Walking

Who knew?  Turns out this year is just not at all, even the tiniest bit, about me.  It is not about baking more bread and making more time for myself.  It is not, so far, a great year.  It's not even a good year.  It's been a shitty year, actually, so far. 

I'm not sure if I've quoted this before, but it bears repeating.  “Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” (Elizabeth Stone).  To this I would add, making the decision to love is momentous.  Anyone.  Anything.  Making the decision to love is making the decision to relinquish and accept.  And loss is the consequence.


This year, so far, I have lost a dear friend, a water heater, my husband's ability to move his jaw for the next six weeks, my dog's health, jaya's chickenpox-free status, the brake pads on our van, and quite a bit of water in the form of tears.  Also, probably, some of the pigment in my hair.  It's been a hell of a year, so far. 

And yet, so far, I am not lying on the floor in a catatonic state.  I feel loved and supported.  I feel blessed to have in my life all the people and things and circumstances that make the possibility of their loss so, well, inevitable. They are worth it.

Actually, I take it back.  This year is about me.  Of course it is.  I'm the one living it.  It's just not about me being in control.  I think, maybe, it's about letting my heart go walking.

About to Begin

 

Well, it has been a while!

I won't recap, except to say that Christmas was wonderful this year - calmer than most, surprisingly, given the toddler in the house - and filled with just the right balance of making, eating, sharing, giving, eating, receiving, visiting, and eating.  Yes, just the right balance.  Yum.

And now I'm starting to think of the new year about to begin.  I actually love this time of year, starting with the grand gesture to close a year that is Christmas and finishing up with a beginning.  At the risk of sounding culturally simplistic, I love that this whole part of the world celebrates together in our own homes and in our own little ways.

The start of a new year, for me, is a full embrace of the cliche of it all.  New beginnings, new ideas, new hopes.  I make resolutions, not because I think I should be better and January is the only time to make that happen, but because I like the setting of intention and the focusing of energy on some aspect of my life that I think I can enjoy even more.  Because let's face it, it's a bit ridiculous how much I get to enjoy my life.


So this year, my intention is to focus our home and family on less consumption and more production.  More bread will be made, more recycling of materials into new things we can use again, more creating.  Less buying.  This last one is really about me, not this family, since I'm the shopper, and it's a hard habit to break.  I don't expect this will be the last year I make this resolution.  But I do expect to have a good time trying.  And you know I won't do it if it's not fun, right?

My second intention is to make more time for myself.  I'm putting it in writing now - I plan to get away by myself for one overnight at least every couple of months this year!  A recent trip to Seattle with Emma made me realize how much I need this time.  I came back with so much more patience and energy.  I think this is the one thing that's hard for me about having embarked on this whole partner and family thing so quickly and fully.  (and really, it is just one thing, so I'm not actually complaining...!).  But for someone used to being on their own, suddenly being so entirely connected to the wellbeing of others can be kind of overwhelming.

So, more bread and time away.  What a good year it's going to be!

How unimportant

I just read a lovely little blog post that I want to share.  Actually, I can't decide if it's entirely lovely, because it points up something that disturbs me, but also comforts.  It's an odd thing.  The post is about how nothing in the writer's life is actually important, including plastic, his car, his tv, etc.  Which is disturbing at face value.  When he explains why, of course, it's not really the object, but what it enables in his life, and the things that "really matter" come shining through.  But still, he is left realizing that it's all important.

It got me thinking. 

Anyway, read it, if you have a minute (it's short), and see what you think.

http://shavingsanddust.blogspot.com/2010/07/importance.html

Bringing some order to bear....

I've been labeling things lately. It's very satisfying and helps me feel like I know what's what. Or at least, if I don't know what it is, at least what to call it.

And as I've been thinking about this blog, which I've also been doing lately, I realize I keep coming up with good "labels". Things like, "loving where I live" or "people are weird". Of course, you may have noticed that I'm not actually writing the blog entries that go with these labels, but I could. And I'm thinking I will try.

So, as you may notice, I've decided to give my posts some labels.  And I hope to add a few more grand themes over the coming weeks.  Stay tuned for more labeling madness, coming soon, to a blog near you...

Letting it go

The cherry tree is blooming, Jaya is climbing, the wind is howling, the days are getting longer, and we're all sleeping better. Spring is upon us.

