My life in dot points

Its all I can manage... But here are some questions Life has thrown at me lately.

• Is it wrong to expect 24 year olds to silence their girlfriends during sex? Its been going on for 4 months now. When I was a girl I would have been mortified to think anyone would hear my activities....let alone be able to determine exactly how many orgasms constitutes a multiple event. Don't want to repress anyone's sensual life. Teensy bit of pride in son's ... um ... talents. Don't want to engender shame. It wouldn't be my shame anyhow. Just DON'T. Want. To. Hear. It. Any. More. Someone I was lamenting the situation to told me, "Laura, some women will come in a stiff breeze". Yes. So I hear. (sigh). Terse SMS war already on the issue. Repeated approaches to son to keep it down. Will I still be seeing this young woman at family meals with my grandchildren in 40 years time? Son's final university exam tomorrow. Am I a Bad, Disloyal, Enabling Mother? Or am I just being 'dissed'? Discuss.

• Just how much stuff does one really need? Is it in inverse proportion to the amount of floorspace available for the purposes of walking around? (phew, moved out 4 crates of Stuff today, it helps already).

• How long does one wait for midwifery models of care to shift? How does one bite one's tongue at the backroom discussions undermining women's desire for non-interventionist birth? Will I be happier in the long run just going independent and taking the blood pressure pills, being my own boss, and paying through the nose for PI insurance. Should I just move to New Zealand? How long is a piece of string? You get the idea. I'm doing a major review next week to take a snapshot of my career/practice so far. Why does one always feel ready to be shot down in flames. Am I trying to run before I can walk?

• How will we face another major surgery for our daughter? This will be a biggie with the potential to really improve her life, but it won't be easy. It has come as a surprise, sort of. She's had similar surgery twice before, but doesn't remember it. I do. Gulp.

• How good is it to have friends who love and support you? And listen to your whining. And write loving things about you. And share bookclub with you. And paint with you. And go to Vegas with you. I truly am blessed.

• On a lighter note.....How good is this? Now these girls really know how to shop. And I thought I had good op-shops near me.

• Will we all be fit and well enough for our trip? All four of us are limping or crippled in some aspect. This is lame (literally). We are all ready to feel well again. I am certainly sick of keeping the doctors in business, nice people though they are. I will keep taking (all) the tablets. Calm blue ocean. Calm blue ocean.

• How will I pack? For 4 people, heading in 3 different directions at the end, for Sydney, Melbourne and Central Australia.

Bearing in mind that one must be alive to complain, and that we live in a well resourced country, with no war, and plentifully stocked supermarkets, and that our children have survived childhood, and that we have careers and sufficient income to service our whining whitebread world, and that I may just delete this whole post because I am so sick of the sound of my whining......answers on a postcard please.

What do I know?

How many times does a human heart beat in a lifetime?

Today I found myself in the position to count them. Almost literally.

One little sweetheart lived his brief life in my care today.

I know Miracles exist. I thought he had slipped away, after twenty incredible minutes. But his little heart beat on feebly and slowly, for another hour or so of bonus life. Cradled by his brave Mum and Dad, skin to skin with his mother in life, with his father later, in death.

It was one of the most beautiful, incredible days of my life as a midwife. From taking the phonecall, to receiving the couple. From listening in and finding two heartbeats, to seeing one falter. From phonecall to the ward they were in my care, as well as the care of superb specialists . Together, the work we did today was a work of art. An oasis of beauty in a forecast that was never going to be good.

Today, for one day only, I was their midwife.

What a privilege.

Once again, I know, I love being a midwife.

Laying low

I am here, alive, just on night shift, and quite absorbed in the other doings of life.

Thankyou all so much for your kind words about my memories of my Dad. He was quite a man. I have enjoyed seeing that photo on my blog.

I am reading everyone else's blogs, dropping comments here and there, I just haven't had much chance to post as I am sharing the computer with the boy wonder currently as well. There's fierce competition.

What else have I been up to?

I have had a sister turn 40.

We have lost a dear cousin to lung cancer after a brief illness. As this branch of the family are Tassie there have been many phonecalls, and flowers sent, and notices lodged. It is not fair to lose such a lively witty man, who had such depths that he hid so readily. He follows his late son, his only child who died in a car crash about 15 years ago. He was loved by many.

Stephanie has finished work for now, as her site closed unexpectedly with short notice. She is now going to pursue open employment (gulp) as the alternative supported placements are probably not for her, sadly. We're all putting a brave face on it but it is disappointing after she was settling in so well and experiencing some success. The new phase involves MANY appointments, not always easy to fit in with shift work, or her Dad's work commitments.

I have worked 20 hours, and been flat tack with some very messy and tricky cases. Had a birth just in the nick of time 7 minutes before knock off yesterday morning, that kept me busy for a further hour or more. This was after a pretty torrid night, but we were grateful to see this baby and end his Mum's suffering ... she really suffered, quite unusually given the numbers of measures in place for her comfort, but it happens sometimes. Her little one really needed to be out for complicated reasons and finally he emerged in a fragile state, into the arms of paeds who resuscitated him very well and he is doing OK in the nursery where he can finish growing without relying on an abrupting placenta!

And today a new baby was born into the Tassie family, another grandchild to dear cousin Susan and her husband Richard, after the loss of her elder brother last week. They will welcome two more grandchildren by Xmas, one from each of their surviving 3 children. They too lost an adult daughter in a separate motorbike accident over a decade ago. They are stoic and brave, but I know they all miss seeing her become a parent along with her siblings.

Welcome to the world Abel Craig, named after your Mum's cousin. Babies are such a treasure.

And finally in the midst of it all I have been quite obsessed with playing Bejewelled Blitz on Facebook. It is VERY BAD. And VERY ADDICTIVE. The chink-chinking sound of the jewels clicking into place sends me into a trance and I spend waaaaay too much time developing RSI in my tapping-the-mousepad finger..... I am fairly disciplined with it, and set myself a time limit but I have been known to exceed it. I'm doing fairly well though....

Today I have been a housefrau staying in to see the refrigerator repair man...who informs me that I need a new fridge. When I think about it the old one is 21 years old! Its done very well, but I'm sure there are much more energy efficient ones available. We kind of chose one this evening, with a 5.5 star rating, but then came home to rearrange the kitchen a bit to accommodate it, so I'll go back and buy it for real tomorrow. Isn't my life scintillating?

