Birth of a Mother

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I can’t pin point the moment when I became a mother. Was it on that snowy night one year ago, as my baby emerged from the depths of my body? So soft and warm. His smallness. His immensity. My gasping joy over flowing.

Partly yes, of course this was a huge turning point. A portal into a whole new world. Yet, I’m more a mother now than I was a year ago. If I arrived on the shores of motherhood that night, I’ve since walked off into the woods.

But how did my ship come to brush upon her dark beaches in the first place? When did my journey begin? What about my long voyage across open waters?

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Motherhood is not static. Her energy is alive. She will never stop evolving and changing, as I’m continually shaped by the growth of my child. But when did the flame of motherhood ignite? One year after the birth of my baby, I look back and wonder when was my birth. When did I become a mother?

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I remember lying in bed early on the morning of 2/12/15. It was blue dawn and the dog hadn’t started pacing around and wining for her food yet. It was quiet. Ben was sleeping like a hot lead brick beside me. I was drifting in and out of the fragmented world of my dreams, lying comfortably on my side, my full belly draped out in front of me. Baby was sleeping too. I put a hand on my belly, keeping my eyes closed, and said a little gratitude prayer for the new day. At the end, I squeezed in a quick and humble request for Baby to come soon! Please Great Spirit, I’m ready.

I was forty-one weeks and three days. Apparently this is the average length of gestation for new moms. Mother Nature’s way of preparing me for labor. I was ready to just get on with it. Let’s do this! I wasn’t afraid of the looming PAIN people speak of as a badge of honor, like a battle fought and won.

I did have my fear places I could fall into, but by then I’d mostly moved into a practice of surrendering to my instincts. I felt connected to my body and to Baby. We are in this together. I trusted Baby knew what to do. I trusted my body knew what to do. My job was to listen and follow along. Somewhere in the depths of my psyche I had signed a contract with my primal nature. My modern thinking and doing self had agreed to turn over control to my ancient knowing and being self. I kept saying: if I were a horse I wouldn’t be stressing….I would just listen to my body and have my baby.

I was prepared. I had been waiting, walking, bouncing, and doing everything to get Baby to come. Every day for two weeks I listened to guided imagery and gave myself acupuncture. My bag was packed and my birth plan typed up. I had started taking herbs to ripen my cervix. I had my membranes swiped by the midwife a couple days prior. I was ready.

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Smaller contractions had been coming for about a month as my body geared up. I don’t like the term “false labor.” It felt more like “warm up” contractions to me. They were very mild, period-like cramps, which ran down the bones of my legs.

The day before the birth, I awoke with strong cramping. I was almost excited, until it died down when I took a shower. So when the cramps came back again in the early morning, I was suspicious. I didn’t fully believe this would be the day.

But these cramps were different. They were much more intense, like my low back and pelvic girdle were going into a gripping charley horse. I rolled over on all fours and tried to sink into a modified child’s pose, pushing my face into the pillows and breathing out through my mouth. Little did I know this was to become my go-to position for the first half of my labor.

I got up and took a shower and decided to proceed with my day. About half way through a very delicious breakfast sandwich, the first “you’ll definitely know” contraction hit. Oh boy. I bent over the counter and moaned. Ben pounded on my low back and sacrum like we had planned. I remember thinking something along the lines of: Damn…. Ok. I can do this. And… horary! Baby is coming!! After the contraction passed, I gave Ben a high five and we hugged. We both felt a rush of excitement.

I remember the day I told him I was pregnant. The way the words came out of my mouth in slow motion. The look of bewilderment on his face. His choked up silence. The long walk we took in the park. Lying in the grass and feeling the whole world spinning around. Having the sense that nothing would be the same again.

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I remember the night I sat in my car on the phone as we teased out all the mixed emotions. How I was certain I wanted to keep the baby. A fierce, protective wild animal churning inside of me. I wasn’t going to lose another chance. Not again. Not this time.

I had asked for this blessing five months prior, during an ayahuasca ceremony on the winter solstice of 2014. Mother Ayahuasca heard the longing of my heart song. Baby’s spirit had been hanging close watching and waiting for everything to fall into position.

