Prepare for Pregnancy, Birth, & Parenting – Page 21

Parenting as a Spiritual Path

Raising children is hard work. It’s deeply trying, physically and emotionally. Many studies have confirmed the drudgery of parenting, finding that the work itself is more tiring than chores or paid work . For those of us who have little ones, whether we care for them all week long or after hours, that’s no mystery.

Parenting is an all-in occupation, with every bit of us being needed for the job, including those parts of us we’d rather forget about. Parenting pushes all of our buttons on purpose. It’s our second chance to dig up and heal all of those old traumas we’ve buried. And depending upon how many kids we have, it’s also our 3rd chance, 4th chance, etc., because with each new character in our brood those feelings emerge as freshly as we experienced them in childhood.

How do you react when you hear your child screaming? It hits you deep down, right? And you’d do anything to make it stop. And that’s by design. By observing how you handle that feeling, and your reaction to your child as they get bigger and push your buttons, we get a unique window into our own childhood, into our parents’ experience, and theirs before them.

We are the inheritors of a unique legacy. All of us come out of childhood with some form of baggage. And we spend an outsize amount of our lives burying it so that we can “function normally.” But normal functioning isn’t dancing on top of a garbage mound and pretending we’re at a beauty pageant. It’s digging down and finding out who we are under all that garbage. It’s allowing and even welcoming all the experiences of life, and all the messy emotions that come with them. And if we have children, we’ve signed up for the messiest of those duties.

Childcare is physically challenging, but as babies turn into children, we find that the emotional challenges feel far more difficult than those early months when our bodies ached from constant carrying and personal hygiene fell low on our priority list.

Parenthood holds up a huge mirror that helps us see our stuffed feelings, our ideas about what’s wrong with us and our beliefs about who it’s acceptable to be in the world. Dealing with that gracefully is difficult on a good day, much less when your charge has smeared peanut butter in your hair and peed on the carpet.

Here are three ideas to get you through:

Laugh! A sense of humor can get you through just about anything. Another benefit is that laughter is healing, in that it lets us release tension and it tells our brain to celebrate. And celebrating is definitely the correct response to useful information that will help you to free your inner child so that you can actually enjoy watching your kid splash in the puddles while wearing her sneakers. Or better yet, join in!
Take notes. I know it’s difficult to find time to journal when you have a kid, but some of us somehow find ways to send texts. So text yourself when you notice a pattern, when you’ve caught a glimpse of yourself (good, bad or ugly) or when you find something you’d like to ponder later. These truths about ourselves are gems, and it’s worth taking a few minutes to jot it down if you can.
Roll with it… Yes it’s difficult. And it’s hysterical. And it’s sad. And every other emotion you can imagine. When we open ourselves to our inner experience, we can be present to what’s happening in this moment with our child, which is all there ever is.

Staying attached with more than one

As my husband and I prepare for the arrival of our second child (a boy!) this summer, I find myself thinking about how different it will be compared to when our daughter was born.

With my daughter, we came across Attachment Parenting (AP) as we started exploring different ideas around giving birth and caring for newborns. Many of the AP practices were things we already planned on doing — such as natural birth and extended breastfeeding — and others evolved naturally once we became parents, including cosleeping, babywearing and gentle discipline. This time around, we plan on doing things similarly albeit with much more confidence in our decisions after seeing how well it worked last time.

However, I can’t help but wonder how it will work with more than one.

I think it’s extremely important for the initial bonding that we are physically attached to the baby. This part, I’m not worried about. I practically lived in my wrap with my daughter and don’t expect this time to be any different. I am also a stay-at-home mom, which gives me the freedom to feed on demand and hold off on any set schedule.

The part that I worry about is staying attached with my daughter. I think it’s equally important that our daughter not feel slighted by this new little addition. I want her to continue to feel attached to both mommy and daddy. She will have had almost 2 ½ years of undivided attention and will now be sharing the spotlight, so to speak. We have been prepping her for his arrival for a while now and she seems genuinely excited about being a big sister. She can rattle off a list of things she will be in charge of as the big sister – getting diapers and wipes, singing to him, helping with bath.