Well, I'm off to bed, very late but I'm between night shifts and its barely worth retraining my body clock after 2 shifts on with 3 off before 4 more nights, so I've been staying up late. Sigh.

Thanks for feeding the fishies!

Happy..everything

Its International Midwives' Day.

And our 24th wedding anniversary.

We're going out for dinner tonight.

I took some great photos of the kids just now....I'll have to load them and show you later...still borrowing other people's computers (sigh).

We've got a bath in today. And a spout. And pipes from all the walls in the right spots. And drainage pipes. And a glass block window. I even put one of the glass blocks in myself.

Photos to come. If I can be patient about it, so can you.

Many stories to tell from a very eventful first few days on visiting midwife duty. Cute babies. Lovely Mums, Dads and families. Did I mention cute babies?

My back is not good. Not at all. Very dodgy for the last week or so. Just what you need when driving all over and hauling bags and scales everywhere. Not aided by having a solid fall from a tiny wall yesterday. Don't ask. I'm just glad no-one had a camera on me. Thank God for woodchips, and no roses. Legs in the air, shoes, hair and bag everywhere. Half-in, half-out of the garden bed. What a dork. Luckily no real damage done.

I hope to have the computer dramas sorted in the next week. Who needs a bank balance?

My Make it in May is progressing quite well. I have done a bit of clay sculpting, made a bag, cut out some other stuff for another. Can we count thinking about things? Planning stuff? I've had a great idea for a Masters thesis! Today my blog posting may count as my creation. Its writing innit?

Ciao for now

Wii are exercising

Who'd have thought?

I have always refused to buy a major game console for my family (hears pin drop in the shocked silence). No, truly.

They were just coming out when my kids were little and my son showed a w-a--a-ay too slavish a fascination with them. I was quite sure that if I allowed one in my house I would never see anything of him but the back of his head, and have to wait until a pause in the game to a. feed him b. dress him. c. take him to school d. do anything without involving a major WW3.

So I refused. We would rent one as a special treat for his birthday parties, for the weekend, with his mates all sleeping over and playing multiplayer games of role playing, bang-em-up, shoot-em-up, hedgehog racing, coin collecting, barrel smashing, sword fighting etc. Then it would go back to the shop and I wouldn't have to deal with it on a daily basis.

My Mum bought him a Game Boy when he was 11, but he never had very many games because it was all too expensive and I had a small anti-global-corporation protest thing going on (do you think I have made Nintendo think twice about their anti-discounting policies? No I thought not, moral superiority notwithstanding).

Anyway, my kids used the computer freely, and played their various PC games which were all similar in their levels of violence, but I felt I could turf them off at any time with ease, and set appropriate time limits, which they have always accepted. My son graduated from Warcraft to Magic the Gathering, which used his brain slightly more and is a pastime he enjoys to this day. Steff is still engrossed with HSM, Harry Potter and now Twilight, and is pretty slavish about her Sims on her own laptop. She also got a DS a year or so ago, and buys her own games. We went on quite happily, having reached a compromise about people's lives not being dominated by game consoles.

Until... someone's birthday present was a game console. They nearly died of shock! But all squealed with delight.

I caved and bought a Wii. Essentially for the Wii Fit (if I'm honest). I wanted an interactive non-couch potato game that gave some opportunity for Steff in particular to add some physical activity to her life. And I thought it may give me a chance to add some too.

The assessment was a bit galling, but I am surprised to find it estimates my age as only 4 years older than I am. My BMI is of course extreme. Steff's assessment is a bit shocking as hers puts her at my age! But her BMI is underweight. Patty and Don are also a little over their age, but not by much. It was funny to watch Patty try some upper body work last night - he piked out on the second repetition of ten, and the trainer noticed he had gone away, she tried to bring him back but he went to bed! Don tried it out this morning and is intrigued by the possibilities and the goal setting - I can tell.

And I'm enjoying it too! Some tasks are easier than I thought, and we nearly wet ourselves laughing when I scored 100 on a few tasks first up and was told I was no stranger to exercise! Snort!

I used to be a professional dancer. Seriously. I stopped dancing because I had rheumatoid arthritis/fibromyalgia and I couldn't stand the pain any more. And I was bored with being a 'dumb blonde' and wanted to go back to uni and use my brain. I studied, got married, had a kid, got a new body, tried to dance again but felt really self-conscious of my wobbly bits. Then I had a second child and had a very different life to focus on. Then in my thirties I took up belly dancing and was inspired all over again, but it was an expensive hobby, and quite competitive, and I had other priorities and gradually stopped performing. My weight went up and up. Then down, then up. I went back to uni to eventually become a midwife. In year 2 of 6 years at uni I hurt my back. I am 'not allowed' to dance again. My surgeon would have kittens! Not at this weight, he said. He didn't even want me nursing, but I told him it was not negotiable.

I miss the physicality of dancing. The strength and grace. The dressing up and performing. I still have the posture and balance (mostly) but I am keenly aware of the loss of flexibility and range of motion, especially over the last 6-7 years since the serious back injury and surgeries. The daily pain in most joints continues. I can barely reach my toes to do my toenails, much less lay my head on my knees as I used to with ease.

I joined the gym at work. My assessment there showed I still had some good core strength and balance, the trainer was very surprised that despite my high BMI I could balance easily on the yoga ball and was relaxed doing it. He set me some exercises to do that accounted for my crook back and shoulder, and knees, and hips, and then wished me luck. I still pay a minimal fee but haven't been for a year or more, I kinda lost interest being by myself. I was anticipating using it for the showers when our bathroom is being renovated!

With the Wii, its kind of interesting to have a 'personal' gym and trainer, and it is focused on encouragement. But I was surprised to find myself keen to do it again this morning, only 12 hours after my last session! I work up a sweat doing a range of activities, trying most things over 30 minutes. I'm only competing against myself, but I am already seeing how to improve my scores - it seems I am quite motivated by improvement - aren't we all?

So now we all have little icon people who attend daily training at the Wii Fit channel. Day 2 and counting. After all my objections and principles, wouldn't it be hilarious/ironic if this a game console could return me to some semblance of fitness, and be the start of a new phase?

20 years ago

This time twenty years ago I had started contracting after my waters were broken carefully, so no cord slipped through. The doctor was trying to induce me at 41 weeks and 2 days, but the baby was having none of it (below, 38 weeks, with my son, and friends)

I laboured all day, then when assessed at 3 pm-ish was not very dilated, but more effaced. Having had a v-e-r-y long latent phase with my first child I agreed to having some syntocinon put up to get things moving. I had a shower first, put on my favourite pink parrot earrings, then held out my arm for an IV and labour began again. I agreed to intermittent monitoring and refused to get on the bed at all.

