tree of memory, tree of life

rob

One of the things I love about ceremonies and rituals is that they can look so many different ways.  I had the idea, several months ago, to do something different this time around with my placenta after baby #2 (who we now know as Lenox) was born.  Placentas are so amazing — so unbelievably nutrient-rich.  In many cultures, they are regarded as quite useful and valuable, and in some places, very sacred.  Most placentas in the U.S. are regarded as garbage waste.  But not in this family.  I encapsulated my placenta and took it as pills after Orlis was born.  While I got a lot out of the experience of placenta-encapsulation (I made a little more milk, enjoyed an absence of the baby blues, healed quick, and felt good), I wanted to do something different this time, and taking one look at my front yard garden, I knew what it was.

Many world cultures have a tradition of planting the placenta with the young roots of a fresh baby tree — that tree becomes the child’s tree, symbolizing life.  Trees planted this way tend to do well — benefitting from the living nutrients of this mother organ.  I love this concept, but wanted to do a variation.  About nine months ago, we held a tree-planting ceremony right here in honor of the passing of Rob’s mother.  I think of her, Rob’s mom Carol, each time I look out at my front lawn and see that baby tree and I like knowing that some essence of her is there — a part of our home, and perhaps now, bearing some kind of witness to this new grandchild of hers who she didn’t get to meet in person.  I liked the idea of symbolically joining these two souls — baby Lenox and grandma Carol — by way of something that blooms.

In my imagination, I wanted to host a little ceremony to honor burying the placenta among the tree roots — I envisioned a song or two, perhaps some poems, and maybe each of us saying something meaningful. That’s what I envisioned.  But then life happens.  My mom (domestic goddess) was only in town for one more day, I was under strict orders to sit and lie down and do nothing else for 2 weeks, the placenta was occupying way too much space in our freezer, and it was raining, raining, raining.  I realized, we needed to get this thing into the ground while we had the chance.

And so, we held ceremony in a way probably not recognizable as ceremony.  Rob dug.  Orlis played in the mud.  My mom decorated with other plants.  And the placenta was offered by way of a simple hole in the ground.  And I — during all of this — sat inside and held that babe and thanked my lucky stars that these people were out there doing something sacred and lovely.  I paused, and offered a word or two to Carol, introducing her to her grandson.  I thanked the tree.  I snapped a few photos and thanked my family.  And I closed my eyes and held, for a moment, the newness of my life, and the flexibility of all things worth doing.

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birth

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rob:lenox:dark

Sometimes things happen a little differently than we plan and other times things happen just the opposite in every which way.  One of my coaching mentors from years ago used to say, “if you want to make god laugh, tell her your plans.”  Oh, the infuriating truth in that statement.

And so it was, with the birth of this tiny treasure who now makes us a family of four — he arrived in a fashion absolutely nothing like what I had prepared myself for or what I had hoped for.  I’ve noticed, some folks are quick to say, “all that matters in the end is a healthy baby and a healthy mama.”  And while I get what these folks mean and I am, of course, enormously grateful to have a healthy babe and to be a healthy mama, I hold a different view.  Birth matters too.  How we birth our babies and the unprecedented rite of passage for women that birth is matters too.   To me, it matters a whole lot.  It would be easier, for certain, to tell you here today, “the babe is here!  nothing else matters!”  But, I believe that you, dear readers, deserve a fuller story.  This blog is about process and transition and rites of passage, so as difficult as it is to share vulnerable details I will likely be processing for a good long while, I would be remiss in sharing only the joy that I now feel with this babe in my arms.  I feel much joy, but I don’t only feel joy — I feel many things.  It is with this in mind that I share this story.

For the four weeks before Lenox Bear’s birth I did little more than hope and yearn for things to get rolling.  Three weeks out, contractions constituting pre-labor began and happened sometimes all day every day and sometimes just in the evenings.  I tried, but didn’t sleep much.  And as I bypassed his due date by days and then a week and then two weeks plus, in deep and almost constant discomfort, I began to lose my sense of humor about all of it.  I dodged neighbors and phone calls.  It became so that I couldn’t stand another well-intentioned person saying, “are you STILL pregnant?!”

And then, as somewhere deep in my gut I knew it would, it began, late on a Sunday night.  At first, it was the same contractions I had felt for weeks, but they fell into a rhythm and I found, after 45 minutes or so, that I could no longer be alone.  Fast and furious they came — we tucked Orlis securely in bed with his grandma and called the midwives.  They took one listen over the phone and arrived within minutes of each other, just a half hour later.  Now I knew we were in business.  Feeling what seemed like an unmistakeable (and early!) urge to push, I was reminded by these amazing women baby-catchers to listen to my body.  Upon checking, they confirmed, “just a bit of a push past the pubic bone and we’ll go upstairs so you can have your baby on your bed.”  This sounded like a simple, easy task.  I remember thinking to myself, “after the longest drum-roll ever, this might be the easiest, fastest birth.”