What I don’t think she is prepared for is sharing my time. She has always been a pretty independent kid but I wonder if that will change when she is not the only one anymore. How will she react to me breastfeeding the baby all the time? If I’m wearing the baby, will she want to be carried?

I know these concerns are not limited to AP parents, I imagine every parent has similar thoughts before welcoming another child into the family. My hope is that AP gives my husband and I the guidance needed to foster a connected and close family, no matter how large it grows.

The Challenges of AP Fathering

Let me start off telling a little bit about myself and my family. My name is Thiago, I live in Brazil, and I have a beautiful one-year-old toddler, Dante. I am also currently an API Leader Applicant, preparing myself to start the first API support group in Brazil: API Rio.

Dante was born at a planned home birth, which was a totally life-changing experience both for myself and my wife. I would never believe I could become a completely different person, a father.

Getting there was not that simple. The obstetrics situation in Brazil is quite unfortunate for the birth experience. In 2010, 52% of the babies were born through C-section and accounting for the private health care system, that number goes beyond 80%. Women in Brazil still need to fight to get the respectful birth they want for themselves and because of that, we studied and prepared ourselves very much for the birth until we were able to come to the best option for everybody.

However, as soon as he was born, I really did not have a clue what to do afterwards. I mean, we applied so much effort on ensuring a loving and respectful birth for our baby. So what now? We did not know how to care for him lovingly and respectfully after he was born.

I remember that we had bought a crib for our son, but we have never used it. Since the first day, we slept with our son in our bed, not because we read something or we heard somebody, but because it felt right for us. It was the practical decision, given the fact that my wife was breastfeeding on demand, but soon enough we realized it was more than just a practical decision. It was an enjoyable experience and good for the whole family, for our circumstances. This is how Attachment Parenting entered my life and the crib became a cloth deposit.

Now that you know me a little better, I would like to talk about the challenges of being an attached dad. Overall, raising a child with respect, empathy and compassion is not one of the easiest things to do. Creating strong and secure attachment with our children is something that requires will, but something that also offers a lot of joy in the process.

I do not mean being an attached father is different or harder than being an attached mother, but there are different types of challenges involved. For starters, we fathers, have a lot of work to do in order to undo the (not so good) history of how the fathers used to parent in past generations. We must struggle to put away that image of fathers who simply were food providers and authoritarian figures. For some men, this is particularly harder, considering the type of education they received and how deep this concept is built within each one of them.

Additionally, we do not have (what I like to say) the birthing and breastfeeding superpowers. Nature, through the nurturing hormones, gives a hand to mothers in creating secure attachments with their babies. For instance, a mother who has a natural birth experience and breastfeeds has a nature’s boost in her attachment with her baby. I am not saying that it is a piece of cake for mothers to become attached to their babies, but at least nature gives them a little hand. Mother and baby are naturally bonded; they have such a deep and strong connection that is almost visible to the naked eye.

The attachment between father and son, though, is something that takes time. It requires us to be aware and present, being a part of that new life. Through consistent and loving care, we can build a strong attachment with our babies that will last a lifetime. But again, it requires a lot of dedication that can be easily distracted if we do not remain focused.

We cannot give birth and we cannot breastfeed. So what is left for us to do? Well, fathers have two paths to choose here:

1- We can assume that, since there is nothing to do, it is better to stay off the path and help with some basic tasks, like washing the dishes, changing diapers and stuff like that. After all, we do not have breasts anyway, right?

2- Or we can actually join the whole experience and help our attachment with our children flourish. We can stay close and see these events as a blessing; we can live our parenting to the fullest.

I have chosen the second path. I got my “dad badge” and I want to use it. I did not get a “mother’s helper badge,” so I need to be a father now. It has some additional challenges, because I need to be there, I need to focus myself on parenting and, most of all, I need to grow that sensitivity that men were culturally trained to forget since when they were very young.

Check back with us next week to find out how Thiago works to overcome the challenges faced by AP dads!

Thiago Queiroz is an attached father who found AP after his son was born at home. Currently, he is an API Leader Applicant seeking to start an API support group in Rio, Brazil.

