felt it starting, and I felt the pain, and I dreaded what I knew had to happen. I told Eloisa it hurt, and she told me (in her perfect, gentle, monotone voice) to go slow, and be gentle on my body; and I didn't know how to tell her I had no control at all. I rested for awhile, and then his head came through, and my world exploded in pain.

I don't know what exactly made that moment so awful, but I do know it is easily the worst pain I have ever experienced in my life, and that nothing in labor compared to it at all. His head crowned, and then just stayed there, and I had no power either to pull back or to push him out. I know it isn't typical to feel tearing, but I very much did. I felt ripped and split and torn apart, and there was nothing I could do about it. It was the only moment in labor I truly panicked. For all I knew, he would be stuck there, in that terrible burning place, forever, and I would be trapped. I'm not even sure I was fully conscious at the time. I remember Eloisa telling me again to be gentle. I remember her saying his hand was coming out, and I needed to keep going. I remember her saying she was going to check for a cord around his neck, and feeling her hands going in, and thinking, well, it won't really make a difference, nothing can hurt worse than this hurts now. And I remember my mom saying his head was coming and thinking, well, that's obvious.

And then all of a sudden it was over and Eloisa had put a baby on my chest. I wasn't honestly sure how he had gotten there, and I don't really remember pushing the rest of him out, or the relief you're supposed to feel at that moment, much less the exhilaration and the forgetting-it-all that I'd heard of. He was just--there--and I didn't know him yet, but he was there. I grabbed him instinctively, and my fleeting fear that I was too weak to hold him was soon replaced by the assurance that I might be too weak to do anything else, but come what may, I was going to hold him. I heard his tiny little gurgling cry, and then a stronger cry, and I said, "Don't cry, baby," and Eloisa told me crying is good, he should be crying, and I didn't know how to tell her I was just saying hello to him.

No elation. Just shock. And the sudden realization that I was holding a baby.

We stayed that way for a long time. Along the way, I pushed out the placenta. I was shocked when it happened, because I had kind of forgotten it was in there. It hurt coming out, furthering my conviction that I had torn, badly. Eventually Peregrine's cord stopped pulsing, and we cut it, and Andrew got to hold him for the first time.

Proud new daddy, cute new baby. Note the dedication with which P is eating his hands.

He made the rounds, and even met some friends of ours who were there for a prenatal appointment. He had his newborn exam, and weighed in at 7 lbs 7 oz, and 20 1/2 inches long. Meanwhile, I waited for the rest of the amniotic sac to decide to emerge, though I had no strength left to push. I felt literally paralyzed from about the waist down. Eventually, it became imperative that Peregrine start nursing, whether or not I had to go to the hospital to finish the placenta removal. But when I stood up, it all came out. By that time, I was glad to be rid of the gross bloody water.

Peregrine latched on like a pro, and nursing him felt completely natural. I had wondered a lot how that moment would feel, but it didn't really feel like anything. I spent my childhood imitating my mom and pretending to nurse baby dolls and stuffed animals (and pine branches and wood blocks), and I remember thinking it felt like that. No huge surge of hormones, no pain. Just a baby, sucking away.

Still no elation. But a very primal falling in love.

Eloisa examined me for tears, which I knew I had. I had felt them happen, and I felt them still stinging away. I was right, I had torn up and down, and although the tears were only second-degree, they went deep, deep inside me. It took a long time to stitch me up, and it was kind of a terrible experience. I kept berating myself for thinking it was so bad; after all, I had just pushed out a baby. But there was no getting around the fact that it was awful. For one thing, my muscles weren't functioning right, so every time one would flinch, there would be a ripple effect in all the surrounding muscles. And for another, I had just pushed out a baby. In a way, it was like scratching a sunburn. It didn't put the pain into proper perspective, it made it worse. I kept asking Eloisa, hopefully, if she was almost done, and she kept telling me (in her calm, gentle, perfect voice) that she wasn't actually, there was a lot more to go, and I should just focus on my baby. I appreciated her honestly, if not her message, so I gritted my teeth and focused on my baby for all I was worth. I don't know the final stitch count, only that one time when Eloisa told me she wasn't done she mentioned having already put in a dozen stitches.

