Newborn Care Workshop at Toronto Yoga Mamas

We had such a great time the first time around, we are at it again! Join us for another newborn care workshop as we partner with Toronto Yoga Mamas to offer some experienced tips and strategies for caring for your newborn (and yourselves!) in those first few weeks with your new baby.

Are you expecting a little one soon? Please join us on Sunday, September 29th for a hands-on workshop where Alexandra and I will introduce some of the following topics:

• What to expect the first week with a new baby
• Diapering options and bum care
• What does it mean to wear you baby?
• Sleep (including bed-sharing and crib-sleeping)
• How to comfort new babies
• Preparing your home for your baby
• Practical suggestions for breast and bottle feeding 

This class will pick up where most prenatal classes leave off, that is, what to do after your baby arrives.

To register, or for more information, see here or contact us at info@holisticbirthcollective.com.

And who are we? We are Alexandra Weinberger and Danielle LaGrone, birth and postpartum doulas in Toronto and founders of Holistic Birth Collective. You can reach us for questions, or just to say hello, at info@holisticbirthcollective.com!

Do good by your friends: Food for new parents

Do you know anyone who could use some good food? Over at my doula blog I've collected some of my favourite recipes to make for new parents. No one you know had a baby? Maybe you know someone who could just use some extra love. They like food, too.

What are your favourite things to make new parents?

A letter

This morning Alyce waved a wand over my head and proclaimed that she had magically turned me into a midwife.

An hour later I received a letter informing me that I had not been accepted into midwifery school. I had not even been granted an interview.

I wasn't expecting that news. From this side of the rejection letter, clearly I should have prepared myself better. But never really occurred to me that I wouldn't have an interview. Sure, I might not get an offer of admission, but surely I'd make it through the first round. The rejection letter stated that my personal essay did not receive a high enough score to move to forward.

You might be thinking that I should never have been so confident in the first place, but hear me out: have you ever wanted something so badly that you feel as though you already have it? Have you spent so much time thinking so much about a possibility that it becomes a reality, even if only in your head? I talked myself out of applying to midwifery twelve years ago, and I felt as though returning to this path again and again meant that it was my path. Like it was just waiting for me all along, patiently sitting around, growing stronger, eager to welcome me on my journey to becoming a midwife.

It seems that I was wrong.

Today isn't the day for making plans for the future. Of course I will probably apply again next year (it is on my list, after all), but I need to move forward with something else in the meantime. So much of our decision to move back here revolved around me starting midwifery school this fall, and this letter today sort of took my breath away. I have a lot of thinking to do. But today isn't for thinking. Today is for disappointment. No matter what wonderful opportunities will develop in the coming year, and I truly believe that they will, today is the day for feeling sad, for sitting with all of these unpleasant feelings.

It was a crappy day.

2012, A few words: Part Two

Dear 2012:

I reached out to you earlier, and I've been waiting things out a bit before getting back to you. I wanted to let January take its course, you know, I didn't want to be pushy. Having considered the previous year's chaos and realizing that too many decisions were made in haste, I wanted to take things slow.

Mostly, I was just afraid. Nervous to take any decisive steps for fear that I'd choose the wrong path. There is so much wonderful freedom that comes with the position we find ourselves in, but with this freedom comes the sometimes suffocating pressure of knowing that our family needs to move forward (and also needs those basic life sustaining goods, like rent and food). 2012, I'm not asking for any special favours, really, I'm not. But I am asking for good push in the right direction and just a little support. We can do the rest.

I don't want to focus on last year anymore. I'm letting it go. We are settling in to our new surroundings in Canada (and having moved in with my mum, some of these surroundings are more familiar than others), we are tentatively planting some roots. We are tentative not because we're not sure we want to stay, but because we are--or at least, I am--a bit nervous about the steps we take. But we are stepping nonetheless.

I made an enormously deep step last week: I applied to midwifery school.