Two hours and 16 minutes later...there she was. (above, 8 minutes of age, yes that is a Janet Jackson moment) A daughter, how delightful, a pigeon pair. A bit different (above, aged 6 months) a new experience for us, but our much wanted second child. (below - First day at school aged nearly 7, brother aged 10)

And now she is 20. We are so proud of her (below, taken this morning, aged 20)

Happy birthday darling.

Don't you hate it when...(warning contains whining)

Second warning - contains no midwifery content either! Just whining. And a snapshot of my day.

Don't you hate it when you wake up early to see the kid off to work. After a late night baking sticky date cake for her work, waiting for it to cool and packing it carefully. In bed after midnight. A hot night, not good for sleeping.

When you head out to the dentist, arrive after arranging the appointment weeks ago for while you were on holiday and being told your appt has been shifted and no-one told you?

And that your notes had NOT arrived from the previous dentist after sending a fax weeks ago requesting that very thing.

And when she keeps offering you an new appointment at a very inconvenient time because I'm a shift worker and that's why these things are arranged weeks in advance honey! No, I have paid A LOT of money to attend on conference on THAT day. (Oh, beam me up.)

And you get home to spend the last day home alone with your sweetie, but he's gone into work to kill some time because you were at the dentist.

And its your first day home alone together for literally months, and you know what that means.....

And when he gets home you go to hang out the just finished washing before leaping into the sack for some well-deserved adult time...and he has put a new tea-towel in the wash - a RED one- with your three favourite (previously) white tops, fave nightie, knickers, socks, and assorted other things that you really wanted to be WHITE (and now they're not).

So you grind your teeth and reach for the bleach while the washing is still wet, and you run out.

And while you are trying to remain cheerful and maintain the idea of libido the phone rings and its the workplace and someone has to come home because her back hurts from standing.

And she works a 40 minute drive away. And they can't possibly let her come home on the train (literally doorstop to doorstop) because she is distressed.

And don't you hate trying not to punch a wall with frustration (of all kinds) that the day's plans have gone awry? On the ONLY day alone together on our holidays.

And then you have a meltdown where you pour out your heart to explain why this is so fucking shitty. On so many levels.

And you both drive clenching and sniffing through snot to the workplace (thereby dripping shiny snot onto your fave clean pants) to pick up the also sniffing and red-faced worker, and deliver her floor workmat for standing (so there is no further excuse for repeat performances). She then catches the train home with her Dad because there would just be way too much emotion in one car. The workplace support workers support me as I blub.

There's no way to ever get this day back again. Life's like that. It could be worse.

Casual lunch out with hubby was quite nice in a 'desperate escape from the house with zero privacy' kinda way. But not what we had planned.

Then, with back miraculously repaired, and offers of pain relief declined she sat at her computer and read Fan Fiction with a smile on her face. He had a nap in our room, I fell asleep with a book in the lounge room.

Then he went out. Then I went out, walking, in the 36C heat to a long meeting where I scribbled very hard for two hours.

When I got home we looked up the only remaining hotel room in Perth for Saturday night, Valentine's Day, in a 5-star hotel for a luckily very good price.

We're going.

What do you do when you need privacy?

A fortunate life

It seems irrelevant to tell of my gallivanting last week in the face of such tragedy afflicting our country at the moment.

It is all so shocking, a staggering level of destruction in the firestorms, an enormous and incomprehensible loss of life. We were in that region last year for our niece's wedding at Healesville, and can well imagine the leafy communities and winding rugged roads that have become death traps in the thick smoke and terrible conditions.

We have made immediate donations of money where requested, and I plan to make a quilt to send to the comfort efforts. It seems such a small thing ... We watch with tears in our eyes, and pray it doesn't get worse.

My husband's family lost a home to the Hobart fires of 1967. It is still discussed how Uncle Bob drove into the little cul-de-sac to fetch Mother and Auntie Marj, and drove away as the firestorm raced up the valley to claim the house behind him. He saw it in his rear-view mirror as he floored it uphill to take them both to safety with the clothes on their backs.

My heart is with all those affected.

We were very lucky last week to spend a four night break in the bush and beach setting of Eagle Bay, near Dunsborough on the South West coast. Thanks so much to the Zeds for the loan of a fabbo house, metres from the water through a tiny fringe of scrub. See the turquoise bit?

The house was ideal. Simple floors, huge rooms, fully equipped...heavenly. So comfortable. We kicked back and unwound. A lot. There were just the three of us, we could have had rent-a crowd with us.

Don was beside himself with delight. Give the man a beach close-by and he is there morning, noon and night. Give him a fishing pole and he is even happier. I know people have always felt this way about this house. I remember, now bittersweet, the happiness Lesley describes of sharing time with other friends there over the years. I was thinking of K, Les. And his family. Savouring the joy and simplicity of watching my husband fishing. This one got thrown back, but I was tickled to have been there to see it briefly. (edited to add - he caught another fish, a whiting, that became Steff's breakfast the next day)

I made his day on the first afternoon by joining him on the beach (I tolerate beaches, but I'm really more of a pool girl). And not just joining him, but swimming with him, topless, as I have forgotten my bathers (D'Oh). We wandered up and down the beach, slowly making our way in through the shallows, just us, well - apart from that solitary man in the distance, who walked past eventually, my back to him as he approached. As I was unable to find any full bathers to fit all of my gorgeousness, I ended up buying a tankini bottom and a new black bra and wearing it as a two-piece for the rest of the stay. Its been years since my tummy saw any sun! I kinda liked it.

The bush was lovely, we visited Meelup Beach - scene of the first of the wedding frenzies last year (ooh, my hair was really short).

We went to the lighthouse at Cape Naturaliste - a whole post for another day. I love lighthouses, yet somehow this was the first I have ever been inside. It won't be the last.

I was terrorised in the shower by a very large spider on my last day. A Large, LARGE spider. Large amounts of screaming were involved. All lived to tell the tale (including the spider, maybe on his spider-weblog). A quick drop in to Busselton for a coffee on the way home and we headed back to Perth. An early birthday dinner that night with our son before he headed off to Melbourne.

Steffie started work today. It seemed to go well. She is taking sticky-date pudding to work on Thursday! I hope she won't get lost and phone me in tears again on Thursday. My heart was in my mouth, from 15 miles away, talking her through the backtracking to the station and taking the right way through to the place 200m away. Little steps. I'm so glad she came home cheerful.

