All That Matters

As you've probably noticed, I have a tendency to talk about labour and birth quite a bit, and I also tend to get in more animated discussions about it, especially when the subject of home birth arises.  Sometimes in these discussions there's someone who says something to the effect of "all that matters is a healthy baby".  This can be said either in discussing why one shouldn't have a home birth, or said after a mother mentions various interventions that she found to be more traumatic.

Let's think about this statement though - all that matters is a healthy baby.  So what about the mother's physical and emotional health?  Birth isn't just some medical procedure, but is a highly emotional, personal experience.  Now, I certainly agree that the baby's health is of the utmost importance, and I would sacrifice myself for my child if it came down to it (I suppose in a way labour and just being a mother are sacrificing myself for my child, but I digress).  However, I do not at all subscribe to either the false dichotomy of pitting mother against child instead of working to ensure both are well, in every sense of the word.  The mother's emotional welfare shouldn't be neglected, either, and telling her that the baby is all that matters gets translated to her as saying that she doesn't matter and she should just forget any emotional trauma.

Even without my first birth being truly traumatic, I can understand this, for I do have some emotional baggage, as it were, with Kieran's birth.  I'm thrilled beyond words that Kieran is fine, but I'm also angry and hurt at being subjected to interventions that shouldn't have been necessary, had I had continuous support been more educated on various positions and the like and been more confident.  No, I'm not blameless.  (and no, I'm not saying interventions are never necessary, nor that women aren't traumatised if an intervention is necessary).

Whatever the circumstances, though, telling the mother that it only matters that the baby is well, or even telling her that it's okay because both she & the baby are alive, serves only to belittle her emotional well-being.  I don't think people intentionally do this, for I don't think others realise just how emotional birth is and that the experience itself, as well as the outcome, is important.  In fact, I'm sure I was guilty of this way of thinking prior to having Kieran.  It's helped to be able to talk about it, and has spurred me on to educate myself more, thus leading to my ongoing reading and research.  Now I see the bigger picture, that a healthy baby and mother are important, and that this goes beyond physical health.

Book Nook

Today's book: Joseph Had a Little Overcoat, by Simms Taback.  I'd never read it or heard of it until my father sent it to Kieran one day.  My father has a habit of randomly sending books to the children, so they have a nice little library now.  This is a lovely book, though, and the children love the pictures and the story.  We've definitely read it to them many a time, and I highly recommend it.

Charlotte's Birth Story

As I sit here breastfeeding Charlotte to sleep, I can't help thinking of her birth, and how nice it is to be sitting here feeding her in the room in which she was born.  Once I hit 37 weeks, I was ready for the pregnancy to be over, to be honest.  I was tired of being nauseated, tired of the pelvic pressure, tired of not being able to eat anything other than vegetables and bread.  That being said, I certainly wasn't going to allow for an induction or membrane sweep, since I knew Charlotte would come out when she was good and ready.  I remember being in tears during the afternoon of 25 March because I wasn't in labour.  Not only was I ready to have Charlotte on the outside, I'd wanted an Annunciation baby.  God had other ideas.  Her due date was only 3 days later, on Palm Sunday.  I joke that I have very liturgical children, since Kieran's birthday is often during Advent, and Charlotte was due in Holy Week.

I also joke that family aren't allowed to tell me when to go into labour any more.  With Kieran, my mother told me not to go into labour before the 29th of November, which is when he was born.  My sister told me not to go into labour before the 27th with Charlotte.  Wouldn't you know that I woke up just after midnight on the 27th and realised I was having contractions?  I might not have awakened then except that Kieran crawled into bed next to me.  I got up and took a paracetemol, had a snack, and went to the toilet, and then decided I might as well lie back down since the contractions weren't that strong yet.  I stayed in bed until around 1.30, when it was no longer comfortable.  I told B that I was in labour but that he didn't need to get up yet, and I was probably going to take a shower.

I came downstairs and turned on my computer, because I'd promised Daddy I'd email him when I went into labour.  I also had to text Charlotte's godmother, because she wanted to make sure she had the nuns pray for me during labour.  Because I'm a geek, I also logged on to a message board to let them know.  A lot of them were online, so I ended up sitting on the birthing ball and chatting with them in between contractions.  After about an hour, I was vocalising through contractions, and one of my friends told me I needed to have B phone the midwife.  I was in denial, but I agreed to it, so I got him out of bed.  He'd come down earlier to set up the cushions and blankets and such for the birth.

So B phoned the hospital so they could phone the on-call midwife.  She rang back and said she'd be over as soon as she could.  She was worried she wouldn't make it in time (obviously she knew I was farther along than I thought I was), so she'd phoned another midwife to come out, too.  Irene got here around 3.00 and checked Charlotte's heartrate in between contractions.  She also rubbed my lower back during contractions, which was quite helpful.  Ann arrived a little after that, so she did make it in time.  It wasn't long after that before I hit transition and screamed.  Unfortunately I woke Kieran, so B went back upstairs to comfort him.  I tried focusing on the Crucifix during these transition contractions, but kept losing my focus and screaming "I can't!", or just screaming, instead.  Irene assured me that I could do it, and I also remembered what I'd read in the Bradley book, that it's almost over when you start saying "I can't".