The rest of the protocol was attended to. I drank blue gatorade and peed successfully, but then I just about fainted on the way back to the bed. Sarah caught me in time and laid me on the bed, and Eloisa told me I should take a nap before I left. So I took a nap, and then Andrew and my mom got Peregrine dressed in tiny little clothes and put him in his carseat. The seatbelt was too big, and we had to pad the empty space with diapers. Then they wheeled me outside and got me into the car, and half an hour later (maybe a bit more, Andrew drove way below the speed limit in light of his precious new cargo), we were home, and I was in bed, with my tiny new creature snuggled up beside me.

Still no elation. But wonder, definitely wonder. He was so little.

It was days before I felt elation. The first few days were blurry and strange; I was sleep deprived and every bone and muscle and nerve in my body throbbed and ached and stung. Everything hurt, and I was still covered in sweat and blood because I couldn't stand long enough to take a shower. But when those days were over, and I was beginning to get some strength, then I would stare at him in wonder. Some of it was a kind of horrified wonder (How on earth did that giant head fit through me? How?), but most of it was awestruck wonder. I lived it all over in my mind, hardly able to believe the power, the sacredness, the beauty of it all. And then the elation came, and sometimes it floored me with its intensity.

Elation.

So that's Peregrine's story. The beginning of it, at least. He came like a storm and lives like one. It's the hardest work I've ever done, and it was kind of wonderful. A part of me was born, I think, when I gave birth to him. I don't really understand it all. But if increased pain in childbearing is part of the curse of sin, I think childbearing itself is part of the image of God.

An Ode to Curiosity...and Learning...and Peregrine

Forgive the red eyes. And the goofy expression. But this was a fairly accurate representation of Peregrine from about five weeks to five months.

I noticed when it happened. It was a matter of days, maybe even hours. But when Peregrine was about five weeks old, he opened his eyes.

Not that they hadn't been open before. But something changed, really changed, around the five-week mark. It was like suddenly, he could see, and his eyes popped wide open, and he started looking at the world, and studying it, and eating it up, and drinking it all in.

Peregrine has the most insatiable curiosity of any child, and possibly any person, I have ever met. He reminds me sometimes of some little wild creature, all of his senses so incredibly keen and honed and alert. He'll be playing away happily and then just sit up, tense, his eyes huge and all his muscles ready for action. I will have heard nothing, but if I pay attention very closely I'll eventually find out what caught his attention. A dog barking several blocks away. A siren up the hill in town. A little bird on the deck. Andrew's car pulling into the driveway.

Maybe it's the teacher in me, but it absolutely fascinates me watching Peregrine learn. It blows me away with amazement. He has such a readable face, and he does everything with such intense zest and zeal, that I can all but see the wheels turning in his brain. He eats up every new experience and stores it in his memory, and hones it and refines it and figures out what it all means.

He's in a very steep learning growth spurt right now, especially when it comes to language. He's always been pretty vocal and verbal, and he has a substantial vocabulary, but it's his understanding that has amazed me lately. How does he do it? How can someone who has been alive for such a short time pick up on the things I say as quickly and eagerly as he does?

He absolutely loves "assisting" me with housework. I've always encouraged it, because I think the best way to teach children to work is to include them early and make it fun. So I give exaggerated thank yous when he hands me silverware out of the dishwasher or picks up stray socks from the laundry basket. And I always tell him what a wonderful helper he is, how much I need his help, and so on. Now all I have to do is say "I need your help!" and he dashes across the room, ready to save the day by closing a door or retrieving a fallen spoon. Yesterday he shut himself in the bathroom, and then opened a drawer in front of the door. He couldn't get out, and I couldn't get him out because of the drawer. I knew the only way he was coming out was if he closed the drawer, but I had no idea how to tell him this. Then I remembered that closing things (drawers, washing machine doors, etc) has been one of his favorite ways of helping lately, so I told him I needed his help--could he be my helper and close the drawer? He started hyperventilating with joy at coming to my rescue again, and the next thing I knew, the drawer was closed and he was free. A month ago, a week ago even, he would have had no idea what I meant. It floors me how fast he picks up patterns and learns what things mean.

