Birth is an act of love.

Just beautiful. You must read the article "Labour of love: the demise of traditional midwifery". It encapsulates the modern birth dilemma, the tug-o-war between medicine and midwifery, and our collective struggle to remember that birth is not a disease. That childbirth, for humans and chimpanzees and chickens and cows and all sorts of animals small and large, usually works. In the article midwifery forefather Michel Odent states that childbirth, at its core, is "an act of love", dependent on and privy to a complex array of hormones and emotions.

I want this phrase on a bumper sticker and tattooed the world over. Childbirth, as I've seen it occur, is no easy task. In fact, any birth - be it physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual - is wrought with potential for discomfort and fear. Change hurts. Sending up new growth can be challenging. Maybe this is because transformation often necessitates releasing what no longer fits - be it a paradigm, way of life, identity, relationship - and embracing the unknown. Much as I want to be a person who is flexible, someone who can go with the flow and accept life's curves and swerves with stellar grace, I usually become a mess when provided the opportunity to forge a new path. And if physiologic pain is involved? I want to run away, to say "forget about it".

However, although I almost never enjoy change initially and often find myself treading water like it's nobody's business till my legs tire and feel as if they're going to fall off and disintegrate, I move ahead. Because I must. Because there's no going backwards. Because I know that my greatest moments have been associated with bringing something into being despite pain and fear. To give birth means to change the world by adding something to it whether by external action or internal transformation. When we enter the birth canals of our own lives, we contribute to the creation of an abundant, non-static, spontaneously wonderful world.

New growth on the farm.

Planted onions today, long rows and high hopes, little babes in the ground, tails tucked beneath the dirt, blades of spicy grass grow tall, bulbs will bulge and then we'll chow, but till then what a swell way to spend an afternoon, right here down yonder in the Bend!

Cleaned the cooler room to boot, nothing but a bunch o' soot and lots and lots of loose peanuts, the mice were probably living large, now there's nothing amiss and everything's found its place, seeds are sorted and crates stacked, radishes awaiting processing shelved high and low, the day's come to an end and my face is aglow!

Orchard Beginnings

Biting into a ripe piece of fruit is deeply satisfying. A crunchy apple. Sweet strawberries. Munchable blueberries. I spend each summer harvesting whatever's in season and, besides celebrating the abundance right then and there, often find myself in a wild frenzy of food preservation. The dehydrator seems to hum constantly, the canner rarely rests, and little by little I fill the chest freezer. Fifteen quarts of blackberries, two dozen pints of preserves, applesauce and apple fruit leather, dried watermelon, and gallons of frozen fruit. As my knife chops, chops, and chops, I find myself in a meditative lull. Eating locally brings me joy.

I also really enjoy supporting my neighbors and participating in community projects. This past weekend, my zest for produce and production led me down the Bend to help plant 675 peach trees. My golly! The peach planting is phase one of Stewart Orchards' endeavor to bring orchards to Davidson County. Next up are cherry trees, followed by pears, apples, and blackberries. Interested Nashvillians can support this project by purchasing fruit bonds for $30, $60, or $100. In return for contributing to the funding of the orchard, folks receive an annual "dividend" of fruit for five years. For more information, email stewartorchard11(at)gmail(dot)com or check out the farm's blog.

There were numerous tasks on my to-do list for Saturday and Sunday. I wanted to mend a few articles of clothing. I needed to fetch more wood for the stove. A friend's birthday letter ached to be written. Despite it all I found myself in jeans and workboots, tucking small trees into their new homes in the ground. I saw the first and last holes filled. I laughed with my fellow workers. I hunted for arrowheads amidst the upturned dirt. I learned about grafting and now know that trees appreciate being planted in big spaces even if they're tiny (something about aeration and providing the roots with air to breathe). And both days I daydreamed about the succulent rewards awaiting the success of Stewart Orchards. So. Peaches anyone?

Speeddating 101.

My youth-filled elder friend recently wrote a hilarious account of a fruit fly infestation in her house. In it, she wonders with frustration how the pesky boooogers are able to reproduce so quickly. She discovers that fruit flies appear to date and pair off speedily, their biological concerns most predominant. Any and all emotion is trumped by sheer will to seed the fruit (whether or not fruit flies actually feel emotion I don't know). Regardless, she shared her writing at a potluck and, inspired, I asked if I could add it to the blog. Her story fits perfectly with my quest to understand interpersonal complexities. I'm curious about the ways we humans relate to each other. What makes our experience challenging, more so than other species, is that often emotions mix together with concrete fact and biological urge to create a blurred reality. Two people may experience the same situation but interpret it differently. Furthermore, how each reacts can vary considerably. Sometimes my head spins thinking about friendships, relationships, and everything in between. When this happens, the life of a fruit fly devoid of attachment and feeling doesn't seem all that bad.