Transition only lasted for 2 contractions, and suddenly my body was pushing.  I quickly got off the birthing ball and onto my hands and knees on the floor.  I'd lift up to kneeling while pushing, then go back onto all fours in between contractions.  I remember being a little surprised at how long it was taking; since Kieran was an assisted delivery, the pushing stage was only 15 minutes with him.  It was still only 30 minutes or so with Charlotte, so not long really.  She'd start to crown and then go back; once the head was born, Ann saw that that was because of a nuchal hand.  Silly baby.  The body was born in one go at the next contraction, and she was passed under me so I could see her.  She'd been born at 4.10, only 4 hours after I'd noticed contractions (perhaps I'd slept through some earlier, though).  The midwives helped me lie down and Charlotte almost immediately latched on.  Because things had gone so quickly, the midwives hadn't had a chance to look at my birth plan, and so they asked if I wanted the syntometrine for delivery of the placenta.  I declined and asked them not to cut the cord, which they obliged.  They waited until the cord stopped pulsating before cutting it.  It wasn't too much longer before I felt the urge to push again, and the placenta was delivered.  They then made sure I was OK and helped me to the toilet and to get cleaned up before helping me into bed with Charlotte.  I'd only had a very slight tear that didn't require stitches.  I was very thankful for this, as I'm allergic to local anaesthesia.  The membranes were ragged, which explains the later infection, but it turned out fine.

Once Charlotte had been born, B brought Kieran down.  He wasn't sure about everything, so he hung back while I went back to sleep.  He wanted to go to Mass, though, so B took him.  Fr David sent the Eucharist back with him, which was wonderful.  Irene came back later in the day to check on Charlotte and me and make sure all was going well with breastfeeding and that there were no signs of infection (there weren't at that point).  All in all, I'd say it was a pretty perfect experience.  The only thing I'd change would be to get in an upright position for delivery of the placenta, since that would have lessened the risk of retained membranes or the like, thus reducing the chance of infection.  I definitely will continue having home births, though.

Assumptions

After reading this infuriating article earlier, I was thinking about the various cultural assumptions that are made in it.  Our cultural assumptions influence the questions we ask, as well as our preconceived ideas of how things should be.  In fact, reading through the article reminded me of an article written by James McKenna, who mentioned that researchers never question whether it's safe for an infant to sleep alone in a crib, because our cultural assumption is that solitary sleep is the norm, even though it isn't the norm for much of the world, or for much of history.

So, what are the assumptions made in this article?  The first one that comes to mind is the assumption that children are necessarily expensive and a drain on resources.  I'm sure this assumption is true, if parents also buy into the cultural assumptions/expectations about what is needed for a child.  In having children, I've found that the majority of "must-have" items aren't actually necessary at all.  For example, that Moses basket? Didn't need it.  The crib? It was used for storing laundry and/or a cat bed (Firebert quite enjoyed sleeping there).  The cot-top changer?  Not actually necessary; we used it with Kieran, but not really with Charlotte, opting instead to just change her on the floor. Speaking of changing, cloth diapers save a lot, and going with EC would save even more.  I just haven't quite decided if I'm crunchy enough for that step yet, though I keep thinking about it.  Bottles?  Who needs them - breastfeeding is free.  Baby food?  Why not just give the baby the food you're eating?  Stroller?  It can come in handy, I suppose, but babywearing works, too.  eBay and Freecycle are great places to find clothes and toys, and they don't really need many toys anyway.  My kids quite enjoy the boxes in which toys come, sometimes more than they enjoy the actual toys.  Even more than that, children can teach us to live in a more economical and "greener" manner.

The other major assumption made is that parents aren't as happy as child-free people.  I think the larger assumption here is that we should be able to do what we want, when we want, without worrying about others.  Indeed, this is what society tells us so often, that it's about us, and we need the newest things, or to go to the best parties, or whatever, in order to be truly happy.  Poppycock.  While it may seem paradoxical, and it goes against societal expectations, sacrificing our own wishes to care for another is profoundly rewarding.  True, there are times when parenting can be infuriating, such as when one child is throwing a tantrum and another is teething or ill, but those days don't last forever, and they're very much outweighed by the hugs and kisses and "I love you"s.

This leads to another problem with the article's analysis of happiness: how do you define and quantify happiness?  I'd venture to say that parents and child-free couples might have different definitions.  This doesn't mean parents aren't as happy, though.