Welcome to Holland

I wonder if you have read or heard of this piece before?

It has been in my mind lately for many reasons.


***************************************************
WELCOME TO HOLLAND
byEmily Perl Kingsley.


c1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you are going to have a baby, it is like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The flight attendant comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I am supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

Nevertheless, there's been a change in the flight plan. They have landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they have not taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. You must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

Its just a different place. Its slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. Moreover, for the rest of your life, you will say “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.
************************************************

Its true. Some families only ever get to speak Italian. They never think twice about it.

Some commute back and forth from Italy (that can be very confusing). An Italian kid and a Dutch kid in the same family. Some of us have Dutch uncles :)

We become bilingual. Its a talent. An art. Not one we aspired to from an early age, but still...

For those who find themselves in Holland - welcome to the club.

And congratulations to my little Dutchie, my little spekulaas, for landing a job. Woo-hoo!

I wouldn't change you for all the pasta in the world.

And the winner is...

Wow- 14 comments!

I don't think I've ever cracked 10 comments before so I'm delighted to hear from you all and accept your good wishes as I enter my second year as a blogger. Technically there are 14 people subscribed to my feed through bloglines, but one of those is me, so I suppose a giveaway enticed a few people to de-lurk from random blog-visit world too. Welcome!

The winner is Suzy of the blog Identity Crisis, which I find very moving. She is one brave woman. I'm so pleased she has a gift coming her way. Suzy - Please reply to the email when you're up to it.

So, what have I been up to? Not much washing I can assure you as our only 7 year old washing machine has spat the dummy and stopped spinning. Its little electrics had it convinced it had an open lid, and nothing on God's earth would persuade it otherwise. I'm a busy woman with limited time in which to wash clothes, and I need the machine to be reliable and do its job. Not wuss around saying, wait, I'll finish it soon, really, even though it isn't rinsed, or spun, or even washed thoroughly. I've got teenagers for that.

So it was off to the big electrical retailer to buy an energy efficient, watersmart, rebate attracting new washer. Which of course they didn't have in stock. And wouldn't be getting until November (my clothes are dirty, like, NOW). No, sorry, the next model up isn't in stock either, same delivery date, and besides it may not fit through the space we need it to. Yes, maybe you can buy the one from the showroom floor for immediate delivery. Lets do that. All signed up, we'll follow you home - oh wait! The warehouse man has said he can give you one set aside for someone else who doesn't expect delivery until November, so we can allocate/substitute theirs in November and you can have that one NOW.

So here I am awaiting the delivery and installation of my new washing machine. Ooh! There's the doorbell, BRB.

Woo-hoo! Its here, all installed and they took the old one away too. Phew. I have read the instruction manual and crossed out all the pages that don't refer to OUR model to save swearing and frustration (See Widget, I'm systematic about some things). Said intruction manual will be displayed in a waterproof sleeve near the enw machine while all and sundry try it out. Then I will secretly set it to the usual settings I like and simplify it. It is a very clever machine, if such things can be asigned an IQ. But I can't use it until I go buy some special detergent for high-efficiency Nobel Prize candidate machines. Sigh. I'll let you know how it goes.

SO much to tell you. New wall photos? Here ya go. Nice huh? Long view. Here's the metally-y thingy I had to have on the end wall. As you can see its a 'room divider'. This is the view from the back door.It should look OK soon - where's the home improvement makeover teams who achieve wonders in 48 hours? Not in my back yard, sad to say.

Work? Very interesting too. Had a vague day on return to work on Monday, went for a booked CS with a woman, helped out a bit on return to LBS, flitted about, completely forgot what I was meant to be doing for an hour or so and kept myself busy doing something entirely different. Then remembered with a gasp (new woman in Room 3!) and reappeared in the room to the bemusement of the woman (how embarassing). Was thrown a bit by being invited in for a chat with a clinical midwife consultant about JJ, for a debrief and to clarify why JJ's Mum was so upset after my visit when she read the card with my honest words about having a different journey ahead of them. What do you mean I have a special needs child? was her question. Hmm, I thought I had been really clear with them, we had discussed it specifically in relation to his walking and talking and how it may be different for him and they would deal with it when they got to it. They have apparently not liked being at the new hospital, and don't like to see social workers or a particular senior doctor because he 'tells them bad news'. So I guess my card falls into that category too. I just feel sad for them. I can see where they are at. Its not a good place. Maybe in time to come they will look back and realise that I was the first to address the truth with them. Even before he was born I was talking about the reality of 'what if he's not healthy?'. Then again in time I, too, may be blanked out or shot as the messenger of a truth they didn't want to hear. It doesn't change the truth. I'm still really sad for them, but I won't approach them again. Poor family.

The next two shifts were better, with labouring women. Baby Rhys was born at 2043 on Tuesday night after a fraught last hour or so (looking at the trace, which was crappy because he had had morphine, but flap was raised nonetheless) where mum pushed him out in 8 pushes with the threat of fetal scalp sampling hanging over her head! Luckily she had achieved full dilation at shortly before, after some slow-ish progress and the docs backed off and let the resident doctor and I get the birth. Which turned out to be quite nice really if a bit beetle-y (lying on her back and pushing like mad, sigh). She was delighted not to need stitches after her first birth, and he was a quite, quite yummy baby.

Little baby Teresa entered the world early(34+ weeks) yesterday at 1406 to her young Mum, 16, after a steady labour that would not be denied. After opting for an epidural it didn't work very well so the woman was really struggling with no sleep and continuing pain with each contraction. Finally the anaesthetist adjusted it and gave some super-duper extra drugs that were really effective so she was really comfy but limited with mobility. I kept the lights down low, the mood light and the membranes intact despite pressure from outside. We all thought she would push this pipsqueak baby out easily, membranes were intact and everything, but the trace looked dodgy (gee do you think the machines could be fallible, or maybe we don't know everything about the normal range!) so the waters were broken an hour after full dilation to aid descent of the head into the pelvis. The head was still at spines, facing upwards with head tilted back, I could feel the anterior fontanelle. Deflexed OP. No pushing or anything, just awaiting rotataion and descent with contractions. Except it didn't. I positioned her to maximise descent, as she couldn't move well for herself. She wanted to sleep now that she was free from pain. So I left her to have a nap. After 2 hours we started her pushing and then the trace looked really crap and I called in the docs. Bugger.

