The Beginning

I didn't set out to be a "Natural Parent."

In fact, never being the type to really use labels, I didn't set out to be any specific type of parent.

I just wanted to be the best Mom I could be.  You'll find out more about exactly the type of Mom I am as this blog continues, but in the words of Maria from the Sound of Music.  Let's start at the very beginning... a very good place to start.

The Best Laid Plans

When I found out I was pregnant for the first time I happily wrote out my birth plan on scrap envelopes at work.  I considered hiring a midwife, and excitedly gathered information about doulas in the city.  When I started to hemorrhage at 24 weeks and then went into labor a few day later I wasn't anywhere near prepared for things, and handed the reigns over to the medical professionals at the hospital.  After a scary experience they were able to stop the progress of labor, and I spent the remainder of my pregnancy on bedrest, both in and out of the hospital - in constant fear that any wrong movement on my part would bring my little bean into the world too soon.

Needless to say, I found myself having to re-think the type of care I was going to receive throughout my pregnancy, and ended up seeing an OBGYN.  Thankfully I was able to find one who was caring and personable and made my experience a positive one.  

A short time later, after a long and stressful induced labor we welcomed our beautiful baby boy, Jude, into the world.  Unfortunately many of my birth plan requests weren't followed - but I was so overjoyed with the fact that he was healthy despite all of the complications that I was able to look past it.  

The wonderful thing about spending all that time in bed is that I really had a chance to connect with Jude before he was even born, and for that reason I spent the first few nights he was home from the hospital sitting on the couch holding him in my arms.  I couldn't bear to be apart from him.  And after a few nights I brought him into our bed and his crib became an incredibly comfortable change table.

A gift certificate to a local baby boutique provided me with a beautiful linen ring sling which also enabled me to keep Jude close to me at all times.  I suppose I didn't realize at the time, but I was already establishing my parenting view by following what felt natural. 

When I unexpectedly found myself pregnant again just over a year later I looked back on my experiences with Jude and was sure things would go differently.

Because of my previous pregnancy and some other medical reasons, I was still required to see an OB.  Thankfully I once again found a supportive and caring female doctor who made me feel empowered, and supported my decisions and choices.

Surprises of the Worst Kind

I spent this pregnancy ensuring I was eating healthy, exercising moderately, and trying my best to ensure things went smoothly.  After 8 blissfully uncomplicated months, I went in to see my OB for a routine checkup.

When she entered the room with my chart in her hand and a grim face I suddenly felt a wave of nausea come over me.  As she explained the results of my latest lab report and the danger associated with continuing my pregnancy I could barely pay attention; and as I signed the order of induction I was flooded with painful memories from Jude's birth.

The next few days went by in a blur as I waited for the phone call, and as I arrived at the hospital I found it difficult to look the nurses and other professionals in the eye.  This pregnancy had gone so smoothly, and I felt like I was somehow taking the easy way out.  And as I left the hospital in excruciating pain I kept telling myself that maybe I deserved it for not handling Jude's birth better.

She Stopped Breathing

After returning to the hospital I settled in to my delivery room.  That wing of the hospital had just been renovated, and I relished in the large tubs in each delivery room, wishing that I had been able to use a midwife so this little one could have a water-birth.  I met my nurse, ironically, the same caring and wonderful nurse who had attended to me during Jude's birth and set myself up for an incredibly long night.

After several hours of labor with little progress, I was informed that the monitors showed my baby had stopped breathing, and her heart rate had plummeted.  Looking back there is no doubt in my mind that this little girl, several weeks premature, was not yet ready to make her way into the world and this was her way of telling me.  But hindsight is 20/20, and when you are surrounded with medical professionals you can feel quite intimidated.

I was rushed into an operating room, crying as I signed the forms allowing the doctors to perform a cesarean.  Jan, my wonderful nurse, held my hand and promised me that everything would be alright.  She has an incredible memory and knew how badly I wanted to have a natural, complication-free birth; I knew her heart was breaking right alongside mine.

