The Other Side of the World

It feels good to be insular and inwards during this deep, quiet bowl of winter we are presently curled within.
The press of warm, small bodies against mine is familiar and sweet; how well they fit outside as well as in.
It feels like an altogether different season when I was pregnant.
Nestled, exploring our little universe of sanctum in each other.
This is how our days are shaped.

is intermittently sunny

and often cozy

and did I mention cozy?

in our bed last night
sweet & star-gazing baby boy

July 13, 2009
10:35 pm

Came across her breastfeeding

. . . the fetus (from the fetus & pelvis educational model)

or maybe she’s just practicing for a lotus birth?

Allegedly mid-winter break here, and while the rain obliges with making obvious the ‘winter’ part via interminable sheets of dry-laundry-obscuring proportions, the babies are heedless to the ‘break’ portion and continue to fill my hands with warm, squelching newness.

and no, I am not reading some last-minute how-to guide on baby-catching - merely checking over my documentation amidst our homebirth supplies

Latest baby born framed by the sunny noon pouring in the living room picture window after pivoting ever-so-delicately right at the nth hour (literally - we watched her sweet dark haired head turning at the entrance) into a lovely anterior (facing down) position.
With the most gentle and concentrated of efforts - born with absolute slow serenity into my hands - mama lost in the deepness of birthing, papa quietly holding us all up off the floor in his arms - mother, child, midwife (ry student - for just a few more months).

Really, considering the amount of rain outside, and the extra effort New Zealanders make to heat their homes once a new baby is arriving - it’s a very good thing being a midwife, mid-winter.

Serious reading - bonus points if anyone recognizes the book

It’s much better to use the diaper on cat than to have it on yourself. . .

she sits in her favourite corner and plots entropy

and sometimes recruits for cleaning it all up

while I study, enkaftan’d & cozily

in other words -

mostly, the chaos?

it reigns.

There are some women that you just cannot wait to see in labour -
When the phone rang at 2:10 am I was so thrilled, I practically floated (speedily) out of bed and found myself shivering with delighted anticipation as I brushed my teeth in the ice-cold, eerie-quiet bathroom.

In the narrow back room, heaters glowed dim light off the bare-board walls and seeped warmth into the hanging sheaths of red and blue fabric as we sat ringed - 4 women; mother, midwife, friend, me - around the quiet expanse of birth pool, paying homage to the new motherhood unfolding within.

In the quietest, pale hours of the morning we all found ourselves weary and doubting. Having assessed her myself, I hoped fevrently that no aspect of my ego had prevented me from getting a second opinion that might cast a differing light on the situation. As it was - we were all caught in those long breathless hours of birth. The time when hope is thin - hope that a woman’s strength will last, hope that we have encouraged her rightly, hope that the slippery, sweet baby will meld it’s right way through the dark tightness of being born. And most of all, hope that the seeming impossiblity of making way for a whole other being will be triumphed over.

When her wise-eyed and calm mother quietly pulled me aside to ask “will this be alright?” I found myself suddenly struggling under an enormous weight of trust and responsibility. How can I say yes? or no? or even more difficult - ‘I do not know’. Waves of humility washed over me as I looked back into her quiet, dark face and said ‘there’s nothing that makes me think otherwise right now’.

My preceptor tells me that practicing good, true midwifery makes one wise. And while I do not profess wisdom, merely the hope of it, I do believe that I have learnt, or discovered in some small way how to hold the birth space still and let the unbelieveable occur.

I procured a spoonful of honey to slip between labouring, exhausted teeth, I crouched down low - to the brim of the water - and held her eyes firmly in mine and told her she was ok, her body was strong, we would not leave her, we would be right along side her as she plunged into the lonely, fierce power that pushes a baby out.

An hour later, she held her hands to an underwater head - lifted them apart as if in supplication to the universe and then raised her incredible baby back towards her heart. For a moment I glanced away from my work to bask in the glow on her new-mama face.

crazy, beautiful.

I don’t care if the sun don’t shine
I get my lovin’ in the evening time -
When I’m with my baby

I mean, really, really, how could you not want to take that warm, cuddly thing to bed with you?
I for one, am not about to deprive myself of the pleasure!

It’s some kind of alchemic ecstacy that you can actually make marshmallows.
Or at least a lot of delightfully green Easter goodness.
As many children and giddy adults as possible to fit into one kitchen is a necessary prerequisite, of course.
Weekends off. . . ahhh
sweet & mellow indeed