With only a few weeks to go before our big Europe trip (UK and Holland), we've got lots of organizing, shopping, and planning to do. We're putting a lot of faith into our various gadgets - white noise machine, hook-on high chair, baby sleeping tent, etc. etc.... - to get us through the upheaval, but I'm really not sure what to expect from a vacation with baby.

Besides the buying of new shoes, the much belated dentist appointments, the hair cuts, etc. I think what we really need to be doing in preparation is letting go. Letting go of trying to do as much as possible every day, letting go of late nights in the pub, letting go of long sightseeing drives, but most of all, and somewhat ironically, letting go of going with the flow. Well, at least any flow that isn't Jaya's. So, while we can't plan for what will be, we'll also have to be careful not to plan against it. If that makes any sense.

Anyway, here's to finding the flow and letting it go...!

Change a'coming

One the biggest challenges for me in this new life of mine - the one where I'm a wife and mother and how the heck did that happen? - is learning an entirely new set of coping skills.

It used to be that when the world outside got too much for me, I would shut the door, pour a glass of wine, move all my furniture around, run a bath, or settle in with a good book. Or, if the world inside got too much for me, I would open the door and head out to find a party.

Now, in this new life, which includes renovations and two separate houses to maintain, the doors that still close don't actually have frames, so there's not much point. The wine still gets drunk, but with significant restraint and a good dose of guilt. The bath, when it's had, includes a small child who may or may not have peed in the water. And the book is read in one page increments while brushing teeth. And the party? Well, I imagine it's out there, somewhere, and I bet it's fun, but it's way past my bedtime.

So, how do I cope now? Well, that's the thing of it. While my old strategies are long gone, the new ones are slow in developing. Where Before, I would have stayed up all night to get this disaster of a house in some kind of order, I Now turn the lights off in rooms I don't want to look at. This is not a long term plan. So today I have decided that something needs to change. I'm not entirely sure what (although I have some ideas), and I'll have to consult my husband, since he lives here too and all, and I might need a little childcare to make it happen, but something, something is going to change.

Embracing Routine

I love the start of a new year, despite the weather that usually accompanies it, and I'm not ashamed to admit I love resolutions. Not the "will lose weight" kind, but the kind that make me really think about what I want for my life and the year ahead. This year, not surprisingly, I have lots to think about. It will be a year in which Jaya goes from baby blob to active toddler. A year in which we really start to discover his personality and learn ever more about ourselves as parents. It will also be a year, hopefully, of simplifying our lives...or maybe not simplifying...maybe just streamlining. It is my hope, and here I put it in writing, to be living in just one place by the end of the year. Hope, I say, not expectation, since I'm trying to let go of that one, but hope, nonetheless. But back to resolutions that are within my control...

This year, as for the last many, I resolve to Embrace Inconvenience. Every year this is a reminder to myself that the "convenience" of our wealthy western lives comes at a huge cost to the planet and our coinhabitants. So, when I'm sorting through messy recycling or stirring compost in the rain or remembering to walk or straining Jaya's pears or whatever picky little thing I'm doing and feeling crabby about, I try to remember why I'm doing it. And not only that, but Enjoy It. Because I'm also resolved not to spend much time doing stuff I don't enjoy. So, okay, I almost never stir the compost, but if and when I do, I will try to appreciate the exercise, or the smell of wet leaves, or just the pleasure of knowing that big pile of rotting yuckiness will one day feed the garden I will one day get around to growing.

And for this year, I have made a new resolution, that never, in years past, would have occurred to me: Embrace The Routine. I hate routines. I have never had them. Probably the only one I have consistently had in my life is to brush my teeth in the morning and before bed. My morning tea comes close, but it's not every day and sometimes it's coffee. But then along came Jaya. And it turns out that babies, and I'm imagining the same is true for small children, demand routines. I've tried to do without. But on days without a routine I inevitably forget at least one of Jaya's meals, I'm late getting him to a nap, I forget to pump for the reserve bottle, I'm still in my pyjamas at noon, etc, etc. While none of these are devastating once and awhile, they're pretty discouraging day after day. And so, the routine. We're still working on what it will be, and it's an ever evolving thing, but still, there's a structure there that's both foreign and reassuring to this new mum. And this year, I will embrace it. And by embrace, I mean enjoy. There's that word again.

So perhaps all of this can be summed up as : This year I will Enjoy My Life As Much As I Can, As Often As I Can. Amen.

Some Updates

Made a few changes to the formatting and added a slideshow - so I hope you like it!

