“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”.

Day After the Due Date

So, it's the day after the big due date, which of course means nothing, but still leaves me sitting here on the couch, wondering what to do now.

I'm thinking about re-covering the tacky cushions that came with our "glider". Or maybe making another felt rattle. Or maybe doing some cooking. What I'd really like to do is get at some of the bigger jobs like restocking our bookshelves, moving in to my studio upstairs or hacking up the concrete in the backyard, but since I can't actually pick up more than a kitchen chair, I'm a bit limited. Perhaps I'll walk a few blocks before the day's gravity kicks in and turns my waddle into a limp.

I just saw a video of Vancouver's newest baby beluga being born...I must say, Aurora makes it look easy. Of course, she was pregnant for 15 months, so I guess I should be careful what I wish for. For a little inspiration to all those pregnant and not, here's the video (see audio/video section on the right): http://www.cbc.ca/news/.

Giving Money Away

So, apparently, giving money away is addictive. It's also kind of embarrassing, 'cause you end up feeling so good about yourself, you start to wonder if you've managed to make it all about you again. Which of course, in a way, you have.

In an effort to stay off my feet and not get bored, I have been spending a fair amount of time checking out websites I've been saving to read and randomly following links that look interesting. Yesterday, this aimless endeavor took me to this site:

http://www.globalrichlist.com/

Turns out, as a family, we are obscenely rich. I started to feel sick. Then I remembered that we have a bank account full of money that was given to us by our wedding guests to do something good with. Just sitting there. Did I mention feeling sick? So, before I threw up in disgust, I decided to start spending it. As planned, we are using the money to support micro-credit loans through www.Kiva.org, a non-profit that supports entrepreneurs across the developing world.

Everyone has different ways of giving, and I don't want to push mine, but I do have to say that sitting in my house, learning about someone who needs a $450 loan to buy ingredients to expand their bakery business in Togo, and being able to contribute to that, is pretty crazy satisfying. I think my favourite thing is how the balance of power isn't all about handing out and standing back. They get to read about me, I get to read about them. They have a specific financial need and I have a specific financial surplus. When the "transaction" is complete and the loan repaid, they get to move on to new ventures with greater financial security and as part of a community that is made stronger by the investment, and I get to move on to new ventures as part of a community of lenders and with new ties to a part of the world I may never get to know otherwise. It's just really great.

Anyway, if you're sitting on a little bit of extra money, or even if you aren't right now, but might be sometime, think about micro-credit lending as a possibility. You, too, could feel embarasingly good about yourself.

Who do I think I am?

I have been meaning to write more often, but I've been distracted by the rebuilding of my website. It's been an interesting exercise, pulling myself together in one place. And as I went through the "final" version this morning, I realized that my online life may come across somewhat differently than my lived one. And this is making me think about which one I want to be real...

One of the things I hope to do in this first year of "mumming" is to try and reconnect with the making part of me. I'm under no illusion that I will have lots of time for crafting, but I also have no doubt that every day will be about learning and discovering. And I feel that, whoever this kid turns out to be, she or he deserves to be surrounded by curiosity.

To this end, I've been reading other people's blogs, planning the layout of my new little room with a view (the one upstairs that will be my "studio"....ooo, I can't believe I'm going to have a studio!), and getting a few small projects done while I wait for the big one to finish growing and decide to come meet us. I feel like there's more to talk about though, in terms of how we all balance our work and our love, our days and our nights - our hearts and our minds, I guess. I would love to hear from you (if anyone is out there) about how you do this, or how you don't, or how you'd like to.

Also, check out this film: http://www.whodoesshethinksheis.net/ - I haven't seen it yet, but it sounds like I should!

My Year of Living Domestically...

...starts now!

Well, actually, it started yesterday. I dropped off my binder of stuff to pass to my replacement and my copy of the office key, and that was that. A whole year of not working stretches before me. Well, you know, a whole year of not working at a "job". I live in a damn good country, with a great job that lets me leave for a year and pays me to do it. I am a lucky, lucky woman. And I hope to spend my year remembering that.

With my new found spare time, I've been reading "crafty mama" blogs (yes, there is a genre out there, and believe me, it's not small). They are inspiring and also kind of sickening, but I'm trying to stick with the inspiration. Did you ever think about making your own dog leash? Well, someone out there has... For my part, I am making some felt rattle toys and thinking about a bib.

As for the belly, it's moving and growing but showing no distinct signs of labouring just yet. The sun is shining and there's cleaning to be done, so I'm okay with a bit more waiting. Besides, I have toys to make...

Even despite the stretch marks

As I near the conclusion of my membership in the club of pregnant women, I am reflecting on what a privileged club it is. I mean, who doesn't love a pregnant woman? Strangers tell you how good you look. People actually do get up to give you a seat on the bus (at least, when you're as huge as I am at this point). Tough guys in gangsta cars give you the thumbs up when they see you wadling along the street. Everyone smiles at you.

