Tag Archives: homebirth

After Birth

by . Posted on
24 Nov

Macca came to see us to check me over for the last time and discharge me from her care and to cast an expert eye over our precious boy and we got some funny pictures of our little gremlin (no, those aren’t really his ears!)

We have been so incredibly blessed in our midwife.  Macca has become a part of the family and we will miss her weekly visits.  We have locked the main entrance gate because of some strange trespassing incidents and also to contain the spread of giant parramatta grass which is a horrible noxious weed, so I told her to park her little car at the side gate and hoot and I would drive through the river and retrieve her.  I was off on the ridge taking down the wedding flags at the neighbour’s request and must have just missed her.  When I drove through the gate her little sewing machine on wheels was parked there, but no Macca.  Got to the house and there she was, having waded through the river with her big bag of books and medical frip frappery.  I swear if we had been in flood when I went into labour she would have gladly swung across the river tarzan style on the flying fox – she takes everything in her stride!  She is the ultimate Miss No Drama, which is perfect for me!  But now she isn’t coming every week, will I still clean the house??
And who will I talk to about the very real challenges of Motherhood?
I can now see that I was in shock for the first few weeks.  I had no idea birth would hurt so much, that the after-effects were so long lasting and uncomfortable and that breastfeeding would hurt as much as it did.  Good thing Mothers never share this information or the human race would soon dwindle into extinction!  Everyone told me to treasure every moment because babies grow and change so fast but you are so busy coping that you don’t.  It all passes in a blur.  I look at the photos now and can’t believe or remember that he was ever like that – where did he go?  So soon?  I only had a baby for a brief nanosecond and then he grew up!
Everyone said the first six weeks would be the hardest and certainly things are a bit easier now.  I think postnatal depression is a reality for most Mothers in some way, shape or form, and I am so lucky that I can hand Benjamin to Ged and got to my sacred space, the shed, for a good howl and that I can talk to both Ged and Macca about how I feel.  It’s a huge change, being a Mummy, being needed all the time, not having any space or time, and not even having a body to call your own.  Benjamin loves his boobies, Ged looks on jealously and I have to remind them both that actually they are MINE, not theirs!
Being able to walk properly is a huge bonus too!  (oh my LORD!)


And unto us a son is born

by . Posted on
29 Sep

‘And unto us a son is born.  Unto us a child is given’

I can’t claim an immaculate conception – we all know I’m no virgin!  But the whole process has been pretty miraculous.  And after a week of waiting, waiting, waiting (and not being very patient) for this baby to finally wend his way out of my womb and into our world, we finally went into labour at about 10pm on Sunday night, starting off fairly easy and relaxed so I called the midwife and agreed to talk again in an hour.  While I went to bed and rested between contractions (or waves as we prefer to call them!).  At 11.30 we agreed that she would slowly pack the car and make her way over and got here about 2am.  I was still saying we should all go to bed and try and get some more rest but she sent Ged and I on a walk under the stars on the river flat and after that things started speeding up.  I spent hours in the birthing pool and we had a candlelit night enjoying ‘Pachelbel in the Garden’ on CD (thanks, Mummy!) but when day broke it was time to get out of the water and move into the next stage.  Another walk down the paddock and the pushing began in earnest and then 3 hours later we had a baby in the bathroom.  Ged was essential to every stage of the process and I hung off him with every wave and our midwife, Macca, was just amazing – no internals, no judgement, no directions – she just allowed the birth to progress as it would, giving us no timeframes or expectations just peace and serenity, encouragement and useful suggestions.  Just the three of us, birthing our baby, at home, at Avalon, where we wanted to be and are safe and loved and held in the embrace of the land.
It was a beautiful day – brilliant sunshine, and Benjamin was born at 12.18.  Just over 7lbs and 50cm long (19.68 inches).  He is breastfeeding well, sleeping beautifully, and is pretty peaceful to be around.  We are all a bit tired, and taking it very easy for the week.  Macca is staying to make sure we are all under control and know what we are doing and generally helping out.  So here he is . . .

