stick season

In New England this is "stick season" where everything is laid bare and we wait for the dark of winter to settle. It's a season where garden beds are cut down and blanketed with mulch. When farmers spread manure on their fields. We close our windows and doors and light the fires. Pull blankets and sweaters out of cedar trunks. But it's also a planting time. Roots still grow. Bulbs are tucked in with the promise that spring always comes back. And, because the leaves are gone, we can see more sky. 

voiceless

Feeling heartbroken, hopeless, worried, voiceless this morning. And also so grateful. So aware of the sheltered privilege of my life. Grateful that the color of my skin is not a life threatening condition.  That my family doesn't have to put our lives on the line to keep the peace in a world that seems hell bent on destroying itself. With these privileges, there must be a responsibility, but I feel ill-equipped and naive. I don't want to cause more hurt or offense, but I am aware that silence and inaction do just that.  

And so, I'll speak. Clumsy and fumbling and hoping that my heart is understood. 

Black lives matter. 

Thank you to the peace-keeping officers who do their jobs with bravery and integrity. 

The two thoughts don't cancel each other out. They go hand in hand - just like we all should. 

a full circle

The quote says I am the result of the love of thousands, but today I am only thinking of one. My grandmother was a varied and contradictory woman. Born to a single mother in the twenties, and orphaned at a young age, she lived a life entirely different. She cobbled together her own identity from the strange start the universe gave her and built up a family of her own - each of us fierce, faulty, and deeply rooted in our own strength - that is her legacy. A family of women who know themselves and their place in the world around them - a sisterhood between my cousins and I, my aunts, my mother - that is her legacy. She spent her later years in ministry, studying truth and loving deeply broken souls into a place of peace and healing. We are truth seekers and peace bringers in this family. We each have dark and twisty places and love all the deeper because of them - that is her legacy. 

We are all of us who we are - healers and helpers and ministers and mothers, bold truth tellers and warriors in prayer because of her personhood and influence. We are all of us who we are - scarred and broken and depressive and brooding. 

Both bitter and healing. Her name was Rosemary. 

water like mud

Sometimes the days feel so heavy. Thick. I imagine waking up in the morning and slicing through the hours to come with grace and ease. Anticipating the turbulence and currents and obstacles and moving to adapt and using their momentum to soar. A bird. A fish. Moving free and unhindered through my life. 

When a small sticky child has wrapped themselves around my ankles and I almost drop the warm milk that's been left all morning on the counter onto the head of her sister, running too fast, frantic, about to trip on the rug and I know that I cannot move to stop it, and I am annoyed that she is running again, and whining again, and hungry again, and sick again, and needs me again and I resent her tears because I want to be the one crying...well that is the opposite of soaring with lightness and ease. And that is how it goes. And that is this life. And even so, it is grace. 

harper's birth story

Harper Rose Allen was born on Saturday November 30th, 2013 at home in the water.

***

My pregnancy with Harper was textbook and relatively easy. Hannah is an energetic three year old and keeping up with her could be tiring, but over all I felt well, and was healthy.  Early in this pregnancy we decided that we wanted to pursue a home birth and we were excited to find an amazing midwife to support us. Robin was able to come to our house for many of my prenatal appointments and it was wonderful to be able to include Hannah and Patrick in that part of the pregnancy. We spent some time preparing Hannah to meet her sister and were excited to have her present for the birth if she wanted to be. we had fun doing practice breaths together, and she got pretty good at her swaying and moaning!

My due date of Nov 24th came and went, and so did my hoped for delivery date of Nov 28th (Thanksgiving!)  On the 29th we went to run some errands and I began feeling very uncomfortable in the car, with a good strong contraction when we pulled into the driveway. I had a few contractions here and there through the evening, but nothing that I could track. For the first time I went to bed feeling like the baby was coming soon – I’d been beginning to feel like she would never be born, and all the cleaning I’d done in my nesting frenzy was starting to need touching up, and we'd eaten all the food I had prepped for the midwives - but there was also just a feeling of peace and I was able to soak up the last moments of our family of three.