The Portuguese translation of Part 1 can be found here.

Becoming an AP Mom

I imagine that my journey to Attachment Parenting was typical to some degree. I believe we all learn, grow and evolve as individuals and parents when a child enters our lives.

For me, it’s hard to remember life before my son and even more difficult to remember ideas that I had about parenting. I do know that prior to my pregnancy with my son, I was very career-oriented and spent long hard days either in the office or traveling for business across the country.

My husband and I waited many years before I felt ready to have children, and when I initially became pregnant, I believed that nothing about the professional aspect of my life would change.

I was wrong. Shortly after learning I was pregnant, I became violently ill and was diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum, a severe form of nausea and vomiting during pregnancy. I was hospitalized twice and so sick that I remained on medical leave from my job until the beginning of my third trimester.

When I was at the height of my illness, I recall so many things shifting for me internally and spiritually. Most importantly, my view on motherhood began to shift.

Because I and my son were so nutritionally deprived during my pregnancy, I felt compelled to breastfeed him. I felt that because I was unable to nourish him while he was in my womb, I must nourish him after birth.

I know this is not the reason most women give when asked how they arrived at the decision to breastfeed; however, for me it signified a very important shift on my journey to becoming a mom.

In addition, I also started to view my son and I as a team—a partnership whose one goal was survival. This belief made me strong on the days where I was weak, and I truly believed that my son was doing all he could to survive. Reframing our relationship as a loving partnership rather than a hierarchal parent-child dyad drew me even closer to Attachment Parenting.

If this was our relationship and we were bonding so closely for survival in extreme conditions, then how could I possibly allow that to change once he was born?

At the time, I did not understand what this shift meant or how it would change me to my core.

Upon my son’s birth, instinctually, I knew that I didn’t want to be separated from him. My husband shared this feeling as well. During our first few nights with our son, my husband and I took shifts holding him in our arms while he slept. We were both so exhausted, but we felt compelled to be close to him.

Our friends and family advised us on other methods for sleep. Initially, we hesitantly followed their well-meaning advice but quickly learned that it didn’t feel right to us and clearly did not feel right to our son because he was unable to sleep unless he was in our arms or in our bed.

I remember feeling alone and isolated at that time. Doing what we felt and knew was instinctual was discouraged by others in our lives. Despite this external pressure, my husband and I persevered and we continued to follow our instincts. I was compelled to actualize the commitment that I had made to my son during my pregnancy.

Fortunately, I was able to find information about Attachment Parenting as well as related research. This information resonated with my husband and I, and it helped to solidify and strengthen our belief that what we were doing—what felt instinctual and right—actually had a name and was backed by a plethora of research. It was that information and our strong will that enabled us to initially define ourselves as Attachment Parenting parents.

Following these initial insights, I soon discovered a local API Support Group and quickly became an API member. Joining other families who felt similarly about parenting was extremely validating and served to normalize our feelings and our experiences.

Finally, we had a group of nonjudgmental, supportive families who provided us with resources and friendship. Further, as the years progress, our API Support Group has imparted upon us so much more, including friendships and nurturance, continued strength and support, and the unconditional caring that I believe is needed during the parenting years.

I often question why I was subjected with extreme illness during my pregnancy, and I truly believe that we are all presented with life challenges from which we have the opportunity to learn and grow. As difficult and traumatic as the experience, having hyperemesis gravidarum afforded me the opportunity and ability to transform myself as a person and to prepare for my role as mother. It enabled me to envision my son as a loving partner, and for that, I am forever grateful.

My son is now two and a half, and I am currently pregnant with my second son, who is due within the next few weeks. This pregnancy has been equally, if not more, challenging than my first pregnancy.

However, with the support, guidance and wisdom of my family, friends and API Support Group, I have found this experience empowering and strengthening. Although I do know that adding to our family will lead to additional challenges, I feel confident that we will succeed.

Tara Bulin, LCSW-R, is an Attachment Parenting-friendly licensed clinical social worker specializing in working with individuals who have experienced trauma (including pregnancy and birth trauma). She is currently writing her dissertation on women’s experiences after having a high-risk and traumatic pregnancy. Tara also has a private practice and meets with clients in person and via Skype. She is a two-time survivor of hyperemesis gravidarum. The mother of a two-year-old son, she is expecting her second child in March.