Suddenly we were upstairs with a trial of intrumental birth. Which didn't work after a heroic effort and three pulls where she didn't budge, even with episiotomy. So they converted to CS. DAMN! We were all really disappointed, including the doctors. They were really upset. If there was anyone who needed a cut fanny AND a CS wound like a hole in the head it was a 16 year old girl!

I staggered back downstairs after taking Teresa to the SCN (she was fine, quite serene really and very pretty, but had a sore head, was breathing up a bit and needed some time to finish cooking) and wandered off home, after having a bitter laugh with the coordinator about my 'ability' to keep a birth normal and get a 34 weeker out without a drama. You win some, you lose some. The young woman herself was pretty unfazed by it all really, just delighted to see her little girl who she kissed and nuzzled on the table with joy. Her Mum was with her (she had had 3xCS) and she too was unfazed, and glad to have made the birth after flying down from 1200km away and arriving as we started pushing!

Its makes me wonder about the expectations of child-bearing women, that she could accept all that intervention and still be smiling and just be keen to have a sleep! Maybe if you don't overthink it you can just take it in your stride. It's when one agonises over the meaning in all such things that the potential for disappointment and bad experiences peak. I wonder how she'll feel when approaching her next birth.

And finally, because I do so love making them, another two Wild Women . These are for my best friend and one of my sisters who requested a blue one for her birthday (woo-hoo - pressies ready in advance!). This is Nancy. Fancy Nancy. With cute shoes and a handbag. And a heart on wings. Seems like a good concept to uphold.

And this is Sister. I adore her face. She catches fish. And leaves. And houses. And has wild hair.

So, enough of me, tell me about you...

JJ update

I saw them yesterday at the children's hospital.

First of all, JJ is doing well, or not good, depending on who you talk to. I was met with a warm hug from his Mum who is doing pretty well, although not getting enough rest.

The staff, some of whom I know, are quite pessimistic about his prognosis. He has had renal failure and has had some really major brain bleeds. That never bodes well. However when I saw him yesterday his urinary catheter had been removed and they were watching for a natural urine output. He was breathing independently but shuddering and jerking a lot. And his broken legs (both of them) were still splinted and causing him some pain when he moves (he reportedly cries), although he was being carefully monitored for pain on an hourly basis.

His parents declare that he is doing great and they look forward to taking home home in about 3 weeks. His room has been painted and recarpeted and his parents are looking like doting parents totally in love with their son and encouraged by his every breath. He is theirs come what may, and they will face the brain injury/ walking /talking stuff when they have to.

Good for them.

To me, JJ looked heaps better than when I last saw him. The bruising has gone down significantly although there is still a lot of moulding evident, but that could be due to brain swelling. He is much better hydrated and his skin is pink and clear and he no longer looks like a small dessicated lizard with crumbling dried out vernix.

I don't know what to hope for for them all. They are so new to all this, and adjusting so well really. Once again I was quite specific about acknowledging their new role as parents of a really special baby, and how brave they were. They truly do look OK with things. I hope they get to keep him. They are already talking about having a brother or sister for him, after a while when they have a better idea of what he will be like. At least she is sure she will recognise the symptoms of pregnancy for herself this time, and not rely on the GP!!!

I left them with a small gift of a blanket, and a card containing wishes for a peaceful and joyous life together, what ever that journey may entail. It had been a privilege to be their midwife on that eventful night and I will never forget them.

As I was about to leave another woman approached me with recognition. I had been their midwife too, for their birth 3 or 4 weeks ago when I was practically railroaded into a room by their private obstetrician. The woman was labouring fast, prematurely and had been transferred to our hospital from a private hospital due to threatened pre-term labour. She was 'settled down' for a few days while some steroids were got into her, but then labour started again at 33-ish weeks, irrevocably and it was all systems go for an epidural (but she was coping so well!) and then an ugly intrumental birth (!) with an episiotomy which was not pretty. Oh my. So their sweet little girl Sophie was born quite violently and went down to SCN as a premmie. She had been transferred to the children's hospital as a penultimate step before going back to a private hospital to finish cooking. They were pleased to see me, and I them, and as they were in the room next to JJ the 2 sets of parents were quite incredulous that they had each managed to see me again within the one visit! Its a small world!


Being back in the neonatal unit brought back many memories for me as we spent 39 days there, Stephanie and I, in early 1989. I lived in with her, expressing full-time and adjusting to the idea of who this special child would be. Nineteen and a half years later I know, quite clearly, who she is. She is herself. Just, and uniquely, herself. Special indeed. Still challenging, still her Mum and Dad's girl. She has brought me many things that I cherish in this life. Many things.

I know JJ and Sophie will do the same for their parents.

Many birthdays later...

Hello world.

It has been 10 days my last confession and I have not been idle.

I have just completed a five day stint where we have alternated between being quiet, and crazy busy, or at least my allocations have been. Some of those shifts I have been scuttling as fast as my feet will carry me, and I pass the various desks where staff gather and I will see a full house of midwives all chatting, unallocated, rooms all checked and ready and cleaning done, waiting for the next woman to come through the door. For an hour or so, some days, that has been me too. Then I will be sent off somewhere, or given a job to do which leads to something else.

If there has been a theme to my 5 days it is meconium stained liquor. I haven't seen a nice birth (myself) for days. They have happened though. To others. Sigh. I've seen some pretty yukky births actually. (Reading back - I just remembered that I supervised a nice normal birth with a resident doctor that was pretty nice on Thursday, that seems so long ago. Oh hang on, that was a fast birth where the baby's face was really bruised, and then she had a PPH.....oh bugger, welcome to my world this week) .

Last Friday (my sister's birthday - hope you're feeling better hon) I was allocated to two rooms with a newish student midwife, almost half way through her course. We had the care of two nulliparous women, one aged 16, and one aged 24. The younger one was quite complex, with many issues that were going to need some tactful handling including a very intrusive mum who had, umm, 'boundary deficits'. The background was quite tricky, but I was a bit relieved when Mum announced she was going home to get some sleep and she was going to leave her daughter to feed herself if she was interested (as opposed to mummy holding the spoon for her). Phew. I left the young couple to go for a walk and do their own thing as she was not in established labour and knew to return if anything interesting happened.