Yes, you read that correctly. I am making yet another massive change. That's the usual thing to do after a year like mine, right? This is a radical decision and I am terrified. I am mostly terrified that others will judge me making another bad decision. I'm worried they won't stand behind me as I move toward a path that I've wanted so dearly for so many years. I hear in my head all the second-guessing about money and careers and won't you just get a job already and stop going to school? Yes, I've been in school for what feels like a zillion years. Yes, it would be awesome to work and provide for my family today, right now. No, I don't think I'm being selfish. And yes, maybe I'll help deliver your baby one day. I'd love to!

Now that last one sounds awesome. Because the one thing that doesn't terrify me is the opportunity to be a midwife. I will be a good midwife. It will be hard work, but I can do hard.

When I wrote my list last year, becoming a midwife came only after having more children (which is still in the works, but later). I added it to my list but I never made a big deal out of it. It wasn't the right time to talk about it because I knew I'd be looking for other work and I feared someone finding my blog and thinking to themselves, who wants to hire this wannabe midwife for our decidedly un-midwife type job? Not us! I wanted to shout from every corner of this blog that after twelve years of dreaming about midwifery school, I was going to do it. Instead I remained (almost) silent. Of course I still talked the ears off of my friends about it, some of whom spent a very long time helping me craft an midwifery school application that I hope will land me an interview (thank you from the bottom of my midwife-loving heart, by the way), but I tried to keep my big ideas away from this blog.

Not anymore. 2012, this is where you come in. I need that push I mentioned earlier. We are trying our best to choose our steps wisely, Matt is now looking for his own new job, I'm working part-time from home and spending the rest of time with The Children. We are slowly moving towards, well, moving (out of my mum's house, that is). Matt and I carefully considered what is best for our future and we decided, in the spirit of this freedom we find ourselves navigating, that our little family was going to make me a midwife. I am grateful. I am relieved.

And I really hope I get an interview.


Yours sincerely,
with love and kindness,
and fingers crossed,
danielle

On boobs, breastfeeding, and not breastfeeding

Yesterday, for the first time since 2007 (with the exception of a few short months when I wasn’t nursing Alyce during my pregnancy with Shira), I wore a grown-up, sexy, underwire-supported bra. Fancy, I know. I’m nursing Shira a lot less (only four times a day) and I figured that I might not want to wear one of my old nursing bras to the job interview that I expect I’ll one day have. Amidst the sparkles and the neon yellow choices, I made my purchases, happy to once again give some well-deserved support to my nursing boobs. They’ve earned it.

As soon as I tried them on, I knew. I love my nursing bras and if I’m fortunate enough to have more babies (yes, please), I’ll run to the local pregnancy shop and buy myself some new nursing bras. They are comfortable and easy to use. Amen to that, since learning to breastfeed is difficult enough without having to wear an uncomfortable bra. But, wow. A real, live bra does wonders for your cleavage. I hadn’t realized just how, umm, low things had gotten. Do you know who else hadn’t realized? My husband. Because the look on his face when I walked downstairs yesterday morning, wearing my new bra under my shirt, was worth all the effort.



He blushed. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.



***



Boobs. 

I never imagined how much my life story would be populated with obsessing over my breasts, making sure that they work, and that the right people get enough of them (there is a lot of competition in this house over who gets priority access). Sure, I expected a preoccupation with their size between the ages of twelve and fourteen, but I didn’t expect this. I thought only teenage girls (and boys) gave such thought to the habits of breasts.

Turns out that I think about boobs all the time. Mostly mine, but sometime I think about the ones that belong to other women, mostly other mothers. I get phone calls from friends wanting to talk about them, I have books on the shelf teaching me how to feed my babies with them, and many a blog post makes reference to them. And then there is all that time I spend watching Mad Men, wanting to hand out awards for Most Impressive Defiance of Gravity to all the women on that show. They sure know how to wear a sweater. (Joan, I’m looking at you.) Sometimes, though, I don’t give enough thought to boobs, like when I realize that I’ve been out all day long with only one side of my nursing bra done up. 



