On Wednesday May 21st, during the Respectful Birth Week, at 10 am Brasilia time, our International MotherBaby Organization Board of Directors member Daphne Rattner, also the president of the Brazilian Network for the Humanization of Childbirth (ReHuNa), will speak about the laws available and the ones needed for an optimal birth for women and babies at the House of Representatives of the Federal District in Brasília, by an initiative of its president, Wasny De Roure, and the Deputy Arlete Sampaio. District and federal authorities as well as representatives of women’s organizations will be debating the proposals. During the event, the House of Representatives will honor ReHuNa for its 20 years of activist achievements.
Birth Story of Xquenda Luis Stockall
Submitted by his mama Monica Ann Stockall with photos taken by dad
Dedicated to Xquenda Luis Stockall
February baby. We’re here. I can’t stand the anticipation and uncertainty of not knowing when you’ll arrive. I tell myself it’ll be on the full moon of Saturday the 15th. I just can’t wait to meet you.
Valentine’s day. I bake you a birthday cake; a vegan dark chocolate spelt brownie covered in dried camomile flowers and topped with a 0 candle, which we have left over from your grandpa’s 50th a few months ago. I make heart-shaped banana muffins for your dad and the midwives who will be assisting me in your home birth. It’s snowing hard. Your dad comes home from work and surprises me with a beautiful rose. I put it on the birth altar I created at my bedside; inspiration for my body to slowly and gently open up to let you out. In the evening I listen to my Baby Come Out hypnosis track and wait for my birthing waves to start. They don’t.
We wait until Monday to dig into your birthday cake. I’m officially over 40 weeks pregnant. I know that babies need to come out before a certain time to be able to be safely born at home, naturally, without any interventions, with a midwife. Just as I’ve planned for us. I desire my ideal birth experience so intensely, and do not want to go near the possibility of having to go to a hospital for any reason. Sometimes at night I feel my uterus tense up gently. A sensation between a clenching fist and a hiccough in my huge belly.
Mid-week, I feel what I imagine to be my cervix opening gently. It feels like the ground opening up from underneath me. I can feel how close you are. I continue to listen to several hypnosis tracks every day, which help me so much to relax deeply, and confidently look forward to your birthing time. I’m constantly visualizing my body softening and opening to let you through. The power of deep breathing and positive affirmations is a radical new experience for me.
It’s Friday the 21st. I go to my appointment with our midwife, Marika. We talk about the possibility of eventually trying natural induction techniques. Primrose oil. Castor oil. Unsticking the membranes. Rupturing the membranes. She gives me a referral for an ultrasound and electronic fetal monitoring at the hospital. I accept it and pray you come out before the appointment. She offers to perform an internal check. Curiosity wins me over and I accept. To my great relief and uncontainable excitement, the smile on her face says it all: “We’re going to be seeing each other again very soon!” My cervix is already 80% effaced and 3cm dilated. My body has already silently started the work! I trust my instincts and know you’re really on your way now.
Your papito picks me up and I tell him the great news. I feel like all these months, you’ve been away on a long trip; now the wait for our reunion is almost over. The last leg of it is upon us. You’re coming home. I imagine you on an airplane. Still so far in another realm, suspended in a fragile space. Yet so close, about to begin your descent and landing very soon.
Our fridge is ridiculously empty so we decide to do groceries on our way home. On the way, I suddenly feel my first contraction. Real or fake, it’s intense and it scares me. I tell your dad to take us home instead. “Are you serious?” “Yeah.” He immediately turns the truck around. The feeling passes. I realize I just can’t welcome you home with an empty fridge. The fact that you’ll be on an exclusive breast milk diet for the next 6 months is besides the point. We turn around yet again and head to our favorite, cheapest grocery store. We joke about me giving birth to you beside their famous mountain of smelly dried fish at the back. No such thing happens. I don’t have a single additional contraction.
Back home, we have a nap. It’s now evening. Our kitchen light bulb burns out. We prepare a romantic candlelight dinner of homemade vegetarian poutine with cilantro and fried onions. Your dad goes back out in the rain just to buy cheese curds from the fancy overpriced grocery store not far from our apartment. I sense it’s our last supper just us 3, with Chia. An exquisite sunset of orange, pink and purple illuminates our kitchen window. I make more muffins, carrot and raisin this time. I go to bed early, around 10:30. I want to be as rested as possible for what’s to come.
I’m awakened at 1:15 in the morning by powerful contractions coming and going at regular intervals. They feel like the cramps I usually get on the first day of my menstruation. I’m surprised at how strong they are. I know it without a doubt; your landing is upon us. As much as I looked forward to this time, I feel scared. I wake up your dad to tell him. He reminds me, half asleep, “This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Try to enjoy it…” I ask him to grab his cell phone to help me time how spaced out my pressure waves are. I squeeze his hand and wake him up again every time one starts. They’re 3 minutes apart.
I say goodbye to my imagined romantic “latent phase”. There’ll be no easing into it. No burst of energy for last minute preparations while rocking out to my birthing day playlist of empowering feel-good songs, no calling my friend Léa who we’d planned would photograph your birth. No making love to get labor going. I come to accept it and get into action. I put on my Easy First Stage hypnosis track and try to go into hypnosis, as I’ve practised countless times before. I just can’t relax. I can’t even hear what the recording is saying. I try to visualize my special place. Imagine my anesthesia. But with every wave I just writhe and moan in intense discomfort.
