Donovan!

My baby boy turns three tomorrow! Incredible! Here's some recent cuteness from him.

"Moly holy!"

"Elilala" has turned into "Elilana"

"Happy Rosh Hashalah!"

"Kiki, me onwy Donowan. Me not Baby Donowan anymore."

Walking down the stairs first thing in the morning: "Mommy! Dere a boy comin!"

"Me need help. Me onwy a lidda boy."/"Me do it aself. Me a big boy."

D: "Me want to go back a my fwend's house. Me want more Shabbat."
Me: "We're going home now, but when we wake up, it'll be your birthday."
D: "WHAAAT?"
Me: "Yep, and we'll go to a park and see friends."
D: "Donowan birfday! Donowan birfday! Donowan birfday!"

Food, stress, self-care, oh my!

Food:
January-June, I ate pretty well, though always on the run. I wasn't cooking. I was eating freezer meals, take-out, prepared foods from Whole Foods, and food from the fridge at Starbucks.

July, I was in Utah and was eating worse. Sometimes the same types of foods as before. Sometimes less - plain greek yogurt and a green smoothie was a pretty common meal. I was making an effort to eat nutritious foods, but finding little time to eat.

From the end of July to the middle of August, I ate terribly. I was packing up my house, getting ready to leave, and I gave up completely and ate at a restaurant or ate take-out most of my meals. I gained 4 lbs in 3 weeks, which is the first time that has ever happened outside of pregnancy.

Right around the time we moved out of our house and into our temporary apartment, my body let me know that it was done with this. The high-fat diet of outside meals gave me a gallbladder attack - the first one since I was a teenager - right about the same time that I started wanting to eat a whole bunch of salad, fruit, and tofu/veggie stirfry. I didn't even want dessert - and for someone with a sweet tooth like mine, that's saying a lot.

Stress:
I got home from Utah running on empty emotionally, not only because my stay there was so intense, but because of the six months that preceded it. Then I dove right in to moving, and not just moving but moving into a small and temporary place in a bad neighborhood, with a long commute to my girls' school and to my work. My husband and I don't quite know how to interact, since we are both so stressed and are having a hard time supporting each other because we are both so bogged down in our own stress. I'm also gearing up for submitting my application for the NARM exam (aka licensing boards), putting all my ducks in a row and studying.

Self-care:
I'm getting what should be adequate sleep. I am exercising, although this is pretty clearly the one facet of self-care which has plenty of room for improvement. I am spending time with friends and laughing. I'm having fun with the kids when they're off school. I even managed to get a massage last week.

I've been in a pretty horrific mood - very self-critical, primarily. I've been trying to figure out where it's coming from, because it feels disproportionate to the actual amount of stress that I am under. I finally figured out that it's just a cumulative effect of the several months of stress, the month of eating absolute junk, and the fact that right now, I am losing weight. Looking back over my life, I definitely get more self-critical and "down" when I am losing weight, for any reason. Since I am not losing weight on purpose, and I am eating nutritious foods when I am hungry, I don't really know what to do about that. I am hoping it will even out over time as I adjust back to a healthy and low-fat diet, and that I will just naturally stop losing weight as I reach a body composition that my body actually likes, or that my body will be okay with adding in more healthy fats as time passes since having overdone it on the fats.

I apologize for being MIA on the blog. If you know me in person, I apologize for being crabby at you if I have been. I think I have mostly been crabby at myself, though, and the good news is that I am able to keep all my responsibilities fulfilled, and am enjoying my time with my kids, friends, colleagues, and clients quite a bit. This tells me that I'm okay (and gives me a reprieve from being hard on myself). But I am definitely looking forward to the self-doubt monster getting the boot, when this funk passes or I find a solution.

I hesitated about posting this. Do former and potential future clients who are reading this really want to know when I feel weak? I finally decided just to be real. Midwifery is hard. It's physically, intellectually, and emotionally challenging. Midwives burn out at a high rate. Most midwifery students don't complete their training. Other midwifery students reading this deserve to know it's not always rainbows and roses for me and only challenging for them. So here you have it, a bump in my road. It'll smooth out. I've had bumps before. I've got a full tool box, a heart full of resolve (*cough* stubbornness), and all the support I need.

Ah - acupuncture. That's the one tool left in my toolbox. I think it's time for a trip to Berkeley to see my favorite acupuncturist.

Absence makes the heart...

The kids were at my parents' for the past two days and got home right at bedtime tonight. I gave the girls a cuddle, and Eliana said, "Mom, I missed you."

