Poem workshop

I'm doing a poem workshop, and one of my rough drafts fits nicely as an homage to you, dear H.

exit/enter

I reached down to feel my child's head emerging

and then, with the final pushing, pulled her out

delivered her myself

resting, sobbing, smiling with exhaustion

Delivered her myself, her wise face

squished and colored by her time spent in my womb

her blue eyes gazing so intently that I become convinced

our souls are reincarnated

When I was pregnant, I prayed,

"May my child be healthy, may she be wise,

may she be happy, may she be strong."

And she is.

Perhaps it is more accurate to say

we delivered each other

A strong mother, a strong child.

Both new arrivals drinking in a new world.

Your birth story

Honestly, it's taken me a while, darling, to remember how to do the things I did before I gave birth to you. Plus, any extra moments I have, I want to spend them snuggling with you. It's just the way it is. But still, we must record and remember, because someday, you'll want to know. You'll want details. And so, your story:

photo by my doula,  Dianne Hamre

I’m too tired. Too tired. It’s been almost 30 hours. In the tub, out of the tub . . . someone is squeezing a honey straw into my mouth to bring my blood sugar up. “Okay, I want you to look at yourself in the mirror so you can see how you’re pushing,” the midwife says. “I don’t want to look,” I reply. “Just look so you can visualize the push,” she replies. “EEEErrrghhhhhhhhhhhh . . . . okay. Okay, I see . . .”

---

Months earlier, before I even had known I was pregnant, I'd watched “The Business of Being Born,” and it completely changed my philosophy on childbirth. At the time, I was a 36-year-old chickadee with no plans of becoming a mom, but I felt quite enlightened by the documentary. Fast forward a couple months, and I found myself pregnant by chance, confirmed first by at least three different brands of pregnancy tests and then by my regular OB/GYN. And I knew quickly my regular doctor just wasn’t the right choice for this new experience.

As soon as I walked into Babymoon Inn, I felt at home. I was scared. Scared of pregnancy, scared of not being able to afford having the sort of birth experience I wanted, scared of being pregnant on my own. Every person I met at Babymoon during that tour let me know that I was welcome and that I had a community of like-minded and loving women to assist me on my journey. I was never "alone." Amey, my birth assistant, and Dianne, my doula, became two women upon whom I came to rely and trust so completely, they will always be in my heart. I replaced fear with hope.

I walked on my journey. A lot. I ran for a while, and when I couldn’t run, I walked. And prayed. I walked through my anxious two hospital visits during the summer. I walked through week 40. And almost through week 41. Almost 500 miles, in total. On Thursday in late September, I walked my two miles that morning, and then went to teach a full day of art to my high school students. Late that night, my “pretend” contractions started to feel intense. I still thought that I’d go teach that morning, but when morning came, I called my mom. I told her, “Don’t worry. Don’t even bother taking off school, but I didn’t sleep much last night, so I’m going to stay home.” She came to me anyway, sensing something that I was still denying.

And again, we walked. Except that now the contractions stopped me in my tracks. We looked at the houses in my neighborhood and daydreamed about fixing up historical homes. I was having double contractions . . . one short followed by one long and intense. When, later in the afternoon (over 12 hours into labor), I called Dianne, she told me those contractions sounded like the head was placed in such a way that I needed to do some exercises to try and readjust.

Dianne arrived at my home and provided comfort and massage and guidance until it was time to go. We arrived at Babymoon around 9 pm on Friday, and I slipped into a warm tub. My mom poured water over me, and family arrived and visited as I labored. The water became cool, and no progress. I kept trying to pee, but nothing. I’ve always had a shy bladder, but this was not the time for my bladder to be introverted. Eventually, a catheter was used to take some of the pressure off, and after hours of no progress, the release of all that pee became the event (along with an “OMG YIKES”--plus a few other choice words--shifting of my cervix by the midwife) that finally started my forward progress.

The strange amnesia that happened to me afterward is fascinating. I have Dianne’s beautiful story that she wrote after I gave birth, so, thankfully, I have facts. And she took amazing photos, so that guides my memory, too. But what I remember, I remember in little fleeting images and sound clips. There are blank spaces in between. My mom pouring water on my back. Feeling so thankful for her presence. Dianne providing words of comfort and strength. Wanting music. Wanting silence. Tears. Smiles. Growling. Whimpering. Throwing up. A lot. (Seriously. That was the biggest surprise for me during labor.)  Not wanting to see my baby’s head. Wanting to feel and guide her out of me. But always, always, always, being aware that I had made these choices. I had decided to own this process. And in that ownership came strength. The strength of women. Surrounded by women, by family, held by my mother, and then, becoming a mother.

My darling, you, Hazel Mae, were born, in the bathtub at Babymoon Inn, at 4:05 on Saturday morning, September 29th. You looked straight at me from the moment you were born, your eyes holding a wisdom that seemed so deep for one so freshly new to the earth.  I sometimes sing to you, “Little Miss Hazel Mae, born on a September day, under the harvest moon.” As soon as I held you, my artist self knew, “Here, here is my greatest work of art.”

Magic Monday: Beginning

Good morning, darling MH.

After several nights of insomnia, Mama is pooped.

Check out this major bit of magic, though. It's you--at only 10 weeks. You were already rocking my world. Now we're at moving past 39 weeks, and I'm so ready to meet you!