We scooted into the next room to meet an emo-looking couple and their friend. The woman was contracting frequently and quite vocal, growly and frowny with the pain. She was quite funny really, and would say things like 'rrrrr, I hate your dick! Its NEVER going near me again!' Her husband was really shy and quiet, I never heard a voluntary peep out of him, literally not a peep. He just blushed and cringed and slunk away, poor guy, but she would demand his hand with each contraction so he had a role! Their friend was a cheerful and practical young woman, expecting her second child in 2 months time so had some experience and was very encouraging. We introduced ourselves and got the story on the pregnancy and the labour so far. She was 10 days overdue and had presented with reduced fetal movements and a greenish discharge. ? Waters had broken? There was not much fluid around baby so she was offered a gel induction straight away to get things going. The trace was good, baby was apparently in healthy shape, but there was nothing draining in the way of fluid... I left the student midwife with her, to settle in and help her cope with contractions for a while, before she was due for assessment.

I shuttled between rooms for a while, sorting paperwork into piles in case of rapid need, getting more background on each woman. We went to tea, said goodbye to the morning staff and settled in for an evening shift. Would either of them birth before the end of the shift? Would the student midwife get a catch? I was just in seeing Miss 16 when the student midwife came for me at a run, 'come now'.

I sprinted after her, the trace showed a serious dip in heart rate. Over we go sweetheart, onto your side, no? Not improving? Other side then. Ah there we go, its coming back up now. The woman's eyes were bulging in panic, she was praying and urging her son to be all right. She was a big girl and couldn't move fast, and was quite feisty and highly strung. I didn't want to scare her, but we discussed what had just happened, possibly due to there being less fluid around the baby and his cord may/likely have been compressed and caused the drop. The trace had been fantastic, the consultant had just been in to see them and commented how good it all was, and now it was time to reassess her cervix. She asked me to do it rather than the doctor, yep, no problem. There was very little change from 6 hours previously. This was disappointing, but the decision was that the hormone drip should go up for a while, and that we hoped it would help the cervix open. Yes there were plenty of pain relief options, we would discuss those when the time came. She'd coped really beautifully up to now, lets see how she got on. In the meantime I reminded the student to press the assist bell if the heartrate dropped like that again and I wasn't with her. We had a brief but honest discussion about what may happen if the heartrate dropped again, and the possibility of CS was raised if there looked like a serious compromise of the baby. Mostly it doesn't happen too frequently, and hopefully you will tick along nicely and push this baby out in this room, into our hands. That's our plan!

It took a while to get the hormone drip organised. The doctors were having their round, communications were slightly delayed. The hormone drip was eventually started really slow. In the meantime the other young couple were waiting for an assessment, and maybe some pain relief as she was contracting more frequently, and she was due for some antibiotics. Every time I picked up my gloves the phone would ring, or she was in the toilet, or something would crop up. I had the antibiotics made up ready to give Miss 16 and was just inviting her to come over to the chair when the assist bell went for the other room.

I shot across, it was another serious dip, the room was filling up and the woman's eyes were wide with panic again. Hormone drip off. I fought my way to her side and talked /coerced her into cooperating with the docs for a quick internal assessment as we struggled to find the heartbeat again, even with a scalp-clip. Crap! Right- said the doctors - we're going upstairs - call a code! I called the code through, hung up and grabbed Dad by the shoulder and said 'get your shoes hon, we're off to theatre, stick with me'. Within one minute we had left the room, the prepared notes bundled up en masse and we headed for the next floor.

My goodness there were a lot of people in the theatre! It was an unfamiliar theatre to me, and I had trouble finding the fetal heart monitor, but eventually we found it and the FH was still pretty low. The surgeon made a decision for a general anaesthetic (GA). It was an agonising wait, with the student midwife and I focusing on the woman as she went under, promising her that we would look forward to meeting her son soon. When it is a GA dads are not allowed in theatre. The student went out to tell him of the progress, and we would be out again when his son was born.

It was not pretty. The surgery was fairly straightforward, and our hospital has a method for holding up a big girl's gorgeousness to help them get to the CS site without another person being scrubbed to hold it up. The surgeon needed me to apply upward pressure on the head to release it from the pelvis, which is tricky to do while crawling under the sterile drapes. I was apologising to the woman as I did it, but it only helped a little. After a struggle the surgeon finally released the baby from the thick meconium filled uterus. She was white with the effort, and told me later it was the most difficult release she had ever done. Baby was limp and green.

The baby went straight to the crash team, who finally got him breathing after 5 minutes, but his lungs and stomach were pretty full of mec and he was stained with green from head to toe. He headed down to the SCN on a ventilator, but fighting it already. His young Dad went with him, crying quietly, but relieved to see him alive. We went back in to see his Mum again and tell her (even though she was still asleep) that her boy was doing pretty well so far, and then returned to LBS.

The surgeons emerged shortly afterwards, all a bit subdued, and knees knocking from the aftereffects of adrenaline. We all felt it. I hope I don't experience it again for a long time.

I have seen the parents once and baby twice since. Young Zachary had a good evening and even came off the respirator that evening and was in the bath getting the mec scrubbed off him when he slid back into respiratory distress. Both lungs collapsed within a couple of hours and he has been a pretty sick young man, but has improved significantly today, although he will be in the nursery for a few weeks at least. Mum was chirpier than I expected and was recovering quite well in herself, and proud of her son's fighting spirit, and was reassured by each tiny step off the machines again. We had a long debrief chat and rehashed the events, and I filled in some bits of the picture for the two of them. I hadn't slept well since that night, and was so grateful for the chance to see her and give her a hug, and tell the two of them how brave they had been in the emergency. She said she had initially been angry, but as soon as she saw him about 10 hours afterwards she felt it melt away when she saw how sick he was. I think they will be OK, after a very close call.

The student midwife played a really important part in that birth. She hit the assist bell at the right time, and kept her head and stayed focussed on the woman, and has visited them as well. I couldn't have asked for more of her, and made sure she knew she had acted very well in the emergency. She got a lengthy comment in her book detailing her actions.

So, that was a long story about part of Friday's shift. (Sheesh what is it with me and students? They sometimes get more than they bargain for!) We had dinner and then focussed on Miss 16, giving her antibiotics, running her a nice bath for pain relief, eventually assessing her and finding she had cracked on with a bath and hotpacks for comfort, plus two panadol! It was the end of our shift.

The night shift midwife reports it was a beautiful birth on all fours, her Mum arriving loudly just as the head was crowning and being firmly shushed, and not spoiling it too much. Everyone was most pleased with events, and very proud of her. The midwife got a second quick birth that same night, where a woman walked awkwardly in to the LBS and said "I don't think I can get on the bed" and when encouraged to push where she was standing, proceeded to deliver her baby into the midwife's waiting hands 3 minutes later. Aaaahh, how yummy. The midwife was all glowing and teary describing it to me in the morning. Half her luck.