Finally, perhaps some of this comes from the expectations that are put on parents in our society.  In the US, mothers are expected to return to work around 6-8 weeks postnatal, a stress I cannot fathom (yes, I returned to my PhD and part-time job at that time, but I was able to bring my son with me; I ended up having a panic attack anyway from the stress of my required tasks competing with my desires to be a SAHM).  Mothers are expected to be able to juggle a promising career and childcare and caring for the household.  Furthermore, parents are expected to do all these things without the benefit of extended family.  I can well imagine how all these expectations, in addition to the unrealistic expectations of what our children should be doing and when (such as when they should sleep through the night) and what each child should have, can lead to depression.  Again, I don't think this indicates that being a parent causes depression, but perhaps societal/cultural expectations for parents contribute to that.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Watching my children gives me insight into how often I do certain things, since they imitate my husband and me and each other.  Sometimes this is humbling, sometimes just hilarious, and sometimes it makes me proud.  I truly am proud when I see Kieran "breastfeeding" one of his toys.  Breastfeeding is a part of his life, something he sees every day, and so it makes sense to him to "feed" his toys in this way (he's only rarely seen bottles, and I'm not sure he'd actually be able to identify one).  I am proudest when he's kneeling and praying, at Mass or at home, for I see that he's learning these things from us.

In the hilarious camp are those things that the kids do together.  I love it when Kieran asks Charlotte to hold his hand, in the same way I ask him to hold my hand when we're crossing a busier street.  Lately he's taken to trying to play hide-and-seek with Charlotte, trying to convince her to hide with him so he can ask me where they've gone.

The things that really get to me, though, are the things they imitate that I wish I didn't do.  Lately Kieran's been repeating "I'm sorry for raising my voice" (no, he hasn't been shouting).  I raise my voice all too often, or just get a harsher tone to my voice, and it's usually when they're doing age-appropriate things.  I make sure I apologise, thus where Kieran's getting that sentence that he keeps repeating.  It's truly like a knife to the heart to think that my weakness in this regard is influencing him so much.  And so I will try to be better at this, and will pray a lot and (hopefully) receive the Eucharist frequently and go to Confession regularly.  Can't beat the grace given to us through these Sacraments.  When I do mess up, and I know I will, I will continue to apologise to my kids and ask them for their forgiveness.

Knitting Thursday

I've nearly finished the body of Kieran's sweater.  I should have the second shoulder done in a few minutes, and then I can start on the sleeves.  Yay!  Not much else to report, except that I think the pattern instructions were a little off for the three-needle bind-off, since it said to hold the wrong sides together instead of the right sides (provided I read it correctly).  No matter, though, since I held the right sides together for it.

University

A topic that sometimes arises is whether a university education is worth it, or if it's beneficial to everyone.  Obviously this isn't a parenting issue I'll need to address immediately, but it's something that is often on my mind.

First, a little bit of my background.  I never considered the possibility of not attending university, to be honest.  My parents had degrees, my siblings and cousins went, and I can't think of any friends who didn't go.  I also love to learn, so that's another reason I didn't really consider not going to university.  I chose a small private university, and I don't regret my time there one bit.  I chose a degree that I love, and not on the basis of employability.  A postgraduate degree is usually required for archaeology, so I'd always considered that I'd get my MA as well.  After completing the MA in Egyptology, I started the PhD, but later stopped because I chose to be a SAHM.  I would've happily continued attending lectures and language classes, to be honest, provided I didn't have to write the thesis.

When I was doing my undergrad, I was sometimes asked what I would do with my degree.  I'd usually remark that I could work in a museum or teach at the university level (field work was out after my second knee surgery), but, to be honest, I didn't choose my degree based upon the possibility of finding a job, but because I love archaeology and have from a young age.  In fact, a university education shouldn't be tied to employability, in my opinion.  I went to university because I love to learn: full stop.  I didn't limit my lectures to archaeology and history, but chose other courses that interested me, such as literature, Hebrew, and biology.  Similarly, I chose my MA because it interested me, and even managed to fit in a slightly unrelated course on Minoans simply because I find them fascinating (I also found my required language classes fascinating - I love dead languages).  As I mentioned before, I'd happily attend lectures, at least sometimes, if I had the time and money.  In the meantime, I'll continue hitting up the library all the time.

With all this in mind, I can understand why some say that university in a non-negotiable for their children, or that they don't consider the possibility of their child not attending university (not that they're making it compulsory, just that they can't fathom it not happening).  I'll be honest and say that I'll probably be surprised if any of our children choose not to attend university, but I won't require it.  There are some professions where a university education isn't necessary, and if my child knows for certain that he wishes to pursue that profession, I'd set about finding what training/education he needed so he could get it.  An example would be going to culinary school instead of university.  Or if one of my children absolutely knew he wanted to enter the religious life, then attending university might not be the best idea (depending on the type of religious life) so that he wouldn't accrue debt, thus postponing entrance into the community.  Obviously I'll encourage my children to do their best and reach their full potential, and I certainly won't discourage university, especially given my fondness for my university education (I don't care as much about the degrees, but love the education).