Five long, extremely difficult hours later, I was still, in every position imaginable, trying to do just that — push that baby past my pubic bone  We had gotten exactly no where — not one millimeter closer.

While the baby was doing just fine, I wasn’t.  It was then that I knew I needed to get some medical help, and as much as it was the last thing I wanted to admit to myself, my exhaustion had overcome me, and my belief that this passage could happen in the comfort of my home by the sole efforts of my own muscles and the encouragement and expertise of the midwives and Rob deflated.  We drove to the hospital.

And there, with the delayed but most welcome relief of an epidural, I entered into another matrix entirely.  It was, just as I had read about so many times, a domino effect of interventions — first an epidural, then the worried looks on the nurses’ faces as they saw the effect take the baby’s heart-rate down, then an oxygen mask, then pitocin, some more pushing (and no budging) and finally, the dreaded moment when the doctor said, “I hate to skip to the end of the story here, but we are looking at a c-section.”  How could this be? I wondered.

And then, we decided to make one final attempt using forceps — a tool whose use is accompanied by laundry list of possible scary side effects for me and for baby that left me trembling.  But it was my last chance at a vaginal birth.  With a crowd of 12 people (3 nurses, 2 doctors, 2 extra medical personnel in case of emergency, 3 midwives, 1 grandmother, and 1 loving partner) all around me chanting and smiling and coaxing me along, I closed my eyes and gave all I had and then…a baby boy.  ”Thank you,” I said to the doctor over and over again.  Thank you.

 

That’s the story.  And the week that has passed by since then has been a beautiful, challenging, tearful, painful, joyful, busy, sore, and heartwarming one.  Neighbors and friends have come by with watermelons and flower bouquets from their gardens and whole, delicious, colorful meals.  There have been visits from midwives, and calls from the doctors and a whole lot of advil coursing through my veins.  There has been daily diaper laundry and other laundry and cookies and muffins to eat, and the amazing help of one wonderful grandma.  And there’s been baby feet to hold, and the ups and downs of new nursing, and one bright sweet and appropriately confused and cuddly big brother just getting a handle on things in the ways a 2-year-old knows how, with challenging and tears, and moments of utter, heart-wrenching kindness.  ”Are you okay, mama?”  ”Why is baby Lenox sad?”  And there’s been the tender and tricky navigation of new roles and new chores for both mama and papa as we navigate a shifting center of gravity with as much tired grace as we can muster.  And there’s been, of course, a sweet little babe to love and hold and to remind us, that loving and holding is about all there is to do right now.

 

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and then there were four

orlis.smelling

Lenox Bear

daddy, lenox, orlis

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Introducing Lenox Bear Mulliken, born Monday, May 13th at 4:00 p.m., stretching 21 inches and weighing 8.3 lbs.  We are slowly catching our breath and easing into these tender days with droopy eyelids, sore muscles, and grateful hearts.  Thank you for holding the space during this precious time.  A fuller birth story to emerge in this space soon, and for now, some rest.

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things to do on one’s due date besides have a baby

ice

A few years ago, I got into the practice of keeping a gratitude journal.  Have you heard of such a thing?  I think there’s no real “right” way to keep a gratitude journal.  Here’s how I did it:  I decided it should be the last thing I do before I go to sleep, so as to flood my consciousness with positive images and memories and to allow my brain to purge whatever was lingering before I shut off for the night.  I did this gratitude journaling just listy style for a good while, and I have to say, it was a wonderful ritual.  It served me in thousands of ways.

As much as I loved (and reaped enormous benefits from) gratitude journaling, it fell by the wayside, as things tend to, when I had a baby.  I think nursing or trying-to-keep-my-wits-about-me replaced journaling as my final to-do before bed.

Over this past weekend, as I faced my still-pregnant body in the mirror and thought to myself, “what should I do?” — gratitude journaling came to mind.  Perhaps some gratitude for this 40+ week state I’m in could do this gal some good.  I won’t lie to you — this waiting game is torturing me in some ways. But, when I really look at it, I must admit, there are some sweet things arising in these un-planned-for-still-pregnant-days.

So, I pulled out a notebook, and got some ideas down in my gratitude journal yesterday. I was not surprised to see that a few things were obvious (1. more time with just Orlis,  2. the opportunity to teach myself how to crochet a granny square,  3. getting a head start on May’s book club book,  and 4. indulging in a few more episodes of Breaking Bad after Orlis goes to bed than I thought I’d have time for).  Those rolled right off the pen as I perused my week in review.

But then, I noticed a few more ideas flowing onto the journal pages that sunk a little deeper in my heart, as yet another reminder that things happen in their own good time.