I'll tell you the stories of some other birthdays another time.

Picture diary

Thanks for the comments. I read and appreciate every one. When I asked if anyone was still there it meant I hoped you hadn't stopped visiting because there was nothing new to read! I must say since I started using bloglines my blog reading has been greatly simplified. Instead of rabidly going to every site just in case I missed something new, now I can see instantly who has posted and I can relax about all the rest. I am spending less time on the computer, but am still in touch and up-to-date. Phew.

Which leaves more time for sewing!!!! I have been going a bit mad lately and loving it!

OK I promised photos. First - from my birthday. Here is the cake. Black Forest Cake. YUM.

And my oldest friend called late in the day and came by to join us for dinner. We hardly ever get to see each other any more - she lives an hour or so away and now I work shifts with less holidays its too easy to let time slip by. But we manage 1-2 visits per year and it is always such a hoot to see her.

We met when she moved to our area at the start of year 5. For the only time in my childhood or since I was picked to choose a softball team. Such a responsibility! I was always picked last so I knew the anguish of waiting to hear your name spoken. So I chose all the kids who usually waited and waited, including all the interesting kids who were new or who had accents or different coloured skins. It is a decision I have never regretted, least of all because it brought Bobbie into my life. We were inseparable from that moment on. It still feels like that. Can you tell?

I was her bridesmaid at her first wedding. The first quilts I owned were made by her for each of my children - I still have them and treasure them. She is such an inspiration to me. She went back to uni to complete her high school, and became an environmental scientist. She is a grandmother now, and still her own self. I just love her. It was so good to see her.

Here is a very bad shot of the Michael Buble concert, which is badly out of focus but conveys something of the atmosphere. Jeez it was a great concert.

Here is a quick excited photo of my sister and I in the audience. Even though its crooked, I like this shot. She is not usually so pale, she's been unwell. Yep, that is the favourite pink cardigan of the moment getting another outing!

Something else exciting happened last week. I received my labels. See? Its a name that a family friend used to call me (my family call me by my middle name) I accidentally ordered iron-on ones (sigh) which don't necessarily suit every fabric I use to make a bag, but they still look very satisfying to have on my products. Even if sewn a little rustically.

Speaking of rustic, here is the bag I just had to make on Friday instead of doing housework (I don't recall making an active choice - was the housework ever a realistic option? ;P )

I had found the orange embroidered jeans in a favourite op-shop on Thursday. They fitted Steff but she felt she wouldn't wear them. Ditto the black chunky cord Diesel jeans we had found a few weeks ago. So....she requested a shopping bag. Et voila!

I was very brave and even put in an internal zipped pocket - my first time - piece of cake. Everything on this bag was chosen for recycledness (is that a word?). The outer fabric, the lining fabrics, the zip, everything had been used before. I'm really pleased with it. It wears my label outside and hers inside!

Which brings me to the weekend....sigh. It was an oasis. I took a healing doll that I had started back in February sometime, that I got stuck on. It was meant to be my inner child, but she looked so vulnerable that I just couldn't move forward with her alone. She needed longer arms to reach out to people. I was a long lanky kid (snort), and while the hair colour was about right, and she had big brown eyes I felt stuck. I knew that if I took her with me to a safe place she would be able to evolve into herself.

We chose messages from a set that spoke to us. Mine were about not believing and living old, negative messages, and how I could create new beliefs about myself, about how I am alright NOW. These tapped into some thought patterns I needed to change. Remember don't believe everything you think ..... So I set to work.

We learned about the orphan archetype and the pros and cons of examining the orphan within us all. We heard the story of "the Ugly Duckling". We journalled. The opening sentence was "I want..." A very powerful tool. We danced through a guided meditation through a four part garden with gates dividing the areas. We experienced the long hard winter that precedes transformation and growth. Rocks for grief, sticks for anger, water for despair, and sand for feeling depleted. We then went for a silent meditative walk about the bush. It was the winter solstice and people all over the world were also engaging in that exercise simultaneously. We were encouraged to see if anything called to us on our nature walk and to collect them for inclusion in our dolls or journalling. The sticks of anger had called me during the meditation. It was time to examine their purpose.

The other women had mostly not made the dolls before and we all had kits in front of us for a new doll. So did I. So I made a new one as well as working on my inner child doll. She had come with me as plain Jane. I was called that a lot as a child. This weekend I made her/myself blossom.

I used the sturdy sticks I collected to first of all give plain Jane a backbone. Next I entwined some curved sticks to her to give her longer arms to reach out for help and comfort. Next she needed to stand taller, so some very strong branches were bound to her short legs. These new limbs were bound in a tartan that reminded me of the little tartan pinafores I wore as a child - with a plain cotton top and a beautiful pleated skirt. They were worn with a pretty white blouse and a cardigan over the top. My new doll seemed more confident already. She had been mousy and brown before, and I look hideous in brown. She wasn't happy being brown. As the dove-grey and green tartan strengthened her she seemed happier. Suddenly I knew she needed more green. A scrap of sequinned green spoke to me. I bound this across her heart. There were some leaves that filled a gap or two, then she sighed contentedly. At last, you are getting to the heart of me. Returning to the treasure chest I found a small sculpted baby, painted gold. This touched a very deep chord. The little one was immediately tucked next to her heart. Scraps of green gingham, more layers of beautiful dyed green cotton with leaf prints, a few more sequins, a tie or two, more hair, a flower for blossoming happiness, a jewel or two, a few pearls, following our instincts. Then someone brought me an amazing gift. There, in a small velvet covered matchbox, was a tiny baby with a message in the box that read "I love you just the way you are". It was just the message she/we needed to hear. She held a stick to acknowledge the rage at her mistreatment, but it was softened by a growth of green, as she didn't want it to define her. It now looks like a wand to achieve transformation. A friend across the table said, you realize, don't you, that she is Mother Earth. A bell rang somewhere. Many people call me an Earth Mother midwife. Others have called me a Demeter figure. But of course. My inner child had blossomed into a manifestation of something that feels very natural to me. An earth mother. I was profoundly moved by the whole experience and can barely take my eyes off her. She is just right. I had never imagined that I would create something as beautiful as she is. As green as she is. But she is "No More Plain Jane" now. And I love her just the way she is.