I ask your dad to wake up and stay with me. I need him. I remember my “orgasmic birthing” techniques and we try passionate kissing during each pressure wave, to help me relax and produce more oxytocin, the contraction-inducing love hormone. I start to realize I might not have the easy, comfortable, painless and orgasmic birth experience I solely prepared myself for.
As my last hope I run a hot bath. Lavender salts. I light a candle in my clay candle holder that casts heart and diamond shaped shadows on the wall. Our apartment is in complete darkness, apart from the flame and a few Christmas lights we still have up. Our bath is so small and awkward to move in with my huge belly. The water doesn’t relieve me in the least. I ask your dad to make me hierba buena tea and stay close to me. He’s still so tired and sleepy. My pressure waves actually start to space out so I tell myself I better get out. I begin to travel incessantly from our bed, to the toilet, to the couch, and back again. I feel like I need to shit, piss and vomit, all at the same time, with nothing coming out. My uterus and thighs seem to want to crawl out of my skin. The power at work inside me is indescribable.
I realize the only thing that makes the contractions more bearable is making very loud, low guttural moans through my throat and mouth. Sounds I didn’t even know I’m capable of. Noises I’d be way too self-conscious to make in any other circumstance. They fall somewhere between a desperate cry and a sacred, entranced chant. Making them feels like release. Like freedom. Like pure, sweet surrender. I enter the sound and I stay there, safe inside its vibrancy, until the wave with its crescendo motion passes. Then I rest in total off mode, until the next.
At 3am, I call Marika. I tell her this is it. With that calm voice of hers, she asks me for details. I have little conception of how long my contractions are so we go through one together. She listens on the other end. She says she’ll be on her way. I settle for a kneeling position on the floor, leaning forward on the sofa. I brace myself for each contraction.
She’s here within 30 minutes. With tears in my eyes I tell her it’s not what I expected. She says “I know… It’s okay. You’re doing amazingly.” She proceeds to move all my things to install her material. Your dad helps her prepare the room. It takes them some time because we didn’t think to put the “homebirth list of things to prepare” things all in one place. I’m by myself while they do this. Even Chia’s set herself apart. I feel really alone.
The bedroom is finally ready. Your dad comes to get me. I climb on our bed and get back on all fours immediately. I prop my elbows on a stack of pillows. My head is down and my pelvis is up in the air. Ayayayayayayay… I hear myself say. I’m so thirsty. Your dad brings me glass after glass of water. I feel I can’t move any inch of my body. He pours it for me into my mouth. He places cold compresses on my nape and forehead. Touches me to let me know he’s there. Gently reminds me to relax and release.
My feet become ice cold. Marika puts my green wool socks on them, the ones I hand-stitched from an old sweater. The warmth and softness comforts me. She applies pressure to my lower back with her hands. She offers to check my dilation to know if it’s time to call the 2nd midwife who will assist her when you come out. I had told her I didn’t want to be checked because I was afraid putting a number to my progress would discourage me. But I just agree to it. I’m at 9.5cm. The pushing stage is very near.
I feel discouraged for a moment that my hypno-anesthesia isn’t working, yet I’m so relieved that everything is happening so fast. I’ll be meeting you so soon, honey. I wonder how on earth women choose to have more than one child. How they knowingly go through this. I mostly have no concept of time. I experience the present moment so fully. I feel propelled forward into the unknown at breakneck speed. I realize the only way out of this is through. I have to embrace it. Give myself over completely.
I start to speak to myself out loud. I repeat my learned hypnosis word-cues over and over. Like a mantra. I don’t care if they work or not, I’m using them. I feel I’m hanging on to them for dear life. “Release… relax… peace… Xquenda… open, open, open… powerful anesthesia in my uterus, in my cervix, in my vagina…” Over and over. Breathlessly. I feel like I’m out at sea all by myself. In the middle of a storm. I hardly have enough time to catch my breath before the next wave knocks me down again. I dig my claws into my stack of pillows. I feel I’m hanging on to the dear ground in the midst of a hurricane. Losing total control.
“You’re doing great, Monica”, Marika tells me. Those words mean SO much to me in this moment. At some point, Marie-Josée, the second midwife, arrives. Your dad tells me he’ll be right back, he’s going to make them all coffee. Coffee? Really?
I suddenly feel hot water gush out of me. I’m so relieved. It must be almost over. The urge to push is descending upon me. I try to push. I don’t exactly know how. Marika tells me to focus all my energy into my pelvis, instead of into the sounds I’m making with my mouth. “Make deeper, lower, grunting sounds even, as if you need to shit something out”. I try her suggestion. I’m amazed at the shift in energy. The power of it. The feeling of your slow descent… She informs me that there’s meconium in my water. That’s not a good thing. She checks your heartbeat with a doppler in between each contraction. It’s strong and stable, but she looks at me in the eyes and tells me I have to get you out sooner than later.