The Homebirth debate

by . Posted on
26 May
Welcome to the Birth Debate!
This is really fascinating . . .
I had always known that if ever I got pregnant I would want a water birth at home.  When I turned 40, although childbearing had never been a high priority for me, I grieved the loss of the opportunity, the experience, and the nurturing of a child.  And then I met Ged and moved here and we talked about babies and agreed ‘if it happens, it happens, if it doesn’t,it doesn’t.’  No IVF or similar for me.  We agreed to commit to acupuncture as the most invasive treatment I was ever likely to undertake and lo and behold I got pregnant.
Right from the start, we discussed, and agreed upon (among many other decisions) a home, water birth.  Those of you who know me well know I am a true water baby!  I can sit in the bath quite happily for 6 – 8 hours with a book.  It is my natural space for healing, meditation, nurturing and relaxation.  And I have hated the medical profession in all its guises since I was about 4 when I impaled myself on a rock, splitting my thigh from arse to knee and was shuttled between GP and hospital as each claimed the other’s responsibility for stitching.  The end result was no stitches, excruciating daily dressing changes and instead of a small neat stitch line, I have a hideous welt down my otherwise perfect thigh!!
And then there was the time I broke my arm and walked several miles to the hospital only to have the registrar, when I gingerly laid it on the desk in front of her, say ‘let’s have a look’ and wrench it towards her . . . and the nurse who couldn’t find my pulse . . . and on and on and on.
I have no time or respect for the medical profession.  Sure if I break my leg or have internal injuries, take me to Casualty, but otherwise let me be.  The only drugs I ever liked were illegal ones, and after I cured myself of that addiction, I haven’t so much as taken an aspirin for over 15 years (even when I broke my ankle!).  So why would I subject myself to the snip, snip, stick a needle in style of allopathic medicine when my body is healthy, well and fulfilling its biological compunction?
Surely the very fact that I am pregnant at 42 (when the medical profession says it can’t be done!) shows that the road less travelled that I have chosen is the healthier option, and the right one for  me.
And yet friends and family are throwing their hands up in horror at the idea of my even contemplating a home birth.  And stamping their feet and saying ‘you can’t!’
What, like I couldn’t pack up and leave London and live and work in Hong Kong for a year aged 21?  Like I couldn’t just up sticks and head to Australia for a working holiday aged 22?  Like I couldn’t get my residency on the grounds of my de facto relationship?  Like I couldn’t stay in Australia for ten years away from my family and friends?  Like giving up alcohol and smoking and being a vegan? Like I couldn’t run the London and New York Marathons one after another? Like I couldn’t ship two horses and a dog and myself back to Australia after a six year sojourn in Blighty?  Like I couldn’t change my name and attract love into my life?  Like I couldn’t buy and make work this farm?
JUST WATCH ME!!
Some people call me brave . . . others call me stupid, but I have never done the accepted thing.  I have always picked my own path and followed it unwaveringly.  My beliefs,  my heart, my passion are so strong that they have overcome all number of seemingly insurmountable obstacles.  I don’t spend my time looking at all the reasons why ‘I can’t’, I just set my heart on something, nail it in my sights, and worry away at it, like a dog with a bone, til I get where I want to be.  I write down my dreams and the universe crafts itself to create them for me.  And there’s no surer way in the world to put the wind beneath my wings and get me to achieve the impossible, than to sit on the sidelines and say ‘you can’t’.
Did you know that 90% of births in Holland are carried out at home?  And the Dutch have the lowest rates of infant and maternal mortality anywhere in the world?  The largest study of homebirths attended by Certified Professional Midwives, as published in the British Medical Journal, has found that homebirth is safe for low risk women and involves far fewer interventions than similar births in hospitals.

If the drugs are there and being pushed upon you, you’ll take them (why wouldn’t you?)  If I still lived with a drug dealer, I’d still be taking drugs . . . It’s like living in the country, if I start craving something we don’t have in the pantry, I make do with something else!  And doctors and obstetricians are scared of being sued and most of them are men and they can’t bear standing by and watching a woman – an all powerful, all-knowing Goddess creating and birthing a miracle all by themselves.  They can’t wait for nature to take its natural course, they want to interfere (of course they want any excuse to play with your fanny!) and wrest back the power and assert their will over yours.

This debate is so primitive because it is really all about the fact that women are the creators, the nurturers, the teachers, the wise planters and harvesters.  we are the ones who are in tune with nature and her rhythms and her tides and ebbs and flows.  We are the ones who give life.  We are the ones who seek and speak to spirit, we are the ones who hear the song of the soul in the symphonies of the circles of life.  We are there at the beginning, and it is we who are strong and soothe at the end, and for  every passage of time and ceremony in between it is women who mark the occasions.  We are the priestesses with the knowledge of the ancients imbued in our cells and souls and we can call down the heavens to bless, or draw up the fires of hell in our curses.

And so they have tried to keep us down.  To control us, to beat us into submission, to disempower our souls with their talk of Eden and temptation and original sin and they have tried to curse us as the harbingers of all that is evil in the world.  Why?  Because they are afraid of this power that we have to make them strong, or render them weak, to hurt them or to heal them.  Instead of honouring our power and wisdom and inimitable strength they have sought to cut us down at every turn.  And if we are strong, if we are powerful they call us ‘bitches’, ‘lesbians’ and the like.

Why can’t we embrace who we are as women and OWN ourselves, our mystery and our magic.  We might not succeed, but at least we can give it our best shot.  And that’s what I’ll be doing, at home, in September, being the best I can be.  being a natural woman.  Embracing the birth process.  Setting fear aside and rolling with whatever I am sent, sure in my heart that my baby and my body know how to birth safely, peacefully, naturally so that birth is a primitive process of bonding with just Ged, me and baby and a midwife to harness our strength, direct our energies, and uplift us when our resolve is weak.

There is a chance that ‘I can’t’ but, by God, like everything else in my life, I will give it everything I’ve got.  And I’m willing to bet that I CAN!

Thanks to my lovely sister MEL for my fabulous new maternity jeans xx