I remember the peace that washed over me when I first saw the positive pregnancy test. And the tickle of inspiration and pride. My little secret. The affirmation my intuition had been right. The pinch I’d felt deep inside and the implantation spotting that came about a week after that really great date. And my boobs had been acting particularly pmsy. Something had been going on, and now I knew. I had confirmation.

And for a few days I wore the soft cloth of motherhood close to my skin, like a beautiful under garment. No one could see it but me. And I started talking to Baby. All the time, under my breath.

Hello my love. Thank you for coming. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for choosing Ben and bringing us together. I love you so much. And I’m so scared to lose you. Please, please stay. I promise I will take care of you and never stop loving you. 

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And one year later, on a bright frozen morning, I talked to Baby again. Here we go! You and me Baby! I can’t wait to meet you and kiss you and hold your tiny body in my arms. You are coming! The world is waiting for you!

The anticipation swelled in waves as my contractions started to synch up. For the rest of the morning they came every five to ten minutes. We got in a groove. Our system dialed in. I sat on the birth ball, gently swirling my hips and bouncing as my mom told me stories and tried to distract me. When another contraction came, I would “assume the position” and Ben and my mom would take turns drumming on my sacrum, giggling that Baby down. Come on baby! I would moan and shake my head back and forth like a wild beast in trance, keeping my lips and jaw loose. I didn’t question this urge or try to resist it. It was what my body wanted to do. And it helped! After all, I was supposed to be acting like a horse right?

My sense of time was starting to slow down and warp. As the minutes clicked by, I found myself being drawn into an altered state. Some of the day has disappeared from my memory. And other moments are as clear as crystal.

At some point we called our doula, Angie, and all ended up sitting in the bedroom, staring at each other, smiling and trying to make small talk. Angie did a marvelous job of helping us to slow down. The waiting around was just part of it, she reassured us. Baby wouldn’t be rushed. She suggested we try to take a nap and rest.

Ben and I lied down, spooning, as she guided me through another contraction. I felt my body shift away from the previous pattern of shaking and pounding. I started to imagine myself melting into the contractions, letting my body become heavy and loose. Eventually we both fell asleep, Ben’s arm draped over my waist, holding Baby gently. I remember the warmth of his body along my back. His presence.

Not knowing how much I would need him in the coming days and weeks. Not knowing how real things would get between us. How having a baby together would launch us into a whole new level of partnership. How that would be hard. How we would struggle to adjust. Question our identities. Question our ability to be parents. To be lovers. Fight with each other over stupid shit. Resent each other for wanting to sleep more. Resent each other for going out with friends or work or anywhere. Feeling like it was breaking us down and changing us.

Not knowing there would be a day when I would call him to come home early because I couldn’t deal with the crying. I was huddled in a corner on the kitchen floor, hating myself for being the worse mother ever. Not knowing the hug he would give me, and the way I would hold onto him, feeling his unwavering love, would be all that I needed. We are in this together.

And as we lied in bed, the contractions rolling through me, he held me close. When we woke up, I remember standing in the doorway to the bathroom hugging and swaying. Tears in his eyes. We’re going to be parents! He wore a huge smile and raised his eyebrows to add a holy shit expression. Holy shit was right.

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After our nap, I wanted to get back into labor because my contractions had slowed down. I turned on some music and started dancing, moving my hips in circles, pretending to hula hoop. It felt really good to move my body. When the contractions came on, I sat on the birth ball and tried to breath and sink into the ground. The dancing worked like a charm and it wasn’t long before I was sitting on the ball full time, the contractions coming faster.

I started diving inward, sinking towards some deep dark hidden place far beneath the surface. My eyes were closed. I needed to focus. I began to visualize myself pulling a rope to open a large red stage curtain. As I breathed out long exhales the curtain opened. I could feel the weight of it in my body. Inch by inch it parted. I could hear Angie’s voice in the background, somehow far away, telling me I was doing great. Time seemed to stretch out.