The pressure is ON. Figuratively, literally. So. Much. Pressure. There’s unbelievable pressure in my entire pelvic region. I momentarily feel scared at feeling my body open so much. I know there is no other way. I have to accept it. Run with it. Dive into it entirely. Your head starts to crown. Little by little. It keeps going back in. Over and over like that. An hour of back and forth. Back and forth…
Daylight is starting to creep into our room. They can see your dark hair. I’m riding the momentum of each contraction. I’m pushing down and screaming like a savage animal, a lion maybe, until I have no more breath or energy left inside me. Not because I’m in pain but because of the sheer power it gives me. I feel the excited energy in the room with each bit of you that slides out. I notice how it dies down as my own energy dwindles and you slide back in. I’m getting tired. Marika advises me to change positions. I lay down on my side with my leg propped up wide in the air, supported by someone. I try a few pushes in this position. I’ve had it now. I tell myself that with the next wave, you ARE coming out. I push, I push, I push until I feel an incredible burning in my vagina, I push until I can’t anymore and then I continue to push. This is it. Yes yes yes! I hear them say, so I don’t stop, I scream out every single last ounce of me that I possess, and finally… your head is out. I did it. I push some more and the rest of your body slides out in one awkward sensation. It’s 7:11 am on February 22nd. The moment of your birth.
Before I know it, a little grey-blue, slimy and bloody creature is handed over to me… YOU! They hand you to me and I lay you on my belly. I have no idea how to hold you. I can hardly believe it, that you’re really there, looking up at me with your almond-shaped eyes. I look over to your dad who’s lying down beside me and watching you with the same amazement and look of surprise that I have. We both thought this moment would bring tears to our eyes but it doesn’t, we’re both just in complete awe, eyes wide open, speechless. You start crawling towards my breast, searching for my nipple with your mouth. I try to help you but Marika suggests to let you find it on your own. You eventually do, and suck for a moment. Oh, how I’ve imagined this moment countless times! I look at you closely. I’m amazed at your full head of dark hair. The fine duvet on your back. Your tiny ears. Your long fingernails. You have your dad’s beautiful skin color. You’re still attached to me by your umbilical cord. My placenta comes out ten minutes later in a gentle gush. We wait a while before clamping it. Eventually our dad cuts the squishy cord attaching us together.
My emotions are indescribable. Joy. Love. Gratitude. Pride. Relief. Exhaustion. Adrenaline. Peace. Hunger. Vulnerability. Strength. I start to tremble. I feel so weak and lightheaded. I eat a muffin, drink some water. There’s a lot of blood coming out of me. The midwives give us some space to be together. They insist that I pee to help stop the bleeding. After a few tries I finally do. They clean up a bit, then start to stitch up the 2nd degree tear in my perineum. Your father lies on the bed beside me and holds you skin to skin on his chest. You’re quiet and wide awake, observing the world around you. You do your first pee on his belly. He holds my hand at the same time. They use anesthesia but I can feel the needle and thread go in anyway, countless times. I cry and try to be strong. This is the most unpleasant part of my birthing experience. They say it’s like putting a puzzle together. It takes them an hour to do it. God, please let them put this sacred aspect of my femininity back together correctly.
It’s finally over. I crave a shower to clean off the blood and clean clothes to cover my nakedness. I quickly have one and come back to bed and hold you. Your dad snuggles with us too, in between loads of laundry and preparing tuna salad for the midwives and me. Marika comes to weigh and examine you. I watch in amazement as she tests out your responses and reflexes. You weigh 8 pounds and 4 ounces.
I call my mom. She cries tears of happiness, in disbelief that she slept soundly through my labor. She can’t wait to meet you. An hour or two later, she comes over. The moment I see my own mother is when I finally feel the tears well up inside me… There are just no words to describe initiation into mamahood.
Written by Monica Ann Stockall
Montreal, Quebec.
Birth of Marjolein’s Baby Adam
Marjolein Mensink is a Dutch Midwife who shared her background & first birth story with us in previous blogs. Here she shares about the birth of her second son, Adam.
Submitted by Marjolein Mensink
As I am getting closer to my due date I have mixed feelings: I still feel great and enjoy being pregnant so much, but I also can’t wait to meet the little person who’s inside me. Is it a boy or a girl (I think it’s a girl!)? Will he or she look like our son Ben? Also, I am very curious about how my birth will be. Ben’s birth was a great experience, he was born at home as I wished for after just four hours of labor and everything went well. Having this experience in my mind, I am actually looking forward to having a new birthing experience soon.
Because Ben was born fast I tell my partner Jacco that there’s a chance that he will be the one to catch our baby if our midwife doesn’t make it on time. I don’t know any other man as relaxed as Jacco is, so the idea of catching the baby doesn’t get him of his feet. He jokes: ‘Well you know you can wake me up once the baby’s head is born’. Secretly I like the idea of doing it all by ourselves very much, but being a midwife myself, there is also a voice that tells me that this is something that we couldn’t do. After all, why wouldn’t a midwife want another midwife at her own birth?
My best friend Maartje who is also a midwife is staying near our home the weekend before my due date. Her home is a two hour drive from ours so only if the birth starts this weekend, Maartje can come. It’s a wild guess, but we both think it’s at least worth a try. Because of the distance and the bad weather she couldn’t be there when Ben was born.