There’s a Pause Button, Just in Case

“It’s green. Really green,” said my midwife just after my water broke. The amniotic fluid was meconium-stained, and my mind went to the worst.

“So he’ll end up with some in his lungs?” I asked.

She threw out a percentage of babies who aspirate meconium, and I don’t recall the exact figure, but it was in the 20s. And she said of those, not all babies have problems from meconium aspiration.

That was enough to keep me from worrying. After all, I had work to do.

My midwife told me that she would have the neonatal team at the ready, just in case. Of course, I wasn’t focusing on much of anything at that point, except getting the baby earthside.

When my sweet boy was born, there was no cry. Nobody in the room smiled. Instead, there was a mix of hesitation and silent commotion. Everyone faced the warming table, where the neonatal team was hard at work trying to stabilize him.

The nurse came over to tell me that I could hold him briefly, but that he would need to go to the NICU right away. When she handed him to me, I held him for just a moment, gave him a kiss and willingly handed him back. He was struggling, and I didn’t want to waste another second. I wanted him to go wherever he needed to go to get better.

We later found out that my baby had a collapsed lung and had to stay in the isolette under oxygen therapy. I couldn’t hold him for three days and I couldn’t nurse him for four.

I worried that the separation would tamper with our biological bonding mechanisms. I wondered whether he felt secure and comforted. I wondered how this would affect my hormones and my milk supply. I worried that he felt abandoned.

I wondered if it hurt to have a hole in your lung.

For my baby’s first few days, I would sit near his isolette, occasionally reaching in to trace his little fingers with mine.

On the third day, the nurse told me that the doctor thought that kangaroo care (holding the baby skin-to-skin) would help him make some strides toward recovery. I tried hard to keep it cool, but I failed hard – I burst into tears right then and there. I had waited so long to hold my baby boy.

When the nurse handed him to me for the first time, I felt that rush of love you hear about – that same surge of emotion that I felt right after the birth of my first two babies when the nurses handed them to me.

All this time, I thought I had missed my window. But it was there, waiting for our little reunion.

There was no doubt that that feeling was our bonding hormones at work. I knew because it was familiar. I had felt that before with my first two babies and it is an indescribable feeling that cannot be replicated. As for more concrete evidence that the hormones were in working order, I had been pumping 0.2 or 0.3 mL of colostrum at a time (drops!) and after I held my boy I filled a full 3 mL.

The next day, the doctor suggested I try to nurse him. I expected a learning curve, as he had gone days without learning to breastfeed instead of initiating within minutes of birth. But I was wrong. The little champ latched like a pro right away.

My sweet boy is now off of the growth charts, strong as a bull and he’s the happiest and most loving baby I have ever seen. All you have to do is make eye contact with him and he’ll give you a big cheeky toothless smile that just puts you deeper under his spell. And I have every reason to believe that we have established a secure attachment that we will build upon for a lifetime.

I hope I’m not diminishing the importance of bonding immediately after birth. Mother and baby are primed for bonding during this time and should make the most of those short minutes and hours if they can. Just know that if you have to wait a few hours or days to begin getting to know each other, it will be okay.

The Struggles We Face Only Make Us Stronger

On this day four years ago, I gave birth to my second child. I witnessed and experienced bringing another precious, miraculous life into this world and into my heart forever. Our gentle, loving and sweet little warrior, Aston.

Our first nine months together were not easy. My lupus decided to painfully challenge us throughout my pregnancy. I spent a lot of time at the doctor and in the hospital as a high-risk patient. All I wanted was to be healthy and to deliver a healthy baby boy. I remember lying on the table at the cardiologist’s office when they found fluid in my heart and around my lungs. I was having difficulty breathing and had alarmingly low blood pressure. I remember that day like it was yesterday.

Something very powerful happened. A calmness took over and replaced my fear. I trusted that I was meant to be a healthy mother to our two boys. I trusted that everything was going to be OK. One of the specialists said something after witnessing all of the drama Aston and I endured together. He told me that all of this suffering and all of these challenges would make Aston a stronger boy. He would get through anything, just as I would get through this.