Then suddenly I felt a deep release of tension followed by a drop of fullness into my pelvic floor. Oh! That was something! I asked Angie for a contraction timer update. She said I had been at every three minutes for over an hour, and we could go to the birth center any time. My intuition was telling me it was show time Baby!

It was dark and crispy outside. I remember how the snowflakes sparkled under the street lamp as they fell. I can still hear my footsteps crunching as I walked to the car, step by step.

The ride to the birth center was all a blur. My eyes were closed the whole time and Angie’s voice was gently guiding me to breathe. I’m pretty sure I was in transition and tripping out pretty heavy on hormones.

We got there in five minutes. It was warm and dimly lit inside of the birthing room. We listened to baby’s heart rate and I got into the birth tub. OH YA. That’s nice. I loved being in the tub. We tried to use nitrous oxide, but I was just too far along for it to make much of a difference. I had two contractions in the tub and then went straight into pushing.

And side note, “pushing” isn’t really the word I would use to describe the sensation. It’s more like my whole body could do nothing else but force Baby out. There was no resisting. That only made it worse and slowed things down. There were a few times I tried to brace against the pushing contractions, my breath getting caught in my chest, my fingers digging into Ben’s arms, the pressure building in my temples and eyes. At one point I yelled FUCK three times in a row, which felt productive.

The midwives kept telling me how awesome I was doing and reminded me to breathe and drop into the sensations. I purposefully relaxed all my facial muscles and started to moan with an open throat like a Tibetan throat singer. As low as I could go.

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The midwives invited me to check and see if I could feel Baby’s head. I reached down and sure enough, there he was. Right there! So close! Only a couple more pushes.  

I could feel the burning when he crowned. Instinctively I reached my hand down to put pressure against him, and as soon as I did he came sliding out into the warm water of the tub, several gentle hands guiding him up to my chest for his first breath.

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My baby! My baby! So soft and warm. With a fat little smushy face. I felt my heart expanding in all directions. Welcome to the world! My love!

My baby. He, who began as a longing plea on the darkest winter night of the year. I remembered the rush of tingling that washed up the insides of my legs as I laid in the pitch black room as the medicine did it’s work. The shaman stood over me singing a song to the stars, the moon, the sun, and the earth. We are all family.

I had just made my wish, my prayer to Mother Ayahausca, when the wave began. I felt a powerful moving sensation rising up my whole body, up the bones of my legs, and settling deep in my core. My womb. I’ve come to understand this experience as the energetic conception. It was only a matter of time before the material world would catch up. And that it did. Here he was to hold in my arms.

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My real living and breathing baby. Rohan Jai Miles. My little man who would give me so many smiles and make me laugh with delight, as if I were a child again. My buddy who would fall asleep in my arms as I sang old lullabies my mom sang to me, so floppy and innocent. My sweet boy who would be my dancing partner in the evenings before dinner. And my peek-a-boo companion in the mornings over breakfast. I was so curious to learn about him. Instantaneously love-struck like never before.

And as I watched him make his first crawl to my breast and latch on like a little pink monkey, my heart was humbled by the paradox of life. The openness I felt in those first few moments was nothing short of Divine. It was as if the bandwidth of my consciousness expanded to include frequencies that could only be felt on this side of the portal. I felt the golden thread of my being that is tided to all mothers throughout time. We, the keepers of life.

And as Ben and I sat together in a soothing herbal bath, washing Rohan for the first time, I wondered if the spark of motherhood was lit when I made my humble plea on the darkest of nights two years ago. Lying beneath the buffalo skull, gazing into the blackness, yearning, making a promise, signing my soul’s signature on the dotted line in the reddest blood. And so it is.

Perhaps it was the ache in my heart that longed to be filled with love. Maybe this was when I was born into motherhood. Or maybe it was even before that…

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I can’t pin point the exact moment, because I don’t feel there was a single moment. Mother Nature is always in the flux of birthing and dying. As the old places inside of me died away, new spaces opened up. New life could begin growing down deep.