I love my world populated with breasts. And as someone who has been nursing for the better part of four years, most of my boob-related conversations have something to do with breastfeeding. I am addicted to breastfeeding. I loved nursing Alyce, and I still love nursing Shira. It’s been one of my favourite things about having young babies and I could list a hundred things that I love about it. Instead I’ll give you this many: babies are warm tucked in bed with you while you breastfeed, they have chubby little fingers with which to poke you (yes, in the boob) while they enjoy a meal, breastfeeding makes all most of their problems disappear, and it’s easily accessible. I know that breastmilk is the absolute perfect food for my babies and I’m more than impressed that my body knows how to make this perfect food. But breastfeeding is not all about the glory. Sometimes it’s really hard and annoying, and here’s why: in the beginning it can really hurt (like the kind of hurt that involves blood and blisters), babies eventually grow teeth and mine have always liked to test them out on my nipple, just to see what happens (I get really mad, that’s what happens), and breastfeeding is not always conducive to working outside the home, especially in countries with crappy parental leave. (U.S.A., I’m looking at you.)


I happily call myself a breastfeeding activist. I think all mother’s should be encouraged to breastfeed, and encouragement means more than just a nurse or doctor suggesting that it might be a good idea at a prenatal appointment. I could list a hundred things that mothers need to support happy breastfeeding, but instead I’ll give you this many: mothers need to see other mothers breastfeed, access to non-bathroom like places to nurse when they are out of the house and want some privacy, reliable access to board certified lactation consultants, and extended parental leave. And one more thing: they need to live in a culture where breastfeeding is normal, where mothers aren’t asked to leave public places or given the stink-eye for feeding their baby. Mothers need our support. They need your support.



But do you know what else mother’s need? Choice. They love choices. I love breastfeeding and I want everyone to love it as much as I do (yes, I actually mean that), but if a woman chooses to feed her baby formula, for whatever reason, that is her choice. Do I want her to have had access to as much information about breastfeeding? I sure do. But should she be ashamed of her decision to feed her baby formula. Absolutely not. Motherhood is hard work. Let’s not add shame to the mix.

Catherine Connors over at Her Bad Mother brought our attention this week to a debate going on over at Babble, regarding Babble's decision to allow formula advertizing on its site. Critics have declared that such advertizing stands in the way of breastfeeding and as such should be removed from any responsible discussions of parenting. Connors points out that that such a call to remove formula ads insults a mother's ability to view these ads as advertizing, somehow tricking mothers into believing that formula is the best choice.  "I’m a grown-up, you guys," Connors reminds us,  "I know what commercial speech is. I am capable of parsing information from advertisers. I am not stupid. I can make up my own mind." Demonizing formula feeding demonizes those who choose to feed their babies formula, and no matter what anyone says, demonizing formula demonizes the mother who feeds it to her baby. There is no separating the sin from the sinner here. Calling on Babble to remove all formula ads is harmful to mothers because it shames them. As Connors writes:

It shames working mothers who have to bottle feed because they can’t be with their babies all day and it shames mothers who are unable to breastfeed and it shames mothers who truncate their breastfeeding relationship with their babies for the sake of their mental health. It shames any mother who has paused and wondered, even for a moment, whether things wouldn’t be easier for her, whether she mightn’t be better able to cope, whether she mightn’t be happier (because isn’t a happy mom best for baby?) if, maybe, just maybe, she didn’t breastfeed. It shames any mother who regards the method by which she nourishes her babies as her personal choice.

I haven't loved my own experiences with formula companies. I was furious that my name was given to a formula company after the birth of my first daughter, resulting in a free sample can being mailed to my house. I think we need to stand up against misleading formula advertizing.  But I don't think they way to promote breastfeeding is to shame mothers away from formula. I love the community of mothers I've found online since having my daughters, and I've often relied on their conversations while learning how to parent my kids, or just to have some company on those days when the hard work of being a mother feels especially hard. There is such a population of intelligent, thoughtful, and hilarious parents out there. Let's give less room to shame and more room for reminding each other that children are awesome and ridiculous.