"I missed you, too, honey!" I replied.

And then she finished her sentence: "...for the first time."

I guffawed.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Oh, I love you, Eliana."

Random happenings

D: "Mommy? An me hab peany butta like Olly?" (Eliana has just had her bedtime snack: Barney's almond butter on a spoon.)
Me: "You want it on a spoon like Elly?"
D: "Yeah, yeah, me hab it on a poon! Pleadz?"
Me: "Okay, let's go to the kitchen, I'll get it for you."
He leads the way. By the time I get to the kitchen, he's holding the tub of Barney butter, which he hands to me. I notice that he's also licking his teeth.
Me: "Did you already eat some peanut butter?"
D: "No."
I look inside. There's clearly scrape marks along the side. Elly's spoon, or D's fingers?
Me: "Did you use your fingers?"
D: "No, me not."
I smell almond butter on his breath.
Me: "You clearly ate some, my son. Tell me, what did you use to eat the peanut butter?"
D: "Me tongue." Sticks it out. "Me need a poon, Mommy."

I do love that he pronounces Elly "Olly" - my niece Meriden did the same at his age.

Also, he's combined "Yee-haw!" and "Wheee!" into a delightful exclamation - "Whee-haw!" That might be the best word ever.


The girls started at a new school last week - two days of school then the weekend. It's a small school - only one class per grade. Today she got invited to a birthday party, happening today, because they had invited all the girls in the class a month ago and the mom just figured out this morning that there were new kids to invite. I thought it was pretty cool that she went to the effort to get ahold of me and make sure that Kes didn't feel left out. After the party, Kesenia was describing to me who she was making friends with and what she likes about them, and then she said: "I think I'm going to make a good lot of pals this year, Mom." I couldn't be happier for her. Last year, in our homeschooling group, there were a ton of kids Eliana's age and one boy Kesenia's age. I am hopeful that this school is exactly what my kids need both academically and socially.

I overheard Eliana explaining to Kes the other day that there were two kinds of twins: "In one kind, like Rowan and Meriden, there are two eggs and two sperms and each egg gets a sperm. In the other kind, there's only one egg and it gets two sperms." (I stifled a laugh, then straightened that out really fast. )

Happy 6th birthday Kesenia!

Six years ago today, my second baby was born!

Don't all mothers reminisce about meeting their baby on their child's birthday, no matter what their plans for birth or what actually happened during their birth? It's why I wish my friends a happy momiversary, or a happy birthgivinday, or a happy birthiversary instead of or in addition to wishing them a happy birthday for their child.

It was such a healing process for me. Eliana was born in a planned hospital birth with unplanned and unnecessary interventions. Making peace with her birth was a long process that spanned many years, and Kesenia's birth was a leap forward in that for me.

As I reminisce and reread her birth story as I wrote it back then, I can't help but notice again what I've always felt about my kids - their births suit them so well. Kesenia's life has been as full of love, surprise, and joy as her birth.

Rounded out

We're packing up the house for the move, and today I came across a journal I started as a private adjunct to the journaling I was doing on this blog, about 5 years ago. It only has 3 entries in it; apparently privacy wasn't all that necessary. (?) To set the scene, I had only the two girls at the time and they were about three and one. I had recently taken my Lamaze teacher training course and was observing a Lamaze series taught by an excellent childbirth educator, but had still not attended any of the 3 births I was required to attend to complete my Lamaze certification, and I was nervous about them. I knew birth was extraordinary and powerful. I thought I was too small to hold the space for birthing women.

The entry 5 years ago today states, "I recognize that I need to carve out some time for myself and some space for me to be more than Elly and Kes's mom. That will always be the most important part, but I need to define myself as my own person separate from them, just as they will - and are - defining themselves as separate from me as they grow. Heck, it may even make me better at being their mom. I don't know what this will look like... it's going to take a lot of exploration."

Heh. I wouldn't call it exploration. More like "Hook, line, and sinker" with that very first birth. I went home and signed up for doula training. Then during birth five, I knew I had to be a midwife. I remember the exact moment the switch flipped in my brain. It didn't feel like a choice.

Looking back on this journal entry, I'm proud to have defined myself so strongly as my own person. My kids still come first and I would do anything for them, even give up midwifery, if that were what they needed. It's also a little sad to remember what I had in mind as the time and space that would be mine alone, and compare it to the dedication it takes to become, and be, a midwife. I would not have chosen something that encroaches on my life and parenting this much if it hadn't chosen me.