I've had cause today, not for any reason except that someone mentioned it, to think about the rapidly upcoming transition from Jaya as a baby to Jaya as a toddler. I don't know when the official change happens, but for me it seems to have something to do with mobility. Since Jaya has been practicing his plank and downward dog for awhile now, and is already schootching himself backward, I'm thinking he may well be crawling soon.

Anyway, it's been interesting today to think about how that's going to feel. Kelsey is certainly looking forward to it as a time for him to have more of an active role. And I am definitely excited about that, as well as just the greatness of every new thing this kid does. But there is a part of me that knows it's going to be hard to watch him take risks with his body and not try to shield him from "danger". I am a far-too cautious person and there are plenty of times I have wished for not only greater courage, but also the kind of body awareness that makes risk taking advisable.

I know a kid who is extremely athletic and comfortable in his own skin and I have no problem letting his climb to the top of the flag pole (which he's done a several occasions the minute I turn around), because I know he's the kind of person who can assess the risk, assess his own abilities and make a measured choice. This is exactly what I wish for Jaya. But being the kind of person who is both unsure of the real risk and untrusting of my own abilities, it's very hard to imagine how to teach these things. Although his dad is much better at that, it's still part of my job too and I realize I need to learn some new things myself as we go along into this. But I guess that's the definition of parenthood, after all...

What vertigo will do

Thursday was lost to a bout of vertigo (neck alignment issues, yuck!), and part of Friday too, but having recovered, I find I am full-er of pep and vigour than I have been in a long time. Finished our headboard, finally (which I promised photos of and cannot deliver tonight...I keep forgetting to take a shot in the daytime), got through a lot of sorting in my upstairs "studio" (I must decide on a good name for this space), and started a fun little gift for samuel wyatt yuen harstone, who is about to turn one year old (will post photos, eventually). I also took possession of a shared serger, learned how to use it, and have started planning christmas gifts galore!

This is a mixed time of year for me. Dad died on December 12th last year and that has changed this season for us all, at least a little bit. But I also love christmas, when I can do it the way I like - which is to make things for people I love, see as many of them as possible, and wear fancy dresses. So on I go, in the spirit of dad in his best moments, trying to remember to enjoy all the many luxuries I have in my possession...a cozy place to sleep, hot tea in the morning, cool whiskey in the evening and lots of family and friends in between.

Speaking of whom, I have posted some new photos, finally, on flikr. The style page boasts a shot of a new sweater (thanks Annabelle!), the village page shows some new (and old) visitors, and the faces page includes some of his maturing visage...enjoy!

Such luck

On my own tonight, I think I am especially aware of the enormous change this child has brought into my life. I am sitting in the living room where I have sat so many nights, on my own, with others, early and late. And yet, everything is different because he is here.

Some days, most days actually, it's a leap of faith to realize that the tiny child asleep in our bed is someone we created. Someone we are responsible for, and to, for the rest of our lives.

When he cries, and I have to stop what I'm doing to comfort, it's annoying or exhausting or at the very least emotionally draining, and then, when he's comforted and his little face relaxes and his head nods back on my arm, the drool running down his chin and the smile flickering in sleep, it really is like love overtakes my heart and makes it stop just for a moment, in awe perhaps, at how much feeling it is possible to have. And that is the warm thought I take with me to sleep tonight.

Reflections in the bathroom mirror, Part II

Upon further reflection (and conversation with others), I realize there's at least one element to my last musings that I missed. And that's the idea of the village.

We always talk about the power of the village in raising a healthy child (and really, supporting a healthy human being of any age). And now, rereading my last post, I notice even more how much that matters. I do think it's impossible to really understand the experience of parenting from inside without being, well, inside. But I think the "culture shock" is probably considerably less for those who have grown up within a culture of shared familial roles. It's strange to say, because I feel like I've had access to a wonderful and supportive community of people of all different ages throughout my life. But I'm more conscious now of the even greater empathetic value of more "traditional" community relationships built around raising a child as a member of a group - not just the product of two parents. Without romanticizing the demands and sacrifices of those who share the parenting role out of necessity (in defense against poverty, disease, misappropriated resources, etc), I think something vital is being lost in the more "modern" model of the "family unit". This is all sounding very academic, but it's the words, not the idea, that's bookish.