I know there's another club waiting for me on the other side of this one - although I suspect the price of membership is a little messier (projectile vomiting and colic come to mind) - so I'm not complaining. It's just that I think I will miss the lovely percolation of these last nine months, as I wait for my life to change.

I am now almost unable to put my own shoes on (I can't even remember the last time I tied them), I can't sleep at night for more than a couple of hours without having to get up to pee or eat, and I need to sit down every half hour or so during the day, but, let's face it, I also have the best excuse in the world.... the excuse to make someone else clean the bathtub, the excuse to nap, the excuse to fart at will.

In a few days or weeks, I will be back to myself. A different self, I suspect, but still, an adult with responsibilities and expectations to fulfill. My full belly will no longer be a public beauty. I will, I am fairly certain and despite my best intentions, measure my body in inches instead of how good I feel today. When strangers come towards me with smiles on their faces, it will be for my baby, and not so much for me. This is how it should be. But still, I will miss the secret handshake of the pregnant belly club and the rare invitation to celebrate the skin I'm in.

Lucky and Blessed

This is just to say, that if you have the chance to be celebrated by a group of friends who have known you since you were 12, take it. There's nothing to compare it to. I have been given labyrinths, stones, candles, poetry and picture books, but more, I have been given five pairs of hands to hold in that inevitable moment when I don't think I can push even one more time.

Thank you.

Looks like I'm back

Yesterday, Kathy (my friend and colleague who is always looking out for me), made me promise to do something for her. She said, "every morning, I want you to wake up and meditate on the idea that today could be the day". By "the day", she means the day I go into labour with my first child.

So, it's Tuesday, less than four weeks before my due date, and although I had to get up quickly to let the drywallers in (we're living in a construction zone), I did spend a little time with that idea this morning. Somewhere in all of that I've decided to start writing a blog again. So here I am, with a slightly new name, a new format (thanks blogspot!), and, I'm hoping, some new things to say. I'm not sure this is what Kathy had in mind, but since I can't do anything about the chaos around me, I'm thinking a little writing might help organize the chaos within. Or at least get it out in the open to breath a little air.

Nothing. Na Da. Zip

Someone pointed out to me yesterday that I was still in Toronto on the subway and maybe it was time to get off. I wondered why I was feeling not quite here...

And I suppose that's as good a subject as any. Being here. Being

Here.

If you have ever tried to medidate, you will know without a moment's puzzlement why that's a worthy topic of discussion. If you haven't...actually even if you have...take a minute right now. One minute. Sit where you are right now...oh, okay, maybe not right where you are since you're in front of a computer screen. Okay, sit on the floor beneath where you are sitting right now and set your kitchen timer for 60 seconds. Focus your eyes on something about two or three feet ahead of you. Now unfocus. Now think about nothing.

You are thinking about nothing. You are thinking about nothing. You are thinking about thinking about nothing. You are thinking how uncomfortable this cold tile floor is on your bum. You are thinking about breakfast. You are thinking, I should be thinking about nothing. You are thinking about nothing. You are thinking about tht hole in the wall in front of you that a mouse could probably crawl through. You are thinking about remembering to think about nothing. You are thinking about boys. You are thinking about girls. You are thinking about someone naked. No you are not supposed to be thinking about someone wearing nothing. You are supposed to be thinking about nothing. You are thinking about nothing. You are thinking about how its funny how thinking about nothing is really thinking about something just like someone wearing nothing is really something. Something nice. No. Think about nothing. Nothing. No thing. Hey, nothing is really two words. No thing. Isn't it amazing how you can use a word so many millions of times and not really know it. Like someone you've known forever who does something surprising. Wait, what was I supposed to be doing again? What am I doing on the cold floor? Oh right, nothing.

So you see how difficult it is to be just be here. Because that's what medidation is all about. Being so completely in the moment that you're outside of it. I think the idea is to gain some perspective on things. Look at things from a greater distance. Not as in, so far away I don't care about it. But as in, look, I'm a bird, I can fly over my life and see how small and perfect and mine it is.

Not that I'm any great expert. My attempts to medidate are pretty much variations on the above conversation with myself. But I continue to try. Because while I spend a lot of time being in the world, I know I need to get better at being there "now". Or here. now.

Perhaps then I won't end up on an endless Toronto subway with two guys talking about a party they don't want to go to and how cold it is outside. I think this is my stop.

Mid-December on the TTC

On the subway tonight, two men. Two identical gaps in the upper rows of teeth, displayed in equal grimaces. The conversation is about snow and the likelihood, or lack thereof, that they would be inclined to travel to the island under such conditions. It is not actually all that cold out and the snow has been cleared from the streets and sidewalks – it is more the thought of it upon which the discussion gains ground. There are questions about the nature of the event. How good would it be anyway? There was an invitation, but it was vague and impersonal. And besides, it’s cold. The older of the men makes a face, says “not a chance” and looks away. The conversation, with its matching gaps, is over.