Maartje comes by for a drink on Saturday evening. As I go to the kitchen to get her something, she says: ‘I just said to Marvin (her husband): how funny would it be if her water breaks when I am there…’ And you might not believe it, but right after this my water breaks (8.45 PM).
We are totally surprised and can’t stop giggling for a few minutes. This is great! There’s a very good chance our baby will come tonight and Maartje will be there with us. What perfect timing. Jacco’s parents come to pick up Ben for the night, Maartje prepares everything for the homebirth and I take a long shower. I am so ready, let the contractions begin!
That night…nothing happens. I am so disappointed and also surprised. I’m always looking for answers and I just don’t understand why nothing happened. Of course, I know that bodies and births don’t always work the same, but still. The ‘policy’ is to go to the hospital after 24 hours when labor doesn’t start and I start to feel this deadline slowly. We decide to pick up Ben and Maartje goes back to her family. She’ll be closeby until dinnertime, so there’s still a chance that she’ll be there as our midwife.
During the day I try everything: listening to music, taking long showers, massaging acupressure points, looking for distraction (going out for lunch and a walk in the park), but NOTHING works. Obviously I am very frustrated at a certain point. I want a homebirth so bad and hate the idea of having to go to the hospital. Actually, I am also very afraid that the birth will be more painful because of having to be on an IV and fetal monitor. I do always think everything happens for a reason so maybe it is just supposed to go like this. It might even be a useful experience for me as a (hospital)midwife.
In the evening on Sunday we go for a check up (in ‘my’ hospital) and plan to induce labor the next morning. We’ll be spending the night at home luckily. Maartje has obligations the next day and went back home, so unfortunately we won’t share my birth experience together but at least we have a funny story about the ruptured membranes. After another long shower I go to bed where Jacco and Ben are already in a deep sleep. This will be our last night with ‘just’ the three of us! I finally found more peace with the idea of not having another homebirth and try to sleep.
At 11.15 PM I get a really strange feeling, like something ‘breaks’ inside. I also hear a pretty loud ‘click’ which later I found out from my physiotherapist that this sound was the same as a ‘popping’ knee or elbow- there is a vacuüm inside the joint/pubic bone and when the head came down, this probably caused the vacuum to break. At the same time as I heard the click sound, the baby makes a very strong and uncomfortable move. This scares me because I don’t recognize it. My first response is to lie really still and wait. After a little while luckily I feel the baby moving again. Right after this there’s a huge contraction..and soon another and another. Also I almost immediately feel pressure in my pelvis. It is soon clear that its going fast so I wake Jacco and ask him to call my colleagues and let them know we’re coming. Jacco’s mother will come for Ben so he calls her as well. Just a few contractions later I feel a lot of pressure and the urge to push. My first response is: ‘No way…now already?’ When I feel the same at the next contraction I tell Jacco that we won’t make it to the hospital. He calls to tell that we’ll stay home. Also he calls the midwifery practice, and asks if the midwife can still come to our house.
‘We’ll be fine honey, we can do this together’, I ensure Jacco. He is as calm as he can be and that’s very comforting for me. The urge to push is so strong that the only thing I can do is just let go. Just a few moments later the baby’s head is born. I tell Jacco we’ll wait for the next contraction and that the baby will then be there. At that moment the midwife calls and gives Jacco some instructions for the shoulders to be born. This goes smoothly and when I open my eyes I see Jacco holding up our second son! Another boy, I am so surprised. Also, he looks so different than his older brother. I am overwhelmed, surprised and intensely happy. A homebirth after all! And UC…how’s that for a hospital midwife.
Little Adam Jack was born at 11.49 PM and was doing perfectly straight away. A few minutes after he came the midwife rushed in to find a perfectly healthy baby, an overwhelmed mommy and superproud daddy.
We joked about this scenario in my pregnancy…waking Jacco up after the head was born? Well this was close! What a special birth, what a beautiful experience! And what an amazing gift to have two sons. I still feel like the luckiest woman on the planet and am so proud of Jacco, Adam, and…myself and my body.
Marjolein will join Debra for the en*theos Academy Conference Fall 2014. Be the first to hear with easy enews sign up right here.
Birth of Marjolein’s Baby Ben
Marjolein Mensink is a Dutch Midwife who shared her background with us in a previous blog. Here she shares about the birth of her first son, Ben.
Submitted by Marjolein Mensink
At home? You must be crazy. Isn’t that dangerous? It’s your first right? What if something goes wrong? I’d rather be at a place where I could get immediate help. You are expecting a pretty large baby aren’t you?
This is just a selection of all the comments I get being pregnant with my first baby and wanting a homebirth. The funniest (or maybe actually the saddest) was that of one of the gynecologists I work with, who asked if I also walk around town in my folklore costume, meaning that it is hopelessly old-fashioned to have a homebirth.
But my experiences as a midwife at home as well as in the hospital make me a 100% certain: for me, our home is the best place to be when our baby will come. Not only because I trust that nothing will go wrong, and if something seems to be going wrong I would still be in a hospital soon enough. But also because I’m very afraid that just by being in a hospital in the first place, unnecessary interventions will happen. My wish is to have as least interventions possible. Drawing blood is exiting enough for me, let alone having an IV or other ‘scary’ things. My partner Jacco is totally fine with it, he is as relaxed and carefree as I am, almost a bit ‘naive’ maybe. ‘If you say so, then I guess it’s so.’ How great is that, he puts all his confidence in my concerning the birth of our baby.