Yesterday morning, I was sitting in bed with Jaya, playing and laughing with him. It was fun, but it was also a little lonely, and I thought about how much less lonely it would be to spend my mornings in a circle of women, all playing with their babies and talking with each other too. I don't know where this thinking will lead me, and I don't think there's a radical commune in my future, but I feel like it's as good a time as any to imagine other realities...

Reflections in the bathroom mirror

I was in the shower this evening - my first in four days - and I was thinking, as I do so often these days, about the profound changes that parenthood has brought upon me. Case in point, it was my first shower in four days.

And, as always when I start thinking about this sort of thing, I paused to wonder at how, at any given moment, there are women becoming mothers all over the world. And, as always when I start thinking about this sort of thing, I thought about how completely baffling it all is. How is it that women all over the world, all the time, are going through this profound life change and I, a reasonably well read, well traveled, well connected woman, within a strong community of women, am so unfamiliar with this experience that is, while somewhat unique, entirely common? Put another way, how did I not know this is what it would feel like? How have I been walking around my whole life, smiling at mothers in the street with their cute kids, having dinner at friends' houses while their cute kids run around screaming, even babysitting small cute cousins, without seeing or at least sensing the complete and total transformation their adults are undergoing. The oblivion I was in was so immense. And so lovely.

I suppose I realize there's no way for us to really know an experience like this until we're in it. And perhaps, as in the case of childbirth itself, that's all for the best. But I continue to be in awe of the company I keep - the women who have come here before me, and those who are still to plunge - of our insane courage on the shores of own vast ignorance and our blind faith in the joy that lies, indeed, just beneath the surface of these mad waters.

Phew!

It's been awhile and I feel like the days have been very full. Activities, projects, errands, and the like. I've also had a couple of thought-provoking moments over the last week and they are continuing to give me pause, so I thought I'd write about one of them tonight.

This is the realization that I have not yet actually accepted responsibility for my "new job". While one hand is holding Jaya and changing Jaya and feeding Jaya, etc., the other hand is still checking email, building shelves, keeping up with the news of the day. While none of these things is inherently wrong - and I have lots to say about trying to find the balance between "him" and "me" - I have realized this week that I'm simply not parenting in the present. And I don't like how that feels. I realize that as much as I have felt overwhelmed by this new role I have to play, I need to step into it even more fully if it's really going to work. For me, I think that means less emailing, (even) less cleaning, and less keeping up the daily tasks I think I should be doing, and more playing, chatting and laughing with my baby. More, let's be honest, sitting around talking nonsense.

This is much harder for me that I expected it would be. I feel like I am bursting at the seams with projects I want to get to and it's incredibly difficult to step back from those, both real and potential, and still feel "useful". I am trying to trust that I will be able to get back to them, to me, in time. But I am more and more certain that I need to let them go first.

So the lesson is to believe for myself what I would tell any other new mum. That motherhood is valuable. That days spent endlessly feeding and changing and gurgling and imitating and talking in a small high pitched voice, are not just days gone. They are investments, like a really good day at school or at work, in my child's brain, in my relationship with him, in my own self-knowledge. I'm even being paid for this, because Canadians believe this job has worth. And so it's time to take responsibility, to show up for work with energy and enthusiasm, and to trust all those wonderful projects will be waiting for me when I, when we, are ready.

I was walking with Jaya and the dogs this morning and a woman across the street called out to me "I love your family". It was a odd moment, but also very sweet. What a nice thing to think and to share with someone when you're walking down the street in the morning.

Later this morning, a friend pointed out how, when you're out with a baby, you don't get to be anonymous. It's true - and a wonderful way to engage with people - but it makes me think about all the times we are anonymous in the city. I often think, when I see someone struggling in their minds or bodies on the street, about how once they were someone's baby and people looked at them and thought they were cute or sweet or something nice. And now, we walk past them. And I think about what happens in people's lives that takes them from one place to the other. And, of course, I think about my baby and what will happen to him and what he will become. I know we're giving him gifts that very few people get - having to do with love but also having to do with wealth and circumstances we can take no credit for - and I know that accounts for a great deal. But there is also luck and choice and life that intervenes. So tonight I am thinking about blessings and hoping for a few for Jaya, and all the other babies who are sleeping and waking tonight.

Just a few words

Heard a piece on CBC today about the Disappeared in Argentina. The man being interviewed, a journalist who was working there at the time and who was one of the few people reporting on what was happening, talked about how he felt it was the media's responsibility to report on what is happening around them, no matter how difficult. He said he felt that, in Argentina, even though people could see what was happening right in front of them...neighbours going missing, men with machine guns walking down the street and abducting people in broad daylight...they could pretend it wasn't happening because no one was talking about it.