He watches and analyzes constantly, and he is always making connections. When he hurts himself, he wants a quick snuggle, and then he immediately returns to the site of the injury and tries to figure out exactly what went wrong. When I tell him no, he wants to know exactly what I meant. No ripping the toilet paper? No touching the toilet paper at all? No approaching the toilet paper? And he never forgets anything. He knows every off-limits item in the house. (In fact, he can't get away with anything, because he tells himself no loudly, even when I'm not nearby). I took something away from him this morning, and explained to him that it wasn't for him, it would make him choke. He looked at me with big, earnest eyes, and then started coughing and gagging. Oh! Choke! I know that one!

He's noticed lately that I throw the compost off the side of the deck. So, helpfully, he's been carrying all the crumbs and dirty utensils he can find outside. He wants to know the system for everything, how it all comes together, and what we do when. He's always been very attached to schedules and routines, something I always have to remember and impose on my attachment to spontaneity and flexibility. And right now, it's to my advantage. No matter how mad he is about having to take a nap or stop doing something, he can't help but be excited at going through the ritual of whatever it is we're doing. And excited is putting it mildly. He pants like a puppy. He speed-crawls as fast as he can from one spot to the other, because he knows where teeth get brushed! and after that we read a story and he knows where those are too! It never gets old.

I know he's my first, and that's a learning curve for me, too. But it's one of my greatest joys right now, watching him learn. It's immensely satisfying for me as a teacher and as a mother (and, as a nerd in general). The human brain amazes me. Peregrine amazes me. I know he'll grow and change, and one day, the fact that shoes go on your feet and you put on one and then you put on the other!!!! will just be a fact, and not a reason to hyperventilate and bounce up and down with anticipation. But I hope he never loses this joy, this intense curiosity, this drive to know and do and experience and understand. I hope it's a part of him I'll always nurture, always revel in, always encourage. Because it's incredibly wonderful. I want to be like that when I grow up.

Common Advice, Amended

I've gotten quite a bit of parenting advice since I became a parent. It has ranged from the life-changing to the absurd, from the practical to the laughable, from the that's-a-good-idea-in-theory to the who-knew-that-would-work. But I've been thinking lately of pieces of advice I've given, over and over and over again, and that I see given to practically every new mom. They've never sat exactly right with me, so I've decided to pick them apart a bit, and amend them to make more sense in my mind.

1. Don't Watch The Clock

Why it's good at its core: Babies don't come out of the womb understanding clocks the way adults have been conditioned to. It would be amazing if they slept 12-hour nights and ate three meals a day from the get-go, but they don't. And that can be very, very frustrating. No matter how well you know that your schedule is going to be blown to pieces with a baby's arrival, it still comes as a shock. And sometimes, the best way to cope with it is to just kick clocks out of your life for awhile. Ignorance can be bliss when you've been awake for hours nursing and rocking and diagnosing your baby's lack of sleepiness. Or at least it's more bliss than knowing that you woke up at 1:15, it's now 5:47, and usually you're asleep during those hours. Going with the flow, catching sleep when you can, feeding the baby when he's hungry and not stressing about how long (or short) it's been since his last feeding, can save your sanity and help keep your expectations realistic.

Why it doesn't quite work for me: Well, first of all, I had a baby who preferred eating his hands to nursing. So, right from the start, I had to watch the clock. But, in the long run, here's what I found out. My baby, and most babies I think, do eventually fall into rhythms. And observing those rhythms, and figuring out what they are and what clock-times they usually correspond with, can make for a much, much more peaceful household. I was told many, many times to just watch my baby's cues and meet his needs as he expressed them. But here's the deal: sometimes I just didn't know. Sometimes I thought Peregrine was hungry, and would feed and feed and feed, and wonder why on earth he was still hungry, and then realize he had been tired, exhausted in fact, all along. I think this happens to most parents. Reading a baby's cues isn't always as simple as it sounds. And I found that watching the clock--not stressing about the clock, just watching it--helped me predict what needs he would have when. Since I knew he often became tired about an hour and a half after waking up, for instance, I could predict that time and put him to bed before he became miserably over-tired. Far from tying me to clock-time and making me ignore my baby's needs, watching the clock actually helped me anticipate Peregrine's needs and meet them before he became desperate.

So here's what I would say: Don't stress about the clock. Ignore it when your baby is new. But as life starts to develop some rhythms, use it to watch them. Always be flexible. But use clock-time to help you figure out when, generally, your baby tends to get hungry or tired.