And still more space will be needed as time passes. Motherhood requires me to keep pruning back the old, dead parts of my spirit, to keep making room for love to flood in. It feels open and vulnerable. Naked and awkward. Sometimes terrifying. It requires me to look in the mirror, and look back into my past. I’ve never felt so responsible and aware of my baggage as I do now.

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But one year out, I am starting to find my stride. The early days were sacred and tender…and bumpy. Full with awe… and doubt… and low-grade, non-stop chaos. I had my moments when I wanted to run away and be young and free again. When I wanted to party like I didn’t have someone waiting for me at home. When I wanted adult-only time. I still have these moments.

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Lately however, there have been more moments when I feel rooted in something bigger than myself. I feel the string of life that runs through the generations. I feel my smallness, and my immensity. My mortality. I feel how fragile and delicate we are…. but also how resilient and tenacious life is. I am aware of a very ancient energy unfolding from the depths of my bones. It’s powerful, carnal, mysterious, regenerative, very silly and playful, and capable of the purest, fiercest kind of love.

I feel sensual, connected to all of life, and utterly of the earth. I walk with a rooted sense of purpose and soak in gratitude like fresh rain. And with my baby wrapped next to my heart, I wade through my murky fears, feeling his warmth lighting the way, holding onto hope for the future…his future. And nothing can stop me now. I am a mother.

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Give thanks for unknown blessings already on their way.

~Native American Proverb

 

 

 

Fertile Garden: baby making tips for mind, heart, & spirit

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Fertility has been on my mind a lot lately. For one, I’m in the full swing of pregnancy with my first child; a journey that has been challenging, surprising, not how I imagined, and perfect in its meaningful messiness.

Second, a good percentage of my practice involves fertility support for women. I work with them on all of the angles (menstrual cycle regulation, basal body temperature and fertility tracking, Chinese medicine treatments using acupuncture and herbs, dietary counseling, lifestyle and stress management, health coaching ect…).

Despite minor imbalances here and there, these women are all strikingly very healthy, motivated, and accomplished. Yet many of them feel confused and disheartened by their struggle to conceive.

If I’m healthy, why has it been so difficult? 

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In my opinion the answer points to more than the physical factors of the body alone. I firmly believe the most important ingredients for making a baby include aligning the mind, heart, and spirit. When these realms of our Being are in agreement, the body will follow suit. This has been my personal experience, as well as my professional observation.

Therefore, below is my four-step formula for baby making! These tips are specially crafted for the mind, heart, and spirit. They do not fall into the framework of Chinese medicine directly, but should be considered in addition to all the traditional approaches listed above.

Furthermore, while this article is geared towards women, I don’t want to disregard men. Men struggle with fertility too!

4fbeac9607169573cdff533147ddf6cbAll the steps laid out below are useful for both parties to consider. In truth, this is when they work best. So please share this information with your partners!

Ok, so what the magic secret already? Answer: growing a health baby requires becoming a fertile garden.

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1. Weeding Your Garden

The feminine aspect of conception is all about receptivity. To be able to receive anything, you must have space for it. Therefore, before you can plant your garden, you must first clear the weeds.

In my experience, the most common weed women hold on to is their high expectation of how and when they should get pregnant. Aka: their perfect plan, their specific timeline, and most poignantly – their image.

What will people think of me if I can’t conceive? 

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They also tend to hold onto toxic beliefs about self-worth, or lack there of… Sometimes women want to have a baby, but are not comfortable with the notion of being a mother. Sometimes there are unresolved issues with their own parents that are taking up lots of space.

One of the biggest weeds crowding out your garden may be resentment: resentment towards your partner, your pregnant best friend, your body, or society in general. This invasive, prickly weed of blame and finger pointing blocks all sunlight and sucks up the nutrients from the soil. Resentment doesn’t leave you with much room for growth.

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Weeding your garden requires discipline, sweat, and some elbow grease. It’s not the most fun phase. But it is fundamental. If you skip this step, you will struggle with weeds all throughout your journey. And it will be hard to enjoy your garden when it starts to bloom, because all you’ll see are the unwelcome invaders.