A strong boy. That is an understatement.

Aston spent much of his first two years of life in and out of hospitals and doctor’s offices. His big brother never wanted to leave his side and was with us at every visit. He stood by him and comforted him through every test and felt his pain when he felt pain. He would put a Band-Aid on to make Aston feel better about wearing one. Their bond only strengthens with time.

I won’t go into all of the hardships he’s courageously faced up until now. I just wanted to share how brave and happy he is, despite the many struggles he’s faced. He is a survivor. He is a gentle ox, and it’s so appropriate that his Chinese birth sign is just that.

He is such a wondrous and magical spirit. He melts our hearts with his loving and kind nature. He is self assured yet open to the world and all there is to learn around him. He is so in touch with his surroundings and with humanity. His love exudes in every breath, action and word he utters. He is glorious light in our lives each day.

Aston is a wise and old soul. He teaches and leads by example. He is a loyal and one-of-a-kind friend and brother to Pierce.

He wakes up every single day with a huge and grateful smile on his face. He appreciates the very simple things in life and fundamentally gets what those things are. He warms my heart and touches my soul deeply … every moment. He amazes and inspires me every day.

Our adventure continues, and he now gets to experience the world as a proud and healthy 4-year-old. Two years ago, he was on a breathing machine daily. Witnessing him climbing the Great Wall of China, running along the beach and actively enjoying each moment of his life is a wonderful miracle every day. He is up for anything and gives everything his all, with the purest heart and uninhibited passion. I am more grateful than I can express for his presence and love in our lives.

I am so grateful that my instinct as a mother led me to the Attachment Parenting way of life from the moment our first son was born. I was living the principles of Attachment Parenting, as well as babywearing, breastfeeding and cosleeping, before I knew the term Attachment Parenting existed. I often felt alone in my way of parenting because everyone I was surrounded by was doing it differently and questioned me. I never questioned myself or doubted my ways for a second. It was very comforting, however, when I found API and discovered I wasn’t alone, had support and could communicate and connect with like-minded parents.

Today and always, I am so grateful for the closeness we all share as a family, and I can’t imagine parenting any other way. In the hospitals, they would always have a crib set up, but as you can see, I requested a bed every time. I held him every second and we got through it all together.

Thank you for celebrating with us today.

Happy Birthday, Baby Aston.

A Home Birthing Story

I’m pretty sure it never occurred to me I’d ever give birth at home. The first time around, I headed straight to the hospital, hooked up to the epidural, pushed her out and breathed a sigh of relief.

After researching homebirth extensively while co-writing my book, my perspective on birthing began to shift. Birthing was not a medical event in most situations, I realized. It was a life cycle event that belonged to the realm of the family, and it could be meaningful and loving and powerful.

Eight days ago, I gave birth to my second child at home in my bedroom. My three-year-old was watching raptly, making me laugh, bringing me presents and playing with the midwife’s birthing stool. My husband and two midwives rounded out my team of supporters, helping me to move through resistance and bring a beautiful new soul into the world.

When my midwives came by the day after the birth to check on us, one remarked that my labor was a million births in one. What did she mean by that, I asked, having only been present at two myself. It had its boring parts, she said, like when she showed up and I was laboring in the tub. It had its intense parts, like when we were all shouting “yes!” in unison as I was pushing the baby out. It had its restful parts, like when I fell asleep between contractions during transition. It had its calm parts and its fearful parts and its dramatic parts–like when the baby’s head was out and he began kicking his body visibly inside me, trying to work his way out, something my midwife had never seen in her 35 years of practice. It had its funny parts, like when I initiated a round of laughter yoga and my midwife joined in. It had its romantic parts, like when I asked my husband to kiss me as I pushed the baby out.