Around 3am on the 30th the contractions began. I had a tracking app on my phone, but I found I preferred to check the time and do the math. They were every 7-10 minutes and I was able to rest and drift off to sleep in between them. By 5 am they were 5-7 minutes apart and I was getting uncomfortable laying in bed. I woke up Patrick and got in the shower. He called Robin and Emily (to stay with Hannah) and I sat down in the shower and let the water run over my belly. So warm and relaxing! Emily arrived and snuggled in with Hannah, who was still sleeping, and Robin got there shortly after, along with Jackie, her assistant (thanks to Jackie for the photos!). Patrick jumped in the shower with me at one point, and he finished getting the bedroom ready and the pool inflated.

At 6:45 Robin suggested that I get out of the shower if I wanted to get the pool filled in time for the baby to be born, so I moved to the yoga ball at the foot of the bed. Hannah woke up a bit after 7 and came in to the room with Emily for a little bit – she rubbed my back during a contraction or two – and then they headed downstairs for breakfast.

At some point I had asked for a banana to eat and was holding it in my hand for a while and focused on not squishing it during the contractions – surprisingly effective labor aide! After I put down the banana I would turn my hands up and open my palms during each contraction – focusing on relaxing and opening and breathing. Robin was amazing during all of this – she would take fetal heart tone readings every half hour and spend some time doing gentle massage and breathing with me during contractions, otherwise she left us alone so that it was just Patrick and I. Patrick was steadfast – by my side the whole time.

The pool took f o r e v e r to fill up. At one point I got up and lay down on the bed and contractions eased quite a bit. I almost fell asleep. By 9 am the pool was finally filled, and as soon as I hit the water everything was different. I had a hard time finding a position that was comfortable – I was imagining floating in the water and relaxing, but my body just wanted to be upright, and to work! I sat back in the water between contractions and was able to get very relaxed, but needed to be up on my knees for every surge, and I needed to focus everything inward. I could feel Harper moving down, and at 9:12am Robin recorded that I could feel her head with my fingers. (She never did any internal exams, just trusted me and my body to do it’s thing). Soon after that my water broke. I remember saying “water” because it was all I could croak out – and someone held up my water bottle, misunderstanding me. “No, water broke!”

I was working hard at this point, and vocalizing during the peaks of my contractions as I bore down. I guess Hannah could hear me downstairs and told Emily, “Oh that’s just my mom having a baby.” No big deal. Haha!

Robin and Patrick were on the edge of the pool, hanging back and watching me, ready with water or a cool washcloth,  but I don't think either of them realized just how close to being born Harper was! I was checking regularly and knew Harper was close to crowning so I said something about not wanting to tear. Robin was so calm and just reminded me to relax and open – not realizing that Harper’s head was actually being born! I delivered  her head myself and Robin jumped up to help check for a cord and to help deliver her shoulders. One more surge and at 9:40am she was out and up on my chest with a good cry. (So different from the prolonged, coached pushing with Hannah!) It was amazing to be able to deliver her myself, without counting or monitors or even another set of hands on my body!

She was so sweet, with long fingers and squished ears and a good coating of vernix.

Hannah and Emily came in to see the new little one for a minute, and then we got out of the pool and on to the bed to deliver the placenta. Harper nursed right away and opened her eyes to look at me the first time right after her latch. The placenta was born and the cord was cut shortly after. Patrick got some skin time with Harper while I got cleaned up and then we all snuggled back in bed.

Harper’s birth was a blessing. It was a warm, wonderful, empowering experience and I am so grateful that I was supported and encouraged to believe in my strength and in the everyday miracle that is a baby and mother working together for birth.

gratitude

I just had a moment. In the midst of the chaos and upheaval that is two small children in an old house mid-renovation I had a moment; when the coffee was still warm, and the song was right, and the sleeping babe was warm and right on my chest, and the girl was mesmerized watching the red paint swirl into the blue and it was sweet and good. And I am grateful. And I want to remember. 

parched

The exhaustion comes in waves. Baby didn't sleep well. I didn't sleep well. That's nothing new. I never have been a good sleeper, but this is something else. Bone tired. I've climbed mountains. I've mixed concrete by hand. I've stayed up all night writing. Or laughing. Or crying. But this is something else. This wave knocked me down for a minute. Just a minute. A breath. Then I'll be up to push through to the next one. 