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Tips for weeding your garden: 
Answer these questions: What in my life needs weeding? What am I holding onto that no longer serves me? What belief systems are crowding out new ways of connecting with the world, with myself, and with my partner? What do I need to let go of…? What do I want to make room for….? 

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2. Building Your Soil

Healthy soil has lots of organic matter and nutrients. It is alive! But paradoxically, this vibrancy is the product of death.

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As the old ways of being decay, they lay down nourishing blankets of earth. This fecund muck forms the womb from which new growth sprouts. Bottom line: if the weeds don’t die, you won’t be able to make the soil.

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But building the soil also requires adding in some extra goodies to spice things up. Some magic fertilizer to give your soil extra growing powers. I believe the key ingredient here is self-love. When you learn to give yourself the love you want to give your baby, your soil begins to turn a deep, rich color. It begins to smell sweet. It radiates life-giving potential. Self-love is the most crucial nutrient for your garden.

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Other yummy ingredients to mix in are sensuality, romance, and playtime. Focusing too hard on tracking your cervical mucus and basal body temperature can really take the spark out of your connection with your partner. Lovemaking becomes homework. And let’s just say, that’s not a party I would like to attend….if I was a baby waiting in the wings.

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So I encourage you to relax. It’s great to be mindful of when you are at your peak fertility, but don’t let that over shadow the bigger picture.

Tips for building your soil: 
Answer these questions: How do I care for myself? How can I treat myself with kindness, affection, and compassion? When am I able to feel sensual? How do I meaningfully connect with my partner? What makes us laugh together? How do we play with each other? What do I love and appreciate most about them? Why do I want to start a family with them? What kind of environment do I want to bring new life into?

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3. Planting Your Seed

Now that your soil is ripe and overflowing, it’s time to plant your seed! Here, the secret is realizing you have all you need. You already have the seed. It is not something you need to long for anymore. It is within you.

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When you spend all your time pinning over the baby that isn’t coming, you are putting yourself in a place of not-having. A place of scarcity. And according to the Law of Attraction, all you are going to get is more not-having; more scarcity.

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But when you begin to feel into the places inside you that nourish life, you get more life. Simple as that. 
You’re already are a mother. This desire fills your heart, right? So let it radiate out and encompass you. Believe in yourself. You were born with the ability to grow your baby. This is not something you need to learn how to do; you already know it.

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And just because you don’t have a physical baby to hold in your arms at this moment, doesn’t mean you aren’t a mother. Your intention is enough. 
 
Becoming a mother isn’t like switching on a light. It doesn’t happen at a specific point in time. It is a slow process of inner transformation. Your intention is the seed you have already planted. Congratulations!

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Tips for planting your seed: 
Answer these questions: Where in my body do I feel life moving? What within myself do I love? What is my intention? Speak the answers to these questions in PRESENT TENSE!

4. Letting Your Garden Grow

This last step is simultaneously the easiest and the hardest phase. It is the waiting game. It requires faith…. and lots of patience.

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When we look to Mother Nature for guidance, we see that life grows according to its own perfect timeline. Usually it takes a full season for crops to bear fruit. All we can do is continue to tend the garden and support the growth, but we can’t rush it. We shouldn’t rush it. Mother Nature knows best. We need to respect her pacing.

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And just as becoming a mother isn’t something that happens over night, growing a baby usually takes a lot longer than nine months. While it’s perfectly normal to feel all the weeds of resentment, frustration, and despair creep in at times, I invite you to keep gardening and know all your efforts are not in vain.

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Your mind is learning lessons that will continue to till your soil for years to come. Your heart is a river of love flowing through your garden, watering and nourishing the earth. Your spirit is becoming more resilient with each turn of the season.  And all the seeds you’re planting are germinating deep within your body.

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Know this, feel into it, and believe you are an abundant, fertile garden. Celebrate yourself in all your life-giving beauty.

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Tips for letting your garden grow: Trust yourself. Trust Mother Nature.