For me, though, the birth came down to a tremendous physical and psychological challenge–overcoming my fear of the intense sensations I was feeling and finding my way through them using tools that shifted with each contraction. One contraction could be mitigated through rhythmic breathing, another through back massage, another through hugging my husband tightly. I was afraid, not of what could happen to me, but of what was happening to me, of why I was unable to mitigate the sensation through relaxation as I have been able to in yoga. My midwife wisely explained to me that my goal wasn’t to relax my uterus, which actually needed to be clenching and tightening in order to push that baby out.

When I finally pushed and then pulled my baby out and held him on my chest, I felt a huge sense of relief, as if I’d conquered a physical challenge akin to a marathon or massive mountain climb. I felt humbled by the experience yet elated by the magnitude of what I’d achieved.

Everything about birthing in my home environment was perfect: being available to my 3-year-old, even nursing her back to sleep while I was in active labor; having free range of my house, including bed and bathtub; having access to my clothing, blankets, pillows and food; being surrounded by skilled caretakers who followed my lead and contributed helpful suggestions when needed; and not needing to go anywhere when it was over.

My birth experience was challenging, it was exhilarating, and it was memorable. I’m glad that I had the courage to stick with it while living a society which has been trained to think of birth as a medical event fraught with danger. I’ve added birthing to my personal list of mothering experiences that I’ve been able to reclaim as my own.

Letters, Labyrinths, and Love

This post was originally published on TheBirthingSite.com.

At 27 weeks into my pregnancy, I started my letter to him.

I didn’t yet know I was carrying a boy. My husband and I had picked out names, but we decided to wait until the birth to know the sex of our baby. So, I addressed my letter to “Dearest Baby Glenn,” and the words poured forth.

I’ve always loved to write. I love the romance between pen and paper, dreams and words. Ideas and letters mingle and merge in me. At my Mormon baptismal celebration, my beloved Aunt Kris presented me with a journal and encouraged my eight-year-old self to write. I’ve filled over fifty books since. I find writing a deeply spiritual path.

Writing to my son added a profound dimension to this practice. I try to imagine how time will bend on an unbeknownst future day when he will read my words. What will it be like for him to see into his early years and into his mother’s heart?

I’ll always remember where I was when I began writing his letter.

Before I knew I was pregnant, I had accepted a teaching job at a private, bilingual school in Bogota, Colombia. My husband and I decided to stay the course of the adventure even as our first child grew inside of me.

I remember the sunlight pouring through my floor-to-ceiling classroom windows. I gazed at the Andes Mountains. My round belly inspired me. I placed my hands on my body and imagined the growing being within. The call to begin writing to this child came from a fiercely impatient muse. My heart was expanding with a love that my mind could not fathom. I closed my work inbox, opened up a blank Word document, and I began to type, saved it using sodapdf.com and left it on my desktop.

“Dearest Baby Glenn,

Soon I will know if I should address these reflections to Maline or to Taber. However, on the most fundamental level it doesn´t matter. You matter. My love for you matters. Your development, health, strength, inner spirit, beauty, and wonder matter.

I can´t express how much I love you. You are now a permanent part of my heart. I think of you each day and night. I feel you kick and dance and move with joy. I love you, dear baby. You are my child, and I promise to always give you my best efforts and energy as I move into motherhood. … ”

I continue to add to this growing 85-page letter.

I detail milestones, magical moments, and the struggles and hopes of our little family. I share with my son, Taber, my vision for the world. I explain why we choose to spend time outside rather than in front of a television. I write about the day he drew a circle with a crayon, proudly saying, “Moon!”

Composing this letter helps me mother with a deeper sense of wonder, grace, and gratitude. Putting into words the prayers and hopes I have for this child, reminds me of what matters most in life. I want Taber to love this world and her people. I want him to grow up to be courageous, kind, and strong. Most importantly, I want him to know he is loved. Deeply. Truly. Fiercely. Freely.

In Roman mythology, Theseus volunteers to kill the evil Minotaur responsible for the deaths of many brave Athenian youth. The hero enters a dangerous labyrinth to accomplish this task. His beloved Ariadne gives him a sacred thread so he can find his way out of the confusing maze. May our words as parents be revivifying and inspiring to our children. May they carry sacred power and become like Ariadne’s thread offering guidance when our children navigate life’s challenging labyrinths.

Theseus emerges victorious. May our children do the same.