Imagine. You might be standing beside someone who is suddenly taken and you might say to the person across from you, "hey, did you see that!", and they say, out of fear and disbelief perhaps, "no, I don't know what you're talking about", and you think, oh, okay, maybe I didn't either, or maybe it doesn't matter, because if you didn't you'd have to do something about it and since no one else is doing anything about it, maybe you don't have to either.

I think that's a fascinating perspective on human being-ness that's worth thinking about.

I haven't forgotten I wanted to share some projects, but it's going to have to wait until I'm less about to fall asleep. In the meantime, here's a "before" shot...

Today I vaccumed

And this evening I am working on knowing that that is enough.

It's easy to say to a new mum, "sleep when the baby sleeps" and "don't worry about housework" - I'm quite sure I'll say it to the next new mum I meet - but the reality...the baby only sleeps when you're out and not worrying about the housework leads to depression and tumbleweed sized fur balls that will kill you as soon as look at you...renders this well meaning advice, well, meaningless.

And yes, Jaya is (finally) sleeping and so yes, I should be sleeping too, but a few minutes at the end of the day has become my saving grace. Instead, I am sitting here looking at my relatively fur free floor, sipping a bit of wine, and reminding myself that this is the most important job I've ever done. If a few other things, like dishes or thank you cards (sorry every friend we ever had), get neglected while I try to figure it out, then so be it.

I think the advice I should really give to the next new mum I meet is this: Forget about a room of your own. Even if you have one, forget about sleeping in it, keeping it clean or even getting in the door most days. But make sure you find a little bit of time of your own. Twenty minutes will do, but an hour is better. Every day. It's important. And if you have a little time left over you can choose between sleeping and cleaning. Both are good.

Tomorrow, I think, I will start sharing some of the projects we're working on...there's one involving drawers and coat hangers that I'm very excited about. And maybe talking about it will help get it done. I can always dream...

Catching up

It's an odd thing how having "nothing to do" ensures you get nothing done.

I have just bought myself a little book in which to write an ongoing list of things I want to get done (I know I have a little empty book just like this somewhere, but finding it is the kind of thing that should be on the list, so...).

My rules for this book are:

1. Only put things on The List that can realistically get crossed off in a reasonable time frame and that I can do myself (no "renovate the kitchen")

2. Only put things on The List that need to be done once (no "walk the dog")

3. No prioritizing - just put it on the list and do it when the mood strikes (if it's really urgent, do it today, don't put it on The List)

4. No feeling bad that I haven't done it yet (put it on The List and it will, eventually, I hope, possibly get done)

5. Start doing the things that are on The List, even if it's slowly and with one hand

7. Every time a whole page of things gets done (that's 14 things, in case you were wondering), celebrate. Take myself out for a beer, have a bath, nap, whatever. Just celebrate.

6. And of course, if it's not on The List, and I've just done it, put it on The List and cross it off.

And that's what I did today.

Something that is not in the book, because it doesn't qualify, is to write here more often. I think the routine of daily writing might be something I need these days, so I'm going to try. I suspect things may get boring fast, so consider yourself warned.

Oh also, there are new photos. Here's one, the others are on flikr...


See you tomorrow!

Listening to Whales

On CBC today there was a piece about how whales communicate. It proposed, among other things, that each species learns within the parameters of its own language and may, in fact, become unable to hear a sound that falls outside the learned boundaries of its auditory world, despite a physical ability to register that pitch and tempo. Spending time with Jaya, as he makes new sounds every day, and begins to listen with ever increasing awareness to the sounds I make, I find this idea particularly arresting.

If it's true that we are only able to hear that which we have learned to hear, then our childhood is actually spent learning not to listen. In many ways, it makes sense that this would be so. I suspect our brains, though ridiculous large and underutilized, would be overwhelmed by the demands of processing every sound that exists. Evolutionarily speaking, it's likely those who "overhear" are more likely to be fatally distracted or incapacitated by auditory overload. Maybe this is what "crazy" is all about. There's a Raymond Bradbury story about this...but I digress...

Still, I like the idea that a child might have, and keep, different ways of listening than the ones us adults are accustomed to. Might, for example, be able to hear the communication of whales, not as blunt bellows or barks, and not in a Dr. Doolittle-esque translation, but with the subtlety of any language fully known by its speakers.