A song

Good morning, MH. A blessing song for you.

Mother’s Blessing - La Bendición De Tu Madre by Snatam Kaur
Words of Bibi Bani, wife of Guru Ram Das the Fourth Guru of the Sikhs

Retoño mio, esta es la bendición de tu madre.

Oh my child this is your mother’s blessing.

Nunca olvides a Dios, ni un momento

May you never forget God, even for a moment

Adorando, por siempre, al Señor del Universo

Worshipping forever the Lord of the universe.

Recordando a Dios, todos los errores son purificados.

Remembering God, all mistakes are washed away.

Y todos nuestros ancestros son acogidos y salvados.

And one’s ancestors are redeemed and saved.

Siempre canta el nombre de Dios, Har Har

Always chant God’s Name, Har Har

Dios esta en tu interior, Dios es infinito.

God is inside you, God is Infinite.

Que el Verdadero Guru te sea amable

May the True Guru be kind to you

Que ames estar en compañía de santos.

May you love to be with the Saints.

Que tu prenda de vestir sea la protección de Dios

May your clothing be the protection of God

Que tu sustento sea el canto de la alabanza de Dios.

May your food be the singing of God’s Praise.

Bebe el néctar del nombre de Dios, y vive una larga vida

Drink the nectar of God’s Name and live long

Que la meditación en Dios te traiga dicha incesante

May meditation on God bring you endless bliss.

Que el amor sea tuyo propio y tus deseos se cumplan

May love be yours and your hopes fulfilled

Que la preocupación nunca te consuma.

May you never be worn by worry.

Haz de tu mente el abejorro

Let this mind of yours be the bumble bee

Y que los pies de loto de Dios sean la flor.

And let the Lotus Feet of God be the flower.

Oh sirviente Nanak, ata tu mente de esta manera

Oh Servant Nanak, link your mind in this way

Como el gavilán encuentra la gota de lluvia, y prospera.

Like the sparrow hawk finding a raindrop, blossom forth.

Chanting from the heart

Good morning, MH!

What is it about chanting and prayer that creates such calm and focus? I grew up with traditional Catholic prayers; my favorite is probably the Prayer of Saint Francis. I even can remember "playing church" when I was little, with my little book of prayers and my sisters as the parishioners.

There are so many powerful prayers . . . so many ways to connect to God. Here are three that I listen to and recite as I connect with your little spiritual heart.

Heart Sutra
There is something about Zen Buddhism . . . perhaps it is its simplicity to which I am drawn. Sit and breathe. Sit and breathe and pay attention. If you go to a sangha (a sitting group), often the Heart Sutra is part of the chanting that happens within the sitting. My favorite part of the chant is the paradoxical "Form is emptiness; Emptiness is form."

Click through to the YouTube version for the Japanese sounds and the English translation.


Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu
May all beings everywhere be happy and free. And may the thoughts and actions of my own life contribute, in some way, to that happiness and freedom for all.

It is important to remember that all that we say and do affects those around us, MH.



Chakra Opening
Chakras are considered to be energy centers along the middle of our bodies. There are seven chakras, described here, and they're in charge of certain properties in our bodies and minds. There are sounds associated with each of the chakras, and chanting them is supposed to open the energy channels. The one on which I'm focused as you prepare to enter the world is the root chakra, represented by the color red and the sound LAM.
MC Yogi makes the chanting fun.

Magic Monday: Is your mama secretly a swan?

Swan swan swan, 
Bending their necks to sing to the sky.
White feathers floating on green water, 
Red feet pushing against clear waves.
                              --Luo Bin Wang

Good morning, M. Hazel!

Wow. 38 weeks! How are you feeling about making an appearance soon? We are officially go for launch.

I have too many stories about birds. Today, though, a different spin on bird stories. 

During a game of Words With Friends (a Scrabble ripoff game that is an obsession of mine--words!!!), a friend of mine sent me a text, "My dream last night . . . you and I were sitting in a subway tunnel watching the trains fly by. All the while, you were pregnant and fully clothed in swan feathers; we talked of issues concerning having a baby. Your hair was a bright, deep red. Even though it was a dream, it was good to see you."

Dreams are so potent. Maybe they are just the brain's way of tying up loose ends, or rummaging through the trash out of boredom. But maybe they go a little deeper. Maybe some of them are filled with a little magic. Although Freud gets a lot of flack (even from me), I love psychoanalytic thought and interpretation. The unconscious mind becomes the place from which our intuition emerges. 

My goal here isn't to go too deeply into dream analysis, but simply to acknowledge the beauty of dreaming, and, especially, the beauty of that potent dream.

And so, a fast little doodle for you:

A poem

Good morning, M. "You know being born is important."

Carl Sandburg's "Being Born"

Being born is important

You who have stood at the bedposts
and seen a mother on her high harvest day,
the day of the most golden of harvest moons for her.

You who have seen the new wet child
dried behind the ears,
swaddled in soft fresh garments,
pursing its lips and sending a groping mouth
toward nipples where white milk is ready.

You who have seen this love’s payday
of wild toiling and sweet agonizing.

You know being born is important.
You know that nothing else was ever so important to you.
You understand that the payday of love is so old,
So involved, so traced with circles of the moon,
So cunning with the secrets of the salts of the blood.
It must be older than the moon, older than salt.