Obviously, my growing belly also gets the attention of the pregnant women and their partners I meet at work. I am surprised about how many people ask me if I’m not afraid of giving birth and especially the pain, since I see so many women in labor. My standard answer is that I am totally not afraid, because I always get to witness how strong women are. And it’s true: I’m not afraid of the pain and very curious on how a contraction will feel. To prepare for birth I do relaxation exercises, go to a yoga group for pregnant moms and listen to relaxing music every day.
My best friend Maartje, who is also a midwife, will be there at the birth. We are both very looking forward to sharing this experience, especially since I was at the birth of her beautiful daughter Lena as well. When Lena was born I lived in the East of the Netherlands so was relatively close by Maartjes home. Since I moved to the West to live with Jacco it’s a two hour drive now, but since it’s our fist baby Maartje should be able to be there on time.
My pregnancy goes well and I’m still enjoying every second of it. Also, being over 39 weeks pregnant, I do get very curious about the baby. We don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl yet and I am looking forward to discover this when the baby is born. On the evening of November 20th there is no sign of the baby coming soon. Maartje and I are texting and talking about the weather. There is a thick fog in the whole country, daytime as well as at night. If the baby comes tonight, we’re not sure if it’s safe enough to drive my way. But I think I will be overdue anyway, so this shouldn’t be a problem.
When I experience a cramping sensation that night, I think it’s just my intestines. My alarm clock tells me it’s 01.23 AM, and though I ‘m sleepy I’m smiling at the idea of ‘1,2,3 Go!’. I go back to bed but twenty minutes later I get the same cramp and a while after that another. I decide to go downstairs to not wake up Jacco. Because I can’t sleep anymore I put on a DVD of Glee. Normally I love watching Glee but this time I can’t concentrate. I’m on the bench, off the bench, walking around the room feeling restless. Just after 2 AM I realize that this is it! The contractions started! I’m very excited and start to wonder when the baby will be born? Lunchtime? Maybe around coffee time already? I get in the shower to relax and feel very happy and excited. The contractions are strong but I can breath through them without trouble. At 3 AM I wake Jacco: ‘Honey, I think the baby will come today.’ This gets him awake quickly and he jumps out of bed and asks if there’s anything he can do. He decides to time time the contractions, though I think it’s not necessary yet because I have the idea it’s a bit early since I just started having contractions. ‘They’re only one minute apart,’ he tells me, ‘Should we call Maartje?’ I don’t want to disturb her too early, but since it’s such a long drive maybe it’s wise to call her. We tell her I feel nauseous, have some bloody show and that the contractions just started, but that there are only short pauses between them and that I already feel some pressure down my pelvis. A look outside tells us that the thick fog didn’t miraculously disappear. To our great disappointment we have to decide that it’s too dangerous. Though disappointing, it does feel like the best choice to make. Maartje wishes all the best and ensures us she’ll be sending all the positive energy in the world. When we hang up Jacco suggests we call the midwifery practice, but I want to wait. I don’t know these midwives very well and also I think we don’t need anyone else around yet. We can still manage this together perfectly. I have a feeling everything is going very quick but there’s also some doubt. Either it’s going very fast or it’s much tougher than I expected. To know which one it is I decide to feel for myself what’s happening in my body. It’s unmistakable: I feel a tense balloon and only a soft lip in front. This is amazing! I am so happy it’s going so prosperous and am now even more confident about the birth (This is around 4 PM). Jacco prepares a bath and puts on the music I listened to so often. It’s great to be in the bath, though the contractions are getting more and more intense. It helps to make noise (something between bawling and singing). Jacco is a bit impressed by this I guess and tells me to stay calm. I actually do feel calm, but making these sounds just feels good. The advice of my yogateacher that it’s important to stay in contact with the baby comes up in my mind. I tell our baby that everything will be fine and that we are doing great together.
The pressure I almost immediately felt when contractions started is suddenly building up fast. It is so strong that it’s hard to still stay calm. I am considering if we’ll call the midwife. What if we could do this together? The next contraction I’m still in doubt but after another very strong one with the urge to push I’m certain that Jacco should make the call. Now!
At once I need more space and climb out off the bath. I try to do a contraction on all fours, because I think it might be comfortable but I don’t know how fast I should get on my feet again. Sitting on the toilet feels most comfortable, as far as the word comfortable is still in order here. I ask Jacco which midwife is on call. ‘I don’t know, but it was a man.’ There’s only one male midwife in the practice, so I know who’s on the way for our baby. Secretly I’m a bit frustrated that it’s precisely his shift tonight, because I think the word midwife isn’t like this for no reason. But I have no choice but to get over this soon. At this point the main thing on my mind is to get this over with because I really don’t like these strong contractions anymore. A few minutes after our call to midwife Arie my water breaks. The pressure is very strong now so Jacco calls Arie again to hear if he’s still far away, but luckily he arrives soon after this second call. When he finds me still sitting on the toilet he asks me to get on the bed so he can examine me. I curtly answer that I don’t want this, that I know I am fully dilated and ready to push. It takes a while before I have the courage to get out off the bathroom. My plan was to push on the birthing stool, but when I walk over to the bedroom I suddenly find the idea of lying down better. When I get on the bed Arie announces again that he want to check me. I growl that this is really unnecessary, I KNOW I am more than ready to push. In Jacco’s eyes I see sympathy for Arie, it’s as if he’s telling me to just let the man do his work. Luckily there is no further discussion, because with the next contraction my body can’t do anything but push. Now I am at once afraid. I don’t know if I dare to give in, can I really do this? Jacco assures me that I can and I also try to tell myself. Just open up, let go! It takes a few contractions before I have the confidence to listen to my own advice and when I start to give in I feel that the baby’s head is getting deeper soon. When Arie tells me to stop pushing for a while I am really surprised, does this mean the head is almost born? It does! I have to give a good push for the shoulder to come and then suddenly, at 05.45 AM, the baby slides out.