2. No One Ever Regretted Holding Their Baby Too Much

Why it's good at its core: I've heard this one a lot from grandmas and from people whose kids are grown. And I've heard it as a response to the whole "you'll spoil your newborn by holding him!" position. The truth is, you can't spoil a baby, or child, or person, by showing them genuine love. Lavishing children with love, or being spontaneously extravagant, or stopping your work just to play and laugh and be silly--odds are, you won't  regret doing those things. Odds are, your children will remember them and love you for them. And it's always helpful to remember that your newborn just emerged from a uterus, where she was warm and snuggled 24/7. No, you won't spoil her by holding her. Even if you hold her a lot.

Why it doesn't quite work for me: I don't actually think many people of my generation believe they can spoil babies by holding them. In fact, I think the opposite is true; I think a lot of us believe we can hurt our babies, emotionally or otherwise, by not lavishing them with constant attention and closeness. I think there has been a definite swing for the better in terms of baby-raising philosophies, but, like any philosophy, I think it is unwise to take it to an extreme. No, I don't think anyone regrets showing love to their children. But I think people do regret not caring for their own emotional and physical health. Feeling as though you must, at all times, be engaged with your baby (or older children!), can lead to a lot of false guilt and burnout and be incredibly unhealthy for your family.

So here's what I would say: Hold your baby as much as you want to; you won't spoil her. But if you feel consistently trapped by having to hold her, don't just consider it a necessary sacrifice. Go to the bathroom, take a shower, run an errand. Give her to your husband, or mother, or a neighbor you trust. Put her down. She will be okay, even if she cries a little. Even a small break can clear your mind and make you much healthier overall.

3. Sleep When The Baby Sleeps

Why it's good at its core: Having a baby knocks most of your priorities around, and makes it virtually impossible to do all the things you used to do. And since newborns  often don't sleep when you are used to sleeping, you end up losing a lot of sleep that you desperately need. I also know a lot of new moms (myself included) who feel the need to use the baby's sleeping hours (or minutes!) to catch up on all the housework that hasn't been done. It's tempting, because it's the only peaceful time you get. But when you spend the baby's waking hours caring for the baby, and the baby's sleeping hours caring for your neglected work, you can burn out pretty quickly. It's good to remember to slow down and shift priorities toward caring for yourself and maintaining your basic physical health.

 Why it doesn't quite work for me: Well, for one, I can't nap on command. In Peregrine's first few weeks, I was so exhausted I could. But usually, I just don't nap. I didn't, even when I was pregnant. And if I do nap, I am out cold for hours. Cat-napping for twenty or thirty minutes just doesn't refresh me at all. It's exceedingly frustrating to settle myself down for a nap, only to be woken up twenty minutes later by a needy baby. I'd rather just not try. Also, this isn't very practical advice for anyone who works, or who has other children (especially toddlers!). And finally, I feel like this is often marketed as the end-all for having a peaceful relationship with a baby, when in reality it's a lot more complicated than that. It can help, sure, but you're still going to be tired. And that tiredness is not your fault, or the result of you not being flexible enough to just sleep when your baby sleeps.

So here's what I would say: Use the baby's sleeping hours to refresh yourself, whatever that means. Take a nap, read a book, play quietly with another child, even clean your house if a few minutes/hours of quiet cleaning do actually refresh your soul and make your life more peaceful. Try to do things you can't do when your baby is awake (I could always put Peregrine in a carrier and wash the dishes; I couldn't sit and read). Also, take time for sleep in whatever way works for you. Go to bed early. Sleep in if you can. Or, if it works, nap when the baby naps.

4. Trust Your Instincts

Why it's good at its core: Mothers know their babies better than anyone else in the world. We spend more time with them than anyone else and even in the first few weeks, come to be experts on their various cries, facial expressions, and body language. Besides, maternal instinct is a powerful thing. It's ingrained in us to know our children. And when other experts (doctors, mothers, mothers-in-law, friends, etc) give us advice, however well-guided by knowledge, experience, and science; the fact remains that they still don't have to live with our specific babies 24/7. Sometimes it's easy for both us and our advisers to forget that.