Speeddating 101.

by Ayla

Jan. 1, 2012. Not a time to expect tiny fruitflies to bother the crap out of you. But their ever-increasing numbers had me feverishly hunting down the source of their attraction. I found an onion that had gone soft. Systematically the kitchen counter was cleansed of my breeding grounds. But still, there they were, hanging on to the kitchen cabinets, me slapping a wet rag to kill them. I found two fly swatters and broke one in my effort to be left alone. Then I turned on the light in the bathroom. Swoosh, a cloud arose. I sprayed it all down. Were they gone? Not! In the laundry room, a wet washcloth was being used as party central. The cats are useless, unless a critter's down low it's not worth their effort. So I travel between the three spots trying to clobber those flies. If indeed there is a heaven or hell, those bastards will be waiting there for me, en masse. Ha, when I die I will clutch a flyswatter in my cold hands!!! But wait a minute, how are they breeding so fast to replenish their masses? Especially since I'm told that they only live one day (in Germany we call them Tagesfliege). How DO they do it? Here is my version: Someone flies by hollering "There is a meet and greet by the mildewed orange." We all flock there knowing the guys, not having to bother with loincloths, will have their regalia on display. No time for "I'm a vegetarian" or "Unless you have one millimeter you are not coming near me." And girls: No need to shave, you got to get with the procreating, it's now or die an old maid. So you dive down to the guy with the bright smile. Yuck, turns out he has been eating Limburgercheese. And here you are, all fragrant from the orange. What a waste. You clench your teeth, there's no one else and seconds count when you only have a day. A quick nod and you're off to that black banana to give your children a good start. The Limburger still lingers in your nostrils.

After writing the first version of this post, a scientist friend informed me that fruit flies actually live for a week and not just one day. Furthermore, they engage in mating ritual "in which the males sing and dance for the female. He sings by holding out one wing and vibrating it really fast. If the female approves, she will let him lick her genitals. Then the action begins!" She made sure to share that although the flies are small, they are capable of learning and remembering.  

Fascinating, I'm glad to know more. The courtship ritual and learning/remembering is simply intriguing. I underestimated the wild potential of the simple fruit fly. Lil' bodies yet so much more!

Life in a nutshell.

Seriously. I haven't been blogging recently. Not because I don't have loads of ideas for posts, such as the 29% increase in babies born at home since 2004 and sassy midwives and birth centers, and not because I've lost all interest in birth, babies, and bellies in my avid pursuit of farming & homesteading as a way of life. On the contrary, I'm up to my shoulders and almost over my head immersed in all matters related to pregnancy, childbirth, women's health, and parenting. I'm moving full-speed ahead in midwifery school and most days just trying to hold on tight and remember to fasten my seat belt. In the midst of academic rigor, I've also moved to a new old home that's rustic & simple & oh-so-sweet but definitely in need of some fixin' up.

For kicks, giggles, and laughs (and maybe some sympathy), here's a week's snapshot of my life: Monday through Wednesday I wake up when it's still dark, hopefully early enough to stretch, appreciate the new day, and make lunch, then drive to clinic and work work work seeing clients for prenatal/postpartum/gynecological complaints alllllllllll day long...afterwards, I come home, maybe stop at the gym on my way for a brief run, eat dinner, and start schoolwork...which consumes the rest of my night. Thursday I have classed morning to evening, one after another. Case studies are aplenty and my brain works hard like whoa to make sense of new information. Some days, I feel unintelligent and like I will never grasp certain concepts. I get shy and don't want to speak up in class for fear of sounding ridiculous. Courage flies out the window. Friday is supposed to be a reading day, but it's mostly an opportunity to pick up the pieces of my life I let slip earlier in the week. Such as dishes. Laundry. Friendships. And that very part-time nursing job I started in December. Right. On it.

Learning to be a midwife is a grand, fantastic process. Not surprising, however, I'm missing my old life. Kitchen projects and farming. Knitting, rocking chairs, and steeped tea. Chocolate and time to look out the window. Waking up late with nary a concern. Breathing deeply and feeling confident. Less time driving, more biking. Hugging friends and really listening. Playing games. A good leisure read. Art. Helping neighbors. Being available. Dating. Pondering giant parachutes and unicorns. Cooking giant meals. Bonfires. Tea parties. Making new music playlists. Doing nothing.