PS: I found out the next day it was Lyme's.

welcome

The change in the air is the first thing I notice. The humidity drops and it is cool in the shade now. Then the sky shifts it's blue and the sun barely clears the top of the oak tree as it rises. For about fifteen minutes each afternoon the autumn sun on it's new path, walks right through my front door. So welcome. 

signs

Since we've moved here we have seen birds and bugs and fireflies, a garden snake in the asparagus, a luna moth in the middle of the field, a groundhog in our cherry tree, a pair of foxes, and today a pair of hawks. It feels like a welcome. 

pulling up

In order to leave a place with any kind of peace my heart must slowly pull away long before the leave taking happens. I look around the rooms as a stranger. No longer intimate with every inch I hold myself off and aloof. And then a moment happens and the space reaches out and holds me in a tight hold and it chokes me and I am connected with every fibre. The rooms are strange and sterile and yet, for now, we still live here. 

transplanting

Having a sudden pang. Of sadness, regret, the ache that comes with growing up and growing out. We have made a home here. And now we leave it all behind and start again. All over. 

breath like butterflies

There are lists and piles and boxes to pack and sort and stack and move. And then there is this. Eyelash flutters and the softest of breaths on my breastbone. And time stops and there is nothing else in the world. 

like light

One is a firecracker 

The other a firefly

And I

I will dim into darkness

Until I learn

How to balance

Their light

With mine 

And trust that after all

I will not lose my light 

And when the time comes

I will shine 

A constant burn

A star

An anchor 

The way home 

For all of us. 

dinner

I wait until dinner. So I can blame it on the onions. 

ox mama

They talk about birth bringing out the mammal/animal/beast. I have heard women mention wolves, and tigers, and bears. Fierce and strong and feral. 

Birth was three weeks ago, and I was a lion. Today, through the bone-tired, body broken, brain wasting that is post-partum I am still a beast. I put my strength to the plow and push through. I lower my head and plod on. Back and forth, the mind numbing and endless tasks of new motherhood are completed and begun again. I do the work. Ox mama. 

milk and blood and tears

They say that with the milk come tears. 

Baby was born 5 days ago. I roared her into the world in pain and water. At home. When we would usually be eating breakfast I birthed her and then everything changed. 

There is no usual any more. There is no we anymore. Patrick and I. With so much to do in the care of ourselves and our family, words of love and encouragement are sent room to room by text message. Hannah and I. My girl, and her mama. I miss her with an ache that goes as deep as anything I've ever felt. And I've felt a lot of deep aches this week.

The baby is beautiful. Calm. Perfect, except for a lip tie that makes feeding her excruciating. A deep toe curling sear that really cannot be described. Or helped much. 

The process of pregancy and birth can be described as a labrynth. A long winding journey through pregnancy into the tight dark spiral that is birth, and then an even longer, slower unwinding back out the other side.  There are no dead ends, but there are blind turns and dark corners and so much trust that goes into taking the next step. The promise of a labrynth is that there is always a way through, we just have to keep walking the path. 

Deep breath. One more step. 

full and empty

My due date was yesterday. Come and gone and nothing is different today except the feeling that I'm getting further away from something important. I keep catching myself looking out the window and checking for messages, as if somehow the baby is going to arrive that way. Except I'm not sure it's the baby I'm looking for. 

I am trusting her to come when she is ready, and my body knows what to do. I am uncomfortable and tired, but okay to wait for her. To wait with her. 

That, I think, it what I'm looking for. Someone to wait with me. My husband has an endless list of projects to complete and work to be done, and his own waiting to do. My daughter is three and doesn't know what waiting is. They are my heart and my world, but they cannot sit and wait with me. 

I have a list of people who could be holding this space with me. It is just as long as the list of people who aren't. And it's hard not to be a little broken hearted. 

celebrate

It happens every year, but I managed to hold it back until just before dinner this time. The tears always come and I feel so petty and selfish and silly. But there it is anyway. 

I have this aching longing to be special and celebrated, and every year, when my birthday is just another day it breaks my heart all over again. What a thing for a grown up to cry about. But, it's my birthday. I can cry if I want to. 

a lot to learn.

She is learning her strength and how to be a big sister. He is learning his capacity for compassion grows with practice. I am learning to slow down and hold on and let go. 

messages

Apparently I needed to hear it. 

Let go. You are not in control. Let yourself be carried a bit. There are strong arms here.