Why it doesn't quite work for me: I have two problems with this one. The first is that I have almost always encountered this piece of advice in conjunction with other pieces of advice. As in, say, an article  urging mothers to co-sleep, and telling them to trust their instincts and ignore the people who are telling them their babies need their own beds. It doesn't matter what the advice-giver wants people to do (not picking on co-sleeping, it's a wonderful thing!); the message is that whatever it is ought to be instinctual. That of course all mothers, if they could just blot out The Other Voices, would be doing it without a second thought. I feel like it's often used more as an emotional argument than a reassurance. And secondly, I don't always trust my instincts. Sometimes my instincts are misinformed. Sometimes they do odd things simply from habit. Sometimes they tend toward absurd paranoia. Of course my basic maternal instinct is a good thing. But it's not a perfect thing. It needs information, and assistance, and reality checks, from other reliable sources.

So here's what I would say: You know your child better than anyone else, and you (and your household) are the only ones who have to live with him day in and day out. Don't forget that when others are giving you advice, even if they are well-informed. Surround yourself with people, and sources, that you trust. Allow your natural, wonderful maternal instinct to be influenced and guided by them. (And please trust an actual doctor instead of Dr. Google!)

Well, there it is. I'm sure the people giving these pieces of advice probably don't read this much into them. But since they are so ubiquitous, I thought it was worth amending them a little. Take my amendments for what they're worth.

Best

So, I've been thinking of the "soulmate theory" lately.

Part of it was this post on the impossibility of everyone having one theoretical soulmate in the world. Part of it was the amazing song the article linked to. Part of it is simply that it's a theme constantly running in my mind.

I love Andrew dearly and I hope to love him more and more with each year and day and hour that we spend married to each other. But I do honestly believe that I would find a marriage to any number of men equally satisfactory and wonderful--in some ways even more so, in some a lot less. Andrew and I fell in love and dated and married, but I don't think we were destined for each other, or that there is a possibility I picked the wrong one and I am actually destined for someone else. I think we chose each other, pure and simple, and vowed to be stuck with each other, for better or for worse.

I think the idea that love and marriage are matters of fate and destiny and hoping to find the Right Person is a pretty deceiving one, and permeates a lot of the way we think about relationships. But that's another rant and one I've had plenty of times before. What I've been thinking about lately is that we often approach parenting in the same way.

I spend a lot of time thinking about the best way to raise my child; probably too much time, to be honest. And it's a vortex that is easy to be sucked into, because there is so much information out there. It's a double-edged sword, I think. We are incredibly lucky to have such a wide range of research and experience to draw on. We don't have to do things the way they've been done, simply because that's all we know. But on the other hand, the information can be overwhelming. And the opinions can be even more overwhelming.

It goes deeper than just the ever-present Mommy Wars. Underneath the sometimes-uplifting, sometimes-petty debates about clothing and feeding and sleeping and teaching, we all truly want what is best for our children. And I think that sometimes we are searching, perhaps without even knowing it, for our parenting-style Soulmate, so to speak. For the way of parenting, whatever it is, that we can start dating, and eventually marry, that will be compatible with us and make our journey with our children smooth and peaceful and make everything turn out right in the end.

I think we all know, in our hearts, that it isn't that simple. We know that every relationship involves real people and is therefore much messier than it looks on paper or computer screen. But we keep looking anyway. We may know, and believe, that there is no One Right Way of Parenting. But we want the best. We spend a lot of time trying to find the best. And when new research comes out, or new people influence our lives, we feel guilty for not having known, for having given our children less than the best.

But you know what? I don't think there is a Best Way, any more than there is a Right Way. I think the way we parent is dependent on hundreds of factors--our personalities, our children's personalities, where we live, what kind of support systems we have, what kinds of stress we are experiencing, to name only a few. We will grow and change as time goes on, and we won't parent the same way all the time. And that's okay. I do think, when it comes down to it, that I am doing a good job mothering Peregrine. But I also think I could have made hundreds of different choices and still be doing a good job. Just like I could have married any number of men and had a good marriage. It doesn't negate the beauty and wonderfulness of the marriage I have. It just puts it into some perspective.

Of course I want what is best for my child. The vast majority of mothers do. But I'm learning it's more complicated than that. There certainly isn't a right way to raise a child. There may not be a best way either. But there are many, many, many good ways to raise a child. I hope I will always seek after the good for myself, and always recognize it when it is present in others.