I know it's temporary, my c-r-a-z-y schedule and lack of time & energy to nourish all the parts of me. Unfortunately, this understanding doesn't make it any easier. Darn. Darn. Darn. It's feels good to whine, though. To momentarily regress to childhood and stomp my feet. "Not fair!" And then I remember that me myself and I signed up for this glorious rollercoaster ride. So it goes...

Breastfeeding in public causes traffic jam!!!!

Buns in the oven.

As any wise baker will warn you, timing is everything. Say, for example, you're making a delectable holiday treat. Maybe vegan macadamia nut snickerdoodle cookies. Or old-fashioned molasses crinkles. Deliciousness is about to ensue, you've read over the recipe and have all the ingredients. Alright! Everything gets mixed perfectly and sweet mounds of dough soon cover the baking sheet. Into the over the soon-to-be cookies go...and now the waiting begins. Ugggggg! Patience is hard work! Today, especially, it's difficult because you're REALLY hungry and haven't had a yummy dessert in what feels like forever. Your stomach growls and all you can think about is cookies. After a few minutes, you decide the anticipation is too much to handle and pull the treats out. Just to take a look. Maybe a bite. Or two. Three four five. Soon all the cookies are gone. Devoured. And, though they tasted alright, you realize you missed the satisfaction of a crunchy, fully-cooked treat. The poor dollops were unable to reach their most awesome potential because of impatience. Discomfort. Hunger. Darn.

On a deeper level, this metaphor can be applied to childbirth and the seduction of induction. A baby is meant to live in the womb for around 40 weeks. Now, some kiddos choose to come early and others arrive late. Two weeks on either side of a due date is considered kosher and often babies born in this bracket are healthy and ready to greet the world. However, when a baby's date of birth is chosen before it is ready - namely, before 40 weeks and without the spontaneous onset of labor - the risk of undercooking arises. Like the cookies, babies need to be fully-baked. In the last weeks of gestation, important brain growth and physical development is still occurring. Arguably, the best place for these changes is in the womb. Once born, a baby has soooo many other tasks to focus on, such as breathing and eating, that other all-important but less vital aspects take a back-seat. In the end, the baby who's born before he or she is completely ready is given an almost-cooked start to life and runs the risk of increased illness, decreased success with breastfeeding, and a whole host of other problems. The solution: exercise patience, don't induce labor without a serious medical justification, and keep them bunz in the oven till they're good and ready! And check out 40 Reasons to Go the Full 40 Weeks.

Coooooooows!

Just a sweet babe nursing from mum's teat.

These cows live at Bells Bend Neighborhood Farms,
and I loooooove their gentle presence. 

Just don't forget to shut the gates to the gardens
or they'll eat all the vegetables and then some!

Run-run-a-running and pregnancy

I've been thinking about writing a post on exercise for what seems like ages and finally decided to sit down and make it happen. Thanks be almighty, it feels BIG these days to steal time from school and friends and farming and everything else to blog. When I do decide to write, sometimes I get lost imagining the possibilities. Do I write about my life as a student midwife? Or peruse the internet for interesting birth-bellies-babies stories? And what about plants? And dancing? And celebrations? And food creations? Ohhhh, what do I write about today???

It's a good problem, rest assured, I know I'll never be bored so long as this blog is part of my life. I could probably type and type and type till my fingers tire and won't punch another key and still have plenty more to share. So, preface and all, I'd like to talk about aerobic activity and pregnancy...namely: running. Jogging. Speeding. Sprinting. Galloping. Charging. Whatever you want to call it, I started moving my body methodically in a forward motion for the purpose of exercise almost two years ago. And I haven't looked back. Surely, it was slow at first. And rather cumbersome. I felt so bouncy and uncoordinated. The more I kept running, though, I realized I'd found a sense of exhilaration, peace, and joy that was unparalleled. No other type of physical activity made me feel quite as embodied and alive. To this day, some of my greatest epiphanies and most creative moments arise when I'm running. I work through the jubilant and the complex parts of life via moving my body, one leg at a time.

When I think of pregnancy, childbirth, and parenthood, I envision a proverbial ultra-marathon. It's a long-distance race, to be certain, one that requires pacing, rehydration, lots of support, and stops along the way. Running in real life can be viewed as a training ground for this mother of all marathons, preparation for the bumps and humps of parenting. Not too long in the distant past, though, exercise was discouraged during pregnancy. Women were cautioned not to overexert themselves for fear they would deprive their unborn babes of oxygen and other necessary nutrients. Nowadays, exercise is recommended before, during, and after pregnancy. As it turns out, regular physical activity is healthy for both mom and baby...now, pregnancy is not the time to start an intense exercise routine...rather, the key is not to overdo but rather work out at a moderate level. But go mama go! Obesity-related issues such as gestational diabetes, large babies, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and complications during labor and delivery carry far more risk for mom and baby than exercise.