Things went quickly from there.  Before I knew it I was too drugged up to feel anything both physically and emotionally.  I shivered uncontrollably.  At 1:54 am she was born.  Despite my dopey state, I knew the exact moment that her small body was taken from mine - no matter what anyone says I believe the separation of Mother and Baby is one of the most profound moments in a Mother's life.  And as I waited for her to cry out for me, I began to worry.  Not a sound was heard.  My little girl was rushed off to a far-away corner of the room and my eyes filled again with tears.  I wasn't sure I could ever forgive myself for what seemed a myriad of mistakes if I had to say goodbye to this precious life before it even started.

After what seemed like an eternity, a small cry pierced the silence and my tears were a mixture of joy and disappointment as I lay there, unable to move, unable to hold the little girl who was now bundled and being shown to me.  I had time to smile at her, and tell her I loved her before she was rushed off to another room to be monitored.

I am so grateful to my wonderful husband who only had to look at me to know that I needed him to accompany her.  Since I couldn't be there to comfort her myself, I trusted he would know the right thing to do.  He knew what I would want to happen and he lovingly followed our little girl as she was wheeled down the hallway.

It was then that the shock and the worry and the relief became too much for me, and I passed out.

  

Disconnected

When they finally brought my baby girl to me hours later in the recovery room, I felt disconnected from her.  Something was missing.  I held her to my breast and she nursed for a short time before falling asleep happily.  But as I looked at this tiny, fragile life in my arms I didn't know what I felt.  If I even felt anything.  I wasn't even sure what to do.

Because I was still unable to move most of my body, the nurses took my little girl to the nursery that first night after I begged them and made them swear they wouldn't give her even an ounce of formula.  I was restless.  As soon as they brought her to me a few hours later because she was hungry I pretended that my pain level was manageable, and made quite a show of swinging my arms about to prove I was capable of holding her, and they consented I could keep her in my room with me.  As I gazed into the sleeping face of my little girl, I realized I had no idea who she was, we had no connection, and therefore I wasn't able to think of a name to suit her.

Trusting my Instincts

Even after returning home with our baby girl, who we finally named Sadie, I felt disconnected from her.  I started to worry that I was experiencing the first familiar pangs of postpartum depression.  I suffered through the most agonizing 11 months with Jude before getting help, and I knew I couldn't do that again.  But with an almost two year old running around my feet, Christmas and birthday party preparations to deal with, and a whole lot of mess to clean up (that's what happens when babies come three weeks early), I didn't have time to think of it.  I wrapped Sadie in my ring sling, nursed her on the go, and snuggled with my kiddos in bed every afternoon during what was soon dubbed "family naptime," and before I knew it - my sweet little girl with the big innocent eyes and I had developed that connection I had feared we would never get; and that nagging guilt that clouded my every thought started to fade.  Somewhere between the countless Eric Carle books, runny noses, skinned knees, dirty diapers and sweet newborn cries I had remembered to just trust my instincts and forget all the well-meaning advice I had received from mothers who just "didn't get it".

And that is exactly the point of natural parenting.  Trusting your instincts.  I doubt there is any mother who naturally would come to the conclusion that letting your baby cry for hours at a time was healthy.  Or that ignoring her signs of hunger until the clock showed the "appropriate time" was normal.  It is through parenting by following our natural instincts - our "mothers intuition" so to speak - that we are able to truly get to know our children.  I have learned so much about each of my children and who they are, and I am so blessed because of it.  I feel really connected to them.

I have realized that having my birth plan followed to the letter doesn't define my relationship to my children.  That despite the disappointment I felt each time I entered the delivery room, I have been able to reassure my children of their place in my heart.  And I have come to realize that it is nothing I have done.  Some women are just made to have babies - unfortunately, despite my best intentions, it seems I may not be one of those women.  So I may as well move past that, and enjoy the two beautiful spirits I have sharing my home... and my heart.