The white doll I am holding is my midwife warrior I made in the first healing doll workshop I attended. She is full of symbolism and has a long story too. Her new red sister is also related to the meditation. She is a goddess of rage, who trails her anger behind her and has no problem expressing it. I think her story is one for another day....

Here is our group with their dolls at the end of the weekend. We all found it a very powerful and symbolic exercise, an oasis in our busy lives as mothers of children with special needs, some bereaved mothers. We had danced, including a belly dancing session, journalled, ate great food, talked, laughed, cried, discovered, meditated, slept and relaxed and shared an incredibly intimate weekend.

I am very lucky to have access to this type of workshop. It is a lifeline for me, a tool to have an inner life that allows my inside to match my outside. This doll making is a stunning exercise when taken as a whole 30 hour journey in a supported psychotherapeutic environment with trusted friends. And now I entrust the sharing of it with you, dear reader.

Peace and love.

Boobs are my bag

Ooh I have just read this post from Lisa. I am so envious. How inspiring.

Somehow I have forgotten to attend any conferences or workshops this last year. I am aghast, as I love going to those things. I wonder if its because of the rostering hassles of being a rotational midwife. I move around a lot, each 8 weeks or so, and am constantly unsure of whether I will be on nights, or whatever. I am also a bit vague and unorganised about making roster requests in advance, especially when I don't know the area I will be working in, or its a new area for me.

Its a big hospital, I am often a long way from where I must go to make the request (if I remember to do it). I am often tired. I don't have access to the computerised in-house rostering program either - what a nuisance. Some areas make rosters 6-8 weeks in advance, some only 2 weeks in advance. Its one of those health system workforce things that I haven't quite adjusted to yet. I am such a slow learner about some things. Sigh.



Anyway I have resolved that i will make roster requests to give myself ONE day at home per week with no 'kids', which means Thursday currently. Unfortunately, given that visiting midwives tend to need continuity of clients, that means that out of the last 8-9 weekends I have worked 6 of them - both days! Groan. I start again on Friday and work 6 days straight, then get a week off, including my first weekend in a month! There has got to be a better way! I have made requests for my first few weeks in LBS for mid-June. Lets see what I get!



Its fairly self-inflicted, and think of all the money I get working on weekends. Anyhoo.... I think I have finished whining about that. You're probably very relieved. (This is my daughter in 1993).
I have had an interesting couple of weeks on the road, and met some interesting families. I have seen some incredibly large and engorged breasts!!! They could easily be feeding twins, but they each had only one small baby to deal with all that milk! Then later in the day I would see other scrawny babies whose mothers were a bit half-hearted about feeding them diligently, who were not gaining weight. I could have put them in my pocket and taken them to the next house and put baby to the breast of that over-supplied woman! If only I could do that! Or feed them myself!



I have noticed that I am experiencing let-down again while on VMS. I used to get it on the postnatal ward, especially when I first started in midwifery. Its never really left me, even after more than 18 years since I last breastfed a baby. (ooh there it is again, just thinking about it). I don't mind. I don't leak or anything, but I still experience it. I feel it means that I am just very connected to this field, and that it means that my body is passionate about breastfeeding too! See what I mean - body and soul!! I am coming to realise that I know a lot about this area.
The photos throughout this post are mostly of a much younger me, from 1989, when I was breastfeeding my daughter. Above is our first mother-daughter photo - she is about 8 minutes old and I am having a quick cuddle before she went to intensive care. (Yes, I am on the floor. Yes I am naked. Be grateful I cropped out the cord hanging out! TMI?) She was born with a cleft palate as part of a syndrome, so was unable to feed directly. In fact she never went directly to the breast. Below is the breast pump I used in hospital - this photo was taken when Steff was a few weeks old, and we were still living in hospital together.
I am moved to see this photo of Patty, age 3, with his sister aged 3 weeks. Still being nursed on her stomach as all babies with her syndrom are (Pierre-Robin Syndrome). It was pretty hard for him to lose his Mum to this strange little sister. Maybe not much has changed in 19 years.This one, with me being sooky, is of my last express, when she was 29 weeks of age. I always cry at big occasions. I was sad but triumphant, and baked a boob cake to celebrate my achievements. (My hair is pretty bad here, I had just got up, and it was shorter as it had all fallen out postpartum. Did that happen to you too? I always lost my hair after giving birth.)


I did try to express directly into her mouth one time, but as she had a gag reflex from hell and thought every attempt to put anything into her mouth was a threat/an attempt to kill her, she retched and vomited straight away after the first few drops, losing far more nutrition than those drops had given her. Sigh. It was too confronting and directly wasteful/punishing to see this milk wasted in this fashion, and she threw up so much on a daily basis that her growth was severely compromised anyway, so I didn't try it again.



This photo is from one of those rare times when Stephanie actually fed orally in a coordinated fashion, where she cried with hunger and accepted her mouth being filled (delivered from from a soft-sided squeezy bottle because she couldn't generate the suction to get it from a bottle like regular babies), then swallowed - without gagging. It was a miracle to us to see her do it, hence the photo.



She only did it 7 times in her first year of life. It still brings tears to my eyes to think of those sessions.



So to see half a dozen little babies daily, attach at the breast and suck for all their lives are worth, and do it every two hours! Wow, what a miracle. What a privilege to feed your baby that way. I know ... I did it for nearly 18 months with Patty. He fed heartily, lustily, frequently until that time, and was still feeding to sleep most times, and waking to feed in the night when I decided I'd wean so I wouldn't be getting up in the night to him just to feed. It seemed like a good idea at the time. If I'd known that it would be the last time I would have a babe at my breast I would have gone on.....

I have breastfed two children. In very differing fashions. My only reason to have another child would have been to have another beautiful period of feeding. I did love it so. I think I did it well. This photo is from 1996, Patty 10, Steff, 7.



So this is another aspect of my life that I can bring to my practise.Its not about me, and I rarely mention it to any mothers I care for, but when they are pumping to establish or boost supply I can genuinely identify with their task.

I remind them that growth spurts happen, and to let them happen, and to surrender to it. These are the periods where the baby wants to feed constantly, a mother will say 'I have no milk' or 'my milk dried up'. We hear it a lot. But with the right information and support from her family, and only if she wants to (because some women don't really mind whether they feed or not, and I'm not gonna force them) our imparted knowledge will mean that she knows how to maintain and boost her supply, and the lactation bond will continue.



I like boobs. And babies. And bumps. Lucky I'm a midwife, hey?