I, of course, am not the one to teach this thing I cannot know, but perhaps there are ways I can avoid teaching Jaya how not to hear. I will have to think on this...

What babies know

Today we had proof (if we needed it) that babies do not, in fact, know where they begin and end. I was sitting with Jaya on the floor letting him air dry before putting on a new diaper, when all of a sudden he began to scream. Picking him up, I realized that his had nothing to do with me poking his bellybutton. Instead, it was directly related to the fact that he had a big chunk of his own hair clenched tightly in his fist and was pulling on it as hard as he could. The more he screamed, the more he pulled. I can only imagine he was thinking, in some abstract baby way, that this would make it better. Which of course, it didn't.

Perhaps this is a lesson we could all learn from. If you have been having your hair pulled lately, take a minute to unclench your fist and see if that helps. You just never know what you'll learn from babies...

“If your birthday is today, take care that in your haste to get ahead in the world you don’t make an enemy of someone whose support you will need.”

We all get born. It happens to the best of us. It happens to the worst of us. If we're here, or were here, it happened. Some birth stories are stunningly beautiful, some are terrifying. As much as we tried not to have expectations, we did hope ours would be memorable. And indeed it was.

It all started around 2am on Sunday the 14th. I was having a dream that Sara and Michael, our friends and parents of three boys, were telling me what a contraction felt like. In the dream, this involved me experiencing what they were saying and I was getting very annoyed with them because it hurt. This, of course, is when I woke up and realized I was in early labour.

At this point I woke Kelsey and made him do the dishes. Then we had a shot of scotch and tried to sleep. At around 8am, I decided to have a warm bath, which slowed, and then stopped the contractions. From 10:30am to 7:30pm we napped, walked, made jam, made bread, and waited.

Finally, the contractions started again – this time with definite frequency and strength. I laboured through the evening and night, with a few five minute naps between contractions. Kasari stayed with us to take photos and help keep us both going. Her energy was amazing and it was fantastic to have her there. Early in the morning, our doula Kate also joined us – bringing with her an incredible bag of labouring tricks that really did get me through some of the more difficult moments (if you’ve never had a pool noodle rolled across your back after a contraction, you haven’t lived) .

At about 6am, our midwife Camille gracefully informed us that although my cervix was fully effaced (thinned), I was at only 1cm dilation. Still, she let me get in the pool, which felt like a day at the spa at this point. I remember opening my eyes a few minutes after getting in and feeling like it was the first time I had actually looked at anyone all night. Another five hours were spent there.

At around noon, our second midwife, Kelly, joined us. After a check, she presented us with the heartening news that I was fully effaced (thanks, we knew that five hours ago), contractions were strong (you think?), but I was still only 1cm dilated. This is when I cried. Or maybe it was when she told me I had to get out of the pool and start doing squats.

The next six hours were spent cajoling, bribing and tricking me into the positions I most wanted to avoid. At the end of which Kelly returned to check dilation once more. And then, still at one centimetre. off we went to the hospital. Once there, things moved pretty quickly. Since I was so far away from full dilation, and so damn tired, I opted for an epidural – thinking that we might still manage a vaginal birth. Once doped – and let me tell you that was truly as unpleasant an experience as you might imagine having a four inch needle stuck in your spine would be – they broke my waters and waited to see what would happen. Along with a dramatic spike in the force of the contractions (of which I was blissfully unaware, except to watch on the monitor), the baby’s heart rate started to respond negatively and it quickly became apparent that we were headed to a c-section. Although this was not at all the birth plan we had in mind, we felt we were getting all the information and given as many options as there were. In the end it was a pretty easy decision to make. From there, the whole thing took about an hour – ten minutes to prep me for surgery, ten minutes to pull the baby out and another half hour to stitch me up. An amazing process! Kelsey was able to be there with me and watched over the curtain as Jaya emerged. The doctors were wonderful – each of them introducing themselves and telling us bits of what was happening.

It was quite surreal meeting our baby in what seemed to be a blur of blue hospital gowns and bright lights – a far cry from our plan of candles and piano music in our own living room – but also extremely wonderful that we had the option to bring him so safely into the world. We are so grateful to Children’s and Women’s Hospital for their baby-friendly approach to birthing and for everyone who helped get Jaya “ahead in the world”.