Wow. Did I do it? I did it! The baby is here. I am a mom. A mom!
I love feeling this little warm and wet baby on my breast and spend minutes laughing and crying of happiness. My hands slide down to search for the answer on one of the biggest questions and find it soon: a boy! Our wonderful son. Our beautiful Ben Willem!
Marjolein will join Debra for the en*theos Academy Conference Fall 2014. Easy enews sign up right here so you can be the first to read about Marjolein next birth.
Introducing Dutch Midwife, Marjolein Mensink
Submitted by Marjolein Mensink
Being a midwife was my childhood dream. Although I obviously didn’t really know what it meant when I was little, I was very certain about it. Sometimes I also thought shortly about being a hairdresser, flight attendant or even a veterinarian, but all these professions could never win over midwifery. When I was only seventeen years young, I got the chance to start my midwifery education. The Dutch education takes four years and in 2005 I graduated and felt really ready to go for it. Looking back, I think technically I was ready, but the comparison that a lot of people make with driving a car couldn’t be more true: you learn by doing and experiencing. The first few years I worked in independent midwifery practices, or as we call it in the Netherlands, the primary care practices. In 2008 I switched to the hospital. This was actually a coincidence, since I was asked to replace a sick colleague. Working in a medical setting never attracted me, but I thought it was worth a try. It turns out I loved it! It’s so nice to be part of a team instead of working alone most of the time. Also my idea that working in the hospital would mean having only superficial contact with the expectant mothers turned out to be totally wrong. A hospital birth often implies more interventions and sometimes that’s hard. But I am convinced that it’s more mother- and babyfriendly if these interventions are performed by someone who still trusts the natural process and works with her heart rather than someone who fully sets his hope on medication or advanced technical tools. Another great advantage of working in the hospital is that you can move on with the client in her process, even when something isn’t defined as physiological anymore, where as a primary caregiver you have to transfer.
Over the past eight years I have learned so much. My midwifery skills grew, along with my midwifery heart. I realize now that doing ‘nothing’ is often as effective or even better than wanting to do something, even though doing nothing is hard since I work in a hospital now. I think the quality and great advantage of being a hospital midwife is to guard the natural process in a medicalized environment. Some interventions are necessary, but it’s important to not intervene too much. This can be challenging, not only because other professionals expect the use of protocols and medical tools, but also I notice that pregnant women and their partners are changing over time and becoming more expectantly and reliant of us as caregivers. I do my best to reinforce the women I meet and try to convince them to trust their bodies and babies. The Netherlands is well known for our obstetric care system, but unfortunately the system has been changing rapidly over the past decade. Numbers of interventions are growing, especially those for inductions and cesarean sections. Also the use of pain medication during birth is exploding. There is a counter-movement going on luckily and the group that does want to go back to more natural births is getting a stronger voice. But as always, there are a lot of politics and money involved, so it is very hard to get this voice heard. The media choose an unfortunate way of framing that scares the big mass. The messages a layman gets through the newspapers, magazines, internet and television are: ‘Home birth is dangerous’, ‘Too many babies die (because of our system)’ and ‘Being pregnant or giving birth is risky.’
Besides my main job as a midwife I studied journalism and am now writing for several media that are mainly directed on pregnancy and childbirth. Writing to me is an amazing way to explore midwifery in a new and different way. Also, being a journalist helps me get a clearer view of what is happening in the media with the earlier mentioned framing. Sadly, seeing it is one thing, changing it is a whole other thingIn November 2011 another childhood dream came true. I gave birth to my beautiful, sweet and wise son Ben. Ben taught me things about myself that I didn’t see and know before. That it’s okay to be vulnerable, to admit that motherhood can be tough sometimes and also that it’s okay to therefore accept help from friends and family. Ben further opened my heart and being his mother makes me so proud. Seeing my partner Jacco as a father is amazing and heart filling. Last October another little man entered our lives, our second son Adam was born. All the clichés are true: there is enough space in your heart for another child as well.
Having experienced two births myself made me realize even more than before that trust and confidence are so important in childbirth. I honestly think that entering the birthing process with a relaxed body and mind and without fear might be 50% of the whole ‘job’. I wish for all other women to be able to gain this trust, confidence and relaxation when they are pregnant. Not only for themselves, but especially for their babies.