I've often thought about whether I would do it all the same again, knowing what I know now. It has been incredibly hard to be away from them as much as I have, especially in the past 6-7 months. I know I am a midwife, and I am so fulfilled by the work, even when it is hard, and these experiences have also made evident the benefit in waiting a few years, til one's kids are school aged. I've had moments of doubt and have begged Scott to tell me, "Am I doing the right thing? Are the kids really okay? Can I keep doing this, or do they need more consistency from me?" Every time, he says, "I've never seen you this happy. You need to do this for you. The kids are fine, and they need you to be happy." He's right - I am a happier, more complete person. I have more to give to them, even though I have less time for giving it. The time that is taken away is made up for in the laughter and connection that I've added to our lives by rounding out the person I am, and being myself. I won't deny that there have been days that I have been so sleep deprived that they've watched too much TV or I haven't had the patience with them that I would have had on a full night's sleep, but in general, I am indeed a much better mother than I was when I wrote this entry five years ago.

I feel not only proud, but grateful to have happened upon birth work, and grateful at how smooth my path has been. I've had excellent midwives as teachers, and I've had the opportunity to not only witness the beauty of birth at countless "butter" births, but to learn from many challenging births. I can see myself not only as strong enough to support women in the portal, but steady enough to have clarity in times of crisis, and act. As I near the end of my official training period (one never stops learning), it's affirming to stand back and see that I am stepping into a part of myself that was waiting, to see that I am who I thought I could be. This journal entry from five years ago was more evidence of all the work I've done. I feel fortunate.

Coming up for air

Sorry for lack of posts, I'm at a very busy and thankfully short-term internship. I miss my kids incredibly. 4 days to go...

A house, a home

We've lived in our house about 6 years, and throughout our time here I have always claimed that it never felt like our home. A few weeks after we moved in, cracks started appearing in the walls. Long story short, the previous owners, who had lived here for over 30 years, had chosen not to disclose to us that the house had significant settlement issues, going so far as to cover up all evidence of it. We had put a good chunk of money into purchasing the house (this was 2005, after all), and Scott was very worried that there were structural issues. Fortunately, the only effects of the settlement were cosmetic, but the stress of the situation prevented us from emotionally attaching to the house at the time, and for some reason our detachment persisted. It is relatively barren in terms of furniture and decoration. We have only six pictures hung in the house, in total.

Recently, a constellation of factors have converged to make a move the reasonable choice. We're not going far, only 15-20 miles away. Still, it will bring a host of benefits to ourselves and our children, and both Scott and I have come to the conclusion separately and together, pragmatically and intuitively, that this is the right choice for us at this time.

So, here I find myself, packing boxes, shocked to be nostalgic. I've been looking forward to moving since about 8 weeks after we moved in, yet in packing up rooms, I see Kesenia's first steps. Eliana's first written word scrawled on a magnadoodle. Birthday candles lit, anniversary gifts given. The last time Kesenia nursed, turning away the breast for my newly short hair. Wine and friends. Forgiving myself for being an imperfect mother, and again, and again. Learning my niece-or-nephew was a niece and a nephew. Our decision-making process about midwifery school. Donovan's birth. The first time he nursed, newborn-crawling across my belly, minutes old, naked and sticky. Butterfly kisses, group snuggles, piggyback rides. Laughter.

I'm surprised that I've linked these sweet and salty memories to this place. The truth of the matter is that the memories are of limitless love which follows us wherever we go. Still, I am committed to making our next house a real home. It has a different sense now. I will embrace it from the get-go as the backdrop of where love happens.

Happy buttday to you!

Eliana managed to sit on a cactus at day camp on her birthday. Not just any cactus... one of the furry kind with teeeny tiny spines very close together. So hard to see and grab with tweezers, and she had about 10 left by the time I got to her (not sure how many the camp counselor got out). She held very still and didn't complain too much (typical).

I suggested I could call her "Cactus Butt" ala The Lion King, but she said, "Mom, it's my birthday, you can't joke with me in embarrassing ways." So I started singing "Happy buttday to you, happy buttday to you!" and she laughed. So I got to sing that to her for the rest of the day.

I was so above bathroom humor as a kid. I'm sure making up for it as a mom...

I've been a mommy...

...for eight years.

Cheers to the kid who changed every preconceived notion I had of my parenting style - and abilities. Keep challenging me, love. You are remarkable. Happy birthday, Eliana Rose.