So head over to the original article here and see what you think. I'd also suggest that you check out the comments, which are for the most part, a balanced conversation with many different opinions--not something you often get when this topic shows up. I've left out so many important issues about promoting breastfeeding versus formula feeding, and this complicated issue deserves so much more space. But I was so happy to see someone calling out this shaming of mothers that I needed to give this conversation some space all of its own.

Plus I just love talking about boobs. Whether you use them to feed your baby or not.

Teething, for grown-ups

I mentioned a few months ago that, as part of my life list, I needed to get around to that root canal I've been avoiding. For me, a root canal is life list material because, a) I have the world's most terrible teeth no matter how hard I try and, b) I have been petrified of root canals since the seventh grade, when a friend of mine compared a root canal to the worst pain she's ever felt in her entire life. It was a powerful statement made by a twelve year old and I've let it follow me around for years. I've avoided necessary dental work for a long time now, mostly on account of the words of a child. Sure, I'll get my fillings done, and last year I even braved having a tooth pulled, but root canal? Just kill me now.

So this week, as my face throbs from my infected tooth, and as I panic about the root canal I have scheduled on Friday, I am reminded of some other powerful words I heard more recently. This morning, as I was complaining loudly on Facebook, my cousin Lisa reminded me to get over myself. After all, she said gently, you've given birth twice. Without drugs, I might add. And now I feel better, because seriously, that was hard. A root canal with freezing? I can handle that.

Thanks, Lisa.

And now she is one

Modeling the cap she wore coming home from the birth centre one year ago.

No matter how much I try to avoid it, Shira's birthday did happen. I know everyone says they don't know how it happened so fast, but why does it happen so fast? I sometimes have a hard time remembering Alyce's first year, and I wonder all the time if I'll remember the details of my days with Shira as much as I want to. Everyone always tells new parents that you're lucky to forget so much about that hard first year--the pain of childbirth, the sleepless nights, the sleepless days--but I learned the first time around that you also forget some of the good stuff. I can't remember so much of what my days were like with Alyce as a baby. I remember the events of that year (like Matt getting a job here in Delaware), but like with most things, the day to day stuff is harder to remember. I will never forget some of the really good stuff, like how her skin smelled and the noises she made while breastfeeding, but I wish I could remember so much more.

Clearly, I should have started this blog three years ago.

So with the passing of Shira's first year I'm feeling a bit down about the things I might forget. Like the sound of her voice when she yells at me for more strawberries, or the way she fits against my body perfectly when she nurses in bed with me at night, or the look on her face when Alyce walks into the room. But here's what I won't forget: how she immediately became part of our family, like she was here all along. I will never forget her sweetness and the gentle way she greeted us each morning. And I will never forget all those glorious hours we spent in bed together, my little nursling and me.

 
P.S. If you are interested, you can find some details about Shira's birth here.

Almost

In less than a week she'll be one year old. My tiny, squishy, happy, hungry, delicious, sweet little Shira Clementine. This time last year I was coming to terms with fact that she was going to be late, laughing in the face of all our hard planning to have friends and family around to help with the transition. Plans, schmans, who needs them anyway? She arrived and we welcomed her, just the three of us.

I posted my list yesterday, one of those lists of all the things I want to do with my life. I introduced my list saying that the items were in no particular order, but that wasn't entirely true. It wasn't true at all, actually. The first item on my list is to have more children and this is what I want the most. I want more babies and first years that go by too quickly. I want more goofy grins and chubby fists squishing blueberries. I want more first birthdays.

Now excuse me while I make some birthday cupcakes. Alyce has informed me that Shira enjoys chocolate cupcakes with chocolate icing. Isn't it sweet how Alyce thinks of her sister?

I Thought You Would Never Ask

Anyone interested in Shira's birth story? An essay I wrote about her birth has just been published on Kveller, a Jewish parenting site. So if you are dying to know about Shira's water birth (as you most surely are), you can find the essay here. Shira was born at The Birth Center, in Wilmington, Delaware, on May 11, 2010.

Thanks, Kveller!