1. I do love the feeling of being “held” so closely in the thoughts of so many people I love and who love me.  I’m reminded of this via text, voicemail, email, and phone call by many good people each day.  There’s a lift I feel in this, like being suspended in the air on a big balloon.  This feeling is so so very rich.  I wish I could bottle it.

2. I am grateful for the opportunity to feel more empathy for the way this end-of-pregnancy period affects, I would guess, most women both physically and mentally.  Having had Orlis at 38 weeks, I didn’t go through this last time, and I am appreciative of the experience this time around — specifically being with the not knowing; being so physically uncomfortable and also being with the gradual nature of birth; feeling pressure of all kinds.  It’s its own special psychology, and knowing how universal it is makes me feel bonded, in some small way, to women everywhere, and from the beginning of time.

3. I’m glad to be learning, by happenstance, the way I think the other half lives.  Which is to say — without so many simultaneous projects and lists and to-dos going all of the time.  A week with not much planned at all and few goals — this is foreign to me.  I wouldn’t want it all the time, but I’ll admit, I like it right now.

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these days (waiting)

These days…oh, these days.  I am waking early and noticing, “hmmm…still pregnant.”  These days are those strange and sacred ones during which I inch so humbly close to an elusive “due date” knowing, at any moment we’ll begin.  It’s these days that are, I think universally, a challenge for many of us going through this rite of passage.  The psychology is odd — yearning for something that we know is likely to be a bigger challenge and also a bigger joy than any we’ve known and not knowing how or when it will start, but knowing it will…it will…at just the time it should.  It’s a peculiar place to sit for days on end.

Dearest friends and family are checking in, daily some of them, wondering if I feel anything.  (ha!  ”yes.”  I tell them.  ”I’m feeling every move my body makes with the most acute awareness.  Who needs meditation practice when I have this waiting game on which to feast my every sense?”)  Other dearest are, I think, deliberately not checking in, but I know the pins and needles on which they sit.  There is just nothing quite like this anticipation.

Well, what are we doing with ourselves while we wait, you might be wondering?

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*Playing with the neighbors.  The youngest among us donning our bicycle helmets and going belly-forth on the skateboard.  (The maternal among us holding her heart and breath with every such endeavor.)

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*Checking and double checking the birth supplies we’ve organized.  Appreciating how many of the things that are gathered in these baskets are homemade and handed-down and otherwise used and loved so well already.  What better to wrap up a new baby in than an already beloved blanket that holds some legacy and embedded warmth?

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*Making birth art.  Toddler-style and mama-style.  Loving the way watercolors work and move together.

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*Fixing, fixing, fixing.  Using our tools as much as we can.

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*Ah!  Enjoying bringing in the bits of spring that so abundantly grace our out-of-doors.  And loving the streaming sunlight too.

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*Just…waiting.

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*Beginning, at friends’ insistence, some sewing projects that I know won’t get finished for awhile.  Being okay with the idea of a long, unfinished project.  Loving the challenge of sewing projects that are well beyond my skill level (and the knowledge, too, that my mama is coming soon and will know how to help me).

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*Appreciating the thoughtful things I was mandated to include in the Mama Birth Supply Basket by the midwives.  Oh, those midwives have mamas in mind all the time.  I am so grateful for that.

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*Staring dumbfounded by the amazing versatility of sticks.  All day long we pick up sticks.  I had no idea they were so very much fun.

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*Applying bandaids where we have no ouchies and wearing them like costumes.  Because what is more fun than bandaids to a 2.5 year old?  (And what is a better lesson for this mama than embracing and loving our scratches, bruises, and scars?)

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*Employing every natural induction method I can think of ….acupuncture, pineapple, wild dance parties.  And doing as I’m told and making my way to Portland’s Mount Tabor Park (affectionately nicknamed Mount Labor Park to those in my situation) to walk the stairs.

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*Bringing my sidekick with me.statues

*Imitating statues together and having a good giggle.

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*And doing my very best to cherish this precious table for three — with hearty meals and silly moments and a bushel of lilac from our generous yard out back.  We are in the business of falling in love here, I remind myself.  And we don’t ever really get to know the precise moment that will happen.

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*this moment*

We love taking part in the ritual of posting a single photo (no words) on Fridays.  One simple moment to savor from the week.  Because sometimes one photo says it all….

belly

Readers: Thanks for visiting today!  I just wanted to point out that some of the previous snags some of you were emailing me about on the blog have been rectified.  You should have no problem seeing this blog now on your iphone and certainly no trouble leaving comments.  You can click on that little green “dialogue” box at the top right corner of each post to leave a comment, or click on “Leave a Reply” at the bottom.  Thank you for your comments  – I appreciate each and every one, and do my best to reply to questions when they arise.  Happy Friday!

 

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