A few months ago, I ran the Women's Half Marathon in Nashville, TN. It was a wonderful experience, my first half marathon, and I loved running with ladies of all shapes, sizes, backgrounds, and fitness levels. The support was stellar, I knew I'd finish the race if only by the cheers and high-fives of my fellow runners and the crowds that lined the streets. Sometimes I wanted to stop. Peel back. Grab a smoothie and say "Seeeya!" When I ran across the finish line, though, I felt such a surge of relief and confidence I couldn't stop smiling. I did it! I did it! I can do anything! It's these moments in life that reinforce in me the idea that women are strong and we can do whatever we want...birthing babies included, of course!

Later, some days after the marathon, the director of my midwifery program sent my classmates and I an article about a women who gave birth shortly after running the Chicago Marathon. Wowza!

Cinco de utero!!!

It's decided. Midwives throw great parties. This past week, the students in the midwifery class ahead of mine returned from their faraway clinical sites to wrap up the semester and end their schooling as midwives. How exciting! To celebrate their work and graduation, my class prepared a brunch feast. A fiesta, actually.

The theme: Cinco de utero. Complete with a uterine pinata, pin the IUD on the uterus, and a build-your-own-burrito bar, it was a super-duper success.

Now, sometimes I think of my heart as a giant pie. Maybe chocolate mousse or pumpkin. Or good ol' apple. Regardless, I imagine an infinite number of slices and, depending on the day, I can cut it any way I choose and give pieces to whomever or whatever tugs my heartstrings. Often, I split the pie halfway down the middle and offer mutual affection to birth/bellies/babies and food/plants/gardening. These are my two loves of life. Not surprising, I think it's great when they tie together. For the fiesta, I made fixins' for the burritos using Bells Bend Neighborhood Farms sweet potatoes (the same ones I helped dig back in August!) and Jeff Poppen's potatoes.

So we gathered. And we ate. And we smiled. And we sang and held hands and swayed. Welllllll...not quite. Though I never mind the Kumbaya spirit, not every midwife is interested in flowers, earthly colors, and hugs. Myth-bust! In fact, many of my midwifery classmates are wonderfully modern, with serious style and sass. Stereotypes about midwifery abound and the typical visual image of a midwife is someone who's old(ish), a flower-child of the 60s, with braids and knitting needles in tow. Though there ARE midwives who fit the stereotype, there are many others who don't. My classmates and their eclecticism help me remember the diversity present in midwifery and reassure me there's a midwife for every woman!

Special thanks to Maggie and Amy, two of the frontline organizers for Cinco de utero.

A picture is worth a thousand words...

Seriously. Check out National Geographic's 2011 photo contest, particularly this picture...and this one too. They are simply stunning. I'm especially inspired by their clarity and focus because the birthing process is not always easily captured via photograph. The moment of exit from womb to world can happen in the blink of an eye, before anyone has a chance to grab the camera, adjust the lens, turn on the flash, find the right angle...and many positions that women naturally assume make it awkward for picture-taking, such as under the water, on the toilet, in a deep squat, or on hands and knees. Both photos, though, present the moment of birth in such real, raw, up-close and personal glory I feel as though I'm in the room too! Yes, yes, yes, I love witnessing birth.

Teen midwives to the rescue!

As someone who has not experienced childbirth personally, I sometimes wonder if it's legitimate to become a midwife. Especially in the early days, when I first began attending births as a doula, I felt very aware of my lack of childbearing. I didn't think anyone would want me to be present with them during labor and wasn't sure I had much to offer. And, I felt waaaay too young to provide assistance to women in their late twenties and thirties...after all, I was only 21 when I attended my first birth as a doula. Luckily, the woman I worked with was uncertain if her husband would be present at the birth and ended up being completely grateful for any and all support. Age, it turns out, is not all that important. Check out this story about the work Afghan teen midwives are doing to curb alarming maternal & infant mortality rates.

After witnessing five, ten...fifteen...thirty...seventy (and on upwards!) births, I now believe I bring a rich base of experience (and an increasing amount of knowledge) to the table as a birth attendant. It's remains true that I have yet to go through the physiological birthing process myself. Therefore, I can't empathize with a pregnant woman about the sensations of labor. I don't know what the urge to push feels like. Nor have I nursed a sweet babe at my breast. However, I can attest to giving birth psychologically to ideas and creations. I understand the birthing process is one that requires trust, surrender, and a belief in the spiraling nature of manifestation. A birth, on whatever level, happens on its own time and, though some details can be controlled or planned, each idea/baby/project arrives to the beat of a wonderfully unique drum.