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Marjolein will join Debra for the en*theos Academy Conference Fall 2014. Easy enews sign up right here so you can be the first to read about the birth of Marjolein’s first baby.
Baby Bumps, Thought Bumps & Holding Our Very First Newborn
Submitted by Laura Vladimirova
Some awakenings happen in the midst of serious conflict, when ideas crash up against the walls of your mind. Sometimes they happen in the least expected of moments, like when a thought sort of just bumps around. It can stew there for some time and eventually set off a cascade of new ideas that transform our whole philosophies. My most recent realization, or thought bump, happened at an art opening in downtown Manhattan, and it’s changed my thinking about womanhood ever since.
I had just come from the final day of my doula training with Debra Pascali Bonaro at Birth Day Presence. I was filled with inspiration about caretakers, babies and birth. The art gallery was getting crowded, friends were walking in and drinks were everywhere. The vibe was warm, though I admit, I was only somewhat present at the event — my mind was truly elsewhere.
Cut to twenty minutes later and in walks a stunningly glowing woman with a chunky baby in her arms and her bearded partner in tow. Baby was totally cool as a cucumber, even when he was passed around from friend to cooing friend. He was happily entertained by the colors of the art, lights and laughter surrounding him. When he reached my arms, holding the sweet 5-month-old was a treat after having spent days talking about happy, healthy moms and babies. When mom came to check on her son, I asked if this was her first. She proudly nodded yes. She also mentioned that this was the first baby she had ever held.
That’s the moment when my thoughts bumped.
I wondered how old I was when I held my first newborn. I recalled I was in my late 20s, after a dear friend had given birth to her first son. I was graciously invited to the hospital to meet him, and as soon as I got there, she put him in my arms. I remember that he felt heavier than I’d expected a newborn to feel and that was surprising to me at the time.
After I left the gallery, I questioned how common it was for women in our society to have only held a few, or even no newborns before they had their own children. In societies where caretakers live closer together and depend more on each other, babies are passed around like the baby at the gallery. Young women (and men) become accustomed to being babysitters. They learn how to change a baby, entertain a baby, and provide support for mom early on.
I asked myself if experience like this was something that was missing from our modern world. For example, does not spending time with nursing mothers and not getting peed on when changing a baby (until we have our own) affect us psychologically or emotionally?
I began to ask around. I asked friends with kids, I asked friends without kids and I asked older women about their first time seeing, holding and interacting with a newborn.
So many women responded in the same way that I had. If they had older siblings or cousins, they had babies to play with. But many women did not hold a newborn until their late 20s or older. And mostly, it was their firstborn child.
I felt like I had missed out on opportunities as a young girl to better understand what it means to be a mama and create a bond with the miracles that surround pregnancy. All of the women I had interviewed had felt this way too. One woman said that not having had any experience with babies gave her parenting anxiety when she found out she was pregnant. Later, after she delivered a healthy baby girl, she felt relieved when she began to trust her instincts as a new mother.
Am I suggesting we as women just go up to strangers in the street and ask them to hold their babies? Well, that probably wouldn’t fly in NYC. Yet, there may be things we can do. Perhaps, if we open up our circle of sisters, we can consider this a a slow, but helpful thought bump for ourselves and any young women around us, like a neighbor or distant family member. We can help plant seeds of experience and confidence, seeds that say ‘holding a baby is a beautiful, empowering moment.’
Get the latest updates about workshops & schedules in Debra’s weekly enews.
Laura Vladimirova is a DONA-trained doula currently working towards becoming a certified nurse midwife. She aims to provide emotional, physical and spiritual support during pregnancy, labor, delivery and postpartum. She’s passionate about her role as a member of the birthing team and focuses on giving families space to make empowered choices, be it clinical or holistic. In between helping families achieve powerful and fulfilling birth experiences, she’s a maternity photographer and communications specialist
Who Caught Your Baby? The Birth Story of BelleSky
Submitted by Juliet Sr. Antelmi
We were given the due date for BelleSky of April 13. She was born April 14, 7.11 lbs. 21 inches@ 9:56 pm. She was our third child. My other two- seven years old girl and four years old boy were delivered by a different doctor at another hospital. We wanted less stress for this pregnancy, I wished to do things more or less according to my comfort level. The medical practice we looked at consisted of two females- a younger obgyn with less then five years experiences and a more senior obgyn with over twenty five years experience. I choose this practice because the senior MD, who is the head of the practice, encourages her clients to birth naturally (if they wish). I was hoping she would be the one to deliver my daughter because she respected and encouraged my desire for natural birth without medication, to nurse on demand, and to room-in with my baby. A week before my daughter’s due date the senior MD told me that she would be going out of town for her mother’s 87th birthday. This was the beginning of my anxiety as the younger obygyn was more “wait and see” and I immediately felt uncomfortable with her nonchalant attitude.