Abundant Thanksgivings.

Today I am thankful for
two feet to stand on upright and tall
cornbread baking moist
ovens and pots and pans and wooden cutting boards
carrots straight from the ground
dirt
the purple hue of sunset
hundreds of blackbirds dancing the sky into dusk
bellies and babies
the purr of kittens snug against my chest
spinach and kale and everything green
friends
family
mason jars and sweet potatoes
the last of summer's tomatoes turned ketchup
relics of the past
books
music and dancing and celebration
a warm kitchen
polka-dotted spandex
hips, lips, curly hair, and beards
but
most of all
I desire
want
thank
need
feel
am
a life shared with others and filled to the brim
with love.

Bells Bend Neighborhood Farms Fall Harvest 2011

A gush of fluid but no labor? What now????

Last Friday, while harvesting vegetables for the Saturday farmer's market, I listened to a fellow gardener's birth stories. She has two kiddos and I enjoyed hearing her speak of their adventures entering into the world. It's always nice when my interest in plants coincides with my passion for birth and babies. The way we were talking, I could've kept bunching kale and turnip greens all the live long day! When I asked how labor began, she mentioned her waters releasing with her first child and no contractions following.

Termed premature rupture of membranes (PROM), this occurs in as many as 1 out of every 10 pregnancies. My friend wanted to give birth to her son with minimal medical intervention and so chose to stay at home, monitor her temperature and vaginal secretions for signs of infection, and wait for labor to begin. Well, as it turns out, over 24 hours passed with nary a contraction. Ultimately, when she noticed meconium in her undergarments (meaning the baby had passed its first stool while still inside her uterus, possibly as a result of being stressed due to the lack of amniotic fluid surrounding him) she went to the hospital and her labor was artificially induced with medication. A loooooong, slow, hard labor followed, and ultimately the baby's heart dropped too low and an emergency cesarean section was called to remove him from the intrauterine environment quickly. A healthy, wholesome baby resulted, thank heavens, but my friend recounted the story with dread. What an uncertain, tumultuous process!

When faced with PROM, a pregnant woman has two options: expectant or active management. She can have her labor initiated with medication immediately or wait a while to see if contractions begin on their own. Which type of management is better? Unfortunately, the answer is more grey than black or white and a tossup exists amongst birth attendants over which plan of care to support. Recently, an article in The Washington Post looked at this very issue from multiple perspectives. Well-written, engaging, and, what's more, one of my instructors at Vanderbilt University is featured as an expert in the piece. Hurray for indecision!

Tits. Cha-chas. Honkers. Whimwhams. Breasts.

Celebrate, it's National Breastfeeding Month! Errrr, actually, August was the REAL month for mammary recognition. Whoops. However, I'm a definite breast fanatic and am always on the lookout for lactivist opportunities, ways to spread the good news about breastfeeding. Did you know breastfeeding can lower a woman's risk of breast and ovarian cancer, postpartum depression, and type 2 diabetes? And that breastfed babies are less likely to be sick, and have a lower risk for many illnesses and diseases (such as asthma, SIDS, and type I diabetes) than formula-fed babies? Check out the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services Office on Women's Health's website for more breastfeeding stats and information on why breastmilk is the perfect food for a new babe.

Birth as Performance Art

What is art? What does it mean to perform? To me, performance art is the expression of beauty, truth, and realness. It's an embodied tapestry of creativity and curiosity, a way to connect individual thought with collective consciousness via physiologic movement of the body. I have always loved dancing and acting...as far as performance art goes, it's a real thrill to take the stage and know a watchful audience is waiting to explore whatever I'm about to express. Arguably, anything can become an act of performance, a piece of art. The free, accepting nature of performance art invites a certain amount of undeniable rawness not often seen in other forms of artistic expression. Essentially, artists can do whatever they want and people will watch. And, hands down, doing something to a human body in real time in the presence of a group of people can be quite spectacular. And informative. And render the onlooker inquisitive and awed. Sooooooo...how about birth as performance art? Recently, an NYC performance artist did just that! Check it out...and then, I suggest, why not go create your own piece of embodied art? After all, the point of life is to live it, and live it full of expression, right?!!

!!Upright Birthing Pumpkin!!

Shortly after I posted the supine birthing pumpkin picture and lamented about the woe's of a woman giving birth on her back my doula friend Katie sent me a message saying "You wanted an upright, birthing pumpkin...I have just the thing." Check it out! Is this pumpkin empowered, in charge, and oh-so-sassy or what?!!!