On the morning of the 14th I felt more pressure then usual on my sciatic nerve. I called the younger OBGYN who recommended that I should check in. My husband was with me, just like he was at my other births. After waiting 4 hours for her to arrive at the hospital I was 3 cm dilated. She performed an artificial rupture of membranes around 3 pm. At this time I was feeling pressure to produce a quick birth as I did before with my two older ones. I was grateful for the presence of my husband and a older nurse who had three grown children of her own. This nurse understood my desire for a natural birth, without medication. I knew I wanted to be consciously aware of everything and everyone when possible, to help and allow myself to let go and become vulnerable and make my birth as easy as possible. Because it was the hospital’s procedure to have all the mothers hooked up to an IV and an electronic-fetal monitor, my movement was limited, which was frustrating to say the least! I took a shower an hour or so after my water was broken. It was good to have just my husband with me. After the shower we talked about any-and-everything, almost like I wasn’t expecting a baby. I felt no uncomfortable pain, so every time the nurse would come in to check my progress to report to my doctor, I started to wonder why my daughter was taking so long to be born.
At 7pm the nurse shift changed. My Doctor came in to check me and I was 5cm dilated, she wasn’t pleased with my progress. She left to go home to have her dinner, she lives fifteen minutes away. Before she left, she said it was ok for me to get up and walk around. I was thrilled! She left and I went back into the shower where I did yoga squatting movements and allowed my body to let go. I was starting to feel pain and have stronger contractions. The younger nurse that took over was worried when I told her I was going to take a shower. I stayed in the shower until I knew the contractions were less then ten minutes apart. I went back onto the bed and proceeded to do more yoga poses. The most comfortable one was the semi-child pose with the blanket over my head (this allowed me to continue working with my mental self). When I started to feel the baby descending I asked my husband to call the nurse. I was now fully dilated, but my doctor was nowhere to be found. The head of the department, a male obgyn, was immediately summoned. That doctor was so gentle as he encouraged and guided me to birth my baby. My baby arrived within a few minutes at 9:56 pm with one hand by her head! I was very happy and so was my husband that this doctor was the one to catch my baby. I took my baby and started to nurse she latches on without any problem.
We thank Juliet for sharing the story of her birth as well as photos of nursing her baby at the hospital and at home. Juliet is presently a Doula in Training (DONA) in the New York metro-area and trained in Debra’s childbirth class and doula workshop in the summer of 2013. The baby in the photos accompanied Juliet at both classes. Juliet is also a Reiki Practitioner & Yoga Instructor (gentle yoga). You can email Juliet at reiki1122 AT gmail DOT com.
How did you (or would you) feel if your doctor was not able to make your birth and the attending doctor at the hospital caught your baby?
Wake up, woman! Follow Your Pleasure
Submitted by Marcy Sauter
Have you ever been moved to tears while watching someone do exactly what they were put on this planet to do? I have, and I think it’s one of the most beautiful scenes to behold. Perhaps it’s a musician that plays beautiful music, or a gardener that has a gift to keep a bounty of fruits and vegetables growing, the ballet dancer that pliés his way across the stage, the cook that pours her heart and soul into the fresh cookies she bakes and the jam she lovingly makes for her friends, the attorney that fights for justice with passion, the mama that raises her children with love and kindness, the math teacher that shares his knowledge through carefully designed lessons, or the surgeon that gives hope to the dying, or the midwife that lovingly catches babies.
I often wonder what gift or talent we’re missing out on because someone is not heeding the call of their desire. It makes me sad to think that I haven’t heard the song that’s hiding beneath that seed of doubt within someone’s heart. It’s heartbreaking that a poem wasn’t shared with others due to a fear of sounding imperfect, and tragic to think of the athlete who won’t train because they were told they wouldn’t achieve success by pursuing the potential that their body held.
How different would our world be if each and every person did what they were created to do? How would your life be if you didn’t live within the expectations of culture, gender, family, tradition, or worse, self-doubt? If you shed every label that was placed upon you, what would you be capable of? How would you be living your life differently than you are now?
Our society is really good at labeling us from birth.
Good baby, bad baby
Good sleeper, bad sleeper
Big baby, little baby
Happy baby, fussy baby, and the list goes on.
Beyond infancy, these labels continue to weigh us down, and sometimes they define us. They threaten to convert us into what we aren’t meant to be.
When I was a kid, well-meaning people told me things that made me ashamed to be the way I was, making me feel like a weirdo. As I shed the labels that were put upon me, the passion for life began to burn in me again. The realization that I am different is now comforting. There is no one on this planet who is just like I am! How cool is that? There’s no one just like you, either.
We are amazing!
The women with whom I work, and my new understanding of this concept of living, have inspired me to write this poem. My hope is that you’ll start shedding the layer of labels which prevent you from doing what you were meant to do in this life. The world waits for you to wake up and share your gift.
Wake up, woman! Have you gone to sleep?
Have you lost yourself in culture? Are you in deep?
Have you been put upon a shelf?
And lost your soul, your voice, yourself?
It’s time! The time is now!
You may think twice, you don’t know how!
You’ve been reduced to few roles
Your heart, your mind, it’s taken its toll
So now it’s time, you must not sleep
Your life awaits, don’t live as sheep
There’s so much more that’s in that box
The key is there, unlock the lock
Wake up, woman! Don’t you forget
Don’t slumber on, or you’ll regret
Waste not the days, or months, or years
Lest you grow old, and drown in tears
Awaken!
Marcy Stevens Sauter is an IBCLC and PCD (DONA) with her company Rest Assured Postpartum Doula Care serving greater Orange County, CA and Los Angeles County, CA.
Edited by M.L.
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